Open Space and Asteroid Field

{ Skip Five, abandoned subterranean hanger }

There wasn't a lot of room within the belly of the asteroid. It would be impossible to completely test the Bronze Star's capabilities and space-worthiness, but I was able to fly 30 or 40 meters forward on repulsorlift power until I reached the far wall of the hangar, and then rotated the ship 180 degrees. Any further testing was pushing my luck, but I'd been away from home for too long, and so, even more carefully, I kicked in the sublight engines at a half of a percent power, and flicked the control stick forward. The ship shot forward, and stopped, gently tapping the other rocky wall with her nose. Switching off the engines once more, I carefully rotated the ship again, then gave Sam the all clear before shooting out of our safe little hangar into the chaos outside.

Piloting the Millennium Eagle, he followed me out into the asteroid field, and we were almost immediately separated as we twisted and spun and jerked and tumbled and accelerated and braked as we dodged the floating death within the three dimensional obstacle course. The course back to the Independence was exhausting, but unlike the last time I flew through the field at the controls of the Bronze Star, at least I was alone. I had to repeatedly tighten my safety harness to avoid being shaken loose from my seat by the constantly changing forces within the cockpit. I made a mental note to re-calibrate the inertial compensator. Some sense of inertia was a good thing, but the odd feeling that was developing in the pit of my stomach told me that the compensator wasn't running at full power.

Much later --- it could have been five minutes or five hours --- I skirted a city-sized asteroid, while narrowly missing a collision with a much smaller, ship-sized floating rock, and found myself rather suddenly in the clear and on an approach vector for the Independence as it loomed in the distance. Easing up on the controls and taking a deep breath as I was finally able to fly in a straight line, I punched the ship's comlink.

::: Independence, this is Liya Tawaza, requesting docking permission for the Starlight-class freighter, The Bronze Star of Eliathix. You should have me in your register as an expected arrival, for rendezvous with The Red Cred. ::: Resisting the instinct to insert the word "Captain" in front of my name, I wiped away the sweat that was streaming down my face as I awaited a response. Fel was the Captain, not me, even if our crew had multiple ships now. And I sure hoped he would pick somewhere without an asteroid belt for our next adventure.


::: Copy that. ::: I replied, freshly worried about what sort of altercation had occurred. We never seemed to be able to visit the Run without getting shot at. I'd hoped the incident on Skip One was it, and we'd be able to leave in peace, but now that seemed unlikely. Closing with the Independence, I slowed the Bronze Star still further, and entered the space within the Lucrehulk's ring. And there, at last, I caught sight of the Millennium Eagle once more, just as it entered the private hangar directly next to mine. Somehow, Sam had arrived well ahead of me. Maybe there really was something to be said for that Force wizardry stuff he practiced. I should learn more about it. Later. After I found out what the current emergency was, and dealt with it.

I glanced at the comlink again, wondering if I should call the crew and find out what had gone wrong. But that wasn't our usual protocol. If they needed me, they'd call. Otherwise, it was better for everyone involved if potential assailants didn't know backup was on standby. Then again, Fel would want to know that the supplies had arrived, so that he could tell us where to put them. So maybe I should call in? The decision was taken from me before I finished weighing the options.


::: Jace, this is Liya. Do you copy? ::: There was silence. ::: JACE! ::: Apparently he wasn't still at the Red Cred's controls. Muttering a curse, I punched in his personal com channel. ::: Jace, it's Liya. I'm about to dock. We have both ships and all the supplies. What's the situation? How long do we have? :::

There'd better be time, or I was going to be a little annoyed. I still needed to get the datacard decrypted, and Seros had said this was the place to do it. And it would take some time to transfer the supplies from the Eagle, although that could wait until we reached our destination. Cutting off the Bronze Star's sublight engines, I slid neatly into the private hangar on repulsorlift power, and set the ship down in the exact center of the landing pad. The hangar felt almost luxurious in comparison to the landing facilities on the Skips.

Dante tensed as Jace's comlink went off, but he slowly relaxed as Jace more or less ignored their patient. He must have broken in already - his thoughts were verified when Jace turned to him, and signaled that Dante should ask the questions. Surprise filled Dante, and he arched an eyebrow; Jace it seems, was still very well practiced in breaking into ones mind. With a small smile, Dante simply nodded and turned to their patient. A blank look of confusion filled the mans face, and he seemed almost...lethargic. Jace was in control, able to prompt the answers, to make the man more malleable...for a long time, Dante thought about how to proceed, then he leaned forward, the mans attention slowly focussing on Dante's visor.

(Bass) Soldier, I am your evaluator. State your name and rank.

Ben stared at the visor for a long time, confused, but eventually he swallowed, wet his lips, and began to speak.

"Ben Garaggi, Syndicate Special Agent 345131. Sir, what is the verification code?"

