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  1. In Memory of LAJ_FETT: Please share your remembrances and condolences HERE

Awards 2010 Saga Fanfiction Awards Excerpt Thread

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction and Writing Resource' started by SagaFanficAwards, Aug 12, 2010.

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  1. SagaFanficAwards

    SagaFanficAwards Saga FanFic Awards Sock star 4 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Jun 2, 2006
    Welcome to the 2010 Saga Excerpt Thread! Here is a list of all the stories that have qualified that you will find snippets of in this thread.

    Enjoy reading all of these!

    Genre


    Best Alternate Universe

    *Even Jedi Cry by Valairy_Scot
    *Dagobah GuerreStellari
    *As Father and Son Knight_Aragorn
    *The Darkest of Shadows by ViariSkywalker

    Best Canon

    *Empire Day by Kelli_LB
    *Metamorphosis by Raptor517
    *A Race Against Time by KELIA
    *Padmé and Palpatine: the Final Confrontation by Koopa
    *Readjustment by Knight_Aragorn

    Best Action

    *Time and space by Gkilkenny
    *Darker Times by JediFalcon
    *Dead Man Walking by Idrelle_Miocovani

    Best Drama

    *Even Jedi Cry by Valairy_Scot
    *From The Ashes by Estora
    *As Father and Son by Knight_Aragorn

    Best Romance

    *Metamorphosis by Raptor517
    *Everytime We Touch by Jade_Max

    Best Humor

    *Dead Money by The_Face
    *Enquiring Minds Want to Know by Gabri_Jade
    *Chancellorcide by Estora

    Best All Around

    *Metamorphosis by Raptor517
    *From The Ashes by Estora
    *Purgatory by Helen_Taft
    *Life Beyond the Code by bek

    Style


    Most Underrated

    *Metal Coils by Thumper09
    *Metamorphosis by Raptor517
    *Dagobah by GuerreStellari
    *For Siri by Icepaw_Kenobi
    *Frontiersman by Exeter
    *Chasing Redemption by Estora
    *Let The Beast Have What He Wants by JediFalcon
    *Allecto by Harpalyce
    *While I Wait by Takianna

    Best Response To A Challenge

    *[link=http://boards.thefor
     
  2. SagaFanficAwards

    SagaFanficAwards Saga FanFic Awards Sock star 4 VIP - Game Host

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    Best Alternate Universe

    The Darkest of Shadows

    Summary: The former senator from Naboo awaits her mysterious benefactor, the one who has been keeping her alive since the fall of the Republic.

    The doors to her private balcony swing open on their old-fashioned hinges. A cool breeze whispers across her skin. She is absolutely motionless as he jumps down from the rail and steps into her bedroom, his black cloak floating away from him like outstretched wings. He walks around the side of her bed and stands there silently; she knows he is staring right into her eyes, even though she cannot see his. He has returned to being a silhouette, faceless but no less terrifying.

    He sits on the edge of her bed, his left hand ? still ungloved ? resting within reach of hers.

    ?Don?t try to save him, Padmé.?

    She knows she can?t. Darth Vader?s sins are too many and too great.

    He raises both hands and for the first time lowers his hood. He is sitting so that only the left side of his face is visible to her, the side she has already seen. But now she also sees dark hair that stops just above his shoulders; it is wavy, and it curls slightly around his ear and at his neck and temple. She was correct in her assessment of his age. He can?t be any older than her and is most likely several years younger.

    How does someone so young become so evil?

    As she continues to take in his features ? they are handsome, though wasted on him ? she feels an odd buzz in the back of her mind. It?s recognition of a sort. She has seen him, or someone like him, before. Possibly even before the rise of the Empire.

    Vader nods in the direction of Padmé?s nightstand. ?Do you wear that often?? he asks quietly.

    Padmé looks at the nightstand and sees a necklace laying there, a carved wooden pendant on a long silver chain. Her throat tightens. What she wouldn?t give to be back on that starship with her Jedi guardians and that little boy?

    ?I used to,? she answers, and wonders how it came to be resting on the nightstand.

    He raises his gloved right hand, and Padmé watches in silent awe as the necklace floats through the air into Vader?s grasp. He bends his head to examine it, running the fingers of his left hand over the engravings. After a moment he offers it to her. ?It will bring you good fortune,? he says softly.

    Padmé stares at the japor snippet in his hand for several long seconds before raising her eyes to meet his. The flame-edged irises have faded away, leaving behind a clear blue. And then, despite everything she knows about him, despite everything he has done to the galaxy, she feels her heart ache for what he once was.

    ?Anakin??

    He recoils for a moment, as if stung. He narrows his eyes and quickly shakes his head. ?No,? he says with force.

    But Padmé is already reaching for the japor snippet and the hand clutching it, tears filling her eyes. ?Ani,? she whispers. She feels him jolt as her hand touches his. ?What happened to you? I thought you went back to your mother on Tatooine??

    He starts to pull his hand away from her, but she grabs onto it with her other hand. She is no longer afraid
    of what he might do to her; this is Anakin, her Anakin, whose heart was always as big and as bright as the twin suns of his homeworld.

    ?He came for me,? is all the answer he gives. He tries to look away from her, but Padmé grabs him by the chin and turns his head so that she can look him full in the face. She withholds a surprised yelp.

    Most of the right side of his face is covered in burns that have left his skin waxy and wet-looking. His eyebrow is gone, and there is a deep scar running from the top of his scalp to his cheek bone. Most of his hair on that side is singed off; what little remains is wispy and so unlike his natural hair that it is hard to believe they occupy the same head.

    ?Oh, Anakin,? she murmurs through the tears, resting the palm of her hand on his scarred
     
  3. SagaFanficAwards

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    Best Canon

    Empire Day by Kelli_LB

    "When I was a child there was nothing I wanted more than to be a senator, like you." During her first visit to Coruscant as a child she was allowed to sit in on the Imperial senate and see it in action; the princess immediately wanted to be a part of it. She spent the rest of her childhood and teenage years in training to achieve that goal.

    "I remember." At first, Bail was not thrilled by Leia's decision to go into politics; but over time his opinion changed and was the key catalyst in Leia's appointment to the Senate at such an early age.

    "You tried to prepare me for this, but?" Leia trailed off, not certain how to express her true feelings.

    "Nothing can truly prepare you for it." Bail had tried to warn her about what she would face while in the Imperial Senate; but there was nothing he could say to prepare his daughter for living a double life as a member of the rebellion while having to publicly support the Empire.

    "I suppose it's easy to be a senator when you're an Imperialist." Leia began "You go to the Senate every day, listen to the speeches, vote for the things the Emperor wants, and never ask questions. I suppose when you accept tyranny, you also accept the fact that you're nothing but a puppet." One of the things that frustrated her the most was her colleagues in the Senate's willingness to go along with the systematic dismantling of the few remaining vestiges of democracy just to stay within the good graces of the Emperor. She wondered if the Imperialist senators would even vote for their own execution if they thought the Emperor would be pleased.

    "Do you wish you were never appointed?"

    Leia sighed, "To be honest, some days I do. There are days in which I can barely stand living on Coruscant." She then took a deep breath as her raging emotions washed over her. "But I know what I'm doing is important, that's what keeps me here."

    Bail smiled knowingly, "It's what kept me here for so long."

    "What was it that you told me when I first took office? 'Mind your manners, keep your head down and keep doing those things that cannot be spoken of.'" The words echoed in her mind every time she was forced to vote in direct opposition to everything she had ever been taught and believed in for the sake of keeping up appearances so the true work of the Alliance could continue.

    "You've done very well. The work you've done has been very beneficial. Don't ever think your contribution is small? You may not be on the front lines, but you're in no less danger." Bail paused for a moment to gain control over his emotions. "That's what frightens me, daughter."

    "I'll be all right."

    Bail shook his head, "I wish I could believe that."

    "I knew the risk going into this...we all did."

    "I wish things were different. I wish you didn't have to grow up under the shadow of the Emperor."

    "The Empire is not forever." There was much that the princess was not certain about; but on this she was confident. She had nothing substantial to back up that belief, but her faith that tyranny would eventually lose was strong.

    "I've been involved in the fight against Palpatine even before he declared himself Emperor. It sometimes feels like forever." Bail admitted.

    "He's a senile old man." Leia, like many in the rebellion, believed that the Emperor was not the main problem. "It's those like Tarkin and Vader that we really need to be concerned with."

    A look of horror crossed Bail's face. "No Leia, don't do that." He nearly shouted. "Don't underestimate the Emperor. Beings wiser than us have underestimated him and lost, don't make the same mistake. He is well in control. He created and promoted men like Vader and Tarkin; they are his servants."

    Leia was surprised by her father's sudden intensity. Normally, Bail Organa was the epitome of calm and collected. "You know Father, every time you speak of the Emperor-you speak like you know something?something yo
     
  4. SagaFanficAwards

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    Best Action

    Dead Man Walking by Idrelle_Miocovani

    19 hours, 11 minutes.

    ?Are you injured? You?re covered in??

    ?Not mine.?

    ?Oh.?

    ?Where are we going??

    ?Someplace safe. Hopefully.?

    ?A hive.?

    ?Maybe.?

    ?Hives aren?t safe, you know.?

    ?We don?t have much of a choice now.?

    They flew in silence. It was only now that it began to sink in that three of their team?s members were dead. They were the final two standing, the only ones capable of bringing the Alliance some devastatingly important information, though neither of them knew what it was.

    Rerem knew that it was chancy going back to a hive ? he winced even as he thought the word, it was Koss? word, Koss? label, and Koss was dead ? but they needed food, rest, clean clothes. They were exhausted; Nyixa was in no state to keep running. They needed only a few hours of safety to recuperate and then they could run again.

    Surely a hive was safe enough for just a few hours.

    The problem would be getting there safely.

    They had only been in flight for a quarter of an hour when Rerem noticed they were being tailed. A couple of dark speeders were taking the same route as them, keeping a comfortable distance between themselves and their target. When Rerem began taking more roundabout routes through Coruscant?s sectors, he knew for certain that those speeders belonged to Imperial agents. No one in the right mind would take the traffic way he was on.

    ?Rerem, get us out of here, they?re still on to us.?

    ?You don?t have to tell me the obvious!? he snapped.

    The speeder dove down, plummeting multiple stories by the second, whipping past the angry traffic in the air ways below. Nyixa twisted her head around and saw the Imperial speeders follow.

    ?That?s not going to work.?

