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Thread: The Stowaway

  1. #1

    Thread Semi-Open The Stowaway

    Michael Cline kicked his feet up on the back of the seats in the space port's terminal working on a voice comm message, ignoring the information coming across the booming station's comms. He was busy with an away message after all, had to be just right.

    "You have reached Michael Cline. I am unable to take any calls at this time. I will be available to return calls on..." He checked the datapad for the date and picked out the following Friday for a return date, speaking it a moment later. "If this is an emergency please contact" He stopped again, looking up the help desk for the casino before then entering that number. "Thank you and safe journeys."

    He turned off the recorder, double checking the written equivalent that had come across on the data pad as well. Nodding as he was satisfied he checked his chrono for the time. Shit had he really lost track of so much while just working on a simple vacation message? When word came across Cloud City was going to receive not just the new Moff's visit but the Empress herself? Yeah. Vacation requests were put in and fast. Mike had no intention of being anywhere with that much Imperial and potential Imperial Knight activity. Especially when he worked in so public a sector. The last thing he needed was the glorious lantern jawed blondey boy Baastian Cain to stroll into the casino while he was on the floor, or frelling forbid Matatek Sel Vissica. He wasn't interested in being all that he could be for the Empire, no thank you. Was it paranoid to assume he'd be made as an adept that easily? Sure, but he wasn't risking it.

    So instead he sat, relaxed, on Molavar. There really wasn't much here, but intersected with several hyperspace routes, which made it a great place to transfer from one location to another. He doubted there was actually much of anything on this planet outside of this hub, though it certainly seemed lively. Local color and flare, food vendors, some weird tourist trap promising exploration of a so-called haunted crash site. What a bunch of tosh. Nah, this was just Cline stopping between one leg of his journey and the next. From here he'd pick up the cruiseliner Padme's Tears and it was off to 2 days on Tattooine and 4 on Ryleth. Long enough to do some race-track betting on a desert world and move on to some Twi'lek parlors. He smiled at the thought, he hadn't been to someplace like that since him and Wil on Coruscant. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

    Now boarding O-5. Now boarding O-5

    That was him. He grabbed his bag and ran off for the gate not noticing the flashing display signs that talked of a last-minute flight change. The shuttle for Padme's Tears had been redirected to C-3, an announcement having been made shortly after the change that had been missed by a busy Cline, intent on getting his voice mail just right.
    Last edited by Michael Cline; Jun 26th, 2019 at 06:46:55 PM.

  2. #2
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    * * *

    SCARIF



    The desert wasteland that was Scarif had once been a shining jewel; a paradise of pristine beaches and clear oceans. It was a gem that had been crushed beneath the angry hand of the Empire. Tarkin had unleashed his ire upon a single man, and an entire planet was scorched in the aftermath. Cool breezes were replaced with biting, hot winds that drew up dust storms, whipping them across the barren desert landscape for hundreds of miles.

    The skeletons of civilization could still be seen, bone-white superstructers and crumbled foundations jutting out from the windswept sands to reach up to the sky, as though they were begging for help. And for revenge. The moving bodies that drifted from one lonesome outpost to the next had no vengeance to give, though. They were too busy simply trying to survive.

    The largest scrap-built city, Fellspire, was a marginal hub of activity, inhabited by those who scrounged and scraped their way through life by collecting the pieces of junk and wreckage. A maze of slums and alleyways were filled with grime-streaked sweaty bodies, clothed in rags and any other fabric that could be found, bought, or bartered for. A strange sort of culture had grown up in Fellspire; with the sounds of loud and boisterous traders, the smell of desert creatures being roasted over open fire spits, the sight of mostly beige and tan shapes with the odd assortment of colors dashed in, the feel of a crush of bodies all around... it was a culture bent on survival in an inhospitable world.

    The bowels of Fellspire were overseen by the Teks, a tight-knit group made up of Verpine and Kobok. They maintained the generators, keeping the lights on at night by sheer tenacity and desperate gambits. The old technologies had been bolstered and added to, but what they had on hand was only so much, and they were at the mercies of the fates.

    But, there was a vault.

