Getting Things in Order

[Leela Vorega]

"Report!"

The order was barked, competing with the ambiance as Colonel Vorega scrambled across the oscillating deck and onto the bridge. A momentary wave of relief swept across her as she dropped herself into her seat, the stability controls in the Mon Calamari design giving her a few moments of blessed relief from the constant rolling of the ship under the strain of the attack.

"An Imperial Cruiser, Colonel," came the response from the Lieutenant who'd been supervising the bridge this shift. "Strike-class. They dropped out of Hyperspace and immediately deployed fighters. Eyeballs and squints: a full squadron of each. Valkyries and Rogues are deployed, and the civilian ships are retreating towards the predesignated jump vector."

A curt nod was thrown in the officer's direction, confirming that he had complied thus far with what her orders had been. This was something that they had performed readiness drills and practice runs in preparation for; even so, those simulations were far from accurate representations of the real thing. They didn't convey the same dread and anguish over having been discovered that reality provided now in abundance. She muttered a curse under her breath, eyes narrowing at the holographic depiction of the approaching ship. "They knew we were here," she mused.

The Lieutenant's momentary hesitation was made all the more dramatic by the urgency of the situation. "That seems likely."

The ship rocked again as fire from the the Imperial Cruiser Eraser pounded the Valiant's shields with turbo-laser fire, as the Mon Calamari ship swung her flank around to interpose between the Imperials and the retreating Jedi. Small mercy came to Vorega's mind as she observed the thankfully minimal Imperial forces. Had they known for certain that the Rebels were here - and had they known the precious cargo that the Valiant defended - they would have sent a far more sizable Force. This was a glorified reconnaissance run; for that, Leela was grateful.

Even recon runs could make for a nasty mess if given the chance, however. "Get me Rogue Leader on the comm," she instructed. Silently her Bothan communications officer complied; an amber indicator flickered into life on the arm of her chair as the channel became active. "I have far too many red dots on my screen, Lead," she chastised. "Planning on doing anything about that any time soon?"

[Kelly Perris]

"I hear ya, Overlord. Keep your eye on the followers, we'll finish cleaning house."

Within the cockpit, 'Lead' allowed himself a smile over the seriousness of the situation as he pulled another hard turn, plowing laser shots through a TIE slipping into his view on the arc of his turn as the rest of the squadron engaged the remainder of the enemy fighters or ran interference against the Eraser. After over twelve years of similar scenes, his reaction times were still something admirable and the career pilot dared not think of the day those reflexes might fail him. There was no way to be certain that the enemy was aware of the nature of the cargo, but in a time like this, one had to assume that it might be the case.

The TIEs had come in hard and fast and there had been no time to debate whether or not they'd actually need to engage. They were in the heat of it and Kelly barely had the time to hoot in excitement as Joker chased down another enemy fighter that tailed Donut, for he eternally had problems of his own out in the black. Rogue Eleven - Frost - was in a thick soup of trouble, having the misfortune of being bullied by not one, but two TIEs on one of his first fights with the squadron. Monkey sped past as Kelly closed in on Frost and the two eyeballs, uttering some curse over the the sudden appearance of their opponent some ten or fifteen minutes before.

"Eleven, having trouble are we? Those eyeballs giving you a hard stare?" The response was riddled with static and the voice behind it hardly sounded calm. A laser-bolt from the right and closer TIE ripped into Frost's X-wing at the point of weakness, where one or both of them had wounded severely it already. It didn't look pleasant for the X-wing, which was far less good for Bailey himself.

It was then that he came in clearly, just as Hot Mama opened unrestrained on the leftmost TIE and watched for a bare mote of a second as the eyeball busted apart into many flame-less pieces in the vacuum of space.

"Lead... thanks for the help. Mind scratching my back a little more?"

Kelly would have responded, would have smiled, would have laughed and retorted and done the guy a favour, but the call came. Leela Vorega's voice filtered in loud and clear: the recall, the retreat, the mark for hyperspace.

"Get back shipside, Eleven. You're no more good out here." "But..." "Go. NOW." Kelly lined up his next shot as Frost complied, albeit reluctantly and began to move. Rogue Leader squeezed the trigger and the quad lasers lit up and spewed forth as he gave his next order. "Rogues, get ready to move out."

The second TIE was vaped, but not before Frost bit it. Within minutes, there was nothing to be seen of the Valiant or her fighters.

[Leela Vorega]

The swirling void of Hyperspace snapped back into nothingness, the familiar sight of starfield and space resolving in front of the Valiant's viewscreen. Leela released a breath that she hadn't been holding, as she watched the ship's sensors update her holographic display of the surrounding space. She found herself counting the myriad smaller shapes that shoaled around the Valiant's glowing form before her; effort managed to arrest the compulsion. "Did we lose anyone?" she asked instead, forcing the relief out of her words, and injecting the calm confidence that her crew would expect.

"All civilian ships accounted for," an officer replied; Leela didn't pay enough attention to the voice beyond the words to register who it was. Relief bubbled away inside her: they'd made it through this ordeal relatively unscathed.

A new chime spoke out across the bridge, coinciding with an explosion of tiny pinpricks on the holographic display. "New contacts!" the Lieutenant of the watch announced. "Reading IFF - it's the Air Group, Colonel." Another wave of relief, cut painfully short as the Lieutenant's tone turned grave. "They're a bird short, sir. Someone didn't make it."

Leela felt the urge to slump in her seat; she summoned the last of her effort reserves to maintain the stoic and unshakable air that Captain Tyree had managed to convey with such ease, even in the face of such news. Her brow conflicted, struggling against her efforts to form into a frown. "Recall our fighters," she ordered, "And begin preparations for the second jump." While they were deep in the broad swathes of empty space that separated one star from another, the Imperials could easily have scanned their vector, and could be in pursuit as soon as they recovered their thankfully hyperdrive inequipped fighters. While determining just how long their brief surge into Hyperspace had lasted would be nigh impossible, all it would take was a lucky guess on their part to land their attackers in their midst once again.

