9.114 Rage Against the Dying of the Light

Five days aboard the Whaladon was all Halajiin Rabeak needed to reach a breaking point. This wasn't the Jedi Order, this was a floating mess of sissies and pacifists, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about anything until he had a weapon.

But not just any weapon, a real weapon. A Jedi weapon. His lightsaber.

The shattered and dusty remains of his red focusing crystal sat in a jar on the desk in his stateroom, while the useless hilt hung from his belt. Still, it served as a reminder that he was a Jedi, and not some do-nothing Jedi as most around him seemed to be, but an honest-to-goodness one from back in the day when being a Jedi actually meant something. That's right, he thought, he was better than this lot. He could see so clearly what needed to be done, despite the actual problem with his vision, and he'd spent three days pouring over intelligence reports until his plan had been made.

A stack of datapads and flimsiplast rolls was carried tenuously in his arms as the yellow-furred Nehantite strode purposefully through the halls of the Whaladon. Windows which once showed stars now only looked out onto the interior of the Challenger's ventral hull - another reminder of just how cowardly these "Jedi" he found himself amongst really were.

The hot blood of determination coursed through his veins as he took a sharp right turn down a hallway, patently ignoring a greeting by a padawan. Hal had no time to waste; the Jedi Order would not fall apart like this under his watch! It had been around for too long to allow the level of pussy-footing he'd seen, thus far - no offense to Akasha Khan, who was a bit of a pussycat, of course, and so her pussy-footing made total sense.

Shaking his head, the Nehantite cleared that thought out. That had nothing to do with his objective, and he really wasn't sure where it had come from. By the time he reached the Council room doors, however, it was long gone.

Most would take a deep breath and prepare themselves before entering such "solemn" and "venerable" chambers, but Hal had run out of fucks to give. At least about being proper, that is. He still fancied himself as being more than capable of giving out a great deal of the regular kind of them, should the opportunity arise.

Shifting his bundle into one arm, he reached out with his right paw and knocked firmly on the door.

Zem took a break (a much needed one) from the latest missives from Captain Tyree concerning combat strength estimates. His arrival at the Wheel had been at the right time for so many reasons, but also at the worst possible time. With the situation beyond them in the Alliance becoming fluid and unpredictable, he needed to work with the Council to establish a common front. The Jedi could not keep running. Not anymore. Fortunately, the knock allowed him to momentarily escape from some tough questions.

"Enter."

It sounded urgent from the knock. He reached out to get a feel for the mood of the person behind it. Similarly urgent.

Setting aside his datapad, Zem sat up straight in his seat.

Shifting the stack of items in his arms, several of the rolls of flimsiplast charts stuck up into his face, but Hal could see through them enough to make his way into the room.

"Mistresses of the Council," he started, then paused as he lowered his load. Daria and Navaria were nowhere to be seen, and in their place was an older man whom Hal had only seen before in passing, but knew had been made part of the Council just recently.

"Oh," he caught himself. "Sorry about that, I was expecting someone else."

His mood changed slightly, though it did not become more polite. No, instead he became more direct, seeing as he had a male to talk to, and a male who appeared to be a man of action - or at least used to be a man of action in his younger days, Hal wagered. Setting down his stack, Hal cleared his throat and announced, "Master, the situation with lightsaber crystals is intolerable. I would like to propose a plan to change that."

Seemed to be a hot topic lately. Zem nodded, gesturing to the seat across from him.

"Sit down then, uh..."

He tried to remember. New face, but then again so was he in a way. Ah, the Nehantite.

"Mr. Rabeak, is it?"

He waited for the alien to ease down, if anything just to give him a moment to prepare what he needed to say.

"You're right, it's not ideal. We're looking into several options on that. What did you have in mind?"

Hal didn't want to sit. Sitting meant that whatever plan you're about to introduce would involve someone else doing all the work. This wasn't about talk, this was about action.

But despite Zem's alien face to Hal, the Nehantite could still read it with ease, and so he took a seat before sliding a few datapads across the tabletop.

"Please, just call me Hal, nobody calls me Mr. Rabeak unless they're trying to sell me something, or valeting my speeder," he cracked a grin. "Anyways, I've been pouring through what limited information I've been allowed to access since I got here, and I got fed up with that so I went over to the Challenger and used their network to get what I really needed."

Unrolling the large tubes of flimsiplast, he revealed them to be charts of both terrain, subterranean caverns, and a military outpost. "I propose we take a team here, to Ilum, and give the Empire a black eye while we rape those caverns for as many crystals as we can get our hands on," he stated, no hint of humor or joke in his voice, and it was only at the end that he remembered to add, "Sir."

He admired the directness of his plan. Still, there was some perspective that was missing.

"Hal, I'll be frank. I've been working the resistance for decades. We hit Ilum once, ages ago. Came away with a respectable stock, all told."

He frowned.

