All That Remains: Stealing from Poseidon

[Vansen Tyree]

It was like he'd died and gone to hell.

The worst part was that the Alliance thought this was a promotion. An improvement. Hey there, the Alliance said. You did such a good job at what you were just doing that we decided to give you a promotion so you're doing something else entirely.

A small part of him was honoured, like he should be. Being charged with defending the capital of a galactic superpower was a big deal, and the dozens of sectors under his protection gave him a level of importance beyond even what he could have hoped for in his career with the Republic or the Empire, let alone with the lowly Rebel Alliance.

But then, things had changed a hell of a lot for the Alliance. A few years ago, Bothawui had been the Imperial backwater that Vansen had helped chip off the edge of the Empire. It had become one of a handful of struggling free worlds, it's independence preserved only by the Empire's complete lack of interest in it. But look at it now: a shining beacon of liberty, the seat of an Alliance of Free Planets a hundred sectors strong. When he'd first agreed to join the rebel cause, he would never have believed how far they'd come.

But if this is winning, the Admiral mused with a scowl, Then why do I feel like I've lost?

With a grunt, he jammed a finger into the intercom on his desk, opening the link to the attaché outside his office just in time to hear a snatch of her ongoing conversation. "No, Ambassador," an insistent Bothan voice snarled out, "Admiral Tyree is not climbing a mountain. Why would he climb a mountain?"

Vansen couldn't quite make out the words of the chittering voice with which the attaché was apparently speaking; but he didn't need to. He could tell when a situation was being thoroughly handled, and he was confident that it would never amount to anything that he'd have to concern himself with.

"I don't care how important this tradition is to the Veknoids, Ambassador," the attaché continued. "The Admiral is one of the seven most important people in the Alliance Navy. He's a military strategist responsible for two dozen sectors filled with inhabited worlds that rely on his protection, not some preening politician whose only priority is to appease the locals. He may be stationed here on Moonus Mandel, but I can assure you: his attention firmly belongs elsewhere. He has much more important things to deal with -"

Her voice halted for a split second as she finally noticed the glowing indicator that warned that the intercom was transmitting. "- and in fact," she continued, barely breaking her verbal stride, "He needs my assistance with one of those matters at this very moment. I suggest you contact Senator Oruo'rel's office in future, Ambassador: I'm sure he has plenty of bureaucrats on his staff sitting around with nothing important to do."

There was an audible clunk as a furred paw killed the video call; a slight pause before the attaché spoke again, her voice returning to it's usual more moderated and measured tone. "My apologies, Admiral. How can I help?"

Having been grateful for the distraction, whatever extra buoyancy Vansen's mood had gained disappeared in an instant. His eyes strayed back to the computer terminal that his gaze had been intently avoiding for the last hour. The transmission that was displayed there was one he had been waiting for each day since the Wheel had disbanded and he'd been assigned here to the Fourth Fleet headquarters on Moonus Mandel; and yet despite that waiting, it still felt like the message had come too soon.

His lips tightened into a grim line. "I need you to clear my schedule for this afternoon, Ensign. I'm expecting an important visit from Master Zem Vymes. It is imperative that I be informed as soon as he arrived, and that this meeting is in no way documented. Is that understood?"

The Ensign's tone didn't falter in the slightest. "According to your schedule, sir, your appointments for the day had to be called off because of an emergency hole-conference with the Minister of Commerce, and you're expected to be indisposed all day."

Vansen couldn't help a small hint of a smile. Perhaps there were some advantages to being an Admiral after all. "Carry on then, Ensign," he finished, cutting the intercom, and easing himself back into his desk chair.

Deep contemplation furrowed his brow as Vansen stared off into the middle distance, index fingers steepling and drumming against his chin. So many thoughts swam through his mind, vying for dominance. With each blink he relived their discussions, the plans their cadre of conspirators had made together; he relived the anger, the sadness, and the sting of her betrayal. It should have overwhelmed him, but instead if gave him strength and resolve.

His hand reached for a desk drawer, retrieving the comlink buried innocently beneath an unimportant scattering of documents. His thumb flicked the stud. "ADAR," he spoke, his voice as hushed as situations such as this insisted, "I need you to come to my office. Vymes is on his way."

[ADAR]

Tucked away in the confines of Admiral Tyree's personal quarters, the droid ADAR stood like an immovable statue. With only its' processing functions active, it remained for the most part powered down.

