NationStates Jolt Archive

Ruminations (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13980169&postcount=174)

Bastion Spaceport

John's stomach growled. He could not reveal himself, lest he reveal himself to the Masakis from whom he was fleeing. He looked at a clock. Seven hours had passed...he had been cloaked in the Force for about eight hours straight. And one thing about cloaking for long periods of time...it took energy. LOTS of energy. John needed to find some calories, and fast. This was made even worse by the fact that John had to maintain a constant, low-grade cryokinesis, just enough to mask his infrared signature, the whole time, which made things even more exhausting. Without revealing himself...that meant vending machines only, too.

He checked his pockets. He did have a credit chip, but its transactions would be traced back to him. He could not use it yet--not until he was home free in New Dornalia, his asylum claim approved. He did have about six credits' worth in coins and a five-credit bill. Anonymous funds. Good. But he wondered how much longer the groundstop would last. Eleven credits was more money than he'd normally put into a vending machine...but he'd do what he had to do. Quickly, he loaded up on assorted nuts, and energy chocolate bars, the most healthful and filling food he could find, given the circumstances of not being able to present himself to an actual cashier.

As he ate, he wandered over to the Blue Eagle gate four gates over. Nonstop to Los Angeles, the "Oenidan Express." Excellent. He ate part of his stash, saving the rest of it for later. He had a feeling he would arrive five pounds or so lighter, that was for sure. But the cloak had to be maintained at all costs...even if his blood pressure dropped to dangerous levels and his heart rate shot up to 250. Death attempting to leave was preferable to the shame and dishonor of lifelong association with the Masakis. Taking his pulse, he found it was already in the 130s. Damn...

Another hour passed. Then another. John nibbled on another package of nuts, watching the would-be passengers around him grow more and more disgruntled about the wait. Assorted comments about horrid Coredian inefficiency he heard from a couple of passengers...they must be Woodians.

Finally, after twelve freakin' hours, the call for preboarding. John quickly walked over to the boarding area, noting a couple of passengers with strollers. Good. The strollers would have to be gate-checked, meaning that he could sneak into the cargo hold with them...

The clean, beautiful and cleanly dressed Japanese woman working the baggage counter called the passengers with a simple, "next!" They came up, and with impeccable, pleasant customer service swiped them through and loaded their strollers into the luggage area.

Fortunately, John would have the good sense to get off of them as they were being weighed, for his slight 80 pound frame would have been even too much for the scale to reasonably assess the luggage and strollers. When he did that, the lady then put them onto the scale, and it read as normal. Afterwards, they were cleared through, and the bulk was gatechecked....good thing, since he was able to leap on and ride, remaining invisible all the way.

Indeed, John took advantage of the checked strollers to scurry into the wide-open cargo hold. He knew that it would soon fill, and that he would have to keep on his toes to avoid cargo handlers lest they bump up against something that would announce his presence. He could not decloak yet--not until the ship was in hyperspace, at the least. He found a couple of crates that had already been loaded, and settled into the cramped space between the cube-shaped crates and the round fuselage, figuring that cargo handlers would not find him there...

Indeed, John took advantage of the checked strollers to scurry into the wide-open cargo hold. He knew that it would soon fill, and that he would have to keep on his toes to avoid cargo handlers lest they bump up against something that would announce his presence. He could not decloak yet--not until the ship was in hyperspace, at the least. He found a couple of crates that had already been loaded, and settled into the cramped space between the cube-shaped crates and the round fuselage, figuring that cargo handlers would not find him there...

In the meanwhile--

"Blue Eagle flight BE009, ready for takeoff."

The inflight crew checked the equipment on their vessel and then proceeded to spin up the engines. John could probably hear a multitude of noises above him. The pitterpatter of feet. The stomping of the infamous Ouendan fangirls and their horrid renditions of Rage Against the Machine tunes and 80s tunes. The rumbling of engines. The machinegun Spanish of the catgirl stevedores hired by Blue Eagle giving the all clear down below. And the humming of the drives.

He'd be able to feel the ship jerk upwards, as it lifted from a cold stop into the air. This would be slow at first, like on an elevator. Then, it'd be really, really, fast, until it slowed up again, with the *kachunk* and whurr of the artificial gravity and other mechanical things.

The trip would be uneventful, mostly. Though the songs from the Ouendan above would be a soundtrack of sorts.

Then, the process would repeat itself after what seemed like forever. The door on the cargo hold would open, and things would get a lot warmer. And brighter.

Outside was the sounds of hustle, bustle, and a yellowy looking sky in the distance.

John had arrived in Los Angeles. And a team of gatas and Mexicans and Chinese were coming to unload everything....

As soon as John sensed the entrance into hyperspace, he took advantage of the opportunity to decloak, rest, and find a couple of packets of food that had fallen out of the outer pockets of assorted suitcases as they had been loaded onto the cargo hold. Knowing that such food would never actually find its way back into the luggage of those to whom it belonged, forever consigned to "lost luggage hell," destined to make quite a few trips on board this craft before anyone other than him noticed...well, he did not feel all that guilty about consuming what fate had put in front of him. Fortunately, the cruise allowed him to rest a bit for the cloaking that lay ahead. He knew he'd have to cloak the minute the ship re-entered realspace, but thankfully, not for twelve hours.

Upon the commencement of descent, John re-cloaked, waited, and waited some more. When the cargo doors opened, he patiently waited for the baggage handlers to enter, and snuck out while they were busy figuring out what to unload first. He waited patiently by the staircase to the gate to wait for them to bring the strollers back up, wondering where in the airport he might find a phone booth. Low-income people often relied on such anachronisms to communicate while away from home, he knew. To him, a phone booth meant a phone book. Which, in turn, meant free maps...

As soon as John sensed the entrance into hyperspace, he took advantage of the opportunity to decloak, rest, and find a couple of packets of food that had fallen out of the outer pockets of assorted suitcases as they had been loaded onto the cargo hold. Knowing that such food would never actually find its way back into the luggage of those to whom it belonged, forever consigned to "lost luggage hell," destined to make quite a few trips on board this craft before anyone other than him noticed...well, he did not feel all that guilty about consuming what fate had put in front of him. Fortunately, the cruise allowed him to rest a bit for the cloaking that lay ahead. He knew he'd have to cloak the minute the ship re-entered realspace, but thankfully, not for twelve hours.

Upon the commencement of descent, John re-cloaked, waited, and waited some more. When the cargo doors opened, he patiently waited for the baggage handlers to enter, and snuck out while they were busy figuring out what to unload first. He waited patiently by the staircase to the gate to wait for them to bring the strollers back up, wondering where in the airport he might find a phone booth. Low-income people often relied on such anachronisms to communicate while away from home, he knew. To him, a phone booth meant a phone book. Which, in turn, meant free maps...

The maps revealed any number of things about Los Angeles. Where to get a plate of beef chow mein, where to get a haircut, where to get a video game, and where to get that ever famous LA specialty, a tummytuck and a facelift.

They also revealed where he could find a good lawyer. Lawyers of all types found jobs in the Workers State since democratization occurred. Personal injury, civil rights, property, real estate, et cetera. But one would likely stand out in his mind, for having helped provide comfort to the one person he knew best--Colonel Allaire.

The ad read, simply with a picture of a logo with a solitary lightsaber superimposed onto a cog of industry and surrounded with sheaves of wheat and slogans, "The Temple of Central Los Angeles, National School, People's Acolytes. A Safe, Welcoming Environment for Force Users. We teach (insert various martial arts here) and the art of using the Force in a healthy constructive manner. Inquire within."

Quickly, John tore out the relevant maps. He still had to get out of the airport, however, and to that end, he quietly followed, in full cloak, the herd of passengers throughout Customs. Whilst agents were busy and distracted by searching the visible passengers, John quietly slipped through.

Once out of the airport, John looked at the map to figure out how to get to the Acolyte temple. Unfortunately, it was a couple hours' worth of walking. All he could do was start walking in the general direction, following the streets on the map, because the information therein wasn't quite precise enough for teleport.

Three miles from the airport, John finally gave in to the overwhelming urge to decloak to save energy, cursing the urban sprawl of Los Angeles. He considered requesting a transfer to a more confined city once there, but figured he should take one thing at a time. Oh, well.

After stopping on a side street somewhere and nibbling the last of his edible goodies, John realized that he could teleport down the streets, as far down as he could see, saving him a quarter mile at a time. It was a fairly safe bet that the Masakis who were after him were still in Coredia.

Forty-five minutes of teleporting later, he casually walked into the Acolyte's Temple, quite the unusual sight of an eight-year-old amongst an organization that required its members to be at least twice that age, unbeknown to him...

After stopping on a side street somewhere and nibbling the last of his edible goodies, John realized that he could teleport down the streets, as far down as he could see, saving him a quarter mile at a time. It was a fairly safe bet that the Masakis who were after him were still in Coredia.

Forty-five minutes of teleporting later, he casually walked into the Acolyte's Temple, quite the unusual sight of an eight-year-old amongst an organization that required its members to be at least twice that age, unbeknown to him...

The sight of a vagabond wandering the streets of Los Angeles was comparatively rare; advancements in healthcare and social equity under the MacIntyre Administration made such things a mere recreational sport for would-be bohemians and such. However, the crowds were out getting business done and he did teleport, so John didn't get too much attention.

Inside the Temple of Greater Los Angeles, John would find a relatively businesslike environment, more akin to a university than a classic Jedi Temple. Students and senseis alike were wandering about, chatting endlessly, with a digital bulletin board advertising the day's events. On the wall next to him was the People's Acolytes flag and the Dornalian flag crossed and mounted on a wall, displayed proudly with the words of Herodotus:

"'Of course, it is impossible for one who is human to have all the good things together. . .So no one person is self sufficent; he has one thing and lacks another.'

--Herodotus, The History, I.32"

Here, the receptionist, one of New Dornalia's many catgirls, saw the lad walk into the room. With an odd look on her very human face, but with her distinct cat ears perking up, she leaned over her desk and asked, "Can I help you?"

John did not know what to make of the look on the catgirl's face, but for the moment, that was who he would be dealing with. Nervous and uncomfortable, but figuring that it was better than the alternative, he approached the receptionist's desk. Quietly, he muttered, "I would like to seek, oh, what are the words...political asylum. I think I said that right."

John did not know what to make of the look on the catgirl's face, but for the moment, that was who he would be dealing with. Nervous and uncomfortable, but figuring that it was better than the alternative, he approached the receptionist's desk. Quietly, he muttered, "I would like to seek, oh, what are the words...political asylum. I think I said that right."

The receptionist said, skeptically, "Huh. Well, lemme see." She picked up a phone on the desk and chatted into it, before hanging up. Leaning forth again, she then said, gesturing to the lift and speaking calmly, "Kid, go to the room marked 4B. Take that elevator. There'll be someone in there who can help you. Okay?"

"Okay," John nodded, walking off per the receptionist's directions. Going up the specified elevator and finding the room he'd been told about, he knocked nervously on the door marked 4B...

"Okay," John nodded, walking off per the receptionist's directions. Going up the specified elevator and finding the room he'd been told about, he knocked nervously on the door marked 4B...

...whereupon he got a cheerful, "Come in!"

Upon the door's opening, John would witness the presence of a bespectacled Korean woman in a simple uniform resembling that of an East German Army soldier, with the addition of bits of a Jedi robe and appropriate pips.

She was working the desk, hammering away at something on her computer in an office that looked more like a college professor's than that of a Jedi's. Turning to face John, she smiled and said, "Come, sit." In fact, she got up and pulled him a chair before sitting back down.

Folding her hands on her desk, she said maternally, "I'm Rebecca Park, head of this Temple. You must be the one asking about asylum."

John quietly sat in the chair, his body still regenerating in the Force due to the brutal energy requirements of cloaking for several hours at a time. Visibly, he looked as if he had run a literal marathon in the last few hours, crossing the finish line maybe an hour ago. And with a cursory Force scan of John's metabolism, the Acolyte bureaucrat would probably be able to tell that John had burned a LOT more calories than he had eaten in the last 24 hours, risking collapse from exhaustion at more than one point to get here.

"I am," John quietly replied, as he looked around the office, for a decent container in which to stuff his lightsaber and mail it back to the Jedi Order. He refrained from revealing who he was just yet. Apparently, he had dodged media attention enough, with the combination of his shyness and cloaking ability, to be unrecognizable on sight to the Acolytes. For now, that might be a good thing. Still, it was a matter of time...

John quietly sat in the chair, his body still regenerating in the Force due to the brutal energy requirements of cloaking for several hours at a time. Visibly, he looked as if he had run a literal marathon in the last few hours, crossing the finish line maybe an hour ago. And with a cursory Force scan of John's metabolism, the Acolyte bureaucrat would probably be able to tell that John had burned a LOT more calories than he had eaten in the last 24 hours, risking collapse from exhaustion at more than one point to get here.

"I am," John quietly replied, as he looked around the office, for a decent container in which to stuff his lightsaber and mail it back to the Jedi Order. He refrained from revealing who he was just yet. Apparently, he had dodged media attention enough, with the combination of his shyness and cloaking ability, to be unrecognizable on sight to the Acolytes. For now, that might be a good thing. Still, it was a matter of time...

"Well, then. Let's see." Getting up and taking out some books, she said simply, "I'm no lawyer--my cousin Thomas is though. But I know enough to know that the People's Acolytes can do some protection."

Sitting down, she opened one of them up and said, thumbing through it, "We can put you up for the night with food and board. I sensed you were rather hungry and tired. As for the law itself, we have some diplomatic powers, but my best advice--seek a lawyer and apply at City Hall. Our diplomatic powers tend to be like the Military's--used only off Dornalian soil and space by law and custom."

A little surprised that the Acolyte still had not asked for his identity, John pulled a wad of looted phone book pages out of his pocket. Among them was that ad for Tommy Parks he had seen earlier. "Do you have a phone?" he asked. At least he would be able to eat for the night--he still didn't think it was safe to use his credit chip, given the noncommittal response of the People's Acolytes thus far.

A little surprised that the Acolyte still had not asked for his identity, John pulled a wad of looted phone book pages out of his pocket. Among them was that ad for Tommy Parks he had seen earlier. "Do you have a phone?" he asked. At least he would be able to eat for the night--he still didn't think it was safe to use his credit chip, given the noncommittal response of the People's Acolytes thus far.

Noticing the ad, Rebecca brightened. "Hey! That's cousin Tommy! I see you've decided to get his services as well...." She then said, looking around and eventually digging into her purse, "I may have a phone...." The woman eventually dug one out and said, "AHA! Here we go." She presented the PDA to John and set it on phone mode, saying, "Call who you need to."

As she did so, she got the strangest feeling. Where had she seen this kid before?

John quickly dialed the number in the ad, put the PDA up to his face as he would hold a cell phone (he did not particularly care for speakerphone with the other person in the room), and waited for the phone to be answered at the other end. "Hello? I want to seek political asylum..."

John quickly dialed the number in the ad, put the PDA up to his face as he would hold a cell phone (he did not particularly care for speakerphone with the other person in the room), and waited for the phone to be answered at the other end. "Hello? I want to seek political asylum..."

"Um, okay?"

The receptionist at the end of the line then forwarded the message to Tommy Park, who was currently researching a case for another client. The receptionist said, "Mr. Park, someone here for you. They wanted...asylum?"

"Tell them I'm not an Immigration Lawyer, Erma," Tommy said.

"Well, it's a kid."

"Isn't that....well, I suppose I'll take it. Milena usually does divorce and custody. Put me through."

The resulting hookup then led Tommy to say, "This is Thomas Park, Esquire, Lawyer to the Acolytes. I understand you needed asylum...are you Force Sensitive?"

The resulting hookup then led Tommy to say, "This is Thomas Park, Esquire, Lawyer to the Acolytes. I understand you needed asylum...are you Force Sensitive?"

"Umm, yeah," John replied nervously, the question giving him an uncomfortable reminder of how he had arrived here. "I am at the central Acolyte Temple right now. Is it possible to arrange an appointment here? Right now, I have to admit, I am pretty exhausted."

"Umm, yeah," John replied nervously, the question giving him an uncomfortable reminder of how he had arrived here. "I am at the central Acolyte Temple right now. Is it possible to arrange an appointment here? Right now, I have to admit, I am pretty exhausted."

"Alrighty. Sure. I can come over. Temple of Central Los Angeles.....sure. No problem. I'll be there in ten. Bye."

Hanging up, he then packed a suitcase of appropriate lawbooks, and printed out some articles on Immigration Law. As he did this, he sighed. Central LA Temple meant visiting Rebecca. The annoying one. Squeaky, always mothering.....he wondered how she got into the Sensei spot anyway. He surmised it was due to her exams. As he walked out, he said to Erma, "Erma, hold my two and three o'clocks."

Thusly, he got onto an Allanean Gravbike and zoomed over to the temple as fast as possible. He got inside and went to the reception desk, asking if any children came in. Sent to 4B, he walked inside and said simply, "Hello, Rebecca. I'm here to see the b-." He then stopped and said, "Er, very important boy." John could sense Tommy had an inkling his cousin Rebecca did not--but got as soon as she asked, "Wait. Who is this?"

John gave Tommy an incredulous, what-did-you-just-say look, for he had wanted to remain anonymous until the last possible second. And now he was forced to reveal himself--but hopefully he could at least contain the damage with clever naming convention semantics.

"Umm...John Watsen." He deliberately left the Masaki part of it out. Though Tommy did not have the trained senses of his relative, the expression on John's face made it obvious to even him that he should not have blurted that out so quickly. "Yes, I want to seek asylum here. I intend to invoke the Right of Denial after I am sure that I will have sanctuary here."

John gave Tommy an incredulous, what-did-you-just-say look, for he had wanted to remain anonymous until the last possible second. And now he was forced to reveal himself--but hopefully he could at least contain the damage with clever naming convention semantics.

"Umm...John Watsen." He deliberately left the Masaki part of it out. Though Tommy did not have the trained senses of his relative, the expression on John's face made it obvious to even him that he should not have blurted that out so quickly. "Yes, I want to seek asylum here. I intend to invoke the Right of Denial after I am sure that I will have sanctuary here."

"OH! That--" Tommy shot his cousin a look, and she said, "Oh, right. I didn't hear anything." The lawyer then asked John, "Right. Asylum. Well, it's good you got me here....."

He then sat down and opened his briefcase, saying, "Now, you got a reason for asylum? Immigration's usually somewhat open, but they like to know what you need shelter from." He then went out on a limb, pulling out some immigration books and asking, "I assume its the family, right? Any reason?"

"Yeah. The family. When I stayed with Colonel Allaire for a few months a while back, he taught me, among other things, place value and how to read a budget. When I returned to Coredia, I got my hands on a copy of its national budget and I tried to reconcile it. I found that it did not add up. About thirteen trillion credits were missing."

"I tried to tell Daniel. I was ignored. I tried to ask him to demand an explanation from the Senate. I was told, and I quote, 'Eight-year-olds don't worry about such things!' And, as you know, yesterday shit hit the fan. I was there, with the rest of the Masakis. And yesterday, behind the closed doors of the Kokkai, I learned where the missing money was going. Hyuuga Hiashi was getting sticky fingers with the budget, using tax money for things like deploying singularity bombs to Caprica and bribing off a sixth of the Senate. You know what happened afterwards, but you also know that Coredia likes its secrecy. But my conscience is giving me the choice between blowing the whistle and hari-kari."

"It gets worse. Certain members of the family, notably Anakin Masaki, are known to be physically violent, and I have always avoided him. I always refused to invite friends over because Anakin would always beat them up. I fear that if I said anything about this, Anakin would go after me. Maybe kill me in his anger. I can't trust the rest of the family to intervene either--Daniel and Travis are both really--"

A short pause as John pulled a dictionary off of a shelf and looked up the word that he was trying to think of.

"--oblivious. Hell, Daniel even owns me from time to time for 'training purposes.' And Jacob, the calm one, also happens to be Anakin's dad, so I have no clue whose side he would take. But yeah, if I do the right thing, I fear for my life. If I stay silent, I may as well stick a knife in me anyway, for then I will be shamed and dishonored."

"Yeah. The family. When I stayed with Colonel Allaire for a few months a while back, he taught me, among other things, place value and how to read a budget. When I returned to Coredia, I got my hands on a copy of its national budget and I tried to reconcile it. I found that it did not add up. About thirteen trillion credits were missing."

"I tried to tell Daniel. I was ignored. I tried to ask him to demand an explanation from the Senate. I was told, and I quote, 'Eight-year-olds don't worry about such things!' And, as you know, yesterday shit hit the fan. I was there, with the rest of the Masakis. And yesterday, behind the closed doors of the Kokkai, I learned where the missing money was going. Hyuuga Hiashi was getting sticky fingers with the budget, using tax money for things like deploying singularity bombs to Caprica and bribing off a sixth of the Senate. You know what happened afterwards, but you also know that Coredia likes its secrecy. But my conscience is giving me the choice between blowing the whistle and hari-kari."

"It gets worse. Certain members of the family, notably Anakin Masaki, are known to be physically violent, and I have always avoided him. I always refused to invite friends over because Anakin would always beat them up. I fear that if I said anything about this, Anakin would go after me. Maybe kill me in his anger. I can't trust the rest of the family to intervene either--Daniel and Travis are both really--"

A short pause as John pulled a dictionary off of a shelf and looked up the word that he was trying to think of.

"--oblivious. Hell, Daniel even owns me from time to time for 'training purposes.' And Jacob, the calm one, also happens to be Anakin's dad, so I have no clue whose side he would take. But yeah, if I do the right thing, I fear for my life. If I stay silent, I may as well stick a knife in me anyway, for then I will be shamed and dishonored."

Tommy and Rebecca looked at each other occasionally as they listened to John's testimony. Give the Woodians credit where it was due, they knew how to teach kids things. Then again, Tommy was taken aback by his awareness of fiscal policy and spending--not to mention that he was eager to label his family as insensitive clods.

Rebecca noted Tommy's thoughts, and she Forcemessaged him, saying, "You know he's adopted, right?" Tommy nodded, and kept on taking notes.

"So basically, I'm citing psychological distress caused by sibling abuse and political persecution here." He clicked his pen closed and said, "Well, it seems okay, but Immigration's gonna look at your case and ask for evidence. They'll probably take the sibling abuse, but question the political persecution clause unless you give them proof you're not just having an overactive imagination."

Rebecca nodded, and asked, "Also, how did you get here? I imagine they'll want to know."

"Of course, there are security cameras all over the place wherever a Masaki resides, so the evidence of the persecution is there, somewhere. You might not be able to get Coredia to release it, owing to their secrecy laws, but it is there. Unless, Force forbid, I went back there to get the tapes. Also, I did bring a small datapad with me. I think it has the math that I did on the budget in it." John rummaged around in his pockets, extracting a mini-PDA-sized device that he usually carried with him. "This has some of the math I did, dated, but you would have to get the security recordings to prove that I actually tried to tell Daniel about it."

"As far as how I got here...let's just say about fourteen consecutive hours of cloaking immediately after the battle, a couple hours' rest, followed by another couple hours' worth of cloaking. Secret, like."

"Of course, there are security cameras all over the place wherever a Masaki resides, so the evidence of the persecution is there, somewhere. You might not be able to get Coredia to release it, owing to their secrecy laws, but it is there. Unless, Force forbid, I went back there to get the tapes. Also, I did bring a small datapad with me. I think it has the math that I did on the budget in it." John rummaged around in his pockets, extracting a mini-PDA-sized device that he usually carried with them. "This has some of the math I did, dated, but you would have to get the security recordings to prove that I actually tried to tell Daniel about it."

"As far as how I got here...let's just say about fourteen consecutive hours of cloaking immediately after the battle, a couple hours' rest, followed by another couple hours' worth of cloaking. Secret, like."

The message was clear. He had smuggled his way to the City of Angels. Rebecca gasped and promptly opened a fridge she had in her room, pulling out a bottle of milk and some shortbread cookies, laying them out for John. Tommy raised an eyebrow and said, "That's some of Lisa's, isn't it?"

"Yeah. She baked a fresh batch of shortbread for that church social. Baked too much again." As she said that, Rebecca said to John, "Here. You'll definitely need some food after that long trip. Eat! It's my sister Lisa's shortbread--makes the best."

Tommy chuckled, and said, "Right. Anyway, I'm sure Immigration's gonna appreciate that." He then examined the evidence and said, "But this seems awfully indirect. That, and there is the matter of some very angry Coredians....."

He stopped at that last bit, realizing what this case could imply. He didn't vocalize it, but Rebecca understood, saying, "International incident?"

"Putting it mildly, yes. And national too."

John, thirsty, quickly drank the milk before quickly eating the cookies put in front of him. Tommy's comments made him more than just a bit nervous, and he couldn't help but wish he could just sink into a hole in the floor and die. Well, he'd come pretty damn close to cardiac arrest as there were few whose hearts could take that kind of stress for hours, upon hours, upon hours on end.

But for now, he just ate the food and kept his comments short. "Just give the datapad to an accountant. It might not prove that I tried to warn Daniel, but it CAN prove that I am not imagining Coredia's budgetary problems. Problems that were ignored until they quite literally blew up."

John, thirsty, quickly drank the milk before quickly eating the cookies put in front of him. Tommy's comments made him more than just a bit nervous, and he couldn't help but wish he could just sink into a hole in the floor and die. Well, he'd come pretty damn close to cardiac arrest as there were few whose hearts could take that kind of stress for hours, upon hours, upon hours on end.

But for now, he just ate the food and kept his comments short. "Just give the datapad to an accountant. It might not prove that I tried to warn Daniel, but it CAN prove that I am not imagining Coredia's budgetary problems. Problems that were ignored until they quite literally blew up."

Rebecca could sense the fear coming from John. It was absolutely palpable. Tommy noticed a certain nervousness too. This situation was clearly serious--at least to the kid in front of them.

"True. And it would corroborate with the testimony from the Kokkai, if that's available." Tommy then collected the evidence as he said, "Right. Well, I'll have an accountant look at this. In the meantime, I'll think this stuff over, since it looks like we're going to have to do some judo in order to even have a chance of winning." He then pulled some paper out of his case and said, "Here's some forms you're gonna need to fill out. Immigration Law, mainly, concerning asylum claims."

Rebecca then said, "Put the Temple of Central Los Angeles as your current residence."

"Right." Tommy then said, "And we'll keep this on the down low, as they say out here. At least until the challenges begin."

John quickly flipped through the paperwork, with a shudder. He didn't particularly want to plaster his identity upon everything in sight. Nevertheless, knowing he had no choice in the matter, he filled them out, his hand trembling a bit, nearly as afraid as being turned down and extradited back to Coredia as he was of the Masakis. Nearly. He had not exactly planned for the contingency of being turned down. This was also why he had fled here instead of to his home country. He knew that Evil Woody Thoughts would return him to the Masakis.

Well, thanks to what he had learned about fire from Taylor Masaki, should he be deported, there was the option of spontaneous combustion. Not exactly an ideal way to end, but at least it beat a lifetime of slow torture and shame back in Coredia--on the off chance that the Masakis in particular, and Coredians in general, would suffer him to live that long.

John quickly flipped through the paperwork, with a shudder. He didn't particularly want to plaster his identity upon everything in sight. Nevertheless, knowing he had no choice in the matter, he filled them out, his hand trembling a bit, nearly as afraid as being turned down and extradited back to Coredia as he was of the Masakis. Nearly. He had not exactly planned for the contingency of being turned down. This was also why he had fled here instead of to his home country. He knew that Evil Woody Thoughts would return him to the Masakis.

Well, thanks to what he had learned about fire from Taylor Masaki, should he be deported, there was the option of spontaneous combustion. Not exactly an ideal way to end, but at least it beat a lifetime of slow torture and shame back in Coredia--on the off chance that the Masakis in particular, and Coredians in general, would suffer him to live that long.

Rebecca, in that motherly way of hers, Forcemessaged John with this much.

"Don't worry. We'll help you out."

Tommy nodded; he too noticed John's very palpable fear. He simply said, "John....usually, they don't publicize these asylum hearings. And, those papers you fill out usually get stored in places where people don't easily get them. I mean, you had to fill out six sheets of paper. Think about how much it takes to get something out of an archive...."

Tommy spoke reassuringly, and knew that that was partially the truth. But he also knew that Dornalian Bureaucracy could be surprisingly schizophrenic. Slow on one hand, blindingly quick on the other. As Tommy took the completed forms, he examined them and said, "Good." Turning to Rebecca, he said, "I think we should go to...what's a discreet place."

Rebecca thought for a moment and said, "We can try City Hall. Just give John here a sweater or something to cover him up. And don't get noisy."

Tommy nodded, and said, "Got a car?"

Rebecca nodded. "Still got the old Bomber." Tommy winced. The car she was referring to was a gigantic station wagon, clumsy to drive and looking worse for wear, especially with three kids.

"Fine. We'll take your mommobile," Tommy said. "But I want you to get that thing upholstered...."

John didn't seem to care all that much what kind of vehicle he would be riding in. All that he cared about was that he didn't have to walk across the urban desert wasteland that was Los Angeles. If he was accepted here, he made a mental note to try to get transferred to a more compact city like New York or Hong Kong--but that was a big if.