"But you know the addage. Fool me once, shame on you. The Empire took that lesson to heart. Ilum is well defended. As a part of a coordinated Alliance assault, maybe, but as a Jedi initiative?"

He shook his head.

"We've got to look at the risks and what we gain and stand to lose alike."

"What we stand to gain and lose?" Hal echoed, the taste of derision heavy on his words. Standing up, he leaned over the table and pointed at the path of attack he'd laid out. "What we stand to gain if we pull this off is reclaiming who we are! And if we don't do this, we'll be giving up on the very essence of our Code!" he shouted.

Pushing away from the table, he rolled his chair out of the way and began to pace. This had been going through his mind ever since he'd learned what all had happened while he was frozen. Tail lashing, he turned back to Zem and said, "We owe it to ourselves, to the galaxy and to all those who this so-called Empire have repressed! We're supposed to be their champions, their protectors and arbitrators of peace! And when negotiations don't work, we bring peace by force, if need be, but only on the side of right!"

Gripping the back of his chair, his pink eyes began to fleck red as he growled, "I can't speak to everything that's happened while I was out cold, the last hundred years, but it seems to me the biggest thin that has happened is that this order has lost its courage. I intend to bring that back. Sir."

"Crystals can be found, even manufactured."

He empathized with Hal, but what he was asking would put a strain on the Jedi. They couldn't afford to lose more of their number. Coruscant had cost them dearly.

"We can't lose sight of what it is to make us Jedi, and it's not a stone, no matter how precious. What you're asking me to do is to risk the lives of Jedi on a gambit that I've personally seen dashed against Imperial durasteel before."

He stood, and shook his head.

"It's just as important to fight smart as it is to fight hard, Hal. Perhaps there's room for what you propose in the future. But not today."

Hal's eyes could not stop their transition to red, despite his attempt to calm himself. Blunt clawtips digging into the back of the chair before him, the Nehantite stood and stared at Zem for some time before shaking his own head.

"No. No, I can't accept that," he replied. "That's the same thing everyone has been saying, and look where it's getting this Order. We run, we hide, we are afraid to take action and strike back."

Letting go of the chair, Hal bent to scoop up his charts and pads once more. "If that's what it means to be a Jedi in this day and age, maybe I should just go turn in my robes."

He omitted the "sir" that time, and there was no mistake that it was deliberate.

He calmly exhaled, looking back at the map Hal had presented.

"The best I can do is to take this into consideration. Believe me, I'd like to do exactly like you say."

He straightened up.

"Until then, I can only advise you to exercise patience, and trust in the will of the force. I've been fighting this war a long time. Fate will find a way, and hopefully we'll use your plan yet."

He escorted Hal to the door. They were done here.

Hal pulled his pads and charts close as he headed to the door. It was clear now that the Council feared any kind of action. This certainly wasn't the Order he knew, and he would be damned if he was going to be told that sitting and waiting was the best course of action. He'd been waiting for a hundred and seven years, now was time to actually do something.

"I'm sure my plan will be well-filed," Hal grumbled. In his day, that meant it would be logged, then forgotten about forever. He only hoped that it might still carry that meaning with Zem.

Clear of the Council chambers, Hal's brain set into overdrive. If the Council wouldn't help him, he'd have to do it on his own. No, he would need help, and someone who could fight, at that. Actually, several someones who could fight, and a ship that could pack a punch. Of course, no one would come with him if they knew he'd just been officially shut down, so... Hal decided he wouldn't actually tell them that part.

Shuffling the stack of goods in his arms, the Nehantite charged back to the living quarters area, knowing exactly who he'd need to get, first.

"Loki, you home?" he called through the door of the diminutive knight. "Just came back from a meeting with the Council. You've come highly recommended for an urgent mission. Can I come in?"

There was no answer. Loki was probably out doing some kind of training, or meditating, or probably still styling his hair, the little metro twit. In any case, he wasn't there, so Hal continued on to his own stateroom down the hall, dumping his armload of pads and charts on his desk.

So the Council wouldn't help him. Fine. He'd help himself.

Are you sure this is a good idea?

I don't see how we have any alternative. These Jedi don't have any balls, anymore.

Well, I'd hope the ladies don't, at least.

It's not a time for joking, higher functions. These Jedi just don't get it, so we're going to have to show them.

And I suppose that means it's time for Fireball Hal to come back out?

And how.

You know that this is going to get you in trouble, right? They could kick you out, for this.

To where? I know where they are, how many ships they have, how many of them their are, and just how screwed this place is for armaments. Like they'd kick me out.

They could kill you, too.

You've got to be kidding. These guys are afraid to smash a fly. They'd never harm a Jedi from the Golden Age. I'm way too valuable.

So that's your plan, then? You're going to risk everything on the chance that they might be too afraid to retaliate against you?

