Test
 

The shuttle ride back to the United States was brief,

but enjoyable. While there, I explained what I had in

mind for my day off. Moff Jendob and Executive Hol

agreed to go along, to "sample the local culture" as

they put it.
"So, you want to get as few points as possible?" Hol

asked. I still found it uncomfortable to call her

Shayera, especially with her husband right there.
"Yes. Each stroke is a point, and you want as few

strokes as possible," I said, looking back.
The executive nodded. "That makes sense, I guess.

But why not throw the ball, or launch it. Why use these

'clubs'?"
I laughed as I turned back around. "I don't know. The

game was invented almost a thousand years ago, so I

guess they couldn't really launch it. And as for

throwing it, if you can throw 550 meters into a cup

less than eleven and half centimeters wide..."
The Imperials laughed softly. "Good point," Jendob

said. "A game like this must be quite refreshing,

considering the breakneck pace of life."
"Yeah, it is. Very relaxing. Plus it's one of the few

traditional sports that emphasizes skill over strength.

Much like fencing."
We continued to talk for the rest of the trip. They

seemed rather enamored with our culture. But I guess

when you control an entire galaxy, cultures tend to

blend together until they all seem alike.
Finally, we touched down at the landing pad.
"It's not going to be cold, is it?" Executive

Hol--Shayera, I forced myself to think--asked

warily.
"No. The weather control guys must like golf. It's nice

and sunny at the course, and warm," I laughed.

Our final destination was a small town in some

mountains in New York. When we came to a sign that

read "Stamford Golf Course" , the ground car took a

right up a long road with a large dip and then a rise.

We took a left through an opening in a white fence,

the road interesecting a smaller one about a meter

and a half wide, and cutting in front of a large hill. A

line of trees seemed to form a border across a

grassy area, and on the far side was an area of

short-cut grass with a triangular flag on a metal pole. I

realized that was the "pin" Yittreas spoke of.
We continued up the short road, taking a sharp left

turn, almost doubling back. We found ourselves on

asphalt pad with other ground cars and some hover

vehicles.
At least they have repulsors, or some kind of

antigrav technology, I thought.
There was a small white building overlooking a

magnificent vista of what I assumed was the playing

area for this game. Grassy plains and hills stretch for

kilometers below. And at the border of this sunny,

warm weather, we could see snow falling on the town,

presumably this "Stamford."
We walked from the asphalt pad up another narrow

road, with the building on our left. It seemed too small

for a ground car. I began to wonder why it was there

when an odd looking vehicle pulled out from behind

the building, and started down the path. It had four

small wheels, a white plastic exterior that was stained

with mud, and a clear plastic windscreen. The vehicle

appreared to be a two-person affair. As it passed, I

saw a fabric strap securing a bag similar to one the

commander had slung over his shoulder.
Meanwhile, to the right was another area of short cut

grass with five or six short metal rods attached to

yellow flags. There were a few people there, with the

club Yittreas called a "putter", trying to tap the ball into

one of the holes. Across another narrow asphalt path

was another grassy area, this time with people using

other clubs to send the ball long distances. It

reminded me of a firing range in its setup.
The commander must've noticed my wandering gaze.

"That's the practice green, with the flags. Over there is

the driving range. After the pro shop, we'll go there

first to loosen up."
"'Pro shop?'" Shayera queried.
The commander smiled. "Yeah. Get a few buckets of

balls, and some clubs for you two. It wouldn't be fair if I

had all the fun."
We rounded the building. There were three other

vehicles like the one that came down the path sitting

back there. There was also a patio that overlooked

the amazing scenery of the course. But we didn't get

much chance to enjoy it, as Commander Yittreas

headed straight for a side entrance. Shayera and I

followed him in.
The room was small, but in a comfortable fashion.