    A vault that had not been breached. It was a mystery, and none had ever been able to enter. It was locked in such a way that no one had been able to break in.

    Inside that vault, a seemingly unending bank of compartments lay unplundered.

    And in the dark, a single, green light flared to life. It was a solitary point of illumination that flashed on and off. No sound, simply the light. Unseen however, was the transmission that it sent out. A signal that it was ready. It was waiting.

    It sent that message out from Fellspire. Over the deserts. Into the sky.

    And out into the stars.


    * * *

  3. #3
    "Frelling damned stupid..." Mike cursed to himself with a growing frustration. He couldn't find check-in. There were plenty of people going to and fro to board the shuttle but there was no sign of ticketing. He didn't have time to this as the voice over the intercom spoke again.

    Last call for O-5. O-5 departing in 5 minutes.

    Screw it. He'd sort it out on the liner, he had all his travel paperwork afterall - and it wasn't like they were going to leave him floating in space for an oversight. He headed to the boarding ramp, finding himself pressed in the small crowd between a Nehantite and a surprisingly tall Sluissi. Both were carrying service bags and talking past Michael to one another, leaving the red-head to keep a step behind them so as to not interrupt. Cline was left wondering if they worked on the ship, which made sense considering it was the last shuttle. The guests had probably gone on ahead and that left any straggling crew and staff to come aboard. Probably why he hadn't been able to find a ticketing counter as well.

    The shuttle was... sparce. He'd paid for first class, but he supposed that didn't take affect till he was on the liner itself. A dump of a space port like this was probably lucky to have anything that flew, honestly. He'd put in a pair of audio blockers after getting aboard the shuttle and closed his eyes. This was his vacation and he just wanted to enjoy some well-earned rest, frankly. At least until he hit up the pod-racing scene on Tattooine.

    Meanwhile the Sluissi, Mator Trebalt was talking up a storm to his Nehantite companion, a Munjan named Vihaanyat Arjuunti while motioning to the resting human. "New guy?" Arjuunti asked, ears perking forward in curiosity. "Mussst be." Mator replied with a shrug. "Or crew who needed a ride." He thought carefully. "Sssort of looksss ttthe sssailor doesssn't he?" The Munjan guffawed loudly, slapping a hand on his knee. "You mean he looks like he just spent a week on leave and doesn't want to come back? Yeah. Looks like. Let's let him rest. Gonna be a busy one once we get up to the ship after all." They left him alone for the rest of the trip, ignoring his still resting form once they'd finally docked.

    Mike blinked a bit groggily as he sat up, realization dawning on him that he was the last one on board. Dren, he must have nodded off. He stood and grabbed his bag heading down the ramp. That could have been bad if he'd ended up taking a return trip back to Molavar with the shuttle. He yawned loudly and looked around the bay. Yeah, must have been a crew shuttle. He didn't spot any other passengers around. He wasn't sure he had the energy to go hunting for someone to explain the situation to right now. He needed just a couple of quick hours, he thought to himself as he walked from the bay and into the ships interior, peaking his head into a few empty rooms before finally finding what seemed to be a waiting room, and availed himself of a chair, tipping his shades down to block the light as he let himself nod back off. Just a couple of quick hours, then he'd find someone and apologize for the confusion.

  4. #4
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    * * *



    "Scarif."

    He sat in her office, a seemingly unimpressed look on his features as he sat. His lanky frame was deceptively relaxed, and Samus Dage used this moment of downtime to enjoy what he could. A week previous they'd been on Jovan, resupply and restock. All normal, all comfortable. All regular. Of course, that was not to last, and Samus now found himself sitting in Captain s'Ilancy's office. That they were being sent off the border was different. It was outside of the norm, and he was concerned.

    "You know that Scarif is a wasteland, right?"

    Of course she did. Everyone knew that it was. I might not have been blasted into oblivion like Alderaan had, but it had been a victim of the old Death Star and Grand Moff Tarkin all the same. Everyone knew the story of Director Krennic, and his feud with Tarkin. It was a feud that'd ended mroe than poorly for Krennic... and for Scarif.

  5. #5
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    "I know, yes."