Acknowledgments from appropriate consoles came her way; Leela barely let them register, rising to her feet amidst them all. She turned to the Lieutenant she had relieved upon arrival, and waited a patient few seconds until his attention realigned to her. "Instruct the Deck to prepare a shuttle," she ordered, hands idly clasping together at the small of her back, "And clear me for transit to the Whaledon as soon as we revert from Hyperspace again. It seems our charges and I need to have a little conversation about our security procedures."

[Corell Capstan]

Though the warning sirens had died down, the noise and confusion aboard the Whaladon was far from over.

“No weapons? What the frell?!”

“The Action-six series wasn't built to fight. They're... pack mules.”

In the main hangar bay, the crates which held the ships consumable had been scattered about the hold like dice. Thanks to a particularly violent impact pre-jump, many of the boxes seals had been broken. With supplies already short and no telling how long it would be before the convoy could rendezvous with the Alliance Support Services to restock, a team had been quickly assembled to sort through and secure any crates that had been cracked open.

“That is bantha-shit,” Corell grunted, as she hauled another box right way up. It was the second crate of protatos to be damaged. She swore and felt the ridiculous impulse to punch the warped metal of the container. Instead, she gave it an angry shove into the cluster of other damaged goods.

[Abarai Loki]

"Anticipation. Action. Reaction. These are basic combat principles employed by warriors on the field of battle. A warrior is always prepared, he reads the movements of his enemy, and responds to the threat with appropriate force."

A row of six students lined one of the long walls of the forward hold onboard the Whaladon. Before them stood a small teenage boy dressed in a black tunic, he addressed them like a seasoned school teacher and wore his face like a burden. In his hand was a length of thin metal piping, he held it like a sword and instructed the class to follow suit using the pipes laid at their feet.

"These are crude substitutes for the weapon you may one day, with training and great effort, earn the right to wield. The metal is blunt, lightweight and strong, with which you can spar comfortably with small risk of damage. Experience with these... weapons will reveal to you that all combat is a finite sequence of moves which, when exhausted, are recycled. It is your task to commit these moves to memory; every attack, defense, and counter-attack. Then you will understand that while you may be stronger or faster than your opponent, the edge of your blade is tempered only by the sharpness of your mind, and with a dull blade defeat is inevitable. Now ready yourselves."

Loki paced the length of the row, he inspected his students, correcting their posture and adjusting the grip on their weapon where neccessary. They were an eclectic bunch, he noted, of differing ages, genders, ethnicities, and in one case, species. It was a small sample of innitiates which was highly representative of the entire host of Jedi who had taken refuge within The Wheel, all from different walks of life with one thing in common: survival.

"One!" he said, bringing down his weapon in a low arc towards the right shin of a middle-aged man. He intercepted the attack, and Loki side-stepped to attack his neighbouring student, an olive-skinned aqualish.

"Two!"

Their weapons clashed neatly at shoulder height, the boy pushed, testing the strength of the alien's defense then moved on. A girl with curly brown hair watched him with fierce eyes, she was ten years old, and showed no sign of apprehension as he motioned to attack.

"Three!"

The ship lurched suddenly, and the little girl stumbled backwards and fell. Her head struck an exposed bulkhead and she was unconscious before she hit the floor. Klaxons sounded throughout the Whaladon, and from beyond its thick, plated hull came the muted sounds of battle. The panic amongst his students was immediate.

"Calm yourselves!" Loki cried, the sudden ferocity in his voice quelled their fear and impressively, they resumed rank formation. He stooped down and picked up the little girl then, holding her in his arms, turned to the class and spoke with renewed calm.

"Follow me."

By the time they had reached the hangar bay, the ships had jumped and the battle was already over. They were safe for now. Loki had his class stand to attention against the back wall while he carried the unconscious girl over to a busy medic. He then joined Corell and the others in gathering the scattered crates. He looked to the smaller ships housed within the hangar, and asked:

"If we are attacked again, are there evacuation plans in place for the padawans?"

[Barton Henning]

The busy medic looked down at the unconscious girl. Barton Henning wasn't counted amongst the Whaladon's registered medics, though that hadn't stopped him from knotting a few make-shift slings and popping a few shoulders back into place. He moved instinctively to help the padawan, everything but the methodical, rational part of his mind becoming blanketed in a forced calm.

“If we are attacked again, are there evacuation plans in place for the padawans?”

Though his attention was firmly focused on his patient, Barton heard the boy's question. Whilst he worked, his mind filtered through all the sounds of the hangar, sifting, processing what was essential. Multi-tasking came naturally to Henning, who worked confidently even as he cast offered an answer of his own.

“When, not if,” he stated, as an Alliance medic entered his field of vision, offering her trembling hands as assistance. Still, his gaze didn't drift away from the unconscious body, an intense focus in his eyes as, without willing it, the Force worked through him to heal what had been wounded. “The Wheel is getting larger by the week, and there's only so many places we can jump to.”

[Drin Kizael]

Two ships sat quietly in an aft hangar bay of the Valiant as tech crewers and maintenance droids scrambled around them. Two men unlocked an astromech from a long range Y-Wing as the cockpit hatch opened with a loud hiss. Next to it, the boarding ramp of a small but sturdy Delta class E-10 transport casually lowered to the deck.

The Rebel Alliance pilot aboard the transport stood in an open doorway, regarding the passenger compartment's lone occupant cautiously. "We're aboard, sir, and clear of the Imperials. The hangar is secure."

The Trianii sitting in front of him nodded, though his hazel eyes looked unfocused. His fur was the color of soft cream, except around the jowls and eyes, where white hair had begun to dominate the blonde of his youth. Once bold stripes, too, had all but faded. He wore simple clothes, dark brown pants and a light blue shirt like you would find at most backworld starport markets.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Tanes," he said softly.

Tanes hesitated a second, then added, "The Y-Wing is secure, too."

That seemed to draw the Trianii's attention back from wherever he was looking. Drin Kizael smiled slightly. "Yes I know," he replied as he unbuckled the seat's safety harness. "Thank you."

He stood up, ducking instinctively as his 210 centimeter frame neared the ceiling. His shirt tightened as he rose, hugging his broad chest and shoulders.

