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| - “You dastardly son of a...” Laera muttered, holding her forehead in her left hand while posting her right fist to her hip. “At the time of recording, it has been three hundred and four years since you and your friend Silas Dan'kre vanished,” the hologram continued, its tone conversational. “I have been quite busy during these last centuries, though the circumstances were not my choice. I won't bore you with the details, however; suffice it to say that you will no doubt be able to learn the full story of what has happened from the Jedi Archives or any other reputable historical source. I also trust that you found my holocron and the message I recorded for you at the time of its crafting. If you have, then I need not mince words and can proceed directly to explaining why I've left this recording.” “Yes, you certainly can,” Laera said tartly, though she knew no one would hear. “I have to say, I was impressed to learn of the many myths and legends that have cropped up around your tale,” Revan's voice said lightly, a smile crossing his lips—lips that Laera had never actually seen before. “It's too bad you're not here now in fact, as we could really use your help, but I also trust that the Force has its own plan for you. Thus, even as we head off to confront the evil that I sought to keep at bay, hopefully for the last time, events have been set in motion to ensure that when you do emerge, you will be well taken care of and, more importantly, you will be able to take care of others.” Laera crossed her arms and glared at the hologram. She realized that it was, perhaps, inevitable that she would come across some message stowed away, just waiting for her to find it, but she had thought that finding that copy of her unauthorized biography would have been the extent of it. Obviously, she had been mistaken in that assumption. “A lot of things have changed these past three centuries,” Revan continued, his voice becoming wistful. “But a lot of things remain consistent. I have found that life has a certain pattern to it, a whirlpool of possibilities that can never truly be disturbed for very long, and certainly not redirected according to one being's will. That basic fact is what will ensure the survival of the Jedi Order, of the light within all of us, no matter how dark or dire the circumstances. I have faith that your goals, whatever they may be in whatever era is now yours, will be just, and reflect the light within yourself.” The hologram paused for a moment, as though the being who had recorded it had been momentarily distracted, or perhaps lost in thought. “I realize that you do not care to listen to some old nerf's waffling,” it continued. “So I will simply bid you farewell. The Force will be with you, Laera Reyolé, always.” Just like that, without the slightest bit of fanfare, the image winked out as T7-H6's systems came back to life. The droid swiveled its head and twittered a question to Laera, who shrugged. “Dunno what to say, little guy,” she replied honestly. “Are you able to play the message again?” The droid replied with a positive-sounding whoop followed by a warbling beep. “No, not right now, I think,” Laera said, guessing at the translation. She had encountered her share of utility and astromech droids during her career, and even before enlisting; a number of older models had worked at the spaceport in her hometown. Though she often thought of them as humorous little contraptions, she had never really interacted with them to any appreciable degree, and their droidspeak had always baffled her. Why no one had ever thought to equip them with vocoders, even the most basic ones, mystified her—at the same time the idea of installing one into T7's systems intrigued her. “Just leave it for now,” she said instead. “In the main hold there's a bipedal unit called HK-47, go and interface with him. Teach him what you know about this ship so he won't be totally useless, okay?” The droid emitted a twittering noise, which Laera supposed must be its own form of laughter, before rolling toward the hatchway that led out of the aft hold. She followed it, so that the door slid up to enable them both to exit in quick succession before closing behind them, smiling to herself at the thought of how the assassin droid would react. Laera wasn't quite sure how to feel about Revan's addendum, hidden within the astromech's memory cache. However, as she entered her quarters to bed down for the night, she decided that it didn't really matter; his speech had been more of a “hey there, glad you made it” message than an “okay listen up, because this is really important” one. Which was just as well, because as far as she was concerned, nobody else needed to hear it. She was confident in her new course, and knew that the others were as well. In the meantime, she really needed to meditate and then catch some sleep. — — — The next two days passed in a haze as Laera and Silas, working with Asyr and Ooryl, played catch-up with