Cold.

Hardness.

An antiseptic smell.

Beeping, buzzing, and gurgling.

Her mouth felt stuffed with fabric and there was a foul, flat aftertaste coating her tongue and extending to the back of her throat.

And the worst skull-splitting, brain-rending headache she had ever known.

These sensations stormed Jenna Falco as she reluctantly regained consciousness. The nearly overwhelming assault on her nerves drew a quiet groan of contempt, pain, and irritation. Her eyes squeezed more tightly closed for a moment, then slowly opened. She was sprawled on a floor, a cold, hard, metallic floor. That explains why half of my face is numb.

She pushed herself up, blue eyes fully open now. Medical facility. The beeping was from support monitors and control panels, the latter of which were arrayed in a ring around her. The acrid antiseptic stench was... well, from acrid antiseptics. The gurgling came from the kolto tanks on the back wall. One was empty, the others were occupied. And the kolto definitely explained nauseating aftertaste and dry mouth... and whatever put her in there probably handled the hangover or migraine or whatever made her cranium feel like it was exploding, imploding, and on fire all at once.

Her eyes refocused. The occupied tanks had urgently flashing indicators. She could now make out the word “alert,” blinking frantically. She took a deep breath, exhaled—and winced at her kolto breath—and summoned the strength to rise to her feet.

Falco went over to the nearest readout. No lifesigns. The man, in a mining suit, was dead. She went to the next terminal, her pace quicker. Dead. A brisk jog to the third. Deceased. The last one... lifeless. All of them miners. What happened...?

She bolted for the door, having no realized she was unarmed, unarmored—indeed, clad only in her matching shorts and sleeveless top—and in a strange place. Nearly ten years of wandering the blasted galaxy, only to end up surrounded by dead miners. And where was the medical staff? Hell, where was anybody?

Jenna clenched her fists and steeled herself for whatever horrors might lay beyond the airtight med bay hatch. She thumped the release, every muscle tense. The door's locking mechanism spun around, and the two halves split away to reveal... another empty section of corridor. Aside from the sparking blast door and two side hatches on the left and right, there was nothing. Falco rubbed her jaw pensively, and then crept forward. The last time she'd been this tense--

No. She abruptly ceased her train of thought, preventing her mind from going to that dark place.

The far blast door was completely shot. Not even hotwiring the panel would get it open. I need something to cut this open... but where would I get something like that?

She walked back, going in the right-hand door. A med-lab, she quickly ascertained. There was a lab station, a panel, and a door to what was likely storage. Maybe some tools... or some damned clothes... She had no intentions of roaming some strange installation in her skivvies. Within the storage containers were some medpacks, comp spikes, and chemicals but no tools to open the door or act as makeshift weapons... and not even an exam gown to throw on. She opted to try the control panel, next...

[This message has been edited by Moff (edited 05-06-2011 @ 06:12 PM).]

Atton unwound from the fetal position he was forced to sleep in within this force cage. He stood and stretched. He hadn’t heard anything from that security staff who imprisoned him here. Atton had been wanting a place to start new, but he ended up back in these predicaments. Oh well, Rand muttered within his head. Might as well make the best of it.

He leaned up against the cylinder-shaped cage and relaxed as best he could. He had become accustomed to this, as force cages seemed to only shock the imprisoned when bare flesh touched, so he was free to lean as much as he wanted. He’d probably be stuck in that fetal sleeping position he was in if they had confiscated his clothing for security measures. Just plain humiliation if anyone asked him. Probably wanted him in this cell as fast as possible for his violation of flying in-system.

He pulled one spin in his shuttle in excitement of actually getting away from his past, just to be thrown right back in.
Atton sighed. Eh. They’ll run out of the resources to keep me here. They’ll ship me off soon enough. Who knows? They might be sending me the you’re free to go and leave speech any time now. It’s only been what? Five days?

Five days? And he hadn’t seen anyone in three. If this force cage didn’t have automated liquid dispensers he’d probably be in dehydration by now.

Another sigh. Flimsi pushers.

Coruscant, Senate Apartments
Alessa Organa stared out over the great city of Coruscant, the lights glittering in the evening. The rush of life on this planet rushed over her like a mighty waterfall in the White Current--this would take some getting used to, she knew, but already she was learning to tone down the noise caused by so much life. In the distance she could make out the Senate chamber, that great chamber in which she had come with so much hope only to be bitterly disappointed by the corruption she found there. Not far away was the nearly empty Jedi Temple--a loss and yet not a loss. Long had the Jedi protected the ideals of the Republic, yet their foolish disregard for the Current was dangerous and the past fifteen years was proof of how quickly the Jedi could slip to the Dark Side. No, their loss was no great loss.

Behind her Alessa could hear three-year-old son Caden giggling and playing. Then she heard a step, then felt the warm, strong arms of her husband Zev wrap around her and place a hot cup of caf in her hands.

"You're tired," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder so that they were cheek-to-cheek, her long brown hair flowing over his shoulder.

"Coruscant isn't what I expected," she said sadly. "There's so much...wrong. I thought I could fix it." Tears welled up in her eyes like a frustrated child.

"You will," he said, an encouraging smile stealing over his lips. "You're strong and brave, and people like you. You'll make a difference. I promise."

"I'm starting to wonder if the system can be fixed," Alessa said. "Everything is so...wrong about the system. So wrong! I'm starting to think we need to start over."

"Doesn't that mean war?" Zev asked, pulling back and eying his wife worriedly.

Alessa shook her head determinedly. "It just means enough people with the sense to see things are wrong--and I know there must be enough!" she said. "The biggest obstacle will be Cressa; he's as corrupt as the rest or even more so. And he has a strong backing because of his wartime leadership. Still, there have to be some who will stand with me."

Zev stroked his wife's hair tenderly. "If anyone can do it, you can," he said, giving that grin that had caught her eye back on Alderaan so many years ago. "It's a tough, nasty Galaxy out there, and the trouble's not over yet--but someone has to clean up the mess, and I truly, deeply believe that you're the one. The Current has brought us here for a reason, right?"

Alessa smiled and turned back to the cityscape, taking a sip of the warm, refreshing caf. If only Revan were here, she thought distantly. He may have been a Jedi, and a fallen one at that, but he understood the way things worked. He'd know what to do. In the meantime, I suppose I'm it...

[This message has been edited by Zaarin (edited 04-18-2011 @ 03:35 PM).]

Illustrious - Orbiting Coruscant

"Completely vanished? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, Senator. We searched the entirety of the Harbinger's route, and she is gone, sir."

A feeling of dread washed over Fora Detahn. He had come aboard the Illustrious, a Hammerhead cruiser commanded by a fellow Neimoidian, expecting good news. Not thirty seconds out of the airlock, and already he was disappointed. Republic warships did not disappear in Republic space, especially with a Jedi onboard. It could only mean one thing: the Sith had discovered the Exile. Fora sighed, and gestured away from the airlock. "Walk with me, Captain."

Fora set off at a relaxed pace, eager for a chance to tour the vessel. It had been far too long since he had been aboard a Republic vessel, and, in a way it felt like home. Captain Khatan Dofine fell into step besides him. Dofine was the first Neimoidian Fora helped sponsor in the Republic Navy. He had proven himself to be a studious pupil, a skilled commander, and was like a son to Fora. If anyone could find the Harbinger, it was Khatan Dofine. The fact that he had failed did not effect Fora's confidence in him in the slightest.

As soon as they passed by two crewmen, Fora spoke up. "Tell me what happened, Khatan."

"We set out from Telos IV under orders from Admiral Onasi one day after the Harbinger was declared overdue. While the Admiral and I hoped it was merely engine trouble or some other kind of nuisance, both of us expected trouble from the start. The search progressed quickly, at least until we entered the Xappyh Sector. The last transmission received from the Harbinger placed it adjacent to the Peragus System. We searched all of the known hyperlanes, to no avail. I ordered the Illustrious into the Peragus System. As soon as we crossed over the border three Interdictor cruisers emerged from the Peragus asteroid field. The Illustrious sustained heavy damaged, but we disabled one of the cruisers and managed to get away." As Dofine finished, he averted his eyes from Fora's gaze.

Fora stopped at an intersection in the corridor. "Well, that sounded very official, Khatan. Why don't you tell me what you really think?"

The Captain looked over his shoulder, and then down the corridor, as if he was afraid his crew might hear him. "I can't believe I let them get the drop on me like that, Senator." He replied, angry. "The Sith are fighting a shadow war against the Jedi, the Republic, and I let my ship wander into a trap. Not only did we fail to find the Harbinger, but luck was the only thing that saved my crew that day."

Fora shook his head and smiled, and continued walking. "Luck may have had something to do with it, Khatan, but the prowess exibited by the leadership of your crew was also a large factor. Few captains would have been to escape that trap, and fewer still would have been able to disable one of their vessels. I believe that your actions were impressive, and Admiral Onasi agrees. I've received word that you and your entire crew are to be commended for beating the odds." Fora could tell that Khatan would continue to think otherwise, but that wasn't his problem.

"On a more troubling note, the loss of the Harbinger is an extremely large problem for the Republic. I recommended to Admiral Onasi that he dispatch many more ships to hunt for our missing cruiser, as it's passenger is an extremely valuable asset. The Admiral doesn't have as many ships as he needs, so your orders are to return to Telos, undergo repairs, and resume the search. You might even be leading a battlegroup into the Peragus System, Khatan. I'll..." Fora trailed off as his communicator began to beep.

"I'm sorry, Khatan. It seems they need me in the Senate. I want to apologize, calling you all the way out to Coruscant to report to me personally. I think I needed to hear the news straight from you."

At this, Khatan finally began to smile. "It's no trouble, Senator. It has been a long time. I just hope Admiral Onasi doesn't chew my head off for dawdling while I could be out looking for the Harbinger.

Fora laughed at that, and then gave a mock salute to Dofine. "Permission to disembark, Captain Dofine?"

"Permission granted, Senator."

Prevek's Apartment - Citadel Station, Telos

Prevek grunted as he dropped the protocol droid's head on his foot. "Damn you, you pile of junk! What kind of idiot brings a protocol droid in fifty pieces to get repaired, anyways?"

