9.113 The Wee, Small Hours of the Morning

[Halajiin Rabeak]

(This thread takes place on the night/morning immediately before "Rage Against the Dying of the Light.")

Night aboard a starship is little more than an idea perpetuated only so that those aboard may retain some form of sanity. The lights don't dim in the proposed evening, nor do they rise when comes the imagined morning. There is no time, no sense of purpose or place among the stars, stars ever-twinkling in their mocking expanse. But man must have his order; he must have his time and his sense of place, so out of the void he pulls his schedule and hangs it up as if the universe should know it and obey.

But would not the universe be a happier place if things could simply happen? If they could just unfurl as they might, with no schedule, no calendar, clocks or speed by which it must happen, wouldn't that be the best way? They could happen, then man could discover it in the proper cycle of day or night on whatever world they chose to transpire upon.

These were things Halajiin Rabeak had never wondered. He had known morning, day, evening and night most all his life, and his days were spent weaving in and out of every aspect, never worrying about their fragile nature. There would always be another day, the sun would rise and he would move ahead into it, bridging from one to the next with the ease of inhaling or exhaling, done even without his own notice. For twenty-three years, he knew that time was linear, and that his life would move along it in a single, unbroken path, until at last he found his end. Even then, his faith in Garfife, the Creator of All Things, gave him peace, as he knew he had been faithful and would be granted paradise when at last he died. He would grow old, perhaps settled down with a wife, and raised children, or perhaps having remained a bachelor and instead devoted his life to the training of others in the Order. Life was unpredictable, but its seamless path toward finality was certain.

Lying on his bed, Hal stared up at his ceiling and he wondered how he could have been so incredibly wrong.

Instead of the multicolored glow of city lights, speeder lights and colorful signs out his window back at the Jedi Order, Hal’s small, windowless stateroom aboard the Whaladon bathed in the cold, joyless celadon glow of his bedside alarm clock’s screen. The low rumble of the transport’s engines and the tinny whine of the life support system replaced the sounds of life which he had grown so accustomed to falling asleep to, and even his bed seemed thin and industrial compared to the mattress he had been sleeping on since he first came to the Order at the age of fifteen. Simpler days, he now knew, even though they had seemed so complex at the time.

At the time. The Nehantite allowed himself a chuckle in the darkness, a paw scratching his bare chest as he lay atop his sheets in just his undershorts. That time had been not so long ago that he didn’t still have some of its dust still left in his fur, but to those around him they had happened long before any of them were even born. Hal’s seamless path through life had stumbled upon a door, and a simple step through it for him had taken one hundred and seven years for the rest of the universe.

His clock read 3:47 AM, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many times people had looked at that same time on their clocks while he had been frozen in carbonite. He wondered how his family had dealt with never knowing what happened to him, how his friends might have searched in vain, and how, in time, he had been forgotten about entirely. He’d imagined he would make his mark on the galaxy, do something so amazing that all would remember him, and that Nehantites everywhere would be proud of one of their rare sons who went on to be a great man. Now, at 3:48, his brief smile faded, the chuckle replaced by a sigh. He hadn’t changed the galaxy; he hadn’t even been there when it needed him most. Like a slipper accidentally kicked under the bed, Halajiin had been forgotten, and by the time he was found, his other half had long ago been thrown away.

That was how he felt. Half of a whole which no longer existed. Oh, sure, there were new left slippers he was told would match him just fine, but it wasn’t the same. No one really knew them, nor could they, not yet, and maybe not even in time. This new Order, this way of life among the stars, on the run and living in fear – this was not the Jedi Order he knew, and though he could swallow it, he wasn’t sure how long he could continue to stomach it before becoming ill if he couldn’t adapt to it before then.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

When his clock read 3:49, Hal rewarded it with another sigh. Large toes flexed out of want of something to do, while he let his right eye close. Color disappeared from his world, replaced by the sharper, brighter image of his room in black and white from his left eye which had yet to heal from the effects of carbonite freezing.

Some said his race saw only in black and white, back in their earliest of days, and he wondered temporarily if this was how it felt. No, that was a lie. Garfife had created his world, and all things in it, fully-formed, that much he knew for certain and could not be swayed from. Still, to imagine that his improved low-light vision was a form of superpower, even if monochromatic, was enough to lift his spirit – if only slightly.

3:50. There would be no rest for him, that night. He had slept for a hundred and seven years, now was time for action, but there was no action to be had. The halls of the Whaladon were quiet, most all of her occupants fast asleep, lost in their dreams while Hal remained awake. There had been dreams on his previous nights, images of places and faces he once knew, a step back into his own life, but the morning always came and brought him back to this world.

Morning, the very thought of it aboard a starship made him shake his head, his longer headfur sweeping down into his left eye. Brushing it back, he glanced over at the clock. Still 3:50.

I’m bored. His lower functions voiced their feelings on the matter. Why won’t you turn off so that we can get some sleep?

I can’t help it. His higher functions replied. Remember those times I kinda shut down back at the beginning when we got here? Well, this is sorta making up for that.

But why do you have to think about it? I miss the old Order, too, and you’re making us feel terrible because you keep bringing it back up.

It’s not like I’m meaning to, you know. It’s just kinda… happening.

I’ll remember you said that next time you yell at next time something else just kinda… happens.

Dude, totally not the same. I’m thinking. That’s not near as dirty as –

Oh, get off it, you think things that are way dirtier than some of the stuff I ever get up to.

Well, uh… why don’t you go amuse yourself while I think, then?

Not in the mood for that. Besides, I need you for that, too, you know. Images, and all…

Guess we’re both screwed then, huh?

Maybe we should get up. Might take our mind off things.

3:51. The decision hadn’t taken long to make, but it was with a great melancholy that Hal swung his legs out of bed and rested his footpaws upon the cool, durasteel floor. Once more, memories of his old apartment came back, and he let his toes rub against the smooth surface, imagining it was the low-pile carpet of his old room. Across from him should have been a window, reaching floor-to-ceiling, but instead it was just a bulkhead wall with a dresser bolted to it, and a small desk beside that. On past sleepless nights, he would root through his drawers to find old flimsiplast photos of friends and family, or stand before his window and just watch life go by, outside.

Now his drawers held only borrowed clothing, none of it quite fitting, but close enough for comfort. He had been told that he would be properly outfitted, soon, but he knew it was not high on the Alliance’s list of priorities. His desk at least had some flimsiplast, now, and a stylus, but despite his attempts at drawing things, he couldn’t feel the groove like he used to, so they sat unwanted, much like himself.

Hal’s tailtip flicked idly as he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, shoulders slumped. Images of days long gone flowed back through his mind’s eye, and he regretted so many days and nights spent just doing nothing, feeling at the time as if he needed to be alone, instead of being with friends or with his family. Time had always seemed to be infinite, threatened only to be cut short by danger. The thought of having moved beyond his own time still bothered him, and he closed his eyes to pray once more that there might be a way he could go back.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

His stateroom was still there when he opened them once more. Hanging his head, Hal couldn't imagine that things would ever be as good again as they were, before. In the grand scope of the galaxy, he was the bad guy, now, on the run from the Imperial forces, the new symbol of law and order. His race was disgraced by the act of only a few, and worst of all, he didn't have anyone he could actually call a friend.

"Lights," his voice came as a whisper. Eyes squinting as the lamp overhead flicked on, Hal sat up to survey his room once more. Cold, grey metals with only the barest touches of paint here and there to soften the harsh, industrial feel, it was nothing like any of his rooms in the past.

Halajiin was not used to luxury or excess, as he had grown up in a poor, working-class family. Hand-me-downs were the rule of his life, clothing often repaired after his older brothers had grown out of them. Even his expectations had been handed down from his brothers, both of whom moved out to take on-the-job apprenticeships as starship engineers when they reached seventeen years old. Hal was to follow in their footsteps, and he knew it pained his parents when instead he was discovered by a Jedi, and invited to go and join the order. To his parents, being a Jedi meant a life of drifting and no steady employment. It meant risk and danger, and no reward great enough to support a wife and family. Hal pleaded with them that he wanted to go, but it had been forbidden.

At least until his mid-term aptitude scores came back from technical high school. Though he had tried, he had scored so poorly that any apprenticeship would be a long-shot, and it was only because of that news that his parents had let him go.

Looking around his room, once more, Hal realized that perhaps this was not so different than his first visit to the Order. There he had been separated from his friends and family and thrust into a new life, but at least he had the comfort of holo-calls, and an annual trip back home to spend their holiest holiday with his family. Now there was nothing, nothing but a pit of regret and despair growing in his heart no matter how much he tried to stop it.

No, this was different, he decided. This was so much different than his first visit to the Order. Back then, despite having left everything behind, there was love, compassion and hope to be found among his new masters and those around him. Here, there was nothing but facades of austerity, military order and the stench of self-preservation. This was not the Jedi way, Hal shook his head. This couldn't be allowed to continue. He had to take a stand.

And stand he did, then stretch and crick his back before yawning and rubbing his face. Nearly four in the morning, was it late or was it early? Hal decided he didn't care, time without a sun was all artificial, anyway, and he needed to take a leak

[Halajiin Rabeak]

It took only five steps from his bedside to his refresher, and once he was done there, he paused to wash his paws like a good boy.

A good boy. Now there was a laugh. Hal looked up from the sink to see himself in the mirror. How many things had he done that would have made his mother angry? How many nights had he spent in the bed of another, then got up without even knowing their name? The hotwired speeders, the stims with Garfife-knows-what in them, the wild parties, and drinking until he couldn't stand, then drinking more while sitting down. Then there were the lies, the missed family obligations and the lack of communication with loved ones back home. And now... now it was too late for all that. He'd missed his opportunity to make up for all the times he'd misbehaved, or gone against what he had been raised to be like. A good boy? No, Hal could see now that he hadn't been one of those at all.

But I tried. I really did.

We both did, but we didn't quite pull it off, now did we.

Shut up. You could have told me to stop. And it was always you who forgot Mom's birthday, or... everyone's really.

And what about you? You hardly ever actually called when I told you to. Then there's all the drinking when I kept telling you to stop.

Hey, that's not fair! Don't blame me for this! You let it happen!

I let it happen? You stupid, ignorant piece of dren! I can only suggest things, it's you who actually does them! If this is anyone's fault, it's yours!

Shut up! I hate you!

I hate you, too!

Tearing himself away from the mirror, Hal turned and threw himself face-first upon his bed. A Jedi was supposed to control his emotions, to keep himself in balance, but in that moment, Halajiin Rabeak broke down, sobbing out all his shame, regrets and sorrows into his pillow. Hos body shook with each ragged, mournful breath as the realization came on that he could never make up his sins to those he knew, and he could never truly know forgiveness. It was all far, far too late for that.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

When the tears had ended, numbness set in. Wiping his face on his pillow, Hal lay there a while longer, then sat back up. There was little use wasting time in grieving over the past and what had been lost. Now there was only the present, and what he could to to shape his own future.

Rising from the bed, Hal wiped his cheek once more, then combed his fingers through his headfur. He could be a new man, here, he could be anything he wanted, but what he wanted more than anything was to remain uncompromised. He was a Nehantite, he was a Jedi, but above all, he was Hal, and no one could ever change that.

Crossing back to the mirror in the nook near his room's 'fresher closet, Hal turned on the vanity lights there and stared squinting into them until at last his pink eyes adjusted. There he stood, unchanged from over a century while the universe around him flipped on its head. His headfur swept to the left in its lazy, surfer part looked every bit as carefree as it ever had as a boy, and he couldn't resist the playful, cavalier smile which worked up his muzzle as he stared into his own face. The galaxy could fall to pieces, but it couldn't change Hal. Hal was here, Hal was eternal.

And damn, Hal looked good.

