Their footsteps echoed in the large, marbled empty chambers of the Jedi temple.  Master and padawan walked quickly through the huge chamber.

"If matters had not been so pressing, I would not be sending you alone," master Kensho Raan explained.  

"I understand, master."  She was calm, almost serene, but Kensho could feel the boiling excitement hidden by her mask.

"You are required to maintain the peace, but protect the noble's life."  He stopped and wagged his finger at her, "Ignite your saber only in her protection."

She could barely stammer out a "yes, master" before they were trotting off again.  

"You also have a mission to map out the internal structure of the asteroid base.  This mission is arcane, secret.  Reveal it to no one.  Here."  He handed her a small, palm sized disk.  "That is a specially designed holorecorder.  Secure it on your person while you explore, it will handle the mapping for you.  It radiates signals that are readable to security devices, be sure to turn it off if you are under electronic surveillance."

Kensho stopped close to the exit to the great hall and looked down at his young charge.  He reached out to her and felt her mask, then probed deeper and felt her boiling emotions.  "Covering your emotions with a mask is not something you want to rely upon.  You must learn to calm the emotions, themselves."  He smiled at her.  "Practice this while you are away from me.  I look forward to seeing your progress when you return."  He clapped her on the shoulder, for good measure.  

Tearing his gaze from her young eyes, he looked out doorway of the chamber.  "Be on your guard out there."  He looked back at her, to find her gazing in rapt admiration at him.  That's something else we need to work on, but later, he thought.

"Go and pack your things.  Here is all the information you need for your mission," he handed a datapad to his padawan.  "Your ship is at the spaceport, docking bay 443.  Take this, too," he passed her a small, jingly pouch.  "250cr should be able to help you out.  That's from my personal accounts. Bring back the change!"

She was smiling, her masks having been brought down through the gentle discussion.  He leaned closer, "Your mask has fallen. Your emotions are visible.  This is why you need to control your emotions, so a fallen mask betrays nothing but your serene control."

"Yes, master."  She focused within, calmed herself and looked back at him.  A gentle probe revealed her emotions to be under more control.

"Good.  Practice more.  I will see you in a couple of weeks."

He turned on his heel and returned to the council chambers.  For just a moment Sylkana stared after him, then she smiled and ran to her cell to pack her things.  An hour later, she stepped out of the Jedi Temple, on her first journey into a larger world.

*     *      *

"Daughter."  He said it with all the love that a droid might express toward a data port.  

Rozhean yearned to hear a gentle word from him.  Stoicly, she faced him and refrained from expressing anything other than respect.  She bowed and spoke in careful, measured tones, "Clan-father."  I cannot even call him 'father,' she thought sadly.

He sighed.  "It has fallen to you.  Your brothers are too busy with other matters.  I cannot spare the time, myself."  He paused as if reconsidering, "I cannot trust this to a droid."  He looked back at her.  They locked eyes for a moment.  She refused to look away.  He sighed again.  That fiery independence is exactly why I can't marry you into a profitable alliance.  Who would have you?  Who could keep you?

"If only you had studied dance, as your sisters did."

She remained unmoved and silent, even in the face of this barb.  

Another sigh and then he resigned himself to the decision.  "You are to take passage to Kessel to negotiate with Viceroy Montoth Garille on Ardroc station. He has failed to send product on time.  I know what he is doing, saving the product as long as possible to maximize his interest.  Our agreement states clearly that we must receive product within thirty days of payment.  He has been shipping the product within thirty days, which means it takes another 8-10 days to be received.  The 8-10 day float is costing us millions in interest.  You will resolve this situation."

"Yes, Clan-father."

"I've requested assistance from the Jedi.  I intended it as a threat, but they are sending a representative.  Use that to the fullest."

"Yes, Clan-father."

He looked her up and down, once more.  She was dressed to travel, her lekku draped gently over her shoulders.  She displayed excellent control, keeping the tips from twitching.  She would make a good negotiator.  It galled him that she was probably better than her brothers, in fact.

"Remember, Turwol the Hutt is our leige.  He will be disappointed in me if this negotiation goes poorly.  Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, Clan-father."

He raised an eyebrow.  "Ask."

"What shall be my portion for this effort, Clan-father?"

Oh ho!  So, you want something!  "It is the duty of all in the clan to do their all for the whole."

"Of course, you are right, Clan-father.  Still, is it not true that the workman should be worthy of ... her hire?"  She changed the gender of the pronoun, emphasizing her place amongst the businessmen.

"What do you suggest, daughter?"  He was amused that she would try to negotiate with him.