"As I recall, Master, that was the very same condition I was in when you repaired me, so you now have an answer to your question." Chimed in SD, his assistant.

Prevek reached down, grabbed the protocol droid's head, and tossed it over his shoulder as hard as he could. He had spent the past few days reassembling the droid, and the head represented hours of work. Fixing the miniature components in the droid's photorecptors and processors had been a pain in Prevek's Ugnaught ass, but throwing all that effort away to serve as a projectile was worth it. Prevek waited, and heard the telltale sound of metal against metal.

He began to grin, but stopped when he saw a hand reaching into his peripheral vision. SD set the protocol droid's intact head down in front of him. "Good catch, SD." He said, contemplating throwing it again.

"You are lucky I caught that, Master. I doubt it would be able to survive such a careless mishandling."

"Yes, I'm very lucky." He said, sighing. He picked up his hydrospanner and began to reconnect the droid's head to its neck. "Damn, this is the wrong size. SD, hand me the hydrospanner on the back table."

There was silence for several seconds, and Prevek felt like jamming the hydrospanner in one of the Sentinel droid's servos.

"Which one, Master?" He asked.

"The one on the back table, SD."

"There are three hydrospanners on the back table, Master. Would you please specify which one?"

Prevek rubbed his eyes and sighed again. "It's the neon pink one, SD."

"There is no neon pink hydrospanner, Master. There is a red one, a black one, a-" Prevek spun around.

"I KNOW WHAT COLOR THEY ARE, SD!" It felt good to snap at the droid. Things hadn't been going that well for the past few weeks, and yelling seemed like a good release. Only one droid to repair, the protocol droid, very few other projects to work on, and to top it all off, the Exchange had been hassling him over gambling debts! Prevek never gambled, never did business with them, and yet they kept showing up on his doorstep demanding money. He was about ready to have SD shoot them, until they stopped one day. Turns out they were after a Duros who also did repair work for a living. Yep, things like that definately put Prevek in a yelling mood.

He noticed that it was getting dark out, and realized that he had been working on the droid for hours without noticing. He took off his tool belt and slung it over the workbench next to the droid's head. Then, very deliberately, he made his way to the back table and made a show of picking up the right hydrospanner and placing it in SD's hand.

"There you go, SD. I'm gonna go to the bar. Why don't you try your hand at fixing the droid?"

SD immediately moved to Prevek's workbench. "That is an excellent suggestion, Master. I am quite confident in my ability to continue your work."

Prevek grabbed his credit chip and bolted from his apartment before he could hear any more of the droid's commentary. He knew SD was a good assistant, but expected that he would find the protocol droid's head screwed into a leg socket when returned. "Oh well..." He muttered, and headed towards the entertainment district. The module's cantina awaited his arrival.

Mount Tantiss Palace - Wayland

As the singing and music ceased, Darth Korris rose from his seat. He was in the first row of the VIP box of the concert hall, the best seat in the house. He clapped his hands fervently, and the rest of the audience followed suit. Since coming to Wayland, music was one of the things Korris had begun to enjoy greatly. He was adamant about ensuring the presence of a concert hall in his palace on Mount Tantiss, and the native workers had obliged him. Concerts with styles of all types were held routinely, and Korris had been looking forward to this one.

The quartet of Psadans on stage were basking in the applause and cheers. They were the finest tenors on the planet, and they only performed in the palace concert hall. When they filed off stage, Korris turned to his advisor, Dorfo. He was a tall Myneyrsh, decorated in the clothing and adornments of the high chieftain. He had been the leader of the Myneyrsh when the Sith had arrived. Dorfo had received Korris and his staff, welcomed them, and had been very accommodating... after Korris had single handedly slaughtered his best warriors. The chieftain's enthusiasm inspired Korris, however, and not only had Dorfo been made the representative of Wayland to the Sith, but became one of Korris' top advisors.

"That was a wonderful performance. Wouldn't you agree, Dorfo?"

The Mynerysh nodded enthusiastically. "Yes it was, my lord. Before you arrived, I would have never imagined myself enjoying Psadan music."

Korris chuckled. "Funny how things work like that, isn't it?" He turned to face the rest of the VIP box. It included high ranking natives, his advisors, as well as some of his higher ranking soldiers. "I do believe our meal is waiting, ladies and gentlemen. Let us head to the dining hall." Korris had insisted upon having an elaborate feast after every performance to celebrate the musicians. Plus, the natives had a wide variety of unique dishes, and produced excellent cooks.

As he followed the rest of his guests out, now absolutely famished at the thought of a fine meal, ne noticed the approach of a Sith trooper in armor. He stopped before Korris, and gave a quick salute. "What do you need, soldier? I'm on my way to the fest."

"Lord Korris, sir, General Remek needs to speak with you. He says it is urgent."

Korris sighed. There were only two things Remek would bother him with during a meal: a Republic attack, or an update for Korris' latest "project."

---

The west wing of the Mount Tantiss palace held the barracks for Korris' guards, as well as the command center for General Remek. The Quarren was a Dark Jedi, second in skill only to Korris, and yet, even he looked weak in comparison. Remek served as the commander of Korris' forces, holding the position since the beginning of the Jedi Civil War. When Korris entered the dimly lit situation room, he realized the General had bad news for him. The General was the only one on the planet who could forgo calling Korris "Darth" or "Lord," but Korris knew by his facial expression that he would be nothing but formal now.

"My Lord, we have received new intelligence from our spies in the Triumvirate. The Harbinger, the vessel the Jedi Exile was aboard, has been captured."

Korris could feel his temper flaring even now. "By whom?" He asked.

"Darth Sion. His assassins murdered the entire crew. It is reported that there were no survivors."

I will not let my plans be ruined because the only member of the Triumvirate with restraint was cast out by the others!

Korris felt something snap inside of him. His very essence began to burn with anguish, the fires stoked by his connection to the force. The Dark Side itself was howling at him to do something. Korris looked away from the General, and laid his eyes upon a trooper manning a communications console. The trooper's helmet was off. All Korris could tell was that he had shaggy brown hair.

"Trooper! Your hair, it isn't regulation length!" He called out to him. The soldier was turning to face him when Korris flicked his wrist. The soldier, propelled at unnatural speeds, was sent flying out of his chair. His body smashed into the ceiling with a sickening crunch, and Korris kept him suspended there like a ragdoll.

He turned back to face the General. He look unperturbed, but Korris could see the fear in his eyes. "General Remek, do we have any agents amongst Sion's assassins?"

"Several, sir."

Korris felt his anger begin to subside.

"Good. I refuse to believe that the Exile is dead. Have our men keep close tabs on Sion. If anyone finds the Jedi, he will. I want to know the instant that happens."

Korris turned to leave. "My Lord, what happens if we discover that the Exile was indeed killed aboard the Harbinger?"

Korris stopped. "I will leave that answer up to you, General." He said, allowing the trooper's body to fall with a thud as he exited the room.

[This message has been edited by Viceroy Billy (edited 07-14-2011 @ 08:17 PM).]

HK-50
Peragus Mining Facility

“ARGH! HELP! THEY’RE DRILLING THROUGH MY LEG! HELP ME! ANYBODY! AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!….”
HK-50 played the final moments of the maintenance officer through his processor again. While the sound of that pathetic fool screaming for his life was incredibly satisfying, HK-50 felt…disappointed. He’d only killed one fool this time out of a whole station full of fools ripe for slaughter.

Statement: The remaining miners are still trapped on the residential level, and if Coorta has done as instructed, are locked in their quarters.

Analysis: If Coorta has locked the miners in their quarters, then there is a 89% chance he is not in there with them.

Statement: If Coorta is not locked in his quarters, he poses a threat to the Jedi.

This, of course, meant that Coorta had to be splattered over the nearest available wall. The fool had been planning to kidnap the Jedi ever since she had arrived, presumably in order to collect the sizable Exchange bounty on her head. This had been useful, for a time. Posing as the maintenance officer, HK-50 had pretended to join Coorta’s conspiracy, manipulating him into trapping the rest of the surviving miners on the residential level. Coorta had served his purpose, and was now a liability.

Statement: This can easily be compensated for with the application of mining droid and gore, HK-50 thought as he strode towards the droid control console. Statement: There is a 84% chance Coorta has his co-conspirators with him. This body count will be more satisfactory.

It was time to facilitate communications...and terminate hostilities.

[This message has been edited by Lagomorphia (edited 04-18-2011 @ 05:40 AM).]

OOC: Sorry for the infodump post, but I have to compensate for the small bios I wrote

Republic Chancellery, Coruscant

The night sky of Coruscant was always an eerie sight. Unique from any other world known to the galactic community, it was an almost breathtaking combination of the natural glows stemming from Coruscant’s proximity to the densely-knit web of stars in the Deep Core and every imaginable effect of technological civilization, from the ugliest smog to the gentlest contours of upper atmosphere travel to the reflections of the ecumenopolis’ myriad buildings made from just about every building material in usage. And no place had a better view than the plateau that was the Chancellery’s penthouse garden.

Except not. Anton Tarkin Cressa chuckled. He knew he wasn’t actually looking up at the night sky in the open air garden, even though he could feel a cool and comfortable breeze as if the evening winds were blowing down on him. Security would go crazy over that. What he was actually looking at was an incredibly detailed projection of the night sky directly above, streamed from high-resolution cameras several layers of thick armor plating above him. The breeze was provided by excellent air ventilators and it all added up to an incredible illusion of open air. All the beautiful flowers were impressive, though. Cressa’s knowledge of flora was very limited, yet he still enjoyed the garden from an aesthetic point of view. The garden was a relatively recent installation, dating from not Cressa’s predecessor but the man before him, who allegedly had quarreled for months with the bureaucracy and security to get a place for quiet contemplation.

But he might have spent his energy better gearing up the Republic for the then-crusading Mandalorians, Cressa thought to himself. Yet Cressa knew the inertia of the Republic had become so great the decision process had practically been paralyzed, proving almost utterly incapable of resisting enemy aggression and essentially trusting the Jedi to provide military protection and leadership. And with the Jedi almost gone, the Republic now had to be able to fend for itself. Cressa himself had spent his first term in office enacting all sorts of reforms to boost executive power, and had fought countless battles in the Senate as well with the civil service as the bureaucracy had resisted his every move.