Eyes drifting farther down over himself, the yellow-furred mongoose's smile grew wider. He wasn't heavily muscled and bulky, but nor was he a skinny stick, instead he seemed well-proportioned and toned, though slightly on the lighter side. Glossy fur played well over what musclulautre was visible, and among Nehantites he knew he was considered to be quite a catch - especially where the bulge in his undershorts was concerned. Before he knew it, his tail was already swaying in a sort of "come on" display, and the mongoose laughed at the thought of being aroused by the sight of himself.

Mmmf, can't blame it, though. If I had a clone, I'd do me.

Do you, or get done by you?

Wouldn't be fair to try one without the other. After all... damn I'm looking good...

Thumbs slipped into his waistband and soon he looked at himself naked before the mirror, his undershorts kicked away. Thoguhts best not repeated ran through his mind, and he even gave himself a knowing wink as he looked back over his own shoulder in the mirror at his backside. But as soon as the physical attraction came on, he felt a wave of reality wash over himself and it passed, leaving him staring at himself once more, but without the dizzyingly lustful thoughts of mating.

He could see himself now as a man, as just one creation among many, and even in the space of his cramped stateroom, he felt small and meaningless.

No! No, I will not accept that! I am more than just a man! I am blessed and I am good and right!

And still damn good looking.

And still damn good looking! But more than that, I'm a good-looking, blessed man who has a purpose in life, and I'll be damned if I can't carry it out!

But, how are we going to do that? We've got no money, no ship of our own, and not even a lightsaber, anymore.

Then we pick the most important one of those three and we go for it.

We get laid?

Well, yes, of course, but that wasn't one of the three.

It should have been. In fact...

Get your paw away from that! Now isn't the time!

But... but...

No! I'll dream you up some good imagery later, okay?

Mmf, you better.

Anyways, we go for the most important of those four at the moment. We need to get a lightsaber. Nobody's going to take us seriously as a Jedi until we can look like one.

Agreed, but how?

That... I don't know, yet.

As the two halves of his consciousness fought over the right thing to do, Hal pulled his undershorts back on, then some trousers and a shirt before heading out into the hallway. He wasn't sure where he was going, but it was clear that remaining in his stateroom wasn't going to get him anywhere.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

According to the crew schedule, there was a curfew aboard the Whaladon, and the moment Hal stepped out of his stateroom, he was in violation of it. But then again, time was but an illusion in space, a man-made construct brought about only to retain sanity in the forever-night. As the Whaladon boasted a primarily Jedi crew, and Jedi were notorious goody-goodies, it seemed that everyone was following curfew, so Hal's unshod footfalls were the only sounds which broke the silence of the hallways.

He needed to walk, to clear his mind and distance himself from the troubled state he'd been in in his stateroom. There, with the cramped walls tight around him he felt confined and imprisoned, but here in the halls, at least, he knew he could go forward or back at his leisure, and that thought brought him small enough comfort as to keep on.

More rooms, more hallways, Hal paid little attention to where he was going, only thinking that it would be nice to stare out at the stars and pretend as if he were back on Nehantish, staring up at the night sky. But there were no stars to look at, here, only the walls of the Challenger's ventral docking bay. So afraid had the Jedi become that they resorted to hiding within the very walls of a military craft. This wasn't the Order he knew, and this would have never happened, back in his day.

His day. It had been so much better, back then. He knew that he was in the right, and he was respected by his peers, and even some of the masters as well. Sure, he got into trouble, but it was trouble brought around by the right reasons, so he had never been harshly reprimanded. These Jedi, however, seemed terrified of taking any action against their oppressors. If only he could make them see how much they could be capable of if they would just buck up and do something about it.

Pausing before a window, Hal stared out at the lit interior of the Challenger. Surely such a ship would be better suited to the Jedi than the cramped, outdated transport he found himself on. There there would be room to train, quarters suitable to a knight, decent food and all the other things he missed about Coruscant. Well, not all the things, but enough to make him feel at least a little more normal.

Normal. The word ran though his head over and over. Not since he was fifteen had his life been normal. He was supposed to be a mechanic, an engineer or a plumber like the other males of his family. He was supposed to be married by twenty and start having kids immediately after that. he was supposed to provide for his family and be a good father and maybe join the bowling league. That was normal, and in the back of his mind he wondered if he could just leave all this behind, and go back to Nehahtish and be normal again. His tail flicked, and chemicals inside him flared as he thought of mating and raising children, but as he stared at the Challenger's walls, those same chemicals died down, and his tail fell still once more. There were no Nehantites, here. There was no bowling league. This was about as far from normal as he could get.


Despite his feelings and his immediate loathing of his situation, Hal found it desperately hard to tear himself away from the window. To turn away from it meant that he must face the confines of this small pocket of insanity once more, but once he started moving, he simply resigned himself to following his feet.

In a few hours, others would start waking and a whole new day would come. Everyone would be just as oblivious as to how in the wrong they were about this whole situation, as well as how cowardly they were being, and they would continue to look upon Hal as the weird, furry outsider who wasn't relevant, anymore.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

But for now, Hal was the outsider, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. After all, wasn't it true in all those sports holofilms he'd seen that a losing team couldn't get their act together until the rebellious outsider came in and shook things up? He'd always fancied himself as the star player on his team, but now... now maybe he was that outsider, and it was his job to get this stagnant, boring, complacent mess of Jedi to wake up and make a championship run.

Briefly, Hal imagined what a Jedi championship trophy would look like sitting on the desk in his stateroom, then reality oozed back into his mind like a spreading stain. The Jedi didn't have trophies; they weren't supposed to crave material goods or lust after desires of the body, either.

So maybe Hal wasn't a model Jedi. Actually, he knew he wasn't, as he'd been reprimanded time and time again, back in the old Order for his actions, but he couldn't seem to change. To blindly follow the rules and not think about what more you could seemed to be a waste to him, and it meant stagnation. The Force was a living entity, and he knew it wanted him to do more with his life. He'd taken his training and applied it to new skills and new abilities that many of the other Jedi had frowned upon, and some called a perversion of the will of the Force, but Hal felt no malice or evil when using them. The Dark Side was not a specific set of powers, as they were always taught in classes, it was an intention, and if your heart intended no evil, and strived only for good and the betterment of those you protected, then no matter what skills you used, or the color of your lightsaber blade, you were still a Jedi.

Of course, that wasn't to say he'd always used his powers for good. Kicking a small chunk of plastic lying in his path, Hal stuffed his paws into his pockets and continued on his directionless walk.

For some Jedi, power became the great corruptor. For others, it was drugs or alcohol used in an attempt to relieve the great deal of pressue they were put under. For Hal, it had been his own personal desires. He told himself he couldn't help it; he told himself that he knew that Nehantites were still more animal than man, and thus more heavily prone to desires of the flesh, but those had just been lies to convince himself that he wasn't in full control when he did wrong. More than once, a night with the wrong partner had compromised, or nearly compromised a mission or training, and he could recall so clearly the words of the Council as they railed on him for letting his body decide his actions more than the will of the Force.

No, Hal hadn't been a model Jedi, and had it not been for his overwhelming desire to do the right thing in the end, he knew he would have been kicked out and sent back to Nehantish long ago. But he hadn't been sent back to Nehantish, he'd gotten himself caught, somehow, then frozen and wound up here, in a madhouse of meek, spineless do-nothings.

Well, maybe not all do-nothings, Hal had to admit, as he hadn't met all of them, yet, but those he had met seemed committed to not getting involved where the fight actually mattered. None of them could seem to understand the importance and the righteousness of retaliation against an oppressor. He'd also gotten in trouble for letting his animal nature dictate the course of his actions when it came to picking his fights, but this time, oh, this time he needed no such instincts to know it was right. A Jedi should desire peace and understanding, but in times of such oppression and darkness, force could not be an option left off the table. An old tennent he'd had read had said that there comes a time when a Jedi must force peace, when there are no other options.

But how could he force anything without a weapon, or transport? Kicking that hunk of plastic once more, he followed it as it ricocheted off a wall and around a corner.

[Abarai Loki]

3:45

The still night was broken by a harsh electric buzz. Loki stirred, lifting heavy eyes to spot the offending chrono perched at his bedside. It was swatted into silence. In the renewed calm, leaden limbs curled inwards until he was folded fetal, indulging the deep penetrating warmth of the bed sheets. Sleep was welcoming and kind. Eyes snapped open.

3:46

Rigid tension melted from his muscles in a sigh. He hadn't slept in. Bolstered with relief, Loki cast off the cumbersome sheets and twisted himself out of bed. The cool air was quick to work its way under his skin and the floor felt like a sheet of ice against bare feet. In nothing but a pair of thermal pants and a vest, it was a struggle not to shudder, space was a far stretch from the simmering savannas of Maridun. He yawned, his arms flexed, back arched. Weary eyes wandered back to the mad crumple of still-warm sheets.

No. Measured strides closed the distance between him and the refresher, where he splashed water over his face in frantic handfuls. Fingers worked savagely at the skin, massaging his eyes from their insatiable torpor until the cold started to hurt. Now he was awake. He grunted in annoyance. What was once a straight-forward part of everyday was increasingly becoming a chore. It didn't make sense: he was well-rested, he had a nutritious diet, he kept himself busy during the day, and was relaxed in the night, and above all, he had a routine. It was his rock, sturdy and solid, and it kept him afloat in turbulant times. Nothing had changed. So, why was his routine failing him? Perhaps, he considered, he was failing it.

Not today. He marched back into his room, fuelled by fiery frustration, and pulled on his tunic and trousers from the previous day, and once his boots were tied, the warm-up exercises commenced. Ten minutes of stretching and simple aerobic exercise was enough to ease his mind. On principle, he found a warm-up session preferable to traditional meditation, and besides, he had his morning run ahead of him. Then it was time for a shower, a generous breakfast, followed by the first of the day's lessons. Routine. It made order out of chaos. Routine. Start every day at 3:45. A quick wash. Clothes folded on the chair. Boots under the bed. Five minutes. Always the same warm-up session. Ten minutes, precisely. Then everyday, at 4:00, the morning run began.

4:01

Ten minutes later, Loki finished the fifth lap of his personalised Whaladon circuit, and ascended from the engineering deck. It was a time like no other. It was his favourite time, when it was just him, his pulse, and the sound of a sleeping ship. His hair was a tangle of unruly pillow-pressed tufts and it didn't matter. He was carefree and at his best, working up a sweat. These fleeting hours of peace were the reward for fastidious planning and a dedicated routine. Everyday was the same and that was perfectly fine, until-

The chunk of debris tumbled into view. Loki's eyes narrowed with fierce suspicion. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was his running time. And then, just as the errant piece of plastic rolled to a stop, he was struck with the incomprehensible urge to return fire and send the little projectile back home with a snappy kick. It pinged off the wall as he rounded the corner into the next corridor, and there was Halajiin Rabeak. This was unacceptable. It was unheard of- It was his running time. No. He wouldn't be deterred, not even by the impossible Jedi mongoose. He just kept running.

"Halajiin Rabeak," he said, as he passed, "Despite appearances, the Whaladon is not a junk ship."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

No sooner had the chunk of plastic vanished around the corner than it came bouncing right back at him. That was... odd.

What in the Wide, Wide world of Sp-

Loki's sudden appearance cut his brain off mid-word, as it all began to make sense. But before he could make a snappy comeback about trash, proper receptacles, and maybe the lack of a maid service somehow related to Loki's mom, he caught sight of the boy's hair.

Typically perfect to the point of being borderline fabulous, it was a cockeyed mess of bed-head, and Hal couldn't help but pull a smirk.

"What the hell happened to you,?" he asked with a chuckle. As Loki didn't stop, Hal sighed pulled his paws from his pockets and turned to jog alongside the young knight. After all, there wasn't much better to do.

