On the Shoulders of Giants

[Anbira Hicchoru]

The starscape adjacent to the hidden Jedi fleet known only as the Wheel split thunderously as a ship made it's unannounced approach. Thrown into realspace, the vessel, an Imperial Lambda shuttle, immediately began to list. It became imminently clear that the ship either lacked attitude control, or a pilot to operate it. Littered across its surface were pock marks of blaster fire, and the sublight engines, at idle, flickered at best.

It drifted slowly, turning end over end. Inside, it's pilot lay slumped on the floor, his head gashed and bleeding from a bulkhead strike. His last conscious act had been to plot a staggered series of hyperdrive jumps to carry him back to safety.

[Justinian Atreides]

This was boring.

No, it is boring.

However boring, the patrols were necessary. The first eyes, first contact with any potential adversary of the most secretive Jedi convoy known as the Wheel. There was still a good hour left in his shift before they would call him back in and send someone else out to be hell of bored.

"For frak sakes. I have to wonder just how long this is going to go on before -"

Those words were suddenly cut off as something tore out of hyperspace that sensors and his own visual confirmation gave him cause for caution. It wasn't one of theirs and it could be... but wait. Thumbing the thrusters softly, Flight Officer Atreides nudged the snubfighter closer to the enemy vessel that had dumped out of hyperspace and immediately began to list, aimlessly, as if unmanned or troubled. The scoremarks on its usually pristine white surface told tales.

The crackling of the comm. broke the silence and his train of deductive thought.

'Patrol, we read an unscheduled arrival with enemy signal, nonresponsive - confirm?'

Not taking his eyes from the damaged Lambda-class T-4a shuttle, Atreides thumbed the comm. to confirm. "Affirmative, control." His voice hesitated. "I wouldn't be hasty, though. This one looks pretty beat up. Ain't going anywhere anytime soon."

Another voice came through the comm. It was Flash. 'Find something, Blink?'

In his cockpit, the blond pilot nodded, thumbing for reply. "Something found us, Flash. And it don't look in too good a shape."

Silence on the comm. for a few moments allowed Justinian to take another look at the shuttle, bringing his fighter in for a closer look, trying to see if he could discern anything definite about the engines. The comm. crackled again.

'What do we have, Blink?'

"Lambda-class shuttle. Seen better days.'

'Ohh.'

Another moment and the comm. came to life again.

'Patrol, stand by. We're picking this one up.' A pause. 'Advise caution. This might be a trap, but we're taking our chances... our 'advisors' say they have a 'feeling'.'

Justinian nodded, out of habit and out of knowing.

"Roger, control. We'll keep an eye on it and wait for the pickup."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Tractor beams grabbed the errant shuttle, steadying its tumble through space. It lined the ship up with the hangar, but paused before drawing it in. The ship's wings were down, and with that, it wasn't going into a hangar without severely damaging itself and the hangar too, most likely.

"Patrol, without any slaving codes, we can't remote op this busted bird. Hold tight, we're gonna send a shuttle to do a hard seal and see what we can find."

Minutes later, a small shuttlecraft left the Valiant creeping slowly toward the belly of the Lambda. It inverted itself, attaching to the ship's airlock.

"Command, this is boarding party. We've got a survivor...barely. From the look, seems to be a Jedi."

[Justinian Atreides]

Justinian picked up on the transmission from the boarding party and his eyebrows shot upward in mild surprise. He sat in wait, watching the shuttles as they were coupled together and 'out the corner of his eyes' in a way, if anything else were to occur while they were sitting ducks. Not likely - aside from the one attack about a month and a half back, the convoy had been pretty undisturbed by the opposition.

'Jedi', he mouthed, flicking the comm. over to the squadron frequency, again.

"You hear that, Flash?" He queried.

'Another one?' Yoree shot back, surprise vaguely evident in his voice. Atreides wasn't certain if it was exasperation or defeat he heard in his patrol mates' voice, as well. 'Well, I guess this is the place for 'em, but... if we weren't expecting him - or her - then how did the supposed Jedi know we were here?'

Justinian smirked. "Maybe the Force told 'im. You know... works in mysterious ways and all that hoo-diddy."

'Ahh, right. Hoo-diddy.'

The comm. crackled with a third voice, interrupting their banter.

'Knock it off, patrol.' The stern, rebuking voice came through strong. 'Just because no-one is bugging us now, doesn't mean someone won't drop by for a listen if they happen to come across our transmissions. Keep the chatter down.'

"Sorry, sir. Shutting up."

