Who: Xiaan
When: Four days after the execution of Order 66
Where: Saleucami
What: Xiaan makes assessments

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Researcher seeking assistant to accompany him on field trips.

Suitable candidate must:

1) Possess a high degree of competence with computers and in computing generally
2) Be willing to work with simians
3) Have integrity and other desirable character traits
4) Speak at least three languages other than Basic: preferably including Huttese
5) Be handy with at least one ranged weapon

As a researcher, I cannot promise a large pay-packet, but the pursuit of knowledge is itself a reward. Idiots and mouthbreathers need not apply.

Who: Serra

When: Five days after the fall of the Jedi Temple

Where: Still stuck in a crevice

What: Serra gets out

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Who: Aurora Amatruse
When: two days after fall of the Order
Where: Dantooine
What: Trying to contact Nasea Erihu

Aurora threw the datapad onto the grass next to her.  With a sigh she leaned her head on her knees.  She was utterly disgusted with what the Holonet was saying about the Jedi.  She knew it was all lies, but it still made her upset.  They had been betrayed by Palpatine.  It was obvious now that he had been the Sith Lord they had been looking for, just hidding right under their noses.  How could they not have sensed it?

She took a few deep breaths to clam herself, then grabbed the datapad and went back inside the ship.  She had decided it was time to try and contact her former Padawan.

She hit a button on the contol panel to record a message.

"Nasea, I hope this find you unharmed by recent events.  I am safe, for now, on my shuttle.  Whereever you are, please be cautious and mind what I taught you.  Our enemies could be anywhere.  May the Force be with you my former Padawan."

She encrypted the message with a code she had taught Nasea and sent the message to the young Jedi's comlink.  

That done, Aurora slumped into one of the leather command chairs.  Her stomach let out a growl.  She'd been eating the emergency rations in the shuttles emergency kit, but they weren't enough.  And even with extra rationing they wouldn't last.  "Well," she said to herself.  "It's time to go hunting."

Who: Xiaan
When: The evening of the third day after the execution of Order 66
Where: Saleucami
What: Xiaan makes a grim discovery

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Who? Brodie and Neela
When? Early morning
Where? Aldera, Capital of Alderaan, near the University.
What? Brodie and Neela try to get to Bashka before the idea of rebelling against the new Emperor does.

Who Xiaan + ?
When Two days after the execution of Order 66
Where Saleucami
What Xiaan is on the run

( Read more... )

Who Serra
When Three days after the Fall of the Jedi Temple
Where The Jedi Temple
What Serra continues to Force-heal her broken body

( Read more... )

Ferus woke with a start, sleep deserting him as quickly as womp-rats desert a depleted waste-disposal unit. He sat up slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose and ruefully rubbing the bump that had unaccountably formed on his forehead - wait, no, not unaccountably.

He sat on the floor for a while, taking stock of his surroundings. Workbench, hydrospanners of various sizes, some worn-looking datapads, lots of wire bits under the benches, dropped screws and bits of plating...

It all came back to him very quickly. That had been one hell of a party, thought Ferus to himself as he pulled himself to his feet with the aid of a convenient piece of furniture. Professor H! Who would have thought the old Mon-Cal would actually down an entire glass of brandy in one go? Mon-Cals were typically plodding, thoughtful types who shrank from loud parties, but last night - was it last night? Or the night before? - had been quite the exception. A full-length paper, in the 'Editor's Picks' section of Galaxy Scientific!

Ferus exulted inwardly. Of course the Prof had every right to indulge himself, even if said indulgence had been a trifle... uncharacteristic. After all, it wasn't every day that one made the front page of a highly esteemed, learned journal. To have been selected for publication in the Galaxy Scientific: that alone, Ferus thought, constituted the crowning achievement of the Prof's academic career.

His thoughts were interrupted by the incessant beeping of his communicator. Ferus answered it with a lazy, almost casual air as he ascended the stairs leading to the warren of back-rooms that made up the experimental laboratory area of the Royal Alderaan University's famous Institute of Advanced Mechatronics And Inter-Disciplinary Robotics, commonly abbreviated to a cheeky 'IAMIDIOT' by the student population.

"Olin."

"Frack! You frackin' bastard - you had me worried!"

"Roan?"

"Bloody well is, mate. Where the kriff have you been?"

"Uni. Well, in the labs, really -"

"Oh, screw you and your kriffing monkey project, mate - you could at least have called and saved me the frackin' grey hairs -"

"What in the name of goodness are you talking about?" Ferus rested his aching head against the coolness of the ceramic walls. Roan was a good chap, but he could be a bloody pain in the nethers when he chose to. "Listen, Roan old chap - I was at Prof H's celebration last night, at least I think it was last night - oh? My goodness, has it been - oh, no wonder - yes, well, I'm sorry, Roan - I really didn't mean to cause you alarm - what?"

