[…] the Jedi Temple stood alone. A colossal pyramid with multiple spires rising skyward from its flat top, it sat apart from everything at the end of a broad promenade linking it with bulkier, sharper-edged towers in which solitude and mediation were less likely to be found. Within the Temple were housed the Jedi Knights and their students, the whole of the order engaged in contemplation and study of the Force, in codification of its dictates and mastery of its disciplines, and in training to serve the greater good it embodied.
(Terry Brooks, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Random House Books,1999)
That night, more than three hundred people packed the Holroyd Society’s conference hall, spilling out into the hallway. Most attendees weren’t there for Lescovar’s lecture—they were drawn by one of the Master’s increasingly rare appearances.
Twiglet and the others arrived a few minutes late, just after the lights had been dimmed. Fortunately, Uful’lan’s imposing presence helped them push through the crowd and squeeze into the second row next to Theresa.
Sitting on the girl’s left, Kyle immediately began chatting with her.
Twiglet doubted they were discussing the lecture.
“Hey, you guys! Shut up, will you?” grumbled a young man behind them.
“Shh!” hissed a snake-like creature nearby, its tongue even longer than Twiglet’s.
The mahjit was about to scold them when she caught a particularly striking passage from the podium.
“… and I think we should stop treating only the symptoms of the disease. If we want the patient to recover, we must root out the Evil plague. A terrible, deadly plague—of which the werewolves are the primary pathogen. Killing them only when we have no other choice—assuming we’re able to—is no longer enough. And we all know the limited efficacy of DNA restrictions on candidates for public office. These days, it’s ridiculously easy to buy a fake genetic profile for less than a dose of Xetor.
“No, dear colleagues, what we truly need is a final solution—something that will allow us to eradicate this murderous scum, this dark taint on mankind’s heritage, once and for all.”
Lescovar paused for a sip of water. Then he turned to a large holo-screen, activating a diagram filled with small green spheres. Lines of the same color connected some of them.
“… It’s been known, since Spyro Holroyd’s time, that ten thousand years ago the werewolves invaded Earth, coming from an unknown planet. Why did they leave their homeworld? We’re not sure. Some evidence suggests they were fleeing a global catastrophe—or perhaps something even worse. If that’s the case, we might uncover a weakness… a vital clue hidden in their past. A breach in the veil of mystery that has long shielded them from exposure.
“In short, dear colleagues, we might be able to locate the werewolves’ lair.”
He tapped several icons on his console. One of the dots—mid-screen—turned red.
“That’s Lalande 21185, a dM2-type star with five rocky planets in the habitable zone. The one of interest is Tr’lang, present in Imperial Cartographic Service records since the beginning of the Expansion. It remains sparsely colonized due to its harsh environment.”
He tapped again. Most spheres turned blue, some yellow, a few orange—only one more turned red.
“All these planetary systems lie within the same Galactic subsector, each home to an indigenous civilization. The colors indicate rising synchro-complex tensor values—our measure of sociopolitical decay at the onset of the Expansion. The second red dot is Earth, only 8.3 light-years from Tr’lang. Over the last ten millennia, Evil has spread inversely to its distance from Tr’lang.
“Other factors play a role. For example, the high number of blue dots near Tr’lang reflects the failure of lycanthropic hybridization with non-humanoid species. On Earth, sadly, the crossbreeding was a catastrophic success. Need I remind you of the endless wars, genocides, and atrocities long mistaken for human nature?
“We must now focus all efforts on uncovering what happened on Tr’lang in the distant past. It’s our only hope.”
He paused for breath.
“Thank you, dear colleagues. I’m done for tonight.”
The lights came up. Applause thundered through the hall.
Lescovar nodded toward someone seated in the front row. Then he spoke again.
“As previously announced, our Dean will now provide an important update regarding recent lycanthropic activity. If anyone has questions about my lecture, feel free to visit my office.”
He stepped down to assist an elderly man to the podium.
