Schools in session. (Spearpoint/Oatara)

Under the gorgeous Oataran sunrise stood a pack of the most groggy, un-welcoming, "Gods-we-don't-want-to-be-awake-right-now" recruits Horst had ever laid his eyes on in all his years of whipping boys into men. At least in the military he had been training Spec Ops; all of the kids there had at least shown enough balls to be chosen because it was believed that could handle the program.

These maggots were just pathetic. They won't be though. That made Spearpoint's biggest, grizzliest, most unrefined stubborn Corellian grin as he watched the morning sun.

Horst sipped his coffee, watching the trainees slowly slump out of their barracks and onto the training field. The one thing that had surprised him was the amount of recruits; a hundred in this batch alone. A full platoon worth of recruits, and Spearpoint had been nothing but him, Ethan, and Bit running from mercs on Coruscant a good month and a half ago. Horst wasn't usually one for extremely drastic change over short periods of time, but in a way going from a pirate crew of 3 to a full-blown organization of hundreds didn't feel like any sort of progression or regression to him.

It just felt like home. Horst was a soldier, through and through, and there was no place for a soldier quite like an army.

Weeeeeeeeeeeell, ain't quite tha' same army. Horst didn't remember having a smokin' hot Mirialan girlfriend back in his Spec Op days... or any stage of his life, come to think of it. To be honest, the he was sort of amazed that Ervi had come back with him; whatever he'd managed to roll off that stone he called a tongue must have been nothing short of a miracle, especially since he'd somehow convinced her to date him.

He sighed, trying to focus on the troops. They, at least, he knew how to deal with.

The Engineer glanced down at his watch as the sun managed to bring the bottom of it's round shape above the tree-tops of the surrounding forest, the lush and colorful life of the jungle beyond SPHQ's walls slowly churning and waking.

... tha' hell is Rem? Horst had told him to be there before the recruits; what good did it do them to see the men leading them too lazy to show up late?

Horst wasn't quite sure what to think of Zett quite yet. They'd been acquainted in passing up until Operation Initiation, and Horst wouldn't be the first to admit that the kid had skills. With that said, he also had a helluva mouth on him, and Horst couldn't stand loud-mouth, cock-of-the-walk kids who thought they were slicker than spit and divinity's gift to the opposite sex. Sure, they were right to a degree, but most of them overplayed.

It made Horst grin all the same though. He knew what usually happened to those kids when they became a little too over-confident...

"Slept in!"

"I told ya' 5:30, Zettsy, not 6!" Horst chuckled as he stood, sipping his coffee again as he got up and walked over to the younger man, clapping his shoulder. "6 is fer' these bozos." He nodded over at the recruits with a grin before hollering, "Ain't that right maggots!?"

He received a round of groans, weak replies, silent replies, and one very loud, "Don't call us maggots old man!"

Horst raised an eyebrow at Zett, sipped the last of his coffee, and replied with a shout, "We'll see kid!" He then plucked up a whistle hanging around his neck, blowing it twice.

"Fall in ladies! Y'all've got 3 minutes, n' if anybody's late yer' all gettin' here by then, it's 5 laps!"

Admittedly, Dulgan was settling into the point-of-the-spear lifestyle rather well. He could hang with the rest of the gang, down just as many drinks plus one, and he had twice as many stories to tell around the campfire. As far as one could tell, he was just an ordinary guy.

Nice little operation going on here.

Oatara was a nice place by all means if his three-day foray meant anything thus far. The jungle base wasn't a five-star hotel, but it was definitely upper-class as far as mercenary bunking went, and the townsfolk were nice enough to keep the bars open late at night. He'd left the Concord Blade in the care of Terren at one of the landing pads on lock-down. Even if this place was whipping up its own little army, there were some sultry types around here with a tendency to go poking around places where they didn't belong. Dulgan's ship definitely stuck out: you didn't find light freighters of that quality in the hands of your average recruit. Furthermore, you also didn't find lightsabers. At least his looked like a hydrospanner to some degree.

Indeed, it drew too much attention which was exactly what Dulgan didn't want. He was trying to bury his past to an extent, trying to utilize the skills he had learned but forget how he had learned them. The fact that he had been introduced to Spearpoint by single-handedly tackling a cargo raid on his own made him stick out a little, but hopefully that'd be forgotten about soon enough. In any rate, here was his chance to get lost in the crowd. There was almost a hundred recruits, maybe more, in this incoming class of Spearpoint inductees. Every single man and woman had something unique to their story, but they'd all made it here just the same.

