Crossroads

[Dasquian Belargic]

There were few places in the galaxy that had escaped the withering touch of the Empire. The vast majority of the hub planets were, if not occupied by Imperials, indirectly controlled by them. Fortunately, some systems had yet to fall under their iron rule. The Japreal cluster was among these 'free' zones. Though the Alliance had cited this as a primary reason for stationing intelligence agents on the planets, there were many other factors at play. Onderon had a culture steeped in history, and not all of it good. It's royal line was reputed to be descended from the Sith Freedon Nadd. Particularly in the times of the Old Republic, Onderon had spent much time embroiled in civil war, often manipulated by outside forces. Such conflict had not occurred for some time now, but there was always the possibility...

Sat in the cockpit of the Doppleganger, Dasquian Belargic reviewed the planet profile the Republic provided agents with. It noted two points of interests – the capital city of Iziz and the moon of Dxun. It was to the later which he and his single passanger, a young by named Wyl, were headed. Dxun was largely ignored by the royalty in Iziz. It was seen as something of a stain on the planets history. Once a base site for the Mandalorian war effort, it still bore the marks of a troubled past. Abandoned bunkers and camp-sites peppered the forest. Scavengers had stripped away anything of worth, leaving behind only the shells of the Mandalorian settlement. It was the perfect place for the Alliance to set up a temporary post.

In truth they were going into the planet blind. Dasquian had no information on who was stationed at the outpost. He only knew of it by its reputation, within the Intelligence bureau, as an excellent hideaway for those on the run. As a precaution, he'd armed the Dopplegangers shields and cloaking device so that the vessel could descend into the jungle largely unnoticed. The navi-computer was targeted on a fairly small clearing surrounded by foliage, which would provide more than ample cover and shelter. According to the charts, the Alliance post was a twenty minute walk from their landing site. While the ship lowered itself with a hiss towards the ground, Dasquian headed back into the ship proper.

He had left young Wyl Staedtler in one of the sleeping quarters, hoping that he would be able to get some rest before they arrived. It was a hectic time for the boy and Dasquian worried that he might succumb to exhaustion if he wasn't careful.

“Time to wake up, Wyl,” he called through the door, giving a light rap on the metal as he did so.

“We're here.”

[Wyl Staedtler]

They'd left Coruscant forever ago, years maybe. It seemed that way, at least. When he was little, a very long time ago, he had run with Dasquian and stolen away aboard the Doppelganger because... well, it didn't really matter why they'd had to, now.

Wyl rolled over on the bed, burrowing deeper beneath the wool blankets despite the stuffy heat which enveloped him. He'd been laying down for a long time too, squeezing his eyes shut in a brave attempt to sleep. For a time that had been all he did; sleep, sleep, sleep like he hadn't ever seen a bed his entire life, like he was saving up for a drought, an exodus. Which, as he pressed his back up against a firm wall, hadn't been all that far off. When he did manage to sleep now it was fitfully, plauged with nightmares that dissapeared from memory as soon as he woke up, breathing heavily to stare wide-eyed at the quarters around him.

Dasquian was helpful in this regard; he didn't pry. When Wyl gathered up enough courage to venture out the man would inform him of their progress, perhaps quietly explain some component of the ship or show him a starchart and how to read it. The boy was grateful for such distractions. He didn't want to talk about back then. It made the grief that curled against the curl of his belly ache.

"Time to wake up, Wyl. We're here."

Dasquians familiar voice was muffled by the blankets, and Wyl went very still so he could hear. With a sigh the child pulled the covers off his face and sat up, blinking owlishly at the closed door. He fisted his eyes roughly and then reached over the edge of the bed and grabbed his discarded sleep trousers, pulling them on quickly. The floor was cold against the bared soles of his feet but it was a welcome cool after the sticky humidy from the makeshift tent.

Tugging a shirt on (and in the process making his hair stick up even more), Wyl padded over and hit the door panel, blinking wearily as it whooshed open. Dasquian was still there, and Wyl offered him a yawn and a small shrug. "Hi." He whispered, fussing with the edge of his shirt. He pushed by the man and out into the cockpit, where he clambered onto the co-pilot seat in order to look out the viewport. After a few moments Wyl's face furrowed. "Different from what I thought." He glanced over his shoulder and raised his voice to ask, "This is where your friend is?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Not too far from here,” Dasquian replied, with a nod.

In spite of all of the travelling that he had done throughout his life, this was the first time that Dasquian had visited Dxun. It had a reputation as a fairly inhospitable place to live. The fact that the Mandalorians had chosen it as their base of operations spoke much about the planets wild nature. Many dangerous beasts were said to prowl in the undergrowth. In the absence of a sustained human population, their numbers had grown exponentially to the point where it would have been difficult to go about culling the species to a safe number – if there was such a thing.

“Why don't you go and get ready while I get some things together.”

There wasn't much they needed to take with them. Wyl had very little in the way of luggage and Dasquian didn't see any need to fully equip themselves – after all, their contact was only a short distance away and he expected that they would have supplies of their own. Just in case, however, he pushed a couple of medical packs into the bottom of a rucksack. As a precautionary measure, Dasquian fastened a blaster holster into place over his shoulder, covering it up with his flight jacket. While he waited for Wyl he sat in the ships living area, looking at an unfinished game of holochess that he'd been playing with his partner Grace.

ahem.

He looked up at the sound of Wyl clearing his throat and nodded. Pulling on the backpack, he lead the way out to the ships exit ramp. As it began to open, warmth washed across their faces. The climate was near tropical and the clean air was a welcome change from the smog of Coruscant. Dasquian ducked out into the open, looking briefly up into the sky where the sun sat high overhead. Already he could hear the far off sounds of chirping and twittering. The jungle was alive. Even though there was no canopy over head, and the light flooded between tree fronds and branches, illuminating most everything, there was still something foreboding about entering the jungle proper.

“This is the way.”

Stepping forwards, they took their first steps into the Dxun jungle...

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wide blue eyes tried to look every way at once as they trudged into the outer edges of the dense undergrowth. At a sudden scattered burst of noise from a treetop, Wyl startled and drew closer to Dasquian's side. The gentle molding smell, intermingled with the sweet scent of the clammy air, tickled his nose and threatened to make him sneeze. For a city boy, this was staggering.

As they hiked onward through the thickening foliage, some of his intimidation began to dissapear, replaced with a curious awe. There was no time to dawdle but even without slowing there were countless oddities in plain view; strange orange flowers, trees--trees, as many here as there had been people on Coruscant!--and even, sitting on a wide frond of bush, a tiny brown lizard. Falling back a few paces, Wyl cautiously reached his hand out towards the creature; it didn't start and dart away, like he'd expected, but sat patiently waiting the limb. He was just about to pluck it off the waxy leaf when the reptile hissed and opened it's tiny jaw to reveal a row of respectably large (and sharp) teeth. Wyl barked in surprise and ran forward, bumping against Dasquians legs. He looked up sheepishly through sweat-plastered hair in apology. Just in case, he decided to keep his hands as close to his pockets as he could.

