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| - The door chimed, three short bleats and one longer blat followed by a ding, at which Palo holstered his blaster and pressed the actuator. "Did you get the items I requested?" "You can stop the polite charade," Kimba snapped. "You're not fooling anyone." "In that case, I'll ask you what took so kriffing long," he retorted angrily, gesticulating at a wall chronometer. "It's almost midnight and we need to get on this in a Coruscant minute." "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get hold of halsa wood on this planet?!" Kimba ground out angrily as she unlimbered a rucksack and dumped its contents onto the sofa. "The stuff has to be imported from Fresia, which is the nearest planet that grows it, and even then more is sent out to the Rim than Coreward. Getting the uniforms and the necessary insignia took all of fifteen minutes at an outfitter a hundred meters up the boulevard, the rest of the time I had to waste trying to track down your karking brick of wood! What the stang do you need it for, anyway?" Palo took all this in with an expression carved from stone. "This," he said, extracting an instrument from a waistband pouch. "Observe, if you are so inclined." Picking up the block of halsa, he flicked the device's thick end, which caused a knife blade to spring forth from the broad tip which Kimba realized formed a sort of hilt. He brought the two items over to the workbench they had set up, and began whittling. As the Wroonian worked, she found herself watching in awe as flecks of material began to fall away from the whole like leaves from a tree in autumn. His technique was almost organic in its rhythm, with no motion wasted, the end point of a cut just as important as its depth or where it began. His speed too was almost mesmerizing, and the Human caught herself open-mouthed when the block began to take the shape of a warship. It was amorphous at first, but as Palo worked the material, its new form began to slide almost effortlessly into being, that of an Interdictor-class cruiser. How he managed to carve out the space between the upper and lower forward hulls, all without splitting the piece, she would never know. However, his efforts didn't end there. Ever so gently, he began to carve into what would be the ventral hull astern of the split on a real cruiser. But he didn't simply make a hole there, he ever so carefully extracted a chunk approximately twice the size of the holotap from that area. With the plug in hand, he gently placed the wooden model aside and bisected the piece horizontally. He set it aside, took up the cruiser, and placed the semitransparent device inside, reinserting the plug and injecting an adhesive into the almost indistinguishable gaps. For good measure, he took up a hunk of unused material and carved from it a basic stand, which when glued to the model camouflaged the plug quite expertly. With everything finished, Palo took a great sigh of relief, which to her surprise Kimba found herself mirroring. "Impressive," she said quietly. "Most impressive." Palo winked. "A gift for the Commandant," he said brightly, though the shadow of exhaustion was easy to spot on his pale blue features. "Now do you understand?" "He does have a fondness for such trinkets," Kimba recalled almost wistfully. "Really?" Palo inquired, brow raised. "I wonder how you would know that." "I had the dubious pleasure of being dismissed from the service by that very dog, if you must know," Kimba blurted out, some of her old piss and vinegar returning. "Oh, this was long before he was appointed Grand High Marine Man. He was a captain then, a staff officer in the division I was assigned to at the time. Basically the guy they get to run personnel issues. So when I got hauled in for insubordination, I got to get a real good look at his personal collection." Palo gave a dismissive guffaw, feeling it was an appropriate response. "And what prompted you to be so...uppity?" "I suppose you won't let it rest if I just told you to cram that question where the stars don't shine," Kimba grumbled resignedly, flinging herself onto the sofa next to the jumble of uniforms. "I joined the Marines to toughen myself up, to see some action and come out with a few bragging rights and a career ahead of me. But ever since halfway into boot camp I started going loggerheads with people in authority. Dun'vei called it 'a long history of rubbing people the wrong way,' which is a fitting metaphor for a Bothan. He told me plain; the peacetime Corps didn't need a headache like me gunking up the works, so I was let go. Still had a year to go on my hitch, but they kicked me out anyway. Didn't even bother with a dishonorable discharge, either." Palo began chuckling to himself, to which Kimba responded with a molten look that soon lost its edge as she joined in the mirth. "Their loss, I guess." "You make it sound as though you miss them," Palo surmised. Kimba blinked at him, then shrugged. "Yes and no. I had it figured that I'd get to see the galaxy on the government's decicred and that there'd be a few good fights in it for me. After they let me go I tried making it as a shockboxer, but no one with enough pull would promote me. Gave it up and started drifting across the Rim working security gigs, and that's when Lord So-and-so found me." "He would never tell me his name," Palo observed. "And his face was