Know Your Enemy

[Meira]

Through the viewport on the observation deck, Prazhi appeared as many planets do; a glowing jewel set into the black fabric of space. It did not give hint to the rugged, and in Meira's personal opinion, brutish lives of its native species. She knew this was an unfair judgement. Meira knew very little about the Zexx, but her time spent on the planet was something she would rather put behind her for good. She would not miss Prazhi, were she never to return. With a sigh, Meira turned away from the viewport.

The corridors of the Princess of Coronet were spotless and just a little too bright for her preferences. She preferred the softer light of small transport vessels. But it wasn't just the light that had her on edge. Each soldier that Meira passed would stop to salute her. It didn't seem to matter how many times she tried to explain... she was not one of them. Meira was no Blade of the Order.

The outer doors to the medical bay opened with only the slightest hiss. They closed behind her and a soothing automated voice bid her stand still while the decontamination room ran through its process. The air now tinged with that sterile scent, the inner doors opened and Meira stepped through. She was greeted by a medical droid, which rolled next to her, providing an update on their unconscious passenger.

"General Kearn is stable now, but we do not expect him to regain consciousness for some time." the droid said as Meira neared the kolto tank.

The Twi'lek was suspended in the healing solution, a respirator covering much of his face. Meira had never met him, but her heart ached at the sight of the gash across his chest. It was a wonder he lived at all. His comrade had not been so fortunate. His body was in cold storage and would be taken to the Jedi temple as soon as possible for the funeral rites.

"General Valli."

Meira turned, finding a solder striking his salute pose. The frustration that bubbled within her was difficult to suppress. She took a steadying breath, and then another. "I have repeated this many times. I am not one of the Blades of the Order. I carry no military rank. Please do not salute me. Call me Meira, or if you must give me a title, Knight Valli will suffice."

"Apologies, ma'am." the soldier replied, lowering his hand. It was obvious she had made him uncomfortable.

"Was there something you needed to tell me?" she asked, her voice soothing and her smile forgiving.

"Yes ma'am. We are about to make the jump to light speed. Captain Thrast has asked to speak to all the Jedi about the prisoner. He is waiting in the detention block."

"Thank you." Meira replied. "I will be there shortly."

The soldier moved to salute, but aborted the gesture half way. It is a habit. Meira reminded herself as he turned and left. Her eyes drifted back to to Kearn for a moment before she too left the medical bay.

The detention block was a few levels down and aft on the vessel. Meira entered into the main block, which was an open space with low security cells lining the walls. All were empty. There was only one prisoner aboard the ship, and his cell lay beyond a double set of security doors toward the back of the room. At the center of the room was a circular table, and that was where Thrast stood, waiting. Meira made her way forward, past the rows of soldiers assembled and stood opposite the table from the captain.

She had only met the Bothan briefly, when she, Baranar, and Shatani had assembled to help capture Zarander. He was just a few inches shorter than herself, but what he lacked in height, he made up for with a commanding presence. She sensed a general disease from him and the other soldiers. It was not a surprise. Zarander seemed to poison the air around him. But Meira was reassured by the resolve of the Captain. He was not buckling, but was instead using his discomfort to reaffirm himself. Meira hoped his men would prove capable of doing the same.

"Knight Valli." Thrast said, nodding his head slightly to her as she took her place. Meira was thankful. He had referred to her as General at their first meeting, but had corrected himself when she asked.

"Captain Thrast." she replied, with a nod of her own.

[DreadPirateMike]

"You're sure you want to see this?" the ship's physician had asked as he'd led Jaidan into the brightly lit, white walled room just off the main med bay that comprised the ship's morgue.  "I know you Jedi bury all this stuff pretty deep, maybe even figure out how not to feel it at all.  But if you DO feel...I've seen a whole lot worse, but I still can't imagine how seeing it is going to make you feel any better."

Jaidan had thanked the older human for his concern on his behalf, and assured him that he was indeed subject to all the same sensations and emotions any other soldier might feel upon the death of a friend.  An over-simplification perhaps, but not a falsehood, and the situation had called for it.  After all, for all the respect the Order received, for all the relief a soldier might feel at knowing a good guy with a lightsaber stood in the path of the bad guy with a lightsaber, nobody was ignorant of the reality that many Sith started out as Jedi.  He was willing to gloss over some finer points of Jedi doctrine in favor of being seen as more fellow soldier than weapon without a safety. All the same, he'd concluded, he would much appreciate a moment with the body of General Salish in private.  Besides, not everything had to be immediately pleasant in order to make one feel better.  

There were many Jedi who made no secret of their belief that membership in the Blades was a rejection of the Jedi Code.  And unless a Blade of the Order went not simply to war, but into each new battle for the right reason, they would most certainly be right.  As much as the Echani revered single combat for the unique connection it could forge between people, that particular virtue had thus far been largely absent from this much larger scale conflict.  It was a bitter thing to accept that he had time to learn nothing more of a woman than that she wore the wrong clothing before he killed her, but that was precisely what he'd pledged himself to.  And given that he'd long since concluded he was a far cry from even resembling the perfect Jedi, he chose to take note when one of his fellows paid the ultimate price for that same choice, and treat it as an opportunity.  To meditate on their example, and conclude, at least to date, that by their valor and selflessness, they'd remained true Jedi to the last.  And in their honor, he'd make sure certain he could continue to say the same.

So here he was, staring down at the slab containing the Rodian Jedi in question, and he had to admit, Doctor Valdin had a point; it was something of a relief that no particular search was necessary to identify the cause of death.  The area around the chest and abdomen had been thoroughly charred by multiple hits from a blaster weapon.  That would be the Apex repeater they'd confiscated, of course.  It had seemed an odd contradiction.  The elegance of a curved hilt lightsaber, the careful tailoring of custom leathers, the vanity that Jessoin Zarander advertised with his every movement, even in captivity...and then the mass produced weapon whose sloppy and indiscriminate violence had made it a favorite of cheap thugs the galaxy over.  He'd not given it much thought after that, of course.  The contradiction was explained the same way Jaidan's own choice to carry a blaster was, the point so dreadfully illustrated here.

It worked.

Point blank...it would have been relatively quick, of course.  It was a surprise to see such a weapon had been the means of Salish's undoing, though, for the Rodian had been a very able practitioner of Soresu.  He'd chosen that specialty years ago, as he'd sought to embrace his heritage like Jedi were generally encouraged to, yet had found the violence inherent to that culture in conflict with the Order's tenets.  It was a conflict Jaidan had well recognized, and he'd thought Salish's solution had a certain elegance to it.  Soresu, violence without malice or aggression.  But it had not been enough this time.  Judging by the range and the upward angle of the shots which had killed him, Jaidan guessed that the Sith had first closed, then managed to force an opening on Salish's defense long enough to bring the blaster in as a surprise finisher.

So, Jessoin Zarander was clever.  And fast.

"General Shatani?  Sorry to disturb you, sir." Jaidan was honestly somewhat grateful for the interruption, as an anxious voice followed the gentle whoosh of the morgue doors opening once again to reveal a soldier still clad in the the painted durasteel plating that comprised Republic battle armor.  One of the task force that had accompanied the three Jedi in taking the prisoner into custody, Private Yentar if memory served.  And even under the circumstances, he found himself smiling subtly at the address, remembering Meira's obvious discomfort with it.  Not that he hadn't felt some of of that discomfort himself the first time someone had called him General.  He'd felt at the least that if he was going to be given authority over military personnel who'd spent years earning their rank in the ordinary fashion, something like Captain might make more sense.  Something suited to commanding a unit of men from their midst, where he'd be most effective, not to directing armies.  These days, he just returned the salute.

"Think nothing of it, Private.  What can I do for you?"

"Captain Thrast has convened a meeting on the detention level.  He asked for you specifically.  The Jedi, I mean."

"Then please inform him I shall be there presently.  If there's nothing else..."