A deep sigh escaped Cressa’s lips. Just thinking about it made him feel exhausted. And it wasn’t even close to being over. He might have won reelection just two months before, but with a much, much narrower margin of Senate votes than he liked. He was outright hated by scores of Senators, many of whom had openly spoken of secession if Cressa’s “imperial chancellorship” was not checked. He had been compared to just about every just moderately unpleasant person in galactic history, from Xim the Despot and innumerable Sith Lords, his policies directly conflated with Exar Kun’s massacre in the Senate and subsequent assault on Coruscant. No comparison was out of proportion to the factions and media pundits aligned against him.

The post-war political atmosphere was anything but the peaceful and dedicated spirit of rebuilding that everyone had hoped for. The Republic had weathered repeated invasions from errand Jedi and galactic warrior races and now, everyone had anticipated, came the time of unity and cooperation. It was supposed to be time for a fresh start, a new beginning for the Republic.

And a new beginning it had certainly been. With the Chancellor disgraced and having served his term limit, there were few willing to take over the unthankful job, especially when the Republic seemed about to collapse. Freshman Senator Cressa had seized the opportunity, quickly contacting his many business contacts in the Mid Rim and establishing a campaign that persuaded many Senators, especially from the outer regions, but winning over many Core delegates as well. Cressa had assumed the title of Supreme Chancellor with a large majority and set about on his promised rebuilding and reform agenda.

Most people agreed something had to be done; far too much influence was placed with the tangled Senate committees, subcommittees and commissions, the bureaucracy beneath having grown to employ no less than 50 million people. Yet when Cressa enacted a series of reforms aimed at clearing out the red tape and placing more power in his executive office, just as he had declared he would while running, hordes of Senators, bureaucrats and special interests began to realize the amount of influence they were losing. They began a vicious campaign against Cressa, both in the Senate and in the public, stranding most of Cressa’s other projects in the legislative process – including the final authorization for the Telos Restoration Project, the prototype of the rebuilding program for the devastated outer regions.

His opponents united themselves and during the course of the next years, as Cressa’s other proposals slowly crept through the Senate, their vicious campaigns managed to unseat many of the Senators friendly to Cressa. So many that they actually had potential majority against him at one point. Cressa had only been saved by the timely victory against the forces of a Sith warlord who had been harrying an entire region of Republic worlds and shipping lines, which boosted Cressa’s popularity enough among the military hardliners in the Senate to narrowly avoid a vote of no confidence.

Seizing on that momentum, Cressa’s own backers among the business associations in the Mid Rim began funding candidates challenging his enemies in the Senate, a drive that unseated enough of them to restore a working majority for the Chancellor’s programs.

That entire period had been the most stressful time for Cressa, not only because of the direct political attacks on his person, but also because it had pained him greatly that the Telos Restoration Project had been put on standby, effectively halting the entire rebuilding process in the Outer Rim. So as the last funds for the project were finally approved, Cressa had been close to passing out in exhaustion right on the Senate floor.

But now at least that project was running, and Cressa had managed to restore some semblance of executive authority. However, a new threat was looming.
His original main opponents in the Senate had been mostly disgraced after Cressa’s people had managed to dig up dirt about them, revealing them as sleazy schemers and destroying their political credibility. It hadn’t been pretty, but at least they had been neutralized. He now had to contend with the second generation of opponents, and among them was Alderaan’s Senator, the young Organa. She was as naïve as she was pretty, but it was clear she was ready to oppose just about anything Cressa would present to the Senate, and she was a completely different type than his earlier corrupt enemies.

He seriously doubted she had greasy stuff to hide, and in debates her refusal to yield challenged Cressa’s own. Her charisma was sure to draw other Senators to her, and Cressa foresaw that she would lead the next main coalition against him in the Senate.

He sighed again. Another four years of constant battles and political campaigns would surely strain him even more. He would be lucky to have any energy left in his body when this term ended. It was quickly becoming clear to him why the tradition prescribed that Chancellors serve only two terms in office, they simply couldn’t take any more.

But that was four years in the future. The present could certainly not wait.
Cressa pressed a button on his wristband, “Miss Hallowan, would you please contact the office of Senator Organa of Alderaan and inform her that I wish to meet her in private?”
“Most certainly, Your Excellency,” came the sweet voice of his secretary back.

He would have to face this Organa woman and make sure she did not derail the rebuilding of the Republic.


Iziz, Onderon

This could simply not be. Finally regaining some of his senses after the shock, Colonel Orvel Leiboll closed his eyes and looked at the screen again. The digits were still there. General Vaklu could not be doing this. Leiboll had been asked to delete several long logs from the frequency monitors to hide from Queen Talia some of the General’s communications with his allies within the system and it all checked out, regular comm codes and the sort. But suddenly, as he was just taking a short look at a random section before deleting it all, he had caught sight of something: a combination of digits seemingly as random as any static noise. But it had sent chills down Colonel Leiboll’s back.

It was all but impossible to accept. Leiboll had not seen such a string of numbers for five years. Ever since he came back to Onderon from the war. He had been on loan to Republic Intelligence during that war, taking part in a special unit classified far beyond top secret, so far beyond that even the Jedi and especially not the Onderon military had not been aware of its existence – by all accounts, he had just been a regular intelligence analyst. But he could remember only too well what he was now seeing on the computer screen: a Sith assassin code.

The encryption had been designed to look like ordinary static and was stretched out along quite an amount of time for maximum camouflage, which was not an especially quick form of communication, but for all intents and purposes undetectable. Leiboll and his fellow code breakers had often wondered who had designed it, since it was an encryption masterpiece. They had only become aware of it when a Sith transmitter had accidentally been left on after its Sith operator challenged a Jedi to a duel as the Republic was storming a Sith relay station in the desperate first days of Malak’s ruthless offensive. The Jedi was slain by the Sith, but the Republic troops managed to gun down the Sith immediately afterwards, taking in their possession the priceless transmitter and handing it over to Intelligence.

They had never been even close to replicating the signal and had only broken part of the encryption, but the intelligence unit had become intimately familiar with the encryption pattern and used it to map the extent of covert Sith operatives in Republic space. Little action had been taken in the fear of alerting the Sith about their knowledge of the code, which was also why the Jedi had never been informed, but the knowledge had however still given them several advantages when battling Sith infiltration, especially in the Core.

It was all coming back to him now. Not only the memories of the long hours spent stimcaf-doped at computer terminals analyzing the encryption, but all the other memories too. Memories of the Sith atrocities – the terrible devastation they unleashed upon both men and entire worlds – and of the nagging fear and feeling of helplessness. Images flashed before his eyes of burning cities, starships and planets and of total creeping darkness. Leiboll twitched. Was it all going to happen again, and this time here on Onderon? Did they hold sway over General Vaklu?

He shook his head, shrugging off some of his fear as his rational mind kicked in. The Star Forge was destroyed, the whole Lehon system was cordoned off, so there was no infinite source of war material available to the Sith anymore. But obviously they had not been destroyed as it had been hoped and foolishly believed. Maybe if the Republic had gotten its act together and stormed Korriban immediately after destroying the Star Forge, they could have eliminated all the remaining Sith, but they had relented. That was part of the reason Leiboll had been supporting General Vaklu’s secessionist ideas, since he had first-hand experience of the Republic’s inertia.

The Republic was stagnant and independence was in Leiboll’s opinion a valid way for Onderon, but to ally with the Sith to achieve independence? That was beyond insanity. Leiboll knew what the Sith had done to entire sectors of the galaxy, they were a threat to all life and promise breakers par excellence. General Vaklu had either lost his mind or become a slave of the Sith, none of which were delightful prospects. This changed everything.

Suddenly Leiboll realized he had been sitting still for close to an hour, so he shook his head, produced a datapad from his pocket and saved all the data traffic on it. He deleted the original file and the transfer log, regained his composure and rose from his chair. Now it was crucial that he did not reveal anything to anyone – anyone on Onderon at least. And as an intelligence officer he knew all about keeping secrets, he was even trained to withstand Force-sensitives’ probing. Now that the Sith were back absolutely no chances could be taken.

He walked out of his office and headed home, prepared to think long and hard about what to do.

[This message has been edited by Admiral Fyyar (edited 04-18-2011 @ 06:59 AM).]

The Dive, Telos

Everyone knew the cantina had a proper name, a string of numbers and possibly the word 'facility', but nobody cared. To the locals it was 'The Dive' a bog-standard, seedy drinking hole onboard what was probably the most boring space station in the galaxy. At the very least it was the most boring space station or whatever it was to the gloomy looking man sitting at his usual spot in the darkest booth in the place. The regulars knew it was best to ignore him and those few that dared speak to him only did so once.

Itsen Jasem was not the vile, moody man he pretended to be. To his mind it was simply easier to present a sullen, unlikeable facade so that he could enjoy his drink in peace after a long day's work. The fact that the Dive's gossips were giving him a reputation as someone to fear made him chuckle every time he heard them. Of course the fact that he didn't bother to put his weapons away after work helped.

He took a swig of his drink and surveyed what he could see of the cantina. As usual the twi'lek dancers were getting alot of attention, mainly from Exchange thugs, which was a good thing as chances are they would otherwise be starting fights and roughing up the clientele. In the far corner the swoops were the second biggest attraction as the gamblers who were too lazy to play pazack whooped and hollered at the latest moron to crash out. The bar was well tended and surprisingly clean for a cantina known as 'The Dive', but the Sullustan who owned the place seemed to genuinely care about it and made sure the bar was as close to spotless as one could reasonably hope.

Most of the regulars were here, Czerka officials, security officers, local tradesmen. Itsen grinned as he saw one of the major regulars, the local Lieutenant walk in with a couple of flunkies. The Lieutenant, Itsen always forgot the name, wasn't here to drink. The old geezer was married to his job and Itsen could respect that. Sure enough it wasn't long before the Lieutenant walked out again, dragging some Rodian behind him. The Ugnaught who walked in through the door the other way didn't even bat an eyelid, not that he ever did. Itsen thought the little guy might be one of the maintenance staff or some sort of engineer, every so often he walked in still walked in still wearing his toolbelt.

