Crossroads

[Dasquian Belargic]

There were few places in the galaxy that had escaped the withering touch of the Empire. The vast majority of the hub planets were, if not occupied by Imperials, indirectly controlled by them. Fortunately, some systems had yet to fall under their iron rule. The Japreal cluster was among these 'free' zones. Though the Alliance had cited this as a primary reason for stationing intelligence agents on the planets, there were many other factors at play. Onderon had a culture steeped in history, and not all of it good. It's royal line was reputed to be descended from the Sith Freedon Nadd. Particularly in the times of the Old Republic, Onderon had spent much time embroiled in civil war, often manipulated by outside forces. Such conflict had not occurred for some time now, but there was always the possibility...

Sat in the cockpit of the Doppleganger, Dasquian Belargic reviewed the planet profile the Republic provided agents with. It noted two points of interests – the capital city of Iziz and the moon of Dxun. It was to the later which he and his single passanger, a young by named Wyl, were headed. Dxun was largely ignored by the royalty in Iziz. It was seen as something of a stain on the planets history. Once a base site for the Mandalorian war effort, it still bore the marks of a troubled past. Abandoned bunkers and camp-sites peppered the forest. Scavengers had stripped away anything of worth, leaving behind only the shells of the Mandalorian settlement. It was the perfect place for the Alliance to set up a temporary post.

In truth they were going into the planet blind. Dasquian had no information on who was stationed at the outpost. He only knew of it by its reputation, within the Intelligence bureau, as an excellent hideaway for those on the run. As a precaution, he'd armed the Dopplegangers shields and cloaking device so that the vessel could descend into the jungle largely unnoticed. The navi-computer was targeted on a fairly small clearing surrounded by foliage, which would provide more than ample cover and shelter. According to the charts, the Alliance post was a twenty minute walk from their landing site. While the ship lowered itself with a hiss towards the ground, Dasquian headed back into the ship proper.

He had left young Wyl Staedtler in one of the sleeping quarters, hoping that he would be able to get some rest before they arrived. It was a hectic time for the boy and Dasquian worried that he might succumb to exhaustion if he wasn't careful.

“Time to wake up, Wyl,” he called through the door, giving a light rap on the metal as he did so.

“We're here.”

[Wyl Staedtler]

They'd left Coruscant forever ago, years maybe. It seemed that way, at least. When he was little, a very long time ago, he had run with Dasquian and stolen away aboard the Doppelganger because... well, it didn't really matter why they'd had to, now.

Wyl rolled over on the bed, burrowing deeper beneath the wool blankets despite the stuffy heat which enveloped him. He'd been laying down for a long time too, squeezing his eyes shut in a brave attempt to sleep. For a time that had been all he did; sleep, sleep, sleep like he hadn't ever seen a bed his entire life, like he was saving up for a drought, an exodus. Which, as he pressed his back up against a firm wall, hadn't been all that far off. When he did manage to sleep now it was fitfully, plauged with nightmares that dissapeared from memory as soon as he woke up, breathing heavily to stare wide-eyed at the quarters around him.

Dasquian was helpful in this regard; he didn't pry. When Wyl gathered up enough courage to venture out the man would inform him of their progress, perhaps quietly explain some component of the ship or show him a starchart and how to read it. The boy was grateful for such distractions. He didn't want to talk about back then. It made the grief that curled against the curl of his belly ache.

"Time to wake up, Wyl. We're here."

Dasquians familiar voice was muffled by the blankets, and Wyl went very still so he could hear. With a sigh the child pulled the covers off his face and sat up, blinking owlishly at the closed door. He fisted his eyes roughly and then reached over the edge of the bed and grabbed his discarded sleep trousers, pulling them on quickly. The floor was cold against the bared soles of his feet but it was a welcome cool after the sticky humidy from the makeshift tent.

Tugging a shirt on (and in the process making his hair stick up even more), Wyl padded over and hit the door panel, blinking wearily as it whooshed open. Dasquian was still there, and Wyl offered him a yawn and a small shrug. "Hi." He whispered, fussing with the edge of his shirt. He pushed by the man and out into the cockpit, where he clambered onto the co-pilot seat in order to look out the viewport. After a few moments Wyl's face furrowed. "Different from what I thought." He glanced over his shoulder and raised his voice to ask, "This is where your friend is?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Not too far from here,” Dasquian replied, with a nod.