And what exactly am I losing? I've already lost everything, remember? If I fail, then so be it, but when I come back as a victor, they'll have to start listening to me, and then I can turn this Order around!

As much as it pains me to say this, I agree with you. In fact, I've got some ideas that just might help. Here, let's start with one of those datapads. We're going to play a little name game.

Forgery?

Hey, we were the best at it back in the old day, don't see a reason why we can't still be, now.

Damn right. Let's get to work.

Two hours later, Hal returned to Loki's door, single datapad in hand and a roll of flimsiplast charts tucked under his arm as he knocked politely.

In the middle of his room, Loki was hunched over an empty crate he'd fashioned into a makeshift workbench. It was littered with small mechanical components, delicate tools, knots of wiring, and a heavily soiled cloth. He was performing his bi-weekly lightsaber maintenance, which involved stripping and reassembling his Jedi weapon, cleaning it inside and out, and ensuring there was absolutely no risk of malfunction with any of its constituent parts. It was a tradition which served to both focus his mind and ensure a state of combat readiness. Months ago, he found himself wrapped up in a shameful melodrama with younglings Staedtler and s'Ilancy, in which his lightsaber was stolen and abused. To his horror, he was still brushing the glitter out.

There was a knock at the door. Loki frowned. He rose, snatching up a clean, and started to work the dust from his lightsaber as he crossed the room. Absently, he gave the wall panel a tap and the door slid open, revealing a familiar sandy-furred mongoose.

"Halajiin Rabeak," he said, puzzled, "Are you lost?"

"You don't have a desk?" were Hal's first words as he looked into Loki's stateroom. "Huh, I have a desk. That's weird." Immediately his stateroom seemed twenty percent more awesome, though it still wasn't a place he wanted to hang out much in.

"Sorry, heh, no, not lost. I actually came back from the Council chambers, and I need to go over a mission with you, if you're interested," he announced. Lies, all lies, but Hal was exceptional with lies to the point where even he began to believe them.

When Halajiin remarked upon the absence of a desk, Loki wheeled around in the doorway to inspect his room, fully expecting to see a previously undiscovered flaw. He frowned. His room was small, it was sparsely furnished, and it was both clean and impeccably organised. There was nothing wrong with it. And while it was indeed missing a desk, in its place there was something better, a workbench. Granted, it started life as an unassuming crate of namanas, but with patience and a little help from Cirrsseeto, he had transformed it into a smart and efficient work place. The surface was sanded and smooth, and shimmered with a slick coat of varnish, it lifted to reveal an intelligent combination of tool compartments, which meeted his every need. And, for a final flourish, when the compartments were removed there was a secret storage space underneath. Loki was yet to find a use for it, but it stood as a testment to the engineering ingenuity of his friend. He didn't need a desk.

Just as he was beginning to tire of the unwanted intrusion, Halajiin mentioned the mission, and his face brightened considerably. He stepped aside, eager to be briefed, and the furry Jedi entered his home.

"Take a seat," he said, and with a look of haunted concern, added: "You're not moulting, are you?"

As Hal was halfway into a step, he halted, coming to an abrupt and ungainly stop. "Moulting?" he echoed the word with distate.

He looked down to the tablet in his paws, then back to Loki before pulling his extended footpaw back and standing up straight, no humor on his face. "First off, I shed, not moult. Second, so what if I was? And third, nevermind, I'll get someone else for this mission. Get back to... whatever the hell it is you're doing."

Shaking his head, Hal turned on his heel and started back out into the hallway, tail flicking in annoyance. While he had taken genuine offense at the comment, his brain had stepped in at the last moment and shown him a possible way to improve his situation. Now all Loki had to do was take the bait and the trap would be sprung.

Confusion creased his face as Halajiin stormed off down the corridor. His mind raced, attempting to pinpoint the evident crime he'd unwittingly committed. Nothing, but it didn't matter, he'd caught a glimpse of the datapad and the old familiar hunger set in. The dust cloth was cast aside and he chased after the retreating mongoose.

"Halajiin Rabeak," he called, but his quarry continued to walk, unphased. Loki fell into step alongside him, and in the stiff silence, wrestled with the words to unravel his tormenting bind.

"Perhaps I did something- said something to offend you- I assure you, that was not my intention."

"No, you just worried about me getting loose fur on your precious chair," Hal snapped. "Do you see me complaining about all the dead skin cells you humans shed into the air all the time? I can freaking taste some of you in the air, it's so bad, but I don't put conditions on you for something you can't help."

The trap had been set, and Loki walked straight into it, the snare drawing tight around the boy's legs. He was in this now, whether he knew it or not.

Hal's stateroom was not far from Loki's, and he paused in front of his own door. "Listen, I took your advice about doing something to help the Order, and my plan's on this datapad. It's also got the Council's approval marked on it, now, but I can't do this alone." Glancing up and down the hall, Hal saw no one else, and so he opened his stateroom door and stepped inside, inviting Loki to follow, and he shut the door afterward. "But I also don't know who I can trust, around here, and the last thing we need is a spy tipping off the bad guys about our target."

