| abstract
| - A steady gasp-wheeze-whum of an older repulsorlift-driven ship dominates the immediate soundscape. The ship is about ten meters long nose to stern, with a tiny cockpit and cramped head below the dull gray durasteel decking. Handrails loop around the deck, taller in the rear to do double duty; narrow extensions help support a stretched-taut ochre awning which offers some protection from the afternoon sun. The smaller barge is set on a straight course, steady but hardly fast, just barely clearing the dark green treetops. Like so many different types of artist's brushes, turned over and planted handle-down in the ground. At this steady clip, the leafy branches below seem almost soft. Orson is sitting at the above-deck controls, hardly paying attention. There was another good hundred kilometers to go before they reached the edge of the more difficult terrain closer to Karrde's compound. The trip to Hyllyard City had been productive, and a few bags of local trinkets and some foodstuffs are piled up on the back of the skiff under the awning. The squat mechanic himself is pensive, dark goggles protecting his eyes. His shoulders are light brown and peeling, darkened by more time in the light and less in deep space these days - his hand taps on the controls, in time with a basic groove emanating from the skiff's rarely-used speaker system. This vessel is better suited to party detail than on-planet cargo hauls, but that's its use today. The golden Myrkr sun has had its effect on Jessalyn during her stay here, as well; especially today, after the long haul into Hyllyard City on the sturdy but slow-moving skiff. Above tree level there was no longer the shelter provided by the green canopy of the forest, and Jessa has spent most of the trip hunched underneath the awning that provides a spot of shade, wearing a cap she had salvaged from someone's supply cabinet below deck. It's managed to keep her scarlet-touched cheeks from being sunburned even more, and protects her vision from the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. They had an interesting excursion to the city, and after the supply run and a hearty meal at a local pub, she's exhausted but satisfied. With a yawn, she stands up and moves out from under the awning, taking off the cap and letting the wind blow through her sweat-streaked hair as she wraps her hands around the railing and leans over, watching the forest sweep by below them. Something tickles at her perceptions, the Force returning to tease her, and she seems lost in thought for a long while before speaking at last to Orson. "Have you ever been down there?" she asks, pointing down into the forest. The mechanic's hand stops its tapping and he pulls back on the throttle, changing the pitch of the engines and slowing the skiff before he turns around. "Hmm?" he asks, but sees her finger and is able to piece enough of her meaning together. Orson slows further, coasting along on a straight line. "No, I haven't," he replies. He hadn't been deep into the forest at all, and his few excursions into its fringes had been brief and unfortunate. A new scar, pink and puckered against his healthy brown flesh, is visible below his collar beneath his tank top. "Why? Something the matter?" the new student intuits. Jessa glances at Orson, pursing her lips into a troubled expression. Then she looks down into the forest again, unable to fathom her sudden compulsion to stop and go exploring, wringing the soft cloth hat in her hands as she struggles inwardly. "I don't know," she says loud enough to be heard over the whir of the engines and the music being piped in over the speakers. "Do you mind if we go take a quick look?" Green eyes squint, scanning the treetops, till she spots a small clearing next to a crystalline lake, and she pivots her pointing finger in that direction. "Over there we can land." "Uhm, no. Of course not." The mechanic lifts up from his seat slightly, looking over the console to follow the direction of her point. There's not much of a clearing, and Orson banks the craft to turn it about, lining up to come in over the longest part of the water, aggravating small waves in two concentric patterns from both sides of the skiff's engines. Carefully, the skiff is landed, left about three meters above the ground. Flying and operating the vehicle are fairly simple tasks, and it's shut down in just a moment. The steady, sloppy groove of Orson's music sounds a long way over the water and into the woods, and the man claps a hand down on the music control, feeling the irreverance of it and shutting it off. The mechanic leans over the rail, looking at the untouched white sand lining the bank of the water. "Er," Orson sounds. "I thought we were closer than that. Let me extend the