Since coming into company with Tyree, ADAR had been the man's constant companion. Wherever the Admiral went, it was a safe bet that the odd-looking droid was with him.

Now however, tucked away to tend to his own internals, ADAR had remained alone.

Until.

The direct line that Tyree had to the droid caused its' internals to react with swift ease.

Vymes is on his way.

The day had come, just as the mistress had said it would.

Fully powered up, ADAR stepped forward, breaking the illusion of stillness. Now was the time.


It was not long before, passing by the attaché, it stepped through the door of Admiral Tyree's office. Stopping just inside, the droid waited until the sound of the door hissing closed reached its' audio processors.

[Zem Vymes]

Vymes' shuttle reached the designated landing pad at Bothawui's Admiralty complex. A few moments to power down, and the Jedi Master exited the craft, on a singular purpose for a meeting that was a long time in coming. Vansen's staff guided him to his destination without delay, and Zem walked in silence the entire way.

At last, the doors to Admiral Tyree's office parted, and Zem stepped inside, drawing back the oversized hood covering his head.

"Admiral, it's time."

Three words. Three words that could have been transmitted across light years, but needed to be spoken in person. Three words that were sure to set them upon a dangerous course of events that could not be avoided. Three words upon which the survival of friends, loved ones, and the fate of the fledgling Alliance and Jedi depended.

[Vansen Tyree]

It's time.

If those words were to have lifted a weight from his shoulders, it was only to set an even heavier burden in place. Their plan was a dangerous one, for all involved: but there were many different forms of danger. While some of them would engage in a task that would put the bravest and most elite of the Alliance's special forces to shame, it was the task that Zem Vymes faced that was by far the more terrifying.

It was also the task that Vansen was absolutely powerless to aid in. With all the resources that the 4th Fleet made available to him, there was absolutely nothing he could do to help with Jedi business. He was doing his part by focusing only on the matters that his comprehension of the universe and reality could grasp; that was their arrangement. Vymes' burden was to be shouldered alone.

But still, Vansen couldn't simply do nothing.

"Do you need transit?" he asked; the only question he could muster. He scowled at himself internally. A fleet of resources, and here he was offering the man a taxi ride to his doom.

[ADAR]

With the single ocular focused on Vymes, ADAR stood to the side, slightly closer to the Admiral as if to denote who held ownership over him. It still did not keep the droid from analyzing the figure of the Jedi.

A straight back, determination in his stance. There was a tone of grim knowledge that both men carried with them.

He had come to understand Vansen Tyree well enough to know that the position he now found himself in was not entirely desired, but necessary all the same. It allowed for far greater reach and control. Something that would be needed in the times to come.

Silently waiting for Vymes' answer, ADAR turned his ocular to Admiral Tyree for a brief moment before returning to stare at the Jedi.

[Zem Vymes]

Zem mulled the proposal over, mindful of the watchful eye of the Lupine droid that accompanied the Admiral. No doubt another bit of insurance that Lok s'Ilancy put into place as she lost the war to Darth Acera.

"If we aren't successful, I doubt having third party transit would hide your hand if he does come looking. We're both invested, Admiral. You've probably got a better way of getting from A to B than I can manage at any rate."

He licked suddenly parched lips lightly.

"Plus, the way I figure it, if you aim to kill a tyrant, it's best to let everyone in the room see who bothered to hold the knife. This ain't just about Jedi and Sith, and if the Alliance is gonna do what it says, and be what it aims to be, then I reckon we owe that to everyone for our own reasons."

[Vansen Tyree]

If you aim to kill a tyrant.

Vansen had to fight back a breath of laughter at that turn of phrase. There were people who used that term to describe him, though it was clever wordplay for the most part. There was even a time when he'd used it to describe himself; painted it on the side of his cockpit, and tallied his kills underneath. It was strange hearing it used correctly; hearing it applied to someone who deserved the word far more than he did.

A frown creased his brow; one that broke quickly, the gaze that had been on the table for a moment climbing back to regard the Jedi.

"I'm not doing this for everyone," he countered, a note of sombre resolution spicing his words. His voice cracked, something buried deep beneath the growl and scowl of his grizzled personality being allowed just a moment to peek through. His eye fixed the Jedi, utterly unwavering. "You bring her home."

[Zem Vymes]

There wasn't anything to say more on that, and the Jedi Master nodded on the Admiral's words, a calloused hand extended to him to seal it all and gird them on their way.

"Tell your man the destination is Hoth."

