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| - Spire of Reconciliation: Jedi Temple -- New Alderaan: Ord Mantell This western tower faces the rest of the city, where one can glimpse the tall spires of the starport, the clean sparkle of Chianar plaza, and the industrial sprawl beyond the towers of commerce. Construction droids are busily finishing the interior design of the spire. The weather outside is clear. Only a few puffy, pinkish clouds spot the skyline. Luke A slim, evenly built man with pleasantly youthful, unassuming features. He's a bit shorter than two meters in height, and his fair, sun-blond hair is parted down the left and swept to either side, hanging just low enough to touch his ears. A faint scar is noticeable in the crease between his nose and his mouth. Though he is still young, on his face there are signs of burdens too heavy for his years. To those who know him, these characteristics are only physical reminders of the knowledge and power the years have brought him. But his blue eyes are bright, with faint laugh lines at the edges, and his smile is usually infectious to those around him. Dressed for war, the Jedi Master wears lightweight armor plating over a brown bodysuit. The plates of armor are colored a light tan, jointed to allow for a full range of movement. Over this he wears a black hooded cloak, knit with a thick fabric. The cloak falls to mid-calf, where tall, jet-black military style boots encase his feet. A lightsaber is clipped to the armor's utility belt, along with a minimal collection of field equipment. The Bright Jewel's setting arc casts a somber, purplish glow over the Jedi Temple, and into the Spire of Reconciliation. The mood inside was just as sobering. While the tower has at least been segmented off into rooms and levels, it remains relatively unfurnished, with mere paint base on the walls and only enough mechanical infrastructure to support lighting and climate control. This only serves to affirm the muted air of repentance, and while it may not be shared by all of those gathered, it is quite evident amongst the Jedi. The gathering takes place in a large room, which spans more than half of the tower, providing a breathtaking view of New Alderaan. Most of the Jedi Order is gathered here, forming an arc that encompasses a fair portion of the western wall. They range from younglings to Padawans and Knights, with Master Luke Skywalker taking up the center. All of them are cowled in their basic Jedi Robes. A few representatives from the New Republic Military are welcomed to stand at the southern edge of the room, and those invited from the bureaucratic realms are gestured to the northern edge, leaving the turbolift shaft and doorways separating the other half of the tower to the east. In the center of the room, a tall wooden pole has been constructed, with two 'limbs' sticking out of either end, angled up toward the ceiling at approximately chest-height. The turnout from the Senate is perhaps impressive, considering how private an occasion this evening was being kept. Ten in all from various New Republic star systems, their expressions ranging from pensive to eager. The latter seem more common. While Ord Mantell's own Senator Marx leads the procession into the chambers and to their place at the north of the room, the most notable being among them is the now-orphaned representative for Cochran, looking drawn and pale - standard, of late. Once the grouping has gotten settled, Del leans down to the R3 unit that accompanied her, speaking quietly before she straightens back up. Whatever she told it, she doesn't seem entirely thrilled about it. The droid, however, simply turns its dome towards the center pole, and waits. Like a living statue, Sergeant Holden Deckherd stands at attention beside the door to the holding room. In full dress, he would almost appear handsome if it was not for the stern, emotionless look chiseled upon his face. His eyes stare forward to the center of the room, upon the frame that will soon be occupied by his assignment, or former assignment it would seem now that this day has finally come. He waits motionlessly for his sole task here, that of opening the door for the doctor to enter and closing it behind. His standard sidearm also rests off his hip, just in case Cassius tries to run, but given their conversations in the past, he strongly doubts the doctor will attempt anything of the sort. Mahon has arrived. Ostensibly, the sharply turned-out twi'lek standing next to Del is here to represent the Ground Forces as a witness, tonight. To that end, Wrista is wearing an immaculate dress uniform, sharply creased with ruler-straight lines in all the right places, perfectly arrayed insignia, every button shined, and her service medals each as polished as they day she was given them, catching the somber light and each lending their own tone to the somber reflection. Truth to tell, in her mind, she's less here for the Corps than she is for Lynae herself-- she'd rather not be here to see it done. But someone has to be otherwise the gesture won't be complete, and there are few on the list that are truly suitable. It must be approached with a certain amount of gravitas, and the diminutive marine, despite being comically short next to Del's height most of the time, is keenly aware of the place she stands, managing to project a presence larger than her physical self in being here tonight. Duty to the Corps, the ghosts of the past and especially to the woman serving penance tonight. It's a powerful thing for such a small, unremarkable word. The 'holding room', so to speak, is just a place for Lynae to await the official summons, and to that end she is waiting. Patiently. Calmly in fact, an expression of stoic neutrality is firmly stamped on her face. Her gaze moves slowly around the room in a sweep, noting every aspect and facet of the room, neatly cataloguing it in a way that stamps the image firmly in her mind. But she does not wander, nor pace. A nod of respect if offered towards Sergeant Deckherd, the solemn Marine who has guarded her steps these past few weeks. Other than that, she has her hands clasped behind her back. The fleeting thought to arrive in full dress uniform had drifted across her mind at one point, but that has forever been surrendered. Instead of solemn black uniform she is clad in a neatly tailored dark blue jacket over a lightweight tunic, a pair of pressed trousers and polished boots completes her attire. Her right hand is clasped around her left wrist, the fingertips of her right hand absently brushing against the circle of scar tissue that runs around that wrist. Lynae Raven black hair is cut in a short hairstyle that feathers back from her face in a layered look that is oddly flattering to her sharp profile. Cobalt blue eyes that survey the world with a steady, direct gaze, and