To Yentar's credit, he got the idea quickly, and with a nod and a quick 'Sir', the soldier was off, leaving Jaidan in silence once more.  So, Salish...well, he knew not if the Rodian felt he had truly found the balance between peace and savagery that he sought in his last moments.  But by his choice to seek that balance out here, on the battlefield, he'd saved many lives before losing his own, and perhaps that was enough.  Reaching out to the metal table along the side wall where the belongings of the deceased were stored, Jaidan grasped the one belonging of note than any Jedi possessed, and activated it, considering the blade that suddenly bathed the room in its cool blue light.  At that, he paused a moment to consider whether he had the right before concluding that if his weapon could yet do more good even in his absence, Salish was not likely to care about matters of propriety.  And so, after a few experimental swings, then a few opening movements of a basic Shii-Cho drill, he found the heft, the two-handed grip, and the more subtle qualities...entirely serviceable.  Not perfect, of course.  Not HIS.  But good enough that if the need arose, he could do honor to his friend with such a weapon.

Minutes later, Salish had returned to his frigid rest, and Jaidan, having paid his respects in the most complete manner he knew how, entered into the cell block, offering a smile and a practiced "At ease" to the rank and file soldiers who instinctively stiffened at his arrival.

"Captain.  Forgive me, I was engaged.  Thank you for waiting."

[Dutch]

The ray shield was a cold, icy blue. With the visibility akin to glass, only the edges of the ray shone azure. The clearer the energy, the higher grade of ray shield. Seemed the Republic had chosen the transport for moving him well. This was newer tech, top of the line. Not the usual hazy, often pink hued ray shields Jessoin knew he could overload with the proper surges of lightning. Given enough time and solitude to work, he could potentially discover where precisely to overcharge so he could escape. The Republic was not giving him much of either. Always were there guards, and until being placed in the cell there had been a blaster leveled at his head. He was fast, but not fast enough to avoid a point-blank volley. The only time the shield had been brought down was for one to drop a tray of food in. Even then, every blaster in the room was pointed at him then too. It remained untouched where it had fell.

Jess went over the events that had gotten him incarcerated. A simple kidnapping had been in order, the daughter of some Republic Senator Renata wanted sway over. She had told him to be as discreet as possible, to not advertise his identity. Jessoin instead had arrived fully clad in his Sith leathers, the Sith Order insignia carved visibly into the copper accents at his shoulders. It seemed the Strategic Information Service had been waiting for one of the Sith to show outside Empire territory, as hours after his arrival to Prazhi had the Blades shown. It had been a good fight, both the Rodian and the Twi'lek clearly chosen for the task. And both were mortally wounded. The Rodian clearly incinerated from the inside by his Apex, and he had just been about to finish the Twi'lek when more came...

His vivid green eyes slid to a desk where one of the soldiers sat. Most of his leathers had been confiscated along with his blaster and lightsaber, those two items sat within their own tiny ray shielded cell. The protective weave and leathers of his attire were piled up next to it. Even if I were to escape... I'd have to overload another system to get what is mine... He seethed, causing the Force to twist around him as his presence clawed at the others in the ship. A light hiss escaped his lips as Jessoin began to pace. Mere inches from the ray shield that blocked him from the three soldiers, his eyes burrowed into the visors of the soldiers at even intervals.

The soft fabric of his robes swooshed barely audible over his long stride. His hands were balled into fists, causing the greenish tint of his forearm skin to darken lightly. A hand idly moved up to run long fingers over where his chest was exposed a scar that mirrored the one he had lain unto the Twi'lek visible. The top of his robes ran down in a 'V' to be tied at his waist with a sash of bright green. The sleeves of the robe were rolled up, tucked neatly and rolled perfectly against his biceps.

"How is it possible not one of you has anything to say? Do you even know how many of your kind I've crushed underfoot? The path I walk is littered with the very same helms perched upon you..." Jessoin's words were velvet venom, filling the room with his animosity towards them. All visibly turned their helms away from him in obvious discomfort. Again Jess fed his presence out into the Force, gently wrapping it around the tray of food at his feet. With a sudden jerk the tray flew rapidly from the floor to slam into the metal wall at his left with a massive bang!. The sound of metal on metal rang out into the no longer silent chamber.

"Look! At! Me!"

Jessoin snarled as he channeled lightning into his hands. Purple energy danced out from him, fingers of energy cracking out to the floor, walls and ceiling. Whenever his lightning touched the ray shield, the two energies squealed and sparked.

"I promise you... when I am released... I will personally tear this ship to shreds. I will peel your skin from your flesh, I will violate your women and I will savor every scream and every beg..."

[Pembleton]

Tesok Baranar knelt beside his bunk with his tail wrapped around his body, meditating. This had been an altogether unpleasant day. The Order had lost a fine Jedi in Salish, and had come perilously close to losing another. Thankfully, Jedi Kearn had received medical treatment in time to save his life, but the massive Barabel had been on edge ever since he and his two companions had been called in to assist in escorting the Sith Jessoin Zarander back to the Core.

Even with the control afforded to him by his many years of training, Tesok's natural instincts would often manifest. He was capable of redirecting or releasing his most violent, un-Jedi-like urges into something more befitting a guardian of peace and justice, but at the same time, his personality was very Barabel. One of the instincts he struggled to contain was the Barabel sense of clan, of family. Of course, having long since given up the attachments of his biological relatives, his definition of family was more loosely applied to his fellow Jedi and, more strongly, his new Padawan. However, he still regarded any loss of Jedi life with the deep sorrow and innate anger of a Barabel deprived of one of his clan- or brood-mates.

As a result, Tesok had immediately taken to the Jedi's shared quarters once their prisoner had been secured in his cell. The Sentinel knew that his instincts could very well drive him to distraction, and sought to center himself through meditation. He let calming energy flow through him, washing away his anger and his sorrow. He found some solace in that the tragedy of their fallen comrade was softened by the fact that he had become one with the Force. He knew also that if he did not empty his mind, he would not be able to give his full focus to the task at hand; the trickster in the holding cell might even be able to find the chink in his armor and use it to manipulate Tesok into making a mistake, which could have disastrous consequences.

His meditation was suddenly interrupted by a sharp CLANG against the shared wall between the Jedi sleeping quarters and the brig. The room had been specifically chosen to allow the Jedi to respond quickly to any imminent threat from their prisoner. With a sudden hiss, Tesok leapt to his feat and drew his lightsaber, unignited, as he rushed from his room to the one next door. Casting a quick glance around the detention bay to identify the source of the noise, he was immediately confronted with the shocked faces and raised blaster rifles of the current guard shift, who were understandably alarmed by the sudden appearance of an angry-looking seven-foot reptile with lightsaber drawn and needle-like teeth bared.

Realizing his mistake, the Barabel quickly clipped his weapon back onto his belt, apologizing profusely to the Republic soldiers he had startled. He deliberately avoided looking at the prisoner, hoping that his dramatic entrance would be interpreted by Zarander as an example of the vigilance of his Jedi escort instead of a response by an easily-spooked enemy. Upon being reassured by the current guard captain that Jessoin remained secure in his cell, Tesok was informed that his presence had been requested by the mission commander, Captain Thrast. With a final bow and apology to the soldiers, he headed for the detention block's command center, as directed.

Upon arriving, he gave a polite nod to his fellow Jedi and offered up an excuse for his lateness. "This one apologizes for being tardy. There was a brief disturbance in the prisoner's cell, but it was nothing of import. How may this one be of service to you, Captain Thrast?"

[Meira]

Her fellows filed into the room almost immediately after she had, each apologizing for their own reasons. Meira gave each a nod of her head -she hardly knew either of them- before turning her attention back to Thrast. The Bothan showed no indication that wrong had been done by these Jedi. In stead, he greeted each by his title and name.

"General Shatani, Knight Baranar, thank you for coming." he said.

Once the two had taken their place at the table, Thrast raised a clawed hand to indicate they would begin. The lights in the detention block dimmed as a holo projector blinked to life over the round table. It cast downward a schematic of the entire detention bay, rotating slowly. The detention bay consisted of four rooms. The largest was the minimum security block, where they were all gathered now. It was a rectangular room with six cells lining the longer walls, three to each, and the open space where they stood in the middle. A number of different colored lights shone in this open space.

"As you can see here," Thrast began, "We have coded the biosignature of each being in this room and in the next. Myself and those under my command are shown here as blue."

Meira counted thirteen blue lights in their room, three in Zarander's room.

"The Jedi have been coded as green, and the prisoner as red." Thrast continued. Between the minimum security block and the maximum security block was a control room. Within, Meira noted there were two soldiers she had not noticed on the diagram. But the control room was small on the projection. On closer inspection, she could see the two blue lights for the men.

"Follow me please." Thrast said, pulling Meira from her thoughts as he turned toward the heavy security doors at the back of the room.

