Homecoming

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The lights. The lights overhead in Halajiin Rabeak's small, solitary cell had never once gone out, never once left him in darkness. Passage of time was impossible to know, as a side effect, as was the stinging burn at the back of his eyes - particularly the Nehantite's left one. Sleep came when he was tired. Food seemed to come at random, and for what felt like weeks, he was left alone in his little cell, no need to be let out, thanks to the cell's built in refresher, and the sonic shower which seemed to go off whenever it liked.

Yes, they questioned him, interrogated him and threatened him, but through it all, Hal stuck to his story. He was Kyle Rayner, a Force adept who had been taken under the wing of a Jedi on the run, and taught a few things before his master was killed. From then, he'd been alone, sneaking from place to place, trying to find out where the rest of the Jedi were, so that he could continue training. But, his attempt to cross over into Alliance space had been thwarted over Phindar, and as a result, he now sat in his cell, in loaned clothing and his original boots, as nothing else was available aboard ship to fit his unique footpaw shape and size.

When the door to his cell slid open once more, Hal was found lying on the slab which served as his bench and bed combined, a paw over the left side of his face to keep the light out of his eye, even when closed. Carbonite damage, he guessed it was, leaving him far more sensitive to light in that eye. It was such damage that kept him from being re-frozen for transport to... wherever it was he was headed.

"Get up, put your hands out," instructed a trooper in the doorway, while two more trained blasters upon Hal.

His chest rising and falling with a sigh, Hal grumbled and rolled out of bed, pausing to stretch before extending his paws. A heavy set of binders were locked firmly in place, a high whine accompanying blinking lights to signify that they had been armed with a heavy stun setting, just in case.

"Out of the cell, you're being transferred," the trooper said.

Hal nodded, lowering his bound arms, and he followed instruction wordlessly. They could be taking him anywhere. Another cell, back to Rossos, to some prison planet, to a firing squad, to an ice cream parlor, the options were limitless. However, the last option did seem notably less plausible, the more he thought about it.

Though twisting hallways, and up and down lifts, he was led, then finally through an umbilical link to a smaller ship, where he was locked into a seat for a short, and violent descent onto what must be a planet below. Despite the advances in artificial gravity, there was no mistaking the sensation of gravitational shift between artificial and planetside forces. Down they went, the pull growing stronger, and he knew it had to be a large planet, even if he no viewports or screens to see out of. As blasters were readied, he knew he was getting close to whatever fresh hell the Empire had devised for him.

The ship came to a stop, landing instead of hovering, and Hal was released from his lockdown only to be marched toward the doors. When at last sunlight poured over his face, the yellow-furred Nehantite gasped, nearly tripping as he looked about at his surroundings.

He was on Coruscant, and before him towered what once was the great temple of the Jedi Order.

"Holy shit..." he managed, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings, almost in fear of how massive everything was - more so than he remembered.

[Baastian Cain]

"Sir Cain? The prisoner from Phindar is arriving in five minutes."

Baastian Cain looked up from the holographic display hovering over his office desk - a training rota for the new recruits into the Order, a brief for the next publicity campaign COMPNOR wanted to run, and, buried a few layers deep among the projected files, a dossier on the outer rim world known as Nehantish, its people, and its customs. A curious world, discovered relatively late in the history of the Republic, with little in the way of real anthropological scholarship aside from a rough translation of some strangely colorful myths. It hadn't been the sociopolitical brief he'd been looking for, but he hadn't minded. You could learn a lot about a people from the heroes they chose to celebrate.

With a sweep of his hand he dismissed the whole readout to reveal his attache, Lieutenant Tantaleeta Chell, standing timidly before his desk with her hands clasped at her back. She was Wroonian, a near-human with pale blue skin, golden eyes, and candyfloss pink hair. When Baastian had tapped her for his personal assistant, passing over the sons and daughters of several high-ranking officials in the candidacy pool, a few bitter individuals had intemperately suggested that the Imperial Knights' poster boy had an unhealthy appetite for pastels. But Baastian ignored them. Miss Chell's work as an analyst in the Imperial Archives spoke for itself - she remembered everything she read, had a preternatural talent for organizing information, and learned languages like a protocol droid. As far as he was concerned, she'd already proven herself indispensable. His only real complaint was that she never seemed to relax around him. Whether that was a product of his celebrity or simply because she was used to being ignored by her superiors, he hadn't yet determined.