"Wouldn't it be in my best interest to negotiate a more favorable settlement, if I received some part of it?"

"You're only negotiating an earlier shipment, there is nothing additional to be gained."

"Of course, you are right Clan-father.  Still, is it not true that the clan will save millions through my efforts?"  Before he could speak, she pressed on, "And is it not true that your countenance will be radiated by the goodwill of Turwol?"

She's shrewed, he thought.  "What do you want?"  He asked more forcefully.

"Clan-father, I want only to serve you.  I want to serve our leige."

A moment passed and he began to see it.  He smiled, then chuckled.  "You want a job!"

She bowed her eyes in submission, "Clan-father, I wish only to prove my ability to serve."

He rubbed his chin and thought. A female in the organization.  Officially in the organization.  It is scandalous.  It is ... novel.  It is ... something none of the other clans would expect.  He smiled calculatingly.

"Prove yourself on this mission and I will make recommendation to Torwol to include you in the organization."

"Thank you, Clan-father."

"Now, take this datapad containing all the information we have on Viceroy Montoth Garille and Ardroc station.  Go, study and prepare.  The ship bearing the Jedi representative will be here in a few days."

"Will I see you again before I leave, Clan-father?"  Rozhean checked the rising lump in her throat.

"No, daughter.  I depart for Nal Hutta in a few hours."  He was already turning away to his other matters.  "Goodbye."

"Goodbye ... father."  Rozhean turned so he could not see the tear that slipped past her guard and dampened her cheek.

*     *     *

"Danielle, whatever happens, this data must reach the Jedi Council." Her dying master passed a small datafile into her hands.  He was too injured for her meager skills to heal.  She wept openly as she felt his lifeforce slipping away.

"Take my saber.  Go.  Now!"  He groaned and pushed her away.

Uncontrolled tears and sobs poured from her as she turned and ran to the small ventilation shaft.  It was too small for her master.  Too weak was she to drag him.  She slipped the vent panel into place.  A moment later she observed the armored soldiers come around the corner and cover her dying master with their blasters.  One of them approached and bent down, as she watched.  He removed his glove, felt for a pulse and said, "He's dead."

"Give me his saber," said another soldier.  

After a moment searching the first soldier deadpanned, "It's not here."

They both looked around the chamber.  "Someone else has been here.  We must inform Lord Pax."  Another cursory glance around the chamber and they departed, leaving the body.

Everything within her screamed for revenge, to cut them to pieces with her masters saber ... her saber, now.  She calmed herself and waited for the soldiers to leave.  Then she fled in obedience.  She would honor his last instruction with her utmost obedience and urgency.

She spent days in the confines of the Corellian city's sewers before she felt it was safe enough to look for transport to Coruscant.  She chose a transport going away from Coruscant, to throw off any potential pursuers.  Hopefully, it would be a transport amenable to a Jedi in need, even if she was just a padawan.

After posting this, I realized there seems to be a cohesive theme running through all the intro stories: emotions and the control thereof.

Sounds like some fun stuff, man!

Sylkana dragged her luggage across the huge expanse of the Jedi Temple grounds toward the ledge where the sky-taxis and sky-buses took on and dropped off passengers.  She was sweating by the time she stepped up to the queue.  It took a few moments to locate the appropriate sky-bus.

By stepping onto the sky-bus she activated the purser droid to take her luggage and slot it into storage.  The pilot, a suprisingly non-droid cerean, didn't even look at her.

"Destination?" he droned.

"Capitol Starport."

"20 credits," he marked off a selection on a large datapad.

Sylkana paused.  She had not considered paying for her ride.  She had never been outside the temple.  She had seen other Jedi on some of her training outings, but had never been out on her own.  The time to think through all this took only a moment, but the pause was noticable to the pilot.  As he looked up in annoyance, she said, "Jedi business."

The cerean glanced her way and all the blood drained from his face. "You're a Jedi?" His voice no louder than a whisper.

"Yes," was all she could manage.

"Please, honorable Jedi, take a seat.  Jedi on Jedi business ride free on all public transportation."  The cerean pilot was nearly falling over himself to stand, bow, put away the databad, while directing Sylkana to a comfortable seat behind him.

"You're going to Capitol Starport?  That is two stops from here.  I can make a quick detour and get you there early, then come back to my normal route..." The words tumbled from the pilot swiftly.

"No.  No, you don't have to do that," Sylkana was smiling and gracious.  "My business is not urgent."

The pilot wiped his ample forehad and sighed.  "Then it will be about twenty minutes...."

"That will be fine," Syklana smiled and settled into her seat.  