[Abarai Loki]

The approach of soft padding footpaws meant only one thing. Inwardly, Loki considered the implications of his own body language, and how it might've suggested anything other than the very obvious fact that he was not seeking company. It was as if the unwanted presence injected itself into his muscles and conjealed, making him suddenly stiff like an agitated cat. Beside him, the air temperature seemed to drop a few degrees when the Nehantite caught up. His jaw clenched as he considered the best way to deal with such a nuisance. Diplomacy first.

"I'm running. I always run in the morning," he answered, somewhat perplexed by the question, and instantly wished he could snatch that last telling nugget of information back from the ether, "Halajiin Rabeak, what are you doing?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Of the great many things Hal missed about his old life, it was his wardrobe of clothes that actually fit correctly and weren't borrowed that he wished he could have back, right now, but more than that, his sneakers.

They were the height of athletic footwear fashion, with shock-absorbing soles that transferred energy from toe to heel, and allowed him to run faster, jump higher and look super-fine. They also weren't on his bare footpaws at the moment, so Hal second-guessed the thought of jogging alongside Loki for much longer. When the alternative revealed itself to be wandering around alone in silence once more, the Nehantite adjusted his strides to an easier, loping gait to keep up with Loki's shorter legs.

"I asked what happened to you, not what you happened to be doing," he replied, a smirk on his face. "And I was referring to your hair. It looks like you went to a cheap Wookiiee hair salon and got kicked out halfway though your appointment." He laughed, then became more serious as he added, "By the way, don't ever go to a Wookiiee hair salon. Especially if you grow a nice coat of fur like mine."

It took only a few more steps before Hal could just sense the silent rage boiling off of the knight at the lack of response to his question. "Couldn't sleep. Haven't been on a run in a while, so, figured why not? Do this every morning, you said?"

[Abarai Loki]

The underhanded barb about his hair caught Loki off guard, his mouth was open on the cusp of an objection, to light up the furry vagabond with a volley of incendiary reprimands. Vanity was poisonous, especially for a Jedi, and were it not for the sudden flush of pink in his face, he'd have said as much. Offense diminished, however, at the mention of a Wookiee hair salon, it was replaced with fledgling curiosity as the young Jedi tried to imagine such a place. There was a beat of silence between them, in which only the drumming of their feet sounded in the otherwise barren corridor, it was almost tolerable.

Then Halajiin asked the question. Loki winced, haunted by the knowledge that he'd set himself up for a downfall. A prickly heat coarsed the length of his limbs in alarm, pleading for him to find a way out of the corner into which he'd reversed: compromising the secrecy of his daily runs to Halajiin risked the possibility of future runs burdened by his... unique presence. His last quantum of solace gone. He wrestled with every selfish fibre of his being, but knew, in the end, it was inevitable:

"Yes, every morning," he confessed, "I run for two hours, then I have a shower, eat breakfast, then lessons begin. It's my routine."

It felt important to emphasise that point. A thought occured to him:

"Perhaps, Halajiin Rabeak, if you had your own routine instead of loitering in hallways, you'd be able to sleep."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"And maybe if I was actually allowed to do something, around here, I could have a routine" Hal shot back, completely lacking the mental fortitude and filter that Loki possessed.

As his unshod footpaws padded alongside the clop of Loki's boots Hal did pause to think about whether or not it might be a good idea to at least have a physical exercise routine.

I do miss going to the gym back at the old Order.

You miss looking at all the female Jedi in the gym.

Like I said, I miss going to the gym. What about that did you not get?

I believe the kid here is talking about personal discipline. You and I both know we're not too good at that. Maybe you should offer to join him on his runs. I'm sure he'd like the company. Look at how dead this place is: he must be bored to tears!

But... it's so early!

Then go take a nap, afterward.

...it's still early...

In the end, Hal submitted to the voice of higher reasoning, though he wasn't quite sure if it was because he was too unfocused that he didn't want to put up a fight.

"Well, mind if I join you for a while? Give us a chance to get to know each other better, maybe?" he asked.

Oh, how he missed his sneakers. Running barefoot was going to make his paws ache later, he just knew it.

[Abarai Loki]

He didn't reply at first. Buried in deep contemplation, Loki considered the request, hammering out thoughts to the steady one-two beat of his boots. The Wheel was a strange place full of strange, strange characters, and every day was a struggle, to wade through the nonsense and make sense of it. Discipline was undervalued, and in its absence, resltess demons came out to play. The daily battle for order came at a high price, it left him mentally exhausted, and he was in need of a counterweight to the madness. So, he ran, in pursuit of the mental equilibrium that came with solitude. Perhaps, after over a century of unbroken peace, Halajiin would understand. But, if there was one thing Loki had learned during his time with the Jedi, it was that people were bizarre, emotional, unpredictable creatures that demanded a special brand of etiquette: politeness. It was different to respect, politeness was a pair of social slippers people wore which allowed them to tread delicately around each other's fragile egos. Politeness was a false ugly practice that offended his proud sensibilities, but as experience had taught him, it was favourable to the inevitable foot-stomping teeth-grinding alternative. In this case, at least.

"Very well," he answered at last, "Although, I must warn you, I am not given to small talk."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"No worries, pal, I probably do enough talking for the both of us," Hal chuckled in reply.

To be honest, he wasn't quite sure why he was attempting to build a friendship with Loki. Of all those he had met, so far, this knight was by far the least social, and the farthest away from his own scope of interests. They'd gotten off on the wrong foot in their first meeting, and even when Hal had switched feet, Loki didn't seem to like him any better.

You're a glutton for punishment, you know that?

No I'm not. You know I like the easy way.

But you always go getting yourself into trouble. Might be best to just back off on this one and go find an easier target.

Where would the fun in that be?

Immediately Hal found the reason he wished to befriend Loki: it was a challenge, and Hal loved a good challenge. His footpaws making a muffled thud with each step, the Nehantite began to grin as he felt his heart rate rise, the cool, recycled air rushing through his fur. He knew the first step would be to find some common ground.

"You know, unlike you, I didn't grow up in the Order. I came when I'd just turned fifteen. Wasn't easy to adapt, and the other kids made fun of me a lot because I was so different, and I didn't know anything about the Force, when they'd grown up with it," he rambled on. "But you grew up having a master, you said. That must've been nice. I had to work my tail off just to keep up, when I was in training."

[Abarai Loki]

"So, you were taken and made a Jedi. That comes as no surprise."

The revelation shed some light on the mystery that was Halajiin Rabeak. He was, by no means, an orthodox Jedi, and lately, Loki was beginning to wonder if such a thing even existed. He thought it did, prior to his rendezvous with the Wheel, and he thought he was it. His convictions were bolstered when he met Loklorian s'Ilancy, and then shattered when the black truth about her true nature emerged. Now, doubt clouded everything, but if a model Jedi existed, it was most definately not Halajiin Rabeak. Hal, with his scimitar grin and goofy flop of headfur, armed with outlandish tales and outrageous jokes, and dressed in rags from the reject bin. A man who had been taught how to wear a Jedi robe but failed to grasp what it meant.

They rounded one corner, then after whipping past the personal quarters of Corell Capastan and Serena Laran, turned another, proceeding down a corridor that ran the length of the ship. Pale lights strobed overhead, one hundred and twenty of them in total, Loki had counted. He reconsidered his narrow-minded appraisal of Halajiin's story, adding:

"Still, to be chosen to join the Jedi Order aged fifteen, you must've shown considerable promise."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal faltered for a short time before he found his voice - an unusual moment of silence from the talkative Nehantite.

"Yeah... well... that and the Sultan kind of made a big deal about there not being any Nehantites represented in the Jedi Order," he admitted at last.

Unlike most of his achievements which had come about through hard work, keen insight or sheer dumb luck, Hal's appointment to the Order was not something he could be proud of. He knew the Jedi had been pressured into taking him, and that there was another boy ten years his junior that would have made a better Jedi. However, Hal had been chosen because he was from the kingdom of Nehantish, and the other boy hailed from the kingdom of Munjesh, whose rajah held only minimal power over anything off-world compared to the sultan of Nehantish.

Too old. That was the first thing Hal was told when he arrived at the order, followed by: disobedient, irrational, unobservant and slow. To be fair, he was all those things, compared to the other boys and girls, and he found himself in classes with those half his age, because of his low skill and aptitude level.

His grin faded under the lights as Hal ran alongside Loki, his pace becoming mechanical as he recalled those days. "They wanted to send me back," he admitted. "The Council, that is. They said I was a waste of time."

[Abarai Loki]

Loki was apalled. The very idea that a wealthy puppet-master had bartered for a place amongst the Jedi Order was a perversion of everything he held dear. Padawanship was an honour, not a commodity. It took no small degree of gall to make such a brash statement, and yet when Loki glanced at his companion, his smile was gone. In fact, there was not a note of cockiness in his voice. This was a confession then.

"And were they right?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Of all the nerve. Hal had just admitted the biggest thing he'd wanted to keep secret, here, and Loki had the the gall to make it into a joke? wrinkles formed on the bridge of the Nehantite's muzzle as his brow creased and his ears laid back. A little voice inside himself told him to let it go, but the big voice in him told him to do it.

And do it he did. As his right leg came down, he brought it in at an angle, then launched himself sideways, body-checking Loki into the wall with his shoulder.

"Fuck no!" Hal shot back, continuing his run.

The little voice told him to do what was polite and peaceful, but it was the big voice that had gotten him through those years of hell when he first came to the order.

[Abarai Loki]

The durasteel wall was unforgiving, his shoulder sandwiched against his body with a crunch, Loki staggered, the last gasp of air squeezed from his chest. He dropped to one knee to arrest his momentum and realised there wasn't much room left for dignity when one was red-faced and wheezing. This was why he didn't socialise. He looked up. Halajiin was getting away. That half-witted fuzzy-eared-

No. He took a much-needed breath and allowed the blaze of tension in his arms to subside. Fists unfurled, he stood and took a moment to consider where it all went wrong. They were getting to know each other, apparently. Halajiin shared a story about his past, including a rather shameful confession, which led the youngster to believe they were approaching a moment of tender revelation. Loki's question had been merely a prompt to discover whether or not Halajiin harbored doubts about himself as a Jedi. Well, evidently not. In that sense, then, his line of questioning was a success. They were learning about each other. Perhaps retribution would have to wait.

Legs fired rapidly, closing the distance between him and the Nehantite, who, it turned out, had unwittingly strayed from a tried and trusty route. Instead of venturing down into engineering, they were about to embark on a second lap of the same deck, and he could feel his routine spiralling into chaos. Once they had regrouped, he remained silent for a minute, wary of a potential second attack. When nothing happened, he cleared his throat and said:

"I am glad you are confident in yourself, Halajiin Rabeak. It is an essential part of being a Jedi."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

It was second year all over again, Hal thought, and that thought alone made him shake his head to get rid of it. No, he wouldn't go back to that. He'd moved on, he was better.

As the staccato clack of Loki's hard-heeled boots beat upon the deck, growing ever louder, Hal spared a glance back - more than he would have done back in the day. He waited for a counterattack, or a sharp remark, but nothing happened.

What's he planning?

Oh, crap, he's totally going to yank my tail. I hate it when people grab my tail.

I don't know about that. You seem to insist on it, in some pos-

Dude, not right now, okay? Not now.

And then Loki complimented him, causing all of Hal's worries and anger to collide with each other in one great, sticky ball of confusion marmalade.

Mmm, marmalade... I could go for some on toast, right now.

Wait for breakfast, this is important.

Looking down at Loki, Hal could see his skin was still slightly red with frustration, but it was dissipating. Ears perking back up again, Hal asked, "Wait, you're not even mad? Damn, kid, I totally slammed you into the wall there. I uh..."

He trailed off, realizing now what he had done. Looking back ahead, he finished, "I'm, um, sorry about that. I shouldn't have done it, and it was wrong."

[Abarai Loki]

"Your actions were brutish and ill-judged, but they were nonetheless justified. My words caused offense. That was not my intention."