In a business where your CO could be a new face every day, or someone you've never met before, verification codes were an agent's best friend: new face claiming to be your superior? Giving new orders? Supplying you with new kit? Whip out the verification codes. In this particular situation...while they COULD mine the info straight out of the mines head, it could also do some brain damage if he resisted too much. It would be a smarter move to go along with the ruse...to fool the man in his impaired state into believing Dante was who he said he was. Silently, Dante stared at the man, wracking his brain as to what the code could be...it had to be something simple, something the man wouldn't forget...such as...

Dante's eyes roamed over a small blackened section of deck plating, and he smiled wryly behind the mask.

(Bass) Verification code Blackbane. Now report soldier.

There was a long blank look from the man, and then a tightening of the jaw, his eyes stared forward and the man tried to raise his arm.

"Yes sir! But...uh...sir? Why am I secured?"

Dante gestured to the nearby tray of instruments.

(Bass) You were injured in the field soldier...we have you secured because you just came out of surgery.

The man slowly nodded.

"Right...sorry sir. Anyway sir, uh, what do want to know?"

Typical routine - for any agency - was that a psychological eval was given to agents as soon as possible once out of the field. When you worked with people who had to shut off and shunt off multiple emotions to go about their daily business...you tended to want to make sure they weren't going to go on a murderous rampage. Or, alternatively, that they DID go on a rampage. Nodding slowly, Dante picked up a nearby datapad, and pretended to turn it on.

(Bass) We just have some standard eval questions on performance, memory recall, and your personal feelings and impressions of your job. Our first question...what do you remember about your last mission?

"Uh, Syndicate Command received a signal from one of several cargo modules they sent off to find a fugitive. They contacted a patrol group on a mission to the Ceta system, redirected the patrol to the smugglers run. I was on that patrol, and was deployed with a platoon of soldiers to investigate and to recover any remains."

(Bass) Very good. Do you remember the composition of that patrol? Complements? And most importantly, the names of your bunk mate, commanding officer, and duty manager?

"Uh...my bunk mate was Wes Theros, my duty manager Gesnamine Ul, and our Commanding Officer is Strahl the Thisspissian. The patrol was on a search and destroy mission on Ceta - which is a standard kill team of four nebula star destroyers, a squadron of starfighters each, and a complement of two hundred commandos, plus a few light and heavy vehicles...tanks and speeders and such."

(Bass) I see. Strahl the Thisspissian...only a commanding officer?

"Yes sir, technically he's a general sir...he's in temporary command while the Moff works on finding the primary objective."

(Bass) And as a good solider, the primary objective is...?

"To find the force artifact sir, Intel suggests that it was originally conceived as an teaching aid by the Kel'dor in the ways of electromagnetic control through the force...but, our scientists have determined they might be able to use the artifact as an amplifier in a blaster based weapon...a micro superlaser."

(Bass) And how does this work?

"Well sir, I only read the briefing because I was on a retrieval mission for one of the artifact pieces. But, as far as I can tell, the artifact is saturated with the force and contains an electromagnetic aura around it...when used as a focussing catalyst, a much higher amount of blaster gas can be contained easily and safely by the containment bottle without any side effects beyond excess heat - typically the level of energy needed to make this type of containment field through regular technology would be something like fifty ships. The resulting weapon is what they're coining as a "Super turbolaser" rated at one thousand times the power of a standard heavy turbolaser."

There was a long moment of silence as Dante stared at the man.

(Bass) It's very good you remember this...do you know what ship this weapon is installed on? And, to what purpose?

"Only rumors sir. It's supposed to be installed on the Moff's flagship...the Syndicate has SOME ships sir, but not a lot...about twenty star destroyers. However, with the addition of the canon we should be able to win in one on one engagements with much larger fleets...assimilating and capturing resources as we go."

(Bass) The Moff intends to bring the Empire back to it's former glory?

"Thats what the rumor is. When he gains enough power, he intends to approach the Imperial remnant with an intention to recreate the Empire."

(Bass) ...and where is this Moff stationed? Planning all of this?

"Well, at headquarters sir, the refinery station in orbit. We must ship a hundreds of troops through it on duty assignments."

(Bass) Very good soldier. We're almost done. More on your past mission...you say "to pick up the remains" what do you mean by that?

"The cargo modules were trapped with an experimental aerosol weapon...it was designed to nullify force use, but it was eventually turned into the equivalent of a nerve gas. It's effective though, because the refined version only affects those with a high midichlorian count...we can flood a battle field with the stuff and then send in ground troops...no fear of force users. The cargo pod was equipped with the prototype."

(Bass) And, just who developed this weapons?

"Ex-Imperial scientists turned Syndicate in conjunction with Black Sun research and technology."

(Bass) Black Sun?

"Their suppling us with technology, weapons, blaster gas out of Bespin, and all kinds of things to keep the war going. In exchange, they get a large section of space when the Moff is done doing his thing...they do a lot of experiments in the Tomb though."

(Bass) Tomb?

