NationStates Jolt Archive

After the fiasco that became the short-lived Kokkai Civil War, it was becoming clear that at least one Jedi has become disillusioned with the way things have been running of late. And it was also clear that if this Jedi was forced to stay, he would not be able to realize his full potential.

That Jedi was known as Keith Allaire, the so-called savior of Coredia to some newspapers and the butcher of Hyuuga to others. Now this was a little problem that would require a little discussion. And that is, of course, where Armas Elendil came from, since he has jurisdiction over all Jedi matters. So therefore, he left a little message on Keith's comlink to meet him at his earliest convenience to solve this little problem. It also helps that by solving the problem, it would also likely prevent any retaliation attempts by...misguided Hyuuga followers.

Very quickly, Keith was ushered to a secure location where he could contact Elendil.

"Allaire." The elf said as they got down to business. "I have a question for you. What do you feel about the Order?"

"I see." Elendil said, his face showing nothing of what he thought about Keith's rant. "It would seem to me that this sentiment will be a detriment to your training among our Order. Besides, many viewed Hiashi as a tragic figure and the way he shuffled off the mortal coil could be seen as quite barbaric. In the interests of preserving the peace, I would suggest you take your leave from Coredia for a while until heads cool down. Perhaps a transfer to one of the other Orders in the galaxy would be in order."

Elendil nodded. "Very well. I will draw up the necessary transfer papers."

One printout later, the papers were given to Keith.

"You will always be welcome in any of our Temples. May the Force guide you whereever you go." Elendil said amicably.

(OOC: Posting the record for CW)



Name: Keith Allaire
Race: Human
Rank: Colonel of the Woodian Army, Jedi Knight of Coredia
Jedi ID Number: 412B-89-09645-D
Planet of Origin: White Diamond
Nation of Origin: Evil Woody Thoughts
Citizen of Evil Woody Thoughts, Work Visa Permitted; Coredia
Occupation/Role: Combat Knight of Coredia

Primary Address: 32134 Reddington Ave. Barracks 24B, Apt 132 Illuyshin Gap Installation, White Diamond, Evil Woody Thoughts 32123
Secondary Address:6546 Clearwater Street, APT 58, Azulong Town, Issus
Security Clearance: Class B Clearance

Height: 6'2
Weight: 230 lbs
Hair: Dirty Blond
Eyes: Sky Blue



Medical History:

Blood Type: O Positive
Previous Conditions: none
Allergies: None
Family Illness: No known Family
Smoke: No
Drink Alcohol: No more than two times a month, socially
Drug Use: No
Major Surgeries or Complications: Brain Surgery. Frontal Lobe Reconstruction, Occipital Lobe Reconstruction. Minor Surgery Temporal and Pariental Lobes. Cause of Injury, Force Injury. Medical case file # 453-21345-AB32. Enclosed within.

Pulse: 55 BPM-R; 83 BPM-A
Blood Pressure: 115/70

Fit for Duty: Yes

Signed: Doctor Sarah M. Goldman M.D.

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Psychological Examination:

Patient History, Soldier in the Woodian Civil war. Suffered Trauma under Darth Ebolus. Class B Clearance Required for file. Please Contact the Office of Claims and Records to obtain full file.

Despite the trauma of the frontal and Occipital lobes, the patient seems to have made a nearly full recovery. Patient is obsessed with perfection, and moral codes, to near pathological status.

The patient due to post traumatic stress syndrome of what happened to him in his time of war, has developed OCD Syndrome, and in heightened stressful situations demands extreme results to satisfy, or else goes into an enraged status. Recommend Medication to ease this burden.

Patient also seems to highly distrust government, and organized institutions outside of his own populace. He believes that conspiracies are everywhere, and that all secret programs should be brought to light. Recommend Medication and therapy sessions.

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Professional History:
Graduated from the White Diamond Military Academy
-89th percentile
-94th melee, 97th Mech Combat
Captain Allaire has shown considerable bravery and command ability during his training at W.D.M.A. He is an effective leader, and has shown adequate tactical abilities on the battlefield.

Promoted to the rank of Colonel over his career.

Has earned the right and privilege of :

Kenobi Medallion for bravery in the face of overwhelming odds.

Medal of Honor, For services in apprehending a known corrupt official and enemy of the State.

Trained under Master Whitfield to the rank of Jedi Knight.
Outstanding service to the Jedi Order. Master of Telekinesis, Mental Blocks, and Teleporting. Proficient user of Geokinesis and Healing.

Prefered and Proficient in the use of: Rifles, Pistols, Blasters, Nagata, and Lightsaber.

Licensed to operate: Battle Mech, X-Wing, Speeder, Shuttle, Dropship (Hrothgar; Union; Overlord)

Trained and proficient in Lightsaber combat form II, III, IV, V, VII

Knight Allaire has served the Jedi Council and Order to the best of his abilities. He is an honorable and brave warrior of the Light. He is currently enrolled in classes at University of White Diamond-GWC for a Masters in Earth Sciences

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Mission History: Classified by the Jedi Order. Class B Clearance required.

Comrade Premier Robert MacIntyre, sitting down in his lounger watching the news, was nursing yet another bottle of Glenlivet. Flipping channels, he eventually found WNN, and sighed. "Great. If I gotta listen to Thorazine.....or whatever his name is....."

The news then caused him to spit out his whisky, and open his eyes wide. Keith Allaire, influential in Somalia and all around ass-kicking superhero like so many others in this Age of Heroes, had decided to invest in the rebuilding of the Colonies. All well and good, especially with a private amount so high.

He then got up and called Congressman Rayburn, who promptly asked, "What's up?"

"You see WNN?"

"Fuck no, why would I want to watch that?"

"Just change the damn channel. Now."

"Fine....."

The Congressman paused for several minutes, and then exclaimed, "Wow. Just fucking wow. What do you wanna do about it?"

MacIntyre then asked, "Give the man a medal. Some sort of civvie medal. Six hundred billion out of your own Goddamn pocket to help fix a whole country is pretty impressive shit. And we're Colonials too, now."

Another pause.

"You drunk?"

"Only buzzed. But sensible enough to know a man worth rewarding for generosity when I see it," was MacIntyre's cocksure reply; it was becoming his signature in private, when talking to government folks--who, while honest, generally knew when to keep a good secret shut up.

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

When Keith finished his flight from Coredia, he would find himself once more in the City of Angels. Pretty much the face of New Dornalia by now to the Force using world, Los Angeles boasted four People's Acolyte temples he could apply at. One of them happened to be one of the oldest and most battlehardened, surviving True Will terrorist assaults early in their history: the Temple of Long Beach.

And it was at Long Beach that one Tereza Junko Tadanobu, known to the world as Junko Tadanobu owing to issues with her mother, spoke at length with one of her legendary stories delivered in a Valley Girl accent.

"So then, Uncle Edwuardo and I totally out ate that dude in London. Shyah. We ate more pies than, than, anybody like ever. And then we totally got sick after, and--"

She then saw the pen in her hand, and then looked at the book she had finished signing. A copy of her memoirs, she had come to Long Beach for a small lecture and book signing. Now, she returned to speaking her regular Californian accent, and said, "Right. Okay, so we'll move on then." Smiling sheepishly, she then said, "Sorry!"

The young Novitiate getting her book signed replied, "It's okay...." as she left.

Then, her phone vibrated. Sighing angrily, she then told the audience she had some business to take care of and left the room. Looking at the caller ID, she almost didn't answer. It was Lisa Park, Interim Sensei of the Qiangquan School. A master cook, and also a woman who, whilst hypocritically extolling the virtues of the Park Clan, chastised Junko's racounteuring skills. They had a friendly rivalry of sorts--but sometimes, it got real ugly, especially when she got real lazy and decided to mess with Junko. And one of those times was now.

Junko picked up the phone and said, "It's me."

"Hey, did you see the news?"

Junko replied with irritation, "Jesus Christ in a Fried Chicken Basket. I was giving a lecture and signing books, ya nitwit! How can I watch the News and sign books all at once?"

Lisa replied with lots of sass, "I dunno. You're the one with the answers."

Now Junko was really irritated, and promptly replied, "Listen, you dondoca!* I don't got time to chat."

Lisa chuckled--Junko's tendency to speak in Brazilian Portuguese when she was angry always made her amused. "Well, you'll listen, since Keith Allaire's coming to sign up for our group."

"Oh please. Now that's papo furado* and you know it."

"Nope. Chess Headman said he just incorporated some bigass outfit to fix the Twelve Little Sisters, and then rumors flew he hopped on a plane to our neck of the woods. Kinda obvious what he wants, eh?"

Sighing, Junko sniffed the air. She felt something alright--she had a way of doing that. Junko then said, "Thanks for the tip, galinha!*" Junko then hung up and spoke to the audience.

"Everyone!? Um, yeah, I'm cutting this a biit short--business came up. Sorry!" She then apologized some more and left, driving her Triumph Bonneville to LAX, parking, and then entering the terminal. Snatching a big piece of cardboard, she scrawled the name "KEITH ALLAIRE" on it and then waited.

*dondoca--Brazilian Portuguese for "idle woman."
papo furado--Brazilian Portuguese for "bullshit"
galinha--Brazilian Portuguese slang for "slut"

Warstar Isis
In orbit of Leonis
Leonis Shipyard

Her neck hurt, her back ached as the Admiral of the Fleet entered her quarters. The room was clean, the Flag of the United Colonies flapped gently from the air flow next to the vent. “Oh gods.” she thought to herself, as she reached up to her neck with her left hand. Gently she pressed her hand against her neck as she rolled her hand closer to it.

The day had taken it’s toll on the Admiral. Negotiations and meet and greets with the Huntaerian alliance, along with planning a war game exercise with their sisters amongst the stars, the Dornies. It had been too long.

Admiral Cain slowly began to unbutton her Dress Gray jacket. Each button as it came undone, she felt slightly relieved. Gently she took her jacket off, and slowly folded it neatly in it’s drawer. As she did her back popped, as the pain of the pop surged through her. Her eyes narrowed as she winced.

Pushing her hand against her back, against the black and tan double tank tops that were standard issue in the Colonial Fleet, she pressed hard. For a moment the pain went away, for one brief moment.

She got up and walked over to her desk. Reaching down and pouring herself a large glass of scotch, she took a large sip, just to relax. Such a long day but it was over. Nothing could disrupt this one moment of peace and quiet.

Buzz, Buzz the phone rang.

Helena looked at it as she took another sip. “What is it now?” she thought to herself.

Buzz, Buzz

With a quick sigh she reached over to the phone. “This is Admiral Cain.” she said to the person on the other end of the phone.

“No, do you have any idea what time it is? Why in the hell would I care about the paper?” she asked sounding irritated by the question asked on the other end of the phone.

Holding the phone to her ear she took another sip, then nearly began to choke. “What?” she asked.

“Is this a joke. Six Hundred Billion, from some upstart Jedi?” she asked shocked at the sum and the act. “No, I want you to find out everything you can on this Keith Allaire, and Evil Woody Thoughts. No, I do not care what the quorum thinks. Let them give all the praise, our job is to protect the people. I do not want a single shipment come through the Red Line until these people have been checked out.”

As she spoke, she looked across the room at the light saber given to her by the Huntaerians. She stared at it’s beauty, it’s elegance, it’s symbol of a new hope. She smiled at the prize as she hung her head down. “Scratch that.” she ordered.

“You heard me. Find out what you can, I want to know who this man is, but do not impede him. Yes that is my order. And contact the Quorum. I want them to issue this man a commendation for this donation. That is all.” she ordered. She then hung up the phone.

With that she looked at the light saber and took finished her scotch. A small smile creased her lips as the burn began to end. Pouring herself another sip, she looked at the light saber. “Here is hoping you are right.” she said as she looked at the gift of the Huntaerian Alliance.

It did not take all that long for Keith to set his ship down upon the tarmac at LAX. Nor did it take him long to sense that someone was waiting for him--a mile down the terminal. Junko's Force signature, unless she was trying to hide (which she wasn't), was a big one. Therefore, Colonel Allaire made sure he had his paperwork in order, grabbed his naginata and slid it into his saya (not knowing whether or not he would need it to clear fangirls, still remembering the last time he was in LA), secured his ship and teleported away.

Popping right in front of Junko, in the middle of the passenger terminal, he bowed. "Hello there, Grand Sensei. I can tell that you wish to be found."

Junko then bowed and extended her hand out in the Dornalian fashion, declaring, "It's good to see you, Colonel. I've been expecting you." With a smile, she then looked him over and said, "Something tells me you don't have much luggage to carry. That's fine. Follow me."

Keith was led to the Customs and Border Patrol desk, where he was greeted by a dour looking clerk who was processing foreign travelers and tourists as part of six seperate lines. One of New Dornalia's many catgirls, she was, to reiterate, human but for the appearance of cat ears and a tail, bearing a nametag with the name "Consuela." Leaning on the desk, she then said to Keith and Junko in a rough Filipina-Mexican accent, "Name?"

Junko motioned to Keith and said "This is Keith Allaire, from the news."

The catgirl looked up at Keith, and skeptically replied, "Uh huh. Okay, Mr. Allaire From the News, you know the drill. Got a passport, visa, some materials like that?"

"Mmmhmm." Keith nodded at the catgirl as he extracted his Woodian Passport, Jedi ID, and Jedi transfer order (though not the personnel file--that was for immigration and whatnot). "Here you go. You think the docs are forgeries, take it up with Evil Woody Thoughts and Coredia." Keith sensed the catgirl's skepticism...

Looking at the papers, she the flitted through them with fingers so fast that they would make typists kill for them. Looking, stamping, scanning, and repeating the process over and over again. Eventually, the documents were returned to Keith with big red stamps, marking he was clear for entry into Los Angeles.

The catgirl then said, "Thanks, and have a nice stay in Los Angeles." She then screamed, "NEXT!"

Junko then took Keith to the side, and said, "That was quick," promptly then dragging him further out from the area, through the baggage area one last time and then outside to the parking lot, where he was treated to the sight of a Sky Blue 1965 Triumph Bonneville. She smiled and said, proudly boasting, "This here's Thunderfingers. She's taken me everywhere my other ride hasn't. She's running on more modern sorts of fuel now, but nothing just beats the purr of that manual starter."

She motioned for him to sit on the rear seat and put his stuff in the back saddlebags, which she shut with a tight snap and bound up tightly. She saddled the motorbike and got Keith a spare helmet. Putting on a helmet resembling an old US Army M1 and some goggles for dust, she said, "Well, we got business, so let's get to it. Come along." Tapping the rear seat, she sad, "You'll have to take the rear seat. Sorry."

Once Keith got on, Junko gunned the bike's engine and moved into LA Traffic.

"Everything that I brought with me," Keith replied with a wan smile, "is already secured to my uniform." Indeed it was. Colonel Allaire wasn't one to wear his Class A uniform on a twelve-hour trip through Immigration. Nah. He was in his more comfortable battle fatigues, and the legions of unpredictable fangirls, and their track history of general rioting, provided him with the excuse to be prepared, even should he meet with the Prime Minister. Therefore, he pretty much ignored Junko's motion to the saddlebag, put on the helmet, and got onto the bike's passenger seat, quietly hoping that this visit wouldn't be like the last...

The drive through LA traffic was surprisingly pleasant. Speeding down the legendary 405, Junko had to pass by a few tractortrailers, but otherwise didn't do many things too crazy. She smiled, seemingly entranced by the road ahead. She even blurted out, "Feel the wind, Keith!? This here's what the road should be. Hoverbikes, gravbikes....just gimme some British Iron, baby! I can do just as well."

With that sentiment, she parked back at the Temple at Long Beach, eventually parking the motorbike and taking off the helmet, hanging off a handlebar and shaking her head like a dog would whip off water. Then, she motioned for Keith to follow her inside.

Inside was an empty room, used for business. She then motioned for Keith to sit, as Junko recovered her computer from a locker in the Sensei's office.

As she set up, she then asked, "So, what do we got today?"

As Junko took him to the Temple, Keith just sat back and relaxed, thankful that he hadn't been mobbed by the Oenidan yet.

Upon arrival, Keith, too, took off his helmet, no worse for the wear, and followed Junko inside. "Well, it looks to me like we have a transfer," Keith replied, extracting the transfer order once more. Reaching around his back for an outside pocket of his backpack, he also pulled out his Coredian personnel file (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=14084957&postcount=8), suppressing a giggle at his psych evaluation, and handed it to Junko. "Oh, yeah, and my codex..." He pulled up his left sleeve a bit, exposing a yellow plastic armband around his arm, which he unsnapped and handed to Junko. The armband had, at minimum, a datapad-like interface and a projector for such wonderful things as relevant security feeds. "I do not know how much of this you will need to look at, but due to the Woodian military's status alert, I cannot stay for much longer than eleven hours or so. Hope you understand," he added, pointing to his insignia.

Junko nodded and then examined the papers. Flipping through them, her eyes widened and she said, "Oh, yes. We take transfers--especially ones with impressive resumés such as yours."

She looked over the psych exam, and nodded, going, "mhm." This pattern of searching went on for several minutes, and it extended to her accessing the codex. Eventually, after all this, she said, "Right. I think we can take you. Your record looks impressive, though the psych section is odd, to say the least."

Junko then coughed and pulled out a copy of the People's Acolytes oath and code and then spoke matter of factly.

"Now, here's how this works. One, you swear on the oath--but that's later. Second, you go through a basic psychological and combat exam. There's a written multiple choice bit, there's interviews with a panel comprised of psychologists and clergy, and then there's the combat exam. Three stage bit to test just how impressive you are.

But, I'm sure we can truncate the exams--its a standard practice we do with documented applicants to prevent redundancy. So the combat exam can be with just one duel with me. The psych portions would be the same though."

"Mmm." Colonel Allaire nodded as Junko went through the standard bureaucracy. He found it a bit interesting that Junko wished to duel him directly for the combat test, had a funny feeling about it...almost like Junko had been waiting for this moment. But the feeling was vague enough that he could not be sure. He didn't say anything about it.

"Yes, I admit to being something of a perfectionist and moralist," Keith confessed to Junko, "but I had to laugh about the paranoia bit. That psychologist would have found classified stuff in my codex, had she bothered to look." While waiting for the multiple choice forms, Keith found a pen in his pocket, wondering if he would get to sneak a glance at any records of Junko's combat specialties before his combat test. It was a fairly safe bet that Junko had done her homework on what he could do.

Junko then motioned for Keith to put aside his things, and then pulled out a bubble sheet and a set of questions as well as two pencils. Setting up a white noise generator to remove distractions, she then said, "Okay then. You get one hour for this multiple choice exam. There are no wrong or right answers. Just fill the bubble sheet in, make marks cleanly...and I'll go ahead and phone up some people for the exam. I know you've only got a short time, so we're expediting the process."

The sheet itself would have questions such as "You find a wallet in the street with five hundred dollars. What do you do with it?" and "Say you came upon a man in the street begging for change. He clearly smells of alcohol, but he also looks sincere enough that he needs the help. Assume he's sober when you meet him. What do you do?" Basic moral compass questions.


Junko then left the room to make a few phone calls.....

Keith stuffed his pen back in his pocket as he realized that this was going to be one of those optical-scan tests, the kind that trained monkeys had performed. And when it came to defining any sort of moral compass, trained-monkey exams were a...crude measurement at best. Nevertheless he started mindlessly filling in bubbles. He wasn't giving the scansheet the "Christmas tree treatment," though he did find himself wondering if anyone would be the wiser if he did.

Found a wallet with money in it? Return it, duh, possibly with a few extra credits in it depending on his mood. (Though the question didn't allow for the option of stuffing extra moniez in there. He did not need the money, but Force knew what uses the owner of the wallet might find for it.) Generally, his policy in dealing with beggars included at minimum feeding and clothing them in the moment as required, and referring them to social services to seek help with issues that Keith could not directly address that moment, such as addiction, lack of employment. Admittedly, social services varied widely by country; in Coredia he was a bit more willing to part with credits than in Evil Woody Thoughts or New Dornalia, for example. Coredian aristocrats had a propensity to hoard everything rather than *gasp!* tax themselves to pay for welfare programs. Teh horrors!

Thus Keith's eyes drifted down the page to other assorted moral compass questions that multiple-choice format sure as HELL did not do justice....

By now, Junko had rounded up some respectable medical and clergy professionals, having dragged them all into the room whilst Keith was working on his test. Collecting the test when he finished, she then fed it into the Temple's scantron machine as she led him into a room with the panel.

Sitting at a table were four well dressed individuals. One was a man in a suit with a yarmulke, the other a black man--also in a suit, but with wirerimmed glasses--a woman in "business casual" attire with jeans and a polo shirt, and lastly a nun.

Junko then motioned to the panel, saying, "Good day, one and all. This is Colonel Keith Allaire, applying for entrance into the People's Acolytes. Colonel Allaire, this is Rabbi Sidney Sollenberg of Temple Beth El, Dr. Herman McCoy of the Los Angeles County Hospital Psychiatric Treatment Center, Dr. Melissa Echelberger of the City of Los Angeles Department of Children and Families, and this is Sister Amelia of the Our Lady of the Sacred Heart convent. They'll be administering the exam; just answer their questions."

She then walked out.

McCoy, the black man, then said, "Well, Colonel Allaire, its nice to meet you. We've all heard a lot about you from the news."

Echelberger then coughed and looked at her questionaire sheet, whereupon she then said with a cheerful attitude, "Well, let's start with an introduction. The record says a lot....but in my line of work, paper doesn't say much about a person. Tell us a little about yourself."

"Hmm." Colonel Allaire thought for a moment, about stuff he could say that the media hadn't already dug up. "I can tell that you are probably looking for the stuff that has not really made the news. I enjoy teaching my skills to others when I have the time for it, and I instruct both aspiring 'MechWarriors and Naginitajutsu classes at the White Diamond Military Academy on a part-time, schedule-available basis. Buried in my codex somewhere is the fact that I also have a wonderful adopted son--" Keith reached into his wallet and pulled out a picture of young Samuel in a pee-wee hockey uniform checking some other kid-- "is he not cute!? When I am not teaching, fulfilling military duties, pursuing my own studies in geology, or deployed on Jedi missions, I am usually with him, though, I too, enjoy playing hockey in whatever spare time I can scrounge up. Or fighting. But I think I enjoy hockey more."

Figuring that he was probably boring the panel to death, he awaited the next question, which he hoped was a bit more specific...

The panel wrote down the replies. Hockey--group sports was good. Family man. Teacher. Responsible individual by all accounts of society.

Rabbi Sollenberg then asked, "I notice on the record for your psychological exam it says you are, to say the least, focused on morality and generally distrusting of governments. Now, I recognize governments can be messy affairs, and that Woodian culture places emphasis on honest dealings. But why the fear of what other governments will do?"

"Some Coredian shrink decided to overgeneralize," Keith replied, "and I had to laugh about that when I saw that on my file. Apparently, because I believe that certain Coredian Corruption Problems could have been detected and dealt with before resulting in coups d'etat, I get tagged with some diagnosis of extreme paranoia of any state secret. Apparently, I want to declassify everything I see, despite the fact that my codex contains classified information. I smell pretzel logic here--I can accept the perfectionism and morality bit, but I believe the paranoia diagnosis to be in error, myself."

Sollenberg nodded, and said, "Mhm. I see your point there. So basically, the question is slightly mooted--after all, it partly stems from the nervousness of a group that thinks you're a worrywart."