Tanes turned to lead Kizael out. As he followed, his gaze drew distant again as his mind once again played over the events of the last five minutes.

He wasn't sure what to expect when he finally saw The Wheel, but it lived up to expectations. A small hodgepodge, beat up medium freighters and a heavily armed Mon Cal cruiser, alone in the most remote part of space it could find, a fitting reflection of the Jedi themselves compared to the last time he'd seen them.

Then he noticed darts of red and green filling the void. An Imperial attack cruiser flew on an intercept vector with the lead ship, dropping a seemingly endless wave of starfighters in its wake.

The Rebel Alliance pilots reacted with the kind of trained precision that would make his Ranger commanders proud. As the transport raced for the fleeing ships, Kizael took in his first up close and personal glimpse of TIE fighters.

He'd seen them in recordings before, but after so many years, he couldn't avoid the sense of seeing the galaxy for the first time. He braced himself when the first ships came into view, the ones he'd heard the pilot refer to as "eyeballs". Then the bulky winged pods split off into an escort ring formation, allowing a faster moving squadron immediately behind them to fly through.

Anger threatened to well up the moment he saw the silhouette of these "squints", the design of the agile craft tearing up vivid memories of Jedi starfighters.

Kizael strapped himself down into his seat when the pilot warned to brace for an emergency landing. Half a minute later, the scene through the viewport shifted from blackness dotted by green flashes to white durasteel. The ship lurched forward as their momentum came to an abrupt halt. Several seconds later, he felt the hull vibrate with the rising tenor of the engines, followed by the indescribable sensation that marks a leap into hyperspace.

The Jedi's thoughts returned to the present. He stood at the bottom of the boarding ramp on the deck of the Valiant, reining in his conflicting thoughts.

The direction of his life had turned so suddenly in the last 72 hours, he hadn't had time to sort much of it out. Considering how he'd arrived at this next stop on his journey, it seemed like he wasn't going to get much of a chance to, either.

Of course, that was hardly a new experience in his life.

[Navaria Tarkin]

Navaria was still fastened inside the seat of the Y-Wing, watching the Trianii Jedi walk off of the transport as if she was living a waking a dream. It felt still felt surreal as if her eyes were playing tricks upon her, a sensation that had never really passed since seeing him for the first time in Star's End. The ramifications of their reunion had been set aside for later - trying to have a meaningful conversation during a prison break was rather limited.

Tearing herself away, she completed the shut down sequence for the Y-Wing and opened the hatch. Both she and her companion inside unfastened their belts and felt it at the same time. The Force warning them of change. It felt like something had forcefully pulled the Jedi Master awareness into its power, and not because of the danger that was presented outside. Technicians scrambled throughout the docking bay and both women inside the Y-Wing stood to attention until the familiar lurch of hyperspace flight threatened to knock them back into their seats, though for Navaria's companion, it was difficult to keep herself steady.

Daria Nytherciria, the Last of the Miraluka and Jedi Knight, had an aversion to space travel. It often made her sick, though not as much as of late. She was beginning to grow accustomed to it, but with the sudden shift in space, Daria was threatening to spill over the cockpit. Gentle hands took the Miraluka by both arms to steady her and Navaria could not help noticing that her companion was paler then usual.

Her concern could not be hidden. "Are you all right?"

[Daria Nytherciria]

Daria drew in a ragged breath as she held herself steady with one hand on Navaria's shoulder. The look on her face said it all: the lurching jump through hyperspace felt as if it had thrust a whisk into her insides and whipped them all into a quivering mess. As they climbed out of the Y-Wings cockpit, she turned a confused glance around the hangar bay, searching for something she couldn't seem to find.

“What was that?” She looked back to her companion, frowning. “Did you feel it? As if we were.. on the edge of a ripple in the Force.”

Grim-set faces looked back at the Jedi as their boots touched met the hangar bay floor with a soft thud. One of the technicians snapped an anxious salute. His fear rolled off his in waves, bristling against Daria's skin. “Master Jedi.. I'm afraid there's been.. an incident, just prior to your arrival.”

[Drin Kizael]

"An incident?" Kizael interjected with less than subtle sarcasm in his voice.

The technician winced, turning to look up, and up, clearly caught off guard by the alien's presence. The plain clothes and lack of anything that normally distinguishes one as a Jedi did not help.

The tech darted a nervous glance down at his datapad, then back up. Some of his tension washed off him at the confirmation that the big Trianii was, likely in fact, the passenger he was briefed to expect.

"Uh, Master Tarkin," the tech stuttered. This time it was Kizael's turn to wince, if only inward. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to hearing that.

"I've been told that Jedi and command staff are meeting on the Whaladon. We've got a shuttle pod prepped across the hangar so you can join them."

[Abarai Loki]

“The Wheel is getting larger by the week, and there's only so many places we can jump to.”

Loki's youthful features creased into a frown. The medic was correct; it was only a matter of time. Dwelling upon such troubling thoughts was extraordinarily unproductive so he resigned himself to assisting with damage control about the hangar, first he instructed the padawans to help Corell salvage supply crates then he rushed to the aid of a technician who'd narrowly avoided losing her hand in an electrical fire. Blue flames and white sparks leapt from a damaged computer terminal and the smell of melted plastic soured the air. From a bracket on the wall Loki summoned an extinguisher, it flew into his hands and spewed thick clouds of white powder until the fire was subdued. The woman gave him a look of relief before darting off to the next crisis. He took one step and froze, there was something wet underfoot, he looked down.

Slick amber fluid expanded about his boot, his eyes narrowed and he traced the thin trickle of liquid until he arrived at its source: a fractured shuttle engine. The fuel flowed like honey from a tiny crack in the plated tank and no-one seemed to have yet noticed. In the cockpit sat a couple of deckhands, bickering over handfuls of wiring, and as the boy rounded the ship he saw Corell and the other padawans stacking crates, and beyond them the pair of overburdened medics crouched over numerous hapless casualties. Darkly, he glanced back at the smoking computer terminal and the pool now swelling around it.