In spite of all of the travelling that he had done throughout his life, this was the first time that Dasquian had visited Dxun. It had a reputation as a fairly inhospitable place to live. The fact that the Mandalorians had chosen it as their base of operations spoke much about the planets wild nature. Many dangerous beasts were said to prowl in the undergrowth. In the absence of a sustained human population, their numbers had grown exponentially to the point where it would have been difficult to go about culling the species to a safe number – if there was such a thing.

“Why don't you go and get ready while I get some things together.”

There wasn't much they needed to take with them. Wyl had very little in the way of luggage and Dasquian didn't see any need to fully equip themselves – after all, their contact was only a short distance away and he expected that they would have supplies of their own. Just in case, however, he pushed a couple of medical packs into the bottom of a rucksack. As a precautionary measure, Dasquian fastened a blaster holster into place over his shoulder, covering it up with his flight jacket. While he waited for Wyl he sat in the ships living area, looking at an unfinished game of holochess that he'd been playing with his partner Grace.

ahem.

He looked up at the sound of Wyl clearing his throat and nodded. Pulling on the backpack, he lead the way out to the ships exit ramp. As it began to open, warmth washed across their faces. The climate was near tropical and the clean air was a welcome change from the smog of Coruscant. Dasquian ducked out into the open, looking briefly up into the sky where the sun sat high overhead. Already he could hear the far off sounds of chirping and twittering. The jungle was alive. Even though there was no canopy over head, and the light flooded between tree fronds and branches, illuminating most everything, there was still something foreboding about entering the jungle proper.

“This is the way.”

Stepping forwards, they took their first steps into the Dxun jungle...

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wide blue eyes tried to look every way at once as they trudged into the outer edges of the dense undergrowth. At a sudden scattered burst of noise from a treetop, Wyl startled and drew closer to Dasquian's side. The gentle molding smell, intermingled with the sweet scent of the clammy air, tickled his nose and threatened to make him sneeze. For a city boy, this was staggering.

As they hiked onward through the thickening foliage, some of his intimidation began to dissapear, replaced with a curious awe. There was no time to dawdle but even without slowing there were countless oddities in plain view; strange orange flowers, trees--trees, as many here as there had been people on Coruscant!--and even, sitting on a wide frond of bush, a tiny brown lizard. Falling back a few paces, Wyl cautiously reached his hand out towards the creature; it didn't start and dart away, like he'd expected, but sat patiently waiting the limb. He was just about to pluck it off the waxy leaf when the reptile hissed and opened it's tiny jaw to reveal a row of respectably large (and sharp) teeth. Wyl barked in surprise and ran forward, bumping against Dasquians legs. He looked up sheepishly through sweat-plastered hair in apology. Just in case, he decided to keep his hands as close to his pockets as he could.

"S'hard to breath here." The boy panted as they pushed a heavy vine which obstucted their way. He rubbed his chest and took a slow breath, testing to see if it would somehow ease the thickness of the muggy air; it didn't. "Like swimming, sort of." With the back of his hand Wyl swiped at his damp forhead. "Is it far from here?" He didn't mind being in the tangled primeval forest, but there was an odd bearing of unwelcomness surrounding them which very probably wouldn't dissapear with the daylight; Wyl tried not to think about having to pitch camp where any number of lizards might be nefariously waiting.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Just a short walk,” Dasquian assured Wyl.

Though the distance they had to cross was relatively short, the density of the jungle lengthened their journey significantly. It was rare that a clear patch of ground was visible and as they walked the pair had to pay close attention to the path in front of them. Vines hung down from above and creeps crawled over the path below; branches criss-crossed and roots bulged. Every step needed to be carefully placed. It would have been difficult to conceal their approach, with snapping twigs and the occasional ouch! betraying their presence.

“I'm surprised we haven't seen any wildlife yet...”