How exactly his words managed to provoke such a decisive backlash remained something of a mystery to him. It was, however, a matter he was unwilling to pursue for fear it would exacerbate the Nehantite's obvious regret. Apologies were truly ugly. If there was anything Loki took from the experience of being unceremoniously shoved into a wall, it was the fact that he'd become complacent in the company of other Jedi, and in the light of recent treacheries, such an oversight was simply unforgiveable. Halajiin Rabeak was an unknown quantity, he was unpredictable, assertive, brash, and prone to random acts of aggression. The affects of which were just beginning to subside and Loki found his stride once again.

"However, if you refer to me as 'kid' again, yours won't be the only act of justified brutism committed today."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal couldn't help but laugh. Every word Loki said seemed calculated well beforehand, thus far, but at last he finally let out some true emotion.

"Dude, I didn't mean any offense. I call everyone your age 'kid.'" he explained. "That's what they all called me when I joined the Order. Well, that and a bunch of other names I didn't like very much."

He ran on in silence for a while, old thoughts running through his head as he thought of how different life would have been growing up in this setting instead of on Coruscant. To be fair, he'd been given a great deal of freedom, back in those days, but mainly because nobody wanted to be bothered with trying to bring him up to speed, or dealing with his inadequacies. And as he ran, he could feel the almost palpable waves of curiosity rolling off of Loki, even if the young knight could not bring himself to ask the questions in his head.

So, Hal volunteered to answer some of them for him. "You know how younglings and initiates are often given a group of like-skilled others to train with and learn from one another? Well, my group wouldn't have me, so I had to learn a lot on my own. I... didn't actually have any friends for a while, when I first started, and I knew the knights didn't believe I should be there. Everyone knew how I'd been chosen, and no one would give me a chance."

[Abarai Loki]

"While the circumstances of your appointment to the Jedi Order are suspect. I do not understand the mentality behind hampering an innitiate's training. That is counter-productive and foolish."

It was becoming difficult to maintain the conversation at length and control his breathing. Loki wasn't accustomed to running and talking, and he begrudged the company of Halajiin, with whose story he was becoming increasingly preoccupied. Outside of what his master had shared with him, he knew little of the old Order, of the Temple, and the golden age of the Jedi. Perhaps the Jedi mongoose would prove more than just an eccentric throwback, it was possible he could become a conduit of knowledge to a time when the Jedi were at the height of their powers. A thought occured to him, and as much as he wished to remain focused on the task at hand, he couldn't help himself:

"Halajiin Rabeak, moments ago, you expressed frustration that you'd not yet been assigned a role to fulfill amongst your Jedi peers. Perhaps, with your knowledge and experience, you could provide an education on our proud heritage. Does that interest you?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Running and talking was taking its toll on Hal as well. Actually, mostly the running, as he could talk for hours, but wasting breath on words while he was trying to keep up pace rapidly depleted what endurance he had left after being up all night. His breaths growing more ragged, and his steps labored, Hal knew he was almost out of steam, and cursed his former smoking habit for having reached his limit so quickly.

"Things were..." Hal panted, "different back then. You could afford to be picky." His legs burned, as did his lungs, and as he saw the comissarry coming up on their left, he puffed, "Only the best made it through. But, I need to stop. Sorry, not used to this."

He half-jogged, half-stumbled to a halt, bracing his paws over the back of a chair as he leaned over and tried to catch his breath. "You seriously do this for two hours?" he asked. Looking back at Loki, his face was a that of bewildered disgust. So maybe he wouldn't be joining Loki in the morning, after all.

At last he slumped down into the chair, leaning his head back for a moment in blissful rest before he groaned, then sat up properly. "You mean, like teach?" he asked, slightly confused. No one had ever suggested he do that, before, but it made sense, now that he thought about it. Someone had to whip these Jedi into shape - mental shape, he'd let Loki handle the physical part - and who better than Hal, who probably knew better than any of them how they should be acting.

"Yeah, I think I could do that. I could probably teach you all kinds of stuff, actually," he said, a tired smile working up his muzzle.

[Abarai Loki]

Arms folded, Loki regarded the sad broken figure slumped in a chair with scathing disapproval. The ceaseless chatter had made the run more challenging, certainly, but not to the point of exhaustion. Halajiin Rabeak was in dire need of a fitness program. Then again, after a hundred and seven years frozen in carbonite, perhaps his muscles were atrophied. Inwardly, he made a vow to himself that he would see the Nehantite restored to peak physical condition, whether he liked it or not. He cast a wary glance around the mess hall, it was all but empty, and its chilly air chased away the comfortable heat from his limbs. It pained him to stop. Part of him wanted to abandon his mongoose companion and remain faithful to his trusty routine, but he had committed himself to a discussion from which he couldn't simply walk away. If, by the end of their talk, he had helped Halajiin discover a purpose for himself amongst the Jedi, then his sacrifice will not have been in vain. He took a seat and lifted a dubious eyebrow at the latest claim, which flirted to far on the wrong side of braggartry for his taste.

"Could you indeed?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Before Hal could reply, a wide, groaning yawn split his muzzle, spreading his jaws wide and exposing all of his quite animalistic teeth. "Oh man, sorry 'bout that," he said. Standing up, he paced over to the pot of stimcaff that had been left on the warming plate all night. Pouring himself a cup, he nodded.

"Well, probably, I think," he answered. "I mean, I don't know what all you already know, but I worked under and with some of the best of the Order. But I mostly focused on the stuff nobody else was doing. The stuff I had to read about in the really old archives, and on the fringes of other study, that sort of stuff."

Taking a sip of the warm, over-thick stimcaff, Hal pulled a face, but that didn't stop him from taking another drink. Returning to the table, he dropped back into his seat, done with his run for the day.

"See, when you get made fun of by the other kids because you can't do what they can do as well as they can do it, you've got two choices. You can keep trying to be just like them, or you can go your own way and learn the stuff they don't even know can be done."

He could see the look he was getting, so he snorted a chuckle and took another drink. "What? It's not like I didn't learn the normal stuff, too. I didn't have a single friend for two years, there was nothing else to do. So, yeah, I could teach, once I'm up to speed on how you all do things around here, of course. Though the Hellfire trick... really shouldn't be done on a ship. Seriously. Nooooot a good idea."

[Abarai Loki]

"There is a third option for dealing with rivals. Beat them at their own game. They will be humbled."

Halajiin Rabeak was a very open Jedi. The revelation came to Loki as he listened to him speak, surprised by the shamless way in which he divulged details of his troubled youth, it made him uncomfortable. Wrestling with one's demons was a personal affair, he believed, something best kept behind closed doors. What exactly his chatty counterpart seeked to achieve by including him in his frank confessions was something of a mystery. Loki remained vigilant, suspicion simmering beneath the surface.

"Halajiin Rabeak," he began, dispassionately, "If you are to educate the padawans, then it will be prudent you accomodate a more traditional curriculum than- the hellfire trick?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal halted his cup of stimcaff halfway to his muzzle, mouth hanging slightly open as he stared across the table at Loki.

"Padawans?" he asked. "I thought you meant everybody."

Taking his interrupted drink, he waited for an immediate reaction, but there was none. The ceramic mug tapped down on the tabletop, and Hal breathed a sigh of understanding. So this was how it was going to be; he would teach the basics to young students who would then go off to get apprenticed to other masters. Forget all the unusual things he'd learned, and forget trying to advance the other knights in some way, this was all about giving Hal something to keep him occupied, not actually make proper use of him. As he felt his pride bruised, he couldn't help but voice his opinion.

Shaking his head, he gave a forced smile. "I guess this order never changes. Everyone worries about what I might teach a padawan or initiate, like I might infect one of them with my own thinking, or something. Sure, I'll stick to the basics; just seems a waste, is all, when I've got so much else to offer. And if you've never heard of the Hellfire trick, well... that's not something you learn in the traditional curriculum."

[Abarai Loki]

"Are you always this sensitive?" he muttered, irritably.

Loki closed his eyes to shut out the sight of Halajiin's indignant face. He had a feeling he was going to graduate from this discussion an expert in calming breathing technique. It was working for him at present, but there was only so far his patience could stretch. His hands clasped on the table and he approached the matter as diplomatically as possible.

"There is no reason you cannot also teach the more experienced Jedi. Nothing can be gained from the restriction of knowledge, Halajiin Rabeak. I was merely remarking upon the fact that, when it comes to the education of padawans, simplicity first. We are not in the business of teaching our innitiates cheap stunts. Now tell me about the blasted hellfire trick!"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal's ears went back in mock indignation, and he sat up straight and proper. "Being sensitive is the sign of a caring, honest individual," he replied sardonically.

"And as for the trick, I told you it's really not smart to do it onboard a ship." The Nehantite's attitude returned to normal. "And that's not even its real name, that's just what I called it because nobody else had been doing it in ages, so I figured it out and got known for it. I wasn't going to tell everyone it's a concentration of highly combustible gasses arranged in a proper shaped charge and ignited and directed using molecular compression. That's just boring."

He took another drink from his stimcaff, but could see that Loki's curiosity was still not sated. "Fine, fine... just don't blame me if the fire supression countermeasures go off and we both get wet," he gave in. "This is going to be really, really small, got it?"

Setting his cup down, Hal took a deep breath and stared off into the center of the mess hall. With his right paw, he appeared to be slowly directing wind, itself, and with each passing second, the look of concentration on his face grew more absolute. He could do this quickly in an open space, but here on a ship there were things like gas balances to worry about, and all manner of sensors which could be damaged. At long last, he vented his breath and drew his fingers back, braced against his thumb.

"Ready? Watch right there, over the center table, got it? I'm only going to do this once."

With that said, he snapped his fingers. At first there was only a tiny spark which popped in the air over that table, but before Loki could laugh, a blast of fire shot forward in a tightly controlled path, rapidly shooting forward and growing in intensity before flaring wild in a dangerous fireball. Hal immediately waved his paw and it dissipated before it could set off a fire sensor. The entire show had been very small, but effective nonetheless.

"That's about as small as it can be managed, really," he announced, though the fireball had shot forward over nearly twenty feet before Hal had killed it.

[Abarai Loki]

Loki stared owlishly into the space where the fireball vaporised. After the intense blaze of heat, the renewed gust of flitered air felt positively frosty against his skin. He gave an involuntary shudder. Slowly, he surfaced from a hazy swim of wonder, and returned his attention to Halajiin. Already, his thoughts were cycling through the potential battlefield applications of such an offensive power. He gave the mongoose a nod of approval.

"That was... impressive," he said at last, "I know of no other Jedi with such a skill."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Like I said, no one had been doing it for ages," Hal replied. "Found the theory in the old archives. Took forever to get it to work. If had actual land and open space, I could try and teach you, but... that thing really eats up available oxygen, and can set off atmosphereic sensors and all kinds of stuff. I don't want to teach it onboard a ship. Too dangerous. At least you can aim lightning at a target rod or something."

Leaning back in his seat once more, Hal looked out where his fireball had been. "There's so much more in those archives than most any of the Jedi realized. They just didn't want to take the time to go digging. And now it's all under Empire lock and key. What a waste."

Shaking his head, he took a drink from his rapidly cooling stimcaff, then grimaced slightly at the absoultely terrible flavor. "I think you would have liked the old Order, Loki. Garffie knows I hated it when I got there, but in time it worked out. Well, once Trevarius took me on, that is. If it wasn't for him, odds are I never would have made it through. He was a good, good man."

[Abarai Loki]

After the impressive display of power, Halajiin's words were weighted with a sad truth, it was tragic that the sum of all Jedi knowledge was held in the greedy hands of the enemy. Under the Empire's tyrannical boot, he and his kin had been reduced to the ways of their prehistoric ancestors, who huddled in the shadows from predators, and passed on their knowledge from word of mouth alone. There were no holocrons, no archives, not a single datapad's worth of information on what it was to be a Jedi. All they had was each other. And what a motley crowd they made.