"It's not good enough," he said, then he turned on his heel and marched across the hangar to the deck chief, "Mister Munro, a moment of your time, please. It is of utmost importance."

The deck chief cursed under his breath, dismissed a rather greasy subordinate, and joined the boy next to an unoccupied comms console. Loki wasted no time.

"I need you to contact your commanding officer on the bridge and ask him to send a message throughout the fleet that all Jedi are to assemble in the Whaladon's forward hold for an emergency meeting asap. Also, that shuttle is leaking fuel. Please have your team see to it before we're blown to bits. Thank you."

Leaving the scowling officer to his work, Loki then rejoined the padawans and requested their attention.

"As Jedi, I feel our current state of affairs needs to be addressed and quickly. Another attack is inevitable and, if unprepared, we will pay sorely for it. There's a meeting imminent and it's imperative you attend and have your voices heard. Finish your business here then make your way to the forward cargo hold."

Then, after twenty minutes of incoming shuttle traffic and inconvenient detours through bustling passageways, the last of the twenty-five Jedi within the Wheel hobbled gingerly into the cargo hold supported by the soft-spoken medic. The doors closed with a whine, heads turned and the buzz of conversation subsided. A moment later, the silence of anticipation ended when an impatient young zabrack called out from a cluster of padawans sat against the wall.

"So... what in hezmana are we doing here?"

[Corell Capstan]

There was scarce little light in the hangar bay, and many of the bulbs were obscured by the holds contents. In the dirty gloom, Corell picked out some familiar faces in the gathering. These men, women and children were all the Jedi had left. There should have been something inspiring, something awesome, about that fact – but the sight of them all, smeared with grease or cradling wounded limbs, their shoulders hunched forward in exhaustion, brought to mind only one thing: refugees.

“Good question,” Corell blurted out, suddenly compelled to fill the silence that sat between them all. Her eyes went to Loki, then to Navaria and onto the others. “Nevermind that I don't even frellin' know where here is.. I'm sick an' tired of playing cat and mouse with these bastards.”

[Barton Henning]

He hadn't known whether to come. In fact, Barton Henning had considered ignoring the summons all together. There was work to be done aboard the Whaladon and a man of his medical skills wouldn't have gone amiss, yet when it had come down to it there had been a feeling in his gut that told him he'd regret staying behind with engineers and crews trying to patch up the ship and its passengers.

Standing as a part of the loose ring of Jedi gathered in the cargo hold, however, Henning felt powerfully out of place. It was ridiculous, really, given that of all of them he was one of only a handful who had actually been trained in the temple of the old Jedi Order. Still, that was then. The Jedi of the present time were a different breed. Even Alex Coal, who had been his classmate back on Coruscant, had come to embody a new philosophy that advocated action over abstinence.

With a tightening of his expression, Barton did something that would have previously been unthinkable for him: he spoke up.

“I'd like to know too,” he began. “I've heard a lot of conflicting talk since the Knightfall joined the Wheel, and no one seems to be certain which direction we're heading in.”

Although his words could be taken to mean the literal destination of the convoy, he was speaking more broadly of its passengers, whose purpose so far had simply been to evade detection.

[Ilias Nytrau]

"I myself did not come here to continue hiding, as I have done these many years." Ilias piped up. "Even if it had been in plain sight."

Since the beginning of the meeting, he had remained out of the way, largely out of sight and detection. Now, he pushed away from the bulkhead against which he stood and took regularly spaced steps towards where everyone was mainly gathered. There were faces which he recognized from those years before (and at the time had been much younger) but as it stood, he knew they would not recognize him. At least, not as he wished they could do.

"The Jedi cannot hide much longer. Not like this. There will come a time when, if we continue as we have done, that we will encounter opposition from which we will have no escape. If we can run, but we truly cannot hide, then we are finished, unless we fight. Unless we defend ourselves." He lifted his eyes to glance over the assembled, his expression betraying nothing. "What kind of Jedi are we, I ask, if we are the defended and not the defenders? We were once the defenders and upholders of peace, truth, justice. Giving voice to those who had not a voice that would be heard. Helping those who could not help themselves."

He held his eyes on Barton when he saw and recognized him, whom he had known from days long past and had an aptitude for the healing arts, as he had.

"Healing wounds both physical... and otherwise. Where there should be decisiveness, not necessarily equating to physical action in every instance..." He slipped his gaze over some who exuded an aura of combativeness, mostly mixed with hesitance, and continued on. "...in its place, what I see is indecision and fear. Again, what kind of Jedi are we, I ask, if we are the defended and not the defenders?"

He sighed.

"Not any kind of Jedi that should be." Ilias Nytrau, Healer and Warrior, shook his head. "Not ever."

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

Standing away from the loose circle, silvery-blue fingertips tugged absently at the hem of her tank-top. She'd been giving the harried medics as much of a hand as she could; even with no formal training as of yet, she knew plenty of first aid to be helpful and let them concentrate on the more severely wounded.

Her nerves were getting the better of her again, Kala noted with a faint sigh. Give her a hundred meter cliff to leap off of, or a sheer rock-face to climb, and she was fine. Toss her in with a group of complete strangers that all knew one another to some degree, and she was just another awkward teenager. Fingertips shimmered faintly in the dim light as she rubbed at the back of her neck, thankful her silver-streaked locks were pulled back in a loose bun.

Dark lavender eyes took in the sight of the few Jedi assembled, and wished fervently for a familiar face. As the discussion began, Kala remained silent and listened. Oddly, as much as she didn't want to, she found herself drawn forward, out of the comfortable shadows she'd been ensconced in as someone else spoke up. The peculiar inner prompting she'd learned to trust, and now knew to be the Force demanded it of her.

I liked you better as a gentle prompt, for the record...she muttered silently at it, raising her eyes to seek out the source of the new voice...ohh.

[Drin Kizael]

The shuttle pod from the Valiant docked smoothly on the loading bridge extending from The Whaladon's port freight dock. Drin Kizael stepped into the spacious transport behind Navaria Tarkin and Daria Nytherciria, still having trouble just taking it all in.