She swallowed and asked, "Shall I have him brought up to you, sir?"

Baastian rose from his seat and tugged the hem of his duty jacket, the same austere black as Lieutenant Chell's, but trimmed with silver shoulder panels and braids to signify his status as a Knight of the Imperial Throne. "No, thank you, Lieutenant, I'd like to greet him personally," he said. "And I'd like you to come along."

"Me, sir?" Lieutenant Chell stammered. "I mean, yes, sir. Of course, sir."

The young Wroonian woman fell into step beside her superior, taking three steps to his two in order to keep up with his long and powerful stride. "You did an excellent job on the Nehantite brief, Lieutenant," Baastian said. "That information is going to be invaluable as we process this prisoner."

Chell seemed startled at the compliment. "I'm sorry the dossier wasn't more complete, sir," she said immediately, voice stiff with apology. "It was...not up to my usual standard. I hope the information will prove useful to you despite this."

"There's nothing to apologize for. Given the limited contact we've had with their species, it's more information than I expected." Baastian led them into a turbolift, and a clipped command sent them hurtling downward toward the Citadel's enormous landing platform. In such close quarters it was difficult to ignore his attache's discomfort, so rigid she looked liable to snap.

"Have you ever met a Jedi before, Lieutenant?" he asked.

Chell blinked once in the muted mechanical din of the turbolift and glanced quickly up at him, her facade cracking for just a half-second as she seemed to be gauging whether he was serious. She recovered just as fast, because he certainly was serious, and replied, "No, sir, I haven't."

"This'll be my second," Baastian replied. "For all we've studied them, for as long as we've hunted them, we barely know anything about them - as they are now, anyway. We're a long way from the Old Republic. They've had to adapt to their circumstances, just as we've adapted to ours."

The doors hissed open and deposited them on a broad concourse that wound past several landing bays. Foot traffic around them multiplied - pilots, flight crews, a column of COMPNOR officers and agents, all of them moving with purpose. Most of them altered their paths around Baastian and his Wroonian attache, like asteroids clearing before a orbiting planet. Baastian returned their salutes as he passed by.

"I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. We haven't yet been able to confirm our guest's story, and the Knight-General believes he hasn't been entirely honest with us about where he comes from. If there is something he's hiding, we're going to find it."

They passed through one of long row of sliding doors and struck out across an open-air tarmac. At the far end lay a pad holding a freshly-landed Lambda shuttle and a formation of Stormtroopers surrounding a bewildered-looking figure in disheveled clothes and a set of stuncuffs. Baastian quickened his pace, allowing Lieutenant Chell to settle behind him, and met the squadron sergeant at the head of the formation. He signed his name to the transfer bill on the sergeant's datapad and then stepped in front of the squinting, yellow-furred mongoose.

"Kyle Rayner, I presume," he said. "Welcome to Imperial Centre."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"It's so big..." were the words which fell out of Hal's mouth as he stared up at the spires above. Truly he had forgotten the immense scale of the Jedi Temple, having been away from it so long. Only the Whaladon could be considered as a massive structure on Ossus, and it paled by comparison to the ancient home of the Jedi on Coruscant.

Hey, pretty-boy here is talking to you. Hal's higher reasoning reminded him.

Mmm, and he is a pretty one, isn't he? His base natures chimed in.

Do you really want to get thrown back in a cell? Keep your mind out of the gutter, we've got to stay sharp, here!

The Nehantite's head shook as he snapped out of his daze of awe - both at the 'Imperial Center,' and at the blonde Imperial before him - and regarded Cain with a stoic, semi-squinting stare. It didn't last more than a few milliseconds before Hal's right eye went wide, gawking at the man in uniform.

Mouth falling open, he blurted, "Do... do I know you? You look really familiar!"

Who is this guy? I know this face. I *KNOW* this face!

Searching, searching... but you're right, this resemblance is uncannily familiar.

[Baastian Cain]

Baastian regarded the fur-covered sentient with a mixture of curiosity and pity. Behind him, Lieutenant Chell did a passable imitation of a kybuck in headlights.

"I get that a lot," the Knight said. "My name is Baastian Cain. I am a Knight of the Order of the Imperial Throne. Behind us is the Imperial Citadel. It used to be the Jedi Temple. We've made it our home now."

