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You and Your Sorcererís Ways

by Cszemis (Cszemis@aol.com)

Disclaimer: The encounter is mine only.

Note: To the more forgetful amongst us (I include myself), Motti is the Admiral in a New Hope who boasts about the Death Star and nearly gets choked to death.



         "Commander Skywalker. I'm here to see the Chancellor."

         "He's in a meeting," Motti replied without even looking up from his datapad to the strangely joyful arrival. Already frustrated, why did people insist on interrupting critical reading. He had to overlook all these plans, check and double check (even though he had already done so a thousand times already) before he could present them to the Chancellor.

         "But I must see him immediately. It is urgent," the dark figure balled his mechanical wrist, newfound annoyance coating his voice, the flicker of gold involuntarily catching Motti's eye.

         Where was the Republic getting these ignorant, impatient youths that were so arrogant as to demand the attentions of the glorified Palpatine? Motti, with an exasperated sneer, flicked off his Report on "Weapon Development" and his eyes still embittered looked up. And up. And up into the disappointed glare that masked the face of the obnoxious upstart. There was the shiny new emblem of Wing Commander attached to his chest.

         Motti dropped his gaze to the small cylinder swinging slightly from the belt at the boy's waist, his temper chilled and the reason for the boy's arrogance quickly became clear.


         Setting his invaluable information aside, Motti thrust himself to his feet but noticed upon doing so that he disappointingly could barely reach the Jedi's chin, never mind look him in the eye. However adopting his military stance and setting his jaw, he was superior.                                 

         "Do not even consider grunting like that at me again Commander Jedi. The fact you presume that I am aide or a secretary evidently proves you have no idea who I am."

         "Enlighten me," hissed the youth coldly, his blue eyes.

         "I am Captain Motti," he did not even offer his hand, he would not shake hands with some Jedi, "Head of Development for the Defence Department."

         "Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Apprentice and Wing Commander," the youth offered his, face softening as it processed the fact he was in the process of someone slightly superior.

         "Ah, yes. I have heard of you," Motti disgruntingly shook the Jedi's hand, finding it awkward to shake with his left rather than with his right.

         "You have?"

         "Yes. You failed to defeat Dooku did you not?"

         Skywalker's face darkened. Easy to anger this one.

         "And the Chancellor, I must suppose, sponsors your education," Motti smirked coldly adding and I can't imagine why in his mind.

         "He does not."

         "Oh? Forgive me. The amount of times you have visited this office suggests otherwise. The staff are beginning to assume you are either a relative or the fact you entered the Jedi late means the Chancellor has a personal interest in your ascension into knighthood. In either case you will simply have to wait. An emergency meeting-to which you were not invited-was called to discuss the Separatists interest for Malastare. Besides which, I have an important meeting of my own with the Chancellor so," he added with a cruel smile, "you'll be a while."

         He took his seat again and pulled his datapad into his lap again, once again trying to absorb himself into its contents. But the mechanically curious apprentice would not let him.

         "Weapons Development, huh? Anything interesting? Those new Jedi Starfighters are something else, quite manoeuvrable, probably because the change in design to the wings makes it easier to-"

 The youth shut up when Motti flashed an irritated glare, the Captain gritting his teeth.

         The salacious upstart seemed to think himself some sort of engineer. Being a Jedi he had probably only tinkered with droids and his lightsabre, the boy seemed to presume he had the mental capacity to devise a machine that could fight, and fly, and not explode from doing both things at the same time.

         "Yes, well it was necessary to change the designs. You Jedi do not seem to last long in battle. To be totally honest, I believe the Republic could win this war without you Jedi," he insisted vehemently," the advances we are making will send you lot back to your temple and your Force."

         "You don't like Jedi do you?" Skywalker sat opposite him.

         "There is nothing to like," Motti muttered.

         "You're afraid of us."


         Skywalker studied him for a moment, his blue eyes dropping the precious information Motti clasped tightly.

         "I see it in your eyes. Fear of me and my kind."

         "Your kind are freaks of nature. An anomaly. You shouldn't even exist."

         "You don't have our gifts. You can't have them so you fear us and cling to your technology."

         "Events in this galaxy, especially victories, should not be determined by Jedi. It is our Clone Army that is the decisive force. The Separatists may be a threat to the Jedi but not to us."

         "Ha! Clone Army. An insult to nature and moral crime. I wonder what you trigger happy engineers will think of next."

         "From what I heard," Motti sneered, "it was your kind that ordered the creation of our army."

         Skywalker shook his head, "by a Jedi who did not have the permission of the Council. You cannot depend on your army alone so do not be too proud of your abdominal creation. You do not understand the power of the Force"

         "You cannot frighten me with your sorcerer's ways young Skywalker. You Jedi devote yourselves to something that does not even exist and nor will your talents defeat the Separatists."

         "I beg to differ."

         At that moment, the view screen of his datapad fractured and splintered into a thousand pieces. Motti gasped in horror and vainly tried to get his machine to work again but it stubbornly would not. His pulse thundered and his mind swam and fought to turn the jumble into something concentrated.

         Skywalker stood, this time a cruel smile creeping over his features. He tapped Motti on the shoulder.

         "Have fun in your meeting."               

         With that the youth swept away, his cloak whispering across the cold stone floor, his heavy footfalls fading slowly into the distance.

         Captain Motti, Head of Development for the Defence Department stared numbly at the ruin that was his report, his horror turning to anger as he gripped the wreckage.

         DAMN JEDI!

         HE DID THIS!

         His hands shook fiercely as he jumped to his feet and looked for that infuriating, offensive little brat. But he was gone. He would have gone to look in order to give him a severe reprimand but the doors to Palpatine's office swept open and an officer by the name of Tagge exited with some others, no one but Tagge offering even a glance to the enraged Captain.

         "Ah, Motti, was not expecting you to still be here," Tagge politely greeted him, shaking his hand, "The Chancellor has already retired for the night."

         "He has?" the colour drained from his face.

         "Yes, he asked that I apologise and thank you for your patience but he cannot meet you today." Tagge looked around, a slimy sneer spreading across his face as he took in the glass littering the floor and the discarded datapad lying askew on the seats, "But perhaps that is just as well."

         "What happened here Motti?" Tagge continued.

         "My computer sort of...overloaded on me. But I have a backup at home," a tasteless lump formed in his throat as he spoke slowly, his fists balling.

         Tagge nodded, "That particular model has been known to cause problems. You must get yourself the new format. Much quicker and efficient."

         Motti picked up his ruin distastefully and followed Tagge towards the exit.

         "Hey Tagge, ever heard of an Anakin Skywalker?"

         "No, I have not."

         "Just as well then. The most insufferable, arrogant little monster. Assumed he knew more than me, you know."

         "Well, it is unlikely you will ever suffer his presence again."

         "I should hope so too."

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