The wood-paneled walls made it seem warm and

inviting. There were racks with equipment against the

walls, and a wooden desk with a slightly portly

gentleman behind it.
"Hey, Mike!" Yittreas greeted, his voice marked with

recognition.
"Max! Long time, no see," the other man said. The he

looked behind the commander. "New friends?" he

asked, his gaze falling on Shayera for a bit longer

than necessary.
The commander nodded. "Yeah. Thought I'd teach

them to play. They don't have golf where they're from."
This Mike fellow appeared shocked. "No golf? Where

could that be?"
Shayera spoke up. "A few billion lightyears..." she

paused, looking around, then pointed in a seemingly

random direction. "That way. And a few centuries in

the past, too."
"You're kidding me."
Max--I realized I just thought of him by his first

name--shook his head. "She's not. Mike Roe, meet

Moff Ams Jendob and Executive Shayera Hol of the

Galactic Empire."
Roe seemed nonplussed. Finally, he grinned. "A

pleasure to meet you. Since you two are special

guests here, everything's on the house."
"Everything?" Yittreas asked.
Roe gave Yittreas a sidelong look. "For them."
The commander laughed. "All right, all right. Well, let's

get them ready. And three large buckets, too."
The next twenty minutes involved Roe offering

Shayera and I various pieces of equipment. Yittreas,

who'd be standing behind him, would occasionally

shake his head, and occasionally nod. Eventually, we

were outfitted, including spiked footwear and a thin

glove for the left hand, cince I was right-handed and

Shayera was ambidextrous. We went back outside,

and walked around the building back the driving

range, each of us with a bag across one shoulder and

a wire basket of balls in a hand.

The three of us walked to the range. I rested my golf

bag on a small bipod, allowing Ams and Shayera to

take the two remaining stands provided at the course.

I plucked my 5-iron out, and then dropped a few balls

on the ground. Ams and Shayera watched me, then

selected clubs and a few balls, the former taking an

iron and the latter selecting her driver.
"Shayera, with that club, you want to tee up the ball," I

said. She gave a puzzled look. Of course. Why

would she know what 'tee up' means?
"When you tee up, you take one of those wooden

spikes, rest the ball on it, and push the spike into the

ground a little. The top of your club should be about

even with the center of the ball."
"Oh."
She teed up, then tried getting into a position to hit

the ball. "I think my club is messed up."
I smiled. "There's a stance you use. Watch me."
She cocked her head and observed me. Ams did the

same. I suddenly remembered that I was not a good

example for someone who never played before. And I

got worse when watched.
Too late now, Max.
I put the ball in the middle of my stance, leaned over,

and bent my knees. I rested the clubhead next to the

ball, and then turned at the hips, head down and left

arm straight. I brought the club back, parallel to the

ground, then uncoiled, starting at hips and then

following with my arms. There was the click of

club-on-ball, and a white streak flashed for an instant

on the left side of my field of vision. I continued the

swing, following through with my hands high.

Amazingly, I managed to hit the ball correctly. It flew

straight and true, and landed just behind the 150-yard

marker.
"That was very good, Commander," Jendob

complimented.
I scratched my head. "I guess."
Shayera tried next. Unfortunately, she used the same

positioning as me, and her club struck the ground,

drawing a grunt from her.
"You play the a little forward in your stance, Shayera.

The ball should be off your left heel," I advised.
She looked back and smirked. "Now you tell me."
She adjusted, and then made her swing. I didn't hear

the club strike the ball, just a whistle as something

shot through the air. Then a bang, and I saw her ball

rebound an easy 25 yards from the 250.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEe
The shuttle ride back to the United States was brief,

but enjoyable. While there, I explained what I had in

mind for my day off. Moff Jendob and Executive Hol

agreed to go along, to "sample the local culture" as

they put it.
"So, you want to get as few points as possible?" Hol

asked. I still found it uncomfortable to call her

Shayera, especially with her husband right there.
"Yes. Each stroke is a point, and you want as few

strokes as possible," I said, looking back.
The executive nodded. "That makes sense, I guess.