'Aye, aye, Commander. Knocking it off, as requested.'


-----------


The next fifteen minutes were boring as heck. Either of the pilots would have commented on being able to take a nap while they waited, but having been rebuked for excess comm. chatter, nobody said a word to that effect. Instead, they listened in on the boarding party's channel as they worked to get the wings up for fly-in. Or tow-in, rather. Tractor-in.

You get the idea.

It wasn't much of an interesting listen, but it was better than nothing (read: nonexistant enemy presence, which was the entire point of the patrols). The crew had to pull some panels, jiggle or temp. fix some wires, but in the end, the desired result was achieved. It was almost cause for hoots and hollers of celebration. Almost. Half of the boarding crew had loaded the wounded, supposed Jedi onto the other shuttle as quickly as possible and taken him to be tended to. The other half tended to the shuttle.

The comm. came to life with the voices of the remaining crew. Well, one of them. The other was, no doubt, doing whatever it is that boarding parties did when they weren't talking.

'Command, wings are up and we're ready to tractor this bird in.' The voice on the end of the comm, paused. 'How's our new guest?'

The response came, clear as it could be over the buzz of ever-present comm. static. 'We've heard nothing as of yet, boarding party. Stand by, we'll reel you in.' A pause for that end. 'Patrol?'

Justinian sat up to thumb the comm., but Yoree beat him to it.

'We're here, Control.'

'Bring your birds in, patrol. Your replacements are up and ready to go.'

Thank goodness. At least the confines of the Valiant were less boring. Justinian watched as the Valiant began to pull the Lambda-class shuttle in. It was all he could do until it was in the hangar bay. He and Yoree would bring up the rear, coming in just behind the wounded bird.

'Be good men and pay our new guest a visit after you get in and tidy up. Command out.'

"Aye, aye, Control. Will Do. Blink, out."

'Flash, out.' Both pilots switched back to the squadron-exclusive channel.

'You really think the 'new guest' is a Jedi, Blink?'

Justinian snorted.

"I really think I'm fracking hungry, Flash. Let's get our tails back ship-side."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

"We need medics over here!"

The call came down as soon as the gangplank did, and a squad rushed forward with a gurney, wheeling it up the ramp even before the rebel shuttle reached cooldown.

On the other side of the hangar, the Lambda was in bad shape. Sparks spewed from places and smoke billowed out one side of it.

"This ship's hit bad. Mind that fire!"

The hangar crew scrambled around the broken Lambda. The medics finally wheeled the gurney down from their own shuttlecraft. A bearded man lay unconscious, gashed badly on his head. His outfit was a curious hodgepodge of imperial plastoid armor and what looked to be the natural-hued garments of a Jedi Knight.

[Ilias Nytrau]

Medical Bay - The Valiant - Ten minutes later

"Vitals?"

In most instances, this question was hardly necessary for a healer of his calibre, but for such a read at this point, he would have to touch the patient, take the time as the deeper echelons of his power were not yet accessible to him. Regaining the full extent of what he was took time. It got better daily, but most of what he was missing wasn't so much necessary to the healing process as much as that they were fringe powers, perhaps even that which was considered not exactly power of the light. That he was capable of such things, he kept to himself. It was... safer that way.

The medic looked up from his check, wiping a hand roughly across his forehead. It had been scarce seconds since they brought the new passenger to the medical bay. It had been over a month since this doctor had joined the convoy and he still found it hard to really believe that this man was not what his face said he was. Best to chalk it up to Jedi hullaballoo, instead of letting what he believed on sight interfere with his job. It would have been unprofessional.

"BP's creeping slowly back to 120/80 from 80/55. Sitting at 110/70, presently. Nearly there. Breathing has been improving - he holds a rate of nine breaths per minute, presently." The medic scratched his head, glancing back at the patient. It was weird. This guy had barely been there when they pulled him from the shuttle. "You want I should hook him up, doc?"

Ilias shook his head. "No." He looked on the much younger man. "I am a Jedi Healer, mister Hodlik. The machinery should not be necessary." The Master Healer smiled small and warm, approaching the body on the medbay bed. "But thank you for asking."

The medic nodded, taking a step back from the bed. "I'll be on my way, then, Doc."

"This man has been, and is, in good hands. You have done your part well." He tipped his head respectfully to the young man. "Again, my thanks."

"Well, you're welcome, doc." The medic actually smiled back. "Y'all let us know how our patient is doing, alright?"