[Vansen Tyree]

"Alliance frequency 52," Vansen replied, taking a firm grip of the Jedi Master's hand. "Set your encryption to 2814. ADAR will be monitoring."

He hesitated, hand lingering in Zem's grip as he searched for some words to solidify the sentiment he wished to convey. Both knew full well the danger that the Jedi was about to place himself into - that they all were, for that matter - and yet their obsession with secrecy made them speak of it as if it were a casual conversation between ancient friends about nothing in particular. As he stumbled across what he was looking for, Vansen allowed a hunt of a chuckle to escape.

"It sounds like a cliché to say it, but I couldn't be more sincere if I tried."

His shoulders squared.

"May the Force be with you, Master Vymes."

[Zem Vymes]

The beginnings of a smile cut across the Jedi's grizzled face.

"They're only clichés because they're usually the best things to say, Admiral."

The die was cast. Now they were both left to watch and see where it landed. Vymes turned and exited the office he had only just arrived at.




* *



As the shuttlecraft lifted off from Bothawui, Zem sat back in his seat to watch the skyline go by. He knew what lay ahead for him. Knew what had to be done. There was just one more piece before they could come to an end to this. Carefully, he entered a comm frequency he'd committed to memory long ago. In all likelihood, it was by now a dead end. Still, a Jedi trusted his instincts above all else. The message field blinked at him.

Something had to be put right.


If you want answers, you'll find them on Hoth_ (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?55371-All-That-Remains-The-Answer&p=1024012)

[Inyos Aamoran]

* * *

The antiquated craft shuddered as it emerged from hyperspace, but with the aid of the Force and years of neglected but not forgotten experience, Inyos Aamoran wrestled the craft into obedience. From within, it was only the handful of after-market customisations, E-WAR consoles, and bonus surge protectors that made the ship look like anything but a standard Nu-class shuttle (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Nu-class_attack_shuttle) like the ones he'd flown in the Clone Wars; but from without, the sensor-baffling layer of Arakyd Nightshadow turned her into some perverse ghost of what she should have been, the rugged red, white, and gold exterior transformed into a matte and unsettling shade of black that was barely visible against the stars behind.

While behind was a starfield, ahead was another matter entirely; the pristine, oceanic orb of the Mon Calamari homeworld loomed far larger in the cockpit canopy than it should have. The shuddering of the ship increased, the deceleration they'd experienced as they'd reverted to realspace rapidly negated by the relentless pull of Dac's gravity well. Safeguards existed to prevent star pilots from accidentally tumbling into as dangerous a situation as this was; those safeguards had been sliced into oblivion, and the shuttle now found itself in a barely controlled descent towards the surface, rapidly approaching terminal velocity.

Inyos' mouth was a thin, grim line. All part of the plan.

Heat chafed at the edges of the hull as the atmosphere protested the entry of the unwanted, fast-moving intruder; the shuttle pitched in reply, stabiliser fins folding upward into landing position so that only the reinforced layer of heat resistant shielding was exposed to the onslaught. The coating of special compounds liberally smeared on the shuttle's belly began to burn away, erupting into a plume of flame that to the casual observer - and more importantly, to casual sensor scrutiny - would appear to be nothing more than a harmless meteor, being taken care of by Dac's atmosphere just like the million others that had strayed too close over the course of the world's million-years existence. In that, there was a small iota of truth: the shuttle and her occupants were indeed harmless; or rather mostly harmless, to the vast majority of Dac's inhabitants. To the small exception, however -

An indicator light flashed on Inyos' display; an altitude warning, the point of no return. The flames licking across the viewport subsided; wrestling against the protesting controls, Inyos steered the nose downwards, the indigo surface of nocturnal seas filling his view. The shuttle swayed disconcertingly, until the stabilisers folded down once again, offering some small assistance in making the craft more aerodynamic than a falling brick. Inyos glanced at the indicator of their airspeed, and wished he hadn't; he summoned all the calm he could, levelling off their descent into something vaguely resembling traditional flight.

The shuttle swooped low over the ocean; not quite as low as the spray-whipping visual that Inyos' imagination conjured, but certainly much lower than any sane individual should have been comfortable with, given the circumstances. He released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and made a mental note to never volunteer for anything this stupid ever again.

