"Of course," you say. "Where are the ceremonial swords?"

"This way!" the man says, excited. He should be – few get to see you fight and live to tell the tale.

You turn off the main corridor to a secondary one. The walls are still white and the doors still blue. The man leads you through yet another turn.

A pair of identical swords sits on a rack. The blades are straight and of medium heft, the hilts just barely large enough for both of your hands, and blue tassels that match the doors hang from the pitch-black pommels.

"One's for you, one for Gresher," the man says. "When you get to him, just open the door and declare that you're here on behalf of the truth when you hand him one of the swords." He pauses, as if he's just remembered something. "I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I? I'm Lup Nidra."

"Maul."

You pick up the swords and give them an experimental twirl. They truly are twins, down to the grain of the steel. Each fits in your hand like it was made for it. The Force sings through them as if they were made by some Force-sensitive bladesmith for a purpose. Not a Jedi; something else. The swords shine with the truth and hunger for it like they hunger for the blood of the false. They are perfectly made for their purpose.

Nidra leads you through another set of mazelike corridors and stops before a blue door that has the name Ogyl Gresher written next to it. You can sense someone within.

Nidra makes to knock, but you have standards for your entrances. You unlock the door with the Force and slam it open. "Ogyl Gresher," you begin, pausing for emphasis. "Did you truly believe all you pretend to promote – discovery, knowledge, the truth – would go unavenged?"

"Who are you?" Gresher demands. He is tall and lithe. You'll have to beware his reach. "Why are you here?"

"I am Maul," you say, "And I am here for the truth."

You throw one of the swords so it lands on his desk, embedded five centimeters deep. The hilt wobbles. To his credit, all that twitches is his lip. "So be it," he says and pulls the sword free. "Bring it on, fraud," he scoffs. "The truth shall bring your death."

With that, he vaults over the desk. You easily block his first strike and step to the side as you riposte. He is taller, so you will have to be faster. You strike again, the sword not a lightsaber and not your saberstaff, slower than you'd prefer, but the Force gives you all the edge you need.

Gresher is a good swordsman, you note with satisfaction. It makes the moment you push his sword away and bring your own to his jugular all the sweeter.

He takes a shuddering breath in, as if about to cry out about the unfairness of his defeat, but the blade bites into his skin. Blood spills out, much less than the last score of times you cut a human in the jugular. You notice your sword is glowing, as is its twin. You let it do as it wishes. You have learned not to interrupt Force rituals you do not understand.

Eventually, Gresher's corpse falls down to the floor, drained of life, lifeblood, and midichlorians. You pluck the sword from his dead fingers and compare it to its twin. Only one has drunk its fill, but both hum with satisfaction, something electric flowing between them and through you, the Force charged with purpose.

"Wow," Nidra says. "That was impressive."

"I always am." You set the swords on the desk for now. "You said I'm now on the tenure track?"

As you are already here, you might as well stay. Surely Kenobi will enter any moment to demand why you are here. Perhaps you could entice him into a duel with these Force-forged swords. You would enjoy seeing his corpse drop to the ground like Gresher's, drained of everything that animates it.

"Well, we're part of Aerospace Propulsion. We were founded by the legendary Atrovie Adho, who made several improvements to hyperdrive motivators," Nidra explains. "She died in office. None of her successors have really made any improvements to hyperdrive speeds. Gsahko Taiwun discovered some improvements to fuel efficency fifteen years back or so, and that's the only reason we still have funding. We'll be shut down in a decade if no-one comes up with anything notable."

Hyperdrive technology has stagnated at Class 2 for mass-produced large vessels like warships, with smugglers and other people who tune theirs individually being able to dip beneath Class 1. Rumors speak of a Class 0.5 hyperdrive somewhere, but the most you've heard of is the Class 0.7 of your own Scimitar so long ago.

Come to think of it, you did the tune-ups on that yourself. Surely you can try to see if some of the smugglers' tricks can be scaled up. Or perhaps- "Have you tried hypermatter particle wake engineering?" you ask. You recall going through the calculations for that. The design tolerances required would be beyond the current shipyards, but a working prototype might make them update their age-old equipment.

"No, we haven't. Is there a reason we haven't heard of anyone trying it?"

"The shipyards don't want to invest in new equipment and the fabrication tolerances would have to be precise."

Nidra nods. "I guess it's worth looking at."

"I already did the math," you say, annoyed that he doubts you. "The theoretical limit for the geometries I investigated would be Class 0.3."

Nidra lights up. "Excellent! I'll call a group meeting!" He rushes off before you can ask him where the group meeting will be held.

You sigh and dig through the drawers of the desk until you find a stack of flimsiplast and a pencil. You sit down and start going through the calculations again. Tinkering with the hyperdrive was the closest thing to a hobby Sidious permitted you. Looking at the theoretical improvements and running the numbers for them was your favorite way to spend otherwise free moments. It will make for a fine hobby and cover as you wait for Kenobi.

The End.