Meira followed, and she noted that six of the soldiers also fell into step at the back of the group. From within the control room, the guards activated the outer doors, allowing them all to step through into the small space between the outer and inner door. It was only just large enough for the ten of them to stand somewhat uncomfortably as the outer door closed.

"These doors are designed so that only one can open at a time. Should any security breach be detected, they will both lock down until a command from the captain is given from the bridge." Thrast explained as the inner door opened. They all stepped through into the spare room of the maximum security section. The three guards already within the room snapped to attention. Thrast turned to face his group. His eyes never once alighted on the prisoner. Thrast would be a fool to allow Zarander the opportunity to taunt him. But this part of the briefing was as much for him as for the Jedi.

"As you can see, the only other door in this room is the one that leads to the Jedi quarters. And that room has no other exit. The prisoner is being held with the most advanced ray shield technology available in the galaxy. The couplings are all embedded and grounded, making a circuitry overload impossible." He moved closer to the cell, where the small delivery hatch sat set into the wall. "Here," he indicated the smaller square shield on the wall beside the cell, "is where food will be delivered to the prisoner. The controls for this system are here on the wall beside it. The prisoner had access within his cell. In order for this shield to lower, the one within the cell must first be activated. Food can then be placed in the hatch. When the outer shield is raised, the one inside the shield will lower once again, allowing the prisoner access to the food provided to him. It is prohibited to insert anything but the approved food items into the hatch."

Thrast then moved to the center of the room to deliver his final portion of the briefing. He maintained his back turned toward the prisoner. "There will be three soldiers within this room on guard at all times. Their rotation has already been determined. It is my request that the Jedi establish a guard rotation as well. I leave the order and duration of that schedule to your judgement. Thank you all for your help in this endeavor."

Finally, Thrast turned and allowed his eyes to settle on the sith. His fur prickled at the sight of the man and would have stood on end were it not for the uniform he wore. "There will be no escape for this man." Thrast said, his voice as steady and solid as stone, before he moved swiftly to the exit. The six soldiers followed him. Their rotations would come later. When they had left, the three Jedi, three soldiers, and Zarander were all that remained.

Meira, who had kept her attention focused on Thrast turned her green eyes toward her fellow Jedi as she tucked her hands into the opposite sleeves of her robe. The room was heavy with Zarander's presence; his malice seeping into the walls and hanging in the air like a poisonous fog. The Jedi were a pool of light a clarity in comparison and though the soldiers did not move from their posts, Meira could detect a shift in their weight and footing that leaned the men ever so slightly toward them. Good, she thought to herself as she allowed her own presence to expand outward, pushing the darkness away as best she could.

"It is a good plan." Meira said to her fellows. While she may not wish to be here, working amongst soldiers, she was not above commending them where it was due. "How should we proceed?"

[DreadPirateMike]

"Yes, I am routinely impressed by their resourcefulness."

The statement had a slightly distant, if not quite distracted quality about it, as Jaidan cast his gaze back toward the inner security door sliding shut to facilitate the next step of Captain Thrast's departure. How would he go about trying to secure his freedom from such a place, without any equipment? About the only weakness he could immediately spot with the security measures in place was that it had no way of neutralizing Jessoin's powers within the cell. Brute force, whether it originated from the Sith's muscles or his rage, would still not get him past that shield or these bulkheads, but perhaps options still existed. The controls for this cell were not in the same room, and that was good - no direct line of sight. Even so, he would have a look at those controls, and satisfy himself that lowering the shield was not simply the work of a button and the finger that pushed it.

The most simple and obvious way to breach this security was from the outside, and whether it occurred on this voyage or not, they had to expect some attempt would eventually be made to extract one of Darth Renata's direct subordinates. Until that time came, however, the most vulnerable component of this prison was clear. The flesh and blood guards. He'd not say that aloud, of course. He wasn't overly worried that any of these men, valiant and trained soldiers of the Republic, would actually break, but their anxiety was clear. The last thing they needed was an admission of doubt from a Jedi.

"One of us remains in here, of course, but I propose we leave more than that for Jessoin Zarander to contend with." Unlike the soldiers on duty, Jaidan made a point of looking directly at the Sith as he spoke. He'd have to spend hours with the man after all, and it was always best to know your enemy. If said enemy wished to try rattling him, it made little difference whether it happened now of at the start of his shift.

"While the first is on hand to guard physically, a second shall be one room over, alert for anything more subtle. If someone tries to make contact telepathically, we shall know. If he tries to attack anyone with telekinesis, we shall know, and so on. And between the first two, we should be able to put a quick stop to it. The third, meanwhile, takes a meal or sleeps if required. If not, they assist the second."

That seeming to just about cover the tactical end of it, Jaidan allowed a smile.

"But I like to think I'm a decent multi-tasker. I have not been back to Coruscant in some time, and look forward to hearing news from the Temple. And becoming acquainted with each of you, of course."

[Dutch]

My my... you are a big one...

Jessoin's face slid fluidly from enraged to amused with a smirk. His piercing gaze followed the Barabel as he moved, clearly avoiding the eyes upon him. It wasn't until Jess had seen the Jedi in the ship did the creature's size really sink in. Near a foot taller than himself, the appearance of the reptile put most on edge. Not the Zelosian. He knew the true monsters to fear in the galaxy held a veneer over their cruelty, and being Jedi had probably less kills to his name than any soldier on the ship.

"Big strong lizard... all fangs, claws and tail... how angry your Masters will be... once you fail..." His words followed the exit of the Barabel, sing-song and whisper quiet. A soft laugh led Jess to loll his head over to look at the nearest trooper. "There are Barabel among my people too... I once saw one devour a Jedi... did you know their jaws can snap bone?" Jessoin grinned widely and slowly nodded his head. "Oh yes... they can."

He turned away from the others within the room. His hands moved to clasp behind his back as the man steadied his stance. Slowly his eyes fluttered shut as Jessoin's senses seeped out again. The air was palpable with the amount of emotion saturated into the Force, and Jess inhaled it into himself. The Force swelled within him, waves of radiating energy pulsing through his body. The Zelosian did nothing to hide the fact that he was gathering and condensing the Force into his presence. He wanted the Jedi to know that the only thing that stood between them and his fury was the shield. The door hissing open again broke his meditations, the Sith opened his eyes before a slow smile crept over his lips. Jessoin slowly turned to face the group as they entered. He completely ignored the Bothan who was speaking, instead his eyes moved to each of the Jedi, one by one. Their auras shone brightly in the Force within the group, the scent of their presences only making his eyes gleam mischievously. With a couple long steps Jessoin approached the ray shield.

Hello there brothers... and sister... His words would be telepathically given out into the Force as he looked all three over one by one, taking just slightly longer to look over the only female. Kiffar by her markings, with the Barabel from minutes ago... and an Echani. An Echani he recognized through stories told through the Sith Temple. How he would love to add the lightfoils he'd heard about to his collection, supposedly superior for Makashi users, such as himself. When the Bothan stood with his back to the Zelosian, Jessoin sneered and took up a mirrored stance of the obvious man in charge.

"There will be no escape for this man."

"Perhaps I am right where I wish to be..."

Jess hissed enigmatically as the Bothan left with most of his men. His hands unclasped to idly shoo the back of the military before one hand slid to rest at the knot of his sash. The Zelosian stayed quiet as the Echani and the Kiffar discussed their plan. It didn't surprise him that they did not try to hide their words, what could he do after all? When the Echani spoke and looked directly at him, Jessoin winked back at the man and bowed his head lightly. His eyes never left the white-haired Jedi's.

"I have not been back to Coruscant in some time, and look forward to hearing news from the Temple. And becoming acquainted with each of you, of course."

"Neither have I brother... it has been near a decade since I walked the halls of the Jedi Temple..." Jessoin dangled that tidbit of information, curious to see how much the trio knew of his past. "It will be so wonderful to see it again... though I imagined my homecoming to be filled with more zeal and much more bloodshed." Jessoin laughed and grinned, his eyes sliding to look them over again. "A Kiffar, an Echani and a Barabel walk into a bar... I do believe there's a witty joke in there somewhere, something involving the Kiffar getting scale rot from the Barabel in a very sensitive area..." He snickered and tilted his head with amusement. "So then, who wants to enjoy my company first? The lizard? The little flower? Or you... Shatani...?"

