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The Selected, as they were called. Dead Quite possibly. But what I meant to say is that he has disappeared. When Two months ago. Why was he originally confined to Bedlam Plagueis asked. He was remanded by authorities on Glee Anselm, but ultimately sentenced to serve out his time here, where he could be looked after. What was his crime Crimes, is more apt. He has a long history of sadomasochistic practicesmost often performed on small animalspyromania, petty crime, and intoxicant use. Typically we see this in beings who have been abused or had an unstable upbringing, but Naat Lare had a loving family and is very intelligent, despite having been expelled from countless schools. Plagueis considered his next question carefully. Is he dangerous The Ithorian drummed his spatulate fingers again before responding. At the risk of violating patient confidentiality, I would say potentially dangerous, as he has certain let us say, talents, that transcend the ordinary. Did those talents figure into his escape Perhaps. Though we think he may have had help. From whom A Bith physician who took an interest in his case. Plagueis leaned back in his chair. Venamis Have you contacted this physician We tried, but the information he furnished regarding his practice and place of residence was fraudulent. So he may not have been a physician. The Ithorians head bobbed on his curving neck. Sadly. The Bith may have been an accomplice, of sorts. Do you have any idea where Naat Lare may have disappeared to Assuming he left Bedlam on his own, the possibilities are limited, given the dearth of starships that serve us. His first stop would have to have been either Felucia, Caluula, or Abraxin. We notified the authorities on those worlds. Unfortunately, we lack the budget to undertake an extensive search.

I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen. The first of these came as a terrible shock and, like anything that changes you forever, split my life into halves: Before and After. Like many of the extraordinary things to come, it involved my grandfather, Abraham Portman. Growing up, Grandpa Portman was the most fascinating person I knew. He had lived in an orphanage, fought in wars, crossed oceans by steamship and deserts on horseback, performed in circuses, knew everything about guns and selfdefense and surviving in the wilderness, and spoke at least three languages that werent English. It all seemed unfathomably exotic to a kid whod never left Florida, and I begged him to regale me with stories whenever I saw him. He always obliged, telling them like secrets that could be entrusted only to me. When I was six I decided that my only chance of having a life half as exciting as Grandpa Portmans was to become an explorer. He encouraged me by spending afternoons at my side hunched over maps of the world, plotting imaginary expeditions with trails of red pushpins and telling me about the fantastic places I would discover one day. At home I made my ambitions known by parading around with a cardboard tube held to my eye, shouting, Land ho! and Prepare a landing party! until my parents shooed me outside. I think they worried that my grand father would infect me with some incurable dreaminess from which Id never recoverthat these fantasies were somehow inoculating me against more practical ambitionsso one day my mother sat me down and explained that I couldnt become an explorer because everything in the world had already been discovered. Id been born in the wrong century, and I felt cheated. I felt even more cheated when I realized that most of Grandpa Portmans best stories couldnt possibly be true. The tallest tales were always about his childhood, like how he was born in Poland but at twelve had been shipped off to a s home in Wales. When I would ask why he had to leave his parents, his answer was always the same: because the monsters were after him. Poland was simply rotten with them, he said.
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