. "Impact Events"@en . "There was no doubt about it, Ooryl Qrygg had seen better days. He didn't lament his past; far from it, in fact. On the planet of his birth he enjoyed levels of honor and prestige that had been matched by few in living memory. But he hadn't so much as been in the same sector of his homeworld of Gand since his janwuine-jika some thirty-five years ago. He wasn't homesick, nor did he want for company, as he still maintained discreet ties with those who had helped him to achieve greatness. And then the elder Solo boy-child had gone and messed everything up. Ooryl had rather lost his taste for interstellar matters in the tumult that was the Second Galactic Civil War. Rogue Squadron, which had been his home for so long, had been hit hard by Skywalker's Jedi-led coalition during the war's penultimate battle. Insult had been added to injury when Natasi Daala, a former Imperial warlord he had once fought against\u2014and whose predations on the New Republic had claimed the lives of friends\u2014had been seated as Chief of State. Installed was, perhaps, a more apt metaphor from his perspective. It was this most recent war that had made him grateful for the change in occupation he had chosen on the eve of the extragalactic invasion launched by the Yuuzhan Vong. Leaving the life of a starfighter pilot behind, he had taken to hiring out his skills to civilian search-and-rescue teams, a career that came to be in high demand during that conflict. Though he was good at his job, it hadn't brought the same level of satisfaction he had gotten out of flying X-wings into battle against hordes of TIE fighters and their many variants. He knew very well the irony of this attitude, enjoying the job of taking lives more than that of saving them, but it wasn't something he could do much about. Despondent over that fact, he had changed careers once again after the defeat of the Dark Nest, taking jobs as a planetary reconnaissance specialist. Much later, when his old wingmate's offspring had come down with the galloping crazies, the Findsman had poked and prodded the mists for weeks in a vain attempt to auger an answer to the question that had riveted the citizenry and government of the Galactic Alliance. The effort involved had nearly killed him, forcing him to leave his post as chief scout for a post-war resettlement agency. And now he was on Bothawui, in the capital city of Drev'starm, looking for the key to a mystery. After having heard of the mental sickness's lifting, he had paid the mists one last visit. They had shown him an ancient symbol, one which seemed to represent all that he had fought for so long ago. This symbol had called to him on an instinctual level, promising to lead him on one last, glorious search before he returned to the vapors that had first given him life. It had been a simple enough matter to determine what the symbol had represented: it was the seal borne by one of the Old Republic's most well-respected military branches, its Marine Corps. It had been easy as well to obtain a broad account of the duties and deeds of this long-dissolved force, ranging from academic histories to personal accounts and quite a lot of fictive works. What made the search challenging, what had truly caught his attention and kept it, was the idea of actually finding a Marine. For the mists had told him, too, that a pair of them yet lived, even after a thousand years of absence. As he had so often told others, the where was easy; it was the when that was difficult. \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 Everywhere they looked, there were people. People in landspeeders, people in low-flying speeder buses, people on swoop and speeder bikes, and entire hordes of simple pedestrians whose garments ranged from spectacularly fashionable to barely presentable. Bothans were the dominant species by far, with thousands upon thousands of them within easy spotting distance. They were backed up by a whole host of starfaring species including Humans, Twi'leks, Bith, Gotals and Duros, with lesser numbers of Givin, Ithorians, Rodians, Nikto, Weequay, and even a Klatooinian here and there. It had been too long indeed since Laera had been among so many and such a dizzying array of sentient beings, certainly a while before her own training as a Jedi, and she had had to dial down her Force-awareness lest the multicolored shimmering of auras drown out her normal sight. Silas, too, seemed to be a bit overwhelmed, which to Laera was surprising given his more cosmopolitan upbringing and younger age. The first thing she noticed about the many hundreds of natives that the trio encountered as they first passed through customs\u2014and the headache that went hand-in-hand with a lack of identification\u2014was that they were all noticeably shorter that Silas, whom Laera had thought of as being of average height for his species. As they made their way through Drev'starm on foot, however, it became clear that all modern Bothans were lacking in stature by at least a quarter meter. After a half-hour of walking, during which Silas drew many curious looks from untold numbers of female Bothans, Laera elbowed him hard in his ribs and called for a halt. \u201CIs it just me, or have your people actually shrank over the centuries?\u201D she asked irritably, subtly gesturing at the throng and indicating the appraising looks that Silas had been receiving. \u201CWhat?!