He turned and handed the datapad back to the squadron sergeant. "You've had a long trip, Mr. Rayner. Do you need anything? Food? Water?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Both would be great," Hal nodded. His eyes drifted back up toward the Citadel, squinting once more in the sunlight, looking upon it with wonder. "So... there really was a Jedi Temple..." he muttered, a smile working up his face.

Transfer completed, Hal found himself marched forward, falling into step beside the Imperial Knight. Something bothered him in the back of his brain, and his base natures could feel his higher functions rooting around through filing cabinets of old memories, and digging through stacks of names and places bound up in magazine form with lots of glossy pages and semi-professional mental photographs. Baastian Cain. More than the face was familiar, he knew the name, too, somehow. But from where? Allowing his mind to continue its search, Hal's body proceeded on auto-pilot, as did his mouth.

"My old master talked about this place. Said he'd seen it, once, though he'd never actually been inside," the Nehantite rambled. "I saw a holopicture of it, but... I didn't think it was this big!" His eyes turned up to look upon all the sky traffic, and as he was led to a set of doors, Hal spun while walking to take in the sights of the massive city-planet that was Coruscant. "Is this where I'm going to be held, now? I really hope I get an actual bed. That slab was killing my back. Will my room have a window?"

[Baastian Cain]

"I don't have the final say on your accommodations," Baastian replied, "but if you remain cooperative, I'll be sure to put in a good word for you." He reached back to guide the moonstruck mongoose safely through the doors and onto the concourse that ran the perimeter of the landing level. Back on the platform, the stormtroopers silently filed back onto the shuttle, which lifted off into the sky to return to the Arbalest in orbit. He also met the still-wide eyes of Lieutenant Chell and gave her a nod of encouragement.

"I understand you led two of my colleagues on a real mynock chase on Phindar. Your master must have taught you well. It's a pity he's not still with us. I've always wanted to talk to a member of the old Jedi Order."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The shift in the Nehantite's demeanor from pepperbox of questions to reserved melancholy was palpable through the Force, and easy enough to read upon his body as well. Ears and tail drooping, his muzzle also canted down just a tad, eyes finding the floor more interesting than he had before.

"Me, too," he muttered. "Master Sur... wasn't actually a formal Jedi, either. He got his training fom a Jedi who had fled, and he passed on what he knew, to me. Well, what I could grasp of it, at least. And, you'd be surprised how resourceful anyone can be when they're running for their life."

Suddenly his ears perked back up, and the tip of his tail lashed, a brightness flashing in his pink eyes. "Oh! Wait, is the big Selonian woman one of your colleagues?" he asked. "Do you know if she's, uh... seeing anyone?"

[Baastian Cain]

That raised Baastian's eyebrows. "Vissica? Well, no, I don't think so."

It wasn't that the question had never occurred to him, rather that the very essence of Knight Vissica had already answered it with all her customary unambiguity. Mr. Rayner might as well have asked about the eligibility of a rancor. He'd probably get just as far either way.

"I, uh, wouldn't get my hopes up, though," Baastian added, strangely compelled to try to let him down gently. "Selonians generally aren't, well, the relational type. Oh, here's the canteen."

If it would change the subject, he'd gladly pretend the commissary had sneaked up on him, as if they weren't placed at regular intervals around the concourse. It wasn't much to speak of - just a single cafeteria line dispensing meal cubes and an assortment of sauces. Looked like the flavor of the day was nerf stroganoff. Once he'd shuttled the prisoner through the line and settled him down at a nearby table, Baastian took his own seat, with Chell beside him.

"It's going to be hard to eat with those binders," he said, and with a wave of his hand, the shackles holding the Nehantite's wrists together came apart. The bracelets remained - another command would bind them together again, or knock him flat with a paralyzing shock, but at least for the present he had the use of his hands.

"You'll have to pardon my manners, Mr. Rayner. This is my attache, Lieutenant Tantaleeta Chell. She's told me a fair bit about your species, but there's a lot we don't know. Which kingdom do you come from?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal's eyes roamed every inch of the Citadel's interior. So much had changed, and yet, beneath it all he could still see the Temple he once knew, and feelings of home returned to him - feelings he had not known since his first thaw. Only the reminder of food snapped him out of his daze, having missed his warden's reply regarding Vissica.