are set beneath arched eyebrows. Full lips curve either in a generous smile or frown with concentration below a rather patrician nose. Slightly above average height for a woman she is 5'8" slender with a wiry build that conveys a sense of strength and grace. A pale, but faintly golden, tan warms her coloring and giving her a healthy glow despite the fact that her eyes often hold a very serious look. Clasped tightly around her right wrist is a band of brushed durasteel with tiny print. Devoid of any other jewelry or markings of any sort, the bracelet stands out as unusual sort of decoration, though the printing only conveys the fact that the wearer is allergic to Bacta. A thin line of scar tissue encircles her left wrist, the scar tissue appearing new and slightly raised. Dressed in a dark blue jacket and a matching pair of well-tailored trousers, the cut and trim of the attire speaks to quality but simplicity of style that leans towards a practicality that speaks to her personality. Beneath the jacket she wears a tank top of dark gray, backless, the tops of the tank looped around the back of her neck and the hem tucked into her trousers. The backless tank reveals every single one of her scars from the thick patches of old scar tissue that covers her lower back, ropes of raised scar tissue disappearing beneath the edge of her shirt to the newer one on her chest, the leading edges just barely seen above the upper edge of the square neckline. A pair of durable, but well polished, boots complete the outfit. Luke Skywalker steps forward and raises his hands into the air. The gesture itself serves to silence most of those gathered, and with a suggestive movement of the Force, the rest of the murmuring Senators and delegates go quiet as well. He allows the silence to linger for precious moments that stretch beyond their normal scale, then lowers his arms gently and without noise. "Gathered guests and representatives." His voice is quiet and sober, his eyes piercingly focused, his chin moving stiffly. "This congregation has been summoned regarding the war crimes of a woman named Lynae Cassius. Former Imperial Officer. Exile from the Empire for crimes of treason. Broken soul searching for meaning." His head lifts a slight bit, his voice following suit. "I won't hesitate from sharing my disappointment. I'd hoped our first gathering here would carry pleasant undertones." His voice once again falls into a quieter timbre. "I suppose this merely echoes the state of our galaxy, and the trials that we all face." His voice then takes on a more steady pace, speaking with an officiating pace. "The Chief of State and her honored cabinet delegates have entrusted this trial to the hands of the Jedi. This is a move that more accurately reflects the ways of the Old Jedi Order, before the Dark Times. It is a step in the proper direction, I believe, and as such, I merely request that those of you who have been asked to come will show due respect to our own counsel on how this will proceed." Luke turns toward the eastern side of the room. He raises his hand and with a simple gesture, one of the doors opens with a swoosh. He then beckons the woman inside to stand before the Jedi Order. Another member of the military contingent is yet another alien in a sea of humans. Kyrin Sh'vani of Ghost Squadron stands silently amongst her peers, full dress uniform present and correct, missing one of the medals some of these folks have seen her wear in the past. Her silver hair is braided neatly down her back in a proper military sort of fashion. Her expression is calm, and her wings are folded neatly at her back. Even her tail doesn't swish back and forth, as she patiently awaits what will happen next. She's as much a statue in her bearing as Holden is, only her eyes slowly sweeping the room, taking in everyone's expression and bearing. Her reaction to some of the eagerness is just a brief flick of her tail and twitch of her lips, distaste evident for just an instant or two. When Luke speaks, she gives him her undivided attention, her wandering gaze focused finally, and she nods slightly in time with what is said, merely an indication that she is listening When Luke raises his hands, there is a quiet noise from the northern side of the room as the R3 unit engages its holorecorder. The delegates from the senate fall quiet and pay attention to the Jedi Master's words as he begins to speak - some more closely than others, and those particular individuals can be picked out of the group by the slight changes in their expressions and postures. Some shift towards quiet confusion. Others, concern, or even apprehension. Their collective attention shifts towards the door to where Lynae has been waiting, save for one. Senator Marx's gaze slides from the Jedi Master and back to the pole, and though she says nothing, her jaw tightens. Suddenly, she has a bad feeling about this, and perhaps wishes she hadn't actually come. At least Lieutenant Ipex hasn't received any grief for choosing to stand near her rather than with the other military representatives. It serves as a minor comfort. There is a late arrival, and a terribly conspicuous one, at that. He slips in as Skywalker is speaking, wordlessly. He's an older man of short, broad build intrinsic to so many heavy-world phenotypes of humanity, and of imposingly humorless countenance. Entering the company of senators and NR Military delegates, he reflexively straightens a few details of his own attire - pulling crisp his tunic, and aligning the buckle of his sword-belt. The man's scowl seems to deepen by a margin as he trudges his way up to find a place up near the front of the audience, where the accused will be able to see him, the words 'by your leave' judiciously applied to any he passes. The signal is given, the door opening without fanfare and Lynae turns towards the door as well, her movements precise and crisply executed. Her bearing is calm, her strides confidant and evenly spaced as she steps into the room that takes up half the space of the Spire of Reconciliation. As she walks she sweeps the crowd with her gaze, noting each face and placing as many names to faces as she can. Her steps carry her past the assembled Jedi, the senators, representatives of the military, the droid recording the assembly and the representative from the CDU. Her strides pause briefly near the representative, a measured nod of greeting is offered, her gaze meeting his for a moment before she continues on to stand before Skywalker and the assembled witnesses. "Welcome," says Skywalker to Lynae. There are hints of comfort shadowed in his dutiful tone, and one might expect him to speak instructions to her next. Instead, Luke steps away from the gathered Jedi behind him, and walks toward the center of the room, where he stands before the erected pole. "When Lynae came to me