wildcrafter

 Meirah's eyes snapped open. She didn't recognize that ceiling, nor that particular combination of dank, dusty smells. She sat up fast, and squinted at the spots that exploded in front of her eyes. A strange man loomed above her. She gave a startled yelp and flung one hand, palm out, toward the far corner of the room. He flinched and took a step back. She turned her hand over and gave it a quizzical glance. "Hey there."  He was all broad shoulders, scruff-covered jaw, and dark circles under whiskey-colored eyes. "Good to see you awake, rather than thrashing around in your sleep. You must have been having one hell of a nightmare. I was beg

"Onasi here. Bastila's escape pod is away. You're the last surviving crew. I can't wait for you much longer. You need to get to the pod bay, now!" Several seconds passed.  He squinted hard at the single blue indicator on the viewscreen. A series of red blips, indicating the Sith boarders, were beginning to fall back to the bulkheads. Not good. They were debarking in preparation to destroy the ship, and killing anyone they found on their way out. "Copy that, Commander," His eyes widened. It was the commtech from the Jedi party. "Arirai, is that you?" Bastila had resisted bridge crew's order to evacuate. When he'd resorted to

 Carth Onasi settled into his post on the bridge with a very large mug of the strongest caff he could find. Hopefully the first watch would be less eventful than the meeting that had preceded it.  Astrogation was throwing a fit because Bastila Shan's party of Jedi were insisting on using a different track through the system than the one they'd plotted. Payload was up in arms because the stock of relief supplies the Jedi had brought aboard was five times larger than the inventory they'd submitted.  No one liked their lofty disdain for the ship and the people tasked with keeping it running. And all of that paled in comparison to the problem of

 "Dr. Kimble," "Just call me Doc," the addressee replied reflexively before opening his eyes. He'd been curled on his side in the narrow space that the Force-cage afforded him, ineffectually trying to sleep. A male Sith Pureblood dressed in black armor loomed on the other side of the energy field. Doc propped himself up on one elbow and recognized his visitor as the Emperor's Wrath. "Oh. You. To what do I owe the displeasure?"  He was almost too tired to feel dread. The activity in the hangar bay hadn't given him any clues as to how long he'd been there, but he'd spent most of it waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had expected torture

Cymae heard the airlock slide open and slipped out of her stateroom. Kira expected to be on the ground at Aurek Station for another few hours going over battle plans with the new  officer in charge there. Teeseven was tucked into his usual alcove in the engine room for a long recharge. In that case, it had to be... Doc was on the stairs above the bulkhead, evidently calculating the best way to make a break for his quarters without arousing Seetoo's notice. "Doc?" He jerked around at the sound of her voice, startled, then dropped his head and sighed. He'd forgone his usually meticulous grooming; his hair was a mess, and his jaw bristled wit

The shielding ritual was complete. Master Yuon was sitting up in bed, speaking coherently for the first time in weeks, and no longer trying to throttle, concuss, or electrocute her apprentice. Zirsha was aboard the Defender on her way to Taris, in search of a missing Jedi ecologist with reported symptoms suspiciously similar to Yuon Par's dark side plague. Or rather, most of her was. The ritual had left a significant chunk of her energy, her spirit on the ground in Coruscant, wrapped around her mentor as a living barrier, separating her from the Plaguemaster's influence. In those few fevered hours when Zirsha had tried to commit all the col

"Simple happy language-words? Wow." Zirsha pressed her fingers against temples that were starting to ache and squinted out at the avenue leading away from Senate tower, the late-afternoon sun glaring through Coruscant's perpetual shroud of smog. The negotiation with the Gree ambassador droids had taken up more of the day than she'd anticipated. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get the smell of the Works out of her hair and robes. Her stomach rumbled. She struck out toward the Galactic Market, intending to remedy at least the latter problem. "Master Jedi! A moment, please," She turned. A harried-looking Zabrak woman in battle dress hurried tow