The medic turned and left before the 'doc' could give an answer to that. Ilias shook his head and turned to his bearded, blaster-marked, head-gashed patient and stared at him for a moment. So he was supposedly a Jedi. No, not supposedly. He could feel the man's presence in the Force and to his surprise, it was nothing even remotely familiar. Though, it wasn't all that surprising, given the vision of the man's face drew nothing from the vast well of his memory.

"Well, my mysterious friend. Let us see what damage you have sustained and how I might be of help." Ilias had taken to wearing the same dress shirts with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, much as he had back on Coruscant, for most of his work in the medbay. It was not preferable to the Jedi robes he had grown up in, but it had been over two decades, nearly three, since he had owned any. Jedi robes were a giveaway under the imperial eye. Flexing his fingers, the Jedi Healer went to work.

He could see the bareness of his patient's upper body, riddled with the bruising and burning of blaster fire, but not the through-and-through that should have been expected from the state of his robes. He held his hands over the man's head first, calling lightly on the Force to go deep and see how far down the collision-induced gash went.

"Concussion. Moderate to Severe." He murmured to himself before moving on to the chest, pausing to find nothing at the neck from his senses. "Fractured ribs, third left, fourth and fifth right. Bruising throughout the ribcage. No breaks."

Then he moved on, slowly, to the abdomen.

"Bruising. Superficial, subdermal, mild internal." So calm an observation for the deep splattering of black and blue across the skin. A mild look of surprise crossed his features and showed in his voice as he stood fully up for some moments. "Absolutely no internal bleeding."

It was a short process afterwords to check the limbs - both arms and legs, hands, feet. He stepped back after he was done, rubbing his hands together.

"Bruised all over, but not broken. Must be resilient." He mused, watching the other Jedi's chest rise and fall. He had not yet shown signs of waking. An addendum, he realized, was needed for his observations. "Possible coma."

He wondered just who this man was, where he had come from, and if his attackers were looking for him.

"Who are you, my friend?" He wondered, approaching the resting, hurting body again, feeling the bodily warmth of his work come into his hands as he readied to begin the treatment. "Well, it matters not who you are. I shall do my duty by you and tend your wounds."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Anbira's lips parted, parched as they were, and disjointed words came through.

"Another Jedi, it would seem."

"Many are they. This place, a bastion for the order it is."

"Still, there is great danger. For him. For them all."

[Ilias Nytrau]

The sound of dry, cracked lips separating was an unmistakable sound, but it did little to draw the healer's attention until words clawed up from between them. He had only just started tending to the head wound, focusing the healing energies there to knit the flesh back together and clear the haze, soothe the concussion. He would work through the injuries in order of priority. Triage for one body. Cranial injuries were fairly high on the list of importance, but as he brushed fingers over the rough edges of the wound, the words came and it halted him, drawing his eyes slightly aside to the man's mouth.

He considered the words that offered no amusement, nothing friendly came of them. They confirmed some things, warned of others and they were all truth. Awful knowledgeable for a man who had dropped out of hyperspace, into their laps and had not been awake to offer anything as to who he was, what happened, why he was here... how he had found them.

"Words of truth." He nodded, fingers gingerly touched to the gash in his forehead, the dried blood there. The wound was already beginning to show promise of recovery merely from his touch, without the effort of focus. "I should wonder how, yet you remain unconscious."

He had been able to confirm some suspicions, being in this patient's presence, however. He did have the access to the Force and from there, the master healer and warrior had been able to discern the well of his strength within it. Not a novice, that was for certain. But also, what was for certain was that this man was no member of the old order. Ilias recognized him in no one way. Secretly, he wanted for this man to be conscious and aware, that he might ask things of him.

Also, he had it on his mind how the other members of the traveling enclave would receive this unknown. Even more, how the mundane members of this convoy would react. He had a small taste of it already and it was... apprehension. Anxiety. Caution. Unscheduled arrivals did have that effect. Overall, those who were aware of the arrival could unanimously admit to curiosity. The Jedi healer wondered if he would have a name to offer anytime soon. A name other than 'the patient'. It would be nice, normal.

[Drin Kizael]

Drin Kizael grinned at the computer console. He leaned forward, tapping a key to open a new email. A new holopane opened with an attachment and a prompt: File encrypted. Passcode authorization required.

"Kozhi," the Jedi said softly. The text on the screen changed: Voice recognition verified. With another tap, a new hologram lit up to display a host of ships in a massive inventory list with schematics, manifests, locations and transponder codes.

The Trianii smiled. "Thank you, Roker."