a month ago, she asked of me a challenging favor. To give her another option." Standing where he is, he can turn his eyes to take in both sides of the room from time to time as he speaks. "She'd been exiled by the Empire, tortured, and forced to live in hiding. Then, a Sith Lord found her." His voice rises, and with it, the Force moves. Those sensitive will feel it, and know that it is moving not by Skywalker's will, but as if the words themselves beckoned its motion. Those not sensitive to the Force are inexplicably drawn to these words by a sudden attraction to their exhortations. "Darth Malign gave Lynae the opportunity that many of her fellow Imperials might consider the chance of a lifetime... to serve almost directly alongside the 'Great' Emperor Vadim." There is a touch of sarcasm in his words, though it is not aloof... it is intentional and filled with allegory. There is a pause, and Luke's voice grows softer. "But not Lynae. She'd tasted the ways of freedom. She'd found a small glimmer of hope... the hope that she might preserve some fraction of her soul which had yet to be destroyed by bloodshed, blind loyalty, and genocide." Luke turns and faces the military representatives directly. "Most of you saw Cochran. The rest of you feel its echo. It is true that Cassius won't be executed for war crimes. I urge you not to consider this an insult to your honor. Instead, consider our roots. It was in the hands of rebels, many of which were former Imperials themselves. Some of them may never admit to the full measure of their terrible deeds, but they were offered a chance to stand against the Emperor nevertheless." He turns to motion toward Lynae. "Many of them still believed in the idea of an Empire, but they refused to accept Palpatine's vicious and tyrannical methods!" Lowering his hand, he takes a step toward the military delegates. "Do not expect blood for blood, my friends, for revenge is the way of the dark side, and a secret weapon of the Sith. He turns next to face the gathered delegates, and a different kind of respect shows in his eyes. Regardless of their differences, these men, women, and beings served their people in Democracy, where the freedom to express opinion is integral to the idea of freedom. "To you, my respected colleagues, I ask this." There is a pause, before the Jedi Master preludes his question. "If you'd been born into an Imperial family... raised under the strictest of COMPNOR educations... brought up to believe that the Seat of Emperor was incapable of injustice... would you press the button? Would you perform your duty, whatever it may be, believing that the destruction of an entire world is a fair price to pay if galactic peace is to be achieved? If you'd never been exposed to another perspective, something in opposition to the Tarkin Doctrines, would you be brave enough to walk this woman's path?" He motions toward Lynae. "Or would you be standing there? Willingly, unchained, ready to accept penance with dignity, hoping for the chance to bring freedom and peace to the galaxy?" While Luke speaks, Lynae studies the faces of those assembled. She reads what expressions are visible, what body language suggests, and what emotions are charged in the room. She studies the assembled witnesses the way she was taught, the way she was trained, with a keen eye for every nuance and detail. As Luke speaks, she makes a point of taking a measured step forward, her hands held palms open at her sides, demonstrating that she is unbound and unfettered, here under her own will and not the gears of another, nor chains or bindings of force. Her shoulders are squared, her back straight, posture perfect as she draws herself up to her full height, chin level and standing at what would be easily recognized as a naval officer bracing to attention. But her gaze is not submissive, not subservient, and to say the least, she faces the assembled witnesses without fear. Her composure is evident in her bearing, her calm conveying a sense of self-confidence that speaks volumes to her years of service and her trial by fire that all combat veterans are familiar with. She remains silent, challenging all assembled to meet her gaze or look away, for she is clearly prepared to accept that which is about to unfold, silently challenging the assembled witnesses to do exactly that - witness, and not look away. The questions posed by the Jedi Master are rhetorical. To be thought on, of course, and the delegates do seem to be doing such, but not to actually be answered aloud. That seems to be the overwhelming opinion from the assemblage, at least, as not a one of them makes so much as a peep. The gaunt, gray face of Cochran's representative has fixated itself on Lynae's face, his expression one that is difficult to read despite the unwavering focus in his gaze. But if someone had just reminded you that the destruction of your planet and all of its people was done with little more than a push of a button, you might be quiet, too. "Lynae Cassius." Skywalker turns to face the woman directly. "You have been charged with war crimes, as being one of the commanders responsible for the orbital bombardment of Cochran, along with countless acts of war against New Republic citizens." His words are not those of a commander. They are those of one who regrets both past and present, yet is determined to see this through in an honorable way. "You have pleaded guilty to these charges, and are willing to accept punishment as deemed fit by the gathered wisdom of the Jedi Order, am I correct?" He motions for her with one hand, giving her the floor to say whatever she may. "In content, yes, in phrasing?" Lynae replies in a voice that is clear, carrying, enunciated and holding the faintest of an accent that only a trained ear would recognize as Caridan. "I am charged with war crimes, enumerated among the charges is the bombing of Cochran, in which I - as the commanding officer of the Merciless and under the direct orders of the Traitor Kreldin - conducted. I, as one officer, directed and instructed the bridge crew in the most efficient manner to carry out these orders, that they may learn and never forget this lesson. I, as an officer of the Imperial Navy, issued the orders that led to the destruction of the Crusader. Waged war with the fleet over Coruscant. I was an officer," she says calmly, "sworn to my duty. Sworn to service, to the Empire, to the Emperor. To hear is to obey. To live is to serve. To bring order from chaos. Law from the vacuum between the stars where no law exists but that which is enforced by credits or the effort of will backed by weapons. Sworn, as first a medical officer and a scientist to save the lives that I could, to research in the effort to further this service, and to do what was required of me to protect and defend those under my care." Her gaze sweeps the room again, "Serve, protect, defend. Those were my orders, those were my vows. In combat, in research, in surgery, on the field during a battle and in the aftermath of the battles fought between the Empire and the New Republic. Neither side, yours nor mine, is free of guilt for this war. Your hands, mine, our ancestors, theirs, are just as bloodied, just as guilty of hatred and the reckless refusal to broker a peace, or anything that would begin to resemble peace. We continue to fight over sectors, planets, regions, for what? A difference in ideals? A matter of phrasing in ideologies? A few paragraphs in policies and politics. Both sides claim to want law, order, to offer a better life for those who willingly follow the banner." She smiles then, a faint expression that drifts across her face, gone almost as soon as it is formed. "I was a loyal officer, 'To hear is to obey' is a pretty phrase, easily mouthed, harder still to mean. 