A voice in the wilderness

[Rev Solomon]

The small Zabrak girl stretched forward on the balls of her stocking feet to see over the pilot's chair and out the forward viewport of the medical shuttle.

"Is that the flying Jedi school?" she said in that voice of awe that only belongs to children under nine.

Solomon's face split into a smile as he plotted the approach toward the Whaladon. "That's her. The only flying Jedi school in the universe, as far as I know."

The preacher reached overhead to shut off the nav computer and swiveled his chair to look into the girl's starstruck eyes.

"Now, you remember our deal, right, Zyani?" he said. "You're going to work hard here. Just as hard as you ever had to work on Axxila. But it won't be sitting in a dark, hot room running machinery all day. You're going to study, and you're going to train your muscles, and you're going to learn how to listen to the living Force. But you have to listen to your elders and be kind to the other children. Can you do that?"

"I'll do it! You can cut off my horns if I don't!"

Solomon laughed and wrapped the little girl up in his rangy arms. "Oh, I don't think we'll have to do that, child. I believe you. And I believe in you. You're going to make a wonderful Jedi."

"Whaladon to Shuttle Exodus, you are cleared for landing bay one."

Solomon reached around Zyani to hit the comm switch. "Exodus acknowledges. Now landing with some very precious cargo."

The medical shuttle gently glided toward the transport's yawning hangar bay, bringing another lost sheep into the fold.

[Barton Henning]

Barton watched the shuttle come in to land, swiping his forearm across his brow as he straightened up and away from the heavy crate he had been hauling. The Knightfall wasn't long returned to the Wheel from a supply run and though most of the cargo had been unloaded, there was no use just leaving it sitting on the hangar bay floor. Once it was stacked up, Alliance crew-members would log everything in and begin distributing supplies throughout the convoy.

For the most part, it was the same ships that came and went, but the Exodus was one shuttle that they could never keep track of. Where it had gone and when it would return were down to one man: the Reverend Solomon. Dusting off his palms, Henning paced towards the shuttle as its landing ramp lowered.

“You need any help in there?”

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon had to duck low to get underneath the frame of the shuttle's boarding hatch. He was, as was his custom, still clad in his weathered nerfhide cloak and clerical collar, still looking every centimeter the frontier holy man from Dantooine as he shepherded a little girl down the gangplank, her dark hair in braids around her small, spiky horns.

"Just unloading a passenger," Solomon replied. "Barton, I'd like you to meet Zyani Astaroth. She'll be joining the youngling classes shortly. Zyani, this is Barton Henning, a Jedi Knight and one of the best healers I know."

Zyani lit up like a comet and rushed down to see Barton up close. "I'm gonna be a Jedi Knight, too! Will you be my master?"

Solomon covered his mouth as he fell into helpless laughter. I've just dealt with this for two weeks - your turn!

[Barton Henning]

Wide-eyed and full of beans, the girl was the youngest passenger Barton could remember coming aboard the Wheel. As a boy, he had been one of perhaps hundreds of children undergoing training, but now the only thing more rare than a padawan was a young padawan.

“Well, hey.. there. Good to meet you, Zyani. You certainly came to the right place, to learn how to be a Jedi.”

Henning looked past the girl at the old preacher, who was grinning from ear to ear. For the most part, Barton kept to his duties as a member of the Alliance Support Services, but in the past month he had been getting to know some of the other Jedi. Solomon was right, after all: he had a unique gift as a healer and it was criminal to keep that to himself, however much he felt out of place amongst them all. Still, training... that wasn't something he was up to. Not yet.

“You two travel far to get here today?”

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon came down the gangplank at a much more measured pace while Zyani took Barton's hand in her own to study it.

"From Axxila," Solomon replied, "by way of Fesari Junction and Ord Mantell. I thought I sensed someone there. But nothing turned up."

Zyani managed to place Barton's hand palm-out around his waist level. Then, with a devilish glint in her eyes, she took a step back, then rammed her forehead into his open palm, mercifully finding the gaps between his fingers with her horns.

