A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

PROLOGUE...

Huge swaths of indigo radiance sweep across the prow of the limping Jedi starship; with a blue-white flicker, the energy shields fluctuate and fail. Explosions blossom bright along the hull as equally crippled Sith cruisers fire upon her and countless other Jedi craft fleeing the burning planet Ossus.

"Captain!" cries a disheveled and bleeding crewman. "The radiation waves from the Cron Cluster have disabled our shields! We're losing control of the ship. We need to do something or we'll all die!"

Captain Din Millster, steely grey hair slightly askew, scorch marks on his uniform where his left arm was before the ship's medic amputated it less than 10 minutes prior, stood staring out the bridge's viewports like a sea captain from some faraway world of old. His face was pale from blood loss, but he still struck an imposing figure. "Tell the remaining crew to prepare to abandon ship...for what good it will do them. And get the Jedi into the cryochambers."

He wheels on the crewman. "And if they give you one scrap of protest about fate or any of that religious nonsense, you club them and haul them in there yourself! **** their lack of vision."

Din turns back to the viewports as the crewman flees to do as asked. A Sith vessel exploding to port lights his grim expression as the engines fail and the ship begins to list, falling into Nerit's gravity well. "All the foresight in the Galaxy and they couldn't foresee this." With his one arm, he slides an old ivory smoking pipe into his mouth, presses something dry and leafy into it awkwardly, and lights it with a match. He takes a few puffs and sighs. "**** fools..."

3000 years later...

STAR WARS

"Shadows and Dust"

It is a period of restless peace in the galaxy. The Galactic Empire has been tightening its grip on the galaxy for almost twenty years, especially anything concerning the now-abolished JEDI ORDER.

The final stroke is legislation from the Imperial Senate to cease all archaeological studies on sites significant to the Force. Even privately funded expeditions are threatened by these laws, unless they submit all findings to the SENATE HISTORICAL OVERSIGHT COMMITTEE before performing their own research. Planets like OSSUS are now under special Imperial observation.

The last of the archaeological ships is leaving the moon NERIT en route to Coruscant, where its crew will reveal a series of CRYOGENIC STASIS CHAMBERS recovered from the site of an ancient starship wreck...

"Get those cryochambers stowed away securely! They're the culmination of generations of work, sweat, and blood. And make sure they stay powered! We can't get to Coruscant and have our prize dying."

"Yeah, yeah," mutters portly Corellian deckhand, securing a series of upright, long, boxy cylinders to a bulkhead with heavy straps. He checks a thick cable plugged into the side of one by kicking it with his boot. It rattles in the port, as though it were Jawa-rigged, but the cylinders still hum, cool mist pouring from their surfaces. "Looks good to me," he growls to himself and leaves the cargo hold, shutting the blast door behind him.

The sterile white cargo hold lights flicker off to be replaced by red, low-powered lights. The hum of the cylinders is replaced by a click and silence as the power plug slips from the port on them. A blue light illuminates the interiors of several of the cylinders.

In the same moment, the large craft shudders violently.

Alone in his quarters with the lights dimmed, a Gotal presses record on an exotic commlink and sets to work breaking down and cleaning his twin pistols.

"Everything is going smoothly," he says, inspecting the pieces laid out in front of him and wiping them down with a static-free cloth. "The cargo is in good condition and has been loaded with no interference. I haven't even had to pull."

He starts reassembling the first and sets it aside to focus on the second.

"I'm trusting you'll keep up your end of the deal. I've been away from them for too long."
He locks the Tibanna cartridge into place and pauses the recording, not foolish enough to have the next part transmitted.

"Because if you don't, I'll find you. The galaxy's not big enough to keep me from them and it's definitely not big enough to find somewhere to hide from me if I want to find you."

He looks down the barrel of Morra, the blaster he's named for his daughter and restarts the recording.

"I'll check in again soon."

Satisfied, he sends the recording.

He holds a picture of Morra and Jarra and traces their faces with his finger, aching inside to be with them.

His moment is interrupted by the ship violently shuddering. Tok spits out a curse and in a flash is fully geared up, prepared for the worst. If something has happened to the cargo... No, he can't think that way. But he needs to get there now and make sure everything is fine. Too much is riding on this.

He hits the hallway running, barreling over a crew member and patting his forearm pocket, making sure the security card is still in there.

He swipes the card and the light on the control panel goes from red to green while the door silently slides open.