    ?Give me a break, would you?? Rerem snapped. ?Do you want to fly?? He pulled out of the nosedive, turned one-eighty degrees in the air and zoomed off in a different direction.

    They swung around the twisted towers of office buildings as they entered one of the planet?s many commercial sectors. The traffic began to thicken. If they could lose their pursuers in the crowd, it would give them a chance to cover their tracks.

    A black speeder wove out of the throng ahead of them, zooming towards them on the opposite traffic way. Rerem swore and plunged another level at the last moment; the Imperial speeder went flying by.

    ?Damn it!?

    Rerem pulled on the controls and flipped the vehicle around. Angry shouts and honking buzzers followed them as their speeder whizzed up the wrong direction on the traffic ways, ducking and diving as they steered clear of collisions. Oncoming speeders swerved away just in time to avoid impact. Nyixa clutched at her restraints until her fingertips turned pale green. She looked like she was going to be violently ill.

    ?You?re going to get us killed!? she shouted.

    ?I?m going to get us lost!? he snapped. ?How many people can fly against the traffic without getting killed? It?s like being in a ??

    The speeder dropped suddenly with a jerk. They heard the deafening screech of metal on metal as a vehicle grazed the top of their cockpit.

    ??bloody asteroid field!?

    ?AND YOU?RE NOT A KRIFFING PILOT!?

    Nyixa lashed out, grabbing the controls and pulling them into a nose-dive. They shot down, barely making it through the moving net of traffic, down until the crowd of morning traffic thinned out. Rerem tried to push her out of the way, but she clutched at the controls. They scuffled for a moment, restricted by the small space, until he finally managed to release her grip and levelled their flight path.

    ?What the hell was that for?!? he shouted.

    Nyixa refused to look at him. Instead, she pointed upwards, out the cockpit window.

    The black speeders were following them, sailing down at a less reckless pace than they had, but catching up nonetheless.

    Rerem swore loudly and sped off into the dim light of
     
  5. SagaFanficAwards

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    Best Drama

    Even Jedi Cry

    Obi-Wan?s heart thudded in his chest. Beside him, his master stood outwardly calm, prepared, but inside ? inside raged many emotions.

    He clamped down on his own feelings. Excitement and fear tried to course through him; more likely, adrenaline from anticipation of the coming encounter in terms that made sense.

    Somehow he knew this Zabrak who radiated supreme confidence was a fighter unlike none he had ever before encountered. Cold, calculating and assured; Obi-Wan had no doubt it was a Sith as Qui-Gon had claimed had attacked him on Tatooine.

    It was time to set aside all discord between them and seek harmony, for only working as the team they were did they stand a chance. If Qui-Gon?s skills had barely allowed him to hold his own on Tatooine, Obi-Wan himself would be taxed to his maximum. He was not Qui-Gon?s equal in prowess; his edge was youth and agility. Only together, by combining their strengths and working with purpose could they offset the Sith?s advantage.

    A second blade, vermillion like the blood it would soon seek to spill, shot out of the opposite edge of his lightsaber. Obi-Wan?s eyes widened as beside him Qui-Gon hissed through his teeth. With one accord, they launched themselves ? and found themselves in a furious battle.

    First Qui-Gon was kicked out of the fight. Obi-Wan pressed forward, biding time by strutting cockily as the Sith eyed him with amused disdain. It allowed Qui-Gon a chance to pick himself up and rush to his side.

    He was sent flying next, sliding across the polished floor, but somehow not losing his grip. Up, Obi-Wan, up, he could hear the exhortation through the bond. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain and surged to his feet. Qui-Gon could not ? would not ? fight alone.

    Together they herded the Sith against bare air, a possibly fatal fall at his back, and Obi-Wan darted in and out, a feint, leaving an opening for Qui-Gon to press the attack. It should have worked and would have worked against a lesser opponent.

    The Sith somersaulted to a metal grid walkway in the vast chamber, and the Jedi immediately followed without thought, one to either side. The fight raged on, where a fall could be fatal, one misstep away. Now, more than ever, keeping focused was keeping alive.

    And the unthinkable happened: Qui-Gon?s focus wavered.

    Without the anticipated distraction Obi-Wan?s attack was deflected, a kick that sent him plummeting into empty air.

    Qui-Gon seized his moment; a resounding blow and attacked in a fury. The Sith fell back. Qui-Gon carried on the attack, relentless and unstoppable; he trusted his padawan to save himself while he carried on with his task.

    Twisting his body in mid-fall, Obi-Wan smashed into a lower walkway and grabbed the edge as his momentum carried him over its edge and nearly tore his fingers from their desperate clasp. Shoulders, hands and fingers all strained under the pressure, but his grip held long enough for him to stop his wild swing and pull himself to the walkway, where he gulped in several deep breaths of air and reached to reclaim his lightsaber which had landed nearby.

    Wait for me, Master!

    Hurry up! I need you here, now! Hurry!

    Obi-Wan took a final calming breath and drew on the Force to propel him upwards into a huge leap to a higher walkway. He didn?t have enough left to put into a Force-propelled run. He pumped frantically after the two duelists, his desperation to catch up bleeding into the bond.

    Focus, Obi-Wan! You were careless. Impatient and demanding, it was both a criticism and a plea sent through the bond ? you lost your focus and therefore your footing ? regain your focus and save yourself so you can rejoin me to finish this battle.

    He never did catch up.

    All of them reached a long passageway; all were trapped behind energy gates. Even when the gates opened, Qui-Gon did not wait for him and fought on alone, with Obi-Wan still tra
     
  6. SagaFanficAwards

    SagaFanficAwards Saga FanFic Awards Sock star 4 VIP - Game Host

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    Best Romance

    Every Time We Touch

    Every Time We Touch
    "Maybe we should take this slow."

    He exhaled raggedly, dropping his gaze to where her hands were on his chest - his {i]bare[/i] chest. At some point during their kiss, her hands had opened his tunic and partially pushed it from his shoulders. The ends hung down, unbound, his belt lost somewhere near his feet.

    Barriss followed his gaze, her eyes widening as some part of her thrilled with the idea of being carried away to the point of immersion even as Anakin challenged her suggestion.

    "Can we?"

    Could they take this slow? Their discussion had just proven the unlikely possibility of that. He wasn't a stranger, no matter his different appearance, and the magnetic pull between them was daunting; if she hadn't understood just how linked their futures were, it would have been frightening.

    But Anakin was right; this wasn't the time to take things slow. Instead, she eased back without looking, pulling him with her, as her hands slid up to rid him of what was left of his tunic. He made no protest.

    "Are you sure?"

    She wasn't - and he had to feel it just as she could feel his own uncertainty - but the pull this evening was an electrically physical thing. The very thought of pulling away after so long an absence - after having denied themselves of each other for so long - was almost as painful as the time that had passed between. No; she'd suspected all those years ago what would happen the night Anakin told her of his knighting. She'd planned for it - or so she'd thought; this was not unexpected.

    "I put my faith in the Force - and in you."

    Their gazes locked. "Barriss..."

    There was a wealth of meaning in the way he said her name and she drew comfort from it. He didn't want her just because of the pull of the Force; there was something between them - and had to be - for the Force to amplify it the way it was. For some reason they were being drawn together, attracting one another in the most primal and physical senses possible. Yet, Anakin was attempting to ensure she knew it was more than that; he didn't want her just because the Force dictated it; he wanted her for her. That knowledge was what brought a smile to her lips.

    "I know."

    Relief was clear in his gaze and she could feel his hands shaking where he restrained himself. They both knew where this meeting was leading, and it seemed impossible to stop, but Anakin wasn't going to rush her; he wasn't going to give in the way she'd already surrendered. He didn't dare and she could tell he was nervous - more nervous, in some ways, than she.

    Stepping back from him, she took in the sight as her hands dropped from his torso. His arms lifted fractionally, as if to pull her back, but Anakin held the impulse in check. He seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the room, his pale skin shining from within. If it was a result of her Force enhanced sight when it came to him, or something else, she didn't much care.

    Lifting her gaze back to his, their eyes locked and Barriss lifted her hands to her own garments. Anakin inhaled sharply, the tug of the Force something almost tangible in the silence as the rustle of cloth turned deafening. Her robe hadn't hit the ground before Barriss found herself back in Anakin's arm, his mouth finding hers.

    Physical sensations overrode the urgings of the Force for the first time in a long time, and it was the pure hunger that stole her breath this time. Anakin's lips devoured hers in a searing kiss as she was lifted from the floor and pressed tightly against his near naked form. Flesh to Flesh, her arms went around him in complete abandon. Anakin's hands slid possessively down her back and she arched against him without breaking the kiss.

    Fear had no place between them and hesitance was lost in her response as she opened completely to his touch.




    [b]Metamorphosis[/b] by Raptor517

    Jate scram
     
  7. SagaFanficAwards

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    Best Humor

    Dead Money by The_Face

    Alias saunters up to the bar and sits in an open stool between Hassan and Tryn. He orders a hard drink best categorized as androgynous.

    Hassan glances at the thief. ?Allemonde's men really worked you over catching you, didn't they??

    ?What, the nose?? Alias uses the edge of his sleeve to dab away blood. ?No, this was, uh, more recent.? He downs the entirety of his drink, and orders another.

    Tryn swivels to face the other two. ?Mr. Sibul. I must say, I do admire you.?

    ?That's nice of you to say, Tryn. I only sign female chests, though.?

    Tryn laughs softly. ?No autograph necessary. I'm merely saying that while I spend countless credits sampling philosophies and seeking thrills all across the galaxy, you live a life that is, it would seem, one long adrenaline rush.?

    Alias laughs, too. His laugh, however, is a short sharp one. He mutters, ?You're jealous of me. Priceless.?

    ?Why is that so hard to believe??

    Stop.

    Alias Sibul grew up on the mean streets of Imperial Center, among its mean populace. When he was ten, he spent a five-month stretch without a proper meal. When Tryn was ten, he bought his first pleasure yacht.

    Go.

    Alias sips his drink. ?I just have a modest self-image, I guess. It's one of my many wonderful traits.? He slaps Hassan on the back. ?But enough about me! Don't I recognize you from somewhere??

    Hassan quickly hides a wince with a smirk. ?I take it you don't follow popular music much??

    ?I'm a nut about it, in fact,? Alias remarks dismissively. ?Are you on, like, a holovision show or something??

    Hassan's smirk flickers and fades like the screen of a powerless datapad. ?I'm Hassan, the singer.?

    ?Oh! Sorry, man, yeah! I definitely see it now. You really let yourself go, huh??