Kizael's eyes scanned over the crowd milling toward the main cargo hold. The gathering was mostly human or near human, with few other races scattered throughout. There was hardly a robe to be seen. Some wore engineering coveralls, others pilot uniforms, some looked more like smugglers and vagabonds than the monks that Jedi were once perceived to be. But the hum of the Force was strong on the ship, and there were enough lightsabres on board to invade a small moon.

The big Trianii's first reaction to his first sight of the collected Jedi was not unlike his first thoughts at seeing the Wheel itself from space. From a more cynical perspective, the once star-spanning order in which he grew up was a scarred, pale shadow of itself.

Through the eyes of one who had survived as much as he, though, the very fact that this many sentients could call themselves Jedi at all, as battered and bruised as they were, was a ray of hope in these dark times.

Kizael watched a bit awkwardly as a cluster of Jedi passed Lianna, nodding with deference and calling her Master Tarkin. So much time had passed. He'd always considered it his greatest strength to be able to focus on the moment, but here he could not help but see the past more clearly.

He wondered if he would know anyone here. One face or two drew his eye, sparking memories of a teenage padawn. Although he knew that not all Jedi Knights had fallen on the day of Order 66, the idea that any others had survived the purge that followed was as remote as the prison he'd been hiding in the past five years. If any had survived, he wondered if he'd even recognize them twenty-four years later. His features tightened momentarily as images of old friends flashed and just as quickly faded in his mind.

Just as the last of the crowd filtered through the doors to the cargo hold, Kizael's attention was promptly pulled back to the present. One familiar presence flashed through the crowd of strangers like a beacon. He turned, ears perked up and hazel eyes looking around sharply.

A straggler stood on the other side of the deck facing him with a similar expression of disbelief. She was human, dressed in traditional Jedi robes, with fiery red hair and a face nearly devoid of any signs of aging, putting her in her mid-twenties, no older than thirty. Kizael blinked. Tionne Thanewulf smiled broadly at him, looking exactly -- literally exactly -- like he remembered her.

Kizael marched quickly over to her, an overwhelming smile reaching across the faded blonde fur of his jowls. Without warning he picked her up off her feet in a giant bear hug and belted out a loud and remarkably un-Jedi-like laugh.

From inside, he heard a young voice pipe up over the murmuring. ""So... what in hezmana are we doing here?"

Kizael took note of the sharpness in the young man's voice as he let Tionne down. For a second or two he just looked at his long lost friend, his expression fighting between disbelief and happiness.

Finally he just said, "How?"

[Daria Nytherciria]

Had she believed there to be time, Daria Nythericria might have taken a moment to study the aura of each of the Jedi present in the cargo hold at that moment. The variances in the energy flows that surrounded them – a manifestation of the unique way that she, as a Miraluka, saw through the Force – were as numerous and as fascinating as ever they had been. Yet, as watched Drin Kizael bound across the room toward Tionne Thanewulf, the Jedi Knight could not bring herself to share his delightful. Her attention darted instead to Ilias Nytrau.

“When attempted to settle on Vortex, months ago, we hadn't the strength to defend our own, let alone the people of this Galaxy.” At this time she noted, with a hint of regret, the absence of Serena Laran, her apprentices Rhianna and Morgan, and the Miraluka's own student, Wyl Staedtler. Where was young Kale, and the Reverend Solomon? To which darkened corner of the universe had Adia Issoris gone? In time, they would be reunited. She had to have faith in this.

“Our strength has grown... but we remain unprepared for that which is still to come.”

[Abarai Loki]

"Preparation is paramount."

For such a small boy, Loki's voice carried well and with gravitas. As heads turned, searching for its source, he stood still with his hands clasped before him. It had been a wise choice to wait before speaking but his suspicions were instantly confirmed: with diversity comes division.

"Another attack is inevitable and we need to be ready. Whether or not the Empire knew of our whereabouts prior to this attack is unknown but it is important to note, that while they are now undoubtedly aware of this fleet's existance, they know nothing of its passengers or its purpose. And this is to our advantage.

In this moment, we are perhaps the strongest concentration of Jedi there has been for decades. Even under a new Empress the Imperials remain fractured, and recovering from war, but knowledge of us and our intentions will reunite them in a single purpose; and the Empire will bring their weapons and they will wipe us out. Yes, we are many and there is strength in numbers. The Imperial military has trillions."

Some nodded in agreement while others scoffed defiantly, he saw in some faces flickers of fear and others wore expressions which betrayed to him absolutely nothing. It was apparent that there was a difference of opinion even amongst the elder Jedi, some were cautious and patient while there were those who wore their pride on their sleeve and yearned for action. And it was with those he sympathised. Needless to say, opinions were strong. Even the medic wanted a say in the matter.

"Survival must be our priority. If we call ourselves Jedi then it is our duty to preserve that legacy."

[Corell Capstan]

Her shoulders bunched high and arms knotted tightly over her chest, Corell gave a shrug that was more threat than simple body language. It was no secret that she was one of the more vocal supporters of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.

“Why wait for the Imps to come at us again, when we can take the fight to them?”

She glanced around, looking to the silent majority with a defiance in her eyes, challenging them to speak.

“Don't know about the rest of you but I'm going space crazy being stuck aboard this boat.”

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

Kala's lavender eyes gradually left the features they'd focused on, the Force content for the time being, in having her take note. Blinking, she cast her orbs around the room, stopping briefly on each face, half wishing that she'd not kept to herself quite so much in the brief time she'd been there. But it was meant to be, she mused, glancing back to Ilias briefly.

A brash, loud voice emerged after a moment, belonging to a blonde who's eyes blazed with defiance, her posture a silent challenge. Tilting her head, Kala found her own voice emerging, a soft, silvery counterpoint.

"I agree with..." it took a moment of thought to recall the name she'd heard the young woman addressed with only the day before. "...Corell. Small-scale incursions, well planned for strategic locations would be beneficial with the small numbers we can call upon. Our best defense is a strong, stable offense utilizing our strengths."