"No, nononononono," he whispers, seeing one pod open and others coming online.

Except for one.

Numb... so cold and numb. These where the first thoughts that spread through this particular brain for over 3 millennia, not that the individual was aware of that important fact. Thoughts began to form, both familiar and alien in one. Cold, so so cold... but getting warmer? Slowly a sense of presence returned, darkness filled what could be called vision, silence where sound is normally heard. But warmth was definitely spreading throughout this body. Slowly movement came to the chest, rising and falling, then the arms and legs as well.

The beings eyes opened fully, darkness was being replaced with light, dim light, a small blinking red light was to the side of their face. In front a frosted smooth surface, behind a soft squishy bed, dull grey all around.

"Where am I? Who am I!" Came the slow thoughts of a waking being.

These thoughts spread through out the being. There was no recollection of climbing into this same chamber amid screaming klaxons and flashing lights. No knowledge 3000 years had passed. But instinct told him it was time to wake up. The little blinking red light suddenly changed to green, a gentle beep followed, and a button illuminated. Press it said a little voice in his head, so he did. with a soft 'thunk' the glass lid slid back into the containment vessel. A dark ceiling of of steel greeted his slowly adjusting eyes, and the sound of alarms.

"No, nononononono," came the sound of an unfamiliar voice, somewhere nearby.

The being known as Rin sat up, too quickly it seemed, and immediately retched into the bed he had been sleeping in, a pool of goop forming at his feet. Dizziness threatened to tip him over, but he regained control and looked around. He was siting in some kind of box, with 4 more similar boxes in the same row as his. One individual was sitting in the box next to him, with a confused look upon his face, a face Rin somehow knew, but didn't. Standing in what must be a doorway nearby was a horned furry figure, the one who had cried out "No"

With the dizziness subsiding Rin - His name was Rin wasn't it? - climbed up out of the chamber, to immediately slip on a puddle of more goop on the floor. Just barely catching his fall Rin began moving around the room, to those watching he would look disoriented and clearly not fully within himself. Opening a few cupboards instinctively looking for something, yet not finding it. He did spot familiar items though, and in the daze of his awakening took them to actually be his. A pair of Binoculars and a little bundle of medicine, something else that looked like a glow rod. Finally not finding whatever he was instictivly seeking he picked up a small pistol

"Hmm, this doesn't look like a normal pistol, but i guess it will do" the pain of speaking is brutal, his voice almost alien to him, but moving feels good, and talking would get easier

Addressing the guy standing in the door "Hey there, where is this? Who are you? I don't remember anything!"

"No, nonononono".

The sound couldn't possibly have penetrated the cryochamber but Kellen heard it echo in his mind. It formed together in his mind with another yell, this one more of a scream "Noooooooo". That was the last thing he heard, now bookended with his first moment of consciousness in how long?

Kellen opened his creaky eyes. He was in some sort of coffin. No, he'd voluntarily allowed himself to be put to sleep.

He reached out with the Force to sense around him to again find his place in the galaxy and he felt like he was peering out into a dense fog. What's wrong with the Force? No, what's wrong with me?

In a panic Kellen tapped the button on the panel in front of him and pushed hard against the chamber door. Or at least he intended to push hard - a weak thud hit the door. Kellen sat up and slowly pushing the door open. He saw a...Gotal?...staring at him and the others in the room. He recognized Rin and Ren-do.

"Ah, yes." Kellen said to himself, as he began to be able to sort dream from memory. "We were escaping Ossus and the Sith assault." Sadness swept over Kellen. Ossus was surly lost. Kellen threw up over the side of the chamber.

"Pull yourself together! You are a Sentinel of the Jedi Order!" Kellen's told himself. He needed to focus. Why was his connection to the Force so week? Had they been captured by the Sith? But the Gotal was unarmed. And seemed surprised.

Maybe standing up would be a good start. He rubbed his legs and arms and the two horns sticking out of his green head.

He stretched his legs and climbed out of the chamber, trying to subtly feel for his lightsaber on his belt.

"We've both got horns, maybe this won't end too badly?" Kellen tried to silently reassure himself.

"Hello there" Kellen said to the Gotal.

It was cold. As cold as the grave.

The grave. That must be it. thought Garon I'm dead.

He struggled to recall his last memories before dying. That's right. I was on Ossus. The council had kept me there while they figured out what to do with me. Realization flashed in his mind. The Sith had attacked Ossus.