'I live but to serve'," she recites formally, "another pretty phrase. Blood and bone, the backbone of the Empire. We live but to serve. But to serve what?" she challenges, her voice raising slightly, ringing out in clear tones as she sweeps the room again with her gaze. "The Empire? Which Empire? Palpatines? Vadim's?" She shakes her head slightly, "The Empire is what the Emperor says it is, today. Tomorrow. A year from now. A lifetime from now. The Empire is the vision of the Emperor. Guilty am I for follow orders? The tired old excuse? No," she states in a flat tone of negation. "I am not Guilty, nor do I plead to guilt. I served, faithfully," she emphasizes this last word, "honorably, with distinction. I committed treason for the same reason: for honor, for the hope of seeing that which the Empire was SUPPOSED to stand for, the hope of seeing that reborn. I directed the bombing of Cochran. I issued the orders that destroyed the Crusader. I led one facet of the force over Coruscant. I, one commander, one person, among a sea of countless others. And I stand here, accepting that responsibility. No denial. No shrinking. No attempt to negate nor make light, or little, of these charges, this responsibility is mine. And I accept it, as it my right, as it my duty, as my honor demands." She pauses, again, "Would you do any less, any of you? Senators, officers, witnesses, would you do any less if called upon?" A few of the senators exchange somewhat... odd looks with each other as Lynae says her piece. Isn't she supposed to be... not justifying her actions, or apologizing for them, or... something? The representative from Mirial seems to understand, but they are one of the few among the few that does. The expression on the Cochran representative's face grows stonier and his fists clench at his sides, though he closes his eyes and takes a quiet, deep breath when the Senator for Ord Mantell's hand alights on his shoulder in a silent show of support. Del's gaze remains fixed on Lynae, however, her brow furrowed as she eyes the woman like someone trying to figure out a particularly difficult logic puzzle. At the mention of Cochran, despite whatever stirring others might have, there's a glimmer on Kyrin's face, a brief rustling of her wings, the barest hint of a simple fact. She was there. She'd somehow survived. She'd witnessed Cochran's death. Yet she is here, and there is no hate on her blue-skinned face. Her gray eyes slide over to observe Mahon upon his tardy arrival, and there is a glimmer of curiosity on the Chyleni's face, but still she says nothing. Her gaze shifts back to Luke and Lynae, the latter of whom is given a brief nod of greeting, nothing more for now. She is here to witness another thing this day. As the Chyleni officer listens to Lynae's words, she finally speaks. A single sentence. "I do that every day." That's all she needs to say on the matter. One of the bonuses of having been alleged to have finally put Kreldin out of everyone's collective misery, she's known in some way, shape, or form, particularly when she shocked those who didn't know her by turning in the New Republic's highest military honor for an equally simple reason... the job wasn't done yet. At Lynae's final question, Wrista finally reacts, if one can call tit that, instead of simply stoically listening with a stoic non-expression. The twi'lek's eyebrow raises a nearly imperceptible fraction. Would she do any less? Certainly not. But thee are situations when obedience is the lesser course. The Republic was won and founded on that belief. So, while the Marine understands Lynae's words, she couldn't be farther from agreeing with them. However, perhaps Lynae would come to a return understanding, given time and opportunity. That *is* what all this is about, after all. Skywalker listens with quiet intent until Lynae is finished, and waits for a few moments to ensure silence. He then turns to face the gathered. "So be it," he says finally, with quiet, almost bitter intent. The Jedi Order had determined that forgiveness is to be displayed, not vengeance, and his bitter tone comes from knowing... expecting that once this goes public, it will not burn quietly. But, such is the life of a Jedi in these dark times. "As agreed between the Jedi Order and the Senate, Lynae Cassius, you will now pay for your service in the Imperial Military." He motions toward the wooden pole. "Assume the position." He strides back to face the gathered Jedi, and gives an indicative nod to the seniormost Knights. One of them produces a long, leather whip. Nothing technologically advanced, just a good old-fashioned whip of spun bantha leather. Shockingly, Luke strides over toward the grouping of Senators, an almost fiery expression coming into his eyes. "For those of you who have called most viciously for Lynae's blood... this task is upon you." He extends the coiled whip out before him, a challenging expression knit heartfelt on his face. This is no longer an arena of politics or popularity... it is an arena of the soul. The later-comer might strike a chord of recognition with some folks. It all depends just how much attention those gathered here pay to a certain middle power star nation off in a rather marginal region of the mid-rim. For those who bother to be familiar with it, the late arrival looks a lot like their current head of state. He stands there with his hands folded behind his back, in what looks an awful lot like a remarkably crisp at-ease posture. He hasn't bothered to exchange words with those around him as of yet, save for 'by your leave' as he was arriving. And his expression hasn't exactly suggested that he was open to any particular congeniality either. In fact, it would be fair to say that he's been all but bristling so far, particularly as Luke's introduction commenced. It's only once Lynae begins to speak that Mahon's expression softens in the least - his eyes are (without any room for question) upon her, and one might accuse him of actually venturing a faint, serene smile for just a moment as Lynae starts to speak, before adopting a much more carefully neutral air. The sight of the whip is enough to make the color drain from a few of the delegates' faces, and when Luke approaches them with it, the Jedi Master has more than one expression of disbelief aimed very much in his direction. Those who had looked so eager upon their arrival seem to have had the wind knocked out of their sails if not by the proceedings thus far, than certainly by the coiled whip being extended towards them. At least one of them looks like she may become physically ill. The look Del gives Luke isn't one of disbelief or challenge, but one of genuine, heartfelt exasperation. Cochran's representative has his eyes fixed on the whip, one corner of his mouth twitching on his otherwise stony face, one hand's fingers flexing anxiously at his side. He's obviously conflicted, and even more obvious is the fact that a part of him is outraged that there's any conflict to be had. After nearly a full minute of silence, he squares his shoulders and lifts his gaze to Luke, shaking his head once. "It isn't the right way," he says in a tight, hoarse voice that sounds a great deal stronger than he looks capable of. "If this is the Order's judgment, we will take no part in it." Lynae calmly unbuttons her jacket, shrugs out of it and folds it over one arm, retrieves a half circle of dewback leather from one of the pockets and glances around the room slowly. She smoothes the jacket over her arm, standing simply in trousers, boots and the backless tunic, clearly she had planned and prepared for this exact eventuality. She casts a brief glance towards Skywalker as he addresses the senate before striding forward and halting precisely before the CDU's representative and asks in a clear voice, though soft, "Will you hold this for me?" she says, the request simple as she hands over the jacket, unspoken but the expression in her eyes speaks volumes in response before she turns back towards Skywalker and the wooden pole that has been constructed for this specific purpose. The half-circle of dewback leather is held easily in one hand as she returns to stand at Skywalker's side, echoing his sentiment with her challenge, I offer flesh and blood," she says directly to the representative of Cochran, "my flesh, my blood, in payment." She sweeps the assembled senators again with her gaze, "In all my years of service I never, ever, ordered a soldier to do something that I would not - were I capable of such a task. I sacrificed a warship," she states quietly, her voice heavily laden with emphasis once again, "because I would not surrender my starfighter corps. This judgment is upon you, and you have agreed to it, which also means you have accepted the offering. Whether you wield the whip yourselves, or stand witness, then you are obligated to do precisely that: Bear witness." She nods towards Luke and strides towards the pole, taking the half circle of leather and placing it within her mouth, teeth fitting over the leather to prevent her from biting her own tongue by accident, her hands lifting to clasp on the arms of the beam. Her back, thus displayed, already is laced with ropes of scar tissue that a trained eye would judge to be nearly a decade old. Mahon unfolds himself from that 'at ease' posture as Lynae comes to stand before him. He gazes at her, eye to eye, then reaches to accept her jacket, folding it over his left arm with the sort of care generally reserved for an honor guard folding a flag at a military funeral. And then he reaches out to clasp her hand in his own white-gloved grip, shaking it once. He murmurs something back to her, but his words are of sufficiently discrete volume that they are lost to any more than a pace away. That faint smile is back, for just a bare instant, before his expression smoothes itself back to one of utmost stoicism. Kyrin frowns as the whip is offered to the senators, and again, there is a fleeting hint of distaste on her visage. Her gray eyes shift from face to face once more, noting the interaction between the CDU dignitary and the former Imperial officer. Her tail finally starts moving more than once, and while she does make a conscious effort to still its motion, it no longer remains still, an indicator of the Chyleni's inner agitation. The only other movement she makes is to fold her arms and slightly lowering her head, her eyes now appearing hooded as she waits to see who will gather up the shreds of his or her courage to strike the first blow. A simple nod of approval is given when Cochran's representative speaks. Luke stands still for a long while, as Lynae speaks, as the representative from Cochran backs down, as the woman takes up her position. His eyes go from one face to the other, looking and searching for anyone with the bravery to step up to the cause. When none present themselves, Luke's bitter expression turns into a smile. His battle was not with Lynae... it was with the Senate. He turns and strides back toward Lynae, watching as she bites down on the piece of leather and prepares for the seemingly inevitable. He stretches out his arm. The next sound is that of leather striking stone. The whip, recoiled and sprung, smacks into the stone at Lynae's feet, where it falls slack. The handle, having left Luke's hand, collapses with a clattering sound. The Jedi Master draws in a deep breath, and lets it out firmly. "You are forgiven, Lynae Cassius. Penance is no longer required." Almost immediately, one of the Jedi Knights rushes forward and collects the whip, stowing it beneath his Jedi robes where it remains out of sight. Throughout the entire proceedings there has been one constant in the room, that being the marine standing silent and stoned face near the door through which the Doctor entered. He hardly blinked throughout the Jedi’s introduction, Cassius' stirring speech or the senates refusal, spineless or not, to follow through with the action so many lusted to see. His eyes follow Skywalker as he steps away from the audience, the sergeant's shoulders tightening momentarily at the crack of the whip, a long breath escaping his nose as the weapon is dropped and shuffled away. It is then when his gaze falls back upon the doctor, awaiting her reaction. With her hands braced upon the arms of the support beams, Lynae stands quietly in place, listening intently to the sounds of breathing in the room. So many assembled witnesses, none of them speaking, the shifting of feet on the floor, the rustle of clothing. Tension is easily visible in every line of her body, her jaw clenched, teeth firmly upon the half circle of leather. The sound of the whip coiling and whistling through the air to strike causes her to exhaled instinctively, only