ladder." He turns to move back to the console. The forest seems to be humming with life, made all the more noticeable when the engines cut off and the echoing of Orson's music finally fades to nothingness. The void is filled with the chirping of thousands of birds, and indistinct calls and howls from uncounted numbers of creatures that make this wild place their home. Jessalyn barely hears Orson's voice as he turns to lower the ladder. She's already found the latch to swing away the railing, and she sits over the edge before dropping feet first down into the sand, not waiting for her student to lower the ladder. The trees here are tremendous, lining the clear lake like sentinels, and the brush is surprisingly clear, making it easy to see into the woods. She takes a few steps in that direction before looking back over her shoulder toward the skiff, resting a reassuring hand on the lightsaber at her belt. "Coming?" she calls out. Orson returns to the railing and leans over it, eyeing his teacher and shallow grooves left by her feet in the sand below the ledge. He moves to the spot as well, and crouches, taking in a deep breath. Orson shudders as he makes tentative touch with the Force. In a moment, he's on the bank as well, slowed by an inexorable power in midair but stumbling forward slightly nonetheless. He slaps the sand off of the hand that touched the ground and starts over to the Jedi, giving the woods a critical look. "This is nice," Orson lies. Certainly it's beautiful, but the circumstances make him less than comfortable. He lowers his head and trudges along behind Jessalyn as they disappear between the heavy trees which line the clearing. Aware of his discomfort, Jessalyn has a twinge of regret at dragging him into this pointless exploration, but she is still compelled by something that draws her deeper into the forest. Occasionally coming across a mass of tangled brush that blocks their way, she uses her lightsaber to hack a path for them. But mostly the walk among the trees is uneventful, and she begins to wonder how unwise it is to venture in here with no way to contact anyone back at the Base should they run afoul of another vornskr... or worse. But she's comforted by the fact that the Force -is- here, steady and reassuring, letting her have full use of her senses. Surprisingly, she feels no threat of danger; indeed, if anything there is a sense of security and protection. After a while she halts, clipping her lightsaber to her belt, and standing with her hands on her hips, her eyes shifting back and forth as if searching for something. What -was- that itch in the back of her mind? "Maybe I'm going crazy," she mutters, more to herself than to Orson. "Woah!" Orson yells, formerly absorbed in the silence and stretching out with own feelings, taking this rare opportunity of Force listening to attempt to listen in on the rich bouquet of life that surrounded them. The mechanic ducks, startled out of that trance by the quick beat of a large bird fleeing its nest in the top of a shorter tree, only four or five meters tall, which Jessalyn has paused beside. He takes his arms off the top of his head and casts a sheepish grin on Jessalyn. A thick vine which hangs from that tree and tapering down into a round point, has been lifted by the wind and resettled on Jessalyn's shoulder. Like old friends. "Me too," Orson says, picking his way through the uneven ground. Still, this forest isn't nearly as bad as the deep North forest, and this particular spot seems quite clear and almost roomy. With no wind, the vine slips off of Jessalyn's shoulder. The flap of bird's wings makes Jessa turn her head, and she deduces without much thought that it was this subtle movement that dislodged the tree vine from its precarious perch on her shoulder. She brushes her hand over the spot it was just resting upon, as if it were still there, and frowns at the freckles she sees forming on her bare shoulders. Random thoughts. She smiles at Orson, then follows the flight of the bird with her eyes. "There's just... something strange about this place. I can't put my finger on it." She sighs softly, leaning her back against the trunk of the viney tree, and sliding down to sit at its base, finding a comfortable spot among the root structure. She pulls a canteen from her utility belt and unscrews the top, taking a long swig and then offering it to Orson. Orson accepts the canteen and tilts back his head, taking a healthy drink before lowering it and wiping at his mouth, staring into the canopy. It's past midafternoon, and yellow rays of sun pierce the covering ahead. A mottled pattern of light and dark blanket this clearing. The tree that Jessalyn has perched against is some four meters tall, a massive gnarled and made up of a