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Realms: These Shattered Stars Logs

Chapter Four, Part Nine

It is the next day on Commenor. The evening passed quickly and uneventfully, with the Padawans in contemplation or meditation. The sleep of all is a little fitful.

The next day about midmorning Freyja checks her message drop at the Temple, and also catches up on some of the news rumors circulating since they departed Sedrak. She frowns in a bit of worry when she reads that a part of the City on Coruscant was bombed. She hastily checks to see if it was Staster's neighborhood -- she hopes he's all right!

The district on Coruscant which was bombed was one of the lesser-known ones; it was about one hundred kilometers from the Rostrum. It's often hard to explain the truly staggering size of Coruscant; even 100km is considered 'next door.' The Jedi Temple and the Rostrum would be on separate continents, if there were oceans on Coruscant, clear on opposite sides of the world.

Freyja is relieved, reviewing the information. She's not happy there was a bomb, and she hopes no one was injured... but she's still pleased to hear Staster is fine, and her setting up a blind drop with him has not drawn trouble to him. She continues reading the news... then her eyes widen in interest. One of the stolen ships that 'rescued' Valsha, recovered? She grins dryly, and tries to check and find out if it was the one that could drag other ships out of hyperspace. That would be her bet as to a no-longer-necessary ship for that group. As she searches for the information, she silently sends mental 'best wishes' through the Force to Colburth. She sincerely hopes he's doing well... and the Order isn't pestering him while he searches for answers to his pressing questions.

Unfortunately, there's very little information about the ship found at Iktoch. There's nothing official as to what ship it is, let alone if it is the missing Binder. Freyja hmms quietly to herself... then makes a note in her datapad to ask Master Roakkana about that. Maybe with his contacts he can find out. She needs to ask him about the supposed captured Sith officer too.

Freyja continues reading... then draws in her breath sharply. A destroyed Jedi commandery... she wonders what planet it was on, and if she can find that out. The commandery -- a place where Jedi of the Order militant are trained -- was located on the world of Valnoch, in Balmorra Sector. Freyja knows of the world peripherally; it is a small agricultural and geological research colony -- what has often been called a 'dirt farm.' It was one of the newer commanderies, established some time after the war with the Sith began. There is very little information about it; admittance to it was restricted, it was meant to train up a new company composed exclusively of Jedi guardians.

Freyja frowns thoughtfully. Very strange... and hush-hush. In a way, she hopes the accident was indeed due to some poor young Jedi making a mistake. The alternative -- that the Sith are far more effective (and maybe suicidal?) than anyone realized -- is a really unpleasant thought. She sighs quietly... then tries researching something a bit nicer, hopefully -- can she find out who any of the new members of the poetically named Serpent's Song are?

That information, at least, is public, but they're not Jedi Freyja knows of or about -- although that in and of itself is not noteworthy. There are at least one million Jedi throughout the Galaxy, it is impossible to know them all. A quick check shows that only a few of them have ever undertaken errantry, and most are knights in good standing; none seem to have a reputation for heresy, heterodoxy, or unorthodox beliefs.

Freyja nods slowly, considering. Interesting... both that they're very orthodox seeming, and that the Ophidian Canticle seems to think rather non-orthodox thoughts, in regards as to who should be Singing which Song. Well, most important, she supposes, is that they stay safe. She continues reading, scanning the Sedrak news, then blinks. The Yaofeng Tong -- the Black Wind -- is considering vendetta? She hopes it's not against the nomads -- they certainly don't deserve that. She wonders thoughtfully if the tong has any connections on Xagobah, where the Sith are making inroads into the local politics.

There's very little to indicate the Black Wind Tong has any connections to Xagobah -- it has only recently started making any sort of inroad into interstellar criminal management. The problem becomes, then, one of finding someone who's in the know and asking, since those who do apparently know aren't talking -- publicly, at least.

Freyja smiles a bit grimly, remembering Staster's gentle recommendation that she not spread the information she had, concerning the forced ineptitude of the Balmorra Senator's 'cat's-paw.' She's not surprised there's not really any good information... but she had to try. Speaking of cat's-paws... she browses thoughtfully, trying to find out if a certain deceased slicer has any known connections to that particular Senator's tool. Awfully convenient that the slicer should so considerately throw himself off a roof, after all, she thinks dryly...

That, too, is not available information. The newsdocs gives all the usual information about the criminal, as is typical in criminal cases, the preponderance of evidence against him... it looks like another typical criminal case. Freyja studies the information, knowing the person will probably be entirely unfamiliar to her, but still wondering why he'd hack the Balmorran web.

There is scanty information given. Sector law enforcement personnel are still sifting through the data. One possibility is that he was hired by someone to break into the Sector databases. Another is that he was a separatist. It's made all the more difficult for the officers to determine motive since it is not known just what he did to the Sector databases -- other than completely wreck them, necessitating a restore from backups.

Freyja almost diffidently continues scanning the news of her home world... then blinks, wondering if the Ebon Raptor was dispatched towards where the eldest daughter of Haus Jotunsen went. She hopes not, for the family's sake... just as she hopes that her father and the father of her betrothed are calm enough to realize humiliating another house, however justified it may feel, isn't wise. She hopes Fafnir's not feeling vindictive too... then smiles quietly. Oddly enough, perhaps her small giftings will help there. As a spontaneous symbol of the strength of the promised bond between the two houses... perhaps it will reassure all involved, and calmer heads (like her mother) will council restraint in regards to handling House Prul'soma.