Before Loki could ask, Hal extended the pad, the word, "Ilum" listed at the top in large, bold font. "Feel like getting some action?"

"Yes, absolutely," he answered immediately.

In his voice, there was note of quiet awe. He stared at the bold header, transfixed by the prospect of such a dangerous undertaking. The datapad was in his hand before Halajiin could object, he thumbed quickly through the document, soaking up the preliminary details. His heart drummed a giddy beat in his chest. The last time he left the Wheel was for an attack on Coruscant, it had been a monumental undertaking, and victory came at a high price. But it had been too long. It was time he faced a challenge greater than a class of ill-disciplined initiates. He started rapidly pacing the room.

"Ilum is an ice world. We will need cold weather clothes. Ration packs. Medikits. I still have my ice axes and shemagh. We could requisition harnesses and ropes from the Challenger's quatermaster. We may need explosives," he concluded, pensively, before losing himself once again in the datapad.

Hook, line, sinker. It couldn't have gone any better, Hal imagined, but he masked his excitement well be stroking his chin in thought.

"Firearms, too, as I don't have a working saber at the moment," Hal added. "Tell you what, make a list of what we'll need, and I'll get the requisition taken care of under my name. Fewer names attached to this, the less likely we'll be to arouse suspicion," he replied.

Taking a seat on his bed, the mongoose watched as Loki scanned the datapad, and he prayed that his deception would go unnoticed until it was too late.

"I've been to Ilum before. Twice, actually. I know where the largest deposits are, so we'll strike there," he announced. "But we can't do this alone. This is going to be a one-time-only run, so we need to be as effective as possible. That means we're going to need some help. I'm thinking of asking Akasha to come with us. I've gotten to know her, and she seems like she can handle herself in a pinch, and she's got the sharp eyes and fast paws to gather crystals quickly while you and I deal some damage. Kala might be of use, too, as she's already got a saber, and would know what to look for in a crystal. If you've got any other suggestions, let me know and I'll see what I can do. But, I will have a favor to ask you."

He paused for effect, then smirked, "You know Cirr, right? Like, as a friend? Can you convince him to take us to Ilum on the Novgorod and lay down covering fire while we drop in? We'll need a serious gunship like that, if my research on Ilum is accurate."

"We would be asking the Novgorod and its crew to take a grave risk," he said, surveying Halajiin from over the datapad, "But we cannot do this without proper military support. I will speak to Cirrsseeto."

It was true, the Novgorod was perfectly suited for the mission, but that didn't leave Loki feeling any less conflicted about approaching his friend for help. The last Jedi mission had cost both Cirrsseeto and Sanis Prent dearly, it didn't seem fair to expect him to put his ship on the line again, but they were at war. Loki cringed inwardly. Sentiment was clouding his judgement; Cirrsseeto was professional, he would do his duty. The same could not be said, with certainty, of Akasha Khan. The felinoid was ill-tempered and had a curious habit of courting trouble wherever she went. Perhaps, the presence of Kala'ndryl Ryj would provide a counter-balance to the turbulent padawan. But he was dubious.

Giving the datapad a tap, he started to input the extensive list of supplieshe predicted they would require, he was thorough. It was one of his favourite things about an away mission, the preparation and planning, and the acquisition of impressive hoards of military equipment. This time, he considered, perhaps the quartermaster would have a set of Digital Glacier camos in his size. A thought occured to him, and he glanced up from his busy fingers.

"I suspect we will require some sort of long-range beacon to set up once we have secured a sufficient quota of crystals. The Novgorod simply cannot wait in orbit for us to complete our mission. Also, presumably, extraction of the crystals will require cutting tools, yes?"

"Cutting, chipping, even blasting tools, we'll need them all," Hal nodded. "This isn't a small run, Loki. We're going to take as much as we possibly can, because after this, I can't see another chance at ever getting at Ilum again until this Empire can be dealt with."

He bit his lip, still convincing himself that this was the right move.

We'll be a hero.

We'll get thrown out, for this!

No, the victory will be enough to save us, just barely.

And what about the others? You're lying to them, and you're going to get them in trouble, or worse!

I know! But I'm taking that risk, too, and I'll take all the blame. We can't let them be punished for my sin.

I won't forgive you, if they are. Know that.

I know. I knew that from the start.

"Loki," Hal spoke up again at last. "I cannot stress how important it is that this mission be kept a secret. If there is a spy, here, even a hint that we're planning something could spike Ilum's defenses. Leave all the planning to me, except for the Novgorod. You know the Captain, and so I'll leave that to you, but you must tell him that this is a classified mission, and even he is not allowed to breathe a word of it to anyone in this convoy until we set off. And I'd like to leave tonight. The sooner we get underway, the better.