Twiglet’s heart lifted at the sight of the Master—Hwan Bernala—though a pang of sadness followed. She knew humans aged quickly, but it was still jarring to see how frail he had become. Fourteen years earlier, he had stood tall and strong.
“Dear friends!” Bernala began, his voice only slightly tremulous. “I’m grateful to see such a large turnout tonight. Your presence gives me hope in these dark days for the Holroyd Society.
“As you know, the werewolves have slaughtered thousands of our operatives over the last month. This massacre marks the beginning of another attempt to seize power. And it falls to us to stop them. That’s our purpose—why we abandon our families, our homeworlds, even our identities—to work on the fringes of civilization, risking everything.
“But tonight, I bring important news: one of the few agents who escaped the massacre passed along a vital piece of intelligence. It confirms our worst suspicions. The leading mind behind the conspiracy is almost certainly Lord Volker Chang—Chancellor and Prince Regent of the Empire…”
The hall erupted into chaos—outrage, disbelief, and angry shouting filled the air. Several heated arguments broke out among attendees competing for the Dean’s attention.
After long moments of disorder, Bernala raised his bony arms.
“Calm down, dear friends… calm down!”
A blue-and-yellow-feathered chort from the third row croaked:
“We’ve long suspected this, Master. My group ran thousands of synchro-complex simulations—they all point to one outcome: a catastrophe beyond precedent is coming. It’s time to cast prudence aside and expose the Chancellor!”
“Yes! Let’s denounce the traitor!” others shouted.
“Silence! Please!” Bernala pleaded. “Do you really think that’s our best move? You all know the lycanthropes control the media. Even the Space Forces and the Police aren’t immune to their influence.”
“We must tell the Crown Princess!” the chort insisted. “If she cares for her life, she’ll hear us out!”
“Thank you, Gur Folpeth,” Bernala said. “That would be ideal. But we’ve already tried—and failed.”
A murmur rippled through the audience, quieted only by Lescovar, who resumed his role as moderator.
“Silence!” he shouted. “Let the Master speak!”
“A couple of years ago,” Bernala continued, “we voiced concerns to the Emperor about Lord Chang’s increasingly… authoritarian style. Shortly afterward, His Majesty and Empress Himalia perished in a suspicious accident. We have no concrete proof the werewolves were involved, but—like Spyro Holroyd said—‘an extreme coincidence is never just a coincidence.’
“There’s more. Between Princess Virginia and the Chancellor, there’s no love lost. She’ll likely force his resignation the moment she ascends the throne. So why hasn’t Chang eliminated her too? If the royal line ends, the Constitution mandates a general election to establish a Presidential Republic. An election with billions of voters would be almost impossible to rig, even for the Apostles.
“A few months ago, the lycanthropes tried to replace the Princess with a synth double—a political puppet. Fortunately, their plan failed. According to our source… they lost the clone.”
Lescovar dimmed the lights again. The holo-screen now displayed a glamorized image of Princess Virginia—heavily made up and impeccably dressed.
Shirl stifled a cry.
Several attendees turned to stare at her. Twiglet looked toward Kyle and Theresa, immediately suspecting why the synth was so unsettled.
Then a middle-aged woman in the front row spoke.
“Honorable Bernala, how do we know the switch hasn’t already happened? That they didn’t simply lose their puppet—that’s disinformation! They want us to believe the usurper is the real Princess!”
“With the Dean’s permission, I’d like to answer,” Lescovar said. “Yes, the story sounds convenient: they spend years engineering a clone, then misplace her. But keep one thing in mind—they’re not gods. They’re not smarter than us. No one is infallible, not even the Apostles. And according to our source, they’re still scouring the Galaxy for a synth female. That means she’s out there… and we must find her first.
“And when we do, it’ll be our moral duty to dispose of this abomination. This lab-grown monster.”
The lecture was over.