But why not throw the ball, or launch it. Why use these

'clubs'?"
I laughed as I turned back around. "I don't know. The

game was invented almost a thousand years ago, so I

guess they couldn't really launch it. And as for

throwing it, if you can throw 550 meters into a cup

less than eleven and half centimeters wide..."
The Imperials laughed softly. "Good point," Jendob

said. "A game like this must be quite refreshing,

considering the breakneck pace of life."
"Yeah, it is. Very relaxing. Plus it's one of the few

traditional sports that emphasizes skill over strength.

Much like fencing."
We continued to talk for the rest of the trip.

The shuttle ride back to the United States was brief,

but enjoyable. While there, I explained what I had in

mind for my day off. Moff Jendob and Executive Hol

agreed to go along, to "sample the local culture" as

they put it.
"So, you want to get as few points as possible?" Hol

asked. I still found it uncomfortable to call her

Shayera, especially with her husband right there.
"Yes. Each stroke is a point, and you want as few

strokes as possible," I said, looking back.
The executive nodded. "That makes sense, I guess.

But why not throw the ball, or launch it. Why use these

'clubs'?"
I laughed as I turned back around. "I don't know. The

game was invented almost a thousand years ago, so I

guess they couldn't really launch it. And as for

throwing it, if you can throw 550 meters into a cup

less than eleven and half centimeters wide..."
The Imperials laughed softly. "Good point," Jendob

said. "A game like this must be quite refreshing,

considering the breakneck pace of life."
"Yeah, it is. Very relaxing. Plus it's one of the few

traditional sports that emphasizes skill over strength.

Much like fencing."
We continued to talk for the rest of the trip. They

seemed rather enamored with our culture. But I guess

when you control an entire galaxy, cultures tend to

blend together until they all seem alike.
Finally, we touched down at the landing pad.
"It's not going to be cold, is it?" Executive

Hol--Shayera, I forced myself to think--asked

warily.
"No. The weather control guys must like golf. It's nice

and sunny at the course, and warm," I laughed.

Our final destination was a small town in some

mountains in New York. When we came to a sign that

read "Stamford Golf Course" , the ground car took a

right up a long road with a large dip and then a rise.

We took a left through an opening in a white fence,

the road interesecting a smaller one about a meter

and a half wide, and cutting in front of a large hill. A

line of trees seemed to form a border across a

grassy area, and on the far side was an area of

short-cut grass with a triangular flag on a metal pole. I

realized that was the "pin" Yittreas spoke of.
We continued up the short road, taking a sharp left

turn, almost doubling back. We found ourselves on

asphalt pad with other ground cars and some hover

vehicles.
At least they have repulsors, or some kind of

antigrav technology, I thought.
There was a small white building overlooking a

magnificent vista of what I assumed was the playing

area for this game. Grassy plains and hills stretch for

kilometers below. And at the border of this sunny,

warm weather, we could see snow falling on the town,

presumably this "Stamford."
We walked from the asphalt pad up another narrow

road, with the building on our left. It seemed too small

for a ground car. I began to wonder why it was there

when an odd looking vehicle pulled out from behind

the building, and started down the path. It had four

small wheels, a white plastic exterior that was stained

with mud, and a clear plastic windscreen. The vehicle

appreared to be a two-person affair. As it passed, I

saw a fabric strap securing a bag similar to one the

commander had slung over his shoulder.
Meanwhile, to the right was another area of short cut

grass with five or six short metal rods attached to

yellow flags. There were a few people there, with the

club Yittreas called a "putter", trying to tap the ball into

one of the holes. Across another narrow asphalt path

was another grassy area, this time with people using

other clubs to send the ball long distances. It

reminded me of a firing range in its setup.
The commander must've noticed my wandering gaze.