bunching of many smaller twisted stalks, all covered by gray-brown bark. Branches, or perhaps thick vines, hang down from the top of the tree to past its midsection, rustling in even the slightest breeze despite their heaviness and likely inertia. A covering of black-green grassy leaves cover its top, a few complicated looking plant structures buried within it and visible from the proper angles. Knotty roots radiate from the tree, twisting over themselves and digging into the crust of this strange planet. Some other bushy vine has taken up residence in a nook created by an opening beneath this tree's roots, and fragrant purple flowers on a vine are slowly creeping up the larger organism's trunk. All in all, there look to be a few comfortable seats there, wide roots almost like they've been shaped for the purpose. Like a still-warm wind rustling through the forest at the beginning of a new autumn, the woods exhale. The air shuffles through the trees, rustling even this creature's grassy hair. Through it, a whisper, each sound so slow and quiet as to be easily missed by someone who wouldn't take the time to listen and piece the tones together. "Omm. Jedi." A vine lifts, its point up and seemingly testing the air while its bulk loops lazily behind. The vine point gives Orson an interested glance, but otherwise curls back on Jessalyn, touching at her clothing lightly. A small, startled gasp escapes Jessa's lips, and she instinctively recoils from the creeping vine, which is now obviously moving of its own volition, and not by any trick of the wind or imagination. Yet, there is something so calm and perfect about this place, and about this tree she has taken refuge beneath, that the Force seems to reassure her, defusing her fear. She stares first at Orson, wondering if he had heard the strange sound, then tilts her head back to look up into the leafy branches overhanging them. "Did you... see that?" she murmurs, reaching out with her senses to gently explore the tree, trying to ascertain its nature, and resting her palm flatly on the dull gray-brown trunk. "Uh," Orson comments skeptically. "Maybe it's hungry." He regrets the words as soon as he's spoken them, and steps forward to manuever the vine away from Jessalyn. There was something strange here, and even without the Force, nature itself is sending a clear message. This place is safe. "Or just curious, maybe." "Jedi! Yes. You've come to me." At least a dozen vines appear, dropping from the uppermost part of the tree, bark cracking and popping at all this movement. Some thick structures, bark-covered and woody, lift themselves from the nest of green. Most disconcerting: the tree seems to shift its weight, wood twisting with wet sounding creaks. "At last." As the very roots of the tree shift beneath her, Jessa gets to her feet, hands clenching at her sides as she watches the vines emerging from their leafy cover as if they are reaching for her in an embrace. One of them is close enough to touch, and she reaches out a tentative hand to stroke the rough, woody surface. This time the words that float on the breeze are easier to distinguish, and Jessalyn swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. It's hard not to feel almost foolish for speaking to ... a tree. "We are Jedi," she confirms, sparing a quick glance at Orson. "Who -- what -- are you?" At least now she understood what had compelled her to leave the barge. Orson stumbles back, his stance low. The mechanic shuffles over beside Jessalyn, allowing the senior Jedi to do the talking for the moment. He seems shocked to hear himself called a Jedi and, though Jessalyn doesn't see it, a smile spreads on his lips. It quickly disappears and he straightens, adjusting his tank top and keeping some suddenly solemn attention on the tree. While the vines appear light swaying in the slight breeze, they obviously have a great deal of mass, and a gentle touch from the vine on the inside of Jessalyn's hand is more than enough to move it out of the way. The tree is, for the moment, completely out of words. Its dark green grass rustles then stills for a long time. If it were not for the obvious movement it had made a moment ago, it would be easy to believe that one might have imagined the whole thing. It speaks again, voice nearer but still a windy whisper, emanating from somewhere near the top of the broad creature. "You've come to Aido Or. At last," it sounds, like wind sliding through a hollow space. "What names have come?" Jessa's hand lingers in the air for a moment after the vine has eased out of her reach, and her fingers curl in around her palm as she looks at the tree, eyes shifting from the broad base of the trunk to the numerous vines hanging like limber arms from the upper foliage. She holds her