"TopSec lab at headquarters...they do a lot of augmentation, surgical, cybernetic, and genetic...ever since they saw those creatures on Coruscant."

(Bass) What "creatures"?

"The...things. We had a holotape of the fugitive and his companions. They kept on scremaing "Gekk, Gekk" or something like that. The audio was so bad that we couldn't tell. Our scientists got ahold of a few of the corpses...we've been doing experiments on them - even a few living ones. It's how we perfected the aerosol wepaon. Soon, very soon, we're going to make more of them...make them bigger...make them BETTER. It's what the Moff intends to use to subjugate planets."

(Bass) Just a few more questions. How is your patrol deployed? And, how do YOU know all of this?

"Uh, they're using a standard Theta-three containment screen...I used to be stationed as a guard on the refinery...I used to hear a lot of things; thats before I was promoted. I was planning on retiring soon...but..."

(Bass) One last question...what is the Moff's name?

"...I think his name was...Gidon? No...that's not it. Gideon. Gideon Warr; he's the one that betrayed the fugi -'

There was a deafening snap as Dante struck like a snake; gasping the mans head, he wrenched it to the side, and with a deafening pop, the mans head lolled backwards...neck broken. Standing Dante kicked the instrument stand as hard as he could, sending it flying across the room to slam into the opposite wall, crumpling the stand nearly in half. Grasping the man's body, he HEAVED, and with a popping of joints, the mans ankles and hands dislocated as Dante literally RIPPED the man out of his restraints, and then threw him across the room into a wall. There was a heavy wet thump as the man collided, followed by a smear of blood as he slowly slid down the wall to the ground. ENRAGED, Dante picked up the man, and started beating the mans skull into the deck plating. The hard THUD of the man's head on the plating deafening.

(Bass) GIDEON?! GIDEON WARR!?!?! YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME YOU KRIFFING BASTARD?!?!?! YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME!!!!!????

There are some species, that you just don't want to make angry...wookies, barabels, and other bestial races; Firrerreo fall into this category as well. A man of rapiers, napkins, and fine cuisine, Dante seldom became enraged to the point of berserk; but in all firrerreo, deep within, there is something primal...something that wants to lurk in the bushes and strike pray with sharp canines. As Dante growled in bestial rage while beating a dead corpses head into the deck plating...it really wasn't that hard to see that primal nature, or to see why it was kept buried so deep.

The head now making a low wet thud and squish as the man's brains were repeatedly smeared into the floor, Dante became slower and slower...until finally he just rolled to one side, back propped up against the wall...silent. He must have taken the time to switch back to his regular voice - synthesized though it was - because when he spoke next, the menacing bass tones were gone.

...Gideon Warr...number ten out out of thirteen...

Number ten out of the thirteen Moffs responsible for enacting or signing off on the genocide for his entire species.

The voice that replied on the comlink was familiar, but it wasn't the one I had been expecting to hear --- namely, it wasn't Jace. At the first syllables, I froze, instinctively wary of this additional sign that all was not right. But Dante quickly identified himself, and gave a rather complete accounting of what had supposedly happened. ::: Jace got hurt again already? I can't imagine how that happened. ::: The sarcasm practically dripped from my voice, even when heard over the imperfections of a com channel. ::: I copy. See you soon. Tawaza out. ::: The channel went dead with a tiny click as Dante disconnected.

He sounded genuine, despite his reluctance to provide specific details about the fight. But how far could I afford to trust him? With no apparent way to contact Fel or Jace, there was little I could do to confirm the situation. My only option was to proceed with Dante's advice (he was still our customer, as far as I knew), but that didn't mean I had to assume he'd told the whole truth. I'd be careful from here on out. I shot a quick glance back toward the Bronze Star, wondering whether I should get out the Big Gun, then shrugged, and headed toward the hatch leading out of the hangar. It was time to find this mysterious Oz Griffin, Seros' computer geek friend.

As I walked, I continued to test Dante's story against the evidence I had. The Independence's droid intelligence had initiated a lockdown for a reason, so that indicated an attack had in fact occurred. And while it was plausible that something could have happened to Fel during the attack, or even that Dante himself had disposed of the Captain, it seemed highly improbable that he would have done the same to a much older ally like Jace. All in all, I couldn't find any evidence to suspect Dante of ill intentions. But why did he want me to stay away from the ship for an hour? I hoped he wasn't planning to rabbit. That would be a bad mistake on his part.

But none of that was going to help me find this Oz character.

I scanned the passageway carefully, looking for a clue or for someone who could provide directions. The only guess I had right now was that he would have some kind of workshop not too far from where the Red Cred had been berthed. Fel had planned to hire the man to fix the UA, and it wouldn't be practical to haul the ruined freighter any significant distance. But what level was she on, and how far above my head was that? I hadn't set foot on many Lucrehulks, much less memorized the typical deck plan.

