Nightelf presents...

*****

Ever since she was a small child, Relena always tried to stand for what 
was right.

Perhaps it was her upbringing, she thought as she raced down to the 
submarine.  In some ways, she was a spoiled princess, Daddy's girl to a 
T.  However, when your father is an ambassador, that takes on such a 
remarkable meaning.  He was a true peacecrafter, always trying to keep 
war from the world, and she tried to adopt some of his candor as her own.  

War had come to her sheltered world, washed up on a beach only a few 
days ago.  He'd been injured; she could see the pain clearly etched on 
his face.  Despite this, he struggled on as though nothing had happened, 
as though he could still fight - as though he still had to fight.  The 
next days were surreal, as he struggled with a thin veneer of humanity, 
one caging a beast within.  

That beast was now loading some tubes into a submarine.  She shouted his 
name; he made no move.  

"You can't do this."  A simple demand, one for peace; as expected, he 
ignored her.  "Those are torpedoes, aren't they.  What are you trying to 
do?"  Again, he ignored her; she fought down her temper.  "What's going 
on here?  What are you trying to prove?  Tell me!"

He said her name; the syllables flowed off of the tongue, like a strange 
lullaby.  He had a way of doing that; even the smallest movement could 
charm.  The way he said it... she had hope that maybe, just maybe, she 
could stop this.  

That is, until she saw the pistol.  In that moment, she remembered a 
lesson from history: while diplomats had saved millions of lives in wars 
averted, ultimately they were the first to die when the weapons were 
drawn.  She had chosen her father's path; unlike her father, it had 
resulted in her death.  She looked into his large, golden eyes, and 
heard that melodious, sing-song voice.

"You-se know too much, Relena.  Me-se gonna kill you now."

"Jar-jar..."A tear rolled down her face as he pressed the trigger...

*****

Gungan Wing.

A Sunrise/Lucasfilm joint production

*****

Duo Maxwell had been trained in the art of mecha piloting.  His body had 
been pounded repeatedly, preparing him for the rigors a fully-powered 
Gundam would put him through.  Weaponry of all types were familiar to 
him; the scythe was only one he preferred.  He had honed his mind for 
all forms of unarmed combat; the only difference between his Gundam and 
his smaller body was armor and really cool weaponry.

Still, despite all his experience, he'd never seen fighting like *this*.

The Gundam in his sights fought with... well... he'd heard of drunken 
styles roughly similar, but that was about as close as he could come to 
describing it.  The Gundam would dance, weave, even trip and fall flat 
on his face - but, wherever he went, mecha died.  Three Aries would be 
cut in half by an errant swing; the wrechage of a dead mecha would 
entangle in his legs and discharge, destroying a pilot who'd gotten the 
jump on him.  He'd swing, and it would fail - but cut the one next to 
his intended target.  In the end, it was impossible to tell if the pilot 
was either dumb and lucky or smart and very, very good.

After a moment, he decided on the latter.  The guy may play the fool at 
times; no fool could play this game for long and live.  Nevertheless, he 
had, and did.  After what he'd seen, maybe Jar-jar was for real after all.  

Finally, no witnesses were left.  Only his own Gundam and the Gungan's 
were left.  He watched as the Gundam flopped down one last time, then 
stopped.

A moment later, the chest hatch popped open.  Jar-jar staggered out, 
took an uneasy step, then flopped onto the ground.

"Me-se woozy..." Duo heard from Jar-jar, then groaned.  Okay, so he was 
still an idiot.  At least he could fight...

*****

Coming when hell freezes over to a theater near you.

*********************************************************

Hello.

I'm sorry.  I came up with this silly idea months ago - it was just the 
name.  I had this picture of Jar-jar flopping around in a Gundam, 
killing everything in sight in typical Jar-jar fashion.  Then, earlier 
tonight, Doug Reeves and I were sitting around enjoying some Jamba when 
he needled at me again - and planted the idea for the first scene.

Okay.  The damn thing's excised.  Now it can torture you, rather than me.

Take care, all.

Nicholas Leifker
nightelf@thekeep.org
http://www.thekeep.org/~nightelf/fanfic
June 26, 2000