    She wasn't entirely put off by her second-in-command's reservations. They weren't explicitly spoken, but she could see in his posture that there was caution. Even if Scarif was in Alliance territory, it was still a dangerous place; a far cry from the picturesque beaches and cloud-scudded blue skies.

    "Something in the old spire has begun transmitting, however, and Command wants us to investigate."

    It wasn't exactly the normal fare for them, and she wasn't entirely certain as to why she and her crew were being asked, but she was not about to question the order.

    "It's an opportunity," she tried to rationalize.

    "... to try and access all those old project records."

  6. #6
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    He knew that she was trying to help, as well as understand the order herself, so he didn't press the matter any further.

    "In that case," with a slight groan he hefted his bulk up and out of the chair, "... I hope you brought plenty of sunblock."

  7. #7
    Mike was awoken by a strong push on his shoulder, and opened one eye to find a tall human woman staring down at him with a scowl. Great. Time for him to offer that apology. He sat up from the office chair slowly and outfitted himself with his best smile and smoothest tone of voice.

    "You must be the concierge. I seemed to have gotten turned around from-" He was cut off as the woman grabbed his shoulder and pulled him from the seat, slamming him face first into the durasteel wall. That woke him up, and his shades tumbled to the floor between his feet. "The frell?! Listen, I know I'm supposed to be with the other guests, but I got turned around and needed a nap, its not that big a-"

    "NAME." She barked angrily, keeping him pinned with a practiced hold. Who the Hell's office had he napped in for a response like this? "Cline. Michael." He snapped back. He could break her hold in an instant if he wanted to, and right now the sting of his face from it's impact point was making him consider it. But it was a long cruise and the last thing he wanted was to get kicked off before his vacation even got under way. "I told you I just got turned around from the other-"

    She wasn't listening. "WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?" She ordered, pushing him harder against the wall.

    "What does that have to do with anything, I'm a paying-" She slammed him again and Mike had just about had it. "Stop frelling doing that!" He snapped at her angrily in response. She snarled, but didn't respond with another shove, instead getting in closer to his ear. "Answer my question. Who do you work for 'Michael Cline.'" She wasn't asking anymore. It was a demand. "I work for the Cumulus Casino. What does that have to do with anything!?" Mike shot back, and he felt her grip loosen slightly, as if she was weighing something over before saying anything else. "On Bespin?" She said slowly.

    Mike could only catch glimpses of her from the corner of his eye, but had realized in the last few moments she was wearing a uniform. Not the bright, cheerful outfit of a cruiseliner employee. His lips pursed at it all and he tried to piece it together. He'd done this before. He'd had conversations almost exactly like this before. Only those conversations had him on the other side of the exchange.

    She was security, he fought to calm himself, to dial back the anger that had been ready to boil over. "Michael Cline. From Cloud City, Bespin. Yes. I was supposed to be a guest on this cruise ship and-" There was a laugh, and Mike felt his world slip away as it turned into a sentence. "This is either the worst cover story I've ever heard, or you have the worst luck I've ever seen. Either way, you're coming with me." She reached to her back and produced a pair of binders.

    "... Why would that be the worst cover story you ever heard?" He said with a bit of urgency, trying to decide in that moment if he should allow her to cuff him or not. "Because this isn't a cruise ship - and it's pretty bold to admit to being an Imperial citizen aboard an Alliance ship." Mike's mouth went dry and he tried to piece together what could have happened. Had he gotten on the wrong shuttle? Had something happened at the gate? Oh dren, this was genuinely bad. "This is a huge misunderstanding." Mike said quickly, "Massive. Just... just let me talk to whoever's in charge, I can sort this out." She considered that. "Alright. I'll see if the Captain can talk to you. Let you make your case. In the meantime." He felt the binders slap down around his wrist and he cursed himself for not acting quicker.

    "In the meantime you can enjoy the rest of your nap from the brig."
    Last edited by Michael Cline; Sep 17th, 2019 at 12:24:44 PM.