"I do not need the sweater. I am still sweaty from earlier and the sweater would make that worse. If you want me to cover up, do you have a hat anywhere?" Still, John did not exactly trust Tommy's reassurances. One, Tommy was a lawyer. Two, he was acting like one--through his senses, John vaguely picked up that Tommy was telling him a half-truth to reassure him...

John didn't seem to care all that much what kind of vehicle he would be riding in. All that he cared about was that he didn't have to walk across the urban desert wasteland that was Los Angeles. If he was accepted here, he made a mental note to try to get transferred to a more compact city like New York or Hong Kong--but that was a big if.

"I do not need the sweater. I am still sweaty from earlier and the sweater would make that worse. If you want me to cover up, do you have a hat anywhere?" Still, John did not exactly trust Tommy's reassurances. One, Tommy was a lawyer. Two, he was acting like one--through his senses, John vaguely picked up that Tommy was telling him a half-truth to reassure him...

Rebecca grabbed a hat from the wall and tossed it to John, saying "There we are." It was a do-rag, much like rappers wore--nice and anonymous, which would keep him from attracting too much attention.

Tommy then got up and said, "Right" when he put on his hat. Looking at his watch, he smiled and said, "Let's take care of business. Come along, now." With that, Rebecca and Tommy ushered John out of there quietly, covering him from sight and Rebecca using the Force to conceal him from prying eyes.

Eventually, the group entered the large station wagon, and sure enough it was as Tommy feared. It was filled with popcorn, the upholstery looked like had seen better days, and all sorts of reading materials, kids' books and towels were everywhere. Rebecca cleaned up a spot and motioned him in. When everybody was settled, they started the car and drove off.

John did not seem to care what Tommy's fears of the messiness of the vehicle meant. Tommy's fears paled compared to what would happen to him should he be returned to the Masakis. Instead, he quietly found himself a void space between stacks of children's books and piles o' popcorn in the back in which to hide. Though Tommy did not like it, John had to admit, the messiness of the car hid him quite well.

Discreetly, he looked around for food items that remained wrapped and sealed from the messiness on the floor and in the nooks and crannies in the back. Yes, the cookies had been food, but he still had not eaten anything resembling a real meal yet, an important consideration given he had literally burned off ten pounds of bodyweight in the last day keeping cloaked for so ridiculously long...

John did not seem to care what Tommy's fears of the messiness of the vehicle meant. Tommy's fears paled compared to what would happen to him should he be returned to the Masakis. Instead, he quietly found himself a void space between stacks of children's books and piles o' popcorn in the back in which to hide. Though Tommy did not like it, John had to admit, the messiness of the car hid him quite well.

Discreetly, he looked around for food items that remained wrapped and sealed from the messiness on the floor and in the nooks and crannies in the back. Yes, the cookies had been food, but he still had not eaten anything resembling a real meal yet, an important consideration given he had literally burned off ten pounds of bodyweight in the last day keeping cloaked for so ridiculously long...

John would find, amongst the mess, an alarming supply of "Uncle Chucky's Caramel Popcorn." Enough perhaps, in the words of New Dornalians, to "end famine in North Korea." Tons of caramel flavored popcorn awaited, to hopefully provide some empty calories for John to run off of. It probably wasn't his first choice, but it would have to do for now.

To wash it all down as they began driving to City Hall and swerving VIOLENTLY through LA's traffic with agility that was uncharacterisitic of a large station wagon like this, John would also find sports drinks. Lots of sports drinks. Chilled, and room temperature.

Rebecca noticed this, and said, "Help yourself."

John, seeing the backseat full of bags of caramel popcorn and assorted bottles of Gatorade, munched on the goodies, finding the popcorn somewhat unsatisfying, as if his stomach knew it was merely filler. At least the Gatorade did him some good, however, as it came in sufficient quantity to quench his thirst, at least. Trying to keep track of how far he was going in this Urban Sprawl Wasteland, yet holding his tongue on whether or not he could be moved to a more compact city, he gulped down three and a half bottles of Gatorade before he met his doom.

Upon a particularly sharp swerve to avoid some random Idiot Road Rage Driver of Doom, John could only stare in horror as the Pile of Miscellaneous Shite, mostly consisting of children's books, to his right slid ominously in slow motion towards the Other Pile of Miscellaneous Shite, consisting of a case of some soda drink he hadn't gotten into because of the easier availability of a more-healthy option in the form of Gatorade. And an eight-year-old kid was in the middle of it all, trapped by the seat belt, constrained by his current fugitive status from teleporting out of the vehicle, thus calling unwanted attention to himself.

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" John's vehement objection to Reckless Driving rang in both Rebecca's and Tommy's ears. John could've sworn he heard his left arm crack a little as it was slammed into that soda case with all of the violent force of the swerve, not that it mattered much because the encyclopedia of all things in the Pile to the Right, the heaviest thing therein, clubbed him in the head along the way. "Uuugh..." John weakly shoved what remained of the Pile to the Right away so he could look at what struck him, but instead put his hand to his head. His head was wet, and he looked at his hand, and saw blood, not to mention some really nasty bruises on his left arm.

Immediately, an absolute panic struck the kid. Panic that he would have to be hospitalized, that the hospital authorities would contact the Masakis and that the Masakis would immediately rush here to snatch him up to either indoctrinate (John had heard rumors of political prisoners here and there) or kill him. Given that he was here illegally, he figured on the hospital either denying him service or swiping the credit chips that he could not use yet, owing to the Masakis being able to trace account activity. No, he could not be found out before his fate was decided. No, no, the hospital was his doom!

However, panicked though John was, Rebecca and Tommy thus received a rather unintentional insight into how he survived his trip despite the incredible stress he had earlier put his body through, burning about forty thousand calories on a nearly empty stomach, over a mere twenty hours or so, just to undertake the flight in absolute secrecy. Within seconds, both of them sensed a quite calming aura of regeneration, though John remained so panicked over the ramifications of hospitalization that it did not stand a chance of calming him down. His head wound closed and a thin layer of soft, reddish flesh formed around it as new skin started growing in and around it. Over the course of twenty seconds or so, the new skin gradually displaced the flash-formed scabs, and paled to a reasonably normal, peachy, Caucasian skin tone, whereupon his body started to mobilize what blood calcium he had left to seal the crack in his left arm and what amino acids were left after healing his head injury to suture all of the injured blood vessels underneath all the bruises in his right arm...

"Just slip me some military-grade ration bars," John sighed grumpily, still terrified of going to the hospital, and knowing that they would contain enough proteins (and though John didn't really grasp this as an eight-year-old boy, amino acids) for his body to finish the healing it had begun.

"Just slip me some military-grade ration bars," John sighed grumpily, still terrified of going to the hospital, and knowing that they would contain enough proteins (and though John didn't really grasp this as an eight-year-old boy, amino acids) for his body to finish the healing it had begun.

Rebecca looked at the back upon listening to John's screams, and cried out, "SHIT!" Tommy then muttered, "Jesus, fuck. We can't take him to City Hall like this. We do that, we lose the damn case."

As the two cousins began debating over what to do in a flight of panic, admist Rebecca's offers of medical aid and Tommy's reassurances that LA County would not automatically turn in John for being a Masaki, John finally spoke of wanting a ration bar.

Tommy and Rebecca looked at one another, and then at his arm, and then drove a little more calmly into a side street. They stopped, and Rebecca managed to finagle out of the mess of crap several ration bars--and cleaned up at the same time, puttign a lot of crap on the floor. Useful for long distance trips, she kept them for when she had to do fieldwork. Handing them to John, she then expressed a tinge of genuine regret when she said, "You okay, kid? Seems like you got healing skills....but damn, that's gotta hurt."

The bars themselves were an anonymous affair, simply marked, "RATION, SURVIVAL, CHOCOLATE," and an anonymous serial number on a Forest Green wrapper with a little Red Star stamped on it. Products of the Dornalian Red Army's legendary supply network, they would now help this little guy out. For now, at least.

"There ya go. Newspaper bars, as the grunts call them," Rebecca said, as she started the car up and drove a little more carefully now....

"Thank you." John quietly took the bars, opened one, and ingested as they turned back onto the road. He did not much care what they tasted like, as ration bars were fairly standard fare for him, given that he nearly always turned down the intermittently gluttonous Masaki family dinners. Only when battlefield conditions directly prevent such gluttony had John suffered himself to eat with his adoptive father, much less the rest of his alleged "family." Without complaint, he consumed the first bar, used the Force to harness the nutrients therein before his body would have normally had any hope of digesting it, and watched his arm change colors rapidly as busted capillaries repaired themselves, by the thousands, and the blood spilled by broken blood vessels, yet trapped inside the body thus creating the bruise, literally drained back into his circulatory system, where it belonged. Within the span of a few traffic lights, the colors of the bruise had faded into his normal skin tone, much to the relief of Tommy and Rebecca. Now, about that blood that had splattered on the encyclopedia...

...John quickly slid it underneath everything else, hoping City Hall wouldn't see the evidence. Whereupon he ingested a second ration bar, and 'digested' it using accelerated Force processes, directing the calcium therein to seal his left arm bone fracture.

Another pleasant side effect: Finally, John felt like he had eaten 'real food,' though most would classify ration bars as cardboard. At least they did not contain so many 'empty calories,' but rather decent, instant nourishment for those who had just burned through a LOT of energy.

...John quickly slid it underneath everything else, hoping City Hall wouldn't see the evidence. Whereupon he ingested a second ration bar, and 'digested' it using accelerated Force processes, directing the calcium therein to seal his left arm bone fracture.

Another pleasant side effect: Finally, John felt like he had eaten 'real food,' though most would classify ration bars as cardboard. At least they did not contain so many 'empty calories,' but rather decent, instant nourishment for those who had just burned through a LOT of energy.

At that moment, the station wagon drove into the parking lot of LA City Hall. Same as ever, the building stood resolute, ready to get business done. Tommy and his charges walked into city hall, up to the receptionist, and asked for the Notary downstairs.

After finding the Notary, he marched in, whereupon the Notary said, "Hey, Tommy! It's been a while!"

Placing the forms on the desk, he said, "No time, man. I got some shit you need to file, put into the bureaucracy, and keep to yourself. And notarize."

The Notary looked at the forms, and nodded. "Yeah. Your secret is safe with me." Stamping the forms, he then scanned them and placed them into a waiting mail cart, marking them up as "Private Information--for Immigration Only. Sensitive Material." With nary a question or complaint, he was able to speed the process through, though the Notary asked, "Why me, and why didn't Bob handle this?"

"Bob's out in Luxembourgia with his kids. And, you're the only bureaucrat I know who can keep his mouth shut when it comes to people like the one on the form. Capice?"

The Notary nodded. "I suppose."

Meanwhile, young John said absolutely nothing, looking down to the floor to hide his face as Tommy slid the bureaucrat his paperwork. As Tommy sent his fate to a legal black hole, into the abyss he would never know. He said not a word. He did not ask questions. Never before, not even during the civil war that had orphaned him in the first place, had the boy felt so helpless, like his very existence depended upon the whims of random clerks...

Meanwhile, young John said absolutely nothing, looking down to the floor to hide his face as Tommy slid the bureaucrat his paperwork. As Tommy sent his fate to a legal black hole, into the abyss he would never know. He said not a word. He did not ask questions. Never before, not even during the civil war that had orphaned him in the first place, had the boy felt so helpless, like his very existence depended upon the whims of random clerks...

Several hours later, the Notary was met with a phone call.

"Yeah? Uh huh. Yes. Okay, bye."

Speaking to the group, he said, "Okay, guys. Immigration understands the seriousness of this. They're gonna clear up a spot for you, but it's gonna take a bit to do so."

Tommy then asked, "How long?"

"About a week, two weeks. Because of the fact he's famous and this shit is going to really have the potential to be an international incident, they're gonna have to work extra carefully on this one to find an out of the way place for the hearing and to find a judge with enough fortitude to stand up to the shit to come. No tabloids, whatnot--total media blackout. Fortunately, he's a minor, so we can hide his ID and he does get protections befitting one, but you know what'll happen."

Rebecca said, "Yeah. John's afraid of that."

The Notary replied, "Yeah. No shit. So until the Masakis contact us, we're not going to say anything. Once that contact happens, we'll have a day at court and hopefully things will get resolved one way or another--but expect a bumpy road, you don't need a lawyer to know that."

The Notary then said, "For now though, I'd keep his presence on the down low. Just to be safe." He then looked at John and said, "This means you'd probably wanna stay around the Temple until the shit cools off. Got it?"

"Umm. Yeah." John shrugged nervously after overhearing the phone conversation. He'd be stuck inside the temple. Not that he could blame Tommy and Rebecca, he had heard legends of Masaki Fangirls out for blood and revenge. And he had been imprisoned before, so it wasn't like being cooped up inside was anything new to him. "Do I get to learn anything, or do I just get stuffed in a closet somewhere?"

Of course, there was the remote possibility that the Masakis would not notice him missing at all. He was, most of the time, quiet and withdrawn enough for such to be plausible. But the downside of that possibility, John thought, was twofold: He would never know his true legal status here, and he would never have the chance to send back his lightsaber.

He couldn't decide which was worse: The uncertainty of a court fight, or the uncertainty of a lack of one...

As it was, the Masaki Clan *had* noticed that John was missing after the Battle of the Kokkai. He could cloak for a while, but he was still young enough that he could only cloak for a few hours, and when those few hours were up and there was still no sign of him, the Family was sparing no stone from being unturned in their search for him.

Much as we thought he was weird and odd for being a overly precocious kid (even by our standards), we still considered him a Masaki. And so, with much prompting (read: ranting) from Taylor, we decided to spare no expense to bring him back. Looking back, we figured that Anakin's bullying and our hands-off attitude to the kid may have contributed to the runaway factor. But we're not going to bend over backwards for him at the same time. Despite his precociousness, he's still 8, still a schoolboy...even if that school is a Jedi academy. Even Travis wasn't this much of a problem, despite his pranking nature. Whatever happens next, John's going to need some serious discipline.

So it was shortly after we decided to find him that the Youngling Alert went out on the Holonet for John Watsen Masaki, complete with a description of him. Taylor was also prepared to send the boy's blood sample to the Dragons to see if they can divine his location if need be. King Sarinon had mentioned at one point that there are methods even a Force Cloak could not block, and if we needed his dragon mages to find the boy, he would have them at our disposal. After all, the Force is only one aspect of the supernatural (if a pervasive one) in Coredia.

The Search for John Masaki was on!

He couldn't decide which was worse: The uncertainty of a court fight, or the uncertainty of a lack of one...

It was with that in mind that Rebecca said to John, "No worries. We'll get a tutor for your education, and someone to help continue whatever Force exercise regimen you were using. Also, be aware you can access the Temple Library at any time. We got print and digital materials, so feel free to use any of those. Okay?"

------------

As this occurred, the Youngling Alert on the HoloNet wound its way around. It unfortunately found its way into New Dornalia, where the infamous Masaki Ouendan was ready to serve its idols with zeal that even made the Masakis order them to relax. The moment they found the Youngling Alert, all the Dornalian boards were ablaze. Dorniechan 's /ou/ board, Ouendannet....anywhere Masaki Fangirls congregated on the HoloNet, schemes were made and informal search parties organized, along with reposts of the Alert.

In Los Angeles, LAPD beat cops began noticing an immediate surge in "rubbernecking" and traffic--unusual even for five o'clock Rush Hour. And, alarmingly, most persons ticketed seemed to be squads of women, ages 15-24, with heavy firepower....Tommy noticed one pass by the basement window--fortunately, it was barely noticeable from the street, the Notary's, so John wasn't given away.

But, Tommy said, "John. Get your head down, and don't look up. I think your nightmares just came to life."

John lowered his head, all right, as he sensed what was going on outside. He lowered his head in the form of a facepalm, to be exact. "Just get me some more of those ration bars," John sighed, "and I can cloak to get back to the Temple if I must."

John lowered his head, all right, as he sensed what was going on outside. He lowered his head in the form of a facepalm, to be exact. "Just get me some more of those ration bars," John sighed, "and I can cloak to get back to the Temple if I must."

Tommy then said urgently, "Becky, show John the meaning of haste and get those bars." Rebecca then ducked out, returning with a handful saying, "These are my last ones. Use them well, John."

John quickly scarfed them down, then, replenished (at least for now), shimmered before Tommy and Rebecca's eyes before disappearing completely. His mind, too, quickly seemed to 'disappear' before their senses. It would have been all too easy to forget he existed at that point, were it not for the sharp tug Rebecca received on her sleeve, seemingly from the air itself, with a very clear message: Go. Now.

John quickly scarfed them down, then, replenished (at least for now), shimmered before Tommy and Rebecca's eyes before disappearing completely. His mind, too, quickly seemed to 'disappear' before their senses. It would have been all too easy to forget he existed at that point, were it not for the sharp tug Rebecca received on her sleeve, seemingly from the air itself, with a very clear message: Go. Now.

The two took the hint, and immediately ran. The Notary understood Tommy's look and promised, "I won't say nothing."

Running to their station wagon, Rebecca and Tommy got inside. Hopefully, their cargo would too. If not, the little rugrat was likely to tool his way back to the Temple. Either way, it was going to be tough from here on out.

Indeed, "the cargo" carefully climbed into the backseat, careful not to make too much noise as he did so, noise that would give him away. However, he could not risk buckling his seat belt when the public could see inside. The sight of a seatbelt buckling on its own might very well give him away to the hordes of angry fangirl trolls outside. Instead, he crammed himself in the small space between the front passenger seat and the backseat, a space enclosed enough to hopefully prevent him from getting thrown around too much...

Dragopolis, Issus

As the search went on, the Dragon King's Mages was given John's blood from the blood archives and they dropped it in a large bowl with a strange silvery substance in it. The Mage in charge of the divination spell waved a clawed hand over the silvery substance and spoke in a low voice. Runes then began to glow around the rim of the bowl and the silver stuff swirled around. Then it began to clear over a planet with blue, green/brown and white splotches. The planet grew closer until they could clearly see one of the smaller continents on the northern hemisphere and closer still as they saw the western coast. Finally, a rune-like crosshair appeared on a coastal city of the western part of the continent.

"Los Angeles, New Dornalia." The mage intoned. "Any further searching will require him to decloak at this time."

"Great! Let's go get him!" Taylor Masaki grinned impulsively.

"I think not." I said. Taylor suddenly scowled. "Hear me out, Taylor. I know you love him, but he doesn't share the same sentiment for the Family. I feel he has done this of his own volition."

"But why?" Taylor whined.

"He's Woodian. You know how much they hate corruption. It must be genetic for them. The exposure at the Kokkai must have pushed him over the edge."

"Yeah, but all the psych books I read say that adopted children often take on at least some of the attributes of the family they are adopted in in an effort to fit in. Especially one as young as him!" Taylor grumbled. "His personality should have only begun to develop when I adopted him at age five! And running away at his age?!"

"I suppose he's an anomaly as far as the shrinks are concerned." I shrugged. "Frankly, I think any effort to try and take him back would just push him further away from us. And really, I'm not about to waste money and effort on a custody battle that would develop into an international incident. Especially with New Dornalia's own problems in integrating the Colonies into their society. Besides, the People's Acolytes should take good care of him...and if you really want to see him again, I could always send you under cover of a mission or something."

"I guess. Can you at least make sure he's all right?" Taylor asked. "I don't wanna have to deal with him getting hurt or anything."

"I'll speak to Macintyre and Junko about that." I assured my brother. "Just don't worry about it, all right? He'll be fine."

Taylor's face told me otherwise, but he sighed. "All right. But if he gets hurt or Sithed, I'm burning your ass!"

I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Oh, very well. Thank you, Mage Reiana."

"Of course, Lord Masaki." The Dragonmage nodded.

=====

A few hours later, Premier Macintyre received a phone call from the Office of the Emperor of Coredia...and no, it wasn't at three AM local time.

OOC: :tongue:

A few hours later, Premier Macintyre received a phone call from the Office of the Emperor of Coredia...and no, it wasn't at three AM local time.

OOC: :tongue:

But it was at a time when the Comrade Premier was knocking back another bottle of whiskey. Sipping it gently, he roared with pride as Lionel Hutchins, one of New Dornalia's best MMA fighters, knocked down his opponent with a fist to the jaw.

"Yeah! Fuck his shit UP! WWOOO!" One of his adjutants knocked on the door, and then he said, "Yo?!"

"Comrade Premier, it's the Office of the Emperor of Coredia. Danny Masaki's on the line."

He then put down the booze, and said, "In a minute. Tell him I gotta clean up." He then got up, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and then answered the phone. Surprisingly, he was coherent--a skill he mastered as he had to answer many phone calls that interrupted his "private reflection time."

"Yo, this is Comrade Premier Robert MacIntyre.....I assume this is Emperor Daniel Masaki?"

"You assume well, drunk one." I said with a smile. "Anyway, I'm sure you know by now the Youngling Alert out there. Well, we now know that John's somewhere in Los Angeles. The reason I'm calling is to prevent this becoming an international incident that would surely result from a custody battle, so I'm thinking that the PA should pick him up and give him a home and training regimen. You see, I believe the reason he ran away is related to the Kokkai incident and considering that Woodians seem allergic to corruption to the point that it's becoming genetic (witness the mass-puking from time to time) I dare say that trying to take him back home would result in more migraines than a case of firewhiskey. To that end, I'd like to get your assistance in keeping this quiet-like and ensuring that he isn't snatched up by some two-bit Sith Lord."

"You assume well, drunk one." I said with a smile. "Anyway, I'm sure you know by now the Youngling Alert out there. Well, we now know that John's somewhere in Los Angeles. The reason I'm calling is to prevent this becoming an international incident that would surely result from a custody battle, so I'm thinking that the PA should pick him up and give him a home and training regimen. You see, I believe the reason he ran away is related to the Kokkai incident and considering that Woodians seem allergic to corruption to the point that it's becoming genetic (witness the mass-puking from time to time) I dare say that trying to take him back home would result in more migraines than a case of firewhiskey. To that end, I'd like to get your assistance in keeping this quiet-like and ensuring that he isn't snatched up by some two-bit Sith Lord."

Nodding, he walked up to his TV and flipped to the news. "I see." Snickering slightly he said, "I'll have to remember that line, 'drunk one.'"

Getting serious, he then said, "Anyway, it's good you called--your legion of loyal fans seems to have gone overboard again and turned your APB into a hunt. They got guns and trucks.....woo! Says LAPD arrested a party of six for disturbing the peace and they got a number of traffic tickets to hand out. Well, I better call Junko to see if she can maybe get your boy there under some protection, so your fans also don't kill him with kindness." The last part was said with more than a little grim humor.

As he looked on the TV, he then noticed the uniform of some of the fangirls getting arrested--some, no, a lot were dressed in red coats and black jerkins and slacks with blondish hair and a ponytail (http://cjblackwing.files.wordpress.com/2007/12/edward-elric.jpg). MacIntyre then asked, with a familiar and curious tone, "By any chance, would any of your famous people be wearing red coats, black jerkins and black slacks with blondish hair and a ponytail? I'm kinda seeing a lot of my people wearing that right now. Kind of an ADD sorta question, but I'm curious."

Indeed, "the cargo" carefully climbed into the backseat, careful not to make too much noise as he did so, noise that would give him away. However, he could not risk buckling his seat belt when the public could see inside. The sight of a seatbelt buckling on its own might very well give him away to the hordes of angry fangirl trolls outside. Instead, he crammed himself in the small space between the front passenger seat and the backseat, a space enclosed enough to hopefully prevent him from getting thrown around too much...

Tommy and Rebecca immediately got into the car, and began driving as fast as possible, making sure to act as normal as possible to avoid hitting things and smashing John--whom they assumed was in the auto--with Rebecca's random things.

As they darted through the streets, they manuevered into a stoplight, and paused. With horror, Rebecca saw in her rearview mirror a van of fangirls dressed in red coats and black jerkins and black slacks. Fortuantely, the offender was several cars behind them, so she was able to escape this time. However, she then said loudly, "Everybody--buckled up and get ready. I'm going to get creative."

She then began driving down alleyways and other side roads in an effort to evade the fangirls. They hadn't caught her yet, but she could tell they were out in force with their vans all over the place. It paid to avoid the main roads for now....

Tommy and Rebecca immediately got into the car, and began driving as fast as possible, making sure to act as normal as possible to avoid hitting things and smashing John--whom they assumed was in the auto--with Rebecca's random things.

As they darted through the streets, they manuevered into a stoplight, and paused. With horror, Rebecca saw in her rearview mirror a van of fangirls dressed in red coats and black jerkins and black slacks. Fortuantely, the offender was several cars behind them, so she was able to escape this time. However, she then said loudly, "Everybody--buckled up and get ready. I'm going to get creative."

She then began driving down alleyways and other side roads in an effort to evade the fangirls. They hadn't caught her yet, but she could tell they were out in force with their vans all over the place. It paid to avoid the main roads for now....

Of course, John was not buckled up. He could not buckle up, either, because to do so would be to reveal himself. To that end, he Forcemessaged Rebecca, who seemed to be the more Force-sensitive of the two. I cannot buckle up! If I did, the buckle would go over my lap...over thin air, and it would reveal that someone is cloaked in here! I would have to cloak the entire car! John seemed frantic, and this was made worse by a swerve that sent a box flying into him. Owwwwwwwwww! Must...stay...cloaked...must...stay...cloaked...how much longer to the Temple? John quickly realized he was bleeding again, and quickly covered his wound with his hand, assuming something of a fetal position, for the cloak, done when he had been tired to begin with, was too exhausting for him to cloak and heal at the same time. If he had had more a chance to rest and Real Food, he might have had a chance, but he was already worn down by his flight and this experience merely piled on more stress, physical and otherwise...

Nodding, he walked up to his TV and flipped to the news. "I see." Snickering slightly he said, "I'll have to remember that line, 'drunk one.'"

Getting serious, he then said, "Anyway, it's good you called--your legion of loyal fans seems to have gone overboard again and turned your APB into a hunt. They got guns and trucks.....woo! Says LAPD arrested a party of six for disturbing the peace and they got a number of traffic tickets to hand out. Well, I better call Junko to see if she can maybe get your boy there under some protection, so your fans also don't kill him with kindness." The last part was said with more than a little grim humor.

As he looked on the TV, he then noticed the uniform of some of the fangirls getting arrested--some, no, a lot were dressed in red coats and black jerkins and slacks with blondish hair and a ponytail (http://cjblackwing.files.wordpress.com/2007/12/edward-elric.jpg). MacIntyre then asked, with a familiar and curious tone, "By any chance, would any of your famous people be wearing red coats, black jerkins and black slacks with blondish hair and a ponytail? I'm kinda seeing a lot of my people wearing that right now. Kind of an ADD sorta question, but I'm curious."
Silence. Then laughter. "Hoo boy! Taylor's not going to be happy about that! I think those fans just made my day! The Youngling Alert will be deactivated within the hour. Nice talking to you!" *Click!* Beeeeeep...

Of course, John was not buckled up. He could not buckle up, either, because to do so would be to reveal himself. To that end, he Forcemessaged Rebecca, who seemed to be the more Force-sensitive of the two. I cannot buckle up! If I did, the buckle would go over my lap...over thin air, and it would reveal that someone is cloaked in here! I would have to cloak the entire car! John seemed frantic, and this was made worse by a swerve that sent a box flying into him. Owwwwwwwwww! Must...stay...cloaked...must...stay...cloaked...how much longer to the Temple? John quickly realized he was bleeding again, and quickly covered his wound with his hand, assuming something of a fetal position, for the cloak, done when he had been tired to begin with, was too exhausting for him to cloak and heal at the same time. If he had had more a chance to rest and Real Food, he might have had a chance, but he was already worn down by his flight and this experience merely piled on more stress, physical and otherwise...

It was good that they got to the temple right after he spoke in the Force. Rebecca and Tommy opened the door, and immediately let John out. Rushing into the Temple of Greater Los Angeles itself, they were confronted with the presence of....none other than Junko Tadanobu herself.

"Hi!" she simply said, with a wave of her hand. "What's the rush?"

Rebecca attempted to say something, but Tommy blurted out, "Um, we need to go to the bathroom. BAD!" And then ran off. As he did so, Junko put her hands on the both of them, and said, "I need to speak to the both of you. About your matter. Premier MacIntyre has intervened and asked me to take care of it, especially since the other party rescinded their APB." At that, Rebecca gulped. She knew what Junko referred to.

Silently, Junko also sensed John's presence in the room, and Forcemessaged him with a simple, "Don't be afraid, kid. Follow Auntie Junko. It'll totally be okay."

John panicked, his mind not processing the fact that the lifting of the Youngling Alert was, in fact, really good for him. Instead, all he could think about was how he had been discovered (as evidenced by Junko's telepathy) while under cloak, and his mind seized up. Had his own telepathy to Rebecca given him away? Or was it his injury incurred by flying objects in the car? He had, to date, been able to evade detection by even the Masakis until such time he had decided to decloak, so the thought that there was someone he could not be stealthy around seemed...traumatic to him.

Compounding this was that he didn't know this 'Auntie Junko' from the mob outside, or from being a Masaki mole. His adrenaline levels soared, triggering the infamous fight-or-flight response.

With his mind too seized up by the detection-induced panic to realize Junko in fact meant to help him, he ran as fast as he could...

Compounding this was that he didn't know this 'Auntie Junko' from the mob outside, or from being a Masaki mole. His adrenaline levels soared, triggering the infamous fight-or-flight response.