Reaching a dead end, I turned around in frustration. "Space it all, if I were Oz, where would I live on this ship?" My grumbling was unintentionally loud enough for the artificial intelligence of the Independence's central computers to hear. Having spent almost no time on the Lucrehulk before leaving for Skip One, I was not yet fully aware of the ship's autonomous capabilities. And it wasn't until I asked my question out loud that I realized it's significance. Of course. I needed to think like a computer geek. Where would my brother pick for his workshop on a place like this? I looked about for a lift.

Jace woke up as quickly as he had been knocked out, his eyes shooting open with his consciousness returning. He sat up in an instant, drawing his Verpine pistol and pointing it to the bloody smear on the wall left by the agent. He stared at the bloody smear and the body on the floor, trying to comprehend the whole scene. What in the name of the Force happened? It slowly started to come back to him, setting his memory back and working towards his last recollection. Interrogating the spy, check. Syndicate, check. Super-turbolaser, check. Empire, check. Super-Jekk, check. Gideon Warr, check.

Wait, Gideon Warr? ...Now he remembered, and pieced out what must have happened. That pop he heard before going unconscious must have been Dante's doing. And based on the information that they got out of the agent, he guessed that what was left on the floor was also his doing. Jace sighed, slipping his pistol back into his holster. He looked down to his lap, where a pile of cleaning supplies remained. Confused, he spotted the writing on his hand. "No Trace" ? He looked to the writing, to the supplies in his lap, the the gruesome mess on the walls and floor, back to his hand, and then back to the grisly sight and the body on the floor. "Seriously? .... Seriously!? .... Again?!"

A little while later, the med-bay was almost spotless. Several rags, a whole bottle of disinfectant, and a lot of elbow grease managed to vanquish the relatively fresh stains on the walls. The mop-bucket's contents and been disposed of after he managed to soak up everything that had been inside the agent that ended up on the floor. The agent himself was a whole matter in itself. He had to run back out to the storage area and grab a cart and a tarp. Setting it at the bottom of the lift, he had to drag the body in a large duffel bag he had found past the distracted doctor while he got his drink and past the crew members who were either in the fresher or some other part of the ship without them seeing him. Miraculously, he got the cadaver under the tarp on the grav-cart and brought it outside of the ship to a nearby garbage chute. Whether it sent the corpse to an incinerator or dumped it into space, he didn't care. As long as nobody found it.

He made it back to the ship, heading up the interior lift while wiping the sweat from his brow. He still had one thing left to do. While the med-bay was visibly clean, there was still a spot on the floor where Dante had literally smashed his brains in so hard that no normal cleaner could get rid of the film on the floor. And if it was left, it would start to smell. And where there were smells, questions tended to follow. But they had one such cleaner that could do the job. Unfortunately, it wasn't where it was supposed to be. Somebody had used it recently for an impossible task, and Jace knew exactly who it was.

He brought himself up next to Daniel and smiled, grabbing an empty cup so that he could get a cup of stim. Once he was sure he had the good doctor's attention, he nodded to him. "Hey Daniel, do you know where that really good cleaner we use for the bathrooms is? I can't seem to find it."

The lift slowed to a stop, and there was a two-toned chime as the doors split open, followed by a slight in-draft as cooler air flooded into the warm lift car. I glanced left and right as I exited, scanning the passageway that extended out of sight in each direction. The main passageways of the ship were gently curved along the arc of the ring-shaped Lucrehulk, and that made long-distance visibility impossible. This one didn't look any different than all the others. I had a vague sense that I was now in a part of the ship that my brother would have preferred, but I still wasn't any closer to locating Oz, or the Red Cred's hangar. Perhaps it was time to try to find a terminal I could slice, and download a deckplan.

Shifting my weight uncertainly from one foot to the other as the lift car closed once more behind me, I glanced down idly at the mini computer on my left wrist, just as the device let out an incessant beeping, indicating a new high-priority data download had been received. My eyebrows narrowed suspiciously as I tapped the screen with a finger, bringing it to life. A simplified schematic of the interior of the ship appeared, including a blinking red dot indicating my current position, and a green line tracing the path to what could only be Oz's workshop. The rest of the ship's interior had not been fleshed out, except as much as was needed to outline the route.

I stared at the map in shock and surprise, wondering first how anyone or anything could have known what I was looking for, and second, whether the map was legitimate, or some kind of bait or trap. Hadn't Dante just mentioned something about spies on board the ship? He had been convinced that they had all been neutralized, but how could he know? This unexpected transfer of information had solved one question, but it brought many more with it.

Shaking my head slowly from side to side, I took a deep breath as I considered my options. But there really weren't any. I was more likely to run into unexpected trouble if I kept aimlessly wandering the depths of the battleship. It was better to have a clear direction in mind than to be utterly directionless. If I was walking into an ambush, at least I wanted to do it in an orderly fashion that would give me the opportunity to fight back.