The remainder of the queue boarded, two stops were made and then the Pilot informed her, "Yours is the next stop.  The purser-droid will have you luggage on the deck as soon as we land.  It has been a pleasure to have you on my bus!"  The cerean smiled genuinely.

Sylkana thanked him and exited the sky-bus, picked up her luggage and looked around the bustling starport.  With a happy sigh and light steps, she took her luggage and trundled determinedly toward her destiny.

"Hey!  You!  Jedi!"  The sharp voice caught her attention.  She was walking fast and almost to the starport entryway when the voice shot through the crowd.  "Jedi!  Over here!"  She turned to see a large, multilimbed alien serving food at a small vending stand.  

Why do you need a Jedi? she wondered.  Turning toward him, she walked closer, "Why did you call me?"

"Here!"  He thrust something toward her.  Instinctively, she took it from him.  It was breaded meat, on a stick.  "And this..."  He handed her a small package of yellowish sauce.

"What is this?"  She asked curiously.

"Cornda."  He smiled.  "You eat.  Open packet.  It better with sauce."

She did feel some hunger and the smell was delightful, so she followed his instructions.  No sooner had she tasted it, then he began to chant and hollar in a loud voice.

"Cornda here!  Fresh cornda!  Eat at place where Jedi eat!  Jedi eat here!  Fresh cornda!"  In a quieter voice, he said to her, "Thank you, Jedi.  Enjoy!" Then he winked and went back to his loud chant.

She took a few bites, satiating her curiosity more than her hunger and then moved into the starport to seek docking bay 443.

Navigating the starport was easier than she expected.  From a central hub radiated spokes with numbered docking bays.  Each spoke was numbered from one to ten and within each spoke were separate berths labeled from one to 100, odd on one side, even on the other.  She found the fourth spoke and about halfway down on the left side, she found bay 43.  The door was sealed.  She stepped up and activated the com.  A moment later a human face appeared on the screen.

"Who're you?"  There was clear annoyance in the voice.

"I'm Sylkana.  I have a ticket to travel on your ship."

"We don't start boarding until ten."

Sylkana checked her chrono, "It's half-past 10."

The face looked down, then back up in even more frustration, "You're late."

"If you'll open the door, I'll board."  Sylkana was controlling her emotions and not allowing herself to be affected by this human's attitude.

The face disappeared and the door clicked, cycled and opened slowly.

The ship that greeted her eyes did not inspire confidence in her travel arrangements.  It looked like a small, aged freighter, patched and repaired, modified and adjusted.  Then her eyes fell on the pilot and she realized that they were a perfect match.  He was scruffy and somewhat disheveled.  He had grease stains on his hands and his clothes were dirty.  He was giving her the same once-over that she gave him.  He sneered a bit and apporached.

"I'm Talor." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "This is the Picket."  He looked her up and down once more, "Aren't you a little young to be a Jedi Knight?"

She lost control of her emotions for a moment and flushed slightly, "I'm a Padawan, an Apprentice.  I've not yet taken the trials to be a Knight."

He leaned close, "And they let you out of the nursery?"  

He is deliberately trying to garner a reaction, she thought.  "Where is my cabin?"

He rolled back on his heels and crossed his arms, "Your 'cabin,' eh?"  His smile did nothing to engender her trust. "Well, missy, your 'cabin' is right this way."  He bowed slightly and motioned with his arms, "My purser-bot is on the fritz right now, so you'll have to carry your own luggage.  Follow me."

He walked up the gang-plank and stopped dead at the top of the ramp.  "Uh, you'll need to stow your gear in that space there."  He pointed to the side of the ramp at an alcove where her luggage might barely fit, and which would be completely inaccessible during the journey, if the ramp were retracted into place.  "There's no room for it in your ... 'cabin'."  

"I'll stow it after I remove what I need for my journey."  Her voice was totally calm and peaceful, though her emotions were starting to vibrate.

A turn to the right and Talor stopped, opened a small hatch and jerked his thumb.  "That's your home for the next few days."  To say it was small gave the word 'small' a much larger meaning than was ever intended.  It was miniscule.  There was enough room to lie down and perhaps roll over.  Even then, she would need to grasp the bar above the hatch and sling her legs into the coffin-like space to enter it.  "I'll just leave you to get situated.  We're going to leave in a couple hours."  

Talor walked away as Sylkana stepped up to remove her essential items from her luggage.  It was then that she noticed the smell coming from her 'cabin'.  "Garlic and ... anchovies?"  She steeled herself to endure it.  She removed a change of clothing, her personal items and then stowed her luggage. She laid her clothing and items on her bunk, closed the hatch and wandered into the ship the same direction that Talor had disappeared.

