Public Aftermath...[NJO/THR/JO]

[Beltor "Bell" Cyrus]

Beltor Cyrus
In rout to Naboo
Set after the events of Prosperity's Fall.

The Jade Finch buffed slightly in the turbulence of Hyperspace. It had been a close escape, and one not likely to happen with out the timely intervention of allies anew.


He slumped back in his seat and took a long, shaky breath. He looked down at his hands, watching them tremble. He felt his stomach turn right as the adrenaline dump ended, and he reached for a sick bag just in time to catch the contents of his stomach as he threw it up.

Groaning, he sealed the bag and ditched in the trash bin, and got up to his feet. Steadying him self, he left the cockpit and found two of the troopers doing their best to consul the gathered younglings, entertaining them with soft coos and stories. The third one looked over from where he knelt over the wounded padawan. He felt his heart twang at the sight of them. Children, all of them, even the padawans were barely teenagers, and the awake one had that haunted look of his first battle in his eyes.

Bell felt something for the young lad, and sat down next to him. The kid's hands shook, and he looked away. Bell held up his own hand, showing the similar tremor, and gave him a weary smile. "First time?" The lad looked at him, and only nodded.

Beltor sighed. "You kill anyone?" The Padawan's eyes widened a bit, and he didn't give a clear answer. Bell sighed a second time. "Ain't no shame it in lad. 'Tis a rough galaxy we lived in. I'm...not gonna say it should be easy, or that you should be proud of it. You shouldn't, and it should be hard. Your a Jedi, hell likely more of a Jedi then I am. You did what was needed, and you kept your self and these younglings alive."

The padawan looked down, a well of tears starting to form. He could read him like a book. Anger, guilt, confliction. The kid was kind enough to recognize he had taken a life, vary likely his first, and felt bad for it. There was hope for him yet. "Breath kiddo, breath. Speak your mantra, go barf if you have to. I did."

He got up and patted the kid on the shoulder. Looking at the girl, he felt his face fell. "How is she?" The trooper sighed and took off his helmet. "She'll live, but she hurt, bad. took the full force of the throw to her shoulder, likely kept her from breaking her spine but destroyed the arm." "Damn." He shook his head.

"We're a few hours out of Naboo." He looked over the gathered youths and haggard troopers and clasped his hands together. "Who's hungry. This old girl might be a rust bucket, but I keep a fully stocked kitchen on her..."

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Beltor "Bell" Cyrus
​

It was rather interesting to witness.

She had not known what had become of the NJO for some time. How could she? She had made her way to the High Republic while the opportunity had still presented itself. The Galactic Alliance had torn itself to shreds attempting to deal with a resurgent faction of Imperialism.

Sometimes, it was better not to take certain battles. She knew for certain that if she had been in charge of the Jedi, then no help would have come to these poor souls. Jedi they may have been, but the Sith preyed upon undue emotion and used that weakness to lure Jedi into even worse fates. It was likely that, despite all the good intentions behind the efforts to save the remnants of the NJO, many more experienced Jedi would die.

Those Jedi, of course, were desperately needed to shore up the defenses of the High Republic, which now stood upon the verge of a three-way war.

Another losing battle? Perhaps. But this time there was a chance. A chance that could not be wasted on saving those who, when given the option, did not save themselves. For that was how they should view the Sith who did not wish to return to the Light, was it not? Those who, through their own nature, had failed to save themselves from their own damnation. Darkness could swallow you in life, but it also claimed you in death. It was, therefore, the duty of the Jedi to preserve themselves.

So Ilaria remained seated within a control tower on Naboo. Some Knight or another had ordered her to await the arrival of an Outcast who had saved many of the NJO—a hero, apparently. Once they came within a few hours of the planet, she was to contact them, confirm security protocols, exchange information, and ensure the whole thing was not some elaborate Sith ploy.

And just in time, they appeared upon the long-range satellite feeds.

"This is Padawan Ilaria Morvayne in collaboration with High Republic law enforcement and the Jedi Order. You have been identified by perimeter scans and have successfully passed border security, but due to recent events we require several additional security confirmations before you land. Please allow the security package to complete its work on your ship's systems. This will ensure a safe, steady, and calm journey for all involved."

A small sigh escaped her lips.

"And... is everyone alright on board?"

By the Force, her legs were killing her.

​

 

[Beltor "Bell" Cyrus]

Beltor "Bell" Cyrus
​

It was rather interesting to witness.

She had not known what had become of the NJO for some time. How could she? She had made her way to the High Republic while the opportunity had still presented itself. The Galactic Alliance had torn itself to shreds attempting to deal with a resurgent faction of Imperialism.