Tonight however Itsen would not be allowed his usual pleasure of watching the little guy grumble as he valiantly failed to grab a bartender's attention until he climbed up on a stool and shouted at one, as right behind the Ugnaught Itsen saw a man he really didn't want to see. Weller LeGrande really thought he lived up to his name. In actual fact he was just another names Czerka employee paided to fill in boxes and tell the next man down on the chain what to do. Itsen had the unfortunate job of being that next man down on the chain.

LeGrande walked straight over to Itsen, datapad in hand, and without even looking at him stated "Jasem, you're to report for duty at the station tomorrow, you know which one."

Itsen raised an eyebrow and put down his drink with an ominous clink. "Tomorrow is my day off." Venom dripped from every syllable. He really hated LeGrande.

"Not any more, you will report for duty." LeGrande was clearly trying to hide the fact that he was loving ordering Itsen around. LeGrande wasn't in charge of the mercenaries and bounty hunters Czerka kept hiring but he was, more often than not, the messenger that relayed the orders, to Itsen at least.

Itsen sighed and deigned to look up at LeGrande. "Tomorrow," he said, "is my day off."

"Stop being bullish Jasem. We pay you and you follow our orders. You will report for duty." Itsen was somewhat irked by LeGrande's use of 'we'. LeGrande definately did none of the paying and Itsen would be damned if he would let this tic order him about.

Itsen stood up and stepped out of the shadowy booth to look LeGrande straight in the eye. If this were one of his holovids the whole of the Dive would have gone perfectly silent and still. As it was just the immediate area and a few of the regulars at the bar stopped to gawk, but that definitely satisfied Itsen and intimidated LeGrande. Itsen was obvious a fan of a certain genre of holovid. He wore a wide brimmed hat and a dark brown leathery jacket. His shirt was open a little more than was strictly necessary and he had a very large sniper rifle slung across his back. He also quite openly wore a vibrosword on his hip and his hand dangled dangerously close to it.

"Tomorrow." Itsen said, "is my day off."

"Now look here," LeGrande said, "If you're trying to intimidate me with that big gun of yours it won't..."

Itsen cut him off. "Impressive isn't she?" He fondly stroked the butt of the rifle jutting out over his shoulder. "I call her Regret." Itsen stared LeGrande dead in the face as the silence in the cantina spread, the security people praying that this wouldn't end up where everyone else was hoping it would. "But I wouldn't wake her up for you, you don't have to worry about that."

LeGrande was holding his breath now and took a step backwards, the menace Itsen was sending his way permeating every thought in his brain. LeGrande however, like all Czerka lackeys didn't know when to quit. His voice now had an audible quaver as he said "Jasem, if you do not report tomorrow you will be fired!" with perhaps more bravado than he felt.

Itsen pulled his hand out of his pocket and stroke his chin, where several weeks of beard had been allowed to grow, as if thinking deeply, he knew full well LeGrande did not have anywhere near the authority to fire him but within the hour he would be crying to someone who did. This would require tact and subtle diplomacy. "Perhaps I was not clear. What I meant to say was," Itsen paused for a moment. "Tomorrow. Is my. Day. Off."

LeGrande finally got the message, however even as he backed away with his tail between his legs he couldn't resist a last ditch attempt to save face. "So, I'll see you at the shuttle usual time then. Tomorrow Jasem!" With that the pathetic creature scuttled from the Dive. Itsen glared after him for a second, took a quick glance around the cantina and then settled back into his booth as the bustle of the cantina slowly picked up again. Once safely back in the shadow Itsen smiled to himself and took a long sup of his drink, imagining what the gossips would make of that display.

The Dive - Citadel Station, Telos

"Bartender, I'll have a Juma Juice."

Nothing. Louder

"Bartender, get me a Juma Juice!"

Prevek scowled. The bartenders did it to torment him, he knew it. As he scrambled up the bar stool, he thought about bringing SD with him next time to order.

As he settled into his seat he noticed that the bartender was very intently polishing a glass. With his back turned, of course. He was a short and portly Aqualish. You'd think someone that short for his species would sympathize with me...

Prevek pulled his legs up under him, and then leaned forward as far as he could. He was so close to the Aqualish that he could dive into the bar next to him. He brought his head as close as he could to the bartender's ear.

"BARKEEP! I'LL HAVE A JUMA JUICE!" He shouted, and pulled back. The startled Aqualish dropped the glass, which shattered with a satisfying crash. Prevek expected him to spin around and toss him out on his ass, but instead, he calmly made the drink order. As he handed him the drink, Prevek could have sworn he heard a muttered "sorry."

Prevek grabbed his drink, and spun around on his stool, triumphant, only to notice what all the other customers were staring at. A Czerka flunkie was picking a fight with the big, bad, brooding merc, or whatever he was, seated at a booth in the corner. The guy always kept to himself, always projecting that air of "If you sit with me I'm gonna break your wrist," like he would snap and actually do it to the first unlucky soul to talk to him. Prevek didn't buy it, though. It was more likely that he was just trying to get by in life and had to put up with crap like that every day, so he just wanted peace and quiet at his bar of choice. Hey, that sounds like me.

The guy sent the Czerka punk scurrying away like a womp rat. The flunkie's remark on the way out was especially humiliating, especially when his voice cracked upwards. As everyone began to go back to their business, Prevek made up his mind and hopped off his bar stool. He was sick of having Droids and Exchange goons for conversation.

As he approached the booth the occupant began to eye him, almost suspiciously. Prevek shook his head. He had endured countless death glares over his hundred years. That stuff just didn't work on him anymore. He stopped out of reach of the booth, however, just in case there was a chance his arm was in danger of being broken.

"You know, I have worked for Czerka on three planets, put up with their crap for about a year or two of my life, and even stole some parts from them on Kashyyyk, but I never once had the chance to tell off one of their officers like you did. Mind if I join you? I'd like to hear what you did to make him squeak like that."

[This message has been edited by Viceroy Billy (edited 04-22-2011 @ 03:00 PM).]

Correlia

The small defense force of the planet Quian looked unimpressive. That might have been because it was. Several dozen fighters and an ancient Republic frigate. Despite this the Quian system had been free of the Pirates that had once raided it. In fact it had been free of them since a certain Harold Alarn had deposited a rumor about an abandoned Republic fleet that still held a working frigate and several fighters. This fleet just so happened to be stored in a nearby system that had been abandoned due to fear of Mandalorian attack. A few weeks after he left the Quian system, these mysterious ships appeared in orbit around the planet. A few weeks after that they were an active fighting force. But that wasn't important now. It wasn't good to dwell on the past. The present wasn't so pretty either.

The arrival of the Sith warship took no one by surprise. In fact the defense force had been expecting them. It was why they had assembled here. However, as the Sith ship launched fighters the disparity in forces became clear. The Sith fighters speared in toward the Quian Frigate. Defensive fire rose from its surface as its own fighters moved to protect it. They dueled above its surface, spitting laser fire and missiles at one another, as the Sith warship moved forward.

" It was about here wasn't it?", someone asked, but Harold didn't recognize who, his eyes still watching the holo-recording.

The light of ignited ion drives appeared from Quian's orbit. The Quian's had used this tactic before against more territorial pirates. Hundreds of proton torpedoes sped towards the Sith warship. It's own fighters swerved and began attacking them as the Quian frigate and fighters moved to intercept them. Torpedoes died by the dozens. As they came even closer too the flagship defensive fire began to pour from it. Of the over three hundred proton torpedoes that were launched at the Sith ship, only twelve impacted it's shields, doing little damage. The battle was over quickly after that. The Quian frigate and fighters charged toward the Sith warship, which had begun to fake and engine failure and weakening shields. Yet as they got into its range that deception ceased and wave after wave of turbo laser fire met them. Soon the defense force of the planet Quian existed no more.

" Log entry: Sith Strategy: Case Study Quian: Despite the rapidity and certainty of the Sith victory at Quian it seems that the Sith lack strong leadership. With the disappearance of Revan and the Death of Malak, no one Sith seems to be strong enough to command them all. Unfortunately with the Jedi nearly gone and the Republic dying a slow death, this lack of leadership cannot be capitalized on. Suggest nothing. Delete log entry," Harold finally said, finishing a daily ritual. Although he had chosen to leave Republic Intelligence it had left its mark on him. One of those marks was his need to analyze everything he came across. The Sith were fracturing. There was still a strong core. But it was that, a core, not a single Sith. And around that core were hungry sharks, looking for easy meals. Those meals included planets like Quian that could not defend themselves. And soon it might include planets still protected by the fleet of the Republic. That fleet while ragged was still strong and experienced. It's soldiers were strong, well armed, and well trained. Harold knew that. He had worked with them during the Mandalorian Wars. And he had left them behind when Revan came to power.

But... But I don't think I can do that anymore. I wanted to stay out of galactic business. Especially after so many men went over to the Sith. But... I remember Quian. I remember the joy the people there had when they knew that they no longer had to fear pirate raiders. That joy is gone. I've heard that Sith enjoy suffering. The suffering of an entire planet is apparently not enough for them. They want the whole galaxy to suffer. And there's no one there to stop them. Even if there were any Jedi left they wouldn't lift a finger. Its the Mandalorian Wars all over again. Only this time we don't have a Revan. And there isn't one coming. The Republic doesn't know how to fight a war without a leader, or without a fleet. I do. I do...

" Dan?", Harold said, calling for his second in command.

" Yes Harry?", Dan said. Harold saw the pain in his eyes. Dan's homeworld had been attacked by the Sith, and burned nearly to the ground. Then the Republic Admiral that liberated it decided that it would cost too much too land troops and bombarded it from orbit. Whatever was left of the planet died that day. Harold's Marauder's were filled with men like Dan. And a few like Harold. Men who were good at fighting, good at killing, good at being discrete, but wanted nothing too do with either side. Dan wouldn't be happy at first.

