Coruscant's Open Orbit

“The darkness is not something to fear, but instead something to regret deeply. You should not regret its presence, but regret its inherent necessity. For the longest and most prominent shadows are cast from a powerful sun. Vitality begets vitality; the strength of the light gives birth to the strength of the darkness. It is the way the universe works, in all its wonder, governed by unbreakable and unimaginable rules. It would only make sense for the Force to work in the same way. But in this regret, we must learn to thrive and not dwell, as regret is a seed dropped from the tree of hatred and loathing. It is a temporary nature in its own right, but something that easily builds into a monster, nourished from the nutrients derived of the corruption of the mind and heart. I know this monster; I know it all too well…”

“When I was a small thing, a budding child, if you will, I saw my father killed by a mugger on Zelos II, my homeworld. Tears streaming down my face, I felt the hot heat upon my cheek and was filled with the desire for vengeance. But alas, I was a mere child and had no such ability of extraction. When speaking with the Sun priests, I spoke to them and swelled with regret, with fruitful remorse, corrupted to the core, for the opportunity I would never receive again. It ate at me as a worm eats upon an apple, tearing holes within my spirit and turning something whole into something incomplete…a fragment of myself. It was only after the man was brought to justice that I looked upon myself, and those around me, and realized that remorse and regret are not things I desire to call friend. They are the shadow of your being, only noticeable because of the light shining upon you. And you have the choice to turn towards it…or towards the sun. Such is the way of things.”

It was a thought that he had always known and the subject of plants quickly afforded him the luxury of comfort. While not all topics found themselves upon extended metaphor, he always felt that the vegetation could adequately serve for explanation in most cases. Especially when his audience was so young, as he once was. But that time was long ago and with the movements of the universe, he found wrinkles were wrinkles never existed. It seemed odd to him that in a society where years are determined by rotations around a sun, that people still grasped the concept of age, even when long removed from the holdings of light and the need to keep time like an over filled chamber pot. It was an uncertainty that sentience wished to conquer, that people would know when they began, so that they could know when they would end. His was a bleak interpretation of it, but not necessarily one that he felt was false. People would always hide such fear behind the façade of celebration and triumph, conquering the waning years of life like a mountain unhinged from the scars of trails and foot prints. Even now, these children before him were filled with such deep-seated natures and tendency to watch Yavin move about the Yavin IV sky, from one side to another, the passing of the day an obstacle happily removed. But the children were not truly before him, in their gaze upon the sky, as their images were invisible silhouettes fading away into dust and debris on the front windshield of his old X-Wing.

Space used to scare him, as it did on all buds formed upon the soil of Zelos II. But his master, when removing him from the planet for appropriate training at the Jedi Academy, told him, “Do not fear such things child, the mind torments the body with fear so that the soul can overcome it. It is in these times, when fear is strongest, that the brave will persevere. Such is the way of things.” He always finished his sentences like that, “such is the way of things.” Eli had found the phrase ingrained him like a nail dug into a tree with bark slowly overgrowing it. Even if the phrase failed to escape his lips, where his body remained silent, the words echoed across his mind.

The stars had passed by the ship as insects fly beside fruit flung through the air, drifting carelessly by in a presence devoid of intent. Morichro, Master Bastille had called it, was an easy and almost inherent thing for sentient plant life, gifted with a connection to the force, to understand and bring to fruition. Much like the standing dead reeds of plants in a marsh, he would find life and growth in the new season when growth was needed. And awakening to sprout new life, he did, with an ache in his heart for a universe darkened by a deep angst. While he was removed from the universe, his ship droid had recorded the holonet news of darkness set against the Jedi. Now, it seemed, it was most obvious that the dark and light were becoming sides of coin and would both need to be turned towards a common foe.  A truth most difficult to swallow for the old Jedi Master.

And a deep wound would fester, he realized, as planets would turn from life to glass, plants would burn, and innocent people would die. He greeted the self-proclamation as any would, with a worrisome calculation of the odds and a heavy heart. But even with the harshest odds, he turned his mind towards hope, towards new branches grown were old one’s died. It was with this rejuvenation of the soul that he sent codes to the naval defense of Coruscant, allowing him to move into orbit and towards the Jedi Academy, where his first journey into the Jedi Order had began, so many years ago beneath the wing of a large spirit stuck in the small body of human with more cares than countable.

It is an unusual feeling to move your mechanical foot using your mind, although it is no different then moving your own foot. The entire trip consisted of him moving his newly installed foot after the accident. He entered the system, Coruscant coming into view almost instantly after dropping out of hyperspace. The corrupted center of the galaxy, a place he would start looking. The ship continued it's path down towards the planet.

Despite the harsh reality that was his new world Quimby had settled into a ruotine quickly. Since he had been approached over Caamaas to create an administrative group things had progressed well. Of the thousands on board numerous families had been reunited, and it had warmed his heart to have been involved with that. The pressing matter though was the aid of the wounded and sick. The ship had been the perfect breeding ground for a disease. A strain of TB had made it's way through the Prakathian people in short order over half were sick. With all the injured from the attack no one knew were it had started but after a few days the outbreak had been contained.

All his work was ruined, families and friends were ripped apart in order to quarantine those with it. Despite the threat was gone people kept to themselves again, a sort of shock and fear running through them all. It was taxing on the man, and his eyes had dark circles under them. He looked the part of a refugee now. It was not the lack of sleep but the stress of it all. At one point the man had run the planet of Prakith before the Imperials took over. He had handed over the reigns and helped when needed. Back then he had an army of people to help him. When he failed the planetary services could help. Now he had none of that, everything was on his shoulders.