\u201D he asked in sudden alarm, as though he had been caught napping. Still somewhat grumpy from the jam at the spaceport and their subsequent labeling as \u201Crefugees,\u201D Laera reached up and smacked the back of his head. \u201CHey, what was that for?\u201D he blurted out. \u201CGet your head back in the game, Silas,\u201D Laera retorted waspishly. \u201CYou're sticking out like a comm tower in the middle of a desert, and it's drawing some unwanted attention.\u201D Silas looked around at that, the fur on his head and neck strangely non-reactive though he did not seem to notice this. As he obeyed his onetime superior officer, the fact that he was so comparatively tall\u2014and catching the eyes of so many Bothan women\u2014finally crashed through the fog that seemed to have descended upon him from out of nowhere. \u201CI...this is strange.\u201D \u201C'This is strange?'\u201D Laera repeated, gape-mouthed. She had also noticed the difference in how he normally expressed emotion, and this had her worried. \u201CIs that all you have to say? Silas, you're probably the tallest Bothan on this planet and all you can say to that is 'this is strange?'\u201D Though the noises of a busy street at midday did not abet in the slightest, a frosty silence descended between Silas and Laera as the two locked incredulous stares. HK-47, meanwhile, had begun tracking his head back and forth in a manner perhaps best described as \u201Cwatchful\u201D in an organic. After a minute or so, however, something seemed to shift behind the Bothan's countenance, and his fur began rippling with furious embarrassment as his shoulders slumped shamefully. \u201CI don't know what just came over me,\u201D he mumbled apologetically. \u201CCan...can we just move on?\u201D \u201CObservation: Master, it appears you are correct; the entire Bothan species has indeed shrunk significantly,\u201D the assassin droid chimed in. \u201CStatement: Though I cannot explain this phenomenon, it is readily apparent when compared to my data files pertaining to the physiology of the Bothan meatbag which, you have made abundantly clear, are quite out of date.\u201D \u201CThanks, I think...\u201D Silas muttered sheepishly, smoothing his neck fur and shaking his head ruefully. Relief flooded through Laera as Silas drew himself back together, somewhat hesitantly at first. Reaching out, she brought her arm around his waist and softly whispered words of encouragement into his ear, after which the trio continued down the street with their duffels swaying slightly. Though a few females continued to shoot glances his way, Laera helped to deflect the attention of most passers-by with a few judicious applications of the Force. \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 \u201CWell, at least the sigils haven't changed,\u201D Silas commented idly as the unlikely trio strode through the Drev'starm commercial district half an hour later, looking for an antiquities dealer who might be in the business of acquiring ancient Republic Military memorabilia and weapons. Their mood had lightened somewhat in the wake of Silas's unexplained distraction, thanks mostly to the pleasantness of the day and the fact that as they walked, the two of them were becoming more comfortable with themselves amongst the crowd. Even HK-47 had begun to look less conspicuous, which was saying something. \u201CWorried that you might be rendered illiterate, dear?\u201D Laera asked as she glanced about at the unreadable hieroglyphs. As befitted a galactic-class marketplace, translations were aplenty, and in more than just Aurebesh. She also recognized bits of Rylothean script along with what was unmistakably Huttese, in addition to what had to be written Ithorian. The latter was not nearly as prevalent, however, and while Laera thought that she knew why, the specifics were somewhat lacking. Silas seemed to sense her momentary discomfiture, and laid a hand on her shoulder. \u201CI think it's you who's been worrying too much,\u201D he mused aloud. \u201CI know that the Sa'ari grilled you particularly hard before we left, and we've only been offworld for a day now.\u201D Laera glared at him, then relaxed her gaze. \u201CThey weren't too gentle on you either, Silas,\u201D she reminded him. \u201CWhat was the term you used? 'Political shockball' or something like that?\u201D Silas winced in remembrance. \u201CYes, that was it. They sure do play hard\u2014and without armor, too. But as I was saying, I think you're worrying too much about what we'll find in this modern world.\u201D \u201CYou're right, I'm worrying again,\u201D Laera said, giving up the pretense with a sigh. They turned a corner down the wide boulevard they had been walking down, hopefully making their way to wherever the antique shops were. The tourist-grade maps available at the spaceport terminal had proven to be singularly useless, and so Laera had taken point in hopes of using her Force-enhanced scouting abilities to plow through the crowd and find a buyer. \u201CBut it's not about adapting to this era I'm worried about. It's you, and what Bellinega did for you before she died. I think it might have something to do with what happened earlier.