"But I think the Lord's blessed us with all we can handle," Solomon said, laughing again. "How about the Wheel? Anything happen while I was gone?"

[Barton Henning]

Henning held the girl awkwardly at arms length, as she tried to charged her way past his hand.

“A fair bit. We've had our share unexpected visitors.”

He let that, and the implications that carried with it, hang for a moment. Though it was months past, their run in with the forces of the Galatic Empire still had most of the Wheel on edge and wary of another ambush.

“No one quite as enthusiastic as this young lady, however,” he added, as Zyani finally relented and flashed a toothy grin.

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon didn't miss the colors of meaning behind that innocuous little statement. He didn't want Zyani's introduction to the Wheel darkened with such talk.

He lightly took the girl by the shoulder and said, "Why don't we get Zyani settled in? Then the two of us can talk about it."

---

Getting Zyani to settle anywhere wasn't easy. Fortunately, the small group of Younglings had just been released for lunch, and after some introductions, she joined the other children for reconstituted sloppy nerf sandwiches under the watchful eye of a pair of responsible padawans.

"The Empire?" Solomon knew he was right from the grimace on Barton's face as they strolled down the corridor. "What happened?"

[Barton Henning]

Barton looked back over his shoulder before answering. “An Imperial strike-class cruiser dropped out of hyperspace right alongside us. Rogue Squadron were able to hold them off until we jumped the rest of the fleet to safety, but we've never found out how they knew where we'd be in the first place.”

They took a left and followed another corridor. “After that, there was some attempt.. by the Jedi... to try and establish an.. order of sorts, but there aren't many of you – us – here,” he corrected himself. “At least not many who've got the clarity to work out what to do with all of this,” he added, gesturing loosely to their surroundings.

[Rev Solomon]

"Lord have mercy," Solomon said, rubbing his eyes. "The more we grow, the more vulnerable we are. There has to be a reason we're coming together again after so long, I can feel it in my bones, but we need direction. We need guidance. A new order's probably the only thing that can give us that."

His thoughts turned toward the remaining masters he knew of, those with the authority and grace to shepherd a new alliance of Jedi.

"Where's Serena Laran?" he asked. "Has she made contact yet?"

[Barton Henning]

“Not yet.”

They had left Cloud City in pieces, separated through necessity rather than choice. Navaria, Daria and Corell had been the last to take flight and had heard only rumours of Serena's passage. Where she had gone and who with remained unanswered questions.

“I've heard another Jedi Master came aboard lately, though.. a Wookiee by the name of Lowrook. Thawed out of cryofreeze from before the Purge, if you can believe it. Brought a gunship with him, that he's kindly donated to the Wheel.”

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon hoped his disappointment didn't show too keenly. Ever since he'd heard Serena had survived the Purge and was training Padawans, he'd been longing to see her again. It had played a larger role than he cared to admit in his own decision to come out of retirement.

"I'll have to be sure to him up," Solomon said. "Barton, I..."

He stopped and turned to face his fellow knight, and his expression said he knew he was about to venture into murky waters. "I know neither of us is exactly on the inner circle here, but do we have an objective? An aim? This all started just as a rallying point, a safe place for those who've been blessed with the Force. But I'm not sure that's enough anymore."

[Barton Henning]

Blessed. Now there was a word that had never sit comfortable for Barton. Not all that long ago, the Jed of the Wheel had gathered together to establish who and what they were. There had been a lot of talk, a lot of beating of chests and holding saber hilts high in the air. Yet Henning – who had walked the halls of the Coruscant Jedi Temple, stood in the shadow of some of histories most famous Jedi Knights and Masters – wasn't roused by the call to battle. It wasn't that he didn't believe in doing good; he just didn't know how to be the shining hero that the galaxy craved, especially when the Republic whose peace and justice they had defended was becoming such a distant memory.

“I do my bit for the Alliance. As for the others.. different people want different things. It isn't as clear cut as it used to be. Difficult to get everyone on a level.”