The barracks he had been assigned was full of punks, retards, junkies, a few good men, some veterans, and then average sign-ons looking for a mission or a purpose. He'd picked himself a bunk near the entrance, packed what belongings he had dragged from the ship into the provided footlocker and gotten used to the feel of a military lifestyle. It wasn't bad; he gotten used to it. Not super comfortable but the body odor smell rampaging through the barracks was disgusting. In any rate, he was ready to get back to sleeping on his ship. He'd retired early last night after some exploring, and woken up at four in the morning from insomnia and dreams about his former master. Needless to say, he wasn't surprised when the same bull of a man from the Sith freighter had come rushing in around two hours later and started rousing everyone like a damned alarm. Dulgan couldn't associate the face with a name, however.

Slipping on a tight undershirt and pulling up some tan cargo pants and field boots in favor of his usual casual wear, Dulgan slid on his shoulder holster and slid his Corvlic 44 into it in a nonchalant suave manner as he was the first to pass by the tank, doing his best to avoid eye-contact. Well, it wasn't like they could meet each other's gaze anyhow since Dulgan never removed his sunglasses. Their temperament auto-adjusted lighting to the dusk-like weather outside, the sun shining over the horizon as he shifted himself into the training grounds outside. For some reason, everyone was forming up around him and behind him, not wanting to earn the instructor's ire as they sauntered about with groggy eyes and misshapen hair if there was hair available to mess up. Dulgan was literally in the very front of the massive pack, which was almost done filtering outside.

Sithspit.

His hand instinctively reached for his "hydrospanner" for a little reassurance. Another man was joining the bear, nick-named "Zettsy" from what he had gathered from the former's dialect. So there were two of them. The others were obviously unsure what to expect and shifted about uneasily and sleepily, not sure what to make of about what was going to happen. But Dulgan just stood there with his arms crossed, waiting. He wasn't tired, but he was certainly awake and aware for whatever they had in store.

((OOC---Switching text color to Black.))

"I told ya' 5:30, Zettsy, not 6! 6 is fer' these bozos." Zett chuckled as he moved toward Horst, Yeah, 2 years of Coruscant's 24 hour cycles ruin sleep habits pretty badly. And I'm not a morning person. Zett said looking the to sea of recruits that where now apparently all present.

"Ain't that right maggots!?"
"Don't call us maggots old man!"

Zett had to hide a smile with his hand.
"Fall in ladies! Y'all've got 3 minutes, n' if anybody's late yer' all gettin' here by then, it's 5 laps!" Horst was mainly the one giving orders, Zett was just here to take head counts, and make sure no one would need a body bag. T6 had come along because Zett had giving the droid the list of recruits and Zett didn't have a second copy.

Zett was still thinking about his raid, he had planned on presenting the idea to Horst today, but he would wait a while before saying anything about it, for two reasons, the recruits probably didn't need to know, and second Zett wasn't fully awake yet. T6 made a beep trying to point something out, What? Zett asked turning to the droid for a second. T6 produced a hologram of a member, a recruit who wasn't present. Zett was kind of impressed that only one recruit hadn't shown up. But that also ment extra laps. Zett tapped Horst on the shoulder and pointed to the droid, the Recruits where still working on the task Horst had given them, which at the moment was push-ups.

The recruits lined up in a few ill-formed rows, producing an uneven square of men. The rows differed in spacing, length, width, and straightness, and sort of gave the overall impression that no one had any idea of what they were doing.

Great. New guys. Spearpoint thus far had managed to attract former military personnel in surprising numbers; it seemed that a lot of soldiers in the galaxy still had their get up and go even after they got up and left. Unfortunately, this particular batch of recruits seemed mostly devoid them; Horst was guessing they more like bounty hunters or smugglers, judging from the fact that not a single one appeared to have a clue.

Not even any freakin' mercs. He sighed. "S'gonna' be a long day Zettsy."

Speaking of his partner-in-training, it was at that point that Horst felt a tap at his shoulder. Looking over, the Engineer saw the image of a recruit with information, with "ABSENT" highlighted in big, red letters.

"Gotcha'." He nodded before raising his voice again. "Aright ladies! Here's the deal!" He turned to the tank he'd placed on the field this morning; today's training might get to vehicle training if the recruits were quick on the draw. Nevertheless, it served as his platform as the Corellian climbed up on top of it, his muscular arms pulling up his mass in an athletic display. Once atop the metal, he stood tall, surveying his troops with an air of confidence.

"'Case ya' didn't know it yet, my name's Captain Horst Stellar. Y'all'll be callin' me Horst when this over, but 'till then, my name's 'Sir', understand?" He looked for acknowledgement, getting a few nods, jeers, and even a sneeze.