"S'hard to breath here." The boy panted as they pushed a heavy vine which obstucted their way. He rubbed his chest and took a slow breath, testing to see if it would somehow ease the thickness of the muggy air; it didn't. "Like swimming, sort of." With the back of his hand Wyl swiped at his damp forhead. "Is it far from here?" He didn't mind being in the tangled primeval forest, but there was an odd bearing of unwelcomness surrounding them which very probably wouldn't dissapear with the daylight; Wyl tried not to think about having to pitch camp where any number of lizards might be nefariously waiting.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Just a short walk,” Dasquian assured Wyl.

Though the distance they had to cross was relatively short, the density of the jungle lengthened their journey significantly. It was rare that a clear patch of ground was visible and as they walked the pair had to pay close attention to the path in front of them. Vines hung down from above and creeps crawled over the path below; branches criss-crossed and roots bulged. Every step needed to be carefully placed. It would have been difficult to conceal their approach, with snapping twigs and the occasional ouch! betraying their presence.

“I'm surprised we haven't seen any wildlife yet...”

It was as though Dasquian was hexed then and there by the power of the jinx. It was only a matter of time before some creature reared its hungry head. Moving through a less overgrown patch, Dasquian heard another crack and barely even acknowledged the noise, dismissing it as the sound of Wyl following him. When he looked up ahead, however, he saw the leaves of the bush they would have to pass by trembling faintly. At first he thought that perhaps it was just the wind and began to turn away, when something moved out the corner of his eye.

He barely had time to look when a Boma burst free of the bush. It let out an angry bellow and began testing the earth beneath its feet, as if preparing to charge. Dasquian moved quickly backwards, one arm shielding Wyl. His free hand went for his blaster as the creature lurched forwards. The pistol spun into his hand and trained on the Boma's forehead yet before he could even pull the trigger an energy bolt struck the beast on its flank. It was knocked over by the impact of the shot and rolled out of sight. Dasquian raised a brow, looking up and away from the fallen creature to see a familiar face smirking at him.

“...Grace?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The smirk did not quite leave her face just yet. It amused her that she was able to take her partner by surprise. A feat not easily done since he was a cagey sort. "Dasquian ..."

Intel had dispatched Grace to Dxun since the incident on Coruscant. The operation to extract several potential sympathizers went terribly wrong. The Empire had found out about the operation through clumsy means. In the end it solidified one simple truth ... Never trust a Civilian. Regardless of the finger pointing game, it was too hot for the spy to do anything covert within the Core worlds so it was best to lay low and focus on protecting Alliance personal when needed. Dxun was the perfect out of the way moon to establish herself as a contact for aide and protection.

Grace lowered her rifle. The Boma had long since stopped breathing, and she regarded Dasquian now. It had been many months since the two of them had worked together. They were practically joined at the hip for the longest of times but Rebel Intel had needed to separate them. Now, they were thrusted back together by chance.

"We can talk along the way," she motioned for the two of them to start moving again with a small inclination of her head. "Not that I'm not happy to see you again, Dasq, but though the Boma hunt individually, that does not mean other nasty surprises are abound."

She hefted the rifle, ready to be fired immediately if needed, and followed behind Wyl, who was wide-eyed with questions. Grace wanted to keep the boy between the two of them for better protection.

With a soothing voice, she hoped to settle some of the boy's fears, "We're almost at the bunker. I was able to re-route power to some of the defenses that were re-installed."

[Wyl Staedtler]

Leaving his heart vaguely between a squat-trunked bush and a dull feathered... thing (which didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the sudden appearance of his wayward organ), Wyl craned to look over his shoulder as they passed the Boma's corpse. The panicked frenzy of the previous moments had slunk into a heavy, pressing silence as if the surrounding foliage and it's hidden residents had bowed in respect for their fallen comrade. Wyl supressed a frost-cool shudder at the familiar blankness of the dead creature's once fierce eyes, and quickly turned his attention back to the path ahead.

A soft sigh, more whisper than voice, escaped his lips at the sudden glimpse of the broad mossy line that cut across the trail, a timber casualty of the heady rot that bloomed in the older trees. It was all well and good if one were tall, to hop over quick as you like and no questions asked. Dasquian and this Grace probably hardly noticed the beligerant branch that blocked the way. It was an entirely different matter for Wyl, whose hushed complaint was quickly drowned out by a grunt as he hoisted himself onto the wide limb. The boy took a moment to glance around from this great new height and then, with a generous bend of the knees, jumped down to the other side.

Stilling for a precious second to re-adjust his backpack, Wyl covertly (as covertly as one could at seven) pretended to scratch an itch on his shoulder blade so as to thieve a look at their savior. Grace was all fluid confidence, weapon resting comfortably on her like a loyal companion. She seemed perfectly at ease in this strange environment. Curious, the boy returned his sharp blue wash to the back of Dasquian's head. In a flash of almost-recognition, Wyl wondered idly if perhaps the two were married. They knew each other, obviously, and the way they'd automatically ushered him between them, ease in the unconferred actions that bespoke a practiced familiarity, reminded him of his friend Omar's parents. They were always doing things at the same time, like they'd read each other's minds.

He decided to stay quiet for the moment, the fear of attracting other rampaging beasts not the least of his reasons for doing so. Just to be safe, he scuttled closer to Dasquian, resisting the urge to grab hold of the tail of the man's shirt or, far worse and infinetly more babyish, his hand. After all, just because Grace knew Dasquian (and was probably his wife even though they hadn't kissed or anything as disgusting) didn't mean he could trust her. Didn't mean that at all.

[Dasquian Belargic]

The rest of the walk was spent in silence, with Dasquian occasionally glancing to either Grace or Wyl, the latter of whom appeared to be giving the former a rather suspicious stare. It was no wonder that the boy was distrusting. Of course, he had nothing to fear from Grace and Dasquian was sure that he would come to see that in time. His mind began to wander, as he wondered what had occupied Grace in their time apart, but his thoughts were disturbed by their swift arrival at the bunker.

It had the protection of an overhung cliff, whose base wall the outpost was set into. The clearing itself was small, yet by the looks of the surrounding foliage there had been some attempt to extend it, to at least provide a better view into the jungle proper. It was a well built camp; Dasquian would have expected no less from the followers of Mandalore. As they approached the entrance, he noted some of the defences that Grace had spoke of – sensors and the like, left by the previous occupants and refurbished by the Alliance.

“Here we are,” Grace held the door open as they ducked inside. There was a kind of damp mossy smell inside. Save for their footsteps, all was quiet. For a moment, Dasquian thought them alone – but the sudden emergence of another from the bunker proper disproved this.