[Daria Nytherciria]

Though she shared Corell's sentiments when it came to being aboard the Wheel, the Knight could not agree with the woman's motivation behind wanting to get her feet on solid ground. The Corellian had been Navaria's responsibility from the beginning, though Daria had not hesitated to caution the Jedi Master on what she felt to be a latent threat brewing in the would-be Jedi's heart.

“We are not ready for such immediate action,” she said, looking between Corell and Kala'ndryl. Neither of them had undergone a great deal of training, but were buoyed by the belief that the Force would take them through most anything that they might encounter. Daria's faith remained strong, but she could not support such a reckless and almost certainly suicidal decision as sending barely trained Jedi up against the Imperial Military.

“We were beginning to make some head way on Vortex,” she continued, with a look towards Navaria, one of the few others who had been present at the short-lived academy, if it could be called that. “It is my belief that we must secure a solid base of operations, where we can be free of the distractions that are ever-present aboard this fleetl. I am not without thanks for the assistance provided by the Rebel Alliance, but this is no place for Jedi.”

[Drin Kizael]

Outside the makeshift meeting hall, Drin Kizael listened to Tionne's brief synopsis of her experience after the Clone Wars. He was trying to wrap his mind around such a desperate use of carbonite freezing, but he wasn't sure how it compared to getting oneself imprisoned for terrorism.

“Why wait for the Imps to come at us again, when we can take the fight to them?”

It was that same human woman again who distracted his focus. Her presence resonated a sense of familiarity in the Force, but her words caught his attention even more. She sounded a lot like another human he knew a long time ago and considered a friend.

The last Jedi he heard talk like that was Anakin Skywalker.

Kizael frowned as he looked through the cargo bay doors at the young blonde haired woman. Whoever she was, she'd lived a hard life. Of course it looked like all of them had. A feeling not entirely unlike the Dark Side seemed to simmer beneath the collective aura of the entire gathering. It was subtle, but there. Perhaps the reason he could even sense it at all was merely the fact that he had faced his own personal battle with the Dark Side directly. Or perhaps he was just projecting.

Suddenly recognition hit him as he looked more closely at the woman's eyes. "Little Corrie?" he whispered to himself.

Tionne looked at him curiously. Kizael just shook his head quickly. "We should continue this conversation another time. This meeting sounds more important than I was expecting."

Daria, the Miraluka who had helped rescue him from Stars End was speaking as he entered the room.

"I am not without thanks for the assistance provided by the Rebel Alliance, but this is no place for Jedi.”

The big felinoid made his way around the back of the group as inconspicuously as he could manage, finding an open area near the wall to listen quietly.

[Navaria Tarkin]

It was unsurprisingly that Corell and one of the newcomers were itching for a fight. Patience was not yet instilled in them and action meant they were working towards a goal that was tangible. Preparation was seen as powerlessness and showing the enemy they were a weaker, especially hiding from the enemy this entire time.

The Rebellion continued the war while the Jedi sat silent and meditated on what to do, as far as her blonde Corellian student was concerned. Even Navaria was not as reckless as Corell when she was younger. That thought was troublesome.

Clearly, her silent contemplation had to be broken. Already there were eyes upon her to speak up. "We have an alliance with the Rebellion, to assist as we rebuild. To instigate an offensive with little preparation is suicide. The Empire is ignorant of our numbers. That is an advantage. One we should not cast aside so easily. Secrecy will afford us the time to rebuild our own base and train. Prepare ourselves for the inevitable confrontation that will between us and the Empire."

[Corell Capstan]

Though it didn't surprise Corell to hear Daria dismissing and course of proactive action, she had expected more from Navaria. What were numbers if they did nothing with them? Sparing only a short, disinterested glance for the newest arrival to the gathering – Drin Kizael – Capstan soon fixed her attention on the woman who was, by default, the centre of the discussion.

“So what're we doing to prepare?”

[Abarai Loki]

"Training you," answered Loki, folding his arms, "Our padawans are undertrained. Half of them don't even have working lightsabers. If you are so eager to become a corpse I'll gladly direct you to the nearest airlock."

His gaze finally left Corell. While the boy understood her need for action, he found her abraisive lack of tact unconducive to the discussion, and annoying. He adressed the room at large, finding it difficult to hold the group's attention when stood in such close proximity to Navaria Tarkin. He raised his voice.

"However, for those of us who are serious about defeating the enemy, we must learn to work with what we have - we must learn to work with our allies. The Rebel Alliance offers us protection and anonymity, and in return we can learn to pilot their starfighters, fight alongside their commandos, and man their field missions. It would be foolhardy to reveal ourselves to the galaxy now, but that doesn't mean we have to become dead weight."

Roaming eyes caught faces they did not recognise. They were a motley crew; a clash of ages, cultures, races, backgrounds, and beliefs, but they were all united in one common bond - they were Jedi. A new breed of Jedi, a blend of the ancient and orthodox and the dangerous and new. There was fear and confusion, but there was also hope, and a certain electricity in the air. His eyes fell at last upon Navaria as he said:

"To do this we will need to co-operate, it requires order and organisation; leadership."

[Barton Henning]

For a long time, listening had seemed like the best option to Henning. No one was paying him much attention, on account that there were several other more vocal members of the gathering who wanted to use this opportunity to say their piece. Even still, since the last time he'd spoken their hadn't been much – if anything – agreed on. They were a diverse group, and whilst the Force unified them in one aspect, in many others they were wildly different. That would be, naturally, where order and organisation would be essential.

“We'll have a vote, then... to decide who's in charge?”

[Navaria Tarkin]

Corell, brash as ever. She closed her eyes momentarily and knew that bringing her here was the right thing to do. Part of her conscience was worried if that also sealed her fate. If she could only bring that energy into something cohesive with patience, that woman would be a force to be reckoned with coupled with her passion.

Soon Loki picked up and her eyes opened, grave with the seriousness of his example. There was so much to do, so many to train, so much to build upon with the Alliance's help. With what scant time they had to organize, they needed to strike at the Empire on their own terms if at all possible. The Knight's voice held a cadence that caught the attention of most here, but Navaria could feel the uncertainty that gripped various hearts around the room.