galactic history while Ari contented herself with general reading. Most of what they learned seemed to corroborate what Luke had spoke of on their first full day of sharing their woodland habitat; indeed, as they reviewed the historical data, flashes of the Jedi Master's memories returned to Laera's mind. She dismissed them, however, allowing them to return to the Force or wherever they might have come from, determined not to rely upon any such crutches. While Silas was more interested in absorbing the many advances in technology, Laera was quite keen to focus her efforts on cataloging the many evolutions and revolutions in combat tactics and galactic warfare that had taken place. In her opinion, the most distasteful of these were the use of battle droid and clone armies, the latter even more so because it amounted to grand-scale slavery—no matter what “genetic manipulations” had been forced on the clones as they were...grown. The use of clones was particularly vulgar to Laera when she realized that the very same thing could have happened to her genetic material, if Revan had been of a different mindset. Still, there were other things which caught her fancy, one of them being the advent and widespread use of the boarding harpoon, which impacted a ship's hull and released a sedative in gaseous form into the air supply. Such weapon would certainly have made her job easier, that much she knew. The increasing importance of multi-role starfighters in naval warfare also intrigued her, particularly the use of heavily-armored and -shielded bombers armed with everything but a weaponized refresher station. While orbital strikes were not unheard of, from her perspective the concept of Base Delta Zero, as conducted by the Galactic Empire of fifty years prior, was understandable—even if it amounted to an overdose of overkill. This didn't even touch on the fact that warships had drastically swelled in size. Though the trend had only begun in the most recent century, it had produced warships that made the mighty Centurion-class battlecruisers and Inexpugnable-class command ships look like bathtub toys by comparison. Most disturbing of all had, of course, been the Empire's many superweapons. This was quickly followed by the realization that both Alderaan and Carida were gone, wiped off the galactic map as thoroughly as shutting off a holoprojector. Laera and Silas revisited Military Antiquities of Drev'starm at the appointed date to collect the second half of the payment that had been promised to them by its Bith proprietor, only for Laera to staunchly decline accepting it. Dardelli, taken aback, inquired after the sudden change of heart, only to be presented with a refund of his original payment and a request for their gear to be donated anonymously to the Galactic Museum on Coruscant—along with fifteen hundred additional credits to cover expenses and operating costs. After giving his promise to do as they asked, he bowed them from his shop, whereupon they rejoined the rest of the crew of the Challenger in staking out a table at the café where they had first encountered one another, this time for a leisurely lunch. “At least I understand why the Alliance bases its calenders around this date,” Silas commented as he idly fiddled with his fork. “Blowing up something so massive while having so few resources at your disposal is certainly cause for celebration, particularly since it was about to blast your last hope at freedom to oblivion.” They had spent the last half-hour discussing the Battle of Yavin, that pivotal moment in galactic history that had most recently set the fulcrum for the standard galactic calender, past and present. There was no doubt in Silas's or Laera's minds that the Rebel assault on the first Death Star had been a gutsy move, a feat that had been worthy of their compatriots in the Marine Aerospace Wings. It also hadn't surprised Laera to learn that Luke Skywalker had been the one to blow the battlestation. This wasn't due to her earlier mental spelunking; rather, it had been the way in which both he and his son, Ben, had described his participation in the rebellion against the Empire. The man had certainly accomplished a lot in terms of setting the galaxy straight, which had made her bristle slightly at how he had been treated these past few years, both by the media and the government—and by herself when she had chastised him. “I still can't believe Palpatine wasted so much resources on building those damn things,” Laera said with a grunt. “And all those gargantuan battlewagons! Bad enough that he ordered twenty-five thousand of those Imperial-class Star Destroyers built, why in space would he build star dreadnoughts that are nineteen kilometers in length? That's just too much warship for any one entity to have!” Asyr gave a half-hearted shrug. “Search me. I only know that I never want to go up against another one.” “Wait, what?” Laera blurted out, her eyes wide with shock. “You've actually fought one of those monsters?!” “Yes, both Ooryl and I