Officially, the Ebon Raptor's mission is classified. Predictably enough, some of the raggier newsdocs have speculated on any number of possible missions for the ship. A major fleet unit isn't just detached from their task group for any old reason, but with the sheer size of the naval contingent of the Republic Guard, and also the size of the front, it's impossible to get reliable deployment information. Ebon Raptor was noted as being on a hyperspace departure vector towards the Core, but naval ships that don't want to be followed typically make their first hyperspace jump out of a system in a quasi-random direction, before stopping in deep space and starting a series of transits that lead them to their true destination.

Freyja sighs quietly, and sends another 'best wishes' through the Force, this time to her aunt-in-law elect. She'd help if she could... or if she knew what to do. Then she wonders idly why the Balmorran droid grabbed from the Sith wasn't taken to Balmorra... then smiles ruefully. Well, of course not -- if anyone on Balmorra were guilty, they'd be doing their best to destroy the evidence! She hopes they tracks down the perpetrators... it scares her, when she thinks about it much, that the Sith have both a technological advantage on the Republic, and are using Balmorran war droids too.

Times like this, when she thinks about it, she finds herself feeling grimly that it's all on her shoulders. She knows that's silly -- the war is too big to be any one person's responsibility, let alone hers -- but she still feels obligated to struggle her utmost to make the triat the best and most successful means of persuading the Sith to stop warring with the Jedi. At least the best means she knows of herself. Well... maybe the news from Koros will be good... She sighs quietly, Maybe...

Freyja brightens a moment later, reading of Dantooine. True, the news isn't really good from the Republic's point of view... but it's nice to hear that Lord Methel-ssa is well and has been given a chance to redeem herself. Plus... the noble in Freyja strongly approves of the Sith lord's actions. If the Sith Empire is going to take over worlds, then the well being of the people there are the responsibility of their new rulers. Shirking that isn't acceptable, even if they are at war.

Freyja finishes the news... then grins to herself and calls up a list of local tap cafes, curious both as to whether the infamous Vermillion of Banin's Landing is anywhere close... and what it's actually like. Banin's Landing is a few hundred kilometers away, fairly convenient, all told. And there is indeed a tap café named the Vermillion. It is modest, apparently, though apparently well regarded.

Freyja grins quietly again, reading with fascination everything she can on it. She wonders... is this a window on Fhazil Taas' personality, that he chose this place -- or is it just the first one he remembered? The paranoid in her also checks... just how easy is this place to escape from quickly, considering the warlord Ghang knows where and when they're meeting? There isn't exactly a floor plan of the Vermillion readily available, at least to the public; likely there's something in the city planning office.

Roakkana enters the small suite of rooms, having just come from an obligatory visit to the monastery's abbot. "Ah, good morning, child."

Freyja pauses, considering... actually, it was Vakkal who suggested it. She continues reading fascinatedly... she finds herself wondering the same things about the big canid Sith as she'd wondered moments ago about Fhazil. At Roakkana's entrance she looks up, blinking once, then smiles, "Master Roakkana, heiyo, how are you?"

"Doing fairly well, thank you. The abbot and I knew each other from many years ago, as it turns out, though we did not have a great deal of shared experiences." He lowers himself into a chair heavily.

Freyja studies the big Wookie with a bit of concern, then rises and gets a large glass of water. She returns, offering it to him with a worried, "Is everything all right, Master Roakkana? You seem a bit... tired?"

Roakkana waves a large hand. "Oh, no more tired than usual, child. It was just a long trip from Sedrak. I did not sleep well last night, either, which no doubt contributed to it.

Freyja curls up next to the Wookie after he takes the glass, and asks curiously, "Why is it that hyperspace travel is hard on you, Master? Do you know?"

Roakkana shakes his head quietly, gently snugging Freyja. "I'm not sure, child. Even the hyperspace physicists of the Republic have never been able to find that out."

Freyja says, "Huh." She sighs with quiet contentment, enjoying the closeness and hugging back, then murmurs thoughtfully, "May I ask you two questions, Master? Well... a question, and a favor, please? The favor's not frightfully important, if you're busy...?"

Roakkana blinks. "Well, I shall do so if I can, child. What is on your mind?"

Freyja says, "Well, I was wondering if you were able to talk to Paladin Dakkan about finding out maybe from the Bloodeagle folks if the rumors about a Sith officer being captured were true or not... and I was wondering if, with your contacts, you could find out if the ship found orbiting Ikotch was the Binder or not." She smiles a bit ruefully, adding, "That latter's not critical, of course... just an interesting piece of data, maybe, about the group that 'rescued' Valsha."

Roakkana ohs! and nods. "Yes, I was, actually. I wasn't able to find out anything, however. Paladin Dakkan did say he had heard something about a Sith being captured, but could not do more than confirm that something of that sort had happened. As for the ship at Ikotch... I will try, child. I do not know how successful I can be, but I will try."

Freyja's fingers tighten slightly on the Wookie's arm, where they're resting. She murmurs with soft worry, "Whoa... I hope the news about it taking several Jedi Masters and the deaths of half of a Jedi Company... were exaggeration for effect..."