It was as though Dasquian was hexed then and there by the power of the jinx. It was only a matter of time before some creature reared its hungry head. Moving through a less overgrown patch, Dasquian heard another crack and barely even acknowledged the noise, dismissing it as the sound of Wyl following him. When he looked up ahead, however, he saw the leaves of the bush they would have to pass by trembling faintly. At first he thought that perhaps it was just the wind and began to turn away, when something moved out the corner of his eye.

He barely had time to look when a Boma burst free of the bush. It let out an angry bellow and began testing the earth beneath its feet, as if preparing to charge. Dasquian moved quickly backwards, one arm shielding Wyl. His free hand went for his blaster as the creature lurched forwards. The pistol spun into his hand and trained on the Boma's forehead yet before he could even pull the trigger an energy bolt struck the beast on its flank. It was knocked over by the impact of the shot and rolled out of sight. Dasquian raised a brow, looking up and away from the fallen creature to see a familiar face smirking at him.

“...Grace?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The smirk did not quite leave her face just yet. It amused her that she was able to take her partner by surprise. A feat not easily done since he was a cagey sort. "Dasquian ..."

Intel had dispatched Grace to Dxun since the incident on Coruscant. The operation to extract several potential sympathizers went terribly wrong. The Empire had found out about the operation through clumsy means. In the end it solidified one simple truth ... Never trust a Civilian. Regardless of the finger pointing game, it was too hot for the spy to do anything covert within the Core worlds so it was best to lay low and focus on protecting Alliance personal when needed. Dxun was the perfect out of the way moon to establish herself as a contact for aide and protection.

Grace lowered her rifle. The Boma had long since stopped breathing, and she regarded Dasquian now. It had been many months since the two of them had worked together. They were practically joined at the hip for the longest of times but Rebel Intel had needed to separate them. Now, they were thrusted back together by chance.

"We can talk along the way," she motioned for the two of them to start moving again with a small inclination of her head. "Not that I'm not happy to see you again, Dasq, but though the Boma hunt individually, that does not mean other nasty surprises are abound."

She hefted the rifle, ready to be fired immediately if needed, and followed behind Wyl, who was wide-eyed with questions. Grace wanted to keep the boy between the two of them for better protection.

With a soothing voice, she hoped to settle some of the boy's fears, "We're almost at the bunker. I was able to re-route power to some of the defenses that were re-installed."

[Wyl Staedtler]

Leaving his heart vaguely between a squat-trunked bush and a dull feathered... thing (which didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the sudden appearance of his wayward organ), Wyl craned to look over his shoulder as they passed the Boma's corpse. The panicked frenzy of the previous moments had slunk into a heavy, pressing silence as if the surrounding foliage and it's hidden residents had bowed in respect for their fallen comrade. Wyl supressed a frost-cool shudder at the familiar blankness of the dead creature's once fierce eyes, and quickly turned his attention back to the path ahead.

A soft sigh, more whisper than voice, escaped his lips at the sudden glimpse of the broad mossy line that cut across the trail, a timber casualty of the heady rot that bloomed in the older trees. It was all well and good if one were tall, to hop over quick as you like and no questions asked. Dasquian and this Grace probably hardly noticed the beligerant branch that blocked the way. It was an entirely different matter for Wyl, whose hushed complaint was quickly drowned out by a grunt as he hoisted himself onto the wide limb. The boy took a moment to glance around from this great new height and then, with a generous bend of the knees, jumped down to the other side.

Stilling for a precious second to re-adjust his backpack, Wyl covertly (as covertly as one could at seven) pretended to scratch an itch on his shoulder blade so as to thieve a look at their savior. Grace was all fluid confidence, weapon resting comfortably on her like a loyal companion. She seemed perfectly at ease in this strange environment. Curious, the boy returned his sharp blue wash to the back of Dasquian's head. In a flash of almost-recognition, Wyl wondered idly if perhaps the two were married. They knew each other, obviously, and the way they'd automatically ushered him between them, ease in the unconferred actions that bespoke a practiced familiarity, reminded him of his friend Omar's parents. They were always doing things at the same time, like they'd read each other's minds.