The audience fragmented. Some climbed the amphitheater steps to exit from the back. Others rushed the stage, forming small groups for heated debate despite the late hour.
Arm in arm with Lescovar, Bernala left the podium.
Twiglet pushed forward—eager to greet him before he returned to his quarters.
But as she stood, she noticed something troubling.
Shirl had vanished.
“Twiglet!” said Hwan Bernala. “How nice to see you again!”
She stepped forward to shake his veiny, spotted hand—heavily adorned with rings.
“Thank you, Master. I’m so happy to see you, too.”
The Dean peered at her, squinting through teary eyes.
“It’s been so long! I hope exile hasn’t been too hard on you. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you go. So many times I told myself, ‘If only Twiglet were here… Twiglet would know what to do!’”
Twiglet was moved.
“I’m here now,” she whispered, “ready to get back to work.”
A smile creased the old man’s wrinkled cheeks.
“Good old Twiglet,” he said warmly. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still impetuous and generous to the core… Don’t you agree, Fern?”
“Actually,” Lescovar replied, “we could use her help. If you attended the lecture, Twiglet, you probably know that retrieving the Princess’s clone is one of our top priorities. Besides, we’re planning to initiate a large-scale disturbance…”
“Yes, of course, I got that!” Twiglet snapped, unrolling her tongue.
She instantly regretted losing her temper in front of the Master—but Fern Lescovar was so pompous, so insufferably smug. Why did he always have to insert himself into everything?
“Well, well,” Bernala interjected gently. “I think it’s time I called it a night. I’ll leave you to continue the discussion. I’m old, and I need my rest. If you need anything, Twiglet, ask Fern.”
“Ahem… Master… there’s one more thing, if I may.”
He looked at her, intrigued by her hesitant tone.
“Yes?”
“Could we meet again tomorrow?” She shot a glance at Lescovar. “In private?”
“You mean, just the two of us? Of course! How about eight o’clock in the morning? You know… at my age, time’s running short. I prefer not to waste it sleeping in.”
“Eight o’clock is perfect. Thank you!” Twiglet said.
“I’ll see you in my office, then. Good night!”
Bernala took Lescovar’s arm again, and the two disappeared into the corridor.
Twiglet felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned. Uful’lan loomed above her. Kyle stood nearby, his ever-present shoulder bag in hand, with an increasingly talkative Theresa at his side.
“I can take you to the guest dorms, if you like,” Theresa offered.
“Dorms?” Kyle snorted. “Do I look like a wreck, like your Holy Man? I never go to bed early.”
Theresa burst into laughter.
“If you don’t mind,” Twiglet interjected, “I’m rather tired.” She found Kyle’s joke about the Master inappropriate. After all, they were guests here.
“How about you, Uful’lan?” she asked.
“Well, acthually…”
“Come on, Big Guy!” Kyle insisted. “Why don’t you join us?” He turned back to Theresa. “So, what do you brainiacs do for fun around here?”
“Gosh! I don’t know… lots of things, I guess. Sometimes we meet in the cafeteria to play Kryple and have something to drink.”
“That’s great! What are we waiting for, then? Just give me a minute to take care of Wolfram and… off we go!”
A couple of hours later, a strange trio emerged from the antigrav well on the fifth floor of the Holroyd Society Headquarters.
It consisted of a bespectacled k’rell wearing a ridiculous I ♥ NEW XANADU T-shirt, a tall, lean human, and a cute brunette, who seemed to have considerable difficulty walking.
“One last effort, Theresa!” Kyle urged, grabbing her by the waist before she could collapse. “We’re almost there.”
“Whatth did you make her drink?” Uful’lan asked, suspicious.
“Who, me? I didn’t do anything!” Kyle said defensively. “I just asked if there was anything else besides that disgusting Pollux beer, and she pulls out a bottle of authentic Pastis from Achernar…”
“Passthiss? But that’ss at leasst seventy-five degrees!”
