Starwars - Wednesday, January 05, 2000, 4:59 PM
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The joys of Coruscant's spaceport are few and far between: one is its virtual emptiness in the evening hours, no doubt part of the new security regulations on the planet. The Lady Dawntreader, dressed extremely finely, surely on her way tosome function or another, stands in the port's center, she a figure of poise in her gently wafting heavy silk gown, tall as a redwood on Endor, slender much like a Dagoban tender reed. Strange choice, on her part, as she waits for the famed Jedi Master.

A soft westerly wind blows through the empty starport, empty but for the vehicles sitting silent and dark beneath the bright lights of the city. The breeze blows Luke Skywalker's cloak behind him, and his hood is pulled back so that his features are visible and his own vision is not obscured. Blue eyes squint in the stark brightness of the artificially-lit starport, but he steers with sureness in the direction of the woman who has summoned him here, and as he approaches, the seriousness of his expression changes into a pleased smile. He stops, his hands folded before him, and gives a polite bow of his head, saying nothing.

Poguala's eyes, a lighter color green in the dwindling light, rush to black. She pauses, a very gentle, strange hitch in her manner, like a miniscule quirk in her expression, a wink in her eye that fails, dissolving into a twitch. After recovering, which the Master can sense took her considerable effort, she smiles, warmly, honestly. She was nto fearful...something took her aback. "Master Skywalker," she intones, her tenor voice more melodious than the famed tone of Luke's sister, "I appreciate you're meeting with me. I wished to speak to you personally about a....situation that has arisen, regarding arecent theft in the former Imperial Palace. I appreciate your time."

She inhales. Such poise, that one, even in the face of an inexplicable discomfort...even to her. She smiles again, to work her way through it.

From under the Terminus comes Steiner, apperntly having just exited the small fighting craft.

A ways off from the meeting duo, the all-too noticible activities of a one-manned maintenance crew working on a ship, his hands levered up into the belly of a shuttle, prying away with some tool or another. The light around, and from, the ship casts an small, but eerie glow around it.

"It's not a problem, my Lady," the black-clad man says. He is an average, unassuming human being, especially in comparison to the elegant, grand diplomat he is speaking to. But his presence conveys its own intensity nonetheless. He is at ease, alert, and confident, and meets Poguala's gaze with a warm smile. "In fact I was pleased to hear from you. I've been hoping we could have another meeting since our last one turned out to be so productive." He casts his gaze about. "Please, let's find a place to talk so you can tell me more about this situation."

Poguala blinks. She inclines her head, appreciative not only of Skywalker's politeness, but his unassuming air. Still...something disquiets her, seen transparent in the face of the man she speaks to, her very calm center just a little...ruffled. It is a straneg contrast to the totally placid and pelasant expression, which is a true indicator of just how much the Lady Dawntreader can hide what tarnspires within. "If you would board my shuttle, Master Luke," she offers him with a gentle waves of her hand. "We are prearing it to journey to Caspar, so I apologize for the bay's condition. I hope to avoid such embarassments with the arrival of the new diplomatic ship in the future--McKenzie?" Her voice rises to the man with the spanner. "If you would open the access ramp, I should appreciate you're coming to the ship with the Jedi Master and myself."

She walks to the ship, confident she will be followed, turning only to incline her head to offer Luke entrance.

Poguala sits, on the other side of the sofa, from Luke. Her hands are folded in front of her: the sleeves of her gown rest perfectly about her in her poise. She exhales. "There are a number of reasons, Master Luke. First and foremost was a personal one. Amongst teh artifacts stolen in the Palace that day were a number of papers--journals of my grandmother, Zahar Mihansi, the last Dalshem of Daavrix before our current. These papers were....personal, but spoke toa number of disturbing events which may be related to a...genocide that occurred on Daavrix some twenty-five years ago."

Another enters in the area, Bazil. He wipes his hands on a fabric cloth in his hands, nodding politely to both Poguala and Luke briefly, out of respect, waiting briefly for his turn to speak, and then turns towards Poguala, "It will be a few minutes still. There are some minor problems with the main communications array. I will have them finished soon." With that, he again nods towards the pair, and heads up to the cockpit.

Poguala nods her approacl at Bazil's exit. She will speak to him later of protocol.