"That... I was not able to confirm, I'm afraid. It would depend entirely upon the power of the Sith in question."

Freyja hesitates, then says slowly, "Master Roakkana... is it... well... well, is it treasonous of me, to be really worried about how the war is going? I mean... well, we know they have some kind of... of ship-hiding technology, and someone -- some idiot! -is selling them war droids..." She looks up at the Wookie, her eyes huge in her tightly worried face, "Well... I guess... I guess it just concerns me -- a lot! -to think it took several Jedi Masters... and a Jedi company... to capture just a Sith officer?!"

"Not at all, child. I am worried as well; and I am sure many senators, generals, admirals, and marshals are worried too. While the Republic has an overwhelming economic and numerical advantage, the Sith are subtle and cunning, and have practiced the art of war far better than our own forces. They have technologies we are only starting to understand, such as the cloak and the grav-well. And they have no compunction about using the Force when they feel they need to, in destructive ways." He shakes his head. "But there is still hope, child. The war is not won yet."

Freyja blinks, considering... then says puzzledly, "We have an economic and numerical advantage? Why do we never hear that in the newsvids?" She adds, a touch of anger in her voice, "I know my father's pretty much given up already."

Roakkana says gently, "Because they aren't truly advantages. Child, if a world is defended from a Sith attack of one hundred thousand troops, but fifty thousand of our own forces are killed, is that a victory? Is it a victory if the defenders originally numbered one hundred thousand themselves? -or fifteen thousand? Or a million? And if I remember that night, child, your father has not given up, despite what he sees as the Sith eventually achieving victory. Had he truly given up, he would be running from Balmorra, or seeking to press Balmorra Sector to join the Empire peaceably."

Freyja hesitates, considering... then finally nods once, tightly. She's got old, buried angers with her father... but honesty compels her to realize Master Roakkana is right, and this isn't something she should blame her father for. She leans her head against the big Wookie's fur, and murmurs unhappily, "Hai, I understand. Still, I wish... I wish there were more I could do... or something I could do now..." She sighs, falling quiet.

Roakkana smiles a little. "We all wish that, child. But it depends on which route to end this we wish to take. If the Republic and the Order were truly desperate, we could, I suppose, forsake fifteen thousand years of staying to the light, study the dark arts, and with not only overwhelming numbers but also an overwhelming tide of the dark side, attack the Sith in the same ways or worse that they have attacked us."

Freyja wrinkles her nose in disgust, "Eww. Neh, if we did that they'd still win. I remember how..." she shudders in revulsion, "-how horrible the Sith Lord Shen Ravo's sword felt... and he was dealing honorably with us at that point."

Roakkana nods. "Indeed. In many senses they win. If we as an Order -- or even just a large number of Jedi -- choose to cross over to the Dark Side in order to win, then it will be as if the Sith Hierarchy itself has won. You remember that our two traditions have more similarities than they do differences, after all."

Freyja sighs quietly, then grins with a touch of mischief, "So... what do you think the odds are that they'll turn to the Light in order to defeat us, Master?"

Roakkana smiles quietly albeit a bit sadly. "Only slightly more remote than a large number of Dark Jedi 'saving' the Republic."

Freyja half grins, half sighs... then says with quiet determination, "Well... we'll try our best to make differences in Force usage not be quite so... so hateful to each other." She adds with bleak honesty, "I... really don't know what else to try."


Not long after Freyja confers with Master Roakkana, she retreats to one of the unused rooms, closing the door behind her, and begins the long task of carefully assembling the Awatea lightsaber -- her lightsaber.

The instructions written in metaphor seem actually to be the best for her, or at least the most interesting. "Shining pillar of harnessed light comes humbly before the harness of the heavens' lightning, and the eightfold wheel turns again to the station of Serenity." These phrases and others seem to form a blueprint not only for a lightsaber itself, but also for a mindset to have while assembling one; and not merely one mindset, but a multitude.

Indeed, as the introduction to the instructions admonish: "To assemble a lightsaber is to seek the inner workings of your own mind. When complete, your mind should seek to be as sharp and as bright as the blade of your own weapon. A symbol the lightsaber is, of not only the Order and the Lightside but also of the luminous being each of us is. Thus this scroll of instructions, intended not only for the making of the lightsaber of the waking world but the lightsaber of the Jedi's mind."

Freyja nods thoughtfully, then lets herself slide into the no-thought of meditation, so the Force can better guide her through assembling her new lightsaber. Memories slip through her mind, and time ceases to exist, either in the Now or as a concept of Past or Future. She just Is... as the lightsaber also will be/is/was. Sparkling brightly through her mind... glittering golden jewelry, fiery dancing flames, shining beams of lazy golden sunlight... even the slow, rich flow of blood in the hunt -- all are symbols of life and creation in the ancient religion her people used to follow; which in fact some still do.

Freyja remembers campfires on breezy fall nights, bright and hot and dancing with wild ecstasy. Fire had never held any terrors for her as a child. Hai, it could burn, it could harm... but the wise person recognized that and used it wisely -- for good, not ill. To her the fiery golden flames had always been a warm friend, not something to fear. Just so did she see the Hunt -- as a way to help those of her people who needed to eat and survive. The wise hunter never forgot that, just as they never forgot the tables could always turn in a flash -- and the foolish or arrogant hunter would find themselves the prey.

