Wow, the Old Neighborhood Really Went to Hell.

In the span of only a few days, Halajiin Rabeak had gone from hot-shot young Jedi Knight famous for his takedown of the Melestrei crime syndicate and the proud owner of a wonderful little apartment at the Jedi Order on Coruscant, complete with a fine kitchenette, to a homeless, displaced fugitive from an enemy he'd never met. All in all, he'd had worse weeks, but he was hard-pressed to remember just when.

He'd been told he was frozen in carbonite for one hundred and seven years, all that time drifting through space on a ruined vessel. He'd been told that Coruscant was now the home of the Galactic Empire, which had overthrown the senate and declared dominion over what was once a fantastically bureaucratic republic in which he had many lovely stamps in his passport - which he was now told was a valuable collectors item. He'd also been told that any Jedi caught by the Empire was as good as dead, but worst of all, absolutely worst of all, was that he'd learned that his own race had been disgraced to the point that it was rare to even run across a Nehantite off-world, now.

Okay, so maybe it was the worst week ever. His brain told him.

Yeah, really can't argue with that. I was totally going to score with those Twilek twins, too. His base natures kicked in.

Dude, they were the boss's daughters. You would have been dead before you got it wet.

But they were into me! Screw their dad!

Ugh, no thanks, I'll leave that to you.

Gah! That's not what I meant, and you know it!

I know you're in a lot of trouble, now, if you don't get your act together. You're probably a legend to these Jedi, by now; the great hope of a Jedi from days long past, ready to lead them into the future and save the galaxy!

And you think I have unrealistic ambitions.

You wanted to bone Miss October while driving a topless Fjerrajriii speeder though rings of lightning-fire.

A guy's got to have dreams, doesn't he? Your dream was for me to learn how to speak Wookiee.

And what's wrong with that?

Have you seen Wookiee females? They look just like the males, and... no. Just no.

I think your escort is arriving.

Crap. Yeah, looks that way. Think we're ready for this, or are you going to shut down again because you just "can't handle the overload?"

You shut down when you've got too much pain. I think that's weaker than dealing with too much information, but I think we should be good. Still, just in case I go down again, try not to drool.

I can't promise that if there's good food.

You know what I mean.

Seriously, I'm so hungry I could eat a whole nerf.

Hal's appetite would have to wait, however, as he stepped out of the docking arm and into the Whalodon proper. It was a huge ship, though dwarfed by the Challenger which flanked her, and thanks to her size Hal felt much more planted than when he'd been aboard the Novgorod or the Skipper. Still, the Nehantite's yellow-furred tail flicked with nervous discomfort as he knew that this ship had replaced the majestic and powerful spire which he had known as the Jedi Order. Having heard how far behind the Jedi and the Rebel Alliance were, he wondered if he could even begin to make a dent in the grand scheme of things, especially showing up with just the clothes on his back.

I really need to do some laundry.

Maybe your new quarters will have a laundrette.

It better have a kitchenette, too.

Why do you always have to have a kitchenette? What's wrong with a while kitchen?

Kitchens are for chefs. Kitchenettes are for bachelors. It does enough to keep me fed, and that's all I need.

Fair point.

And it's less I have to clean.

Lazy.

And you know it.

Hal could stall no longer, though. The Whalodon had been informed that he was coming, and as he saw his greeting party drawing closer, the yellow mongoose took a deep breath and only hoped he could make a good first impression on someone who hadn't even been born when he bought his last cup of stimcaff.

It was a dark time for the Jedi and, by extension, the Rebellion itself. In the shadows there were traitors, there was blood on the walls, and doubt in the most steadfast of hearts. Every man, woman, and child carried the wounds, many below the surface, and they were still fresh, and deep, and raw. The relationship between the Jedi and their military protectors was growing turbulant, and tensions were high. And in the light of a new shocking tragedy, their future was unclear.

Abarai Loki resolved to confront these dark times in the same way he strived to deal with every difficulty in life: to keep calm and carry on. So, he did. His duties were performed to the letter, every day without fail, and if anything about him had changed at all, it was that he attacked his training sessions with a renewed fanatical vigor. There have since been rumblings of an underground padawan support group taking shape.

Introducing new recruits into the secretive Jedi fold was another role he took very seriously, and loathe as he was to be considered some sort of welcoming committee amongst his peers, he felt a great deal of pride in his task. Despite their humble, and somewhat ramshackle, appearance, the Jedi of the Wheel were the descendants of thousands of years of proud heritage, and by embracing the way of their forebears, a Jedi welcomes into his life the way of honour and greatness. And with each new arrival shuffling aboard, their fire burned brighter, bringing them one step closer to the glory days of old.