Sometimes, it was better not to take certain battles. She knew for certain that if she had been in charge of the Jedi, then no help would have come to these poor souls. Jedi they may have been, but the Sith preyed upon undue emotion and used that weakness to lure Jedi into even worse fates. It was likely that, despite all the good intentions behind the efforts to save the remnants of the NJO, many more experienced Jedi would die.

Those Jedi, of course, were desperately needed to shore up the defenses of the High Republic, which now stood upon the verge of a three-way war.

Another losing battle? Perhaps. But this time there was a chance. A chance that could not be wasted on saving those who, when given the option, did not save themselves. For that was how they should view the Sith who did not wish to return to the Light, was it not? Those who, through their own nature, had failed to save themselves from their own damnation. Darkness could swallow you in life, but it also claimed you in death. It was, therefore, the duty of the Jedi to preserve themselves.

So Ilaria remained seated within a control tower on Naboo. Some Knight or another had ordered her to await the arrival of an Outcast who had saved many of the NJO—a hero, apparently. Once they came within a few hours of the planet, she was to contact them, confirm security protocols, exchange information, and ensure the whole thing was not some elaborate Sith ploy.

And just in time, they appeared upon the long-range satellite feeds.

"This is Padawan Ilaria Morvayne in collaboration with High Republic law enforcement and the Jedi Order. You have been identified by perimeter scans and have successfully passed border security, but due to recent events we require several additional security confirmations before you land. Please allow the security package to complete its work on your ship's systems. This will ensure a safe, steady, and calm journey for all involved."

A small sigh escaped her lips.

"And... is everyone alright on board?"

By the Force, her legs were killing her.

​

Beltor Cyrus
Naboo.

The drop out of hyper space came after a few blessed hours of quite. Most of the younglings where asleep, and even the Padawan he had helped through his feelings had found some sleep. The girl was getting worse, slowly. Likely some type of internal bleeding along her side and potential compartment syndrome he didn't have the tools or know how to mend.


He thumbed the mic after the call came out over the mic and replied.
<<Roger Naboo Control, this is the Jade Finch, inbound with 18 souls aboard. I've got one drive lit and the other sputtering from combat damage. I can hold her on the way in but might need ground assistance once landed.>>

The Old girl buffeted and the lights dimmed as he swore.
<<Belay my last, control, I've got power fluctuations across my main and secondary manifolds, I'm hopping to back ups but I might loose the second drive. Declaring SOS and squawking emergency landing clearance request>>

The controls became sluggish as the Finch began to yaw as the port drive began to spool down from lack of power. Decoupling the throttles to compensate he held her steady as he started his run at the atmosphere. Naboo was a pretty planet, he did not want to mar it with the wreck of his ship.

Limping along as he descended, the port drive died entirely. He reached behind him and snapped a few switched, deploying the landing gear and charging the repulsors in an early step to lower their decent speed. Still, they came in harder and faster then he'd wanted, and while he managed to keep her steady, the old girl flopped down on the pad with a crash and thunk. The forward gear snapped, and the old freighter lurched forward. At least the main ramp could open.

He hopped out of the seat and started barking orders to the troopers. "Get them out while I cut the engines and down spool the drive. With my luck the old girl might burst in to flame!" The troopers, as tired and haggard as they where, snapped to attention again and started herding the children down the ramp, helping the youngest down. Him and the ambulatory padawan gently and gingerly carried the wounded girl out to be met by a medical team.

He didn't say anything, just turned and bolted back to the Finch as fast as he could, jumping the ramp and scrambling back up to the cockpit to cut the engines, power core, and anything else that had taken damage.

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Beltor "Bell" Cyrus
​

The officers were already in motion. Damage control teams and emergency responders quickly organized themselves to meet the transport as it descended toward the surface. There was no telling what condition the vessel would be in once it finally arrived on Naboo. Ilaria, meanwhile, simply waited and watched, not particularly eager to get in the way of professionals carrying out their duties.

As a brilliant streak of light appeared over the horizon, she watched the vessel—the Jade Finch—make its emergency approach toward the designated landing pad. Surprisingly, the pilot seemed adequately skilled in handling such a situation. The ship came down hard, but controlled enough that emergency crews were able to rush forward almost immediately and begin evacuation procedures.

Then the pilot, either desperately brave or unbelievably foolish, turned and ran back toward the ship in an attempt to disable the engines himself.

Many here would have called it heroism. A supreme display of valor. There was little doubt that, by conventional standards, it was exactly that—a man willing to risk his life for those around him. Willing to walk back into fire and fury to ensure the survival of others.

Textbook heroism, certainly.

Ilaria, however, was not especially interested.

She simply stared ahead with a blank, emotionless expression as, one by one, her former peers from the NJO were escorted from the vessel to safety. She recognized many of them. When they recognized her in return, she offered small nods of acknowledgement, but little more. None of it held much personal interest for her.