Jessoin nodded slowly as he let Jaidan's name fall from his lips. Knowing the name of even one of the Jedi, if merely through reputation was a good start for the dance that would start. Anytime Jedi and Sith were in the same room and not physically fighting was when the true battle began. Jess grinned wickedly and let the stored up Force energies within him to rumble out ominously, letting the Darkside waft heavy into the air.

[Pembleton]

Tesok had stood quietly by throughout the Captain's speech and his compatriot's brief deliberations, listening enough to gather what was being said. However, most of his focus was directed inward. He had embarrassed himself in front of an enemy, blundered in hissing and threatening, looking foolish to his own prisoner. Jedi were trained to resist pride, but Barabels in particular had a kind of peculiar dignity that shuddered at the idea of being any less than their best in the presence of their prey.

As Thrast spoke, Tesok calmed himself as fully as he could. He had trained for a long time to contain his natural instincts, especially under the intense pressure of combat, where an unguarded mind could easily lead him from the safe path of determined efficiency into the darkness of ruthless slaughter. As the Jedi's shared mission filled him with tension, he found it easier to clear his mind; it was his trained response to potentially-threatening situations. He was at his most serene inside when engaged in deadly combat.

Just as he managed to reach a sense of peace and clarity within his mind, he sensed a sudden ripple of energies in the air around him. The miasma of Zarander's presence in the Force, which had hung like a stormcloud over the room, seemed to grow even darker, picking and teasing at the essences of the other inhabitants of the room. He also felt one of his fellow Knights (from its feeling in the Force, he judged it to be Valli) retort by exuding a sense of peace and wellness. From this, he himself took a small bit of comfort before he added a bit of his own Light Side element, bolstering Meira's effort to calm the room.

Though he was by no means a strong telepath, he thought he felt his energy join with Valli's and augment it slightly, giving it a bit more strength. Pleased, and now more or less at ease in his mind, he finally turned to regard the prisoner directly. As he did so, the man began to speak in a voice that was dripping with mockery. The Barabel listened impassively as the vile man offered first a threat, then an insult, then what seemed like a challenge. Tilting his head to one side, regarding Zarander with the dangerous, detached look that prey knew all too well.

"You have heard the words of the captain. You have undoubtedly tested the resilience of your cell's walls. You have seen the force assembled to ensure that you are transported to the Core without significant incident, and this one assures you that if you should feel it necessary to cause a disturbance, nobody on this ship will hesitate to incapacitate you for the remainder of our journey. Kindly do not interrupt our conversation again."

He turned back to regard his two compatriots with an altogether less predatory, though still determined, eye. "This one has spent much of the time since our boarding in meditation and is particularly well-rested. If there are no objections, it seems most practical that the first watch belong to this one, while the two of you take time to rest, eat, and socialize, as Knight Shatani suggests." His use of the title Knight rather than General was not intended as disrespect - he simply saw the two of them as fellow Jedi first and members of the main Order and the Blades second. He hoped that neither of them would object to his taking the first watch - now that he had cleared his mind, he was ready to prove himself by getting Jessoin Zarander through their first guard shift without any notable incidents.

[Meira]

Zarander spoke, and with his words came a renewed sense of malice within the force. It moved and snaked through the room. Like oil and water, the dark and light battled for place within this container; pushing and pulling, giving and taking, but never mixing. Half of Meira's attention was given to this battle. Were Zarander not simply toying with them, his efforts would most definitely have won. But everything the man did indicated one thing: amusement. Vile and perverse, for sure, but Zarander was only playing. And if that were the case, she wouldn't dignify him with all of her concentration.

The young Kiffar nodded as she listened to Shatani's suggestions. In this, they were of the same mind. There was no need to complicate what could be simple. And this plan was simple.

Zarander spoke again, commenting on Shatani's words of Coruscant. He leered at them, as if his mention of having been in the Jedi Order might have been some sort of surprise. Meira finally turned her eyes toward the man, allowing him to see just how much he didn't surprise her. "It is my wish," she said to him, her voice soft but entirely steady, "that your return brings you healing." She then turned back to her comrades.

In that moment, Meira felt Baranar join his own efforts to infuse a sense of peace into the room with hers. She smiled at him and bowed her head slightly at his offer to take the first watch. It mattered little who went first, but his confidence and willingness to volunteer made the decision easy. Turning her eyes to Shatani, Meira began to move toward the door.

"I'm afraid you'll find little change on Coruscant." she said as she pressed the controls to open the inner door. "Even with all the business of war, the mundane parts of life continue."

The inner door opened and Meira stepped through, waiting for Shatani to follow. Soon, the inner door closed, there was a pause, and then the outer door opened, releasing them from the weight of Zarander's presence. Smiling at the immediate decrease in tension in the air, Meira looked to her comrade once again. "Have you eaten?"

[Dutch]

"Ah... now you look at me..."

Jessoin hissed as the Barabel glared down at the Zelosian. His wide smile did not falter as it responded. He was endlessly amused by the Jedi's words, a slow laugh slipped from his lips as the Kiffar chimed in afterwards. Jess brought his hands up to show them, palms upwards. Arcs of lightning buzzed from the fingertips of his left hand to the right. The crisp smell of ozone filled the room, and the purple of the lightning cast dancing shadows over the Sith.

"You think this can hold me? That is just precious... I am the one who breached the walls on Thila. I stood before an entire army. I laughed and laughed as numberless Jedi tossed themselves at me, only to be struck down. I brought down the fabled Duelist Emna'tan there, with my bare hands." Jessoin suddenly balled his fists, sparks showered down from them to hiss onto the floor. "Keep yourselves confident, repeat to yourselves that you are safe. So that when you feel my hands slip around your throats, I can savor the panic in your faces even more..."

His eyes slipped from their near glowing green to a rich gold, the wafted Darkside around him bolstering his presence. They watched as the Kiffar and the Echani left the room, his laughter chasing them until the door slid closed. As Jessoin's gaze slid from the now sealed door to the Barabel, his golden iris' bloomed emerald again. He tilted his head and played over the tips of his teeth with an almost green tongue, his laughter slowed into chuckle.

"Let us go back a few moments, shall we? What was it you said about... incapacitating me? I won't deny that your race gives you an absolute edge during battle, but don't let your ego blind you friend. The Sith Order have near a dozen Barabels in their ranks. With them comes several of your clans by the way, which is wonderful. They are so willing to be on the front lines, where glory and slaughter await." Jessoin eyes shone with glee, his tone venomous and mocking. "I wonder which clan this one before me was from? Perhaps if you survive our little voyage you'll meet your own clutch-mates on the field? Barabel on Barabel action! Gives me the shivers." He laughed and lightly shuddered falsely. Jess rubbed his hands together before clapping them.

"Come now, don't be rude. Clearly you're a mere Knight, you lack the same... presence that a master wields. So it's Knight Blank Barabel as of right now, shall I keep calling you Blank? Or will you have the scales to tell me your name?"

[DreadPirateMike]

The Weapon Master had hoped for an education here, as to the sort of man he faced, and the weapons he might look to find near at hand.  Thus far, he'd not been disappointed.  Evidently, the Sith had chosen theatricality, a choice he could hardly begrudge.  Jaidan could not claim any special skill or passion for the craft himself, but he could see its potential value, and it wasn't as though Jessoin Zarander had an over-abundance of options to choose from.  Even so, were he in the Sith's position and with the Sith's evident talents, he did not imagine he'd have flaunted his use of telepathy with the Jedi present, at least not without more to flaunt.

It wasn't a weak mind he sensed through the brief link formed as Jessoin's greeting wordlessly rattled through his consciousness, a sensation that admittedly did give him pause for a moment.  More fairly, he'd call it clumsy.  Even to one such as Jaidan, who'd always pursued his most profound excellence with a lightsaber and thus trained to defend himself against mental intrusions and not much more, a profound lack of training was evident.  It just FELT amateurish.  He'd be a fool to think this made the man any less dangerous, of course.  He'd plainly made up for his deficiency in other areas.  Still, that the man was actually willing to risk advertising sub-par capabilities merely for the sake of ACTING like he was the one in control suggested a certain character.  Brash, reckless.  Strong, but undisciplined.

And that WAS interesting.  He'd have the voyage ahead to spot any flaws in that initial assessment, of course.