“Hullo,” it said. It was a small reptilian yet humanoid being, once of the Gorm species. While many Imperials hunted Gorm for sport, the Gorm themselves were actually proficient hunters. The Alliance often stationed a handful of them with agents in remote systems, where self-sufficiency was necessary. Their presence allowed the agents to get on with any necessary work, leaving the upkeep of the camp to the Gorm. Dasquian nodded both in greeting and respect to the short creature. There were no time for introductions, however – Grace headed straight on into the next room, no doubt expecting the others to follow.

“Grace, this is Wyl Staedtler,” he began to explain, as Grace laid her rifle down on the table that was at the centre of the room.

“I know,” Grace looked up with a knowing smirk. There was a datapad on the table, beside the rifle, and she gave it a tap. Of course, the Alliance had briefed her.

“Wyl, this is Grace Van-Derveld. She works with the Alliance too. She and I have been partners for many years now,” he continued, looking down into the boys eyes, as if to say that he could trust her. “She's going to be looking after you from here onwards, making sure that you're safe.”

At that moment, Grace interjected.

“We may have a problem.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Dasquian's face grew pensive. He didn't like the surprise but was prepared for it. Unfortunately, most missions never went smoothly and protecting Wyl wasn't going to be an exception. Wyl gave Grace a most dubious look but seemed to like the news better. The boy probably hoped that the problem would keep him within arm's reach of Dasquian. She would have to hear from his own lips how he found and took care of Wyl, not to mention what he had been up to during the long months since their separation. Grace wasn't one to form attachments considering her line of work, but the unspoken familiarity while they two of them worked was deeply missed.

She slid the datapad across the table to Dasquian, "Alliance has received word of a Jedi stranded on Onderon. From what our boys in Intel could piece together, her name is Daria Nytherciria. She's been stranded on the planet because her ship's in need of repair."

A picture of the Jedi could be called up. It was a surveillance photo of Daria wandering through the Iziz marketplace. A lot of hustle and bustle surrounded the Jedi, but the spy that took the picture did an excellent job of getting a good close up of her face.

"Problem is the Empire knows there is a Jedi here as well, and they will be coming to get her." Grace sighed as she hefted a large vacuumed seal crate onto the table. The cover hissed opened while it pushed back mechanically. Only two days ago, her and A'grafe, the Gorm, were eating rations and drinking warm water. Since she was able to repair the storage crates, they were able to eat palatable meals. "They do not know whom they are looking for, however. This is our only advantage."

Three bottles of cool water were produced, and Grace handed one to Dasquian and Wyl, who still carried suspicion. She left it next to him on the table. "The Alliance wants us to extract her and lead her to safety."

Her brows tightened as she sat down, eying Wyl. "But for a price."

She was briefed that the child was Force Sensitive. The original plan was to have Grace bring the boy to Bellassa and lay low until a suitable opportunity presented itself to find a Jedi to care for Wyl. One just happened to land in their lap and the Alliance wasn't sure when another Jedi could be found. Damnable Inquisitors were getting frisky lately and many Jedi dug themselves in hiding further, while new names of Jedi surfaced and disappeared monthly. They had to jump on this right away.

"Our Superiors wish to offer Ms. Nytherciria safe passage away from Onderon, if she is willing to take care of Wyl and his training." Grace popped open the water container and took a healthy drink. Hearing that he was going to be giving to another stranger was probably not going to sit right with Wyl.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl stared dubiously at Dasquian as he introduced Grace (and they were partners, not married--although, the boy reckoned, it probably amounted to the same thing). A protest rose in his chest and he was about to give it voice when Grace beat him to it. Hope piqueing, Wyl watched the Rebel woman with gaurded interest as she presented the perhaps-problem. He looked curiously at the only slightly fuzzy picture of the Jedi as Grace dispensed welcome drinks. Wyl hesitated for a moment before cautiously snagging his bottle from the tabletop.

His hands were glad for the distraction of the water, for without it he probably would have twisted his fingers to knots at the next words. As it was, Wyl barely managed to choke back a gulp of reviving drink before launching into a coughing fit that nearly resulted in a concussion when he smacked into the table. Rubbing his forehead gingerly the boy set his water down and frowned deeply. He'd known all along that he was going to eventually rendezvous with the Jedi, his moth--Wyl bit his lip at that thought and quickly redirected the train; he'd been told all that already, at any rate, but he hadn't thought it would be like this, being passed about like a lost package. He wasn't sure he liked it, really.

"How come," He started quietly, "How come you can't just help her w'thout makin' her take me?" Wyl stuck his balled fists into his pockets and looked up at Dasquian, who had had all the answers as long as the boy had known him. "We could just hide here, in this fort." He glanced at Grace before adding generously, "You can stay too." She was a good shot with that rifle and that would probably come in handy, Wyl reasoned.

[Dasquian Belargic]

It was a tricky situation.

On the one hand, the number of Jedi known to the Alliance had dropped significantly in recent times. Many simply ceased their contact with the Rebels, preferring instead to slip into obscurity. Others were not so fortunate. Jedi Knight Zabian Bal-Wandler, once a key ally, had been captured by the Inquisitors. His captured highlighted the fragile nature of the tie between the Jedi and the Alliance. Both parties risked much by becoming involved with one another, but it was a risk that everyone felt entirely necessary. The Alliance could not facilitate the Jedi, in so far as bringing them together, their numbers would dwindle and perhaps eventually their whole way of life would die out.

On the other hand, Dasquian had a duty to protect Wyl. How were they to know that this Jedi would be able to take care of the boy, or for that matter whether she would want to? The dossier on Daria was extremely limited, providing them with only a photograph and a name. If Bal-Wandler had still been with them, he would have been the perfect candidate to take Wyl. The Alliance trusted him, and at a more base level Dasquian knew him to be a good and caring man, who would do anything for his friends and family. Certainly, he had endured torture and perhaps even death for the good of the Alliance.

Shaking away the these thoughts, Dasquian sighed. He lifted the datapad again, looking at the cycle of images of Nytherciria. There's no guarauntee she'll agree to this... Before speaking, he took a long and welcome drink from the cool bottle of water.

“In all likelihood, the Alliance would have helped her regardless of the current situation... it's just that they believe it's in our best interests to capitalize on having found this Jedi,” he said, knowing even as he spoke the words that they wouldn't be quite so convincing for Wyl.

“It's unlikely that we'll come into contact with another for quite some time... and if you're to begin studying with the Jedi, it needs to be as soon as possible.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace could tell in Dasquian's voice that he needed some back up in convincing his charge. Wyl's facial expression gave it away too, though the child was still fending off the pain of smacking his head.

"He's right, Wyl. Unfortunately, we're in a time of war and certain luxuries need to be cast aside for the greater good. But unlike the Empire, the Alliance doesn't abandon people. We might be insistent that Nytherciria takes you, but will never force anything upon anyone. Every sentient has a right to choose."