tangled with one when the Empire was still pretty strong,” Asyr said, her ears and fur going flat as the Gand tapped the table pointedly. “The Lusankya was the personal Super Star Destroyer of Ysanne Isard, former head of Imperial Intelligence. After the New Republic liberated Coruscant, she ran for it and staged a coup to take control of Thyferra—you've probably never heard of Thyferra, but you soon will.” “They produce bacta,” Silas put in before shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth. “About twice as effective as kolto, if the texts I read are to be believed.” “What's kolto?” Asyr asked, the look in her eyes causing both Silas and Laera to chuckle. “Healing juice from Manaan,” Laera said. “I've been dunked in tankfuls of it several times during my career; it's not unlike being suspended in carbonated mineral water.” Asyr snorted out a laugh of her own. “Lucky you,” she said ruefully. “A soaking in bacta is like swimming through pink watered-down syrup, and it's got quite the aftertaste.” “They are vast and powerful ships, but not insurmountable,” Ooryl said after a beat, bringing the conversation back on course. “However, we were fortunate. The situation that Wedge Antilles and Booster Terrik had crafted for this last battle in our struggle to free Thyferra from Isard's control depended greatly on misdirection, espionage, a significant amount of ingenuity and what most beings refer to as luck. We had formed a coalition of sorts to wage what is known to history as the Bacta War, and we were able to use what we had to draw out and isolate the Lusankya at a place of our choosing. We lost much, but they lost much more, and the vessel eventually ended up in New Republic hands.” “The New Republic was succeeded by the Galactic Alliance, yes?” Silas asked. “Yes, after the Yuuzhan Vong took over Coruscant and scattered the government,” Asyr confirmed. “The formation of the Alliance was what enabled us to overcome the invaders' momentum and eventually force a showdown. But neither of us participated in those campaigns.” “From what I've read, I don't blame you for feeling relieved,” Laera sighed, mentally reviewing her readings about that war. “I've seen enough fighting in my lifetime to know that this one had to have been an extraordinarily vicious conflict.” “So Wedge and Corran have told me,” Ooryl put in. Laera sat back in her seat, letting her now-finished meal settle a bit as she patted her stomach. “I never went to War College, but I did learn a few things about combined-arms tactics when I went to Officer Candidate School and during my later career. It's all outdated, of course, but still...” “Not as much as you might think, Laera,” Asyr assured her. “After reading your biography, I did some research of my own on the Mandalorian invasion and Revan's war. The battle plan you devised for the Iridonia operation would have made Wedge proud.” Silas and Laera exchanged a look, and each knew that they were thinking the same thing. “I think we should like to meet this Wedge Antilles,” Laera said for the both of them. “You both hold him in high regard, it seems. Is there a way you could arrange it?” “I don't...” Asyr began somewhat anxiously, but her voice trailed off. “I believe that he has retired to Corellia,” Ooryl supplied. “He is getting on in years, by Human standards, but I suppose he would welcome a visit—particularly if we brought you. However, there is a small complication.” As Asyr closed her eyes and let herself become lost in thought, Ooryl launched into a detailed explanation of his companion's status, what had lead up to it, and what she had chosen to attempt to do with her life afterward. Ari, who had remained silent but attentive throughout the lunch discussion, placed a hand on the Bothan woman's shoulder, hoping to provide some measure of reassurance. When the last of the details had been passed along, Ooryl himself seemed to diminish slightly as he slumped in his seat. “As you can see, Asyr Sei'lar showing up on his doorstep after all this time would be something of a shock to our old commander,” the Gand concluded. “Still, it would be nice to see him again,” Asyr added wistfully. “Though I doubt he would want to join your enterprise.” “It was not our intention to recruit him,” Silas said, a grin teasing at the corners of his mouth. “But he seems to be quite knowledgeable about who to know and who to trust in this day and age.” “He's right, you know,” Laera added. “We're still just five against the galaxy at this point, and with only one small, well-armed freighter. We need contacts, we need sources, and we need to know where to put our credits down in order to get some competent, trustworthy muscle.” A contemplative silence descended upon the table, broken at last by Asyr. “If that is what you are truly after, then there is someone else we can meet with,” she said hopefully. “Though I do not know where to find him at present or if he is still working, it may be wise to seek the services of Talon Karrde. An old friend