\u201D The trio came to a stop in front of an indoor caf\u00E9 whose tinted windows failed to hide the eclectic mix of the galaxy's more populous species from Jedi senses, and silence fell between Laera and Silas once again. This wasn't, however, the cold, confused pause from earlier; both of them had felt it as a tingling sensation, one which was similar to a feeling that Laera knew well. The assassin droid, on the other hand, had turned to face the street and had begun what both of them recognized as a threat-assessment scan. Someone was following them. \u201CYes, I think you're right,\u201D Laera said in a carrying, offhand tone of voice that was nevertheless full of meaning. \u201CI could certainly go for some refreshment about now.\u201D \u201CThis place seems nice enough,\u201D Silas added, deftly picking up on the charade. \u201CHK, stay out here and act inconspicuous,\u201D Laera whispered to the droid out of the corner of her mouth. Then she returned her voice to that same casually loud volume. \u201CI don't think the restaurants on Bothawui like droids any more than the ones on Contruum, though...\u201D The rust-red droid's only response was to step backward, his back to the wall, half-hidden from casual view by the awning that extended a good two meters out over the pedestrian walkway. Laera and Silas, meanwhile, ducked into the caf\u00E9 and did their best to look inconspicuous as they made for a back-corner table. Laera's use of the Force helped in this; since most of the diners seemed to be intent on their food and their own company, she was able to convince them to ignore the tall, oddly-dressed Bothan and his equally out-of-place Human companion. The caf\u00E9 itself was quite elegant-looking, which was surprising given its inauspicious fa\u00E7ade. It was clearly an upscale venue, catering to well-to-do businessbeings who would rather not draw attention to themselves or their dealings. And it would have bankrupted a new private for a week just to have eaten a light lunch there. \u201CAn Intelligence hotspot if there ever was one,\u201D Silas quipped as the server, a petite Bothan female with calico fur and hair that was obviously dyed a lurid red to match her crimson eyes, left after being waved on her way with a gentle Force-suggestion from Laera. \u201CToo pricy for a field agent to dine at regularly, but perfect for arranging meetings with contacts. Just about every street in central Drev'starm has one of these.\u201D \u201CKeep an eye on the door,\u201D Laera put in. \u201CWhoever spotted us probably saw us going in.\u201D \u201CWell, why don't you just tell me how to field-strip my sidearm?\u201D Silas whispered back playfully. \u201CWe probably should order something, though, if only to keep up appearances.\u201D Using the same mind trick she had done to wave the server away, Laera summoned her back to the table. \u201CTwo lunch specials,\u201D she said. \u201CGo easy on the gravy.\u201D As the server departed, Laera cast her gaze about the place. It wasn't all that big, perhaps twenty-five tables at most, which were all arranged along the walls in booths that seemed perfect for concealing discrete handoffs. Now that he mentioned it, Laera decided that Silas was correct in pinning this place as a haven for those in the information-gathering business. Those who had earlier seemed so focused on their own business were either casting the occasional covert glance about the place, or else exchanging subtle gestures with unseen and perhaps off-site support staff or handlers. With that in mind she allowed the Force to flow through her once again, the auras of the restaurant's occupants coming into her sense. Lo and behold, it's a regular rat's nest, she mused to herself. At least ten intel types and a few rather excitable contacts\u2014 Laera paused mid-thought as an older Bothan female entered the caf\u00E9. The coloring of her fur was unusual enough: overall black flecked with the occasional gray hair, but with hands that were gloved in white, a white streak bisecting her face diagonally, and a peak of white fur at the base of her neck that hinted at a similar splash of it underneath her clothes, which were generic in the extreme. Perhaps more disturbing was her eyes; they were intelligent and alert, but also precisely the same shade of violet as Silas's. On top of that, the new arrival's look, posture and sense may as well have had INTELLIGENCE AGENT written all over it in glowing Aurebesh. That wasn't what held Laera's attention, however; rather, it was her somewhat hunched companion. \u201CSilas, check the entrance,\u201D she said in low tones. \u201CWhat do you make of them?\u201D \u201CYou mean the former intel officer and her companion?\u201D Silas asked glibly, also keeping his voice down. \u201CThat's a\u2014\u201D \u201CYes, it's a Gand,\u201D Laera finished for him. \u201CI only spotted the female for what she was through the Force. The Gand, though...I can't read him, and I've had experience with his kind.\u201D Silas shot an appraising look at the insectoid from the corner of his eye. \u201CI remember you mentioning that; I didn't think there was a Marine alive who didn't know of Tuffass. Except this one doesn't have a breath mask.