The others nodded, except for Sister Amelia, who said, "Understandable--the results could be skewed. Still, I suppose there should be some outside analysis, to ensure that Coredian Worrywartism is the case and not yours."

Coughing, she spoke cleanly, saying, "Suppose then, that a paper mill situated outside of the town employs most of its residents and that aside from some calousness from the management it is generally a responsible and productive member of the community--it is unionized, pays its workers well, and does not discriminate. However it is also willfully and lazily discharging dangerous chemicals into the river. You find this out. What then?"

"Unfortunately, 'dumping dangerous chemicals into the river' would seem to imply someone getting poisoned downstream. If such authorities exist, the local environment agency would be alerted to the problem, and I would quietly test the water at a later date to make sure the problem was actually corrected. Usually, environmental fines by themselves are not enough to close an otherwise well-run business, just enough to get said business to cease aforesaid violations. In jurisdictions where no such authorities exist, the owner of the business would probably receive an offer for upgraded waste management equipment, free of charge, now that I actually have the means to do that kind of thing..."

Sister Angela noted this, and the others did too. Rabbi Sollenberg and Sister Angela seemed approving of that answer, and Dr. McCoy said, "Well, sounds like a responsible citizen to me, I suppose."

The others scribbed answers and reviewed sheets, and then McCoy asked, "I notice the psych report stated you had Obssessive Compulsive Disorder and PTSD. What would you say to that?"

"I can live with that a lot easier than being called paranoid by shrinks looking for anything they can find in the DSM," Keith replied. "Probably true. I am something of a perfectionist in most of the stuff I do, and, um, my medical history is probably fairly blunt in the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder department. The details..." Keith took his codex and fiddled with it for a moment, as if looking something up, "are classified to Jedi Council, Prime Minister, or higher. The Coredians are, ironically enough, less stringent here with their classification, but there is less data on it." Keith showed them the codex, that not even he could access his own file on Darth Ebolus without having someone above him doing the accessing. "Usually, Master Whitfield would be able to pry it out of my codex, but he seems to have gone on some sabbatical or something, but I have not seen him in a while."

McCoy nodded. "I see." Writing the info down, he said simply, "I won't pry into classified secrets. But I can say that traumas, no matter what they are, are ugly affairs--I deal with some cases from the Veterans Department, not just Mirfak Veterans but also Nova Louisiana War survivors in your boat. And that was some messed up sh--stuff too...."

McCoy's voice trailed off, as if he knew quite intimately what he was discussing. He then shook his head and said, "No matter. I got it."

Dr. Echelberger said, "Same here. Though I will say, perfectionism isn't necessarily that much of an issue, as long as it seems to be just responsible citizenship and high standards like it is now" as she wrote in her papers. "The PTSD....well, that's why they have the methods to deal with it like they do now."

The others nodded.

A flurry of pens later, Rabbi Sollenberg asked, "I noticed you're a teetotaler. Not a bad thing, but why?"

"You kidding me!?" Keith asked, almost indignant, and definitely aghast at the thought. "Why would I put that shit in my body? I have no interest in breathing Death Stick Cyanide Blend."

Sollenberg nodded, holding his hand in a gesture of submission, saying, "Easy, easy. I got it. Cigarettes aren't my thing either, I'm a cigar man." He then wrote some comments; and the last comment sent everybody into a flurry of scribbles. It was clear that the act of dubbing cigarettes as "deathsticks" was unexpected.

"Speaking of things of the body....." Echelberger then asked, "I see you care about physical fitness. Describe a meal you normally eat."

The group nodded, and then Dr. McCoy asked a question.

"I think we have a pretty good idea of who you are so far. Just a question though. Would you be willing to go beyond the usage of Jedi-based spiritual techniques if situation demanded for treatment of the aforementioned mental conditions? That is, if you were recommended to take group counseling say with other PTSD sufferers, a safe, sane regimen of medications chosen to interfere the least with your abilities, or some other form of psychotherapy, would you do it?"

McCoy's statement was not empty, and indeed, the image the others had of Keith so far was of a responsible citizen, who while being somewhat of a perfectionist, was a man who could obviously be trusted to care for himself and his fellow sentients. Not to mention, he was honest.

"I could probably be talked into therapy. Mind-altering substances, absolutely not. I have functioned fine the last couple years without them, and if psychiatrists want to put that shit in my body, they may as well prescribe me illegal street drugs. Ever looked up the side effects of those things? I am not interested in sleepwalking out to my 'Mech and blowing up half the town without even realizing what I am doing (http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2006/03/09/eveningnews/main1384884.shtml)."

The others nodded and wrote down the statements; McCoy seemed slightly miffed that his ilk were being portrayed as little more than pushers of unsafe poisons. However, Dr. Echelberger nodded and replied, "All the more reason not to use them then. I've personally found that 'the talking cure' helps people better than a pill does."

Rabbi Sollenberg nodded and said, "Yeah. I mean, it's way too easy to dump a pill on someone nowadays instead of really taking the time to know their issues."

McCoy sighed and said, skeptical of approaches that excluded pills entirely, "Well, that may be--but I find that the people in my department are generally responsible when it comes to medication--as is Dornalian medicine in general. Why invent pills if you don't use them?"

"You're not on trial here, Doctor--Colonel Allaire is. And I would say he's a responsible citizen of any nation otherwise without medication," Sister Amelia stated with a gentle smile. Turning to Keith now, she said, "My apologies. As you can see, having people from different walks of life produces so many opinions, ones that often disagree.

Now, I suppose one final question before we leave you to Sensei Tadanobu's good graces. If you were asked to mutiny against a superior authority, be it an incompetent superior officer, an unpopular civilian or military official that otherwise was generally competent in his rule, or a civilian politician that was genuinely corrupt, would you do it?"

"Within the Woodian military, the Trial of Position or Trial of Grievance can be used to some extent to weed out corruption and incompetence, but that dog does not hunt in civilian circles," Keith replied. "I do not do coups. Look what happened a couple years ago when someone answered an unqualified 'yes' to your question. Incompetent military officers are dealt with by Trials in Evil Woody Thoughts, and by whatever procedures govern discipline and training elsewhere. Competent but unpopular officers, I see no reason to even attempt to remove. By the very nature of their work, officers and government officials cannot be all things to all people. In the case of corrupt civilian officials, the combination of whistleblowing and elections provide adequate legal recourse against them, if prosecutors fail to take up whistleblowers' offers to testify in court first."

Rabbi Sollenberg then nodded and replied, "Trials? Like the ones used by the Red Army's Armored Cavalry Corps? My son's in that." The others nodded, and wrote that down. So far, Keith indeed seemed the picture of a responsible, if somewhat eccentric citizen who was a health nut and never used contractions. Though the latter was a cultural trait.

Sollenberg continued, asking out of solidarity, "But what if it was someone you knew and trusted for years? You would not follow him then, yes?"

"If I had trusted such a person, I would tell him that he is off his rocker and suggest joining the Alaska Independence Party. If it was just some random person whom I did not really know very well, I would probably just simply kick his ass for the suggestion."

Quickly, Keith snuck a glance at his wristwatch. If they had not found reason to deny him entry yet, they would spend forever looking for one.

Fortunately, Junko stepped in, whereupon Sollenberg said, "Well, I think that's it. Thanks for your time, Colonel."

The others nodded and said the same. Junko then walked up to them and asked, "How'd he do?"

"Well, he's a responsible citizen. A bit forceful, a health nut, but also a good dad and a man who can be trusted to be honest," Sister Amelia said with a smile. The way she spoke, it was as if Amelia sensed good things coming from the man.

The others agreed as well, offering their own assessments. All felt he passed, though McCoy was a bit harsher than the others on him. Still, he would do well.

Thusly, Junko shook their hands and let them go. Turning to Keith, she then said, "Well, you're good with them. Now, let's see how well you'll fight." Leading Keith outside, she took him to a part of the Temple used for demonstration matches. Padded with mats and resembling an ordinary gym, it was dotted with flags from numerous sport competitions, some even from a local Little League team and a local sportshooting team that was based at the Temple.

Motioning him to the center, Junko said, her cheer turning acidic, "Right. This is the part where we duel. Rules are simple, really. Beat me, and you're in. Take as long as you need, use whatever skills you got, whatever weapons you wish. As long as you win, you win."

She then looked at her watch and said, "I'll give you a few moments to set up. Tell me when you're ready."

Colonel Allaire wasn't one to waste the chance to "prepare the battlefield," so to speak. Anything he could do to throw Sensei Tadanobu off balance was a good thing, and Junko had handed him the opportunity on a silver platter. That the battlefield consisted of an enclosed area, not exposed to the warm LA sun, only made what was forthcoming easier.

For a long moment, Keith did not twitch. He did not even shiver as the temperature in the room plummeted, from about seventy above Fahrenheit, to seventy below. Frost crept across the room, and ice crystals formed midair, leading to a brief scene like that inside of one of those Christmas decoration snow shakers. Meanwhile, thanks to his own self-control, and even the ability to heat and cool simultaneously, Colonel Allaire felt no worse for the wear, and someone making skin contact with him would never have known he exposed himself to such extreme conditions. Quickly, he checked his secondary weapons--two lightsabers, and plenty of kunai readily accessible. Good.

When, after a few moments, Keith decided that it was cool enough to unsettle Junko, and maybe impede fun things like electrical attacks, he at last drew his polearm, its surface conveniently warmed so that it would not stick to his hand. "Your move, Sensei Tadanobu."

Junko reacted rather suddenly to the sudden drop in temperature. Shuddering slightly, she remained stoic throughout the campaign of freezing, though she wasn't used to such things. Raised all her life in Southern California and born in Brazil, she had not spent much time in cooler environments and it showed despite her attempts to hide her discomfort.

Looking about, she looked at the ground. Frost was forming. It was going to make fighting tough, but fortunately she would be able to get things done. Stealth was one of her skills....

Her smile now bitter, she sputtered out, her trademark linguistic stress quirk emerging, "Não tô nem aí!* I've been through rants from mom that were worse than this...blizzard."

Igniting her lightsaber, she then waved her hand, and before long she immediately decided to initiate a tactic favored usually by Coredian Ninja, albeit not using the same "gang signs" as some called their hand motions. Knowing a smoke attack would be useless in these conditions, she opted to simply begin cloning herself, and before long four clones of herself emerged around her. They all stuck their tongues out at Keith, and then the main Junko waved her hand, cloaking the whole group as they moved to begin engagement from all sides...

*Brazilian Portuguese for "I don't give a damn!"

Colonel Allaire recognized the attack. The Coredian Shinobi, he knew, were fond of it. The Shadow Clones, one of Naruto's (and Daniel's) favorite powers. Unfortunately, Shadow Clones were easier to strike down than the original--if one could hit them at all, they went down. Their ability to absorb damage was nearly nil.

And kunai, properly used, could become excellent shrapnel weapons. Therefore, three kunai flew off Keith's utility belt. Each shattered into a hundred pieces, blasting out with the force of a shotgun blast, covering a three-hundred-sixty degree arc around the person who launched them, to rip into whatever was cloaked. Those that did not hit anything pockmarked the walls instead, in a manner that completely surrounded Keith. Yes, his Coredian records reflected his telekinetic abilities for good reason.

Smoke attacks might be useless, but any cuts Keith could inflict on Junko, no matter how minor, would feel like stabbing knives to her in this cold. Keith just had to distract Junko enough that she would not simply teleport away from his shrapnel attacks when they occurred. To that end, it was time to probe Junko's direct defenses. Alternatively, he could start liquefying atmosphere, though he preferred not to have a repeat incident of his Jedi Trial of Position...

Keith made a couple of quick thrusts and feints at Junko to probe her defenses, that he may figure out how best to distract her...

Junko ducked and weaved, cursing the disappearance of her Shadow Clones to the wiles of Keith Allaire. The cold would make wounds hurt, so she was eager to stay moving and hidden. So far, it seemed Keith was able to see through her cloak, and that proved challenging for her.

Thusly, Junko ducked and gave him a massive Force Push aimed at his feet. Meanwhile, she spawned another Shadow Clone, keeping it visible this time. Then, she escaped, leaping back.

"I could do this all day," Keith challenged, not really thinking much of Junko's Proxy Strategy in what had supposed to have been a direct duel, "or you could fight. Which shall it be?"

A distorted, exaggerated version of Junko's voice, set on "Creepy Whisper Mode" rang out in reply. Partly out of the pain of the sudden shrapnel assault, and partly out of sheer attempts to sound creepy, she winced, and then channeled the pain into a grotesque cackle. The nice girl image was gone now, and her bubbly California accent grew unstable.

"Que barato! Deixa pra lá! (How funny! Forget about it!) You're not gonna get me to surrender that easily, mon-key boy!"

She then lept up into the air, and then teleported in front of Keith. Junko proceeded to use the Force to rip up the mat and parquet floor underneath Keith with several good explosions, shoving him at the same time with Force Push as she charged at him with her lightsaber, bounding with high speed towards the man.

Should Keith attempt to teleport, it would be still be troublesome. Junko began spawning three squads of Shadow Clones to patrol the edges of the room. Though they would be easily killed, she knew that the Clones were good enough to ensure she could cover the whole place.

A charging Junko, exploding mats and more Shadow Clones, oh, my! What's a crazy Colonel to do?

A variation of what he did earlier when Junko tried to Force-Push him, that's what. Keith quickly made a vertical Force jump, straight up, pivoting his body so he landed on the ceiling nearly like a fly. Chunks of ice quickly surrounded his hands and his legs to hold him to the ceiling, especially important given his hands were also preoccupied with wielding his heavy weapon, whilst he took quick survey of the situation with a neck craned in a manner that would have been painful to most non-Jedi.

More kunai flew out from Keith's utility belt, raining shrapnel explosions on everything below, the frigid cold of the room making any cuts far more painful, like little stabbing knives, than they would have been otherwise. One for Junko's head, the others for the Shadow Clones. The Shadow Clones could be considered an annoyance, really; Keith wanted to duel Junko, not spam. But, as compressed as his schedule was, he still seemed to show endless patience for wearing Junko down.

"Aww. I thought you wanted me to duel you, not spam. It would be a shame if I spent the next three hours blowing the shit out of spam. Such a waste..."

As if to put an exclamation point on his remark, the kunai that Keith had used in the attack promptly reformed themselves...

Junko's Clones were taken down, as she expected. The numerous nicks and cuts weren't helping her though, and the reforming Kunai as well. Who knew that a simple trowel could do so much damage? Wincing, she stood her ground and looked up at Keith, frozen stuck to the ceiling.

Smiling evilly, she spoke tauntingly at Keith, "Just how I roll, macaquinho. Of course, if you want a straight duel, then come on out of that ice cave of yours." Pausing, she then cackled as another legion of Shadow Clones emerged.

Then, in unison, they all spoke in a sarcastic voice, increasingly tinged with Brazilian inflection, "How about we come up there and show you how we play? Eh? Macaquinho?"

Taking a bounding step, Junko and the legion of the Shadow Clones lept up, and proceeded to use Force Jump to close with Keith. Then, Junko and her galera, or gang, proceeded to level a series of fireballs and Force Pushes at his naginata and hands.....

In the midst of all this, the catgirl janitor of the place wandered in, and dropped her mop, muttering, "Ay...." at the sight...

*Macaquinho--literally "child who climbs everywhere." From sonia-portuguese.com.

Unfortunately for Junko, Keith had mastered the heat in addition to the cold, and, wishing to maintain the frigid air temperature, shunted the heat from Junko's fireball into his weapon. Unfortunately, it became hot enough to burn Keith's hand to the touch, but a quick surge of cooling energy took care of that. Still, it'd leave burn marks, minor ones he hoped, but for now, Keith could savor the pain. Not to mention inflicting some of his own.

Unfortunately for Junko and Clones, ice shattered and splintered just as easily as did rock, and there was a lot more ice to go around at the moment than kunai. As Keith decided to let go of his perch, the ice that 'trapped' him exploded outward with explosive force, Keith focusing his attention upon forming a Force Wall around the catgirl janitor interloper so she would not be harmed by all of the flying ice daggers. Said daggers were meant mostly for the Shadow Clones, but also, of course, for Junko. As Keith landed on the ground, he signaled for the catgirl to leave; she would not long survive here without proper clothing, and this was not a safe place for her anyway, at the moment. Acolytes who had their own defenses against duel fallout, maybe...

Moreover, Keith was no longer on the ceiling. Instead, he had a polearm long enough to poke and prod her off. "I am out of my ice cave; do you wish to actually duel now, or need I continue blowing the shit out of spam?"

However, to add insult to injury, a blast of frigid air signaled another ten-degree temperature drop. Keith wondered when Junko would start succumbing to fun things such as frostbite...

The sudden explosion ripped apart her swarm, reducing her Shadow Clones into mere nothingness. Despite a sudden casting of Force Wall to protect herself against the sudden swarm of ice shards, her element of subterfuge was gone. Nicked and hit with numerous injuries so far already, the fight was beginning to feel like "death by a thousand cuts." The cold made it harder to function, and only her own skills in thermokinesis--basic compared to Keith's--warmed her just enough to survive. Then, shoved to the floor by the assault, she spun herself about and landed on both feet.

No pithy remarks came now. She stood up, staggering slightly. Her skin was getting pale from the cold, and she definetly looked discomforted by the cold and nicks. But, sheer adrenaline and all sorts of battle instincts kept her going, and she thus merely extended her arm out and motioned for him to attack, saying, "Come," with saber ready in the other hand and overall profile kept tight.

Time to gauge what defenses remained, compared to those that Keith had already sapped. Just to wear down her thermokinesis, Keith dropped the temperature another five degrees--his skill with heat and cold was developed enough that even in this extreme circumstance, he could maintain normal bodyheat. After dropping the temperature a bit more, Keith made a short, quick, exploratory lunge with his spear to probe Junko's defenses, and what of her strength remained...

Junko immediately swiped upwards to deflect the spear with a short, sharp block, immediately rushing into Keith whilst throwing up Force Wall to her rear for a tackle and a swing with her saber.

She wasn't feeling much of the cold now. Thermokinesis, some frostbite and just getting used to the chill kept her from feeling too much of the cold, and the wounds indeed started to hurt a little less from the freezing over. With grim determination, she was determined to keep fighting Keith, even if she lost in the process. She really didn't feel like surrendering just yet.

Sparks filled the space between Keith and Junko as the lightsaber struck phrik, one of the few solid materials known that could resist lightsabers. Indeed, Keith had chosen it for its ability to deflect both lightsabers and bullets (though the latter could dent the spear and required periodic repair). Keith sensed her Force Wall behind her, and made a note not to be driven into it. Perhaps he could smack her into it instead.

The frigid atmosphere became a weapon just as potent as Force Push, as a gust of wind whipped up along with Keith's own use of that form of attack for the first time, in an attempt to drive her back into her own Force Wall. Keith sensed, partly by the expression on Junko's face, that her pain was easing, probably because her body was going numb in the extreme cold. Perhaps the blast of wind in the Force Push would give her a little reminder.

Keith followed up his telekinetic attack with hard strokes of his spear, slashing hard with it at a reach of three full meters away from his body, wielding it something like a staff, leveraging the full abilities of his massive weapon for the first time this duel...

The wind knocked Junko back, before she shunted herself with a burst of Force Push aimed at the floor out of the way. Not graceful, but it would have to do for now. The attacks then were blocked one handed with her saber, as she went for a series of fencing parries. Now this was graceful. Indeed, Junko had to snicker at the sight--if someone could film this, it would make quite the fight sequence.

Then, she rolled off to the side and executed a teleport, appearing behind Keith as she commenced to duck and begin slashing at his legs.

It appeared that Junko had opened the Teleportation Can O'Worms.

Immediately, Keith sensed danger behind him...and proceeded to teleport behind the danger. He reappeared halfway between the ceiling and the floor, behind Junko, bringing down his spear, using his height as a fulcrum, whilst Junko followed through on a strike at a target no longer there...

Junko's "spider sense" tingled, and she immediately rolled to escape the blow, escaping with yet another cut instead of something worse. It still smarted though, and she rubbed the wound, only to realize that she couldn't quite feel her hands. It wasn't deep frostbite, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. At least the wound wasn't gushing blood.

She turned and saw Keith, and decided to intercept him. Junko lept into the air, teleporting directly next to him and latching on with a half nelson, slapping him in his left ear for disorientation purposes.

It didn't take Keith long to realize that Junko had vanished, and what she might be up to. Quickly, under the effects of Force Speed, Keith turned his head to face Junko. Instead of the slap across the ear that she had intended, she ended up with a slap across the cheek. Probably not exactly what she had in mind, though her fingernails drew a little blood.

Keith barely noticed. Oh, intellectually he knew he was bleeding, but he did not care. One of the few areas where his philosophy did not align with Jedi Standard Philosophy: Pain was his ally. Instead of teleporting, Keith quickly decided to throw off her hold. Using a heavy and brutal combination of his own torso strength, Force Speed, and telekinesis, he simultaneously spun around to fling Junko off of his body and gave her a hard telekinetic shove to break her grip around his armpit.

The temperature dropped further, and Keith drew further and further into the maelstroms of the Force, channeling it through his heavy weapon and wielding it with such speed and intensity that it became nothing more than a blur, as if it weighed no more than a standard lightsaber. Meanwhile, Keith's senses remained ever alert for additional teleportation; he did not succumb to the tunnel vision that Junko might have expected, or hoped for. As he repeatedly struck her lightsaber with enough ferocity to rip it out of a lesser Acolyte's hands, he spun the weapon around in a full 360-degree arc in the blink of an eye, as a warning to Junko that further attempts to teleport behind him would result in extreme pain around waist level...

By now, the gym they were in began to collapse from the forces of nature Keith was summoning to take down Sensei Tadanobu. As she slammed into the now frozen bleachers as a result of Keith's throw, she experienced a new world of pain. Well, not as much as a normal person would have, but it was getting ridiculous. As she staggered up, she felt all sorts of nasty things--mainly brittle fragments of what used to be bleacher.

She was then given a show of force by Keith as soon as she got up, for he tried to knock the saber out of her hand. Struggling, she gripped onto the blade with two hands, holding on for dear life like a rodeo rider held onto the reins as she parried, moving back to block the hits as best as she could under the intense strain of the cold and the fierce blows.

"Who the fuck is this guy?!" she thought to herself, angrily parrying the blows. Junko knew that it was getting ridiculous, and that if someone didn't fall, the building would. It was only rated for above 70 Fahrenheit temperatures.

And sure enough, the pipes began to burst.....and loud, angry creaking noises began to erupt.

Keith, too, sensed the bitter cold leaking outside the room for which it was intended, leaking into fun things like the pipes running beneath the room. Quickly, he stepped back for a second, to unfreeze them, and provide something of a respite from the creaking. Still, it was not like Keith intended for Junko to benefit--the room that she shared with him remained as frigid as ever.

He also thought he heard the roof creaking. No wonder, by now a few tons of ice had stuck to the ceiling, dragging it down under its weight. Keith would have to fix that, too, before the building collapsed; unfortunately, Junko was underneath the ice. As was he, but he had a little bit of control over where it went. A few quick telekinetic blows to the ceiling broke up the ice, sending it crashing to the floor all over the room; fortunately, Keith knew well enough not to knock the whole damn ceiling down with it. Chunks of ice pelted the ground, almost like a hailstorm, where the hail was, on average, the size of softballs.

The pipes safe from bursting for the moment, and the ceiling cleared of the tons of ice weighing down the roof, Keith resumed his attacks, resuming the use of Force Speed in a deadly Naginatajustu maelstrom...