"Master Drin," a new voice over the intercom chimed in as if in reply.

Kizael tapped the comlink switch on the wall behind him with a glance. "Yes?"

"The ship is secure on board in hangar bay 3. There's a uhh... one passenger. The pilot. You're going to want to see this."

The Jedi closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reaching his senses outward. Nearly all of the sentients on board the Valiant were still unfamiliar to him, but the amount of anxious attention on the hangar deck guided him to the new arrival like air traffic beacons. He opened his eyes with a start.

"I'll be right there," he replied curtly.

Kizael made his way down to the hangar deck at a brisk pace. By the time he arrived, the survivor had been moved to to the medbay, where Kizael arrived a few minutes later.

Ilias glanced up at Drin's arrival. "He's stable," he answered the unspoken but obvious question.

Kizael's hazel eyes narrowed curiously at the unconscious human's odd mix of armor and cloth robes. At the sight of the Stormtrooper white plating, he instinctively took a second look at the man's face, trying to picture him in his mind without the beard.

Although his apparent age and the distinct presence of the Force within him meant that he could not have been a clone, he couldn't help the thought from crossing his mind. Old habits.

[edit: misread earlier post]

[Anbira Hicchoru]

"These two, remember them, do I."

"From before the dark times."

Anbira did not stir a bit, and only his mouth moved to barely breathe out words that did not seem to be his own.

[Ilias Nytrau]

"That would be the second time in only so many minutes. He spoke only a short minute before your arrival." With these words, Ilias did not look up. He knew the Trianii Jedi was still there by virtue of his presence via the Force. Also, more unusual for a supposed human being, the healer could smell the other conscious Jedi. "Though, I am in doubt over whether it is with his own voice that he speaks."

He looked up, then, from where he was working over the rib fractures, the tips of his fingers barely touched on the vetements of the unconscious man. Pale blue eyes looked on hazel eyes and fur and a small, thin smile, the barest upturning of the corners of his lips accompanied the neutral tone his gaze held.

"I must ask: Do you recognize this man? For, I do not. It would only mean that he never set foot in the temple, nor came to be recorded in the rosters of our brethren. Yet..." He lifted his fingers from the man, overturning his hands, examining his own hands, the healing warmth on them so thick, as if it should have been a second skin. "...this voice may mean to say that it is you and I with which it is familiar. Possible, how? I do not know. But the feeling I get is that this is verily true."

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael frowned and shook his head. "No I don't recognize him. And by the looks of him, the last time we were in the same room together he'd have been a child, teenager at best. Unless he ages exceptionally well for a human. And then there's Tionne..."

Drin cut himself off and shook his head again, walking around Ilias to get a better look at the fellow. The how and why of the matter could wait until he was awake. Right now he was an unconscious stranger speaking in tongues.

"That feeling you have, though," he continued, "is probably the same one that I had. For a moment, earlier, his presence was..." His words trailed off as his eyes narrowed. He stood closer to the foot of the bed, reaching out again with his senses.

"Startlingly familiar," he added at length.

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Beneath Anbira's closed eyelids, his eyes began to move about rapidly, and his breathing deepened as his vitals began to quickly stabilize. At once, he gasped, his eyes wide open.

"Shield's are down, I've got to jump now!"

His hands reached up for controls that were no longer there. Then, the severe disorientation kicked in. He looked about, at the two men over him, at the room around him, his breathing quickening.

[Ilias Nytrau]

"Yes... quite familiar." And he was thinking of to whom the voice, the fleeting presence belonged when the patient woke, with words that were his own, this time. The feeling dissipated, but the ghost of it lingered and mingled with the emerging strength of the man's own.

Ilias deftly reached a hand out and down, firmly grasping the man's shoulder and applying a suggestive pressure to make sure he stayed in a relaxed, laid-down posture. There was still the matter of relieving what would be some distracting discomfort for the fact of deep bruising in the abdomen and the remainder of ribs that were still healing. Ilias had found long ago that his ability lent itself to the body continuing healing at a rate better than its own, even if his own efforts were not directly present. A beneficial after-effect, though one of which he was not certain of the duration. This, of course, mattered little, as the more severe injuries had been dealt with.

"Relax. Settle yourself, man. You are in good hands, here." Ilias glanced at Drin, then returned his eyes to the unnamed man. "I am Ilias Nytrau, the Healer that has been tending to you since you dropped in on us."