    ?Excuse me??

    ?Well I mean let yourself. Like, I'm giving you the benefit of a doubt that you were in control of this whole situation.? Alias gestures vaguely to encompass Hassan's entire being.

    ?If you are not the rudest...?

    ?Gentlemen,? Tryn interrupts. ?Gentlemen, please. When I was studying with the Great Pajorun, he always said th??

    ?Oh stuff your new-age pretension,? Hassan groans.

    ?The rage is really unbalancing the Force in here,? Tryn squeaks.

    ?Yeah,? Alias agrees with another swill of his beverage, ?it's driving me over to the Drunk Side.?

    Stop.

    Somewhere, the men listening to the feed from the wire on Tryn discuss the implications of Alias Sibul's addition to the game, and how Sibul is accustomed to working with people who can take an insult.

    Go.

    Tryn reaches for Alias's glass. ?Maybe you better let me have that.?

    Alias yanks it away from the Zabrak, spilling a good third of it. ?If you steal my booze, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine,? he warns. He jumps down from his stool and backs away from the washed-up singer and philosophical heir. ?Now if you'll excuse me.? The thief spins sharply on his heel, and strides away into the hotel.




    [link=http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/30262741]Enquiring Minds Want to Know[/link]

    On to the next question:

    [i]How long does it take to go to the refresher in all those robes?[/i]

    Obi-Wan blinked. [i]This[/i] was what people wanted to know about Jedi? Seriously?

    He read the question again. It hadn't changed.

    Did traditional Jedi robes really look that daunting? He'd seen many cultural ensembles that would seem to be far more of an obstacle in that area, though he'd never really considered looking at clothes that way before. And it wasn't like the robes didn't have certain tailoring accommodations for such matters, though perhaps it was more time-consuming for the female Jedi?

    Obi-Wan was suddenly disturbed to realize the amount of thought he was putting into this, and even more disturbed by that last trail of logic his brain had produced. He quickly wrote down a
     
  8. SagaFanficAwards

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    Best All Around

    From The Ashes

    Anakin should have been there to cover you! Anakin deserted you, left you to your death!

    He hates these thoughts, and he knows ? fearfully ? that if he isn't drawn out of them soon, they will devour him. He wants to go back to the Temple on Coruscant ? the only reason he hasn't been transported there by now was because of his injuries. He despises being trapped on Geonosis; the atmosphere, every day, thickens with the presence of death. Even without the Force Obi-Wan can feel it ? he just about can smell it. Tomorrow, the healers promised earlier, transport could be arranged where he would receive proper treatment at the Temple. For now, he had to make do with his small bed in the corner of the Geonosian medical ward setup in the middle of the barren land, watching hundreds of clones and Jedi being brought in every day, with blood running down their bodies and limbs blown off.

    The shuffling tap-tap of a gimmer stick is a welcome sound, drawing him from his thoughts before they can take a turn for the worse, and he looks up just as Yoda crawls into the chair at the right side of his bed, taking his time to settle in and cross his legs.

    "Good evening, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan says, bowing his head. Yoda 'hmph's in reply and clasps his clawed hands at the top of his gimmer stick.

    "Much grief, this gives me, to see you so sad," Yoda finally says.

    Obi-Wan sighs. "I take it you have heard?"

    "Mmm."

    Obi-Wan stays quiet, unsure of what to say. He is thankful that the Grandmaster isn't going to talk about his possible permanent limp ? it's the last thing he wants to think about, yet he knows it is inevitable.

    "Make you my soup, I will," Yoda announces, either not noticing or pointedly ignoring Obi-Wan when he cringes in horror. "Speed your healing and make you strong again, it will."

    Suddenly annoyed, Obi-Wan frowns and tries to cross his arms over his body the way he always does when he needs to be defensive, and hisses when he tries to move his right arm. "What for?" he asks darkly, trying to ignore the burning ache that throbs his down his arm from his shoulder. "I'm crippled. There's nothing to heal."

    "This talk, cease!" Yoda orders, lifting his gimmer stick threateningly. "Hmph. Hit you, I would, if a place on your body, injured, was not."

    "How considerate of you," Obi-Wan snaps ? then immediately realises what he has said and to whom he has said it, and gapes in horror. "I ? I'm sorry, Master Yoda," he gasps, mortified, "I don't ? I don't know what has come over me. Please forgive my disrespect."

    Yoda only breathes deeply, and his ears droop down sadly. "In a dangerous place you are, Obi-Wan. Like yourself, you are not. Release these dark emotions of yours into the Force, you must. Consume you they will, otherwise."

    "I know, Master, and I'm trying ?"

    "There is no try!"

    "I can't reach the Force!" Obi-Wan has had enough, and drags his right hand through his auburn hair, distastefully noting the grease build-up from lack of washing. "My connection is fleeting at best, and I can't hold onto it long enough for release. I have to wait for the sedation to wear off." He helplessly sinks back against his pillows and lowers his head, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands. "I don't know what to do."

    "Your Padawan perhaps can help you, until your connection re-established is."

    "You mean he perhaps can help me if he hasn't taken off for Naboo with Senator Amidala."

    It takes Obi-Wan far longer than it should have to discern that he sounds snide and bitter and envious ? he can feel them rising in his chest, slowly taking over rational thought. These are not foreign emotions; just unwelcome ones where he doesn't understand are coming from. Swallowing, he flinches away from the end of the gimmer stick jabbing dangerously near his face, and holds off a shiver; it seems no matter how old he is, Yoda will always possess that uncanny ability to make him
     
  9. SagaFanficAwards

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    Most Underrated

    Frontiersman by Exeter

    It's not the solitude at all. As someone quicker than me said, ?I'm alone but I ain't lonely.? I think it's just plain being cooped up with nothing but my mind to occupy me. That can be a real dangerous thing, you know. It's not long before you start to become your own worst enemy, cannibalizing your own thoughts and stripping away the shadows of self-introspection.

    That's why Tartarus is a hard place. There's no cell with blank walls where you might just fade away into the slow slide of insanity. That might be how some Imperial dungeons work, but not this one. They let you loose and encourage you to find your way. And that's pretty easy at first?you think, ?Damn, this isn't so bad. I can handle this, no problem.?

    As time goes on, you naturally get a bit nostalgic and you get to remembering the turn of events that got you there in the first place. You know, the ?what-if? game. What if I had done this instead, or what if I hadn't done that? Before you know it, you're swimming in a sea of lives you never lived, imagining where you'd be if none of it happened.

    But even that's not terribly unhealthy, at least at the outset. Soon enough though, it's the imagined life that starts to feel real. Because the realities of Tartarus are such that no good and honest man can long survive by the principles that line his heart. And the nature of the prison lends itself towards the tendency that a majority of its prisoners are, in that heart, good and honest men. Did they make mistakes? Absolutely. But when the Republic (and by proxy, its successor the Empire)?and thus the things that incarcerate you?are defined upon the whims of a ruling-class defined by the unprincipled hearts of the wicked...

    There's two kinds of inmates captive there: those who learn how to survive and those who don't.

    Those ?what-ifs? become the reality. Escapism at its most extreme. And so when the hard choices arrive, they don't seem like choices at all. And with each test you face and fail with flying colors, you only feel better. The rationalizations get easier and easier.

    ?It's not my fault he died thirsty. If I shared my water, then I wouldn't have enough. It was him or me.?
    ?If I hadn't taken it, somebody else would've. It's just as well I got there first. They're going to thank me.?


    After a while, it's like you're on autopilot, your brain just humoring you as you go through the motions. None of it's really happening, any more than those ?what-ifs? were. Gets so bad that living just becomes a hyperspace lane, an empty otherworldly route through the void where your life used to be.

    And eventually, it hits you: I'm a fierfek'n monster. They were right. I {i]belong{/i] here.

    That's the power our captors wield. That's the power of Tartarus.

    So when the training's over and the droids leave but it's not quite time to turn in?when things get quiet and I start to remember?that's when old habits die hard and my thoughts start to feed on each other. Because the true prison cell isn't the crippling gravity well or the corvettes and battlecruisers bristling with turbolasers. It's what they tried to do to my mind.

    It doesn't matter that I chose to be here or that Iderdex provided for all my needs while I'm closed up in these quarters. All that matters is that I still feel like I'm back there, that the powers-that-be are holding my reins, pointing me in whichever direction is the most self-destructive.

    When I sleep, I don't dream of the schematics and instructions being beamed into my head. I dream of a planet I've never stepped foot on nor seen in a holofilm. I dream of seeing it from geosynchronous orbit, a metaphor for all the ?what-ifs? I ever imagined on Tartarus. I dream of that feeling as the {i]Wayfarer{/i] plunges through the atmosphere and I lay eyes on its surface for the first time. I dream of smelling the sea on a breeze, of feeling the grass between my toes, of basking in the
     
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    Most Underrated

    Metamorphosis by Raptor517

    Acun squinted, finally speaking. ?Who are you??

    The man chuckled. ?I was the Outsider spy you never knew about. Amarent Vercent ? I?ve been working among the Altrenians all these years while you?ve been partying it up.?

    Amarent dropped onto a sofa, sipping at his drink. ?They still hate you, you know.?

    Acun nodded. ?I imagine they?ll hate you more. What did you do??

    Amarent related the story, telling it all: of his growing discontent with the Altrenian?s simple ways and the lavish lifestyles of the Outsiders. Then he outlined all his acts of sabotage and the people he had killed, and within a full twenty minutes finished his story by recounting Lyn?das? promise to him.

    ?I tell you,? Amarent said with a chuckle, ?that Lyn?das has a sense of humor. Dark, though. I understand now why he sent me here. Two spies in the same room ? who?d have thought??

    Acun laughed himself, standing and walking to a cupboard. ?I?m understanding, too.?

    Amarent stared as Acun withdrew his sword and stretched. ?That's why he left cameras in every room.?

    ?So?? Amarent was still relaxed. ?What of it? Does he want a peep show when some company shows up??

    ?Not exactly,? Acun said. ?I never suspected there was another spy, Amarent ? and if I had, I never would have guessed you.?

    ?I know!? Amarent laughed. ?Nobody did.?

    ?Well, I have a surprise. You have laughed at the fact that we are two spies in the same room. It is even more incredible. You are an Outsider?s spy ? I was the Altrenian?s double agent - a spy pretending to be a spy.?

    For a long moment Amarent stared at him, the smile disappearing. Suddenly the drink fell to the floor as he leaped to his feet and drew his sword, springing away from Acun?s attack.