The shuttle's handling back to something a little more controlled - sluggish, yes, which suggested some amount of damage to her control systems, but nothing fatal - Inyos turned his attention back to the mission, flicking on the shuttle's internal intercom. "Master Evanar," he spoke, addressing the Jedi Knight below in the bowels of the shuttles' main hold, where the majority of their after-market electronics had been haphazardly installed. "Have we successfully evaded detection?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"Yeah." Morgan replied, but not wholly confident. Despite the ancient maxim of "He who defends everything defends nothing", Dac was heavily defended at most points, and a secret underwater hangar would be little to no exception. Like everything secret, though, it meant there would be little active scanning equipment. This wasn't the Novgorod, who's stealth systems and energy projectors had been fine tuned over months. There were transmission overlaps and they didn't have the same directional control that the corvette provided. The Jedi had instead opted to minimize the craft's profile and create a believable EM noise scenario instead of a full emissions counter. The space rock diminished as it "fell" through the atmosphere.

"Keep us out of the spray, it'll ruin the refraction program." Like many other things, Dac's larger detection grid was a mix of above and below water. If they punched a big enough hole in the sea spray it was possible that they could tip something off. As majestic as a wing tip dip could be, this wasn't the time for the fanciest of flying. Morgan's fingers danced across the controls while he made continuous tweaks and adjustments to keep their signature near zero. Part of Morgan's brain had decided to wander on a tangent dedicated to how damn crazy this was. They were stealing a cruiser of ancient Lupine design, built in secret on Dac, under water. He became keenly aware of the re-breather hanging around his neck. It was a just in case.

Morgan had access to all of the low-latency passive sensors, and could see the small island and the weather beaten hut grown from corals. The craft slowed, and they settled into a gentle hover six meters over the waves.

[Kes Akiena]

* * *

Deep beneath the crashing waves and undercurrents of Dac's massive oceans, a facility sat silent. There was life within its' halls, but that life was something that had been kept a closely guarded secret. It had been held in confidence by only the highest of Alliance military, and the precious few who had been allowed to utilize the delicate nature of such an establishment. The most sensitive of information was passed through the halls so far below the Mon Calamari world, the most sensitive of projects so quietly managed.

And overseeing the majority of those tasks was Major Kes Akiena.

He'd been caretaker for long enough to know the ins and outs of his station, and the redhead knew that the path he'd set himself down was one that would end his career. From the beginning of his service, so many years back, with General Brecklin, he'd a notion that the Jedi would spell his retirement. But, it wasn't with any amount of regret that he now walked the mostly empty halls of the subsurface research base. A few technicians passed by, each giving a salute that he returned in kind, paired with his normal smile. Only, over the years that smile had grown thin until it was for most a barely perceptible upturn of the lips.

He rounded a corner, passed by a lieutenant, and without ceremony passed through the opening doorway that took him into one of the many drydock observation decks.

The being waiting for him did not turn to acknowledge his arrival, and Kes let the door close behind him before moving forward to stand beside the waspish creature.

Both looked down at the ship below, her superstructure clear of work crews and any extraneous scaffolding.

"You look well."

[KHER]

The construct gave a small shift as the only indication that it'd heard the words spoken. Looking down now, to its' larger half, the MMU unit felt alive once more, brought back from the dead. It still remembered the dreadful fall that had destroyed so much of its' larger half. The avatar, though undamaged, had been left to exist without a so crucial a part of itself, and as such it'd shut itself down.

Now however, it had been brought back to life.

So much had changed since that fateful day, but the one known as KHER had been quick to fill hungry databanks.

And now, it knew that something was to happen. It had yet to meet the one who'd brought it back, but had been told that it would soon.

I look as I should.

What more was there to say. What more needed to be seen. The craft below waited.

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

The shuttle was not the the most rickety thing she'd ever been on before. No, that title belonged to her shuttle experience on Velusia. Something that shouldn't have even been called a shuttle, cobbled together from parts and other unknown vessels, it was held together with something akin to a stick of bubblegum, a flimsiclip, and a sock. Yet that wretched excuse for a shuttle had taken them from a transport in orbit, down to the surface, and then back up again after four days.

She was a self-professed adrenaline junky but that particular deathtrap was bordering on too much, even for her. Kala sighed and stretched, finally bending her mind back to the mission at hand. As they leveled out, she rose from the seat she'd been strapped into, taking the opportunity to stretch more completely in the tiny space that was available. Pitch black eyes flicked between the ladder that Inyos' voice echoed down, to Morgan, ensconced as he was behind the electronics that were fairly well beyond her technical understanding. She had an idea of what they did, but the how eluded her. Not that it mattered, she mused, it only mattered that it worked.