There are other memories now and then. Not startling to sense them; they are much as Freyja's. One almost jars her from her meditation, but she maintains the trance... because though the campfires, the veldt, the cool night breeze is well familiar to her, Balmorra does not have four moons that rise high in the sky like massive jeweled spheres of light.

Freyja smiles internally, fascinated, memories shift like sunlight through flickering leaves. She recalls the gauzy, brilliant gold-and-black winged butterflies dancing about the sunlit summer flowers called Freya's Tears on Balmorra -- beautiful, golden-petaled, sweet-scented blooms. She'd always liked both them, and the delicate creatures that symbiotically fed on them. Both benefited; neither were harmed by the relationship -- it was a goal worth pursuing, she'd always thought.

Golden dancers, light and airy as the warming flames on cool fall nights... like Freyja hopes her lightsaber will be. A bright, eloquent tongue of dancing flame that might sometimes be used to harm, but still remembers with respect the prey who dies only so the hunter may live. A Golden Dancer dedicated not to death, but to laughter and love, life and creation -- to the Light.

Golden flowers, Freyja's Tears, vast fields of them ripple in the warm midday light. High above, not one or four but two glittering emerald moons sail through the aquamarine sky. One of those moons glitters in a haloed sphere as Coruscant might, despite only a half-moon showing. The field of golden flowers -- now not quite the same as the ones Freyja remembers from her youth -- stretches for as far as the eye can see until the fields reach the feet of titanic mountains so close to the horizon so as to be one with it.

And Freyja sees the Other.

She is Caamasi; a tall, slender being, her visible body covered in a faint golden down. Rings of purplish fur surround her large yellow eyes, with traceries of the same purple hue around the back of her head and shoulders. A Jedi tunic of anachronistic tailoring, loose and light and leaving her legs and arms free, is her sole garb.

And she dances.

She dances, reveling in a love of life that surrounds her like a palpable aura. Her delicate, three-fingered hands drift about her in esoteric patterns as she whirls through the fields of gold flowers. Her dance is at the same time deliberate in her paces, yet also free, wild, unfettered by any set tempo. Pollen from the flowers erupts upward in great clouds of dusty golden light, as if in celebration of creation, of life, of the every-continuing cycle of the universe and of the Force itself. Yes, sometimes things must be culled. Yes, the preservation of some things and the allowing of other things to wither and fade is necessary. But creation will always be needed, will always be the metaphorical start of the endless cycle.

She whirls, laughing within the wind-carried seed of new life, and slowly the field comes fully into view. The clouds of pollen, rising from a land devastated by blight not a week before, are also whirling with her, joining in the Vedic dance of creation and life, the patterns of her dancing steps clear to any with eyes of Light to see, repeated in the golden flowers giving of themselves to create new life. This, then, is Kourakani. Here are my memnii, Child of Light, future wielder of the Golden Dancer. Within will you find what was once part of me, and which I now give freely to you.

It is the dancing Caamasi's thought, and as Freyja emerges from her meditation she sees that within her hands is not only Kourakani but also, within the faintly-glowing amber crystal in the hilt of the lightsaber and thus within the Three-Dawn sword itself, the memories, the memnii of that laughing, dancing Jedi from thousands of years before.

Freyja just sits for a moment with the saber grip in her hands, luxuriating in the warm glow of achievement and sharing. Then she smiles, remembering her promise to her Soulguard -- she'll try to make him a small, better lightsaber too. She brings all the pieces together before her once again, laying them out neatly -- almost reverently -- before her. Crystal, casing, power cell, all the rest... and some lovely, smoothed pieces of wood with warmly swirling grain patterns for the handle itself.

Freyja's quietly happy -- it'll bring her a great deal of joy to give something of worth and beauty to Vakkal. She cares deeply for him, for her Master, and for Zero. It's rare she can adequately express that to them all, and she welcomes the chance to do so. A moment of reveling in the beauty of the moment... and then she slides into meditation with the easy familiarity of a dancer sliding into the Light of performance.

Freyja accomplishes the building of the second lightsaber readily. Though she does not treat it as an afterthought, its creation doesn't seem to have nearly the metaphysical impact assembling the components to the Three-Dawn saber had. Nevertheless it is competently and neatly assembled, and it is certainly an unusual design with its wooden grip. By the time Freyja finishes, the sun is touching the horizon and evening is starting. She realizes she's rather hungry and thirsty besides.

Freyja sighs happily, running a satisfied hand down both handles. She's very pleased, even if tired. She listens a bit, wondering if anyone else is still around in the other rooms. She sure wouldn't mind some company. She brightens with pleasure at her next thought -- she hopes Vakkal likes his new lightsaber! Then she steps quietly to peek out the door. Mmm... company, contact, food, drink... all sound good to her.

Vakkal is sitting in a chair in the common room. Zero is apparently still working on his saber, not surprisingly -- he had two to build already as it was. Master Roakkana is apparently sleeping in another room, judging by the deep, faint snores coming from a barely-opened door on the other side of the common room. Freyja grins shyly at Vakkal, holding the new saber blade behind her back. She steps silently over to curl up next to him and whisper quietly, "Heiyo! Got a moment?" She's bright-eyed with excitement, grinning happily at him.