With his mind too seized up by the detection-induced panic to realize Junko in fact meant to help him, he ran as fast as he could...

Rebecca sensed he was running, and then Junko held her back. Her eyes narrowed, and she said, "Stay here. I'll get 'im." The two Parks unwillingly stayed behind, as Junko began running after his trail. It was good she was relatively light to medium in weight, for she was able to keep up a steady pace. Using her senses, she kept her "eye" so to speak on him, dashing about and engaging in a round of what the French called le parkour to catch him using Force Jump.

As she did all this, she Forcemessaged him with a simple, "Wait! It's not what it seems like!" laced with genuine worry.

As that occurred, Rebecca decided to intervene in this game of hide and seek. She then said, "Stay here, Tommy. I won't let Superwoman get my charge." Following Junko's trail, she Forcemessaged John with a simple, "She's not here to hurt you! She's a friend! Stop Running!"

Everybody else was duly confused.

John remained too panicked for the telepathy to work very well. Oh, sure, he received the message, but he was too freaked attempting to elude certain capture and return to the Masakis to realize what was going on. With his mind still seized up by irrational fear, he kept running, weaving his way around assorted Novitiates in the Temple. He had to get out of here, away from this Crazy Woman!

He found a door marked EXIT and made a dash for it, flinging it open to make his escape...

John remained too panicked for the telepathy to work very well. Oh, sure, he received the message, but he was too freaked attempting to elude certain capture and return to the Masakis to realize what was going on. With his mind still seized up by irrational fear, he kept running, weaving his way around assorted Novitiates in the Temple. He had to get out of here, away from this Crazy Woman!

He found a door marked EXIT and made a dash for it, flinging it open to make his escape...

Whereupon Junko decided to intercept him, ending the round of parkour with a sudden teleport behind John's rough location. Timing it just right, she'd catch the rascal in her arms, and when that did happen, she held him tight--not excruciatingly so, but enough to let him know he wasn't going anywhere.

Rebecca caught up to Junko, and said, huffing and puffing, "You look funny with an invisible package."

"I can say the same about that breathing. Eat a little less of your sisters' cooking, maybe you can catch up," Junko fired back sarcastically with a gentle grin. Rebecca glared at Junko, and then they veered into one of the meeting rooms as they went back inside. Shutting the door, Rebecca said sweetly the moment Junko put John down onto a chair, "John, honey--this is Rebecca. I need you to calm down. Okay?"

Pointing to Junko, she said sweetly, "This lady here isn't going to hurt you. Her name's Junko. Junko Tadanobu. She seems scary because she suddenly appeared with new information concerning you."

Junko then waved and said, "Yeah...we kinda started on the wrong foot" sheepishly. She then said simply, "Sorry, John. I'm not going to bring you back to the Masakis, so don't be afraid."

Smiling, she continued with, "In fact.....they say you might be better off here staying with us, so you don't get abducted by the enemy."

Fuck!

It took John a few seconds, after being trapped and resigned to his fate of doom, to register what Junko and Rebecca had been trying to tell him all along. Exhausted from evading the fangirls, trying to evade Junko, on top of smuggling himself in the country in the first place, he decloaked--somewhat involuntarily, leaving Junko and Company to see the nasty evidence of the Flight to the Temple. A nasty gash across his cheek, a huge bruise on his left leg (a wonder he had been able to run at all), and a left arm practically caked in blood.

"No, she seems scary because she is not supposed to be able to find me so damn easily--not even the Masakis can do that!" John managed to croak out. "And Rebecca, you need to clean your car before you injure more passengers." With that, his open wounds began to seal themselves right before the eyes of all of them. But to undo the bruise...that was too much. The eight-year-old kid had exhausted himself fleeing to New Dornalia, and already mostly-depleted, done it again eluding fangirl mobs. And attempting to elude Junko. The kid was simply drawing down the Force more quickly than he could handle for such a young age, and he had been doing it more or less continuously for the last twenty-four hours straight.

As the adrenaline in his system broke down, the exhaustion set in full force, and his head slumped as he fainted.

Fuck!

It took John a few seconds, after being trapped and resigned to his fate of doom, to register what Junko and Rebecca had been trying to tell him all along. Exhausted from evading the fangirls, trying to evade Junko, on top of smuggling himself in the country in the first place, he decloaked--somewhat involuntarily, leaving Junko and Company to see the nasty evidence of the Flight to the Temple. A nasty gash across his cheek, a huge bruise on his left leg (a wonder he had been able to run at all), and a left arm practically caked in blood.

"No, she seems scary because she is not supposed to be able to find me so damn easily--not even the Masakis can do that!" John managed to croak out. "And Rebecca, you need to clean your car before you injure more passengers." With that, his open wounds began to seal themselves right before the eyes of all of them. But to undo the bruise...that was too much. The eight-year-old kid had exhausted himself fleeing to New Dornalia, and already mostly-depleted, done it again eluding fangirl mobs. And attempting to elude Junko. The kid was simply drawing down the Force more quickly than he could handle for such a young age, and he had been doing it more or less continuously for the last twenty-four hours straight.

As the adrenaline in his system broke down, the exhaustion set in full force, and his head slumped as he fainted.

Rebecca sighed, picking up the little runaway ex-Jedi and cradling him in a manner akin to the Pieta. She then sighed, and smiled in a motherly fashion, going, "Guess I gotta get him to the medical wing. He's not such a little terror when he's asleep."

Junko sheepishly looked at the sight, "Jesus....I didn't know he was like that." Shaking her head, she said as they walked him over to the Temple's infirmary, "He's right. Girl, you have to clean out that damn Bomber. I don't care what the lady at the Headstart says."

"Well, you kinda helped out there with all that running around. And that's never happened before with my damn auto." Rebecca said that as she lowered John into a bed and a group of medics began looking after him. "It's just a good thing we got that deal with the med school and we got medical Force training on tap. Some decent care, he'll be awake in no time."

"Mhm." Junko nodded, as the medics began administering the best care available in New Dornalia. A bacta tank, nutritional IV supplements, and other such things were quickly brought to bear on little John....indeed, it was fortunate that the Acolytes, aping previous movements like the Black Panthers before them, offered a sort of community action provision to their work.

About fifteen minutes after the receipt of such medical care, John's eyes finally fluttered open. Unfortunately, he had a breathing mask over his face, submerged in a bacta tank, which made it impossible to speak. He looked down at the left side of his body, and found that the injuries sustained from shit flying into him were by now completely gone. He was still tired, however, and he hoped he would not need to cloak again soon.

So...umm...I think you were TRYING to deliver me news? he sheepishly Forcemessaged Rebecca. Hey, I am not ALWAYS a little terror.

About fifteen minutes after the receipt of such medical care, John's eyes finally fluttered open. Unfortunately, he had a breathing mask over his face, submerged in a bacta tank, which made it impossible to speak. He looked down at the left side of his body, and found that the injuries sustained from shit flying into him were by now completely gone. He was still tired, however, and he hoped he would not need to cloak again soon.

So...umm...I think you were TRYING to deliver me news? he sheepishly Forcemessaged Rebecca. Hey, I am not ALWAYS a little terror.

Rebecca forcemessaged him with a simple, "Right. Basically, the Masakis seem to have placed an APB for your whereabouts; but they decided to rescind it not but an hour ago." Turning to Junko, she then said, "Well?"

Junko nodded and said, "Well, as it happens, John, Dom Daniel called Comrade Premier Robert MacIntyre, and then explained that they detected your presence here. They figured, evidently, that we could take care of you well enough and that they decided that if you wanted to leave--no sense making a big fuss over it, right?"

Coughing, she simply said, "Basically, this means that you're under our protection, and the Masakis don't mind it one bit."

Well...at least I do not have to worry about a politically motivated execution or imprisonment then, he Forcemessaged back. A look of relief sprouted across John's face, but merely relief, not any sort of happiness whatsoever, and even that relief was laced by a second thought. Well, if they ignored me over there, guess it only makes sense that they would ignore me over here. Better ignored than persecuted though. So when do I mail my lightsaber back?

Well...at least I do not have to worry about a politically motivated execution or imprisonment then, he Forcemessaged back. A look of relief sprouted across John's face, but merely relief, not any sort of happiness whatsoever, and even that relief was laced by a second thought. Well, if they ignored me over there, guess it only makes sense that they would ignore me over here. Better ignored than persecuted though. So when do I mail my lightsaber back?

Rebecca then replied, "As soon as you get out of that tank." Smiling she said, "Then, we find a good foster parent for you, and make sure you can continue your education in the Force and in civil life."

Junko nodded and said, "That's how it goes. We'll find a way to take care of ya. Don't worry."

As all these were said, both of the Senseis were issuing Forcemessages back and forth to one another. Mainly, they dealt with John's age--he was eight, as opposed to the minimum age of sixteen for the People's Acolytes. How were they to reconcile this youth's maturity and precocious nature with his age in terms of the law? They sheilded the conversation to prevent John from listening, but they had a feeling that he could pick up something.

"That's how it goes. We'll find a way to take care of ya. Don't worry."

The only problem: Those words seemed to John to be laced with worry. He wondered why, thinking what must be wrong with him. That he was famous? Naw, there were famous Acolytes too. That he came here illegally? Naw, the Masakis said they didn't care, that they wouldn't contest it, and he seemed well on his way to getting granted a visa anyway, given that he had come here in good-faith fear of political persecution, for challenging the Masakis to do something about the corruption when it might have mattered.

Then it struck him. He had yet to see a single child in the Temple. This was far unlike the younglings frequently seen being herded from class to class in Coredia. Apparently, the Acolytes did not train children. He had only seen adults...and this was a big Temple, too, with quite a few wide-open spaces that he had been through.

Into the frantic Force-conversation between the two Senseis, John added his own worry--Am I too young to be so educated?

"That's how it goes. We'll find a way to take care of ya. Don't worry."

The only problem: Those words seemed to John to be laced with worry. He wondered why, thinking what must be wrong with him. That he was famous? Naw, there were famous Acolytes too. That he came here illegally? Naw, the Masakis said they didn't care, that they wouldn't contest it, and he seemed well on his way to getting granted a visa anyway, given that he had come here in good-faith fear of political persecution, for challenging the Masakis to do something about the corruption when it might have mattered.

Then it struck him. He had yet to see a single child in the Temple. This was far unlike the younglings frequently seen being herded from class to class in Coredia. Apparently, the Acolytes did not train children. He had only seen adults...and this was a big Temple, too, with quite a few wide-open spaces that he had been through.

Into the frantic Force-conversation between the two Senseis, John added his own worry--Am I too young to be so educated?

The sudden appearance of thought from John caused both of them to stop. Sheepishly, they grinned and scratched their heads. The jig was up; they knew they had to answer his burning question. But how?

Rebecca decided to take command. She then said, "Well....I hate to say this, but we technically have an Age Minimum. We take in people who are sixteen and older, generally, since it is usually thought by that time the individual is mature enough and sensible enough to enter our ranks. However...."

Junko then said, "....you have certainly proven yourself a keen person. I mean that sincerely." Coughing, she then said, "I'm sure we could have someone either tutor you off the books, or find a way for you to be admitted for exceptional ability using the regular tests. The latter would take some wrangling, but it would be possible--academia does it all the time."

Awww shit. By now, John started getting anxious about wanting to get out of the damned bacta tank, because he did not want to be bothered with Force telepathy, especially given that he had used the Force more than enough for one day. Will that not get me accused of 'breaking the rules' every time I go into a Temple? Will I not be continually called out in class for being an underage tresspasser for the next eight years? By now, Junko and Rebecca could tell that John had figured out that no matter what happened, he would always be something of a Problem Child. Geez, I go from a family that does not want me to an organization where it is illegal for me to attend class...I cannot win no matter what I do!

Awww shit. By now, John started getting anxious about wanting to get out of the damned bacta tank, because he did not want to be bothered with Force telepathy, especially given that he had used the Force more than enough for one day. Will that not get me accused of 'breaking the rules' every time I go into a Temple? Will I not be continually called out in class for being an underage tresspasser for the next eight years? By now, Junko and Rebecca could tell that John had figured out that no matter what happened, he would always be something of a Problem Child. Geez, I go from a family that does not want me to an organization where it is illegal for me to attend class...I cannot win no matter what I do!

Junko then developed a sudden twitching in the right side of her face that would have been comical if it were not in reaction to the display of a lack of trust. She then muttered, code-switching to Brazilian Portuguese from English suddenly, "Well....shit. That's not good."

Rebecca decided to take care of the situation before Junko exploded and began cursing. Holding her hands out in a gesture of surrender as the personnel began to remove John from the tank, she began to earnestly speak.

"John....look. It's like what Miss Junko said. We'll test you, we'll make sure you take the oath and enter into the organization just like everybody else. It's not going to be that bad! Trust me. We get all kinds of unusual folks coming in all the time. Once we let you in legitimately, once you show you have skill, nobody's going to question you. I assure you! If anybody gives you trouble, you let me know!"

Leaning over the boy and siezing him in a Hollywood sort of desperation that was oddly appropriate for her nature, she said pleadingly, "Okay? Please, trust me! I know you have trust issues right now, I know this is a tough time for you, but please! TRUST ME!"

While John was happy to finally be out of that bacta tank, and able to speak again, he sensed quite a bit of frantic desperation emanating from both Junko and Rebecca. As was characteristic for him, he clammed up, refusing to open his mouth, and even his telepathic communications stopped. Now the feeling that Junko and/or Rebecca would say and/or do anything to keep John from just leaving New Dornalia as well, and perhaps trying his luck in his homeland (now that the Masakis had reportedly claimed they did not want him) started to sink in. And Rebecca's desperation was starting to freak him a little too.

Quietly and subtly, he tried to back away from Rebecca's hold on his shoulders, seeking an inch or three of personal space. He still wasn't convinced he would be accepted without some serious String Pulling, but he tried not to show that.

While John was happy to finally be out of that bacta tank, and able to speak again, he sensed quite a bit of frantic desperation emanating from both Junko and Rebecca. As was characteristic for him, he clammed up, refusing to open his mouth, and even his telepathic communications stopped. Now the feeling that Junko and/or Rebecca would say and/or do anything to keep John from just leaving New Dornalia as well, and perhaps trying his luck in his homeland (now that the Masakis had reportedly claimed they did not want him) started to sink in. And Rebecca's desperation was starting to freak him a little too.

Quietly and subtly, he tried to back away from Rebecca's hold on his shoulders, seeking an inch or three of personal space. He still wasn't convinced he would be accepted without some serious String Pulling, but he tried not to show that.

For that much, Rebecca sensed he still didn't trust her. Junko then leaned close next to Rebecca, and pried her off with a smile.

"That'll be enough overacting, Becky." Rebecca gritted her teeth and sighed. Usually, when Junko pulled out the smugness, she would have soemthing to say. Now, it behooved her to back off. Tired, the Sensei stepped back, as Junko laid her hand on the boy's shoulder.

With a smile and a calm voice, she said, "Tell you what. I can tell you're a little skeptical. How about this. We go through with the tests tomorrow, like everyone else, and worry about the rest later? Besides, I'm sure there's a provision for intelligent kids like you. Just gotta find it in the bylaws of the School."

"Umm. OK." John shrugged. "Just please, please, do not resort to making shit up in the bylaws. I do not want the fangirls getting any ideas about hiring lawyers at gunpoint, and filing suit, to get me thrown to the wolves."

"Umm. OK." John shrugged. "Just please, please, do not resort to making shit up in the bylaws. I do not want the fangirls getting any ideas about hiring lawyers at gunpoint, and filing suit, to get me thrown to the wolves."

Junko laughed and wiped her brow, which was really unnecessary as she had nary a drop of sweat on her head. Smiling, she replied with, "Well, now. I won't have to make up a damn thing. I'll just work with what I got, soinny. Don't you worry. Auntie Junko won't have to sneak you in."

Rebecca then spoke, coughing and asking, "So what now?"

Junko then pulled out a piece of paper, scribbled on it and signed it. Handing it to John, she said, "Becky, let him stay in your temple, rest for a night. Get him some real food. You fatten him up with that junk food you have, and I'll be angry. Let him use the gym, let him use the facilities. Anybody give him lip, he carries this. It's a pass, from me, saying he can stay. And it's perfectly within my powers."

Even though Junko may have had legal authority to write him day passes and exempt him from various shite, John still felt...dirty. Like a sychophant crony of a governor wielding pardon power...the day after a court convicted him of corruption. Quite the nauseating feeling to Woodians, being on the receiving end of off-procedure-yet-still-technically-legal breaks that would not exist were it not for having been a 'member' of a royal family at one time. John kept his mouth shut, and managed to stifle the gag reflex that tried to manifest itself. Blech. Celebrity cronyism.

John opened his mouth to say something, but then shut his jaw. Junko received only a shrug in reply.

Even though Junko may have had legal authority to write him day passes and exempt him from various shite, John still felt...dirty. Like a sychophant crony of a governor wielding pardon power...the day after a court convicted him of corruption. Quite the nauseating feeling to Woodians, being on the receiving end of off-procedure-yet-still-technically-legal breaks that would not exist were it not for having been a 'member' of a royal family at one time. John kept his mouth shut, and managed to stifle the gag reflex that tried to manifest itself. Blech. Celebrity cronyism.

John opened his mouth to say something, but then shut his jaw. Junko received only a shrug in reply.

Junko said nothing to his reaction. She understood the Woodian hesitation to recieve handouts from government figures, even within authority. Turning to Rebecca, she asked, "So, wanna show the boy around?"

Rebecca said, "Suppose so. Why, where you headed?"

"I gotta dinner appointment with the Sensei of the Temple of Glendale, Terra Kardashian."

Rebecca rolled her eyes at that. "Oh God. Not her. Spoiled little overachiever if I ever saw one."

"Yeah, I know." Junko shook her head as she gathered her things and said, "She insists I try this new Coredian-Japanese place down in Sawtelle. Expensive as sin, like she is. Apparently, her boyfriend opened it up, and she insists I try it out, and somehow, she knows I'm in town. I tells her, 'I ain't made of money,' but she insists on paying, and I insist on paying back--and she lets me. I brought cash--I ain't using plastic, not for Her Majesty."

Shrugging, Rebecca said, "Whatever fits your conscience."

Junko then leaned in, and hugged John, saying, "Well, I'll see you around kiddo. Tomorrow for the tests sound good?" Before John could answer, she left.

Rebecca then took John's hand and said, "Right. Let's show you around."

Befitting its funding and size, the Temple of Greater Los Angeles was built in shiny, Modern, Frank Gehryesque style with multiple levels of facilities and high technology. She showed John a very large gymnasium, a weight room with all kinds of equipment, a massive Olympic-sized swimming pool open to the public, no less than several meeting rooms for meditation and prayer (nondenominational of course), and a wellstocked library, big as the best of any library John had seen before. Rebecca explained only the Grand National Temple on Mars was bigger.

And, she showed the dorms. The one he stayed in was part of a general complex for the students themselves; there was also a seperate complex for travelers and transients. A large cafeteria was bustling with people, and a large indoor courtyard with a Zen Rock Garden, a shrine to Hanuman, and a little Virgin Mary statue existed as well.

John did not say much at any point throughout the tour, preferring instead to quietly note the locations of various important items, such as cafeteria, library, gym...and note that he was pretty much the only child to be seen in this teeming mass of Force-sensitive humanity. The thought made him wonder what Dornalians did to Force-sensitive children whilst they were still underage. It had to be hell for a kid to knowingly have such abilities with no one to instruct in their use until near-adulthood, he thought. Still, being the exception, that thought only made him feel more guilty of celebrity cronyism. Tommy's earlier exclamation that he was not just any boy, but a "very important" one, only fed such sentiment.

While inside the Temple's vast gymnasium, John quietly looked around, surveying the various equipment and what exercises could be done where, though he felt too tired to even pick up a dumbbell today. He only wished for access to a hockey rink, which might not fly too well here. If he had any influence whatsoever on who ended up adopting him, John thought, may as well try to find a family in what used to be Canada. Or at least, maybe, New York or Boston. He said not a word to Rebecca about it--now was not the time.

During his brief glimpse of the cafeteria, John hungrily eyed the food before being dragged off on the rest of the tour, only to find himself at the permanent student dorms...which led directly to him facepalming. Given his uncertain status, he had expected to end up in the transient housing. Still, he said nothing, lest he appear as an ungrateful little brat.

During his brief glimpse of the cafeteria, John hungrily eyed the food before being dragged off on the rest of the tour, only to find himself at the permanent student dorms...which led directly to him facepalming. Given his uncertain status, he had expected to end up in the transient housing. Still, he said nothing, lest he appear as an ungrateful little brat.

Rebecca then knelt down and showed him to the room where he was before, and then said, "Now, I'll leave you to do one of two things. Study for exams tomorrow, or eat at the cafeteria. Which one would you like to do?"

"Difficult to study on an empty stomach," John replied. "I wish to eat, then study. It will not take a full day to eat, after all..."

"Difficult to study on an empty stomach," John replied. "I wish to eat, then study. It will not take a full day to eat, after all..."

"Okay." Thus, Rebecca took John to the cafeteria, and got him a tray, a bone-white plate and some silverware. She then led him into an environment with various food stations. A variety of meal options presented themselves to the young Woodian. Soups, salads, sandwiches, chicken, beef, chow mein, steaks, ribs, and all others eminated from various food stations. She then began following the young lad, as she said, "Well, pick what you like."

John hungrily eyed the food, his first chance to eat a real meal since before the Battle at the Kokkai. Quickly, he filled his plate with rice and started piling the goodies (and the veggies) on top, starting with beef teriyaki strips, water chestnuts, broccoli for nutritional value, noodles, and everything else one might expect from a teriyaki restaurant dish. However, he still was not done, and he quickly went over to the peppers section, whereupon he sliced off fully a quarter each of both green and red bell peppers, and stirred them in, whilst grabbing a glass of water, pouring it on his food, and using the thermokinetic abilities that Taylor Masaki had so graciously taught him to flash-steam the altered flavor into his food. The manner in which he steamed his food might have seemed unorthodox, but he did not particularly care what other people thought, for he had resigned himself to eight years of suffering anyway. He may as well enjoy this meal.

He sat down at a small, empty, table, and started eating, forcing himself to slow down after a few minutes of hunger-induced shoveling so he could enjoy the taste of the first real meal he had had in what seemed like an eternity.

John hungrily eyed the food, his first chance to eat a real meal since before the Battle at the Kokkai. Quickly, he filled his plate with rice and started piling the goodies (and the veggies) on top, starting with beef teriyaki strips, water chestnuts, broccoli for nutritional value, noodles, and everything else one might expect from a teriyaki restaurant dish. However, he still was not done, and he quickly went over to the peppers section, whereupon he sliced off fully a quarter each of both green and red bell peppers, and stirred them in, whilst grabbing a glass of water, pouring it on his food, and using the thermokinetic abilities that Taylor Masaki had so graciously taught him to flash-steam the altered flavor into his food. The manner in which he steamed his food might have seemed unorthodox, but he did not particularly care what other people thought, for he had resigned himself to eight years of suffering anyway. He may as well enjoy this meal.

He sat down at a small, empty, table, and started eating, forcing himself to slow down after a few minutes of hunger-induced shoveling so he could enjoy the taste of the first real meal he had had in what seemed like an eternity.

Rebecca sat down next to him, the only thing on her plate a meat pie and a glass of iced tea. Eating it slowly so as to not show off, she smiled and asked "How's it?"

Meanwhile, the other people in the cafeteria didn't pay much attention to John--at least not yet. Then, one kid sat next to John, and asked Rebecca, "Who's the kid?"

"The 'kid' is my charge for the evening. He's had a long day, and doesn't want questions." Rebecca said this with a firm, but polite smile to the Acolyte that drove the point home. The man then said, "Jeez. I wasn't gonna do nothin' to him, Miss."

"That's fine. Just don't do nothin'." Rebecca went back to her meat pie, eating it slowly.

Scarcely had John finished chewing the food in his mouth before his opportunity to answer Rebecca's question about food quality was interrupted by some asshole Novitiate who could not be bothered to mind his own business. Great, I am going to have to deal with this shit for the next eight years, John thought to himself. I hope I 'look' sixteen early. Somewhat disgruntled at the interruption, he took another bite, as if Rebecca had asked that question of the village idiot.

Scarcely had John finished chewing the food in his mouth before his opportunity to answer Rebecca's question about food quality was interrupted by some asshole Novitiate who could not be bothered to mind his own business. Great, I am going to have to deal with this shit for the next eight years, John thought to himself. I hope I 'look' sixteen early. Somewhat disgruntled at the interruption, he took another bite, as if Rebecca had asked that question of the village idiot.

The kid then sensed his anger, and then stormed off from the table, muttering, "man, fuck you." Rebecca then sighed and calmly marked in a book, muttering, "Demerits to issue.....one for...." Looking at the man who walked off, "J. Smynkowski. And a penalty for six laps around the gymnasium, whilst it's in ice rink mode." Closing the book, a gaggle of students sat down, surprisingly unaware of John and Rebecca's presence. As they ate and began chatting, they noticed Rebecca, who smiled at them and said, "How's business?"

"Good," they all seemed to say. They then returned to their meals, thanks to Rebecca going, "Well then, carry on" with a subtle Jedi Mind Trick. As they ate, one glanced at John, but shrugged and said nothing, returning to his meal.

John decided to minimize his exposure to the unwelcome scrutiny, perceived or otherwise, by finishing his meal faster. Thinking it was probably a good thing he had piled his plate so high with food, because of an environment in which he would not dare return for seconds, he quickly shoveled bite after bite into his mouth. Another consequence of Celebrity Cronyism: he would not be able to actually enjoy food for quite a while, and he added resignation to eight years of ration bars to his resignation of being looked upon as a Celebrity Crony for the next eight years.

"You mentioned studying," John quietly reminded Rebecca when he finished. "Let us get whatever materials are required, then could I please just go over them in my room?" He did not particularly wish to be seen, even if it wasn't worth cloaking over at the moment.

John decided to minimize his exposure to the unwelcome scrutiny, perceived or otherwise, by finishing his meal faster. Thinking it was probably a good thing he had piled his plate so high with food, because of an environment in which he would not dare return for seconds, he quickly shoveled bite after bite into his mouth. Another consequence of Celebrity Cronyism: he would not be able to actually enjoy food for quite a while, and he added resignation to eight years of ration bars to his resignation of being looked upon as a Celebrity Crony for the next eight years.

"You mentioned studying," John quietly reminded Rebecca when he finished. "Let us get whatever materials are required, then could I please just go over them in my room?" He did not particularly wish to be seen, even if it wasn't worth cloaking over at the moment.

Rebecca sensed his desire to be left alone, and thus after John finished his meal the Sensei took care of his dishes and then led him outside. As she led him to the library, saying, "I can get you the Manual, the basic books, some holocrons and maybe a shinai from the gym. Though I'd like you to be careful with it. The rooms are big enough for practice, but you still gotta be careful."

Through the sprawling complex, she and John ended up at the Library, where she entered the lobby. Upon entry, she asked the librarian, "Got any study materials on the basic exams?" The Librarian then looked at Sensei Park skeptically, replying, "Thought you had some?"

She then said, "I need some holocrons. Basic stuff. I got a trainee here who needs to do an all-nighter."

"Alrighty. All-nighters ain't good for ya, but I got the basic materials manifest." Without looking away from the workstation, the man printed out a sheet for them to consult as they browsed the aisles. After finding the basic Holocrons, she then charged them out and went to her office. Upon entering, she provided several energy bars and her copy of the People's Acolytes Manual and several manuals of basic kung fu and weapon techniques--one edited by her aunt Linda on how to use the Shaolin Spade--to the young lad, saying, "Guard this with your life. These are my sole copies."

Then, she took the boy to the gym, and requisitioned a Shaolin Spade wooden replica and a shinai for his own use. Finally taking him back to the dorm room, she then said, "Right. I've given you what you need. Study up, ask if you need anything. There's gonna be a multiple choice test, a panel of psychologists and a combat exam. Good luck!" She then left John to his devices.

"Thank you." John quietly closed the door, and finally left to his own devices, decided to rest. A tired and exhausted mind would not retain much material, he knew. He set his alarm for four hours, during which time he slept under a Force-induced, sleep accelerating trance.

Waking up just a little tired, but quite refreshed compared to the hell of the day before, he quickly got out the most basic of his study materials, the Acolytes' Manual, to read up on the basics of Acolyte philosophy. After a few hours of studying in the middle of the night, he figured he had better head over to those martial arts manuals. He wished he could get a live tutor, but he dared not ask anyone but Rebecca, whom he really didn't want to wake up at one in the morning...so he simply read the manuals and carefully practiced various strikes and defensive postures with his shinai, careful not to break anything, or even to make any kind of noise that would announce his presence.

"Thank you." John quietly closed the door, and finally left to his own devices, decided to rest. A tired and exhausted mind would not retain much material, he knew. He set his alarm for four hours, during which time he slept under a Force-induced, sleep accelerating trance.

Waking up just a little tired, but quite refreshed compared to the hell of the day before, he quickly got out the most basic of his study materials, the Acolytes' Manual, to read up on the basics of Acolyte philosophy. After a few hours of studying in the middle of the night, he figured he had better head over to those martial arts manuals. He wished he could get a live tutor, but he dared not ask anyone but Rebecca, whom he really didn't want to wake up at one in the morning...so he simply read the manuals and carefully practiced various strikes and defensive postures with his shinai, careful not to break anything, or even to make any kind of noise that would announce his presence.