Honestly, she would have preferred to be studying right now.

Vainglorious and cinematic moments of heroism she found rather trite, though some small part of her admittedly hoped the Jedi who had gone so far out of his way to save these people did not die. Or, at the very least, did not die under her watch.

And so she waited, curious to see whether he would emerge from the ship victorious, or instead succumb to its fury.

If he survived, she intended to speak with him.

After all, she was rather curious about what exactly had occurred.

​

 

[Beltor "Bell" Cyrus]

Beltor "Bell" Cyrus
​

The officers were already in motion. Damage control teams and emergency responders quickly organized themselves to meet the transport as it descended toward the surface. There was no telling what condition the vessel would be in once it finally arrived on Naboo. Ilaria, meanwhile, simply waited and watched, not particularly eager to get in the way of professionals carrying out their duties.

As a brilliant streak of light appeared over the horizon, she watched the vessel—the Jade Finch—make its emergency approach toward the designated landing pad. Surprisingly, the pilot seemed adequately skilled in handling such a situation. The ship came down hard, but controlled enough that emergency crews were able to rush forward almost immediately and begin evacuation procedures.

Then the pilot, either desperately brave or unbelievably foolish, turned and ran back toward the ship in an attempt to disable the engines himself.

Many here would have called it heroism. A supreme display of valor. There was little doubt that, by conventional standards, it was exactly that—a man willing to risk his life for those around him. Willing to walk back into fire and fury to ensure the survival of others.

Textbook heroism, certainly.

Ilaria, however, was not especially interested.

She simply stared ahead with a blank, emotionless expression as, one by one, her former peers from the NJO were escorted from the vessel to safety. She recognized many of them. When they recognized her in return, she offered small nods of acknowledgement, but little more. None of it held much personal interest for her.

Honestly, she would have preferred to be studying right now.

Vainglorious and cinematic moments of heroism she found rather trite, though some small part of her admittedly hoped the Jedi who had gone so far out of his way to save these people did not die. Or, at the very least, did not die under her watch.

And so she waited, curious to see whether he would emerge from the ship victorious, or instead succumb to its fury.

If he survived, she intended to speak with him.

After all, she was rather curious about what exactly had occurred.

​

Beltor Cyrus

He bolted back up the ramp and dead sprinted in side. Not bothering to sit down in the cockpit, he started flipping switches and pressing buttons. It was a practiced sequence, years of personally running the ship and academy flight training had instilled in him the proper skills required to do a quick SCRAM of the ships power core and systems.

With that done, he ducked back to the engine compartment. The turbines were spooling down, but he had to double check the Hyperdrive and, not really bothering to actually see if it was still pulling charge, reached down and yanked the quick release latch on the main power feed, disconnecting it and forcing it's antimatter fuel pods to undergo rapid emergency cryostasis, rendering them inert until properly warmed up again.

He stepped back, taking a long breath and flipped down the screen for the engineering read out. Systems like it could safely run off internal batteries, and he had a photoelectric cell panel on the hull roof that'd trickle charge them. The reactor SCRAMed properly, the hyperdrive and its fuel was cold, and the turbines powering the large twin Ion engines also safely shut down. The read out read no further systems damage and the diagnostic system identified a series of power spikes that had tripped the main and secondary breakers, likely from Ion cannon hits along the ventral hull.

"Fracker was shooting me with Ion cannons, they wanted to take her as a Prize..."

He folded it up and made his way out side, taking a moment to observe the external damage, and he quickly found the tell tale lightning strike scoring you'd see when Ion bolts strike durasteel armor plate. He took a step back, plucking a smoke out of his robe pocket and lit it, taking a long drag.

"Thanks again, old girl. I might get bigger and better, but you'll always be my favorite." Turning, he started back towards the others, sparing a glance and a moment to call out to the ground crews. "Turbines are dead, reactors dead, and Hyperdrive is cooled, also tripped all the main breakers and flushed the coolant lines, should be little risk of fire but let me know if anything happens.

Coming to only a few feet from Ilaria Morvayne . He cocked a brow, for once, he found some one rather hard to read with the skills he had. Yea, she was a Jedi, likely nobility too if the posture she held said anything.

He smiled. "Forgive the rough landing, bastards were using Ion cannons on me, figure they meant to take her, me, and the youngins as captives." He was an odd contradiction to her neat robes and clean appearance. His robes were nice, but soiled with the smoke and a few blaster holes, a near miss saber strike, and soot scoring the front of his armor plate, only slightly marring the brightly colored Rebel Starbird adorning it's front.

"Dr. Cyrus, Beltor Cyrus. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss."