The Underworld

"What's this?"

Garen Muln pushed up onto tip-toes to peer into the dark opening in the wall. A panel of sturdy duraplast normally covered it; but now the hard white surface had jammed into its hidden recess, leaving the blank space beyond alluringly open.

Another head appeared beside his, and a second pair of small hands grasped at the barely-reachable ledge. "Can't see."

"It's a hole in the wall."

"The walls have an inside?"

"It goes down. I feel air coming up. It's warm."

"Maybe there's another building inside the walls. A whole other Temple. With more people in it."

Garen shook his tousled head. "No. They would tell us. It's something secret."

Obi Wan Kenobi squinted at his friend suspiciously.. "A secret? Like what?"

Garen's eyebrows lifted, and his eyes widened as horrified realization dawned. "It goes down. It's the gateway to the Nine Hells. That's why it's Dark in there."

Obi Wan backpedaled, coming up against the solid forms of two adult legs in soft boots. The tall, broad shouldered Ali Alaan smiled down on the two boys. "Careful," he teased. "We don't want you falling down there." He waved a hand and the mysterious panel slid shut again, concealing the hideous maw of the hells behind a bland stretch of white. "Now line up. We're going to play Push-feather in the gardens."

Though they trotted obediently into line behind the other crechelings, neither Garen nor his companion could help casting apprehensive looks over their shoulders at the horrible panel and the secret it concealed. It weighed on their minds the entire afternoon.

Evening meal was a treat; they were allowed to eat in the main refectory, with a few of the grown-ups. The smaller dining hall on their own level was under repair after a malfunctioning cleaning droid had caused a small fire.

Obi Wan smiled in pleasure when Master Yoda himself made an appearance, tapping across the polished floor with his gimer stick, casting imperious looks at all the younglings to be sure they were behaving. He stopped at the small round table where the two friends had settled with their food.

"Your torrfli you must eat," he commanded, pointing a single clawed finger at the masses of green vegetable left lonely and abandoned upon the serving trays.

Garen wilted, but Obi Wan was brave. "It's disgusting, master," he explained politely.

"Disgusting, is it?" the ancient Jedi grunted, ears lifting. A piece of steamed torffli rose from Garen's plate and delicately floated through the air into the Master's clawed hand. Luminous green-gold eyes surveyed it critically for a moment, before the vegetable was popped into a wizened mouth. Master Yoda chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then his face twisted in a comical expression of revulsion. At last he swallowed. "Hhhmmp!" He commented. "Disgusting it is."

"We don't have to eat it?" Garen asked hopefully.

Yoda leaned forward, hands resting atop his stick. "No," he replied in a low tone. "Too much for mere younglings is this. Only Padawan or Knight ready for such a trial is." He nodded to them and continued on his way, ambling among the various tables and exchanging greetings or conversation with all those present.

The boys stared at each other for a moment. "I'm ready for this," Obi Wan proclaimed, and stuffed a large helping of torrfli in his mouth. Garen, unwilling to be proved the less worthy and strong, followed suit. Within minutes, the torffli had been consumed. They washed it down with many gulps of cold water. The aftertaste was still disgusting, but they consoled themselves with the knowledge that they were made of stern stuff, like true Jedi Knights.

"Excuse me, child, but why in stars' name would you desire a book on the hells?"

Garen Muln looked up into the lined face of Archivist Merin Soma and gulped. "Um."

"Um?" The archivist arched his brow, making the sloping curve of his horns seem like a severe line of displeasure. Fortunately, Obi Wan came to his friend's rescue.

"Because we're ingorint, master," he piped up.

Merin Soma's mouth twitched. "And this helps your case, how?" He folded his elegant hands behind his back and gazed patiently down at the second child.

"Because ..there is no ingorince. There is knowledge," Obi Wan insisted, voice solemn. He stared into the archivist's golden eyes without blinking. "So we should seek knowledge. In the Archives. In a book. One with holos, please."

Master Merin sighed, and led the way further down the aisle which housed texts suitable for the younger generation. He used the Force to lift a thin holo-volume from a high shelf. "Here. However, I must ask you to return it to me before you leave the Archives. I do not think Ali Alaan would appreciate finding this laying about the crèche."

The two boys bowed their thanks and sequestered themselves in an alcove. They eagerly activated the holo-book's self-reading feature, a function designed to help those too young to labor through long portions of text. Although they were learning to read Basic, and had mastered most the Aurebesh and the Old Republican writing symbols,, they were not yet able to quickly scan lengthy documents. A recorded voice softly murmured to them as they drew fingers over the touch-sensitive surface of the reader.

"Folklore of a thousand systems…" the voice said. "Including the creation myth of MonCalamari, the seven celestial regions of the Quermia, the legend of the Iegan angels, the ballad of Kun-De-Ma, Draigonslayer, the Corellian hells.."

"That one!"

They leaned closer, heads almost touching, as the shimmering blue narrator began his discourse on the infamous realm of the Underworld, and the terrors that awaited impure souls therein. This book contained a highly colorful and fanciful version, one told to Corellian children at hearthside gatherings for countless generations, and designed to entertain more than inform.

They did not even notice when Ali Alaan appeared to collect them. "What are you listening to?" he exclaimed, leaning over to peer at the holo-recording open before the entranced students. "What was Merin thinking?"

Garen hastily snapped the book shut. "Folklore, master," he replied.

Ali Alaan frowned gently. "You do understand that these are merely stories? Tales which different peoples tell for pleasure? Imaginary?"

"Yes, master," the boys chimed, nodding their agreement. The crèche master picked up the holobook. "Well, then, let us return this to its place and return you to your place – which is in your beds."

Obi Wan Kenobi lay rigid on his sleeping mat. All around him, the steady rise and fall of his crèche-mates' breathing textured the darkness with soft noises. Even Garen was fast asleep. Garen always fell asleep – he played so hard, studied so hard, talked so much, ate so much…he just couldn't sustain the pace. Obi Wan had a secret, though. When he felt empty inside, he just let more Light in. There was so much Light that you could never really run out. It warmed his breath, sparkled in his blood. It let him stay awake when he needed to.

Like now. He was the only one awake. He reached out through the Force to touch Ali Alaan. Master Ali was sleeping too. He would wake right up if anything moved too fast, or if anyone cried or shouted from a nightmare, or wet their bed like a baby. Sometimes that happened, and they were not allowed to laugh at the person who did it. That would be wrong.

He was the only one keeping watch. And somebody had to keep watch, because right there – behind the white plasteel panel - lurked the depths of the Nine Hells. After listening to the story with Garen in the archives, he felt that it would be better never to leave that opening unattended. Or better yet, to find a way to seal it off permanently. He wondered if a training saber set on low power might melt the edges of the door together. An older Padawan had told him that a lightsaber could do that. But how was he to get one back here? The sabers were kept in the practice rooms, and it would be wrong to remove one without permission.

What if something horrific emerged from that dark hole? What if it was one of the Demon Guardians of the Nine Gates? He was the only one awake. He would have to fight it, to save all his friends. Could he call for help from a master before it was too late? Ali Alaan did not carry a lightsaber. He would have to get help from Master Yoda. Master could defeat all the demons with one blow He would make them eat torffli and they would explode.

He wriggled his toes happily at this joyful image. Exploding demons! Torffli flying everywhere! Light danced and surged around him as he giggled, and he let more in, and then more, until he felt that he was floating in a haze of radiance. It was above all safe- safe and powerful. For a moment he wondered whether he would even need to call for help. The Light was here. He could just show it where to go and the bad things that might crawl out of that hole in the wall would disintegrate and shrivel and disappear in its power. The Force danced and he kicked his legs happily, suddenly so full of energy that he couldn't keep his body still.

Maybe he should just go challenge the bad things to come out, while the radiance was so strong. He would yell at them to show themselves, and they would come and be blasted to oblivion and then the crèche would be safe. Yes, that was a fine idea. He sprang up, ready to do battle, and padded across the room, carefully avoiding his peers as he threaded his way among the rows of mats. The door to the corridor was open, and he slipped into the main common area. There was the panel. He stood before it, gathering the Light around him. It spun and leapt for him, and it flowed through him in a hot-cold rush, making his teeth chatter. He stared at the panel, willing it to open. Invisible luminous tendrils surrounded it, pried open the panel, slid it into the wall…

A hand dropped to his shoulder. "Obi Wan. What are you doing?"

It was Ali Alaan. His long hair was loose, and fell around his face and shoulders in a black-silver waterfall. In the Light, Ali had a warm fire caressing his head and shoulders. His dark cloak seemed to move on an invisible breeze. His voice was scented like a forest…that didn't make sense. Smells were different from sounds. The boy blinked in confusion, feeling a little dizzy.

Ali Alaan steadied him. "Wake up, little one. Talk to me. What are you doing out here?"

He pointed to the dark hole. "The demons," he stuttered, trying to explain. The Light was flitting away – not completely away, but it was hiding and veiling again, going back inside things. He shook his head, making the burn in his eyes dissipate.

He tried to explain some more as Ali picked him up and carried him back to his sleeping mat, but all the crèche matser said was, "Hush. Go back to sleep." When he was alone once again, he laid very still and rigid on his mat, not wishing to disturb his agemates, or displease Ali Alaan by getting up again. But still he listened for any sound from the dark opening. Somebody had to be on watch.

The next day they had a special visitor in the practice rooms. Anoon Bondara ordinarily instructed the advanced saber classes, but he came today to show the more promising younglings the proper form of the first kata they would learn, a ritualized version of Djem So. Twelve pairs of eyes watched solemnly as the swordsmaster slowly and carefully demonstrated the graceful dance. Then, training sabers in hand, spaced a safe distance apart, they gravely imitated his every move as he led them through the steps in a coordinated dance.

"I expect you to practice this very hard over the next few years, so that when I see you in my class you will have in down perfectly, and be able to perform it as a velocity."

"What's that?" Garen asked.

Master Bondara flashed a smile and launched into a blistering dance, a blur of motion and light that seemed to flow with no beginning and no end, one continual movement. Then he did it again even faster, eliciting a cheer.

"In a moment, I will leave and let you practice with your other teachers," he told them. "Are there any questions before I go?"

Most the children were far too shy or intimidated to venture a question, but Obi Wan had a burning need to know.

"Master. What saber form is the best one to defeat a demon?"

"A demon – out of the nine hells?" Anoon Bondara chuckled. "I hope you aren't planning on encountering one anytime soon, little one."

The child looked up at him with grave eyes. "I hope not, too. But just in case."

The swordsmaster was charmed by this small warrior. He was careful not to laugh, for fear of injuring the boy's feelings. "Well," he said thoughtfully, winking at the crèche mistress in attendance. "Demons move fast."

"Yes?"

"So..I should think you would best be served by Ataru." He flourished his saber. "You would have to catch a demon off guard. Especially someone small like you. Perhaps you could flip over his head-" he suited actions to words. "And then, before he realizes where you are, you cut him in half!" A blazing sweep of his saber demonstrated. Several of the boys in the class clapped enthusiastically, while the crèche mistress only raised an eyebrow.

"Ataru," the boy repeated seriously. "Thank you, master."

After Master Bondara had departed, the younglings were allowed a quarter hour to practice their skills. The crèche mistress noted with a sigh of resignation that the boy who had asked about Ataru was now very intently practicing travelling forward flips, training saber's hilt held experimentally at his side. Every now and then he would roll out of a flip into a crouch and take a mighty swing at an imaginary foe. He looked for all the world as though he were training for a specific, deadly combat situation.

"Younglings," she chuckled under her breath.

It was much, much harder to stay awake the second night. Especially because Garen had agreed to keep watch with him but had fallen asleep anyway. Garen always fell asleep. And tonight the secret of letting in the Light was not working as well as it had. Obi Wan's head felt heavy, and his arms and legs felt heavy and he knew – he just knew- that if he lay here even another second on the sleep mat, with the small soft pillow cradling his head, that he would surrender and let down his guard.

And while he slept, something might creep out of the hole in the wall…and come into the crèche…and eat Bant and Reeft and Garen and all the others. And then it would go into the other dormitories and eat Taria, who had bitten his ankle, and Peli, and Shaak Ti, and perhaps even Bruck, although that last bit wouldn't be so bad really.

It was wrong to think things like that. He rolled onto his stomach and stretched. But the sleepiness did not go away. So he got up – it was so difficult – and he dragged himself out into the common room and planted himself under the hole, with his back propped against the wall. It was very uncomfortable and that would help him stay awake and keep watch. He didn't dare pull in too much Light, because that would wake up Ali Alaan and if he were found here, the master might make him drink peruma tea. There was no way he could stay awake if he drank that – it made him feel floaty and fall asleep. And then who would keep watch?

There was only a little moonlight creeping in through the skylight. He could see his own toes white against the dark flooring. They looked odd and ghostly in the light. Maybe he was ghostly. He didn't feel quite connected to the world anymore…would the demons be able to see him better if he were a ghost?

It was at that moment that he discovered fear can also help one stay awake. A cold shiver traveled down his spine, shaking him awake. He was the only one watching for the demons. He was paying special attention. Did that mean they were paying special attention to him? Maybe they had never noticed the little hole in the crèche wall before. But now that somebody was guarding it, they might finally have seen that it was there. They might be planning to use it – but then he still had to keep watch, even if it was his fault. It was too late now.

He crouched miserably beneath the dark opening, hidden behind its flimsy shield of white plastic. If he were a beacon calling to the horrible monsters below, then he should not be here at all. It would be better to throw himself down the pit and save all his friends. But he wasn't trained yet ….he had so much to learn – he had to master Ataru before he could face the demons…all he could do was wait here and hope to call for help when he saw the first sign of trouble…

He jerked awake. No! No sleeping. When he slept, they would come and eat everyone. The Gate Guardians – one for each ring of the hells, one for each deadly sin. He rested his head against the wall, and another shiver passed down his spine, and then a leaden weigh settled in his gut. Ever so faintly, as though echoing from a great distance, he could hear moaning and clanking and hissing and screaming, barely discernible sounds issuing through the wall, as though the pit into the hells carried them faintly up to his ears. He screwed his eyes shut and clamped hands over his ears. Those must be the sounds of the demons…or their prisoners.

He wished he did not have to sit here and keep watch. But nobody else was awake.

Hide and seek was Garen's favorite game. There were plenty of places to hide, and he loved finding new and cunning ways to conceal himself. But better than this, he was learning to hide himself within the Force. If you could do this, you didn't need a good hiding spot. You could just disappear.

Today they were playing blindfolded. That meant that the only way to find anybody was by their light. He loved playing this way because he knew he could find Obi Wan easily. His friend tried very hard to disappear, but he sort of leaked, as though he were hiding under a blanket that was too small, with a foot or a hand always sticking out.

"Gotcha!" Garen shouted, tagging his friend on the shoulder.

A muffled cry of frustration, and a hand reached up to whip Garen's blindfold off. Obi Wan stood sulking before him, arms folded across his chest. "You always find me," he complained.

"You shine," Garen explained.

The other boy scowled. Then another thought occurred to him. "If that's true, then what if the gate Guardian Demons can see me too?"

Garen was appalled. "I don't know," he admitted, holding his friend's hand. "You better be careful. They'll get you."

"What if they come to get me 'cause they can see me and then they eat everybody else? Then it would be my fault."

Garen stroked his shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe you should ask Ali Alaan or one of the other masters?"

They went together to seek the counsel of a wiser Jedi. It was Ji Soong whom they found first. The apprentice healer was making a routine check on one of the infants in the youngling's quarters. "Well, hello," she said, crouching down to bring herself to their level. "You look worried."

"Master," Garen explained helpfully. "Obi Wan can't sleep in the crèche anymore. He attracts demons and they will eat all the others."

Ji Soong's orange skin paled and she looked very puzzled indeed. "Master…?" she called over her shoulder. "I'm sorry – I don't understand what you are saying."

"I need to sleep alone, I think," Obi Wan muttered. "Because they might see me and come to eat the other younglings. What should I do?"

Master Vokara Che joined them, kneeling on the floor beside her apprentice. Her long blue headtails swayed gently as she studied the two human boys. "What is all this about eating younglings?" she inquired in her husky, accented voice. "Give me your hands." She reached out her long fingers to gently grasp Obi Wan's wrists.

"The Gate Guardians," he croaked, eyes wide. He could feel the healer nudging at his mind, and the sensation was not pleasant. He threw up a wall of Light to keep her out, and she winced.

"Now, now," she soothed. "Relax. I will not hurt you. You haven't slept in three days," she murmured, eyebrows lifting. "Why is that?"

He tried to pull away, but her sure fingers strengthened their grip, and her amber eyes continued to bore into him. "Guarding the entrance," he muttered.

Ji Soong laid a cool hand against his forehead. "Is he delirioius?"

"No, just sleep deprived," the senior healer decided, shaking her head softly. "We'll take him back with us for a full check-up, though. Tell Ali Alaan."

Panic spiked. "I don't want to go to the healers!" Obi Wan squeaked, with less dignity than he would have liked. "I'm fine! And I can't go there – there's sick people and if they come for me then they will get all the patients and nobody there has a lightsaber and don't make me go to sleep – I can't – somebody has to watch the entrance and I don't want to go!" He was trying his best not to cry like a baby, but now his eyes were burning again and he couldn't shove his fists into them because Vokara Che would not let go of his wrists. He clenched his jaw shut and pulled against her and planted his feet firmly, and looked desperately to Garen for help, but his friend was being led away by Ji Soong, his hand held in a firm vise.

"You will calm yourself," the healer commanded in a warning tone. "I am here to help you. You know it is wrong to throw a tantrum."

But he merely shook his head fiercely. Obviously she did not understand the gravity of the situation. And she didn't carry a 'saber, anyway, so really what use could she be against a demon assault?

"Come with me," she said in a very soft voice. For a moment light nudged at him again, and it seemed to be telling him to go , that this was right and that he should just relax and walk along beside the tall blue-skinned Twi-Lek. But then he realized that this was not his idea,it was hers, and the notion that she was touching his mind again made him throw up another wall, and then pull back hard, out of her grip, and then he was standing there and his body was shaking and he could feel the Light dancing and then it wasn't dancing, it was rocking and smashing in violent waves. It made him feel sick, and he wanted the sick feeling to go away, so he pushed it out of his body with a very loud cry –

And Vokara Che fell backward onto the floor with a small gasp. Some other things fell and went flying, too. And then he was crying and shouting and other people were running up, lots of grown up people and small toddlers and other younglings like him, and before he knew it his arms and feet were pinned and Vokara Che's voice said," Sleep."

This time it was no mere suggestion. The command crashed down on his weary mind with blunt force, and the last thing he thought as his eyelids drooped down was that all of them would be consumed by the Gate Guardians, and it was all his fault.

"…Most unbecoming tantrum. A temper like that is going to land him in no end of trouble when he's older."

"Hmmm. How long asleep has he been?"

"Oh, nearly twelve hours. The child was practically dead on his feet. He hadn't rested in three days. That's quite feat for such a young human, and it can produce strange delusions. Thankfully, there's nothing else the matter with him. I've instructed Ali Alaan to make sure he has peruma tea before bed from now on. We don't want another incident."

The voices were nearby, conversing in hushed tones. Obi Wan cracked open his eyes and watched as the blur of white and gold resolved itself into the gently arched ceiling of a room in the Halls of Healing.

"Ahhhh," the gravelly old voice said, and Master Yoda swam into view above him. "Good to see you it is, youngling. Missed by your friends, you are."

Memory snapped into place. He bolted upright. "Did the demons come?"

Vokara Che sucked in a sharp breath and leaned in, frowning, but Master Yoda waved her aside. "Demons?" he asked, quite soberly. "Not yet. Expecting some unwanted guests, are you?"

The boy nodded, and then caught the healer's eye. He remembered the last moments in the crèche, and his face flushed a deep crimson.

She brushed a hand over his back. "All is forgiven," she soothed. "I know you will not lose control like that again."

"I'm very sorry, master," he peeped, looking down at the white blankets. "I didn't mean to push you. It just …happened."

"You were afraid," Vokara Che assured him. "Why don't you tell us why?"