to hear the impact of the tip of the whip against the stone floor instead. The following clattering sound causes her to turn to glance over her shoulder, her gaze confused at first, then frank astonishment crosses her face before she releases her hold and turns around entirely to face Skywalker and the room at large. She strides towards Skywalker slowly, her gaze intent upon his face, frankly studying his expression while weighing his words then turning her gaze to the room again. "Does your council, your senate, acknowledge this statement and witness it?" she asks quietly in response, her head tilting slightly. At the end of it all, with the whip striking stone rather than flesh, Mahon is left with a mildly puzzled expression. He blinks a few times as watches Lynae and Luke, and then turns sharply to fix the senators (who he'd thus far barely acknowledged) in his gaze. One might accuse him of being eagerly interested in seeing just how they're going to take this. The assumption that a flogging was what anyone wanted to see is sure to be a subject of heated debate in the coming weeks, though not on the senate floor. The Republic's delegation is visibly relieved when the whip clatters to the floor, though two of them - Cochran's and Ord Mantell's - still have their eyes on Lynae, both of their expressions clouded. The other delegates murmur in response to Lynae's words, obviously uncomfortable by the spectacle they've been made to endure and eager to leave. Again it is Cochran's representative that speaks for the group: "For the doctor's future reference," he says slowly, his words very carefully measured. "Penance implies remorse. If you feel any, doctor, you have shown none that I could see nor hear in your speeches." He waves a hand and turns his gaze towards the door, grunting irritably. "We witness this statement and acknowledge it as it applies to the New Republic Senate. What individuals of the Republic think of your atonement is another matter entirely." He swings his gaze back to Luke, level and carefully controlled. "May we be excused, Master Jedi?" Luke declares his ability of AFFECT MIND to the room. (ALTER) Luke rolls a 39 for his ALTER skill. A Heroic roll! Lynae rolls a 20 for her WILLPOWER skill. A Good roll! Luke lifts his right hand, making a holding gesture toward the representative from Cochran. "One moment." His eyes never leave Lynae's own, and he takes slow steps to gradually close the distance. "I do not take this situation lightly, Lynae. We have set an example by waiving punishment, but that changes not the cold, real truth that this is a matter of war. War between Jedi and Sith, with the galaxy and all of its occupants as tools, victims, or allies for either side." His left hand comes forth, and with it, no display of outward power. No mind tricks, per say, but a mere effort to have the Force impress upon Lynae the severity of this war. In a rush of invisible energy, Lynae's mind is hopelessly matched against the power of a Jedi Master. Somehow, by description escaping Luke's understanding himself, he makes the Force to open a safe channel between its tendrils of future, past and present. Therein lies the simple truth... there is darkness, and there is light. Darkness will enslave, destroy, torture. Light will preserve, bring joy, and ultimately... never fade. Therein lies the understanding of Vadim, and his clear-cut alliance with the dark side. Closing his hand into a fist, Luke calls off the awakening before it can begin to overwhelm the woman, but it will surely stick in her memory. He hasn't altered her thoughts, changed her point of view, or forced any conclusions upon her. Rather, he simply forced the doorway open, so that she could glimpse the truth. It's as subtle of a gesture as it is powerful. What she does with it will be up to her. "As I said before... we welcome you here and would be honored for you to serve amongst our own," he concludes. "But there will clearly be much reconciliation to take place before that is seen to its conclusion. That is all." Amongst the New Republic military contingent, the ones who have borne the brunt of the war and have had to fight and die to continue, one of those who had personally suffered at the hands of the Empire and of this woman in their midst... one stirs. Kyrin Sh'vani blinks once as she watches the fall of the whip to the floor. She hears the words of the Cochran representative and nods. And then she feels with the senses she has, nothing unusual for her people, the tension around her. And she hears what Luke has said. And she stirs. She breaks ranks from the other military types and moves forward toward the pillar, the Jedi Master, and the former Imperial officer. She looks into Lynae's eyes as best she can, trying to make some sort of eye contact. When she does achieve that brief moment of connection... the Chyleni understands. And in lieu of any words, she shows the understanding in her people's own way. Balancing carefully like a dancer, Kyrin unfurls her wings and dips into a formal sort of gallant bow. Lynae will know exactly which level of courtesy she was just granted, due to her research into the Chyleni people. It's not the huge formal contortion that someone like Leia would receive, or the lesser one that Luke would get when Kyrin's being goofy. But it is perfectly chosen for the time and place and the respect the blue-skinned woman now currently holds for her former enemy. Holding the pose for just a few seconds, enough to make the point, Kyrin straightens up, furls her wings, and simply returns to her military people, ignoring their reactions and going back to plain old observation. By no means it's Lynae a weak willed, nor impulsive woman, or given to flights of fancy or emotionalism. Least of all to sudden gasping revelations. Her gaze meets Skywalker's, blue to blue, her chin lifting slightly as she braces instinctively as he speaks. It is subtle, nothing at all like the last time Skywalker shared a glimpse of the way he sees the world. Nor quite as flatly coldly terrifying as dwelling upon the mind, the vision, of another such force user. She exhales, the sound unintentionally loud, giving her head a slight shake as though to clear her thoughts. Once Kyrin steps forward, Lynae's gaze is drawn to the Chyleni woman, searching Kyrin's gaze with her own, and seeing something truly unexpected. She answers the offered by with a gesture of her own, bracing to attention again as a measure of respect not easily given, nor lightly so. Her spoken words are, at first, directed to the representative from Cochran. "Were I entirely devoid of remorse or lacking in anything remotely human, Senator, I would not be standing here before you." Her gaze shifts again towards Skywalker, "Were I not aware of the struggle that takes place with every breath, every heart beat, I would