Nerf strognaoff. The smells were heavenly, throwing his mind back to days long past, and he gladly took up his fork, stirring the mess upon his plate before his attention was brought back up. "Oh, hi, Miss Chell. Nice to meet you," he said with a smile, passing his fork into his left paw to extend his right for a shake. Despite the heavy Imperial presence in the Citadel, and his recent treatment and cuffs, Hal appeared very much at ease in his setting, almost like a tourist. "I'm from Midloth, originally. But we moved to Nehantish when I was twelve because my dad got a job there."

That said, there could be no further postponement of his loaded fork. A large mouthful was lifted from his plate and shoveled into his open maw to be greeted by slowly lidding eyes and a moan of delight as he slowly pulled the gleaming, clean fork from his lips. "Mmmf, Garfife, I haven't had that in sooooo long," he sighed after swallowing, then quickly began to load up more.

[Baastian Cain]

Baastian paused to let Mr. Rayner take the edge off his appetite, then offered him a napkin when he came up for air. He'd rarely seen a man attack a plate of meal cubes with such gusto - either the artificial flavoring was up to Nehantite tastes, or Kyle was hungry enough that it didn't matter.

"I understand Force adepts are very rare among your people," he said. "When did you discover your own abilities?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal spoke between mouthfuls as he quickly cleaned his plate. Synthetic or not, the flavor was a cheap, terrible, secret pleasure to him, and he would not let any of his meal go to waste.

"Sorta figured it out when I was fourteen. I was faster than the other boys, and I could often guess what they were going to do next, in sports," he replied. His fork scraped up more sauce from the plate. "But, I didn't know why that was. I just thought I was a little special, but nothing more. It wasn't until I met Master Sur that it was really figured out. I guess he could tell from the moment he met me. Were it not for him, I'd probably be back in Midloth, right now, working on engines or something."

There was temptation to literally lick his plate clean, but by sheer force of will, he held off. Acting a bit of a fool was fine, and part of the persona he'd been developing and honing while trapped in his little cell, but too much would be a red flag, and surely get him caught.

[Baastian Cain]

"Midloth or Nehantish?" Lieutenant Chell suddenly interjected. When the table's attention shifted her way, she shifted in her seat and turned a slightly deeper share of blue. "Sorry - you said you had moved to Nehantish when you were twelve."

Baastian monitored the exchange with interest. He'd have let the slip go, as it was simple enough to explain away, and she might have simply put Kyle on guard just when he was beginning to relax. On the other hand, the more details he gave, the more opportunities they had to catch him in a lie. You could never predict which loose thread would cause the whole artifice to unravel.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Midloth," Hal stated flatly. "We moved to Nehantish because my dad's work moved him there. Hated it. Place is a sandy shithole. Give me grass and trees over dust and dunes any day."

Rolling his eyes, he then looked back to his empty plate. Seconds were likely out of the question for two reasons: First, it would be odd to give a prisoner two portions, and second, his stomach would likely revolt if it were forced to take more of that so-called food.

"So... now that I'm here, what's to be done with me? Kind of doubting it's the firing squad, as that could have easily been done on whatever ship that was I was on," he said, leaning back into his seat. "If you're planning to run tests, I can make it easier: Yes, we can have chocolate. No, we don't only eat snakes. Yes, our eyes change color. Yes, we have a mating season. Yes, we can control our tails. No, I'm not on CC30. And, yes, I would like to take you to dinner, Miss Chell, but I don't have the money to do so, nor likely the freedom. More's the pity."

[Baastian Cain]

"Well, I guess that answers a few more questions," baastian said. Beside him, Chell hid her eyes and shifted a few more pantone chips. The Knight simply folded his black-gloved hands on the table and looked Rayner square in the color-changing eyes.

"To be honest, I'm trying to understand you a little better. I thought maybe I'd put you at ease in the process. If you want to talk business, we're going to have to move somewhere a little more discrete."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The Nehantite shrugged, looking about at his surroundings. "Put me at ease, huh?" he replied. Paws coming to rest one over the other on the table top, he leaned forward on his elbows to look straight back into Baastian's eyes.