The only thing Junko could do to that was duck underneath a bubble of Force protection, performing the Force user's version of "duck and cover" as her Force Walls endured tons of ice and hail falling from the ceiling. The shower seemed to last forever....

...then, when it stopped, Keith resumed his assault. She then parried his attacks, until she parried it and then lept back. Junko then began picking up the ice shards, and throwing them at Keith again and again, until a flurry of material ended up his way.

Of course, Keith was not one to simply let large chunks of ice be thrown at them. The cold stuff broke down into the kind of spray thrown up by ice skates as Junko tried to nail Keith with it, only to have Keith shove it right back, and a telekinetic tug-of-war ground the chunks of ice to mere dust that Keith could kick up and annoy Junko with constant reminders of just how frigid it was in here. As he spent his spare time playing hockey, a bit of return spray to the face did not bother him so much.

Meanwhile, Keith continued digging deeper and deeper into the Force, becoming faster and faster, and once again utilizing Force Speed to the limits of his ability in striking Junko, his blows carrying more and more forward momentum that steadily would become more and more difficult to parry without being backed into a corner. Keith sensed Junko's building weariness; he saw it in her eyes, he saw it in the various frostbitten shrapnel wounds he had inflicted earlier, he saw it in her stance of parry-and-duck...

She then rolled off to the side and shut off her lightsaber, holding her hands up and screaming, "OKAY! Okay! You win, you made your point." Getting up, she holstered her saber and her old cheer returned. With a big grin, she extended her hand out and said, "Good game, Colonel. I haven't had a fight like that in a good long time."

Looking about again, she then mused, "Now, how to clean up everything...."

Upon Junko's cessation of hostilities, Keith brought his naginata to a vertical position before reaching back with one swift motion and sheathing it in its saya, as if he had been in some kind of formation. Much to Junko's relief, the temperature inside the room also began a steady climb out of the frigid abyss.

"Well, I was not the one insisting on bypassing standard admissions procedure. If every would-be Acolyte had to meet this standard, the organization would either be very small, or very bankrupt from the repairs." The expression on Keith's face told Junko that he had not considered it a game. Military types usually didn't.

Looking at the bleachers that he had tossed Junko into, Keith added with a bit of a sigh, "Cut it out and replace it, I guess. The ice could be melted, then boiled into water vapor. I am pretty sure Immigration is going to have some fun with this."

The expression on Junko's face grew disappointed he took it that seriously, and she said, "Right." Brightening up again, she then said, "I won't press charges. That'll save you some trouble." She then chuckled and said, "That reminds me of a story with my Grandpa Tetsuo....."

She then made a phone call to Matenance, which would send someone down to fix up the facility. She then hung up the phone and began moving objects with the Force, as she began rambling in her "storytelling voice," aka a Very Strong Valley Girl accent.

"So, like, Grandpa Tetsuo had this totally uncool encounter with Brazilian immigration, right? And like, it all started when he was on the boat coming into Rio de Janiero. Back then you couldn't use airplanes cause the world was like totally messed up so you needed boats and stuff. Anyway, so he bumps into this German faggot, and he's like, 'Bitch stole my watch!' and Tetsuo's like, 'Bitch I didn't do shit," and the they totally get into a scuffle by the time they're on the dock--not cool! Then, the immigration people come in, and then totally begin trying to seperate them as they're tearing into one another. And then, the German totally hit the dude in the scuffle, and then he's all like, 'the Jap did it!' So then the immigration people come up to Tetsuo, and he's explaining to them how he's not violent and how it was all a mistake. Yeah, eventually, long story short, Tetsuo get cleared of all charges by the other passengers, who acknowledge it was that douchefag's fault and not his."

As she finished her sentence, Keith would find the debris sorted into neat piles for maitenance to clean up.

Dusting her hands off, she then said in her normal voice, "Right. Let's swear you in."

"Not press charges? What charges would there have been?" Keith asked, not too pleased with the implications. "Something about religious freedom for Jedi and Acolytes allows duels like this--Hawley-Lew Act, I think--as long as innocent bystanders are not harmed. It has been a while, however."

Keith waited for Junko to tell her Not Relevant Story before adding, "Umm, yeah, let us finish our Bureaucratic Paperwork."

"Shit! I forgot about that....guess I really do need to improve my cold endurance. Yeah, we are so cool under the Hawley-Lew Act. I suppose the proper word would be that you don't have to pay much in the way of repairs, then. My bad." Junko smiled sheepishly, and hten led Keith out to the office. Presenting a copy of the Manual opened to the Oath and Code, she then said, "Right. Put yer left hand on the book, raise your right. Repeat after me...."

Thus, she would have Keith repeat the following lines; upon finishing it all, she gave the book to him and said, "There ya go. This is your copy of the Manual. Read it, love it, live it."



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

The bit about renouncing Light and Dark did give him some pause, having come from the Jedi where such was widely accepted. Then again, he mentally conceded to himself that his embrace of pain in battle to fuel him was not exactly of the Light, either. In spite of his experience of and subsequent revulsion of gratuitous crushing of people, there were times when he was not 100% Light Side, he supposed. And the rest of it was all good.

Therefore, he recited the oath, thinking to himself that Daniel Masaki would facepalm at the thought of sending him off on this "Class Struggle." Granted, it hadn't been Daniel who personally transferred him, but he figured that the Emperor probably had a hand in it. He had studied history. He had an inkling of what that meant. Once again, it appeared, the Jedi Council knew not what it did.

And with that, he took the Little Red Book, flipped through it, and informed Junko that he would read it later, after his other business was taken care of...

Junko shrugged, replying, "No problemo. As long as we got this taken care of, you're in. There's still a couple more things, though. Follow me."

The little woman led Keith to a room that looked like a tailor's, with a gigantic scanner in it big enough for a man to step in. She then motioned to it and said, "Right. I'm gonna need you to get inside there. We'll scan you there, and replicate a uniform to fit. Also, it'll give us a pic for your ID and for whenever you choose to confront Immigration about becoming a long term resident."

The man operating the machine looked at Junko, his eyes widening in fear. She then said, "Relax, Bob. Just got into a scrap. Warm up the machine for our customer here."

"Got it, boss."

Keith sighed as he stepped into the scanner. He would obviously have to take a look at Uniform Regs--he already had a uniform to wear, dammit, that of the Evil Woody Thoughts military. Only for the most important occasions in the Jedi Order, such as his knighting, had he worn anything different. He figured he would try to persuade the Woodian military to allow some slack to denote ties to the Acolytes on the Woodian uniform, if he could get away with it. Robes weren't for him.

The machinist's fear only served to amplify Keith's generally ambivalent feelings concerning Acolyte dress, but orders were orders...

The clerk promptly hit a few buttons, and scanned Keith in a matter of seconds, before snapping his picture. With a "ding!" the Clerk morosely said, "Exit the booth, please."

Upon exit, Keith would find printed out a new ID Card for him, complete with Police-style badge holder for it, like when he first met Chin. Bathed in shades of red and white and attached with his picture, the card simply said,

"People's Acolytes Identification Card. Do Not Lose!

Name/Nombre: Keith Allaire
Rank/Estacion: Sensei 2nd Class
Country of Origin/país de nacimiento : Evil Woody Thoughts
Blood Type/Tipo de sangria: O+
Force Sensitive/Tiene Sensitividad al Force?: Yes/Si

If found, please return to the following address/Por favor, si esta carta es encontrado, devuelva la carta a esta dirección:

32134 Reddington Ave. Barracks 24B, Apt 132 Illuyshin Gap Installation, White Diamond, Evil Woody Thoughts 32123

Or return to any People's Acolytes Temple/O devuelva la carta a alguno Templo de los Acólitos Populares."

As this occurred, an austere uniform would be in the process of replication, not far from him. It was clear that he would probably prefer the Woodian uniform, as the Acolyte one, much like the one Junko wore, was field gray and resembled something from East Germany.

Keith watched as his uniform was replicated before him, quietly taking the ID handed to him, not really looking at it yet. "That looks like the kind of uniform I would wear to a history class--on the Second Great War,*" Keith grumbled. He didn't care for the thought of a uniform he could not get dirty, either. Additionally, the Jedi-like cape that came with it promised to ensnare his naginata whenever he sheathed it in its saya, assuming he could even properly mount the saya, much less a backpack, with the damn thing on. "I will have to see about wrangling with the Woodian Army about modifications to my own uniform to denote my status here."

Speaking of status, he looked at his ID for the first time, and thought there must have been some kind of mistake. "Sensei Second Class?" He could see Sensei Third Class. Maybe. "Damn, I have not even completed my own graduate studies yet, much less trained an apprentice in the Force. Junko, you sure you are OK?" Keith eyed Junko, still nursing the evidence of getting smacked upside the head from her run-in with the bleachers, quizzically.

*OOC: Woodians refer to the war commonly known as World War II as the "Second Great War."

"The Second World War, Colonel? Well shoot. Guess I must be an anachronism, then," she muttered with a smile, looking at her own uniform that was admittedly still shredded and torn in numerous places, with frayed edges present. "I'll admit they're a little glam, but they wear well in the field. Well, to each his own," the Grand Sensei shrugged. Sure enough, Junko's uniform was essentially the same as the one made for Keith. Only, it had distinct pips and pipings on it that reflected her status as Grand Sensei.

Junko chuckled at the next bit. "Call me a sucker for heroism, but I will admit I was swayed by your record in that regard. You'll find that war heroics go a long way in our neck of the woods. Take it what you will. This ain't to discount your considerable thermokinetic skills, or your commitment to responsible citizenship. Both are quite valuable and welcome."

The Premier's House, as the MacIntyre Mansion was officially called, was a remarkably simple residence for being located in the nice suburban neighborhood of Monterey Park. Keith would have to drive through several streets, filled with nicely made homes that screamed suburban perfection, with mostly Chinese-American folks leaving to go to work or coming home.

Eventually, he came upon the Premier's House itself. It was two stories, somewhat large enough to befit the name "mansion," and built with a fence around it, and had a gate with two security guards in front. A man was leaving already, with a satisfied look on his face--clearly, MacIntyre's open door policy was working. Upon stopping at the gate, Keith would be challenged by the guards, who were two very statuesque and stern looking women who wore interesting Nanomuscle Suits of Clan manufacture and carried Red Army gauss rifles. Approaching the Colonel, one would ask, "Name and ID, please."

Colonel Allaire saluted the guards as they approached him. "Colonel Keith Allaire of Evil Woody Thoughts," he informed the guards, snapping out of attention just long enough to retrieve his wallet. Still believing that Junko had suffered one too many bumps on the head, and that the contents of his new Dornalian ID were a result of Hero Cultism and not actual experience or demonstrated ability or wisdom, he handed the guards his Woodian military ID. "I would like to discuss Colonial Reconstruction with the Premier, if that is possible."

The woman looked at the ID, and swiped it under a machine, where it beeped happily. Handing it back, the woman's assistant replied, pulling out a scanner, "Sir, I understand you have business with the Comrade Premier, but I must ask you to please stand still. This is normal procedure, we scan anybody that comes in for weapons, explosives, and poisons."

After he was scanned, they would hit an intercom, which then piped the Comrade Premier's voice into a speaker.

"Yo?"

"Comrade Premier, another guest. A Keith Allaire."

A pause, then a simple, "Wave him through, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant then nodded and said, "Follow me, Colonel." Doing a perfect about face, she marched into the front yard, opening the gate and escorting him all the way to the front door as another woman took her place. Then, as they approached, the front door opened, revealing the Comrade Premier dressed in slacks and a polo shirt.

"Ah, yes! Colonel! Come in, come," he cheerfully said, his looks denoting sobriety and a sense of geniality that hadn't faded with the duties of his office.

Keith shrugged to himself before following the guards inside the gates, to the waiting Premier MacIntyre. Not wanting MacIntyre to be bothered by his somewhat-burnt hands, Keith gave him an introductory bow, and got straight to the point. "Good Evening, Premier MacIntyre. I find myself in need of counsel on how to convert a bank account into employment and infrastructure in the Colonies. I thought that because of New Dornalia's relationship to the Colonies of Kobol, this might be the place to look." While MacIntyre might want to discuss shiny medals, he could probably already tell that the proposed recipient had other ideas.

Acknowledging Keith's determination with a nod, he merely nodded, used to blitzing tactics, "Ah yes, that. Well, have a seat, then."

MacIntyre pulled out a chair for Keith to sit on as sat down at a table as well. Motioning for one of the staff to deliver some refreshments, mainly glasses of water, Mac then spoke.

"I would assume you mean rebuilding it. That's what I saw on the news. Well, the logical place to begin would be to get in touch with the people who need the aid. The Twelve Sisters themselves. Our relationship ensures we have Quorum representation, and despite the aid we are contributing we can always use more."

Writing notes on a piece of paper, he then passed the paper to Keith.

"This here's the Dornalian in country to talk to. Ms. Eileen Kung, our woman in Caprica. She's but one of the many. Reports from her indicate you'll have to go through the Colonial Military to do anything without a bullet in your head, so you may want to talk to Admiral Helena Cain--the virago who runs the whole show. And finally, the Godulans are the ones coordinating things. They get to tell where foreign aid people send their stuff. Fortunately, we Dornalians are considered Colonial, so we don't have to listen to those guys."

He then added, "Now, besides this...I'm going to nominate you for an award. A man doesn't do things like that to help his fellow sentients out, and goes unrewarded." Passing him a paper, it reads:

"New Wuhan Memorial Award--

Major Civilian Honor given for charitable contributions in relief and rebuilding devastated areas, either via conflict or by natural disaster. Formerly the Eldridge Cleaver and Zhou Enlai Awards, this was created by Congressional mandate with the New Wuhan Memorial Act."

The image following shows a stylized picture of a hand delivering aid to a withered hand, embossed on a bronze medal.

"Umm..." What?

Keith had read the notes that MacIntyre scrawled and handed to him, only to have the Premier hand him another piece of paper depicting some completely random medal, which apparently he was slated to receive. For no apparent reason. "I must respectfully decline the nomination," Keith replied, his face showing just a vague hint of the What are you awarding ME for? thoughts swirling about his mind. "The money is still sitting in a bank account, and the only thing that I have done so far is getting a lawyer and filing a piece of paper. No one is actually employed yet, no infrastructure is built yet, and there have been no results to award yet."

Seeking to change the subject back away from needless ego-feeding, Keith quickly added, "Would this Ms. Eileen Kung be able to find Colonial construction workers, engineers, and expertise to run the company day-to-day? The whole endeavor loses much of its effect if everything is run out of some office tower in Evil Woody Thoughts. I want to pay Colonials for rebuilding their own infrastructure and economy, not suck money and resources out of the Colonies."

"Right. But, for now, you're under consideration. And the thought's enough. Anyway...."

He then coughed and continued. "Now, Ms. Kung does meet and greet local Colonial people--partially to build up Earth's image in the Twelve Sisters, and to also help coordinate Colonial-Dornalian aid projects and such and witness local conditions and better draw up legislation. Lots of local bureaucrats, businesspeople, and such. She would be able to hook you up with the right people. And if she can't do it, Admiral Cain's been known to strongarm folks into complying with people's wishes."

"Thank you. I will have to contact her. At some point I will have to come back to the area to get Immigration shit sorted out, which will hopefully keep the Godulans in an advisory, rather than boss-me-around mode--and please do withdraw my name from consideration. Thank you."

MacIntyre nodded and said, "I'll think about it." Coughing, he replied, "Anything else? You mentioned Immigration...you do realize the Dornalian Government recognizes dual citizenships, now. If you wanted to avoid the hassle of taking orders from the Kythons, then you could easily file the papers." Getting up, he then said, "Be right back."

He reappeared moments later with a thin packet of papers and a refreshed look on his face. "Had to use the toilet and get the relevant info. Bascially, you can file for dual citizenship. This little packet would ensure you'd become both legally Dornalian and Woodian. This is the application; send it in, then set up an appointment for a citizenship test. Basic questions on Dornalian History, culture, etc. Nothing you can't get from the PA, they've had that on tap for integrating folks in since the Treaty of LA."

"Does Immigration take faxes?" Keith asked. "Mail takes too damn long, and the sooner I can get this out of the way and contact your references, the better."

MacIntyre nodded and said, "Yeah. Immigration's good about taking any and all forms of incoming mail--including fax. Partly because I bothered to invest the government money and time to make Immigration a responsive organization."

Keith had to grin at that. Typical politician--always talking up his achievements about 'investing in teh bureaucracy to make it more responsive.' "Thank you, and I will fax this from my ship then," Keith replied. "The sooner I can return to Evil Woody Thoughts, the sooner I can get in touch with your Colonial contacts."

He then got up and made a good-bye bow, hoping MacIntyre wouldn't keep him. It was not anything personal--he just had ten million things of shit to do. As usual.

MacIntyre nodded and said, "Alrighty then. Nice to meet you, Colonel. Good luck."

As the Comrade Premier saw the Colonel off, the Colonel's home country got a cable from the ever faithful Internal Security Bureau, New Dornalia's intelligence service. Simply written, it was addressed to the Woodian National Intelligence Bureau--or whatever the fine folks there called it now--and it said as follows:

"Regarding the territory of Tenetia--which is being watched along with the rest of the Galactic Empire--the Nightshade regime seems to be busy with internal matters and reconsolidation at the moment, given recent missteps. The Nightshadists currently do not seem active at the moment, though given their past history they may act at anytime. Recommend Woodian Navy stand down to medium-high alert, but continue preparations to defend against assault."

The landlord who answered replied, "Yeah. It's available. Rates are reasonable enough. Six hundred dollars a month, we throw in utilities and Holonet access. It's a good neighborhood here, so you made a good choice. Come on over to my office on 5200 North Latrobe; I got the forms and such there along with the other info. Any questions?"

"I will ask any questions that I think of in person. Except for this one: are you available in three hours?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?" was the exact reply of the landlord. She wasn't expecting much of an answer, but it paid to be suspicious anyway.

From the inside, Keith could hear the landlord saying, "Fucking.....keep your cock in gear! Goddamnit!" Some noises of rummaging, some banging noises, and other affairs later and the Landlord opened the door not but a minute later. A scruffy Asian woman with glasses, a shirt and tie, and clearly disheveled hair, the woman bade Keith, "Come in. You must be here for the house."

Inside, the landlord's residence/office looked as if it were in the middle of some serious repairs. Men in coveralls were pacing back and forth, examining toolkits for tools. The landlord said, "My sink's been having issues recently, excuse the help." Leading him to a relatively clean office, Keith was presented with another bundle of forms and a simple, "Alright. Here's the information about the residence. Pictures, reports, everything. As you can see, I like to keep my rentals in good condition. And, the terms we discussed over the phone still stand--I must add though, payment occurs first of the month, bank checks only--cash is too hard to trace and personal checks also hard to rely upon."

"Did I miss anything?" Keith quietly asked the Asian woman, sensing the stress radiating from her, and silently knowing that he had missed a lot that he probably would not want to see while in polite company. He did not say much more about it, though the landlord might see the assorted weapons clipped to his belt, including not one but two lightsabers, and of course the one that barely fit through the entrance doorway, mounted on Keith's back. Given ballistic weapon-toting fangirls, the landlord might infer the reason for that soon enough.

Keith leaned his naginata against the wall before sitting down to fill out the forms, starting by writing his name in block printing in full view of his prospective landlord. Flipping through the information provided to him, yet not sure how to reconcile aforesaid information with the absolute ruckus he had interrupted, he decided to ask a quick question before he filled out more information. "Would you mind if I took a look at the unit?" he asked, quietly and politely.

Looking at the papers he was filling out, the Landlord raised an eyebrow. "Keith Allaire? The man from the news? Suppose if you wanted anomynity, one couldn't look for a better place than the city." The look in her eyes suggested she'd keep his identity mostly muted for now.

As for his question about the unit, she said, "Sure. It's Unit 324, two and a half levels above the entrance. You lucked out--I just got central air in that that building."

The Asian Landlord indeed smiled sardonically and replied, "I see you like the place. That's good." Pointing to the paper, she said with more than a hint of experience and sternnes, "Right. Here's the rest of the contract....now, I've had problems with morons skimming over it, signing, and then shafting me and whining about how I'm not fair. Well, let's not have that happen shall we?"

She said as Keith would read the documents, "Basically, it's askin' you to do some commonsense things, most of them revolving around not being a dick.

Pay your rent on time--warn me if you're gonna be late with a payment, 'cause otherwise I'm gonna get nasty. Also, keep it down. I hear any complaints about loud parties from your place at 2 am, you're gonna know in the form of Chicago's finest. Also, you can bring pets. Normally, people don't do this. I do ask you to keep them leashed, potty-trained and properly cared for and to make sure they're not scaring people. You don't do that, you'll have to leave Fido with someone else. I ain't doing that again. Generally, be nice, pay on time, and if something breaks--call me or the super ASAP. We clear?"

"Eh. Two a.m. is usually about when I am out for my morning jog. Not enough hours in the day to do it at a 'normal' time. Anyway..." Keith quickly read it... "I pretty much have a photographic memory, so I am reading the contract far more than it looks like. There kids around? Sam would love to get off of the base back in Evil Woody Thoughts."

"Yeah. Lotsa kids. That's why I'm being kinda insistent here with the rules. It's good for business, and good for the kids here. Gives them an environment not as stable as the outside. I should know, I'm a mom. Paying for a kid's meals and such with apartment rentals....." After musing, she then said, "Right. Well, any more questions?"

"Yeah. First, I know you said you do not take cash for rent, but for security deposit in-person? And the pro-rated rent until the first of next month? Second, fastest way to the Acolyte Temple on foot?"

"Slow down, slow down," the Landlady said. She rifled through her things, and picked up a formatted Reciept. Scribbling Keith's name onto it and her signature, she said, "Right. You can pay in cash for the security deposit and the pro-rated. I only stipulate that rule because it's a pain to fill out these extra slips for cash payments. Adds too much damn paperwork. As for the Temple, walk on North Larned, then North Ludlam, then go on West Farragut, and then go on North Milwaukee, then North Manila, North Magnet, then finally on North Menard. Temple's on North Menard."

Looking at Keith, she said, "Right. The cash. Hundred dollars for Security Deposit."

"Yeah. And ten days' rent till the first of the month is another two hundred on top of that." Keith promptly dug his wallet out of his pocket, and counted out three hundred universal standard credits. "I will need to stop at a drugstore or something and do cash-over, I see," he commented wryly. "Thank you for the directions. Now maybe I can update my Immigration paperwork with something a bit more permanent than the spaceport slot at LAX. Which, I admit, is why I told you I would take three hours to get here."

"Fine. As long as you got money and you keep the contract, you're cool." With that, she took the money, wrote in the amount and handed Keith the paper reciept, keeping a copy for herself. She then smiled and said, extending her hand out, "Right. The apartment's yours. Welcome to Earth."

"Thank you," Keith replied, shaking her outstretched hand, careful not to crunch it. "I will have to get some stuff out of my ship tonight, but for now, I need to visit the Temple. You have a set of keys? Might be helpful."

The Landlady rummaged around her things once more, and produced a set of keys for the room. Passing them to her new tenant, she said, "Enjoy." The woman then felt her pocket, and said, "Now, if you excuse me--I have to get back to my place. Seems the plumbers want to talk about the matenance job."