“I know! What do you think—I was born on…”
He trailed off as Theresa moaned again.
“C’mon, Theresa, please…”
“I’m… sick,” she mumbled, throwing her arms around his neck.
“I know you’re sick,” Kyle said patiently. “So just tell me where your room is, and we’ll get you to bed. Tomorrow morning—well, later this morning—you’ll feel much better.”
“I don’t… waaant… to go… to my… ’ooom!” she croaked. “I… wanna… hic!… ssstay… w’youuu!”
“Whatth’ss the matther withh you and the girlss?” Uful’lan teased, raising a brow.
“Listen, I’m not in the mood for stupid jokes,” Kyle snapped. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“Well, I am going tho my own bed,” Uful’lan said with a grin, flashing several rows of fangs. “You, I’m afraid… will have to put up Theresa in your room.”
“Are you nuts?” Kyle hissed. “I’m not even sure she’s of age! For all I know, I’ll wake up surrounded by Holroyd purists demanding a shotgun wedding!”
“Kyle, pleeease… I’m siiick…”
“Ssoundss like you don’t have much of a choissse.”
“Humph! All right…” Kyle grumbled. “Let’s go to my room.”
“Good nighth!” Uful’lan called back mockingly, as he sauntered toward the opposite end of the hallway.
A few steps from the door to Kyle’s room, Theresa finally collapsed, and Kyle had to carry her. As he fumbled with the lockplate, she was already snoring. The light came on automatically as he stepped inside.
As expected, Wolfram was blissfully asleep in the middle of the single bed. Balancing Theresa with one arm, Kyle used the other to nudge the cat aside.
“Wolfram! Hey, Wolfie! Off the bed, please. We have guests.”
“Miaowww!”
Theresa chose that exact moment to crack open one eye and snuggle into him.
“Oh… hic!… Kyle,” she mumbled, then drifted back into dreamland.
Kyle cursed his bad luck. The evening had started so well. Despite what he’d told Uful’lan, he had been making plans about Theresa. Unfortunately, just as he was working out the perfect pickup line to escort her to her room, the airhead had downed enough Pastis to knock out a cargo beast.
He sighed. Lately, he was screwing up with women more than usual. Just like the day before, when he’d had the brilliant idea to hit on—
“Ahem.”
Kyle spun around.
Shirl was sitting in the only chair.
“Sh… Shirl!” he stammered. “How did you get in?”
“I’ve got a problem,” she said quietly.
“What? And you come here, in the dead of night, to…” He realized Theresa’s arms were still wrapped around him. He wriggled free and gently dropped her onto the bed. “Don’t you see I’m busy?” he snapped. “You can’t just break into other people’s rooms whenever you like! You’ve got a problem? Don’t tell me. What is it this time? Are you having your period, or did you wake up from a nightmare? Well, it’s high time you got it into your head—I’m not your mother! Now get out.”
Shirl took the blow in near silence. Only a slight narrowing of her eyes betrayed the impact. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and steady.
“Oh, is that so? Don’t worry, then. You won’t be seeing me much longer.”
She turned and headed for the door without looking back. She raised her hand to the button—
—but he was there first.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her arm. “We can’t stay here.”
She looked at him, confused. “Come on! We haven’t got all night!”
“For what? Where are we going?” she muttered, but followed him into the hallway anyway.
“‘You won’t see me much longer!’” He mocked. “Ha! You think I’m a complete idiot? Where exactly would you go, huh? Another fool like me who takes you on board, treats you like a lady…” He chuckled bitterly. “Believe me—it’s not easily found.”
At the antigrav well, he pulled her in after him.
“To the dome!”
“YES, SIR!” crackled the elevator’s voice.
A few seconds later, they emerged at the top of the building.
Above them stretched a vast roof garden enclosed by an enormous plastiglass dome. Kyle reached for the lights, then hesitated. Probably not a great idea to give away their presence. Bathed in the pale light of two yellowish moons, the dense, tangled vegetation—collected from across the Galaxy—had transformed into a dreamscape.