not be standing here. Well aware, am I, that this is not a fight merely between two governments. But a challenge," she pauses again, "a challenge for the future. Were I inclined to wreck havoc and chaos upon the universe, I would remind you all that I am merely One woman, not an army nor a nation state unto myself. This war lives in all of us, between that which is easy and that which is the path less taken. One more difficult than we are made to bear alone. For if we stand alone, then we will fall - alone." She again studies the faces of those assembled, "Hate me, you are more than free to do so. I can neither change your feelings towards me than I can change what I have done - nor what yet needs to be done. I am what I am, no more, no less. Because of what I am, I must be. But because of who I am, and what I choose, I must always - always - be me. " The gathered senators are not quite silent when the Jedi Master does... something, to Lynae. There are hushed murmurs and looks of concern, some wary and some just plain curious. The Chyleni's reaction is met with several arched eyebrows, and results in much more scrutinizing attention being paid to the Jedi and the doctor at center stage. They all listen as Lynae speaks, and in the end, it isn't Cochran's representative that speaks, but Ord Mantell's. "You can change our feelings, Doctor Cassius," she notes in a simultaneously crisp and gentle Coruscanti accent, her expression not one of malice, but.. pity. "But you have to be willing to try and not simply resign yourself to what you believe to be your fate. One thing this Republic of ours does not do is quit in the face of a challenge - you will find no sympathy or understanding if you do not fight for it. If you're comfortable with that.. then I'm afraid, but for the legal aspects, this was a wasted effort on Master Skywalker's behalf, and for that, I am sorry." She inclines her head and looks over her shoulder towards the rest of the senators, who look towards the Jedi questioningly before they move towards the door, though Del remains. "We wish you the best of luck in whatever your future holds for you, Lynae Cassius. You have our sympathy." His duty now done, Sergeant Holden Deckherd takes one final cold gaze about the room. Squaring his shoulders, he rises to attention and takes a brief moment to straiten his dress tunic. His duty is now complete, knowing perfectly well that the doctor is going to now be transferred into another set of hands, at least until they've found whatever usefulness they may have for her and whatever she chooses to do with her life after is none of his concern. He makes a single, precise marching turn towards the main exit and begins to step towards it, crossing the room in measured steps. Mahon has thus far been quite quiet, save for his murmured conversation with Lynae, when Lyn's jacket was passed to him. Halfway through Del's response to Lynae, Mahon turns back to Lyn, watching her as the Republic Senator speaks. His brow furrows somewhat, then his eyes cast upwards for a moment. He bites his lower lip, draws a breath, and poises as if perhaps prepared to add his own interjection into the fray. What comes forth though, to express his sentiments is a tired-sounding (and under the circumstances, entirely undiplomatic) sigh, and a slow shaking of his head, and the sort of expression best reserved for when one finds live maggots in one's dinner (and one is not of the mindset to treat the situation as bonus protein). "The estimated crew compliment of a fully functional death star is a little over two million," Lynae replies in a voice that is oddly quiet, almost gentle, as she responds to the senator’s statement. "That's the average crew compliment, if I recall the specs correctly. I further recall that the first one was not fully staffed with personnel, but enough to make sure everything functioned within acceptable limits. So cut that number in half, maybe a third. So the tally so far is, say, one hundred fifty thousand, to round up. Add in the tally from the second death star, the third, what number do we reach? Continue to tally up all the dead from the Empire, in ground forces and naval, and the number continues to climb." She tilts her head slightly to the side, studying the senator with a contemplative gaze. "So, we keep adding the numbers up, you side, the side of the Empire, incidental little parties that crop up from time to time to winnow away at your forces and that of the Empire, nibbling pieces off like parasites who want a piece of the action. The possible loot. Keep building, because my father shot yours down in combat, and you want retaliation. So you kill me, and my friends then attack yours. Yours attack mine. And it continues, hate begetting hate. Revenge spawning retribution. Everyone SO certain that THEY are in the right. So where does it end, Senator? When is enough enough? How many billion have to die? One? Twenty? One hundred? A billion here, a billion there, soon we're talking about real people." She steps forward, "I neither seek, welcome, nor accept your sympathy. If you think this was a wasted effort, then you missed the point. Resign? Nay, I do not resign myself to my fate. I take my life, my 'fate' as you call it, in my own hands and forge it into that which I deem to be the shape of it. For it is MY responsibility to lead my life the best way that I know how. What we are, all of us, is the sum total of the things - the decisions - that have brought us to this day, this place in time. Along the way we lose pieces of ourselves, fragments that break off, parts of ourselves that we never thought we'd be able to live without. Giving up parts of ourselves, surrendering our dreams, sometimes our hope itself. We rebuild, reforge, and there are pieces that don't fit, or that we just don't know what to do with anymore. But we keep going. Hate, Madam Senator, is one thing that we can either choose to keep finding a place for in the puzzle, or we can set it aside and resolve to do something better. Something.. " she pauses, her gaze turning towards Mahon, "more important than hate. Something that last's longer than even the most bitter, the most angry, deeply entrenched hate can ever hope to accomplish." The look Del gives Lynae doesn't change from the pitying one she'd had before. "The Death Star is a battlestation, Doctor Cassius," she notes gently, taking her gaze away from Lynae long enough to motion for the R3 unit to stop recording. The session was over. What remains is unrelated and there is no need for what remains to go into the archives. "To be completely honest with you, kiddo, I'd love nothing more than a peaceful resolution to this conflict. Something mutually beneficial, that all sides of this conflict can agree upon. I dream big." She shrugs her shoulders and slides her hands into her