Even in death, he could still feel cold rage festering within him at the thought of the Sith and the atrocities they had committed. Just breath, Garon. His master's advice came unbidden and it was only then that he realized he hadn't been breathing. He gasped for air as if it was his first and last. The air tasted stale and it burned his lungs, but the pain reminded him that he was not dead.

His eyes bolted open. Once they adjusted to the dim light, he realized he was in a chamber of some sort, though he could not remember how he had gotten there. The glassteel window was obscured by thick condensation - a result of the rapid shift in temperature. Clearly he was in some form of stasis chamber - perhaps a device of Sith alchemy. The thought lit a fire within him. But he must be cautious. Reflexively, he reached out with the Force to sense his surroundings. To his surprise, his connection has weakened.

Panic began to consume him. The Sith! They captured me and now they are using the Dark Side to sever my connection to the Force.

From outside of Garon's chamber, those who had already freed themselves from their pods, could see one of the chambers rumble and shake. The glassteel window had clouded over. A large hand had slapped against the window, followed by a second, a third, then finally a fourth. All 4 pressed firmly against the strong view port before they receded into obscurity. After a brief pause, a roar of anger issued from its contents, followed by a heavy fist crashing into the window. The chamber door flew across the room and smashed into the opposite wall.

Emerging from the pod was a large 4-armed humanoid with skin of ocher and brown, thick muscles, a leathery vocal sack, and a sturdy plated crest on his brow. Clearly he was a Besalisk - natives of planet Ojom. He looked around the room, his posture alert, and his eyes wild with suspicion. He made to charge one of the other figures in the room only to pause. His vision was beginning to blur. He was suddenly feeling quite dizzy. After his vision returned, he looked once again at the figures in the room and only then realized that they were not Sith. They were Jedi.

He vaguely recognized one or two of them, though he did not remember knowing them very well.

He groaned "Where are we? What happened?"

After the fourth chamber opens, the seal of the fifth breaks and the door swings open lazily, revealing the dessicated, somewhat preserved remains of a human male, dressed in the loose fitting garb of a Jedi Master. The cryogenic containment on this particular unit must have failed some time in the past, but remained enough to keep the body from completely disintegrating.

Ren-Do's concentration was broken when the large alien in the last lit cryo-tube broke the lid off, smashing it against the far wall. The tall Cerean, out of habit he would think, backs off, putting the dark tube behind himself and the four-armed brute. They are called Besalisks, right? His hand instinctively hovers above his belt, as if he was about to call his lightsaber to his palm with the Force.

Since his connection with the Force is weaker than he ever remembers it being he doesn't have to stop himself from drawing his weapon as he realizes that the massive Besalisk is not about to start a fight. He seems as confused as Ren-Do was, but instead of thinking about his problem logically and finding the button to open the tube he had put his apparently great strength to use and broken the tube's lid clean off. That is an impressive display of both strength and temper.

While he focused on the Besalisk Ren-Do also took the time to consider what he had sensed before the interruption. Through his fear and anguish he had clearly felt something inside the dark cryo-tube. Some sort of manifestation of the Force, but not in a living being. Something that was at the bottom of the cryo-tube, where a being's feet would have been had the chamber not been empty. Not empty, he reminds himself darkly. In all likelihood there was a dead body in there. The tube had probably failed at some point without waking up the person inside. The object he had sensed resonated powerfully of the light side, but there was a faint dark side taint to what he sensed. Was it my fear? Or something about the object?

Ren-Do is just about to address the Besalisk, seeing that the being had managed to calm down a bit, when the dark cryo-tube breaks open. As the Cerean is standing right next to it he is treated to putrid smell and he immediatelly sees the remains of a human male dressed in the manner of a Jedi. The face had distorted with death, but in it's partially preserved form he feels as if he should recognise the man. I should, but I don't, he thinks to himself.

What is wrong with me, why can't I remember anything? Well, that might not be an entirely accurate description. Thinking back with his right brain he remembers being a youngling in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He can bring up several vague memories up until he was around six or seven, but after that the memories become fainter and more blurred. It will come back. It has to come back.