[Drin Kizael]

The corners of the Trianii's eyes tightened reflexively, wondering why Ilias gave his name so easily to the stranger. His eyes softened and he maintained a passive expression. His body language was equally neutral and open, but he remained alert, ready to move at the slightest twinge of his danger sense.

"What's your name, son?" he asked, his voice gentle but firm. "Do you know where you are? Or how you got here?"

[edit: welcome to rough draft theater... no lightsabre]

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Anbira focused on the Trianii, his mind reeling still from disorientation.

"My name is Anbira Hicchoru."

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, and grimacing from the pain that was now registering.

"I was on Bespin. There was an attack. The Empire...found us."

He opened his eyes again.

I was one of the last out, to ensure the escape of others. I stole a shuttle."

[Ilias Nytrau]

"Bespin." Ilias followed.

He barely spoke the word, mouthing it was closer than any speech. That was where everything started for him, the gears in motion that set him on the path to being in this place. He had sacrificed much that day in taking flight, but it was something of a relief to no longer 'hide in a cloak', as it were. He was becoming as he once was, once again, but never entirely the same.

"The Empire had been alerted to the activities on Bespin for... some time before this convoy came to be. It was only a matter of time before they would spring their trap, their assault." One corner of his mouth lifted. "I personally may have been the very last straw, the one that 'broke the back of the dewback', so to speak."

He removed his hand from Anbira's shoulder then, gesturing.

"Please relax, Mister Hicchoru. There is a few minutes more work on you I would like to complete that should eliminate the remainder of the aches and pains, unless you wish to allow such things to heal on their own time. We will still continue to discuss matters, whether you allow me to complete my work or not."

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael stood towering over Ilias and the patient's bed. He remained quiet and passive. Though he had countless questions, it would be counter productive to make this feel like even more of an interrogation than it was. Whoever this Anbira was, he still needed medical attention. He wasn't going anywhere soon.

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Anbira reluctantly nodded, staying still while he allowed the physician to go to work. He knew his injuries were extensive.

"Master Jedi, did any others escape Bespin?

He asked, weariness heavy on his voice.

[Ilias Nytrau]

Ilias duitfully returned to his ministrations, tending to the patient's wounds, the warmth of his healer's power brushing in a calm, easing whisper over its target and his afflictions, most of those remaining being minor in comparison to that which had already been dealt with. While with hands, eyes and the senses of the Force the good doctor worked, with his ears he listened not only to the patient's words, but for any changes in his vitals - something that seemed unlikely to change for the worst at this point - as was part of his domain.

"Not that I am entirely aware of. I know little either way on the matter of other survivors. I was... alone in my visit to Cloud City those few days, in arriving and departing." He did not look up as he spoke. "I cannot speak for anyone else that might have been there, at that time."

And that was the truth, for those items. While Ilias was willing to give his own acquaintance, he would not give the rest of those that called this convoy home. That would be up to them, to trust this so sudden stranger. The healer was not paranoid or anything of the sort. Just cautious - evidently not quite so much as Kizael, he mused to himself, as the taller Jedi had not so much as given his own name. Despite everything, Ilias was quite aware of the pair of lightsaber hilts attached to his own self, whereas Drin had nothing of the sort. An observation that, admittedly, had the halfbreed feeling the slightest mote of curiousity. He had little doubt that he and himself, both, would be prepared for any unexpected turn of events that could occur.

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael regarded the human calmly. "We will try to get some information on Bespin for you. What happened after your escape? Do you remember anything about how you came to be here?"

[Anbira Hicchoru]

"I fled from planet to planet. The Empire was never more than a day away from me."

Anbira's eyes blinked slowly as he looked at the ceiling.

"An Imperial star cruiser called Relentless. True to the name. Strange they could devote so much might of war over a single target. The Jedi must be terribly few in number to cause this to be.

I would escape into a star system, and only too soon, my location would be betrayed. I suspected my ship carried a beacon the Imperials could track. I would flee for another system, buying myself time to discover it, or find a new ship."

He shook his head.

"Eventually I discovered the beacon. Or rather ironically, remembered it"

Anbira carefully reached to a pouch at his belt, pulling a thin, transluscent wafer the size of a fingernail out. It was caked with what looked to be dried blood, and crushed, fractures running through the hair-thin passive holotransmission matrix.

He wasn't sure that the Trianii would recognize it, but the other Jedi seemed to be an experienced doctor. He would quite possibly recognize the type of subcutaneous holotags the Empire used in their scout recon stormtroopers.

Anbira laughed weakly.

