9.114 Rage Against the Dying of the Light

Five days aboard the Whaladon was all Halajiin Rabeak needed to reach a breaking point. This wasn't the Jedi Order, this was a floating mess of sissies and pacifists, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about anything until he had a weapon.

But not just any weapon, a real weapon. A Jedi weapon. His lightsaber.

The shattered and dusty remains of his red focusing crystal sat in a jar on the desk in his stateroom, while the useless hilt hung from his belt. Still, it served as a reminder that he was a Jedi, and not some do-nothing Jedi as most around him seemed to be, but an honest-to-goodness one from back in the day when being a Jedi actually meant something. That's right, he thought, he was better than this lot. He could see so clearly what needed to be done, despite the actual problem with his vision, and he'd spent three days pouring over intelligence reports until his plan had been made.

A stack of datapads and flimsiplast rolls was carried tenuously in his arms as the yellow-furred Nehantite strode purposefully through the halls of the Whaladon. Windows which once showed stars now only looked out onto the interior of the Challenger's ventral hull - another reminder of just how cowardly these "Jedi" he found himself amongst really were.

The hot blood of determination coursed through his veins as he took a sharp right turn down a hallway, patently ignoring a greeting by a padawan. Hal had no time to waste; the Jedi Order would not fall apart like this under his watch! It had been around for too long to allow the level of pussy-footing he'd seen, thus far - no offense to Akasha Khan, who was a bit of a pussycat, of course, and so her pussy-footing made total sense.

Shaking his head, the Nehantite cleared that thought out. That had nothing to do with his objective, and he really wasn't sure where it had come from. By the time he reached the Council room doors, however, it was long gone.

Most would take a deep breath and prepare themselves before entering such "solemn" and "venerable" chambers, but Hal had run out of fucks to give. At least about being proper, that is. He still fancied himself as being more than capable of giving out a great deal of the regular kind of them, should the opportunity arise.

Shifting his bundle into one arm, he reached out with his right paw and knocked firmly on the door.

Zem took a break (a much needed one) from the latest missives from Captain Tyree concerning combat strength estimates. His arrival at the Wheel had been at the right time for so many reasons, but also at the worst possible time. With the situation beyond them in the Alliance becoming fluid and unpredictable, he needed to work with the Council to establish a common front. The Jedi could not keep running. Not anymore. Fortunately, the knock allowed him to momentarily escape from some tough questions.

"Enter."

It sounded urgent from the knock. He reached out to get a feel for the mood of the person behind it. Similarly urgent.

Setting aside his datapad, Zem sat up straight in his seat.

Shifting the stack of items in his arms, several of the rolls of flimsiplast charts stuck up into his face, but Hal could see through them enough to make his way into the room.

"Mistresses of the Council," he started, then paused as he lowered his load. Daria and Navaria were nowhere to be seen, and in their place was an older man whom Hal had only seen before in passing, but knew had been made part of the Council just recently.

"Oh," he caught himself. "Sorry about that, I was expecting someone else."

His mood changed slightly, though it did not become more polite. No, instead he became more direct, seeing as he had a male to talk to, and a male who appeared to be a man of action - or at least used to be a man of action in his younger days, Hal wagered. Setting down his stack, Hal cleared his throat and announced, "Master, the situation with lightsaber crystals is intolerable. I would like to propose a plan to change that."

Seemed to be a hot topic lately. Zem nodded, gesturing to the seat across from him.

"Sit down then, uh..."

He tried to remember. New face, but then again so was he in a way. Ah, the Nehantite.

"Mr. Rabeak, is it?"

He waited for the alien to ease down, if anything just to give him a moment to prepare what he needed to say.

"You're right, it's not ideal. We're looking into several options on that. What did you have in mind?"

Hal didn't want to sit. Sitting meant that whatever plan you're about to introduce would involve someone else doing all the work. This wasn't about talk, this was about action.

But despite Zem's alien face to Hal, the Nehantite could still read it with ease, and so he took a seat before sliding a few datapads across the tabletop.

"Please, just call me Hal, nobody calls me Mr. Rabeak unless they're trying to sell me something, or valeting my speeder," he cracked a grin. "Anyways, I've been pouring through what limited information I've been allowed to access since I got here, and I got fed up with that so I went over to the Challenger and used their network to get what I really needed."