He decided to stay quiet for the moment, the fear of attracting other rampaging beasts not the least of his reasons for doing so. Just to be safe, he scuttled closer to Dasquian, resisting the urge to grab hold of the tail of the man's shirt or, far worse and infinetly more babyish, his hand. After all, just because Grace knew Dasquian (and was probably his wife even though they hadn't kissed or anything as disgusting) didn't mean he could trust her. Didn't mean that at all.

[Dasquian Belargic]

The rest of the walk was spent in silence, with Dasquian occasionally glancing to either Grace or Wyl, the latter of whom appeared to be giving the former a rather suspicious stare. It was no wonder that the boy was distrusting. Of course, he had nothing to fear from Grace and Dasquian was sure that he would come to see that in time. His mind began to wander, as he wondered what had occupied Grace in their time apart, but his thoughts were disturbed by their swift arrival at the bunker.

It had the protection of an overhung cliff, whose base wall the outpost was set into. The clearing itself was small, yet by the looks of the surrounding foliage there had been some attempt to extend it, to at least provide a better view into the jungle proper. It was a well built camp; Dasquian would have expected no less from the followers of Mandalore. As they approached the entrance, he noted some of the defences that Grace had spoke of – sensors and the like, left by the previous occupants and refurbished by the Alliance.

“Here we are,” Grace held the door open as they ducked inside. There was a kind of damp mossy smell inside. Save for their footsteps, all was quiet. For a moment, Dasquian thought them alone – but the sudden emergence of another from the bunker proper disproved this.

“Hullo,” it said. It was a small reptilian yet humanoid being, once of the Gorm species. While many Imperials hunted Gorm for sport, the Gorm themselves were actually proficient hunters. The Alliance often stationed a handful of them with agents in remote systems, where self-sufficiency was necessary. Their presence allowed the agents to get on with any necessary work, leaving the upkeep of the camp to the Gorm. Dasquian nodded both in greeting and respect to the short creature. There were no time for introductions, however – Grace headed straight on into the next room, no doubt expecting the others to follow.

“Grace, this is Wyl Staedtler,” he began to explain, as Grace laid her rifle down on the table that was at the centre of the room.

“I know,” Grace looked up with a knowing smirk. There was a datapad on the table, beside the rifle, and she gave it a tap. Of course, the Alliance had briefed her.

“Wyl, this is Grace Van-Derveld. She works with the Alliance too. She and I have been partners for many years now,” he continued, looking down into the boys eyes, as if to say that he could trust her. “She's going to be looking after you from here onwards, making sure that you're safe.”

At that moment, Grace interjected.

“We may have a problem.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Dasquian's face grew pensive. He didn't like the surprise but was prepared for it. Unfortunately, most missions never went smoothly and protecting Wyl wasn't going to be an exception. Wyl gave Grace a most dubious look but seemed to like the news better. The boy probably hoped that the problem would keep him within arm's reach of Dasquian. She would have to hear from his own lips how he found and took care of Wyl, not to mention what he had been up to during the long months since their separation. Grace wasn't one to form attachments considering her line of work, but the unspoken familiarity while they two of them worked was deeply missed.

She slid the datapad across the table to Dasquian, "Alliance has received word of a Jedi stranded on Onderon. From what our boys in Intel could piece together, her name is Daria Nytherciria. She's been stranded on the planet because her ship's in need of repair."

A picture of the Jedi could be called up. It was a surveillance photo of Daria wandering through the Iziz marketplace. A lot of hustle and bustle surrounded the Jedi, but the spy that took the picture did an excellent job of getting a good close up of her face.

"Problem is the Empire knows there is a Jedi here as well, and they will be coming to get her." Grace sighed as she hefted a large vacuumed seal crate onto the table. The cover hissed opened while it pushed back mechanically. Only two days ago, her and A'grafe, the Gorm, were eating rations and drinking warm water. Since she was able to repair the storage crates, they were able to eat palatable meals. "They do not know whom they are looking for, however. This is our only advantage."

Three bottles of cool water were produced, and Grace handed one to Dasquian and Wyl, who still carried suspicion. She left it next to him on the table. "The Alliance wants us to extract her and lead her to safety."

Her brows tightened as she sat down, eying Wyl. "But for a price."