A short time later, I passed through a sliding doorway that was sized for small cargo speeders, and found myself in what looked to be a massive hangar bay that curved out of sight to my right, with a sturdy crane track crossing the ceiling that must have been intended for moving anything --- up to the size of entire ships --- the length of the hangar. I glanced around quickly, but my hour was rapidly ticking away, and the map was urging me to follow the track to the left. I did so, with a growing amount of caution. Nothing bad had happened yet, but I couldn't let that lure me into a false sense of security. Nothing was ever this easy on the Run. But sure enough, as I reached the end of the hangar, nestled in the inside corner of the ship, a huge sideways garage door stood open, and beyond it was what might have been termed a nerd's paradise.

Stepping through the massive doorway, I subconsciously came to a halt as I took in the entire sight. The good old UA took up almost one whole half of the shop, and it looked to be in better repair than I had ever seen previously. The other half was consumed by a Barloz-class freighter, and all around and between and against and beneath the ships were many smaller projects: A half-constructed suit of power armor, some sort of metallic skeleton sculpture that looked more like a medical teaching aid than a technological project, and tables covered with piles of weapon parts, half-dissembled engines, and other completely unrecognizable bits and pieces. Light blinked and flashed, and occasionally something made a whirring noise, or a click, or a beep.

There wasn't much I could do except stare, with my mouth half open. This was like my brother's shop at the spaceport back home, only it was four times as big. It had to be a hundred square meters, and the ceiling itself was at least twice that far away. The walls only extended something less than halfway up, leaving plenty of space for the ceiling crane and it's cargo to be hoisted inside. In fact, as I stared upward, I realized that the crane track ended here, right above where the UA was now berthed. My brother would have loved this place, and would have immediately run over to one of the tables and thrust both hands into one of the grubby piles, but I found myself wondering where the owner was. He didn't seem to be home.

My gaze was quickly ripped from the ceiling as someone came up behind me and actually made contact with my butt, slapping it, hard. It didn't hurt, not through the armor plates, but I jumped, spinning around and instinctively grasping at the wrist that supported the intruding hand, looking to snap it off backward with a quick twist. Fortunately for the mechanic, the hard slap against my armor plates had caused him enough pain that he instantly jerked his hand away, and my Teras Kasi strike missed, otherwise he might have suffered a badly broken wrist. Instead, I was left glaring down at a short little man, whose head remained obliviously buried in his datapad for another three steps, before he stopped and turned to face me. He seemed unaware of the increasingly piercing look that was coloring my face, or of the firm grip that now clasped one of my blaster pistols, as he continued his sweet talk

The saucy voice didn't fit with his appearance or his surroundings. At all. Those were the last words and verbal mannerisms in the galaxy that I had expected to come from the Independence's resident geek. What in space was going on here? For a brief moment, my confidence that I understood his type and could easily get what I wanted was shaken by the surprise, but the void was quickly filled in with annoyance. I ought to have slapped him, or worse, but I couldn't. I needed him to do a job, no matter what I had to put up with to get that job done.

I cleared my throat audibly, before replying in a somewhat icy tone, completely ignoring his advances. I could probably have gotten what I wanted faster if I had reciprocated his flirtatiousness, but that was never my style if I had any other option. "Your friend Seros says that you have some exceptional skills with computers and technology. If that's true, I have a heavily encrypted datacard that I need to break into." Fitting actions to words, I drew the datacard from my pocket and held it up.

And wait, there'd be an actual clue buried in that sweet talk, some query about why I was seeking out Oz. It didn't sound like bluster, or arrogance. He wasn't just assuming I could only be here for him. No, apparently he knew I was looking for him --- but how could he know that? Well, there was one possibility. "Did Seros tell you I was coming?"

"Seros? Nah. Ain't seen him in ages. Indy told me."

He reached out and took the datacard, throwing in a wink for good measure, then plugged it into the datapad and began perusing the contents. FINALLY! Something I'm good at. Now just do the job and don't say another word. Not. Another. Word. He was quiet for several moments as he looked over the details of the card, then began speaking again without looking up. His voice had evened out somewhat now that he was back in his element and using familiar words, but the unabashed tone was still very much present (and extremely puzzling). Painkillers. It's gotta be the painkillers. I knew I should have stuck with the recommended dose...

"Hmm... thirteen layer cyclical security with rotating encryption algorithms. Nice. Somebody really doesn't want this thing opened. It's way beyond commercial level security and just about pretty near almost impossible to break without the key."

He held up a hand to forestall her inevitable "can you open it?", but still didn't look up.

"But not for me. I can crack it in an hour."

Then he looked up at her with what had to be the absolute dorkiest of seductive smiles on his face.

"But it's gonna cost ya, sugar."

No. No! NO! NONONONONONONONONO!!! DON'T YOU DARE! I WILL KILL ME IN MY SLEEP IF YOU SAY ONE MORE WORD!!!

"I'm gonna need a kiss."

ROUGHLY TWO DAYS AGO...