" I want you too find some lower level Sith that have split off from the main group and set up a snatch and grab on them," Harold stated.

" Taking a job from Republic Int?" Dan asked.

" Not exactly...", Harold said.

" Thought we was being neutral in this here war," Dan stated.

" War's practically over. The Republic lost. In a few years there probably wont be a Republic unless Cressa can get everything turned around. But he needs time for that. And the Sith aren't gonna give him time unless someone can distract them. And he's gonna be mighty thankful too the people who do that. Maybe thankful enough to fix the Republic if enough of us ask him too. Maybe not. But I figure we gotta try," Harold responded.

" Can't argue with you there boss. Ok, several captured Sith coming up. You want force users or normals?" Dan asked.

" Let's go with normals for now. I wanna make sure we're familiar with Sith doctrine and weapons before we take on a Dark Jedi. No one wants to tangle with Jedi and whatever their faults, Dark Jedi are nasty people in a firefight. Lightning and lightsabers produce lots of dead bodies," Harold explained.

" Amen," Dan responded and walked off, talking rapidly into his communicator. Harold sat back and watched as the next holo-report played on his console. He smiled grimly as this time the Sith took casualties. Having a Republic battleship jump in behind you does that. Having your own corvette ram that ship takes care of them problem nicely.

Everything is falling to pieces again. Let the games begin. I just hope that we aren't too late.

The Dive, Telos

This was not what Itsen had expected. He leaned forward slightly to get a clearer view of whoever it was that had decided that display was a good reason to think he'd be up for a chat. As he looked over the table he saw the Ugnaught from the bar. Itsen was a little surprised in all honesty, he'd always seen the little guy as a source of cheap amusement. To be fair to the guy he was probably much like Itsen, trying to earn a living out in the back end of the galaxy and only getting crap to put up with in return. Almost a kindred spirit.

"Sure, take a seat." Itsen gestured to the other side of the booth and took a swig of his drink. There were very few people in the dive who Itsen would ever consider talking to, most of them were the shallow, vapid barflies one expects to see in a place like this. The Ugnaught was one of the exceptions.

"How did I make him squawk you ask?" Itsen said as the Ugnaught settled into his seat. "Well, being armed helps, but I guess it really comes down to two simple facts. First of all I know he is just a whipping boy with no actual authority, so he can't fire me. Secondly the people who can fire me won't, or at least I sincerely doubt they will. They have plenty of hirelings, but surprisingly few are legal and they tend to hang on to those."

Itsen grinned and extended a hand across the table. "The name's Itsen, Itsen Jasem. I'm a hired gun, how about you?"

Coruscant, Senate Offices
Alessa Organa stepped into her office, where the independent protocol droid ZT-0 "Zeeto" was cheerfully shuffling through various data files.

"Good morning, Your Ladyship," Zeeto said. Alessa imagined that if he were Human he would be smiling perkily.

"Good morning, Zeeto," she replied. "What's in order for today?"

"You have two new petitions to look over," Zeeto said. "I sent in an order for vine-coffeine fifteen minutes ago and it still hasn't shown up. Oh, and the Chancellor has set up an appointment for tea at his office this afternoon. I hope I did not presume in agreeing to the meeting for you."

"No," Alessa said, stifling her annoyance. "Very well, let me see the petitions..."

Coruscant, In Transit to the Chancellor's Office
"Bye, Mommy, I love you!" Caden said through the hologram.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Alessa said, blowing a kiss at the hologram.

Zev set the boy down and the hologram zoomed on him. "So, you're going to meet the big bad dark-wolf," Zev said with an impudent grin. "I hope you spent some time in the Current before you went?"

"Be nice, Zev," Alessa said with a smile. "Yes, I did...but the Current took me other places. It was strange...when I immersed myself in the White Current I immediately fell into a very strong tide, and it drew me in...I found myself in an abandoned station of some kind. There were many dead people around. There was a kolto tank, with a woman in it. She was alive, and I felt a strong destiny about her. She seemed familiar, but every time I looked at her face I saw...a hole. Then the Current rushed onward and the vision vanished. Then my trance broke and I lost the thread."

"That's odd." Zev said. "I thought the Current usually took you where you wanted to go."

"The Current takes you wherever the Current flows," Alessa corrected.

"I'm about to put Caden down for a nap," Zev said, "then I'll do some research on the HoloNet, see if I can find anything like your vision. Good like with Cressa."

"Thanks," Alessa said.

Coruscant, the Chancellor's Office
Alessa arrived on time almost to the second, and she was escorted into the Supreme Chancellor's Office, where her rival awaited her.

"I hope you find the Current smooth today, Your Excellency," Alessa said with a bow.

Chancellor's Office, Coruscant

Supreme Chancellor Cressa adjusted his cravat and dusted off a few speckles on his suit coat. Both items were very typical pieces of Mid Rim clothing, cravats were a rarity in the Core and his coat was simpler and less loose-fitting than the ornamental robes perpetually in fashion among the Core elites. His clothing was one of the things that really cultivated his image as a Mid Rimmer, and while standard attire back home on Contruum it had allowed him to stand out from the crowd of politicians here on Coruscant from his first day as Senator. The Coruscant media had seized upon it every day, and made many pretty good satirical impressions of him, but anyone familiar with him knew he was anything but a simple bumpkin from the rim.

Having ensured his appearance was proper, he informed Miss Hallowan to let in Senator Organa.
A moment later the graceful little woman entered the room, Cressa studying her intensely in the few seconds it took for her to walk across the floor of his office. She was obviously a woman of remarkable willpower.

She bowed in a courtly manner and said, "I hope you find the Current smooth today, Your Excellency."
"I have not been out swimming this morning, so I would not know, but likewise to you, Senator." Cressa' deadpan response aside, he knew full well that Organa was involved with some Force cult, the nature of which he had people working on uncovering. From what he had gathered, they were a group of Force-users forsaking active usage of the Force for philosophical reasons. Strange indeed.

"Please, be seated, Senator Organa," he gestured at the large comfortable chairs in front of his wide and massive desk.
As she made herself comfortable, he now gestured at the tray on the desk, "and please, have some tea. It is Alderaanian rillo leaf tea, my best guess at your favorite. But some things about you are hard to gauge," he let the sentence trail off while pouring tea into a pair of cups, extending one of them to the Senator. Her expression was diplomatic and unrevealing.

He took a sip himself, savored the rich taste, and looked at Organa doing likewise. Then he clasped his hands together on the desk, "well, Senator, forgive me for being so straightforward, but I have a rather important question to ask you. You have been here for a few months now, more than enough time to make your opinions be heard about my administration. We have squared off about central policy issues a few times down in the Chamber, and I am impressed by your way with words as well as the relatively solid arguments you present, but still I fail to grasp something essential - why, Miss Organa, are you against me trying to make the Republic work again?"

His face formed in his trademark expression - an odd cross between a grandfatherly smile and a puzzled glance - as he awaited the young Senator's answer.

Coruscant, the Chancellor's Office

"I have not been out swimming this morning, so I would not know, but likewise to you, Senator."

Alessa arched her eyebrow microscopically. She wasn't certain how much the Chancellor knew about the Fallanassi--indeed, most knew very little--but she also knew that he understood the greeting better than he let on. Five seconds into the meeting and he was already bluffing. Very intriguing.

"Please, be seated, Senator Organa," he gestured at the large comfortable chairs in front of his wide and massive desk.
As she made herself comfortable, he now gestured at the tray on the desk, "and please, have some tea. It is Alderaanian rillo leaf tea, my best guess at your favorite. But some things about you are hard to gauge," he let the sentence trail off while pouring tea into a pair of cups, extending one of them to the Senator. Her expression was diplomatic and unrevealing.

Alessa accepted the tea with diplomatic tact. Yes, this was indeed her favorite as far as teas went, though she generally preferred caf or coffeine, but she could bluff as well as he and remained polite neutrality. That was an interesting comment to make, that last bit, Alessa thought. You will find perhaps in the future that those who immerse themselves in the Current can be difficult to perceive indeed. But she kept her thoughts to herself.

"well, Senator, forgive me for being so straightforward, but I have a rather important question to ask you. You have been here for a few months now, more than enough time to make your opinions be heard about my administration. We have squared off about central policy issues a few times down in the Chamber, and I am impressed by your way with words as well as the relatively solid arguments you present, but still I fail to grasp something essential - why, Miss Organa, are you against me trying to make the Republic work again?"

Alessa arched both eyebrows in an expression of theatrical surprise.

"Indeed, is that how you have interpreted my actions?" she asked rhetorically, choosing her words carefully. "I am certain you understand that I have nothing but the best interest of the Galaxy and those who dwell in it at heart. However, I was greatly unsettled to find the inefficiency and often blatant corruption that plagues the Senate--and, if I may be so bold, at times your administration as well. Take, for example, this Telos Restoration Project. The Project itself is noble and has my full support, but it has become so mired in...in politics, backroom deals, pocket-lining, bribery...How can one stand by and condone such nonsense? And why has Czerka been allowed to put their fingers in it? Czerka seems hardly to be trusted after their dealings with the Sith, and yet they've been given a large share in one of the Republic's most important post-war projects. Could not the Ithorians handle it better on their own? And this is just one example of the myriad troubles besetting the Republic in these days. With all due respect to your person and office, you may understand why I am mistrustful of your endeavours." She paused and then added significantly, "And their motives."

"The HK-50 protocol unit is a solidly built model capable of most tasks required of a protocol unit and has a frame so sturdy I am not sure protocol was its original purpose. Its market price undercuts many of the best-selling models of protocol droid, meaning it is a quite competitively priced unit. However, the unit has sold slowly since its debut, and this is probably due to its infuriating personality.
The HK-50 has a confrontational, violent and even narcissistic personality. It emphasises the quality of its own construction in comparison to its owner’s prized possessions at every opportunity it can find, and frequently is forced to rephrase its speech in order to avoid provoking hostility. In addition, its programmers implemented an annoying and unnecessary feature: the droid will precede all speech with the nature of what it about to say. For example, “Annoying Query: Can I terminate a hostility for you?”
As a result of this, I would not recommend purchasing an HK-50 unit as other models, despite higher prices, are far more pleasant to have around and are far less likely to lose you friends, cause you to be fired from your job or get you killed through mistranslation and violent implication. I will be returning my own unit at the first opportunity.”
– Review written for the Human Cyborg Relations holomagazine on the HK-50. Never submitted: instead, a far more favourable but more ‘aggressive’ review was featured.

