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They were only twenty meters from the imposing transparisteel wall of the aquarium when they saw the captor’s lips move. Jacen’s and Ben’s comlinks carried his words: “Hello, Jedi.”

Jacen stopped, and the other two drew to a halt behind him. “I would say Good morning,” Jacen said, “except that you’ve kept it from being a good morning for several people. Myself included; I was looking forward to sleeping late.”

The captor swung around to look at his captives. He did so apparently without even noticing the weight of the man strapped to his back. The Jedi had a glimpse of this captive, a balding man with fear on his face, before the captor swung back to look at them. “They were bored,” the captor said. “Else why would they be here? Now they’re not bored. They’ll be able to talk about this day for the rest of their lives. I’m doing them a favor, allowing them to tan themselves in the glare of my transitory importance.”

“Literary critic,” Nelani said.

The captor’s eyebrows shot up. “Actually, my education was in literary issues—literary syncretization, the process by which the popular story cycles of different worlds merge, their archetypal characters becoming unified, as the individual worlds enter the galactic community. So literary criticism is part of my profession, yes.”

“You look more like a professional wrestler,” Ben said.

The captor looked delighted. “I probably should have been. I would have derived more pleasure from my life.”

“What’s your name?” Jacen asked.

“I am Doctor Movac Arisster. Of Lorrd City, tenured with the University of Pangalactic Cultural Studies.”

“I’m Jacen. This is Nelani, and this is Ben. You indicated that you wanted to speak with Jedi. Was this because someone suggested it to you?”

“Yes.” Arisster seemed unconcerned that Jacen had divined his secret. “The most remarkable part was who it was. Have you ever heard of Aayla Secura?”

Jacen nodded; he’d run across the name on several occasions—in his early studies at the Jedi Academy, and subsequently in his travels to worlds he had visited.

But apparently Ben and Nelani were unfamiliar with it. Arisster turned more toward them. “She was a Jedi Master at the end of the Old Republic. Alleged to have been shot down by clone troopers like so many of your order at that time. A blue Twi’lek, and surviving holos of her show her to be beautiful of face and form. Well, in her career, she benefited the people of many worlds, and entered the folkloric cycles of several primitive cultures, where she often was merged with local historical figures or goddess-characters.” Arisster lost focus for a moment, staring into the distance. “Even today, educated immigrants from those cultures will write fictive cycles about her, some of them amazingly prurient.”

He returned his attention to the Jedi. “Tell me, Jacen, do people do the same about you? Write stories about you and pair you off with unlikely romantic partners?”

Jacen ignored the question. “Aayla Secura told you to do this?”

“No.” Arisster shook his head so vehemently that it rocked the body of the man strapped to him. “I chose to do this. Then Aayla Secura—or, rather, someone in her form—came to me and suggested that I bring the Jedi in to talk.”

Jacen gave him a puzzled frown. “For what purpose?”

“To enter your story cycle, of course. I’m a nobody, and I’m dying. In six months, incurable cancers of the lungs and other organs, probably caused by a radiation leak I experienced on a trip many years ago, will kill me. No one will ever have heard of me. Except now I’ll have a little trace of literary immortality as a man, a normal human man with no combat skills or Force abilities, who beat a Jedi.”

Arisster leaned in closer to the transparisteel, staring intently at Jacen. “I want to thank you for being here. I’m sure that Nelani is a competent and loyal Jedi Knight, but she’s not famous. Jacen Solo’s cycle will be a much better one to be affixed to.”

“Beat me, how?”

“By denying