breath as quiet descends once more, taking a couple of steps to Orson's side and sliding her hand around his arm. Waiting, patient. What she sensed was real, and she can detect sentience in this creature before it speaks again. Her green eyes are round and fascinated, and she licks her dry lips before replying. "I'm Jessalyn Valios. This is my student, Orson Tighe. Were you... were you waiting for us?" It seems incredible, and yet entirely possible at the same time. Orson dips his head at the tree in the middle of the silence, looking to Jessalyn for some reassurance there. The tree repeats the newly familiar pattern, and it settles into a longer silence than before. The bird that had flown off swoops in, landing in the grassy nest which must be the creature's head - or at least its speaking part - and gives Jessalyn and Orson an annoyed caw. "Waiting for you to come. Yes." the tree says, pausing again. "Four hundred years. I knew you would. At last." It stops again, and a bristled dark-green branch lifts from the grass above. Is it looking at the pair? "You've come with a question." Only now does the Force move, flooding into its almost dormant body and mind and overflowing like a colorful liquid seeping into the clearing. Now it seems quite obvious that it's both looking, and /Looking/, examining them both through the Force. It points its vine at Jessalyn. "Yes?" Each silence seems to last an eternity, but Jessalyn is content to be patient, the slow manner and rhythm of the creature's speech almost soothing. She exchanges a glance with Orson, smiling at him as they wait, and giving his bicep a slight squeeze of reassurance. And then... the Force stirs, making Jessalyn catch her breath as she feels it pour over her, sensing the curiosity and even the joy radiating from the tree-like creature. She returns the hospitable gesture, tentatively reaching out in a warm, silent greeting, her own curiosity obvious. But the words it speaks take her aback, and she frowns slightly. "A question? I don't know... we were flying overhead, and... and I guess I sensed you." She tries to explain, but the words don't seem adequate, and she gives Orson a puzzled look. The stillness is a good opportunity to practice sensing, and after a few minutes of fidgeting, Orson stops moving and closes his eyes. He reaches up to pat his friends hand when she squeezes, and only opens his eyes when the tree starts speaking again, with hardly four or five minutes having passed before it makes its reply to Jessalyn. "Ask Aido Or your question, at last" it moans quietly. "I have waited here, many hundred years. And now you come. Just like in the Vision. The Force has not failed me once." The aggravated bird coos at the sound of the tree's speak and dives into the dark-green head of grass, finding its own nest. "That is how I know you come with a question. Speak it." The tentacle-like vine appendage creaks and rests itself lightly on Jessalyn Valios again, patting her shoulder. For comfort? Orson works his mouth a little, eyes opening. The mechanic shakes his head at Jessalyn helplessly, giving her a shrug. "Ask it something," he whispers. Jessalyn opens and closes her mouth a few times, at an utter loss. She had not expected to find anything like this, that's for certain, and she's unprepared. Giving Orson a slightly annoyed look, she smiles to negate it, whispering to him, "I don't know!" But she then takes a step forward, touching the vine that rests so comfortingly on her shoulder with a slender hand. The bird fluttering and cawing in the higher limbs distracts her as she watches it slip through the leaves in search of its nest. What should she ask? Her heart races, and she strives to calm it, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, the Force flowing through her now. She draws strength from it, a passive vessel now as she searches her own heart for what she should already know. Finally, her leaf-green eyes open, and she nods her head with satisfaction, speaking softly into the silence, "Will the Jedi rise again to bring peace to the galaxy?" "Mmm," the tree considers with a hollow sound. It actually leans toward Jessalyn, only shifting a few centimeters, though moving so much mass is a dramatic thing and it seems to be almost hanging over the pair. It is only a moment before it responds. Her question, and its answer, have been decided long before. "There are not so many," it replies with a rueful whisper. "Soon, I will join with the Force. And another will die." One, two, four vines retract, their points coming back to the top of the grassy tangle and leaving long loops where they once tested the air. "The Jedi -will- rise again." The tree shifts again, and a horrible cracking sound, like a blow from an axe, sounds as