Chancellor's Office, Coruscant

"Forgive me for my poor wording, Senator, of course I do not presume that you have anything but the most noble of intentions, but there is something I have to show you."

Cressa opened one of his large desk drawers, extended both hands down in it and grabbed a stack of flimsiplast prints about 30 centimeters tall, lifted it up and dumped it right on his desk.
Senator Organa studied it for a moment and then looked at Cressa with a puzzled expression.

"137 different forms, clearances and permits. That's how much paperwork that was required just for shipping animals from Onderon to the Telos restoration zones. Had I not begun my reform process, the number would be at least twice as high. The entire bill for the Telos Restoration Project in pure text form takes up just under a gigabyte of data," he paused for Organa to digest it, "this Republic is being choked. It's being choked by bureaucrats, special interests and especially corrupt Senators who are only out to line their own pockets and will actively work to obstruct anything that does not benefit them directly. We gave up on trying to control the galactic economy thousands of years ago and everyone has just about given up trying to control the Republic itself.
Before my election the post of Supreme Chancellor was practically without any power, there was nothing there could be done without cutting the Senate and the bureaucracy a slice, a big slice."

He exhaled deeply as he was reminded of the past four tiring years of constant battles in the Senate. A lesser man would surely have quit long ago.
"Every day I'm working to cut the red tape and ensure this Republic has some semblance of authority and efficiency in carrying out its decisions, every day I'm fighting hundreds of people who would hate to see that. I had to make compromises and a few shady deals to get what I wanted, but I have ensured that I am now the first Chancellor in generations with an actual capability to exert executive power, however small it might be. The Rim can now expect actual responses from the government within a year, supplies are running again, and the military is somewhat under control.
You have only been here for a short time, I would suggest you read up on the Senate records from my first term of office. Then you will see that in this gathering of corrupt hicks, I'm the closest thing to a decent fellow you'll find."

Coruscant, the Chancellor's Office
"Forgive me for saying I find that most discouraging," Alessa said, her eyes narrowed slightly. "Yet I would still be interested to hear what you have to say about Czerka. They blatantly sided with the Sith...and yet now they are in charge of our reconstruction projects. Why?"

Chancellor's Office, Coruscant

"Czerka, yes. As you might know, we have issued a warrant on Pollard Seario and will charge him for high treason should he ever come in Republic custody, but the Czerka branch operating on Telos has no ties to the branch that worked with the Sith, which was shut down and its assets appropriated by the Republic, in fact that was one of my first acts as Chancellor. Czerka was and is a very large company, and to the best of our knowledge its current leadership has nothing to do with the Sith. Czerka offered us a good deal regarding the Telos Restoration. We cannot simply discriminate companies because it would look good to the public, when the company in question has done nothing provably wrong."

Coruscant, the Chancellor's Office
Provably wrong, Alessa thought. Yes, that was all that mattered here. Provably wrong.

"But why not fund the Ithorians, who also offered their services?" Alessa insisted. "It is well known throughout the Galaxy that no one exceeds their talents in botany and other life sciences, and they must certainly care about the project more than anyone at Czerka does. But then," she added significantly, "the Ithorians don't keep Senators on their payroll, do they?"

Chancellor's Office, Coruscant

Cressa smiled bitterly, "finally, you understand. That is how things have been done around here for generations. A little grease only makes the wheels turn better, but the Republic has long since turned into a veritable greasepit. And if not for me, it would have been even worse. We have taken baby steps, Senator, baby steps in the right direction, but unfortunately there are flocks of people out there working day and night to thwart my progress. And you haven't been on the lazy side regarding that either," he fixed a accusing stare at her.

Coruscant, the Chancellor's Office

"Unfortunately, Chancellor, baby steps are not sufficient to solve the problem we're in," Alessa said. "Either in the Senate or the Galaxy. It's not just about rebuilding the Rim to get votes: it's about rebuilding the Rim to make it livable for the people who live there. And unfortunately we only have one chance at this. Clearly this 'time-honored' system we have does not work. Change, not slow change but effective change, is needed in a crisis like we have facing us. And the Sith are still out there. We don't have time to discuss this crisis in a committee while the whole Republic crumbles around us, while worlds die and people suffer. The Jedi are all but gone; who will the Republic turn to now? The Senate? You? It is clear to me reform is dearly needed, sweeping reform, swift reform. I promised the people of Alderaan when I came here that I would fight for a better Republic; I'm bitterly disappointed to find how filthy a cesspit the Senate has become, that reforms to sweep away the bad are so ill-received."

The Dive - Citadel Station, Telos

Prevek grasped the man's hand and gave it a firm shake. He returned the smile, pleasantly surprised by Itsen Jasem. No broken arm and a pleasant conversation. Good times.

"I have had plenty of jobs, my friend. More than I can count. I even tried my hand at the hired gun business once, but it didn't work out so well." Prevek indicated how tall he would be standing up. "People don't exactly take Ugnaughts seriously, and we don't have the kind of agility bounty hunters and mercs need for the job. Anyways, I'm currently working for myself as a jack-of-all-trades mechanic. Droids, starships, blasters... lightsabers even, you name it!"

Prevek realized he was starting to sound like a salesmen, and he hated salesmen with a passion. Except alcohol salesmen, of course. "But, I haven't been seeing much business lately. Times are tough, you know?"

[This message has been edited by Viceroy Billy (edited 04-22-2011 @ 03:01 PM).]

Chancellor's Office, Coruscant

As Cressa listened to Senator Organa, he began to realize that her blue-eyed idealism might serve him as well as anyone. Amidst all her naïve talk about sweeping government reform, Cressa could appear as the moderate and implement real, sweeping reforms.

He waited for her to finish, then said, "well, if you really wish for large-scale government reform, then I would like to see the sketch of a plan your proposed changes. That would be to the benefit of all, I believe. Thank you for your time, Senator Organa."

Coruscant, the Chancellor's Office

This proved more profitable than I thought, Alessa thought, rising. "Thank you, Chancellor," she said. "I'll begin preparing a bill that hopefully we can find mutually agreeable."

Chancellor's Office, Coruscant

Cressa watched the young Senator of Alderaan leave the room, and then exhaled deeply. She might be naïve and that was something to be exploited, she was not stupid, not even close. She was a determined and fiery woman, that he could see from her eyes, which burned with a passion rarely seen among Core Worlders. But he had recognized it immediately, and that was because he had seen it before.

His mind lapsed to twenty-one years before, when Anton Tarkin Cressa was a big name in the Mid Rim law business, acting as the head legal consultant of the Corporate Alliance, a business association of up and coming Mid Rim companies which had recently made the big break into the wider galactic market, competing directly with the Core firms for the first time. Cressa was instrumental in drawing up many of the agreements which for the first time ever placed a Mid Rim corporate entity in the galactic top twenty companies in any significant sector.

A successful man with a considerable fortune and not even yet in his forties, Cressa began looking for new challenges. Inspired by his good friend, longtime associate and member of the Corporate Alliance Directorate, Dr. Melloum, Cressa turned his attention to politics. And there he certainly found a challenge.
At a fundraising party arranged by major political figures of Contruum, Cressa met a charming lady who also happened to be the leader of the opposition. She was a burning idealist with fire in her eyes, completely in contrast to Cressa's bare bones realism, but despite the political disagreements, the two quickly moved on to other, more personal topics, and soon the two began seeing each other.

Little more than a year later, the two married and adopted both her surname Tarkin and his Cressa. Their marriage was more than solid enough to allow for Cressa himself to run for the post of Minister-President directly against the party of his wife. But it could not prevent her from being present at a refugee convoy that the Sith attacked and completely destroyed, just as the Sith descended on Contruum and demanded the full attention of Minister-President Cressa. It was only when the Sith retreated from his world that it really got through to Cressa that he had lost his wife.

The fire in her eyes had been extinguished. But it would live on in Cressa's memory. And, as Cressa had realized, in the eyes of Senator Organa. It had taken a face-to-face encounter to realize, but it gave him a fully new perspective.

But there were also others things to attend to. After this encounter with Senator Organa, Cressa knew she could become a massive obstacle in the Senate, so he needed to get his entire political machine going with the next great reform project. One he hoped could be spearheaded by a war hero and also a good friend of Cressa's.

"Miss Hallowan, would you please inform Senator Detahn that I wish to see him here as soon as possible?"
"Yes, Your Excellency."

There was still much to be done before the Republic could be safe again.

[This message has been edited by Admiral Fyyar (edited 07-13-2011 @ 05:24 PM).]

Coruscant

Fora received the Chancellor's summons just after he got back from his trip to the Illustrious. He had just set foot into his penthouse when his communications terminal began to chime. He had planned on heading over to the Executive Building to discuss the ramifications of Harbinger's capture with the Chancellor, but wanted some time to himself to contemplate the issue. Instead, he simply fed his Pylat Bird and got back into his personal airspeeder.

He piloted the craft himself, unlike the many various Senators that believed in organic or droid chauffers. Perhaps it was his time at the helm of Republic warships, but he felt more comfortable if he was at the controls. The past several years had seen the assassination of several Senators, and if they were coming after Fora... well, he would have only himself to blame. The hypothetical assassins would also have to get past the sidearm he kept aboard his airspeeder, a souvenir from his earliest command, and he practiced his aim regularly.

Upon arriving at the Executive Building, Fora hurried to the Chancellor's office. Anton Tarkin Cressa was a man that expected exacting promptness, and while this meeting was spur of the moment, and Fora knew Anton considered him a close friend, he always made sure to satisfy that particular pet peeve. He knew today it would be especially appreciated, as the Chancellor's meeting with Senator Organa should have ended shortly before. The two had often spoken of the young Senator before, and depending on how the meeting went, Cressa might be aggravated by his progress, or lack thereof, with the firebrand.