    From the command center, Lyn?das sat back with great relish and enjoyed the battle. He didn?t particularly like spies, though they were useful. Now he could be entertained by two and later kill the winner.

    Acun was rusty, though he still practiced his katas in secret every day. Amarent had been dueling other warriors over the years, but both were older and Amarent was somewhat limited by the shoulder burn E?taan had inflicted during his escape. Amarent was in full armor, and Acun knew the house.

    It was a messy, desperate fight. The low ceiling prevented practically all the powerful over handed strokes, and furniture was everywhere. Kicking a music player at Amarent, Acun lunged to remove his knee as Amarent smashed it aside, but Amarent sprang back, tripping over a small table in the process.

    Immediately Acun was on him, raining down blows as Amarent desperately deflected and blocked them before kicking the offending table at Acun?s feet. He sprang aside and Amarent used the opportunity to come back up, then attacked. A thrust was parried and Amarent spun in a circular slash as Acun dropped his sword to a right handed reverse grip for the block, his blade pointing at the floor while his left hand grabbed a fragile-looking vase and swung it at Amarent?s head.

    Ducking his helmet to protect his face, Amarent found that the vase?s apparent fragility was false, and the sturdy piece of decoration made a gonging noise as it struck with terrific impact. Stumbling back and half stunned, Amarent barely managed to deflect Acun?s onslaught. Had the latter been at the top of his game, he would have been over immediately; as it was Amarent survived unharmed and recovered enough to launch a spinning heel kick that caught Acun in side of the jaw.

    Both men hit the ground and then rolled over, scrambling back to their feet, Acun still woozy from the powerful hit. Amarent was relatively unhurried and completely relaxed as he returned to a standing position, finally having time to draw the small blaster he had kept in the back of his belt.

    The first shot blew a three inch hole in Acun?s foot and he collapsed back to the ground as Amarent smiled, then fired a shot into the opposite limb. Acun groaned and
     
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    Best Response To A Challenge

    Army of One Man by Corellian_Ale

    (The Diary of a Clone Trooper)
    Entry 4:


    1,032 days after the Battle of Geonosis


    Ner Vode.

    Another word I heard around the barracks at one time. As the war trudged on, our numbers dropped, and we were grouped together. Other companies get meshed with one another. Some speak the language of those who trained them on Kamino. An odd language, because I don?t speak it, but it makes me feel? secure.

    Ner Vode. For all I know it?s just another word for clone. No different from the ?meat can? term I?ve heard from the those PR people.

    The clones on this Kamino though?

    I know now, how to citizens, being surrounded by many copies of me is unsettling, because I feel uncomfortable now. I?m surrounded by thousands of me, and it?s a bit nerve racking. I grew up one in a million, but they all felt like my brothers. We were born in test tubes, millions of test tubes in a room the size of most cities. We were around each other constantly for years in a vial, then in person. We were bonded before even speaking to one another.

    These clones though, they feel more like imposters.

    The only know basic. And they speak differently, with an accent.

    They all look the same, just like me. But they smell different.

    Talk different too, but they look just like me.

    But not really. It?s subtle. It?s in their body language. They know the procedure, but seem to be just going through the motions. They don?t stumble, but they don?t look confident either. Like I was my first weeks walking. But soon after, I knew how to walk, run, drop to the ground, and shoot. Just as they do now. Difference is that they seem to be peaking at biological 18 when I was doing it at bio-two.

    But it?s not second nature to them. Not yet.

    I?m wondering how much of this I should bring to the attention of my CO, after all, if they think I?ve suffered brain trauma and am imagining things, I could get scrubbed out. Those clones raised on my Kamino know what I?m talking about.

    That?s not how I want to die. I was born to die in battle.

    Born to die?

    ENTRY 21:


    1,075 days after the Battle of Geonosis

    ? is there something else you noticed about these clones? ?check out your clones and tell me tomorrow.

    I spent the morning racking my brain, and it was really stressing that a trainer could spot some minuscule difference between myself and another batch of clones, but I couldn?t. There were the obvious instances, like how their speech and accents differed greatly, and of course there?s the body odor. But that could be attributed to a different diet.

    Yeah they came across subpar to the clones of Kamino, but I already mentioned that to Mij. So for the life of me I can?t figure out what makes them different from those currently serving the GAR. I kept watch on my men and the men around me, but nothing jumped off the page.

    During live fire exercises, which weren?t really live, we sat in a make shift bunker in some swampy terrain some klicks south of the barracks. Devil-Dog and Half-Dozen were laying down suppressive fire at the opposing squad, while Lokki was attempting to circle around their position and infiltrate them from the rear. It was a kid?s game of ?Capture the Captain?, in which one side tried to capture or ?kill? the other side?s ranking officer.

    ?Reload!? Devil-Dog barked, signaling Joker to take over while he changed cartridges.

    While they switched, DD reached into his belt to draw out another clip and there it was; staring me in the face. Why hadn?t I noticed it before? It was everywhere I went, but it never jumped out at me until now. The insignia on their- our armor. It wasn?t the same one seen on all GAR armor and equipment. It was? changed.

    ?You all right sarge?? DD asked with that foreign accent as he noticed me staring.

    ?That insignia on your
     
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    Best Response to a Challenge

    The Darkest of Shadows

    Notes: This is my response to the 2010 Dare Challenge. My Dare was to combine a Broadway musical (Phantom of the Opera) and Star Wars in a crossover.

    There is a rustle of cloth behind her, then the soft echo of boots treading lightly across the stone. She doesn?t turn around; instead, she focuses even more intently on the final sliver of red-orange sun still lingering above the horizon. For several long moments, they stand in a silence filled only by the sound of his raspy breathing.

    ?You came,? she says at last. The sun is gone, leaving a faint glow in the darkening sky.

    ?I promised you I would,? he answers, his voice low and gravelly. The damage done to his vocal chords is even more pronounced in person. She had always thought it was an effect of the holotransceiver, making him sound thus, but apparently the rumors are true. She wonders what other injuries he harbors.

    Padmé glances over her shoulder. He is standing a few meters away, in the darkest shadows of the veranda. Several candles have been lit inside, but their light fails to reach him. It is only his silhouette she sees.

    ?Will you finally explain to me why you?ve done all this?? She turns fully toward him and gestures at the grand estate behind them.

    ?Does it not please you?? He is trying to keep his tone level, but she can sense the earnestness in his voice. ?This used to be your home.?

    ?I am no longer a senator. It is not my right.?

    ?It is whatever I say it is. And I say it is yours.? She shivers at the edge of malice in his tone. She knows it isn?t aimed at her; it?s aimed at anyone who might think to challenge her good fortune. But that does not stop her from being frightened by it. He is the only reason she is still alive. He never lets her forget that fact.

    Despite her fear, she takes a step toward him. Proving her theory about his own fear, he takes a step away from her. ?I thought I would be allowed to see your face,? she says, frowning.

    There is a long pause, and Padmé feels an acute sensation of turmoil, so strong she is amazed it doesn?t knock her over. She didn?t know the Sith could project his emotions like that. She had never experienced anything like it in the company of Jedi. For a fleeting moment, she feels sorry for him.

    As if sensing her thoughts, her benefactor moves swiftly in her direction. ?Do not mistake my hesitancy for weakness, lady. I am not to be trifled with.?

    He is very close to her, but somehow still obscured by darkness. ?It is you who are mistaken, my lord. It is clear to me now that you are a good deal more powerful than I first thought.? She paused, stepping forward slowly, tilting her head so that she might catch even a glimpse? ?Are you not the Lord Darth Vader, second only to the Emperor??

    The air seems to have taken on a sudden chill. ?I am,? he murmurs. He sounds much younger than before. She wonders for the first time at his age.

    ?Why me?? she asks. ?Where is the value in protecting one of your master?s enemies?? She has been moving closer to him, and now she can make out the pale outline of a chin beneath his voluminous black hood.

    ?You question my mercy when you should be thanking me.?

    A thought occurs to her that sends a horrified tremor through her body. ?Is that why you?re here? To receive my? my thanks?? Can it really be as base as that? Rumor has it he was once a man, but still?

    The denial she hopes to hear does not come, and her stomach twists in response to his silence. That he would even think? she, a former queen and senator? it was preposterous, outrageous, unthinkable. She will not do it, cannot even begin to imagine it.

    He steps within arm?s reach. She can see his eyes now, flame-colored circles that blaze from a well of shadow. She saw eyes like that once, a long time ago?

    ?No,? she whispers, and starts to back away. He reaches out and takes her by the shoulders
     
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    Best Songfic

    Every Time We Touch

    Every Time We Touch
    'Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling
    And every time we kiss, I swear I can fly
    Can't you feel my heart beat fast
    I want this to last
    I need you by my side

    'Cause every time we touch, I feel the static
    And every time we kiss, I reach for the sky
    Can't my heart beat so
    I can't let you go
    I want you in my life

    Every Time We Touch - Cascada


    Anakin had been knighted and come searching for her to see if the link between them blazed as brightly as it had when they'd formed it.

    Unable to form the words, Barriss instead lifted one hand to him - and Anakin took it, taking the stride necessary to do so. His bare left hand slid into hers - and their connection leapt to life once more. Dormant from long disuse, it didn't change the potency of it, if anything, it was more concentrated; more demanding. It was as if the Force had forged a bridge between them, drawing them together in both mental and physical capacities. Their fingers interlinked for a brief moment and, while Force blinded, their lips met without further discussion.

    Heat of another kind flared between them, feeding the Force link and pulsating drive between them. Anakin's hands delved into her hair, a sensation she was only peripherally aware of as their Force signatures mingled. His presence wrapped around her, penetrating to the very fibers of her being and she reacted more than consciously stretched to do the same.

    Her eyes were closed, her senses overwhelmed by the merging, and she clung to him blindly.

    It was like being caught in the undertow of the ocean and being pulled out to sea, left to flounder as she grasped for purchase. Everything she remembered and more, the pure power behind the connection staggered and surprised her; nothing had prepared her for it.

    Anakin pulled back first, lifting his head with a rough breath to look down into her face. The Force demanded more, pushing at him from all sides, encouraging him to continue on the path he and Barriss had begun years before - and were only free to explore now. But he wouldn't - couldn't - without her willing consent.

    "Barriss." Her lashes fluttered and her eyes opened, dark pools shimmering with wonder and yearning that almost drew his head down. Almost. "Any doubts?"

    She laughed shakily. "I'd forgotten how overwhelming it can be. It was never like this before."