And it would work. It HAD to work.

The craft eventually slowed and settling into a hover. Looking out the small viewport next to the ramp, she estimated they were about six meters above the surface. Safely above the spray, and well within her range for an effortless jump. Kala exhaled, her mind wandering off on a tangent even as her fingers coursed across the pieces of fabric she'd fashioned together into a swimsuit (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=116592365) of sorts. It would serve the purpose of allowing as much skin as possible to be in contact with the water, which was necessary for her natural abilities to work.

She wore her own lightsaber hilt (http://i58.tinypic.com/2v0mw3r.jpg) strapped to her left thigh, and her father's worn and comfortable hilt (http://i43.tinypic.com/16qgkx.jpg) on her right, while a chrono/communicator was snugly around her right wrist. Silver headtresses twitched in anticipation as she paced the few steps she could, the lights glinting off of the silvery marks (http://i42.tinypic.com/95ojy9.jpg) that cascaded across her skin from her hairline down to her feet. They and her headtresses would darken to a grayish blue when she hit the water, akin to the color of skin her Nautolan kin bore.

Arms crossed over her chest as she returned to what would become the top of the ramp. "Are we ready?" she asked quietly, gently brushing her mind against Inyos'.

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos' mind turned that into a far deeper, more philosophical question than had been intended. The answer to that question was always a resounding 'no': no one was ever truly ready, the ebb and flow of the Force's will more than capable of throwing an unexpected twist that could demolish even the best laid plans. The best anyone could be was adequately prepared for as many potential eventualities as vigilance and diligence could predict.

As for their current circumstances, they were as ready as they would ever be: as ready as their oh so small infiltration team could be, considering the caper they were about to embark upon, and the odds that would be stacked against them. Every moment of this plan was a gamble, all to procure a craft that they had only assurances, rather than evidence, was even capable of making it to the surface in one piece, let alone to orbit and hyperspace with whatever efforts Dac could muster trying to stop them. The fact that they had agreed to do this was almost enough to make him question their collective sanity: but this was not an endeavour of objective reason, but of subjective motives, favours, and debts. They were here, doing this, because it had been asked of them: and it was a request none of them had been able to decline.

Rather than answer Kala's question aloud, Inyos reached for the controls that would trigger the boarding ramp, feeling the sound of the servos vibrating through the ship as much as he heard their whining groan. His mind brushed back against the younger Jedi's in response, urging the only sentiment possible at a time such as this.

Force be with you, Kala'ndryl.

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

Careful steps took her out to the end of the ramp, lower lip caught between her teeth. Ebon gaze cast down towards the waves, watching them...counting them as she'd been taught. There was a rhythm to every ocean, her kin had taught her, a unique vibrancy that marked each one in a way that only those who dwelled beneath would understand. It was something she had only just begun to grasp, but had already found to be invaluable. As integral to who she was and important as her Healing gift in many ways.

Closing her eyes, Kala breathed deeply, letting the salt air roll through her senses. Only a hint of the spray flicked across her skin at the height they hovered at, and it drew a shiver of anticipation down the length of her spine. She nodded to herself and opened her eyes. She gently touched her mind to Inyos' in response, but remained otherwise silent. With her breathing and the beat of her heart matching the pace of the waves, the young Padawan lept forward off of the end of the ramp.

The familiar caress of salt spray rushed across her features as her hands came together, lean body straightening as the ocean rushed up to meet her. Clasped fingers met the surface first, breaking it as the rest of her followed. Soon enough, she'd disappeared beneath, the ocean's welcome embrace drawing pleasure to her senses for a brief moment. There was no time to linger, however, and she set off into the depths, glancing only occasionally toward the device strapped to her wrist. She did not need it for guidance...the ocean would tell her where the structure was. It would need to survive until she'd entered the pressurized structure where the ship lay waiting.

Kala remained quiet and kept her mind clear as she swam, doing her best to remain unobtrusive. It was generally the polite thing to do in a new ocean you'd technically not been invited to swim in. There were a number of sentient species that lived in the waters of Dac, and while she hoped to one day meet them, stealth was the order of the day. So she swam quickly and quietly as she'd been taught since her birth.