"I cut it out when they were nearly upon me. By the force, every system seemed to be hit but the hyperdrive. I fed blind coordinates into the navicomputer, not even certain if I would find safety or obliterate myself into some unknown star."

[Ilias Nytrau]

"And you found yourself here. Terribly convenient for you, Anbira Hicchoru." Nytrau said.

The 'experienced doctor' spoke these words, partly with an unconscious air, as he plucked a sterile set of pincers from a nearby, unused surgical tray and used them to lift the blood-crusted, broken-bodied wafer that he did indeed recognize all too well, having personally had his hands in the work that improved the integration of such holotransmitters into ultimately sensitive areas of a living being - thus making them harder to remove. This model, it appeared, was ill-placed or was an older model. It was difficult to discern with all the organic matter obscuring it, but given that it had not been life-threatening to remove the chip, he discerned that the model was now outdated, gaining ground towards being obsolete.

Ilias Nytrau held up the tweezers in a genteel motion, peering at the tiny matrix for moments, before looking again at the two other noted occupants of the immediate area - his acquaintances of the moment - and turning briefly away again to tuck the matrix away to do... something with it when he was not otherwise occupied, such as he was at this very point in time.

"The question is, of course, how you came to have such an outdated model of transmitter embedded in your physical self in the first place. One wonders at these things." The ginger-headed knight glanced at his Trianii friend, one brown lightly quirked upward. "And other things."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

"The truth is yours. Whether it's any comfort or not I can't say."

Anbira conceded the root of the mistrust plainly.

"Ten years ago, I was an Imperial scout trooper. I was assigned to a garrison on Felucia, and tasked to search and destroy insurgents and force-adept natives."

He sighed a long breath and continued.

"The will of the force, it seems, is not lacking a sense of deep irony."

[Drin Kizael]

"Well then given your experience with Jedi in hiding, you may understand why we might be a little guarded."

Kizael looked down at the ex-Stormtrooper. Ten years ago he was living with his people on Trian, hiding from men precisely like the one before him.

"How you came to be who you are isn't what concerns us," the Jedi began softly, "Though that must be quite a story. The question is more specifically how you came to be here... to this ship."

He took a sharp breath collecting his thoughts. "This galaxy has a diameter of 100,000 light years with approximately 400 billion stars -- give or take." The Jedi paused thoughtfully, measuring Anbira's reaction.

"None of which we are orbiting all that closely at the moment," he added flatly. "The coordinates that brought you to this point in the 8 trillion cubic light years of space that we occupy were hardly random."

Kizael paused again to let that sink in. "I know of only one being in the galaxy who might have pulled off such a feat using the Force to guide his astrogation entry."

The big Trianii regarded the human skeptically. "You do not look like him."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Anbira, wondering if they were indeed thinking of the same person, nodded in agreement with Drin's skepticism.

"Indeed I don't."

How would he explain this, when it was something beyond his comprehension in the first place.

"Telling you this, I'm sure will make it seem that I'm quite mad."

He sighed and shook his head.

"Perhaps that is the case. It's not something I've spoken of before. Outside of Felucia, there was no need to."

He met the Trianii's eyes and answered his question.

"My discovery of the force was guided by apparitions, spirits long passed. They revealed themselves to me, helped guide me, and kept me alive."

[Drin Kizael]

"I see," the Trianii said, rubbing his jowls in thought.

Kizeal had been raised in the tradition of the Guardian. His default position was suspicion. Through nature reinforced by decades of experience, he was almost immediately distrustful of anyone who could be a threat to his mission or to whatever he was charged to protect. That instinct kept him and those close to him alive a long time.

Anbira's story highly suspect. And yet, while rare, the ability to commune with spirits connected to the Force was not unheard of. Reportedly Anakin's son possessed it, though no one could ever know for sure.

His senses told him that the human was not lying, or at least that he was thoroughly convinced he was telling the truth. Perhaps if these spirits were indeed with him, and not the figments of a broken mind, someone with mental powers far more focused than his own could sense them.

Or perhaps a Miraluka could "see" them. Problem was, Daria was away on another mission with Navaria. When they get back, they would definitely have to meet this mysterious new arrival.

In the meantime, as tempted as Kizael was to keep Anbira locked in the medbay, or more ideally a cargo hold, evidence suggested he was not an enemy. Ilias did not seem to be suspicious, but the healer would probably treat an Inquisitor no differently.

Still, he would need to be watched very closely.

"Get some rest," Kizael said at length. "Ilias can show you to a room when you're feeling up to it. If you need anything, just ask."