    "We were always fighting it before." His gloved thumb smoothed over her cheek. "There aren't as many reasons not to now."

    "Anakin-"

    "I know."




    [link=http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/30263476/r30263833/]For The Girls[/link] by QueenArdnassak

    (no excerpts)

    [hr]

    [link=http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/30730398/p1/?2]We Are Still[/link] by MiralukaJedi

    (no excerpts)
     
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    Best Poem

    Thy Endless Wait by DaenaBenjen42


    Down the dusty road,
    two droids
    walk

    Down the dusty road,
    two droids
    walk
    toward
    a destination

    Down the dusty road,
    in the morning light
    two droids
    are going
    to deliver
    a message

    Down the dusty road,
    two droids
    are part
    of the plan
    to free
    a captive man

    Down the dusty road,
    two droids
    walk
    toward
    a destination

    Down the dusty road,
    in the morning light
    a protocol droid
    and an R2 unit
    walk
    with a purpose

    Down the dusty road,
    two droids
    walk

    ~*~*~*~

    Darkness
    Pain
    Agony

    When he wakes,
    this
    is
    what
    he
    feels

    Loss
    pain
    throbbing
    darkness

    Loss
    it reverberates
    through
    his soul

    Something is missing
    something important

    The darkness
    has taken
    all

    All there is
    all there was
    all there will be

    Darkness
    loss
    pain
    agony
    throbbing

    Loss
    missing

    Evil comes
    and speaks
    and the missing piece
    slides
    into place

    All there is
    is darkness
    and pain
    and agony
    and the loss

    All there was
    is gone

    All there will be
    is darkness

    Into this,
    Lord Darth Vader
    is born

    ~*~*~*~

    Down in the murky darkness,
    an old Jedi Master
    waits

    Waits
    for a student
    to teach

    An old Jedi
    in a murky swamp
    for twenty years
    he waits

    In the murky swamp
    an old Jedi waits
    and watches

    Waits
    for a time
    that is drawing
    ever nearer

    Down in the murky swamp,
    an old Jedi
    waits

    ~*~*~*~

    Separated by force fields
    three men
    wait
    to continue
    their duel

    Separated by force fields
    a Jedi Padawan
    watches
    as his master
    battles

    Separated by force fields
    two Jedi
    a Sith
    wait
    to continue
    their duel

    Separated
    from the action
    a Jedi padawan
    watches
    in utter horror

    Separated by force fields
    a padawan
    a Sith
    wait
    to finish the duel

    ~*~*~*~

    In Jabba's palace,
    a woman
    waits

    Waits
    for her
    quarry

    Waits
    to complete
    her mission

    Waits
    to make
    her master
    proud

    Waits
    and dances

    Waits
    for a moment
    that will not
    come

    In Jabba's palace
    a woman
    waits

    ~*~*~*~

    Down among the lost,
    an old woman
    succumbs to memory
    an old hurt
    a phantom face
    of one
    she could not save

    Phantom shadows
    dancing
    in the alley
    reminders
    of the lost

    reminders
    of the path
    that led
    only to darkness
    and death

    The lost
    dancing around her
    in the half-light
    in the shadows
    they haunt her

    Memory
    of the one
    she could not save

    Phantom shadows
    dancing
    in the alley
    dancing
    in the half-light

    Dancing
    always dancing

    An old hurt
    a haunting reminder
    aching with grief
    that has faded
    little with time

    The grief
    that can't be spoken
    only remembered
    as the shadows
    dance
    in the half-light

    Down among the lost,
    a woman
    remembers
    a phantom face
    of one lost
    but not forgotten

    ~*~*~*~

    On a jungle moon
    a ship arrives
    with hope
    in tow

    On a jungle moon
    plans are removed
    from a little
    droid

    In the briefing room
    a plan
    of attack
    is laid out

    In the landing bay
    a confrontation
    an apparent choice

    In the landing bay
    boyhood friends
    last minute
    reunion

    On a jungle moon
    a ship arrives
    with hope
    in tow

    ~*~*~*~

    Raining, Raining
    two men fighting
    in the rain

    Raining, Raining
    on a city
    that is never dry
    a father
    and a son
    live

    Raining, Raining
    two men fighting
    in the rain

    Fighting
    for survival
    for answers

    Raining, Raining
    always raining

    Raining, Raining
    pouring down
    Waves a-washing
    away the years

    Raining, Raining
    two men fighting
    in the rain

    Raining, Raining
    a young boy's world
    all he has known
    and it is
    about to change

    Raining, Raining
    two men fighting
    in the rain

    Raining, Raining
    on the missing planet
     
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    Best Crossover

    Ain't Nothing Gonna Change by amidalachick

    "Ooh, what are you drawing pictures of, Brain?"

    "These aren't just pictures, Pinky. These are blueprints...blueprints for my plan to take over the world."

    Brain lifted his pencil from the page to admire his work. He had no doubt that this time, his plan would succeed. It was the most brilliant idea he'd ever had.

    "See, Pinky, the Star Wars movies are known to almost everyone on Earth," Brain continued. "I've designed a device that will allow us to travel through both space and time. I'll use it to insert myself into Revenge of the Sith, so that instead of Emperor Palpatine making a speech about his new Empire, it will be me! Millions of people all over the world will hear my words! They will spread my message on countless discussion forums! And once that happens, I will be able to extend my rule from the silver screen to real life! It's perfect."

    ***

    A few nights later, he turned to Pinky.

    "Behold," he said dramatically, pulling aside the blanket covering his time-travel device. "At last, Pinky, our journey begins."

    "That looks like a microwave oven, Brain," Pinky said.

    "It's a modified microwave oven," Brain corrected. "If you wish to come with me, get inside."

    They got into the machine, and Brain punched in some numbers on the adapted TV remote he was using to control their travels. With a whirring sound, they were off.

    ***

    But when they stopped, the door opened to reveal a foggy, swampy world. Brain scowled at the remote, then at their surroundings.

    "Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Pinky?" he asked.

    "I think so, Brain," Pinky said. "I'll bet there's wonderful snacks at that house over there. Narf!"

    "You fool! Pay attention," Brain scolded. "We appear to be on Dagobah. If we're between trilogies, or in the original trilogy, Yoda could be around here somewhere. We must avoid him and leave as quickly as-"

    "Brings you to my home what does, hmmm?" a voice asked.

    Pinky and Brain turned around to see a short green creature with a walking stick.

    "We got lost," Brain said. "We're leaving."

    "Leave so soon, must you?" Yoda asked. "A deeper purpose to your visit, I sense."

    "You must be an elf!" Pinky said. "I've always wanted to meet one. I think I'd like to be an elf, too."

    "Fine, Pinky," Brain said through gritted teeth, trying to pull him back into the microwave. "You can be an elf on our trip away from here."

    "But I want to ask the elf a question," Pinky said. "Do you-?"

    Exasperated, Brain pulled him in, shut the door, and quickly punched in another set of numbers. The door wasn't completely closed, however. There was a flash of light, a loud noise, and then they were tumbling out into a grassy field.

    "This certainly isn't Coruscant," Brain commented after a few seconds.

    "On Naboo, we've arrived," Yoda said.

    ***

    In quick succession, they visited a podrace, a lightsaber duel between Mara Jade and a man who looked like Luke Skywalker, Han and Leia kissing aboard the Millennium Falcon, and a Jawa sandcrawler. Brain's frustration grew as he tried to figure out why they couldn't reach either Dagobah or Revenge of the Sith-era Coruscant. Finally, after banging the remote against the wall, he opened the door, half-dreading what he would find this time. When he saw where they were, he gasped.

    "We've made it to Coruscant, Pinky," he said. "I believe we're in the Senate building, and if I'm not mistaken, that's the future Emperor rehearsing his speech right over there. We're probably about five minutes away from showtime. This is it."

    "Emperor Palpatine," Yoda breathed. "Evil, this place is." He closed his eyes and spoke as if to himself. "Understand this, I do not. But perhaps, a second chance the Force has given me. Strike down Palpatine, should I? But change the past, that would. Right course of action, what is?"

    "Pinky, you distract Palpatine," Brain instructe
     
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    The Darkest of Shadows by ViariSkywalker

    Summary: The former senator from Naboo awaits her mysterious benefactor, who has been keeping her alive since the fall of the Republic.

    She stands at the far end of the veranda, dark hair loose on her bare shoulders, the train of her cream-colored gown splayed across the stone. Sundown is only moments away, and she waits for her benefactor to arrive.

    This is the first time she will see him. He promised it would be tonight, although he has said that before and not kept his word. He doesn?t do it on purpose; she has the feeling that he is a little afraid of her. Even in her head, the thought sounds ridiculous, but she can feel the truth of it.

    ?You think it really is him?? Those words, part of a whispered conversation with her sister, return to her. And why not? Was there anyone else in the galaxy who could truly protect her from the Emperor? Was there another of his minions who could allow her to remain so conspicuously on her beloved homeworld? It is possible she is wrong, but she doubts it. She is not often wrong.

    ?But why him? Why should he risk himself for you??

    She shakes her head, remembering the hint of revulsion in her sister?s eyes when she simply shrugged and asked what was so wrong with her appearance that the Dark Lord of the Sith {i]wouldn?t{/i] want to protect her.

    Instead of chastising her younger sister for her high opinion of herself, Sola grew quite pale and looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was around.

    ?He?s a monster, Padmé. He?s murdered children.?

    And that is the one thing that makes her wish it weren?t him. Strange, that it should be this sin and this sin alone that rests heavily on her heart. Why shouldn?t she reject him over his countless other atrocities?

    ?Don?t try to save him, Padmé. If it really is him, that is. Don?t entertain that notion for even a second.?

    It?s a wise warning; Sola knows her too well. She has always been optimistic, always tried to see the good in others, even when they couldn?t see it themselves. As she waits for her benefactor, she feels the urge, the desire to sway him to her side.

    There is a rustle of cloth behind her, then the soft echo of boots treading lightly across the stone. She doesn?t turn around; instead, she focuses even more intently on the final sliver of red-orange sun still lingering above the horizon. For several long moments, they stand in a silence filled only by the sound of his raspy breathing.

    ?You came,? she says at last. The sun is gone, leaving a faint glow in the darkening sky.

    ?I promised you I would,? he answers, his voice low and gravelly. The damage done to his vocal chords is even more pronounced in person. She had always thought it was an effect of the holotransceiver, making him sound thus, but apparently the rumors are true. She wonders what other injuries he harbors.

