Brilliant, on a curve of Skywalker

As the Rude Awakening sped onward, the fire-rimmed orbs ahead rapidly began to swell and drift apart, leaving the area between them webbed with blazing whorls of accretion gas. Against this brilliant backdrop, Ship also began to swell, growing from a propulsion halo the size of a dust mote to a dark sphere as large as Jaina’s thumb.

A constant stream of fire streaked back and forth between the two vessels, cannon bolts from the Awakening and plasma bulbs from Ship. Both vessels were taking the attacks dead center in the forward shields, making no attempt to evade. With the grasping hand of a black hole reaching from both sides of an ever-narrowing safe corridor, there was no room to maneuver or flee. Flying skill and combat training did not matter: pilots had one choice and one choice only: punch it out head-on.

And in that kind of fight, it was usually the pilot who attacked quickest and hardest who survived. Jaina checked the range and, seeing that the two vessels were closing in even faster than she thought, armed the Rude Awakening’s first missile. Jaina had chosen the Rude Awakening for good reason: it was a Void Jumper assault pinnace. That meant it could get in fast, evade detection, take a beating, and deliver a devastating attack. It was one of the most fearsome tactical combat vessels in the galaxy, designed to go head-to-head with a Mandalorian Bes’uliik and be the craft that emerged from the fireball. Jaina could not imagine any better combat transport to fly head-on against Ship—especially not after she had fitted the entire missile magazine with baradium warheads.

Talk about a rude awakening. Heh.

The targeting computer chimed once, announcing that the two crafts had closed to effective missile range. Jaina did not bother to try for a target-lock—Ship would defeat it anyway, and in this fight a quick attack was everything. She simply launched, then pulled the throttles back so the Awakening would not be inside the lethal radius when the baradium detonated. The blazing white disk of a thrust ring appeared in front of the cockpit then, as the missile streaked away, quickly shrank to a white dot. In the next instant a tiny gray dot appeared in front of the Awakening.

In an eyeblink, it expanded into the gray, oblong lump of one of Ship’s Force-hurled stones. Fighting the urge to dodge—a mistake that might well have carried them across a nearby event horizon—Jaina held the pinnace steady and thumbed the intercom pad on her control yoke.

“Brace for impact back there,” she said. “This one is going to take down our shields.”

( This seems like an excellent time to go on a vision quest, doesn't it, Luke? )

( Meanwhile, on Coruscant-- )

( And on Abeloth's home planet, Ben gets a mouthful of tentacle. Seriously. It's nasty. )

( Hooray, we won! What do we do with Vestara? )

[OOC: Troy Denning, THERE IS SO MUCH WRONG WITH YOU. Warnings for torture, violence, and death. Played out with amazing hoorayimrich, life_inshadow, and endsthegame. Done with the spamming for today!]

Ben stood watching an old Bothan limp back and forth across the grimy floor of the undercity industrial hangar. The Bothan was addressing three brigades of elite space marines--a few faces among them ones that Petra had been looking for, not that Ben coud pick them out among the thousands--explaining why he had asked them to volunteer for a mission to overthrow the Galactic Alliance’s current Chief of State, Roki Kem. Their shoulder patches represented units from a hundred different vessels stationed near Coruscant, and they all had at least two things in common: they had all served aboard a ship personally commanded by Admiral Nek Bwua’tu, and when he had commed to ask them to help him save the Galactic Alliance, they had all answered with an unwavering yes.

“… the enemy has retreated into the Jedi Temple with seventy-five percent of its forces.” The admiral’s words seemed to reverberate from every corner of the hangar as a small mike in his tunic collar relayed his voice to a network of speakers spaced throughout the formation. “This withdrawal is certainly a trap, designed to lure our Jedi friends into an ambush against a superior Sith force …”

Luke turned to another Bothan standing at his side, Admiral Bwua’tu’s dapper uncle, Eramuth. “To tell the truth, Counselor, I’m not sure why you waited for the Jedi to return,” he said quietly. “Club Bwua’tu seems to have the war well in hand without us.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out by now, Master Skywalker,” Eramuth replied, maintaining a straight face. “We needed the cannon fodder.”

“Cannon fodder?” Luke echoed, almost taking the old Bothan seriously. “You couldn’t have hired Mandalorians?”

The Bothan shook his gray-furred head. “Of course,” he said. “But they didn’t manage very well the last time they tried to storm the Temple.”

“I see,” Luke said. “It’s nice to know you have more faith in the Jedi Order.”

“There’s that.” A crooked smile snaked along Eramuth’s muzzle, then he added, “And you do work for free.”

Luke activated the mike on his own collar and stepped to the admiral’s side. “First, I want to thank you all for volunteering for this mission. As Admiral Bwua’tu has explained, it’s not just the Jedi Temple we are liberating. The Lost Tribe of the Sith has infiltrated every level of the Galactic Alliance government, and our victory today will prevent them from achieving their goal of dominion over the entire galaxy. Your objective is to draw the Sith forces to the Temple’s outer shell. Once you have succeeded, I will be able to deactivate the Temple shields and open the blast doors from a central location. When that occurs, Admiral Bwua’tu expects the Sith to stand their ground and continue fighting. Assuming he’s correct, the Jedi will launch a series of attacks from the Temple interior, driving the enemy out onto the Temple exterior, where they will be exposed to fire from your assault carriers’ heavy weapons.”