"Imperial forces hunt attack the ship I got passage on. When I tried to make a stand, I got hunted down like an animal. I'm pretty sure that carbon freezing is against the law, to do to a prisoner, but that happened, anyway. Then I get thawed out, asked a whole bunch of questions, and thrown into a cell for who knows how long. I don't even know today's date, understand? And now I get marched in here, to a place I've only dreamed of, and find I'm surrounded by Imperial soldiers, and I'm being softly interrogated, and I don't even know what for?"

Hal leaned farther forward, his face turning hard, flecks of red appearing in his eyes. "For what crime am I charged? I can't help that I was born with this... power. I lost the only man who I ever knew who could teach me how to use it, and instead of going the rest of my life half-trained, I figured I'd go to where I've heard others like me still exist. A place where I could get more training. Is that really a crime worthy of these?"

He held up his forearms, brandishing his cuffs benath balled fists.

[Baastian Cain]

"Yes."

It was said without condemnation, without theater. It was said with quiet conviction, as if it were nothing but God's honest truth.

"Mr. Rayner, the pursuit you faced on Phindar was nothing more than our standard response to a rogue Force adept. If you think it was excessive, you can thank your Jedi friends for that. Whatever the Jedi once were... guardians of freedom and justice, beacons of hope and light for the galaxy... they're not that anymore. First they became traitors. Then vagabonds. And now they're nothing but pawns for the rebel government across the border."

Baastian glanced down at the plate in front of the mongoose, empty except for a few smears of blue sauce, and slid it, tray and all, to the edge of the table for a passing droid to collect.

"I'd like to show you a better way," he said. "A way that actually allows people like us to be the guardians we were meant to be. Now, I can put your binders back together, call the guards, and parade you around the Citadel as a prisoner. But I thought it might be more beneficial to treat you as a potential recruit. You're looking for training, and a place to belong. It's possible we could provide that for you."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The red flecks in the Nehantite's eyes faded, and he leaned back into his seat, paws easing down to the table top. For some time he was silent, mulling over the many thoughts in his head, until at last he sighed.

"I'm not trying to be argumentative, here, let me preface this by saying that," he said. Another pause, and the words were collected. "I've only met one Jedi, ever, and he seemed to be a good man. He told me that we should not use our power to better ourselves, but to help others in need, and to right wrongs when we were able. Most of the Jedi religious stuff sort of went over my head, but that was the core of the man I knew. That is my understanding of what a Jedi is supposed to be. I don't know what they are now, or if they've changed, or anything like that, and I certainly wasn't around when they became traitors, nor did I learn about that in school, but what I'm asking is, is that a crime? Is that philosophy, the philosophy of helping others, upholding the law, and combating injustice, something I should be a prisoner for? Because, quite frankly, that's the kind of thing my mom taught me was the right thing to do, so you're going to have to arrest every Midlothian you meet, if that's the case."

He could see Lieutenant Chell ready for a reply, but Hal held up a staying paw. "But, if those are the values your order focuses on, and as long as I don't get called names and treated like an animal, or anything less than a human like yourself, I may be interested in hearing what you have to offer me."

[Baastian Cain]

"That's fair," Baastian replied. "I'm sure your master was a good man. Back when he was training you, the Empire's position on Force adepts wasn't as, well... progressive as it is now. The Knights are doing a lot to change how people look at us. I'd like to think the Jedi of old - the good ones, anyway - would have liked to be a part of it."

He rose from his seat, and Lieutenant Chell mirrored him. "If you're finished, I'd like to show you what the Imperial Knights are all about."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal remained in his seat, eyes flicking back and fort between them, concern written on his face. At last he asked, "You mean... we're not having dessert?"

[Baastian Cain]

Chell's cotton-candy eyebrows crimped together in disbelief. Baastian simply shrugged. "After the tour, perhaps."

The Knight led his curious little entourage from the concourse onto one of the many personnel lifts that followed the sloped outer walls of the Citadel, and sent them hurtling toward the upper levels. Once they cleared the first several stories, the outer wall dissolved into a ribbon of transparisteel, giving them an unhindered view of the glittering cityscape beyond, shimmering stratoscrapers on the horizon, glittering chains of air traffic criscrossing the golden-hued sky. Even for a lifelong resident of Imperial Centre, it was an arresting sight. Baastian watched Rayner's reaction with interest.

"What do you know about the Imperial Knights, Mr. Rayner?"