Grace slid out of her chair and disappeared into the next room. The wall muffled her voiced, but every word was clearly heard. "We will try our hardest to have the Jedi take you for your own protection and training. However ..."

She returned with a moistened washcloth and knelt down in front of Wyl so they were eye level. "... If things do not go according to plan, you can stay here with me until we can find someone else to train you." Grace smiled in hopes that the boy would begin to trust her, and that she really did have his best interests at heart, just like Dasquian. She held out the washcloth for him to take, wondering if some of the tension had dissipated between them. "And if we do not find the Jedi suitable for you, we would not let you be taken away. Regardless of your talents, our first responsibility is to your safety."

[Wyl Staedtler]

Grownups sure liked to use big words. Wyl was reminded of the funny man at the Restaurant That Made You Wear A Tie back on Coruscant; he had said that curried tubers were a "ravshing coolinary experience". Wyl had thought they were rank. He didn't think much more of this explanation either. Firing an injured scowl in Dasquian's direction, he pulled his shoulders up in a jerky shrug.

He was so busy glaring dirtily at the traitorous man that he didn't notice when Grace swept down to eyelevel. Wyl jumped in surprise, pulling back a step, but the woman merely smiled and offered him the cool wetcloth. Wyl considered it a moment before shyly reaching out and plucking it from her hand. It felt good on his stinging head and he tentatively returned her smile, looking over his shoulder briefly to make sure that Dasquian had seen that he was most definetly not going to smile at him anytime soon.

Grace, apparently, had stolen the spotlight.

Squeezing the cloth so that water dripped down his sweaty face (and made him blink spastically as it caught on his eyelashes), Wyl plastered an indifferent look on his face. "'Kay." He said, hitching a shoulder up. He didn't like this one bit, but it would do no good to protest at the moment.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Grace had managed to explain the situation in a much more delicate fashion, and for that Dasquian was thankful. It was another in a long list of reasons why they made such a good team. In spite of her consoling words, however, he could see that Wyl still wasn't convinced. In actual fact, none of them were. Before anything could be set in stone there was the small matter of actually gaining the allegiance of the wayward Jedi. That was their first priority.

“I think we should take a shuttle down to Onderon as soon as possible. It can only be so long before an Imperial sympathizer becomes aware of Daria's presence and reports her to the government. There's no evidence to suggest that the Queen and her court have any sympathies with the Empire, but equally I don't believe they hold any high regard for the Jedi.”

A'grafe, the Gorm, rejoined them. “We can arrange a transport within a couple of hours. One of the local pilots is under the impression that we're a wildlife conservation team, cataloguing the behaviours of various species. He's a former war-prisoner, with some beast-rider heritage, so has a bit of a soft spot for our project... no questions asked, so long as we tell him a tale or two about the beasties we find.”

Dasquian and Grace exchanged a look; the latter smirked. Some of the aliases the pair had employed had been ridiculous at the best of times, though this one was a modicum more believable. “Excellent... do we have a scheduled meeting with Nytherciria?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace nodded while returning to her seat, "Yes. She is under the assumption that we're sensitive to her needs and have the ability to repair her ship. Nytherciria was contacted by Garjien, our spy planet side, that he knew of an expert mechanic that was in system."

She grinned, "That's you, Dasq."

Then she turned to Wyl, "You are my nephew. We were on our way to the Naboo system when Dasquian got the communication. We were more then willing to delay our trip to help out a poor woman get off of Onderon."

The Spy stopped there and regarded the boy carefully. She wanted to make sure that Wyl understood what was required of him and if he had any questions. These sorts of missions were not the easiest for a child to play their role correctly and needed to make sure he was comfortable. "Does this all make sense to you?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl pursed his lips into a thin line and nodded slowly. A breath was drawn in and held, the sort that small children take before deciding whether or not to speak, and then let out again. "It's like pretend, innit?" the boy said thoughtfully, toying with the edge of the washcloth.

He had had to pretend lots of times on Coruscant, whenever one of his mother's friends had shown up to hide in the little hollow behind her bureau. There had been several stories; it was a family friend, staying for a few days while their apartment was fumigated; a cousin visiting from Far, Far Away; a boyfriend who'd decided to try making a commitment (and who inevitably "wasn't ready to be a role-model.") Of course, that had been different because he'd always still been Wyl Staedtler, first-grader. He'd only had to make-believe about the other people.

"Do I get to be me or do I hafta pretend I got a different name?" Spies in 'vids always did that, and wore proper jackets. Wyl didn't have a jacket (and wasn't sure if he could have donned one without roasting) but he was wearing his favourite tee shirt which had to count for something.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Wyl was quite the intuitive child. He was very good at catching onto things very quickly. It will serve him well during his training with the Jedi.

She made a small gesture with her hands in response to his question, "It depends on the situation, Wyl. Sometimes we can get away with using our first names because the galaxy is so vast. Considering that Onderon only has one large city, it would be best to pretend we're someone else, names and all. The Royal Guards are probably on high alert for Rebellion sympathizers. Not necessarily to turn them into the Empire, but we would be escorted off-world forcibly to avoid Imperial entanglements."

Grace pulled out two identicards and handed one to Wyl. It was practically identical to the one issued to him on Coruscant, except the name, date and place of birth were changed. "You are Aaron Oneal, born and raised on Dantooine. I'm your Aunt, Ellis Oneal, and we own and operate a moisture farm."

Her eyes drifted to Dasquian and then her eyebrows rose, allowing him to add anything important at this time.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Seeing Grace look to him expectantly, Dasquian spoke up: “It's unlikely that we'll be questioned by anyone once we're inside Iziz, but the most important things to remember are to just act naturally and to avoid drawing attention to yourself.”

“Garijen should be waiting for you in the spaceport, planetside,” A'grafe added. “Meet up with him and he'll take you to the Jedi. I'll send for the pilot... you'll have plenty of time to prepare while he's en route from Onderon.”

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl nodded; there would be no trouble keeping a low profile from him. This was probably the most he had talked at once since they'd left Coruscant; shrugs and nods had sufficed. It was a small blessing that Dasquian hadn't seemed to mind his silence; somtimes Wyl's throat grew so tight and sore that he couldn't talk even if he wanted to and it would have been embarrasing to try and explain this to the rebel. Dasquian was tough. Wyl wanted to be tough too.

Curiously the boy studied his new ID card. It looked exactly like his old one except that the writing was all changed, which was weird. "Aaron." he tried out the moniker, tasting the strange syllables on his tongue. It sounded goofy, didn't slip easily out like his real name. He repeated it to himself trying to get used to it; he sure didn't feel like an Aaron.

Then the little dinosaur began to speak and Wyl's concentration broke as he took a shy step away from the Gorm. Tired blue irises warily took in the creature--how hadn't he noticed it earlier?--before he decided it was probably safe. Still, he kept his distance.