Sensing a tide of uncertainty rising inside the minds of the veteran soldiers, Luke opened his palm and motioned for patience, acknowledging their questions before the first one could be asked. “If they don’t do as the admiral anticipates—”

Ben watched as a hand was raised among the crowd. Luke turned to him. “Yes?”

“How certain are you that you’ll be able to bring the shields down and open those blast doors?” a familiar voice that Ben couldn't quite place asked.

“Not as certain as I’d like to be,” Luke admitted. “But if the first attempt fails, we’ll keep trying.”

“Until?” The voice didn't sound especially pleased by this plan.

Luke grew somber. “Until we can’t anymore,” he said. “And if that happens, there’ll be a baradium strike.”

“After I call off the Temple assault, of course,” Bwua’tu clarified. “If I order a withdrawal, waste no time before obeying. We won’t be giving the enemy time to escape, so the missiles will be on the way as I speak.” The hangar reverberated with the crump of thousands of boot heels cracking together, and Bwua’tu nodded in satisfaction.

“Good.” The admiral turned to Luke, then said, “I think we’re ready to assign the liaisons.”

Luke began assigning Jedi Knights to the various batallions, skipping over Bazel Warv. Ben noticed immediately how Bazel's ears slumped in disappointment, and he moved closer to see what was going on, not realizing that Vestara was following him as well.

“Did I do something wrong, Master Skywalker?” Bazel asked in his gravelly voice. “I just want to—”

“You did nothing wrong.” Luke reached up and placed a hand on one of Bazel’s huge biceps. “But I’ve received a message from the Solos. They’re on their way here to see you. They need you to do something for Amelia."

“It must have something to do with the secret.”

Ben's heart rose into his throat. “Amelia’s secret?” he saw his father ask. “How did you find—”

“The other secret, Master Skywalker!” Bazel interrupted, shaking his big head from side to side. “Not her name!”

Luke looked as stunned as Ben felt. Bazel’s voice grew soft and he stared past Ben, straight at Vestara. “Master Skywalker, I can’t tell you right now.”

Ben watched the appraising look on Vestara's face and realized she'd heard everything. He was going to have to watch her very carefully. If she took the information of who Amelia--Allana--was back to the Sith who seemed downright obsessed with the idea of a prophesized Jedi Queen...

No. Ben'd had far too many relatives die young. If it came down to a choice between Allana and Vestara, there was no choice at all.

( But first a call from Ender! )

( It's a Troy Denning book. Cue the battle sequence! Warning for gross injuries of people you know. )

The good news: Ben was getting a home-cooked meal for the first time in forever. The bad news: Aunt Leia was making her feared spiceloaf. He sat down on the comfortable white sofa in his aunt and uncle's living room, flipped the channel to the Perre Needmo Newshour, and reached down--well, less down now than over, Allana's pet nexu had gotten big since he'd been gone--to scratch Anji's ears.

Allana plopped down next to him and handed him a cup of hot cocoa. "It's traditional," she informed him solemnly.

"Traditions are important," he agreed, smiling. "Did you bring enough for Ender, too? He'll be here in a second."

She tilted her head, getting used to feeling Ender's presence through the Force. "More like a few minutes," she corrected, "but yeah, we've got plenty."

"We'll need it to choke down Aunt Leia's spiceloaf," he murmured under his breath. He was feeling the knots in his shoulders gradually start to unravel. For however brief a stop this was going to turn out to be, it was nice to be back home.

( Let's watch the news and make fun of Leia's cooking! )

( Where Ender and Luke have a little chat. )

( Where Ender and Ben say goodbye. )

Ben returned to the room from his afternoon salle training, dropped off dinner, and headed immediately to the shower.

He returned to two dozen messages on his comlink.

"Sithspit," he groaned as he read. "Who's in charge now?"

He should probably change out of a towel soon...

[OOC: Open door, open post! Thread with Ender is now not so worksafe.]
Ender|Topher|Tony

The attack came later than Ben had anticipated--past midnight instead of at sunset--and with a lack of subtlety that spoke of a hurriedly thrown together plan.

But then, Ben reflected, lightsaber glowing as he stared down the cliffs into the forest as they prepared for a third salvo, how subtle could you be when you were attacking with rancors?

"It's unfolding like we thought," he commented to Ender, "no cohesion between the groups. I'm now accepting brilliant suggestions on how to fix that. We're down to half-strength."

( Don't get eaten by rancors, boys )

[Follows this, NFB, NFI, loosely adapted from Aaron's Allston's Backlash and concluding our summer of preplay flist spam! Thank you sooooo much to endsthegame for putting up with my insanity on this!]

That awful smell, Ben realized, was probably him. It reminded him of sour nerf milk, with a hint of ash and mildew. His tongue lay in his mouth like a raw sausage, his left eye could barely open (thank you, Ender), and he generally felt sore and weak, with a throbbing, muddled head that made him feel like he'd died and just didn't realize it yet.

Which, Ben suddenly remembered, was a distinct possibility. He stared up into the red strobing of the control room's alarm lights, then glanced over at the IV drip bags he'd brought to hydrate himself. They'd been drained, which meant he'd been Mind Walking for much longer than just a day.

"Now I see why they'd rather die than return to their bodies," he gasped out after a couple of tries.

When no reply came, Ben looked over and found his father still lying motionless on his gurney, his gaze vacant and fixed on the ceiling.

"Dad?!"

( Where there is introspection and then ass kicking. )

[OOC: And that's it for Abyss! Preplayed with the always amazing endsthegame. Warnings for lightsabering with extreme prejudice. NFB, NFI, OOC is always welcomed.]