pockets, wandering away from the delegation's designated place in the room to instead come into more comfortable conversational range, her eyes once again roaming over the Imperial exile's form as if it were a logic puzzle she was trying to solve. "I don't hate you. I don't hate anyone who wears an Imperial uniform, for that matter, not even the Emperor himself. I think he's a karking idiot, but I don't hate him," she notes in a wry tone of voice, throwing out language rather unbecoming of a senate official as if it were simply her natural method of speech. "I can respect what you seem to be trying to do with your life now. It can't be easy, and Darth Malign is a scary being to say no to. Leaves you looking over your shoulder day in and day out, wondering when he'll come out of the shadows and simply end it. But that's neither here nor there," she says, waving a hand. "Noone here hates you, Lynae. They hate what you did, but not you. You are not your actions while you were an agent of the Empire, you are who you choose to be now that you are not under his command. I think you need to come to terms with that before you can truly begin to forge anything with a solid enough foundation to last." Mahon's gaze slowly tracks between Lynae and the senator. His expression actually turns from one of exasperation to one of stoic contemplation as he watches to conversation go back and forth. And then he wordlessly steps forward, passing from the audience, and moving to Lynae's side. A faint, lopsided smile crosses his lips as he presents the jacket that he's held for her on account that this was supposed to theoretically be a flogging. And even after that, he lingers rather pointedly beside her, turning to look back towards the senators. "He's not a karking idiot, nor are those who work for him directly, Madam Senator," Lynae warns quietly. "By no means, and not for any reason, underestimate the danger of fanatical loyalty. When we say 'to hear is to obey' it's not pretty words. Do not underestimate the determination of those loyal directly to the Emperor himself. Crazy he may be, and without performing a psychological evaluation of the Emperor personally, I can neither confirm nor deny the validity of that supposition. But mark my words when I say that he is no fool, to have risen to power, this quietly, this suddenly, he is no fool." She pauses at Mahon arrives at her side and she turns slightly, accepting her jacket in return with a murmured thank you, taking a measured step towards him even as she continues, "I already have, Madam Senator. Malign offered me everything that a career officer - especially one guilty of treason and exiled from my very home - could ever hope for. I turned down his offer, not once, mind you, but twice. Were I so inclined to run back and beg to be allowed to return, I would but have to set course and I could be there within a matter of days. But that is not the path I have chosen for myself. There are pieces that no longer fit, Madam Senator. But that which remains is of my own selection, and should the opportunity arise I will use what skills I have to call my own to assist not just the CDU but the NR, if you will accept the offer." Developing an almost roguish smile at the first, Del simply holds up both of her hands in a placating gesture, despite the quiet voice Lynae replied with. Mahon is given a polite nod and that same roguish smile when he approaches, though for the moment, the bulk of her attention is perhaps understandably on Lynae. "I'm aware of your situation," is all that she says in response to the notes about Malign, her eyes flicking towards the window showing the rest of the Temple, perhaps to indicate how she knows - and more subtly, how much. "And it's a large part of why I'm still here instead of on my way back to the senate complex with my comrades. Master Skywalker has a great deal of faith in you, and if he believes your intent is genuine, I'm not so arrogant as to argue. Now, I don't speak for the whole of the senate," she cautions, but as she does, she extends a hand. "But my office, at least, is willing to accept your help should you ever offer it. If you ever want some help making sense of things - the Republic can be a confusing beast, even for those of us who didn't have the education you did - my door is always open." Mahon blinks a few times, gazing back at Del with a vaguely quizzical expression, perhaps wondering just why the good senator is looking at him that way. "Well," he remarks at last, gruffly, looking back to Lynae, "This has all been very..." he trails off for a moment, hesitating before he adds appraisingly, "Interesting." He frowns thoughtfully for a moment then adds, "Suppose I should say that I am personally relieved and thankful that you all won't be shooting, gassing, lethally injecting, hanging, or spacing Dr. Cassius. Rather makes me feel a little more at ease about her trying to help you folks." "I would rather doubt that anyone could speak for the whole of the senate, not even themselves," Lynae speculates in a quiet voice that holds just the barest hint of amusement. She nods, however, at the senator's officer and adds, "I dare say I may well take you up on that offer. I have a few questions about your model of government, the comparison to yours and that of the Caspians is really quite worth a few days worth of straight talk." She pauses again then a slow smile does form fully on her face as she casts a glance towards Mahon, "I would say that I, too, am personally relieved. I have a few things I'd like to do, yet, before I hang up my hat and turn my face to the wall. " "That makes two of us. With very few, loud, and.. misguided exceptions, that just isn't the way the New Republic rolls," Del replies to Mahon with a faint twinkle in her eye, and she inclines her head towards him respectfully. "Emotions are high right now, and people often speak out of anger and frustration, say things they don't truly mean or intend to follow up on. We're trying to keep things on a.. sane and even keel as best we can. For the record," she adds, looking between Mahon and Lynae now with a more serious expression. "If I'd known a whip would be involved in this proceeding, I wouldn't have come. I like to pretend I live somewhere civilized, not Hutt space. I think I can safely say that goes for my fellow delegates as well." Given her expression, it's possible Master Skywalker is going to be receiving a piece of the Senator's mind in the very near future. But it's shaken off quickly and replaced by a lopsided smile for Lynae, and she nods. "I'm a bit of a neophyte when it comes to the government, to be truthful, but I can certainly join you at the library. I'd like to make sense of some of that myself, and maybe I can translate from the Republican for you."
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