And then she felt it - a surge of conviction that was directly towards her. She lifted her gaze to meet Loki's head on, neither one of them backing away as the Jedi Master understood what he meant.

The Empire had their face, why shouldn't the Alliance have theirs?

Henning spoke next, and Navaria drifted away from Loki's piercing gaze. "To vote would be fair. Everyone's voice would be heard, but it would be mainly a blind vote of whoever was thought qualified."

Part of her wanted to dismiss the calling of her heart, the other wanted to stand and do what was right. All of her life was a lie, but the Force had provided her with the guidance she needed in order to undertake this challenge ... Bringing the Jedi back and fight the imagery of the Empire with their own.

But to do so blatantly would only cause discord and mistrust. She was also still so young to be so wise. Had power allowed her hubris to be speaking? Was she really that important, or was it wishful thinking?

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos hung back from the circle of Jedi, watching as he leaned against one of the Whaledon's bulkheads. His absense from the circle wasn't subversion: he wasn't here to spy on the gathering, unnoticed. Rather, it stemmed from the simple fact that he did not feel worthy to stand alongside them; didn't feel worthy to consider himself a Jedi, after everything that had happened on Ord Ithil.

He listened as they spoke of preparations for the next attack, and their plans for the future: for direction, and leadership. They were a forlorn group - a mere ghost of the Jedi Order that was - and for a moment he considered what the great Jedi Masters of his youth might have done, in their place. Would Master Yoda, he wondered, have simply hidden himself away in as dank and dreary a place as this, sequestered in fear of death and discovery; or would he have died fighting, holding on to his principles?

His eyes swept the group. One or two of them he recognised, which seemed impossible to him; others bore names that were familiar, either from distant memories of Padawans at the palace, or from mutterings he'd heard around The Wheel. He wondered who among them might make the best leaders; and who among them would have the courage, or the confidence, to nominate themselves.

Finding a spark of courage of his own, he cautiously stepped in alongside the Jedi, and asked just that. "Then of those amongst us, are there any who would nominate themselves, or another, to be a member of such a leadership?"

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael was speechless.

Although in his darker hours, he feared that Lianna -- sorry, Navaria -- would walk the path of the dark side, bitter at being abandoned, those fears were fleeting. He always held more confidence in her destiny than that.

He knew that if there was any semblance of a Jedi Order, that she would become a prominent part of it. She was never afraid to speak her mind, and though her attitude often bordered on precocious as a child, her bold nature was tempered by a wisdom far beyond her years. That was not something that can be taught. It was a combination of innate maturity and experience.

What he was not prepared for was the level of attention that was constantly focused on her, even when she was not speaking. Seeing the effect she had on this gathering was striking. And she was handling it with an even more surprising grace. Even those who clearly disagreed with her held no small amount of respect for the young human.

Of course, they were all young. One of the other more vocal members present looked barely old enough to be a Padawan. That was undoubtedly a factor.

"...are there any who would nominate themselves, or another, to be a member of such a leadership?"

The Trianii blinked, trying to process the confirmation that this "Jedi Order" was anything but.

His eyes swept over the gathering. Even though a few stood out as likely candidates judging by the way they held themselves, he knew absolutely nothing of the dynamics of the group. He'd known Daria for all of the half week or so since they escaped Mytus VII. He recognized more faces than he expected, though surviving the Purge alone did not necessarily equate to leadership potential with a group this demanding.

He held little doubt that someone would nominate Navaria, so he remained silent, content to watch this significant moment for the new generation of Jedi play itself out.

[Tionne Thanewulf]

Throughout the congregation, Thanewulf had kept quiet. Apart from a brief exchange with her feline friend, nothing was said. She merely remained observant of the group, their assertions on the subject far too optimistic for the current state of the Order. A handful of Knights and Masters shattered throughout the galaxy couldn't do much more but aimlessly prick at Imperial forces that had amassed over a quarter of a century. While most of those who now endeavoured to speak hid for the entirety of their lives, Tionne was one of the rare or even the only Jedi to see the interior of the Citadel and live to tell the tale. As such, she understood the might of the Empire better than others. Thus, the redhead stepped forward into the middle, cynical laughter leaving her lips. Heavy boots clanged against the metallic floor, thumbs tucked under her utility belt where the electrum hilt scintillated with a copper glow, a symbol of the Old Order.

''Serious about defeating the Empire?'' the Knight barked through laughter, eyeing a particular youngster named Abarai Loki - ''You should be happy if you live long enough to see end of the next month! It is not about victory, fellow Jedi, it is about sheer survival.''

Grey eyes skimmed across the crowd, looking each and every person directly, assessing the odds. Trained and untrained, versed in battle, human and humanoid... The remnant of the Order was indeed a diverse group. Pacing in a full circle, Thanewulf addressed everybody.
''The Empire knows about us, so does the Inspectorate. Or at least some people know.'' the Knight revealed in determined tone, austerity dominating her otherwise delicate features, her posture rigid to leave an impression of utmost resolve. She had long dismissed traditional Jedi robes for working clothes usually carved in leather that let her easily blend into the crowds. As a Jedi watchman, her life depended on prowess in social mimicry, an art others would also have to learn to excel at.

''I've seen the interior of the Citadel. Quite the furnishing they have in there... Impaled heads of remaining Jedi would prove an excellent final touch.'' the Coruscanti jested, voice laced with trademark irony. However, the entire story of her capture on Coruscant would be told to those select few Tionne thought she could trust.

''I'm sure quite a few of you have complaints about such forms of interior design... Hence I am willing to offer my help. Those inclining to lead will only lead if there is someone to lead.'' said Tionne, then stopped next to Navaria, exchanging a brief glance with the Jedi Master. In the light of their former conversation, she nodded, then resumed to speak.

''The Empire has a distaste for non-human species. Use this against them. The Empire loathes Hutts and all that is affiliated with them. Use this against them. The Empire is not homogeneous - there are many in the system who disagree with it. Use this against them!'' the redhead exclaimed, raising a finger to make a point. Sly as a fox, Thanewulf provoked intentionally.