"But, I would appreciate it if you'd accompany me to the Challenger when you've got that list of equipment drawn up. I... don't really know my way around, there, and I'm not up to date on your modern cold-weather equipment and clothing and stuff, and I could use the help."

"Halajiin Rabeak, I do understand the meaning of the word classified," he said, icily.

For a moment longer, he remained preoccupied with the datapad and its rapidly growing list of provisions. Then he paused, allowing his companion's words to echo in his head, and his expression became troubled. He glanced up.

"Tonight?" he repeated, his face hardened, "Then I have reservations about the mission. We are heading out to an extremely hostile world without any planning or preparation whatsoever, which is, in itself, ill-advised, and you elect to bring along a couple of padawans?"

Saying it aloud only served to highlight the absurdity of the plan. In his enthusiasm, Loki had been blind to it, until now. His face creased with suspicion.

Hal gave no startled reaction to Loki's objection. The young knight had a valid point, but Hal's mind was already made up and could not be swayed.

"Kala has a lightsaber, and is familiar with the type of crystals needed. Akasha has some fire in her, and she would be useful if we got into trouble," he replied. "Besides, would you rather take two padawans who have proven themselves committed to the Order, or take a gamble on another knight after what happened with Loklorien S'Ilancy?"

Leaning back against the wall, Hal continued, "And, yes, tonight. The Novgorod has already been here about a week. If they stay much longer, it'll arouse suspicion. Besides, there is planning, it's all there in that pad. And the sooner we leave, the less likely it'll be that the wrong ears hear about what we're up to."

His tail flicked as his ears flattened back just slightly, and the mongoose smirked. "In my day, I had my own network of people to help me with jobs like this, so I wouldn't have even gone to anyone else in the Jedi if I suspected a mole. But, I don't exactly have a network, anymore, so I just have to go with those I trust. And I trust you, Abarai Loki."

His mouth was open with an objection frozen on his lips. It was an apt expression which perfectly captured his surprise. Halajiin trusted him. It made sense, he considered, the details of a highly classified mission were in his hands, after all. But that was professional trust, which was undoubtedly a product of Loki's considerable talents. But Halajiin had expressed personal trust, and that left him visibly stumped, and created for him something of a conundrum. That kind of trust was a rare honour, and was not something he could easily dismiss. His jaw clenchged, biting back his discontent, he gave his co-conspirator a curt nod, and returned the datapad to him.

"There," he said, "The items on this list can be acquired from the Challenger. I will speak with Inyos Aamoran, he is reliable, and will oversee my classes without question. Then I shall travel to the Novgorod for a meeting with Captain Raurrssatta. I suggest haste, Halajiin Rabeak, if we are to be ready in time. Are you to brief the padawans?"

Thank Garfife, he bought it.

"I'll handle the padawans, don't worry about that," Hal nodded.

Taking the datapad and the charts of flimsiplast, the Nehantite shuffled them into his left arm, then extended his right paw for a shake. "I'm sorry our first mission together couldn't be under better circumstances. Trust me, this isn't the way I wanted to start things off, but it has to be done for the good of the Order."

Kid, I wish you knew just how much I mean what I just said.

There was only a beat of hesitation before he took Halajiin's paw. Handshakes were a common greeting amongst the denizens of the Wheel, Loki regarded them excessively intimate but was at last becoming accustomed to using them, even with perfect strangers. The Nehantite's parting words caused him evident confusion, particularly the apology. He frowned.

"We will do what has been asked of us and we will do it to the best of our ability," he said, then hesitated at the door, "I am grateful for your trust, Halajiin Rabeak."

And, with that, he left.

The die was cast, and now the game was begun in earnest.

Hal took no pride in knowing that this goal would be accomplished through lies, and with the help of those he would be deceiving, but the end more than justified the means, to Halajiin Rabeak. It would not be the first time he had used deception to advance his own purposes, nor did he believe it would be the last. There was a time and a place for a lie, even one of this magnitude, as long as the reason for the lie was good.

The flimsiplast charts found their way onto his desk. It was roughly noon, already, and there was a great deal of work yet to be done before they would have to go. First on Hal's list was recruiting the two padawans. Had he more time and more experience in getting to know other Jedi, Hal might have picked more experienced companions, but the beauty of padawans is that they're so incredibly gullible when it comes to getting a real mission.

Tugging on his borrowed Jedi robes in order to make himself appear more genuine, the Nehantite tucked the datapad into a pocket, then headed on out. This time of day, odds are he'd find Akasha practicing, and she'd know where to find Kala. Once he had their commitment, and measurements, it would be off to the Challenger to get supplies.

This had to work, he told himself. It just had to work. If he got caught before leaving the Wheel, it would all be over.