The temperature around him seemed to have dropped by at least ten degrees. Shock and horror waged a fearful battle within Ferus, and the semi-hungover man struggled to make sense of what his friend was saying. Coruscant fallen? New world order? Political machinations underlying - what? Unbelievable, simply unbelievable - hell of a smear campaign like you wouldn't believe, the Jedi - what about the Jedi? Something about extermination, genocide -

With a supreme effort, Ferus forced a multitude of clamouring thoughts into line, and barked something unintelligible into the communicator, before legging it out of the hot-labs as fast as he could.

Ven-Solis placed a hand against the rough grain of the large box which served as her hiding place. The crate bucked and bumped around her, jerking her from side to side as it was lifted out of the cargo hold and placed on a cargo skiff. The dock-hands piled more boxes and crates onto the skiff, shoving the odd-shaped cargo into more secure positions atop the large box bearing the legend, 'GARDENS OF CORELLIA - FORTINA & SONS'.

The skiff moved off, hesitantly at first, and then picked up speed as it gained momentum. It whizzed away on a pre-programmed route towards the warehouses, where other workers - both organic and droid - relived it of its burdens.

Fortina's shipment was assigned to the coldest portion of the large warehouse. "Them's veggies in there, them is," Ven-Solis had heard the warehouse foreman say. "Bung it where it's coldest! That'll keep them veggies from turnin' into mush over-soon!" She felt herself - the box - jerk upwards again. For what seemed like an interminably long period of time, the box gently swayed to and fro: Ven-Solis shut her eyes and tried to meditate. In all probability they were taking the box to the aforementioned 'coldest spot' in the warehouse, and warehouses could get pretty darned large.

She only hoped that Customs wouldn't decide to conduct a random inspection of imported vegetable material today.

Eventually, the box came to rest on what felt like a solid, even surface, with only the slightest bump. Ven-Solis concentrated on lowering her breathing rate, so as to conserve oxygen. She'd checked the meter on her air supply an hour ago, and her oxygen was starting to run out. Three, maybe four hours more - and then there would be nothing left.

As her breathing slowed, Ven-Solis found herself wondering about the world that she had landed on. Would she know it? Was it some place she had been before? More out of the sheer force of habit than anything else, she slipped easily into the flow of the Force, feeling its ebb around her.

Strange. Wherever she was now, was... different. Very, very different. The Force felt more... alive, somehow - more tangible, more immediate. It even seemed to have - yes, if she concentrated sufficiently, it seemed to take on a hue of its own - but that was just weird, the Force was pure energy - it was invisible - why would it have any colour at all?

But that was precisely the way it felt. Vivid. Vibrant. Colourful. Like a myriad of brush strokes in a brilliant assortment of colours: some bright, some pale, others shining, some rather bland and nondescript, others a darker and more royal hue... like a moving, breathing painting.

A painting.

It rather reminded Ven-Solis of an abstract masterpiece she had seen in the Senate Gallery several years ago. She had stared at it, fascinated - she had never seen anything like it before, and even after she had returned to the Temple, the image of it stayed with her. How could a being paint something so bizarrely variegated, and yet so coherent in its complexity? She'd thought then that the painting was a perfect metaphor for the Force: inexplicable, complex, unpredictable - but always a coherent, sensible whole.

Then the pieces clicked in Ven-Solis' mind. This place - wherever it was - was brimming with the Force.

Her heart jumped in her chest as she pondered the possibilities.

Who Neha + ?
When Immediately after the fall of the Jedi Temple
Where the cockpit of Parjai, somewhere in the Mid-Rim
What Neha learns of the fall of the Jedi Temple and the disbandment of the Jedi Order

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Who? Nasea
When? Sunsset
Where? Outside of Mos Eisley
What? Nasea mourns her fallen comrades alone.

Ferus blinked once, twice and squinted: he could see, but everything looked fuzzy. The scene before him greatly resembled a pastiche of large, badly-rendered computer graphics, projected at a resolution far below the optimal range.

He struggled to sit up, but abandoned the effort when he bumped his head on a hard surface just above. Funny, that. Why didn't he spot it earlier...? How very stupid. The ache on his forehead seemed to be spreading, too: now his temples were throbbing, and his ears felt as though they might burst.

Ferus sniffed loudly in an effort to clear his sinuses, and immediately regretted it. The sticky, sweet scent of dessert wine assaulted his nostrils and went straight to his gut: a wave of nausea washed over him.

What time was it? It had to be sometime past midnight - Professor H. had stumbled out around half past eleven, well sozzled... and then the port ran out about an hour later - or was that the brandy? Ferus wasn't so sure. His head felt awfully heavy...

He lapsed back into unconsciousness just as the latest HoloNews began to play...

( Whosa are yousa? )

( Who would do this? )