It made him think of Halajiin, who leaped forward to leap back, now a lowly cave-dweller along with the rest of his Jedi comrades. Loki did not begrudge him his nostalgia. And to think he had difficulty settling in with the Order of old. He wondered if the mongoose would ever find peace drifting through the empty void of space with no temple, no archives, and not even a lightsaber to call his own. Then, his musings were submerged and drowned beneath a seething selfish interest at the mention of Master Trevarius, the master of his own mentor. His eyes narrowed with fierce curiosity.

"What was it about Master Trevarius that enabled you to succeed?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

A warm smile crossed Hal's muzzle, a smile of honest friendship. Though Trevarius had died long ago, Hal didn't think of him in terms of a distant memory, but as a man he'd spoke to only a week ago, and had recent, clear memories of.

"You know, I wasn't sure, at first, why he picked me. As a knight who had shown enough dedication to the Order and established a great deal of trust from the Council, he could have picked a far more promising padawan than me," Hal admitted. "But I think... I think he wanted a challenge.

"He was proud. Oh, Garfife, Trev was proud. I think he looked at the candidate pool and picked me, thinking he could look even better if he took the reject nobody wanted and turned him into a model Jedi, anything to fast-track him up to the Council, himself. Boy, was he surprised when he found out just how far I had come on my own, though! That changed everything.

"As his padawan, I suddenly got some respect from the others, and because of that my efforts and skills finally got noticed. But more than that, I finally had something close to a friend, and that's what got me through. We both rubbed off on each other, I think. I picked up discipline and he relaxed a bit, letting the living Force guide our way. We branched out from the normal Jedi path, finding what each of us was best at, and we both complimented and contrasted each other. Even when I failed at something, he was proud that I tried, and he always encouraged me to succeed. Could I ever be just like him? No, never, same as he couldn't ever really be just like me. But we understood that, and in time we became actual friends. He also encouraged me to keep delving into the old and odd stuff in the archives, telling me that things like that shouldn't be forgotten.

"But we didn't always get along, and I think that's one of the other things I miss about him. We'd argue, and while we were both often right, his desire to get a seat on the Council often overrode our friendship. By the time I was knighted, we were barely speaking, and it took a few months after that until we came back to more friendly terms. He took on another padawan, but instead of playing it fast and loose like he had with me, he was all about structure and order, discipline and code. We never did see eye to eye again, beyond that, but by then the order had accepted me, and I was free to work as I saw fit. Trevarius was still bucking for a Council seat when I got frozen. Dunno what happened to him after that, but I do miss him. Even for our differences, he was still my best friend, and we'd still hang out when we could. Couple drinks and he was back to the old us, so... I kinda always made sure to get him a few drinks when we were out.

"It's because of him that I made it to Knight, even if the Council didn't really know what to do with me. I was sort of the odd-jobs guy, or the guy who got the jobs nobody else wanted. Trev would still pull some strings every now and then and get me a good job, though."

Hal stopped there, his paws wrapped around his stimcaff mug. It had gone cold, and he didn't really want to drink it, anyhow. Loki sat before him, almost a perfect model of what Trevarius was trying to turn his second Padawan into. While Hal could admire Loki's dedication to the Order, it also saddened him to see that all of the fun that Trevarius and himself used to have seemed to be completely missing from the boy.

"Seems like he left a solid legacy, though," he tried to smile, but it didn't work. "And it seems like I didn't leave one at all."

[Abarai Loki]

"You are flirting with vanity, Halajiin Rabeak, but I must point out the flaw in your reasoning. Your master lived a full life, and died. You did not. It is foolish to try and quantify the sum of your existence a fraction into it."

After a long meandering monologue loaded with nostalgia and melancholy, Halajiin had arrived at a rather ill-concieved and pessimistic conclusion, which Loki was glad to deconstruct. He dispensed wisdom with signature detachment. There were few things he tolerated less than defeatism, it was ugly and unbecoming of a Jedi, and in Halajiin's unique case it was downright dangerous. It was tempting to think of him as another padawan with adjustment issues, that way he could tackle the problem with confidence, but Halajiin Rabeak was a Jedi Knight. And a sensitive one at that. Patience was required, and time. So, for the time being, he returned to his companion's story.

"It is interesting," he considered, with a frown, "You speak of your master as a mentor, and a rival, and a friend. That, to me, speaks of chaos. A padawan requires consistency and stability, not friendship. It is unsurprising you were considered an unknown quantity amongst your peers, and yet you appear to be proud of your individuality, despite the sense of isolation that accompanies it. In this regard, do you not think you have been doomed to disappointment?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Just because you don't have any friends doesn't mean no one should." The words came out of Hal's mouth before he could even think.

Woah there! That was uncalled for!

What? He's like a travel-size douche, he deserved that!

Nobody deserves that, dude. Besides, I think were were like, almost connecting there, for a moment.

Says you. He's never going to respect you, not like this. Just give it up, already.

No. No, I'm not going to give it up. Pint-size pain in the ass or not, Loki has actually been pretty darn good to me, so far, considering, and I don't want to make him upset. He's a good man, for being a kid, and he seems to be a good Jedi, so just shut your hole and let me handle this.

And if I don't?

Two words: Jawa. Porn.

FFFFFFFfffffffff...

Thought so.

An instant after he said it, Hal held up his paws in defense. "I did not mean that. Sorry. I've been up all night, and I'm a bit frazzled. Please, I'm sorry."

A glug of lukewarm stimcaff shocked his senses into nauseated overdrive, and he replayed Loki's assessment.

"I think what I meant was that a padawan should have friendship with his master. A master shouldn't be soley about training their student, they should be able to help improve them as a person, and to do that requires friendship. Trevarius helped me become a new man, and for that I am very grateful. It just wasn't the model student that he wanted to show off to the council.

"But as far as isolation due to individuality, well, where would we be if we were all the same? Sure, I might get depressed from time to time because there's nobody else like me around, but should I change who I am because of that? No, that would be defeat in order to gain popularity, and I'm not willing to give up who I am just to make some friends. People are going to have to like me for me, just like I have to like them for who they are."

[Abarai Loki]

It had been an insult. Loki realised that as his companion quickly backpeddled into a retraction and an apology. All the while, his expression was decidedly blank. The implication he was without friends carried no insult for him, as a Jedi, friendship was simply something which didn't concern him. Besides, it wasn't even true. Loki did have a friend, a good friend. But, on the principle that the scruffy mongoose had tried to insult him, he remained silent and allowed him to stew in his regret.

In his silence, he discovered there was some wisdom to be found in Halajiin's words, loathe as he was to admit it. Despite his apparent flightiness, there was more to the Nehantite than he let on, a refreshing measure of self-awareness to go hand-in-hand with all that jarring self-confidence. It was true, a Jedi should never pander to the masses for acceptance, even if it meant alienation, a principle with which Loki deeply identified. He was identifying with Halajiin Rabeak now. Perhaps it was too early in the morning.

"My master shaped me into the Jedi I am today, but he was never my friend. We were never equals. That was important. It's difficult to believe the same man was responsible for two entirely different Jedi," he said, hanging onto the thought before concluding, "I do not think there is strength in such diversity."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Then you believe in the power of the uniform thought," Hal replied, his tone even.

"I've learned another group believes in such a thing, these days. They have no face and their soldiers wear white armor. Individuality is something they shun, as well, but the Jedi never have. Trust me, there is more strength in diversity than you could ever imagine, and even though I am alone in this time, I'm not broken."

[Abarai Loki]

"Do not speak to me of the Empire like it is something abstract and alien to you!" Loki snapped, "The Galactic Empire is your Republic with a rotten heart. How dare you accuse me of harbouring the same monstrous mentality!"

He was standing, rigid with anger, his fists clenched like rocks. It was a misunderstanding, that much he knew, but that this sanctimonious relic had the gall to so casually draw a likeness between him and the foe that had nearly wiped the Jedi from the universe was too black a slight to ignore. The cup of stimcaff shattered across the room. His mouth curled with contempt.

"Do not speak of that which you have no understanding, mongoose Jedi. The Empire slaughtered our kin like dogs, and should you again choose to cast such aspersions upon my character, you will witness the limit of my forgiveness."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal's paws slammed down on the table as he stood up as well. "It's about damn time!" he roared - and the roar of a race close to its animal forbears is not a thing to be taken lightly.

"Finally, you came out of your shell! Garfife, man, I was starting to think you were solid dogma to the core!"

Taking a deep breath, Hal eased back. He'd struck a lower blow than he intended, but at last he found Loki's sore spot, and he knew where not to go in the future. It had been a risky move, but it had paid off. Sitting back down, he ran a paw through his headfur.

"I don't have a Republic, any more, and it was a good and honest thing while I lived under it. What became of it is something neither of us could control. We can only control how we react to it," he said. "And you, right now, were very much the man Trevarius had wanted me to be. He would be proud. But just because I don't share your dogma and absolute adherence to so strict a code doesn't mean that deep down, you and I want exactly the same thing.

"We want justice. We want payback."

[Abarai Loki]

"You-"

Loki took a breath, long and laboured with simmering rage. Cold eyes, ablaze with anger, speared Halajiin in his seat. Every muscle in his body was locked, poised, awaiting the blow that never came. The mongoose spoke, but the white hot ringing in Loki's ears was drowning out his words. He spoke of the Republic, and of pride, and justice. It didn't matter. By the time he'd finished, the steely tension was beginning to unravel itself from the youngster's limbs, and he leaned forward, planting his hands on the table. His face twisted into a knot of confusion and disbelief.

"You were trying to provoke me? Have you taken leave of your senses, Jedi? Do you not value your life?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"I value every life," Hal's response was cold. "Mine, yours, everyone's. But when you give up on your spirit and wrap yourself soley in code, dogma and expectations, you smother your spirit turn your back on your own life."

Leaning back into his own seat, Hal did not appear threatened by Loki's display, but nor did he seem insulting in his relaxed attitude. An eddy of calm swirled around the Nehantite in the Force, and he carried on. "I've seen men like you lose themselves because they were so bound up in doing what was expected of them that they could never use their own sight, their own feelings. They become shells of men, loyal Jedi, yes, but not much more than footsoldiers or trained dogs. It hurts to see someone you know fall into that trap, Loki, and I had to make sure it hadn't happened to you.

"Respect the Code, honor the Order, but never forget yourself."

[Abarai Loki]

"I know who I am, Halajiin Rabeak," he said, and collapsed grumpily into his seat, "You could've just asked."

That he had been played like some ill-tempered simpleton was a source of great annoyance to him. Loki felt foolish and was haunted by the shame of his outburst. He remained silent, and perhaps it was for the best, for it was a rare miracle when something positive came from a casual conversation, with a Jedi, with a child, with anyone. Then there was the mongoose, uncharacteristically solemn, dispensing his own brand of wisdom with philosophical eloquence, while he sat, brooding in self-doubt. It was a complete role-reversal, and it tormented him from his silence.

"Halajiin Rabeak, do you consider yourself a Jedi first, or a man?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Tepid, bitter and thick as it was, Hal wished he had his mug of stimcaff back at that moment, just so that he could take a drink in order to give himself time to think. Instead, his paws worked over each other, fingers feeling out his knuckles as he mulled over the thought.

It was an interesting question, not one he had been posed before, but he had often wondered himself - especially since his return to this new time, and this new Order. His tail flicked, ears ticked subtly, and for anyone familiar with Nehantite body language, it was clear that he was deep in thought.

"I really don't know," he replied at last. "I've been a man longer than I've been a Jedi, in my waking life, but I don't know which is more important. I think I'm just... both."

[Abarai Loki]

"I am a Jedi," he said, "Before I am a boy, before I am a man, before my race, and my colour, and myself; I am a Jedi. It is who I am. It is all I am."