Typically the practice rooms were crowded with trainees, but knights could reserve time slots for their own use or for individual training with their padawans. And even though Tionne was out gathering supplies for the Wheel in the Mid Rim, her claim on room four still held, and she'd left Akasha with a detailed training regimen.

The Orryxian crouched in a three-point-stance in the center of the painted sparring circle, her Echani fighting staff closed and balanced effortlessly in her right paw as she centered herself in the Force. She, like her weapon, was a coiled spring, waiting only for the proper moment to--

A metallic whine pierced the stillness of the sparring chamber, followed by another, and another. So she'd graduated to three today. Akasha's fingers tightened on her staff, a featureless white cylinder scarcely broader than her paw. She couldn't sense the intentions of automatons the way she could sense living creatures, but in her mind's eye she saw the three spherical remotes hovering into the air and taking up their positions around her. She could only guess what their game would be today - stinging her with stun blasts, battering at her feet, buzzing her head, or some devilish combination of all three custom-programmed by Akasha's fiery master. Tionne liked to keep the feline on her toes.

The remotes chimed in unison - that was the signal to begin. Akasha sprung to her feet and activated her staff, which expanded like a striking snake into a gently tapering rod of glossy white about five feet across. The Orrxyian didn't wait for the remotes' first move; instead she twisted and drove the butt end of her staff toward a remote hanging lazily at her head level. The thing hissed and darted aside while one of its comrades plummeted toward the floor and aimed a stun bolt at her ankles.

Akasha leapt from the floor but continued twisting in the air, and with her arm extended she swung her staff at the third remote, sending it retreating toward the ceiling. She landed with her feet spread, and her staff continued spinning behind her back, deflecting a second stun bolt with a metallic spang!

The remote near the ceiling came crashing down toward her head, and Akasha rolled aside as it struck the padded floor with a dull thud. But Remote 1 immediately blasted at her feet again, sending her into the air once more. Remote 2 was waiting for her, and she found herself diving into an awkward tumble to avoid another spray of stun blasts. The last one left a smarting welt at the base of her tail.

Don't oppose your enemy's force directly, Tionne spoke in her memories. Beat your head against a wall, and you're the one who gets a headache.

Biting down a curse, the Orryxian gathered her feet again as the remotes regrouped. This time she waited patiently as the mechanical orbs circled her on their hissing repulsor jets. When they attacked again, she was ready.

She spun away from Remote 1's opening blast. When Remote 2 swung down to take out her ankle, she flipped effortlessly overhead. As soon as she landed, she bounced nimbly backward again to avoid another salvo from Remote 3. Leap by leap, she plotted an aerial course through the sparring chamber, somersaulting, feinting, spinning, twisting around every attack the remotes could throw at her, her tail waving like a banner, her staff flashing like a storm. And when she spied the opening in the remotes' formation, she went on the offensive. She jabbed Remote 1 with the end of her staff, whirled on one foot and slashed at Remote 2, then brought her weapon spinning over her shoulder and crushing down onto Remote 3's crown, knocking the machine hard against the far wall. The remote fizzed a little and chimed again as it wobbled unsteadily back into the air.

Panting from her exertion, Akasha collapsed her staff and called a canteen into her paw with the Force. Once she'd taken a long, sloppy drink, she turned back toward the remotes only to see someone standing in the doorway.

"Oh. Have you been there long?"

Hal had paused in the doorway, intent on watching how the Orryxian truly handled herself in a combat situation. Thus far, his thoughts about her abilities had been only guesswork, but as she combatted the three training spheres with acrobatic agility and deep-rooted ferocity, he could tell he'd made a good choice.

She's gutsy.

And pretty darn handy for an eight-year-old.

More like sixteen. We did read up on her species, you know.

I know, but it's still weird. Dang, did you see how she took out that last droid? Impressive.

I wonder how she'd do with an actual saber. Swinging a staff with some heft to it is one thing, but a weightless blade is something else entirely. She's going to need more work on her precision.

Yeah, but that agility should compensate for it easily enough. Besides, if all goes well on Ilum, she won't have to see any combat.

And if it doesn't go well, you might get her killed. I'm not sure that bringing padawans is a good idea, after all.

We're just going to offer. It'll be up to her whether or not she wants to go.

Yeah, right. Like you would have turned down a mission while you were a padawan. You would have blindly accepted anything that was offered to you. Like that burrito, that one time.

Ugh, yeah, that was a baaaad idea. I can still feel that thing, sometimes.

Unlikely, but you get the point. I just have a bad feeling about this.

You have a bad feeling about a lot of things.

And I'm usually right.

Dude, you are totally not usually right. Want me to get out the scorecard when we get back to our room?

You don't have a scorecard.

No, but I've got a stylus and flimsiplast, and I can make one!

Seriously? Seriously? Just... forget it, go talk to her.

That's what I thought.

"Not too long," Hal replied, padding into the room barefoot. "But long enough to catch a pretty impressive show, there. Interesting style; it suits you, Akasha."