always either masked or cloaked in a hood. I suppose it was the same with you?" "Yep. So, how'd you end up on this fool's errand." Palo held up his left hand and began ticking off items with his fingers. "First, there was the smuggling, then there was the slicing—both of computers and wood—and then there was the arms-dealing. I got in too deep with the Mandos helping to make weapons for them, so as soon as I heard that they were making war on the Republic, I absconded with a freighterful of contraband of the juiciest kind. Then I got intercepted by the very same cruiser I just carved, trust me when I say you never quite forget seeing a hull like that up close." "Our patron was on that ship, I take it?" "Actually no," Palo replied mournfully. "But the captain knew him by reputation. After swallowing my story about patriotic duty, he sent me off to deliver the goods instead to another ship like this one." He held up the model demonstratively. "The captain of that ship kindly relieved me of the freighter and the cargo, and gave me a brand-new hyperdrive-equipped Herald-class shuttle. Quite a payoff, actually, especially considering all the bells and whistles she came with." "Humph," Kimba replied sourly. "I thought I'd gotten away scot free for almost an entire year before he 'found' me," Palo continued. "One day, as I was plying the Hydian, the holocomm came to life and Lord So-and-so told me that he had a job for me. I have been in his employ ever since." Kimba crossed her arms and kicked her feet up, sending the uniforms cascading to the floor almost defiantly. "I rather think you got the better deal." "Indeed. But then, you just have to protect me while I do all the real work." Without another word or sound he turned around, opened up his portable computer terminal, and began slicing away. After all, identification cards and false service records didn't just invent themselves. — — — It hadn't exactly been the most comfortable ride, but it was quite easily tolerated while deep in meditation. Of course, it wasn't as easy to get into the proper rhythm while strapped into a small passenger seat than it was sitting with legs crossed and arms resting in one's lap on a mat in comfortable, familiar quarters. But it was something she would have to get used to—and quickly—so any complaints that might have been uttered manifested as stillborn thoughts that were easily brushed aside. Not that she minded, really; in fact she was grateful to be on her way so quickly and with such haste, which only served to further demonstrate the power wielded by the man she so very much needed to see. He was the one who could point her to where she could do the most good as a Marine and a Jedi both, and she would go where he sent her with nary a hesitation or fuss. Captain Laera Reyolé was determined to place herself at the forefront of this war, to put some serious hurt on those whom she had called friends in a previous life and who now seemed to have forgotten everything they had once stood, fought, and in her case, died for. It would feel good to do so. But most importantly, it felt right. Her meditation served a dual purpose: first as a means of passing the time that would keep her body and mind sharp and ready for whatever might come, and second to center herself in this newly-unfolding chain of events and master her own emotions. The confident declaration to her Master and the enclave council, hot on the heels of having felt the uncomfortable sensation of being a puppet on strings, had constituted the possible beginnings of an emotional roller coaster ride that neither she nor those around her could afford to indulge. Fresh from training as a newly-minted Padawan, Laera had a lot to learn about self-reliance when it came to the Force and the use of her newfound strength within it. In all likelihood, she would be the only Jedi among dozens or hundreds of soldiers and officers at any given time, which meant she would have no crutch, no Master, to fall back on in times of doubt. But she did have other things to bolster her, Laera knew. The support of the entire Marine Corps she could count on, unless anyone within proved themselves otherwise (and she had no reason yet to suppose that they would turn as well), and the Commandant, who had shown that he had been willing to personally intervene in such matters. With a mental chuckle she recalled the thinly-veiled threat that had been Admiral Dun'vei's personal boot in the behind that had gotten her onto the path she now traveled. Like all things, though, the somewhat pleasant meditation session came to an end. The pilot, a Human Navy chief petty officer, gently prodded her shoulder. "We're on approach to High Command," he said helpfully as Laera blinked in reply to his nudging. "Thought you'd want to know." "Thanks," she muttered offhandedly. "What time is it, local?" "Eighteen thirty-two hours, ma'am," the pilot replied crisply as the cramped packet banked easily into a traffic lane some two hundred meters below the tallest of Coruscant's starscrapers. "Tried to shave a few minutes off the jump but it didn't quite work out." "You did the best you could, kid," Laera replied with a kind smile. "ETA?" "Within the minute, thanks to Admiral Dun'vei's pass." He spared a glance her way out of the corner of his eye. "Will I need to wait for you, or...?" "Doubt it," Laera replied simply, brushing