He watched Halajiin as he spoke, the conviction returning to him as it always did when he spoke of his special heritage. Gone were the creeping doubts, his sour mood evaporated into the air, and in its place grew the confidence and fire of a young warrior who remembered where he came from and knew exactly where he was going.

"My master raised me to fight, and survive, and to pass on what I know to secure the future of the Jedi legacy. I am, effectively, a stepping stone. That is my purpose, that is enough, and I am deeply proud of my birthright."

Then, he regarded Halajiin, with a note of challenge in his voice, "In your eyes, Halajiin Rabeak, does that make me an empty man?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

He doesn't get it.

He will, in time. We'll help him.

And if he doesn't listen?

He's already listening. Look at how hard he's having to fight to keep up this composure. This boy could truly be great, if he'd just figure it out.

That isn't a bet I'd take.

Well, it's the one on the table, and it's only the first hand in a very long game.

Breathing a deep sigh to calm himself and clear his head, Hal looked up from his paws to the boy before him. What he saw and what he heard were two very different things, and it would only be over time that they might reconcile themselves into one.

"What I see doesn't matter to you," he replied. "You've made your mind up, and convinced yourself of what you say. But if you have to ask; if the question even arises in yourself as to what you really and truly are, then you're not convinced."

After another breath, the Nehantite couldn't help but smirk, and he let out a comment he'd been keeping inside for some time, now. "But what I really think is that you're a very frustrated young man, and it would do you a world of good if you went and got yourself laid."

[Abarai Loki]

"Laid," he repeated, curiously, he recognised the term from somewhere, "Laid..."

Taataani, that was it. In an instant, his jaw dropped and a scandalised look of horror blossomed on his face. It took a moment before he could bring himself to say it:

"Sex?" he blurted, flushing a violent shade of pink, "What is wrong with you people? This is a Jedi ship- I'm a Jedi! Doesn't that mean anything anymore? What does any of this have to do with-"

Suddenly, his gaze darted to the commisary door, they were still alone. He lowered his voice, "-with sex?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Garfife...

Wow, this kid needs our help even more than we thought.

Preach it, brother.

"What, a Jedi can't have sex?" Hal asked. "If that's the case, that must be something new, because Garfife knows I had a hell of a lot of it, in my day."

A casual smile worked up Hal's face, and he let his arms spread out along the back of the padded bench seat which he sat upon. "Don't tell me you don't think about it. Guy your age, surrounded by some rather lovely females... Garfife, it must be hard for you," he breathed a wistful sigh. A smirk drew up his face, and he looked directly into Loki's eyes as he said, "Surely there's got to be a girl you've had your eye on. It's okay, it's totally natural, Jedi or not. How do you think baby Jedi are born, after all?"

He then chuckled, adding, "Not that I'm telling you to go out and have kids, mind you. There's plenty of ways to keep that bit from happening."

[Abarai Loki]

"Possession? Attachment? Love? These are all things that go against the Jedi- the Jedi way. How can you possibly justify being involved in- engaged in sexual intercourse for any reason other than procreation? Succumbing to one's base instincts is a weakness."

He finished with a firm nod, and cleared his throat. His mouth was suddenly bone dry and an intense prickly heat crawled its way up his neck, blooming crimson in his cheeks. Loki fought fiercely to regain his composure under the watchful gaze of his mongoose companion, so he steered the discussion into the realms of pure philosophy, where he was most comfortable. Reproduction was not an unsettling issue, it was a natural fact of life, but it was, in Loki's eyes, highly inappropriate to humour the notion of respectable Jedi Knights caught up in such wanton debauchery. And when curious minds turned their over-active imaginations upon him personally, well, it was quite unbearable. He continued, in as level a tone as possible, clasping his hands on the table.

"Do not concern yourself with me, Halajiin Rabeak. I assure you, I am in control of any compromising irrational impulses. How was the stimcaff?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

It was impossible to miss the patently obvious reaction the thought of sex had on Loki, and Hal was terribly tempted to see if he could embarass him further, but he stopped. After all, what would be the point in ruining a possible friendship over something as simple, yet brilliant, as a well-placed joke at the boy's expense.

Instead he just smiled and shrugged. "Well, it was pretty bad until you knocked it way he hell over there," he answered, nodding to the shattered cup and splatter of black stimcaff across the commissary. "Now I'd imagine the flavor might be slightly improved, but I don't think I want it, anymore."

[Abarai Loki]

He followed Halajiin's gaze across the room, and surveyed the spillage with distaste. The sudden change in the discussion was welcome, and it felt like an oppressive weight had been lifted from Loki's chest, even his face had reverted back to its natural colour. He frowned, lost in thought.

"Perhaps water is a more suitable alternative, considering your condition," he said absently, his eyes crept back to Halajiin, and narrowed in mild discrimination.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The Nehantite's ears perked at first, then angled back as he eyed Loki warily.

"My condition?" he asked. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

Thoughts of Loki's unfortunate outlook on a love life forgotten, Hal leaned forward, elbows on the table as he waited for this new judgment to be passed on him from a boy not even old enough to have a speeder license.

[Abarai Loki]

"You are unfit. Soft. And lack the stamina to perform a few laps around a small freighter."

Loki's arms were folded as he studied Halajiin across the table. There was nothing lofty or malicious about his frank and, admittedly, rather harsh appraisal of his companion, it just was. His brow knotted as a fresh thought took shape in his head.

"If one were to believe in a concept as trite and absurd as destiny, then one would also be inclined to divine a higher reason from our fateful encounter this morning. I am no such fool, but fortunately for you, I can forge you into something resembling a warrior again."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Hey now, only two weeks ago I had a very lovely lady back to my quarters, and she didn't complain about my stamina one bit," Hal shot back.

It failed to elicit the humorous response he was looking for, and so he shook his head. "Nevermind..."

This kid seriously thinks he can get us in better shape than we are?

I don't even think that's possible.

Me either. But... what if we could be more perfect than we already are?

You can be more perfect than perfect?

I think so. And if we were the most perfect kind of perfect, imagine the tail we could get.

Seriously, did we switch places, brain? I'm supposed to be the one always thinking dirty.

Doesn't mean I can't do it every now and then, too.

So, uh, if we do this, you'll keep me focused, right? I'm gonna be putting in a lot of work, I'd wager.

Oh, uh, yeah, sure. I'll keep you focused. Of course.

That didn't sound very reassuring.

Just go with it!

Fiiiiiine...

"And just how would you go about doing that?" Hal aksed, hoping it would be something in his currently existing training regimen. However, he doubted it, as his current training regimen consisted of generally doing as little as possible, and sleeping until noon.

[Abarai Loki]

"I shall tailor a fitness programme to suit your needs. Despite our limited resources, during my time here I have developed a range of workouts to accomodate beginners and even push the limits of those at the peak of physical fitness. Circuit training to begin with; calisthenics, plyometrics, cardio, and core exercises to improve that stamina of yours. Presently, I run a high-intensity interval training class every other day, I recommend that. And, while you are without a working lightsaber of your own, we could use training sabers to spar and go through the velocities. Every five days, we will run the Whaladon circuit together to monitor your progress. Think how rewarding it will be when you finally last the full two hours."

At some point, while he was wrapped up in planning Halajiin's new fitness regimen, Loki had left his seat and busied himself with a series of stretches and warm-up exercises. All the talk of physical exercise had clearly left him feeling restless. There was a passion that came alive in him when he was able to draw from his very own particular area of expertise, it didn't happen very often outside of the training sessions in the cargo hold, so when it did, he relished the opportunity to put his knowledge to good use. While performaning a sequence of log-jumps, he absently pondered other options available to them:

"Perhaps I could speak with Commodore Tyree and arrange for us to train with the commandos on the Challenger, I was watching them recently and I believe their drills would prove a refreshing challenge. Yes, I will speak to him later. How about weight training?" he blurted suddenly, "Now that Cirrsseeto Raurrssatta is commanding the Challenger, I don't have a spotter. Interested?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

With each progressive activity listed, Hal's ears drooped more and more, his tail falling flat and still. Exercise was not something he typically went and engaged in, and the thought of running two hours, let alone running ten minutes, seemed like a bore beyond belief. But, boy, was Loki ever excited about it, and if this was the price of possibly making a friend, well... it was very expensive.

Loki had better be worth it.

"Weight training?" he found himself asking. The very idea of lifting heavy things without a gorgeous someone around to impress seemed like a futile effort indeed. Still, before he could fully think it through, he nodded. "Okay."

Oh crap, what did I just agree to?

Lifting weights? You've got to be kidding me!

Did I just do that? Crap! How do I get out of this?

I don't think you can, genius. And, oh man, commando training? That should be fun to watch you suffer through.

Seriously, I am not kidding about the Jawa porn. No, I don't have it now, but I will find it, and I will subject you to it!

You're all talk and we know it. Just... don't get us hurt, okay?

[Abarai Loki]

"Good man!" he said, with a satisfied nod, "I shall factor it into your programme."

In the beginning, Loki considered the entire process of becoming personally acquainted with an individual a rather bleak and tiresome affair. Indeed, the chance encounter with Halajiin and the unscheduled disruption to his daily routine had both served to reinforce his opinion repeatedly, until now. Now, his hard work was beginning to pay off, and in the estranged mongoose Jedi, he discovered a new personal project. It would occupy him, mind, body, and soul, until his mission was complete. Jogging on the spot, he continued:

"So, we have discovered your stamina needs work. But what of your other attributes? Strength? Speed? Agility?"

Then, he stood frozen, the light of a fresh idea gleamed in his eyes.

"Halajiin Rabeak, will you join me in a bout of swordplay?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Not even our mother calls us by our whole name. Only Grandma did that when she was upset with us.

Yeah, and she was only about Loki's height, too.

But a lot scarier.

He does remind me of Grandma, though. Never giving us a break.

Garfife she was annoying!

That gives me an idea...

As the gravity of the conversation began to sink in, Hal knew he was going to be in this for the long haul. It wouldn't be fun, it wouldn't be pleasant, and his days of sleeping until noon were most certainly at their end, now. This called for a bit of revenge.

"Well, Jaddah, I'd say yes, but I don't exactly have a working saber, any more, remember?" he replied.

[Abarai Loki]

His enthusiasm faltered, tripped up by an insidious snag of a word. It showed on his face, a concrete countenance of sobriety, his eyes narrowed, and the hearty warmth in his voice was quenched with cool suspicion.

"What did you just... call me?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Huh?" Hal's ears perked up as he cocked his head in mild confusion. "Oh! Heh, sorry, I forgot you don't know Nehantite," he then grinned as he apologized.

"Jaddah is a word in my language, and it means someone who is respected or honored, and should be listened to. It just kinda... came out, and all, seeing as you're apparently going to be taking over my fitness regimen. I can not use it, though, if you'd rather."

You stinking liar. You're calling him "grandma" and you know it!

He he he, yep! But he's going to be way too proud to fact-check it until it's going to be waaaaay too late. Besides, have you seen another Nehantite around here? I haven't. Who's gonna tell him?

Niiiiiice. High-five!

High-five, brain-bro!

[Abarai Loki]

This was a conundrum. Normally, as a matter of principle, when it came to his name Loki accepted no substitutes. Cirrsseeto was the only person ever accomodated an exception to the rule, and that was not without some resistance, but in the end, it had been the fact that his nickname had been assigned as a gesture of affection that helped him accept it. Nowadays, Cirrsseeto had taken to calling him Abarai, his prefered form of address, out of respect for their friendship, much the same way as Loki indulged his preference for the more casual abbreviation, Cirr. Names were important. He considered Halajiin at length, prolonging the silence. The offer of a rejection was on the table, still, it would be selfish of him to refuse such a plainly respectful and affectionate designation. Finally, he gave a nod.