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon felt a little foolish. Surely he wasn't saying anything Barton didn't already know, and pointing out a problem wasn't the same as offering any kind of solution. Without a Council to direct them, the scattered Jedi had been forced to find their own ways of existence and survival: soldier, healer, hermit, preacher. None of them could simply lay those things aside.

"I'd like to help," he said. "I don't think I have any special wisdom... certainly not compared to a Jedi Master... but I have experience in settling disputes. Finding common ground. Maybe..."

Maybe he was grasping at straws. Who was qualified to mediate among the mediators of the galaxy?

"Are you a praying man, Barton?"

[Barton Henning]

With a lop-sided smile tugging one corner of his mouth, Barton scratched distractedly at the back of his neck.

“Can't say I am... I try to put my trust in the Force, though. However.. far away it feels from my life, now.”

[Rev Solomon]

"I know the feeling," Solomon replied. "Like being adrift with nowhere to set your feet. Take it from an old wanderer: consider prayer once in a while. We Jedi think of the Force as a mysterious power, or an abstract truth, like gravity or light. But it's alive. It has a will and a spirit, and it loves life. It is a faithful friend to those who seek it."

He smiled in apology for the sermon. "I think we all could use that kind of friend right now."

[Barton Henning]

“Sometimes I wonder if the Force is what's kept me right all these years. I kept my head down, my nose clean.. but the Empire never gave me any trouble. Almost seems unbelievable, really. They must have... records, from back when. Holos, names.”

With that notion, Barton's words trailed off into thoughtful silence. He had always wondered if the archives of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant had been saved or, if in a swell of hubris, Order 66 had included the destruction of the memory banks that contained the names and faces of all members of the Order. It was unlikely, but if the Empire had salvaged such things, it was practically miracle that they had never located Barton Henning, who hadn't changed his name, even after his flight from Coruscant.

[Rev Solomon]

"Personally, I'd put that down to a power even higher than the Force," Solomon said. "I never had the gift of foresight, but I believe with all my soul that everything happens for a reason."

[Drin Kizael]

Down the hall, Drin Kizael ducked as he crossed an intersection, his ears barely scraping under a low running pipe. For as often as he'd met humans that reached his height -- which admittedly wasn't often, but still -- he wondered why their ship designers consistently failed to make their interiors more accommodating. He could only imagine how Wookies must feel.

The big Trianii paused, spotting Barton near the stretch of cabins designated for younglings. At least that's where he thought he was. He was still getting used to the heavily converted transport, and had spent most of his time on the Valiant thus far.

He walked over to the pair with a cautious smile, hoping he wasn't interrupting, but his situation was getting dire.

Try as he might, he failed to find clothes among the vast supplies that fit a 210 cm, 130 kg frame, with fur and a tail no less. Not without tearing. He'd been wearing the same light blue shirt and khaki slacks that he'd stolen after his flight from Mytus VII for... well, far too long.

"Mr Henning," he said, his gruff but gentle voice carrying a hint of urgency. "Has the cargo been unloaded yet?"

Kizael turned with a polite bow and extended his hand. He noted the lines creasing the darker skinned human's features, judging him to be closer to his age. A welcome sight, as he'd been starting to feel like a grandfather among cubs.

"Hello. I am Kizael."

[OOC: The thread said open, right? :)]

[Barton Henning]

“Higher than the Force?”

It was such an odd thing to hear, coming from the old preacher whose every breath was at the grace of the Force. When it came to the theory that everything happened for a reason, however, Barton found himself agreeing more and more. His padawan classmates had gravitated, unknowingly, towards Cloud City – and here he was now, on board a ship with all that was left of the Order.

“Mr. Henning.”

Barton turned to face the source of the voice that had addressed him. He smiled up at the Trianii, who made even Cirrsseeto look a bit on the short side.

“Everything's off the Knightfall. I think it's being sorted and distributed now. You waiting on something in particular?”

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael rolled his shoulder and tugged lightly at his sleeve with a smirk. The shirt clung to him like a mynock on a power cable. "If we were on Trian, I'd simply go naked and blend right in. Not so much here. That may work for a Wookie, but, hrmmm... No. I put in a requisition for the 'big and tall' section."