That said, there was after all a fever of suspicion and paranoia running rife throughout the fleet, and it wouldn't do to be anything but cautious with unfamiliar faces. Loki, dressed in his typical black tunic and white haori, regarded the strange alien with a frown.

"You are the new arrival," he said, with a glance to the datapad in his hand, "Name?"

It's a kid.

Uh, yeah. Weird. You'd think that they'd send, like, a Master or something to come greet you.

No kidding. Maybe he's going to take me to a Master, though. Probably an errand boy.

Could be. In that case, better be on your best behavior.

Really? They send a kid to come greet me? They're gonna get what they get until I'm shown some respect.

You know what? I'm cool with that.

Halajiin straightened his shoulders, realizing just how much taller he was than this boy, and also how much better-dressed the boy was. By comparison, Hal sported a pair of worn and faded Jedi trousers tucked into a pair of well-scuffed and scraped boots which had last seen polish at his knighting ceremony three years earlier. His typical upper robes were gone, leaving only a sleveless and dingy white undershirt to cling to his torso, a mustard stain disgracing the left side of his abdomen. He looked far more like drifter than a Jedi, but deep inside Hal knew what he was.

One eyebrow cocking with mild annoyance, he answered, "They didn't tell you who I am? The Novgorod sent an alert that I was coming." When that failed to elicit a response, he stated, "Halajiin Rabeak, and you are?"

"The Novgorod instructed us to expect a new recruit, that is all," he said, logging Halajiin's name onto the datapad. Once he was done, he returned his gaze to the shabby alien and clasped his hands neatly behind his back.

"And here you are, Halajiin Rabeak. My name is Abarai Loki. You are now my charge, and I will see to it that you find the transition into your new life efficient and without incident. Follow me."

Loki turned on his heel and swept briskly down the corridor, expecting Halajiin to promptly follow suit.

Oh no he di-unt!

Oh yes he di-id! Dag, yo, you got slammed! You gonna take that from a kid?

Heeeellls no! I'm gonna teach this little ponce a lesson.

Wait! I might have a better idea! Let me go with this, first. If it doesn't work, then you can lay down the smack, or lop some boogie, or whatever it is you do.

Clearing his throat, Hal stood his ground. Tail flicking sharply with irritation, he called out, "Since when does the Jedi Order consider an experienced Knight to be a 'new recruit?'"

Seriously, that was your plan?

Just watch, you'll see.

Loki paused and took a long calming breath, his shoulders sinking into it. One day. Just one day, things would be simple. And as he turned to face Halajiin, he held fast to that singular desperate hope. His eyebrow attempted to fashion itself into a question mark.

"A Jedi Knight?" he asked, oozing disinterest.

Hal was resolute, and perhaps more than a touch acerbic as he replied, "Yeah, I am. And as such, I'd appreciate a little respect from a padawan, if it's not too much to ask."

Taking a step forward, he closed the gap between himself and Loki, his tail starting to puff with agitation as it flicked. "I've been a knight for three years, now, and I was the one who took down the Merestri Syndicate," he stated. "I was Master Trevarius's first pupil, I lived in the Jedi Order's Tower on Coruscant, and for the last hundred and fucking seven years I've been a fucking frozen block of fucking carbonite, and I'm really fucking sick of being treated like a nobody! Now take me to the damn Council or point me in the right direction and I'll go there myself!"

The last fiery note of Halajiin's speech soared, resounding in every treacherous crevice along the way to the turbolift, where it whimpered and died. Loki swam in the silence, allowing it to linger, then with coolest detachment glanced over his shoulder at the empty space behind him.

"Halajiin Rabeak, I must inform you there is something wrong with your eyesight," he said, returning his icy blue gaze, "There are no padawans here."

Suddenly, the datapad snapped out in front of him once more, whereupon the young Jedi commenced his innitial report on the Whaladon's furry new addition.

"I am no physician, but on top of these highly-romantic delusions of grandeur, you also appear to in the middle of a mild psychotic episode."

He took momentary respite from his work to conclude, "It doesn't appear to be your day."

"No, it's not my day," Hal replied, his voice calm as he let his shoulders slump. "It hasn't been my day for a very, very long time."

Over the last four days he had been bombarded by information he couldn't accept. He'd been told that the entire galaxy had changed, that the order he served were now the fugitives from a power he'd never seen. He'd been told that everyone he ever knew was long ago dead, and that no one apparently remembered him or the work he had done. For four days his brain had built up fortifications against this reality, but here, in this massive ship he couldn't shut out the swirling eddies of the Force, nor could he shake his fears that he could never go back home.