  8. #8
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    SCARIF
    Fellspire Market


    Jeeca sat in her normal pile of blankets, like a nesting cliffhawk. Situated on a wide table set up behind the trinket-strewn counter of her stall, Jeeca's tanned face watched all that milled past. She was silent, unlike some of the other vendors that called to any and all that would listen. Cries for good deals and age-old relics from the time before the Great Light filled the air all around, and the old woman watched it all, listening with keen ears. Many walked by without a second thought, but the few that did stop to peruse her wares were met with a solemn nod and a few quick words.

    Two men stopped, looking down at the assortment of charms. Most were made with the scavenged bones of those who had died during the Great Light, accented with colored metal fasteners and beads made from the extinct shell creatures from long ago. It was said that the bones of the dead brought luck, and the need for luck was in his demand here.

    "Tai glaa," she intoned, gesturing to the necklace that one of the men held up.

    "Tai?" he seemed to think on this, then gave his counter-offer. "... Unta and a half."

    "Tai glaa. Jeeca dug for sur turns to find right bones. Come from Soratroo hands, very rare. Used red shell and metals for rest," A gnurled hand reached out, a single finger tapping the table, "... Tai glaa."

    The man grumbled, but presently dug in his pocket for two thin metallized strips of sandglass. These he held out, and Jeeca snatched them away.

    "Good business, much thanks."







    • Unta - One
    • Tai - Two
    • Sur - Three
    • Glaa - the monetary unit used on Scarif; it is crystalized sand from the Death Star laser blast, bordered in molten metal
    • Soratroo - Stormtrooper


  9. #9
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    * * *

    There was a point in space over Scarif that seemed to shudder. It was for a fraction of a millisecond, but it was there. And in the next instant, that point cracked open to allow the winged shape of Khera'Va'ss'io entry into realspace. The smooth hull cut through the velvety, inky darkness with ease, angling to the left in a wide-swept arc that would allow entry into a stable orbit.

    On the bridge, Captain s'Ilancy sat in her chair. She stared ahead at the ravaged planet below, biting her lip for a few moments as she tried to wrap her thoughts around this mission that she and her crew had been sent on. It was certainly not the most bizarre, but it was one with a heavy amount of history attached to it. The devastation that Scarif lived with now... it was horrendous. And even worse, it had been because of one man's vanity. An entire planet caught up in a feud that had terrible consequences.

    Debris from the old planetary shield superstructure still littered all around.

    "Looks like a graveyard."

    Samus stood behind her, and she gave a nod to his observation.

    "It does."

    "You got any ideas on where to start searching for this mysterious signal that they want us to find?"

    Again she nodded.

    "I know exactly where to go," one hand seemed to curl inward on itself, fingernails digging into the palm of her hand.

    "We're going to the Central Structure's spire."

  10. #10
    Deputy Security Officer Tes Vilraider was putting the finishing touches on her report from that morning over a cup of caf.

    "...has requested to speak with Captain s'Ilancy about purported 'misunderstanding' Held in brig until further instruction."

    The kid from this morning could have been lying, Imperial Intelligence, saboteur, who knew... or he was a stupid Imp. civ who got on the wrong shuttle. There HAD been a gate change not long before take off, it was feasible. Still, bad luck at the very best. She doubted he was getting out of the brig at any time soon. Probably have to be handed over to the Empire, and she didn't pity what kind of debriefing he'd go through. Still it'd be a heck of a story to tell her kids on the next holo. Javen would get a kick out of the whole thing, he had such a dark sense of humor. She sat the datapad down, and finished her caf, standing to her full height of 6'4". Stretching her back slightly and satisfied with the light pop she heard she walked out of the security office toward the bridge, she had promised to relay the young man's wishes to the Captain, after all.

    She entered and stood at attention, waiting to be addressed.

  11. #11
    KHER moved from his usually stationary spot to stand beside Officer Vilraider.

    It seems Ms. Vilraider wishes to speak of our stowaway.

    Which was a point of damaged pride for the old droid construct. That he'd not discovered their straggler until they were already in hyperspace... it was a terrible sign that he needed to run a battery of diagnostics and defrags on his internal systems. This sort of oversight would never happen again.