"My job's ta' take each n' every one uv' ya' n' make a hundred soldiers. Er', ninety nine." He chuckled. "That basically means that fer' tha' next three weeks, I'm gonna' make yer' lives as freakin' miserable as possible. Yer' gonna' hate me, hate yer'self, n' probably hate existin' as ya' know it. But damnit, if ya' got tha' balls, yer' gonna' be soldiers." He grinned, his chuckling resurfacing for a moment. He looked positively jolly commanding; it was his place in the galaxy, and he knew it.

"Now ask yer' questions runnin'; 5 laps! LET'S MOVE!" Horst scooped the whistle off of his neck and blew it hard, allowing the sound to ring out as a mark of the beginning torture. He immediately jumped off the machinery and bounded to the other side of the field leading the forming procession, coming to jog right in front of some guy wearing shades.

"Sound off ladies!"

Dulgan sneezed violently as Horst made an introduction to what was an otherwise apathetic group of misfits. He wiped the snot on his sleeve and listened in on the rest of the morning briefing. Apparently out of the hundred and two Dalmatians present one was missing. Fantastic.

He could handle three weeks. Hell, almost twenty-five years as a Jedi and another few living on Nar Shaddaa, and more kills than triple the number of these fools. But all these other guys’ mistakes would pile up. His gaze shifted to his left at a quivering Wroonian, his blue skin paler than a Tauntaun. From what he could tell, the boy was hardly eighteen and probably a run-away. Dulgan was about to offer some quick words of encouragement before a whistle sounded off and its eerie sharp pitch brought all shifting and activity to a halt.

“Now ask yer’ questions runnin’; 5 laps! LET’S MOVE!”

It appeared as if he was going to be the one leading the pack for today’s run. Which was okay, of course, except that Sasquatch was coming up behind him to assume the role of line leader instead. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to recognize Dulgan from before. Despite the fact, however, Dulgan wasn’t the quiet type and he did have some questions. However, he couldn’t see where that Zettsy guy was. Thus, with some reluctantly he pulled up alongside Horst who had been previously obscuring all his vision due to the fact the man was as big as Dulgan’s ship. He then gave a great big yawn before scratching his nipple enthusiastically, which was incredibly itchy.

“So, Captain Planet, what’s the washout rate out for a hundred honorable laymen like ourselves?,”

Dulgan asked, nodding his head back at his fellow recruits behind them as they ran. Hopefully he had a sense of humor, because even though he had been awake for the past few hours Dulgan was waaaay too groggy to dodge a slug to the face right now.

"Aright ladies! Here's the deal!" Horst said after Zett had brought up the subject of the missing recruit, Horst turned to the sea of heads, he jumped onto the tank and began giving orders, to Zett it was obvious that Horst was use to being in charge of a group, Zett had worked with Horst a little on the mission known to the members of spearpoint as "Operation Initiation", Aside from that he had briefly seen him on a space station owned by Kyle in the Corellian Run. Otherwise they where basically stringers, Zett wasn't even sure why he got picked to assist the training yet.

Zett had just followed Horst's lead and was now running at the front of the pack off to His left, Horst and another man where talking for a minute and Zett overheard what the second man said, “So, Captain Planet, what’s the washout rate out---" Zett could figure out the rest of the sentence having to do with the group of 100 99 recruits, Zett spoke up to make a small joke real quick, being sure not to interrupt anyone in the process, Hey his nickname isn't "Captain Planet" It's "Captain big daddy." Zett said referring to the name he had called Horst back on the Sith station. Zett was quiet for a little bit longer before bringing something up to Horst, Simply because Zett wanted to know the answer to a couple of questions. So big daddy, Zett began with a smirk, he couldn't help but call him that now that he remembered the nickname, You some sort of former military bloke? You handle a platoon of recruits well. Zett pointed out before asking a follow up question that had been poking at Zett sense he found out he was getting the assignment, On that note, why in blazes was i picked to help out? I ain't got leadership material. Zett pointed out still trying to wrap his head around why he had been picked, though he supposed it wasn't all that important, at least he was somewhat trusted and being used by the group.

The pack of men slowly formed into a running arrangement, and soon enough there was a loose line of 99 men (plus two commanders) slowly jogging the inner-circumference of SPHQ's walls. On the left side of them were the workings of the base, the beginning of their run giving them a passing view of the hangars, with the tarmac up ahead and the barracks behind. On their right stood giant, metal walls in place just as much for reasons of possible defense as simply keeping the vast Oataran jungle out and the soldiers in.