The Nehantite smiled, then waved off the training droids so that he could have the feline's full attention. "But, I'm not here about training. I'm here about something more important. A mission. I've got Council approval stamped on my plan, and now I need to make a team. I know you're not my padawan, but seeing as your master is away, I'm going to pull rank a bit and ask if you'd be interested in on an away mission. Might be a little dangerous, but should prove highly rewarding in the end, and get you a fair bit closer to that saber you've been trying to build, too."

A few key words jumped out at Akasha - dangerous, rewarding, saber, and, not to be underestimated, away. She hadn't left the Wheel since her fateful trip to Lethe landed her with an orbalisk bite to the chest, and between her long convalescence and her master's frequent sorties into the criminal underworld hunting for supplies and contacts, she was going certifiably stir-crazy. If Hal had come asking for help cataloging slime toads in the swamps of Dagobah, she still might have jumped at the chance. But doing something important, and maybe even getting a saber out of the deal? This must have been how human cubs felt on Life Day morning.

The young felinoid carefully schooled her face so she wouldn't look too overeager, but the way her ears pricked up and the way her tail started lashing up a storm had probably given the game away already. "Sounds intriguing," she said. "Tell me more."

Unlike so many of the humans and human-ish species Hal had encountered in the Order, Akasha's body language and facial expressions were far easier for him to read. He'd already hooked her, now it was time to begin reeling her in.

His own tailtip flicked idly, a display of confidence as he smiled, ears tilting back only a touch - cockiness? Perhaps, or maybe superiority, it was difficult to tell the difference between the two, at times. But what was unmistakable was the tone of his voice.

"This is a classified mission, so all I can tell you right now is that it will be myself, a small group of others, and yourself, if you choose to come. We might be away for a week, perhaps a few weeks at most," he spoke in hushed tones. Looking back to make sure no one else was listening from the doorway, he continued. "I'll put in for permission to borrow you from your master, if you choose to come. But unless you agree, and agree not to breathe a word of this until after we get back, that's all I can say.

"So, Akasha Khan, I could use some help if things get rough. You feel like bringing that staff of yours and coming with me?"

"Oh, I can keep a secret," Akasha said without hesitation. However, signing up for a mission without even finding out where she was going first gave her some pause. How did she weigh personal glory and a lightsaber against the chances, however remote, that Hal wanted her to infiltrate a team of belly dancers employed by a Hutt gangster?

No, wait, he wanted her to bring her staff, which meant that if Hutts were involved, she would most likely be bludgeoning them. That was a step in the right direction.

"I'm in. What do you want me to do?"

"I'll brief everyone in the mission on the way," Hal replied. "But for right now, I'd suggest getting cleaned up and changed, then grab something to eat before coming to find me on the Challenger so that we can get outfitted and supplied. We'll be leaving tonight. And remember, don't tell anyone about any of this, got it?"

Two down, one to go. Gotta keep this team small, otherwise my cover story isn't going to work.

You've got a cover story?

Yep, and thin as it might be, by the time the Council figures it out, it'll be too late to stop us.

Clasping his paws behind his back, one still holding the datapad, Hal smiled. "Actually, there is one more thing. We'll be needing your roomate, too. Any idea where I can find Kala, at this hour?"

After a typically brief conversation with Inyos Aamoran, Loki left the Whaladon and ventured deep into the Challenger proper. It was a well worn route to the shuttle bay reserved for intrafleet transport, and given the sheer size of the military juggernaught with which the humble Action VI was docked, he rarely ventured off the beaten path. His was a familiar face with the officers on duty there, so without much ado, he found himself en route to the Novgorod in a small stuffy ship. There was absolutely no small talk with the pilot.

Captain Raurrssatta was in his personal quarters, that much he was given, along with some rough directions. Loki followed them to the letter, not much caring to look for the special something that gave his friend a proud gleam in his eyes whenever he spoke of his beloved corvette, a ship was a ship. So, after wandering a network of identical corridors which branched off into very similar-looking rooms, he arrived at a rather nondescript door which had been mercifully marked Captain Raurrssatta. He thumbed the door panel and waited.

Deep in an Imperial book on fast-attack naval doctrine, Cirr's ears twitched at the sound of a chime.

"Enterr."

He eased the book down on his bedside, and stood up. Wonder who it was? Lyanie hopefully.

The door slid aside to reveal a decidedly not-Lyanie. Loki stepped inside and waited for the door to close behind him. His hands clasped behind his back, he was here on business and had no intention of wasting Cirrsseeto's time.

"Cirr, I have a request to make of you with regards to an upcoming mission."

Really now? Cirr's ears rose with obvious curiosity as he took a few steps away from his bunk.

"Anotherr Jedji mjissjion then?"