It was quiet beneath the waves, and grew ever more so the deeper she went. That was the thing about oceans...there was always noise if you knew what to listen for. Even if they were klicks away, the communication of whaladons should have at least been present. But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

Which made the young woman pause briefly, and dare a touch of the Force as she reached further out into the waters than her vision could penetrate. There wasn't a soul to be sensed, sentient or otherwise...and for an ocean teeming with life, it was as much a clarion call of danger as anything.

She was being hunted. Granted...she couldn't see or sense anything just yet, but as the old adage went, just because you can't see the enemy doesn't mean they aren't there. Taking another precious moment to reorient herself, she continued on, a little more urgency in her movement as she held her senses on high alert.

Kala finally sighted the massive structure that was her destination. She dove down deeper, needing to come up from beneath where the sensor net was the weakest. There was a single maintenance hatch that her wrist comm could bypass to allow her entry, set amidst the support struts. The water around her changed and the Force suddenly trilled in alarm. She sunk into the welcome energy of the Light and shot forward, narrowly avoiding the tentacle of the krakana that had come out of nowhere. Of course, since she'd so neatly avoided the first one, the second clamped enough of its pincer on her side at her waist to halt her forward progress. Without thinking, she ignited her lightsaber and hacked herself free before it could draw her into it's maw.

Pain lent her the burst of speed she needed to get up into the support struts the krakana could not fit into. Kala had the presence of mind to not simply pull the pincer away from her flesh. A careful application of the Force and her extinguished hilt pried it open enough so she could pull it away. It hurt more than being shot, she decided, managing to at least knit the wound closed with the Force. A full Healing would have to wait until she had the luxury of time, which she did not.

She was already pushing the limits on the sensor net's detection delay, so opening the hatch was the next order of business. Thanking the Force as it opened and drew her in with a rush of water, she felt the vibration as it closed again soon after. Kala waited several moments before surfacing in the small pool, drawing herself up onto the ledge and making her way over to the platform. The access door wouldn't open until the pressure equalized, and with any luck, their contact would be waiting on the other side, alerted by her entry.

[Kes Akiena]

Standing patiently, Kes waited as the pressure on the other side of the hatchway equalized. It was thankfully not a long process. His posture was casual, as he silently wondered who had volunteered for this mission. Next to him was the MMU unit, KHER, standing just as quietly. Gods knew what that machine was running through its' processors, and he knew that it would be an exercise in futility to even ask. The old droid was like a cranky rancor in the best of times, and it was close to maddening to try and hold a conversation with it. It reminded him of a much younger s'Il.

An inward chuckle at that thought, he gave a mental shrug and kept his eyes forward.

The notification of equalized pressure came in the form of a low-level ping, and reaching out, Kes depressed the door switch. The door hissed open.

Was the person on the other side of the door what he was expecting? Perhaps, and perhaps not. He raised a single eyebrow, speaking in a deceptively casual tone.

"Right on time."

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

By the time the pressure equalized and the hatch opened, the blonde had managed to at least school herself to a small measure of calm. Slender silver head tresses still twitched as the door silently slid open, leaving her to blink at the change in light for a moment. Pitch black eyes finally focused on the man standing on the other side, before sliding to the MMU unit briefly. She'd have stared at it longer had the man's lofted brow and casual tone not drawn her attention back to him.

Kala flashed a bright smile at him, thankful she'd dried off with one of the towels from the wall storage unit inside. "I would have been here a few minutes ago, except I had a minor difference of opinion with a krakana. Pleased to make your acquaintance at last, sir."

A glance was spared down at her wrist comm, depressing the tiny silver button on the side with a finger before sending the tiniest tendril of energy through the Force toward Inyos. //I'm in...he's here.//

[Kes Akiena]

Kes returned her smile with a thin smile of his own. She seemed young, but in his experience, even the younger Jedi had talents for getting done what they needed to do, and so he didn't question the choice made by others to send the woman before him. His expression remained, even as he took a half step back, pivoting on his heel while gesturing with a hand for her to follow. KHER was almost a mirror image of the Major's movements, his own body moving smoothly as his thin arms remained at his sides.The droid was looking at the newcomer, no doubt making his own mental calculations and giving the Jedi woman the a very good approximation of a narrow gaze.

"Come on then," he started, not wanting to dawdle about for too long. As an afterthought, he added, "There's a medical bay on the ship if you feel you need to tend to any injuries."

KHER brought up the rear as Kes and the young woman fell into step.

"I'm Major Akiena," he opted to forego the usual custom of shaking her hand, instead he offered a gracious nod.

"And the tall drink of motor oil behind us is KHER."