The ship was very small.  A lounge that could seat four, five if they were friendly, an autochef with an extremely limited repetoire and what looked like a barely functional medstation completed the lounge.  An exit to the cargo hold and one to the cockpit were the only other options.  From her vantage in the lounge, she could see the two-seat, tandem, cockpit with Talor in the forward seat.  She noted there were three additional 'cabins', all about the same size, though it seemed that hers was just a little smaller than the rest.

It's going to be a long trip, she thought.

Talor came into the lounge and informed her matter-of-factly.  "We're stopping at Corellia to take on another passenger before we get to Ryloth."  He paused to gauge her reaction, but received nothing. "Jedi don't pay much and even with this noble that we're taking, I need to make a profit to keep this baby in space."  He reached up and stroked the inside bulkhead.  For just a moment, he wasn't frustrated and Sylkana could feel genuine fondness radiating from him.  "There's a problem with one of the cabins, if I can't fix it, you may have to share with my other passenger."

He's only trying to goad you.  Don't fall for it.  She forced a smile.  "What's wrong with it?"

"It's got a bad seal, life-support is erratic and it smells like garlic and fish."

"It seems you've already placed me in that cabin."

"Really?"  He looked past her at the cabins.  "Well, I better get to work on it, then, so you don't freeze to death or suffocate while you're sleeping."  With that, he brushed past her and exited the ship.  

It will definitely be a long trip.  Moments later Sylkana heard clanking and banging from under the ship.  Presumably Talor was effecting repairs.  

Nestled up into the guts of the ship, Talor was using a tool to bang on random components, gently.  He did this for about ten minutes, while fuming.  Damned Jedi.  He banged again.  Refused to allow me to charge a decent price for that noble.  Kept me to contract rates for the Jedi padawan.  Not even a full, damned Jedi.  He banged again.  Hopefully I can get a decent fare on Corellia, or things are going to get rough.  He banged again and then switched on the life support system for the cabin.  He banged again for good measure and then prepared the ship for takeoff.

Moments later, tools stowed, Jedi buckled in, clearances granted, the Picket shot into her escape orbit and off to Corellia.

Danielle looked closely at the arrival and depature screens.  A ship coming from Coruscant will probably be returning eventually and will draw less notice.  She instinctively felt for the datafile nestled in her bodice and was suddenly aware of the weight of her former master's lightsaber tucked up her sleeve.  A few moments reading the display allowed her to pick the transport she wanted and notate the arrival time.  

The Picket would be arriving in 33 hours.  It had one berth and was asking for 250cr for a hop to Ryloth or 350cr to Kessel.  She stepped up to the ticket booth and selected the destination of Kessel.  I can always negotiate with the pilot for additional passage when I'm aboard.

She had hawked everything she owned and participated in a few games of chance to increase her stash, still the 34 remaining credits after her transport purchase felt light and gave her a sense of vulnerability.  She pushed the emotion away and calmed herself.  The ticket registration was written to her multipass and she stepped out of the booth to carefully examine whether she was being watched.  

Danielle closed her eyes and expanded her consciousness.  She could feel the individual emotions of everyone around her.  Calming herself further, she opened up as much as she had ever done before.  At the furthest extreme of her perception, there was a hint of someone searching for her, but it wasn't close, it wasn't specific and (best of all) it was moving away.  She collected her consciousness into her body and opened her eyes.  It was like a blast of cold air exiting from a warm house to be slapped with reality again.  She caught her breath and slipped away to merge with the ebb and flow of the crowd.

It took her only a few minutes to return to her hiding place under the north-most escalator, near the food-court.  She slipped in and prepared to wait for the remaining 33 hours.

*    *    *  

Viceroy Montoth Garille is a jerk, Rozhean thought as she continued to absorb all the data she was provided.  Sexist.  Racist.  Rabble-rouser.  Low-life.  She ticked off his best traits as she looked over her notes.  Why are we in business with someone like this and what exactly is 'the product'?  

Lazily, she drew another xango from the fruit bowl and slipped it into the fruit processor.  She scanned another few pages of notes and then removed the bowl of diced fruit, swimming in its own juices.  She delicately began to eat a small section, completely oblivious to the sweet tang of the nectar.

Everything I've read about Kessel leads me to believe that we're skirting the very edge of ligitimacy with this 'business' deal and what I read about the viceroy makes me wonder if we're already over the edge.  Another bite followed the first, but was no more noticed.