"That's the practice green, with the flags. Over there is

the driving range. After the pro shop, we'll go there

first to loosen up."
"'Pro shop?'" Shayera queried.
The commander smiled. "Yeah. Get a few buckets of

balls, and some clubs for you two. It wouldn't be fair if I

had all the fun."
We rounded the building. There were three other

vehicles like the one that came down the path sitting

back there. There was also a patio that overlooked

the amazing scenery of the course. But we didn't get

much chance to enjoy it, as Commander Yittreas

headed straight for a side entrance. Shayera and I

followed him in.
The room was small, but in a comfortable fashion.

The wood-paneled walls made it seem warm and

inviting. There were racks with equipment against the

walls, and a wooden desk with a slightly portly

gentleman behind it.
"Hey, Mike!" Yittreas greeted, his voice marked with

recognition.
"Max! Long time, no see," the other man said. The he

looked behind the commander. "New friends?" he

asked, his gaze falling on Shayera for a bit longer

than necessary.
The commander nodded. "Yeah. Thought I'd teach

them to play. They don't have golf where they're from."
This Mike fellow appeared shocked. "No golf? Where

could that be?"
Shayera spoke up. "A few billion lightyears..." she

paused, looking around, then pointed in a seemingly

random direction. "That way. And a few centuries in

the past, too."
"You're kidding me."
Max--I realized I just thought of him by his first

name--shook his head. "She's not. Mike Roe, meet

Moff Ams Jendob and Executive Shayera Hol of the

Galactic Empire."
Roe seemed nonplussed. Finally, he grinned. "A

pleasure to meet you. Since you two are special

guests here, everything's on the house."
"Everything?" Yittreas asked.
Roe gave Yittreas a sidelong look. "For them."
The commander laughed. "All right, all right. Well, let's

get them ready. And three large buckets, too."
The next twenty minutes involved Roe offering

Shayera and I various pieces of equipment. Yittreas,

who'd be standing behind him, would occasionally

shake his head, and occasionally nod. Eventually, we

were outfitted, including spiked footwear and a thin

glove for the left hand, cince I was right-handed and

Shayera was ambidextrous. We went back outside,

and walked around the building back the driving

range, each of us with a bag across one shoulder and

a wire basket of balls in a hand.

The three of us walked to the range. I rested my golf

bag on a small bipod, allowing Ams and Shayera to

take the two remaining stands provided at the course.

I plucked my 5-iron out, and then dropped a few balls

on the ground. Ams and Shayera watched me, then

selected clubs and a few balls, the former taking an

iron and the latter selecting her driver.
"Shayera, with that club, you want to tee up the ball," I

said. She gave a puzzled look. Of course. Why

would she know what 'tee up' means?
"When you tee up, you take one of those wooden

spikes, rest the ball on it, and push the spike into the

ground a little. The top of your club should be about

even with the center of the ball."
"Oh."
She teed up, then tried getting into a position to hit

the ball. "I think my club is messed up."
I smiled. "There's a stance you use. Watch me."
She cocked her head and observed me. Ams did the

same. I suddenly remembered that I was not a good

example for someone who never played before. And I

got worse when watched.
Too late now, Max.
I put the ball in the middle of my stance, leaned over,

and bent my knees. I rested the clubhead next to the

ball, and then turned at the hips, head down and left

arm straight. I brought the club back, parallel to the

ground, then uncoiled, starting at hips and then

following with my arms. There was the click of

club-on-ball, and a white streak flashed for an instant

on the left side of my field of vision. I continued the

swing, following through with my hands high.

Amazingly, I managed to hit the ball correctly. It flew

straight and true, and landed just behind the 150-yard

marker.
"That was very good, Commander," Jendob

complimented.
I scratched my head. "I guess."
Shayera tried next. Unfortunately, she used the same

positioning as me, and her club struck the ground,

drawing a grunt from her.
"You play the a little forward in your stance, Shayera.