Shrugging his backpack from his shoulders Wyl sat down on the floor and crossed his lefs. He pulled the bag to rest against his belly pleasantly and looked again at his new idea. A great big yawn stretched across his face and he scrubbed at his eyes, willing them to stay open. He hoped Dasquian and Grace took their time.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Wyl was exhausted and overwhelmed. Sitting on the floor would do nothing to prepare himself for the journey that awaited him.

Grace rose from her seat and motioned for the child to follow her, "I know of a more comfortable place where you can rest, Wyl."

The Rebel led the boy out of the small meeting room and down a narrow corridor. This small bunker was made for security, not comfort, and most of the hallways could only fit two people across. With their Gorm friend, one.

She stopped in front of one of the many identical metal doors and keyed in a code to open it. The room was small but livable and even had a small refresher attached. Grace surmised that this had to be one of the high-ranking officers quarters since most of the rooms did not have this luxury. There was a cot against one wall, a chair and table. She used this room as a main operating center for the operation as seen by the computer equipment sprawled out all over the table. There were datapads, wires, tools and who knows what sort of computer parts everywhere.

"You can rest here until it's time to leave," she explained while putting cleaning up the cot of clothing and rifle parts, packing the later into a black duffle bag along with the unsecure datapads. She turned off and locked the laptop with her key code.

She put an extra blanket on the cot and slung the duffle bag over her shoulder. "Do you need anything else before I go?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl, twisting a bit of wire between his hands, shook his head and silently clambered onto the cot, stretching his legs out as he rested his back against the wall; his feet only just dangled over the edge. Another yawn split the boy's mouth and he flopped over onto his side, bunching the blanket with his fists and burying his face into it. It smelled funny, like the jungle outside.

"Do you need anything else before I go?"

His gaze moved from the blanket edge to take in Grace. Wyl shook his head and then bit his bottom lip. "Thank you." he whispered. Wyl buried his head again.

[Dasquian Belargic]

When Grace returned to the room she had minutes ago left, she found A'grafe and Dasquian speaking in hushed tones. Seeing that she had returned, the Gorm cast a glance about the room for something else to busy himself, leaving the two senior agents to talk. Clearly fatigued, Belargic ran one hand back through his already tousled hair and puffed out a breath of air.

“Thank you,” he sighed. “You're so much better at all of this than I ever was.”

All of this. The more human side of things? Dasquian did his job well, but he just didn't know how to handle someone like this. Someone who had been robbed of their mother, who had been flung into space, who had become a bargaining chip in some bid for co-operation between the Alliance and the remainder of the Jedi. If he couldn't convince himself that it was the right thing to do, how was he supposed to convince the boy?

“How is he?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"He is fast asleep. The entire ordeal has been rough on Wyl." Grace sat down and regarded her partner carefully while sitting back down. The lines on his face were not cause by weariness alone.

"I'd imagine it only got worse with being bombarded by all the information we threw at him." She leaned forward and folded her hands together on the table, obviously concerned. "Something troubles you?"

Sometimes Dasquian was hard to read, but there were times, like now, that Grace could read him like an open book. She had a sense he wasn't entirely too thrilled about this mission.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“A lot of things trouble me,” he replied shaking his head, “but at this moment in particular... I can't help but wonder how all of this is going to affect Wyl. A good woman died so that he might live, so that he might carry on the tradition of the Jedi.” He held a hand up, as if expecting some protest. “I know that she understood the risks involved, but I can't help but feel that the ends don't justify the means, certainly not when all of this is going to undoubtedly leave Wyl scarred, perhaps so scarred that the efforts of this Jedi are going to be lost on him.”

Dasquian didn't understand fully how the Jedi worked. It was largely a mystery to him, but surely something so distressing as this could have nothing but a negative impact on his will to learn. “I know there's no point in thinking about it now, it's unprofessional.... I just catch glances from him now and then, and it's like there's so much age in his eyes now, age and sadness. He didn't ask for any of this.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"None of us asked for this, Dasquian." She countered. "I did not ask for this life and neither did you. We've all had to make adjustments and deal with our demons in order to move on and protect those we are fighting for."

Grace sighed and sat back, her tone softening, "But I do agree with you. This is not the life for a child and it's unfortunate that he'll need to grow up faster then he should. It would be far easier if he were not Force Sensitive but I promise you, if I even sense a hint of deception from Nytherciria in regards to him, she won't be allowed to take Wyl."

She had reservations about this mission too but they still had an out. It was up to her and Dasquian to make the final decision if Wyl was to be release into Nytherciria's care. They will hold up their end of the bargain regardless and help the Jedi escape Onderon.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Belargic nodded, silently chiding himself for his brief outburst. The voice of reason. This was why they worked so well together. They grounded one another, calmed each others nerves. Dasquian sat down, giving his restless legs a break from pacing. He took a moment to breathe before looking back up at Grace – she was watching him, perhaps analysing him, predicting what he would do or say next.

“A'grafe thinks we'll have a fair wait before our pilot is here. He and I can handle the preparation for the trip, if you want to get some rest too.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"A good idea," she rose to her feet, convinced that Dasquian's concerns were quelled. Grace meant what she said. The last thing that would happen on this mission would be an eccentric Jedi causing Wyl any form of suffering.

"Wyl is in my room currently. I will be in the unit next to his if you have need of me." She rubbed at her eyes and fought back a yawn.

"Try and wake me up before the pilot arrives this time." Her annoyed tone was not at all serious, "Just incase he tries to kill us again ..."

She laughed as she left the room. That mission on Tarento was rather comical ...

[Dasquian Belargic]

A smile lingered on Dasquian's lips as Grace left. The incident to which she referred had been one of some embarrassment for Dasquian, who had ended up tied up and at the whims of some spiced-up junkie who had somehow passed himself off as a pilot. Grace had emerged lazily into the kitchen after a much needed rest, only to find Belargic bound and the pilot taunting him mercilessly. She had dispatched him with little more than a household frying pan. He had yet to live it down.

Shaking away the memories, he stood up and looked over to A'grafe. The Gorm was trying to stifle a laugh and failing. Evidently he too remembered the Tarento incident. “Don't you start as well!”

Amidst some light ribbing, the pair went to work at sorting supplies and the various necessities of the trip. In truth there wasn't much that needed to be done, but they checked and double-checked everything just in case. Dasquian took a little time to leaf through some maps of Iziz City, before at last catching an albeit brief nap under A'grafe's watchful eye. It wasn't long, however, before Belargic felt a shove on his shoulder. “Rise and shine. Your ride's here.”