    Padmé glances over her shoulder. He is standing a few meters away, in the darkest shadows of the veranda. Several candles have been lit inside, but their light fails to reach him. It is only his silhouette she sees.

    ?Will you finally explain to me why you?ve done all this?? She turns fully toward him and gestures at the grand estate behind them.

    ?Does it not please you?? He is trying to keep his tone level, but she can sense the earnestness in his voice. ?This used to be your home.?

    ?I am no longer a senator. It is not my right.?

    ?It is whatever I say it is. And I say it is yours.? She shivers at the edge of malice in his tone. She knows it isn?t aimed at her; it?s aimed at anyone who might think to challenge her good fortune. But that does not stop her from being frightened by it. He is the only reason she is still alive. He never lets her forget that fact.

    Despite her fear, she takes a step toward him. Proving her theory about his own fear, he takes a step away from her. ?I thought I would be allowed
     
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    Dead Money by The_Face


    In a big galaxy, even seeing someone else pour and drink the same beverage isn't necessarily enough to avoid being poisoned. Alias Sibul has just learned this lesson, and it may be his last. The toxin coursing through him has all the effect of a headache on Zeltron physiology, but for a Twi'lek, the symptoms are considerably more dramatic.

    Go.

    Alias is sweating profusely as he lay on his back with eyes open and dilated. His breathing is shallow and difficult. The weight he feels on his chest is like a rancor sitting on his ribs, except nothing he can do will persuade it to get up. His arms and legs are almost literally ?dead weight.? It takes all his concentration just to flop his free arm over to the side where Ciel cuffed him to the bed.

    Alias grinds sharp teeth and hisses as a burning sensation announces its arrival in his chest. He drags his hand up to his mouth. He takes a couple short breaths before plunging his fingers as deep down his throat as he can. Alias vomits, mostly liquid once alcoholic in nature. He coughs a few more times without any more coming up.

    ?Help,? he wheezes. ?Creepy security guys? Jade? Anyone??

    The door remains shut, and the room silent, except for Alias's staccato gasps for air. His trembling hand searches his body for the proper pocket. He pulls a silver pick gun free from black nerf-leather pants.

    He presses a small button on the device on his second try. A lightning-bolt-shape attachment slides out. He inserts it into the cuff lock on his third try. It slips from his sweaty fingers. He grabs it again. This time, he picks the lock. The cuffs come undone with a {i]shhk.{/i] He grabs his wrist and rolls over. His momentum takes him off the bed. He staggers a couple steps before crashing into the holovision.

    Alias pulls himself back to his feet. He takes a few halting steps toward the refresher. His legs give out just as he reaches it. He stays vertical only by taking hold of both sides of the door frame. Alias reaches for the sink counter next, dragging his rubbery legs along.

    Stop.

    There's a cabinet just above the sink. In the cabinet is a satchel. In the satchel is a secret compartment. And in that secret compartment is something of a catch-all antitoxin. It may not fully combat whatever specifically is raging through Alias's system, but it will give him the time he needs to find help. And it is just out of reach.

    Go.

    Alias glances the cabinet door once with his fingertips. The door stays closed, but his support is compromised. He collapses onto the floor, his chin slamming into the counter's edge on the way down. His arms, legs, and lekku seize. It feels like his heart is in a vice.

    ?H-help,? he whispers.

    Alias loses consciousness as the two men with dark suits and pale skin enter. Their cybernetic eyes glow dimly in the dark room. They each take an arm and drag the Twi'lek away, glossy black shoes clicking on the floor.





    [link=http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/30498726/]Ahsoka Tano and the Droid Army[/link] by Thrawn McEwok

    Ahsoka Tano watched as the Droid Army came marching out of the morning mist, a small grin on her face.

    There were thousands of droids out there, more than the clone scouts had been able to count, but they were breaking ranks as they marched over the uneven ground. Their mechanical legs couldn't keep them in their neat, tight formation as they crossed the cratered wasteland in front of Torrent Company's new trenches.

    She could hear the droids complaining to one another as they stumbled and tripped. It didn't make them seem very threatening.

    "Okay," she heard Rex's commlink-filtered voice say. "Hit 'em."

    "Yes, sir," chorused the clone troopers.

    The snarl of E-web blasters erupted on both sides of her, and the sharper whines of belt-fed DC-15 rifles on full-auto, the softer thuds of grenade launchers. The grenades landed in th
     
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    Even Jedi Cry

    The Jedi master had been a large man in both physique and presence. Crumpled on the cold floor, the giant had become a dwarf, shrunk by his mortal wound; he who had been amongst the more powerful of the Jedi now only a mere man, dying, on a strange planet far from ?home,? dying for duty, dying with no one at his side to mourn him.

    Dying alone for he feared none others yet lived ? for his enemy, too, had surely died, along with the student he had been willing to set aside for another - while that other student, the one he wished to now guide, had been imperiled elsewhere and was far from his side.

    He had left the Chosen One behind, left him hidden and hopefully safe, but he had sensed during his battle that Anakin was no longer safe. Anakin had been in danger, in the thick of a different battle.

    The dying Jedi feared that he, too, no longer lived.

    Naboo had not been kind this day to those who knew the Force. It had taken them all, or so the Jedi feared, for the Force did not speak of others to a dying man. It offered comfort of a different kind: welcoming arms, whispers of everlasting peace, a gentle welcome ?home.?

    It was not the comfort he sought. Comfort for this dying man was to know the fate of those he loved and hoped he was leaving behind, alive. Comfort could not come when he feared that they had already preceded him into the Force, dead.

    Afraid there was no one to mourn him and yet hoping there was. Suspected otherwise.

    Was he, the dying, the only one still living, however long that life might last?

    Surely that was so. Dead, all were certainly now dead, and soon he would join them. He was fading; a strangled cough shook his chest. The Force was reaching for him and he could feel a familiar presence within it. He was dead, then. They were all dead. He would be with them in a few minutes, and a hint of a smile mixed with a tear at the thought.

    I had hoped you lived. I shed my last tears for you. Know you held my heart.

    He felt a swell in the Force; it offered knowledge of that one?s fate: its gift to the dying.

    ?He lives,? the Force whispered around him. ?He lives yet.?

    His failing heart quickened with his joy.

    He lived, yes, and that glad knowledge filled him and gave him peace as he struggled to draw his final breaths. The pain was intense and the smell of charred flesh and smoldering cloth filled his nostrils, but soon he would be resting in the soothing arms of the Force from whence he had come. It was always where he was destined to return, for the Force was both womb and grave; it was, ultimately, home.

    Of regrets he had few, and they centered on the one whom he now knew he was leaving behind. The Force would guard and guide him equally as well as he could have done. He could die content in that knowledge.

    Then something ? someone ? lifted his shoulders and wrapped him in an embrace.

    ?Master;? the whispered word fell like teardrops upon his face, damp and full of grief and affection.

    He lived!

    A hand sought upwards to touch the young, smooth cheek. ?Anakin,? he whispered, too soft for the one who cried for him to hear the spoken name. The Force had said he lived, and indeed he had. He tried to smile. What better time to die, than in the arms of one he loved?

    I?m ready, he told the Force.




    [b]Fortune?s Gate[/b]

    Obi-Wan tried to remember to look pleasant and accessible. ?I?ve been thinking. How fast do you want to get this medicenter job done??

    ?I want it yesterday.?

    ?All right. Are you willing to work all night??

    Remy took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ?Sure. Why??

    ?Are they?? Obi-Wan indicated the others, who had fallen silent, listening.

    ?What do you have in mind, Jedi??

    Quickly Obi-Wan outlined the resources he would need.

    Remy frowned. ?I guess I can get all the materials, but I don?t see how this makes it happen faster,
     
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    Shattered Glass by Padlei

    A lone figure stood in the darkness, appraising the form covered by the bed sheets silently. It stood in the doorway, listening, staring, unable to move. The form beneath the covers stirred slightly, curls moving on the pillow. The silent eyes watched the strands of hair spilling on the mattress. They roamed, caressing the gentle curves appearing to their attention. The figure moved out of the doorway, walking soundlessly into the room, shadowing the woman?s face.

    The light barely filtered through the blinds and yet she was still beautiful.

    The shadow amplified on her face, as the figure bent down towards her, gloved fingers tracing the contours of the face. Barely touching, hovering over the skin. The fingers got bolder, rested on the smooth skin. It traced small patterns on the cheek.

    The face moved. Eyelashes flickered. Brown eyes opened silently. A frown marred her delicate features and then liquid filled the very eyes that went straight to his soul. Her lips opened slightly, revealing a name, whispered with longing and love and acceptance.

    ?Anakin??

    The whisper echoed in the silent room. The figure stiffened even when small hands escaped the cool sheets and reached out to the face concealed by the dark hood. The fingertips began to caress the rough skin.

    The dark figure straightened this time, away from the delicate touch, away from the brown inquisitive eyes and the warmth of the body underneath the bed sheets. Away from the light in her eyes. She straightened slightly in her bed, sitting up, silky nightgown clinging to her curves like a second skin. The brown eyes seemed to pierce through the dark cloak, even partially concealed by the darkness and his shadow covering her. The figure took a step back, retreating backwards to the window. She frowned and her legs elegantly flipped over her side. Her face was completely illuminated as she got up slowly. The eyes under the hood went immediately to the bulge under the silk as she moved.

    ?Anakin??

    The name was repeated again, seemingly not belonging to anyone in this room. It dropped into the silence that stretched between the two silent figures standing soundlessly in the dark room.

    She didn?t seem to care though. Steps taken towards the figure. Hands plunging inside the warmth of the cloak. Brown hair caressing the rough chin, hidden under the hood. A sigh against the chest covered by leather. By layers that did not mean a thing any longer. Those layers, this cloak, this tunic did not embody anything.

    From the window of her room, one could still see the smoke erupting from the Jedi temple further away. Bodies still lay across the floor, immobile beside their discarded weapons. The weapon that still clung to the figure?s hip.

    An insult to the Jedi.

    A testament to a new era.

    There was much to tell the woman in the figure?s arms. There was much to convince her of.

    But in the end, it could not be otherwise. Too much had been sacrificed. Too much had been lost, changed to embody the security offered to her.

    No longer would she be afraid. No longer would she know war, death or destruction. The figure was immobile while she sighed against the chest. It stood tall, strong, indestructible, protecting her of this entire world outside, threatening to engulf her and the child inside her.

    She was safe. She was alive.

    And she was murmuring a name that should not be heard in the sanctuary of her room.

    Or should it?

