There is little that should surprise me about either of their styles. They are young; they both tend to be swayed by Emotion, which makes their fighting, though energetic, unfocussed; and they are, to me, utterly transparent. Kenobi trained the boy -- I trained Kenobi's master. This will be simple.

The fact that there are two of them and just one of me is of little consequence. I can spare the attention to pin one of them to the wall with the Force long enough to dispatch the other. Kenobi, being senior, approaches me first. Idiot. He ought to have sent his padawan ahead to begin the fighting and wear me down, so that after dealing with the student I would have to regroup and face the teacher. It wouldn't have worked, of course, but that's beside the point. Kenobi's strategy is flawed; I am to face him with my full strength. My padawan should have taught him better than that -- but he seldom listened to what I taught him in the first place, so how could he have passed it on? Stubborn boy. I allow myself a slight smile.

I cannot deny that Kenobi has raw talent. But though I lack his quickness and grace, I more than make up for it in skill and determination -- and, of course, I have the Force on my side. These Jedi fools will persist in training their young to use the Force only for defense. I have no such qualms. The Force is a fine shield, but it is also a fine weapon, and it is not long before Kenobi is out of my way.

Now. The boy.

He calls for his master's lightsaber, and meets me with a blade in each hand. Clever. I approve of his instincts. Not wise, though, this Jedi child, for he is unaccustomed to fighting two-handed and his balance is dubious. I press him and gain the advantage, and again, and again. I can feel his anger rising. Hah. Anger, fear, aggression -- my master always condemned these as being exclusively of the Dark side, and my padawan said the same when I asked him to follow me. The limits of such binary thinking! If that were true, then it was the Dark side that motivated Jinn's padawan in the avenging of his death, and it is the Dark side that motivates Skywalker now.

Back. Back. Down. My blade slices through the boy's forearm as easily as breaking a twig. He falls; his master cannot help him. I have won, as we all knew I would. I feel a familiar presence in the Force, but no one is here; I am on the point of finishing these two upstarts when I hear my name. I turn; my master is behind me.

You know, there was a time when I found the old gnome intimidating. It's been fifty years and gone, but I do recall holding him in particular esteem. Even as I walked out the Temple gate, I felt his disapproval like a pack on my shoulders. Now, standing in the mouth of the cave, he strikes me as nothing so much as ridiculous: ordering me to stand down, leave off Kenobi and Skywalker if I'm not prepared to deal with him. Hah. I believe I'll show him just how far a student can come once he's shot of his master.

I summon the Force and fire lightning at Yoda from my fingertips. He catches it in his hand, gathering it into a ball, and flings it back at me. I deflect it away; he is utterly unharmed. I fire again, and again, but each time he returns it, shot for shot. It is clear that this is not the way to decide this battle.

I say as much. Then he draws his saber -- and I can scarcely believe it, but I am overmatched. I fight dirty, but he fights so fast; he must have more than just the Light with him. He must. It's not possible to follow those parochial Jedi rules and be that good. That's the whole reason I left them.

He's moving faster than I can follow; my only hope is to distract him. I bring heavy objects crashing toward him. They do not strike him down; though I cannot detect any division in his concentration, all my efforts fail as each object veers away to crash uselessly against the wall. I hear a voice whispering in my ear, but I cannot afford to give it any attention now. Master Yoda is still buzzing around me. It is all I can do not to be disarmed. He presses me back until I am teetering on the edge -- in desperation, I topple a great piece of machinery toward the two braidlings on the ground. Blue light fills my vision just before I drop to my speeder. I head for the landing strip and my sailer.

I have just congratulated myself on my victory and escape when I hear the voice again. It whispers in my ear, as before: "You will not succeed," it hisses at me, "Master."

The hair on my arms stands on end; I clench my teeth and keep my course steady. The Clone War has begun.

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