And the use of his name got some reaction out of him as well, of course.  Not too much of a reaction, just an arched eyebrow and a sligthly more pronounced reciprocation of Jessoin's earlier nod, for Jaidan had decided even before he came down to the detention level that while he had no intention of passing his watch in stony faced silence, he'd not engage the prisoner much until the rotation was decided.  Answering a challenge and then leaving was generally seen as a retreat, and the soldiers deserved every reminder that whatever the man in the cell wished to think, they had the upper hand.  Besides, while it was of some interest that the Sith recognized him in spite of their only having met for the first time on Prazhi, he could have gleaned such knowledge from any number of sources.  It had caused something of a stir when his master had resigned the Order, for instance, and so his name had been circulating vaguely around the same time Jessoin made his departure.  But if there was something more meant by the comment, he had a feeling he'd be so informed.

But there were more timely concerns, it seemed, for Knight Tesok DID choose to verbally engage the prisoner, and for his trouble got...the Sith acting like a Sith.  A gaudy show of power, complete with cosmetic displays of Dark Side corruption, a good deal of braggng about his might deeds.  Formidable, and yet Jaidan had faced such fury before, and usually without the benefit of a ray shield separating him from it, a barrier now in place only because this power had already surrendered rather than face the power collected on the other side. In short, for all the tumult and bragdaccio, this merited no more fixation than any other light show. Tesok's reaction troubled him a little more. His offer to take first watch was stated boldly, but Jaidan thought he sensed a certain tensing as the Barabel awaited their response. Subtle, well controlled, of course, but an Echani's eye did not miss much. Did Tesok thInk he had something to prove here? Well, if so then that was best resolved now. And so, turning dispassionately from Jessoin's tirade, he placed a hand gently on the Barabel's arm to secure his attention with calm words.

"I've no objection.  I shall relieve you in six hours."

Following this promise, he followed after the Kiffar, and did not look back.

"Fear not, Knight Valli.  It is precisely to ensure such 'boredom' continues that I have stayed away."

He turned his attention away from his companions for a few moments then, as the two Jedi waited in the control room for the way to open out into the light security wing, for while nothing he'd yet seen was cause for immediate alarm, he did have a few concerns, which he now voiced to the technicians on duty.  He was soon satisfied that it in fact took the simultaneous work of both of them, and their keys to lower the ray shield on Jessoin's cell.  Furthermore, he was assured of the presence of a dedicated generator for this wing, able to keep the security measures functional even in the event of disruption to the ship's main grid.  Only then did he follow the rest of the way through the outer security door, smiling slightly both at Meira's visibly diminished anxiety, and her question.

"I have not.  But I do possess a fair degree of experience with Republic Navy cuisine, both that which I would judge good and that which I presume they eat primarily to condition themselves further.  If you would take the detached watch I spoke of for a few minutes, I would happily bring back two trays from the mess hall."

[Meira]

"It is unfortunate that such action is necessary." Meira replied. She did not include her personal belief on the matter. Such a discussion would serve no purpose in this time and place. Philosophical debates were suited better to less stressful times. "And please, call me Meira."

Shatani moved toward the control room, to check on the security systems, she presumed. While he did that, Meira allowed her senses to extend throughout this larger room in the low security area. Many of the soldiers who'd been standing in ranks earlier were now milling about. Some sitting at tables while others stood in small groups. Meira could feel the strange mix of emotions that surged through all of them; pride at having caught such a high profile target, relief that they were heading back to the core, but underneath these two lingered that unease that always accompanied an encounter with the dark side.

Had she not already made herself familiar with the presence of her two companions within the force, Shatani might have surprised her when he returned to her side and commented on the food the ship might provide.

"Of course." she replied to his offer to bring back the meal. She watched the soldiers salute as Shatani moved passed them as he exited the room. He seemed to move through it fluidly, as if it were easy. The idea gave Meira a slight shiver down her spine. She knew the ease came from familiarity and that even she would accustom to it, given time and exposure. But it was not something she wanted to become accustomed to.

After Shatani's departure, Meira noticed a marked shift in the energy of the room. The confidence was waning slightly, and the unease bubbled higher. Meira turned her senses toward Zarander's cell room, but nothing seemed to have changed much within. She realized then that it was the departure of a figure these soldiers saw as a leader, a Jedi leader at that. These men did not view her as such. Was that not what she wanted? But Meira had not considered the ramifications of the distance she was trying to keep between herself and them. The mood would improve with his return, but that would not help her when she and three of these men stood watch over Zarander. She would have to remedy this, somehow.

Approaching the circular table where Thrast had addressed them all, Meira cleared her throat to speak. "Excuse me, gentlemen." she said, her voice soft at first. It was not nerves that did this, but rather a lack of experience addressing groups of people. "Gentlemen." she repeated, louder this time. The conversations in the room died down as the soldiers turned their heads toward her.

"I know that I have not had the opportunity to meet most of you, and those I have met know that I have kept my interactions short. I apologize if this has offended any of you. My name is Meira Valli. I would like to discuss a few details about what we will experience on this journey. How many of you have come against a force user in combat?"

A few hands rose amongst the men.

"How many have been in the presence of a dark side user outside of combat?"

No hands, but many were turning, moving closer to the table where she stood.

"As soldiers, you all possess strong minds as well as bodies. But do not be fooled. Your minds will be tested. While the ray shield is able to block most of Zarander's powers, he has been working endlessly to change the climate of that room. Just as the Jedi strive for peace, balance, and tranquility, beings such as he seek to create chaos, fear, and anger wherever they go.

"The concept might be familiar for some of you, or completely foreign, but in essence, Shatani, Baranar, and I are extending our senses beyond ourselves throughout the room in order to maintain a sense of calm and balance. We can detect the energy that your thoughts create. But so can Zarander, and while we are working to maintain and bolster your minds, he works to break them down.

"This will be difficult for him. The ray shield does block him somewhat, but he has little else to distract him right now. So know that when you enter that room, he will try to influence you. It is essential that you work against this. Be aware of your feelings and focus your thoughts toward a positive sense of calm. Understand that the negative influence of the dark side can manifest in many ways; a headache, frustration, fear, even paranoia. Focus on your breathing and know that we stand with you."

Meira was not sure if her words would mean much, if anything, to these men. She hoped they might take it to heart. The last thing they needed was a soldier thinking his was above Zarander's influence, or one so worried that he wouldn't be able to stand within that room. Either extreme was dangerous. Meira continued to allow her senses to roam the room. The unease had not lowered much, but the confidence seemed to rise slightly. It was not the victory that she wanted, but Meira would have to be patient. So, she allowed her own inner calm to move from soldier to soldier, touching the mind of each as she passed, hoping to leave some of her own mental strength with them.

[DreadPirateMike]

"Meira, then."

Jaidan muttered this thoughtfully to himself as he exited out into the corridor that would start him on his journey to the ship's galley, considering his fellow Jedi's words. Or, more particularly, the words that had preceded her request, words which held more interest for the Echani Knight than she may have realized. While it would most assuredly be overly dramatic to say he had any ulterior motive in being here, Jaidan HAD looked forward to the opportunity of working with these two, Jedi of the main Order and united with him in a common cause.

There was, after all, another side to the thoughtful meditation upon his attitude and intent earlier. Yes, it bore consideration why he would rush off to war while the Council at large hung back and deliberated, whether that quality in him should be a cause for concern. He never worried about it TOO much though, because he'd always been confident that in time, the Order would finish whatever ruminations they required, and catch up, if not because the Republic was imperiled (Reason enough, he should think.), then because the Sith were involved. Yet he could not deny, it became harder and harder of late to keep a simple question from his mind.

What the karkin' hell were they WAITING for?

He'd not been at Thila, nor had he allowed Zarander the satisfaction of seeing a reaction to its mention and concluding he had ammunition, but he'd read all the reports available, and for all the heroism the defenders of that fortress had shown, none of them had been uplifting. If that loudmouth's taunts carried weight now, it was at least in part because every one of these soldiers had that defeat fresh in mind. It wasn't Zarander's boasts of single-handedly massacring whole armies of Jedi arrayed against him that agitated him, for plainly, that was ridiculous hyperbole. But that was just it; Jaidan would be thrilled if that sort of disparity in numbers existed in their favor. Instead, the Sith Order seemed to be throwing all it had against a relatively small portion of the Jedi who stood ready and able to turn them back. They'd managed to slow the onslaught, but so far, that was about it.