Inside the temple, the giant Sensei that managed the Temple of Northern Chicago, one Adrian S. O'Shaughnessy, a tall Irish-American man of solid build and stern temprament. Renowned for his mastery of electric attack and other skills normally used by the Shinmei, he had served in the conflict that had formed them--the Anti-Daedra Wars in Nova Louisiana. He declined to joined them, however, and returned to the Temple that he later was elected to manage.

As Keith entered, he would see the man had two large medals on O'Shaughnessy's chest. One was a medal acknowledging his Nova Louisiana service, the other was an Order of Shimura award; just one step underneath the coveted Hero of the People medal, the Order of Shimura was the second highest medal. It demonstrated just how much experience he had.

The man was talking to a short man, arguing over some point of law. O'Shaughnessy teleported in front of Keith immediately and said, empahsizing his giant size, "Good day, and welcome to our Temple. Adrian S. O'Shaughnessy, management. How can I help you?"

What mattered was that this guy had actually, unlike Keith, earned his way to Sensei Second Class. That, he could tell. Adrian had not been promoted because of a Junko Fangirl Infatuation. Thus, Keith's right arm snapped forth in perfect, unintimidated military bearing for a traditional salute. "Colonel Keith Allaire, reporting as ordered per transfer order of Jedi Headmaster Armas Elendil. Transfer order is nonspecific, and Los Angeles allowed me wide latitude as to where to deploy. Therefore, I request station at this Temple, Sensei O'Shaughnessy." Though Keith's thoughts were not easily read, his voice indicated all that Adrian needed to know--that Keith had already sensed that he had earned his position though he did not know exactly what the medals on his chest were for, and that Keith, though not intimidated in the slightest by size, demurred to such experience. After all, he had asked Junko if her head was OK when she had given him the rank that the Sensei now before him held...

The gruff man returned the salute snappily, and said just as briefly and snappily in a gruff Midwestern accent, "At ease, Colonel. Request is granted, since it seems you're a military man as well. Albeit I was only of an acting rank in a mixed People's Militia-People's Acolytes International Brigades force, and that was a relatively long time ago in the wars against the Daedra. Let's focus on the here and now, shall we?"

He then eyed Keith, and right away it would be possible for Keith to sense that Adrian was skeptical of this man. It was also obvious that Adrian knew who Colonel Allaire was--the recent NDBC news traffic had not missed the news of the Allaire Fund, as it was dubbed--but there was some doubt as to why he was here nonetheless, perhaps stemming from the sudden transfer.

Holding his hand out, he said simply, "Your ID?"

Colonel Allaire quietly changed his footing so as to have his feet shoulder-length apart, as suggested by Adrian's 'at ease' order. However, he still did not speak, almost as if Adrian had addressed his identification directly, not him. Quietly, quickly, and efficiently, he extracted his New Dornalian Identification Card from his wallet, and handed it to the Sensei, though the address on it was already pretty much out of date. Still, any questions could be verified with Junko. Keith considered handing Adrian his transfer orders as well, but sensing a whiff of his suspicion, figured that if Adrian wanted it, he would ask for it. For the time being, the New Dornalian ID should at least prove that he was not a random impostor.

Adrian handed the card to an associate, and ordered, "Run it through the databanks." A swipe over a penlike instrument, and it bleeped in a happy fashion. Handing the card back, Adrian relaxed only a little, showing a military sternness that was possibly refreshing from a New Dornalian. As he did so, he said, "Right. Welcome to the Temple of Northern Chicago. Let me show you around."

He then motioned for Keith to follow, as he led him through the building's setup. The Temple itself was small, about the size of a regular dojo and urban, innercity church combined. It had a gym, meditation room, library, training hall, equipment room, and all the other ameinities needed to keep it afloat.

Finishing, the gruff man said, "Now, I understand you are of the rank of Sensei 2nd Class. This means I'll need you to make good here. How's working a day class sound?"

Keith did not say much of anything during the tour, simply letting Adrian show him around a bit and figuring that his position in the Acolytes certainly was not earned, that it was more the result of fanclub fame than any actual accomplishment. Perhaps he should have known that Adrian was going to ask him to teach classes, in spite of his innumerable potential scheduling conflicts, between here, his own studies at UWD, the Woodian military, and his little Colonial venture.

Well, hopefully he could at least keep those possible conflicts to a minimum, if he showed initiative here in scheduling himself. "Are there any Tuesday/Thursday morning slots open?" he asked.

Adrian merely nodded. "We have 8am-12am classes on those days you can perform. Given your fame, I can understand you have numerous obligations, so we'll make it once a week. Let's not overwork you now; we're both not much for slacking but I am sure you appreciate the value of good time management as well as anyone."

"I too appreciate the value of good time management," Keith replied, "but does your proposal not reduce weekly instruction time from eight hours to four? While it would be nice to teach one day a week, I admit, and have more flexibility for other obligations, I cannot do that at the expense of students. Would it be possible to teach eight-to-five on either day, then, so the students still receive their proper instruction?" Keith was figuring an hour-long lunch break in there, probably excessively long to both Adrian and himself as well, but hey, he knew students needed enough of a break to be able to think about things other than wolfing down food as quickly as possible, to help prevent their minds from wandering in class.

Adrian nodded and merely replied, "That is acceptable." He then noted simply, "It was meant as an accomidation for your busy schedule, not a favor to a hero. Still, that doesn't matter now." He then coughed and said, "Anything else?"

"If I may indulge in a random Immigration question..." Keith's face showed a distinct lack of comfort with Dealing with Bureaucracies, contrary to the stereotypes of Woodians floating around... "how do I get the address changed on my ID, and the pending citizenship application I submitted a few hours ago, from this temporary LAX landing pod to the apartment I will now be living in?"

Adrian then pulled out a PDA and typed a few things in. He then teleported out, and later reemerged with an extra sheet of paper.

"One Change of Address form for the Feds. As for us, I will send that to Mars along with my other business mail. While you're at it, I had heard you are an expert at thermokinesis. That is fine, but electricity may prove useful in the future. I should know, I used it during my time in Nova Louisiana." As he prepares to send an e-mail, he asks Keith, "What is the new address?"

"New address is 5201 North Latrobe Avenue, number 324," Keith replied to the question that would generate a reflexive response as he considered Adrian's remarks concerning his abilities. "Yes, I will admit electricity has its advantages over thermokinesis when dealing with anything involving circuitry," Keith admitted. At least, that was the first thought to come to his mind. "Probably easier to keep it from bleeding off into the atmosphere, too, I would imagine..." His voice trailed off into nothingness, his mind seeming gravely conflicted over the matter. On the one hand, he recognized full well its application; on the other lie his experiences in 1) field training, on the wrong end of tasers for 'desensitization purposes' and 2) getting fried by one Darth Ebolus. The Jedi used it relatively freely nowadays. The Woodians abhorred it. Still, Keith did not automatically defer to Woodian cultural norms; the ability to Force-crush stuff into powder, he found regrettably necessary for geokinesis, and was the basis for how he had learned to reshape rock and make a few shattered kunai last nearly indefinitely by remaking them continuously in battle.

And, all the while, Keith could not help but thinking that if his mental blocks were down, Adrian could easily dismiss him as a mess and be perfectly justified in doing so.

Adrian nodded as he wrote down the information. Being of moderate skill in telekinesis, he didn't have the all-encompassing sensory powers of someone like Sensei McKinnon, the legendary "Miss Spooky" of London.

But, he did have enough precognition to recognize when someone letting their guard down was having doubts, and casually muttered, "I imagine there's more than that. We all have our concerns, Colonel and I for one understand the usage of electricity by those of the Darker persuasion. But, we here in the organization generally restrict upper-middle to higher electrical powers to experienced, mature users for that reason. You seem a rather no-nonsense, mature individual who looks like he can control himself. No sense in thinking you'll end up like the Big Bad Evil Guy when it's clear the BBEG didn't have the sense to watch his bloodlust, and you have that sense of control."

"Eh. Master Elendil did say something about concern that I would not 'live up to my potential' as long as I stayed with the Jedi. He had a reason for that, I suppose, and to give you credit, it is not often that you hear media stories of Acolytes going on random pillaging sprees..." Left unsaid was any direct, yes or no response to the implied offer of such training...

Adrian nodded, and immediately noted, finishing his e-mail, "Right. Well, when you wish to undergo training in electrokinesis, I am always available. I have also written a treatise on the subject entitled Measured Usage of Force Electricity; it is naturally one of many in the Acolytes' body of work. Some of the best are from the Shinmei School, though they take things to a little bit of an extreme. Do look up How to Harness One's Electrifying Soul by Sensei 1st Class Lionel MacKay of the Temple of Kingston, Jamaica. The title is corny, but it is an excellent work on mastering Force Lighting and electric skill. All are both in holocron and print form."

"Well, I suppose a visit to the library is in order then, quiaff? There will be ample time for me to read your suggestions enroute to the Colonies. I still need to finish sorting out Dornalian Immigration Bureaucracy to make my life in the Colonies easier, and that means citizenship. Or so I am told. I need to study for that bit, too. I will consider accepting instruction on electrokinesis after I have a chance to read up on it."

"As you wish," Adrian said. "The titles are in the library. I will also expect that, barring any obligations from your military, you are free to teach one week from now? Otherwise, I can say we are finished for now, unless you have other questions."

"No further questions," Keith replied, saluting the elder Sensei before he left for the library to pick up the recommended reading. He already had immigration information from Junko and citizenship information from MacIntyre, but he figured it would not hurt to ask the librarian about Dornalian civics primers, either. He knew something of how Dornie Government worked from Woodian and Coredian media, but he was not sure that he knew enough to pass the citizenship examination. And, being the perfectionist that he was, Keith wanted to do better for himself than just merely "pass" with the minimum score. He had better familiarize himself with the government that he was serving...

The library was a well stocked facility, with two floors of bookcases that had been retrofitted with print material and holocrons. Some were kept under lock and key, naturally, with a sign saying "See Librarian for Authorization." Judging by the material in these, which consisted of writings and holocrons on higher-level powers, it wasn't surprising why these were locked up.

There was also basic government and law materials in the Reference area; encyclopedias and atlases and such all crammed the shelves referring to this planet and that. The librarian, upon his entrance, merely asked, "How are you?"

"I am well, thank you," Keith looked at the librarian, anticipating her next question, as he himself browsed around the reference section. "I am looking for, in approximately this order, primers on New Dornalian Civics for purposes of citizenship exams, Sensei O'Shaughnessy's Measured Usage of Force Electricity, and Sensei MacKay's How to Harness One's Electrifying Soul. The Jedi have transferred me to New Dornalia, and I have some studying to do."

"One moment, please."

The librarian typed in some information, and then scribbled some items on a piece of paper. He then got up and said, "Follow me, please."

The Librarian led Keith to the respective call numbers. From the Reference Area, he located a copy of Hartigan's Dornalian Government for Dummies, Edwell and Itagaki's Our Mother--the History of New Dornalia, the Dornalian People's Almanac, 20XX Edition as well as a copy of Guide to the Immigration Exam with appropriate subtitles in all major galactic languages as well as a few odd choices, like Spanish. The slight, bespectacled man simply said, "This is what we got that could help you. I can also special order some volumes as well."

Finding a basket to store the books in, he then went upstairs to the print and holocron area. "Now, Mackay and O'Shaughnessy's works are rather easily found....we're out of print copies right now but we do have them in holocron format. Is that fine?"

"Hmm. Holocron is OK I guess, just means that I will have to plug it into my ship's computer to render text. It does not take as much time for me to read text as it does to watch a Holocron, and that is important."

"As you wish." Collecting the holocrons from the shelves, he then takes Keith and the materials to the front desk. Scanning them, he then goes, "There's a three week period on the holocrons, and on the books. We ask you take care of them, you lose it, you owe seventy five bucks per lost holocron. Also, late fees...are surprisingly generous. Ten cents a day per overdue. You look trustworthy, but I gotta give all the newbies the rundown." After scanning and stamping everything, he issues reciepts and goes, "Enjoy."

"Thank you." Keith stacked the books and put them neatly in his backpack, before wandering off to fill his canteen at the nearest water fountain. Knowing that he needed to get on this immigration shite ASAP, the sooner, the better that he may pay a little visit to Alleged Colonial Contacts, he promptly left the Temple for his new home, munching a ration bar as he walked.

Upon reaching his apartment, Keith figured he may as well enjoy the crisp, cool autumn weather and do his reading on the deck. It faced away from the hustle and bustle of Foster Avenue; his unit separated the busy street from his deck, so he figured he could do some studying in relative peace. He flipped on the light out back, pulled up a lawn chair, and dug A Guide to the Immigration Exam and Dornalian Government for Dummies out of his backpack. He skimmed over the Immigration Exam one first, so that he would have a better idea of what to look for in the other materials he had borrowed.

Of course, he had not counted on the new neighbors noticing him, either...

The Immigration Exam--of which there were no less than six samples in the tome--offered a diverse array of questions and answers pertaining to basic Dornalian constitutional, historical and cultural questions. It was mostly a multiple choice affair, but as the guide stated, you had to pass at least 85% of the questions to win. Fortunately, it was offered in a labyrinthine array of languages used around the known Universe, and indeed most of the book seemed to be reprinted in English, Spanish (gentegata and regular), Kroot, Klingon, High and Low Gothic, Coredian Basic, Japanese (both Coredian and Terran dialects), and so on.

As for the new neighbors, they looked at him, and began whispering. And, as was inevitable, someone walked into the commons which the deck led to, and up to the staircase. Shouting, "Howdy, Neighbor!" it was an old woman with a loaf of what smelled like banana bread. "Welcome to our complex."

The smell of banana bread caught up to Keith's nose just as soon as he heard a little old lady greet him, quite loudly, of course, given that she did so from a bit of a distance as she moved towards the staircase. Not wanting to be an asshole, Keith set his reading material down on the floor and got up to help her up the stairs, since apparently she wanted to chat for a while. Getting to know his neighbors would serve him well, and besides this shit could be studied at the expense of sleep if it must (thanks to ten-minute Force trances) at two in the morning. He honestly did not believe the neighbors would be out that long. Little did he know that in the Jefferson Park neighborhood, it was not uncommon at all for neighbors to chat outside for hours past dark...

Therefore, Keith ambled down the stairs and offered the little old lady a hand, not knowing just what he was getting himself into, but accepting it as inevitable and somewhat necessary. "Hello, I am Keith, and you would be...?" He deliberately withheld his last name, hoping she would not notice its display on his uniform.

"Myrna Delacroix...." the old lady greeted Keith and then handed him the banana bread. "I like to come on down and welcome new neighbors. I find some banana bread makes good neighbors, ya know? They say that about fences, but in these parts you can't put up a fence--there's no room!" Chuckling, she sits down and looks at the books.

"Oh! You're new to our country?" she simply asks.

"Umm. Yeah. You could say that. I had visited Los Angeles before, but I was transferred here. Chicago looks roomier than any Woodian city I have seen, yet not the urban-sprawl-wasteland that is LA. In other words, a good place. Thank you for the bread, by the way." Keith took the bread, only breaking off a small bite to taste. "I just ate, so I am not particularly hungry right now, but damn this is good..."

Myrna replied and said, "Well thank you, sonny!" She then looked at Keith and said, "Woodian, eh? I never seen one before. Look rather human to me...." She said this as she sized up the Colonel, to the tune of a curious look.

"Myrna, what'd I tell you about sizing up the neighbors!?"

Turning to look, a tall old man was down below, along with an old black fellow and a man with a yarmulke. Myrna said to the old man, "Now now, Tim....he just told me he was a Woodian!"

Walking up onto the deck, Tim said, sighing, "Myrna, they're not made out of wood. Their nation's only called Evil Woody Thoughts. Dunno why, but that's how these games go." He then stopped and extended his hand to Keith, saying, "Tim Delacroix. Myrna's husband. She's the ball and chain."

The Jewish man and the black man walked onto the deck, and upon further inspection they could be seen bringing gifts as well. The Jewish man, introducing himself as "Rob Levine," displayed his own gift of food--a plate of chocolate chip cookies, given to the tune of, "Howdy! I couldn't help but hear you visited California--did you ever meet a woman named Leona Levine? That's my sister."

The black man said, "Rob, nobody wants to hear that story again. The man just got here....." Shaking his head, he said, "Fred MacElheny. I bring something a little more permanent than food." He then presents Keith with a potted plant--more precisely, a bonsai tree. "Something for the deck. They're nice, but I figure they could always use some sprucing up."

To make things more interesting...the bonsai tree. "Oh, um, thank you Mr. MacElheny. Will it survive the winter though? I read that bonsai trees are pretty fragile, and I would have to do a bit of research to care for one."

"Well, I suppose it would be better for the kitchen then." He shrugged.

At that point, a voice squeaked with the question of, "Grandpa!? Who's that?" Turning, Fred saw his granddaughter....and her legion of friends from all over the apartment complex. Milling about, they had noticed the new neighbor. And unfortunately for Keith, they knew about his record.

"Woah. It's that dude!"

"Yeah, I heard he killed a hundred Somalians by himself!"

"With lightning outta his ass!"

"No, with fire from his eyes!"

"FIRE!"

"LIGHTNING!"

And so on. Fred sighed and smiled, merely muttering, "Kids."

Fred merely muttered, over the sounds of kids excited to see a real Force master who could use such powers, "Well, the kids here are a gregarious lot. They get around. Fascinated with new neighbors, especially folks like you. They like heroes--and I'd be inclined to agree."

Fred sat down and mused.

"We live in an age of heroes and villians, Colonel. You ever think about that? Comic book superheroes, manga heroes, video game gladiators--all that's in the here and now. It seem's whoever's up there's uncorked the Imagination Bottle, and let it all flow out. Ever think about that?"

"Never did read comic books," Keith confessed. "Or manga. Or got into video games. I was too busy studying to do much more than an occasional hockey game...from what I can remember, I had a pretty boring childhood, in fact. I never knew about my other abilities until they were discovered by Darth Ebolus. I would rather he did not, to be honest."

Then he glanced at the cadre of kids, who had by now gathered around him. "Hey, kids, have you done your homework yet? Because I think that is a really good idea."

"But if I really am a comic strip hero...I suppose it has its uses," Keith quietly whispered in Fred's ear.

The kids looked at one another and scampered, especially when told by Tim, "Go on. The adults have to talk for a bit, and you got things to do." When asked if he had things to do, he then said, "Shucks, no. I'm old! I'm done!"

Fred shook his head and said, "Well, Colonel.....I'd have to agree. You'd be surprised how many kids like the funnies. I work a public school as a principal, and I have to seize them by the ton. It's only increased since MacIntyre came."

The others nodded.

"That old commie fart," Myrna said. "Doesn't he know that his ideology steals from the hardworking people and gives to the lazy?"

Tim sighed and said, "Don't drag politics into this, Myrna. We're in front of guests; its impolite. Besides, MacIntyre's brought us a damn good old age pension and he's got our kids working and our grandkids learning. And he never took a cent from us--our kids maybe, but not us!"

Fred said to Keith, shaking his head yet again, "Don't pay them any mind." Rob likewise nodded and said, "Yeah, those two always talk like that. You'd be surprised they're married this long. Thirty-seven years! I'd kill myself if I had to undergo that. Lucky for me, I'm a dentist--so I don't got time for that mess. I deal with real messes, like cavities."

Keith shrugged at the mention of comics, not really finding such trivial things worth talking about. The Red-baiting, however, he could not let go. "Eh. I like paying taxes. Taxes buy us civilization; without them we would still be beating each other with clubs. Besides, taxes pay the salaries of the military, Acolytes, et cetera. You probably would not want me hungry and destitute," Keith joked. Of course, given the fact that he had forked over 900 billion credits to the Woodian Government in tax on the Bailey Bounty, the statement that he liked to pay taxes might prove something of a jaw-dropper...

Myrna shrugged. Tim then explained, "Don't mind her. She's just a bit backward sometimes." The whole group nodded; it was obvious they had been used to the spats of the Delacroix family before.

"Well, it's not like it matters. Besides, I thought the Acolytes were technically an independent organization from the government?" Rob said. "One of my paitents works at the Temple of Southern Chicago, and he says that aside from some grants and cooperation with the authorities, they get to do whatever they want. Fortunately, those boys down there have enough sense to do the right thing."

"Mhm," Fred noted. "Hell, it even took them a while to get setup here East of the Mississippi. Word is up in Toronto, they were accused of being a malicious cult before they won a libel suit. Same thing in Detroit. Hell, a local crank tried that here, and the judge threw the case out on the grounds that it was baseless!"

They all nodded again. "Some people don't get a break," Myrna noted. "Those boys down there are so good....they have a soup kitchen, you know. And a free clinic. Wonderful people. They keep the crime down, at least. Kids these days, with them lazer guns and them Plasma-thingies in their arms...."

They all groaned at that. Fred said, "Ugh. A damn disgrace, Plasmids. One of my students went to the gutter because he wanted to try them out. It got him the ability to make fire, but it also got him sent to a jail."

Rob looked at Keith and said, "Good thing you're here. Since you're with the PA, I hope you're going to do something to help get those damn Plasmids off our streets."

"Well, I take care of 'em as I see 'em," the Acolyte replied, "though I still have a fair bit to learn about Dornalian Civics courses myself. I just got here! If the Acolytes are separate from the government, how are they funded? They levy their own taxes or something? I am not sure I understand..." By now, Keith had a bewildered look on his face. A look the kids might have savored if he had not sent them scurrying off to do their homework. "I, er, got transferred here with absolutely zero advice on how the government works here. Literally received the order to deploy to New Dornalia about, oh, thirty-six hours ago?"

Fred and the others looked about, and Rob replied, "You got voluntary tithes from members and donations from the community--that's a big help, especially since word is you got some members, like this one guy in the Temple of Orlando, or this crazy chick in the Temple of Melbourne, who technically are millionaires!

You got other ways of making money--like teaching. My paitent teaches karate to local kids for a nominal fee. And another example is those Master Smiths on Mars. They not only make sabers, they also make collectible swords and objets'd'art to get some food on the table for the organization and for themselves. Naturally, they don't wanna look like sellouts, so they keep that aspect to a minimum.

Also, you got government assistance and cooperation. Just because they're technically independent doesn't mean they're divorced entirely from Mother Dornalia. Hell, she helps them with stipends and aid for community service programs, curriculum, et cetera--from the National to the municipal level. Like my paitent at the Southern Chicago Temple. He says if it wasn't for grants and food and medical supplies from the State of Illinois and the City of Chicago--very generous, he adds--they wouldn't be able to do half the things they would be able to do.

She even helps them equip those International Brigades of theirs with access to military hardware and equipment, and brings them on military campaigns or special jobs whenever there's Force usage or voodoo or whatever involved--even allows them Chaplaincy status. Stuff like that.

Besides that much, they otherwise have their own ways of doing things, and the government is content to let them do what they wish as long as they obey the laws and do their part for the Workers State. There's a strong working relationship, but its not like the Feds own the Acolytes, see."

They nodded, and Fred said, "Though some in People's Congress would like them to be. Those are mostly anti-Jediist thugs, though."

"So let me see if I am understanding how this works," Keith replied. "Acolytes tithe their own income from extracurricular activities to fund the organization. The Acolytes then take that funding, along with government grants and whatnot, to ensure that Acolytes do not starve to death and fund various activities. And here I was thinking that I would be helping the Colonials as soon as I had my Dornie Citizenship Card to flash so they would not kill me for being Jedi."

Keith still looked confused, as he tried to sort this out in his mind. "Kind of confusing when you get used to the Jedi Order being a direct branch of the Coredian Government," he admitted. "Oh, well, I suppose its a good thing I still can collect pay from Evil Woody Thoughts. Between military responsibilities, responsibilities to the Acolytes, and helping Colonials, time for opening a karate school on the side would be short."