''Is this what you want?!?'' she spoke with a louder tone, unclipping the saber from her belt and raising it in the air above her, so that all may see.
''Then earn it! But be mindful - not many battles will be fought with these, at least not at first. But with these...'' Tionne trailed off, tapping her forehead to indicate mental adroitness was implied.

[Abarai Loki]

"It would also be prudent," Loki added clearly, immitating the redhead by first pointing to the chrono on his wrist and then to his ear, "That we also learn to use these, and these."

He turned on the woman, an icy edge to his voice: "As has already been stated, survival is our priority, but while surviving one would think it would not be in our best interests to... sit pretty. And if the enemy is aware of us then now is the time to prepare for the fight, unless we plan on lulling the Empire into a stupor with your obtrusive rhetoric."

"Clearly," he continued, turning slowly to address the congregation, "The divisions amongst us extend beyond matters of age and intelligence. In principle we stand divided. We must, each of us, ask of ourselves what kind of Jedi are we? What kind of Jedi do we want to be? One person alone cannot answer such questions."

[Daria Nytherciria]

“We have not come this far – survived the purges of the Galactic Empire – to be torn apart by petty bickering.” Daria's gaze roamed across the group, as dark and restless as a caged sandpather. “Our commitment is, as it has always been, to the Force. We must train.. make use of the wealth of knowledge and experience that is divided amongst us, and weather this storm until the Rebel Alliance has strength enough to challenge the oppression of the Empire.”

As to the matter of leadership, that seemed to be a question that no one was willing to answer.

“In the days of the Republic, the most wise and powerful Jedi guided the course of the Jedi Order. We are not so great in number as the Order was then, but there are Jedi amongst us whose very presence inspires the same dedication, respect and above all, hope embodied by the Council of old: Masters Tarkin, Kizael and Jedi Knight Loki.”

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael's brow creased with worry at the raging cynicism Tionne put on display. He had remembered her as an unconventional thinker, but he did not realize how hard her awakening, decades removed from her life, and incarceration must have affected her.

When Daria spoke of the Council, he scanned over the gathered Jedi to gauge their reactions.

"...embodied by the Council of old: Masters Tarkin, Kizael and Jedi Knight Loki.”

"What?" Drin heard himself say.

His ears tilted forward. He couldn't have heard that right. He regarded the Miraluka, wondering how she perceived the look of disbelief on his face. Far be it for him to question the insight of a sentient whose entire race was so deeply rooted in the Force. But he did. Their best candidates were the Emporer's sister, a child, and a convict?

He looked at the group at large, sensing some of the attention in the room shift toward him. Doubtless many of them had to be told who he even was.

"I..." he started to speak, but that was the only word he could find.

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos watched Kizael's reaction. He hadn't known the Jedi intimately before the Purge - never spoken directly, though their paths had crossed on occasion - but the Trianii Jedi wasn't exactly the sort of face you forgot in a hurry. From what he remembered from all those years ago, his nomination seemed shrewd.

As for Tarkin; he knew little of her, but from what he had seen since joining the Wheel, she held herself with the sort of poise and calm that seemed the perfect epitomy of what it was to be a Jedi. He had heard mentionings of some connection to the Empress, but had no real understanding of the significance; he had of course read of the installation of Miranda Tarkin as Empress since his return to the galaxy-at-large - and the blessed defeat of Palpatine, the engineer of the Jedi's downfall - and vaguely remembered the surname in connection with one of the military leaders of the early Empire, but all in all it meant little to him. All he knew was that from what he had seen, if anyone was to lead them, there were few more suited candidates than Master Tarkin.

Loki on the other hand was something of an unknown quantity. From what he had observed, from the instructions that Loki had given to the other Jedi on the Wheel, while young he was highly capable, and in him he saw a great deal of promise. He supposed that he represented the new kind of Jedi: the new breed that would hopefully help them rebuild their shattered order.

Together, the three represented much of what the Jedi Order was, and what - to his mind at least - it needed to be. However, there was one aspect that seemed to be missing, and he found himself compelled to speak again.

"I cannot fault your suggestions, Master Nytherciria," he concurred with a bow of his head in the Miraluka's direction. "In addition, I believe there is another who also deserves consideration. While it is of course essential that we liberate the people of this galaxy from the oppression under which they suffer, many will see the restoration of the Jedi as the start of a return to our old role as sentinels and protectors." He hesitated for a moment, brow furrowing slightly. "Who better to help prepare us for such a role than one of the Jedi Watchman; a Watchman such as Master Thanewulf?"

[Drin Kizael]

And so it went for some time. No one objected to the names that were raised, though perhaps disagreement was implied when it came someone's time to speak, and one of the names on the short list of candidates went unspoken.

Navaria remained surprisingly quiet during the discussion, though she did speak up to second the nomination of Drin Kizael and to add Daria Nytherciria's name, the latter of which was met with the first sign of universal agreement.

Then almost on cue came the debate over how many voices the Jedi needed. Who should be represented? Do they want Alliance involvement?

Kizael held a cleansing breath and closed his eyes for strength.

It came down to Navaria Tarkin, Abarai Loki, Tionne Thanewulf, Daria Nytherciria, and as much as he wished to deny it, himself. A unique mix of experience and strengths. The list disturbed him more than it probably should have.

"We clearly have much to discuss," he heard himself say. Stepping forward had been far from premeditated, but neither was coming to the Wheel in the first place.

Kizael looked around, taking a beat to assure that all attention was on him. "All of your voices have been heard. All of these concerns are valid. Those of us who have been named have much to meditate on before we make anything official. I think perhaps now is a good time to do just that."

The big trianii sighed, actually welcoming the aches in his legs from the long flight here, then standing through most of the meeting. He took it as a sign that life could now resume. His only thought was of a quiet place to meditate and sleep, a thought that underscored how fast all of this was happening.

A week ago, that place would have been his cell at Stars End. He had only arrived on this ship just over an hour ago. He didn't even have a room yet. Though that problem, at least, was more manageable than the hundreds of other questions weighing on him as the cargo hold finally cleared out.

(to be continued...)