"I have no objection," he said, and got back to business with a fold of the arms, "As to the more pressing matter of your malfunctioning lightsaber: fear not, Halajiin Rabeak. We shall spar with training sabers, that is provided you will not again slump into a useless gasping heap within the first minutes of exertion."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Excuse me," Hal objected. "I am neither useless, or a heap. I was just never much good at running long distances, is all."

Turning his nose up ever so slightly, he tried to look as regal as he could, though it had all the effect of putting a cardboard crown on a child at their birthday party.

"Training sabers, huh? Haven't used one of those in a while. Be nice to swing some plasma around again," he then smirked. "Good thing they only stun, too. I'd hate to hurt you by accident."

Hauling himself up from his eat, Hal paused as he felt the blood rush from his head. He was tired, very tired, and his body was now more than letting him know it. But to back out now would make him look like a coward, so he satisfied himself with a wide yawn, then waved an arm toward the corridoor. "Lead on, Jaddah."

[Abarai Loki]

Jeddah. Inwardly, Loki cringed. Adjusting to such a title was going to be something of a challenge. They left the mess hall, the shattered cup of stimcaff forgotten to the promise of combat, now so close he could practically taste it, like the coppery tang of fresh blood. And, given the reprehensible disruption of his morning routine, a good spar would prove a mighty compensation.

"I should warn you, Halajiin Rabeak, our training sabers do not stun, or cut, or burn, for that matter. Due to limited resources, the training sabers are... wooden."

It pained him to make such a confession. There were dozens of arguments to be made against the use of clunky wooden swords in place of nimble lightsabers, he knew all of them, but he had no choice. And when it came down to it, ultimately, they were still a bunch of ramshackle misfits united under a common banner. They had ships, starfighters, shields, blasters, food, equipment, and anything else they could possibly need, except lightsabers. A Jedi without a lightsaber was like an army without men, it was an idea.

"Do not be discouraged," he added, hesitantly, "The extra weight is good for the muscles."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Wood?

Wood?

"Wood?" Hal blurted. Stepping up his pace, he got ahead of Loki and walked partially backwards, using his tail to trace the wall and watch out for upcoming doors or hallway direction changes - a handy feature of being a Nehantite. "Like, wooden swords?" he asked.

The last time we held a wooden sword was at one of those Dark Ages Faires, and before that it was...

A shiver ran down his spine.

In fencing school.

It was not uncommon, in Hal's day, for almost all boys in the kingdom of Nehantish to still be trained in the art of the sword. It wasn't for combat, as they'd had guns for ages, but where some cultures had football or rugby or smashball teams for their young, Nehantish had fencing. Outside of a full-contact game which resembled rugby in a few regards, fencing seemed to be the national pastime, with several schools to be found in any town.

Many Nehantite males still look back upon their boyhood days with fond memory of fencing classes, and tournaments before family and friends, but not Halajiin Rabeak. The yellow-furred Nehantite had tried to put those days well behind him, having often been the boy that others picked on because he was smaller and weaker than most his age. Bruises, sprains and the occasional fracture had been his rewards for trying to stick up for himself when he was very young, as most boys began around the age of eight, though he had at last become more competent and able to defend himself when he turned fourteen.

In some ways, it was his fencing which had brought him to the attention for consideration as a Jedi, as once he was strong enough to actually combat the other boys his age, he suddenly began to dominate. Uncanny speed, foresight and agility had blessed him overnight, it seemed, and for several months Hal was thrilled with his newfound prowess.

At least until another parent complained, and Hal was given a full physical to test and see if he was on any performance enhancing drugs. No drugs were found, but midiclorians were. Despite having no formal training with the Force, all of his victories, trophies and titles were revoked, and Hal was banned from further competition for having an "unfair advantage." He could never see how it was unfair. He hadn't asked to be born with the gift, and it wasn't like anyone had ever really worked with him on it. Confidence shot, Hal lay down his practice swords, that day, never to pick them up again.

When he finished that school year, he was sent off to the Jedi Order on Coruscant, where once more he found himself last in his class at fencing, this time with a training saber. He suffered welts, stings and winged fur, but only until he could get used to the new weapon. Once he'd figured out its weightless blade, and the speed with which he could wield it, his years of training in fencing came back to aid him, and he found himself able to fight like a real Jedi.

But he would not be using a training saber, now, he'd be using a wooden sword. Not just that, he'd be the bigger boy fighting the smaller one, and the idea of such a reversal of roles did not sit well on him. Something would have to be done about this, and an idea began to form in his brain of just what that would be.

"I'm... I'm not comfortable with that, Loki," he admitted. "Training sabers can sting, but wood... wood can break bones. I don't want to hurt you by accident."

[Abarai Loki]

"I should hope not. If, when our blades cross, you successfully land a strike, then I expect it to be with every intention of injuring me."

It was important to dismiss such nonsensical talk immediately. No good could come from someone going into a sparring session with such childish misgivings. They fought to learn, to build strength and vanquish weakness; a futile venture when one holds back. They arrived at the cargo hold, its doors retreated with a hiss, and beyond, in the great black expanse, rows of stale white light flickered into life. It was cold inside.

"I suspect your concerns may be misplaced, Halajiin Rabeak," he said, casting the mongoose a discriminating glance, "You must first be able to hit me, in order to hurt me."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

So he's brave, is he?

More like foolhardy, with that attitude.

I dunno, some of our instructors had the same mindset.

Some of our instructors were also massive braggarts, or grand champions.

True. But I still don't want to hit a kid. It's not... sporting.

He's asking for it, though. Give it to him.

I dunno. I still don't like this...

You didn't think you were going to like Mon Calimarian women either, but I think we both remember how that turned out.

Oh, man, those tentacles, and those suckers...

Task at paw, base functions! Task! At! Paw!

Hal cleared his throat as he walked beside Loki on their way to a practice room. Yawning, he stretched his arms back as the boy spoke, and it was with the faintest of grins that he foretold what was coming next.

His right paw swung forward quickly, smacking Loki upside the back of his head. Laughing, Hal replied, "Well, I've hit you twice, now, so it can't be that hard."

[Abarai Loki]

His head bobbed like a bongoboat on a lazy tide. When he surfaced, his jaw was locked, damming an upsurge of blistering venom. Nostrils flared, hissing steam in angry torrents. And when the dull echo of pain diminished, he opened his eyes. From across the room, two wooden practice swords shot into his hands with a low whistle and a slap of flesh. Without ceremony, one of the swords was tossed to the mongoose. Twice, Loki swung his weapon, familiarising himself with its sturdy weight, then readied himself. Hungry eyes speared his opponent.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal studied the "saber" he had been tossed. It wasn't a wooden sword so much as it was just a wooden dowel with dents along its length from practice. The grip was only tolerably sanded, and he could already tell from just this brief inspection that it was most likely from a hardware supplier, not a reputable fencing company. It was not even close to the wooden swords he had been used to, and the fight as visibly draining from the mongoose already.

"Is this seriously it?" he asked, holding up his "saber."

[Abarai Loki]

A slight shift in weight was all the warning Halajiin was going to get. Loki charged, the space between them swallowed in a heartbeat, and angled his weapon for a skewering lunge. He aimed his attack at the soft spot just below the sternum, intent on revealing to the mongoose exaclty what Seriously It was capable of...

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Who leads with a lunge with a weapon like this?

Shorty McFrustrated, that's who.

Well, I guess class is in session, now, Professor Rabeak presiding.

Going one-handed for the moment, Hal twirled his glorified dowel, out then in to intercept the tip of Loki's blade. The cargo bay rang with the depressing clack of wood on wood, but Hal wasn't listening. Continuing his motion, he drove Loki's saber up and out, away from Hal's body before he took a leaping step of his own, hoping to catch Loki in the gut as he passed by.

If his old fencing teacher could see him now, Hal would be getting a D for quality of form.

[Abarai Loki]

There was much to be learned from how an opponent responded to such a direct and simple opening attack. Halajiin had deft control of his blade, squeezing grace from even a clunky hunk of wood; grace, and perhaps a hint of flamboyance. His deflection was effective, but much as the rythmn of combat granted him a counter-attack, his opponent was afforded the means with which to defend himself. Loki's sword reeled and was upended, running parallel with his spine, he dropped to one knee and raised his blade. The Nehantite's weapon climbed the length of its rival with a grating scratch of wood, and sailed over the boy's head. Halajiin passed, it had been a clumsy move, rendering him victim to his own momentum. Loki exploited the opening with maximum relish and snapped a stinging blow to the buttocks.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The sound of wood striking wood, and the feel of the training saber's heft in his paw unleashed a floodgate of memories into Hal's brain. Stances, attack positions, defenses, fakes, they swirled around in his head as he tried to remain focused. But, if there was one thing he had learned in all those years it was this: watch your ass.

Recollection of that most important of instructions came none too soon, and the mongoose lifted himself up on the ball of one footpaw and spun, bringing his sword back to incercept Loki's once more before letting his momentum be stopped by his other leg landing like a shock absorber.

Actually glad we didn't put shoes on, after all.

I'm not, you deserved a good spank.

For what?!

I'm sure I can dredge up a reason.

Just shut up and let me fight!

Once each of them recovered from the initial volley, the duel began in earnest. Hal was not the bumbling pushover Loki may have expected, and his old training came back in a hurry as he made excellent use of his superior range as he fought one-handed against Loki's masterful two-hand assault. Blade clacked against blade in a dizzying flurry of strokes, but other than those sounds, the room was silent as they performed their dueling dance.

No cheap tricks, no Force powers, it was just man against man, and Hal came to the fast realization that Loki was far more than he seemed to be, and despite Hal's attempt to keep him at bay, the boy soon fought himself within the Nehantite's range. A change-up to two-handed form shifted the fight's dynamic, as it became about power and finesse more than it had been about speed and grace. Heavy dents pocked both sabers, but neither fighter had gained or lost ground in the match.

Hal could feel his heart beating faster, and he knew he was giving in to his animal instincts as his temples went warm. From Loki's point of view, the mongoose's pink eyes were flaring red, and Hal knew it was too early to become so affected by the match.

[Abarai Loki]

Those eyes. He'd seen them before, crimson and wild, like pools of seething magma. They reflected the same hunger in his own gaze, of hard piercing ice, shimmering with vibrant life. There was a pause. In the mind of the duelist, the battle never ended, and in the heavy silence they watched it take shape, painted in broad bloody strokes. The mongoose had a surprising repertoire, and a rich variety of skill, which shook itself awake with each sweeping blow. Loki danced on the outskirts of his reach, testing his range, power, and speed. His opponent had a confident technique, and his ability to wield the hefty sword one-handed, and with such flair, betrayed a long history of fencing instruction. He had a talented paw. So, when he clasped his weapon in both paws, it gave his young adversary cause for concern.

When their blades next crossed, Loki was on the back foot, muscled into retreat by Halajiin's towering offense. It was futile to attempt to answer his call blow for blow. A moment longer, he watched, waiting for a pattern to reveal itself, and then he acted. Blades met, side by side, and using the course of its own momentum, the incoming slash was deftly redirected just outside the danger zone. Not a second was lost as he attempted to capitalise on the opening, he jabbed at his opponents abdomen, but it was deflected. Then came the Nehantite's counter-attack; same principle, with Makashi efficiency and precision, Halajiin's weapon was angled off course, and Loki avoided the brunt of the attack with a simple twist of the hips. His next attack, a debilitating stab to the mongoose's knee, was a feint. Swords passed in a harmless rush of air. And then, with a hop, Loki planted a foot on his opponent's hands and took flight. High overhead, soaring like the hawk-bat, the young Jedi sommersaulted and aimed a violent slash at his opponent's shoulder.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Okay, so, Loki is like, the best fencer I've ever seen, this age.

Are you kidding? He's better than some of the instructors we had! Seriously working to keep ahead of him, here!

Watch your low guard, he's really got the edge on you, there.

Is that some kind of short joke?

No, it's advice, so seriously watch it!