of ours will be able to run him down for us.” “Ah, yes, Talon Karrde,” Ooryl commented, his voice tinted with amusement and a hint of scorn. “He always was quite the charmer, but he would have your credits from you faster than you could blink if you are not careful. Of course, Ooryl speaks only of what he has heard...” “I get the feeling that this Karrde would be quite interested in meeting me,” Ari said, the sound of her voice causing the other four to jump slightly. “Though I would advise against it, if only to preserve the sanctity of my people.” “Of course, Ari,” Laera reassured the Sa'ari. “I get the feeling that he's the kind of man who practically embodies the fringe, and the less those types know about you, the better.” “I assume you are using some technique to disguise your appearance?” Silas asked, cocking an eye at Ari. “A simple trick, yes,” she replied “To an outsider, I resemble a...what is their name...a species of two-meter bipeds, covered in long fur, adept with their hands in working with machines?” “A Wookiee?” Asyr suggested. “Yes, that is it,” Ari replied. “I saw one working on a starship on my first day here; he was about my height though somewhat bulkier, so I opted to base an illusory appearance upon him. For when I ventured forth in civilized company, of course.” “Wise move,” Laera replied coyly. “Just don't try to speak in Shyriiwook, you'll tear your vocal chords out.” “I assure you, that would not be a problem.” — — — Now that their next course was set, that evening the Challenger took its first flight into space in nearly four thousand years. With Silas and Asyr working in concert as pilot and copilot—at least until Asyr learned the antique vessel's systems, whereupon she would take over primary flight duties—the rest of the crew lounged in the central hold, buckled into their seats for safety's sake. “Everything alright up there?” Laera called into the intercom once they had made orbit, T7-H6 whistling gleefully in the background. “For such an old bucket, she handles pretty damn well,” Silas quipped. “No problems so far, I'm setting her on a course out of Bothawui's gravity well.” “This vessel has been modified from its original specifications,” Asyr added. “I do not believe that this rate of acceleration was what the engineers had in mind!” “How does she compare to modern craft?” Laera wanted to know. “Will the Challenger be up on lifts for a while in order to catch up?” “Hardly,” Asyr retorted dryly, though not quite enough to hide her bemusement. “Aside from a small upgrade to the shields and turning those twin laser cannon turrets into quads, that is, and that's only if you insist on taking this ship into combat against a Corellian corvette!” “She's right, Laera,” Silas added. “I guess Ben was correct after all; the tech hasn't changed all that much over the years.” Laera shrugged to herself, half amused and half hopeful. Upon further review of the Challenger's schematics, the crew had learned that not only did she indeed carry a pair of proton torpedo tubes and the obvious dual-mount turrets, but also a belly-mounted blaster cannon in a hidden compartment and two forward-firing turbolasers. She didn't need to know what exactly a Corellian corvette was to know that one would not likely have an easy time of it in a fight. In addition to her weapons, the ship's engines were quite powerful, enabling the freighter to easily keep pace with—or even to outrun—an Aurek fighter whether in space or in atmosphere. The hyperdrive was rated at an impressive .9 past lightspeed, though if the Jade Shadow's systems were any indication, this too could be radically enhanced. “Alright,” she said after a beat. “Let's take her out. Next stop, Elshandruu Pica.” “Got it, Captain,” Silas called back, the smile he wore audible in his voice. “Seat backs and tray tables in the upright position, gentles, it's time for takeoff!” As the interior of the ship rumbled with the familiar sensation of a hyperspace jump, Laera wondered whether or not they would encounter their target in orbit of their destination. Asyr, however, had assured her that the Errant Venture would be there. Shortly after lunch, she had sent her friend Booster Terrik an encrypted burst over the HoloNet to inquire after his location and if he would have them aboard, which he had returned promptly and in the affirmative. The trip wouldn't take too long at any rate, so even if the ex-smuggler's personal Star Destroyer wasn't there, they wouldn't have wasted too much time. With that thought, Laera realized that she had been approaching this little venture all wrong. Time was, in fact, the one thing they had in even more abundance than credits. The future was theirs for the taking. — — — With their destination still an hour or so out, Laera was browsing the clothes closet in her and Silas's cabin. Most of what had been put there consisted of various colored shipsuits and casual outfits that vaguely resembled Marine Corps service greens in cut and style, but nothing really dressy. In