  12. #12
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    Samus had taken a few steps back, allowing Vilraider and KHER to have her full attentions, and s'Il allowed herself to lean back in her seat.

    She pulled in a long breath, then let it out as she looked from her ship's avatar to Tes.

    "Have you been able to get any information from him?"

  13. #13
    "A bit, ma'am. He clams to be an Imperial citizen by the name of Michael Cline. A resident of Cloud City, Bespin and employee of the Cumulus Casino; and that he was meant to be aboard the cruiseliner Padme's Tears. There was a last minute gate change according to the port's records that corroborates that claim." She cleared her throat ever so slightly at the next, much less standard statement.

    "He's requesting an audience to make his case for himself, as well."

    Her gut told her that Cline wasn't lying, and with how poorly he masked his emotions she wasn't sure he could pull off a convincing lie anyway. Either that or he was one of the best actors she'd ever encountered.

  14. #14
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    Cline. Cline.

    Outwardly her surprise did not register, but inside her thoughts had suddenly become a maelstrom. Had she shut herself off so much from the Force, that her own ship now held secrets that she could not see so immediately?

    The hesitation in her response was one that was soon rectified.

    "Cloud City. He's... a fair bit away from home, then."

    She frowned.

    "Being an Imperial citizen on this ship is not a good situation for him to be in," her thoughts unraveled themselves from around her, stretching their tendrils out, '... but for the time being, he has done nothing except make a common mistake."

    Her mind extended beyond the bulkheads, invisible feelers that seeped into the detention block, and into the cell where Michael Cline sat.

  15. #15
    Michael sat in his cell, hands clasped near his knees as he leaned over his waist, deep in thought. How in the frell had he let this happen? The whole point of this trip had been to avoid anything that could put him on the Empire, and especially the Knight's radar, and now he was in the holding cell of an Alliance ship. There was exactly zero chance he was getting off this ship and home outside of being transferred into Imperial custody, and even less of a chance he'd make it out of any debriefing with the Empire without chains on his wrist for failing to register. Minor infractions, sure, maybe even something more severe - absolutely. But being handed over by the Alliance? They'd absolutely have someone force sensitive present to make sure he wasn't compromised.

    He leaned back and smacked his head into the cell wall in frustration at the situation. He'd screwed himself with his stupid vacation plan. A flicker of anger striking inside that he struggled to tamp down. Even better, get himself killed by lashing out in a rage. He smacked his head again, cursing under his breath as his anxiety ratcheted up. The tightness in his chest made it hard to breath, he hadn't felt this ill at ease since... no. Don't think about that. Don't even consider that an Alliance ship would have...

    Couldn't they though? The Jedi were allied to them, weren't they? Why wasn't it possible there was one on board. His stomach lurched and turned over as his worries amplified. What was taking someone so long to make a decision, to talk to him. Maybe he could still talk his way out of this. Or at least frelling try. He let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding as he slung his head forward and looped his fingers behind his head in nervous anxiety. He just wanted off this damned ship.

  16. #16
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    The anger, aggravation, and frustration was all very familiar. She'd only sense him once before, but it was so striking that she could never forget his distinct signature within the Force. It was a roiling thing, yet strangely enough, held in check with scrabbling, ethereal hands.

    Letting out a long breath, the Captain finally rose slowly to stand.

    "I will see him."


    * * *



    The door to Michael Cline's cell opened easily, both sides whisking apart with a pneumatic hiss. In the doorway, her hands clasped together behind her back, Captain s'Ilancy stood alone. There was no need to have anyone else accompany her.

    Slowly, she stepped inside until she stood just past the threshold, and without a wasted moment, the doors shut once more so that it was only the only company each had was the other.

  17. #17
    Mike had not been able to relax since he had begun worrying about a possible Jedi presence on the ship. In fact his anxiety had only seemed to raise and grow as the moments went on, building to a fever pitch that reminded him of his last encounter with a Jedi - pardon him 'not a Jedi' as she had put it. Mr. Prent's associate. Damn what had her name been? She had never been properly introduced to him, and he wasn't about to pry into his employer's private life, nor would Prent have appreciated it, he suspected. He had called her something though, while they were in the make shift holding facility for that thieving scumbag. Lak... or... no. Lok. He'd called her Lok. No idea if that was a first name, a last name or a pet name. He wasn't sure why he was so intent on thinking about it anyway. All it was doing was keeping his anxiety so high he could swear he felt her breathing down his neck.