Speaking of the soldiers, one spoke up, running alongside Horst as Zett caught up. Horst chuckled slightly as his comment, turning to see that it was that crazy individual he and Ethan had recruited; the one they had found trying to pirate a Sith freighter with nothing but a few toys and a droid. Horst couldn't say he'd learned a lot about their hand-picked recruit, save for two facts.

Fact #1: He never took off those damn sunglasses.

Fact #2: He must have had quite the gonads to have been doing what he had been doing.

Before Horst could respond, Zett made a few cracks, insisting that his title was "Captain Big Daddy" as opposed to Shades' "Captain Planet". Horst rolled his eyes, still chuckling softly as they jogged, the tarmac slowly approaching on their left.

"Great. Two smart-mouths." That earned a hearty chuckle, loud and strong. Zett's questions silenced his chuckling though, replacing it with a grin and a hum of thought.

Shades was up first, seeing as how he asked first. "Washouts? Shades buddy, yer' lookin' at tha' survivors." He looked back at the pack of men jogging behind them, grinning wildly. "We didn't bother ta' put ya' through tha' filter week. Tha' guys behind ya' are tha' sole survivors a' one week a' non-stop, no-sleep, work-'till-ya'-faint hell." He nodded at Dulgan, still not bothering to ask for his real name. Once Horst gave someone a nickname, it usually stayed that way unless he was being absolutely critical. "Figured ya' wouldn't drop out on us. Glad ta' see I ain't wrong so far."

Then there was Zett. Horst glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his old smuggler's instinct for not revealing anything about his past coming back seemingly for old times' sake.

Man, he hated that thing. Pounding it back down to the reminiscent, faded shadow it was nowadays, Horst smirked. "Was Republic Army back in tha' day Zettsy. Got transferred ta' Spec Ops, n' made a livin' wreckin' what we didn't like n' fixin' what we did." He chuckled again. "I was damn good at it too. Still am. N' don't think yer' here 'cause I like ya' 'er anythin'. I saw ya' durin' Op. I. Yer' not half bad at leadin' guys inta' the meat grinder n' livin' ta' talk about it."

The hangars were finally past, and to the left of the jogging troops was the tarmac, the winds produced by repulsors and rotors buffeting them all with wind as the atmosphere-capable aircraft of Spearpoint flew above, testing repairs, going out on patrols, or flying in practice exercises.

"'Sides," Horst hollered over the sound, not worrying about being heard. He usually was. "Ya've had it too easy since Op. I!" With that, the warm sound of a gruff, amused laughter softened the sharp whines and chops of the tarmac.

Horst answered the recruits question first, and who's to blame him? The Recruit did ask the question first. Zett listened to him give the Answer, "Washouts? Shades buddy, yer' lookin' at tha' survivors... We didn't bother ta' put ya' through tha' filter week. Tha' guys behind ya' are tha' sole survivors a' one week a' non-stop, no-sleep, work-'till-ya'-faint hell. Figured ya' wouldn't drop out on us. Glad ta' see I ain't wrong so far." Zett nodded, it's probably good there wasn't a filter week, that would have taken to much time, and from what Zett had heard; most of which was likely rumors, there was going to be a lot of missions coming up real quick.

Horst then took to Zett's question, "Was Republic Army back in tha' day Zettsy. Got transferred ta' Spec Ops, n' made a livin' wreckin' what we didn't like n' fixin' what we did." Horst gave a chuckle, "I was damn good at it too. Still am. N' don't think yer' here 'cause I like ya' 'er anythin'. I saw ya' durin' Op. I. Yer' not half bad at leadin' guys inta' the meat grinder n' livin' ta' talk about it." Zett shrugged, Trust me, i didn't think it was 'cause i was liked. That part was true, though the Complement was nice to hear for a change. "'Sides, Ya've had it too easy since Op. I!" Zett made a mock laugh, by this time they where running past the hangers, his ship was in the hanger and Zett couldn't help but look to the Star Hunter to check up on it. He returned to Horst, I was part of the other Operation too ya' know. And my trip to Falucia wasn't exactly a Vacation. Zett pointed out, then finished, But, I'm being used, so i won't complain.

Dulgan nodded in acknowledgement with a slight grin as the other guy popped up next to them. It appeared that although the two were acquaintances, Zett knew just as much about Horst as he did.

"Washouts? Shades buddy, yer' lookin' at tha' survivors... We didn't bother ta' put ya' through tha' filter week. Tha' guys behind ya' are tha' sole survivors a' one week a' non-stop, no-sleep, work-'till-ya'-faint hell. Figured ya' wouldn't drop out on us. Glad ta' see I ain't wrong so far."