Unrolling the large tubes of flimsiplast, he revealed them to be charts of both terrain, subterranean caverns, and a military outpost. "I propose we take a team here, to Ilum, and give the Empire a black eye while we rape those caverns for as many crystals as we can get our hands on," he stated, no hint of humor or joke in his voice, and it was only at the end that he remembered to add, "Sir."

He admired the directness of his plan. Still, there was some perspective that was missing.

"Hal, I'll be frank. I've been working the resistance for decades. We hit Ilum once, ages ago. Came away with a respectable stock, all told."

He frowned.

"But you know the addage. Fool me once, shame on you. The Empire took that lesson to heart. Ilum is well defended. As a part of a coordinated Alliance assault, maybe, but as a Jedi initiative?"

He shook his head.

"We've got to look at the risks and what we gain and stand to lose alike."

"What we stand to gain and lose?" Hal echoed, the taste of derision heavy on his words. Standing up, he leaned over the table and pointed at the path of attack he'd laid out. "What we stand to gain if we pull this off is reclaiming who we are! And if we don't do this, we'll be giving up on the very essence of our Code!" he shouted.

Pushing away from the table, he rolled his chair out of the way and began to pace. This had been going through his mind ever since he'd learned what all had happened while he was frozen. Tail lashing, he turned back to Zem and said, "We owe it to ourselves, to the galaxy and to all those who this so-called Empire have repressed! We're supposed to be their champions, their protectors and arbitrators of peace! And when negotiations don't work, we bring peace by force, if need be, but only on the side of right!"

Gripping the back of his chair, his pink eyes began to fleck red as he growled, "I can't speak to everything that's happened while I was out cold, the last hundred years, but it seems to me the biggest thin that has happened is that this order has lost its courage. I intend to bring that back. Sir."

"Crystals can be found, even manufactured."

He empathized with Hal, but what he was asking would put a strain on the Jedi. They couldn't afford to lose more of their number. Coruscant had cost them dearly.

"We can't lose sight of what it is to make us Jedi, and it's not a stone, no matter how precious. What you're asking me to do is to risk the lives of Jedi on a gambit that I've personally seen dashed against Imperial durasteel before."

He stood, and shook his head.

"It's just as important to fight smart as it is to fight hard, Hal. Perhaps there's room for what you propose in the future. But not today."

Hal's eyes could not stop their transition to red, despite his attempt to calm himself. Blunt clawtips digging into the back of the chair before him, the Nehantite stood and stared at Zem for some time before shaking his own head.

"No. No, I can't accept that," he replied. "That's the same thing everyone has been saying, and look where it's getting this Order. We run, we hide, we are afraid to take action and strike back."

Letting go of the chair, Hal bent to scoop up his charts and pads once more. "If that's what it means to be a Jedi in this day and age, maybe I should just go turn in my robes."

He omitted the "sir" that time, and there was no mistake that it was deliberate.

He calmly exhaled, looking back at the map Hal had presented.

"The best I can do is to take this into consideration. Believe me, I'd like to do exactly like you say."

He straightened up.

"Until then, I can only advise you to exercise patience, and trust in the will of the force. I've been fighting this war a long time. Fate will find a way, and hopefully we'll use your plan yet."

He escorted Hal to the door. They were done here.

Hal pulled his pads and charts close as he headed to the door. It was clear now that the Council feared any kind of action. This certainly wasn't the Order he knew, and he would be damned if he was going to be told that sitting and waiting was the best course of action. He'd been waiting for a hundred and seven years, now was time to actually do something.

"I'm sure my plan will be well-filed," Hal grumbled. In his day, that meant it would be logged, then forgotten about forever. He only hoped that it might still carry that meaning with Zem.

Clear of the Council chambers, Hal's brain set into overdrive. If the Council wouldn't help him, he'd have to do it on his own. No, he would need help, and someone who could fight, at that. Actually, several someones who could fight, and a ship that could pack a punch. Of course, no one would come with him if they knew he'd just been officially shut down, so... Hal decided he wouldn't actually tell them that part.

Shuffling the stack of goods in his arms, the Nehantite charged back to the living quarters area, knowing exactly who he'd need to get, first.