The ball should be off your left heel," I advised.
She looked back and smirked. "Now you tell me."
She adjusted, and then made her swing. I didn't hear

the club strike the ball, just a whistle as something

shot through the air. Then a bang, and I saw her ball

rebound an easy 25 yards from the 250.

Test one. This is a test of the...

Double Post

Test two. Yep, you guessed it, emergency broadcast system.

ihgfskhgfuysdagfuksygfyuksafgkusfguasfgas

Double Post

Scooby Dooby Doo
Where are you?

The shuttle ride back to the United States was brief,

but enjoyable. While there, I explained what I had in

mind for my day off. Moff Jendob and Executive Hol

agreed to go along, to "sample the local culture" as

they put it.
"So, you want to get as few points as possible?" Hol

asked. I still found it uncomfortable to call her

Shayera, especially with her husband right there.
"Yes. Each stroke is a point, and you want as few

strokes as possible," I said, looking back.
The executive nodded. "That makes sense, I guess.

But why not throw the ball, or launch it. Why use these

'clubs'?"
I laughed as I turned back around. "I don't know. The

game was invented almost a thousand years ago, so I

guess they couldn't really launch it. And as for

throwing it, if you can throw 550 meters into a cup

less than eleven and half centimeters wide..."
The Imperials laughed softly. "Good point," Jendob

said. "A game like this must be quite refreshing,

considering the breakneck pace of life."
"Yeah, it is. Very relaxing. Plus it's one of the few

traditional sports that emphasizes skill over strength.

Much like fencing."
We continued to talk for the rest of the trip. They

seemed rather enamored with our culture. But I guess

when you control an entire galaxy, cultures tend to

blend together until they all seem alike.
Finally, we touched down at the landing pad.
"It's not going to be cold, is it?" Executive

Hol--Shayera, I forced myself to think--asked

warily.
"No. The weather control guys must like golf. It's nice

and sunny at the course, and warm," I laughed.

Our final destination was a small town in some

mountains in New York. When we came to a sign that

read "Stamford Golf Course" , the ground car took a

right up a long road with a large dip and then a rise.

We took a left through an opening in a white fence,

the road interesecting a smaller one about a meter

and a half wide, and cutting in front of a large hill. A

line of trees seemed to form a border across a

grassy area, and on the far side was an area of

short-cut grass with a triangular flag on a metal pole. I

realized that was the "pin" Yittreas spoke of.
We continued up the short road, taking a sharp left

turn, almost doubling back. We found ourselves on

asphalt pad with other ground cars and some hover

vehicles.
At least they have repulsors, or some kind of

antigrav technology, I thought.
There was a small white building overlooking a

magnificent vista of what I assumed was the playing

area for this game. Grassy plains and hills stretch for

kilometers below. And at the border of this sunny,

warm weather, we could see snow falling on the town,

presumably this "Stamford."
We walked from the asphalt pad up another narrow

road, with the building on our left. It seemed too small

for a ground car. I began to wonder why it was there

when an odd looking vehicle pulled out from behind

the building, and started down the path. It had four

small wheels, a white plastic exterior that was stained

with mud, and a clear plastic windscreen. The vehicle

appreared to be a two-person affair. As it passed, I

saw a fabric strap securing a bag similar to one the

commander had slung over his shoulder.
Meanwhile, to the right was another area of short cut

grass with five or six short metal rods attached to

yellow flags. There were a few people there, with the

club Yittreas called a "putter", trying to tap the ball into

one of the holes. Across another narrow asphalt path

was another grassy area, this time with people using

other clubs to send the ball long distances. It

reminded me of a firing range in its setup.
The commander must've noticed my wandering gaze.