Shades. He had a feeling that one was going to stick for awhile.

I like it.

"Glad I could make it for the afterparty then, Captain. Arriving fashionably late was always a bit too mainstream for my tastes but I'll take it."

It appeared he had remembered him after all, which wasn't a bad thing. And Dulgan was still living up to his nature and overcoming the cautiousness he had gained, which was good. But there wouldn't be any magic tricks until he was sure this guy wasn't one of... those guys. You know, like the force-hating those guys. And they seemed to be rising in supply every day, it seemed. For all he knew, anybody in this compound could have been put away in the spice mines for a time by a Jedi. Mercenary outfits weren't exactly his cup of tea, but he needed a good job to keep food on the table and he could see himself here for the foreseeable future.

The sun was getting brighter out and the rest of the base was rumbling to life; speeders, other training platoons, base klaxons blaring light music. Dulgan listend to the younger Zett make banter with Horst about their previous mission(s?) together. It sounded like Horst had a little protege on his hands, which was interesting. Zett seemed brash, undeveloped, but he had a fire to his spirit that wasn't easily extinguishable. In a way, it reminded Dulgan of himself ten years ago to the dot. Waiting for the dialogue to finish, he popped another question as they rounded the tarmac.

"So, how long have you love-birds known each other? More specifically, how long has Spearpoint been active?"

As the jogging procession rounded the corner of SPHQ the tarmac began gaining distance behind them, and on their left appeared the training grounds. Horst had seen the training schedule for today (actually he'd played a part in writing it, but that was beside the point); the sound of counting replaced the sounds of repulsors and chopper-blades as an entire other platoon of soldiers coordinated on the field. At their head was Quintus, Spearpoint's other resident drill sergeant. His task was the same as Horst's; get the troops into shape. Of course the batch he was torturin- er, training was on the last day of their program, and were basically ready for combat.

In short, they were the other half of a "Before-And-After" photo. Horst nodded at his fellow commander they passed, the men exchanging grins.

Zett spoke up then, claiming that he hadn't had quite the frolic in the meadows Horst thought. The Engineer hadn't meant it literally, so he grinned at the response he got. "I was kiddin' Zettsy. Tha' hells were ya' doin' on Felucia, anyway?" He looked over with a small grin, expecting his answer. Before he could get it though, Shades responded, and Horst was forced to look at his other side with the same expression.

"If yer' lookin' fer' doin' things 'fashionably', yer' in tha' wrong pirate band bub." That provoked another quick chuckle; whenever Horst wasn't making troops curse his name because of drills and exercises, he was actually quite jovial and amicable. "That's actually a pretty good question though. Feels like we've been here fer' a year already." He looked up at the sky, clouds slowly bustling along en route to other parts of the planet. He scratched his stubble, thinking.

"If I was gonna' guess though... a dozen weeks?" He turned to look at Zett again, looking for confirmation. "Least that's how long it's been since tha' first recruitment, right?"

The group of 101 turned another corner around the main HQ, they where passing another batch of recruits that looked like they where a lot further along then their group. Zett could tell another thing about the other group that that was different then Horst and his, they were barely sweating. The group Zett was in was probably already beginning to smell, Zett didn't really know though because he was up front. Oatara was a hot humid planet, Zett learned quickly, though it didn't really affect him, he had after all lived on Tatooine for several years growing up, with that fact he quickly was able to handle hot and warmer weather much better then cold weather.

"I was kiddin' Zettsy. Tha' hells were ya' doin' on Felucia, anyway?" Zett smiled to himself, but before he could really answer the other recruit spoke up, "Glad I could make it for the afterparty then, Captain. Arriving fashionably late was always a bit too mainstream for my tastes but I'll take it." Horst gave his response, "If yer' lookin' fer' doin' things 'fashionably', yer' in tha' wrong pirate band bub." Most of the group chuckled with Horst's response, then question came from "Shades" "So, how long have you love-birds known each other? More specifically, how long has Spearpoint been active?" Zett remained silent letting Horst give the answer, "That's actually a pretty good question though. Feels like we've been here fer' a year already. If I was gonna' guess though... a dozen weeks? Least that's how long it's been since tha' first recruitment, right?" Horst looked to Zett and he realized he was looking for confirmation, Zett thought back a little bit, Yeah, that's when i joined and i was part of the first sign ups, if i heard right you guys where only here a day or so before the rest of us. As hard to believe as it was, it had been about 12 weeks, The new Oataran Days had actually been getting to him.