Rob shrugged and said, "Meh. That's what I just heard from that dude. To get any more, you'd have to ask the Acolytes themselves. I'm sure things aren't that bad; I mean, the tithe depends on circmstances--ten percent of income or a fixed fee levied to support the Acolytes. But besides that much, you'd have to ask the guy in charge of your temple."

Fred nodded, as did the others. He then said, "Well, they seem to be doing well enough for themselves. I mean, they got a really cozy relationship with the government. So if they're not officially part of it, then at least Mother Dornalia's helping to keep it running."

"Hmm. Well OK, I think that gives me some idea of how the Acolytes work. What about the civilian government? I know little of your government or history, other than some cultural things I learned in Somalia, like your ballistic firearms fetish. It also seems that I need to learn quickly for the immigration exam, because I want to squeeze in a trip to the Colonies while I still can, but they will give me hell if I come from Coredia or some country unknown to them."

The others laughed when they listened to Keith dub the Dornalian use of arms a "fetish." Fred said, wiping tears of amusement, "That's a law, Colonel. Not a fetish in the least. We all carry guns because we have to. That's the law." He then added, "Though some from Cali seem to love their guns so much....."

Shaking his head, he said, "Right." Coughing, he said, "Hmm.....well, it's a good thing I just passed my performance review. I can help you for that exam. Better than those books down there, I can say."

Right on cue, the kids came back and then surrounded Fred and the old folks, saying, "Grandpa! Grandma! Can we play with Uncle Keith!?"

Fred decided to take charge, and said, "Umm....kids." Looking at Keith, he then said, "Uncle Keith needs some help studying for his citizenship exams. Can you help him with government?"

At that, they rushed Keith, and began firing all at once.

"We have a Comrade Premier!"

"We have a People's Congress!"

"We got a big army!"

"We gots a People's Congres--"

Fred said, "One at a time, kids," raising his hand. One kid stepped up and said, "We have a People's Congress, a Comrade Premier, and a Workers Supreme Tribunal." Another kid fired in with, "The law says you gotta be 18 to vote, and a citizen, and you do that every six years for Comrade Premier."

Fred nodded, and said, "We also have a written constitution; I'm sure its in one of these books." Taking one of the books, he flipped until he said, "There it is." Revealing a long page, he then showed a document which was the recent Constitution (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13448949&postcount=6).

Fred looked at the document, and then pulled out his PDA and looked it up. He then said, "Aha! Got it. Apparently, that last part about Foreign Nationals means that they will be regulated in regards to Article 2b by seperate laws issued by People's Congress. And apparently...People's Congress issued a law about that."

Punching a few keys, he then said, "Here we go. The Kantazakis-Chung Act. Basically, this was created when people got worried about how Foreign Jedi would be treated--wouldn'tcha know? It states basically that when it comes to foreigners, the provisions of Article 2b mean that they still have to bear arms, but they can be armed with 'whatever forms of self-protection they deem appropriate by custom, practice, or law up to small arms. This includes melee and unarmed combat.'"

"OK," Keith nodded. "I saw something on the prep exams about the Treaty of Los Angeles, which is not in the Constitution, of course. I know little about it, other than that it was supposed to unite all Earth under one government and my nation of birth, Evil Woody Thoughts wiggled out of signing it on the grounds of 'we have other ideas, like moving most of our population off this nuked rock.' Care to enlighten me? This shit happened before I was born, and I learned it as The Exodus, not the Treaty of LA."

Myrna grumbled at that, and then Fred said, "Right. What Myrna's whining about and what you're asking about is the Treaty of Los Angeles. Basically, the text...."

He then typed in something on his PDA and brought up the text of the agreement.

"...says that it unites Earth under Dornalian Control, using several conditions. Here's the complete text (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9129955&postcount=3)."

Fred then comments, "Yeah, Five basically has been interpreted widely; means you can find a lot of Native Americans with traditional chiefs, for example. And Four's 'military' portion has been reconciled in favor of the National Government integrating those military units into the regular Army and Navy, regular and reserve as part of bringing them up to Dornalian standards. Workers Supreme Tribunal has been a big help in negotiating the twists and turns of unifying Earth. Fortunately, de facto wise, Dornalians have not bothered the Woodian territories on Earth SSR because you guys are a pretty big deal--and they haven't got a reason."

Keith looked at Fred's PDA and quickly read the text, which he found to be surprisingly short. "Umm, yeah, I do not think Evil Woody Thoughts would have much to gain by signing this, and the People's Army has more pressing concerns than 'liberating' the Woodian provinces from themselves, concerns like the Empire," Keith opined. "And, quite frankly, Evil Woody Thoughts would not sign over its sovereignty, even a territory, unless it had something to gain of equal value. You might convince Woodians to import your gun laws, however, given memories of the civil war are still very fresh."

Fred laughed. "Well...that's for your Parliament to decide. Westminster-style democracies don't have the amount of governmental largesse we got here in the Workers' State."

The others nodded, for they knew that governmental largesse firsthand. It was generally benevolent, but also could be vengeful if angered.

"Well, anymore questions?"

"Mmmhmmm. If I obtained Dornalian citizenship, would the government want to conscript me? It would make for...interesting debates with the Draft Board as I already serve in the military of an allied nation, not to mention serving New Dornalia indirectly as an Acolyte."

Rob lept in and asked, "Oh yeah. Another comment from my paitent. Says he was exempt from his National Service for religious reasons cause of his Acolyte status. Apparently, they used to allow just International Brigadiers to be exempt, but there was a ruling a while back that lets Acolytes recieve exemption from National Service. Apparently, that's a voluntary clause--not many choose to take it, cause they're generally patriotic. But they're not in a position to complain if an Acolyte opts out of National Service for the religious clause. They wanna avoid lawsuits."

Fred also noted, "You could also cite hardship for an exemption. I imagine your rank makes you pretty important over there, and your people need all the people they can get considering who they're opposed to the GE. You'd be doing them a disservice by getting drafted into our Revolutionary Armed Forces."

"Hmm. OK, then, I suppose that answers my concerns," Keith answered, "but I still have a lot to learn in very short time. Can you guys think of anything more I really should know for the exam, before I shove my nose in these study guides? Somehow I would think that there is more material on those exams than can be condensed into an hour-long chat with the neighbors."

A chorus of shouts emerged.

"The army!"

"The legislature and the way it works."

"Dornalian History--always a biggie!"

"How the Comrade Premier gets elected!"

"What does a Workers Committee do?"

"Who's General Shimura?"

And so on...

Keith grinned at the eagerness of the neighborhood kids. "Hey, kids, one at a time! Everyone sit in a circle..." he grabbed one of the kunai off of his utility belt, wishing to inject a bit of order into the discussion, but not so much as to stifle the kids... "the person with the kunai goes. Explain it in a bit of detail, please. When you are done, hand the kunai to the kid on your left, so he can go, and so on. That sound fair?"

Keith then handed the kunai to the kid sitting directly in front of him.

The kids sat in a circle, awed by their new guest. Admiring his shiny new uniform, and his shiny new weapon, the kid that picked up the kunai said, "Yes!" Pumping his fist in joy, he said, "Uncle Keith, we gotta learn about the People's Congress and basic government stuff. Why dontcha do the same?"

Passing it off, the next kid said, "Do they make you learn Dornalian History? Cause that's totally boring. But mommy says I gotta learn it, so I do. So I think you should do, because its fair."

Passing it off, the kids all in all repeated their same ideas, but in a rational manner.

It only took a couple of minutes for Keith to realize the kids did not quite have the same ideas that he did. "I thought you had already learned about Dornalian civics in school? I meant to do the same, though this is not really a formal 'class.' So why do you not teach me what you know? It would save me quite a bit of time, I am sure, and I would very much appreciate that. Mind if we start over?"

"Well, Uncle Keith....we gots to learn about the Comrade Premier. He's elected every six years, and he can do lots of stuff. He's gotta be 25, a citizen and they say he's gotta be a good guy, otherwise he can't be Comrade Premier. If the Comrade Premier does bad, then the People's Congress can kick him out. He's also the head of the nation. He makes sure the laws get done. He's got 'ex-exec-exuecumative privelege.' He's got the ability to issue laws--I think Ms. Tedesco called them "exe--whatty Orders.' They're like laws, but the Congress has to approve them when they next meet. He can veto laws the Congress makes."

"Damn, you sound like a dummy." Another kid said, "We got the People's Congress. It can make laws, but the Comrade Premier can veto them. It can go over his veto though. They're big people in terms of lawmaking, though teach says the Comrade Premier's big too. They can also declare a State of Emergency, with the Comrade Premier's okay."

"There's the courts too. The biggest one is the Workers' Supreme Tribunal. It gets to see if laws are constitutional or not. But I know some courts too. Like the one my momma works at which tries cases."

The others nodded. Fred said smiling, "How's that for a basic civics lesson?"

Fortunately, it was not all that difficult for Keith to tell what the kids meant when they stumbled on big words, like 'executive privilege.' While he could have simply looked this kind of stuff up, he figured that making kids use their brains while he had the chance was probably a good idea, and that they could effectively teach themselves. A school principal was even sitting there to correct any mistakes of fact.

However, Keith figured the test would probably be longer than ten questions or so, and to that end, he followed up with questions about the kids' statements, like a journalist asking a follow-up question during a celebrity interview. "OK...now be nice to each other..." he gently scolded, "How many People's Congresspersons are there? What margin is needed to override the Comrade Premier's veto? What happens in a State of Emergency? And how many justices serve on the Workers' Supreme Tribunal? Answer the questions one at a time, please, kids," he requested with a smile on his face.

"Umm....you gotta get a two-thirds veto, I think, Uncle Keith, to override the veto." Looking at Fred, he asked, "Right, Grandpa Fred?" Fred nodded.

Another kid said, "There's six judges on the Workers' Supreme Tribunal. They get picked by the Comrade Premier, but they gots to be okay with the People's Congress....by how much?"

Fred said, "Two Thirds."

Yet another kid said, "Dad said that in a State of Emergency, the government can do whatever it wants as long as something like a big disaster or a big war happens where we get invaded. He says its for 'good order.'"

Fred then leaned in and said, "Not quite. It means that as long as an emergency occurs that the People's Congress and the Comrade Premier declare needs a State of Emergency, the Comrade Premier can rule by executive fiat. Of course, there's the safety mechanism of the People's Congress, who has to approve those laws and orders made by Fiat once the emergency is done--and the State of Emergency needs their approval as well. So it's not an easy way to sieze control. And he can't alter the Constitution while it's in effect."

Then, one more kid said, "Let's see....we gots New Magnitogorsk, New Wuhan, New so and so.....we gots 42 in the Politburo, and at least a few hundred in the Secretariat."

Fred added, "It does sound kinda lopsided, but its actually not so bad--the Politburo may seem elitist and unusually closed, but the Secretariat, the lower house, is really more mixed--and it has more power too, since it gets to decide on the budget first and it has more people. And both are kinda equal in terms of most other responsibilities."

"Forty-two in the Politburo--one rep per province, I assume?" Keith queried. "Meaning forty-two provinces? And how does something like, say, ratifying a treaty work?"

"The Comrade Premier gets to decide Foreign Policy. He can do what he wants there, though my teachers says that with things like the Unif-fi-ca-shon, he has the People's Congress vote after he signs that."

Fred nodded and said, "Generally, a holdover from the past government is to submit big treaties and things to the People's Congress to vote upon and pass by a 2/3rds majority. However, People's Congress can be and has been bypassed by the Comrade Premier when he really wants to get something done with a foreign power--it's perfectly within his powers."

"Hmm." Keith decided to throw the kids a fastball, a more...complicated question. "I imagine there will be some history questions on the exam too...so tell me, how did New Dornalia come to be?" he asked.

One of the kids said, "Nukes, mister. Some bad men from America and the Soviet Union--two old nations--nuked the world cause they couldn't get along. Nobody knows who started it, but they said was somebody in Norway that set it off though they didn't mean to. Where's Norway?"

Another kid said, "Our book says that in California, there was the king that took over in Los Angeles and made an empire, but then he got corrupt, and mean, and Dornalia was gettin' invaded from all sides, so the people decided to get rid of him. Then the people who replaced him fought, until General Shimura won out and saved Dornalia. They called it New Dornalia afterwards, cause nobody wanted to be associated with the king no more."

"And then," another kid said, "they ruled with an iron fist, though they was better than the old king. But the Communists that took over got corrupt and mean too. Then, people started to complain, and students from colleges got angry. Then, MacIntyre became Comrade Premier, cause the evil Communists thought they could control him. But he was really with the side of the democrats. So, he turned around and began fixing the country, getting rid of the nasty people who wanted to steal and push everybody around and making everything nice again."

Fred laughed. "A little simplified, but it works."

"Simplified, you say?" the would-be citizen smiled at Fred. "The exam might require more detailed knowledge, hmm? Say I need to know where and how General Shimura fought? Would you mind filling in the gaps? The kids might need to know, too."

Fred then indicated simply, "Used a combination of a static and guerilla defense in the areas around the Imperial Valley of California, Sierra Nevada Mountains, and in the San Bernardino County deserts of California as well with artillery, aircraft he could scrounge up, and lots of infantry and cavalry. Horse and vehicular."

"And yes, they're right about the students and the Communist corruption. Seems the Communist Party elites fell prey to the traps most Communist parties have--a desire to cling to power by any means necessary. They became violent, corrupt, and eventually debauched as they became inclined to start abusing their powers. Protests did occur, and eventually a big underground movement of students who wanted change, the Movement for Dornalian Democracy was formed under one Gordon Lew.

It got big enough to start challenging the government and infiltate it. One of the people who infiltrated it was one Robert Ellison MacIntyre. He was a simple History student and veteran of another Tribal War, so the story goes, who became disillusioned with the Party. Whilst working as an obscure apparatchik, someone hit upon the idea of installing him as a dark horse candidate, with the idea that he was naive enough to be maniupulated. Thing is, he was kind of strong in terms of backbone, so when he was elected, he turned out to be one of life's little but fortunate accidents."

Coughing, he then said, "And for the Record, the old king they refer to was King Jack. That poor soul was originally a Comic Book Artist who got a little power mad and began adopting Nazi regalia and all the evil that comes with it. Shame too, he was Asian. Let the city go to waste, so the chronicles say. His son got ejected from power by the revolutionaries, not him. And the fights were between Leninists and Maoists that dueled for control of the nascent Dornalian Republic that was made upon the termination of his government. Shimura was a Leninist."

"And that rocket is true. Some damn fool in Norway--pardon my French--decided to launch a weather rocket some time ago. Problem was, the USSR decided that it was an American nuclear missile, and didn't bother to double check. The result was World War Three."

"Hmm. Well, I think I am at the point where I do not have any more questions," Keith admitted. "At this point, I will probably just have to take the practice exams, and look up the gaps. You probably saved me lots of time, kids, and I really appreciate the help!" He looked at the kids, all five of them, silently bemoaning to himself the fact he only had four kunai on his person at the moment. He got up and looked at the commons area, and the only source of raw material that did not involve ripping up what little available land existed involved the gravel in the alley.

"Well, looks like I will have to be creative in order to be fair, kids," he smiled as he unsheathed all four of his kunai, which floated in the air, very close to each other, almost in formation, away from the kids so as not to frighten them. Slowly, the obsidian started to glow with heat, and as the volcanic glass softened, Keith merged the four arrowheads into one larger blob, and applied more heat and pressure, until the blob that floated in midair grew red-hot.

Precisely one-fifth of the molten material dribbled out, almost as if pouring itself into an invisible mold. Indeed, that was precisely what occurred, as Keith used a variation of Force Walls to create just such an invisible casting mold. Suddenly, the smaller section of red-hot material, which by now had assumed a very distinct kunai shape, flash-froze back into its jet-black volcanic glass form, with enough chill to noticeably drop the surrounding temperature.

Keith quickly took care of any shivering that resulted, and slowly, methodically, and carefully repeated the process four additional times as the kids watched. When at last he was finished, he distributed the newly minted kunai, one to each child, remarking, "I make my own, but I do not see anything to make them from around here...thank you for your help kids!"

The kids cheered, and Fred then looked at his watch. Screaming, "Well, look at the time!" Calling to the kids, he then said, "Let's go, guys. We gotta get you to bed and leave Uncle Keith to himself."

Myrna said, extending her hand to Keith, "Well, it was nice meeting you, young man. I hope to meet you at the soup kitchen sometime." The neighbors then left Keith to his devices.

Perhaps tomorrow he would go back home to claim Samuel and do the paperwork to get him here, but right now he was slightly more concerned with not being a drain on Dornalian Society. Therefore, after the neighbors had all gone inside, he locked the deck door behind him, and walked straight from his deck back to the temple, noting a place called "King's Gyros (http://www.kingsgyros.com/)" that he might have to hit up on the return trip...

Judging from the lights in the Temple, people were still there. And if Keith used his senses well enough, he'd be able to sense Adrian was in one of the meditation rooms, busy deep in contemplative thought, surrounded by incense, and focusing on balancing the complex natures that a good Acolyte had at his or her disposal. After all, no matter what the manual said, light and dark were still light and dark, and it took some regimentation to unite them coherently. Fortunately, Adrian had gotten the gist a long time ago, though he still preferred to meditate to keep himself sane.

Adrian then opened his eyes. He felt a presence nearby. That soldier from earlier. Getting up, he put on his shoes and left the room, walking to greet him into the lobby.

Keith, too, sensed that the temple keeper had been disturbed. Though Adrian certainly was not hostile about it, Keith sensed that he had been dragged out of something. Saluting, he inquired, "Did I interrupt something, sir?" using generic military methods of addressing a superior officer. "My neighbors informed me that I owe the organization some funding, union dues, so to speak."

Adrian saluted back and said, "At ease, Colonel." Formalities done, he reminded Colonel Allaire, "And no, I wasn't interrupted; for the record, I am always on call for emergencies. Follow me."

Leading the man inside, Adrian explained, "Simply put, there are union dues that must be paid, so to speak. We get a ton of government funding, but our independence in terms of action and behavior dictates we also have to seek other sources of revenue in case said funding is cut by say, superstitious folk in Congress. We ask for a 5-10% tithe of total incomes, or a fixed payment of fifty dollars a month. Whichever you prefer, we'll take it. I'm not picky here, and I'm not in desperate need of money, though we're not a big institution."

"Eh. Guess I will tithe my pay from the Woodian Army then. I do not wish to subject current assets to that tithe, because that would effectively be taking from the Colonials to give to the Acolytes. But I suppose my pay as a Colonel would be fair game. We get paid monthly."

To that end, Keith forked over five hundred credits, somewhere between five and ten percent of his base pay, that just happened to be conveniently ensconced in a single denomination of currency.* "Other than this little housekeeping chore, the only other thing I would have to ask is if you have any idea how long it would take for Immigration to process my citizenship app? Studying for that exam has taken something of a priority over reading those tomes on Force-electricity the past few hours. Oh, and if there is a spare phone book floating around anywhere, I need to swipe it for a few days."

*OOC: If you do not recognize New Dornalian currency as having a 500 credit denomination for cash, assume the bill is Woodian.

Adrian took the bill, and then pulled out his PDA. Scribbling a note into the PDA, a sheet printed out of it, whereupon Adrian handed over what was effectively a reciept for the transaction. "Alrighty, there's your reciept--something to ensure this stays on the level. As for the phone book, we have a spare; take it for as long as you need. New one's due anyway. As for your situation, shouldn't take too long. Immigration's proven good at handling stuff given the mass bureaucracy of New Dornalia, so I'd say about a couple of days, a week at most. They know foreigners of all sorts who wanna come here can't and shouldn't have to wait."

"Thank you," Keith replied, taking the receipt. "I will see you when I am able to get through that reading material you gave me, or shortly before I teach that class next week, whichever comes first."

With the business end of things out of the way, Colonel Allaire decided that it was time for a bit of a workout, given how otherwise occupied he had been lately. To that end, he paid a visit to the temple's gymnasium, pleased to see a few treadmills for warm-up activities, cardio, and whatnot, though he personally found lightsaber combat a far more fulfilling, not to mention efficient, method of achieving the same end. "Anyone up for some lightsaber sparring?" he asked those few in the room, as he set his polearm up against the wall, his intent to just get in a little bit of a warm-up flowing through the Force such that anyone who took him up on the challenge would not have to worry too much about missing limbs after the 'duel...'

Of the people working out in the room, only one really decided to challenge him. A guy working the punching bag decided to meet Keith's question with his own answer, and put his gloves back on the wall. Entering the locker room, he reemerged in his uniform, with his own lightsaber--one of the many carbon-copy units manufactured by the Master Smiths of Mars--and a wooden sword.

Walking up to Keith, the man, who resembled an ordinary jocky sort, said simply, "I am." Holding up his blades, he said, "Live or with wood?"

"Live. You wanna do it here or on the floor mats?" Keith asked, drawing the lightsaber he had captured from those called Sith Wraiths during the Woodian civil war. Unfortunately, he knew, Dornies had this preoccupation for the color red, and the green-bladed lightsaber that he had built for himself would look distinctly out of place here. "Wooden swords are too easy to break."

With that, the newly minted Sensei pulled out his lightsaber, holding it in a neutral position but neglecting to ignite it for some odd reason. "Your move..."

The man replied, "Floor mats." Taking the match to the mats, he then pulled out his lightsaber and ignited it, its Crimson Red blazing as he assumed his own stance. Also a neutral stance, he then raised his sword above his head,, carefully yet instinctively lifting it up, before making a step forward towards Keith, keeping his body tucked in and bringing it down rapidly, screaming, "KYAAH!"

If Keith had read the Manual well enough, what the man was doing to attempt to attack his head was a standard issue trick of the Acolytes--their lightsaber fighting forms were inspired not by using the usual Forms, but by Earth based types, mostly grounded in Asian/European sword arts and an MMA sensibility. In this case--toyama-ryu, and the cut known as "Jodan (http://www.toyama-ryu.com//toyama_ryu_jodan.htm)."

Keith almost lazily waited for the man to charge him, for the moment to duck and/or get the fuck out of the way. As the man's lightsaber fell, Keith ducked low into a sidestep, and he did not even bother to try to block it. Instead, he quickly swiped his lightsaber at the edge of the man's right leg, before stepping back enough to make his point. The man struck high, Keith low...but there was something else.

"Hey, you always give your adversary a four-second warning of what you are about to do?" With that blunt question, the point of Keith's low swipe became obvious--had this been a real fight, that kind of warning of a high strike could have easily led to getting a leg chopped off.

The man then frowned; this guy was obviously not a newbie and he knew what the hell he was talking about. Thusly, he decided to start abandoning the formal exercises and start getting to business.

The man then lept to the side and charged at Keith wildly to close distance. Holding his saber up, he began to use fencing-inspired moves, poking and prodding at Keith to figure out just what this guy was about.

Keith had much the same idea, as he settled into a more defensive stance, keeping his saber close to himself so as to be able to react quickly to this guy's pokes and prods. Like his adversary, Keith was figuring out what this guy was all about. If he would've kept his mouth shut, the duel would have been much easier...too easy.