He walked to the wall near the door, pulling his duty jacket from the hook and began to slide it on. They both knew exactly what happened the last time they'd gone on such a mission. He didn't fault Loki at all. Despite everything, if he had Coruscant to do over again, he would have done it.

"Tell me."

There was something hard and efficient in his tone, there was no chit-chat, it was the clipped speech of a military commander. Loki liked that, and it somehow made it easier for him to set aside his personal misgivings and address the issue at hand.

"The council has authorised a covert operation, despatching a small team of Jedi, myself included, to recover Agedan crystals. The target is Ilum."

Cirr's brow knit at the background information his friend passed to him.

"Agedan?"

That sounded familiar. He thought back to where he'd heard that word and...recognition went on like a light on his expression.

"Forr ljightsaberrs?"

His mind was now spinning, and he headed to the small alcove in his quarters that contained a computer terminal. He bade Loki to follow with a flick of his tail as he began to pull up information on the second part of what the Jedi had given him: Ilum.

A holographic representation of the planet sprang to life, as did a deluge of intel concerning history, geological surveys, and a tactical survey of the planet based on the freshest data they had.

"Off the path, but also garrrjisoned. A strrjike crrujiserr at last look...and a fjield of ljistenjing posts."

He frowned.

"Looks ljike they'rre expectjing thjis sorrt of thjing."

"Undoubtedly," he agreed, eyeing the hologram with grim recognition.

Ilum. How many times had he pulled this file from the Whaladon's databanks? How long had he spent staring greedily into that pale blue orb searching for an answer? Too long. There was no perfect solution. Six days Halajiin Rabeak had been amongst the Jedi, six days, and he'd already secured an authorised plan to move on the frozen world and reclaim what rightfully belonged to him, and his kin. The risks were high, but the rewards were great, and the price of failure, greater. The Jedi needed this, desperately. His eyes narrowed, as the projection cycled through Ilum's considerable defenses.

"We can expect it to be even more heavily guarded, in light of recent- after Coruscant," he concluded, there was nothing to be gained pussy-footing around the issue any longer, "There can be no denying the inherent risk of this undertaking. Cirr, can you get us in there?"

Cirr's blue eyes looked back to Loki as if he'd insulted his pride. He scoffed as he turned, ears flicking as he rebuked the Jedi.

"Can jI get you jin therre? Arr'uuhai, that's ljike me askjing you jif you can swjing a ljightsaberr."

He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing.

"My shjip jis fasterr and qujieterr than any you'll everr have the prrjivjilege to set foot on. Pojint fjive fjive hyperrdrrjive, electrronjic warrfarre sujite, thrreaderrs, jammerrs, emmjissjion sjinks. jIf you'rre everr gojing to jIlum...everr...then jit's gojing to be me who gets you therre."

"That's not-" he faltered, his face set in a stony lock of confusion as he wrestled with his words, "I meant you no offense, my friend. For one moment do I not doubt you, your ship, or your crew. My words were poorly chosen. I was merely-"

There it was again. Sentiment. And there was Cirrsseeto, standing tall and unquestionably proud, a man of integrity and honour. He was Captain Raurrssatta now. He was duty-bound, and to question that, to hesitate, it was both a disservice to his skills and an insult to his pride. Ashamed, Loki bowed his head.

"Forgive me."

Cirr's eyes went wide at those two little words, and he stammered.

"jI...uh..."

Ears flicking, he looked at his severe young friend in a strange light. Wow, things were getting deep. Apologies, huh?

"Okay."

Still in a bit of shock, he exhaled. Quick, before it got awkward...

"Now, of courrse, thjis bejing a Jedji mjissjion, you know that's not an Alljiance mandate..."

Before this observation could trouble the Jedi, the Captain acted nonchalant, even checking the claws on one hand as he spoke.

"...of courrse, wjith my shjip bejing tasked wjith actjive sorrtjie rrajids, as long as we'rre fjightjing the Empjirre, everrythjing else jis...jincjidental."

Cirr made sure that Loki shared his understanding.

"So, we'd betterr fjind some jImperrjials to fjight. jI'd hate to go off mjissjion, you see."

The cloud of concern evaporated, haunted features hardened with fresh confidence, and there was a familiar glint in the young Jedi's eyes.

"You will have your Imperials, Cirrsseeto Raurrssatta. That, I promise you."

He recalled Halajiin's words:

"You must tell him that this is a classified mission, and even he is not allowed to breathe a word of it to anyone in this convoy..."

No. There was no need to patronise his friend with such needless instruction, he was a complete professional, and to raise the issue would only serve to cheapen his trust. Then, just as Loki was about to leave, he remembered the last crucial detail of the mission plan.

"There is one more thing: we leave tonight."

"Good."

Cirr finished buttoning up his jacket, and checked himself in the mirror.

"We pack ljight, and we'rre rready to go at a moment's notjice."

The Captain looked back to the Jedi, and nodded.

"You get yourr team. We'll be wajitjing."