There, faced with a boy who held the same iron-faced resolution of his old master, Hal's mind could keep up its defenses no longer, and reality came crashing in as his brain shut down, unable to cope with the sensory overload.

Hal faltered for speech, then for balance before he found his knees going out from under him and he fell back square on his seat, arms trembling as he stared off into nothing.

Brain? Brain, what happened?

Brain?

Brain, you there?

His lower impulses sought guidance, any kind of direction, but there was none to be had. So, unhampered by clever thought or even any form of filter, he spoke in a hollow voice, "It's all really gone. I can feel it. There's so few of us, now."

He paused long enough to wet his dry lips. "They told me it had all changed, but... I didn't believe them. We were strong. We were better than this. How... how could this happen?"

Cradling his face in his paws, Hal's body tried to reach out with the Force to find him any measure of peace, some modicum of comfort to ease the terror now tearing at his very soul. When at last he found a scrap of hope, he looked up to Loki from his seat on the floor, and he pulled a weak smirk.

"You're right, though. There is something wrong with my eyes. This one still only sees in black and white," he pointed to his left eye.

Over the course of his residency aboard the Whaladon, Loki had greeted many newcomers and seen a great many things, and yet, of all the ways in which recruits had reacted to their new environment, this was undoubtedly the most bizarre. The datapad stowed, Loki crouched beside Halajiin and pressed his middle and index fingers firmly against his neck, after a moment he gave him a grave frown. Then suddenly, with hands deft and surprisingly strong, the young Jedi manouvered his scruffy charge onto his back, and in a dramatic flurry Loki disrobed himself of his haori and draped it over him.

"You are in shock," he confirmed, now knelt at his feet, and with a firm grip on Halajiin's shamefully scuffed boots, he elevated his legs precisely thirty centimeters, "Do not fear, Halajiin Rabeak, I shall show you a breathing technique to aid the recuperative process."

What the? Whoah!

Hal went down flat on his back before he realized what was going on, but once there, the blood rushed to his brain, snapping it out of its reclusion.

Wait, how'd we get down here?

You conked out, I fell on my ass, and then this kid pushed us over.

He's got our feet?

Yeah, some kind or breathing exercise, he says.

You do remember what happened the last time another male got hold of your feet when you were on your back, right?

Oh hell no! And this one's a kid!

Not quite returned to his senses, but incensed enough to react, Hal yanked his feet from Loki's grasp, then swung his legs up and back to launch himself back to his feet, and immediately he took one very large step back.

Still slightly crouched, his ears lay back and his normally pink eyes flecked red as his adrenalin surged. "Sorry, kid, I'm not that kind of furry," he said, a bite in his voice.

Not that kind of furry? What does that even mean?

Uh... I don't know, it just kinda came out.

How about you let me do the talking, now?

Yeah, you got it.

Easing himself back to a full stand, the Nehantite took several deep breaths, but didn't let his red-flecked eyes stray from the strangely cyan ones of the diminuitive Jedi before him. "I didn't mean to offend you when I thought you were a padawan. But it's very important that I see the Council."

When his patient righted himself with no shortage of theatricality, Loki was scandalised to see his beloved haori cast off and sent fluttering to the ground like a soiled napkin. He gathered it up promptly, and fixed the suddenly coherent alien with an affronted scowl. There were a host of pressing matters jostling for the young Jedi's attention, but the swish of a thick flaxen tail pushed the more prudent questions to the back of his mind.

"What exactly are you, anyway?" he asked, irritably.

Hal's brow crimped, and he gave Loki an almost insulted sneer. "Seriously? Shit, we're not that rare! I'm a Nehantite."

When that failed to elicit a spark of realization, he sighed and added, "From Nehantish. Most of us out here are mechanics or engineers. Ringing any bells, yet?"

"No," he answered, behind a mask of indifference.

It was no secret that the vast majority of Loki's existance had been spent in seclusion, training with his master on the remote world of Maridun, and segregated from the corrupting influence of the great wide galaxy. He was proud of his upbringing, and was consequently incapable of acknowledging it as the sole reason for the glaring chasms in his understanding of the world around him. The Nehantite was alien to him in more ways than one, but he was also a stranger, and held no claim to such a confidence. Still, he found himself intrigued by Halajiin in much the same way as he'd been with Cirrsseeto Raurrssatta, except with less patience.

"So, you are unique amongst your people. Trading hydrospanner for the lightsaber," his eyes suddenly narrowed in scrutiny of the Nehantite's tattered clothes, "You do have a lightsaber?"

When questioned about his identity and his abilities as both a man and a Jedi, Hal had no need to argue with himself - he knew the truth.