\u201D The two fell silent as the pair, who conducted themselves as though they were old friends long parted, were offered seats of their own by the same red-haired server, who was probably an Intelligence asset herself. Laera watched with heavily-disguised fascination as the Bothan female and her Gand tag-along slumped into a booth in a would-be casual sort of way. Their seats just happened to be in full view of the corner booth in which Laera and Silas sat waiting for their own food, so that both could have an unimpeded view of the conversation that took place. \u201COkay Silas, it's time to teach you how to enhance your hearing with the Force,\u201D Laera whispered quickly, grabbing his wrist underneath the table and beckoning him to attune his mind to hers. It took him a few moments of effort to adjust, with having had little practice beforehand, but he managed to accept the connection. It was a sloppy way to train a Jedi, Laera knew, but they didn't have many options and she needed his experience as an intelligence officer on this one. \u201C...ood to see you after so long,\u201D the Gand was saying in a strangely high-pitched sort of vibro-voice. \u201CAs you know, I was led here on an important quest, but have since lost the trail. I am glad that I was able to find you, however.\u201D \u201COoryl, I'm happy to help in any way, you know that,\u201D the Bothan female replied. \u201CI won't even ask how you knew where I was, never mind the fact that I was still alive...\u201D \u201CIella told me about you, Asyr,\u201D he replied. \u201CIt took much persuasion, but I convinced her that my intentions were honorable.\u201D \u201CShe hasn't told him about me, though...has she?\u201D the female asked, the wistfulness and regret in her voice discernible both to Laera and Silas. \u201CAs far as Ooryl is aware, only she and Booster Terrik knew.\u201D Laera looked back at Silas, her visage betraying confusion. He simply shrugged his shoulders in reply and glanced back at the conversation they were supposed to be overhearing. At that moment, however, their food arrived, and the interruption nearly caused them to miss the exchange that followed. \u201C...heard of the old Republic Marines?\u201D the Gand called Ooryl asked, somewhat hesitantly. The Bothan called Asyr paused, brushed her rippling neck fur, then steepled her fingers on the tabletop, looking thoughtful. \u201CJust bits and pieces from my history reading back at the Academy. They were like the GA's own space marines, but they had their own separate and rather unique culture within the Old Republic's military. Why do you ask?\u201D \u201CI am Findsman,\u201D Ooryl replied as though this answered everything. \u201CI must find, and so I shall. But I...request your aid. You know this planet far better than Ooryl...\u201D At that point Laera released Silas's hand and clamped down tight on her Force signature. \u201CWe're in trouble,\u201D she whispered. \u201CAnd I'm confused,\u201D Silas retorted, his voice so low Laera only barely caught the gist of his meaning. \u201CGands don't\u2014\u201D \u201CI know they don't,\u201D Laera hissed back. \u201CBut he's the only one any of us ever knew about back then, so he's hardly a definitive example.\u201D \u201CThen why are we in trouble?\u201D \u201CTuffass once told me about Findsmen,\u201D Laera admitted. \u201CThey're basically the Gand equivalent of Jedi Knights, but that's all he would tell me. It also explains why I can't read this Ooryl person. Anyway, we've heard enough; let's just eat and scoot.\u201D \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 Fifteen minutes later, having managed to convince the server to accept the four thousand year old ten-credit coin\u2014the only currency they had\u2014as sufficient compensation for their lunch, they managed to snake their way out of the caf\u00E9 unmolested. With HK-47 once again keeping his low-key vigil, Laera and Silas continued their excursion through the commercial district, doubling back and taking a different path in their search for a paying antiquarian. As far as either they or the droid could tell, they had eluded their pursuers. \u201CI just don't get it,\u201D Silas grumbled as, a kilometer and a half later, they came within sight of their initial objective. \u201CJoin the club, sweetheart,\u201D Laera replied with equal parts confusion and frustration. \u201CSomeone is always looking for us, it seems. Did we trip some sort of cosmic alarm when we left Ord Mantell?\u201D Silas gave an exasperated snort. \u201CYou know, I'm finally starting to understand your own reluctance at becoming a Jedi.\u201D Laera huffed a resigned sigh. \u201CYou don't know the half of it dear, not by a long shot. Luke's offer is beginning to sound better all the time, but I'll be damned if I give up this quickly...\u201D \u201CGive up on what, exactly?\u201D \u201COn getting back on our feet by ourselves!\u201D Laera answered bitterly, kicking at a piece of refuse as they walked."@en . . "Impact Events/Chapter Two"@en . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "There was no doubt about it, Ooryl Qrygg had seen better days. He didn't lament his past; far from it, in fact. On the planet of his birth he enjoyed levels of honor and prestige that had been matched by few in living memory. But he hadn't so much as been in the same sector of his homeworld of Gand since his janwuine-jika some thirty-five years ago. He wasn't homesick, nor did he want for company, as he still maintained discreet ties with those who had helped him to achieve greatness. And then the elder Solo boy-child had gone and messed everything up. \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 Someone was following them. \u2014 \u2014 \u2014"@en . . . .