He took a deep breath. Master Yoda was here – and if anybody could help, it was he. Buoyed by hope, he raised his head and explained in a torrent of words. "The Demon Gate Guardinas. From the nine Hells. Garen and I read about them in the Archives. And we found an entrance to the Hells in the crèche common room. I've been guarding it so nothing gets out, but then Garen said that I shine and the demons will see me and what if they get all the others too? So I wanted to leave the crèche…but also somebody has to guard the Gate. Because of the Demons."

Vokara Che exchanged a very peculiar look with Master Yoda. "Demons in the crèche?" she asked helplessly. "What is he talking about?"

Obi Wan looked beseechingly to Master Yoda. It was clear that the healer did not believe him; his words were being dismissed as the ravings of an ill child. Dismay rose in his breast. He needed help and advice, not a condescending nod and wink…

"Go, Master Che," Yoda advised. "Talk to young Obi Wan myself, I shall."

"Surely, master, you have other more pressing matters to attend to," the healer objected, with a pained expression. "I do not wish to delay you here."

He grunted and aimed a whack at her shins with his stick, which she deftly avoided. Headtails writhing, she bowed and exited the room, still frowning over the peculiar child in the bed.

"Now," Yoda grunted when she had departed. "Demons. Inside Temple. Very bad is this. Cause great fear it will in crèche."

"I haven't told anyone but Garen because I knew it would make them afraid."

"Compassionate that is. Next time, tell Master Yoda about such invaders immediately, you should."

"Yes, master, I'm sorry master."

"Hm. Think they will come for you, eh?"

"Garen says I shine."

"Problem is that." Yoda sighed and his ears drooped. "No escape or hiding is there from this. Only one thing to do."

Obi Wan's blue eyes were wide with an unnamable dread. There was a very serious look in the Master's wrinkled face which told him that the ancient teacher not only believed him, but intended to deal with the terrible truth this very moment.

"Come. No time to waste."

He scrambled off the healer's cot, heart pounding, and followed the ancient one down the corridor and into the lift, his bare feet padding softly against the cool marble floors. They had an appointment with destiny.

Ali Alaan's eyes widened in surprise when Master Yoda appeared in the doorway to the younglings' quarters, Obi Wan Kenobi in tow. The young boy had nothing on but the lightweight sleep tunic and pants provided by the healer's wing. All the other children had been sent to bed hours ago. It was late in the night cycle.

"Hm. Bring Garen Muln to us," Yoda commanded, and the crèche master had no choice but to obey. Momentarily he reappeared with a very groggy Garen Muln behind him, also clad in nothing but sleep pants and a thin undertunic.

"Is there something wrong?" the caretaker inquired.

Yoda dismissed him. "Important business we have. Bring boys back to you later, if survive they do," he grunted.

Ali Alaan's expression of utter alarm did nothing to assuage Obi Wan's bad feeling, and the words certainly cured Garen of any lingering drowsiness he might feel.

When they were alone, Yoda led the silent boys into the common room, which was lit only by a sliver of moonlight glinting in from an angled skylight shaft. "Hmmm," Yoda grumbled. "Gateway to Underworld, you have discovered. Where?"

Garen pointed to the small white panel with one trembling finger.

"Ahh," Yoda said, stroking his hoary chin with a gnarled hand. He pointed a claw at the panel and it slammed open, revealing a square of pitch darkness. The boys took an involuntary step backward.

"Master," Obi Wan explained. "That's where the Demons will come out. They can get into the crèche from here. I've been trying to keep watch…but maybe you can help?"

Yoda gazed at him soberly. "Watching, not a solution is. Waiting for attack, endless job is this. Fear it inspires."

"Master?"

"Afraid you are, of this. More and more each day. Right, am I?"

The boys nodded. Obi Wan's head hung in shame.

"A Jedi confronts his fear. This thing your fear is. Confront it you must."

Garen whispered, "How?"

Yoda's mien was terrible to behold. "Go down into the Darkness you must."

"But!" Garen protested. "It's demons, master! We're not old enough! We can't face demons! I thought you were here to help us! We can't go down there by ourselves!"

The ancient master did not relent. He leaned heavily upon his cane. "Hmmph. Strong enough you are. Eaters of torffli. Courage of Jedi you possess. Face fear now you will."

Garen tugged at Obi Wan's tunic. "I don't want to go down there."

