CORELLIA, FIFTEEN YEARS POST-YUUZHAN VONG INVASION:

Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker were in the fight of their lives. Deep within the bowels of a power station, lightsabers blazing, they faced off against a seemingly limitless number of battle droids. The droids were a mixed lot: some were spindly things, others hulking brutes, some dating back even before the Clone Wars, but all brandished their blasters effectively. Luke and Mara swatted those blaster bolts aside, carving a path of destruction through the army as they headed for the control room at the far end of the corridor.

"Hurry, my love!" Luke cried. "We've got to shut the reactor down before it goes critical!"

"I know, dearest!" Mara answered. "Then we can find the one responsible for this sabotage!"

Droid limbs scattered and sprayed, sparks flew, and eventually, their path was clear. They sprinted through the droid corpses toward the control room door--but just as they reached it, the door slammed closed with a thunderous boom. Luke tried his lightsaber, but produced nothing but sparks and scorchmarks.

"Damn, must be a cortosis weave," he said.

Mara stepped up to the door controls with a confident smirk, pushed a button.

"Access code: Jade, five-nine-one-three-seven-delta," she said.

"INCORRECT CODE. ACCESS DENIED," a computer voice said.

Mara pursed her lips. "Access code: Red, two-twelve-eight-one-bravo."

"INCORRECT CODE. ACCESS DENIED."

Mara frowned in perplexion, then reached into her back pocket, pulling out a small black book. Though small enough to fit in her palm, it looked as thick as the Coruscant holonet directory.

"What's that, honey dumpling?" Luke asked.

"Well, smoochie-kins, these are all the secret codes I was given when I was Emperor's Hand," Mara said.

"Wow. That's a lot of codes."

She thumbed through the pages, rattled off a few more codes. All were denied.

"Snookums?" Luke said, a bit concerned. "Maybe we should just--"

Mara waved him away impatiently. "Don't worry, don't worry. My codes always work."

Mara had only made her way to the middle of page eighty-three when the computer announced, in a remarkably pleasant voice: "REACTOR CONTAINMENT FAILURE IN FIVE SECONDS...FOUR...THREE...TWO...ONE."

A deep rumble began to shake the building all around them. They were too late!

Luke pulled Mara close, as dust sifted down on them. "Mara, before the end, I just..."

"Yes, Luke?"

"I just want you to know...I've always hated you. I was just in it for the sex."

"WHAT?!"

At that moment they, and two square kilometers around them, were vaporized.

PART TWO:

TATOOINE, OUTSIDE MOS EISLEY

A memorial service was held for the fallen Jedi on Luke's native world of Tatooine a week later. His and Mara's son, Ben Skywalker, now in his late teens, stood tall and mournfully silent as representatives from across the galaxy offered words of comfort--though he was caught a bit off-guard when the Vong delegate pelted him with a fistful of rice. ("What do you mean, 'wrong ceremony'?" the Vong later said.)

Eventually, the mourners drifted away, leaving Ben to stand alone on the dunes, watching the suns set. After a while, he heard someone approaching, and turned to see Corran Horn come up beside him.

"Ben," the Corellian Jedi said. "I don't know if anyone's told you yet, but...I was named as your guardian."

"You?" Ben said. "What about Aunt Leia?"

"Well..."

"I know," Ben said dejectedly. "She's too busy."

"Actually, what she said was 'There's no way I'm letting another whiny, self-absorbed, Force-sensitive teenager under my roof again. I've had enough of that already.' But, yeah--she is kind of busy."

"What about Jacen?" Ben said.

"He's devoting all his energy to investigating the Force-potential of belly-button lint. And Jaina...well, she wants to devote more time to Jag. Or Kyp. Or whoever she's shacking up with this week; I keep losing track."

"I see."

They stood in silence for a few moments more.

"Have they found out who caused this, yet?" Ben asked.

Corran shook his head. "They're still investigating it. We'll catch them, Ben, don't worry."

"*I'll* catch them," Ben said fiercely. He turned to Corran. "I want you to teach me everything you can. I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father."

Corran laid a hand on his shoulder, and nodded.