"Droid," she intoned with an almost musical lilt.  A small, half-sized protocol droid, gently floating on a small repulsorlift hummed to life and floated toward her.

"Yes, miss?"  It's voice was programmed to sound like a sultry woman in the midst of a seduction.  Rozhean rolled her eyes as she noticed it.

"Retrieve all the data we have on our clan's business dealings with Viceroy Montoth Garille."

"Yes, miss."  It floated away, hovered near a dataport and extended an interface probe.  While it connected and retrieved data, Rozhean studied the viceroy's asteroid conplex.

"Why would the viceroy need a vertitable fortress to conduct business?" She mused aloud.

The returning protocol droid must have overheard her musing, "According to our records, pirates have attempted to steal product while it was being loaded on several occasions."  It paused as it settled to eyelevel, producing a small chip on a servo-arm.  "Here is the data you requested, miss."

Rozhean took the chip, "Thank you, droid, that will be all."  She didn't even notice the "yes, miss" reply as she slotted the chip into her data reader.

A few moment's scanning quickly revealed that the data was heavily censored.  She inwardly cursed her station that allowed only a modicum of detail.

In a flash, she jumped from her recliner and padded quickly to the intercom on the far wall, "Locate Jozhune and inform him that I want to speak with him."

While she waited, she examined the state of her wardrobe.  Three different outfits for each day seemed a bare minimum, especially if she were to dine with dignitaries at three different times of the day.  Perhaps four - or better yet, five -  outfits per day would make more sense.

"What do you want, Rozhy?" Jozhune's harsh voice barked from the intercom.

"Ah!  My dearest brother!  How are you doing today?"  Rozhean used ber most pleasing tones.

"I'm busy.  You should know that.  What do you want?"  His words were harsh, but she could feel the warmth deep down that her tone had dredged up.

"I need some data, my dearest brother.  The droid can't seem to find what I need."  She interjected just a subtle amount of pout into her inflections.  She also knew Jozhune's hatred of droids.

"What data do you need?  Is this for your little trip?"  He put some sing-song into the last words to indicate how important he thought it was.

"Yes, it is.  I need to know more about our product and ..."

He interrupted harshly.  "No. You don't."

"Really, brother, I..."

"Listen, Rozhean..."

He used my full name!  What's going on?

"...you don't need to know about it.  You don't want to know about it.  It's nothing that should concern you.  Stay out of it until ... father ... invites you in.  Trust me in this.  Turn off your inquisitive nature and focus on the issue at hand.  You don't need to know about the product.  Do you hear?"

"Yes, dear brother," she sighed disappointedly, "I hear and I understand."

"Good.  Now, why don't we have dinner tomorrow night before you depart and I'll look over all the data you've collected to be sure you're not missing anything."

You mean you'll make sure that I haven't learned too much and dug too deep, she thought angrily.  "Okay, dear brother, tomorrow night, dinner time.  Have a great day!"  She clicked off the intercom before he could reply.

Now, just how do I go about cracking through the security clearance they've erected?  Her mind turned to a whole different problem than negotiating with Viceroy Montoth Garille.

*    *     *

Talor's moods were enough to set anyone without Jedi training into a sympatheic response.  It is probably worse, thought Sylkana, that I am not responding.

Talor alternated between the cockpit, the autochef, the hygiene unit and bothering Sylkana.  Her only respite from Talor's near continuous diatribe against the Jedi and their "meddling" with politics was her coffin-like cabin.  

The cabin that smelled like garlic and fish.  

It was an odor that had permeated any clothing she wore while within the confines of the claustrophobic chamber.  She had decided to wear only one of her robes during the trip and had already resorted to washing it once to purge the pungent odor.  It had been only partially successful.

"You know, I just got a flashwave that someone bought a ticket on Corellia.  They're going to be with us all the way to Kessel."  Talor spoke while knawing on a ration bar.  "Didn't even negotiate the price, just took the asking."

As he said it, she felt a slight tremor in the Force, but it was gone in a flash.  

"We should be at Corellia in about a day." He was finishing up the last of his ration bar and looking for crumbs.

Sylkana walked past him to her cabin.  "Wake me before we land, if you please."  She slipped in and closed the door.

"Sure thing, Ms. Prissy."  Talor made a rude gesture toward her cabin, half-hoping she could sense it.  Then he sat down in the lounge, looked around and sighed.  Only thing worse than being alone in space is not being alone, but having someone who won't talk to you...  He sighed heavily and slouched back on the padded seat.

[Is this doing anything for anyone?  Should I keep posting?  We're having another session tonight and I'd like to know if anyone is even keeping up with the story...]