As it was, the Colonel with Acolyte identifier patches on his uniform quickly and efficiently dodged or deflected all of the random man's strikes, waiting for those mistakes which would allow him to break him, to provide him with that scary moment when lightsaber stops just a couple millimeters short of neck. Though Keith was taking the defensive position of Soresu for now, he did notice that his heartrate and various other indicators of 'warming up' the body drifting up, and he did enjoy this method of pre-workout stretching far more than boring-as-hell treadmills. As such, it was in his best interests to stay defensive for a short while, to wait for the wide-open mistake, to refrain from showing his hand until he felt he had had enough warm-up activity. Apparently this guy hadn't bothered to read the 'Allaire' name stitched on the uniform.

And he didn't. Or if he did, it wouldn't be that noticable. The man then, having poked and prodded Keith into a defensive corner, read him as a man waiting for him to make a mistake. Careful, paitent, and sly. Well, The Man had a few moves as well.

After a bit, he then suddenly, when it looked like he was about to do another poke, veered in a different direction, lunging towards Keith's chest with the saber.

Well, there was a reason why Keith kept his cards close to his chest, so to speak. If the guy didn't know who he was, Keith may as well lull him into complacency a bit. However, not even Keith could turn away a full bodyweight lunge with a mere flick of the wrist--a more aggressive counterattack was required.

Keith stepped back as he raised his lightsaber, quickly switching to a two-handed grip for more leverage. Holding it at a ten degree angle to the lunge, he brought his lightsaber down upon the opposing thrust as ferociously as he could, stepping slightly to the left as the lightsabers clashed together. He paid careful heed to how much his opponent's wrists gave from the no-doubt-unexpected intensity of the counterstroke.

He did not wait for follow-up, either. At the instant the Man's lightsaber went down as far as it would go, Keith's crimson blade shot straight up his opponents, for Keith would not suffer a lightsaber-lock fight. He had other ideas. As his blade rode up his opponent's like a bullet train on its tracks, Keith lifted it up slightly--just a centimeter or so. He did not intend to cut off the guy's fingers. He only wanted the guy to feel the singe and pain of the very edge of the lightsaber blade--and he had the precision skills to pull it off, unless his opponent was insane and raised his hands into the strike. Likewise, the blade abruptly stopped right before it could follow through to the Man's upper body...

"Yow!"

The Man could be heard muttering that quietly, and winced a little as the heat singed his fingers and Keith stopped the saber with deadly precision. Stepping back, the Man then rolled to Keith's left, and then moved in somewhat close with his lightsaber held vertically close to him ready to spring into action at any moment, to provide some measure of defense against blows.

It was at this moment he saw the markings denoting the name, "Allaire." He then sighed, thinking to himself, "Great. Just great. I've gotten into a duel with a fucking Master....now I gotta bring my A-game." He then whipped his saber with his left hand, snapping it rapidly out of the defensive guard and swinging it at Keith's upper arm.

Immediately, the Man stepped back, and then saluted Keith with a twirl of his lightsaber and an "order arms" salute with said saber, holding it vertical in front of his chest. Then, shutting it off, he holstered it and simply declared, "Good show, Mr. Allaire."

"Thank you. Definitely beats the treadmill." Colonel Allaire quickly returned the salute, before grabbing the spear he had set aside earlier and quickly sheathing it on his back. For ballast.

He noticed the pull-up bar, and quickly jumped, grabbing hold of the bar with both hands, and doing exactly what that bar was there for. He didn't want to rest too long before exercises, or the point of the workout would dilute somewhat. However, realizing that this might come across as antisocial, he held his position, shoulders at bar level, for a few seconds as he craned his neck over. "So I noticed you figured out who I was in the middle of the spar. May I ask who you might be?"

He slowly lowered his body to do another repetition.

The Man then got back to exercise, doing some crunches to keep himself sharp. As he heard Keith speak, he simply replied, "Comrade 1st Class Steven Eberhard, sir. Focus is on the basics of National School swordfightin'--though I tend to do more fencing with some Asian stuff for variety, sir. Ex-military, in the People's Militia with a Sergeant's commission--though you might say that about all the boys here, they're all in PM right now. None of us took our Offered Exemptions, no siree, sir, and I dare you to find me one that has. Well, there was that one boy once, but he was kinda weedy."

Keith did a few more pull-ups while Steven responded, sensing that this guy took his military service quite seriously. As well he should. However, even comic-book heroes, as his neighbors had called him earlier, ran into the limitations of a finite day. Once again, he pulled himself into the up position before holding it to ask his question. "Nice. Quick question though. You think there are enough hours in the day to serve in two militaries concurrently and fulfill duties as an Acolyte?" Keith wanted to gauge how his comrades would look upon him if he pointed to his responsibilities to Evil Woody Thoughts as a reason for taking that Offered Exemption. He found it difficult enough being in two places at once as a Jedi and Colonel, much less three.

Steven and the others looked around, and shrugged. They only said, "Not really. Why?"

Keith shrugged off the why bit of the response, as he continued his own exercises. "Just wondering if anyone thought it possible to be in three places at once."

The others shrugged; they knew he had something more to that, but it wasn't forthcoming at the moment. At that, they simply decided to go back to doing what they were doing before. They knew they were among a hero, but it was something about Colonel Allaire that made them want to give him space.

It did not take long for Colonel Allaire to figure out that the others were a bit...intimidated by his presence, not really intimidated by actual threat but perceived status. The good side of this: he could do his exercises without constant poking. The downside: the Acolytes who currently shared the gym with him would have to get over it eventually.

Therefore, Colonel Allaire continued overutilizing the pull-up bar, until he reached a point where he could only get his mouth over the bar, until his core reached muscle failure. Perhaps his eventual fallibility would prove somewhat reassuring to the others. Then again, perhaps not. He had not even bothered to count how many repetitions he had done. Still, when he could pull himself up no further, all that was left for him was to let go and jump down.

The fact that the Colonel visibly suffered muscle failure caused everyone to wrench in horror a little bit, and several people rushed up to Keith. His ploy had worked, and it seemed people were wondering why he overexerterted himself like this. One man even said to Keith out loud, "Jesus. You've got muscles, but you've gotta treat 'em right. Don't do that to 'em."

"Eh. Normally I do not treat 'em quite that hard, but I do not need the whole gym to myself either, ya know?" Keith replied, as he found a diagonal-sled leg press machine. He unsheathed his polearm again, to set it against the wall, and removed its saya from his uniform, before loading up the machine with about one short-ton of resistance. Using the Force to serve the function of spotter, he sat on the machine and started his repetitions, quite comfortable with it, despite the lack of rest between exercises, because this particular one had very little involvement with the muscles he had just pushed to maximum capacity.

In the interest of preventing head explosions, he did stop to rest for a few seconds after the first set of ten, but only for a few seconds before he resumed. He was not one to allow himself too much rest between sets, either--to do so was to sabotage part of the benefit of strength training.

The crowd watching before shrugged, and left Keith to his devices. Hours of gym time and exercises had taught them that Keith could do what he just did--hell, he may have showed off with the pullup bar but the legs were still good to go, and the weights were within reasonable limits. However, to some, it still seemed like he was showing off just a little, and Keith could probably get that much out of the lot that stayed to watch. It was obvious though, that they got the point. Keith was approachable, and had something in common.

The room was dead quiet, save for some nervous chatter among the other guys and girls in the gym. Eventually, they began wondering who should tell Keith that they did get the point. Eventually, tired of the endless awkward silence, one man eventually broke the silence, saying, "Dude. We get it, you're not Superman and you know the ins and outs of cardiovascular strength training."

At which point the object of such uneasiness became horribly amused. He could not help but break out laughing, and momentarily forgot about the canteen of water mounted on his utility belt that he probably should have been drinking. "You fuckin' kidding me? Did you expect me to come in here and bend the press bench over there? I am not a fuckin' comic strip, Force forbid that I should ever become one!" By now, the Colonel laughed so hard he started coughing. "Excuse me..." *snigger* A few seconds later he finally managed to calm down enough for that much-needed water...and the laughter having worn out a bit, he added, "Anyone up for some food?"

The others looked around, and then shrugged. This Colonel Allaire was something else, alright. Modest to a fault, yet a man of considerable strength and skill with a saber. He was certainly a helluva guy, and judging by the fancy patch on him, the most unconventional Sensei to step in here. Steven spoke, simply saying, "Sure, Sensei. Figured we'd worked up enough sweat around these parts anyway scratchin' our heads."

"Yeah, why were you scratchin' your heads again?" the newly minted Sensei asked, as he remounted his polearm on his back, as a general act of picking up his belongings before leaving. "Anywho, let us go. I need food, and enough with the damn ration bars. Would the rest of you mind introducing yourselves, given that I just waltzed in and used your gym without having a clue who you were?" Keith motioned for those interested in a late dinner to follow him out of the Temple.

Steven then motioned to the rest of the people in the gym, saying thus:

"Okay, guys. Let's greet the new Sensei....line up!"

From left to right, it was a chance to really see who or what they were. It was a motley crew. A shortish nerdy man, a woman who looked unusually tall, a couple of Mexicans, and some Acolytes who resembled Steven, in terms of being muscular and athletic in build.

"The nerd's Kevin Mitchum, Comrade Third Class. Woman's Louisa Iannuncio, Comrade First Class. Then there's the Rivera Brothers, Comrade Second Class Jose and Comrade Third Walter--he's the younger. The rest are Rich, Bradley, Chris and Mike, all Comrade Third, Second, First, and Second, respectively."

"Still failed to answer the question about why you were scratchin' yer heads," Keith gently prodded them as he led them to a point more or less across the street from King's Gyros. "You all know how to teleport? The traffic signals at this intersection look like a fuckin' mess." Indeed, it was one of the crazier intersections that Keith had ever seen; though technically it was only a four-way intersection, the turn lanes (or lack thereof), combined with nightfall, were crazy enough to make pedestrian signals unreliable at best. Compounding the problem was the fact that they stood in what amounted to a traffic triangle with room enough for only a tiny park, thanks to two other such intersections within a city block.

The response was swift. Iannuncio and Mitchum promptly teleported to King's Gyros, waving to show they had successfully made it to the other side. The others, however, did not have teleportation, Steven saying explicitly, "Not really. Those two were the ones that could teleport. We do know superspeed, however--and the Riveras are really good at that."

The Riveras then said to the others, "We can give piggyback rides over to the other side, Sensei. Wait until there's no autos, then BAM! over there in a flash."

"Hmm...ok. I could teleport two of you over there as well. You two." Keith gestured towards Chris and Mike, for one to take his left hand and the other his right, for this kind of piggybacking required physical contact. "I might have to teach this after my immigration shit gets settled down," he muttered to himself.

OOC: This next part done with permission from EWT.

IC:

With that, Chris and Mike gathered aroung their new teacher, and were promptly teleported along with Keith to the other side. As this occurred, the rest of the gang got onto the backs of the Rivera Brothers. As they complained of their riders' obesity in humorous if angered barbs, the brothers zoomed out into the street. Using superspeed, they ducked and manuevered around incoming cars, manholes and other such obstacles before landing on the other side.

All without breaking a sweat.

"Oh, yes, I can tell, you look forward to the day when they learn how to teleport themselves," Keith looked at the Riviera brothers, before turning his attention to the menu (http://www.kingsgyros.com/pdf/KINGSMENU-web.pdf). Damn he was hungry, and as he skimmed the menu, he squinted, something in disbelief. It seemed like this place had just a little bit of everything, not just Greek food items, and he had just a little trouble deciding. After discreetly eyeing various patrons' platters, he finally made up his mind, and revealed just a little bit of his tastes to the group. Wanting to try the real thing, he asked the proprietor for a steak kabob plate, substituting a Greek salad for those fried poison things known as fries...

The others began looking at the menu, evidently knowing what to do here. After all, this was their neighborhood. The lot promptly bought Polish Sausages and gyros; meanwhile, Steven bought an Italian Beef sandwich. And they kept the fries and sodas. Pigging out, they proclaimed the place, "Fuckin' good."

As they reveled in their decidedly less healthy treats, the Rivera Brothers looked at Keith's salad. They then developed puzzled looks, and one of them, Walter, said skeptically of the salad, "Sensei, you don't go here for the salads. You go here to enjoy yourself a little." Munching on his fries and smiling, he then said, "Besides, you're missing out. These fries are damn good!"

"Actually, I came here for the kabobs," the Sensei replied, "and I might like the fries, but they might not like me. Besides, that would be what dressing is for," Keith replied, as he emptied the salad dressing packet just a bit more. "I will admit to being a health nut. I came here to eat a little, not to enjoy myself a little. Besides, you are right, these kabobs are damn good!" He did not mind pigging out a little himself, but given he did not want to feel like what he was eating later, he figured it may as well be at least somewhat good for him.

He didn't particularly want to discuss that junk food immediately after a workout would probably lead to stomach cramps and other not-so-pleasantries. But to assauge the trolls a little, he added, "Maybe I will try them on a rest day."

The Riveras nodded and smiled, mollified at Keith's declaration. They knew deep down that he was BSing them somewhat, but then again they didn't want to ruin the man's dinner. After all, it was generally Dornalian custom not to mess with people when eating.

As they ate, the conversation turned to Keith and his new role. Comrade Iannuccio asked, "So, Colonel....how long will you be with us? We're not that big of a temple, not like Los Angeles, Mars, or Nova Louisiana."

"I dunno. Orders were pretty indefinite. I will be in-and-out a bit; when Immigration finishes its bureaucracy with me, I intend to visit the Colonies to set stuff up and whatnot. And I will probably end up making frequent trips to Evil Woody Thoughts as required by military duties there."

A couple more bites of yumminess, then he added in a whisper, "Oh, I was hoping that I could avoid fanclub mobs here..."

The others were nodding, until they heard the fangirls part. "Oh those bitches" was the general consensus upon hearing that, and sighed, groaned, and shook their heads.

Iannuccio said, shaking her head, "I know what you mean. My sister is one of those. If I hear one more word about how cute Daniel Masaki is, I'll smack her in the face. I love justice as much as anyone, and I hate the Imperials...but really now. That's a bit far to wave a gun in public like that."

The Rivera Brothers nodded. "Hell, even the local gangbangers is scared of them."

"They are here in Chicago?" Keith quietly muttered, as he facepalmed. "Fuck. I was hoping they would congregate among the more well-known areas. Like LA and Mars. Do I need to transfer to the Falkland Islands or similarly unknown and unpopulated destination to get away from them?"

Walter shrugged. Everyone here has heard of the Beverly Center Shootout, but its obvious one of its participants doesn't really want to go through that again.

Rich replied, "No worries, Sensei. The cops around here keep the Ouendan under watch, ever since they got into a battle with a group of MS-13 a long time ago, so they tend to avoid the city. Besides, the biggest concentrations are downstate. I'll tell you where they are mostly--they're really big in St. Louis and Memphis. Seems the East Coast Ouendan music movement's outpost down there is more of a draw than Chicago is."

"Oh, good," Keith muttered, lifting his face from the palm of his hand. After enjoying another bite of his food, he added, "Guess I will have to avoid that area. A damn shame, too, because I wanted to visit the New Madrid Fault line. Oh well...bastards."

Iannuccio at that nodded, and said, "Shame. They got some good food down there in that zone...." Nibbling on her Polish Sausage, she remarked, "Believe me, this place is awesome, but they have barbecue joints down there that'll make you think you've died and gone to Heaven. Or in your case, become one with the Force. They're that good."

The rest nodded, Walter chiming in with, "Yeah. Shame it had to be that way though. They still gots that vendetta against you? I thought that was some Cali shit."

"I honestly do not know if they still have that vendetta against me, but I do not care to find out," Keith scowled. "Indeed, I would be quite happy if I never saw a tommy-gun-toting fangirl again in my life. You know WHY I carry around this 35-kilo deadweight? I use it as a lightsaber to deflect kinetic bullets--that is why--a regular lightsaber will just slag them as they pass through. Meaning instead of a bullet through your chest, you get a molten bullet through your chest."

The students next to him nodded, and took that down for mental consideration. Their styles of unarmed combat usually used fists or lightsabers or energized blades like the Litham--the lightningblade that could shoot thunderbolts with a flick of the wrist. The idea of using an actual katana or bladed weapon was relatively novel; there were records of some using blades but these were vastly overwhelmed by the conventional sorts.

"Yeah," Steven replied. "Never thought about using a regular blade before. We kinda thought they were for kung fu movies and mall sword shops."

"Probably because lightsabers will cut through most metal blades, with the exception of a few materials." At this point, Keith ate the last few bites of his 'Health Food.' But in Somalia, I needed a way to deal with lead, not lightsabers. So I crafted a polearm, and later had it coated in phrik so it could stand up to blasters and lightsabers."

The others nodded, and took in what Keith said. Indeed, the nerdy one could be seen writing the advice down on a small notepad.

Then, Steven asked, "So, when does Immigration call back? I know a guy who could help, if you need it." He didn't know Keith had talked to Comrade Premier Robert MacIntyre himself, so his response was delivered with a sort of irony.

"I am told, to expect the exam in about a week," Keith replied. "If you are wondering about me pulling Political Machine Connections...I would not be surprised to find out that I already have." Even if MacIntyre wasn't specifically on Keith's mind, he was well aware of the propensity of Celebrity Cultism to expedite bureaucratic procedures at times...

The others laughed a little bit, noting Keith's worry and cynicism. Steven replied, "Nah, I just meant I knew a lawyer, is all." The others nodded; to them, Keith's ideas were somewhat stringent as to what construed a Political Machine.

One did ask, "How'd you get the Sensei rank, anyway?"

Keith laughed. "I swear, it was either a Political Machine or Celebrity Cultism. I told the Grand Sensei that she needed to had her head examined when I looked at my Acolyte identification card for the first time. Granted, I had dueled her a few moments before...but maybe the head wounds from exploding kunai clouded her judgement. I dunno. Honestly, I think Celebrity Cultism accounted for at least one notch of my pay grade..." Keith shook his head.

The others shrugged. There was that humility again. The man didn't know--or did, God forbid--that he was top quality material. These kids had done some excellent fighting before in regional matches and such, and by the looks of the scars on some of them it was obvious they had been around the ring a few times. But to them, they were in the presence of a man worth learning from--warts and all. Iannuccio did chuckle a little, noting, "People rarely talk about the Grand that way--unless they're Shinmei from Joliet. Then again, they think their Russian is God on Earth."

The others nodded, Walter griping, "Yeah. That Sensei of theirs Batov and the Grand--don't get along too well, I hear. Apparently, they see her as little more than a politician that just happened to get Force powers. Ignorant fools--didn't they know we laid the foundaitions for their crazy cult?"

"Eh. I did not mean it quite that way. I know she pulled strings to expedite my processing on account of Celebrity Cultism, at the very least. Her words were designed to flatter, not to vet. And, to be frank, she waived a substantial portion of the typical combat examination. I have reason to concur with the assessment of Junko as Politician, though that reason has nothing to do with the Shinmei."

Keith did not directly mention that Junko had insisted on dueling him herself, but with the reference to head wounds from exploding kunai clouding her judgement, a particularly prescient Acolyte might have started asking that question. Even if no one made that connection, however, Keith made no attempt to hide from his body language his feelings that Junko did indeed play quite the stereotypical, favor-booking politician...and such feelings had nothing to do with any philisophical disagreement with the Shinmei, either.

The rest were floored. Now Keith had hit a nerve. They didn't treat the Grand as a goddess, but they certanly treated her as somebody worth not criticizing. They were alternatively shocked and defensive now.

Walter then spoke, saying, "Hey now. Guy like you, military record, extensive skill, Powers, et cetera--they do that for everybody. Ain't nothin' doin' with favoritism, though I wouldn't be surprised if a few ladies tried to come onto ya. The celebrity thing may have entered--but fuck man, you really gotta work on valuing your own skills more. You got some sort of inferiority complex?"

Keith stopped for a moment, to let it sink in. "Now you could make the argument that I am a little less bloodthirsty and arrogant than Skywalker. But consider that I still gotta learn my way around the Acolytes, as well. Sensei Third probably would have been a little less blatant on the Celebrity Cultism, given my abilities. Sensei Second recognizes my abilities, all right. It also puts me on the same level as Adrian O'Shaughnessy, a man with decades more experience than I, and a man who can definitely teach me shit."

The others looked about, and nodded. They didn't feel like saying much more than that. There was truth in his words, even if it seemed somewhat awkward to sink in. It wasn't like Junko had meant to embarass him with a commission that acknowledged his skill and made him too much. The Grand had a way of being nice to people. It was part of her Girl Next Door act--the friendly neighbor who just happened to be a masterful Force user with a good head on her shoulders and a cute figure that didn't hurt the eyes.

Walter merely said, "Yeah, but by that logic, you could tell him shit too. O'Shaughnessy doesn't do temperatrues well."

Keith, sensing that he had probably put most of the concern over his alleged "inferiority complex" to rest, and conveyed how he felt about Junko in a manner to be seen as something other than a personal insult, grinned at Walter. "I suppose so. I am sure he will get around to asking. Then again, I have met a kid, once, who can do temperatures."

"Right." Then, looking at his watch, he said, "Jeez. I gotta go." The others nodded, and began leaving the restaurant, all having things to do...

Keith's shuttle would be, as usual, lit up on the scanners based on that grand old Space Station in orbit above Earth, Che Guevara Station. One of ND's first space stations, it had long since been expanded and transformed into something grander than a simple Mir copy, which it once was.

Additionally, as Keith's ship flew over Chicago-O'Hare, the Tower began sqwaking some rather basic instructions. It was fortunate that Keith's ship had come to Chicago before, for that made things just a little easier.

"Attention, Woodian ship. This is Air Traffic Control. Assume holding pattern over Chicago-O'Hare. We're getting a lot of traffic, so you're gonna have to wait a bit."

"Aff." Dornie traffic controllers didn't get a lot of Woodian military traffic, but they had to deal with enough leaving and arriving at Eheayana that they'd at least be familiar with Woodian accents and peculiarities of speech. "Will hold at flight-level three-five-zero." Colonel Allaire knew there would not be as much traffic at cruise altitude for transcontinental traffic, for most anything flying across the continent nonstop would be routed around the city to free up airspace.

"Look at that (http://kerrypenalver.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/chicago-at-night-from-35000ft.jpg)," Keith pointed in the general direction of where the new home was, but more like the intersection of Milwaukee Avenue and the Kennedy Expressway because their diagonal slants were easier to pick out from this altitude, and it was close enough. "Spread out, is it not? And no, it is not the LA Horror Story of wasteland. At least not from what I've seen it."

Sam nodded, not knowing what to say. He had never seen a city spread out before him like this.

Sure enough, the Air Controller understood his lingo, and after rerouting traffic, replied, "Woodian craft, this is Chicago-O'Hare. You are cleared for landing on Runway 22R. Welcome to Chi-town."

Chicago-O'Hare's Customs Area was simple enough to navigate through. Like the one in Los Angeles, it was simple, nasty and crewed by bureaucrats both pleasant and surly. Fortunately, Samuel and Keith had stumbled on one that was in a good mood. He looked at the pair and said, "Can I see your IDs and documents please?"

Samnuel looked around nervously. "Hey, get out your military ID," Keith reminded the boy. As the boy dug around his pockets, Keith produced his own documents, saying, "I am in the middle of moving here. He is my adopted son. I am still trying to figure out how this bureaucracy shit works..."

Finally, the boy found his own ID and slid it across the table.

Scanning the ID and checking it over, he then nodded and handed the ID back to Sam. The Bureaucrat then scanned Keith's documents, and they were legit enough. Thus, the man stamped them and said, "Welcome to the Workers State. Enjoy."