a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. "Put yourself on the list, I'm sure somebody important needs to get somewhere else in a hurry." "Copy that, ma'am. We're settling in now." As the tiny courier touched down just outside the VIP entrance to the High Command complex, Laera found herself unenvious of the life of a courier pilot. The kid had probably wanted to fly fighters, but for some reason he hadn't made the cut, and until a more illustrious billet came around he was essentially stuck flying what amounted to a fat target in space ripe for the plucking. This class of fast packet was so barebones that it had no weapons at all and only the most rudimentary of particle shields designed to prevent micrometeorites and other space flotsam from ablating the hull. The only advantage it had lay in its hyperdrive rating, as otherwise it wasn't all that quick in sublight or atmo, and only marginally maneuverable enough to avoid being classified as a bomber in that regard. As she exited the craft and left the pilot's speckled egg aura behind her, she hoped that the Force would look kindly on his future. Now it was time to sort out her own. She smiled to herself as she entered the command complex, fully aware that it was something of an unwritten rule that a Marine wore their best uniform when asked to see the vice admiral. But Laera wore instead the robes of a Jedi, her lightsaber tucked behind a fold in her overcloak, outwardly oblivious of the furtive stares that she was receiving from officer and enlisted alike as she strode confidently toward the commandant's office. It was better this way, actually, as such an outfit enabled her to conduct her business without hassle, good-natured and well-meaning as it might be. She knew that she was remembered as a hero, but right now that was a liability she wanted to minimize as much as possible. The military bureaucracy was too busy conducting a brand-new shooting war to fawn over dead Marines. Of course, she did have to present credentials in order to gain access to visit the admiral, but this had been overcome through the relatively simple expedient of a false identicard. For the time being she was known as Mishayle Stromboli, Jedi Knight, a temporary and highly unofficial promotion that the Council would probably forgive given the circumstances. The last thing Laera wanted right now was for word of her return to duty to get out among the soldiery, because from there it was only a single set of loose lips until the public—and then the Sith—also knew. The fewer people who were aware of her continued existence the better, since two very important figures among the Republic's opposition already knew the truth. After trekking quietly for a few minutes, she arrived at the small reception area. The Twi'lek secretary, his aura puckered almost as much as his face with a mixed bag of emotions, looked up to regard her with an expectant air. "You are expected, ma'am," he said simply. Doubtless he was attempting to sound casual, but the Padawan saw through the facade; he wished desperately to be back with his old unit, and knew full well who had just arrived. "Just go on in." Laera favored him with an understanding nod, her face an expressionless mask, and proceeded through the entryway, where she found... "Reeka? Tuffass?!" The tableau before her was enough to test the restraint of the most staid Jedi Master. The commandant, his fur rippling as his hands were held outward in what was supposed to be a calming gesture, looking at her with barely-restrained relief. The old, irascible Gand who had been her drill instructor decades prior, looking careworn and yet suddenly transported as everything fell into place in a burst of epiphany. The Rodian, whose black, lustrous eyes sparkled as she looked beyond the robes and into the face of their wearer, a sense of inexpressible shock and delight dimpling her face as she sprang from her seat like a gundark to enwrap her in the fiercest hug either of them had ever experienced. The tension, which she hadn't realized had been building up as she walked deeper into the complex, broke as she returned the embrace with interest. "It's good to be back," Laera said meekly once things had calmed down sufficiently for her to express herself in words. "Admiral, you planned this, didn't you?" "I can't very well try to hide it any longer," the commandant admitted with a halfhearted shrug, dropping his hands to the desktop. "Yes, I was hoping to get you three together eventually. However, recent events have forced my hand. You wanted to see me, and I can make a reasonable guess as to why." "Admiral...Commander...I..." Reeka stammered, shaking her head in consternation. "How did you...?" "I'll explain everything, I promise," Laera replied gently, then regarded the admiral unflinchingly. "Could we...drop the ranks for a moment, sir?" "As far as I'm concerned, this was always just an informal get-together," he replied somewhat cheekily. It was a mannerism that wasn't entirely unexpected, yet it was refreshing to behold. "I think we'd all like to hear your story." And so Laera, dragging a third chair and plopping herself into it, began to speak. She told them everything, starting from her memories of founding Viridian Squadron and the mission that had taken her life, to the recovery process that she had briefly undergone alongside Commander Onasi, and through her training as a Jedi, placing special