Rebecca, sure enough, was asleep. But not as soundly as John surmised, sadly--she occasionally awoke wondering how the youngling was doing. She was worried about the kid, especially as she had to test him tomorrow. Finaly unable to sleep, she decided to call Junko.

"Uh.....yo? This is Junko?"

"Hey."

"Hey....Becky, how's the kid?"

"Good. He's training in his room. He doesn't wanna be disturbed. Got him some basic materials."

"Good. So tell me, why call now?"

"Well, I'm worried about the scamp. I know he's got skills, but I'm worried. He seems afraid of us. Not just in a 'I like humility way.'"

"Well, he did escape Dom Daniel's clutches. He's understandably worried about whether we're gonna try to pamper him to death like he did. Just relax. For a woman who's good with kids, you're sometimes really good at missing the obvious, ya know?"

"Heh. Remind me to have Lisa put horse laxative in your cookies for that snide remark."

"Girl, please. You know I'm wise to that. Besides, I thought we were all more mature than that?"

"Just joking, joking...anywho, how'd the dinner go?"

"Ugh. Horrible. That woman does not know the meaning of TMI."

"Don't go on. I got it already. How was the food?"

"Not bad, actually. I get the feeling the boyfriend wants her to ease off a little. He kinda seemed nervous around her."

"No kidding. Well, I gotta go. Night."

One in the morning bled into two in the morning, and John cared not whether or not Rebecca was actually awake or not. He did not really sense her insomnia, he had no reason to extend his senses out that far, especially as doing so might announce his presence. He still believed, mistakenly or not, that his telepathy had given him away, while cloaked, to Junko. So he wasn't about to do that again.

He took a break to munch a ration bar, with a glass of water to wash it down, before resuming his quiet practice of Dornalian martial arts. Wondering if he would be allowed to bring his lightsaber for the same kinds of surprises that had killed the Fallen Master Fuuma during the Battle of the Kokkai, he wielded his practice weapon with only one hand whenever possible, though occasionally he practiced two-handed grips, just in case his lightsaber would be forbidden. The Acolytes still hadn't quite gotten around to the business of mailing it yet, and John hadn't quite gotten around to writing his notice that he intended to formally invoke the Right of Denial yet.

When at last, at five or so in the morning, John felt that his study and practice was reaching the Point of Diminishing Returns, when he felt that further study would be pretty much pointless, he turned off the lights and crashed on the mattress without so much as bothering to change his clothes. He had no idea whether Rebecca would come knocking at six or at noon, but if he had the slightest opening to rest after his studies and practice, he may as well take advantage of it.

When at last, at five or so in the morning, John felt that his study and practice was reaching the Point of Diminishing Returns, when he felt that further study would be pretty much pointless, he turned off the lights and crashed on the mattress without so much as bothering to change his clothes. He had no idea whether Rebecca would come knocking at six or at noon, but if he had the slightest opening to rest after his studies and practice, he may as well take advantage of it.

Rebecca, sure enough, came knocking at approximately Nine O'Clock in the morning, Pacific Time. Rapping gently on the door, she intended to wake John up. Having done so once before, she waited, and then knocked again in case he didn't hear. All the time, she then used Force Push to gently nudge him, to drive home the point.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. It's that time."

"Unh." John groggily sat up and rubbed his eyes. Fortunately for him, he had had about three hours more sleep than he had thought he would receive. "Give me a few seconds. I went to bed at five in the morning." Stifling a yawn, he slowly got up and grabbed a ration bar and glass of water, slowly perking up a bit as he shoved what passed for food down his face.

"Unh." John groggily sat up and rubbed his eyes. Fortunately for him, he had had about three hours more sleep than he had thought he would receive. "Give me a few seconds. I went to bed at five in the morning." Stifling a yawn, he slowly got up and grabbed a ration bar and glass of water, slowly perking up a bit as he shoved what passed for food down his face.

Rebecca nodded, and waited for the boy to finish his "breakfast"--to her it wasn't a real breakfast, but sometimes time didn't allow for a formal sit down meal with the fixins', as it were. Thus, when he was good and ready, Rebecca said, "Good morning, John. When you're ready, we'll begin part one. Any last minute panicky questions?"

"Just one, and it is not panicky," John replied. "Am I allowed to bring my lightsaber to the combat trial before I send it back? Other than that, I am as ready as I would ever be a day after arriving."

"Just one, and it is not panicky," John replied. "Am I allowed to bring my lightsaber to the combat trial before I send it back? Other than that, I am as ready as I would ever be a day after arriving."

Rebecca mused, stroking her chin. She then nodded, saying, "You may bring your lightsaber. In fact, I'd go as far as say I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

---------

As this occurred, a familiar Triumph Bonneville motorcycle parked in the lot, bearing a rider in full People's Acolytes regalia, although a M1 Helmet for safety was added along with dust goggles. Taking them off, she put the implements onto the bike itself after killing the engine and putting down the kickstand.

Walking into the lobby, the receptionist looked up and greeted the rider with a simple, "Sensei?"

"Morning. Where's Sensei Park?"

"She's busy at the moment, can I take a message?"

"Tell her Junko Tadanobu's here, and that I'm here to witness the tests for today."

Rebecca mused, stroking her chin. She then nodded, saying, "You may bring your lightsaber. In fact, I'd go as far as say I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

"OK," the young one replied, retrieving the shinai with one hand and his lightsaber with the other, in a manner that signaled his comfort in wielding such devices with only one hand, and two weapons concurrently. "Like I said, ready as I could be if the tests are today."

He then let Rebecca lead him to the testing areas...

"OK," the young one replied, retrieving the shinai with one hand and his lightsaber with the other, in a manner that signaled his comfort in wielding such devices with only one hand, and two weapons concurrently. "Like I said, ready as I could be if the tests are today."

He then let Rebecca lead him to the testing areas...

Rebecca sauntered around the Temple, eventually passing the Lobby where she found Junko talking shop with the clerk. Junko then sniffed the air for a moment, and then turned, gazing at Rebecca and John. With a simple wave, she bound over to them in an unusually giddy mood, and then waved hello to Rebecca, saying oddly enough, "Hello!"

Rebecca only remarked, "And a good morning to you too--you seem in high spirits," as Junko knelt down to say hello to John. Getting back up, she said, "Right. You testing him?"

"Yeah. Gonna give him the written first. I also arranged for the usual panel to come give him the verbal exam. Then, we spar. Simple."

Junko nodded, as the group went to the simple testing room. Sitting John down in a simple chair, he was then given something he probably didn't expect. A multiple choice examination, and a pair of number two pencils with fresh erasers to use on a bubble sheet.

"Alrighty," Rebecca said as she sat down and motioned for Junko to do something else. "This is the first test. Fill in the bubbles completely, select only one answer per question. Bear in mind that as this examination is based solely on your own moral judgments, there is no right or wrong answer. You have one hour. When finished, turn in your test and prepare for the next exam."

She then smiled and said, "Any questions?"

"No questions. No questions at all..."

Quietly, John took the exam and started filling in bubbles, wondering to himself why this test was reserved for those aged sixteen and older. Nearly anyone could take this test, he figured, as he answered the questions, all the while wishing he could write stuff down as well. As it was, the aggregate of his answers to the compendium of morality questions would reveal an honest person, almost too scrupulously-so, who answered the questions concerning using unearned advantages over others (such as family and connections) in such a manner that strongly suggested that if he had not outright fled from the Masakis, he would completely refuse to take the test before the age of sixteen.

Indeed, the only reason why he took it at all was because he felt the Force was crammed down his ass, against his will. Of course, there were also those questions pertaining to the less fortunate, to which John clearly answered that he would find more fulfillment in homelessness himself than he could ever find from a palatial estate. Unfortunately, he lacked direct control of the trust funds (formerly) reserved to him, or such trust funds would have disappeared under the guise of "spreading the wealth around" real quick.

When John was finished, Rebecca took the test and the pencils. Nodding, she motioned for Junko to come back in the room. As she did so, Junko remarked, "So what? Was I gonna influence him or what?"

Rebecca said nothing, only shrugging and saying, "You're the one trying to suck up to him. An eight-year-old. Goddamn."

"Jeez. Just trying to make nice."

As the two led John out of the room, they eventually opened the door to another room. This one with a table with four people in it. Rebecca and Junko stayed inside, as Rebecca explained why they were there.

"This is the second exam. Here, we're doing something more holistic than simply using a written exam to test you. In the Acolytes, we place a big emphasis on maturity and good moral judgment, which is especially important as we deal with the public frequently. Hence, we bring in non-affiliated people not from the Organization, to provide an impartial test of said moral judgment and maturity from the non-Force using community."

The four people at the table were a psychologist, a man in the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk, a man in a police officer's uniform, and what looked like a priest.

"These folks are Doctor Cocoran, LA County General Hospital, Rev. Sasagawara of the Fifth Street Buddhist Temple, Officer Mike Shea of the LAPD, and Father Leonard Nunez of Saint Francis's Church in Long Beach."

They nodded, and then the two Senseis sat down.

Shea was the first to speak.

"Mornin', John. I'm here to ask you a few questions--don't let the uniform scare you. So, tell me. What do you find funny or amusing?"

It wasn't particularly a question that the young one cared for, as he seldom if ever laughed at anything. "Umm...I never did laugh much, sir," the kid admitted. "I never read comics or watch cartoons for example, and I am always told that I have no sense of humor. Probably true. I do find enjoyment in a few things, however, like playing hockey. That is probably the closest I can come to answering the question without saying, 'nothing.' "

It wasn't particularly a question that the young one cared for, as he seldom if ever laughed at anything. "Umm...I never did laugh much, sir," the kid admitted. "I never read comics or watch cartoons for example, and I am always told that I have no sense of humor. Probably true. I do find enjoyment in a few things, however, like playing hockey. That is probably the closest I can come to answering the question without saying, 'nothing.' "

The others wrote down responses on their notepads, nodding and scribbling for a few seconds. Okay, so he was serious. Not everybody shared the Dornalian embrace of Life as Fuckwin. It was an almost Colonial Pathos.

Officer Shea continued, as he asked, "Alrighty. I see you like hockey. Not a bad sport. But why that then, instead of another?"

"Hmm. Well, it is fast, requires lots of precision, and if the teams are respectful of the rules, can be played with very few clock interruptions, unlike, say, baseball where you wait two minutes between every pitch," John replied. "It exercises every part of the body so much that it has to be played in shifts of a few minutes--yet a line change can be done without interrupting the game at all. It requires coordination, teamwork, and is the most challenging sport I have ever witnessed, much less played."

"Hmm. Well, it is fast, requires lots of precision, and if the teams are respectful of the rules, can be played with very few clock interruptions, unlike, say, baseball where you wait two minutes between every pitch," John replied. "It exercises every part of the body so much that it has to be played in shifts of a few minutes--yet a line change can be done without interrupting the game at all. It requires coordination, teamwork, and is the most challenging sport I have ever witnessed, much less played."

Nodding, Shea and the others wrote down what they got out of that. Okay, the kid's serious--but he's also dedicated and professionalist, with a decidedly youthful emphasis on speed.

After some period of writing, Father Nunez then spoke, saying, "I noticed you valued teamwork. Here's a question we usually ask prospective candidates--say a member of your unit, team, or whatever organization you belong to wants you to commit an act you find reprehensible. Say, rob a bank or shoot a politician. What would you do then? For our purposes, let's say he's somehow got the team on his side--or a majority at least, a few refuseniks notwithstanding."

"At the very, VERY least, notify authorities and the intended target about the plan. If possible, I would also seek to disarm the would-be perpetrators of any weapons or other implements they might need for their attack. While under most circumstances my ability to cloak would be helpful for swiping weapons before they could be used for such acts, I am afraid that if someone of Junko's power was the would-be bank robber, I would have no other option than to try to alert other local Temples."

"At the very, VERY least, notify authorities and the intended target about the plan. If possible, I would also seek to disarm the would-be perpetrators of any weapons or other implements they might need for their attack. While under most circumstances my ability to cloak would be helpful for swiping weapons before they could be used for such acts, I am afraid that if someone of Junko's power was the would-be bank robber, I would have no other option than to try to alert other local Temples."

They nodded, not saying a thing as they scribbled down what he said, and again commented. Serious, professional--and a model citizen, like most Woodians. Rev. Sasagawara wondered personally if he wasn't looking at George Washington, the boy who couldn't tell a lie, or Pericles, the great democrat. Not a bad thing, but it was striking how deep his commitment seemed.

Nunez continued, "Okay then. Let me comment on your cloaking ability. It's been said that all people want the power to be invisible. Has obvious benefits for everybody--be they persons of good judgment or questionable judgment. With that in mind, let's ask this--how do you ensure your power to cloak stays on the side of good, in lieu of criminality?"

"Well that is easy. Junko can still detect it; how, I do not know. That aside, I certainly would not teach it to people who cannot show maturity or good judgement." He almost added Anakin and Travis Masaki, for example, but held his tongue, for he knew that Dornies would not exactly be appreciative of an inside view of the younger generation of Coredian aristocrats. "For that matter, I would not teach it to anyone who has not earned my full and complete trust--which pretty much means that any lapse of judgement will make me think twice about teaching it. Also, I need to say that the cloak is not infinite--eventually it will get too exhausting for me to keep up, so even if *I* misused it, police would still be able to catch up with me, even if not immediately. But I am not one to go robbing banks while under cloak so the security cameras cannot see me."

"Well that is easy. Junko can still detect it; how, I do not know. That aside, I certainly would not teach it to people who cannot show maturity or good judgement." He almost added Anakin and Travis Masaki, for example, but held his tongue, for he knew that Dornies would not exactly be appreciative of an inside view of the younger generation of Coredian aristocrats. "For that matter, I would not teach it to anyone who has not earned my full and complete trust--which pretty much means that any lapse of judgement will make me think twice about teaching it. Also, I need to say that the cloak is not infinite--eventually it will get too exhausting for me to keep up, so even if *I* misused it, police would still be able to catch up with me, even if not immediately. But I am not one to go robbing banks while under cloak so the security cameras cannot see me."

Nunez found John's own assessment curious. It was concievable to him that he could control how others would use the ability, or if they even learned it. But how, jsut how, would he command himself? It was a fair question to ask, though it seemed it would be time to wrap up this line eventually. Coughing, he said, "Right. Last question. How ar you sure you won't use the power for evil? You listed a practical reason, but sometimes, people aren't so practical."

"I would not be able to live with myself, the shame, if I did use the ability for evil," John replied. "I come from a country that had a mass suicide over being out-of-position to help when the Empire attempted to invade Jurai the first time, after all. My conscience would mandate sepukku, so that it could never happen again."

"I would not be able to live with myself, the shame, if I did use the ability for evil," John replied. "I come from a country that had a mass suicide over being out-of-position to help when the Empire attempted to invade Jurai the first time, after all. My conscience would mandate sepukku, so that it could never happen again."

At that, everybody began wrting things down. Shame culture. Intense self-pressure. It all made sense somehow....

Dr. Cocoran now spoke. He leaned forth, and asked John, "So, John.....I'd like to ask you something. What is your favorite food, and why?"

John's reply to that question was short and blunt. "Ration bars. Utilitarianism." The concept of 'dessert' was almost completely foreign to him, despite the Masakis' many attempts to introduce it to his palette.

John's reply to that question was short and blunt. "Ration bars. Utilitarianism." The concept of 'dessert' was almost completely foreign to him, despite the Masakis' many attempts to introduce it to his palette.

To that, the Doctor made some more scribbles, and simply then asked, "Hmm. I've noticed that's a bit of a preference of yours--the simple and useful. Seems a bit harsh to ask why, but I suppose my curiosity lends me to asking, 'Why?' I'm sure there's more enjoyable, if not amusing, things for a youth to eat than Army food."

John shrugged. "Would you rather I gorge myself on candy until I became sick? I had enough junk for sustenance in the process of coming here."

John shrugged. "Would you rather I gorge myself on candy until I became sick? I had enough junk for sustenance in the process of coming here."

"Well, no. I'd just rather you vary the diet a little. Variety is always appreciated." Scribbling down some more data, Corcoran let others speak. He decided he'd go later for some clinical questions, but for now he better let the touchy-feely stay with the pros.

Reverend Sasagawara, the Buddhist monk, said simply, "That is true--though the boy has a point." Leaning to look at John, he asked, "John, I have a question. What is your definition of 'just' and 'fair?'"

"Unh. Umm..." John's face grew beet red as he had difficulty articulating a response, difficulty to be expected from asking an eight-year-old a question that preoccupied philosophers for millenia. Moreover, the types of classes at the Jedi Academy that might have helped him come up with some answer to the question, any answer, weren't offered to younglings of his age. In the absence of such guidance, he had to search his memory. Back years, before the Masakis. A long and uneasy silence prevailed.

He remembered his father had been a union machinist, before getting cut down by pulse laser fire emanating from a 'Mech, as a column of refugees tried to flee through a mountain pass, from the horrors of the coup d'etat. He concentrated harder, trying to remember that book his father had read him so much. And explained, as best could be done with a then-five-year-old. It had, he remembered, been a great lesson in sharing...and what could happen if people got too greedy.

He looked at the bookshelf behind the panel, wondering if it might contain the book he had once read to him, the book that would be utter blaspheme to the Masakis. He did not find it, but he found something close enough to serve as a memory trigger, MacIntyre's Comments on Marx. Something about a Commie Manifest...or something like that...

An uncertain tone in his voice, as if trying to remember something taught him decades ago (which, really, was true for an eight-year-old trying to recover a three-year-old memory), he nervously, meekly, and after an eternity of silence, replied, "I probably sound like I am stealing someone else's idea...but from each by ability, to each what he needs?"

Oh well, at least it'd help explain his long-running friction with the Masakis...

"Unh. Umm..." John's face grew beet red as he had difficulty articulating a response, difficulty to be expected from asking an eight-year-old a question that preoccupied philosophers for millenia. Moreover, the types of classes at the Jedi Academy that might have helped him come up with some answer to the question, any answer, weren't offered to younglings of his age. In the absence of such guidance, he had to search his memory. Back years, before the Masakis. A long and uneasy silence prevailed.

He remembered his father had been a union machinist, before getting cut down by pulse laser fire emanating from a 'Mech, as a column of refugees tried to flee through a mountain pass, from the horrors of the coup d'etat. He concentrated harder, trying to remember that book his father had read him so much. And explained, as best could be done with a then-five-year-old. It had, he remembered, been a great lesson in sharing...and what could happen if people got too greedy.

He looked at the bookshelf behind the panel, wondering if it might contain the book he had once read to him, the book that would be utter blaspheme to the Masakis. He did not find it, but he found something close enough to serve as a memory trigger, MacIntyre's Comments on Marx. Something about a Commie Manifest...or something like that...

An uncertain tone in his voice, as if trying to remember something taught him decades ago (which, really, was true for an eight-year-old trying to recover a three-year-old memory), he nervously, meekly, and after an eternity of silence, replied, "I probably sound like I am stealing someone else's idea...but from each by ability, to each what he needs?"

Oh well, at least it'd help explain his long-running friction with the Masakis...

The group nodded, understanding what it was all about. The boy had been taught from his youth by his dad, obviously a Socialist of some sort, from Marx and the Communist Manifesto. The blueprint for Utopia, as one angry German intellectual and his friend/patron saw it. One that resulted in New Dornalia, although rather indirectly through years of violent
development.

It was jsut as well that he saw MacIntyre's Comments on Marx. They were "Maccy's" answer to the Manifesto and Das Kapital, denouncing both in his youthful anger as hypocritical dream worlds available only to Europeans and Euro-Americans good for one historical period, based on a naive, materialist and racist understanding of history and economics that ignored high cultures before the Europeans and generally provided fuel for any tinpot dictator with a crooked mind and an itchy trigger finger to kill his neighbor. Junko saw him look at the spine of the book to get his memory back, and thought to herself, "Note to self--never let him see that book. Ever."

Still, the facts helped to justify his stern sense of morality to the group, and they noted it on their charts. Woodians were always responsible citizens; perhaps the reason John was so forceful was because his dad decided to raise him on Communist tracts. That tended to produce folks like John.

The idea itself was not offensive though, and in fact, Sasagawara pointed that out. "I see. Well, we did put that in a way in our constitution and tax law. People complain of the high taxes, but we provide--not just that, but guarantee--extensive social services. So yes, I can see how its good sense and just/fair."

The others nodded, and scribbled it all down. As this occurred, Corcoran then asked, "John, how healthy would you say you are?"

"Umm...why?" John asked, not really knowing the point of the question. He was a bit young to understand the whole idea of immigrants taking medical exams to prove that they would not be a burden on the health services of a prospective host country. "I am not sick. Overdue for a checkup, though. I was supposed to get it two months ago, but the Masakis had been too busy to see to it lately."

"Umm...why?" John asked, not really knowing the point of the question. He was a bit young to understand the whole idea of immigrants taking medical exams to prove that they would not be a burden on the health services of a prospective host country. "I am not sick. Overdue for a checkup, though. I was supposed to get it two months ago, but the Masakis had been too busy to see to it lately."

The men scribbled on their pens again. He seemed to be fine mentally and physically--hypocondriacs would've rolled a laundrylist of ailments, for example. Still, one had to be careful when listening to a paitent--John was definetly honest, but sometimes paitents had a way of hiding things.

Junko nodded as he spoke. She got the same impression, as did Rebecca, that he seemed genuinely healthy--just scared as any kid would be.

Officer Shea then spoke with a, "Okay, I think we got enough info here. Just two last questions, one after the other. First one--what was your dad like?"

"Umm..." another memory-straining question. John couldn't really remember much. "I remember he was a machinist at a mineral...refiner-whatchacallit. Proud of his work, and worked lots of overtime. He belonged to some union association, at least I think it was a union. Very stern, but he taught me to share, and if he had lived to see Coredia's Fall..."

John visibly shuddered. No, his father would not have gone and pulled a Bailey Kipper. But he might have decided to run for office on an anti-Coredian platform, to say the least. "...he would have wanted Woodians to stop trade with Coredia. Hit the aristocrats in the pocketbook. And that is probably being nice about it."

"Umm..." another memory-straining question. John couldn't really remember much. "I remember he was a machinist at a mineral...refiner-whatchacallit. Proud of his work, and worked lots of overtime. He belonged to some union association, at least I think it was a union. Very stern, but he taught me to share, and if he had lived to see Coredia's Fall..."

John visibly shuddered. No, his father would not have gone and pulled a Bailey Kipper. But he might have decided to run for office on an anti-Coredian platform, to say the least. "...he would have wanted Woodians to stop trade with Coredia. Hit the aristocrats in the pocketbook. And that is probably being nice about it."

Nodding, Shea continued. "Your dad sounds like a good guy, a responsible citizen. Working class fella. Reminds me a bit of some of my colleagues' dads. Or some of the Old Guard Communists who didn't sell their souls--a rare breed."

Writing on his notepad, Shea then asked, "Okay. Question two. You do realize that if you join this group, and if you choose become a citizen, you have the option of being called up at the age of eighteen for two years of National Service--that means you have to show up for military service or war work, or some kind of civil service, like teaching a school--you don't have a choice to say no. Doesn't gotta be war but it's gotta be service. Being in PA, you can choose to be exempt from that for religious reasons. Would you take the exemption?"

"Probably not. What else would I do?" The kid shrugged. "I would need a damn good reason to evade that. 'Religion' does not cut it."

"Probably not. What else would I do?" The kid shrugged. "I would need a damn good reason to evade that. 'Religion' does not cut it."

Writing down their answers, they then collectively replied, "Thank you."

Leaving the room, Junko and Rebecca followed the panel outside to an area out of earshot, where they delivered their verdict after comparing their notes.

"John is good, he's got good morals, strong conviction, professionalism, passion for the law and a sense of fair play. But his Marxist upbringing and overly high expectations for his age may produce problems in the future, especially with authority figures and failure of objectives. Suggest lots of TLC and monitoring to ensure he stays moderate in his character qualities."

Rebecca nodded, and walked back into the room, saying, "You pass."

"No, I did not," John said, rather bluntly at that. Before Rebecca could panic that he was going off the deep end of sternness again, however, he added, "Unless you intend on writing off the combat exam that you told me about."

"No, I did not," John said, rather bluntly at that. Before Rebecca could panic that he was going off the deep end of sternness again, however, he added, "Unless you intend on writing off the combat exam that you told me about."

Rebecca laughed, for he anticipated her responses pretty well and thus gave John a nice chuckle for the irony. Then, after calming down, she then extended her hand, saying, "Alrighty then, John. Let's go to the combat exam."

Leading him out of the room and dismissing the Panel, Rebecca walked over to the area where the Combat Exam was to be held. The gym was remodeled into a fairly simple area with a set of bleachers, a safety shield, pillars and a central court for sparring. As Rebecca led him in, she said simply, "John, there's three stages to this. Something easy, something medium, and then me. We will be monitoring your progress. The objective is to render all opposition in the room unable to fight. Otherwise, that's it." Smiling, she then said "Good luck!" before leaving.

In the distance, Junko could be seen in the bleachers, waving to John as if she were watching a soccer match.

"Right..." Quietly, John walked into the center of the sparring area, his lightsaber in one hand, his wooden practice sword (which he had a feeling would soon prove near-useless) in the other. His eyes drifted about the room, looking for any spare, unclaimed, mass-produced lightsaber that he might replace the deadweight with. The young one found it much easier to surprise opponents if he had a second lightsaber for reserve use. Or if he was cloaked, but that might not fly here, especially given Junko's ability to detect him anyway.

He pretended not to notice her, the follower of Celebrity Cronyism that she had proven to be. With a twinge of nervousness, he stood in the middle of the sparring area, waiting, waiting for his opponent, trying to shake the thought that he was little more than a juvenile gladiator put there for Junko's amusement. And take advantage of those last couple of moments to search for another lightsaber, hell, even a weaker training model would work...

"Right..." Quietly, John walked into the center of the sparring area, his lightsaber in one hand, his wooden practice sword (which he had a feeling would soon prove near-useless) in the other. His eyes drifted about the room, looking for any spare, unclaimed, mass-produced lightsaber that he might replace the deadweight with. The young one found it much easier to surprise opponents if he had a second lightsaber for reserve use. Or if he was cloaked, but that might not fly here, especially given Junko's ability to detect him anyway.

He pretended not to notice her, the follower of Celebrity Cronyism that she had proven to be. With a twinge of nervousness, he stood in the middle of the sparring area, waiting, waiting for his opponent, trying to shake the thought that he was little more than a juvenile gladiator put there for Junko's amusement. And take advantage of those last couple of moments to search for another lightsaber, hell, even a weaker training model would work...

Sensing her charge's anxiety as she went into the stands with Junko, Rebecca said as she sat down, "You can be a real creep, you know that?"

"Uh huh," she said nonchalantly and not really listening. She had stuffed her mouth with popcorn, and in fact offered some to Rebecca, to which she replied, "No." Sternly, she repeated to Junko when she shook the bag, "NO."

Junko sighed, and then put down the popcorn as her colleague said with dismay, "Let's get serious, here. The kid's not here for your amusement....."

Junko then replied with considerable irritation, "I wasn't treating it like amusement, Becky. I just wanted to see how your boy's doing." Thinking to herself, Junko asked herself this burning question--"Are all the Park Women like this?"

Rebecca merely replied, "He's not doing yet. Relax" and ignored her thought.

-------------

At that, John would be able to sense and see two individuals coming in. Igniting their sabers, they immediately motioned for one another to break off, and dart into the pillars. The game was on.

Curiously, John left his own lightsaber unignited. The more unarmed he looked, the juicier the target he looked, the better. Especially as he could sense that these two were probably Novitiates. He wandered, putting on a show of appearing nonchalant, in the general direction of one of them, keeping tabs on the other so as to avoid any kind of flanking maneuver.

He said not a word, neither concerning Junko, nor the combatants. Instead, he found the pillar that his target hid behind, and eyed his lightsaber. Using telekinesis, he tugged at the hilt as hard as he could, hoping to break it free.

Curiously, John left his own lightsaber unignited. The more unarmed he looked, the juicier the target he looked, the better. Especially as he could sense that these two were probably Novitiates. He wandered, putting on a show of appearing nonchalant, in the general direction of one of them, keeping tabs on the other so as to avoid any kind of flanking maneuver.

He said not a word, neither concerning Junko, nor the combatants. Instead, he found the pillar that his target hid behind, and eyed his lightsaber. Using telekinesis, he tugged at the hilt as hard as he could, hoping to break it free.

The man then began to feel his lightsaber jerk far to the rear of him. He tried to hold on, but the thing seemed to be slipping through his fingers! Thus, as he grabbed with all his might, the momentum of the attempted snatch and grab, plus the the mass of the saber's hilt, caused it to slam into his groin. With some humorous effect, the man's own attempt to save the weapon had done him in, and in his pain he dropped the saber, muttering, "You little bastard...."

As this occurred, his friend heard the occurrence and began closing in. John would have to get that saber quickly now.