While he thinks back Ren-Do concentrates his other brain on the problem at hand. He looks at the Besalisk. "Be at ease friend. I mean you no harm and it doesn't look like we are in immediate danger. I don't know where we are, nor do I know how long we were in the cryo-tubes. My name is Ren-Do Uvara, I am a Jedi Knight," the Cerean says, trying to muster what dignity he can in this situation. "I guess we were the lucky ones. This one," he says, indicating the tube he's standing next to, "did not make it, and has clearly been dead for some time."

"I don't recognize you," he says to the Besalisk, "nor are any of you others familiar to me." He does not mention that there is something about the Dresselian that seems familiar. Am I supposed to know these people? "If any of you can shed any light on our situation here, now would be the time to speak up. I have no recollection of even getting into a cryo-tube, let alone why such a drastic measure as to use such devices might have been called for. I have no idea what could have caused the complications I'm experiencing, tubes like these usually have a guarantee for up to 250 years of use."

As he concentrates on the beings present he uses the other half of his binary brain to focus on the object he had sensed. He looks at the dead Jedi in the malfunctioning cryo-tube. A Jedi Master? He then looks at the area around the dead's man feet, trying to see what it was he sensed earlier, his fingers groping around roughly where he thinks the object might be. He tries to look casual as he do. No need to alert the beings present. If they were in immediate danger there was no need to show everyone what he'd found.

Xaramis's blade hums as it sings through the air. He is stripped to the waste in his quarters, thrusting and swinging with his blade with clinical skill, dissecting the air in front of him with sharp swings of the razor-sharp blade. It is narrow, a rapier, oiled to a mirror sheen, clear of all impurities, its blade kept sharp and the motor regularly inspected to ensure that the subtle vibration of the weapon never fails in the heat of combat. He grins as he finishes the ancient kata, a sheen of sweat coating the scales of his muscled torso, and sheathes his blade, tossing the scabbard onto his bed.

Throwing on a white undershirt and then his black hide jacket, carefully padded both for protection and to emphasise his physique - self-aggrandisement that most would shun - he turns to a table and his holocomm, which on instinct he idly checks. In the event, Mallira still has not sent him a message. He did not expect the brisa to have done so, but it was for a few moments a nice thought that he might not really have been abandoned on this stars-forsaken expedition for months to no positive end. He eyes a bottle of Raxan Vodok one of the other crew - a rating aboard the expedition ship - had idly left out earlier after being called to deal with a malfunctioning engine. It is cheap and nasty liquor; more likely to kill him than cheer him up, but given the circumstances it would perhaps not be an entirely terrible option.

He considers his options: he has completed his daily exercise, and indeed now needs to give his blade and himself time to cool down after the strenuous activity; he could go and find the pretty little human down in engineering, and see if she was feeling slightly more amenable to letting him get to know her; or he could risk a fight with another member of the crew and submit to the numbing pleasure of Vodok and sleep.

A fourth option is however revealed when he hears a sudden commotion from the ship's hold. Shouting, then a loud crash; threatening perhaps, exciting certainly: definitely more interesting than lounging on his bunk or inspecting the local wildlife. He buckles on his sword belt, and races down to the cargo hold.

The sight that greets him is startling to say the least. The Gotal, Tok, is stood just inside the door - he is a known quantity, they have been working together on this expedition for some months. The other figures, much less so. On the far side of the room a Cerean stands upright. He seems the most solid of the unknown figures, or at least able to comprehend the situation, though the fact that he's holding one of the odd hollow cylinders akin to the ones he found on the dig does fill him with concern - he seems to believe the odd thing is a weapon.

Nearer, a Devaronian and a Dressellian seem just as confounded by their surroundings, and as he takes a moment to inspect the room he sees why - evidently they were until recently the occupants of the nearby cryo-tubes, now spilled out into the cargo hold. This inspection however reveals an altogether more menacing prospect: a hunched, almost feral, bestially powerful Besalisk, the shattered remains of its cryo-tube reflecting its own method of exit.

Instinctively he reaches for his sword, as he does in all such uncertain circumstances, but then he stops. No, not this time, he thinks, and then sets his face to his favourite grin, familiar and friendly to all beings. "Gentlemen, you seem a little lost. Can I help you with anything?"

Kellen stumbled over to the failed cryo chamber. "There is no death, there is only the Force" he intoned respectfully.

"I am also a Jedi Knight, and I do recognize you and the rest of the waking. Though I don't know you very well. I can only answer some of your questions. The Sith attacked us on Ossus and did something to the nebula. We had to flee and our ship was damaged and the captain ordered us into the cryo chambers. It looks like their sacrifice saved us."