His soft smile tilted a bit as he returned his attention to the man next to Barton, hazel eyes studying him curiously. Though human characteristics tended to fall into four or five categories that all looked like one another, he couldn't help but ask, "Have we met?"

[Rev Solomon]

It was rare enough for Solomon to look up to talk to someone, as his six feet and four inches usually put him higher than the majority of sentients. It only took him a moment to realize the angle, and the Trianii's fuzzy mug, were distantly familiar.

"Drin Kizael," Solomon said, marveling, and he grasped the felinoid's heavy paw in a fierce grip. "I don't know if you remember me, but Master Tau always spoke well of you. I was Sol Iman back then. I go by Solomon now."

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael's eyes shifted as the man spoke, then widened as recognition set in.

"Soren Tau's padawan. Yes. Master Morja and he were close." His smile broadened widely and he enthusiastically let go of Sol's hand to clasp his arm in the more traditional greeting of a warrior, clapping him on the shoulder with his other hand. "By the Force, another of us survived."

He continued to study the man's face another beat and added, "No I do remember you. We shared a class or two. Well met, Solomon."

The trianii chuckled and scratched at the fading white fur of his jowls, once a rich blonde. "And it's good to see someone else has managed to weather the years without the benefit of carbon freeze."

[Rev Solomon]

A quizzical look passed over Solomon's face. "Is that what the kids are doing these days?" he replied. "I guess I've heard of stranger pastimes."

He gestured toward Henning. "Barton and I were just talking about how the Force has preserved a remnant of the old Order. Seems to me there has to be purpose behind it all. I'm curious what your perspective on all of this might be."

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael chewed on that for a moment with a thoughtful "hrrmm". From the short time he'd had to observe this new generation of displaced Jedi and untrained Force adepts, what stood out most were the differences, not so much the similarities.

"A remnant, certainly," he conceded. "I was fortunate in that the members of the High Council indulged me more than I probably deserved. After Master Morja's death, I got to know many of them well. So I hope I can help keep at least some of that tradition alive, without making the same mistakes."

The Jedi paused. Though his expression didn't change, he mentally winced at where his own line of thought was taking him.

"A purpose, though?" he continued. "Well the mere fact that those who survived, and even those who had never seen the Temple halls, have been able to find each other like we have is a sign of some kind of purpose at work. Though what that purpose is I don't dare fathom. It's not our place to second guess the motives of the Force. We've been wrong before. Very wrong."

[Barton Henning]

Barton looked between the two men, surprised and somehow not surprised at all to discover that they had known one another before the Purge. If the Force was a shepherd, it was drawing its lost flock together. One by one, at times, but they were all coming.

“When I was a boy... I was taught that our duty was to the Republic. Same goes for me now as it did then. This Rebellion needs us, almost as much as we need it.”

[Rev Solomon]

"Our duty," Solomon said, laying a hand on Barton's shoulder and Kizael's arm, "is to guard life and to help the oppressed, just as it's always been. Whether it's helping the Rebellion liberate the galaxy, or giving water to a thirsty child. That is our purpose. The Force will attend to itself."

He looked from trianii to human. "I know there have been different opinions on what our priorities ought to be. In the old days, we had guardians, consuls, and sentinels, so each of us could serve according to our skills. Maybe we could do something similar with this remnant?"

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael nodded in fervent agreement with Solomon. This was the kind of conviction that the Jedi needed right now. What most of the others offered was almost starting to feel like lip service.

Kizael winced inwardly at his next question, turning his reaction quickly into his trademark soft smile. It had been a month since the Imperial attack, since all of the Jedi in the Wheel gathered to discuss the very subject of their leadership. Every day seemed to bring a new excuse to not raise the subject again. Then Daria and Navaria took off again. Granted it was for a valid reason, but still the subject of a "council pro temp" seemed tabled indefinitely.

"Yes," he agreed after taking a moment to sort out his thoughts. "Those three schools did more than determine our roles on missions. They defined how many of us perceived our place in the Order and of the Force itself. Those boundaries gave Initiates direction when they needed it. Something that is badly needed here, I am afraid."