That wasn't to say hope was fading. Far from it. One had to consider the vast economic and industrial capacity of the Republic as a whole, not to mention its almost indescribably vast, virtually limitless potential manpower. In light of that, slowing the enemy mattered. It bought time for all those resources to be properly arrayed and deployed. Every shipyard still in operation meant new fleets, every world still free meant reinforcements by the millions, and every battle won or lost out here ensured experienced and battle tested commanders would come to the fore, able to best put these powerful tools to use. If it was the will of the Force that Jaidan himself should survive this war, then perhaps by the end, he'd feel as though he truly deserved the title of General.

And sooner or later, the Jedi would ACT. But how much of the galaxy would be burning by then?

And so, though he was not here to proselytize, he did hope to take the pulse of the Council in these two, see if he could glean any indication that the moment when they overcame their inertia was imminent. Yet the Kiffar's words were...polite. Carefully neutral, potentially meaning almost anything. Necessary, and therefore to be emulated presently by every Jedi with a lightsaber! Necessary, but the need adequately fulfilled by those already under arms. Not endorsed by the Council, and therefore not necessary at all, unless you wished to avoid bruising the pride of the Blade within earshot.

Ah, but the smells up ahead, the clamor of many voices assembled! Such considerations had brought him to his destination already, and for now, it was time to move on. Meira Valli's words had been, again, polite, so he would try to be polite in turn, and take his fellow Jedi's comment as he presumed it was intended to be taken. At face value. So resolved, he stepped through the cafeteria doors opening before him, waved a group of soldiers back down as they began to stand at attention, and made his way to the lunch line, scooping up all the necessary vessels and utensils along the way. He'd judged the beelpop melon adequately fresh, and was idly considering whether Meira had given any reason for him to suspect she would eschew the meat in the thick stew when he became aware of the awkward shuffling of the soldier in line behind him, just before the young woman spoke.

"Help you with a tray there, General?"

"I believe I have it well in hand, Lieutenant. Ah, hands. But thank you." After a moment more, he spooned out two bowls of the stew, but grabbed Meira a bit of extra bread and some vegash, just in case. Nerf steak slices with spigage and tangaroot, if he wasn't mistaken, and with a bit of spiciness to it as well...it would be her loss, but he'd find a place for it if she refused the main course. But he did not take his steady gaze off the naval officer, for the simple request was unusually strangled. Clearly, the offer had been meant at least in part as a way of initiating conversation, yet she was far more reluctant to ask the actual question. Seeing that the wait was just going to get more awkward, however, she cleared her throat and continued.

"Also, some of us down in fire control were talking. About the prisoner we took onboard. We all trust you and Captain Thrast to do your jobs, of course, but we just don't have any way to help, and, well..."

"And, having no way direct means of monitoring the situation, you wish to know more about the danger?"

"Yes, sir." she replied, plainly a bit surprised to be so quickly understood, but grateful that no direct admission of fear would be dragged out of her. "Exactly, General."

So, the issue of the Sith's influence extended beyond the brig. Not a huge surprise, but still a problem. Granted, the mood down in weapons control was unlikely to have any direct impact on security, but if this feeling of unease were allowed to spread, then soon, the soldiers coming off their guard rotation would be hard pressed to escape worrying about the killer they had brought in past the protection of the ship's shields and hull.

"What's your name, Lieutenant?"

"Platt, sir."

"Well, Lieutenant Platt. I presume you've heard the prisoner is a Sith of not inconsiderable power, and that's true. The assurance that he is disarmed and contained is equally true. If you wish more than that, I encourage you to tell any who ask that Jaidan Shatani, Knight of the Republic, told you all this at the lunch line, because for the moment, hunger is the more dire and immediate peril. Trust us to keep the threat below at bay as we trust you to protect us from the dangers out there, and we'll speak again on Coruscant soon enough."

"Yes, sir!"

There were no children aboard this ship; neither one was under any illusion that that outcome could be made a guarantee. But it didn't really matter, so long as the trust was there. He'd seen it time and again. So long as these men and women had confidence in the people at their side, had confidence in the unit they were a part of, then the enemy in front of them was immaterial. So, he'd head back down there now, and justify that trust.

After lunch, of course.

"Everybody likes blue milk." he opened by way of greeting as he entered back into the detention area and slid Meira her tray. "Beyond that, you have options. So, we've discussed my semi-nomadic existence a bit already, but I've yet to ask. What brought you this far out from Coruscant, that you were in the area when the call went out?"

[Meira]

After her impromptu foray into public speaking, Meira had allowed herself the simple pleasure of sitting quietly at a table by herself. Having always been the introspective type, she very much enjoyed the opportunity to clear her mind and relax. It was why she took so well to meditation, and also why she was so open to connecting her mind to the minds of others, or even objects. Her talent with psychometry was not a particularly unique one; any Jedi with the will and patience could learn it. Among her people, the skill was particularly common to those who showed potential with the force. But Meira could allow herself to boast an ease with learning the talent. A clear mind made room for so many things.

With this openness also came the possibility of invasion, however. Her uncle had warned her of this long ago. She was young and easily influenced. He was adamant that she learn to guard herself against the potential threat of another, stronger mind taking advantage of her. She’d followed his guidance and, over the years, established a balance between keeping herself open yet still protected. It was no small source of pride for the young woman, to be sure.

“Everybody likes blue milk.”

Meira’s eyes turned toward the doorway where Shatani had just reentered the prison block, two trays in hand. Her eyes scanned the choices of foods he’d brought and her stomach growled at the sight and smell of the stew. Resisting the urge to lick her lip, Meira positioned the bowl in front of where she sat and thanked her comrade for his kindness. As she spooned up a bite of the stew, Shatani asked what had brought her to the area. Meira blew across the spoon, sending the steam tumbling away until it dissipated.

“I had been on Cyrillia when I received the call for help.” Meira said before taking a bite. She closed her eyes for a moment as she took in the surprisingly rich flavor of the stew. The meat was perhaps a bit too salty, but overall this meal was hitting the spot.

“As you might know, the Cyrillians hold major contracts for a number of droid models used by the military. There had been a dispute over payment and the Cyrillians asked for a Jedi to help mediate the meetings held to resolve the issue. We had just finished when I got the call.”

Meira took another bite, choosing not to note what was on her mind. One did not need to be on the front lines to support the Republic’s efforts against the Sith Empire. Part of her reasoning for withholding this comment was out of courtesy. Meira knew that the line between those who had followed Master Took into the Blades of the Order and those who had chosen to keep to the decision of the Council was a blurred and uncertain thing. Neither side could claim to be right, not entirely. Mostly, though; Meira chose not to open that line of dialogue because she was not yet sure why those thoughts were lingering with her now. She had managed to continue on with her life and duties toward the Order after having declined Master Took’s invitation. She’d worked a time or two with Jedi who’d accepted that invitation. She had not completely resolved the issue within her own heart, but she had resolved to allow herself to be at peace with that. There was no one answer in times like these.

Why then were these contrarian thoughts coming to her now? Perhaps it was the proximity to the military that she’d had to accept. It was this sort of martial position that was the center of her decision to side with the Council. If history was any indication, such power was a potent drug; one that could prove impossible for some to relinquish when the time for it had passed. Meira wanted no taste of that drug and she worried that, any day now, its effects would prove too much for one of the Blades of the Order and the galaxy would find itself at the mercy of another Revan.

Whatever her worries, in the end, Jaidan did not deserve to bear their weight. Like her, he was surely acting according to his own conscience on what he believed to be the right course of action. She could hardly fault him for that.

“I hope that the renewed contracts for repair and medical droids will serve the Republic’s forces well.”

[DreadPirateMike]

"You may be assured of it." Settling into a seat across from Meira's, Jaidan took hold of his spoon, and tapped it a few times against the side of his bowl in illustration of his following point. "No army can fight effectively without its support systems in place. And our wounded of late are not few."

He shifted his attention down to his tray then, taking a few moments to cut his beelpop slices into bite size pieces with his fork. Or rather, he shifted his gaze, as his thoughts drifted beyond room and ship. Wounded was putting a rather rosy tint on it, in the case of the recent reports, as the word implied one of three things: that they had held, that they had been able to effect a retreat, or that the Sith were magnanimous in victory. All three, happy fantasies and little more. Still, his thoughts were not on Thila now, at least not in their entirety. Whether Valli intended it or not, her words left him with something to consider.