"...and they with our fellow Jedi will be avenged," Kellen promised in his own mind.

Hearing Xaramis' voice, Kellen turns towards him.

"Ah, the first hint of civilization." Kellen tried a weak smile. "Perhaps you'd be good enough to tell us how long we've been asleep and where we are? Some food would be nice too..."

This is not supposed to be happening, Tok thinks. How did things get so out of control so quickly?

Looking around the room he sees the cargo coming back to life, shambling around, vomiting, literally busting their way out of the cyro pods. He's frozen where he stands. This severely complicates things. He takes a deep breath and tries to relax while they continue milling about - is that Dresellian going through the cabinets?!? It sounds like they're asking him questions, but, while it's recognizable as some version of galactic basic, it's so broken and bizarre he can barely understand anything they're saying.

OK, calm down, he thinks, the job is still the same: protect the cargo.

He hears footfalls from the hallway and nearly draws down on the Falleen as he comes bursting through the door, stopping his hand just shy of the Jarra's handle.

"Gentlemen, you seem a little lost," Xaramis says. "Can I help you with anything?"

With their attention squarely on the Falleen, Tok darts for the door and flicks his wrist to activate his comlink.

"Captain, what the hell happened to the ship?" he shouts, looking down both sides of the corridor leading to the cargo hold.

Seeing no one approaching, he ducks back into the hold and begins keying in the lock sequence for the doors. Until several things are sorted out, no one is coming into or going out of this room.

A quick search of the base of the dead Jedi's cryochamber does not reveal any objects that would match what he Sensed earlier, but there appears to be a tiny mechanical lock of some sort in the floor of the cryochamber. Perhaps a secondary look will reveal more about this particular cryochamber.

~ ~ ~

"Captain, what the hell happened to the ship?" Tok's voice echoes loudly from the console on the armrest holocommunicator of the captain's chair on the bridge.

Captain Harkle, a bored and tired-looking human man well past the prime of his life, sighed. Curse the Imperial Navy for forcing him to accept commission of one of those clunky Victory-I class star destroyers. Curse them doubly for forcing his early retirement. And, triple curse these bumbling "Adventure is Now!" archaeological types for hiring his ship for this gods-forsaken mission. He had enough trouble trying to get his engineers to figure out why the hyperdrive had failed so spectacularly when it had only been installed brand new three rotations prior, ripping them clear out of hyperspace.

Now, one of the "hired hands" the same intellectual buffoons employed for security was bleating on his communicator at him. He tapped the respond button tersely. "I'll have to insist you wait your turn, young man. We have other issues presently."

The other issue being an unmarked ADZ-class destroyer demanding he halt engines and prepare to be boarded for cargo inspection. Today was not a very good day...

Silver tongue activation check: 1eP+1eA+4eD 1 success, 3 threat


"Asiwa stryi tox plain? You...what?" Xaramis' confusion is palpable, but it fades after a moment of recollection of the many books on ancient languages he studied in the interests of impressing a Cathar xenolinguist back at the Sethetar Academy. He slows down for a moment, letting the sound wash over him and reprocessing it, and understands.

What he understands is enough to cause him to burst into a gale of laughter. "Jedi? Jedi? Haven't you been extinct for the past two decades? Or did you miss the memo? Next you'll be telling me the Empire's built some planet-killing superweapon," he pauses to catch his breath. "What you are, my friend, is a defrosted Wampa kebab with a bad case of hibernation sickness," the laughter holds on for a few moments, until suddenly the higher part of his brain catches up to the lower processes, and he stops sharply, struck with sudden clarity. "But from your dialect, I'd say you've either been spending too much time around a civilisation that decided that that was quite enough development thank you very much about three thousand years ago, or that you really did miss the memo. So what have you been up to?"

He turns to the Devaronian. "If you want civilisation, you're in the wrong spiral arm of the galaxy. I'd recommend Alderaan at this time of year. You can get wine there that's to die for. As it is you're aboard an archaeological survey vessel that dug up your pods and is transporting them back to our research academy - though with you out and the pods broken, I don't think there's much value left in them. How long you were there, you'd have to ask an expert, which I'm certainly not - more a gifted amateur. But food is the one thing I can manage, at least."

Tok is able to positively identify exactly two words from within the cargo bay: Gotal and imprison. Why are they insisting on making this so difficult, he thinks.