    The name resonated louder as she looked up, brown eyes filled with tears, hands reaching up to smooth the outlines of the face covered by darkness. The hands gently removed the hood, revealing hair, ruffled and dirty and a human face. The eyes scrutinized her again even as she tentatively inched closer and her lips pressed against the rough skin of his cheek. They pressed there, barely, fleetingly, soft against hard, warm against cold.

    The glove reached up and tangled
     
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    A Slight Disruption

    As soon as Zett had confirmed that the disembarking passenger of the shuttle was indeed Master Yoda, Bail ordered the doors open and the small group entered the docking bay, where amongst other shuttles the small, oddly shaped one had lowered it's ramp and a diminutive figure was disembarking.

    Han raised his eyebrows, the little alien was a pale green and had elongated ears that stuck out from either side of his very wrinkled head, his eyes were a bright green and bulbous, staring out at them with weariness and with his claw-like hands resting on a walking stick.
    Nevertheless Solo wasn't too certain about this simple looking being.

    Zett rushed over and knelt before the alien Jedi Master, "Master Yoda, I am so pleased to see you are alright," he greeted, Yoda placed a withered claw on the boy's short cut haired head.

    "Happiness I feel also, young Jukassa, sense did I that younglings to safety get Prince Organa did," his neck bent back far to look up at Senator Organa, "eternal thanks and gratitude have I."

    Bail nodded, "I am sorry I could not be there sooner, I do not know what exactly happened," he spread his hands apologetically, Zett got to his feet and bowed his head.
    , but not from you," his green eyes narrowed at the slight figure standing next to Bail, who was trying to look in
    "I do, Master," he admitted, Yoda's eyes lowered and he looked down at his walking cane.

    "Sense that I did conspicuous, "young Han Solo's mind to keep quiet he must learn, Force not strong has he, but his place in the future still very important is."

    Han mouth dropped open, "you read my mind and my future?" He almost squeaked, Yoda chuckled at the incredulous expression, Solo huffed and hid behind Bail's cloaked form.

    "Offended you have I?" Master Yoda was almost jovial, "knew of you being Senator Amidala's foster son did I, but Anakin Skywalker's foster son as well I did not," he rubbed his head as Han peered around Bail's waist.

    "Information interesting that is. Perhaps a room where Padawan Jukassa, I and Han Solo talk we can? While do this, contact Master Obi-Wan Kenobi could you? The information should on the shuttle be."

    The Senator nodded and motioned to a guard and Sheltay Retrac, Yoda began to hobble away and Zett was not far behind.

    Han's reluctant shake of his head and trying to hide behind Bail was put to an end when the tall woman aide pointed to the guard, who took little Solo by the hand and dragged him unwillingly away.

    Pulling against the grasp of the guard, Han's legs kicked out as he tried to prevent being escorted to be alone with Yoda and Zett.

    "I don't wanna to go with him! He can read my mind! I'll tell my Mom! She wouldn't let my mind be read!" Young Solo shouted out behind him, Bail put a hand over his mouth to hide a smile as the doors slid shut.

    ***

    Han was practically thrown into the small lounge, kicking the door frame stubbornly as he walked quickly over to a soft, grey swivel chair and turned his back on where Yoda and Zett were already sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor, Solo folded his arms and glared down at the floor.

    "Young Solo, over here will you come?" The gravelly voice invoked.

    Han shrugged and fiddled with the japor snippet around his neck as he scowled.

    "Do the letters N and O mean anything to you?"

    There was a slight chuckle again, "come here if promise I do, teach how to guard your thoughts?" Yoda offered.

    Solo half turned around and peered over the top of the chair at the wrinkled Jedi Master, his hazel eyes narrowed, "you swear?" He demanded, "and no more mind reading or future reading?"

    Yoda nodded and the boy slid out of the chair, walking slowly to sit beside Zett on the floor, Han eyed the Jedi Master cautiously.

    "Look at me like enemy first do not, young Solo. Begin your tale Padawan Jukassa," the little alien Jedi rested his chin on his claws as he prepared himse
     
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    Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Last of the Old by Corellian_Ale

    (Obi-Wan Kenobi?s journal of his exile on Tattooine)

    Entry 240

    It has been several weeks, or should I say months since my last entry. My negative experiences in the cave have continued to press upon my dreams. I awake all hours of the night, sweating and screaming in horror at the images.

    I had long ago thought no image could haunt me as deeply as those of Palpatine?s apprentice slaughtering defenseless younglings that marked the commencement of Order 66. While the visions in the cave do not surpass the holographic videos of that fateful night in terms of revulsion, they have taken its place in prominence.

    The scene plays out exactly the same: a young sandy haired boy - the image of little Anakin ? morphs into a grown man, dressed all in black. I see Vader, not as I saw him last, but as he has been shown in news clips on the holos, a deadly cyborg, much like Dooku?s own monstrosity, Grevious. I must add here that the similarities have not been lost upon me.

    The young man battles Vader feverishly, slamming his lightsaber down upon Vader, again, and again, and again. Eventually Vader loses his hand trying to block the onslaught before the young man braces for the killing blow.

    However, unlike in my vision within the cave, in my dream I consciously do not scream, for fear I would distract him from doing what I could not bring myself to on the lava banks of Mustafar, but the scenario plays out the same.

    Palpatine?s attention suddenly shifts from encouraging who I assume is Luke, to turning on him, electrocuting the young man with Sith lightning from his fingertips. Just as before, I watch on as Vader does the same. He shifts his attention between the two, and I can almost see the approval in his face as Palpatine electrocutes young Luke to death and an expression of disgust as he watched Anakin?s son writhe in his death throes.

    When I awoke, and the revulsion subsided, I realized what I must do. I cannot train another boy who should not be a Jedi, so he can die young like his parents. Nor will I train little Leia, even if Senator Organa begs for me to. I won?t send more children to their death. I know there are still other Jedi out there aside from myself.

    Let them train the revolution.




    Captain Rex in [link=http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/31022531/p1/?7]Said the Joker to the Thief[/link] by iceaffinity

    ?I?m no traitor,? Rex ground out. ?My loyalty was to the Republic. I don?t know what the hell this Empire is, but I know what it?s not.? They slammed against each other again, Cody trying to wield the powerless blaster like a club, bringing the butt-end of it down in an arc, aimed at Rex?s face, hoping to catch him in the head and send him crashing down. It failed; Rex shifted, blocked, the blaster slamming down onto his angled, raised forearm, and he twisted, sending the blaster scraping off his arm and to the side. There was little chance of injuring Cody through the heavy plastoid armor he was wearing. He?d likely break his hand. Rex twisted back, struck him with an open palm, shoving him backward instead. ?It?s not right, Cody. You can?t tell me you think all this is [i]right![/i]?

    Rex pressed his advantage. Cody shoved the blaster forward, aiming to ram Rex in the chest. In too close, the motion was pure reflex; he turned, brought his arms up. The right hooked around the outside, the left braced itself inside. Cody swore as Rex [i]pushed[/i] with his left forearm, and [i]pulled[/i] with his right. The torque wrenched the blaster out of Cody?s hands, and it clattered to the floor as Rex stepped inward and tried to get a lock on Cody?s arm. It slipped from his grasp when Cody swung hard with his left, and his fist connected with Rex?s cheek, sending him reeling as pain exploded across his jaw. He staggered into the wall, raising his arms to protect his head as Cody pressed the atta
     
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    Obi-Wan Kenobi in Chasing Redemption

    "The Hero With No Fear," Obi-Wan spat viciously, and the Chancellor flinched. "The Hero With No Sense, more like!"

    These emotions were wrong, all wrong. He had no control over the anger and it kept on building, and some little space in the corner of his mind told him to calm down and meditate, release those emotions into the Force like a good Jedi Master, but the words, the anger, just kept coming.

    "He was abrasive, impetuous, completely disrespectful and overconfident to the point of sheer idiocy, and he threw back everything Qui-Gon sacrificed for him and everything I ever taught him in my face and deceived the Order and lied to me!" Obi-Wan cried, agitatedly pacing the length of Palpatine's hideous red chambers. Stop this, calm down ? "Why would he lie to me? I was the one who practically raised him and still he couldn't trust me enough to tell me that he was married. I ? I would have helped him, he should have ? why didn't he ?" and he couldn't find the words to go on, didn't know what was wrong with him, didn't know why he felt so angry, it wasn't right to speak like that or think like that because Anakin wasn't there to defend himself, and Force he could hardly breathe anymore ?

    "But despite that, you still loved him, didn't you, Master Kenobi? You loved him."

    The words made him tremble and he didn't want to listen to the Chancellor's broken and awed voice, but he found himself nodding helplessly and gasping for breath beneath the sheer weight of the words, because it was horribly true and because Anakin was gone and he wasn't coming back and he'd never told him that yes, he did love him, he loved him as much as he loved Qui-Gon and he didn't mean what he had just said and Anakin wasn't coming back.

    When Qui-Gon died in Obi-Wan's arms, there was no room for denial. With Qui-Gon there was a sense of closure; he'd {i]been{/i] there with him, he'd held him in his arms as the Force claimed his spirit, hadn't left his side. He'd witnessed it, and in his last moments Qui-Gon gave Anakin to him, a gift to heal the bond that was untimely ripped from them.

    He wasn't there with Anakin ? he shouldn't have had to have been. No Master should ever have to outlive their Padawan learner. There was nothing to heal the shattered bond with Anakin's death. There was no closure, no reassurance, because he had been on the other side of the galaxy chasing an enmity. Force, there hadn't even been a body. It felt like he was bleeding but he couldn't find the wound to staunch the loss, and with every passing second he was losing more and more blood and he tried to breathe but his throat was closed up and someone was squeezing his forearms so tightly he was sure it would bruise later but all he could think was that Anakin was dead, he was dead ?

    ? Kenobi, you need to take a breath before you ? Master Kenobi! Snap out of it, you foolish man, breathe ?

    He felt his head snap sharply to the left and his right cheek burning with pain, incredulously realised through the haze someone slapped me, and the sting was so minor in comparison to the agonising ache in his chest that he only just registered the rush of air flooding his lungs and he was gasping, shuddering. Oxygen returned to his brain, but reality hit back at the same time. A hand ? a human hand, warm with compassion ? settled onto his shoulder.

    Obi-Wan looked up shakily and blinked confusedly as the the spots from his vision faded, allowing Palpatine's concerned face to swim into view. "I am breathing," he said, then everything shattered.

    Five days after Anakin Skywalker's death, Obi-Wan Kenobi buried his face in his hands, and cried.