Sparing a smile of appreciation to Bazil as he leaves, Luke turns his attention back to Poguala. "A genocide perpetrated by Palpatine?" he queries with a grim twist to his lips. "Tell me about the connection to the artifacts."

Poguala exhales. "I am not certain," she says with some consternation. "His papers were in Darian, mixed in with the Daavrixi tongue of my grandmother's journals. We did trnaslate both sets, though with difficulty. He speaks of a facility in a remote star system that seemed to be a plant, a factory of some kind. Humans were involved, as well as the phrase, 'self-replication'. Cloning is what we have surmised. My thought is that if the papers are related to one another, it may explain why the Imperials massacred or caused missing so many of the Dihani, or choosing Council. They may have been...used in some experiment, or taken to be cloned."

The subject of cloning makes Luke frown bitterly. He looks down at his clasped hands and shakes his head. "Do you have any ideas about who stole the artifacts?" he asks, turning to more practical questions. "I don't like the idea of this falling into the wrong hands, especially the way things have been going lately." He does a fair job of masking the disappointment and sorrow that wells up behind his eyes, but looks away nonetheless.

After a short announcement tone, Bazil's voice comes over the ship's communicator, "M'am, the communications have been repaired." His tone is almost hesitant, and  unsure, "Orders?" The speaker goes dead again, smoothly.

Poguala freezes. Again, the hitch in her returns. After taking time to recover, she acknowledges it only by saying, "Forgive, clearly, the subject is distressing to both of us." Collecting her thoughts, her fingers drum idly at her knees. "It is believed by those who are familar with the Force that someone possessed of such powers absconded with with the artifacts. Things of personal significance were taken--nothing of value, at least on the surface. You may make your own assumptions at who may have wanted such objects."

The Lady Dawntreader lowers her head. It snaps upon hearing Bazil. She calls into the air, "Bazil, see to it that the stabilizers have been....stabilized?"


The reply comes after a short delay, the dead air hanging there like a heavy coat. Finally, his voice falls into the room again, "Understood."

The Jedi master coughs into his hand, suppressing a chuckle. Regaining his composure, he returns his gaze to the ambassador. "I have my own ideas about who would be interested in cloning information. And it's not a pretty list." He purses his lips. "Was there any evidence left behind at all? Have there been any decisions on how to proceed?"

"We have determined the coordinates of the planet in question." Poguala sits back, quiet, thoughtful, meeting Luke's gazing but...faltering, which is entirely unlike her. A brief exhale, and she composes enough to offer, "Th eprimary evidence, if you may call it that, of the breakin is the video cameras going blank, then reestablishing, with no apparent malfunction. There were no fingerprints left, not DNA residues. Nothing. It was as if the subject was a ghost."

Poguala shrugs softly. "It is my thought, and the will of the Council and Intelligence, that a small group land on the planet, to invesitgate it. We will be leaving shortly, once I return from negotiations on Caspar. As you can imagine....I have a vesyed personal interest."

"Would you like me to accompany you?" Luke perks up, leaning towards her. Perplexed at her unwillingness to meet his gaze, he tries to lighten his tone, and says good-naturedly, "I'm sure you could use all the help you can get. And I'm pretty good in a fight."

Poguala's eyes, so demure in their reservation, do meet the Jedi Master's at the change in tone. She seems tounderstand why he prompts: the source of the attempt is hardly in need of one who can read minds. She chuckles nervously. "Forgive me," she offers. "The room has been a touch too bright, and I find myself somewhat...overwhelmed in the eye. It happens on occasion." She smiles then, and pats Luke on his arm. "It would please me greatly. It is an honor and a boon....especially since....General D'agor will also be accompanying us."
Poguala suddenly calls into the com, "Bazil? Are you present?"

An answer, almost instantaneously, "Yes, m'am." The reply is almost bored-sounding.

"Come into the cargo bay at once." Poguala always sounds kind, but she does not lack authority in her tone.

"Coming." Bazil utters swiftly, and almost instantaneously, the door to the cockpit opens, and he walks out towards the duo, looking between them. He glances at Luke for a brief second. If there is any recognition from him, he doesn't show it. His face turns towards Poguala, as he questions, "M'am?"

Poguala lifts a hand to Bazil, to silence him, then gestures to a seat near the conversation.

Bazil nods, quietly, and without another word takes the seat, looking between the two again.