As he approached the secretary's desk, Fora removed his ceremonial miter. "Good evening, Miss Hallowan. How are you tonight?" He said, smiling. The Chancellor's secretary was always friendly to him, and quite the looker, so he was happy to see her whenever he visited Cressa. "I am well, Senator Detahn, but it's been a busy day." she said, returning his smile. "The Chancellor is ready for you."

Fora nodded. "Very good. If my visit brings you more paperwork tonight, I want to take this time to apologize preemptively." Hallowan winked at him. "I think I can handle it, Senator. You can go in now."

Fora smiled once more. "Thank you, Miss Hallowan." He said, and headed in. The sun was setting, and the Chancellor's high backed chair was facing the window. Fora had always admired the Chancellor's office, the panoramic window a feature Fora appreciated greatly. It was definately quite the view. Fora had no ambitions for the office, not even if the entire population of Neimoidia begged him to take it, but he would definately love to occupy the office without those responsibilities.

When Fora stopped at the foot of Cressa's desk, the chair swiveled around to face him. Cressa's expression was neutral, but softened when Fora spoke. "You wished to see me, Chancellor?"

[This message has been edited by Viceroy Billy (edited 04-27-2011 @ 01:13 AM).]

A Forest

Terrance was a good Sith officer. He did his duty, abused the locals, and made himself troublesome to the Republic. He was smarter than the other soldiers. They always left messy evidence behind. Terrance did not. Nothing could ever be traced back to him or the Sith. In fact, with a few carefully placed uniforms, it would be the Republic that would be blamed. Terrance knew he was going somewhere, even if he was a mere Lieutenant right now. But that was changing. He knew his star was rising. Someone somewhere was looking after him, and thank the dark side for that. But for now he had another routine patrol into routine territory.

He smiled as they pushed their way through the underbrush. Tomorrow they got too hit an actual town, and make it disappear. He always liked those missions. They had such... interesting rewards. He would have laughed aloud at the thought, but they needed to be quiet. The look on a man's face before he slaughtered his family in gruesome and unknown ways was one of Terrance's guilty pleasures. Something he enjoyed too much. He looked up as one of the troopers ahead stopped.

A barrage of stun fire collapsed his men one by one. Terrance and the others fired into the nearby forest, but they hit nothing. Their attackers were too swift, and too skilled. Soon all of the Sith were unconscious. Men in all black with military rifles crept out of the woods, carefully checking their surroundings before they began binding the men they had stunned.

" Take the commander. Leave the others."

Governor's House

Governor Richard smiled as he gazed out the window. The planet he governed for the Sith. While poor and in the middle of nowhere, governorship did have its perk. Like the total power he had over his citizens. If they didn't like it, they could answer to the legion of Sith troopers and private mercs under his command. He was like a god. And god's enjoyed view's of waterfalls. So his palace was built right next too one. Staffed by those loyal or useful too him it was more fortress than palace, and from it he governed with a durasteel fist.

The first blast through him too the ground. The second shattered his window. The third warped his door such that none of his guards could get too him. He looked up and was met with a blue bolt. His stunned body fell to the floor. Several men entered through his broken window, with an air car waiting outside. They dragged him into it and quickly left, speeding away as laser cannons sought them out.

Unknown Location

" Well we've made a half dozen small captures already, what now?"

" Dump them someplace Republic Intelligence can't miss, then plan the next ones."

Chancellor's Office, Coruscant

"I did, dear Fora. Please, sit down. Maybe the Alderaanian rillo leaf tea is still hot, even though Senator Organa did what she could to cool the room," Cressa checked the pot temp meter, "well, it's still hot, what a wonder."
Senator Detahn took place in the other chair than the one Senator Organa had taken, where he always sat. His glowing eyes focused on the tea pot and nodded to confirm he would like some of the tea.

"Now, don't put too much into me serving you leftovers from Senator Organa."
They both chuckled for a moment.
"She wasn't exactly in the diplomatic mood. Manners were perfect and she was courtly as always, of course, I think she really hates me. She was every bit as idealistic in here as she is in the Senate."
Detahn flicked his glowing eyes, "that doesn't bode well for a politician. But jokes aside, I fear she will only cause further trouble for us, and the Republic," he added.
"Which is yet another reason the time has come for big decisions. Great things are afoot right now. Now, you know I'm not into all that Jedi stuff, but things sure are moving about in the Galaxy. We must make our next move as quickly as possible, especially with the Jedi gone" Cressa leaned forward across the desk, "what did the cruiser captain from the Exile operation tell you? Was it really... the Sith that took her?"

Iziz, Onderon

Colonel Leiboll could not sleep. He could barely close his eyes for the sheer fear of what lurked in the dark. Beside him his wife was sleeping as peacefully as any time, making him twitch every time she turned or exhaled deeply. It had been the same for the last three days and it was driving him mad.

The Sith were definitely back, and they were definitely operating right here within the walls of Iziz. Leiboll had tried the best he could to hide his fear from his family, but even they had begun to notice he was acting a bit weird. And it tortured him that he could not tell them why. That would put them in more danger than he could cope with.

"Orv, you still awake?" came a dizzy grumble from beside him. His wife leaned over on his shoulder, "why won't you tell us?"
"Zo..." He just answered, a single tear forming in his eye, "I can't. I just can't," he regained his composure, "now go back to sleep, we've both got a lot to do tomorrow".
She put her arm around him, "I'm right here, sweetie. Never forget that."

An hour or two passed. Zo was deep in her sleep again, still wrapped around him.
No, this was simply too much! To hell with General Vaklu and his insane alliances, to hell with the revolt against Queen Talia and Onderon and everything else!
He rose from his bed and began dressing, his wife slowly waking up from the noise.

"Get dressed and start packing. We'll tell the children when they come home tonight."
"W-what are you talking about, dear?" She was completely disoriented.
"We're leaving this blasted rock. It's not safe for us any longer."
Now she began picking up what was going on and raised her voice a bit, "what?!"
"Shhhh," you'll wake up the kids," he said in a low voice.
She still looked angrily at him, "what the blazes have you gotten yourself into?"
Orvel just looked her into her green eyes, "Zo, you simply have to believe me on this one. We are all in danger. The entire planet is."
"From what, why?"
"It's General Vaklu, he's doing something horrible. That's all I can say before we get clear of this place."

They argued for several minutes, but in the end, Orvel convinced his wife to leave her family's homeworld for centuries. It hurt Orvel just as much as it did her.

[This message has been edited by Admiral Fyyar (edited 04-28-2011 @ 02:07 AM).]

Jenna's fist clenched as she stepped away from the terminal. The treatment logs were damning enough, but the medical officer's report removed any shadow of doubt. Everyone in the med bay had been poisoned. Everyone. She managed to survive... but the miners didn't. Were they weakened? Or was she stronger?

A chill ran up her spine, contrasting unpleasantly with the smoldering anger at the attempt on her life, as well as the senseless deaths of the miners. She would find who did this--

And do what? Bring them to justice, like a good little Jedi? Slice them down the middle? You're not a Jedi anymore, you're not one of Revan's soldiers. That time is over... that person is dead.

Falco forced herself to exhale, and padded across the corridor to the morgue. The corpse mentioned by the medical officer was there. She scanned the old woman's body; no weapons, no equipment. Robes, but she wasn't going to rob a corpse for clothing. Her eyes fell upon another body, this one with a sheet drawn over it. She made her way over, peeling back the sheet... and nearly wretched. It'd been a long time since she'd seen a body so horribly mutilated. The body was charred, the face almost charred off. There were autopsy scars, the body was unclothed. Next to the bed was a small tray--

--With a plasma torch. Perfect for cutting through stuck doors. She reached out, hefting the torch. Thumbing the activation stud, she smiled as the plasma head flared to luminescent life. Yep, this will work nicely.

TAG: Zaar-Zaar

Peragus II Mining Facility
96.4 hours since trigger of emergency lockdown

The miner screamed as the cutting laser slashed through his leg. He fell backwards, clutching at the cauterized stump where his limb had once been as the arachnid-like droid scuttled forward. It chattered in binary, an eerie contrast to its victim’s frenzied screams of pain and terror. Lifting a segmented leg, the tip spiked for climbing rocky surfaces, it ended the miner’s misery.

Nik’s heart leapt as the droid rotated its stubby sensor stalk towards him, and a small part of his mind noted with an odd sense of detachment that the miner’s blood had splashed across its photoreceptors. It chattered again and turned to bring both of its cutters to bear, but before they could fire Nik dove to the right, into the storage room. The automatic door cycled shut as the droid skittered forward on all four legs, but before Nik had risen to his feet he could see the lock begin to glow yellow. Frantically he glanced around, desperately searching for something he could use as a weapon. His eyes fell on an equipment locker, its door slightly ajar, and he rushed forward as the door’s center shifted color from yellow to red.

Tossing aside vacuum seals, pressure masks, and emergency rations Nik finally found what he was looking for; a plasma cutter. It wouldn’t do him much good beyond five meters, but it would do for now. He spun towards the door as the lock began to bubble and spark–

Nik cried out as he awoke, the nightmare vanishing in face of consciousness like shadows to a candle. He looked around in confusion for a moment before remembering where he was. Peragus II. Republic mining platform 11/C. Kiles, Nik, assistant foreman, Shift A. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady his rapidly beating heart, then raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. When his glove bumped against a transparent membrane in front of his face, he sighed in irritation. Right.

He slowly tucked his knees into his chest as he floated meters away from the surface of Peragus, encased in a bulky pressure suit. A handful of oxygen tanks were strung together behind him like a tail, all of them feeding his suit’s once-meager stores. A quick check of his head’s-up display told him that he’d managed to sleep for almost three hours this time. About as good as I’m going to get for now, he told himself as he reached for the line tethering him to the catwalk outside the facility’s administrative section. He was several meters below the massive viewport that curved along the front of Admin, allowing the station officers a clear view of docking ships…and allowing roaming droids a clear view of him, if he wasn’t careful. Just to reassure himself, Nik brushed a hand against the assortment of improvised weapons he’d gathered since the massacre: a handheld plasma cutter, a high-power bolt gun, and a serrated metal power-saw–Laser-saws were too heat-intensive for use on an asteroid as volatile as Peragus II.