John quickly snapped up the fallen lightsaber with telekinesis, turning it off, strangely enough. However, it did not take long for him to sense the other opponent closing in, either. As his displaced wooden practice weapon had by now clattered to the floor, he used telekinesis to fling it toward the second one's legs, on a trajectory only a couple of inches off the ground.

Meanwhile, he just looked at the guy, both of the lightsabers (one in each hand) in the off position. Almost like he wanted to be attacked...

Meanwhile, he just looked at the guy, both of the lightsabers (one in each hand) in the off position. Almost like he wanted to be attacked...

The man grinned. This was almost too easy. He laughed at John's move, saying, "Kid. You're a long way from the playground." He then rushed John, holding his sword horizontally. He seemed so confident of his skills, he didn't keep good form....

Quickly, John took advantage of his lack of height relative to a fully-grown man, by rolling off to his left as the man charged him. As the cocky assailant rushed by, John swung out his arm, quickly pointing his lightsaber where the man's foot would fall in his next stride.

Spectators such as Junko saw a quick flicker of blue...and if John had timed it right, a flicker of blue that terminated at the man's tendon as his foot struck the ground.

Quickly, John took advantage of his lack of height relative to a fully-grown man, by rolling off to his left as the man charged him. As the cocky assailant rushed by, John swung out his arm, quickly pointing his lightsaber where the man's foot would fall in his next stride.

Spectators such as Junko saw a quick flicker of blue...and if John had timed it right, a flicker of blue that terminated at the man's tendon as his foot struck the ground.

With that, the man collapsed on the ground, screaming, "FUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!!!" as he held his leg and tried to examine it. The pain wasn't the tough part--it was the shock of suddenly losing the ability to control that part of his body.

He then tried to get up, but then he stumbled and fell over again, unable to get a decent sense of balance. At that, his buddy ran out to assist; the disabled man threw him his saber.

When the saber was promptly caught by the other Novitiate, he then struck a pose and proceeded to rush John as well, holding the saber vertically and stepping around his ruined comrade as he yelled, "You little shit! You're gonna DIE!"

At that, Junko and Rebecca couldn't help but shake their heads. All this fuss for a kid? Well, they admitted--it was somewhat justified, since that kid had attacked a man's leg. But it was their fault for running into the trap.

John scrambled back up to his feet. Great. Some Novitiate blinded by raw anger and rage charging, what to do, what to do?

The boy feigned retreat, teleporting straight backwards about twenty-five feet, but really, all he did was buy a second or three at a time. Now he had his blue lightsaber, the one he would be sending back to the Jedi Academy with a refusenik note soon enough, ignited, to defend against the charging maniac. However, perhaps blind rage had overridden enough of this one's mental faculties to make him forget that his other hand, kept close to himself, contained the very lightsaber captured from him earlier?

The enraged Novitiate bounded towards him. John positioned his blue lightsaber to parry the strike he knew was inbound. Meanwhile, he positioned the dormant lightsaber to point at where he anticipated the hilt of the opponent's lightsaber to be.

One second. Half a second. Acolyte-lightsaber-red flash. Sidestep.

John scrambled back up to his feet. Great. Some Novitiate blinded by raw anger and rage charging, what to do, what to do?

The boy feigned retreat, teleporting straight backwards about twenty-five feet, but really, all he did was buy a second or three at a time. Now he had his blue lightsaber, the one he would be sending back to the Jedi Academy with a refusenik note soon enough, ignited, to defend against the charging maniac. However, perhaps blind rage had overridden enough of this one's mental faculties to make him forget that his other hand, kept close to himself, contained the very lightsaber captured from him earlier?

The enraged Novitiate bounded towards him. John positioned his blue lightsaber to parry the strike he knew was inbound. Meanwhile, he positioned the dormant lightsaber to point at where he anticipated the hilt of the opponent's lightsaber to be.

One second. Half a second. Acolyte-lightsaber-red flash. Sidestep.

The man reacted as expected. Throwing all his weight into the strike, he slammed the saber into the blue Jedi Academy lightsaber, ignoring the other hand as he leaned into the strike, eager to shove John to the floor.

It was at the split second he chose to do this that the other saber activated, hitting the angry Novitiate's saber and knocking it out of his hand--along with a couple of fingers. As he too doubled back in pain, he screamed, "MEDIC!" cradling the injured hand. Angrily, he turned to John and then attempted to rush him, opting to use his bare hands and feet as he began charging at John with wild, undisciplined elbow attacks and sweep kicks. That little shit would pay!

Then, Rebecca screamed, "Enough!" As the medic went to help him get his fingers back, the man turned to face Rebecca, who walked down to the lower level. Confronting the angry Acolyte, she then said in a dismayed tone, "This is a test, not a killing field. Report to the infirmary, and then report to me to discuss your excessive anger." When the man was about to protest, she yelled, "NOW, MISTER!" as a mother would scold a child.

As the medics picked up the injured and they were led off, scowling, the Sensei turned to John and said, "John, you passed Round One. Keep the saber for now. Now, when you're ready, we'll begin round two."

If John had felt particularly merciless, he could have taken advantage of the man's excessive anger by chopping off limbs at will that the men sent flailing at him, before intervention arrived. Instead, the boy shut even the blue lightsaber off, ducking and dodging the blind-rage strikes until Rebecca added her two cents in, and sent the raving lunatic off to the infirmary.

He simply watched as the medics led the two angry teenagers (if they were any older, they certainly did not act like it) away for treatment. He stifled the thought of waving good-bye, desiring not to rub it in. He just hoped that those two wouldn't seek to beat his ass later. He already should not have ever been seen in this building, on account of his age.

When their angry screams drifted down the hallway into obscurity, John replied calmly to the Sensei, "I am ready."

If John had felt particularly merciless, he could have taken advantage of the man's excessive anger by chopping off limbs at will that the men sent flailing at him, before intervention arrived. Instead, the boy shut even the blue lightsaber off, ducking and dodging the blind-rage strikes until Rebecca added her two cents in, and sent the raving lunatic off to the infirmary.

He simply watched as the medics led the two angry teenagers (if they were any older, they certainly did not act like it) away for treatment. He stifled the thought of waving good-bye, desiring not to rub it in. He just hoped that those two wouldn't seek to beat his ass later. He already should not have ever been seen in this building, on account of his age.

When their angry screams drifted down the hallway into obscurity, John replied calmly to the Sensei, "I am ready."

Rebecca nodded and then walked away with a smile. Taking her seat in the bleachers, she then closed her eyes and Forcemessaged the squad coming in to prove a greater challenge to John.

Begin the test.

At that, she got a reply of:

Aye, ma'am.

Several older Acolytes in full uniform began moving in. Visible only for a moment, they vanished quickly, scattering in teams of two. Unlike the others, they took care to actually move in silently and with due diligence, stealthily coordinating their movements and Forcemessaging one another rapidly. They took positions behind several pillars.

Upon the signal to begin, they began to act.

The leader of the team Forcemessaged the team saying, Okay guys. We got a wunderkind here. No intel, didn't get time--but he's got some skill with dual sabers. Louis, Sasha. Get your Shaolin Spades and engage him from a distance. Gerard, Jorge, Boris and Tomoyo. Flank him. Sid, sniff the kid out. He may try tricks.

Duly briefed, the team began to execute their maneuvers. The men with the Shaolin Spades unfolded them, ignited them and charged forth, swinging them rapidly to keep John busy and motioning to each other to begin envelopment. Meanwhile, the two two-man teams moved in with their sabers, rushing him. Sid, meanwhile, hid, along with the commander, waiting to intervene.

John sensed all six of the Acolytes; these opponents seemed far better trained to him. However, they did not cloak, instead ducking behind any concealment they could find, such as the pillars. Though John was interested in seeing how far this round he could go before cloaking became necessary, owing to years of the Masakis telling him he should have other methods of self-defense, he had no such reservations regarding teleportation.

He ducked and dodged random Shaolin Spades headed his way, but other than such evasive action, did not move much. He only moved enough so that he would be equidistant from the two teams trying to charge him, aiming to project the appearance that he was scared (somewhat true), isolated (very true), and paralyzed with fear and indecision (not true) through his actions. He made no telepathic efforts to that effect though, for he wanted them to think he was too scared to use telepathy.

He allowed the encirclement, which he knew was occurring, to take place. Two seconds until a four-against-one melee. One second. They weren't charging as recklessly as the Novitiates had, but they were still coming at him pretty damn quickly. Half a second...

*Pop.* John teleported to a corner of the fighting area, a corner that none of the opponents had covered yet, leaving the four to run into each other, or at least to look at each other confusedly. However, those four needed something else to think about. To that end, John concentrated on them, more precisely, their uniforms, seeking anything that would be easy to ignite. Ironically enough, he could thank Taylor Masaki for this little bag o' tricks. Finding a wool, cotton, polyester, and other-assorted-composite fiber, he decided that the uniforms were flammable enough for the attempt. Therefore, he concentrated his mental attention on the ignition of one of their uniforms...fires were easier to spread than to start, after all.

*Pop.* John teleported to a corner of the fighting area, a corner that none of the opponents had covered yet, leaving the four to run into each other, or at least to look at each other confusedly. However, those four needed something else to think about. To that end, John concentrated on them, more precisely, their uniforms, seeking anything that would be easy to ignite. Ironically enough, he could thank Taylor Masaki for this little bag o' tricks. Finding a wool, cotton, polyester, and other-assorted-composite fiber, he decided that the uniforms were flammable enough for the attempt. Therefore, he concentrated his mental attention on the ignition of one of their uniforms...fires were easier to spread than to start, after all.

As they stood there confused, attempting to regroup and listening in for Sid's instructions, the room suddenly seemed warmer. And warmer. And much warmer. Then, one of the men's coats lit on fire.

The event surprised all the Acolytes, whereupon The Leader said, "Stay calm! Boris, Tomoyo, put that damn fire out!" The two worked to help the man take off his coat, as the man tried to use cold powers to try and calm the fire down.

As this occurred, the other team that sought to flank John moved to give chase. They Forcemessaged Louis and Sasha saying, Use your teleport powers to intercept the brat. We're moving in by regular means. Thus, Gerard and Jorge began to rush John with the sabers, whilst Louis and Sasha teleported from John's sides and began to swing their Spades at him.

John quickly saw that he could keep at least some of the Acolytes busy by trying to spread the fire, and to that end, he fought the cold powers of the Acolytes attempting to put it out. John ensured the fire jumped to multiple coats, to the best of his ability, before the originally-ignited coat had its fun snuffed out. Helping that Acolyte take his coat off may prove dangerous!

However, soon, other concerns surfaced. Two saber-wielding Acolytes teleported to either side of him, and he knew more were on the way. They could play whack-a-mole for now, at least until John had wrung all of the distraction and/or disability from the fire that he could. He ducked the sabers before popping into another area of the gym void of Acolytes, and enjoying a few seconds of concentration to use for reinvigorating the fires...

John quickly saw that he could keep at least some of the Acolytes busy by trying to spread the fire, and to that end, he fought the cold powers of the Acolytes attempting to put it out. John ensured the fire jumped to multiple coats, to the best of his ability, before the originally-ignited coat had its fun snuffed out. Helping that Acolyte take his coat off may prove dangerous!

However, soon, other concerns surfaced. Two saber-wielding Acolytes teleported to either side of him, and he knew more were on the way. They could play whack-a-mole for now, at least until John had wrung all of the distraction and/or disability from the fire that he could. He ducked the sabers before popping into another area of the gym void of Acolytes, and enjoying a few seconds of concentration to use for reinvigorating the fires...

The two helping the man take off his coat backed off, for now their coats were ablaze. Immediately, the one using cold powers began trying to put out all of them, calling for assistance with a Forcemessage of SHIT! Need assistance, we're on fire. To that, Sid and The Leader began moving in, keeping their distance as they used their own cold powers--however rudimentary they were--to put them all out. That kid was proving troublesome.

Also, the men chasing John wih the Spades promtply wondered where he went. Seeing him reappaear elsewhere they began giving chase, teleporing close by and seeking to break his concentration with swings from the Spades.

The game of Whack-a-Mole continued, as the young one teleported from right underneath the swing of the Spade, yet behind another of the pillars. And he realized that, despite what seemed like his ability to overwhelm the thermokinesis abilities of the others (when he could concentrate), the fire would run out of uniform to burn. When he had his concentration, the fire seemed to surge a bit more. When forced to look to his own defense instead of stoking the fire, their cooling abilities started to suppress it.

As he flared up the fires yet again, given his few seconds to concentrate, he danced the flames around one of the firefighters' arms, in an effort to create Additional Distraction Value. If the fire was to have any lasting benefit, John realized, he would have to use the distraction provided by the fire to start dismantling lightsabers. Hopefully he could reduce the amount of weapons that could be brought to bear against him.

He teleported again, pre-empting the possibility of being chased for hopefully another few seconds, and briefly stirred up a light breeze to remove nitrogen and increase the supply of oxygen to the fire. Then, he focused on the lightsaber of the lead Acolyte, that Sid guy, as Sid was busy trying to help the others deal with the fire. He attempted to telekinetically open the bottom of the hilt to remove the lightsaber's power supply...

As he flared up the fires yet again, given his few seconds to concentrate, he danced the flames around one of the firefighters' arms, in an effort to create Additional Distraction Value. If the fire was to have any lasting benefit, John realized, he would have to use the distraction provided by the fire to start dismantling lightsabers. Hopefully he could reduce the amount of weapons that could be brought to bear against him.

The targeted man, Boris, noticed the fire around him, and winced, muttering "Shit!" as he swatted at the flames. The man who had been lit on fire first, Jorge, was by now shirtless except for a smoldering wifebeater noticed the event and quickly moved to attempt to put out the fire with his own ability.

He teleported again, pre-empting the possibility of being chased for hopefully another few seconds, and briefly stirred up a light breeze to remove nitrogen and increase the supply of oxygen to the fire. Then, he focused on the lightsaber of the lead Acolyte, that Sid guy, as Sid was busy trying to help the others deal with the fire. He attempted to telekinetically open the bottom of the hilt to remove the lightsaber's power supply...

The fire then lit up, and then Boris's arm was now fully ablaze, as were the hands and forearms of Tomoyo and Jorge, who backed off and worked to put the fires out. For Jorge it hurt a little bit more, as the flames hit bare skin and exacerbated existing wounds.

Sid, meanwhile, suddenly saw his saber's blade disappear. Looking below him, he saw the power supply and the venerable weapon now broken into several composite parts. At that, he sighed and Forcemessaged his boss, declaring, He's onto us. The little brat's disabled my saber. Fix or go bareknuckled?

The Leader replied, Go bareknuckled. Keep our men safe. I'll move in. This kid needs to be distracted. Quickly Forcemessaging the men with Spades, he said, He's gone into cover. I'll join you.

Quickly, the man closed his eyes, and then with a motion teleported to their spot. He then motioned to the pillars, and then they all bega moving methodically inside. As he did so, The Leader began using the Force to try and knock down the pillars, to flush John out.

Watching all this, Rebecca remarked, "John's got them agitated. It's looking more like guerilla war, now."

John quickly noticed that his little lightsaber-disabling operation had been successful. Now, he just had to make sure that it was repeatable. But he didn't have much time...

The pillar that John used for cover started to weaken, and John sensed that the Leader would soon topple it. He teleported again, as far away from his opponents as he could get. He really did not want to be flushed out quite yet.

Quickly, John blew more oxygen into the fire. He didn't have much time before that would burn out, either. Frantically, he wrenched the bottom of every lightsaber hilt he could find open, so that internal components splattered all over the floor. He did not have time for subtlety--he had to disable as many weapons as possible, as quickly as possible.

The new pillar that John was using for concealment started to list as well. As it fell, John dove, such that he would still remain behind that pillar, keeping tabs on enemy whereabouts through the Force. If they came too close, he could teleport again, but he frantically scrambled to telekinetically rip more weapons apart...

John quickly noticed that his little lightsaber-disabling operation had been successful. Now, he just had to make sure that it was repeatable. But he didn't have much time...

The pillar that John used for cover started to weaken, and John sensed that the Leader would soon topple it. He teleported again, as far away from his opponents as he could get. He really did not want to be flushed out quite yet.

Quickly, John blew more oxygen into the fire. He didn't have much time before that would burn out, either. Frantically, he wrenched the bottom of every lightsaber hilt he could find open, so that internal components splattered all over the floor. He did not have time for subtlety--he had to disable as many weapons as possible, as quickly as possible.

The new pillar that John was using for concealment started to list as well. As it fell, John dove, such that he would still remain behind that pillar, keeping tabs on enemy whereabouts through the Force. If they came too close, he could teleport again, but he frantically scrambled to telekinetically rip more weapons apart...

It was a sight that made Junko and even Rebecca begin to chuckle with glee. From their perch, they saw the men begin to fluster as their sabers shut off one by one and the fire exploded. Chaos reigned and the Leader was now more determined than ever to make sure this guerilla campaign ended sooner rather than later.

The Leader muttered openly to his men, "Damnit. He's teleporting. Louis, Sasha. Teleport after him, and keep moving. I know I will." The Leader sensed John was behind the pillar, and ensuring his men now spent more time cleaning out the fire and figuring out how to take John down using their unarmed combat skills. He then ran forth and teleported with the two men with Spades. The Leader now began to stir up the winds in the room, as the air in the room suddenly began moving with the force of a blustery day, the Leader picking up chunks of foam debris and throwing them into the maelstrom in front of him and manipulating the winds.

John didn't mind the wind so much. The foam, he dodged, except for small pieces of it. The Acolyte operatives that by now chased him about the gym as he teleported, he knew he had to disarm. By now, the fires were running out of fuel, and John would not be able to keep them going without literally igniting the bodies of his opponents and immolating them--a price he was not willing to pay for admission. Fortunately, those weird things that they kept calling "spades" seemed fairly similar to lightsabers, both in sight, and in what he had read about them the previous night.

So he had an idea. For a few short seconds, he stood his ground. "Over here!" he shouted. He attempted to disarm the nearest Shaolin Spade in the same manner as he had the various lightsabers...but found it more difficult because their users were not distracted and their design was somewhat different than the lightsabers to which he was accustomed. Instead of his attack ending up ripping out the thing's power supply, it ended up interfering with the focusing of the light emanating from the weapon...

So he had an idea. For a few short seconds, he stood his ground. "Over here!" he shouted. He attempted to disarm the nearest Shaolin Spade in the same manner as he had the various lightsabers...but found it more difficult because their users were not distracted and their design was somewhat different than the lightsabers to which he was accustomed. Instead of his attack ending up ripping out the thing's power supply, it ended up interfering with the focusing of the light emanating from the weapon...

The men working the Shaolin Spades then noticed their blades beginning to flicker as they moved to attack. Attempting to examine the power source to see if John had ripped it out, they then witnessed it flickering out. This caused the men no small alarm, for they realized that something was very wrong. As they stopped to try and begin manipulating their weapons, the blades reactivated just as suddenly, and then shut off again. The Leader saw this neverending cycle, and shut off his own lightsaber. If this kid was going to be, well, a kid, then he had to play dirty. Holstering his own lightsaber, he told the men, "Eyes open, guys."

He then cocked his fists into balls, and teleported to where John was, throwing a roundhouse in his general direction as his men moved to shut off their own Spades and move in.

"Shit," John muttered to himself, as he saw his attacks on the enemies' weapons do something that he did not expect. Their weapons still functioned. Somewhat. But apparently whatever he did to them was enough to lead his enemies to distrust the weapons. That might work too.

Unfortunately for the team of Acolytes, far be it from John to sabotage his own lightsabers, which conveniently remained ensconced in his own hands. And the way he had been fighting this entire round, the Acolytes might very well have forgotten that he had them.

The kid crouched to cause the blow to sail over him, but not before he had other ideas. A flash of blue greeted the assailant's fist, the tip of his lightsaber blade following the punch.

Then John teleported behind another, aiming to flash-strike his tendon as he had the Novitiate earlier. With the enemy in confusion as to the status of their weapons, and now apparently resorting to melee, it was time for John to see about closing out this round.

The kid crouched to cause the blow to sail over him, but not before he had other ideas. A flash of blue greeted the assailant's fist, the tip of his lightsaber blade following the punch.

Then John teleported behind another, aiming to flash-strike his tendon as he had the Novitiate earlier. With the enemy in confusion as to the status of their weapons, and now apparently resorting to melee, it was time for John to see about closing out this round.

The Leader recoiled his fist in pain, John's assault grazing his fist and nearly severing several fingers in the process as he fell back. Clutching onto it, he resorted to kicking now, though with more calm than the newbies earlier.

As this occured, the flashstrike caused Sasha, the man struck, to wince and begin limping. Unlike the newbies, though, he had some knowledge of teleportation, so he promptly to John's left and moved to punch his head, as his second moved to teleport in close to assault with a low sweep kick. John would have to finish the round fast, for the others were still in waiting, though busy--if freed from their burdens, they could prove a threat.

John was a little surprised to see these Acolytes continue to put up a fight after being so injured. The one with the severed tendon, especially. But continue to fight, he must.

Perfectly aware that he would soon face six melee fighters with only two lightsabers, the time for fanciness was over. His red one, captured earlier from the Novitiate, greeted the would-be-kicker's foot, this time going for a chop instead of merely impaling it. Meanwhile, Sasha's punching arm quickly met the wrong end of the blue lightsaber, and John knew he did not have the luxury of being flashy anymore. It was down to business now, and that business consisted of amputating any and all attacking limbs with his two lightsabers, given that this group had shown it would continue to fight after less drastic injury. He knew that limbs could be replaced or regrown, but he still refrained from gratuitous killing.

John was a little surprised to see these Acolytes continue to put up a fight after being so injured. The one with the severed tendon, especially. But continue to fight, he must.

Perfectly aware that he would soon face six melee fighters with only two lightsabers, the time for fanciness was over. His red one, captured earlier from the Novitiate, greeted the would-be-kicker's foot, this time going for a chop instead of merely impaling it. Meanwhile, Sasha's punching arm quickly met the wrong end of the blue lightsaber, and John knew he did not have the luxury of being flashy anymore. It was down to business now, and that business consisted of amputating any and all attacking limbs with his two lightsabers, given that this group had shown it would continue to fight after less drastic injury. He knew that limbs could be replaced or regrown, but he still refrained from gratuitous killing.

The appropriate limbs fell off, and Sasha found himself without a forearm and the kicker's foot was gone. This done, they found themselves suddenly weakened; the Leader found himself relying on short teleport hops to compensate for his injured foot, whilst Sasha was now without a limb.

The Leader shrewdly realized that this fight would not end well if this kept up. Even with six men, the amount of biomass removed would be an unpleasant nightmare, with all that efflua to clean and the loss of use. This, he raised his arm and said, "We surrender. Stand down, boys."

Before the Leader could utter the first syllable of the word "surrender," the two lightsabers in the young boy's hands snapped off. The expression on his face indicated that he had not wanted for the fight to go this far, in spite of all the "trouble" he had caused, and indicated his relief that it was over. As he looked nervously at the men whose limbs he had cut off, then looked sheepishly at the cut-off limbs at the floor, he could only say one word, and that with an embarrassed look on his face...

"Sorry..."

Before the Leader could utter the first syllable of the word "surrender," the two lightsabers in the young boy's hands snapped off. The expression on his face indicated that he had not wanted for the fight to go this far, in spite of all the "trouble" he had caused, and indicated his relief that it was over. As he looked nervously at the men whose limbs he had cut off, then looked sheepishly at the cut-off limbs at the floor, he could only say one word, and that with an embarrassed look on his face...

"Sorry..."

The Leader simply replied with a weak, if pained smile, "Apology accepted. It's been a while since I've had a match like that." He then, free from having to look tough, fell on the floor and called out, "MEDIC!"

At that, several orderlies rushed into the room, piucking up the injured and their severed limbs for immediate repair.

Rebecca then reappeared afterwards, having walked down from the stands and said, "Damn! Remind me never to mess with you. I mean that sincerely." With a motherly, reassuring smile, she said, "When you're ready, we can begin the final part of this exam."

"If this exam is the same difficulty for everyone, then how did the two Novitiates from earlier ever pass?" John asked, thinking to himself that he never would have passed anything if he had not received training from the Jedi, if he was just a raw Force-sensitive...even if he was the required age. "But anyway...I am ready..."

"If this exam is the same difficulty for everyone, then how did the two Novitiates from earlier ever pass?" John asked, thinking to himself that he never would have passed anything if he had not received training from the Jedi, if he was just a raw Force-sensitive...even if he was the required age. "But anyway...I am ready..."

Rebecca nodded, and then stepped back several feet. She then turned to face John, and called out, "En garde!"

At that, she ignited her own weapon, the family favorite--the Shaolin Spade used earlier by the men. She then entered into a defensive stance, keeping her profile small as most Dornalian fighters were taught. Her aunt wouldn't have had it any other way. Then, she waited for John to make the first move.

"Oh?" It seemed like John had the same idea, actually, as he too stepped back a few feet, stopping right before he would have stumbled upon one of the knocked-over pillars. The same idea, that is, of allowing the other to make the first move. For a couple of seconds, he just stood there, waiting, before adding insistently, "You never answered my question. If this exam is the same difficulty for everyone, then how did the two Novitiates from earlier ever pass?"

However, John knew the dangers of preoccupying his own mind with such question while an ignited Shaolin Spade wielded by one of the best Senseis New Dornalia had to offer waited fifteen feet in front of him. Therefore, the boy tried to replicate the same...interesting anti-weapon attack he had somewhat inadvertently performed in the last moments of the second round. And if the blade did not start sputtering and doing random shit, there was the fallback option of simply making it telekinetically fly apart...

"Oh?" It seemed like John had the same idea, actually, as he too stepped back a few feet, stopping right before he would have stumbled upon one of the knocked-over pillars. The same idea, that is, of allowing the other to make the first move. For a couple of seconds, he just stood there, waiting, before adding insistently, "You never answered my question. If this exam is the same difficulty for everyone, then how did the two Novitiates from earlier ever pass?"

However, John knew the dangers of preoccupying his own mind with such question while an ignited Shaolin Spade wielded by one of the best Senseis New Dornalia had to offer waited fifteen feet in front of him. Therefore, the boy tried to replicate the same...interesting anti-weapon attack he had somewhat inadvertently performed in the last moments of the second round. And if the blade did not start sputtering and doing random shit, there was the fallback option of simply making it telekinetically fly apart...

"Simple," she muttered as she calmly replied with her own Force moves to keep the Spade together and the Blade functioning. "They had enough gumption and courage to pass. Evidently, they got lazy and overconfident, especially as they saw you coming in. Figured a kid was easy pickings."

She then did a somersault in the air to close with John, and then swung the Spade--however well it was holding together--over his head to make him drop down, whilst she attempted to use a sweep kick to trip him up.

Instead of trying to duck the blade, the young one anticipated the kick, and instead teleported a few feet back. He saw that he would have to whip up some distractions for Rebecca to take her attention off the structural integrity of her weapon. And there were two ways to do that: by playing philosopher, or coming up with more urgent distractions. As he still felt uncomfortable with Rebecca's response to his question (woefully inadequate), he decided to do a little of both.

"And if I had never known the Jedi, if I had waited until I turned sixteen to apply here with no prior training in the Force, there is no way I could have even survived the second round," John added, "much less defeat a team of six fully-trained Acolytes. Do your men enjoy slaughtering nine out of ten applicants that want to join? Not everyone is a transfer." Before Rebecca could take advantage of the lull in actual combat, however, John vanished before her. He had refrained from cloaking long enough to prove to his satisfaction that he could fight without it.

"Answer the question," the air spoke to Rebecca, as John quietly moved around so that if she struck at the origin of the voice, she would miss.

It was not long before he added Distraction Number Two, either, for he ignited the hardwood flooring under Rebecca's feet and that immediately surrounding her. Then, he tried again from behind the anonymity of his cloak to disable her weapon...

Instead of trying to duck the blade, the young one anticipated the kick, and instead teleported a few feet back. He saw that he would have to whip up some distractions for Rebecca to take her attention off the structural integrity of her weapon. And there were two ways to do that: by playing philosopher, or coming up with more urgent distractions. As he still felt uncomfortable with Rebecca's response to his question (woefully inadequate), he decided to do a little of both.

"And if I had never known the Jedi, if I had waited until I turned sixteen to apply here with no prior training in the Force, there is no way I could have even survived the second round," John added, "much less defeat a team of six fully-trained Acolytes. Do your men enjoy slaughtering nine out of ten applicants that want to join? Not everyone is a transfer." Before Rebecca could take advantage of the lull in actual combat, however, John vanished before her. He had refrained from cloaking long enough to prove to his satisfaction that he could fight without it.

"Answer the question," the air spoke to Rebecca, as John quietly moved around so that if she struck at the origin of the voice, she would miss.

It was not long before he added Distraction Number Two, either, for he ignited the hardwood flooring under Rebecca's feet and that immediately surrounding her. Then, he tried again from behind the anonymity of his cloak to disable her weapon...

Rebecca then began doing a little dance as the floor lit up, and she muttered, "Gee kid, you're not letting me answer--yow!" She then did another leap to the side outside the fire, and then spoke simply with the words, "They do not. That is merely their way of testing you. As it is, the testing is meant as both placement and admittance--however, it has become more about admittance in recent years due to concerns about keeping up the quality of the recruits. Perhaps we should--"

She then sighed as she saw the head and weighted end of her Spade fall off, "--ease off a little." She then did something not altoghether unexpected. Rebecca laughed, surprised, amused and so flabbergasted she could do nothing else. John had potential, alright. And his conscience was a sharp one. A big draw if anything to keep the organization focused.