[Wyl Staedtler]

They weren't people so much as blobs. And it wasn't a room so much as a dark space. Big, black blobs in a big, black room. Technically he couldn't really see them either, but there was a feeling of being squished from all sides so that he couldn't breathe, like when big kids at the pool pushed you under and held your head. He tried to turn around but he couldn't see anything and they were rightthere and they were pulling at his shirt, at his skin, they were pulling him apart, they were going to throw him into the closet, into the tunnel! Wyl screamed; he didn't want to go in there, there were people crying, torn up people with no faces. He twisted and kicked but there were too many of them. He screamed again, louder, but it was pointless because they'd hurled him through the door and he was falling towards the hole...



Wyl hit the floor hard. The boy's eyes flew open and he yelped loudly, suddenly terrified as he realized his legs were being held in a vice grip. He kicked out angrily, thrashing as hard as he could--the blanket, defeated, was tossed into the air and settled against the door. Wyl scrambled backwards across the floor and up onto the bed, sweating and screwing his face up tightly. Like always he didn't remember just what had scared him, but he felt sure that he'd been facing perilous danger.

Wyl lifted the edge of his shirt and wiped his face. Shaking, the boy lay back down and clutched his knees to his chest. He could hear movement outside the room and after a moment to collect himself he leapt up and darted across the floor, feet barely skimming the concrete, smacked the panel to open the door without slowing, and then slid into the hall breathing heavily. He looked like a cat who'd been chased up a tree by a Nek, his hair sticking up at all angles and eyes as wide as dinner plates. Scuttling back to the table (going the long way to avoid A'grafe)Wyl sat down on his knees and pulled an interesting-looking datapad over so as to avoid conversation.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace woke up startled from the commotion going on in the room next to her. "Wyl ..."

She kicked off the covers, not bothering to put on her boots, and hurriedly followed the blur of a child sliding across the hallway and into the main briefing room. Wyl was trying to act like nothing had happened, but the fear in his eyes had disappeared. Something had frightened the hell out of him. A'grafe and Dasquian looked confused at the whole ordeal. They wouldn't be much help.

"A'grafe? You mind making checking that we have everything we need for our flight?" Grace had noticed how the boy avoided the large Gorm and if she was going to try and have him open up to her, A'grafe needed to be far from eyesight.

"Sure, Grace." He turned to leave but stopped, remembering something. "Oh, and your ride is here." He slapped Dasquian on the back and left them, grinning a toothy grin.

The Rebel crossed her arms and tapped the cold concrete with a bare toe as she stared at her partner.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Not waiting another minute, Dasquian was on his feet, pulling his holdall over his shoulder. “Come on, then. Let's go.”

The pilot stood waiting outside the bunker, resting against he landing ramp of his ship. He looked as if he came from earthy, common stock and as a consequence had a kind of jovial, approachable air about him, only strengthened by the genuine smile he wore. “Mornin' all!” he called out, as the trio paced out into the cool air. “Long night, huh?” he laughed. From afar the three had looked like a picture-perfect little family unit, but up close he could see the signs of fatigue, the bleary eyes and frayed nerves. The pilot stole a furtive glance around the clearing. “No wonder. I bet them critters howl the whole night through!”

A'grafe had said that the pilot believed them to be a wildlife conservation team. With this in mind, Dasquian nodded and gave an exasperated sigh. “They do, but it's all worth it in the long run.” While Grace and Wyl began to board the ship, Dasquian and the pilot made quick work of loading the groups supplies. As they did, the pilot watched as Grace murmured softly to Wyl, as she lead him up the landing ramp. “This must be plenty exciting for the boy, roughing it like this, huh?”

“Oh, it's exciting alright,” he lied, his eyes catching Grace's as she glanced over her shoulder towards the pair.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Dutifully ignoring everyone, Wyl allowed Grace to herd him into the ship. Once inside he tossed his backpack to the floor and dropped to his knees beside it. With sudden enthusiasm the boy dove into the bag, pulling out rumpled articles of clothing before finding a mostly clean button-down. "Don't watch." Wyl warned Grace as he pulled his snot-smeared tee-shirt over his head.

"Okay." Wyl said when he'd finished doing up the shirt (which was slightly askew from rogue buttons that had gone into the wrong holes). Within seconds the discarded clothing was shoved back into the bag. Wyl hoisted it over his shoulders. "That guy outside talks a lot. He's loud too." The boy pulled his new ID card out and looked at it intently. "How long will it take to get to... where we're goin'?"

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She complied with his request, sneaking a peak to see how Dasquian was doing with the pilot. It seemed everything was in order and the pilot wasn't asking odd questions; the kind that raise eyebrows.

"Onderon," Grace replied and knelt down besides Wyl. As she talked, she deftly rebuttoned his shirt properly. "And yes he's a bit loud but people like him usually only have his commissions to talk to."

The pilot made his way onto the ship with Dasquian hot on his heels. He gave Wyl a confident smile. "No worries, kiddo. I've flown to Iziz City many times. It won't take too long to get there.” The pilot ducked under the doorway and called out to the family, “You guys going outside the walls?"

"Yes, but with beast rider escort of course." It wasn't common, but some brave souls could see the natural side of Onderon for a hefty fare and be given a tour. Such tours were held during certain times of the day and usually only permitted for scholars. Otherwise the Royal family would be paying thousands of credits in damages for lives lost. "We want to try and categorize several of the native species during our stay in person."

[Dasquian Belargic]

Everything was on-board. A'grafe had packed from superfluous supplies, things that were there only to support the lie that they were ecologists. Cameras with various lenses, some complicated measuring devices that could have been meant for anything. The pilot gave an appreciative whistle, having spotted some of the kit himself, and received a weak smile in return from Dasquian.

“Sorry, sorry! I know, you'll be wanting to get down there as soon as possible.”

“Yes... we've reason to believe that it's the beginning of the mating season for some of the species down on Onderon. We're hoping to catalogue their behaviour, throughout the duration of their courtship,” the Rebel replied, as he zip-locked one of their equipment bags.

“Oo-er,” the pilot looked genuinely impressed. “Well, I'd better be getting this old thing ready then, eh?” He flashed a less-than-perfect grin before scurrying off to the cockpit, a bounce in his step.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Some of the more curious items that Dasquian and the pilot had loaded in busied Wyl for a time. He pretended to take a picture of a bolt in the panelling of the ship with one of the cameras, then one of his foot, laces on his shoe undone, and then one of Grace pulling some hair away from her face. Being a shutterbug was boring after a few rolls though and the boy soon discarded the camera and joined the two agents.

"This is the second ship I've been on." He remarked to no one in particular. Dasquian and Grace were talking in low tones, looking for all the world like a pair of researchers discussing where the best place to stay the night would be. Wyl glanced towards the cockpit. It was sort of fun, knowing they'd fooled the pilot. There was a jumpy sort of feeling in his stomach though, like he was about to take a spelling test. Wyl frowned and rubbed his belly; he wasn't sure he wanted the flight to Onderon to be short.