As Nik pulled himself closer to the catwalk, his stomach began to rumble right on schedule. “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” he said to no one in particular. Slowly, to avoid spinning away to the end of his line, he tapped a control on his gauntlet. He heard a soft humming rise up from inside his boots, and with a sudden downward jerk they magnetized to the durasteel catwalk.

Now that he was in less danger of floating off, Nik unclipped his line and moved it over to the safety railing running along the “bottom” of the catwalk. Technically neither side was up nor down; magnetic boots allowed miners to traverse both just as easily. However, since the artificial gravity for most of the station’s habitable sections were oriented in the same direction as Admin it was common to refer to these sections as “up” and the rarely-used storage prefabs bolted to the lower surface of the rock as “down”. The prefabs were old and in need of maintenance, but they had been a nice hidey-hole for the first couple of days until a group of Mark Twos had almost stumbled across him during a meal of e-rations. Since then Nik had decided to take a much more…cautious approach in finding ways of hiding from the droids.

He snorted. Funny how sleeping in a vacuum rates as cautious now.

Nik clomped along the catwalk, trailing his air canisters behind him. His suit told him that he was down to ten hours total. Plenty of room for error. He hadn’t expected to sleep for very long–the fact that he’d been able to sleep at all was a miracle, with everything that had happened in the past few days–but before falling unconscious he’d set an alarm to go off in his suit when he had reached two hours’ reserve air. Gotta raid the prefabs for more canisters after I eat, he reminded himself. The droids–or whoever had reprogrammed them–had been smart enough to slash any pressure suits they found, but Nik had managed to find one in deep storage by accident. It smelled old and musty, but it worked; right now, that was the most important thing in the universe.

After several moments of moving at a crawl, Nik finally reached the airlock door leading to the prefab sections. He slapped the control for the outer door and stepped inside as soon as it cycled. When the outer door slid shut, a small yellow light began blinking on the ceiling. There was an increasingly-audible hiss as atmosphere was pumped into the airlock, and with a light clang Nik’s oxygen tail clattered to the floor. He cursed; in his food and sleep-deprived brain had completely forgotten the noise the tail would make. He unclipped it as the flashing light turned green, signifying that the chamber was at one standard atmosphere, and reached for the plasma cutter at his waist. In a few quick motions he removed his helmet and gloves, shoving the gauntlets into the helmet and stuffing the whole assortment behind a storage locker. One hand came up with the plasma cutter, and the other slapped the door control as the former whined to life.

“Dinner time,” he said softly as the outer doors opened. Eyes and ears straining to hear any telltale clicking noises, Nik entered the dimly-lit prefab corridors.

* * *

It took him almost an hour, but he finally managed to find a crate of e-rations that he hadn’t raided yet. A few minutes after that, with his stomach silent and his suit weighed down by a few kilo of MREs and air canisters, Nik made his way back to the airlock. Time for my favorite part of the day, he thought sarcastically. For the last few days he’d been spamming the Peragus asteroid belt with distress signals using a short-range antenna he’d found in prefab. The odds of it reaching further than a few kilometers with all of the metal-filled rocks floating around were slim at best, but it was the only thing Nik could think to occupy his time with that would contribute to his rescue.

As he reattached his newly-filled oxygen tail and sealed his suit, Nik wondered briefly if anyone would come. Peragus was a fair ways off the beaten paths of the galaxy; the likelihood of anyone wandering around near the belt was just as slim as the odds of his signals being heard.

He shook his head angrily as the airlock vented. Shut up. Admin sent a distress call when the droids went crazy, so the Republic has to have sent a ship by now. A cruiser could push Point 3 in a hurry, and assuming the signal had reached the nearest Republic outpost help could be perhaps a day away. Stay alive.

Even as Nik stepped out of the airlock, however, a small voice in the back of his head whispered to him. You aren’t being rescued. You’ll die out here, either cold and alone in the black of space or in white-hot agony as the droids rip you apart–

Nik stopped suddenly. He felt something tugging at him, some sort of urge to glance “down” at the Admin viewport. He did so, wondering idly why, and saw nothing. Still the feeling persisted, and after a moment Nik began to suspect that someone was watching. If one of the droids has seen me, I’m borked.

Nik unclipped his tether from the safety railing and gingerly dropped to one knee. Reaching around the edge of the catwalk, he clipped his line to the railing on the other side before shutting off his magboots and pulling himself to his stomach. Taking care not to snap his suit on any of the catwalk’s rivets, he rolled around the edge until he was lying on his back on the “up” catwalk. The Admin viewport was right above him and to the right, so instead of standing and presenting himself for all inside to see he slowly lifted his helmet, craning his neck to look inside.

He gaped slightly.

Whatever he’d been expecting to see, that certainly hadn’t been it. That’s not possible.

After a moment, he rolled over and pushed himself up onto his feet, reactivating his magboots as he did so. He plodded along the catwalk towards the airlock to Admin as fast as he could in the cumbersome suit, hoping, praying that his anxious mind wasn’t jerking him around with hallucinations.

I figure that Nik will have seen Jenna (And maybe Atton) working at the admin console, either with smoking holes in all of the mining droids or with all of them powered down. He'll come in through one of the docking airlocks.

Chancellor's Office

"I'm afraid it was, Chancellor." Fora sighed. "The Harbinger has disappeared without a trace, and we aren't even sure if the Exile is still alive. I fought alongside that "Jedi stuff" during the Mandalorian Wars for years, and I know what they can do. However, there is a very real possibility that the Exile and the crew have been murdered by these Sith assassins that have eluded us so far."

Fora took a sip from his tea. "It's quite good, as always, Anton." He said, motioning to the cup. "Unfortunately, there is another piece of bad news. The ship sent to find the Harbinger was ambushed by three Sith vessels in our own space. It worries me greatly. Captain Dofine, the commanding officer, is one of the finest commanders in the fleet, and he only just managed to escape. If the Sith can prey on one of our own warships on a rescue mission, who's to say what will happen when they ambush a civilain convoy or a Republic vessel with a less experienced crew? The Jedi are gone, whether or not people saw them as angels, or guardians of the Republic, or hokey warriors in bathrobes, it doesn't matter. The Republic, as vast as it is, is alone against an empire of shadows that has eliminated our most potent defense. It is a threat we cannot turn our backs to any longer. Perhaps you and I know this, my friend, but others don't. Our military forces have stagnated, becoming mere peacekeepers with aging equipment. Our Senators bicker amongst themselves, some of them naive enough to embrace pacifism and oppose you and I with charges of "corruption" in a time of mortal peril..."

Fora paused, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, that was starting to sound like a rant... I guess this situation is bothering me more than I realized. You know we need to do something about this, Anton, better than anyone. However, I think the time has come to change our policies."

Darth Korris' Personal Chamber - Wayland

Korris smiled as he removed the holocron from the concealed slot he kept it in. It was his most prized possession, comparable to the lightsaber he forged after dedicating himself to the Sith. He had used new knowledge gleaned from the holocron to aid in the construction, so, in a way, the lightsaber hanging at his belt was just as priceless.

He set the holcron onto the floor of his personal chamber, and sat infront of it. The polished stone beneath him was cold and hard, and was the only distinctive feature of the chamber. He had a lavish bedroom, a comfortable meditation chamber, a personal dining room, among other spaces in the palace. His personal sanctuary needed only a light, a tapestry taken from Korriban to conceal the holocron, and the cold, hard floor. The simplicity was calming to both body and mind.

Korris took a deep breath and opened the holocron. Immediately, a tingling sensation began to wash over him. It was very familiar, comforting, and it had felt that way since the first time he had opened the relic. It was a very peculiar device that defied conventional study. Korris knew that it was different from other holocrons that had been discovered and accessed. He know only from reports of others, however, as he had no desire to study any other.

Taking another deep breath, he allowed his mind to wander. What he felt now was like the ability of Force Sight, but everything was so much more... luminous? It was hard to put the feeling into words, and Korris never tried. His presence began to voyage through the "currents of the force," as he called them, seeking out minds, sizing them up.

Almost immediately his mind was drawn to the presence of Nihilus, the Hungerer. The wound in the force he created felt like a black hole, and his all consuming desires echoed loudly in Korris. He broke away from the vile pull and gravitated towards a blood red anchor. Sion, also powerful, but more grounded. Korris smirked. If Sion's supposed immortality was less potent, he might have made a proper ally, but that ship had sailed.

Korris began to seek out lesser minds. There, a lower Sith in distress from something. Capture? Death? How unpleasant. There, a Jedi in hiding, a Jedi running, a Jedi Master studying. They felt so insignificant to him. Lesser still were those unaware of the latent force abilities they possessed. Korris sensed two of those. One hiding from his powers, the other totally unaware.

As his thoughts drifted from them, Korris encountered turbulance close by. A wound in the force, like Nihilus, but this one felt like... a whirlpool? The currents ran towards the wound freely, very different from the massive suction and lashing out that drew one towards Nihilus. Korris focused on the source.

"Yes." He said, under his breath.

The one. The Exile. Jenna Falco. Alive. Korris could feel his excitement radiating out from him like electricity. Sion's hamfisted ploy failed! Excellent. It felt as if he could reach out and touch her, but then... nothing.

Unfortunately, his ability could not locate the minds he sensed. He could only tell that she was distant. Curiously, he was beginning to feel the two weak, untrained minds once again. Were they attracted to her as well? Growing closer?

Korris' eyes snapped open. He closed the lid of the holocron, and carefully replaced it in the wall slot behind the tapestry. He exited his chamber, sealed it, and activated his comm unit.

"General Remek, prepare the flagship for my arrival. I want you and Dorfo aboard immediately. We are going for a trip."

There was a pause. No doubt Remek was puzzled by the change of plans. "Of course, my Lord, we will be ready for you. May I inquire as to our destination?"

Korris laughed. "I have no idea, General. I will see you soon."

[This message has been edited by Viceroy Billy (edited 04-28-2011 @ 04:08 AM).]