He looks over his shoulder to see the long-headed one staring at him expectantly, then goes back to work on the door. With the lock set he turns back around to the Cerean.

"Me. Protect. You." he says pointing to himself and then to assorted beings, trying not to let frustration creep into his voice.

Just then the captain's voice crackles through his comm unit telling him to "wait his turn."

What Tok wants to do is march to the bridge, draw Jarra and Morra, and blast the condescending tone right out of the captain's mouth. What he does is rub the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and exhale slowly, waiting for the next move to present itself.

Xaramis' long speech was nigh unintelligible to Kellen. He could make out snippets and phrases but...surely much of it was jargon and idioms. Did he say something about food? In any case he didn't seem like a threat even with the blade hanging easily at his hip.

Tok's simpler speech made more of an impression on Kellen. Tok wasn't threatening either but he seemed nervous and danger was certainly implied in his promise of protection. Such a one - who would promise protection for strangers in a strange situation - should not stand alone.

"Jedi," Kellen said to Tok pointing at his heavy brown robes. "Help you".

Kellen found a flat surface in the room and stared down at it, his back to the others in the room. A well constructed lightsaber should work for centuries without much maintenance but they had gone through some unusual experiences and they still had no idea how long they'd been out. It could be weeks or even centuries. Better to be safe. Kellen opened up his lightsaber and he felt the loss of the Force again.

Kellen took out his lightsaber off of his belt and held it in his hands. He felt fear again as he was reminded of his loss of connection with the Force: the mystical connection he normally felt with this blade was much weaker than normal. "But it's still there," Kellen reminded himself. "I must take hope where I can find it."

He placed the cylindrical weapon on the small cart and disassembled it, examining the energy source, the emitter, the crystal...the crystal didn't seem right. He'd have to look into it further when he had time but activating a lightsaber with a misaligned crystal was dangerous. "Best to put it in youngling mode," he muttered quietly to himself. He removed the crystal and swapped it with a training emitter he had in his robes. "I had this on hand for training with younglings, I never thought I'd really be using it myself," Kellen kept talking to no one in particular.

"Let's see how much help I can still be," Kellen said as he walked away from the table and to an area where he might be able to move with a bit of freedom. He activated his lightsaber and a light green blade hummed in the air. Kellen made some broad practice strokes in the air. Satisfied the blade would basically work he did a simple Shi-cho kata. He felt weak but his legs didn't fail him so he briefly practiced one of the beginning Shien drills.

Kellen deactivated his lightsaber and nodded to Tok. "Ready. Will help."

With his head still fuzzy Rin got a bit of a shock when all of a sudden the lid of one of the containers shot off across the room and a big burly 6 limbed creature burst out in a fit of rage. The aggression was short lived but still left the Dressellians heart pounding in his chest, his vision went fuzzy again briefly with the sudden rush of blood. Whoah, hold on there buddy, don't need to be sick again. Coming back to his senses Rin heard talking, actually heard it and understood what was being said, well not what was being said so much as just understanding each word.

In amongst it all came a sudden clue, what felt like a vital piece of information

"Jedi vessel fleeing the conflict with the Sith Empire" came from that familiar Cerean,

huh at least i know his species. The words Jedi and Sith felt familiar, Rin had been a Jedi, or at least in training, who was my master, Sith where bad people, destructive.

Suddenly a thought burst out of Rins deepest sub conscious and without thinking he blurted it out "Cerean, you like pie don't you? Lemon meringue pie, with cream... we ate that once, when the bloody hell was that?" Rin trails off, trying hard to remember HOW he know that. "I don't even remember what I like, how do i know your favourite bloody desert? Something went wrong didn't it? We have had a looooong sleep, people don't normally forget things this badly when they go through cryostasis"

Turning to the guy with the guns and the other with a sword "Help us? Protect us? Are those fool Sith here now? Well the most dam help you could be right now is telling us who we are! Second best would be taking us to someone who could tell us. What month did you say it was? Last i remember it was 21057, although I can't remember my own name so who knows what else I have forgotten!"

"A meringue pie?" The Cerean looks incredulous over the outburst from the somewhat familiar Dresselian. "I don't know. I may not have consumed one in a year." He glances at the damaged cryo-tube and the dead body. How long has he been there? Certainly at least a year. Perhaps a decade or more? "Or perhaps more, judging by the look of our former compatriot, lying dead in the tube over there."