Then, she turned the Spade into a staff, and then struck a defensive stance, before moving in with stafffighting tactics and a few leaps and bounds.

"So, if you are worried about the quality of the applicants, you dig deeper into their moral character," the air replied, the voice seeming to shift throughout the room. "It amazes me that ninety-nine percent of your applicants do not fail this part. And that this gym is not a mass grave."

John continued to move around, letting the air do his talking for him, or so it appeared. With his cloaking, it was relatively easy for him to stay well away from Rebecca's staff, and he continued to ignite the hardwood floor underneath wherever Rebecca went, to distract her as he made more attempts to pry her weapon apart or shatter the lightbeam. "Is it really necessary for me to send someone else to the medic to prove I can fight?" the air asked, decidedly irritated at this whole idea. Though John continued to elude Rebecca, everyone in the room could tell he viewed this whole thing as over-the-top, and it wasn't as if the second round had given him any reason to believe otherwise.

"So, if you are worried about the quality of the applicants, you dig deeper into their moral character," the air replied, the voice seeming to shift throughout the room. "It amazes me that ninety-nine percent of your applicants do not fail this part. And that this gym is not a mass grave."

John continued to move around, letting the air do his talking for him, or so it appeared. With his cloaking, it was relatively easy for him to stay well away from Rebecca's staff, and he continued to ignite the hardwood floor underneath wherever Rebecca went, to distract her as he made more attempts to pry her weapon apart or shatter the lightbeam. "Is it really necessary for me to send someone else to the medic to prove I can fight?" the air asked, decidedly irritated at this whole idea. Though John continued to elude Rebecca, everyone in the room could tell he viewed this whole thing as over-the-top, and it wasn't as if the second round had given him any reason to believe otherwise.

"Let's not get snide here. Believe me when I say this that ninety-nine percent of applicants do pass and that extensive injury, while it happens, is pretty damn uncommon. It's just sometimes, people get a little too into the moment." Rebecca continued to do backflips and gymnastic manuevers, as she sniffed the air to look for John and keep her saber together.

He was doing a good job ripping up the floor and keeping her moving. Eventually, she lept onto the top of one of the pillars monkey-style, and sniffed the air. The sensei then realized her weapon was becoming useless, though she now had two batons to work with--good for eskrima-style stickfighting. She sniffed out John's position, and then she lept close to where he was, twirling around in an attempt to smack him with the batons.

As this occurred, Junko and the survivors of the team nibbled on their popcorn. Junko turned to them and asked, "Guys, I'm not that harsh, right? Please say no."

The others looked at one another, and said, "Well, we made it alive, and we didn't have much in the way of experience. Though it gave us a few scares too many."

Junko then sighed and scribbled down a note. "Note to self. Implement sliding scale and humanize combat phase of testing." She then added mentally, "If only to shut this kid up before he drags me before Congress."

Though John had decided to voice his objections to the over-the-topness of the exams, he continued to pay attention for threats. The members of the previous combat team in the stands might have been able to predict what would happen to the batons. The boy still had those two lightsabers in his hands, conveniently one for each baton, and they flickered on for a fraction of a second, just as long as was necessary to defend against those swinging weapons. Then John teleported to the other side of the room before Rebecca could follow up on his location...he really did not want to be known as the kid who amputated Sensei Park's limbs if it could at all be helped.

Though John had decided to voice his objections to the over-the-topness of the exams, he continued to pay attention for threats. The members of the previous combat team in the stands might have been able to predict what would happen to the batons. The boy still had those two lightsabers in his hands, conveniently one for each baton, and they flickered on for a fraction of a second, just as long as was necessary to defend against those swinging weapons. Then John teleported to the other side of the room before Rebecca could follow up on his location...he really did not want to be known as the kid who amputated Sensei Park's limbs if it could at all be helped.

Rebecca mused out loud, "Not bad, kid. But I think we're running out of floor to torch."

She then lept onto another pillar and began skipping from pillar to pillar, making huge leaps as Rebecca sought to close with the opposition without burning her own feet off. Her batons still in hand, she began to sniff him out again. Eventually, she got close, and then stopped. Waiting for an opportune moment, she dropped down onto the ground, and attempted to skulk up close to her quarry. She knew she could make a couple of quick strikes if this went off well. However, Rebecca also knew this could go on for a while. And frankly, she didn't like it when Junko had that bag of popcorn in her hand. Made her look like a circus monkey.

The Invisible One sighed. Rebecca would only allow the fight to end once one or the other was injured. That much was clear, from Rebecca's words.

And if John was the one so injured, back to Coredia he went. He really didn't like this. Fortunately for him, Rebecca remained in plain view, and he shifted position accordingly as she skulked up towards him. He had offered her the choice to stop now, and she had refused about as flatly as such an option could be refused.

Still, lightsabers against batons. John had the advantage...if he struck first.

He teleported directly to Rebecca's left, not caring that he was cloaked. Apparently she could discern approximate location anyway with some effort, which unnerved him a bit. Not wasting any time, he quickly pointed his lightsaber directly at Rebecca's left baton (or whatever was left of a baton)-wielding hand, and flashed it with the intent of poking it out of her hands. Unfortunately, he knew, poking a few fingers out as well was kind of unavoidable if this strike was to be successful.

He just hoped he would not have to do it again, to her right side, to end this. That would just be gratuitous.

Still, lightsabers against batons. John had the advantage...if he struck first.

He teleported directly to Rebecca's left, not caring that he was cloaked. Apparently she could discern approximate location anyway with some effort, which unnerved him a bit. Not wasting any time, he quickly pointed his lightsaber directly at Rebecca's left baton (or whatever was left of a baton)-wielding hand, and flashed it with the intent of poking it out of her hands. Unfortunately, he knew, poking a few fingers out as well was kind of unavoidable if this strike was to be successful.

He just hoped he would not have to do it again, to her right side, to end this. That would just be gratuitous.

Luckily for John, the damage was limited to the baton itself. She moved quickly to escape possible dismemberment, putting the bulk of the baton in the way of the blade. The baton itself split in half, however, unable to take another lightsaber strike, and she was thus shaken up. Then, she gulped--something told her John was getting real tired of having to do this. And, the next time, he wouldn't miss.

Getting up, she bowed and said, "You made your point upon this foolish old lady." Extending her hand out and dropping her baton in the right hand, she then simply said with a heartfelt smile, "Good game. Welcome to the People's Acolytes, Mr. Watsen." Something would tell John she really meant it.

As Rebecca's remaining baton clattered to the burnt-out floor, John's lightsabers promptly shut off, and the boy shimmered back into visible existence. Though he felt some relief that his attack had not in fact injured Rebecca as expected, it really did not show much, overwhelmed in his body language by disgust. Disgust that such was necessary, disgust that sending six trained warriors against an eight-year-old kid was, somehow, an appropriate "test," especially for an organization that claimed it did not use "children soldiers." Even the pair of Novitiates would have been able to massacre many, if not most, of the younglings his age that he knew, much less a team of six surrounding one and attacking as a coordinated unit.

Quite literally, the only reason he had passed that he could think of was his ability to use fire as a distraction for more important things, courtesy of Taylor Masaki. An advantage he knew that the vast, VAST majority of eight-year-old younglings did not have.

Ditto ability to cloak, an ability he had more 'stumbled upon' than anything else.

He still didn't get how an untrained Force-sensitive wondering why in the hell he had weird abilities and wanting to learn more about them could ever hope to pass this part of the test. He knew some cultures regarded the Woodian Trial of Position as barbaric. At least the Trial of Position occurred after some training regimen, not the first day of bootcamp. A somewhat-trained Novitiate should be able to easily beat the snot out of someone who had seldom if ever had to fight before, he thought.

This had been no game. The boy had paid the price of admission, perhaps even laid to rest the notion that he received 'special treatment.' If there was a silver lining to this, only the most reckless Novitiates would want to pick fights with him now. Still, the notion of forcing others, without any previous training, through such combat continued to weigh on him. He had resolved one doubt, only to replace it with another.

After several literal moments of just standing there, the boy looked up into Rebecca's eyes. His own mind was so scrambled from the what-ifs of raw Force-sensitives going through this crap, this hazing, that contractions started to infiltrate his thoughts. "Don't make me dismember Force-sensitive applicants who have never had to fight before in this 'test,' " he muttered. Not even when he had been the most exhausted the day before did he use a contraction. "I need to give this lightsaber back to that Novitiate. And mail mine back to the Jedi."

That last sentence fragment was about as close of an acceptance as Rebecca would get. At least for now.

Rebecca merely nodded. Withdrawing her hand, she had a sense that John was still skeptical about the need for all this. He naturally didn't quite know that New Dornalians were militaristic in societal tone. John didn't know it, but he had stepped into a society that had been nurtured by Hundreds of Years of battle into something that produced people who could probably keep up with this frenetic pace. Hazing this was not, at least by Dornie standards.

Then, with a twitch in her eye, she simply said, her voice growing angered and plaintive all at once, as if she was both regretting the test and unhappy with John's words, "But before you make any further judgments about us from our testing methods, as I sense you are doing, know this.

Our society is rather Clan like in its militarism, only we've had the trauma of an atomic war to shape us, plus subsequent post-Apoclyptic and Stalinist nightmares--that makes us a little crazier, I will admit. Our school gyms are often militarized in some way, with pugil stick drill and rifle drills part of the curriculum."

Then, she sighed, gasping and thinking out loud to John, "In fact....mother--we were supposed to use wooden equipment! That's why I wanted you to bring in that training sword." Facepalming, she sighed and looked at the boy, saying dismayed at her mistake, "I am deeply, deeply sorry for this oversight." Muttering angrily then, she said, "I swear, it's that damn woman. She just talks and talks, and keeps you distracted from the main issue at hand. Which is preparedness. In fact, that's your first lesson. Never get distracted."

She then glared at the woman in the stands, and Junko merely asked, "What?" Rebecca then grabbed Junko through the Force by the scruff of her neck, and flung her over to where they were. As she landed ingloriously and began rubbing her head, Rebecca then motioned to John and said, "Terry, I want you to know that thanks to your motormouth, we nearly lost some good people. Now, I want you to apologize to us, so John can understand we clean up after our mistakes here in the PA. All of us."

Really having no choice, Junko nodded and quickly apologized to both, saying, "Becky, I'm sorry for distracting you with that story about that disgusting waitress with plumber's crack. John, I'm sorry for nearly getting you killed. I'll clean up those men you injured and do what I can legitly to make it up to you."

Rebecca then said, "Very well. In the meantime, I will express mail your Jedi Lightsaber to Coredia as my part with a letter announcing the Right of Denial--obviously in your handwriting. I too, will also do what I must to make up for this blunder."

Rebecca merely nodded. Withdrawing her hand, she had a sense that John was still skeptical about the need for all this. He naturally didn't quite know that New Dornalians were militaristic in societal tone. John didn't know it, but he had stepped into a society that had been nurtured by Hundreds of Years of battle into something that produced people who could probably keep up with this frenetic pace. Hazing this was not, at least by Dornie standards.

Then, with a twitch in her eye, she simply said, her voice growing angered and plaintive all at once, as if she was both regretting the test and unhappy with John's words, "But before you make any further judgments about us from our testing methods, as I sense you are doing, know this.

Our society is rather Clan like in its militarism, only we've had the trauma of an atomic war to shape us, plus subsequent post-Apoclyptic and Stalinist nightmares--that makes us a little crazier, I will admit. Our school gyms are often militarized in some way, with pugil stick drill and rifle drills part of the curriculum."

"Whatever." John shrugged, even as he fought to resist the urge to roll his eyes in Rebecca's general direction.

Then, she sighed, gasping and thinking out loud to John, "In fact....mother--we were supposed to use wooden equipment! That's why I wanted you to bring in that training sword." Facepalming, she sighed and looked at the boy, saying dismayed at her mistake, "I am deeply, deeply sorry for this oversight." Muttering angrily then, she said, "I swear, it's that damn woman. She just talks and talks, and keeps you distracted from the main issue at hand. Which is preparedness. In fact, that's your first lesson. Never get distracted."

She then glared at the woman in the stands, and Junko merely asked, "What?" Rebecca then grabbed Junko through the Force by the scruff of her neck, and flung her over to where they were. As she landed ingloriously and began rubbing her head, Rebecca then motioned to John and said, "Terry, I want you to know that thanks to your motormouth, we nearly lost some good people. Now, I want you to apologize to us, so John can understand we clean up after our mistakes here in the PA. All of us."

Really having no choice, Junko nodded and quickly apologized to both, saying, "Becky, I'm sorry for distracting you with that story about that disgusting waitress with plumber's crack. John, I'm sorry for nearly getting you killed. I'll clean up those men you injured and do what I can legitly to make it up to you."

Rebecca then said, "Very well. In the meantime, I will express mail your Jedi Lightsaber to Coredia as my part with a letter announcing the Right of Denial--obviously in your handwriting. I too, will also do what I must to make up for this blunder."

At this, the dour boy softened up, if only a little bit. Somehow, he sensed that Junko apologized just as much because Rebecca had thrown her about, as she had because she had actually distracted from the exam to such an extent that live, rather than training, weapons were used. He still did not say anything, but the urge to roll his eyes at Rebecca faded. Besides, he didn't exactly have anywhere else to go, anyway. At least the combat examination made more sense, in theory, if wooden implements were supposed to be used...which helped explain why Rebecca was able to claim with a straight face that this gym was not a killing field.

Quickly, he extracted a small notepad from his pocket, and he wrote out and signed his note.

The Jedi Order can no longer be considered the guardians of peace and justice, when their justice is corrupted by their high officials shuffling bribes around to run a nation for their own bank accounts. I cannot in good conscience consider myself a member of such a fallen organization, where bribery is so widely accepted and considered good business. Because the Jedi stand for corruption, I never have been, nor will I ever be, among their ranks. I disavow any former association I had with them, and I invoke the Right of Denial to cancel any ties I may have ever had with the rampant corruption and greed of the Coredian aristocrats, who coincidentally also happen to run the Order.

/signed, John Masaki Watsen

For effect, he marked a big X through the word 'Masaki' before handing the note to Rebecca to deliver with the lightsaber. "And I still need to give the other lightsaber to the guy whose fingers I cut off," John reminded her. "I hope Junko's mistake did not make me too many enemies...hey, wait a minute." The note flew back into his hands.

P.S. I know that you have set up a large slush fund for me. I know that I will never in the foreseeable future know whether or not the deposits funded Corruption and War Crimes, because you would never dare to investigate a deposit under a Masaki name. Monarchies work that way. On the one hand, I must know whether or not I am personally tainted by the corruption, on the other hand, I know you will never tell me the truth, that you will never seek the truth. All I ask is that the money be used to correct Coredian War Crimes--yes, War Crimes that your ignorance allowed to happen--instead of being used to bribe various senators.

He then handed the note back to Rebecca.

At this, the dour boy softened up, if only a little bit. Somehow, he sensed that Junko apologized just as much because Rebecca had thrown her about, as she had because she had actually distracted from the exam to such an extent that live, rather than training, weapons were used. He still did not say anything, but the urge to roll his eyes at Rebecca faded. Besides, he didn't exactly have anywhere else to go, anyway.

Quickly, he extracted a small notepad from his pocket, and he wrote out and signed his note.

The Jedi Order can no longer be considered the guardians of peace and justice, when their justice is corrupted by their high officials shuffling bribes around to run a nation for their own bank accounts. I cannot in good conscience consider myself a member of such a fallen organization, where bribery is so widely accepted and considered good business. Because the Jedi stand for corruption, I never have been, nor will I ever be, among their ranks. I disavow any former association I had with them, and I invoke the Right of Denial to cancel any ties I may have ever had with the rampant corruption and greed of the Coredian aristocrats, who coincidentally also happen to run the Order.

/signed, John Masaki Watsen

For effect, he marked a big X through the word 'Masaki' before handing the note to Rebecca to deliver with the lightsaber. "And I still need to give the other lightsaber to the guy whose fingers I cut off," John reminded her. "I hope Junko's mistake did not make me too many enemies."

Upon the reciept of both items, Rebecca mused, "Well, I wouldn't complain too much. Those other guys in Round Two felt it was merely a challenge, nothing more. Now the kids in Round One....they might be embarassed that a kid beat them. But maybe they deserved a little wakeup, even if the removal of members was not necessary and again a complete fuckup on my part." She then said, as Rebecca went to wrap up the saber in an envelope and turned to Junko, "And, Terry--you can start making it up to him by learning to shut your mouth once in a while. Really. Nobody wants to hear that story again. Or any story for that matter."

The irate Sensei then motioned for John to follow, saying as she softened up, "Come along now. We still gotta swear you in--if you're up for that. If not, we can let you do it some other time."

"Yeah. May as well. I admit the idea of combat tests makes more sense if it is done with nonlethal PRACTICE weapons. Hint hint. But I still need to return the lightsaber I swiped from that teenager."

"Yeah. May as well. I admit the idea of combat tests makes more sense if it is done with nonlethal PRACTICE weapons. Hint hint. But I still need to return the lightsaber I swiped from that teenager."

Rebecca then nodded and said, "Right. We'll do that first." Leading the party forth, they eventually wandered to the infirmary, where they found the kid flexing his newly restored members. Upon eyeing the two Senseis, he nodded and gave a salute. Then, he saw John, and gave him a nod. It wasn't much of a nod--and that went both ways.

Rebecca then motioned to John and the teenager, saying, "Novitiate Stimson, my charge has something to return to you."

Stimson looked at the saber John was holding and asked, "That my lightsaber?"

"Yeah." John quickly handed it over. "Sorry. Rebecca said that the test was supposed to have been done with wooden practice weapons."

"Yeah." John quickly handed it over. "Sorry. Rebecca said that the test was supposed to have been done with wooden practice weapons."

Stimson took the saber, and twirled it grimly. "Huh," was his only reply. He then holstered the weapon and shook his head. "Well then. At least you beat me."

Rebecca nodded and said, "It's my fault I didn't bring in wood weapons." Then, not resisting the chance for a dig, she then added with expository and sarcastic nature, she then said, "Partly, it was also Sensei Tadanobu's. You know how she talks."

Stimson nodded; his look said he got the picture. Indeed, it wasn't surprising to him, as people had made flubs before due to Junko distracting them. But this was somewhat of a deal, whereas those were minor. Junko meanwhile gritted her teeth and said in a tone that clearly asked Rebecca to stop, "Okay....you made your point...."

Stimson chuckled. He then looked at John and said, "Hey, kid. Helluva game out there. You're lucky I'm in a good mood, since I've been told people've done worse than me and that I know the test was done live by mistake. That was just an embarassment I can shrug. Names don't hurt."

He then continued, stiffening up, "But that dude with me...well, he ain't so forgiving about being beat by a kid. But some peoples can't take being beat, ya know?"

He then shook his head and said, "Whatever. Take it as you will. I've gotta rest, the doc says so." He then extended his hand out to John, the good hand, saying, "John Stimson, Novitiate. In plain English, it means 'damn fool.'"

"John Watsen here." He extended his own hand, to shake Stimson's. "Of course, I had no idea that the combat trial was supposed to be with practice weapons. It would have made a lot more sense had I known." John stopped, probably wisely, before he brought up his earlier deductions, based on such faulty information, that the combat trials must have been killing fields. "Anyway, if you need to rest...well, I will see you around," the kid smiled. At least he hadn't made enemies of everyone. The other Novitiate, however, might still want to kick his ass.

John would find out in due time.

"John Watsen here." He extended his own hand, to shake Stimson's. "Of course, I had no idea that the combat trial was supposed to be with practice weapons. It would have made a lot more sense had I known." John stopped, probably wisely, before he brought up his earlier deductions, based on such faulty information, that the combat trials must have been killing fields. "Anyway, if you need to rest...well, I will see you around," the kid smiled. At least he hadn't made enemies of everyone. The other Novitiate, however, might still want to kick his ass.

John would find out in due time.

Indeed, Novitiate Stimson laid down on the cot and began to take a nap. Rebecca couldn't help but laugh at the sight. There was something amusing about the snore. She also couldn't help but be surprised at Stimson's reaction to John. She had expected something more hostile, but evidently Rebecca could relax. John would do just fine.

She then took John to her office, and had him put his left hand over a copy of the Manual, and raise his right hand up. Then, Rebecca said, with Junko witnessing, "Right. Now, repeat after me."

After repeating all the following:

The Code of the People's Acolytes:

1. I will swear to obey the Grand Sensei, my Sensei, and my lord at all times, unless he tells me to commit an unlawful order that contradicts this Code.

2. I will swear to defend the Rights of the Workers And Peasants to live in accordance with True Liberty and to enjoy their right to a full and enriching life. In turn, I will treat the Workers and Peasants with justice and respect.

3. I will swear to embrace neither the light nor dark sides, but rather, reject them both as falsehoods, engineered by the Superstructure. Instead, I will embrace the Force as one, all-encompassing People's Will (Shinmei version is "Light of Lights") to be taken as a moderated whole.

4. I will swear to maintain a clean mind and body to the best of my ability, freeing myself from excesses such as gluttony, wrathfulness, and lust. Celibacy and temperance are not mandatory, but I will understand them to be tools to aid the development of mind and body.

5. Relating to Number 2, I will dedicate myself to stopping those who attempt to commit unjust acts against the Workers and Peasants. I will assist the lawful authorities in stopping criminal elements and ensuring a peaceful life.

6. I will also vow to commit myself to a regimen of spiritual training and continous learning to cultivate my abiities, as well as instill self-discipline and self-control over myself.

7. I will commit myself to training in the ways of the warrior, both ways honored by tradition and ways vindicated by the modern class struggle. I will practice these ways daily, through a strict regimen.

8. I will recognize that as I am able to embrace the Force as a moderated whole People's Will (Shinmei version is "Light of Lights"), all forms of waging war to defend justice and win any Class Struggle I am placed in are available. This also means I may utilize any Force based skill that I choose as part of my training. However, I recognize that this responsibility comes with a price, that I must moderate my use and training in such skills to ensure their just use. I must also ensure that I am mature enough to understand the consequences of said skill and/or method of waging war.
Oath of the People's Acolytes:

Acolytes Embrace the People's Will. They are neither Light Nor Dark.

Acolytes Defend the Workers And Peasants

Acolytes Strive to Learn and Discipline Themselves

Acolytes Are Pure In Mind and Body

Acolytes Embrace Justice

she then bowed and shook his hand, saying, "There's your copy of the Manual. An important resource for what you need to know around this organization."

Junko nodded, and interjected, "It has some commentaries on the Oath and Code you just swore on. Helps to make them make more sense. Also gives you an idea of the fighting techniques we use and the Force techniques we use."

John, after taking the Oath, flipped through the Acolyte's Manual, his mind already strained by the events and tests of the last couple of days. He did not particularly want to think of more studying at the moment; even he had his limits. Therefore, his mind finally wandered to more practical considerations. "So when does the lightsaber and Denial notice get sent to Coredia? And when do I find out who will be my new parents?" Finally, his mind allowing for some of the normal concerns of an eight-year-old kid...

John, after taking the Oath, flipped through the Acolyte's Manual, his mind already strained by the events and tests of the last couple of days. He did not particularly want to think of more studying at the moment; even he had his limits. Therefore, his mind finally wandered to more practical considerations. "So when does the lightsaber and Denial notice get sent to Coredia? And when do I find out who will be my new parents?" Finally, his mind allowing for some of the normal concerns of an eight-year-old kid...

"Right. Let's get to that." Rebecca and Junko nodded, and then led John to the large Station Wagon. However, Rebecca glared at Junko, and said to her, "You go in the back. John rides shotgun." Junko merely nodded, and then opened the door, wincing at the clutter of the backseat and clearing away some bags of junk food to make a spot. John's seat, meanwhile, was clean. And comfy!

Rebecca then drove out of the Temple, and to the nearest Post Office. Upon entering, Rebecca went to the mailing station, and got a box and some packing peanuts. Paying for the supplies herself, she then put the saber and note into the box and sealed it, addressing it to the Emperor of Coredia along with the Return Address being the Temple of Greater Los Angeles. Then, she went up to the surly clerk at the desk, and got it shipped with a minimum of ceremony--if a maximum of wait time. Like most postal agencies, it seemed Dornalian Post took a while to handle matters, especially with the surly clerk who seemed better at scaring customers of all races, colors, creeds and homeworlds than serving them.

Then, they got back onto the Bomber, and drove to the Department of Children and Families. Stopping in the office, Rebecca asked, "I need to see someone about foster care for this kid."

The lady at the desk returned with a pleasant looking man, who then introduced himself as "Eddie Rodriguez." He then shook everyone's hand, and led them into his office. As Rebecca explained the situation, Eddie nodded and then asked John, "So John--what sort of family would you have a preference for?"

John just watched from the station wagon as Rebecca dropped off the parcel. He didn't particularly seem to care about the fate of Junko in the backseat; he was just relieved that he had some protection from stuff sliding and crushing him against the seat.

When at last he arrived at DCF, and finally had to answer questions about what kind of environment would best suit him, he was short and to the point. "Umm...hello. Not rich. DEFINITELY not rich," he added, in his revulsion of everything the Masakis represented, in a tone of voice that probably excluded 'noveau riche' yuppies as well. "Probably working class. Ideally...well I try not to be demanding, but I would like to be around people who share my interest in winter sports."

That last sentence probably excluded Los Angeles...

John just watched from the station wagon as Rebecca dropped off the parcel. He didn't particularly seem to care about the fate of Junko in the backseat; he was just relieved that he had some protection from stuff sliding and crushing him against the seat.

When at last he arrived at DCF, and finally had to answer questions about what kind of environment would best suit him, he was short and to the point. "Umm...hello. Not rich. DEFINITELY not rich," he added, in his revulsion of everything the Masakis represented, in a tone of voice that probably excluded 'noveau riche' yuppies as well. "Probably working class. Ideally...well I try not to be demanding, but I would like to be around people who share my interest in winter sports."

That last sentence probably excluded Los Angeles...

Typing the requirements into a computer, Eddie looked into the databanks and muttered, "Well, we have several hundred thousand families that match your needs. A broad belt generally extending in the upper reaches of Earth, for one, which includes Switzerland, Minnesota, Japan, Blagoveschensk, Manchuria, Quebec, Massachusetts......hmm....."

He then smiled and said, "There's also a ton all around the Workers State, mostly in the Frontier Regions. But I'm betting you're the kinda kid who wants to see some action, judging by your Acolyte status--after all it isn't hard to miss with two of their best around ya."

He then typed in a few keycodes and said, "The most reliable ones we can find are in Denver, Colorado, Sapporo, Japan, Boston, Massachusetts, and in Zurich, Switzerland. Hmm."

Eddie then showed him a picture of a maternal looking middleaged woman in a denim jacket skating on an ice rink, giving orders to a group of kids in hockey equipment. "Looks like the best opening's in Denver, Colorado. Elaine Gannon. On our records as one of the most reliable foster parents we have. Hell, we cite her as a model for all others--she's a saint. And she even coaches youth hockey and ski classes. And her job isn't too flashy--she's going on her tenth year as a draftswoman over at Triumph Engineering's North American factory and member of Local 455 of the New Dornalian Defense Workers' Association."

"Hmm." It sounded good, except for one thing. She had been referred to as a saint--had DCF made such an example of her so as to elevate herself to celebrity status? John decided to find out. "Well, you said she was a saint--you did not make her into a celebrity by making an example of her, did you?"

"Hmm." It sounded good, except for one thing. She had been referred to as a saint--had DCF made such an example of her so as to elevate herself to celebrity status? John decided to find out. "Well, you said she was a saint--you did not make her into a celebrity by making an example of her, did you?"

Eddie laughed, then realized the kid was serious. He then sternly said, "Good gracious, no. I was merely referring to the fact most accounts of foster children who've passed through her home have reported naught but exemplary behavior from her. And she's not really a celebrity, per se. We just like to point out in our training sessions for foster parents that she and many other examples of good foster parents are used--anonymously of course--to paint a portait of what is expected."

"Oh. Well ok. I guess you get to ship me off to Denver then," John replied, as the nervousness drained from his face. At least as much of it as could be expected, anyway.

The next couple of weeks went by quickly. Endless forms to fill out from Rebecca and Junko, citizenship tests and swearings-in thanks to the granting of Asylum by the Courts, et cetera. John would have noticed Rebecca and Junko wouldn't stop making up their mistake to him, helping him extensively with the procedures and keeping themselves honest throughout.

Finally, with Ms. Gannon contacted, a plane ride to LA from Denver was arranged, and before long, as the group was waiting in the cafeteria, John would see a woman come in. She was Elaine Gannon. About forty-forty five years of age, the years wouldn't have been kind to the Missus, who looked to be of some sort of mixed-race parentage.

She looked older than forty, the result of stress induced by single parenthood and a sudden death on the brink of happiness. Yet she had a quiet dignity about her, and mixed with a sense of strength, a sense of gentle caring, mercy and compassion as well in every step. True to John's workingclass hopes, she wore simple jeans, a denim jacket and a white t-shirt. As she approached John, the woman knelt down to face John at eye level and extended her hand, saying: "Hello, John. My name's Elaine Gannon. I'm going to be taking care of you."