the tree forcibly rips its roots from the ground. Moist clods of dirt spray into the air as each anchor is pulled and gives way. The tree turns partway around, keeping its head level - the bird hangs on for dear life. Its head rustles and something falls from that great height, hitting the ground and rolling until it touches the edge of Orson's boot. It's a cone, about the size of a man's fist, green-black and covered with an armor of dull spiky plates. "Plant these seeds, Jessalyn Valios," the tree whispers, waving a vine in Orson's direction. "And others. The Dark Side will demand payment from you. But do not hesitate your work." With that, the tree shifts again, its heavy tangle of roots coiling up and lancing forward, digging into the ground to drag the creature forward. The others steady the bulk of the tree, working slowly, creaking as weight is applied and taken off a moment later. A vine loops over and touches the top of the creature's head -- perhaps steadying the nest of its partner. "At last," a distant wind whispers as the surreal scene unfolds and the tree departs. Only a few weeks ago, Orson would have gaped. Instead he just stands and watches, crossing his arms over one another, eyes narrowed. Silent, strong, and serious, he reaches down and picks up the cone, feeling its weight and reflecting quietly on what has just transpired. The ground seems to tremble beneath them, and Jessalyn watches tensely, listening to the groaning of the creature's massive form as it unbelievably makes its way from them, the swaying of its limbs creating a soft breeze that rustles her hair. A long time passes. Jessa finally tears her eyes away from the place she could last see the creature -- Aido Or -- before it disappeared into the woods. She's surprised to discover that her whole body is trembling. Turning to Orson, she shakes her head slowly, not knowing what to say. She is as amazed as a novice apprentice herself. Looking at the cone in the older man's hands, she walks to stand in front of him, chancing a tentative touch at the precious object. Her fingers brush over Orson's as she cups her palm over the top of the cone. "That was incredible," she says at last, inadequately. Orson passes the cone to her. Its surface is cool to the touch, the small object remarkably heavy and solid. "Do you think it meant here?" Orson asks quietly, looking around the clearing. He shakes his head at his own question, that option just not seeming right. Why would it give them something to put in the ground when it could obviously move about itself? "What do you think?" The broad shouldered technician steps over to the spot where the creature had been rooted and peers down, the crisp scent of fresh earth rising from the almost two meter hole in the center of this clearing. "Yes," Orson corroborates. "Incredible. How did you know?" he asks, turning. A question that he already knows the answer to, and he simply turns back around, stepping into a ray of light that has pierced the canopy above. The sun is quite a bit lower in the sky than when they arrived. Turning the cone over and over in her hands, Jessalyn looks thoughtful, coming to the same conclusion that Orson has. "No, not here," she murmurs, walking over to the soft crater in the earth where the tree had uprooted itself, and kicking lightly at a clod of fresh dirt with her boot. "Somewhere else. Another world." Her own home comes to mind: Yavin, as bright and green and alive as this place. Perhaps she could spread the seeds there. What a remarkable thing to discover. She could hardly wait to find and tell Luke about this, and she shares an excited smile with Orson, giving a slight shrug. "It was the Force. Maybe it sensed us, or I sensed it. But we were meant to help." Of that much she is certain. Pulling a small, folded canvas bag out of a compartment in her utility belt, Jessalyn opens it up and places the cone carefully inside, her gaze moving toward the horizon. It would be twilight within the next hour or so. "We should get back." Something makes Orson reluctant to move. Staring down at the soft pattern of gold and green and black on the forest floor, his perception of time was slowed down once he committed to fully observing and watching the conversation between Jessalyn and Aido Or. It had drawn him in, and he's slow to realize now that the whole exchange took over an hour. "Yes," he says distantly, the edges of his vision crawling with Force sensation. "I like it here. Better than the camp." What he means is clear enough, and touches Jessalyn through the Force before taking control of his feet and starting back toward the lake. He smiles over his shoulder and waves a hand. "Guess we'll make do. Let's go."
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