Back and forth his mind went, his higher and lower functions each arguing their own strategies while also offering each other advice and warning. Hal had never questioned his internal dialogue as being something suspect, he imagined everyone thought in such a process and it was fully part of his nature. But what was not part of his nature was a swordfight lasting this long.

Loki's vaulting leap caught him off-guard, and Hal blinked as he looked up.

We're fucked.

Not if I can help it!

Instinct won over all of Hal's other impulses, and he wrenched himself around, raising his saber just fast enough to form a clumsy block to the powerful downward sweep. His arms found themselves unable to absorb the full shock, and so he dropped to one knee before springing off his good leg to gain distance from the boy prodigy once more.

Good move!

Yeah, gonna be feeling that in the morning, though.

It is the morning, technically.

We didn't sleep?

No, we didn't sleep.

Well, um, why not?! We should be asleep!

You had things on your mind!

You are my mind! This is all your fault!

Drop it, would you? Here he comes again!

The young knight had wasted no time in recovering, and before Hal knew it he was locked in a corps-a-corps with the boy. Well, perhaps locked was a bad word, as Hal grunted and used his superior strength to shove Loki back and retake the offensive.

Sharp, resounding cracks rang through the cargo bay as he beat upon Loki's defense, pouring out his strength upon the boy's skillful blocks. Hal's saber whistled through the air as he swung it with blinding speed until at last, with a feral roar, he railed a hammering blow against Loki's battered sable, then paused.

There was no clack, no ringing vibration which stung his paws, and he felt himself following through instead of being blocked. Instead there was a sickening crunch and crack, and Hal's red eyes went wide momentarily as he watched his wooden sword flex beyond its limit, then cracked and splintered as it shattered upon impact, the top half flying away, and leaving Loki's saber cracked and injured as well.

The fight was over immediately, for Hal and he stared at the broken length of wood in his paws as he eased back to a stand.

"The hell?" he whined. His confusion was quick to turn to anger as his face tightened and he spun to hurl the remaining chunk of wood in his paws against a cargo bay wall.

"Damn it! This whole place sucks!" he roared.

[Abarai Loki]

In his hands, the top half of the fractured sword wobbled tentatively on the remaining fibres of wood. Then, with a soft creak, it gave up the fight and fell limp. His eyebrow arched.

"Curious," he said, dispassionately, "That has never happened to me before."

Meanwhile, Halajiin was ranting again. There was a part of him that related, albeit distantly, to his frustration. The training swords were a dire substitution for lightsabers; too heavy, too fragile, too dangerous. This latest incident proved that. It was only a matter of time before one of them broke, and inwardly, that it had happened during one of his duels left him feeling secretly rather pleased with himself. In the cavernous expanse, Halajiin's voiced rumbled and resounded dramatically, and, impressively fearsome though it was, the Nehantite roar, it was certainly no way to end a duel, prematurely or not. Eyes still fixed on his sorry weapon, he said:

"What exactly did you expect?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal wasted no time in finding his answer and letting it be known. "I expected that the Jedi would have at least survived as something more than a damn theory!" he shouted.

"Stupid, tiny ship, no one fears or respects us, I still don't have decent clothes, the food here is terrible, and... and these... things!" he pointed at the broken pieces of wood. "You'd think we could at least get real practice swords, like macassar, or even hickory, not this... hardware store specials!"

His tail bushed out far more than normal, and whipped back and forth as he fell victim to his animal nature. A Jedi should control his emotion, but Nehantites had a legitimate problem with reining in their instincts, and it was only because of their so-called "less evolved" status that it was forgiven amongst the Jedi.

"This just doesn't make any sense at all, and someone needs to do something about it!

[Abarai Loki]

"You insult your brethren, mongoose Jedi," Loki said, darkly, discarding his broken sword, "It was not a mere theory that stormed the Imperial capital itself to snatch Serena Laran out of enemy hands."

And that was about all the breath he was prepared to waste justifying his comrades to such a flatulent pessimist. He turned, regarding Halajiin with frosty condemnation. Anger simmered about him like a blistering heat. It was unsurprising the training swords were in bits, the force behind that final blow had been monstrous, fueled by a kind of fury that could only be described as primal. Clearly, the Nehantite was a tortured soul. Loki frowned, and folded his arms.

"Halajiin Rabeak, after a matter of days, you have successfully insulted the Jedi who saw fit to take you in and have carried yourself with all the decorum of a spoilt child. No-one said the circumstances were ideal, but if you are so incensed by what you see, then please do something other than stamp your feet. It is both tedious and unproductive."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The brilliant crimson of Hal's eyes had not faded, and he could feel every heartbeat as the hot blood pounded at his temples. He was not mad at Loki, or at any Jedi in particular, but at his own feelings of helpessness and desperation in spite of all that he knew.

Loki's words stung with a harsh truth, but Hal would not apologize for his actions or behavior thus far. He had done everything he was supposed to, and gone beyond that to try and help the Council see how things used to be - only to be flatly denied.

"You think I've done nothing since I got here?" he growled, lip curling ever so slightly. "I have approached the council with suggestions for improvement, only to be turned down. I haven't been allowed to formally teach because everyone says I need to adjust, first. I have helped a few padawans with their lightsaber basics kits, and I've spent plenty of time reading up on what happened while I was frozen. And, maybe you didn't notice, but I've actually taken the time to re-create some old texts I used to study to the best of my memory, so that other Jedi can learn from me what might have otherwise been lost!"

He snorted each breath as he came right back at Loki with frustration instead of self-rightousness. "And I will keep writing down everything I can possibly remember in order to help re-build your library, and I'll do whatever it takes to get this Order back on track! So don't you dare accuse me of being idle in these circumstances!"

[Abarai Loki]

"That you have taken the initiative to start reproducing old Jedi texts is commendable, as is your willingness to assist padawans in the construction of lightsabers. However, if the council rules against a proposal, it is not without good reason, and to think otherwise would be foolish. And, regardless of what you might think, it is abundantly clear to me that you have still not yet adjusted to your new environment. Patience, Halajiin Rabeak."

While there remained to be no shortage of anger behind his words, at least Halajiin was beginning to shape his grievances into a solid argument, rather than allowing them to bubble and froth inside, spilling into another tantrum. Loki liked his spirit, he was reminded of Corell, his irrepressible padawan. He saw in Halajiin the same righteous intent, the same impatience, the impulse to dive head first with a belly full of fire. People like that cared little for words, and were sated only by action. The young Jedi raised an eyebrow, reconsidering the conversation, and its apparent futility.

"Or perhaps it is you who needs to... get laid."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Like I haven't been trying, but nobody's been game!" Hal exclaimed, throwing his arms wide in desperation.

[Abarai Loki]

"Halajiin Rabeak," Loki began, with a heavy sigh, "It appears you have been misinformed. The Whaladon is a Jedi vessel, not a whorehouse."

Then, with a casual wave of the hand, the scattered fragments of wood suddenly skittered along the floor and leapt, depositing themselves in a waste receptacle with a hollow clang. Suddenly, Loki scowled, haunted by the ghost of a troubling thought.

"Tell me you haven't been trying to inflict yourself upon the padawans."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal's face screwed up with disgust. "Hell no! First, most of them are way too young, second, that would be a total breach of knight-student trust, and third, I know how that would look," he replied. "I do have some standards, you know."

Shifting his stance from wide and angry to tall and snide, he clarified, "And so you know, I wasn't looking into other Jedi. There's a huge crew onboard the Challenger, and sometimes deep-spacers need friends, got me?"

[Abarai Loki]

It was everything in him not to roll his eyes at that. The more he learnt of Halajiin's sordid little endeavors, the less he wanted to know, and just like that, the discussion had once again been dragged into the murky boorish depths. And this time he only had himself to blame, he thought, bitterly.

"Need I remind you, there are more pressing matters for you to concern yourself with than attempting to... befriend the Challenger's crew," he grimaced, a foul taste in his mouth, then pressed on, "You now have lessons to plan. Council permission pending. There is your new fitness program to look forward to, of course, and should you have any further suggestions, the Jedi Council will listen. Fear not, Halajiin Rabeak. I'm sure, in time, you will find your place again."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal had a perfect barb, the kind of smart-ass reply that comes along maybe only once a year, and would be remembered forever and talked about by both sides for years to come. It was the king of zingers, the sultan of snaps, and as he opened his mouth to let it loose upon the unsuspecting Loki -

-he yawned. The compulsory action ruined every bit of his timing, thus depriving the zing of ever coming to life, and as he shut his jaws at last, fatigue and common sense began to set in.

In mere seconds, Hal's eyes flushed back to pink and his posture slumped. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he said, not trying to dismiss Loki's words, but acknowledging that he understood. "It's just really frustrating, y'know? Thanks for all this, seriously. I didn't mean to throw off your morning's run, and I better let you get back to it."

Scratching an itch behind one of his ears, his eartip flicked and he stifled a second yawn. "But, right now I think my place is back in my bed so I can finally get some sleep. You, uh, you take care, man." Pulling his paw down from his ear, he extended it for a shake. He knew they weren't friends, yet, but at least they were more than acquaintances, now.

[Abarai Loki]

"Until the next bout, Halajiin Rabeak."

After the handshake, Loki took a glance towards the exit, and decided against his morning run. Instead, he watched the weary Nehantite wander off, and summoned a fresh training sword to his hand. Again, that sturdy weight. He closed his eyes and swam in the engulfing silence of the cargo bay. In his mind's eye, he recalled the recent contest in vivid detail; the dry scratch of wood, the thunderous shuffle of feet, blooded eyes and glistening fangs, whistling swings, cracking blows, dodges, parries, and counter-attacks; it was all there, all fashioned from fondest memory.

It was said, of combat, that it reveals the true quality of a man. So, Loki took a long breath, and began to fight. He did not fight alone. His opponent was invisible, and resilient, and strong; he looked forward, with fire in his heart, and resolve in his blade; he pushed onwards, against the storm, and came out on the other side stronger, and roared.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The walk back to Hal's stateroom was one filled with thoughts - thoughts half-muddled by exhaustion. Though Loki had provided him with several new points of view, Hal's best vision was all in hindsight. Bare footpaws shuffled across the cool deck plates, his tail swaying lightly with each step. Paws stuffed in his pockets, Hal only vaguely looked where he was going, his navigation on autopilot as he delved into the deeper realization that he could never go back home.

This was his Order, now, no matter how little he liked it, or how far it had strayed from his understanding of what the Jedi were supposed to be. He had taken an oath when he was knighted, an oath pledging his undying loyalty to the Order, and all it stood for. Here and now, he had been offered the chance to simply go back to Nehantish and make a new life for himself, but he had turned it down without hesitation, knowing the commitment he had made.

In a way, he had already begun to do his part. Despite spelling and grammar errors, Hal had re-written the fundamentals of a few old texts he knew, and over the course of his time here, he was certain he could fill several volumes from the knowledge which rattled around in his brain. And perhaps that would be enough, he thought. Well, maybe that and helping with teaching how to build lightsabers, and helping teach fencing classes. The tired mongoose's face lifted with a soft smile as he imagined himself being able to take a greater role as a teacher, now, in this era, and perhaps still being able to truly make a difference.

Yes, he would miss the old Order, he imagined as he returned to his stateroom. He would miss his friends, his fellow knights, and he would miss entertaining and playing with the padawans and initiates, but perhaps it had all happened for a reason. His shirt and trousers found their way back to the floor, and he crawled into bed after hitting his light switch.

Closing his eyes, Hal began to formulate a plan to accelerate his status and position among these Jedi, and to help restore confidence to so many who seemed broken. It was daring, it was dangerous, but he had no doubt it was necessary. When he woke, he would put his plan into action. It would be a new day, a move forward toward his new life, and a step away from his old friends, old memories and old feelings.

In a new day he might be able to forget all whom he had loved and lost, but here, alone in the wee, small hours of the morning, it was the time he missed them most of all.