"That's the practice green, with the flags. Over there is

the driving range. After the pro shop, we'll go there

first to loosen up."
"'Pro shop?'" Shayera queried.
The commander smiled. "Yeah. Get a few buckets of

balls, and some clubs for you two. It wouldn't be fair if I

had all the fun."
We rounded the building. There were three other

vehicles like the one that came down the path sitting

back there. There was also a patio that overlooked

the amazing scenery of the course. But we didn't get

much chance to enjoy it, as Commander Yittreas

headed straight for a side entrance. Shayera and I

followed him in.
The room was small, but in a comfortable fashion.

The wood-paneled walls made it seem warm and

inviting. There were racks with equipment against the

walls, and a wooden desk with a slightly portly

gentleman behind it.
"Hey, Mike!" Yittreas greeted, his voice marked with

recognition.
"Max! Long time, no see," the other man said. The he

looked behind the commander. "New friends?" he

asked, his gaze falling on Shayera for a bit longer

than necessary.
The commander nodded. "Yeah. Thought I'd teach

them to play. They don't have golf where they're from."
This Mike fellow appeared shocked. "No golf? Where

could that be?"
Shayera spoke up. "A few billion lightyears..." she

paused, looking around, then pointed in a seemingly

random direction. "That way. And a few centuries in

the past, too."
"You're kidding me."
Max--I realized I just thought of him by his first

name--shook his head. "She's not. Mike Roe, meet

Moff Ams Jendob and Executive Shayera Hol of the

Galactic Empire."
Roe seemed nonplussed. Finally, he grinned. "A

pleasure to meet you. Since you two are special

guests here, everything's on the house."
"Everything?" Yittreas asked.
Roe gave Yittreas a sidelong look. "For them."
The commander laughed. "All right, all right. Well, let's

get them ready. And three large buckets, too."
The next twenty minutes involved Roe offering

Shayera and I various pieces of equipment. Yittreas,

who'd be standing behind him, would occasionally

shake his head, and occasionally nod. Eventually, we

were outfitted, including spiked footwear and a thin

glove for the left hand, cince I was right-handed and

Shayera was ambidextrous. We went back outside,

and walked around the building back the driving

range, each of us with a bag across one shoulder and

a wire basket of balls in a hand.

The three of us walked to the range. I rested my golf

bag on a small bipod, allowing Ams and Shayera to

take the two remaining stands provided at the course.

I plucked my 5-iron out, and then dropped a few balls

on the ground. Ams and Shayera watched me, then

selected clubs and a few balls, the former taking an

iron and the latter selecting her driver.
"Shayera, with that club, you want to tee up the ball," I

said. She gave a puzzled look. Of course. Why

would she know what 'tee up' means?
"When you tee up, you take one of those wooden

spikes, rest the ball on it, and push the spike into the

ground a little. The top of your club should be about

even with the center of the ball."
"Oh."
She teed up, then tried getting into a position to hit

the ball. "I think my club is messed up."
I smiled. "There's a stance you use. Watch me."
She cocked her head and observed me. Ams did the

same. I suddenly remembered that I was not a good

example for someone who never played before. And I

got worse when watched.
Too late now, Max.
I put the ball in the middle of my stance, leaned over,

and bent my knees. I rested the clubhead next to the

ball, and then turned at the hips, head down and left

arm straight. I brought the club back, parallel to the

ground, then uncoiled, starting at hips and then

following with my arms. There was the click of

club-on-ball, and a white streak flashed for an instant

on the left side of my field of vision. I continued the

swing, following through with my hands high.

Amazingly, I managed to hit the ball correctly. It flew

straight and true, and landed just behind the 150-yard

marker.
"That was very good, Commander," Jendob

complimented.
I scratched my head. "I guess."
Shayera tried next. Unfortunately, she used the same

positioning as me, and her club struck the ground,

drawing a grunt from her.
"You play the a little forward in your stance, Shayera.

The ball should be off your left heel," I advised.
She looked back and smirked. "Now you tell me."
She adjusted, and then made her swing. I didn't hear

the club strike the ball, just a whistle as something

shot through the air. Then a bang, and I saw her ball

rebound an easy 25 yards from the 250.