At least in her case, Jaidan had an answer to his earlier question; Meira Valli had her reasons for opting out of direct conflict with the Sith war machine, and in her case at least, the decision was perhaps a wise one. She seemed indeed more thinker than fighter, and thus better suited to diplomacy, but more than that, she had avoided limiting herself in a way that he had not. The Jedi had traditionally been sought out regularly for tasks such as she had described, and not only for their fabled level-headedness; their nebulous relationship with the Republic government was also of interest to outside parties. They were aligned, of course, but not subordinate, not automatically assumed in all cases to act in lock step with the Republic's interests, at least in cases where they pledged impartiality. And to the ocean of neutral worlds who might yet be swayed in one direction or another, people like him no longer possessed that sort of credibility.

He didn't really regret the loss, of course. He wasn't impartial, and didn't suppose he ever truly had been where the Republic was concerned. Besides, whatever use he might be as a mediator - And he didn't suppose he'd be entirely wasted. His sabaac face was up to snuff, at the very least. - he had no doubt he was where he needed to be. Had he lived out his life in a time of peace, then perhaps he'd have been content to master the lightsaber simply for the art itself, and his own betterment. But the Sith had set the galaxy aflame, and Jaidan had spent virtually all his life in preparation for it. What use was a Weaponmaster who would not use his weapon when it was needed. And surely, if ever there was such a need, it was upon him now.

Yet there were a fair few Jedi who would be best described as scholars first and warriors second, if at all. Perhaps it bore more consideration just what contributions they had to offer in the present crisis, and where they'd be left if the Order as a whole went to war. He was skeptical that it would ultimately change his opinion. Whatever the costs of a militarized Jedi Order, It was hard to imagine they outweighed the disaster of Sith conquest.

But he would think on it.

"What were your impressions of Zarander?" he asked after a moment. The best way to avoid dwelling on what one could not control, after all, was to concentrate on what one could. "As a threat, I mean. I got an inkling, when he first touched our minds as we entered...I don't think he's had much training in that area. Far less even than he should have received by the time he abandoned the Order, actually. Curious, and perhaps useful."

[Meira]

(eep! Sorry for the wait!)

She could tell that her words had set Shatani into thought, and so she left him to his musings and turned her own attention back toward the meal he'd brought. She suspected he thought on their different standings within the Order. It was a safe guess, considering that whenever two or more individuals from either group found themselves in shared company, the subject inevitably came up. The rift that had formed between the two groups had stirred up emotions in many, another reason why Meira was not fond of it. Unity was important in times of uncertainty, but so was the ability to hold to one's personal beliefs. This war was proving a prime example of how one could not have their cake and eat it too.

Speaking of desserts... The beelpop melon might not have been cake, but it was a sweet enough substitute. Using her fork, Meira separated small pieces from the large slices and savored them slowly. The meal was a basic one, but it was a far cry better than the native cuisine of Cyrillia. She had been as polite and intrepid as possible, taking small bites in the name of diplomacy of the dishes presented to herself and those she'd been working with, but the Cyrillian taste for insects and raw meats was too foreign for her stomach. She subsisted on nutrient packs when behind closed doors, and those were bland at best. So she was thankful to have real, edible food once again.

Soon, Shatani returned from his reverie, asking her opinion of their prisoner. Meira nodded her head at his assessment. Aside from his lightning display, Zarander had not displayed any ability that had seemed overly disturbing. She would be a fool, however, to believe this meant he was no threat. The level of security designated to him was proof enough of that.

"I am not yet ready to rule out his telepathic abilities." she said, eyebrows still furrowed with thought. "I'm sure there is much he has not shown yet. But, he has shown a tendency toward dramatics." Either he was toying with them for his own entertainment, or his show was used to conceal weaknesses. It was worthy of investigation.

"It is his presence that concerns me the most, though." Meira said, looking up to Shatani. "The indirect influence of the Dark Side will be a constant contention for us in that room." Her eyes glanced toward the security door that led toward the cell. "If I could get a hold of any of his belongings, I might be able to find more information."

Much as her psychometry was a gift, Meira also knew the dangers of the power. Memories, be they from a mind or an object, were powerful things and often heavily laden with emotion. The odds of any of Zarander's possessions being free of intense emotions were slim to none and Meira would have no filter through which to pull the memories. Inanimate objects had no ability to organize or order the memories they held. The hardest aspect of learning psychometry was the control of the flow. If one was not careful, they could be bombarded by a tangled web that could never be set straight. She had spent her entire life honing her skills in the art and still wondered if it was safe to attempt a read on Zarander's belongings.

"In any case, I do believe his greatest strengths are of no real use to him while in that cell."

[DreadPirateMike]

(No, I'm sorry. Haven't been feeling entirely great for most of the past week, and I'd like to think I might otherwise have had this for you a little sooner. Just had trouble getting my thoughts together, really. Even that application I threw up in the tech section was something I'd been trying to get to for weeks. But I'll try to make the next post significantly quicker.)

"Hmmm."

The thoughtful non-response was technically, he supposed, in the best of sagely Jedi traditions, and yet it hardly felt like a productive contribution to the conversation. In fairness, of course, table manners were another worthy old tradition, and his mouth was presently full. The melon slices having been prepared for their coming task of cooling his tongue in case his nose had underestimated the heat of the stew, he was now proceeding with the main course. Balanced, filling...and oh yes, the cook had done an admirable job. Not hot enough to be unpleasant, but it engaged the palette admirably.

But more than that, Meira's concern about the choking dark morass that Zarander was trying to make of that room -Well, who was to say he meant to stop there? But one concern at a time.- was one that he'd been considering somewhat himself. And the more he thought on it, the more he suspected that his solution to the problem would have to be different from hers. More complex, perhaps, for the fact was that of late, Jaidan had as much in common with the soldiers they were trying to safeguard as he did with the Jedi across the table. He might have different tools for processing what happened out on the battlefield, but to some extent, he carried that chaos with him all the same.

And then, of course, there was always the matter of his heritage, the factor which set him apart from both of them, and which could really cut either way as far as the task ahead of him. He'd worked for years with a determination that bordered on the fanatical to truly understand what that white hair atop his head really meant, a determination fueled by remembering his home well enough to have some sense of the loss involved with being severed from it that first decade at the Temple.  And at the end of it, in truth, he felt as if he belonged out there, amidst the clashing blades and blasters bolts in flight, amidst the deeds both dark and heroic. It wasn't blood lust; he recalled and regretted every life he'd ever taken, even as he acknowledged the necessity of it. But out there, with blade in hand as he regarded his latest opponent bent on his destruction, as all he had to focus on was studying them and determining how hey might be bested? Well, he didn't know he could quite describe himself as calm in such a case. The contest was exhilarating, even if its necessary end was tragic. But he was...centered. Content, if only in that adrenaline drowned moment.

Would that be helpful to the men and women who stood the vigil with him, in the same way that Meira could help them? He honestly didn't know. But so long as he remained unperturbed by the Sith's antics, he would pass that feeling of well-being on as best he could. But at the same time, he would try other tactics...engage his enemy, and all the while, trust his brothers and sisters in arms as he always had. Right now, though, his fellow Jedi had presented him with a more imminent concern, one that threatened to outweigh the very real opportunity.

"Ah, yes. YOUR heritage."

Now, he considered with a slight frown, was when he'd need to trust her, and while that wouldn't be a problem in most circumstances, he found himself wishing he knew a little bit more about her history with the Order. He knew little more about the Psychometry technique than what he'd heard described to him, but he was generally familiar with how it worked. To live out another's experiences so vividly...and they had more than adequate proof of the vile nature of their prisoner. Had Meira ever placed herself at the receiving end of that kind of rage, that kind of hate? Jessoin Zarander may know all sorts of useful secrets, granted, and it could be invaluable to have some solid information to compare against the lies he might try to tell his captors later on. But whatever value this knowledge might have, he refused to believe it could outweigh her safety.

Still, what had he just been contemplating? The contribution every Jedi could make. If Meira Valli was willing to take this risk, then he had no right to stand in her way. But he could, perhaps, share some of it with her.

"Well, it would not be difficult to gain access to the items we confiscated. But if you wish to do this, perhaps I can assist in some way? I've heard of the intensity of the technique in question. My own telepathic abilities are basic, but I may be able to provide an anchor of sorts."