Vakkal looks up from the datapad he's been perusing, blinking in surprise. "Certainly," he says, tilting his head to the side. "What is on your mind?"

Freyja beams, then takes one of his hands in her own, turning it palm-up in her lap. She grins again, pausing a moment to enjoy his faint puzzlement... then lays the small, new lightsaber handle in his palm. "For you." She adds with shy happiness, "I hope you like it...?"

Vakkal gives a bit of a start as she puts the saber in his hand. He seems thunderstruck as he turns the wooden-gripped saber over in his hands. "Oh, my," he murmurs. "It's... wonderful, Freyja... I..." He shakes himself a bit, then sits up somewhat straighter. Turning to face Freyja while still kneeling on the chair, he bows deeply to her. "Thank you, my liege!" he murmurs formally, still sounding stunned, yet also extremely pleased.

Freyja practically glows with happiness as she leans to enthusiastically hug him back! A moment later she sits back and cheerfully starts pointing out the things she added for him -- the wood should withstand his claws if necessary, without damaging them like metal might, and she has some strong leather binding he can weave on later as he prefers, so the handle won't get slippery if his palms are ever damp, and it's small so he can conceal it easily, and... and she's so glad he like it!

Vakkal is perfectly happy with the wooden grips; while his claws are retractable, his palms do not sweat, and so the attractive wood handle will do very nicely. "Should I be carrying it concealed or such?" he asks. "It's too nice-looking to not wear visible, but I am given to understand that really only Jedi carry lightsabers..."

Freyja grins happily, "You decide, Vakkal! I made it so you can do either, as you prefer... either way, I'll gladly back your decision."

In his room, Zero sits cross-legged, the disassembled lightsaber spread on the floor before him like an elaborate puzzle. After the intense mental effort of aligning himself with the crystals, the simple, quiet exercise of assembly seems like a respite. The work goes relatively quickly and smoothly; he loses himself in the long sequence of simple actions. The crystal housing rests within the emitter matrix... limiter ring fits over the emitter matrix... it's not terribly difficult, even though the technology is far beyond anything he's ever been able to work with. The principles, at least in theory, have started to make sense after a month's worth of meditation.

As he works, all the while he finds himself glancing absently at the matrix of azure crystal shot through the waiting casing of his lightsaber... imagining the information there, the memory... latent, waiting... the crystal winks faintly in the dim light. The Silver Guardian, Zero thinks, waiting there.

As Zero looses himself in the assembly, the tracery of the azure crystal lattice within the casing glitters in the light. For a brief moment he is not on Commenor. Or rather he is still on Commenor -- it is the Other who is not.

Spread out before the Other are similar components -- perhaps of what to Zero would be antiquated makes and models, but the same nonetheless. Matrix, emitter, power cell... all are being assembled. The casings, though, are identical -- indeed, they are the same ones as are before Zero now.

The room is in shadows. There is a sense of urgency to the Other whose face Zero cannot see. The lithe, slender fingers that touch the components, gently and quickly assembling the Awatea lightsaber, are near-Human but clearly not themselves Human, not with the rippling indigo scaling. There is a faint sound, shouting or yelling, in the distance; the Other pauses, then resumes their steady work with quickened pace.

The Other's movements match Zero's; or do Zero's match those of the Other? It is hard to tell in this moment of no-time that stretches for so long. The sense of urgency becomes a little more acute; they will be here soon, whomever they are, and when they arrive they must find a Jedi with a lightsaber awaiting them.

Zero/the Other place the last component in the casing, and the casing is sealed. The quies-ovo cell in the hilt flickers, then glows to life as the Other stands. There is the sound of hurried conversation outside, then the door is flung open quickly by figures wreathed in shadows -- and Kawatuara flares to life. Twin plumes of aquamarine light cast aside the shadows, revealing the faces of the interlopers transfixed in masks of what borders on awe. The Other whirls the double-bladed lightsaber above its head, and brings the weapon down to a ready position. The tableau holds for what seems like an hour...

And then Zero has in his hands Kawatuara, the Silver Defender, complete and whole, warm in his hands.

Zero stands up slowly and smiles. "A man after my own heart." He turns the saber over and over in his hands. "I think I like you. A ghost to keep a ghost company. We'll get on well together." He stretches a bit, then bends down to pick up the other lightsaber from the table. "There's one last thing we need to do." Kawatuara is silent now, and makes no sort of reply, implied or explicit. It is, however, warm in Zero's hands.

Zero walks out slowly into the main room of the suite. He holds the assembled Kawatuara in his right hand, and in his left the long-handled saber Roakkana lent him all those days ago on Marnaas. He calls out softly in the still air that all hostels have in the evening hours, "Master?"

From one of the side-rooms whose door is a little ajar comes distinctive Wookie snoring. Freyja looks up from where she's sitting next to Vakkal, happily pointing things out on a new lightsaber handle to him. The big canid Sith still has a slightly stunned, pleased expression on his face for a moment as he looks up also. Freyja brightens, noticing the handle in Zero's hands, "You're done too, excellent!" Then she notices the other lightsaber handle, "Oh! Hai, I should return mine too, shouldn't I?" She bounces lightly to her feet, pattering swiftly into her room and returning a moment later with the borrowed lightsaber she'd originally used.

Zero says, "I guess the Master's sleeping. I was hoping he'd still be awake..."