After another furtive glance to make sure the pilot was out of earshot Wyl leaned over towards his "aunt" and her partner, tapping Dasquian on the knee. "Does the J--" Wyl sucked in a breath and blushed. "Does she know we're comin'?" He whispered.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Yes, she's expecting us,” Dasquian nodded. He looked up from the data pad that he and Grace had been scrutinizing and smiled for the boys sake, then added as a hopefully consoling afterthought: “...and I'm sure she's just as nervous about meeting us as we are about meeting her.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The trip went remarkably smooth. A'grafe had done well in finding them a good pilot. He was even gracious enough to unload all of the supplies with Grace who gave him some extra creds as a tip for his kindness. In recent memory, she couldn't remember anyone being so genuinely good-natured and upbeat. It was quite refreshing.

Dasquian was manning the small hoverlift for their supplies and already he was being hassled for taxi fair. Of course all inquiries were declined.

She looked down at Wyl who was looking around with wide eyes full of fascination. New planets always did that to people. Onderon's populace was made up of humans though many aliens did come here for trade and as a layover planet. They just weren't as prevalent in Iziz, the only city on the planet. The large walls surrounding the city protect the people from the dangerous creatures out in the jungles. It's a rather large city divided into various sectors that the Royal Court governs, but this also makes things easier in terms of keeping the peace and commerce since everything is done internally through the Royal Guard and Stations.

After enough no's, they finally were left alone and departed the spaceport with relative peace. As promised, Garijen was waiting for them just outside the gates. He was a rather short man, only 160 cm tall, but he was a stocky, muscular man. He could wrestle Dasquian to the ground without breaking a sweat and manhandle a Wookie, but he was a gentle soul. His face had three weeks scruff and it looked as if the dark haired Agent hadn't combed his hair for that long too.

"Hey you two," Garijen clasped Grace's hand and gave her a warm hug. "Long time no see." He nodded and shook Dasquian's hand. "How you two been?"

Garijen was another human that worked for the Rebellion. He used to work deep cover to spy on the Empire but his partner turned him into the Empire after being offered power and money to betray the ideals of the Alliance. Grace and Dasquian headed up the operation to Corellia to free their friend and now his work deals with tracking people down.

[Dasquian Belargic]

The sight of Garijen made Dasquian smile. “Oh... you know.”

The trio shared a knowing smirk. “You'll have to fill me in on your latest adventures soon, hm?” he asked, his eyes then travelling down to the young boy skulking between the two agents. “How's it going, Aaron,” Garijen said with a wink. “You three must be hungry after all that science work up on Dxun, huh... how about we get some grub? I hear the Tame Boma does a good afternoon special.” Of course, Garijen wasn't really proposing an early meal. The Tame Boma was actually the place that had been chosen for their meeting with the Jedi Knight.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl eyed Garijen from the safe position between Dasquian and Grace. There was something about the way the man winked at him, an implying of comraderie, that made Wyl--Aaron--decide that he was okay.

Wyl soon became overwhelmed at the newness of Onderon and trying to look every which way all at once. He was surprised when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder and looked up to see Garijen smiling. The man jerked his head up and Wyl tilted his head back and squinted at the sign, sounding out the words to himself.

"Oh." The boy was glad they'd arrived, even though the nervous feeling in his belly was suddenly much heavier and real. Garijen held the door open for the rest of them and into the Tame Boma the quartet proceeded. Wyl sat down on a little bench beside the door.

[Dasquian Belargic]

The Tame Boma was just that – tame. The atmosphere was surprisingly friendly, a welcome change from the unusual. No doubt this was helped by the team of imposing security guards that were dotted around the room; some local muscle with a vaguely jolly air about them. As they entered, Garijen gave a friendly 'hallo' to a couple of familiar faces.

“I tell you this place is-!” The words had barely passed his lips when he was interrupted by a yell. Dasquian tensed instantly, his eyes searching the room for the source of the sound. Two of the guards were in the process of removing a struggling young man from the tavern.

“Frelling freak!” he yelled, as he flailed, trying to free himself from the guards grasp. They were far stronger than he was, however, and easily lifted him a foot into the air before tossing him out on the street. A cheer went up throughout the tavern, and business went on as usual.

“Well, I wasn't expecting that!” Garijen confessed. “Wonder what that was all about...”

Dasquian frowned, eyes narrowing as he looked in the direction that the man had been coming from. There was a cluster of smaller, more private tables there. Only a few of them were in use – a old couple in one, a family in another, and a young woman, alone, in the last. Dasquian caught Garijen's eye and nodded towards the booth.

“I don't suppose that's...?”

Garijen squinted, “Yep. Let's go.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace ordered two ice-cold bottles of fizzy glug at the front counter and led Wyl to a free table. She twisted the top off and pointed in the general direction of Dasquian and Garijen. “The less people approaching her the better right now, Aaron.”

She took a long refreshing drink before setting the bottle down on the wooden coaster. The commotion that they had walked in on the end of was unexpected. “Especially after the incident just now.”

[Daria Nytherciria]

Why was I still there? As I felt the eyes of the bar patrons on me, I felt more and more that it had been a bad idea to agree to this meeting. Already it had drawn attention to my presence. It was as if the Force was trying to warn me, to tell me that it was... wrong. I was just about to make for the door, half on my feet, when I looked up to see the figures of two men approaching. The first I recognized as the Rebel agent who had arranged the encounter; the second I did not. They radiated an aura of goodness, which eased my nerves somewhat... “Good afternoon,” Daria said, with a weak smile. “Mr. Garijen and...?”

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Dasquian Belargic,” he replied with a smile, though his voice lowered somewhat, for safety's sake. “It's good to finally meet you, Miss Nytherciria.”

Looking at the Miraluka sat opposite him, Dasquian could not help but wonder if Daria felt the same. She seemed anxious and uneasy; understandable, of course. According to the information that the Alliance had on record for her, she had been on the run for a long time.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us like this. I hope it hasn't caused you any trouble...”

[Daria Nytherciria]

For a moment, it seemed as if Daria would not reply. Though neither Rebel agent would have been able to tell, she was looking towards the young boy that had entered alongside them.

“I would appreciate it if we could get right down to business, Mr. Belargic.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"You're in trouble," Garijen replied with a smirk, "Well, no more so then usual." The Jedi was used to his roughen attitude from their previous talk. "Problem is the Empire got a whiff that a Jedi was here. We're not sure how but those damn Inquisitor bloodhounds are always around. We intend to get you out of here."

[Daria Nytherciria]

I had been so careful. For years, I had evaded them – but one slip had caused all that secrecy to be in vain. Just as I had suspected, remaining in one place for too long was a bad idea. Already today I had been singled out by one drunken civilian. Who knows how many suspicious words were exchanged by scores of others. Staying inconspicuous was impossible.