"And my mother," Ben added.

Corran nodded again.

"And my aunt."

"Okay."

"And my cousins. And--"

"All right, already!"

And so began Ben's training, there on the planet where his father had taken his first steps into a larger world. Ben had thought he was pretty good with the Force, and with a lightsaber, already--but under Corran's tutelage his skills were honed to the keenness of a vibroblade. Drill after drill after drill. He'd thought he was a good pilot--but eventually Corran had him outperforming even the pilots of the famed Rogue Squadron. He'd thought he was a decent pastry chef--until Corran taught him how to properly mix batter, and introduced him to the wonders of nutmeg.

It was the most intense, but rewarding, time of Ben's life. But, eventually, it came to an end.

Ben and Corran stood together outside the small hut where the training had taken place, watching a herd of banthas rumble along in the distance.

"You've done well, Ben," Corran said. "I've only been training you for two days, and you've learned more than most Jedi do in years."

"Well, you're a good teacher."

"It's more than that--though you're right, of course. I'm frickin' amazing. No, it's due to your genetics. Your mother, Mara, she had something called the maeriesoo gene, and she obviously passed it on to you."

Ben frowned. "I've never heard of that gene."

"It's pretty rare. It imparts an improbable amount of talent to the person who has it. But that alone doesn't account for your rapid skill growth." Corran hesitated, as if uncertain whether to proceed, then said, "There's more...but it may not be easy for you to hear."

Ben waited.

"Your father had the maerisoo gene, too."

"Well, all right! Go, dad!"

Corran shook his head. "No, you don't understand. Ben...*I* am your father."

Ben stared at him a moment, then punched him in the shoulder. "Get outta here."

"No, really."

"Shyeah, right."

"Seriously, I'm your father."

Ben shook his head, laughing. "Pull the other one, huh?"

"Don't make me slap you, kid."

Ben stopped laughing, but still eyed Corran skeptically. "How could you possibly be my father?"

Corran ran a hand back through his hair, looking a bit uncomfortable. "There was this Boonta Eve party at the Jedi Temple. There were drinks, your mother and I got a little frisky...I don't have to draw you a diagram, do I?"

"So where was my dad during all this?" Ben said.

"He...well, he was sitting on the holo-copier making holos of his hiney."

"Yeah, that sounds like dad," Ben finally said. Then, after a few more moments, added, "Okay, suppose you're right. And I'm not saying you are. Why are you telling me this now?"

"In my studies of the ancient Corellian Jedi, I came across a prophecy. Of a powerful Jedi who will come from the union of Hand and Horn. I'm the Horn. Your mother was the Emperor's Hand. And you--"

"You think I'm the prophesied one," Ben said. "So what does this prophecy say?"

"The usual: you'll be saving the galaxy, yadda yadda yadda. It also mentions bacon, for some reason--couldn't quite figure that part out."

"So why are you telling me all this?" Ben asked again.

"Because if you are the one of prophecy, this belongs to you." Corran reached into a pocket, pulled out a carved wooden box, and handed it to Ben. Ben regarded it a moment, looked back at Corran, who gestured that he should open it. Ben did so. Inside, on a cushion of velvet, was the oldest-looking lightsaber hilt Ben had ever seen.

"The prophecy says that only the chosen one can activate that saber," Corran said.

Ben gingerly removed the hilt, turning it over in his hands. He thumbed the activation switch, and the blade ignited. The sight of it took his breath away. For it was not the glowing green of his father--Luke's--blade. Or the blue of his mother. Or his grandfather Vader's red. Or Corran's silver. Or any of the myriad other shades he'd seen. No, this blade, this glorious, glorious blade...

...was plaid.

He swung the blade this way and that, admiring the shimmering pattern of colors. Could there be a more perfect saber? It felt as if it had been made for his hand alone! And would the chicks flock to see something like this? Sweet mother of the Force, they sure would!

Ben raised the blade high, toward the light of the blazing suns. He felt a powerful ripple in the Force, vibrating through him, as if the galaxy were acknowledging the arrival of the child of prophecy.

Or maybe it was just gas.

THE ADVENTURE BEGINS...

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