Freyja grins at Zero, "Knowing Master Roakkana, he'll be awake in a moment." Wryly she notes, "I don't know how he does it, but he always seems to be awake when I need him!" She pauses... then grins sheepishly and adds, "Maybe it was me staring intently at him, when I was a kid, hoping he'd wake up soon..."

Zero mms softly. "Well, they're more active at night, Wookies. Can't say I blame them really. I'd be up nights too if I shared an ecosystem with a katarn."

Almost as if on cue the snoring stops, and a moment later a large Wookie head slips out of the doorway. "Indeed, Zero," he says wryly. "Which is why most Wookie poetry and songs focus on the moon and stars, rather than the sun. At least when it talks about the sky at all. Good evening to you all. Ahhh... I see you have assembled your lightsabers..."

Freyja giggles behind one hand. Zero says, "Yes, Master. Actually, that's what I was hoping to speak with you about."

Freyja grins, almost swaying in place with barely-suppressed energy and enthusiasm, "Hai, Master!" She holds up the handle, the golden traceries glittering, "Look, Kourakani -- and some of the previous wielder's memories were there too!"

Roakkana blinks a bit. "Indeed, Zero? Well, certainly. What is on your mind?" He blinks again, and looks to Freyja. "Really? Fascinating... is it indeed a holocron, then?"

Freyja says, "Umm... I don't think so, Master. I think she was just sharing a beautiful and significant moment... although I could be wrong?" She runs a hand lightly over the gently glowing amber crystal pommel of the handle, a faint smile tilting up the corners of her lips as she remembers that transcendent moment of joy. She hopes someday she can do wondrous things like that too.

Roakkana nods, "Hmm, interesting. I wonder if it holds some of the wielders' memnii..."

Freyja nods happily, "That's the word, hai!" She adds curiously, "Did you get some too, Zero?"

Zero says, "Actually, just one... something the last wielder was doing when he was assembling Kawatuara."

Roakkana blinks. "Interesting. That is a Caamasi word, relating to shared memories... eh? What was it that he was doing?"

Freyja grins happily, "That's so lovely -- I got a single special moment too! She'd healed the land of blight, and was dancing the flowers back."

Zero says, "He was building the weapon... apparently under duress. He finished just in time to meet some assailants -- who didn't seem pleased to see Kawatuara."

Freyja grins quietly. "Intruders are rarely pleased at finding guardians there and ready. Good for him."

Roakkana smiles to Freyja. "That may help in finding out who she was, then. It seems a wonderful memory." Then the Wookie frowns in thought at Zero's words. "Interesting. From what I discovered, one of the original wielders of the Awatea sabers was indeed sometimes considered a Greysider. I wonder what that situation was all about...?"

Zero says, "What was he, do you know? He looked like... well... he looked a bit like a dragon. Do you know of any species with blue scales?"

Freyja blinks, then murmurs, "Sounds pretty..." She looks inquiringly at Vakkal, in case he knows -- she doesn't.

Vakkal blinks and shakes his head, not knowing. Roakkana frowns slightly. "It... sounds almost like he -- or she, they were not clearly sexually dimorphic -- was a Heln. There have been no Heln for two thousand years, however. Their world suffered a catastrophe which destroyed it, and there were only a few thousand Heln off-world at the time, scattered throughout the galaxy."

Zero hrmns. "Well. Perhaps this was one of the lucky few."

Freyja blinks again, considering that. Poor people... how horrible to lose one's home... then says, "Aren't the sabers older than that?"

"He may not have been. Lightsabers came into use, I believe, about a thousand years after the Heresy Wars, which were ten thousand years ago."

Zero says, "I suppose I'm fortunate that at least his... her... weapon survived." Freyja nods thoughtfully, fascinated.

Roakkana nods. "All I was able to find out was that they had been hidden. I wonder where the Orphics got them, if they weren't entrusted to them from the start."

"Well..." Freyja grins, "-they'd certainly be able to retrieve them easily, if they weren't initially entrusted with them!"

Zero says, "Actually, master, there is one other thing that I needed to speak with you about... I imagine Freyja does as well."

Roakkana nods to Freyja, "True, more than likely..." then arches a brow at Zero. "Yes, of course, Zero. What is it?"

Zero frowns a little. "I found this mentioned in a data file related to saber construction in my research. I don't know if it's still done by the Jedi, or if now is the time or place, but... it seems like the time to me. Assuming that I say this correctly..." He begins, "You have entrusted me with a part of yourself, my Master, trusting in me to use it as a tool for learning and defense. In the time since then I have learned a great deal, and I can defend myself now." He holds out his left hand, holding the borrowed lightsaber, "I return this to you, Master, with my thanks and my loyalty, always."

Roakkana blinks a bit, then smiles quietly, reaching out and gently lifting the lightsaber from Zero with his right hand. "A traditional phrase; one not often found in these times. You are welcome, Zero, and may the weapon you have made protect you and your charges well."

Zero nods and carefully tucks the long handle of his weapon into his sash, before stepping back and bowing deeply. "I owe you a great deal, my Master. I would still be in the Senator's employ... as would my fellows. And who knows what would have become of my home. All that we are, we owe to you, Master."