She was briefed that the child was Force Sensitive. The original plan was to have Grace bring the boy to Bellassa and lay low until a suitable opportunity presented itself to find a Jedi to care for Wyl. One just happened to land in their lap and the Alliance wasn't sure when another Jedi could be found. Damnable Inquisitors were getting frisky lately and many Jedi dug themselves in hiding further, while new names of Jedi surfaced and disappeared monthly. They had to jump on this right away.

"Our Superiors wish to offer Ms. Nytherciria safe passage away from Onderon, if she is willing to take care of Wyl and his training." Grace popped open the water container and took a healthy drink. Hearing that he was going to be giving to another stranger was probably not going to sit right with Wyl.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl stared dubiously at Dasquian as he introduced Grace (and they were partners, not married--although, the boy reckoned, it probably amounted to the same thing). A protest rose in his chest and he was about to give it voice when Grace beat him to it. Hope piqueing, Wyl watched the Rebel woman with gaurded interest as she presented the perhaps-problem. He looked curiously at the only slightly fuzzy picture of the Jedi as Grace dispensed welcome drinks. Wyl hesitated for a moment before cautiously snagging his bottle from the tabletop.

His hands were glad for the distraction of the water, for without it he probably would have twisted his fingers to knots at the next words. As it was, Wyl barely managed to choke back a gulp of reviving drink before launching into a coughing fit that nearly resulted in a concussion when he smacked into the table. Rubbing his forehead gingerly the boy set his water down and frowned deeply. He'd known all along that he was going to eventually rendezvous with the Jedi, his moth--Wyl bit his lip at that thought and quickly redirected the train; he'd been told all that already, at any rate, but he hadn't thought it would be like this, being passed about like a lost package. He wasn't sure he liked it, really.

"How come," He started quietly, "How come you can't just help her w'thout makin' her take me?" Wyl stuck his balled fists into his pockets and looked up at Dasquian, who had had all the answers as long as the boy had known him. "We could just hide here, in this fort." He glanced at Grace before adding generously, "You can stay too." She was a good shot with that rifle and that would probably come in handy, Wyl reasoned.

[Dasquian Belargic]

It was a tricky situation.

On the one hand, the number of Jedi known to the Alliance had dropped significantly in recent times. Many simply ceased their contact with the Rebels, preferring instead to slip into obscurity. Others were not so fortunate. Jedi Knight Zabian Bal-Wandler, once a key ally, had been captured by the Inquisitors. His captured highlighted the fragile nature of the tie between the Jedi and the Alliance. Both parties risked much by becoming involved with one another, but it was a risk that everyone felt entirely necessary. The Alliance could not facilitate the Jedi, in so far as bringing them together, their numbers would dwindle and perhaps eventually their whole way of life would die out.

On the other hand, Dasquian had a duty to protect Wyl. How were they to know that this Jedi would be able to take care of the boy, or for that matter whether she would want to? The dossier on Daria was extremely limited, providing them with only a photograph and a name. If Bal-Wandler had still been with them, he would have been the perfect candidate to take Wyl. The Alliance trusted him, and at a more base level Dasquian knew him to be a good and caring man, who would do anything for his friends and family. Certainly, he had endured torture and perhaps even death for the good of the Alliance.

Shaking away the these thoughts, Dasquian sighed. He lifted the datapad again, looking at the cycle of images of Nytherciria. There's no guarauntee she'll agree to this... Before speaking, he took a long and welcome drink from the cool bottle of water.

“In all likelihood, the Alliance would have helped her regardless of the current situation... it's just that they believe it's in our best interests to capitalize on having found this Jedi,” he said, knowing even as he spoke the words that they wouldn't be quite so convincing for Wyl.

“It's unlikely that we'll come into contact with another for quite some time... and if you're to begin studying with the Jedi, it needs to be as soon as possible.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace could tell in Dasquian's voice that he needed some back up in convincing his charge. Wyl's facial expression gave it away too, though the child was still fending off the pain of smacking his head.

"He's right, Wyl. Unfortunately, we're in a time of war and certain luxuries need to be cast aside for the greater good. But unlike the Empire, the Alliance doesn't abandon people. We might be insistent that Nytherciria takes you, but will never force anything upon anyone. Every sentient has a right to choose."