"Damn, guess I need to get furniture, too." Keith whipped out his datapad, connected to the Holonet, and searched for the local school. He found that Samuel, if he resided here, would be districted into Beaubien Elementary School (http://www.beaubienschool.com/), so he quickly called them...

A receptionist replied, "Beaubien Elementary School, Main Office speaking?" The receptionist seemed pleasant enough, and the background noise indicated a high level of activity for this early in the morning. It was obvious school was just getting started--at least the staff and faculty were cleaning up and getting into character.

"Hello. I just got transferred to Chicago, and I have a son that I need to register for public schools," Keith informed the receptionist. "Samuel Allaire just moved here."

"Alrighty, then. Bring Samuel in, and any and all transcripts, documentation, et cetera for enrollment purposes. We open at eight in the morning. Come first thing, and we'll set you up. Anything else?"

"Couple blocks. Lucky for you." Keith led Samuel to Laramie Avenue, just a block east of the apartment building, and teleported the kid across the street, walking him south another couple of blocks to the school. The two of them walked in the door, then quickly found the administrative office.

"Hello. I think you are the one I talked to earlier, regarding the registration of one Samuel Allaire," Keith greeted the secretary. "John, give her your ID. Unfortunately, I only have the educational records in electronic format, and it is a military education." Keith handed over the datapad with such information on its display.

The secretary looked at Keith, and then looked at the paperwork--print and electronic--in front of her. Nodding without saying a word, she immediately began processing it, saying, "Mr. Allaire, we can take him in, since its obvious he's a permanent resident here for now. Though it would help for him to be made a citizen, just so you can smooth things over." As she spoke, she began realizing that this was the man from the news--Colonel Keith Allaire. Smiling to herself, she realized she was in the presence of a major news personality. Quietly, the Secretary decided to immortalize the moment. Pulling out a small cameraphone, she feigned dropping it and dived for it, to snap a picture of him.

"I did see that," Keith informed the secretary as the camera flashed. He did, after all, realize that he would be found out eventually, as he wore his military uniform, which identified him by last name and insignia, pretty much everywhere. "Of course, if I am stupid enough to wear my military uniform, I have no right to complain when people recognize me. I am surprised, in fact, it took some of the Acolytes around here so damn long last night..."

Samuel, somewhat impatiently, poked him.

"Oh. Yeah. Give me the paperwork." Then he remembered New Dornalia's strict self-defense laws, and handed his red lightsaber, the one he had captured rather than built, to Samuel. "Use this for any defense requirements until I can dig up your lightsaber in the crates. Do not lose it, for it is the lifeblood of a Force user forced into combat," Keith told the boy, effectively invoking the Concordance of Fealty (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Concordance_of_Fealty), with secretary strangely watching. Keith honestly had no clue whether or not the Acolytes used such conveyances or not, nor did he care. He did not know if the Dornalian self-defense laws applied to eight-year-olds at school either.

If Dornalians did not want their kids running around school with weapons, the secretary would soon correct him. If she had the gumption. His neighbors had pretty much told him everyone had to be armed, at all times. If his interpretation of the law turned out to be correct...well, he might have been right about that gun fetish after all.

The Secretary then lit up in a panic and quickly lept to her feet. It seemed that, despite the Concordance of Fealty, Keith and Sam had to face another rule--a holdover from the Old USA. Celebrity be damned, Keith would find a woman who knew the rules and enforced them--possibly comforting, but possibly another hassle.

"Sir, your son cannot bring weapons into this school! National law and Illinois law forbids it. Only authorized drill equipment used in physical education classes is permitted, and must be peacebonded--that is tagged with an orange marker it's safe--at the office."

She then shook her head and said, "So unless you have a religious or cultural exemption, I am afraid you will have to leave that here or face the consequences. If you have such an exemption, I will give you a proper form. But this is not a barracks or a war zone--this is a school!"

"Oh. Umm...Samuel...nevermind I guess."

The boy sheepishly handed the 'borrowed' lightsaber back to his parental unit, not saying a word. His face, however, turned beet red.

Keith did not particularly find the moment comforting, nor did he find it a hassle. "Neighbors told me about Dornalian Responsibility to Bear Arms Laws," Colonel Allaire replied. "To hear Dornalians speak of it, I thought every soul in the nation is required to arm themselves. They never mentioned an exception for schoolchildren. I would have thought such exception would be common sense, but I did not want him deported for violation of civic responsibilities, either."

Now it was the celebrity's turn to look sheepish. "I am new here, ya know."

The Secretary nodded; she figured it was a newbie mistake. With the didactic tone of a schoolmarm, she declared: "Well good heavens, Colonel. It is common sense. And that's why we do it. Forbidding children from bringing guns and weapons to school ensures a safe learning environment. Children can own guns--youth rifles and such, and martial arts weapons--but we require that they be trained extensively in their safe use. Such is the case when we hold pugil stick drills, when we do rifle drills, when we do runs--we always make sure children are safe, and learn how to use these tools of destruction safely and with responsible minds. Which leads me back to the laws. That is the rationale for why we do such things!"

The Principal then walked out of his office and said, "Myrna, is there a problem?"

The Secretary then winced and said, "No, Mr. Tudeski," returning to her business of putting Sam in the records.

"Good. I don't like people rambling in the morning. Creeps me out." The Principal then looks at Sam and Keith, and asks, "So, sir. Enrolling a child in school, I see?"

"Oh, I assure you, Samuel is trained," Keith sought to calm the secretary down before she blew a gasket. "However, as I am here on a transfer, and my first experience in this country involved fangirls...please forgive me for my overly-gun-totin' interpretation of your laws."

Relieved to see someone with some supervisory capacity walking in, Keith eyed Mr. Tudeski. "Yes. I wish to register one Samuel Allaire. And do whatever citizenship bureaucracy is required. Preferably with a minimum of lawyering over arms control laws."

Myrna then hit a button and said, "Alright. Do you have his medical information?"

Mr. Tudeski nodded. "It would be nice to have that. Make sure he's got his shots and such. And, he can go to school here, but he needs to be a permanent resident or a citizen. I would advise citizenship though--it's probably going to be better in case something happens at school."

"Ahem. I said citizenship with hopefully a minimum of bureaucracy. His medical records are embedded in a chip in his ID. Less paper shuffling that way. Fortunately, my codex can read it if you lack the capacity to retrieve the information."

Samuel just looked at the clock, wondering how late he would be to class.

Tudeski nodded and then asked Keith, "Can you use your codex to open those med records for us, and print them out? We can't read those here."

Mr. Tudeski, at this point, stroked his chin and then asked, "May I see that codex, Colonel? I think we may not have to do so much after all. We might be able to MacGyver something--" He then turned to a black man walking into the office and asked, "Steve, can you do something with this?"

Steve then looked at the codex and said, "Woo. I'm gonna need a wireless hub, my laptop, and some data transfer cords to Myrna's PC, plus my PDA to act as middleman. And absolute silence." Turning to Keith, he then said, "Will that be fine, Colonel? Shouldn't take more than three minutes; they teach you in People's Navy not to mess about when making solutions happen."

"As you wish." Steven then asked Tudeski and Myrna, "There anything else he mention I should know about?"

"He said his son's ID had some sort of chip," Myrna said.

At that point, Steven took the card out of the codex and swiped it over his PDA, before hooking the PDA up to Myrna's computer and sighing as the forms were processed by the hapless secretary. "Guys. It's an RFID chip. Like the ones in the cafeteria and office supply closet. How can you miss that?"

"Well Steve--that's your department."

Steve then shook his head and said, "Apologies, folks. Evidently, People's Navy experience and a degree in computer science make you the only guy who has to learn tech around these parts--at least that's what it seems like."

"Yeah. Probably fortunate that the codex activated the chip, too. Woodian variants can be turned on and off as a security precaution...otherwise I would have had to activate it. It still would not have been a big deal, and we probably saved ourselves from having to cut down a forest preserve to process into paper forms. Anyway, how late is the little one to classes?"

Samuel quickly gave Keith a glare. Apparently, he did not much like being called 'little one'--for children his age, he was actually a bit taller than normal; his stature was only diminutive compared to that of an adult. Though he might have an advantage over other schoolchildren if they decided to tease him...

Tudeski replied, "Not too late. Technically..." Looking at the clock, he then laughed and said, "Heh. We've only been here five, ten minutes at the most. He hasn't missed much at all beyond attendance."

"Speaking of attendance...." Myrna then printed out the info for Keith, and handed it to him, before getting up and handing Samuel a spiral bound planner, and a "handbook" of school rules and such. "You're in Ms. Tcholokian's class, Room 205. Fourth grade room. Go upstairs, you won't miss it. It's a room with the most outlandish decorations you will ever see."

Meanwhile, Samuel Allaire nervously walked in, absorbing the sea of LSD-inspired (or so he thought) posters on the wall. He hadn't the notoriety of his new father, but he had still made the news as the boy that he had rescued from Hoth. "Umm...hi." Slipping into the use of contractions due to nervousness, he added, "I'm Samuel." He did not give his last name, for obvious reasons.

The woman who greeted him screamed "Baby Boomer"--if such a thing existed in Post-Apocalyptic MacIntyreist New Dornalia. Frizzy hair, bright patterned kneelength skirt and blouse that screamed "Technicolor Nightmare" and a cheery smile that seemed fueled by Crack Cocaine shone brightly, as the woman said, "Oh hello, hello, hello! You must be the new student. Please, come in! I'm Miss Tcholokian--call me Miss T!"

Turning to the class, she then said, singsonging the last bit, "Attention class...we have a new stuuuuudeeent!"

The kids then looked at Keith and Sam. When Sam gave his name, they all muttered, "Hi, Sam." Marking him on the record, Tcholokian then said, "Alll--righty! Today is awesome! We're going to do something with English!"

The kids nodded and pulled out their English textbooks with gusto. Surprisingly modern things, they all seemed bright and cheerful, like the teacher. Sam would find them surprisingly substantative as well, though ponderous. Then, Tcholokian said, "Right, turn to page 235--we'll be doing the exercises today out loud. They're about making compound sentences!"

An "auggghhh" from the class was waved down with a simple, "Now, now. We'll do them together. In fact, here's an example." She then sketched a simple, "The man jumped over the fence, and he also fell into a puddle."

"Now--you try it!"

At that, Miss Tcholokian said, "Now, Present Yourrrr--Sentences!"

One student raised his hand and said, "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog, but then the dog hit the fox."

Tcholokian frowned and said, "Good sentence. Awfully violent though." She then pointed at another student, who said, "The silly man drank a soda, and then the soda fell on his lap."

"Good, good--you all are grasping the basics of Compound Sentences! Proper Grammar is important, ladies and gentlemen, because it is absolutely key to ensuring you are not only understood, but also key to ensuring you are respected!" As she said this, she danced around, humming and singing in ecstasy to the amusement of her students.

She then pointed to Samuel.

"Now, Sam. What have you come up with?"

Samuel followed instructions, setting aside his inhibitions about being in a completely unfamiliar environment, where the bright florescent colors hurt his eyes. Stifling a yawn, he read his sentence to the class...and the sentence might well explain that yawn. "Dad woke me up at two in the morning, and then he dragged me out here," he managed. "Do you have some caffeine?" he added, embarrassed at his yawn and wishing to make sure it didn't happen again.

"Caffiene! Sam, that will stunt your growth!" Mrs. Tcholokian was clear on this point.

However, one of the kids shook his head and rummaged inside his desk covertly. He then passed Sam a blue can marked "Hyperboost Cola," whispering, "Hey, newbie. Take this. I took it for lunch, but I figure I may as well help you out here. Just don't drink it in front of the admins--they hate the stuff!"

"Timmy, what are you doing to the lad!?"

The boy then sat ramrod straight and said, "Nothin', Miss."

"You better not." She then brightened again and said, "Now class, let's go forth! And explain the wonders of English..."

She then began to speak and lecture in her own energetic, captivating way.

"All due respect ma'am, but tell that to the guy who woke me up at two in the morning," Samuel reminded the teacher, who apparently had failed to notice the content of his example of a compound sentence earlier. Quickly, before she could turn her head, the beverage levitated itself into his backpack--with Sam's hands in plain view on top of the desk so the teacher wouldn't see any suspicious movements. He would have to consume it during recess, when the general chaos of the playground made it easier to find a spot where no teachers were looking for a few seconds.

The good side, he knew, was that his adopted father would beg to differ with teacher's assessment in the event this was taken up with the office. Keith might be a health nut, but even he knew caffeine was preferable to nodding off in class...

Meanwhile, Timmy received a thought, a telepathic message of thanks, along with the postscript of It is probably not a good idea to say that out loud because the teacher would hear...

Tcholokian continued to twirl about, expounding the virtues of proper grammar and speaking on how to make good sentences and verb conjugations. As quickly as the furor over caffiene came, it seemed to go. She scribbled Sam's answer on the board along with several others as she spoke.

The kids eagerly nodded and wrote down what they needed to know. It was obvious that despite the fact she seemed like the Energizer Bunny on crack cocaine, she was competent and lucid--and certainly knowledgable.

She then eventually assigned, "Now class, this is your English assignment for tonight. Write a one page theme on 'My Favorite Things.' It can be about something school appropriate. Anything! Make it yours! haha!"

Room 243
Keith’s apartment
Chicago, Earth SSR.

“Oh frak.” a young red headed woman exclaimed, as she picked up her Coach purse. Quickly slinging it over her shoulder, she darted for the door. “Why do I always do this?” she asked herself, as she quickly opened the door.

Gently she shut the door, and opened her purse. With her left hand, she frantically began to search for her keys. Pushing aside, her check book, her wallet, her cell and the random tampon, she dug down deeper into her purse.

“Jesus.” she exclaimed in frustration, she finally found her keys in the bottom of her purse. Reaching down, she quickly locked the door behind her. She quickly turned, and began to take the stairs. Two stories was not a long hike for her, as she bolted down the stairs. “I am such an idiot.” she exclaimed to herself, as she looked at her watch as she ran down the second flight of stairs. “Fifteen minutes to get to class, shit. Erika, why in the hell do you like to keep me from getting to class on time.” she spoke to herself again.

Anastaisia Duval sighed, as she fumed at her fiancé. “When I see her again, I’m going to have to put a boot in her butt.” she exclaimed to herself again in frustration, until she got to the last step. Her shoe, hit the last step at the wrong angle, as she fell hard on her ass.

With a quick scream and yelp, she hit the ground hard. “Owww!” she yelped out again, as she gently reached up for the rail. Her body ached, but not more than her pride. Reaching her hand around her back she gently rubbed her new wound.

She looked down, as she winced in pain. Her books, her purse were scattered everywhere.

She lifted her hand up to her forehead, and looked at the mess on the ground. She could not believe her bad luck today. “That is it.” she said, as she got on all fours. “I am going back home. This isn’t my day.” she said again to herself very frustrated.

Reaching across the floor grabbing her books, and other items that had fallen out, she was grateful that no one had seen her...

Her cheeks went as red as her hair, as “Annie” reached for her goods. “I think I am alright.” she said as Sam picked up the last book. Gently the woman stood up, but as she did, her left foot went out from under her.

“Frak.” she exclaimed, as she fell back down on the ground. Her butt slamming hard into the floor again, she looked up at the innocent face of Samuel. Her eyes cried out in pain, as she reached across her mouth and covered it.

“I am so sorry.” she said to Samuel, as she tried to pick herself up again. “I didn’t mean to cuss in front of you.” she said to the boy again. Keith walked over to the young Virgon and held out his hand. She reached out for him, grabbing his hand as she pulled herself up again, this time putting her weight on her right foot.

“I think I sprained my ankle.” Annie said, as she hoped awkwardly towards the rail. “This is not my day. Thank you so much.” she said half talking to herself, and half talking to Sam.

As she touched the cold rail, she pulled herself to the step and gently sat down. “What is your name?” she asked the pair.

He sensed that Fred had just returned home, and sent him a quiet telepathic nudge, some vague notion of needing to get to a hospital. Keith kept the suggestion intentionally vague and weak, so that this 'Annie' would think that Fred popped out of his own volition, rather than a suggestion in the Force. An added hint of 'keep this quiet' would suffice to ensure that Fred wouldn't spill the beans as to what exactly brought him out here.

Fred had just arrived home from a day at work. Those damn kids.....they would be the death of him, but he loved them just the same. Hanging a heavy black felt fedora on, he felt a sudden pang. A need to go to the hospital. He shook his head, only to hear it repeat. He then decided this was something big--his argus eyes told him to watch for these things. He thus put his hat back on, and left the apartment, locking the door.

As he left, he said to himself, "I wonder what's the matter." Turning, he saw the scene and walked over there urgently, saying, "Jesus. Colonel, lemme start my car; get her to the backseat and don't move her too much. And tell your boy to call 911. Quickly!" He then ran to get his car going....

"It is not life-threatening, far as I can tell," Samuel called back. "Just that she cannot walk to the hospital. She twisted her foot." His dad, knowing that a 911 call would attract shitloads of scrutiny that 'Annie' probably did not want, nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, just bring the car out front," Keith directed Fred. "Annie, you can stand on your good leg, right?" Keith slowly wrapped her arm around his back, such that she gripped his opposite shoulder, so that his own body would support the weight that her bad leg could not. "Slowly, now. I do not want you to injure yourself again."

Fred muttered "Oh," upon discovering that the injury wasn't that serious. He then left to get the car, and pulled it out front, stopping it and going back inside to help out Keith and the gang into the auto. It was fairly spacious, so Annie would be able to make it alright.

OOC: Sorry for the over glorified one line, but I got my test tomorrow. Just didn't want to leave you hanging. Also ND, you still have permission to play my nation and my people, at least until Dec. 5th.

Her leg was sore, but she was able to with some assistance from her good neighbor, and the new comer, to make it to the car. Her foot hurt like hell, but her pride was much more sore, as she was gently laid in the back of the car.

Her cheeks were as red as a stop sign, as Annie sat down in the back of the neighbor’s car. “I am alright.” she said in protest. As she tried to slide over, she accidently put more pressure on her twisted ankle. “Shhh..err...” she exclaimed, trying to hold back cussing in front of the young woodian, “Alright, I give up.” she said quietly, as she swallowed what was left of her broken spirit. “There is a hospital about five blocks from here.” she told Keith.

Gently she laid her head back against the seat of the chair and looked up. “My lords.” she said as she looked up at the roof, “Why today of all days?” she asked her personal deities.

OOC: Sorry for the over glorified one line, but I got my test tomorrow. Just didn't want to leave you hanging. Also ND, you still have permission to play my nation and my people, at least until Dec. 5th.

Her leg was sore, but she was able to with some assistance from her good neighbor, and the new comer, to make it to the car. Her foot hurt like hell, but her pride was much more sore, as she was gently laid in the back of the car.

Her cheeks were as red as a stop sign, as Annie sat down in the back of the neighbor’s car. “I am alright.” she said in protest. As she tried to slide over, she accidently put more pressure on her twisted ankle. “Shhh..err...” she exclaimed, trying to hold back cussing in front of the young woodian, “Alright, I give up.” she said quietly, as she swallowed what was left of her broken spirit. “There is a hospital about five blocks from here.” she told Keith.

Gently she laid her head back against the seat of the chair and looked up. “My lords.” she said as she looked up at the roof, “Why today of all days?” she asked her personal deities.

Fred said nothing as he drove to the hospital as quickly as he could. Five blocks from the apartments, he stopped in front of the hospital complex and said, "Here you are, folks. I hope I helped."

Annie smiled weakly, and said, "Thanks....ugh." The pain was a bit much, and the fact she was depressed didn't help. She turned to Keith and said simply, "Well, move along now. I have to do something...."

Keith and Samuel both got out of the car, and Keith quietly decided to make sure that she received the treatment that she needed. Instead of simply leaving her to the healthcare bureaucracy, the new neighbor stood outside the car door, prepared to help her out and use his own body as her support, to help her walk without her falling and further embarrassing herself.

"Come on," Samuel encouraged her, as Keith quietly extended his hand to her to help her out of the car.

"I cannot leave you here, stranded," Keith added.

Annie smiled, her mood brightening thanks to Keith's kindness. "Thanks," she muttered, this time more brightly as she let them take her inside.

The hospital was busy enough, apparently. A fire had broken out, and it involved a bus full of nuns. As the "penguins" were rushed to the ward, the receptionist ran up to them and said, "Sir, it will be a six hour wait in the Triage area. We're kinda backed up right now."

"Annie, would you mind showing me your injured foot?" Keith asked, calmly and politely, seemingly undaunted by the wait.

Annie replied with a nod. She was as eager to get this solved as he was, especially as it was tiring to keep it off the ground like she had begun to do now.....

Carefully and gingerly, Keith squatted next to her foot and removed the shoe, and peeled off her sock to reveal the injured foot. It looked a little red, probably an inflammation reaction to the pain, but he could tell it was not the dislocation he had thought it was. Realizing his earlier mistake, mistaking a sprain for something somewhat more a pain in the ass to fix, he facepalmed.

"I am terribly sorry. Had I realized this, I could have treated you on the spot. Well, we have some options here. Option number one is to wait for the hospital staff to get around to it. Option number two--I will understand if you do not like this--would be for me to heal the sprain for you. I am an Acolyte, and it is my understanding that Colonials are quite wary of the Force? I know you were trying to keep a clean mouth around the kid, but the word 'frak' kinda gave that away."

As Keith said that last bit, Samuel smiled.

At the mention of Force, Annie winced. The Force hadn't helped her people one bit, and she was tempted to, even with a bad foot, run out of that hospital and into a free clinic where this man wasn't going to be. Then, he mentioned the name "Acolyte." Apparently, the local, more trustworthy version of those cursed Jedi. Well, even if they were commie bastards, they were the United Colonies' commie bastards. And someone worth trusting, since this guy hadn't tried to blow her head up.

"Well...." Hesitantly, she said, "Normally, I'd be inclined to let the hospital staff take care of it. But, since I'd really...yow...would like to make this pain end, I'll allow it. Besides, you haven't tried any fast moves on me."

Keith and Sam both immediately sensed rousing suspicion from the woman, but both kept it to themselves. Sam knew damn well what renegade Jedi had done to sully their own reputation, what had happened to make enemies out of former allies, and in the Woodians' case, very nearly so. The boy did not say anything, except for the sullen look on his face. No one chose to be Force sensitive.

Meanwhile, Keith searched out the tear in the foot's muscle, but he dared not close his eyes as he concentrated. Soon, he found it, and after a couple more moments of concentration, the muscle gradually regrew the torn tissue and healed, though the inflammation was going to be slightly harder to deal with. Keith did not particularly want to use cryokinesis to chill the inflammation away; the woman was already plenty suspicious without such flashiness. Instead, he reached for some anti-inflammation cream from his first aid kit, and applied it to Annie's foot.

"It might take a little while for the inflammation to go down," Keith informed the woman politely. "Definitely not the full six hours, however. Which of the Colonies are you from, if I may ask? We are neighbors; we may as well get to know each other."

Annie replied simply, "I'm from Virgon. Wonderful little place." As she spoke, her thoughts turned to how she'd be living next to this guy. A Force user next door!? Something to keep hidden from the students at the Colonial Students' Club. If they heard this....well, like she thought earlier, he wasn't pulling any fast moves, and she felt the Force actually putting things back together properly. So for that, Keith would be able to tell she was easing off him.

She then thought for a moment and said, "So we're neighbors, eh? Imagine that. A student of the Force and a Colonial living next to one another. This crazy Earth.....I suppose the Thirteenth Colony can work miracles." She ended with a laugh.