Freyja smiles and nods in firm agreement, waiting until Zero is done to step forward and also offer the borrowed lightsaber handle (resting across her palms) ceremoniously back to the Wookie. After that, of course, she can't resist standing on tiptoes and throwing her arms around his furry neck in a hug, whispering, "Thank you, Master -- we'll do our best to make you proud!"

Roakkana smiles and embraces Freyja in return, laughing quietly. "Of that I have no doubt at all, child, no doubt whatsoever." Freyja grins, her eyes alight with happiness. Roakkana replies to Zero, "The same debt I may owe to you two. The master learns as much from the training of his Padawans as the Padawans learn from him. I have learned much from working with and training you both. I am glad you are on a path that takes you away from your past, Zero; a path that will challenge you and expand your horizons yet at the same time be a positive, growing direction for your energies and abilities."

Zero nods. "There's no shame in being a fighter, I know now. It's having something to fight for that is really important." He grins a bit. "So. Enough ceremony. Why don't we have a drink?"

Roakkana smiles. "Indeed. Actually, some dinner sounds good as well. You have both been working all day on your sabers; I imagine you're all famished.

Freyja nods enthusiastically, "Ravenous!"

Zero blinks a little, as if he hadn't realized he's been straining his eyes. "Actually, yes."

Roakkana grins. "Excellent. Perhaps tomorrow, then, we shall go and visit Jedi Kuuna." With that he ushers the three out of the room and into Murno Down.


Murno Down -- at least, the parts that cater to the transient clientele and the more monied inhabitants -- is a pleasant enough place at night, though there is always some hustle and bustle. With the Galaxy's multitudinous races, more than a few are nocturnal, and others simply don't follow a familiar diurnal cycle. This leaves many to comfortably work at night when other races are naturally tired. The districts closest to the monastery seem to be modest, but friendly and well familiar with the near-bizarre variety of Jedi who pass through.

On the way there, however, the four pass by a commons which has a large, milling crowd, many carrying banners or placards, buzzing discontentedly. Atop a landspeeder stands a Human woman holding a stylus-sized comlink, her voice amplified by an address-box set atop the 'speeder. "The government has always been in the pockets of the industrialists! It is to the tune of the capitalists that the Senators dance! How long has this war dragged on, and how much have the Republic's industrialists and trade federations and combines and all the rest -- how much have they profited from the blood of our soldiers...?"

Freyja frowns, muttering under her breath as they walk by, "Don't lump reputable capitalists in with greedy gullinbursts, woman!" She sighs, turning to follow her friends.

Quite some distance from the apparent rally a comfortable, if slightly aged, establishment is found. Its seating seems barely able to fit Roakkana and Vakkal but, surprisingly, does so quite comfortably. The menu has plain yet well-spiced fare, and seems to be favored by some of the more reputable, if not as well-off spacers.

Zero makes a muted spitting noise. "Profit," he murmurs, "Right. Let's see if the Empire will let her voice her concerns that loudly..."

Freyja grins ruefully at Zero... then looks curiously and inquiringly at Vakkal, "Can they?"

Vakkal purses his lips. "It's... debatable. It depends on what Lord would rule her system or sector."

Freyja nods as she settles in a chair, "About what I expected." She eagerly orders something she recognizes as being tasty and not flamingly spicy. She's quite hungry, now that she's thinking about the Now again. Once that's done she grins happily at Vakkal, then adds to Master Roakkana, "Oh, I finished the lightsaber for Vakkal too, Master! It looks nice, I think."

Roakkana makes a quiet sound as he sinks into his chair, the proprietor enthused to be having customers. The menu has a variety of fare typical across the Republic, from nerf fillets to sliders. "Over-generalizing she may be, but behind every rally or protest there is a legitimate concern. Ah, indeed, child? Good! I hope that it stands him in good stead!"

Freyja is almost glowing with pleasure again as she replies, "Me too!" She sips her hot tea, considering, then says thoughtfully, "Well, it's a legitimate question, Master... how do you convince your people to put up with deprivation now, in order to gain in the long term? A lot of folks can't even imagine doing so, I know, odd though it sounds."

Roakkana nods, "It's a hard thing, and the Republic, I suspect, has been able to get by for this long without that situation rearing its ugly head. No matter how desperate local situations were, the Republic was always out there, ready to help if things got too bad. But now the Republic can't just step in, not with the war going on. In some cases people may be indignant the Republic can't help as it once could, which is an unfortunate supposition. In other cases, however, this may be bringing to light some leaders' excesses. Indeed, in a time when everyone is asked to give more than they have, and when some in very high positions seem to not only be doing well, but are actually profiting from the situation, it brings concerns to those who, like much of Commenor's population, are unemployed and living on a dole."

Freyja says firmly, "That is a sign of bad leaders, Master -- not that you should toss out all leadership in frustration!" She pauses, then adds a bit sheepishly, "Er... sorry, that's just a bit of a button for me. My family's worked very hard indeed to be good for their people. I hate it when they get lumped in with the unethical."

Roakkana nods. "Oh, perfectly understandable, Freyja. We only heard a few minutes of the young lady's diatribe, however. We have seen but only a small segment of what is angering her and the crowd. Though I confess this is the first such diatribe I have ever heard regarding the Republic's industrialists and the war."

Freyja pauses... then flushes slightly with embarrassment, "Ah... true, I did rather leap to a conclusion there, sorry." She falls silent, assiduously sipping her tea until the blush fades.