Even after a couple of weeks of waiting, John still hadn't picked up anything that he would have to transport. No toys for the eight-year-old, no sports gear, no video games, no music players. The only physical possessions that he had acquired since emigrating to New Dornalia consisted of one change of clothes, basic sundries such as toothbrush/toothpaste and deodorant, a comb, one backpack, the Acolytes' training manual and related study guides, a notebook, and a few pencils and pens. The boy had not even bothered to procure a calculator for his math classes, preferring instead handwritten work. He washed his one change of clothes every day by hand, using his ability to generate heat via the Force as a clothes dryer, and always washed the clothes he wore as he did laundry the next day, alternating days for his two outfits. Of course, he had not accessed, nor attempted to access, his Coredian bank accounts, writing them off as a total loss. The corrupt politicians of Coredia had probably embezzled it all.

Whenever Rebecca asked why he refused to even have more than two outfits, the excuse that John gave was that he did not want to be bothered transporting luggage to Denver. Oh, how he awaited that day!

At last, aforesaid day came. As Elaine walked into the cafeteria, John sensed immediately the burdens life had placed on the kindhearted woman. He knew, he just knew. Quickly but without fanfare, he slung his backpack, which carried all he had yet was not even full, and walked up to her.

"Hello, Mrs. Gannon." That was all he said outright, but the boy shook her hand and looked in her eyes, with an expression that conveyed far more than his words. Immediately, she knew that he knew that life had not been kind to the Missus. John pretty much thought it unthinkable to cloak to hide from this woman, even though he had regularly cloaked from the Masakis. Indeed, John knew immediately that he had much in common with the woman, and whatever sensitivity she had in the Force, that which bound all living organisms together, told her that she had much in common with him.

Rebecca and Junko both noticed something big going on. They had been legal witnesses to many an adoption/foster care transfer. But this was big. It was as if someone up there decided to rig the deck to deal a damn good hand for one John Watsen--presumably soon to be Gannon.

And certainly, Elaine noticed it too. This kid seemed to remind her of her own kids a little--kids that had long since grown up and entered college to get degrees in some sort of subject. That familiarity perhaps eased the process. But there was also something else about him. She may not have been Force sensitive, but she could tell right away that this kid was special. Something big.

Elaine nodded as she shook John's hand and then asked, "Is there something I could get around here to eat? I've had an interesting flight, to say the least." Rebecca then said, nodding, "I'll get you something." She then rushed off to get some food for the new caretaker, as Elaine sat next to John.

She then began talking to him, laying out the plan for today. "So, I think what the plan is for today is that first, I rest a little--flying from Denver to LAX is a bit of a rush, especially with the awful service the fat cats dole out nowadays. Secondly, I was thinking of getting some basic supplies. School supplies, some extra clothing, et cetera. After all, one's education and transition can't be interrupted by diplomatic rough spots. Then, we get on the 9:00 flight back to Denver International. It'll be a quick-moving, but not opporessive way to do things."

"Could we not get supplies tomorrow in Denver?" John asked. "To be honest, the reason why I did not already ask the Senseis over here for help doing it is because I did not want to have to schlep them to wherever I end up. Much less through an airport. That..." the expression on John's face turned from dead-serious to a sheepish I'm-in-trouble look... "and I have been injured by boxes o' stuff slamming into me in Sensei Park's car. Thankfully I can heal myself."

"Could we not get supplies tomorrow in Denver?" John asked. "To be honest, the reason why I did not already ask the Senseis over here for help doing it is because I did not want to have to schlep them to wherever I end up. Much less through an airport. That..." the expression on John's face turned from dead-serious to a sheepish I'm-in-trouble look... "and I have been injured by boxes o' stuff slamming into me in Sensei Park's car. Thankfully I can heal myself."

Elaine nodded, and replied, "Makes sense." With a nod, she then was the recipient of a plate of food from Sensei Park's cafeteria, which was serving what looked like salisbury steak with broccoli and rice. Elaine turned to the meal and said to the Sensei, "Thank you, Sensei--Park, was it?"

Rebecca nodded and said, as she sat, "Yup. Rebecca Park."

Elaine then pointed at her and said, "I'd watch for those boxes of things in that station wagon of yours. John just told me it proved pretty damn painful to have to sit near those things. I'd hope that hasn't been the case with others."

Rebecca then winced, and replied, "It has not. That stuff usually doesn't fly around like that, I swear." Elaine then shrugged and said, "Well, I suppose that may be. But there is something to be said about organization. Just because you run a youth camp doesn't mean you have to be a kid."

Rebecca nodded and stayed silent. Elaine then turned to John and said as she ate, "This is some pretty good fare here. My cooking, you'll find, is pretty good. Not five star cuisine, but it's fed many a child who's come into the Gannon residence and ensured they've got what it takes to start the day. And it's rarely from a box." At that last part, she smiled.

"So speaking of five star destinations--what would you like to do, John, in your last hours here in Los Angeles?" Elaine asked. "We both know we'd like to do something down-to-earth."

Rebecca nodded and said, "Well, there's the Torrance MegaMall."

"I said down-to-earth, Sensei," Elaine said jocularly.

Junko then interjected with, "I know a place. Down to earth. Fort MacArthur, down there's the Korean Friendship Bell and a park, where you can spend a little time. Also, there's a museum nearby--a Military Museum."

Elaine chuckled. "The park, maybe. The Museum I could possibly pass on. I design aircraft for a living, Sensei--I think I can get a break once in a while."

John sighed. He really did not want to be dragged off to more Los Angeles tourist traps. He was far more curious about what awaited him in Denver than this urban sprawl hellhole, filled with so much smog that John wondered how long he could stay before developing asthma. "I have already had two weeks to see it. I do not need to see it again. I would rather try to get home earlier. Can we take an earlier flight?"

OOC: I'll be out for most of the day tomorrow. Daytrip to New York.

IC:

Elaine nodded; it was clear she got the point quicker than the others. Junko thought as John spoke, "Jesus. The smog's not that bad, sonny. It's good for a body."

Not one for nonsense, Elaine replied with a smile to Junko and Rebecca, "To be honest, I can't think of anything I'd want to do around here either. Maybe when I have more time, I'll consider spending a day." Looking at John, she said, "Until then, you're lucky I've experience with this sort of thing." Getting up and motioning for John to come with, she pulled out her PDA and began calling to move up their reservation to the next flight.

Then, after it was all done, Elaine said, "Right. We have a Three O'Clock flight from LAX to Denver. I've a car waiting outside, I can quickly get us to the airport. John, do you have your things?"

"Yes, I have my things. Everything is in my backpack," John replied, leaving Elaine to wonder just how lightly this one traveled. The backpack only looked to be about half full, if that. "So can we go now?" It was pretty clear the kid didn't like LA all that much, and was eager to see his new home elsewhere.

"Yes, I have my things. Everything is in my backpack," John replied, leaving Elaine to wonder just how lightly this one traveled. The backpack only looked to be about half full, if that. "So can we go now?" It was pretty clear the kid didn't like LA all that much, and was eager to see his new home elsewhere.

Elaine nodded, and then took John by the hand to lead him out of the cafeteria. She then turned to Rebecca and Junko with smiles on her face and said to them, "It was nice meeting you, ladies. But the boy has spoken, and we must depart."

The two waved him and Mrs. Gannon off, Rebecca saying, "Write us, John. Mrs. Gannon!"

The woman then led John into her rental car, and after driving through traffic calmly, musing about how the roads here were busier than in Denver--though not as busy and maniacal as in New York City--she entered LAX, and immediately sped John through the early rebooking procedure, as the whole spiel was called in New Dornalia. Thus, they were able to board the plane when it was time....

The boy didn't say much; he only gave Junko and Rebecca a brief parting good-bye wave before getting into the rental car, relieved to find it CLEAN and void of debris that might smash him against the seat or inflict other injury. He did not say much to Elaine, either, perhaps wishing to see what awaited him in Denver first.

Upon reaching the airport's security checkpoint, he became ever-more thankful that he had refused to accumulate more supplies for security to ransack. He still did not say much, even after he reached the gate; some idiot business traveler who wasn't paying attention suddenly turned around and nearly knocked him over, and he still did not open his mouth. He only waited until boarding, upon which time stuffed his thinly-packed backpack under the seat in front of him, fastened his seatbelt, and promptly drifted off to sleep for want of anything else to do, and requirement of the rest.

The boy didn't say much; he only gave Junko and Rebecca a brief parting good-bye wave before getting into the rental car, relieved to find it CLEAN and void of debris that might smash him against the seat or inflict other injury. He did not say much to Elaine, either, perhaps wishing to see what awaited him in Denver first.

Upon reaching the airport's security checkpoint, he became ever-more thankful that he had refused to accumulate more supplies for security to ransack. He still did not say much, even after he reached the gate; some idiot business traveler who wasn't paying attention suddenly turned around and nearly knocked him over, and he still did not open his mouth. He only waited until boarding, upon which time stuffed his thinly-packed backpack under the seat in front of him, fastened his seatbelt, and promptly drifted off to sleep for want of anything else to do, and requirement of the rest.

The trip was relatively brief, but in the meantime, Elaine had already drawn up a list of things to do. Get John enrolled in school. Find the Temple of Denver, a fairly good PA institution. Take John shopping at S-Mart or PopMart for school supplies and clothing--whichever store was cheapest but most durable. Maybe enroll him in the youth hockey league--his bio indicated he loved the sport. And definetly get him some time to meet his new "Uncle" Roger, her brother and someone who had just as much experience with kids as she had. He'd make a good role model.

As they landed and checked themselves through baggage and such, first thing to do was to go to the Gannon residence. Elaine had left her auto in an airport parking lot, and thus drove to it straight through to her place. It was a simple house, and one which had seen many youths like John before. Elaine had a feeling this would be more permanent, though.

Walking inside, she said to John, "This here's your new home. It's nothing fancy, but I find it's a good place to raise a child. I'll show you to your room."

John's room was a good sized room, with a closet, a bed with sheets, and some furniture including a desk and a chair. "This'll be your room for studying, playing, training, et cetera. Keep it clean and neat--otherwise, it is your room."

Turning to John, she then asked, "So, where to first? School supplies, or food?"

The landing, the sensation of landing gear meeting runway at a hundred eighty knots instead of the more typical vertical one to two knots or so, jarred John awake upon arrival at Denver airport. Nevertheless, the boy held his tongue, at least until he saw the residence.

"Oh Force forbid, a house that I will not get lost in!" Definitely a favorable comparison to the Masaki palaces--if Elaine had done her homework on the kid, she would appreciate the comment. Quickly, the boy took the sparse possessions slung around his back to his room. Depressingly for Elaine, it only took about thirty or forty seconds for John to unpack them, as he put his clothes (one day's worth, other than the clothes he wore at that moment) and notebooks on one shelf, and sundries on another. Most foster kids, at least, were able to fill a garbage bag with all their personal possessions, but not John (who had left a veritable collection of unwanted and seldom-used goodies and indulgences behind in Coredia, plastic stuff that the Masakis had bought him in hopes of buying his affection). If nothing else, the kid was quite spartan in his material desires.

"School supplies?" John shrugged. "I have notebooks and stuff to write with; what else do I need? Do elementary school students have to buy their own books here? Well, maybe I could use more clothes. But no more than a week's worth...you will never find me on those hundred-fifty-thousand credit Royal Shopping Sprees."

"School supplies?" John shrugged. "I have notebooks and stuff to write with; what else do I need? Do elementary school students have to buy their own books here? Well, maybe I could use more clothes. But no more than a week's worth...you will never find me on those hundred-fifty-thousand credit Royal Shopping Sprees."

Elaine chuckled at that statement. She then wagged her finger and said, "Shopping sprees, maybe not. But I don't want you to wear out your clothing through monotonous use. A week's worth is good for a trip, but this is something more permanent, and a diversity of clothing choices I find reduces wear and tear and helps with emergencies. So if not a century's worth, at least a month's worth. Especially with socks and undergarments."

"Another lecture, Elaine?"

Turning to the door, Elaine and John could see Roger. A tall man, cut from the same cloth as Elaine, he was wiry and despite his glasses, had a sense of adventure that showed through the otherwise unassuming exterior.

Elaine replied, "No, Rog. Just telling the boy about the need for more than a week's worth of clothing."

Roger then said, holding his hand up, "Sis, there's other things, like calling the school and enrolling him. I think we can worry about changes of clothing later. Also, we have to call Nick and Louise, tell those two to expect a new brother in the house when they come back home for the weekend."

Elaine nodded and said, "I suppose there's the bigger things, then." Turning to John, she then said, "Right. I think we'll begin by easing you into the swing of things. A quick trip for supplies, and maybe some dinner tonight with your new family. How does that sound?"

"A month?" John's eyes grew big. "What is this, Royal Closet Stuffing? Afraid the washer/dryer is gonna blow up? And take all the stores in Denver with it!?" The boy's face grew pale, as the incredulity of Elaine's clothing-stockpiling habits became apparent to him.

It took a moment or two for the shock to drain from his face. "Umm...right...yeah I could probably use a few other supplies, but I do not need ten times my own bodyweight in frivolous, shiny plastic stuff. What is for dinner, by the way?"

"A month?" John's eyes grew big. "What is this, Royal Closet Stuffing? Afraid the washer/dryer is gonna blow up? And take all the stores in Denver with it!?" The boy's face grew pale, as the incredulity of Elaine's clothing-stockpiling habits became apparent to him.

It took a moment or two for the shock to drain from his face. "Umm...right...yeah I could probably use a few other supplies, but I do not need ten times my own bodyweight in frivolous, shiny plastic stuff. What is for dinner, by the way?"

Elaine declared in terms of the meal, "Something special, but not too frivolous. I was thinking chicken pot pie. Which reminds me...now I really have to go for supplies. I need a pie crust and some green beans. I'm running low on those."

As for John's last comment, she couldn't help but smile. The boy didn't know she was going to get only two weeks worth of clothing, and not a month's worth. Frankly, she didn't understand his problem--it was all going to be simple shirts and pants. But then again, it was going to be a nightmare to fix all of those things.

Rog, meanwhile, said, "Don't mind Elain--er, Mrs. Gannon. I'm her brother Roger, by the way. She tends to overprepare and scrimp, even when it's really not necessary. Though I do hope you're not rough on things--I think she was worried about that."

Elaine nodded and said, "Ah yes, that's what I was worried about." With a chuckle, she then went to the kitchen to get a quick glass of water, motioning for John to follow before she would go out with John for supplies.

"No. Only way I would be rough on clothes is if they somehow involved hockey. OK, we may as well go with our Royal Family-issued, luxury chain expense cards," John replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. John didn't know that Elaine planned on purchasing only half as many clothes as she had said, all right. But at least the words provided some insight as to why John didn't like the idea of having a whole lot of clothing, or apparently, anything else for that matter.

As he got into the car, he added, with regret in his voice, "I should not have said that. Sorry..."

"No. Only way I would be rough on clothes is if they somehow involved hockey. OK, we may as well go with our Royal Family-issued, luxury chain expense cards," John replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. John didn't know that Elaine planned on purchasing only half as many clothes as she had said, all right. But at least the words provided some insight as to why John didn't like the idea of having a whole lot of clothing, or apparently, anything else for that matter.

As he got into the car, he added, with regret in his voice, "I should not have said that. Sorry..."

Elaine said as she started the auto, "Apology accepted, John. No harm done."

She then softened slightly and said, as they got onto the roads, "It's partly my fault, since I should have said something about reducing the load we're going to buy. I will admit though, I've never had a child debate clothing before with me. Then again, I shouldn't worry so much about clothing, come to think of it. After all, what we're going to buy is just a couple weeks worth of simple shirts and pants, maybe a polo shirt or two to look nice when the situation calls for it."

She then said, turning to him briefly before turning back to the road, "We're working class, but not poor, mind. It's not all about appearances, and both you and I certainly have enough intestinal fortitude to ensure our pride's intact. But it certainly helps to look proud sometimes too."

Elaine then drove into the parking lot of a PopMart. A large, reddish building, it was a department store that was simply made, and emphasized slogans such as "For the People."

"Oh, OK..." the thought of two weeks' worth of clothing seemed quite a bit more amenable to the boy, and his objections subsided. As he wandered throughout the boys' clothing section of the store, somewhat independently of Elaine on the theory that two shoppers could work faster than one, he picked out mostly T-shirts bearing Colorado Avalanche logos, in keeping with his love of hockey and his general rootlessness (and corresponding lack of any other "home team"), hoping that criminal elements had not co-opted the emblems for their own ends. Also, a few of the T-shirts bore such general, typical childhood complaints of "Why did I get out of bed for this?" and other such juvenile, but age-appropriate concerns. Figuring the shopping for pants would be a bit easier, less open-ended, and therefore, along with the procurement of more formal clothing for those occasions which would require it, something better suited for the parental figure, he pretty much only concerned himself with picking out approximately fourteen T-shirts that he liked, in one size larger than his frame to allow for the mandatory and inevitable "growing room" concerns. Quietly, he submitted the stack of T-shirts-on-hangars for Elaine's approval...

Quietly, he submitted the stack of T-shirts-on-hangars for Elaine's approval...

Elaine looked at them, and nodded approvingly, adding, "Reminds me. I need to enroll you for my union's Youth Hockey team. I hear you're a fan of hockey and it's hard to find a kid who doesn't lose interest." She then packed the clothing into her shopping cart and said, "Well, I got my beans and my pie crusts. Let's get on home--chicken pot pies take time to make, now. Especially with the care I take to put into them."

She then went to the checkout counter, and then was confronted with a catgirl working the register. She then punched in a few numbers, and asked Elaine for, "Fifty bucks, please." Elaine handed over the cash, whereupon the surly catgirl rang up the order and then handed a reciept and said, "Thank you. Next!"

Elaine then fumed, muttering, "I've had better customer service from my leavings. Come now, John."

"Yeah. I think I was the only hockey player in Coredia for a while," John grumbled. "So does this mean we need to get hockey stuff, too? That stuff is expensive. And it was not exactly accessible to pack, either. I did not have that chance before I left."

John remained somewhat relieved that Parental Unit had not decided to start capriciously vetoing his selections. Such increased the...efficiency of shopping, an activity that he would rather see cut to the bare minimum.

"Yeah. I think I was the only hockey player in Coredia for a while," John grumbled. "So does this mean we need to get hockey stuff, too? That stuff is expensive. And it was not exactly accessible to pack, either. I did not have that chance before I left."

John remained somewhat relieved that Parental Unit had not decided to start capriciously vetoing his selections. Such increased the...efficiency of shopping, an activity that he would rather see cut to the bare minimum.

Elaine replied with glee, as she left the store and stuffed the groceries and clothes into the trunk of her car, "Well, I suppose there's no rule against getting you a good stick. Besides, we go through sticks like moviegoers eat popcorn over at the Youth League, so it'd be worth the extra expense to get you one that'll last."

She then said, as she entered the car with John, "Not at PopMart though. I know a better place. Down in Washington Park. It's a Sports Supply store that actually knows what it's doing." Elaine then cursed the PopMart workers, muttering, "Not like the people in the Sporting Goods department at PopMart. Can't tell a dumbbell from a tennis racket."

"Yeah. Hmm. Between skates and bodygear, I will probably be paying you back for the next four years. I am sorry," John replied, as his head seemed to drop straight down to the floor, as if he was a homeless person with the gall to ask a rich person for a luxury cruise. His mind crunched the numbers as to how much all of this hockey gear ran up to, and the young one worried that the parental unit would break herself paying for it (the kid didn't understand state subsidies to foster parents). After all, he did not want to see the rest of the "family" go without to fund expensive sports, that unlike the Masakis, the family did not have unlimited funds to throw at...

"Yeah. Hmm. Between skates and bodygear, I will probably be paying you back for the next four years. I am sorry," John replied, as his head seemed to drop straight down to the floor, as if he was a homeless person with the gall to ask a rich person for a luxury cruise. His mind crunched the numbers as to how much all of this hockey gear ran up to, and the young one worried that the parental unit would break herself paying for it (the kid didn't understand state subsidies to foster parents). After all, he did not want to see the rest of the "family" go without to fund expensive sports, that unlike the Masakis, the family did not have unlimited funds to throw at...

Elaine, unsurprisingly because she knew of the generous subsidies the Dornalian Safety Net paid its recipients--including people who took care of foster kids--waved off John's worry with a simple, "Don't worry, don't worry. John, you worry too much. This isn't Coredia, you know--no need to hang your head low here because you're afraid of money concerns. Besides, I do get money from the government to help with expenses, like school supplies, food, et cetera." She then winked at the boy and laughed. "And this certainly qualifies as expenses."

Driving across the roads, she eventually arrived at the sporting goods store, marked "Sports Supply." Stopping in the parking lot, she got out, and led John into a well stocked sports store. Leading him to the hockey section, she instructed, "Go nuts."

"Oh. And the government does not mind paying for hundreds of credits of equipment for fun?" John asked, neglecting to consider that the state probably had an interest in raising healthy kids for the People's Army. Still, Elaine's response managed to pacify him enough for him to carefully pick out a titanium left-handed stick (Elaine's mention of the frequency of broken sticks made the kid a bit leery of wooden sticks), the ninth pair of skates he tried on, shoulder and leg padding, and pretty much everything except the helmet and the uniform. "I do not know what the team uniforms around here are," he explained, "and whether or not they require standard paint on the helmets."

"Oh. And the government does not mind paying for hundreds of credits of equipment for fun?" John asked, neglecting to consider that the state probably had an interest in raising healthy kids for the People's Army. Still, Elaine's response managed to pacify him enough for him to carefully pick out a titanium left-handed stick (Elaine's mention of the frequency of broken sticks made the kid a bit leery of wooden sticks), the ninth pair of skates he tried on, shoulder and leg padding, and pretty much everything except the helmet and the uniform. "I do not know what the team uniforms around here are," he explained, "and whether or not they require standard paint on the helmets."

"Well, the uniform and paint's a simple Prussian blue and white for the union's Youth Team. I've a pattern to sew on the whole thing once you're done picking. Also, good stick choice. A lot of my kids seem to like wood, but I find wood's not good--too heavy, and too easy to break." Elaine said these comments as she eyed the items John found with appreciation. Then she commented, as she looked for an employee, "As for the expense...well, let's just say the National Government is interested in our health. That includes sport, see."

Flagging down the management, she then said, "Can I get these uniforms in Prussian Blue and White?"

The management replied, "Yeah, we got some of that in stock, Mrs. Gannon. Hold on."

"What color are the helmets?" John asked. "I still need one of those. If the state is interested in my health, it would be a shame to see my head crunched because I did not know what color helmet to get. Especially if the state pays for it."

"What color are the helmets?" John asked. "I still need one of those. If the state is interested in my health, it would be a shame to see my head crunched because I did not know what color helmet to get. Especially if the state pays for it."

Elaine then replied, "Prussian Blue with a White Stripe down the middle. Same as the unifom."

John quickly vanished into the helmets section, trying on those that fit the description. He didn't know exactly how dark a hue "Prussian blue" described, but he tried on blue helmets with a white stripe down the middle. When he found a good fit, he brought it back to Elaine, who apparently still waited for the stock people to get back with the rest of the uniform. "Like this?" he asked, hoping he didn't pick out the wrong shade of blue.

John quickly vanished into the helmets section, trying on those that fit the description. He didn't know exactly how dark a hue "Prussian blue" described, but he tried on blue helmets with a white stripe down the middle. When he found a good fit, he brought it back to Elaine, who apparently still waited for the stock people to get back with the rest of the uniform. "Like this?" he asked, hoping he didn't pick out the wrong shade of blue.

Elaine looked at it and said, with a smile: "Perfect."

The Management replied at that, seeing the proper colored equipment come in, "Will that be it, Elaine? I have a guy who needs to find some boxing equipment we don't have in stock."

The foster mom simply nodded and said, "I think that will be all. Ring me up, Bob."

At that, the party proceeded to the front, where Elaine's merchandise was rung up, delivering her a total of USD$350 dollars. She nodded, putting forward what looked like one of John's worst fears--a credit card. Elaine then muttered, "John, one of these days I have to take you to my Union's credit union and make an account. They have a good service record there, and their debit cards are generous in terms of terms." Swiping it through, she then was presented with the reciepts, and then thanked the management.

Ironically, the credit card did not scare John at all.

The mention of opening the credit union account did. With an utterly aghast look on his face, the kid protested loudly, with a message that would no doubt cause other kids in the vicinity to label him insane. "But I do not need a bank account!" John loudly protested. "I have no money to put in it! And I want to keep it that way until I am old enough to earn it!" Having the Masakis attempt to ram trust funds down a would-be socialist's throat had made for some interesting fears of banks and money, indeed.

Ironically, the credit card did not scare John at all.

The mention of opening the credit union account did. With an utterly aghast look on his face, the kid protested loudly, with a message that would no doubt cause other kids in the vicinity to label him insane. "But I do not need a bank account!" John loudly protested. "I have no money to put in it! And I want to keep it that way until I am old enough to earn it!" Having the Masakis attempt to ram trust funds down a would-be socialist's throat had made for some interesting fears of banks and money, indeed.

"I did the same thing with my kids; it didn't turn them into spoiled, superpowered brats." Elaine was surprised, and frowned at John for making such a scene. Her statement, a sly reference to the Masakis, was enough to get her opinion across. "It's not a matter of earning, or laziness. It's a matter of simple financial responsibility that I think a boy needs to learn--or at least practice." Her look was a stern one, indicating she would not budge.

John crossed his arms. Apparently, the state subsidized sports, and he sure as hell did not need to save money for anything else. He did not even buy candy, much less anything that required the sort of fiscal responsibility that Elaine thought she needed to inculcate. By the time John would need spending money, he figured, he would be old enough to earn it with a part-time job. Moreover, he had just spent a couple of years in a country with very lax child-labor laws, laws that allowed even kids his age to work in non-dangerous jobs.

"I suppose you could open all the bank accounts for me that you wanted," John retorted, "for the sake of teaching me how to deal with banks. However, do not expect me to touch money that is not really mine." John gave Elaine a glare that informed her in no uncertain terms that he would not touch that suggested savings account until he had his own money to put into it...and he would just as rather open a separate account for that so his money would not be commingled with someone else's.

John crossed his arms. Apparently, the state subsidized sports, and he sure as hell did not need to save money for anything else. He did not even buy candy, much less anything that required the sort of fiscal responsibility that Elaine thought she needed to inculcate. By the time John would need spending money, he figured, he would be old enough to earn it with a part-time job. Moreover, he had just spent a couple of years in a country with very lax child-labor laws, laws that allowed even kids his age to work in non-dangerous jobs.

"I suppose you could open all the bank accounts for me that you wanted," John retorted, "for the sake of teaching me how to deal with banks. However, do not expect me to touch money that is not really mine." John gave Elaine a glare that informed her in no uncertain terms that he would not touch that suggested savings account until he had his own money to put into it...and he would just as rather open a separate account for that so his money would not be commingled with someone else's.

Elaine stood firm, however, and simply said, "Now you're just being paranoid. It would be good for you to learn to embrace a modicum of flexibility in this country. It's not like Coredia; we have strict child-labor law here, which leaves children to focus on what they should be doing. Which is learning. Say, for example fiscal responsibility. Whether it is your money or not makes no difference. In fact, if I give you an allowance, it will reinforce whatever notions you have of responsible citizenship by persuading you to use it wisely. Now stop being foolish."

She then frowned and took him out of the store, saying nothing. She had had nasty kids before, but John took the cake. Perhaps this was why the Masakis rejected him?

At this point, John figured it was probably best to simply bide his time, until winter came. Winter meant driveways buried under a foot or two of snow--which meant opportunity for him to earn his own money clearing aforesaid driveways. He could open his own account at such time, providing Elaine with whatever opportunity she wanted to teach him about finances, without commingling the funds with those that were not rightfully his.

Until such time, he figured that he should probably let Elaine open all the bank accounts that she wanted. It did not mean that he had to actually use them. He could simply let said Trust Fund Accounts--those stuffed with credits he had done nothing to deserve--stay dormant for all eternity. If he could set up HoloNet banking, he could even return the unwanted monies back to Elaine. And if Elaine wondered why no withdrawals, John could always reply that there simply was not anything for him to buy that he happened to be interested in. Granted, for this to work, he could pretty much never, ever request anything except for basic survival necessities and school supplies...but such was his nature.

Functionally, the kid stayed dead quiet. His shut mouth might even have given the appearance of grudging acquiescence. But a month or two from now, the boy knew, he could get his own 'finances' in order.

For now, he would simply remain dead to whatever bank accounts were established for him, rather than by him.

Elaine merely drove the boy home, with her groceries. Stuffing the hockey items into John's room nicely and neatly, she directed John to "move the pie crust and greenbeans to the kitchen." She then produced a Chicken Pot Pie recipe card and asked him to get the ingredients on it from the pantry and fridge--she'd help when she finished the hockey gear. Sure enough, that was the case, and she was in the kitchen before long helping him get stuff. She then asked him, "Would you like to help me with dinner? It'll go faster."