"Do you know who's commanding the operation?" the Jedi Master asks the Lady Dawntreader, even as he shifts his position slightly so that the newcomer is more fully included in the discussion. "I would like to talk to someone about strategy. Has General Solo been made aware of this situation?"

Poguala coughs. "General Solo is...unavailable," she explains. "He has been missing for quite some time. We had....hoped a proper commander would be found, though such is dwindling, for most of the command staff in Ground Ops have been occupied by various events....do you....have a suggestion>:"

Poguala looks at Bazil. Raises an eyebrow. "Or you?"

Luke sits stunned. He says nothing, but guilt seizes him that he's been out of touch for so long. His mind whirling, he tries to regain his composure and turns a somewhat blank gaze toward Bazil.

Bazil, somewhat confused over the discussion, shakes his head in submission, "I... I'm not sure. I'm not entirely sure what we're talking about." He offers a look of confusion, mixed with embaressment. "And, I'm not very well familiar with Ground Ops. Never worked around them, previously."

Poguala listens, then exhales. Throwing up her hand in an elegant arc, she chuckles softly. "General D'agor is the ranking officer. I know he is...invested. I am quite certain he will volunteer for the mission lead, if I know. Master Luke, do you find yourself well with this? Oh!" She gently taps her head. "Thi sis Bazil Mckenzie, my pilot and a trainee. He will be accompanying us, barrin gany emerggency. Bazil, this is Master Luke SKywalker."

Another pang of guilt comes over Luke, but he keeps control of himself, and turns easily to offer his hand to Poguala's companion. "I'm pleased to meet you." He clears his throat as he leans back, and fixes the diplomat in his blue gaze. "Can I meet with General D'agor? I'm glad he's here. We have... unfinished business."

Bazil returns the hand, for a moment, before returning to his original position himself. "The same." He casts his gazes between the two again, pausing a moment on Luke's face, but only long enough to study it further, before the conversation returns.

From Poguala's expression, it is clear that she acknowledges the matters between master and pupil. She exhales. That suggests her own business with the General is a matter to be kept to itself. "I believe General D'agor is at Sluis Van, on Home One. That is where I...left him last." She is stoic, though not stony. "I am certain he wishes to meet with you at the soonest available opportunity."

Poguala says, "It is my hope we can summon--or you, if it is preferred, the General here for a briefing and a meeting on strategy. I will send any available data you require previous."

"Just... just let him know that I'm back," Luke says soberly, rising to his feet in a slow but graceful movement. "And that I'm sorry." He lifts the cloak back to his shoulders and secures it at his throat, his eyes shifting to the floor and staying there.

The silence of the room in Poguala's pause leaves a palpable residue of concern and indecisiveness. Even Bazil can see the diplomat's discomfort, and for it to show to such a degree justifies a small quiver in her voice, as though Luke's authority were something she wished not to challenge. "I...I daresay, Master Luke, that your /personal/ word would make all the difference. Perhaps delivering the message yourself will prove more fruitful."

A frown creases the Jedi Master's face -- not so much disapproval, but concern. Hopefully things haven't gone from bad to worse without his knowing. "Very well," he says very slowly, as if contemplating each word as he utters it. "I'll... go make the communication right now." He clears his throat, restores a smile to his lips, and offers a very respectful bow to his companions. "Thank you so much for this briefing, Lady Dawntreader. Again, it is a pleasure to be in your presence."

Poguala rises. Too quickly. She inclines her head. In a slight jerk. It surprises /her/, let alone anyone else. "Of course, master Skywalker. I shall forward the coordinates and pertinent information immediately. We will leave within the week. I assum eI can reach you via the normal channels?"

For some reason, Poguala coughs lightly into her fist.

Poguala adds, "A--and yours, It is always a pleasure to see you."

Luke smiles very gently, and places a hand on Poguala's shoulder. "Thank you," he says simply, searching her eyes, gauging her odd reactions to him. His senses betray no reason to doubt or fear her, so he leaves it at that. "I'll stay in touch." Turning, he moves to the ramp, and gestures for it to be lowered for him.

Poguala jumps an inch. She recovers, and sees Luke to the access ramp. Sighing.

Bazil simply moves a solitary hand over to a panel against the wall, lightly tapping it. The ramp lowers smoothly.