Zett remembered Horst's question to him about Felucia, he thought to himself for a second, he had gone there to find Marcus Foxworth's journal, nothing in his trip was to be frowned upon by the group, and neither was there anything for him to truly keep secret, so Zett returned to answering that question, In short, i was chasing ghosts. My former mentor. Zett said not trying to hold the conversation to himself.

"If yer' lookin' fer' doin' things 'fashionably', yer' in tha' wrong pirate band bub."

Dulgan chuckled along with the rest of the jogging troops as they passed by another platoon on the training grounds and it's commander whom Horst seemed to know personally. This man seemed even more leatherneck than the captain did; Dulgan would have to challenge him to a drinking game at some point just for kicks.

"Captain, gentlemen, please! There's nothing wrong with shooting my C44 with a pinky stretched out."

That seemed to generate more laughs amongst the men, who had otherwise been quiet aside from Dulgan, Zett and Horst. Granted, PT wasn't a social call, but this also wasn't strict lace and shoe polish; it was a mercenary outfit and it was full of mercenary types. The smell of body odor from the others who weren't used to grinding it out confirmed that. Still, one always had to be aware of one's boundaries. Don't mistake tolerance for friendliness, and certainly never spill any beans about yourself that are going to come back and bite you later. Dulgan tried to follow those guidelines as best he could, but when he made acquaintances he tended to be a bit talkative.

"That's actually a pretty good question though. Feels like we've been here fer' a year already. If I was gonna' guess though... a dozen weeks? Least that's how long it's been since tha' first recruitment, right?"

"Yeah, that's when I joined and I was part of the first sign ups, if I heard right you guys were only here a day or so before the rest of us."

So Spearpoint hadn't been around too long after all, which made sense. In all his travels in the galaxy, Dulgan had never heard of this pirate outfit until a few days ago upon his happen-stance recruitment. He listened in on Zett and Horst's conversation about Felucia. Mentors... he knew all about mentors. Nar Shaddaa wasn't a good place to pick a mentor, but Felucia wasn't much better either. Chasing ghosts on that planet? More like being chased yourself by other things, big things, like rancors and nexu. Maybe it was a hotspot for teachers, but it probably wasn't. Deadly fauna and what not made that unlikely.

"Sounds like you have a colorful past, Zett. Felucia isn't for the faint of heart... well, you probably already know that."

Dulgan's response got the mass of jogging Fringe behind the trio to laugh and chuckle, some very obviously doing it to mock, other genuinely entertained by the thought. Horst didn't mind either way; this wasn't a Republic base, and his job was only to train them into soldiers, not mold their character. Most of them had come into their own by now; all they needed to be in Spearpoint was the ability to listen to orders and the inability to shoot their compatriots in the back.

Aside from those two criteria? They could be the Chancellor himself, or a Hutt for all Horst cared.

Zett mentioned something about a mentor on Felucia. That got him a curious look from Horst. He'd heard that sort of story before, of course. Just about everybody in the underworld could say they had some sort of teacher; one didn't learn an illegal trade by going to the book-store. Chances were that if someone was breathing and using their skills in the underworld, someone had mentored them in one way or another.

But huntin' tha' teacher, eh? Of course, that wasn't totally unheard of either. Fringers weren't exactly a trust-able bunch, and circumstance, the chance for personal gain, and even just emotion could usually send master and student going for each other's throats.

But Horst only had one question. He asked casually, as if they were just discussing over coffee (or as the case was, just out for a jog), "Didja' find 'im?"

"Captain, gentlemen, please! There's nothing wrong with shooting my C44 with a pinky stretched out." Zett tossed the chuckle in with the rest of the gang, he'd love to get a picture of that. Then when the subject was changed over to Zett being on Felucia "Shades" was the first to Say any thing about it, "Sounds like you have a colorful past, Zett. Felucia isn't for the faint of heart... well, you probably already know that." Zett grinned thinking about his past, it was indeed colorful, growing up with a Hutt, then with Wookies, then in banishment, then on the run from the Hutt, then with a band of misfit pirates. What's next? he thought.

Horst got a question about Zett's visit in too, "Didja' find 'im?" Zett's eyes went wide as he noticed that it sounded to everyone else like Zett was trying to kill Marcus, this wasn't the case however, Zett decided to clear this little miss understanding up, and started with a chuckle, Oh, I'm not trying to catch him or anything, Just find him, he disappeared about 3 years ago. Anyway i found his home at least, and more specifically what i was looking for. Zett said chewing over the words afterword to make sure he hadn't said something that he hadn't needed to. This may be his home now, but he wasn't going to say anything that might get him killed for another few months, not until he finally got to shoot Hebba right between the eyes. Though thinking about that it wouldn't work, he knew enough about Hutt's to know he would need a bit more firepower then his two pistols.