"Umm...sure." The boy shrugged as he took the recipe card. Well, he could probably preheat the oven too, and shave off a good ten minutes. Carefully, at that--he would have to heat the thing from the middle of the oven, the empty spot where the food was supposed to go, to avoid any danger of damage to the oven itself. With that, he turned on the oven to three hundred seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit, using his own thermal abilities to quickly warm the oven up to around three hundred or so before finding the ingredients and arranging them neatly on the counter. It helped that telekiniesis could grab multiple objects at once, and John silently thanked himself that no one had been around to watch. By the time Elaine came back, after depositing the hockey gear... "Why did you not leave that for me to do? Should I not put my own stuff away?"...John had already had the pot pie half-assembled, and the oven's heating element started to dim from its bright orange to the off position, given that the Force had done most of aforesaid heating.

Elaine smiled, beaming proudly at her new foster child. "That's a good lad. Responsibility'll take you places, no matter where you go. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise." She then proceeded to help finish the pie, as she answered John's question with, "Well, John, I wanted you to help get dinner started first. Also, I thought you would have had difficulty with that much gear. Evidently...that wasn't the case."

"Never taken care of a Force user before?" John asked. "Just how does the state school Force users, anyway? Surely, the government has to do something with kids like me before they turn sixteen? The Force exists from conception; it does not magically appear on a specific birthday." Once again, the thought that John somehow obtained Teh Celebrity Cronyism Advantage reared its ugly head, but only mildly so. The kid simply genuinely wondered what happened to other kids similar to him.

"Never taken care of a Force user before?" John asked. "Just how does the state school Force users, anyway? Surely, the government has to do something with kids like me before they turn sixteen? The Force exists from conception; it does not magically appear on a specific birthday." Once again, the thought that John somehow obtained Teh Celebrity Cronyism Advantage reared its ugly head, but only mildly so. The kid simply genuinely wondered what happened to other kids similar to him.

Elaine then thought for a moment as the pie was cooking. She then left the kitchen, and the sounds of rummaging could be heard. Elaine then returned with a large book entitled So You Want to Enroll Your Kids in the Best Schools. Flipping the book open, she then poked at the relevant column and read it out loud.

"Children are generally tested for Force sensitivity or exhibit it in Childhood. Such children in the Dornalian school system are covered under the Teller Amendment of the Hawley-Lew Act. This enables them to avoid being pigeonholed in Special Education programs, but allows them accomidations for their unique abilities, mainly in terms of civil rights and physical education. In this case, a tutor from the People's Acolytes, a religious organization, or from a secular service organization such as DOSAAF or the Boy Scouts will be then appointed to give the youth moral guidance, and the faculty are asked to handle their abilities in such a way as to enable them to learn as much as others can and will. The only restrictions placed on them will be during testing--this will often be done within special areas to prevent cheating."

Elaine then looked at the book, and then looked at John, saying, "Did you get all that? Considering you're a bright lad, with a grasp of knowledge beyond your years, the school might offer a placement test to get you into a gifted and talented program."

"Yeah." John did not say much else as his mind ran through what Elaine had rattled off. The bit about the private tutoring environment did not surprise him; his experience in the Academy had been somewhat similar. However, the Coredians made little or no attempt at "mainstreaming" younglings into the general, non-Force-sensitive population. John wondered if a 'gifted program' meant the same fate here. He already felt he had gotten off on the wrong foot, over his principled stand of not stealing anyone else's money to open bank accounts.

"Can I take a test to determine my grade level instead?" John suggested, after a few minutes of such thought. "I would like at least some normal classes. I do want the chance to make some friends after all. The 'gifted' stuff should be more on the side, I think."

"Yeah." John did not say much else as his mind ran through what Elaine had rattled off. The bit about the private tutoring environment did not surprise him; his experience in the Academy had been somewhat similar. However, the Coredians made little or no attempt at "mainstreaming" younglings into the general, non-Force-sensitive population. John wondered if a 'gifted program' meant the same fate here. He already felt he had gotten off on the wrong foot, over his principled stand of not stealing anyone else's money to open bank accounts.

"Can I take a test to determine my grade level instead?" John suggested, after a few minutes of such thought. "I would like at least some normal classes. I do want the chance to make some friends after all. The 'gifted' stuff should be more on the side, I think."

Elaine replied, "Sure." She then muttered with dismay, "But I can't do that...more than likely, the school will decide on that much. Doesn't mean I won't fight tooth and nail if they refuse now. Damn bureaucrats."

The pie then *dinged* and on cue, the other family members began coming into the room. Two youths of college age moved in, eagerly awaiting the pie to come, and the man from earlier sauntered in in a much more neat way. Elaine said, "Well, I suppose I should clean up." She motioned for the others to get their plates and such, as Elaine got hers.

After removing the pie and setting up, the pie entered the table, placed on a prrotective mat. After Elaine sat down and gave a quick grace, she then cut the pie and served John the first slice, saying, "You helped make it, you get first dibs. Those who work get to eat."

"Hey there, Roger." John waved politely to Elaine's brother as he came in. He had no clue who the college-age kids were, however. Other than the initial greeting, the boy did not say much, preferring instead to quietly observe those he knew practically nothing about. He took for himself a slice of the pot pie, miraculously holding it all together such that its ingredients did not slide out onto the plate from underneath the top crust, even as John cut it. The kid knew neatness was important to Elaine by now, even if he was the only one in the family capable of using Force-containment fields on normally messy food.

As the pie went around to the others and mandatory grace appeared recited, the new kid sampled the pie, one nibble at a time. Showing no trace of the voracious hunger that ravaged his stomach in the first couple of days after the flight to New Dornalia, he thoughtfully chewed on his food, taking the time to savor every bite. Ironically, the one with the most time to talk between bites of his food also happened to be the quietest...

"Hey there, Roger." John waved politely to Elaine's brother as he came in. He had no clue who the college-age kids were, however. Other than the initial greeting, the boy did not say much, preferring instead to quietly observe those he knew practically nothing about. He took for himself a slice of the pot pie, miraculously holding it all together such that its ingredients did not slide out onto the plate from underneath the top crust, even as John cut it. The kid knew neatness was important to Elaine by now, even if he was the only one in the family capable of using Force-containment fields on normally messy food.

As the pie went around to the others and mandatory grace appeared recited, the new kid sampled the pie, one nibble at a time. Showing no trace of the voracious hunger that ravaged his stomach in the first couple of days after the flight to New Dornalia, he thoughtfully chewed on his food, taking the time to savor every bite. Ironically, the one with the most time to talk between bites of his food also happened to be the quietest...

The two college age kids, one woman and one man, looked at Elaine, and then looked at John. The man then asked, "Hey mom...is that..."

Elaine nodded and said, taking a slice of pie for herself, "Yes, Alex. A new foster child. In fact, I may adopt him, considering the events that brought him to New Dornalia."

The daughter asked, "Well, how'd he get here?"

Roger then replied, "Well, Alexis, John--that's the boy's name--had a very long story." Turning to John, he asked the boy, "Do you feel comfortable explaining it?"

"Umm..." John dropped his fork, which clanged against his plate (thankfully, instead of becoming a mess elsewhere). A look of shock and horror crossed his face, deeply suggesting that he did not want to relive the experience. "The courts have done that quite enough already," he stammered. He at least wanted to know these people better before he divulged his life's traumas to them. Much less people he had known for only a few minutes.

"Umm..." John dropped his fork, which clanged against his plate (thankfully, instead of becoming a mess elsewhere). A look of shock and horror crossed his face, deeply suggesting that he did not want to relive the experience. "The courts have done that quite enough already," he stammered. He at least wanted to know these people better before he divulged his life's traumas to them. Much less people he had known for only a few minutes.

Alexis and Alex nodded, eager not to pry. Alexis then asked her new brother, "So tell me, John. How do you like our home so far? I'm Alexis." Pointing to Alex, she said, "That's Alex. We're going to college; I'm studying Engineering, he's doing History."

Alexis then asked, "How do you like the pie?" She smiled, seemingly eager to ingratiate herself with her new foster brother. It seemed obvious she had done this before.

"I am not sure how well I like this place quite yet," the kid replied, "for I have not even had a chance to live here yet. At least I can find my room, however." One thing that this abode had in its favor: it did not have so many rooms that John could not find his own. Damn royal mansions. That, he did not miss.

Then, confronted with requests for his opinion of the food, the kid, used to eating military ration bars by himself because he had scarcely wanted to be seen at the Masaki dinner table, much less engage in gluttony, merely uttered, "Well, definitely better than eating those ration bars all the time." He did not really feel like saying much, considering he found himself poked and prodded as a high-school biology lab specimen. While he had some mild desire to get to know the others, he remained somewhat uncomfortable about the interrogation, preferring instead to observe the others.

"I am not sure how well I like this place quite yet," the kid replied, "for I have not even had a chance to live here yet. At least I can find my room, however." One thing that this abode had in its favor: it did not have so many rooms that John could not find his own. Damn royal mansions. That, he did not miss.

Then, confronted with requests for his opinion of the food, the kid, used to eating military ration bars by himself because he had scarcely wanted to be seen at the Masaki dinner table, much less engage in gluttony, merely uttered, "Well, definitely better than eating those ration bars all the time." He did not really feel like saying much, considering he found himself poked and prodded as a high-school biology lab specimen. While he had some mild desire to get to know the others, he remained somewhat uncomfortable about the interrogation, preferring instead to observe the others.

Alex noticed his discomfort and said to Alexis, "Al, I think you're scaring him." Alexis then backed off, sighing and saying, "Jeez, alright, alright." The woman then leans back in her chair, whistling, and eating her slice of pot pie. Alexis smiled to herself, and then thought. Alex, meanwhile, went back to his pot pie.

Meanwhile, Roger said to John, "John, there's no need to study us like we're lab specimens. We're nice people. Just ask us things, and talk to us."

"I thought I was the lab specimen in here!" John blurted out. Roger's comment made him even more uncomfortable, as John felt sandwiched between unease about the others poking and prodding him, and sudden embarrassment at his reaction. Quickly, he started shoveling his food, suddenly wishing to finish dinner as soon as possible, rather than enjoy each bite. Besides, if his mouth was always full, he would have an excuse not to reply to the repeated prodding...

"I thought I was the lab specimen in here!" John blurted out. Roger's comment made him even more uncomfortable, as John felt sandwiched between unease about the others poking and prodding him, and sudden embarrassment at his reaction. Quickly, he started shoveling his food, suddenly wishing to finish dinner as soon as possible, rather than enjoy each bite. Besides, if his mouth was always full, he would have an excuse not to reply to the repeated prodding...

Alexis then exploded, declaring, "Listen, you--I was trying to get to know you, figure you out, say hello. There's no need to act like a spoiled brat! Who the fuck do you think you are!?"

Roger and Elaine glared at Alexis at that point, and Elaine snapped, "That's quite enough, young lady. Any more abuse from you and you'll get a slap. You're not too old to be reminded about manners, especially with all I told you about language like that in this household."

Alexis muttered angrily, "Sure." Alex sighed, saying, "Sorry about that, John. My sis has tendencies to drama." Tactfully, he kept it short.

Roger then replied, "Right. Now that this issue is over, let's talk about more pleasant things. Like how things were recently."

Alex said, "Well, I just had to finish a report for my History of Pre-Apocalypse China class. Not a bad one, that."

Roger nodded, "Now, aren't you glad you didn't drop that? And you were complaining about how it was so tough. Let that be a lesson to you--Gannons never surrender, and never give up. Your mother certainly knows that." Elaine nodded, adding, "Especially when the management calls you 'That Damn Agitator.'" She then asked her son, "What service branch you pick?"

"I picked the Navy; I'm thinking about being a pilot. I see all those planes you help make, I figure I'll put htem to good use."

Elaine chuckled, saying, "Oh, dear oh dear. I don't make the planes, Alex, I just draw them for the men on the plant floor to make. Still, if you want to be a pilot, that's fine."

Alexis said nothing, nodding and figuring how to remind John never to refuse her kindness again.

By this point, the young one had had quite enough. He quickly shoveled down the last few bites of his food. Even had Alexis kept her mouth shut, the kid still would have sensed her anger towards him. Her verbal outburst did not particularly help, and John simply wanted away from her. Now.

While he appreciated Alex and Robert's intercessions, he found himself wishing that dinnertime conversation had gone like that (minus Alexis' outburst) to begin with, rather than him being poked, prodded, and dissected by the entire foster family. John would have to thank them later. For now, overwhelmed by embarrassment and wishing to get the hell away from Alexis, John vanished no later than the second he set his fork back down on the table. Quickly, the kid scrambled to his room, as carefully as could be done with any decent speed, to minimize the noise of his footfalls. John quickly closed his bedroom door behind him, and not bothering to undress or change into pajamas, climbed into his bed, telekinetically flipped the lightswitch off as an afterthought, and promptly used Force-enhanced sleep trances to force himself to sleep. Tomorrow was another day, and hopefully Alexis had to deal with her college courses...

Roger sighed, and said, "I'll go get him," upon seeing John storm out. He then glared at Alexis and said, "I'll deal with you later. You've embarassed this family." Shaking his head, he walked up to John's room and knocked, saying, "Hello? John? It's Roger, I just want to talk."

He then waited for the boy to stir for several minutes, before opening the door. He sighed; the boy had gone to sleep. Flipping on the light switch, he then poked John gently and said, "John, it's Roger. I just want to talk. Maybe get off on the right foot."

"Unh...ugghh..." Indeed, it took a bit of poking and prodding for Roger to coax John back to the world of the awoken. The kid had managed to put himself into one deep sleep. John slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes, and wishing he could banish the embarrassment from his memory.

As if awoken at two in the morning, the kid shook his head, his mind forced to clear the drowsiness that it had itself voluntarily created only moments later. Roger definitely got the sense that this kid had some kind of supernatural ability to force sleep on demand, though it was really more a method of compressing it, to coax more hours out of the day. All the kid managed was a quizzical "Huh?"

"Unh...ugghh..." Indeed, it took a bit of poking and prodding for Roger to coax John back to the world of the awoken. The kid had managed to put himself into one deep sleep. John slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes, and wishing he could banish the embarrassment from his memory.

As if awoken at two in the morning, the kid shook his head, his mind forced to clear the drowsiness that it had itself voluntarily created only moments later. Roger definitely got the sense that this kid had some kind of supernatural ability to force sleep on demand, though it was really more a method of compressing it, to coax more hours out of the day. All the kid managed was a quizzical "Huh?"

"It's okay. I just want to talk." Roger repeated that line again, for the third time. "I intend to correct any misjudgments and misgivings before they get out of hand, like what happened back there." He then said, "I think it's time we headed this off at the pass, so to speak. I'll give you a second to recuperate, and then ask you what you kind of family activities you would be interested in."

"Uhhhh..." John shook his head again. "Not family dinners, apparently. I ate by myself for as long as I can remember." Though the kid had indeed eaten dinner with his biological family, before civil war claimed its members when the lad was but five, he could not remember those times very well. The nights of eating ration bars in his room as Anakin happily gloated about another dinner without the unwelcome interloper, and all except him dined on perla di storione con capellini e caviale or some other outright gluttonous blaspheme...those nights, those dinners, were all that were known to him.

Of course, the boy did not exactly want to think of such things.

"I do not suppose hockey could be considered a 'family activity.' I dunno..." John scritched his head... "Snowball fights in winter and hiking in summer?"

"Uhhhh..." John shook his head again. "Not family dinners, apparently. I ate by myself for as long as I can remember." Though the kid had indeed eaten dinner with his biological family, before civil war claimed its members when the lad was but five, he could not remember those times very well. The nights of eating ration bars in his room as Anakin happily gloated about another dinner without the unwelcome interloper, and all except him dined on perla di storione con capellini e caviale or some other outright gluttonous blaspheme...those nights, those dinners, were all that were known to him.

Of course, the boy did not exactly want to think of such things.

"I do not suppose hockey could be considered a 'family activity.' I dunno..." John scritched his head... "Snowball fights in winter and hiking in summer?"

Roger laughed. "Hockey's an activity in this household. Alex picked it up, and I'm sympathetic. Alexis...well, she can be found with her friends anyway, so it won't be so bad."

He then thought for a moment, and spoke.

"You're in luck with the latter. You'll find Elaine--er, Mrs. Gannon is a nature person. Hikes a lot in the summer, coaches youth hockey. Maybe she'll take you hiking in the Rockies sometime. More than likely, she'll approve and take you to one of her favorite spots. I know I'd like to go...though I don't hike as well as her. I snowball fight better."

"Hmm. Maybe. I must admit, I cannot wait until the winter snows," John admitted, "so that I can throw snowballs in Alexis' face. I do not think she would hike to three thousand meters so I could do that now, would she?" Suddenly a bad feeling struck the kid that he would soon be dragged in front of the rest of the family to be tarred and feathered, and slowly so as not to be completely obvious, he slid in back under his bedsheets.

"Hmm. Maybe. I must admit, I cannot wait until the winter snows," John admitted, "so that I can throw snowballs in Alexis' face. I do not think she would hike to three thousand meters so I could do that now, would she?" Suddenly a bad feeling struck the kid that he would soon be dragged in front of the rest of the family to be tarred and feathered, and slowly so as not to be completely obvious, he slid in back under his bedsheets.

Roger was used to this routine, however, and roused him out again. This time, he was firm, displeased, and yet gentle about it.

"Now stop it. I won't play this game. I'm no inquisitor and you won't see me dragging out the rack. I just want to clear up any misconceptions here, you have. I know that you're scared. If I had the type of life you had I'd be scared.

But this has to end. Alexis only meant well when she asked those questions, and the fact she did that outburst means that she took your apprehension the wrong way, is all. Now if you feel like a lab rat, I am sorry. But we didn't mean it that way. I'll talk to Alexis in the morning and tell her why you felt the way you did. But for now, I need you to stop this foolishness and come to terra firma, before this causes more problems."

"Fine," John grumbled, reluctantly accepting Roger's logic, if only because he knew that Alexis could make his life a living hell, as Anakin did, should she wish to do so. "Please let me know how she reacts. I would rather not share my life with people that I have known for less than a day, and I did not ask you to do that, either. But for now, let me sleep. I have had a long day, and going back down there would only make it longer."

"Fine," John grumbled, reluctantly accepting Roger's logic, if only because he knew that Alexis could make his life a living hell, as Anakin did, should she wish to do so. "Please let me know how she reacts. I would rather not share my life with people that I have known for less than a day, and I did not ask you to do that, either. But for now, let me sleep. I have had a long day, and going back down there would only make it longer."

Roger nodded, and left the room.

At that, he marched to the dinner table, and then motioned for Alexis to go to her room, with him in tow. What happened next was a rather painful conversation. Roger emphasized the fact John felt threatened and how Alexis didn't endear herself by her forward kindness; Alexis emphasized how she thought John was a snot because he didn't know how to take a little kindness. Eventually, Roger too persuaded her of the logic of John's point, noting how he had a shitty life, consisting of everything from a civil war (which the family still knew little about) to living with the Masakis rather unhappily (to which Alexis felt jealous of him a little), and eventually stowing away to Los Angeles on a ship. With all that, Alexis sighed and agreed to give the kid a break.

--------

In the morning, John would wake up to the smell of sizzling bacon and eggs. When he did come out, Elaine said, "Morning, John. How do you take your eggs? Scrambled or over easy?"

The smell of bacon n' eggs wafted up to John's bedroom, and gradually peeled the boy away from his bedsheets. Rubbing his eyes, the kid headed downstairs to investigate.

"Morning, John. How do you take your eggs? Scrambled or over easy?"

"Huh. Scrambled, I guess. Easier to season that way," the kid replied, a yawn creeping back into his voice. Realizing the need to wake himself up, the kid set the palm of his hand alight with the Force for all of a half-second, which in turn made him wince from the pain. Yet the small, candle-sized flame on his hand extinguished itself, and the third-degree burn it left behind slowly disappeared under newly healed skin. "Sorry 'bout that. At least I am awake now," the kid apologized for any drama the sight might cause. "Kinda like pinching myself."

The smell of bacon n' eggs wafted up to John's bedroom, and gradually peeled the boy away from his bedsheets. Rubbing his eyes, the kid headed downstairs to investigate.

"Morning, John. How do you take your eggs? Scrambled or over easy?"

"Huh. Scrambled, I guess. Easier to season that way," the kid replied, a yawn creeping back into his voice. Realizing the need to wake himself up, the kid set the palm of his hand alight with the Force for all of a half-second, which in turn made him wince from the pain. Yet the small, candle-sized flame on his hand extinguished itself, and the third-degree burn it left behind slowly disappeared under newly healed skin. "Sorry 'bout that. At least I am awake now," the kid apologized for any drama the sight might cause. "Kinda like pinching myself."

Elaine shrugged. "Well, I suppose whatever works works. Just don't do it too often, that can't be too healthy." She promptly scrambled John's eggs, and served them to him along with a mug of hot chocolate and a couple of strips of bacon. The others arrived in time, including Alex and Alexis. Alexis seemed frazzled, as did Alex.

The first thing Alexis did was get served a cup of coffee, which she sipped slowly. She then turned to John and said, with a mix of sincereity and irritation, "I'm sorry about last night. I overreacted and stepped on a few boundaries I shouldn't have."

"That is okay, I guess." At least John looked at Alexis in the eyes as he said that, though he still seemed just a little less enthusiastic about getting to know her. "I would rather not share details of my life with someone I have only known for a day. I never asked you to do that, either. I hope you understand."

With that, John began eating his own breakfast, wondering where he would end up going to school. That had not really been conclusively addressed the day before, after all, with the day getting cut short.

"That is okay, I guess." At least John looked at Alexis in the eyes as he said that, though he still seemed just a little less enthusiastic about getting to know her. "I would rather not share details of my life with someone I have only known for a day. I never asked you to do that, either. I hope you understand."

With that, John began eating his own breakfast, wondering where he would end up going to school. That had not really been conclusively addressed the day before, after all, with the day getting cut short.

Elaine then addressed that, saying, "Now, I contacted the East Elementary School. I got those accursed bureaucrats to arrange a placement test for you; but first, I have to take you to that school and enroll you. I'll be driving you there after breakfast, so I need you to get dressed when you get finished with that meal. I have the papers, so we can get this going."

"Okay, cool." John rushed to finish breakfast, depositing his dirty dishes in the sink before dashing into his room. Quickly, he changed into one of his new outfits, wearing jeans and a new Colorado Avalanche t-shirt (thankfully, he remembered to remove the tag). He wasted no time in cramming his school supplies into his backpack, for once eager to take an exam. Though it might have had to do with lingering doubts about Alexis, but it wasn't like Elaine would be able to tell.

"Okay, cool." John rushed to finish breakfast, depositing his dirty dishes in the sink before dashing into his room. Quickly, he changed into one of his new outfits, wearing jeans and a new Colorado Avalanche t-shirt (thankfully, he remembered to remove the tag). He wasted no time in cramming his school supplies into his backpack, for once eager to take an exam. Though it might have had to do with lingering doubts about Alexis, but it wasn't like Elaine would be able to tell.

After eating her food, Elaine went to get the materials and start the car. Meanwhile, Roger put Alexis when she was done on dish duty, to keep her away from John for now.

When John was ready, they began the drive to East. Parking, Elaine then took the boy to the office, and presented the papers for registration. This time didn't take so long for him to do, at least the part to get him into the system initially. However, when it came time to make the exam happen, Elaine had to haggle with the secretary.

The result was that a placement exam was scheduled immediately for him, in a small room, about a variety of subjects.

John followed his proctor into aforesaid small room, where a packet of questions was slid in front of him. He quickly flipped through it, before taking a pencil and starting to answer the three-hundred question test. This was going to take a while, and fry his brain all over again, he knew.

First section o' doom was math. The kid was fine with such things as fractions, decimals, and place value; he had better be, if indeed he was the same kid who had inferred corruption from the hole in the Coredian national budget, which dealt in numbers too large for just about anyone his age to read or comprehend. He multiplied and divided large numbers with ease, without even stopping to show his work, and arrived at the correct answer continuously. He grasped calculations involving percentages, though these he had to stop to write out. The definition of "x" became his brick wall; upon reaching the pre-algebra problems, John grew greatly confused. Strangely, he could do some pre-algebra story problems concerning finding unknown values, but only because story problems did not demand the unknown be labeled "x." He could go no further on this section, and he had to remind himself that this was a placement test, nothing more. Still, four grade levels or so ahead of himself...not bad.

Next up was the verbal section, a section in which, again, he far exceeded his grade level, correctly identifying wonderful grammatical complications such as misplaced modifiers, correct use of semicolons, and other such above-grade-level niceties. The boy even rewrote sentences with split infinitives on "find the grammatical errors" sections, despite the lack of agreement amongst linguists concerning the split infinitive as a grammatical error. Perhaps his experience living with royalty affected that; yet again, the boy would test far above average on the verbal section. He damn well better, given his capacity to engage in open philosophical debate with Acolyte Temple Ethics Committees.

However, social studies proved to be his weak spot, for he knew little of New Dornalia. Perhaps such was to be expected given that he had only arrived in the country a couple of weeks ago, but he could only name a few high government figures, such as Prime Minister MacIntyre, and could not account for the duties and responsibilities of their positions. Nor did he have any clue about Dornalian History--he did not even know what the Treaty of Los Angeles was, or even why Evil Woody Thoughts had refused it. Had he been in the Woodian school system, he would've at least known why his home nation did not sign, but alas, Coredia emphasized Coredian history, which still did not tell him what the Treaty of LA did, or about the Dornalian Government in general...

John followed his proctor into aforesaid small room, where a packet of questions was slid in front of him. He quickly flipped through it, before taking a pencil and starting to answer the three-hundred question test. This was going to take a while, and fry his brain all over again, he knew.

First section o' doom was math. The kid was fine with such things as fractions, decimals, and place value; he had better be, if indeed he was the same kid who had inferred corruption from the hole in the Coredian national budget, which dealt in numbers too large for just about anyone his age to read or comprehend. He multiplied and divided large numbers with ease, without even stopping to show his work, and arrived at the correct answer continuously. He grasped calculations involving percentages, though these he had to stop to write out. The definition of "x" became his brick wall; upon reaching the pre-algebra problems, John grew greatly confused. Strangely, he could do some pre-algebra story problems concerning finding unknown values, but only because story problems did not demand the unknown be labeled "x." He could go no further on this section, and he had to remind himself that this was a placement test, nothing more. Still, four grade levels or so ahead of himself...not bad.

Next up was the verbal section, a section in which, again, he far exceeded his grade level, correctly identifying wonderful grammatical complications such as misplaced modifiers, correct use of semicolons, and other such above-grade-level niceties. The boy even rewrote sentences with split infinitives on "find the grammatical errors" sections, despite the lack of agreement amongst linguists concerning the split infinitive as a grammatical error. Perhaps his experience living with royalty affected that; yet again, the boy would test far above average on the verbal section. He damn well better, given his capacity to engage in open philosophical debate with Acolyte Temple Ethics Committees.

However, social studies proved to be his weak spot, for he knew little of New Dornalia. Perhaps such was to be expected given that he had only arrived in the country a couple of weeks ago, but he could only name a few high government figures, such as Prime Minister MacIntyre, and could not account for the duties and responsibilities of their positions. Nor did he have any clue about Dornalian History--he did not even know what the Treaty of Los Angeles was, or even why Evil Woody Thoughts had refused it. Had he been in the Woodian school system, he would've at least known why his home nation did not sign, but alas, Coredia emphasized Coredian history, which still did not tell him what the Treaty of LA did, or about the Dornalian Government in general...

The resulting Scores were quite good for the boy when they were scanned. The history was deficient, but then again, it was to be expected for foreign students. However, math and verbal were excellent, excellent enough to lead the management to suddenly place him in the Fifth Grade.

Elaine was presented with a certification to that effect, and John with materials and a classroom--Room 110, and a Mrs. Goldman. When he went to the room with Elaine, the room turned out to be relatively normal, the teacher a tall woman with a group of students who were currently engaged in some sort of math activity....

John quietly slid into the room, assuming that he was supposed to go in there. After all, if he was not supposed to be there, why would the staff lead him there? Politely waving good-bye to Elaine, the young boy quietly took an empty desk on the near side of the room, along the wall, so as not to disturb the teacher and interrupt her lesson with anything as distracting as "meet teh new kid." As soon as he sat down, John cracked open the math book he had been issued, but only after he glanced at his neighbor's open book for the simple reason of gleaning the correct page number. The kid honestly hoped that by the time this Mrs. Goldman noticed, she would at least be between lessons--and he hoped his comparatively young age did not stand out too much.

As it turned out, Mrs. Goldman noticed John. She then asked, innocently, "Can I help you?"

At that, the students looked at John, and muttered amongst themselves. A kid? In Fifth Grade? Who the hell was this?!

"Yeah. I was told to report here," John replied, deliberately and consciously choosing the passive voice for the sense of bureaucratic legalese inevitability it conveyed, as opposed to bragging about placement exams. The kid did not even bother to give his name, though he suspected he would need to soon enough.

"Yeah. I was told to report here," John replied, deliberately and consciously choosing the passive voice for the sense of bureaucratic legalese inevitability it conveyed, as opposed to bragging about placement exams. The kid did not even bother to give his name, though he suspected he would need to soon enough.

Mrs. Goodman then motioned for him to speak up, smiling. It was obvious she was concerned, though there was an undercurrent of Mrs. Goldman wondering why he wasn't gladder to be here. "Well, this is a class, not a rest home. Speak proudly now. What's your name?"