Grace slid out of her chair and disappeared into the next room. The wall muffled her voiced, but every word was clearly heard. "We will try our hardest to have the Jedi take you for your own protection and training. However ..."

She returned with a moistened washcloth and knelt down in front of Wyl so they were eye level. "... If things do not go according to plan, you can stay here with me until we can find someone else to train you." Grace smiled in hopes that the boy would begin to trust her, and that she really did have his best interests at heart, just like Dasquian. She held out the washcloth for him to take, wondering if some of the tension had dissipated between them. "And if we do not find the Jedi suitable for you, we would not let you be taken away. Regardless of your talents, our first responsibility is to your safety."

[Wyl Staedtler]

Grownups sure liked to use big words. Wyl was reminded of the funny man at the Restaurant That Made You Wear A Tie back on Coruscant; he had said that curried tubers were a "ravshing coolinary experience". Wyl had thought they were rank. He didn't think much more of this explanation either. Firing an injured scowl in Dasquian's direction, he pulled his shoulders up in a jerky shrug.

He was so busy glaring dirtily at the traitorous man that he didn't notice when Grace swept down to eyelevel. Wyl jumped in surprise, pulling back a step, but the woman merely smiled and offered him the cool wetcloth. Wyl considered it a moment before shyly reaching out and plucking it from her hand. It felt good on his stinging head and he tentatively returned her smile, looking over his shoulder briefly to make sure that Dasquian had seen that he was most definetly not going to smile at him anytime soon.

Grace, apparently, had stolen the spotlight.

Squeezing the cloth so that water dripped down his sweaty face (and made him blink spastically as it caught on his eyelashes), Wyl plastered an indifferent look on his face. "'Kay." He said, hitching a shoulder up. He didn't like this one bit, but it would do no good to protest at the moment.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Grace had managed to explain the situation in a much more delicate fashion, and for that Dasquian was thankful. It was another in a long list of reasons why they made such a good team. In spite of her consoling words, however, he could see that Wyl still wasn't convinced. In actual fact, none of them were. Before anything could be set in stone there was the small matter of actually gaining the allegiance of the wayward Jedi. That was their first priority.

“I think we should take a shuttle down to Onderon as soon as possible. It can only be so long before an Imperial sympathizer becomes aware of Daria's presence and reports her to the government. There's no evidence to suggest that the Queen and her court have any sympathies with the Empire, but equally I don't believe they hold any high regard for the Jedi.”

A'grafe, the Gorm, rejoined them. “We can arrange a transport within a couple of hours. One of the local pilots is under the impression that we're a wildlife conservation team, cataloguing the behaviours of various species. He's a former war-prisoner, with some beast-rider heritage, so has a bit of a soft spot for our project... no questions asked, so long as we tell him a tale or two about the beasties we find.”

Dasquian and Grace exchanged a look; the latter smirked. Some of the aliases the pair had employed had been ridiculous at the best of times, though this one was a modicum more believable. “Excellent... do we have a scheduled meeting with Nytherciria?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace nodded while returning to her seat, "Yes. She is under the assumption that we're sensitive to her needs and have the ability to repair her ship. Nytherciria was contacted by Garjien, our spy planet side, that he knew of an expert mechanic that was in system."

She grinned, "That's you, Dasq."

Then she turned to Wyl, "You are my nephew. We were on our way to the Naboo system when Dasquian got the communication. We were more then willing to delay our trip to help out a poor woman get off of Onderon."

The Spy stopped there and regarded the boy carefully. She wanted to make sure that Wyl understood what was required of him and if he had any questions. These sorts of missions were not the easiest for a child to play their role correctly and needed to make sure he was comfortable. "Does this all make sense to you?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl pursed his lips into a thin line and nodded slowly. A breath was drawn in and held, the sort that small children take before deciding whether or not to speak, and then let out again. "It's like pretend, innit?" the boy said thoughtfully, toying with the edge of the washcloth.

He had had to pretend lots of times on Coruscant, whenever one of his mother's friends had shown up to hide in the little hollow behind her bureau. There had been several stories; it was a family friend, staying for a few days while their apartment was fumigated; a cousin visiting from Far, Far Away; a boyfriend who'd decided to try making a commitment (and who inevitably "wasn't ready to be a role-model.") Of course, that had been different because he'd always still been Wyl Staedtler, first-grader. He'd only had to make-believe about the other people.