Zett had to jump over a fair sized rock that was on the running path. Zett didn't have anything further to add unless asked, which wasn't likely as neither Horst nor "shades" had to much information about Zett's past. Even the Republic didn't have information on him dating past 2 years ago. Being raised in Shadows and as a slave had it's benefits, but being a bleep in the computers had a down side too, namely without much of a name, there was little need for others to keep you living either.

Dulgan's comment produced a grin on Zett's face, something that 'Shades' found very odd considering the ominous previous statement the young man had left them. It seemed like Zett was reminiscing of a better, simpler time.

He, on the other hand, hated his past.

In general, he grimaced at the thought of it. He wanted to suck all of it into a memoir and then burn it, shove the ashes in an urn and drop them into the depths of the Kaminoan seas. Then after that, he wanted to obliterate the planet and suck all those remains into a blackhole. It wasn't that he'd had a terrible life, of course. But the paths he'd chosen, the things he'd seen and done... needless to say, Dulgan wasn't very proud of his past life. He'd lived an honorable initial existence amongst the Jedi, but all fruits eventually rotted no matter how much preservative you poured onto them. Being out here on Oatara was in a sense his way of getting a fresh start while he still had his youth to cling to for another decade or so.

"Didja' find 'im?"

"Oh, I'm not trying to catch him or anything, Just find him, he disappeared about 3 years ago. Anyway i found his home at least, and more specifically what i was looking for."

Dulgan raised an eyebrow at the scavenger hunt story arising before his eyes.

"Word of caution, be careful what you wish for in the end, kiddo. Experience has taught me not to go asking questions I don't want to know the answers to."

Force knows ain't that the damned holocron truth.

"Of course, with all that hardware you're carrying I don't doubt you'll be able to pick and choose the questions."

The playfulness had dropped back from his chuckles a little bit, and the taint of bitterness had invaded his words as well. But he kept jogging, falling in silently with the rest of the would-be Spearpoint mercenaries behind him.

[Hope you don't mind me joining in.]

Ervisa flipped a series of switches, and the display on her HUD changed accordingly. Out the viewscreen she could see the blue, white, and green sphere that was Oatara lying far below. After a long week away from Spearpoint's jungle base, it was going to be good to get back. Still, someone had needed to fly their damaged ResCorp 'Comet' off to get repairs in a shipyard, and as the best pilot, that task had fallen to her. Alone.

The Mirialan woman dipped the nose and started her re-entry, something the Comet did exceedingly well. It had been designed for strategic bombing just like this, swooping into an atmosphere, streaking along at breakneck speed, and then dropping a payload and scooting back home. Looking at her gauges, Ervisa decided to have fun.

Hard bank to the right, nose down. A downward spiral at speed. She pulled out of it and ignited the jets. She could hear them through the cockpit now that they were in atmosphere. Faster and faster they went, leaving behind a massive sonic boom to rattle the empty jungle down below.

However, all fun had to end, and Ervisa throttled down and came onto the right heading, activating her radio and talking to the flight control guys at the base.

"SP Tower, this is Comet 1. Currently on approach, estimated arrival in one zero minutes. Request clearance to land."

"Comet 1, Tower. You have clearance. Maintain present course and speed."

"Roger," Ervisa said before flipping off the transmitter.

Ten boring minutes later, she was touching down on a very long runway, the repulsors on her craft catching it, and coasting to a nice stop, after which she taxied into one of the four large hangars they stored these beasts in, and powered down.

The hatch popped, out came a ladder, and she slid down it before touching down, promptly stripping off the vest, the vacuum equipment, and the flight helmet that she was supposed to wear with the bloody thing.

Clad in a simple olive flightsuit several shades darker and more drab than her vivid emerald skin, the Mirialan woman walked out of the hangar, lighting up a cigarette as soon as she was clear. As it happened, it was probably somewhere between 6 and 7 in the morning, which was earlier than she was usually up.

Ervisa patted the lightsaber on her left side, and the pistol on her right, before beginning the trek to the dining hall. However, she was sidetracked about halfway there by a strange little buzzing feeling in the back of her mind. What was going on?

The Mirialan woman thumbed on her comm and spoke into it.

"Hey, Therani here. Is anything weird happening here?"

Negative. All quiet today, just some new recruits training.

"Anything on the threat board?"

Zilch. Why do you ask?

Ervisa sighed as she replied.

"Dunno. Probably nothing."