    When the door opened, he raised his head from where it had been buried in his hands and felt his blood run cold. He really needed to start trusting his feelings more, maybe that was the Force trying to speak with him because there she was. He let out a small groan and buried his head back into his hands again.

    "Of course it's you."

    He said, the flesh of his palms muffling his words as he drew his hands together to cup in front of his mouth, breathing into them as he attempted to regain some measure of composure. Another chill went up his spine as he suddenly took a closer look at her uniform. He'd asked to speak to the Captain... hadn't he? He didn't really know Alliance uniforms, but if she were the captain she certainly looked the part.

    "I'm on the wrong damned ship." He mumbled, more to himself than to her at this point, the reality of just how screwed he was sinking in hard.

  18. #18
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    "I'd say you rather are," came her soft answer.

    Her hands came around from the small of her back to clasp together before her. For the moment she said nothing, only simply staring at him for a short time. He looked ill at ease, which - given his situation - she could understand. The layers of this man were of such complexity that in their last encounter she'd been unable to fully understand more than the basic gist of him. He had the Force, and he was hiding. His reaction to her then, and his reaction to her now... they helped her to see a little bit deeper. Not much deeper, but a layer had been peeled away.

    "Many people have found themselves on the wrong ship in the past though, so I will not assume that you here, now, is anything more than a simple misunderstanding."

    There was a truthfulness to his emotions now that vented from him in easily read wisps.

    "Unfortunately, being that you are an Imperial citizen, and this is an Alliance warship, you can understand the situation that I'm faced with."

    She stepped forward, allowing her stiff shoulders to relax somewhat, and moving to the empty side of his wall-cot, lowered herself to sit. Arms moved then, to rest elbows on knees as her posture matched his own, and when she spoke, it was in a tone that was far less official.

    "I'd prefer to keep both the Imperial Knights and the Jedi out of this matter, Michael. If you don't believe anything else that I say, at least believe that."

  19. #19
    He considered what she said and had a brief flicker of hope spark inside at the request, before nodding slowly along. It hurt nothing to at least hope she was telling him the truth at this point, he couldn't be in a worse position after all.

    "Gonna have to accept that." He said with a small tick of his head as if filing it away. "And for the record, that's my preference too." He considered her, and how much she put him ill at ease. He couldn't shake it, wasn't sure it'd ever be something someone so used to wrapping themselves in the darkside could shake this close to someone like her, but... he was going to try. If nothing else for his own self-preservation. He extended a hand slowly. "We never actually met. Not in any kind of... friendly manner at least. Michael Cline."

    Part of him recoiled at the idea of the gesture. He may not consider himself a Sith at this point, and she may not consider herself a Jedi, but that didn't change the opposing forces at play. His own fear at the situation he found himself in, the worry of being turned over to the Empire or even the Jedi seemed to make those feelings stronger.

    He kept that in check, pushed it down, he had to if he was getting out of this - and she was offering him a lifeline. Do not bite the hand that feeds.

  20. #20
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    She took his hand, grasping it in a firm grip.

    "Loklorien s'Ilancy."

    There was still hesitation in his eyes, and she could not fault him for that. He was in an unfamiliar place with people who were not from the same side of the border that he was. Not only that, but in a far more personal way, the valley that was between just the two of them was wide. But, she could still understand his reservations. She knew all too well that side of the Force that he existed in.

    "It is a pleasure to meet you."

    Her hand pulled away then, and she leaned back so that she could rest both in her lap.

    "I meant what I said, you know. Back then, about not being a Jedi." Back when they'd first met. It had not been under the best of circumstances, but she was determined that he understand the truth of her words.

    "I was once the farthest thing from, actually," her gaze turned from him then, to look at the far wall.

    "But that doesn't mean that I'm not still bound by what the Force wills. And neither, I suspect, are you."

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