At that, the Jedi-turned-Acolyte smiled, relieved to see the Colonial easing up a bit. "Yeah, now if only those Thirteenth Colony Miracles would work themselves on the Dornalian immigration authorities. I need my citizenship papers. As you might be able to tell, I just moved in. I will be right back...gonna get something for that inflammation that is still there."

At that, Keith went to find an icepack. He could have just made one himself, but he was loathe to "show off" in front of a Colonial, much less a hospital waiting room. The hospital staff seemed too damn busy with those injured nuns to bother with him, so he ducked into a secluded area, drew a thawed-out icepack from his first aid kit, and refroze it without anyone in eyesight.

He walked up to Annie again, handing her the icepack that he had 'found.' "Here ya go." As he handed it to her, the thought struck him that he had given her too much information with that immigration quip, though she no doubt had had to deal with the same experience. If he already seemed trained, and he had revealed himself as a recent immigrant, she might deduce him as Jedi, not Acolyte. Keith hoped she would not notice...

Annie was able to tell her savior was a Jedi...but, with her own linguistic caveat. Taking the pack, she applied it to her ankle and said, "Immigration....from Evil Woody Thoughts, right? I can tell by the lack of contractions. I've a cousin in White Diamond who talks about how Woodians don't use contractions."

She also grew serious for a moment and said, "That means you're a Jedi, right? Well, at least you're not like the damn Pampers Army. Frakers." Cursing the Coredians for a moment, she then returned to her usual speech, saying, "But I thought you were an Acolyte....you guys and your magic are so confusing."

Aww, shit. She figured it out. Keith understood why she did not like Coredians, and he kinda agreed with her that Coredia had done some really, really stupid things recently. "Ummm...yes...you could say that. I am Woodian, and the Jedi Order transferred me here because of...how shall we say this...certain positions and beliefs that I happen to hold regarding Jedi Stupidity. I have been here only a day and already I feel better. Has your cousin gotten around to telling you how Woodians feel about that mess yet?"

Keith stopped, not only to allow her to answer the question, but also because Samuel Forcemessaged him. Dad, you are sooo busted.

Do not rub it in, kid.

Annie nodded, and then said, "You bet. Frakin' Pampers Army. Got the nerve to drop a bomb on us and then blame someone else for it. Good thing they chased away that damn...what'sit....Onieda....own-end-dan? Whatever. Those Lasgun Ladies that kept marching around the Campus. Frakin' hell, if Campus Police and Mayor Daley XI didn't get rid of them, I would have."

Then she sighed, eager to change the subject.

"So, yeah. Ideological differences aside, how do you like Chicago?"

"Yeah, they blame someone else for the bombing, and they still do not, I dunno, make restitution for it?" Keith scowled (though obviously not at Annie). His brow furrowed, making it obvious the reason why he transferred. Disgust. "Umm. But anyway. Chicago is OK so far. Sam is gonna be kind of disappointed about the lack of mountains, though. Seems like a nice, labor-friendly place," Keith commented, hoping to lead her into gleaning some more advice about whom to speak with on his trip. "I will need to take a short trip the moment I get my Dornie Citizenship Papers, though."

Annie asked quizzically, "Oh? What sort of trip?" It was clear she could trust this "Keith" fellow now. He was not Coredian babyeater, for sure.

"A trip to the Colonies. If the Coredians are going to refuse to give them any meaningful help after bombing them...well, someone has got to set things right."

Annie then laughed. "Oh! You're that Keith. Keith Allaire. The one the Intramural Hockey team won't stop worshiping." She then began breaking out into controlled laughter, and said half-mockingly, "The one who's gonna help the poor lil' chillun in the Colonies get their wings again, yessiree!" She then wiped her eyes, and muttered, "I haven't laughed like that since I was a SPED kid, thanks. Really, we're touched."

Something in that little exercise told Keith she was somewhat skeptical of his endeavor. Most importantly, that accusing, cynical look that said "gloryhungry carpetbagger" directed at him.

"So you think I am in it to make a quick buck," Keith eyed her just as skeptically as she had just eyed him. "You think I am in it to live it up like those Coredian aristocrats? Would I not have simply bought a condo on the Gold Coast, then, instead of renting a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment?" he scowled, wishing she would use just a teeny bit of logic. "I get that you are really skeptical of Jedi. Colonials have every damn reason to be. Now you should know the Order transferred me to the Acolytes, because I was making noises about paying restitution that the grubby aristocracy did not necessarily want to hear. And as long as I am an Acolyte, even if by transfer, I may as well put my money, which, by the way, I was legally disallowed from refusing in the first place, to good use. 'Good use' does not mean frittering it away like the Coredian Money Laundering Class. If you do not believe me about having my fortune rammed down my throat, you might want to ask your cousin about just how Woodian auditors go about their work."

"Umm...Dad...think you made your point yet?" Samuel cut him off before he could go further. It was clear that he had heard of the infamous irresponsibility of the Coredian ruling class before.

Annie held her hands up, waving, "Alright, alright, you made your damn point. Jesus." Evidently, she had picked up local Dornalian slang. Sighing, she said, "I suppose as long as your magic's with the Thirteenth and not the Pampers Brigade, I gotta admit you're on the level," a reference to his Acolyte credentials.

She then leaned in and said, "Now here's a question. What sort of 'good use' do you mean?"

"Well, I have heard the Colonies were pretty damn wrecked by war, and not just the one singularity bomb. So I figured I would build factories. High-paying jobs. Not sweatshop like in Coredia--I would even encourage the employees to unionize. Problem is, I have the funds, but need to figure out where and how to organize the labor and skilled workers necessary to rebuild the infrastructure. I obviously do not know anyone in the Colonies yet. Hence, the trip."

Annie laughed and scratched her head. She looked at him nervously and said, "Wow....do I look like a tour guide? My dad's barely a draftsman for some company, my mom's a bank teller....we don't know the Governor, you'd have to ask him."

She shook her head and said, "Think this is something for the Club to see....maybe you could ask them."

"I dunno. I thought maybe you might know if there are any big unions in the Colonies who could help recruit workers? The Club? May I ask which Club? I did not expect you to have connections to every Colonial labor organization, heh. I was just wondering if you could point me towards someone, or some organization, who might be able to help me. I have some idea of whom I need to talk to for permits and such, but I still need workers to actually build the infrastructure."

Annie replied, "My dad works for Local 34, Virgonese Technical Draftsman's Union. You could start there. But otherwise, you should attend a meeting of my Colonial Students' Club. They might know things."

Annie let out a small smile at the Woodian’s revelation. “You do not have to hide where you are from.” she said to the man who aided her. “Not all Colonials are isolationist or xenophobic, hell most Colonials have never even heard of Evil Woody Thoughts. If it was not for my cousin, I would have no clue that White Diamond even exists.”

“Although you are right, you should hide the fact that you are a magic user. Coredians, as many of us call all of you force users are not trusted worth a frak. On certain Colonies, you are not even considered human, thus you will have no rights to anything, not even the right to breathe.”

“If you wanna help, go as a man, not an Acolyte, Jedi, or member of a foreign military. Also seriously you should ditch the uniform. With the tension between the fleet and some of the unions, the uniform you are wearing might get you into more trouble than you know. Many people don't like how most of the resources are handed to the fleet first, then the civies second.”

“You gotta love the Cain doctrine.” Annie said as she rolled her eyes scarcastically. "But yeah, if you wanna go shopping, I will be more than happy to help you out. From the looks of things, you do not have the best taste in fashion attire." she said with a playful smile.

“Oh yeah” Annie thought to herself as she laid back in the chair. “With all the talk, I nearly forgot.” she said to Keith. Reaching down, she felt her ankle, although it was a little sore, it was not nearly as bad as it was. “I think I will be fine, just get me an advil, or a shot of whiskey.” she said with a curt smile.

Slowly she tried to get up. Putting slight pressure on the sprain, she felt a dull pain, but nothing as bad as it once was. “I think I will be ok.” she said as she slightly limped out of the chair. “Thank you so much Mr. Allaire.” Annie said to him.

Looking down, for a moment, she looked at his dress. “Well one thing is for sure, you look like you have a stick up your butt. Might be good for the brass, but it will never do with Colonials. You need to look suave, friendly and charismatic. Your uniform will never do. Let me take you to the mall, and pick out some threads for you. It is the least I can do for you after you helped to fix my ankle.”

Annie then reached into her purse and pulled out her PDA. Looking through it, she began to make a shopping list.

"Formal Suit" x 7
"Tuxedo"
"Casual Shirts" x 14
"Dress shoes, and casual shoes" x4
"Dress pants and casual shorts and pants." 7 DP, and 14 CS,CP
"Tie" x7, not tacky

Once her shopping list was done she looked up at Keith. With a smile, she looked at him. "Well lets go, time is wasting, and we got a lot of work to do with you."

Annie thought about it for a moment, and then grabbed Keith by the hand, pulling him towards the exit. “I got an idea.” she said with a mischievous smile on her face. Pushing past a couple of people with her newly mended foot, she reached down to her PDA.

Extending her index finger over it, she opened her frequent flyer miles. Sure enough the trip from Naples, Virgon, to Chicago Earth had earned her quite a few miles, considering the length of the trip. Eagerly she touched the purchase ticket, to Newport News/Williamsburg Airport, Virginia.

“Three tickets please.” she ordered into her PDA, First class. “Day trip.” she typed in next. “First class.”

At the end she completed the process and looked at Keith and Sam. “Lets go for a quick trip. When I first came here, I found a small lovely area that would be ideal for shopping. It is only a three hour flight, then we can pick up whatever you need and make the flight back. Hurry it up, we only have two hours to make it to the plane.” she said full of energy and life.

She then walked out to the side walk and waved down a cab. “O’hare airport please.” she told the cabbie.

As Annie sat down, she had a hard time wondering why in the frak did they want her help, yet bitched like Katrina Masaki on the rag about it. She stayed quiet, as she boarded the two aisle first class section of the small plane.

Leaning back, she reached into her purse, and pulled out her Ipod. Connecting the wires to her ears, she sat back and closed her eyes. “Damn men, oh yes I want this and that, but damn if I want to go along for anything. And Dornies actually wonder why women are better.” she thought to herself as he turned on her MP3's.

The music was turned up loud as the twang of country music could be heard coming from her ear pieces. With Keith’s heightened senses he could easily hear the blaring song of Cary Underwood, Next time he Cheats (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSG4Cml7HXs). It did not take her long to begin to sing along with it.

“Baby next time he will think before he cheats. Right now she is probably singing a song, a white trash version of Shania Karoke. Right now she is probably saying I’m drunk and he is going to get lucky.” she sang out, but not so loud to be obnoxious.

As she sang, with her eyes closed, one of the flight attendants came by, with a small white page. “Excuse me Miss.” The attendant asked. Annie didn’t notice, as her music was a bit too loud.

The attendant shook her head, and looked at Keith, “What would you like to drink sir? Beer, Soda, Wine, we got it all.”

Then as she asked she rolled her eyes at the college student next to him. “You wanna get Cary’s attention?” she asked Keith, so I can get her order.”

The flight was quiet and peaceful and smooth as could be, as Samuel peered out the window, staring at the lights of the various towns and cities below. They dotted the land, like the stars in the sky, a sea of lights, in the darkness of the earth, as the duo flew into Williamsburg/Newport News International.

As they got up, Annie stretched her legs from the small nap that she took. Flights this short were always a bore to her, as she got up and walked out of the aisle, towards the exit. Sam and Keith soon followed, wondering what this strange woman who had kidnaped them and taken them to Virginia had in mind. His thoughts shuddered, as he expected the worse. He could see his fortune, his hard earned cash for dispatching the dark jedi Bailey, soon fading away into the abyss of the New Dornalia / United Colonies free market.

Sam however didn’t share his father’s dread as he looked out like the wide eyed boy that he was. This was a new adventure, a new culture, and a new experience. He had heard rumors of southern hospitality, and how nice people were.

As they stepped off the plane, the smell of salt water filled the air. Being so close to the ocean, and the Chesapeake bay, the air was filled with an abundance of salt. It was a unique smell, as the breeze drifted off the ocean and towards the airport, the smell of ocean and brackish water intermixed.

It was not long before they exited the airport. Keith looked down at his watch, and stared at it. “We need to hurry.” he said in a monotone voice that would kill a good time at a rave. “We only have two hours thirty seven minutes and fourteen seconds before our return flight.” Annie turned to him and rolled her eyes, “Colonel.” she said in a tone of voice, letting him know that his comment was not appreciated. “Hey, if you want to look like a brogan when you go to my home, be my guest. Good luck being respected when you look like a reject from a Rambo movie.” she told him.

“This uniform is that of the Woodian Army. It is not some prop, and it is a symbol of honor and duty.” he shot back at her. “Yeah, yeah.” she retorted back at him, “that is all fine and dandy huh. Guess what, it means nothing where you wanna go. Now you wanna look like a million bucks, or a bum, your choice hun.”

Keith glared at her, as if she was a Masaki. “As long as you do not spend a million credits.”

Annie shook her head as she reached out and waved down a taxi. “I promise I will not spend more than three million.” she shot out back at him, snarky. “Why do you gotta be a downer.”

Keith looked at her as he felt a pain in his chest. His money, his poor wallet, his clean cash, was about to vanish. He had intended to use it for the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and help erase the damage of the Masaki screw up, but.... this was not his intent. He wanted to spend it on the Twelve Colonies, not give it all to one colonial. His breath drew short, as he anticipated the worse... the worse thing for any woodian.... wasteful spending.

Reluctantly, Keith stepped into the cab following Annie and Sam.

Keith got in the car, as he noticed Annie nearly jumping in her seat. He just looked at her, he could sense she was getting excited, like he did before a battle. But there was no battle, no enemy to fight, only the pain and suffering of unregulated spending. Keith slummed back in his seat, dreading the next hour or so. After all it couldn’t last more than that. Even the most inefficient shopping could get a few clothes in a hour.... or so he thought.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked as he tossed a cigarette out the window of the cab. Annie smiled as she leaned forward. “Patrick Henry Mall.” she said to him.

“Short trip then.” he said as he pulled away. The cabbie then began to pull away, but he looked back in the seat. The man back there seemed really familiar, like he had seen him before from somewhere. Then it hit him, ‘Hey.” the man said, “You are that guy from the news right? Allaire something...”

Annie laughed at the sound of that, “Him, nah, Colonel Allaire is an upstanding citizen who is brave in the face of danger. My husband here, he cowers at the sight of a shopping reciept.” Keith glared at her, but he didn’t feel like reliving a mall experience like in Beverly Hills. He was about to open his mouth, and reply but Annie cut him off, ‘No dear, we can’t eat at Hooters.”

Keith shook his head at her. He knew at this point it was worthless to fight. His opponent was too skilled, too hard core for him. Annie had him by the nuts, or the Woodian version of it, the wallet. He could only hope that by staying silent she would not torture him... too much.

Within ten minutes, the cab pulled in front of the mall. The mall was jam packed, as Black Friday had begun. The wind whipped around them, as Annie drew her coat closer to her, and Keith reached out and paid the cabbie the small bill. He looked up to the glistening mall, the haven of lights and shopping, his personal hell.

He looked at Annie, and then down to Sam. “Alright, where are we going?” Keith asked. “Sam has his bed time, in about half an hour, so we should hurry up.” Annie ignored his comment totally, as her eyes light up like a Christmas tree. She reached up and pulled her purse up and began to walk inside. Sam looked up to Keith, “Um... Dad...”

Keith looked down at his boy... “Not now, just follow her, and pray it doesn’t last too long.”

The mall was full of people, walking around, and some rushing to stores. It was an utter debauchery of waste, and self indulgence. Keith’s pain in his chest grew, as he looked around at all the stores. Such price mark ups, then put on sale. Didn’t these people know that they were doing nothing but wasting valuable resources on things they did not need? His heart grew even more soar, as he watched the teenagers sitting around doing nothing. Such vagabonds, he could feel their angst, their internal rage at being teenagers. They were up to something, and he knew it. As he began to try to sense them, he was confronted by Annie. “Hey.” she said as she walked up closer to him. “Come on, we got a lot of shopping to do.”

Keith grumbled, “Alright, lets just get this over with.”

“Alright Captain Kill-Joy.” Annie shot back at him.

Keith sighed, “It is Colonel.”

“Whatever.”

The first store they went into was a Dillards. Annie walked over with a slight spring in her step. She loved to shop. It excited her to her very soul, even if it was for someone else. She looked around and marveled at all the great deals. 25% off, 40% off, Clearance, the words and red signs were like pure ecstasy to her. She walked over towards a large section of mens’ coats.

Keith and Sam, stood back and watched, as she took her sweet time. Coat by coat, she searched until finally she found one. “Try this one on.” she said to him. Keith looked at it, “It is my size it is ok.” he told her.

Annie shot him a glare, “Try it on.” she demanded. Keith sighed again, as he walked towards the fitting room, and tried it on. It was a perfect fit. The scene replayed itself over and over as Sam and Keith watched on in horror. Keith eventually lost track of the store he was in as they moved from store to store, each time protesting, each time in vain. He tried on everything, dispite the fact the size was the same in each and every store.

Keith looked at her several times, as he tried, and eventally Sam did as well about the time constraints. Annie ignored their pleas as she went through the store and Keith’s wallet like a Tornado.

Keith was begining to be fed up when it came to the ties. He watched her pull out at least forteen ties. Keith knew he had to do something at this point as he glared at her. “Do I really need a tie for every fucking hour? Can’t we go home now?”

TO that, Keith soon got a tie thrown in his face as Annie glared with an anger greater than any sith Keith had ever faced. Damn good thing for Keith, that no pure blooded Colonial had the force. “What did I tell you about talking like that in front of the boy.” she yelled at him, in the middle of the store causing a commotion. Keith stood his ground, “I would not have to if you would hurry the fuck up.” He said as he clinched the tie tightly. Annie took her hand and reached up and smacked Keith openly across the face. Although he could have blocked it, attacking someone who dispute their actions was trying to help and didn’t have the force was beneath him. He took the hit and being the tough damn near superman that Keith was, felt no pain.

“Keith” she yelled at him, “I am getting sick of your attitude. I have spent miles on you, my time shopping so you can have an important business meeting, and you are acting like an ingrate. No wonder you hate the Masaki’s so much, you are just like them.” she yelled out in the store. “Arrogant and stuck in your own ways. Hate to tell you this love, but you have the social grace of an untrained ape. Now if you had any sense, you would know that you can’t wear the same tie to a meeting with the same people more than twice in a week. It makes you look like a bum.”

Keith glared at her as he stepped up, “Yeah but there are less expensive ties over there, that work just as well.”

“Those are cheap, and they make you look cheap. You can’t conduct business with people looking like a pauper. I am trying to do you a favor, so can you please suck it up, or do Woodian men PMS?”

Keith was about to say something as his mouth opened, but Annie shot up her finger at him, in a silent gesture. Keith glared but knew it was not worth it. She was a good person, even if she was a fiery, wasteful spending woman. He did though have to admire her spirit, she stuck to her convictions. Keith decided to just stay silent and not say another word, in the classic sulking motion of the Woodians. He didn’t speak the rest of the trip, and he just went through the motions.

Two hours, and a little over twelve thousand dollars later, the hell was over. Keith was safely on the flight back to Chicago, rubbing his sore wallet all the way back.

(OOC: Post is done with EWT's permission and supervision. In some cases certain parts were MSNed.)

Annie glared at Keith with a stare that only a mother can give when she is disappointed. We all have seen that look, the look that is somewhere between “I can’t believe you just did that.” and “Are you really that stupid?” Annie crossed her arms as she stared down the Jedi that most people worshiped or were fearful of. Call it Colonial Angst, or lack of knowledge of what he could potentially do to her, or maybe she just didn’t care.

She stepped closer to Keith, as he stared at his PDA. Leaning closer, as to avoid a scene with his young son she peered at his PDA. “Do you always talk like a sailor around your son.” she said with a condescending tone towards the great hero of the Jedi and PA. “I know you adopted him, but you have to understand. Everything you do, he sees. Every word you speak he picks up on. Do you want to raise a good member of society, or a brogan?” she asked rhetorically as the lecture ranted on.

She then reached up to Keith and pointed her finger in his face. “If I ever see you speak like that around your son again, I will personally bust you butt back to EWT, do you understand?” As Keith looked at her, into her brown eyes, he could easily see that she was not kidding around.

“Yes Ma’am I get it. This is just frustrating as Hel.... heck.” Keith said to her, trying to show the young woman some respect. He looked at his son, who by now was shaking his head at the scene.

Keith then looked back at Annie. The fire in her eyes, and the fact that despite her wasteful trip, she did seem to care about the boy. Keith could also tell that she was a good person. “May I request another favor?” Keith asked as he stood straight like a soldier who was not at ease. “I have to go back to White Diamond ASAP. I do not have time to bring Sam along with me. Would it be possible for you to watch him while I am on mission?” Keith asked.

Annie shook her head, as the fire in her eyes died and was replaced with almost a mist. “Um... you do not know me.” she objected at Keith. “What kind of parent meets someone, and a few hours later asks them to babysit?” she said sternly as she crossed her arms.

Keith didn’t flinch as he stood as still as a statue, perfect like Marble, “Admiral Makaryk appears to be busting my butt back to EWT right now. I can also sense that you are a good person, and that if you agree you would take good care of him. If it is an imposition, then could you at least make sure he makes it back to the apartment, and ask one of the neighbors to take care of him?”

Annie was nearly in horror at his request. It was either her watch Sam, and she had only known him for a few hours, or some total stranger who Keith had never met. Didn’t Keith know that the Dornies would turn him into a gun toting communist redneck, with a bad taste for cats. Annie covered her mouth, as she looked at the boy. “Alright he can stay with me, but just so you know I do have a girlfriend. You do not have a problem with that do you?”

Keith shrugged apathetically, “Well just keep the romantic stuff away from him, he is too young for that.”

Annie nodded, “Ok. What if you do not come back though? There is a lot that can happen on mission, or if it is an extended engagement? I just need to know, is there a next of kin, or like what do you want me to do with him?”

"I am the last known survivor of my family," Keith replied. "Should I not return, Samuel will need to be adopted again. I do not think that would be a problem with Dornalians, but if it is, you can contact the Woodian Consulate. I request you give me a reasonable chance to return, though."

“Ok it is totally official, you Woodians are weird. I mean seriously, what do you think I am going to do, turn around and send him off to an orphanage tomorrow morning.” she said as she placed her hand to her face and took a deep breath. Slowly she pulled her hand down and looked at Keith. “I will do my best to watch him, and I promise not to adopt him unless I get a letter saying you have been killed, or MIA. Alright.” she said.

Annie walked over to Sam and put her hand on his shoulder. “Is this alright with you?”

Sam nodded at Annie, as if he had done this a couple hundred times over. “Fine, but I also want temporary power of custody. If he needs to go to the hospital, and you are on some front line trench, being shot at, you will not exactly have time to fill out the proper forms to get him treatment.” she said to Keith, as she stood up.

“Or if he acts up in school, they need to know that I am not some pedophile Coredian trying to steal a new toy, I mean student.”

"You can ask the Woodian Consulate to handle that shi---stuff for you," Keith replied. "All I need to do is enter some information into the Woodian database." Keith told her

“Alright will good hunting soldier.” she said to him with a slight smile to her face. “I will watch after him.” With that, Annie and Sam turned and walked towards the cab.