John carried the tray into the bedroom and set it down on the table while Ilya pulled himself higher in bed
              and adjusted the pillows behind him. Seeing what the other man was doing, he brought the tray over and set
              it on his lap.  They spent the next hour eating, chatting, and occasionally feeding each other.  When the
              knock came on the door they were ready, John having taken the tray back to the kitchen and retrieved a large
              jug of iced tea and tall glasses.

              After the two men entered the room, John made a subtle motion with his hand, nearly unnoticeable, which
              ensured they wouldn’t be overheard.  When they were served and settled, Waverly began:

              “Gentlemen, what you are about to hear is not to be discussed with anyone, INCLUDING YOUR FELLOW
              UNCLE AGENTS, without the express permission of either myself or Mr. Quinn.  John?”

              “Some forty years ago, this planet was visited by beings from another galaxy.  These visitors were peaceful
              observers and diplomats, watching at first from the far side of the moon until they could learn your
              languages and customs.  Only when they thought they could fit in did they attempt to make contact with the
              inhabitants.  They quickly learned the politics of this planet and discovered there was absolutely no way
              they could even begin to consolidate the various national governments.   One of the most powerful nations
              was pursuing a policy of isolationism, refusing to even participate in the fledging efforts of others to form a
              world government.  Technology was practically non-existent, and large groups of people lived in isolated
              areas, where a single natural disaster would wipe out entire populations without anyone finding out for
              weeks or months.  The visitors despaired they could help this world at all.”

              “Then one of them, the youngest of the group, came across a small group of people with a dream.  They
              wanted to make the world a better place, and had some pretty good ideas about how to do it.  The young
              visitor took their ideas to his fellows, and they agreed to give them what help they could. Over the decades
              they found other groups to help, and eventually they established an underwater base in an isolated area of
              one of the oceans, where they continue to watch and wait for some sign your world is ready for a single
              peaceful government.”

              “”What, exactly, are you trying to say?” Napoleon asked.  “That aliens are manipulating events and
              organizations for their own ends?  Why?  How do you know this?”

              “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Ilya accused.  “And UNCLE is one of the organizations.”

              Qui-Gon nodded.  “Yes, I was that young visitor, and that group of dreamers were the original members of
              Section 1.  My real name is Qui-Gon Jinn; Alex pointed out it didn’t exactly fit in your world, so John
              Quinn was born.  As for manipulating, all we’ve really done is assist a few worthy groups like UNCLE to
              pursue their own ends.  Alex claimed earlier I helped write the bylaws, but that’s an exaggeration; at most I
              helped clarify what they wanted to say themselves.  Even the technical items we pass on are carefully
              regulated; each item is individually evaluated before it’s released.”

              “You still haven’t answered why,” Napoleon pointed out.
 

              “It’s rather long and complicated,” he replied, and began a basic explanation of the Republic and the
              Jedi.  He followed that by saying, “We discovered a stable wormhole between our galaxy and yours, and
              it‘s just a quirk of Fate that this is the nearest planet to it which is suitable for humanoids like myself, you,
              and most of the other races in the Republic.”

              “Wormhole?”

              “It’s a spatial anomaly, Napoleon.”  Ilya attempted to explain using the bed sheet.  “Normally you’d have to
              go from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’ by crossing the space between.”  He touched two spots on the sheet and ran a
              finger between them.  “A wormhole’s like a shortcut,” he folded the sheet so the two spots were lying
              together, “folding space so two points which are distant can be reached without crossing the space
              between.  It’s the only way to get to another galaxy in anything remotely like a decent time; even light, the
              fastest thing in this universe, takes 2.3 million years to reach Andromeda, the nearest galaxy to our own.”

              “And just how close is this ‘wormhole’ to Earth?” Napoleon asked.

              “About 20 light years, in a direction your telescopes have been manufactured not to look,” Qui-Gon
              replied.  “I suppose we did do a little manipulation there, but it was December 1938; a few months after
              that disastrous ‘War of the Worlds’ broadcast.  We feared if you found about us, there would mass panic
              and mass suicides.  Our hyperdrive craft can reach Earth from there in a few hours; don't ask me for
              specifics as I’m not a hyperdrive engineer.”

              “You mentioned you and we are humanoids,” Ilya said.  “How close are we, biologically speaking?”

              “You already know that externally I’m indistinguishable from a human,” he smiled at the young man’s flush,
              “and it extends to internal organs as well. Laboratory tests have produced viable embryos using Earthling
              sperm on ova donated by our women, and vice versa.  There’s quite a lot of speculation, in fact, that this
              planet is a ‘lost colony’ of early explorers who found their way through the wormhole and for one reason or
              another couldn’t or wouldn’t return.  Lord knows there’s enough evidence in various religious texts, or
              mythologies, depending on what you believe, to support such a theory; from ancient Hindu texts to tales of
              the De Danaans.”

              “So you want to stabilize the political situation on Earth –“ Napoleon began, but Qui-Gon shook his head.

              “We want YOU to stabilize your politics,” he corrected, “on your own. Neither the Republic nor the Jedi
              are allowed to interfere with a planet’s internal governance, even it’s non-existent.”

              “Whatever,” the younger man conceded.  “We establish a world government, you reveal yourselves, and
              then what?"

              “Trade relations, to begin with,” Qui-Gon said.  “Then we’ll ask if we can establish a space port, possibly
              on the Moon or Mars.  From there we start exploring this galaxy in earnest, taking you along for the ride as
              Earth will be the jumping off point and administrative area for this galaxy.”

              “Like New York City was in the 19th century,” Waverly put in, joining the conversation.  “Immigrants
              would arrive there on their way to the frontiers in the West.  It was and continues to be a center for
              American and world commerce and finance.”

              “But first,” Qui-Gon added, “we have to get that world government in place. And since we prefer to deal
              with representative governments, we’re backing organizations that support those ideals.  Which is where
              UNCLE comes in.” He raised his head suddenly.  “Pardon me gentlemen, but the doctor has just arrived and
              will want to have a long talk with Ilya.  I hope you don’t have anymore questions, as I don’t have anymore
              time to answer them.”  He made a gesture with his hand as he spoke and deactivated the hush field which
              had surrounded them.

              A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the doctor, and the meeting broke up.  John excused himself to
              attend some pressing business, leaving the two UNCLE agents alone.

              “I trust you realize the need for ABSOLUTE DISCRETION in this matter,” Waverly said.  “If you’re
              feeling the least bit ambiguous, tell me now and it can be dealt with before we leave.”  He left unsaid it
              would mean the loss of any chance Napoleon would advance further in his career.

              Napoleon paused before answering, considering carefully all the things he’d just learned.  Did he trust
              Qui-Gon?  Waverly seemed to think he was trustworthy, and he’d learned a great deal from the man over
              the years.  He debated a few moments more, then said, “You can count on my silence, sir.”

              Waverly visibly relaxed and let out a sigh.  “You don’t know how glad I am to hear those words, Mr.
              Solo.  I feared for a moment I would be forced to find a replacement for you.”

              The other man looked back down the breezeway to the room they’d just left. “You wouldn’t have had to
              look far,” he said.