her mind, landing on an Imperial Star Destroyer turned mobile resort and traders' port, then meeting its captain, called for a bit more ceremony than her current wardrobe permitted, so she was determined to scrape together something appropriate. As she shifted aside a blouse-and-skirt combination that hung at the very back, she noticed that a small compartment had been worked into the bulkhead. Its plain door was held closed by a simple rotating clasp, which she flicked aside before opening. “What have we got here?” Silas asked from behind her just as Laera extracted the contents, which had been folded into a plump package wrapped in brown flimsi. “Another gift from You-Know-Who?” “Nice try, love,” Laera said, turning to regard him with the close but no cigarra look they shared whenever he tried and failed to sneak up on her. “But yes, I'd count that as a safe bet.” She brought the package to their bed and put it down, then tore open the flimsi. “Ah-hah!” Laera said gleefully as she spotted the crimson cloth within. “I was looking everywhere for something appropriate, and here it is!” “This just gets better and better,” Silas chortled, reaching in to extract his own dress red uniform from the bundle. “Hang on a moment, what's this?” He pointed at a ribbon that had been affixed to his salad bar, one which Laera didn't quite recognize. She glanced at her own uniform and noticed that an identical one had been wedged among her other decorations, right next to the one she had tacked on to commemorate her service in the Mandalorian Wars. “Why it's a campaign ribbon, young Silas,” she teased. “They give them out for surviving wars and stuff!” “Oh, ha-ha,” he shot back. “Look at the little symbol in the center, though.” “I know,” Laera said after a moment of closer examination. “It looks like that Rakatan starbase they blew up at Lehon, the one Revan and Malak had put to use. Figures they'd pick that as the distinguishing characteristic—my Mandalorian Wars ribbon has a buckethead's helmet in it. Still, at least we have something presentable to wear.” “Might be a bit overkill, though,” Silas replied as he picked up his dress jacket and shook it out. “No one will know what these uniforms represent.” “As much as I hate to admit it, you're right, but I'd rather make an impression,” Laera conceded. “And they aren't really that inappropriate; the Errant Venture was once a warship, after all.” “Whatever the case, we'll certainly stand out.” Laera shrugged at that as she started to zip herself out of the utilities she wore. The two changed in relative quiet, both busy minding their creases and making sure that everything lined up correctly. It was good to have this piece of their past intact; it couldn't have been easy for Revan to get this stuff assembled. As Laera cinched up her pants and donned the dress jacket over the white tunic she wore, it occurred to her that it was just as likely that the man had simply laid out a long set of instructions to be carried out by agents, or agents of agents, or whoever else might have been willing to put in a favor or make an investment by his word alone. Revan had been nothing if not charismatic, regardless of whether he carried himself as he was or as some mysterious, cloaked figure. That was also something she took on faith, as she had never met him in life—at least until she had been presented with his holocron. As such things went, accessing it had been as good as crossing the bounds of the space-time continuum to shake hands with him. She didn't doubt that she would learn even more about the Force by continuing to plumb the depths of knowledge it carried. Stop it with the ponderings, Laera admonished herself as she turned about to face the polished surface of the closet door, closing the neck clasp of her jacket and making sure that everything was orderly. Just get on with the program. Satisfied that everything was straight and creased, Laera turned to face Silas, who in her eyes was looking quite handsome in his own uniform. “Mighty spiffy outfit you've got there, Marine,” she said flirtatiously. “Care to escort a lady to dinner?” “But of course,” Silas replied, a lustful grin on his visage. “Where shall we—” “What now?” Laera asked, his sudden shift in expression all but killing the mood. “When did you get the Cross of Glory?” Silas asked, surprised. “I mean...” “What?” Laera prompted, cocking a brow at Silas. “This is practically the same uniform I wore when you first laid eyes on me, and you're just now noticing?” When Silas didn't reply, she sighed sympathetically. “Yeah, I guess I never did talk much about that other war or what it was like to be dead, did I?” “Like I've said before, I always thought you'd tell me when you were ready,” he explained, straightening himself. “I'm sorry.” “No, I'm the one who should be sorry,” Laera said, drawing Silas over to the bed to sit next to her. “Tell you what, I'll explain everything before we pop out of hyperspace.”
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