*Stepping out into the chilly, silent hallway of the Loronar, Seros figured it was time to finally take his leave. Yet that bothersome notion in the back of his head told him to stay put, to a point of borderline annoyance at that. "Why the hell..?" he shook it off. The Force was normally the culprit of such anomalies, but ever since having left the Order...and ever since his rather mind-bending dream he had the previous night, he wasn't exactly sure how to handle it anymore. It now went beyond that 'surreality' to a degree of 'am I really that much of a rebel, or does common sense just not make any sense any more' kind of thing.

Regardless, he needed to move. To do something. Kaali would find him. He had no doubt of that whatsoever, and how he longed to see her perfectly pale and fair complexion and intoxicating gaze. It was the blindingly bright spot of this entire endeavor. Shady deal with Muro, bounty hunters and countless thugs coming out of the woodworks to collect on him and his on-going research, being kicked out of Wade's hole-in-the-wall hideout, to witness his death by a wickedly ravenous new species he'd never encountered, nearly getting himself killed in the process....and then...Kaali...

Her presence became all but tangible for mere seconds as they rose from the dark and dank depths of Coruscant's Underworld. Remembering her first, inhibitionless touch on the blade-scar running along his forearm, that became all he wanted at that moment. Not sure if Skywalker would have dubbed his motives as foolish or not, as he married and bore children, but Seros wasn't one to care much nowadays anyways. It wasn't 'emotion' to him. It was life. SHE would be his life..if this crisis of medical research would ever die down.*

"..Ugh!" *he scoffed inwardly, from both realizing the heavy degree of his plight and the fact that he was still standing alone in the buzzing hall of the Loronar. He had to do something. What was there to do? ..Well, plenty. He had to compile notes of what he'd seen and experienced, and now he had more questions about other things than he had answers about the effects of deathsticks. Ignoring the passengers scattered about the Loronar, Seros made his way to the main lift and exited the ship, the buzzy noises of Oz' workshop almost pleasantly interrupting Seros' buzzing head full of stipulations, hypotheses, ponderings, and increasing number of personal assignments.

Repairs on the UA will take a while, no doubt. Several days minimum. That gave Seros welcomed breathing room, which if he didn't have, wasn't sure how this massive headache that was forming would have fared. He needed to be alone for a while, even before Kaali showed up. Gather his bearings again. Wasn't he just like this..? Whatever. Seemed this day never ended, it was about time to bring it to a close..*

---

*The rest of the day...night..whatever the hell it was, Seros left Oz and crew to their duties, and tied up what loose ends he could. Purchased a duffelbag so he could further replenish what basic medical equipment he and Kaali might need. Figured some food intake would satiate his pounding head a bit, so he stopped by the place Oz had recommended. That, he found..helped quell his buzzing temperament insurmountably.

FOOD. Preferably the sort high in protein and aminos. 12oz Bantha Sirloin with steamed vegetables, topped it off with a blended tropical fruit smoothie he sipped on after he was done eating, continuing his leisurely trek across the vast deck. It was quite the homely atmosphere, Seros observed. Even considering the size of the ship, estimated equivalent of about ten to twelve subdivisions in an elaborate housing development, he figured everyone knew each other by now. Wondered what Kaali would think of them possibly settling in with Oz, jumping about the galaxy at whim or fancy...

...but he knew that wouldn't be fair to Oz. Not right now with all the debacles he was in now. He'd be jumping times over what he does now trying to avoid the heat on Seros. Still, he kept it on the backburner of possibilities.

Tossing the empty smoothie cup into the nearest receptacle, Seros made his round about the shops available. Five multi-purpose power packs, an upgraded fire-wire cable for his omni-pad, three upgraded datasticks (higher capacity), some heavy-duty vinyl strapping, three high-concentrated bacta capsules (6oz each), syringes, a tourniquet band, gauze and wraps, sanitation fluids and rubbing alcohol...he was happy to now be able to operate with a plausible amount of space, whether aboard Kaali's ship..or somewhere else if need be. Anywhere with a workable table or what have you. Still, always safe to be prepared. Also, to be safe, he boldly decided to pick up some conventional fabric cleaner and a simple bristle brush. Handy if you want to deface traces of blood or prevent trackers from taking samples. Never know... Speaking of trackers, gave Seros the idea to get a few hull plate bugs for himself, in case he needed to follow a crucial mark. This was a smuggler's den. Finding them...wasn't that hard.

A few personal hygiene effects in the bag later..and Seros was satisfied with the full duffel.

What next?
Data compilation.