Her second instinct was to check in on Horst, and she knew either him or Quin would be the one dealing with the newbies over at the training area. Ervisa started to walk in that direction, and soon found that little feeling in the back of her mind was growing larger as she came.

She was also able to identify it as the distant figures came into view. There was a forcie. Ervisa couldn't say if he or she was good or bad, only that someone was trained in the Force and inside the Spearpoint Base. Security risk? There hadn't been any forcies a week ago save for her.

Soon the Mirialan made out the figure of Horst, and she walked straight for him, waving when she thought he noticed her. As soon as she arrived, her eyes darted around the group of recruits. Her eyes closed and she reached out with the Force, looking with her mind.

You.

Her eyed opened, and locked in on a new face wearing sunglasses.

Without hesitation, Ervisa walked right up to him and stared through her own sunglasses. Up above was a sound like a passing jet, and water started to issue from the sky in buckets.

"Come with me. I think we have something to discuss."

Overhead, a sonic boom erupted as a bomber burst through the clouds towards the base. Normally Dulgan would have dove uselessly for cover against a hail of blaster shots or unguided bombs, but he recognized it as one of the four he had seen sitting in the main hangars inside the perimeter. The bomber gently cruised down a runway before being taxied away into a hangar not far off, disappearing and out of sight.

Above, the clouds were beginning to pick up a nasty shade of storm grey and were about to unleash a torrent of rain. Dulgan didn't mind playing in the mud, but something else was nagging at him as he dropped out of conversation entirely. It was tugging at him deeply, choking off his mind like the front of a collar being pulled against one's throat. He couldn't place it, yet at the same time he knew what the feeling was. His mind reached out with the Force, sensitively movin--- wow, he was stupid.

It was unmistakeable.

Force sensitive.

And it was drawing close.

Here all of places? This base, however purposely clean it was, was no home for Jedi and certainly not for Sith. The presence was too full, too sincere to be someone unaware of their own talents. Whoever they were, they knew Dulgan was here because he could feel the tendrils whipping out and writhing through the air, searching for him. And most certainly it was apparent that they had indeed found him and rather quickly at that. He hadn't taken this scenario into account, not bothered to conceal his presence. Honestly this was the last place he had expected to find another one of his kind.

The rough shape of a woman, Mirialan by the color of her skin most likely, was materializing from the direction of the hangar, clad in an olive drab jumpsuit with a cigarette in her mouth and a pair of her own sunglasses adorning her face. She was waving to someone, who it soon became clear was Horst, and was still making a bee-line straight for the group of trainees.

It has to be her.

He couldn't make out the shape on the side of her belt yet but the picture was becoming more focused with every second. A glow rod? A hydrospanner? ...A lightsaber. A frakkin' lightsaber. Silver, likely durasteel, simple in design. The trademarks of a Jedi. It was just like his own, except he had disguised the one on his belt as a simple tool used for work on machines and ships. The thing was, her's obviously wasn't concealed. It was clear to him that she was accepted on this base as a wielder of the Force and if she had that kind of clearance Dulgan wouldn't be one to trifle with her. If she had identified him from that far away, it was apparent that he would be unable to fool her at this point.

He stopped running completely, jogging to a halt and letting the rest of the recruits run past and in front of him as he folded his arms. The rain was really coming down now, but the thuds were drowned out from his ear and he ignored his soaked clothes; rather, his own gaze was fixated on the woman now standing before him with each of them locked on each other. She was ironically about his age and just as weathered as he was.

"Come with me. I think we have something to discuss."

He raised an eyebrow, and then sent her a rough telepathic prod through the Force that would hopefully send the message he intended. Zett and more importantly Horst would no doubt double back anytime now to investigate whatever was going on between them.

Keep this a secret.

"Do I know you?"

He replied telepathically, which told Ervisa two things. The first was that he wasn't hiding it from her or trying to deny it. That could either help to show innocence or showed he was just one cool Sith. The other thing was that he was a telepath. In contrast, she wasn't, and his statement went without mental reply.

Ervisa led the unknown Forcie out of the way of the track, to a small stretch of grass with a bench on it. She motioned for him to sit, but remained standing herself, arms folded and face serious.

When she was confident no one was paying much attention to them, the Mirialan woman spoke up.

"All right," She said coldly. "Who are you, why did you come here, and what's your affiliation? Don't even think about lying to me or I'll have to get angry, and you wouldn't like that very much."

It was a bit of bluster, but the Mirialan was better at playing bad cop anyway. Besides, if he was a Sith then she wouldn't get anywhere by being nice.

The bad guys only understood force. She could talk that language if she had to.