At the mention of leaving Onderon, Daria asked: “On what terms? Certainly not out of the goodness of your hearts.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Garijen chuckled and lit a cigar. "Actually yeah. We'll fix your ship up good to get the hell outta here."

He puffed at the cigar and inhaled deeply, "Mmmm. Not sure how Onderon makes a fine tasting cigar," and blew out the smoke through his nostrils, "but I compliment the Queen."

Nytherciria patiently waited for an answer.

"We just want you to take the boy." He casually pointed him out of habit. "I know ya sense him probably. He's like you."

[Daria Nytherciria]

Just the boy. Just. As it was nothing more than that. I could barely keep myself out of trouble, without having to worry about a child too. “And this is what he wants to do, is it? Spend the rest of his life as a fugitive?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"From what Dasq has told me he's already a fugitive." Garijen set down his lighter. "Ain't that right?"

[Daria Nytherciria]

The Rebel Agent nodded solemnly. “His mother was a Jedi sympathizer... the Imperials found out and stormed her home. She was killed and the boy narrowly escaped with his life. Ever since, he has been on the move with us... he's adjusting coping surprisingly well.”

I breathed a sigh of regret – the boy had suffered a baptism of fire. It called to mind the horrors endured by those who had lived through the Jedi purges, witnessing the murders of those close to them, then being forced into exile. Some Jedi had grown wrathful, succumbing to the lure of the Dark Side as they sought vengeance for the deaths of their peers. I only hoped that the boy did not have the same seed of darkness in him, waiting to begin its sickly bloom...

In the end, I had little choice but to take the offer. It seemed that the Force had brought me to Onderon for a reason, and it seemed this was it – to be uncover by the Empire, and subsequently forced into an alliance with the Rebellion.

“How is this going to work, then? Once the ship is fixed, the boy and I leave...?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Yup." Garijen nodded. "Ya see, we don't meddle in the affairs of the Force. Working with the few Jedi we've come across, we realize that you go where ya need ta go."

He took another long hit of his cigar. "The offer stands if you ever wanna join up, which would be great, but we don't force nuthin'. Immediate concern is that the kid has the chance to survive."

The spy pointed the illuminated red tip of his cigar towards Nytherciria. "You can give him that chance where we can't. We don't know dren about the Force."

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl nodded at Grace and took a small sip of fizzyglug, usually something he only got on special occasions--which, perhaps, this was."That guy said frelling. That's a bad word, even though they say it in holovids." The boy's face shadowed and he looked down at the little bubbles in his bottle. That guy had also sounded exactly like the boys back home, the boys who had started this whole mess in the first place. Wyl studied the Jedi sitting across from Dasquian and Garijen, a small needle of sympathy working it's way into the knot in his belly. He rested his chin in his hand and turned in his chair, feet dangling off the side as he prepared to slide off.

"I wanna talk to her first, okay? Don't make me go with her until I talk to her, okay?"

[Daria Nytherciria]

There was a moment of silence as Daria took in then exhaled a deep breath. Steeled, she replied. “Very well, then. I think it's best we leave as soon as possible. Do you have somewhere safe that we can go, while the ship is being fixed?” she asked.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace smiled reassuringly. "I promise. You have to accept her just as much as she has to accept you."

At this point, she scrutinized the table with great care and waited for the right opportunity to begin formal introductions.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“We've got a small base of operations nearby,” Garijen replied with a nod.

At this point, Dasquian interjected. “We can head there whenever you're ready.”

[Daria Nytherciria]

“Then we may as well leave now.” the Jedi replied, with another glance towards the boy and the woman he was sat with. It was better to move on sooner rather than later. Lingering for too long could prove fatal.

[Wyl Staedtler]

The conversation seemed to be ending and Wyl slid off his chair then to cross over to Grace. As he did so, his eyes caught Daria's; they held the gaze for only a second before dropping quickly to the floor. Wyl turned his back to the others and leaned against Grace's chair. Round face taut with sudden anxiety, the boy gripped the back of the chair so that his knuckles turned white.

"Maybe..." But Wyl didn't finish because there wasn't anything to say. He couldn't stay on Onderon by himself, and he couldn't go back to Coruscant, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be like Grace and Dasquian because he wasn't very tall and couldn't shoot a blaster. There was nowhere else for him to go. Besides, Wyl thought as he stared at the grain of the wood floor, the strange wiggly feeling he'd had since Coruscant, the one that made his chest feel like it was going to explode, felt better. It had felt better since the flight over and he'd have to be a real sprockethead not to guess why. No, there was no way around it. Things were in motion now.

Wyl's face adopted the blank look that made it clear he was trying not to think too much. "Now?"

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace remained quiet as Wyl gathered his own thoughts and was ready to meet the Jedi. This was an important step for Wyl. He had to make his own decisions now and when he was ready, the Agent stood up and allowed Wyl, on his own terms and pace, to lead the way towards the table. She was behind him to protect him and to offer the strength that he may need to continue by having her so near.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Belargic nodded. “Very well.” The two agents and the Jedi stood up, almost in unison. As they did so, Dasquian saw that Grace was approaching, with Wyl ahead of her. He smiled at them both. For the time-being, there were no introductions – those would happen, properly, once they were back at the temporary base. “We're going to head back to Dxun, while Daria's ship is being repaired. Garijen is going to stay planet-side and let us know when everything is ready.”

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl nodded; he liked the little hideout and would be glad to go back, even at the risk of being eaten alive by rabid wildlife.

As the group casually made their exit, the lad stole quick glances at Daria, an awkward sort of energy practically shooting off of him. THe bustle of the outside street distracted him temporarily, as he pressed closer to the two agents so as not to be lost in the crowd. As they filed through, squeezing past bartering merchants and haggling marketeers, Wyl found himself beside Daria. The boy's heart leapt when he realized where he'd drifted, and he hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to make his shrunken self even smaller. "You're helpin' Gra--" A flush spread across his cheeks, "My aunt and her friend, huh?"

[Daria Nytherciria]

“That is correct,” Daria replied, without looking down towards the boy. Her blind eyes wandered back and forth across the marketplace seen, cautious of any further disturbance from easily offended locals. “Your... aunt and her friends have been very accommodating in assisting me. We are working together, at least for the time being.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The trek back to their shuttle was uneventful as they reached a different landing pad. This one berthed Garijen's personal ship, a Corellian Star Shuttle, which had plenty of room for passengers. Usually, the extra space was for cargo since Garijen traveled extensively.

He gave the security codes to Grace and began with his usual lecture. "Now remember. Not so hard on the throttle ..."

She cut him off there. "I know. The shuttle vibrates if you hit it too hard. I also know that the tuborlasers are probably not fixed yet." Grace raised her brows knowingly. "Right?"

"Right," he grumbled.

"Very well." She patted him on the shoulder. "Contact us when the ship is fixed. We'll be on Dxun until then."