[Meira]

Meira nodded. She was sure that Thrast would give them access the Zarander's belongings if they explained their intent. Their prisoner was going to stand trial, after all. Surely any and all evidence would be needed. The thought of Zarander standing trial was not as reassuring as Meira thought it might have been. Just this transport proved the danger he posed. What measures would the Republic have to take in order to complete a trial? Could an unbiased hearing really be held? Meira banished the thought from her mind. That was not her mission. She could not allow herself to be distracted by things that she could not control.

The question that remained had very much to do with her ability to control. The fact of the matter was that she had never faced such potential turmoil in her years of study in psychometry. It wasn't that her experience was only the simple and peaceful. She had read the memories of a number of objects, from mundane cups to the remains of explosives used in a terrorist attack. The latter had most certainly been the most disturbing of object memories she'd ever read. The mental state of the man who'd made the bomb had been disorientating, terrifying, and heartbreaking all at once. She'd gained the sort of insight that made it difficult not to care for someone. As a naturally empathetic being, Meira had to come to terms with her own compassion for a man obviously unhinged and hurting. She had to look past that and remember the greater good that stopping him would ensure. It had been a challenge, and though the man had escaped, Meira knew she was stronger for the experience.

Shatani's offer of assistance had surprisingly struck a nerve in the young Kiffar knight. Had she not been so practiced in reigning in her emotions, her reaction might have shown more than the slight tightening of her brow. Her surprise was not in the offer, -what was a Jedi if not helpful?- but rather in her own internal response to it. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep, or a weariness at having been in the constrictive presence of Zarander; whatever the excuse, Meira found herself slightly offended by the offer. But why should she be? Jaidan had the experience of battle and chaos that Meira did not. He'd faced sith. If she could already blame the presence of one for her own unusual reactions, was that not proof enough that she did, in fact, need his help?

Pursing her lips, Meira nodded again. Of course his help would be welcome. A deep breath was all it took for her to calm her mind and relax her posture. When this was done, the thought occurred to her that there was indeed a great deal that Shatani could do to help, and not just in the task of reading Zarander's belongings.

"Actually," she said, her eyes rising to connect with his, "I believe you can help more than you might think. Are you familiar with the meld technique?"

Meira's still mind and centered spirit had always made her more prone to meditation. It had made her study of psychometry an easier task than it was for many, and it had also helped her in the study of force meld. While most Jedi could find it easy to establish a mental connection with their fellows, the meld technique required a deeper focus and much more finesse. Evos had suspected a talent for the ability in his young apprentice and was careful to nurture it from the onset of her padawan years. The result was a fine student in the technique, able to blend her mind with those around her, giving and drawing strength where needed. Though she had never used the technique to its truest and most intense potential, Meira did know the strength of connecting her mind to that of another.

Meira and Evos had practiced the meld together a number of times during her padawan years. It was a natural extension of their master/student relationship and was easy to maintain. She had also used it to a small extent during her mission to Devaron with Master Took and Niv-Taro, lending her concentration and energy to the barrier Ni-Taro had created to block an assault when they'd landed on the planet. She believed, however, that for the task at hand, Meira would have to do more than just touch Shatani's mind. To weather to tempest of anger and emotion that was bound to assault her in reading Zarander's belongings, she would have to establish a true connection. She hadn't done such a thing since Evos had died. But circumstance required her to be at her best and she would not let hesitancy jeopardize their mission.

[DreadPirateMike]

(Well, within a week. That was a little quicker.)

The furrowed brow was not missed, but nor was much mind paid to it. It was only a very subtle thing, of course, but Jaidan was a more accomplished student of body language than most, and with that sort of perception came a certain obligation for discretion. If his offer had concerned or irritated her, his best guess was that he had accidentally implied he was skeptical of her abilities, but if that potentially revealed a touch of pride on her part, then it was a welcome insight. Everyone had their flaws, even Jedi. Sometimes, if he was being entirely honest, especially Jedi. In any case, it was always somehow a little more comfortable talking to someone when you knew what they were. It was part of why he got along so well with Locke, why he'd done so since the Investigator's Padawan days; that man was none too shy about the less than gleaming aspects of his character. And besides, if everyone had that duality about them, then he'd always felt the important element of it was the choice. Unless he sensed he was being actively deceived, or denied information he would need, he tried to hold a person accountable only for that side of themselves they chose to present. And it seemed once more a wise policy; judging by how quickly the moment passed, prickly Meira seemed a minor subset of the whole person indeed.

"The meld? Again, in theory only."

And even just in theory, the notion was of considerably greater concern than some barely perceptible moment of pique. He had offered his assistance in hopes of shielding the younger Jedi against the turmoil associated with the task she proposed, yet in truth, his own mind was not necessarily an uneventful place. There was no gleeful murder in his past, of course, no headlong descent into darkness. Whatever anxiety he brought to the table was either resolved or at the least controlled, unlikely to pose Meira any risk, and yet...well, some of the interesting bits she would likely expect, knowing he'd seen battle, and some she would not. It was that latter category which presented some concern. While he did not regret the choices he had made in working out his somewhat distant relationship with the Jedi code, while all of one incident in those years of Knighthood had ever left him with anything that could be considered anything like shame, he had kept those details to himself all these years for a reason.

He'd known even as he made the offer that he was taking a risk, making mental contact of any kind. The risk was simply worth it to ensure the safety of his sister Jedi. But this...would Meira even be able to restrict herself from viewing those more guarded parts, had she some reason to believe she should avoid looking too deeply?

It didn't change anything, of course. Yes, it gave him pause having at last found himself in this predicament, but the dilemma was one he had considered more than once before. And while he may not have always held to the Code in its particulars, he had resolved to honor it, in his own way. He didn't have to go out and volunteer the truth, but nor would he allow himself to fear it like some criminal desperate to escape his sentence. The mission came first, and with it the obligation to do everything in his power to ensure everyone came away from it intact. If the price of that outcome was that another would learn his secrets, then it was a small price to pay. Meira would have to make her own decisions about what to do with them, and life would go on.

"What should I expect, then? And what must I do?"

[Meira]

She nodded at his response. It was expected. Most Jedi learned of the meld, just as they learned of many other force techniques studied by their order. But just as some were not suited to learning multiple lightsaber forms, others were not suited to delving into the deeper aspects of telepathic abilities. An expert she was not, but Meira had prided herself in the ability her years of training had brought her. She was no front line combatant, but it was a boon to her and those she worked with to know that she could still provide support where needed. It was something of a fear to her that she might need to do just that as this war loomed over the galaxy, ever darker.

When he asked what he might expect, Meira couldn't stop the half smile that invaded her features. She suspected that it had occurred to Jaidan that, were they to link their minds, that she would have unfettered access to his every memory. It was a common misconception and likely a major factor in the lower numbers of Jedi who practiced the art. It was no fault, for even Jedi wished to maintain their own privacy. And while Meira imagined that, pushed to the logical extreme, the mind meld technique could indeed provide the practitioners to the very depths of their partner's minds, to do such a thing would be disastrous for all involved.

"You can expect a bond very similar to what exists between a master and padawan," she began, "but stronger. The meld allows those that are connected to act as one and share between them a common pool of strength and focus. Communicating telepathically will require hardly any more effort than simply thinking. Connected minds will feel each others emotions almost as clearly as if they were their own. This is why meditation is important when establishing the meld." Meira offered Jaidan a reassuring smile.

"It is not an invasion to either party. It is important that you know that. Our minds are still out own. Imagine it like a ship. In establishing the meld, we will create the common spaces which we can both occupy, but the cabins remain intact and separate. If we are anxious about any aspect of this, it will make the meld weaker. But if we trust each other, it will be as easy as breathing."

Meira was quiet for a few minutes to allow her comrade to consider. Even with reassurance, it was surprising how difficult it could be for people -and Jedi were no exception- open up enough to allow a true meld. Meira was fortunate in her natural calm and acceptance of self. Her struggles, both as a Jedi and as a sentient in general, had been mild compared to many others. She was aware of this and had, for a long while, thought that it made her weak. But she had long since come to terms with it, knowing that her reserves of strength were vast. Infrequent use did not diminish them in the slightest.

"If you are willing," she said, "we will begin with meditation." Taking up her glass of blue milk, she took a long drink before setting it back on her tray. "After we finish, of course. There's nothing worse than meditating on an empty stomach."