A detour - a side plot to killa-koala quest
The agent eyed the meter on his spaceship dashboard warily. It was pointing to 150% engine efficency, very deep into the red zone. In fact, it was the maximum setting. The agent could imagine how the little needle strive to go beyond 150%, how it long for higher settings to exist so it could point to them and warn of the impending doom. The engineers never considered an engine could be so tweaked. Verily, Lord Orpon's scientists did their job well. The engine is still working. For how long, however, is anyone guess. But then, the agent liked going fast. Very fast.
The EU space police is undoubtfully already in pursuit, but the agent had clearence. Right from the top, from the current president of the union, one G-Force. The agent did not know why g-force summoned him so urgently to Geneva, but any excuse to top the speed on his personal Excalibur is good enough, breaking even the 20 parsec per month limit.
Clearence to Earth, the homeworld of humanity and the capitol of the Earth alliance (after the Fellowship has been exiled to Moria-7b and the Jedi Republic left for a galaxy far, fat away), usually takes quite some time. After all, europeans love bureaucracy. Usually landing requires at least three cavitiy searchs. On usual days the agent was quite looking forward to those cavity searchs, the only reason why Scandanvian countries were ever included in the union. But Olga will have to wait.
Getting into the EU palace was also not an easy task. Usually it required many inspections and checking of papers. This time the agent simply turned on his force field and went in. It was quite merry in there, but happily only two soldiers were hurt.
"You called, my lord?"
"Ah, yes. Harel. Do come in".
The senator social club was empty now, the refined mahogony table almost seems desolate which just the two of them alone in the vast chamber. With all the peons sent to glasgow, G-force filled the agent's cup of whiskey quitely and without fuss. After all, making fuss is not refined.
"You see old chap, it seems we have a bit of a conadrum. This is a new band of riff-raff, totally plebian people. Awful people, really. Hired guns."
"Mercenries? Really? That's unusual".
"Quite so, quite so. Nevertheless, mercenraies they are. They wished to tend their services to us for a tidy sum of money."
"Well, that may be advisible. You do know the Jedi's might return some day".
"Push-tosh. Jedi's. Silly people, really. Robes and what not. Going around holding their swords like it's their wankers. Filled with magical germs. Totally unhygenic".
[sigh] "Of course, lord. But surely this is not why you summoned me?"
"Oh, no, no. How silly of me. It's just that, you see chap, one of those mercenries... it's your old friend koala".
[raised brow] "My lord must be joking".
"No, no, our intelligence reports are quite complete. hrmm. Yes, it says here that "a small midget of an overlord, smelling strongly of cheap beverage". Did you not boil him in beer?"
"Yes, Sir. I did so myself. It was Bluesteel reciepe. It was done after the "locked-in-a-cage" fiasco."
"Quite so, quite so. Well, it seems he is back".
"Very well, Sir. I shall go and fetch my budwieser."
"So kind of you. On your way out, could you please dispose of his peon? He seem to have locked himself in the closet, all trembling".
"I am not a garba... on, never mind. You do pay me well enough. Come along, you."
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Welcome to the home of Special Forces. 
I'm at work at present, I'll change it when I get home. Quack - I visited the site you recommneded and got them from there; no need to email me anything or do any more work on your part.