"Loki, you home?" he called through the door of the diminutive knight. "Just came back from a meeting with the Council. You've come highly recommended for an urgent mission. Can I come in?"

There was no answer. Loki was probably out doing some kind of training, or meditating, or probably still styling his hair, the little metro twit. In any case, he wasn't there, so Hal continued on to his own stateroom down the hall, dumping his armload of pads and charts on his desk.

So the Council wouldn't help him. Fine. He'd help himself.

Are you sure this is a good idea?

I don't see how we have any alternative. These Jedi don't have any balls, anymore.

Well, I'd hope the ladies don't, at least.

It's not a time for joking, higher functions. These Jedi just don't get it, so we're going to have to show them.

And I suppose that means it's time for Fireball Hal to come back out?

And how.

You know that this is going to get you in trouble, right? They could kick you out, for this.

To where? I know where they are, how many ships they have, how many of them their are, and just how screwed this place is for armaments. Like they'd kick me out.

They could kill you, too.

You've got to be kidding. These guys are afraid to smash a fly. They'd never harm a Jedi from the Golden Age. I'm way too valuable.

So that's your plan, then? You're going to risk everything on the chance that they might be too afraid to retaliate against you?

And what exactly am I losing? I've already lost everything, remember? If I fail, then so be it, but when I come back as a victor, they'll have to start listening to me, and then I can turn this Order around!

As much as it pains me to say this, I agree with you. In fact, I've got some ideas that just might help. Here, let's start with one of those datapads. We're going to play a little name game.

Forgery?

Hey, we were the best at it back in the old day, don't see a reason why we can't still be, now.

Damn right. Let's get to work.

Two hours later, Hal returned to Loki's door, single datapad in hand and a roll of flimsiplast charts tucked under his arm as he knocked politely.

In the middle of his room, Loki was hunched over an empty crate he'd fashioned into a makeshift workbench. It was littered with small mechanical components, delicate tools, knots of wiring, and a heavily soiled cloth. He was performing his bi-weekly lightsaber maintenance, which involved stripping and reassembling his Jedi weapon, cleaning it inside and out, and ensuring there was absolutely no risk of malfunction with any of its constituent parts. It was a tradition which served to both focus his mind and ensure a state of combat readiness. Months ago, he found himself wrapped up in a shameful melodrama with younglings Staedtler and s'Ilancy, in which his lightsaber was stolen and abused. To his horror, he was still brushing the glitter out.

There was a knock at the door. Loki frowned. He rose, snatching up a clean, and started to work the dust from his lightsaber as he crossed the room. Absently, he gave the wall panel a tap and the door slid open, revealing a familiar sandy-furred mongoose.

"Halajiin Rabeak," he said, puzzled, "Are you lost?"

"You don't have a desk?" were Hal's first words as he looked into Loki's stateroom. "Huh, I have a desk. That's weird." Immediately his stateroom seemed twenty percent more awesome, though it still wasn't a place he wanted to hang out much in.

"Sorry, heh, no, not lost. I actually came back from the Council chambers, and I need to go over a mission with you, if you're interested," he announced. Lies, all lies, but Hal was exceptional with lies to the point where even he began to believe them.

When Halajiin remarked upon the absence of a desk, Loki wheeled around in the doorway to inspect his room, fully expecting to see a previously undiscovered flaw. He frowned. His room was small, it was sparsely furnished, and it was both clean and impeccably organised. There was nothing wrong with it. And while it was indeed missing a desk, in its place there was something better, a workbench. Granted, it started life as an unassuming crate of namanas, but with patience and a little help from Cirrsseeto, he had transformed it into a smart and efficient work place. The surface was sanded and smooth, and shimmered with a slick coat of varnish, it lifted to reveal an intelligent combination of tool compartments, which meeted his every need. And, for a final flourish, when the compartments were removed there was a secret storage space underneath. Loki was yet to find a use for it, but it stood as a testment to the engineering ingenuity of his friend. He didn't need a desk.

Just as he was beginning to tire of the unwanted intrusion, Halajiin mentioned the mission, and his face brightened considerably. He stepped aside, eager to be briefed, and the furry Jedi entered his home.

"Take a seat," he said, and with a look of haunted concern, added: "You're not moulting, are you?"