Sitting up from his desk with a start he looked around fearful. He had dozed off for a few moments only to wake up to the sound of the vents overhead rattling. The exact same sound he had heard before the building he had been in blew to smithereens. Sitting back down he looked at the state of his desk, pages strewn everywhere in ordered chaos, cups of coffee everywhere. Picking up one of them he sniffed it before stiring the contents. Tilting his head back he drained the last of the cold liquid from the cup.

With the last dregs of his unplanned nap ending he heard a knock at the door Come in. He didn't care what the person thought, it was hardly a proper office in itself, a large box usually used to hold some sort of large artillery. It had been hastily converted, lighting, doors and walls. It suited their needs.

On of the ships personal entered his "office" with the crisp walk of a solider. Your presence is requested on the bridge. The reptilian the motioned with his hands for Quimby to hurry. Despite it being posed as if he had a choice the mans posture said otherwise. It was clearly an order. He had heard a few accounts of what happened to the Prakathians when they didn't do what was asked. He didn't want to end up in the imfermary. Following the creature through twists and turns Quimby waited outside the door to the bridge.

The first thing that he saw first was neither the crown nor the kilt. He zoomed in on the trophies around the mans neck. Then and only then did he know who he was dealing with. The dangerous Selveen Khar. As he rose to his full height and stared him down Quimby looked down to the ground. He half expected this vile beast to eat him. However He leaned back and he let go a breath of air he had unconsciously holding.

Taking the recorder he was about to speak when he was "dismissed". He was no solider and for once his courage found him only to leave right away. Staring at the cam corder he wondered what he was to do with such a gauge request. There was no chance to ask as he was now facing the back of the Vor and escorted out. Slipping it on his hand backwards first he viewed would take a video of his face. Hello whoever you are, my name is Mark Quimby. The interim leader of the Prakithians and have been involved with keeping them safe since day one. On the screen what they would see was a haggard man. Both from lack of sleep, stress and the rations. His shirt was torn and frayed and his hair a mess. Despite this his voice was that of a strong willed man who could inspire confidence in people. The people here have been hospitable enough, and of course saved us from an attack on our planet.

The video would go dark for a moment before doing a panoramic view of the infermary. Sick, injured and dying could be seen. In addition there were nurses, and doctors both civilian and from the crew working. Despite our best efforts there are a lot of casualities that are in dire need of proper medical treatment. Things could be much worse but for the time being we have things under control. Without stopping there was a blur of action as the camera turned. Moving slowly it would twist and turn through the risked and rows of refugees. Kids playing, yelling talking people trading. The people all looked dirty and disheveled but hopeful that they would soon be off this tub. As you can see the populace is faring Alraight but not for much longer. Supplies are not going to improve and the extra needs we will face from such cramped conditions will put further strain on resources.

Going black one more time they were inside the crate used as an office with a little holo projector. On it was the date, down to the second of local time. I was informed you needed proof that this was filmed today, this was the best I could do. Please just trust these guys. With that it shut off once more and the tape sent with one of the crew towards the room with Khar in it.

= Aboard Corona-class frigate "Base 1" =

The lines of light slowed and once again became pinpricks, and a large number of them were now blotted out by Coruscant. Of course, Coruscant being Coruscant, it simply replaced pinpricks of cosmic light with the clustered glow of an ecumenopolis. In some ways it never became less staggering.

On the bridge of his ship, Jag narrowed his eyes and sighed. He didn't have the time to be staggered by Coruscant. He turned and clapped his hands, gaining the attention of the whole bridge.

"Alright people, we're in respectable space now. Keep everything cool and no sudden moves. We wait to be contacted."

Assents rumbled from around the room, and Jag sank back into his chair. Now to wait for their contact.

Jag's breath hissed out slowly as the comm center pinged, and Arthi, the comm officer, turned.

Cap, that carrier is hailing us! I think they expect us to dock.

"Sure looks that way. We're defense contractors now."

Tishie cocked her head and turned to look at Jag.

We do respectable work like that?

"Sure looks that way. Pilot, let's dock up." Pilot Narr nodded and steered the ship in closer until the carrier's guidance systems engaged. From there it was autopilot. Jag stood and stretched, shrugging into his jacket. His stomach churned. Respectable work for people like him was dangerous. If the 'good guys' were hiring his sort, then they were scraping the bottom of the barrel in whatever resources they were needing. Judging by the mass of warships collecting in this system, somebody was preparing for war, be it the Jedi or the Republic or whoever. If the big guns are going to war, then they were going to war against other big guns, and that didn't bode well for the little guns like Jagat Tellan.

More, he was kicking himself for not having told his crew sooner. Good captains didn't trick their crew like that, and he knew he'd pay for it later. There was nothing to be done about it right now though, so he knit his brow, pursed his lips, and stomped down from the command seat on the bridge, snapping his fingers for people to follow him. Without a word spoken, his officers fell in step with the half-breed Nagai captain.

When docking was completed, Jagat and his handful of officers stepped into one of the carrier's fighter bays and were almost trampled by mechanical crews darting back and forth.

They're doing pre-flight checks. Whatever they're doing is happening soon. "Tish," he muttered, turning back to his second in command, "get word back to Base 1. Start pre-flight checks on all our craft now." Tishie nodded, already speaking into her comm. She'd seen it as soon as he had, only she was quicker on the draw. They shared a knowing look, then it was back to business, as Jag tried to find anybody who looked like they were in charge. He had a distinct feeling that he was going to end up looking like a fool in a few seconds; that the sort of person he was seeking was about to show up without his realization.