“Oh! Where are we?” Shirl cast a nervous glance around. “Why did you bring me here?”
“It’s their roof garden, I guess.” Kyle, still holding her arm, led her along an almost invisible path. “Why anyone would need a garden on the roof when they already live in the middle of a forest… well, that’s beyond me.”
“How did you even know about this place?”
“I didn’t. Theresa told me.”
They stopped near a transparent wall. The only illumination came from a swarm of luminescent insects, swirling in hypnotic spirals—an eerie imitation of the Galaxy itself.
“Sit down,” he said, settling onto the soft grass and propping himself against a palm trunk. “So… what is it this time?”
“Stop teasing me, please,” she replied. “It’s serious.”
“Whatever it is, make it quick.”
She squatted beside him, arms hugging her legs, chin resting on her knees.
“They’re trying to kill me,” she whispered.
“Kill… you?” Kyle sat bolt upright. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m the synth they’re looking for,” she said. “You were at the lecture, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, but… I kinda tuned out near the end.”
“Princess Virginia’s clone. The hot girl in the holo, remember?”
“Oh, that one.” In the moonlight, Kyle studied her face. “Come on. You don’t look anything like her!”
“Of course I do,” Shirl snapped, irritated. “We’re not just twins. We’re identical.”
He crouched next to her, squinting now that his eyes were adjusting to the dark. He gently grabbed her chin and tilted her face toward the light.
“Princess Virginia…” he murmured. “No way.”
The most famous woman in the Galaxy—her face was everywhere. Still, it was true. Shirl did look like her. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it earlier. Maybe it was the hair—Virginia wore hers long and styled. And the makeup. The Crown Princess never showed her face without it.
“I’ll be damned,” he said at last. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t know!” she snapped. “My memory’s been wiped!”
“Yeah, right. But think… I only got ten thousand credits from Nizam Taash. Now I could score big—sell you to the highest bidder. The Chancellor, the Princess herself… Either one might pay a fortune. This could be the end of all my problems. I could buy a new ship, and—”
Shirl had heard enough. After everything—cyberfights, nearly getting her head cracked open, a rape attempt, werewolves, Holroyd operatives—Kyle had been her last hope. She’d misjudged him. Tears burst forth.
Kyle frowned. “What are you crying for?” he grumbled. “You women are all the same. Always making a mess, and when things go bad, you cry instead of fixing anything.”
“I’ve… I’ve done… nothing!” she sobbed. “It’s not… my… fault they want to kill me.”
“Okay, okay. Maybe I was joking. Not funny, I know. But stop crying. You look ugly when you do. Not that you’re beautiful… Don’t count on me, got it? I’m a dodgy bastard.”
Shirl sniffled. “Why are you saying—”
“Because it’s the truth, dammit!” he exploded. “I’ve spent most of my life stealing, smuggling, whoring around… Nobody sane would trust me.”
Shirl stared at him, wide-eyed.
“And I’m not going to change!” He jabbed a finger at her. “Still, you saved my life once, so… Hell with it. I’ll come up with an excuse to borrow the jeep and sneak you back aboard the Aranui. You’ll be safe there. Then I’ll tell Twiglet I need to collect my pay—we leave early. Mind if I bring the k’rell? I could use an engineer. And—hey!”
She’d hugged him.
For a moment, Kyle melted. She could’ve asked him for anything. Yes, Your Cybernetic Highness! he thought.
Yeah, right, you fool, he scolded himself.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said.
Shirl leaned up on one elbow. “Don’t worry—I don’t find you attractive either.”
“Thank the stars. Women who get close to me never come out the same. Look at poor Theresa…”
Shirl laughed. Kyle yawned.
“We’d better sleep here,” he said. “Dawn’s not far off. Snuggle close if you’re cold. I’m too tired to rape you.”
She giggled again—and moved closer.
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