The shuttle ride back to the United States was brief,

but enjoyable. While there, I explained what I had in

mind for my day off. Moff Jendob and Executive Hol

agreed to go along, to "sample the local culture" as

they put it.
"So, you want to get as few points as possible?" Hol

asked. I still found it uncomfortable to call her

Shayera, especially with her husband right there.
"Yes. Each stroke is a point, and you want as few

strokes as possible," I said, looking back.
The executive nodded. "That makes sense, I guess.

But why not throw the ball, or launch it. Why use these

'clubs'?"
I laughed as I turned back around. "I don't know. The

game was invented almost a thousand years ago, so I

guess they couldn't really launch it. And as for

throwing it, if you can throw 550 meters into a cup

less than eleven and half centimeters wide..."
The Imperials laughed softly. "Good point," Jendob

said. "A game like this must be quite refreshing,

considering the breakneck pace of life."
"Yeah, it is. Very relaxing. Plus it's one of the few

traditional sports that emphasizes skill over strength.

Much like fencing."
We continued to talk for the rest of the trip. They

seemed rather enamored with our culture. But I guess

when you control an entire galaxy, cultures tend to

blend together until they all seem alike.
Finally, we touched down at the landing pad.
"It's not going to be cold, is it?" Executive

Hol--Shayera, I forced myself to think--asked

warily.
"No. The weather control guys must like golf. It's nice

and sunny at the course, and warm," I laughed.

Our final destination was a small town in some

mountains in New York. When we came to a sign that

read "Stamford Golf Course" , the ground car took a

right up a long road with a large dip and then a rise.

We took a left through an opening in a white fence,

the road interesecting a smaller one about a meter

and a half wide, and cutting in front of a large hill. A

line of trees seemed to form a border across a

grassy area, and on the far side was an area of

short-cut grass with a triangular flag on a metal pole. I

realized that was the "pin" Yittreas spoke of.
We continued up the short road, taking a sharp left

turn, almost doubling back. We found ourselves on

asphalt pad with other ground cars and some hover

vehicles.
At least they have repulsors, or some kind of

antigrav technology, I thought.
There was a small white building overlooking a

magnificent vista of what I assumed was the playing

area for this game. Grassy plains and hills stretch for

kilometers below. And at the border of this sunny,

warm weather, we could see snow falling on the town,

presumably this "Stamford."
We walked from the asphalt pad up another narrow

road, with the building on our left. It seemed too small

for a ground car. I began to wonder why it was there

when an odd looking vehicle pulled out from behind

the building, and started down the path. It had four

small wheels, a white plastic exterior that was stained

with mud, and a clear plastic windscreen. The vehicle

appreared to be a two-person affair. As it passed, I

saw a fabric strap securing a bag similar to one the

commander had slung over his shoulder.
Meanwhile, to the right was another area of short cut

grass with five or six short metal rods attached to

yellow flags. There were a few people there, with the

club Yittreas called a "putter", trying to tap the ball into

one of the holes. Across another narrow asphalt path

was another grassy area, this time with people using

other clubs to send the ball long distances. It

reminded me of a firing range in its setup.
The commander must've noticed my wandering gaze.

"That's the practice green, with the flags. Over there is

the driving range. After the pro shop, we'll go there

first to loosen up."
"'Pro shop?'" Shayera queried.
The commander smiled. "Yeah. Get a few buckets of

balls, and some clubs for you two. It wouldn't be fair if I

had all the fun."
We rounded the building. There were three other

vehicles like the one that came down the path sitting

back there. There was also a patio that overlooked

the amazing scenery of the course. But we didn't get

much chance to enjoy it, as Commander Yittreas

headed straight for a side entrance. Shayera and I

followed him in.
The room was small, but in a comfortable fashion.