Normally, he would have done this first before anything else, as to have the memory as fresh as possible when jotting things down; but he knew he needed the downtime, to unwind. Aneurysms develop from those kinds of feelings he had upon exiting the Lorry. His meditative training in the enclaves gave him a better sense of fine tuning to those sorts of things. And that sirloin...damn, did he need that!*

---

Having reached the residential quadrant of the ringed arm of the ship, Seros was pleasantly surprised to find out that Oz had secured a space-view room for him. Granted, this was a smuggler ship. Nothing too fancy or luxurious about it, but little things counted. Saving a life is...saving a life. Oz never showed much gratitude in words anymore...only actions. Only words he exchanged with Seros were banter or straight out condescension. He didn't mind. Oz' arrogance, be it sincere or feigned, remained innocent of ill intent. He plopped the now-hefty duffel bag next to the bed. The viewport to the rocky, starry expanse was generously larger than most other rooms. If Seros had to guess, the room was most likely used as a deflector control center, but with Oz' implementation of such an elaborate AI, all those operations were handled via Indy 'herself.' Control panels and power relay circuit breakers were stripped out, and a fridge that wouldn't fit naturally into the room anywhere was planted on the far wall in front of two thick metal tubes, rust accentuating the rivets along the girth near the ceiling.

Then plopping himself down onto the aged mattress, also surprisingly comfortable, he pulled out his ever-so-trusty piece of hardware. Designed by Oz himself, it could handle most any operation performable by a top of the line computer system. Seros didn't know programming like Oz did, (nor did he know anyone who probably did), but he knew the programs themselves well enough. Everything was on there...except games. Upon Oz' suggestion of installing addictive time-killers that could apparently 'improve mental capacity and intelligence levels', Seros had to give Oz a final 'NO!' ..If Seros had time for games, he had time for conditioning and training. Give a man the proper tools to get the job done, teach him how to use them, and when all else fails...break stuff until you get what you need, or run your ass off. S'all there is to it.

The 'omni-pad,' as Seros dubbed it, had every rudimentary type of program (equivelent to Microsoft Office) to hacking, control interfacing, decoding, recoding, (beacon) tracking, encryption and decryption, retinal and fingerprint replication, the works... It was a great asset to Seros' modus operandi of a Jedi Sentinel.

Opening the rudimentary program that served as his journal and notebook, he reversed the time-table of memory until his last entry...before he met Muro on Coruscant to make due on his deal for the deathsticks. "...Pfugh!" he scoffed. "...By the Force, so much has happened since then." he sighed, then scrolled down to the end of his log, entering the new star date. For a bit over an hour, he ended up fighting sleep to finish everything.

--Contacting Muro, the effect of incidentally getting dosed, the bounty hunter and his thugs...and excruciating detail on what effect coming out from under the dosage of deathsticks. From the uncontrollable urge to urinate, to the enthralling feeling of his midichlorians going into overdrive, and the immense build up of coalescing energy about him. The compulsive need to expel energy, which, by further hypothesis, could result in physical damage if he attempted to harness it all at once. He made note of it in a separate log in his 'Research Notes' tab. He also noted that if Black Sun ever got a hold of this information....the results could be universally catastrophic. He took everything into account he could muster. He was only human..well, mostly human anyway. One-quarter Miralukan to be precise. Race, bloodtype, constitution; all things to be considered when mapping out dosage and time lapse for effects to take hold, or be relieved of. Smaller ethnic races like Rodians probably wouldn't need much of a dose to have similar effects as to what Seros had back in the UC, nor would the effect last that long as a result (Force-sensitivity being the obvious prereq).--

--He then documented his rather gratuitously power-saturated escape, secluded meditation...Faith's incident with other 'slamos' in the Lower City. Their trek back to the scene of Seros' altercation to witness a mysterious group of vigilantes observing the carnage he wrought. The leader being masked, adorning a strange, yet regal crest resembling an avian creature of sorts, also shared by his compatriots. Wasn't sure if the vigs were after the group that apprehended him back at the bar, or after him. Continuing, his trek with Faith back to her hideout in the Works....where he first met Wade and the runners. A brutal family feud, as it seemed. Wade, a Sorrussian, was one of the most cunning, non-Force fighters Seros had both the misfortune of fighting against and the pleasure of fighting with...against the jekk.--

...Oohhh, the jekk.
--Seros documented much concerning them in both his journal and even devoted a new tab to them under 'Research.'
Hypothesis of Force experimentation and mutation, as no two creatures looked identical, flying nor ground-based. Anatomical observations as well as behavioral..which only needed a few sentences, as their behavior was nothing short of mad, yet..mildly directed? They carried Wade off whilst mindlessly devouring all others present in the area, minus the crew...of whom he wasn't sure if he should document much about as of yet. Yet concerning the jekk, their peculiar behavior stipulated the idea that they were being controlled via a higher cognicive mind. In all his studies of xenobiology, he'd never come across anything so original, so sinister, and so.....deviously evolved? Was that the description he was wanting? Regardless, he noted the discolorations of flesh, mutated talons and teeth...the rancid breath of ravenous grunts and heaves of famished desperation. ...His near fatal injury of a bloodthirsty jekk mealing on his shoulder. Sam pulling him and Malora onto the Eagle.--