As Hal was halfway into a step, he halted, coming to an abrupt and ungainly stop. "Moulting?" he echoed the word with distate.

He looked down to the tablet in his paws, then back to Loki before pulling his extended footpaw back and standing up straight, no humor on his face. "First off, I shed, not moult. Second, so what if I was? And third, nevermind, I'll get someone else for this mission. Get back to... whatever the hell it is you're doing."

Shaking his head, Hal turned on his heel and started back out into the hallway, tail flicking in annoyance. While he had taken genuine offense at the comment, his brain had stepped in at the last moment and shown him a possible way to improve his situation. Now all Loki had to do was take the bait and the trap would be sprung.

Confusion creased his face as Halajiin stormed off down the corridor. His mind raced, attempting to pinpoint the evident crime he'd unwittingly committed. Nothing, but it didn't matter, he'd caught a glimpse of the datapad and the old familiar hunger set in. The dust cloth was cast aside and he chased after the retreating mongoose.

"Halajiin Rabeak," he called, but his quarry continued to walk, unphased. Loki fell into step alongside him, and in the stiff silence, wrestled with the words to unravel his tormenting bind.

"Perhaps I did something- said something to offend you- I assure you, that was not my intention."

"No, you just worried about me getting loose fur on your precious chair," Hal snapped. "Do you see me complaining about all the dead skin cells you humans shed into the air all the time? I can freaking taste some of you in the air, it's so bad, but I don't put conditions on you for something you can't help."

The trap had been set, and Loki walked straight into it, the snare drawing tight around the boy's legs. He was in this now, whether he knew it or not.

Hal's stateroom was not far from Loki's, and he paused in front of his own door. "Listen, I took your advice about doing something to help the Order, and my plan's on this datapad. It's also got the Council's approval marked on it, now, but I can't do this alone." Glancing up and down the hall, Hal saw no one else, and so he opened his stateroom door and stepped inside, inviting Loki to follow, and he shut the door afterward. "But I also don't know who I can trust, around here, and the last thing we need is a spy tipping off the bad guys about our target."

Before Loki could ask, Hal extended the pad, the word, "Ilum" listed at the top in large, bold font. "Feel like getting some action?"

"Yes, absolutely," he answered immediately.

In his voice, there was note of quiet awe. He stared at the bold header, transfixed by the prospect of such a dangerous undertaking. The datapad was in his hand before Halajiin could object, he thumbed quickly through the document, soaking up the preliminary details. His heart drummed a giddy beat in his chest. The last time he left the Wheel was for an attack on Coruscant, it had been a monumental undertaking, and victory came at a high price. But it had been too long. It was time he faced a challenge greater than a class of ill-disciplined initiates. He started rapidly pacing the room.

"Ilum is an ice world. We will need cold weather clothes. Ration packs. Medikits. I still have my ice axes and shemagh. We could requisition harnesses and ropes from the Challenger's quatermaster. We may need explosives," he concluded, pensively, before losing himself once again in the datapad.

Hook, line, sinker. It couldn't have gone any better, Hal imagined, but he masked his excitement well be stroking his chin in thought.

"Firearms, too, as I don't have a working saber at the moment," Hal added. "Tell you what, make a list of what we'll need, and I'll get the requisition taken care of under my name. Fewer names attached to this, the less likely we'll be to arouse suspicion," he replied.

Taking a seat on his bed, the mongoose watched as Loki scanned the datapad, and he prayed that his deception would go unnoticed until it was too late.

"I've been to Ilum before. Twice, actually. I know where the largest deposits are, so we'll strike there," he announced. "But we can't do this alone. This is going to be a one-time-only run, so we need to be as effective as possible. That means we're going to need some help. I'm thinking of asking Akasha to come with us. I've gotten to know her, and she seems like she can handle herself in a pinch, and she's got the sharp eyes and fast paws to gather crystals quickly while you and I deal some damage. Kala might be of use, too, as she's already got a saber, and would know what to look for in a crystal. If you've got any other suggestions, let me know and I'll see what I can do. But, I will have a favor to ask you."

He paused for effect, then smirked, "You know Cirr, right? Like, as a friend? Can you convince him to take us to Ilum on the Novgorod and lay down covering fire while we drop in? We'll need a serious gunship like that, if my research on Ilum is accurate."