"The year is 3651 ATC - and you first went in in 608? Are you sure? Although if you're talking about Jedi and Sith, I'd say you've been I there a fair bit, " he pauses, unsure of how to continue. "Your order have been outlawed for seventeen years now, ever since - according to our glorious Emperor - the order instigated a coup. The new Emperor ordered them destroyed, and since then they've been tightening their grip on Republic space. Indeed, this expedition was one of the last ones permitted before the Empire's new law forbidding archaeological research on old Jedi sites goes through," he considers what to say next. "Now I need to ask you something. How did you get in there? What do you remember?"

Before Ren-Do can answer to Xaramis's outrageous statements and weird calendar dates, a scream of absolute terror rips through the very fabric of the Force and pierces through the minds of all five Force Sensitives in the cargo hold. The scream is heavily tainted by the Dark Side and originates from the point of Force concentration located underneath the dead Jedi master's feet. It continues on and on for several long, terrifying moments threatening to drive the Sensitives mad, when it suddenly ceases. The Force is deathly quiet in their minds at this point...

Meanwhile, a short whistle echoes through the entire ship, preceding an announcement from the captain, distracting Tok from what is sure to be five individuals writhing in agony nearby.

"*ahem* Now hear this, now here this. Attention all crew and passengers of the Aurora Grey, due to an unfortunate incident in the engineering bay, we have dropped out of hyperspace in space some distance between our departure location and our destination. Astrogation is currently down, so we've no idea where we are at present. If you haven't noticed, our engines have also ceased, and the Grey has been locked onto by a tractor beam. Do not be alarmed. A destroyer of the Imperial Navy nearby has taken notice of our plight and will be docking with us shortly. They've requested to inspect the cargo hold, and I am happy to oblige them. So, stay clear of the cargo bays if you don't wish to be detained for the rest of your lives. That is all."

The scream echoes across space and into the ADZ-class destroyer.

In a cramped prison cell hidden deep in the ship's bowels, a lone cryostasis chamber activates, waking its inhabitant.

The tall Cerean falls to his knees and grabs his head with both hands as the scream of terror pierces his mind. As it suddenly stops he blinks and slowly gets up. He looks at the Falleen and then the dark cryo-tube, as if unsure how to proceed.

He is about to say something when the intercom comes on and an unknown voice addresses the crew. For a moment after the intercom is turned off Ren-Do remains silent. Then a realization hits him. He looks at the Falleen, a sense of urgency in his tone. "Hold on now. Let us for the moment leave the question of how long we have been in the cryo-tubes for the importance of that has been diminished in the short term." Seeing the confusion in the Falleen's face he sighs. "We have more important things to worry about."

Ren-Do looks at the others, and then back at the Falleen. "You claim that our order, the Jedi order, has been outlawed by an Emperor. And now this person on the intercom informs us that a destroyer of an Imperial Navy has this ship in a tractor beam and they are about to board. Unless I'm gravely mistaken, and I don't think I am, your statement makes me, no, us, wanted beings. And the second statement confirms that we are in immediate danger from capture by the forces of this alleged Emperor."

The tall Cerean looks at the other beings just out of the cryo-tubes. "We are in no condition to fight. And besides, there are bound to be Sith warriors on that ship, we have no hope of succeeding in our weakened state. I don't know about the rest of you, but I must confess that I feel a very diminished contact with the Force since waking up, and fear that I will be less effective in combat than I should be."

Ren-Do snaps his lightsaber from his belt, ignites it, and frowns. The blade is a pale, faint blue color and seems thin for some reason. "At least my weapon seems to work," he says, shutting down his saber again. "We need to hide. And preferably get off this ship."

He looks at the Gotal and Falleen. "I know I am putting you at risk by asking for your help, but I fear we must at least ask. Know that I will not think less of you if you are disinclined to get yourselves into trouble with this Emperor you speak off. But if you feel you can help us please tell me if you know of a hyperdrive-capable shuttle which we could use to escape this vessel. If not, perhaps a place where we could conceal our presence from the soldiers of the Sith Empire."

As he speaks he walks towards the dark cryo-tube and picks up the small lock he noticed earlier on the floor, giving it a cursory examination. He then, without hiding what he's doing as he did before, looks for something that could have projected this howl through the Force. Probably the same thing he sensed earlier. Whatever it was, they couldn't let that fall into the hands of the Sith Empire.