The wood-paneled walls made it seem warm and

inviting. There were racks with equipment against the

walls, and a wooden desk with a slightly portly

gentleman behind it.
"Hey, Mike!" Yittreas greeted, his voice marked with

recognition.
"Max! Long time, no see," the other man said. The he

looked behind the commander. "New friends?" he

asked, his gaze falling on Shayera for a bit longer

than necessary.
The commander nodded. "Yeah. Thought I'd teach

them to play. They don't have golf where they're from."
This Mike fellow appeared shocked. "No golf? Where

could that be?"
Shayera spoke up. "A few billion lightyears..." she

paused, looking around, then pointed in a seemingly

random direction. "That way. And a few centuries in

the past, too."
"You're kidding me."
Max--I realized I just thought of him by his first

name--shook his head. "She's not. Mike Roe, meet

Moff Ams Jendob and Executive Shayera Hol of the

Galactic Empire."
Roe seemed nonplussed. Finally, he grinned. "A

pleasure to meet you. Since you two are special

guests here, everything's on the house."
"Everything?" Yittreas asked.
Roe gave Yittreas a sidelong look. "For them."
The commander laughed. "All right, all right. Well, let's

get them ready. And three large buckets, too."
The next twenty minutes involved Roe offering

Shayera and I various pieces of equipment. Yittreas,

who'd be standing behind him, would occasionally

shake his head, and occasionally nod. Eventually, we

were outfitted, including spiked footwear and a thin

glove for the left hand, cince I was right-handed and

Shayera was ambidextrous. We went back outside,

and walked around the building back the driving

range, each of us with a bag across one shoulder and

a wire basket of balls in a hand.

The three of us walked to the range. I rested my golf

bag on a small bipod, allowing Ams and Shayera to

take the two remaining stands provided at the course.

I plucked my 5-iron out, and then dropped a few balls

on the ground. Ams and Shayera watched me, then

selected clubs and a few balls, the former taking an

iron and the latter selecting her driver.
"Shayera, with that club, you want to tee up the ball," I

said. She gave a puzzled look. Of course. Why

would she know what 'tee up' means?
"When you tee up, you take one of those wooden

spikes, rest the ball on it, and push the spike into the

ground a little. The top of your club should be about

even with the center of the ball."
"Oh."
She teed up, then tried getting into a position to hit

the ball. "I think my club is messed up."
I smiled. "There's a stance you use. Watch me."
She cocked her head and observed me. Ams did the

same. I suddenly remembered that I was not a good

example for someone who never played before. And I

got worse when watched.
Too late now, Max.
I put the ball in the middle of my stance, leaned over,

and bent my knees. I rested the clubhead next to the

ball, and then turned at the hips, head down and left

arm straight. I brought the club back, parallel to the

ground, then uncoiled, starting at hips and then

following with my arms. There was the click of

club-on-ball, and a white streak flashed for an instant

on the left side of my field of vision. I continued the

swing, following through with my hands high.

Amazingly, I managed to hit the ball correctly. It flew

straight and true, and landed just behind the 150-yard

marker.
"That was very good, Commander," Jendob

complimented.
I scratched my head. "I guess."
Shayera tried next. Unfortunately, she used the same

positioning as me, and her club struck the ground,

drawing a grunt from her.
"You play the a little forward in your stance, Shayera.

The ball should be off your left heel," I advised.
She looked back and smirked. "Now you tell me."
She adjusted, and then made her swing. I didn't hear

the club strike the ball, just a whistle as something

shot through the air. Then a bang, and I saw her ball

rebound an easy 25 yards from the 250. asdsds

um. What is the point of this? :D Oh wait i see now.

We were trying to test the auto-merge feature of double posting. It doesn't work on posts that are extremely long, especially when merging the posts make the original post go over the 10,000 character limit.

sounds cool.

Not the first word I'd use. It's just a feature that we were testing... not really that cool, lol.

ok then, carry on.

We're done. :)

It works... as evidenced by several of my posts which have been merged before. They were small posts though.