The Jedi Guardian regarded Solomon as if for the first time.

"What of your role in this new Order, Sol? I realize now that you must be the guide by which so many younglings have found us. Are you heading out to continue on that path? Or with all this talk of purpose and reunions, are you staying awhile?"

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. There was the trick, wasn't it?

"I haven't rightly decided," he said. "Wasn't too long ago that I thought I had retired for good. Now that I'm here... I guess the reason I'm interested in purpose is that I'm not sure where I can best serve right now. To tell the truth, I'm not even sure which of those schools I fit into anymore. But I can't shake the feeling that I've been going it halfway so far."

[Drin Kizael]

"If Jedi are taught nothing else, it's to follow their instincts."

Kizael clapped Solomon on the shoulder. "We will have to catch up. Soon. But for now I have to see if our Alliance friends have sorted out matters more pressing in the here and now. Also, when they return, there are two people I want you to meet."

He turned with a polite bow. "Barton," he said as a departing note, and headed off.

[Barton Henning]

Barton watched the Trianii go and wondered, as he thought on what Solomon had said, whether he was what the rest would term a 'retired' Jedi. If that was the case, he had retired at a rather young age. The thought brought a down-turned smile to his lips.

“Well... is there anything else I can do for you, Solomon?”

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Hello, Sol."

The voice came from behind the two men, a quiet yet deliberate sound.

Loklorien s'Ilancy hadn't seen Solomon since they'd parted ways with Arya. It seemed like ages that they'd spoken their goodbyes; a farewell that for her was laced with underlying sadness. To leave his company so soon after finding him had been difficult.

But he was here now. She would recognize his voice, the lilt of each word he spoke, the way he walked, the very scent-color of the Force that seemed to surround him.

And her, no longer clad in the traveling leathers she normally wore, but rather the cream colored robes that had become so familiar. The Wheel, and those who were a part of it gave her new reason to wear them once more.

An expectant smile threatened to spread over her features, and the Lupine held her head high, restraining herself from simply enveloping her old friend in an embrace.

[Rev Solomon]

The new voice floated by before Solomon could respond to Barton. He turned, and the look of astonishment on his face quickly turned to joy.

"Lok!" He didn't share her restraint and quickly wrapped her up in a bear hug. "I was told I just missed you last time. Lord almighty, it is good to see you again. How have you been?"

He looked her up and down. She was still the same picture of elegance and grace she always was, ageless in her own way. But something about her struck him as a little more careworn, her eyes a little deeper, her scar a little whiter. Perhaps time worked on Lupines in a different way.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Taken up in his arms, s'Il let her own encircle his shoulders as she was nearly lifted from her feet. It was a feeling that made her feel young once more, and the usual bemused upturn of her lips broke into a full-fledged smile.

"I am well," her answer was given as he released her.

Sol's gaze was matched with her own, and without hesitation she lifted both hands to the sides of his face; feeling the contours of his skin and turning his head slightly to each side so that she could inspect him with motherly precision. To some it might have been an odd sight, but for the Lupine, all of her closest friends were subject to her maternal nuances. Whether it was a product of growing older was anyone's guess.

She smiled brightly.

"And you? You look no different then the last time we parted ways."

[Rev Solomon]

He laughed. "You mean I still look old."

Solomon patted her arms again and let her finish preening him like a mother hen.

"I've been fine. Brought another youngling to the Wheel, a little Zabrak girl from Axxila who's got more than her share of the devil in her. And I just ran into Drin Kizael, did you know he was here? One of these days, I'm going to turn a corner and see Master Yoda himself prowling the corridors."

He turned and saw Barton still standing around with a polite smile. "Oh, Barton, I'm sorry. It was good to talk with you. Peace be with you."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Satisfied that Sol was more or less well enough, s'Il let her hands fall away, though not before making sure that the neckline of his shirt was straight.

She looked to Barton, her eye dancing in the afterglow of Sol's warm greeting.

"Mr. Henning," she smiled warmly, "You should share a quiet drink with us."