"We're not all mechanics," he stated, his confidence fully restored. "Like every race, we also have artists, lawyers, builders and doctors. Me, I'm a Jedi, and you bet your ass I've got a lightsaber."

Holding his right paw out at his side, palm facing Loki. In an instant, something shot from its home at the back of his belt and into his grasp. Tarnished silver, with bronze fittings, it desperately needed a good polish, but the leather grip was well-worn and stained from years of use. Angling the emitter down, Hal asked, "Is that enough, or do you require a demonstration, too?"

The appearance of Halajiin's lightsaber brought about an immediate change in the young Jedi. Hard discriminating features softened into an expression of fierce curiousity. He stepped forward and reached out. The Nehantite's paw was coaxed into the air under the influence of small calloused fingers, bringing his lightsaber level with the youngster's gaze. The weapon was studied with an air of reverence, Loki remained at arm's reach at all times and went about his diligent inspection with bright hungry eyes, crouching, leaning, tilting his head to soak in each feature from every angle. Not once did he attempt to touch it. After a long silence, he stood and regarded Halajiin anew.

"Halajiin Rabeak," he said, with a respectful nod, "Tell me about Master Trevarius."

"Just call me Hal," the Nehantite replied.

Easing his lightsaber back into its sleeve along the back of his belt, Hal studied Loki for a short while before he was comfortable enough to continue. If the boy wasn't a padawan, that made him a knight, and if he was a knight at this age, he probably wasn't someone to be trifled with. Either that or the Jedi Order was more desperate than Hal was led to believe.

"Master Trevarius, huh?" he said, a smile working up his muzzle. "Well, he and I don't talk much, anymore. He's always too busy with his new students, and I think he was rather glad to be rid of me when I got promoted."

For Loki, Hal was speaking of a man long ago dead, but Hal had seen Trevarius only a week earlier, and his mind hadn't accepted that so much time had truly passed yet.

"See, he used to be kind of a wild one, always leaping before he looked, and praying that the Force would see him through. Rumor has it they saddled him with me as his first padawan to teach him a lesson, I guess. And, I guess it worked. We were both idiots, then, and it was only through seeing each other's rashness that we figured it out and learned how to focus. In some ways, I'm probably the reason he's such a bastard, now. He doesn't want anyone else screwing up like we did, back then. But I can't fault him for pushing order, control and discipline of thought and action as his favorite subjects. I just hope the same kind of change won't happen to me when I get assigned a student. We sure had fun being reckless as hell, back in the beginning, after all."

There was a whole lot of what Halajiin said that justified the look of mild confusion creeping onto Loki's face. He weathered the peculiar account with patience until a crude disparaging remark about Master Trevarius rankled his sensibilities. His face creased in disapproval.

"You dare sully your master's name with such brazen disrespect?"

The talk of reckless behaviour, and fun, even the crude language, all of it he could handle. Or at least ignore for the sake of his own peace of mind. But he was incapable of reconciling himself with the sight of a Jedi insulting his superiors, dead or alive. It went against everything he believed in: the bond between master and apprentice was enduring and sacrosanct. And there was Halajiin exhibiting blatant disregard for such untouchable principles.

"You would do well to follow your master's example, Halajiin Rabeak."

Despite his efforts to control it, Hal's tail would not be kept from expressing his true emotions. Being lectured by a Master or a senior Knight, Hal could understand. He could even handle such talk from one of the younger standouts. But nothing, nothing in the universe could make him accept such judgement by someone didn't even know him.

"And you would do well not to glorify a man who was dead long before your father was ever born," Hal replied, his tail bristling as his ears leaned back. "Yes, a Jedi is supposed to honor his master, but he should also recognize truth, and be able to accept another's faults. I respect my master, but I also knew him, and I know how he changed. If you think I dishonored him by calling him a bastard, you have no idea who Trevarius was at all," Hal spoke, ice behind his words.

Straightening out his stained undershirt, the Nehantite shot Loki a disappointed glare before turning and heading off down the hallway where the boy had originally been headed.

"The Council is down this way, right?" he called back, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

Inwardly, Loki sighed. Verbosity was an affliction strangely common amongst passengers of the Whaladon. It pained him to encounter another profound case in Halajiin Rabeak. He sensed a long day ahead of him. A single step, and a heartbeat later, Loki was stood in the turbolift doorway.

"Halajiin Rabeak," he began gravely, turning to face him, "If it is your intention to greet the council short of a limb, carry on. If, however, disfigurement does not factor into your agenda, I suggest compliance. There are no half-measures when it comes to the security of this vessel. Do you understand?"