A short while later the landspeeder the woman was atop earlier, haranguing the crowd, trundles by. The woman and a Human male sit in the landspeeder talking animatedly; the woman looks frustrated, the man just looks tired. The two Padawans hear the conversation remarkably clearly -- a chance wind seems to be blowing in the direction of the open-air restaurant, and the landspeeder stops for a bit to allow a repulsor-lift truck to glide across the intersection. The woman is complaining, "-but they don't see it! They don't know! And, stang, we can't tell them..."

The man nods, lying back wearily in the seat. "Not without tipping off that Rodian nerfherder."

"But that's besides the point -- it shouldn't matter-!"

"But it does. If he hears from his best friends in the Commenor Free Trade Organization that some rabble-rousers are linking his name to the fund sloshing..."

"I know, I know, we'll get a visit from Quiet or one of Aaron's thugs. Stanging cat's-paws..." By now the landspeeder has started to move again, and is quickly through the streets, soon turning a corner and out of view.

Freyja looks up alertly at the conversation, suddenly interested... and notices also a pair of speeder bikes pacing the landspeeder -- one in front, one behind. The riders seem wary, looking around like bodyguards. She glances quickly at the Wookie, "Did you hear that, Master?" She adds almost without pause, "Can I call them over please? I think mother'd be real interested...?" She's already starting to rise from her chair as she glances back towards the landspeeder... then whispers in annoyance, "Wolf-feathers! Gone already..." She settles slowly back down, thinking hard, and murmurs absently and quietly to her fellow Padawan, "Quite the rep you've got there, Zero..." as she thinks. How to find out who the woman was...

Roakkana blinks. "Mmph?" he asks, munching on... something green and leafy. "Uhmph, I'm sorry, child. What did I hear? I mean, what is it that I may have... uhm... well, no, I did not hear it?"

Freyja grins in spite of herself, then quietly relates the bit of conversation she overheard. She also notes the information down in her datapad, so she can send it on to her mother. It's quite possible her family's people have informants who can easily nose this information out -- once they know to look for it.

Zero murmurs, "There was a time when I'd have smiled at that." He pauses, then thinks about it... and does smile. "On second thought, it is nice to be respected in one's field." He laughs softly. "Good thing I never left a live witness... they'd be running for their lives, if they're that afraid of me."

Freyja snorts amusedly at Zero, "Showoff. Anyway... I should add that in to the report to Mother, along with the request that she donate some of my allowance to the Order, so we can try getting a larger ship."

Zero says, "No, showing off is what Uri does. Fortunately for them and for Uri and I, none of the Four work for the Senator anymore. And I can guarantee you won't find professionals of our ability anywhere around here, not for cheap. They stand a better chance if it's just Deno's thugs and leg breakers."

Freyja sighs quietly and shrugs, "Whatever, Zero."

Roakkana nods, "That should be possible here on Commenor, child. There are a number of ship brokers here."

Freyja nods to the Wookie, "Well... something the Order's willing to let us requisition seems best, from what Zero was saying earlier?"

Zero frowns, looking up the street after the truck. "Hey, did you recognize one of those women in the truck?"

Freyja glances at Zero, "There was only one. The other was a man, hai?"

Roakkana nods, "I sent a message to the Purser's Office at the Temple, and they're willing to arrange for the financing.

Zero says, "I could swear I recognized them... where've I... oh!"

Freyja says, "Both Human, as I recall." She looks back at the Wookie, then brightens, "Really? Oh, excellent! Now all we need to do is make a list of what we need."

Zero says, "I remember now; the Senate offices. That looked like... liaisons from the Sector Cabinet."

Freyja blinks at Zero... then says flatly, "They're fools, then. That, or they want to lose their jobs. They should be leaking the information, not blasting it out at a crowd!" She is not above noting that into her datapad also, however.

Zero says, "What in the heavens could they be thinking?"

Freyja murmurs dryly, "That they're doing the 'right' thing, of course."

Zero says, "Gods below. No wonder they're politicians."

Freyja laughs! -then shakes her head and goes back to her tea. A moment later she delightedly accepts the plate of food slid in front of her. After a quick, "Thanks!" she digs in hungrily.

Zero hrmns. "I have to admit to being curious. I'd love to see the Senator get a little of what he's given. Ah well, there's always time for that... he's the least of our worries right now."

Freyja murmurs muffledly through the noodles she's slurping up, "On'ee if 'ee if'n't vee cau'f of 'em!"

Zero says, "Again in Basic, Freyja?"

Freyja chews, then swallows hastily and grins, "Er, sorry. I said only if he's not the cause of them! I mean, what if he's the one selling the war droids? He already knows how to smuggle things on and off Balmorra, after all."

Zero says, "Well, if that's the case then he gets moved up on the list. That's more than fine with me. It'd be the end of two headaches at once."

Freyja adds dryly, "If he's as cred-hungry as he's seemed so far, that'd be par for the course for him. Personal greed first -- the Republic second. And I'm sure the Empire would love someone buy-able like him. I'm pretty sure the Republic would too, if the situation was reversed, after all." She frowns, adding thoughtfully, "That'd incriminate the Jedi Balin Khoud." She pauses, then adds slowly, "I hope I'm wrong..."

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