"We must," Obi Wan told him mournfully. He dragged his friend forward until they were at the very edge of the opening.

"What hear you?" Yoda rasped, moonlight glinting on his unruly wisps of hair, casting his eyes in deep shadow.

Indescribable noises rose from the pit. A hissing and clanking, and a low thrumming moan. Occasional bangs and wails wafted out of the inky blackness, carried up to their ears from far, far below.

Garen swallowed with difficulty. "Tormented souls," he choked.

Obi Wan looked at him intently. "May the Force be with you, Garen," he said, and pulled himself up over the ledge, disappearing into the darkness below. Garen cried out and then followed him, fear screaming in his veins.

They fell.

The pit was not a straight drop as they had imagined; it slanted slightly, and more than once they bumped and jostled along the unyielding cold surface of a tunnel. Splaying hands and feet, the two boys managed to slow their descent a little, somersaulting and tumbling along what seemed an eternity of darkness. Then, without warning, the slanting tunnel gave way beneath them and opened out into thin air. They plummeted straight down, panicked cries strangled in their throats.

A flash of blinding light and noise, and they plunged headfirst into softness, swallowed in a great pile of shifting forms, plastois containers, squelching organic textures and lumpy mysterious shapes.. Thrashing wildly for purchase, shoving the suffocating masses of odiferous, sloppily piled debris out of their faces, scrambling for hand or footholds in the quicksand-like surroundings, they finally made it to the top and gasped for air.

All around them lights blazed and terrible noise throbbed against their eardrums. The hissing, thrumming, whirring, and clanking was much worse here. Buzzers and lights flashed everywhere. The ceiling was a girded labyrinth above them, and in that ceiling appeared not one but many dark gaping holes.

"Where?" Garen gasped.

Obi Wan squirmed round, looking at the trash heap on which they sat, squinting against the bright light. "Machines?" he said aloud, utterly confused. This was nothing like the Nine Hells he and Garen had heard described in the Archives.

A metallic faceplate appeared over the horizon of the garbage collection bin. The droid screeched at them in an electronic dialect, waving thin tubular arms madly as it whizzed in circles above them.

They crawled across the mountain of refuse toward the droid, only to discover that they were in a large bin or container set on tracks in the floor. Nearby a great cloud of hot steam jetted out of a mighty humming machine, startling them both badly. They tumbled over the edge of the bin and landed on their backs. The same droid hovered close and scolded them some more.

Grabbing each others' hands and pelting for cover – behind a support column some meters away - they crouched and surveyed the scene with unbelieving eyes. Droids hummed everywhere, scooping materials into and out of bins and machines. Clanking pipes and steam vents and heat blasters and lights and the pervasive smell of oil and melting plastoids...

"Where are we?" Garen stammered helplessly.

"The recycling center," Obi Wan decided, face screwed up in consternation. Had they fallen out of the Temple into a nightmare where nothing made sense? He didn't like the yammering machines and the loud blasts of noise and the blinding light down here, nor the frantic tone of the droids' scolding. "I don't think there are any demons, though."

"No," Garen agreed.

A tapping sound caught their attention. Never had they been happier to see the diminutive figure of Yoda, calmly shuffling across the immense space to where they stood trembling behind the column. "Nasty place is this," he said. "But not underworld."

The boys' mouths hung open.

"Come. Take you home I will."

They followed him to a rear exit, which issued into a corridor and then another corridor they had never before seen. A lift ride, and a few more corridors, and they were safely deposited outside the crèche entrance.

"So…it's just a garbage chute?" Garen asked.

"Hmmmph."

"Master? Why didn't you just tell us what it was? " Obi Wan wanted to know.

Yoda's ears tweaked upward. "Knowledge woudl you have, then. But not wisdom.. Brave you were, little ones. Descended into nine hells to face fear."

"But…" Garen objected. "It wasn't really the Hells."

"On point of view, that depends," the ancient Jedi corrected him. "Now – to sleep must you both go. No more guarding entrance to trash chute, Obi Wan. Yes?"

"Yes, master."

He left them then, chuckling softly as he hobbled away down the passage. The boys watched him depart and then grinned at each other and made their way back to their sleeping mats, exhausted, in dire need of a bath...and a bit wiser, too.