emphasis on how the commandant had nudged her onto that path. She described her growth in the Force, how she overcame her unique hurdles under the guidance of Master Vrook Lamar, of the other Jedi she interacted with, and how by training in the Force she was able to overcome the emotional trauma of death and resurrection that she freely admitted still bore its prints. She finished by briefly describing her training with the lightsaber, then going into detail regarding the acquisition of a crystal and the assembling of her own weapon. She wrapped the whole tale up with a vivid description of Darth Revan's proclamation and the Dantooine enclave council's reaction to it. "That was when I knew where I belonged," she concluded, a hard edge to her voice and countenance. "I had to go back to the beginning of it all, to where I was needed most." Reeka continued to gaze at Laera, a look that she remembered from many years before, an almost reverent stare. The Rodian drank in her appearance, seemingly certain that, when they inevitably parted once more, the two would never meet again. Her aura was a fluctuating crosshatch of greens and blues; through the Force she gained a new appreciation for her old comrade, what she had gone through and who she had become. "General Sunrider conducted your memorial," she said finally, her voice slightly breathy. "It was a beautiful service, she asked me to read the citation for your Cross of Glory. I didn't want to do it at first, but..." Laera simply smiled. The two were close enough that words were not necessary to continue the thought. "Tuffass would be lying if he said that he saw this coming," the Gand put in, his tough exterior as soft as he could make it. "Seeing you now, though, he wishes he had something meaningful to say." "It's alright, Gunny," Laera chuckled. "I understand." The admiral cocked a thumb at the wall chrono behind his shoulder. "It is getting rather late. I have arranged quarters for the three of you in a nearby barracks complex, there's an airspeeder outside waiting for you. We can pick this up tomorrow at, say, oh-nine-hundred." The three visitors, so disparate in rank and appearance, rose as one and offered salutes to the Commandant. He returned them, looking at the Rodian and then the Gand, before dropping the gesture when facing the Human and standing up. "I should remind you that Cross of Glory holders do not salute first, Captain," he chuckled. "And they don't call me sir. I call them sir." "My mistake, Admiral," Laera replied, at which the Bothan snapped off another one. She returned it, then led the group of visitors from the office. — — — The secretary had already left when the trio made their way through the outer office; indeed, it was so late that the vast majority of servicebeings had packed it in and gone home for the night. Those that remained didn't even look up from their terminals or computer consoles as they laughed their way through the mostly empty corridors and office lobbies on their way to the exit, arriving at the landing pad and reacting with similar expressions of mild surprise at the seeming shortness of the walk. The speeder that was waiting for them was an unassuming vehicle that, while resembling a family model from the outside, bore the unmistakable signs of having been upgraded and armored. Laera stood to the side as Reeka and Tuffass piled in the rear hatch, then closed it as she followed. The craft began to lift off within moments. "Talk about inconspicuous," Tuffass remarked from his seat. "Was this your idea or the Commandant's?" "Mine, actually," Laera chortled. "But he came up with the fake identity for me. The card I got won't actually stand up to scrutiny, but I shouldn't need it to—here, let me show you..." She pulled the ID from a robe pocket and held it out for the other two to examine. Predictably, they favored her with huge grins at her cover name or, as in Tuffass's case, as close to a look of open good humor as he was able to manage. Laera scowled and put the card back where it came from, then leaned back in her own seat. "So you're a Jedi now?" Reeka inquired, once more taking in her old friend's appearance. "I guess you never can tell who's got the Force in them..." Laera nodded, a knowing look on her face. "Do you remember me telling you about the funny feeling I would get when my recruits would go through the moment of silence at graduation?" They nodded in unison. "Well, I think it might actually have been the Force within me," she continued. "As cliché as this may sound, it really is like having worn gloves for all of my life, and then one day my Master took them off. I was able to touch the galaxy, to really get a feel for its currents. When so many people get together and reflect on their lives, it sends out ripples in the Force, like gently casting a hundred pebbles at once into a pond." "It also explains how you were able to impress Tuffass," the Gand remarked casually. "He freely admits that you didn't look like you were up to much, physically, when he first met you." "I wasn't, Gunny," Laera muttered, blushing crimson. "But you toughened me up, starting with that first march where you rode me like a kriffing mynock." The passenger compartment momentarily exploded with the sound of laughter as the three occupants tossed their heads back in joyous guffaws. Reeka was the first to recover. "And then there was that time you