--...and the vivid dream that ensued. He documented this in detail in another tab, reserved for personal revelations concerning the ways of the Force. The near-witted representation of the Force albeit a small Echani girl. ..Such a humbling experience, to be sure. She..or 'The Force' rather..had schooled him, in the only way that she knew he would listen. He had become jaded by experience and a bit haughty in his loneliness. At least ever since Umgul, which seamlessly brought his memory...--

--...to Kaali. He woke up from the vision feeling as if she was still near him...because she was, sitting tight and pretty there in Dax' Diner as they blasted up past it from the dark depths of the Lower City. And that connection they had. It was severely tight. Practically read each other's thoughts as they had them. Almost uncomfortably tight, but still...it was the bright spot of this whole endeavor. She was close, she was safe as far as he could tell, and they were soon to meet again. He logged his abnormally strong bond in for further elaboration and study later, once they had reunited.--

--Concerning the crew he directed to Oz' station, there were dormant feelings that had developed in such a short amount of time, and even then, they became less dormant and more apparent, with little to no reasonable explanation why. Such things could only be feasibly recognized as of the divine nature of the Force. The more Seros documented, the more this inclination of destiny and appointment became apparent. But Dante had him particularly puzzled. The mishap in the bridge of the Lorry with Fel, Dante having spit up red blood before threatening Seros...documented. The whole ordeal with the crate spewing out aerolized deathstick fumes..documented. The endeavor to help Jace revive him and his body's harsh, yet seemingly productive reaction to be rid of the chemical...documented. The aerolization aspect caused Seros to revisit the 'Research' tab and add new entries.-- There was something large going on with Dante, and Seros knew he didn't want anything to do with it...but again, the more he wrote and thought on things, the more that inclination grew...

....It was inevitable. And that being the case, he'd have to keep Kaali free of his clutches, or out of leverage.

Damn. Two and a half hours later, and he decided he had an adequate account of all that had happened thus far. Closing out the tabs, padlocking, and stuffing it under the pillow, he relieved himself of the robes, arm wraps, and boots, finally getting comfortable. The walls were thick in these brutish lucrehulks, so no outside noise or clamor reached through the door. The pleasant hum of generators put him right to sleep. Felt good to empty himself out, whether it be by meditation or simply by composing his thoughts...

---

SEVEN HOURS LATER...


*He sprang up from his peaceful slumber to the familiar, near voice of his lady in dire distress."Kaali?!" He looked about the bare room, and found no one. Where was she?! He immediately stretched out his perception and awareness through the Force, to an almost dangerous degree in his haste. He'd feel the headache from that one in a bit, but it was hardly considered a cost.

...THERE! It came from the opposite side of the viewport wall behind his bed. Space, towards the Skips. He threw the covers aside and threw himself to the sill of the viewport, hands hardpressed against it. His eyes didn't have to dart about much to find the distant moving light of engine wash where her presence emanated from. Whatever caused her to cry out his name had obviously caused her to stop concealing her presence in the Force. Now she had amplified it in her distress. That ship, indiscernible from this distance, had her on it. There was no doubt about that...and the suspicion was only further confirmed when the second worst thing Seros could have thought of happened, happened (the first being her signature being snuffed out completely..).

The ship went to warp.

And Kaali's last 'audible' cry through the Force trailed off with it..

"I was so close, I was SO CLOSE! You BASTAAAAarr--!"

Eyes filled with horror and disbelief, Seros tried desperately to exert his signature and voice through the Force..
KAAAALLIIII!!
 ...KAAAALLIIII!!...

Banging his fist and forearm against the near-impenetrable viewport, his amplified voice rang about the metal plated room, causing a bothersome ringing in his ears (and would have alerted other patrons in adjacent sections of his distress); however, the shock and bewilderment had the best of him.



...A moment of silence ensued, Seros letting his limping form scrape itself down against the viewport til he sat haphazardly atop the lower sill.


She was gone. Just as quickly and abruptly as she had felt near to him on Coruscant. Why..? WHY?!
"..No." he shook his head in his weakness, desperate voice growing with immediate defiance. "..NO!"

Giving one last defiant bang on the viewport, teeth gritted, he hoisted himself up, hastily put on only what he needed to go about halfway decently (trousers, boots, belt, and undershirt), forsaking the regal embroidered top of Sam's Jedi robes and his dead brother's arm wrappings, and secured them snugly between the straps atop of the duffelbag. Snatching Wade's old boomstick, securing it under his belt at the small of his back, he was off to find Oz. As far as he was concerned, going to try and find Kaali wasn't anything any of his pursuers would expect. Seemed his best option anyways, right?

A droid attendant had commissioned itself to see what the loud scream from Seros' quarters was all about, so when Seros stormed out, the droid was just approaching. As per its programming, it emulated a polite gesture of concern as Seros stomped near...

"..Ah, Master Jedi. Is everything alri--"

..and the bald Jedi kept striding past, rounding the first corner unphased, gone in a matter of deliberate hasty steps.

The droid lowered its arms, stood for a moment, then cleared its queue of prepared responses, assuming the next priority under making sure patrons were attended to.