"Do I get to be me or do I hafta pretend I got a different name?" Spies in 'vids always did that, and wore proper jackets. Wyl didn't have a jacket (and wasn't sure if he could have donned one without roasting) but he was wearing his favourite tee shirt which had to count for something.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Wyl was quite the intuitive child. He was very good at catching onto things very quickly. It will serve him well during his training with the Jedi.

She made a small gesture with her hands in response to his question, "It depends on the situation, Wyl. Sometimes we can get away with using our first names because the galaxy is so vast. Considering that Onderon only has one large city, it would be best to pretend we're someone else, names and all. The Royal Guards are probably on high alert for Rebellion sympathizers. Not necessarily to turn them into the Empire, but we would be escorted off-world forcibly to avoid Imperial entanglements."

Grace pulled out two identicards and handed one to Wyl. It was practically identical to the one issued to him on Coruscant, except the name, date and place of birth were changed. "You are Aaron Oneal, born and raised on Dantooine. I'm your Aunt, Ellis Oneal, and we own and operate a moisture farm."

Her eyes drifted to Dasquian and then her eyebrows rose, allowing him to add anything important at this time.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Seeing Grace look to him expectantly, Dasquian spoke up: “It's unlikely that we'll be questioned by anyone once we're inside Iziz, but the most important things to remember are to just act naturally and to avoid drawing attention to yourself.”

“Garijen should be waiting for you in the spaceport, planetside,” A'grafe added. “Meet up with him and he'll take you to the Jedi. I'll send for the pilot... you'll have plenty of time to prepare while he's en route from Onderon.”

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl nodded; there would be no trouble keeping a low profile from him. This was probably the most he had talked at once since they'd left Coruscant; shrugs and nods had sufficed. It was a small blessing that Dasquian hadn't seemed to mind his silence; somtimes Wyl's throat grew so tight and sore that he couldn't talk even if he wanted to and it would have been embarrasing to try and explain this to the rebel. Dasquian was tough. Wyl wanted to be tough too.

Curiously the boy studied his new ID card. It looked exactly like his old one except that the writing was all changed, which was weird. "Aaron." he tried out the moniker, tasting the strange syllables on his tongue. It sounded goofy, didn't slip easily out like his real name. He repeated it to himself trying to get used to it; he sure didn't feel like an Aaron.

Then the little dinosaur began to speak and Wyl's concentration broke as he took a shy step away from the Gorm. Tired blue irises warily took in the creature--how hadn't he noticed it earlier?--before he decided it was probably safe. Still, he kept his distance.

Shrugging his backpack from his shoulders Wyl sat down on the floor and crossed his lefs. He pulled the bag to rest against his belly pleasantly and looked again at his new idea. A great big yawn stretched across his face and he scrubbed at his eyes, willing them to stay open. He hoped Dasquian and Grace took their time.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Wyl was exhausted and overwhelmed. Sitting on the floor would do nothing to prepare himself for the journey that awaited him.

Grace rose from her seat and motioned for the child to follow her, "I know of a more comfortable place where you can rest, Wyl."

The Rebel led the boy out of the small meeting room and down a narrow corridor. This small bunker was made for security, not comfort, and most of the hallways could only fit two people across. With their Gorm friend, one.

She stopped in front of one of the many identical metal doors and keyed in a code to open it. The room was small but livable and even had a small refresher attached. Grace surmised that this had to be one of the high-ranking officers quarters since most of the rooms did not have this luxury. There was a cot against one wall, a chair and table. She used this room as a main operating center for the operation as seen by the computer equipment sprawled out all over the table. There were datapads, wires, tools and who knows what sort of computer parts everywhere.

"You can rest here until it's time to leave," she explained while putting cleaning up the cot of clothing and rifle parts, packing the later into a black duffle bag along with the unsecure datapads. She turned off and locked the laptop with her key code.

She put an extra blanket on the cot and slung the duffle bag over her shoulder. "Do you need anything else before I go?"