    Obi-Wan in [b]It Could Not Have Been Otherwise[/b]

    Pushing open the ornate doors of the Jedi Archives, Obi-Wan Kenobi instantly felt his spirits lift as he surveyed the vast shelves of holobooks contained within the magnificen
     
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    Ahsoka in Ahsoka Tano and the Droid Army by Thrawn McEwok

    Ahsoka's boots were filthy with mud all the way to the knees, and the binders on her wrists were starting to annoy her. She had been walking for what seemed like hours, marched at gunpoint across the bleak flats that stretched away from the Republic base - a lone captive surrounded more robotic armour than she knew how to count, locked like a tiny cog into the vast machine of the Droid Army, as it returned to wherever it had started out from.

    The first half-hour had been the worst, with Ahsoka forced to navigate the half-sunk wreckage of the thousands of droids that had been scrapped in Torrent Company's defense of their trenches, and the muddy craters caused by detonator blasts and exploding battledroids. Every step she took had been a trip or stumble, and only Jedi skill and Togruta pride had kept her from landing face-down in the mud - with her hands cuffed, she had no way to break her fall if she went over.

    To make matters worse, her droid captors didn't seem to get tired of telling her that it was all her fault, as if she was personally responsible for everything the Grand Army and the Galactic Republic did.

    Stupid tinnies, she thought, wrists tensing against her binders. She wasn't sure if the accusation was their idea of logic, or a programmed psychological tactic to wear down Republic prisoners, or just meaningless chatter produced by poorly-scripted interaction software.

    Then she frowned, belatedly, as she realised that she was the commander of the Republic garrison they'd just defeated. Captain Rex had subtly taken charge of most of the actual decision-making, but she had been the ranking officer. She had given the orders that had created the wide morass of sharp-edged droid scrap.

    So it basically was my fault, Ahsoka conceded, although she didn't tell the droids that they'd been right.

    Ahsoka sighed again, and kept walking forward, trying to ignore the occasional cold nuzzles on her back, when she came in contact with the gun of the droid behind her. They had left the wreckage behind them a long time ago - an hour back, three hours, she couldn't tell - and she wondered if it only seemed less annoying and humiliating now, because she was getting used to being the Droid Army's prisoner. Was she just too tired to defy her captors any more, too tired to even be annoyed?

    Probably. Like something mechanical, she'd slotted into an unthinking rhythm.

    Every step she took disappeared up to the ankle, into mud liquified by the heavy tramp of ten thousand droid footsteps during the advance, and pulped again by the powerful repulsorlifts of their transport vehicles in the mopping-up operation. The droid armour had gone forward after the battle, to pick up the units that were still functioning.

    Apart from her own guards, Ahsoka was pretty sure that all the remaining battle droids had been loaded up aboard the rust-coloured transports - bulky armoured MTTs with troop compartments behind the massive hatches in their bows, and long, slim PAC flatbeds with racks of folded battle droids on their cargo decks, all gliding effortlessly past the lone trudging Togruta prisoner and her small squad of marching guards.

    "You know," one of the droids commented to no-one in particular, as more armour sped past. "We'd be back at base already if it wasn't for the Jedi...."

    "Yeah," another chipped in. "How come she's not designed to fit aboard our transports like the rest of us?"

    "And why does she walk so slowly, too?"

    It was a conversation that started up every time another column came past, with minimal variations.

    "It's because I'm not designed as well as you guys," Ahsoka sighed dryly, anticipating the next line of the discussion. As soon as she'd spoken, though, she regretted it.

    "There, see, I told you that was it!" one of the droid
     
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    Padmé Amidala in ?Fortune?s Gate?

    Left alone again, Padmé stumbled to the fresher where she bathed her face and neck in water so cold it made her splutter.

    When she caught a glimpse of her face in the narrow mirrored panel over the basin, she stopped to stare at it, trying to reconcile the wan, fragile-looking face in the mirror with the image of the person she was supposed to be.

    They were nothing alike.

    Studying her reflection through narrowed eyes, she remembered all the different faces she had worn throughout her life ? the young girl, the student, the Queen, the Senator. The face in the glass ? pale and troubled ? was so unlike them that it could have been a mask. But then, she had worn many masks in her life. Was the worn-out face with the bruised-looking eyes yet another one, or had it lain beneath them all?

    This can?t be who I am. Padmé Amidala has to be strong.

    ?You have a destiny,? people had insisted all her life. ?You will do great things.? They had showered her with their hopes, lifted her onto their shoulders and proclaimed her their national treasure ? a jewel beyond price, to be protected at all costs.

    Gritting her teeth, Padmé plunged her hands into the icy water again and splashed her face with two stinging handfuls, rubbing hard, as if she could scrub some life and spirit back into it.

    Strength. Purpose. Effectiveness. That was what her people needed from her. They thought her so valuable that others willingly gave their lives to preserve hers.

    Reaching for a towel, she again squinted into the glass, straining to see the face of a woman who was worth that.

    She wasn?t there.

    Sequestered, sheltered and idle, she was useless; and yet further lives were being risked and vast resources spent to protect her.

    If she could not do her work, of what value was she? And even if the situation was quickly resolved and she returned to the Senate, was that value enough? Could she ? did she ? actually make a difference as one tiny voice among thousands, or was her life on Coruscant just another form of expensively maintained isolation?

    Crawling back into bed, Padmé sat huddled among the pillows with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her thoughts returned to Anakin, as they so often had since Vespé?s report. Remembering the hovel where he and his mother had lived, she suddenly felt ashamed about all the precious water she had unthinkingly used to bathe her face.

    Anakin?s life had been so different from hers; so hard, so impoverished. And yet, without any of the privileges and advantages that Padmé had enjoyed all her life, he had accomplished great feats on behalf of his people ? near miracles, in some cases.

    Padmé closed her eyes. Where are you, Anakin? She longed for the opportunity to speak with him, heart to heart. Among all the people that surrounded her, there wasn?t anyone with whom she could share her doubts ? and certainly not her fears ? about the value her life and her work. Even Eirtaé, her friend since childhood, would be appalled by Padmé?s weakness. The Naboo did not sanction despair.

    In a warm place somewhere behind her closed eyes, Padmé again remembered the sunny little blond slave boy swinging his feet in a filthy shop, proclaiming, ?I am a person, and my name is Anakin Skywalker!? How confident he had been! How fully and completely himself! That little boy had been beaten down many times, and yet he had grown up to be a hero.

    Looking back, it seemed he couldn?t have done otherwise.

    She didn?t really know Anakin at all ? not any more. But she knew about his deeds, and thought she knew enough about his struggles, to think that he might understand hers. At least, he would be honest with her. She was sure of that. The boy she had known was incapable of lying. And perhaps... just perhaps... he could show her how to find her courage again ... her center ... her faith in herself and her work.

    The cabin door opened with a whisper. Young Rhea crept in,
     
  25. SagaFanficAwards

    SagaFanficAwards Saga FanFic Awards Sock star 4 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Jun 2, 2006
    Best Original Character, Male

    Alias Sibul in Dead Money by The_Face

    Allemonde stares back. Jade doesn't blink.

    ?Right,? Allemonde finally says. ?One question down. Now if that were true, why would the Emperor's assassin lend aid to Alias Sibul??

    One of the security guards collapses under the weight of Alias Sibul landing on him. ?My ears are burrrniiing!? he announces in a sing-song tone. The guard to his right raises a blaster. Alias throws his arm out, knocking the weapon off target. A bolt sears into the fabric of an unoccupied recliner.

    Alias dashes closer. He plants his knee in the man's gut while placing his enemy between him and the others. He twists the pistol out of the human's hand and smashes it across his face in one smooth motion. Alias grabs the man by the lapel. He is half-supporting the stunned foe's weight as he drags him a few steps closer to the next in the circle. He finally shoves the groggy guard into his own comrade.

    Alias dives off the stage. He somersaults forward, coming up one one knee with blaster aimed at Ciel on the couch. She remains recumbent while aiming a small hold-out pistol back at him.

    The barrel of a blast cannon presses against the top of Alias's head. His pupils make the long trek upwards to find one of Allemonde's men staring back with that unreadable face.

    ?I suggest you surrender, Mr. Sibul,? the hotel's owner advises. ?I really don't want my cleaning staff to have to remove every little splinter of your skull and fragment of brain from the carpet. And I'm sure you don't either.?

    ?It hadn't quite made my To-Do list, no.?

    ?Put the blaster down and let's have a more civilized chat.?

    Alias slowly raises his hands. He lets the blaster drop. The guard with the blast cannon steps back, and lets Alias stand. Allemonde waves him back onto the dancefloor. Alias hops up and steps over two security guards still moaning in a pile. He comes to a stop beside Jade, hands still in the air.

    ?Put your hands down, please,? Allemonde says. ?You're making everyone uncomfortable.?

    Alias glances around at the security guards all either aiming their weapons at him, or lying on the floor. ?Sorry to inconvenience you??

    ?Forgiven,? Allemonde says quickly with a dismissive wave. ?Now, Alias. May I call you Alias??

    ?I'd really prefer Your Splendiferousness.?

    ?Alias, we had an agreement, you and I. A special bond of trust. Do you even remember what it was??

    ?I remember the treehouse we made it in. And you got all nervous when I said it was gonna be a blood pact and you were so scared of cutting yourself. Looking back now, I think I can tell you I was just messing with you.?

    ?Our agreement was that we would play sabacc to determine whether you would be pardoned or punished. Three rounds to win. The chips would determine the winner. A hard, mathematical criterion of judgment over which there can be no debate.?

    ?Is this going to take long? There's a very cute dim girl waiting for me.?




    [link=http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/30694860/]Frontiersman[/link] by Exeter

    It's done.

    I'm on board [i]Wayfarer[/i].

    I'll admit, in the very back of my head, I was expecting stormtroopers?maybe even the 501st, depending how far up the practical joke went?to emerge on the landing platform and lead me back home. There, like a twisted birthday bash, would be the most important people in my life.

    The warden. Darth Vader. His Imperial Majesty Emperor Palpatine I. Roto Tomaso, the paraplegic who promised to kill me real slowly. And, of course, Cap.

    They'd all have a good laugh, saying things like, ?Let me get this straight, Laxman. You [i]really[/i] thought we were going to let you leave?? And then they'd all crack up again. After their jaws were sore and their punchlines exhausted, they'd leave and life would go on as usual.

    But that was just in the back of my head. Outwardly, I made sure to keep my face as stoic and
     
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