stood on my back while making me do push-ups. I thought I'd die of a herniated spine!" Laera winced in memory of the incident. "Yeah Gunny, what was up with that? You could have seriously hurt her, and she wasn't the only one." "Oh shut up, the pair of you," the Gand grumbled, the heat of his response spoiled by the way he crossed his arms as he gazed out the side window. His aura, appropriately enough, whorled about him like a fine mist of indistinct beiges and gray-greens; he seemed to be casting his mind about for something appropriate to add to the discussion, perhaps self-conscious about the fact that two of his former charges had gone so far beyond his expectations for them. Or maybe he was trying to think up an excuse for doing what he did, but Laera didn't think so. She already knew Tuffass's story and certainly sympathized with his plight, but if he hadn't already told Reeka, then she didn't think it was her place to do so. It was clear, however, that they had had their own interactions post-boot camp, not that Laera minded. The ride continued in silence for a minute or two before the old gunny resumed speaking. "Gand would have known if you were in danger of injury," he said apologetically, the pair of them already familiar with his habit of expressing contrition by denigrating himself in this manner. "Despite the image he has cultivated, Gand is not a cruel Marine." "I guess that settles it," Reeka said, leaning over to kiss the insectoid's equivalent of a cheek. Laera snorted in amusement. "You two have gotten quite close, it seems." "We grieved for you together," Reeka replied. "I don't think I could have gone on if it weren't for Tuffass here, or General Sunrider; their help was invaluable to me. Do you know what happened to her?" "The Jedi wouldn't tell me," Laera shrugged halfheartedly. "The most I managed to get out of them was that she had been exiled from the Order for joining the Revanchists. Where she is, only she knows, but I don't think she's going to join back up with them as a Sith. She's too much like her mother to succumb to the dark side." Silence greeted the appraisal, which ended up lasting for the short trip to their temporary quarters. The barracks complex itself was fairly innocuous, the previous tenants having been shipped offworld the day before, so they had the run of the place and its facilities. They soon discovered that the commandant had already arranged for an ammonia chamber, at which Tuffass pointed out that the three of them were staying in the same place he had been set up in upon his own arrival. After squaring away their gear and settling in he, Reeka and Laera spent several hours around a large pot of caf and a heaping plate of tomo-spiced ribines catching up on events, with Reeka describing the sorts of battles that Laera, by virtue of being dead, had missed out on. "Sounds like you had it rough on Dxun," Laera acknowledged after draining her third cup. "We could have used you there, certainly," Reeka replied soberly. "But I'm not going to complain about it, not when we've got a new enemy to fight." "They're not new," Tuffass pointed out bitterly. "They're just wearing different uniforms while following the same shit-brained officers. And if they could turn on us so easily, they deserve little mercy. They certainly wouldn't get it from Tuffass." Laera made a face, she knew just how much the Gand wished he could still be on the line. "No matter what you say, Gunny, I won't harm a surrendering enemy. It's not the Jedi way, and it isn't the Marine way." "You assume they'll surrender," Tuffass barked angrily. "The Massassi never surrendered! The Krath never surrendered, and neither did those old Mandos! Why should these fools give in?!" Laera glared at the Gand, fixing him with her unimpressed-DI-staring-down-an-impatient-recruit face, until the insectoid sergeant looked away with his shoulders slumped. "The Mandos are another animal," she said in low, commanding tones. "These Sith are not so removed from us that the more sane of them may see that they are on the wrong end of a battle, and would be willing to give up the fight rather than waste their lives in a futile effort. We offer honorable captivity to such foes, despite what they may do to us in a reversal of fortunes." The small mess area, bathed in a cone of light from a solitary overhead glowlamp, grew quiet once more. Reeka helped herself to another cup of caf and a ribine, as did Laera. Tuffass drained his cup, then shook his head slowly. "When did Tuffass give you permission to become more wise than he?" Laera and Reeka both chuckled at that, grinning at the unspoken meaning of the phrase. It was the height of praise coming from the old Gand, more so than anything he had ever admitted previously, as well as a begrudging acknowledgment of his increasing age and growing disability. Reeka reached over and took his hand, holding it and giving him a reassuring nod as her ears flicked reflexively. Laera knew that twitch, and it made her smile inwardly. "We're here for you, Gunny," the Rodian assured him. "For as long as we're alive." Laera mocked looking at her chronometer with surprise. "It's getting late, and the commandant did want us back at 0900. Speaking for myself, I'm going to be there a half hour early, maybe get a read on what's going on at headquarters before we meet him."
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