2271/The Black Eights

The Black Eights
Date of Scene:	18 May 2015
Location:	Faraway Galaxy <FG>
Synopsis:	Revan investigates The Repairman, Berkelium Shyre, a Rebel informant on the jungle world of Malastare.
Cast of Characters:	414, 428
Tinyplot:	Resolution

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Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Malastare is a high-gravity jungle world, home to a shifty native species, a crumbling civic authority, and simmering dissent. This place is a hotbed of anti-Imperial and more general anti-authority sentiments, what with its history of Gran subjugating Dug, and now Imperials subjugating... well, pretty much everybody. The Empire isn't known for its kindness to non-human sentients.

Fortunately, there are pockets of normalcy in the midst of the madness.

The repairman hosts one such pocket, although its noise and clutter might initially be an assault on the senses.

It's a slow day in Port Pixelito today, and the repairman himself is behind the counter, having dismissed his Gran shop assistant. Berkelium Shyre hunches over the counter with a welder's mask pulled low over his mop of rough blonde hair and blue eyes, squinting as he spot-welds a tiny piece of equipment. Several finished components are lined up on the counter beside him, mostly parts to repulsorcraft; a model used frequently by the Imperial authorities.

Standing out amongst the detritus is the Aratech repulsorlift component given to him by one Lowri Revan-Shan, or 'Fleet Onasi,' as she'd introduced herself. He'd somehow managed to get a message routed her way that her fix-it job is finally finished, and if she could please come pick it up at her soonest possible convenience, that would be wonderful; just as affable and welcoming as he'd been the first time she came into his shop.

Revan (414) has posed:
Well. That was fast, all right.

Of course, Lowri had been reassured that Shyre was one of the best around, and not just because he set up shop on a dingy backwater like Malastare. The person who gave that reassurance was not exactly high on her trustworthy list, but the pilot probably didn't have much of a good reason to lie. Especially when the evidence was right in front of her even before the mechanic got started.

And then there was Shyre himself, who seemed to deliberately project trustworthiness. Jedi weren't the only ones who could pull off stunts like that.

Which was one more reason Darth Revan had trained agents with little to no Force sensitivity for the task of hunting down and assassinating Jedi. It would seem that only a human being with emotions is capable of killing a Jedi, she once told HK-47 with deceptively soft laughter.

Now that she had been redeemed, such thoughts sent shivers up her spine. Darth Revan was dead, but it was worrisome how easily she could slip back into those patterns of thought, shifting and adapting to alien ways of thinking to truly understand what she was observing. Though her supposed military genius was no longer what it once was with large parts of her memory still missing, she could nevertheless take the proverbial step back and shift her perspective to suit the situation, if not her now-steadfast sense of morality.

That ability now came especially in handy, adapting the demeanour,dress, and speech of a Mandalorian bounty hunter. In retrospect, she probably should have picked her infamous mask out to hide her face with, but her right eye remained hidden well enough behind a thick cloak of platinum blonde bangs, with the rest of her hair loosely pulled back in a messy but stable bun. Receiving the message had been a mild surprise, even more than the fact that the part was ready for pick-up.

"Ya got good intel, Shyre," Revan said by way of 'greeting' as she entered the shop. The gravity wasn't as brutal to her as it otherwise would have been, but she deliberately sat down on one of the stools at the counter. "Thought I'd be droppin' in next week t' see if ya had it, but there ya go."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
The welder's torch flicks off and one gloved hand reaches up to pull the mask back. Shyre looks up at someone darkens the doorway to his shop, makes their way to the back of the shop, and sits down on one of the squat stools at the counter.

"Oh, there you are." His accent is neutral, as though he could have come from anywhere in the galaxy. Setting aside the current parts, he shucks off his heavy gloves and sets them aside. "One Aratech repulsorlift component, finished and repaired. I've cleaned it up for you, too, and tested what I could." The man gives an appreciative sigh. "I don't know where you got this from, but you must have paid a fortune for it. They just don't make parts like this any more."

Settling the part on the counter between them, he shifts his lean against the counter, the servos of his lower body stool whining faintly at the movement. "Intel? I've got nothing to do with intel." He grins affably. "I do, however, have a lot of time on my hands, and a lot of practical experience with similar parts. There you go."

"Now. That'll be four hundred credits. I'll take it in installments if that's too steep, but you look like the sort of person who can cover your debts." He reaches up to rub at his chin with one blunt-fingered hand, speculative. "Bounty hunter, I'd guess. You might try staying around Malastare for a while, Miss Onasi. There are plenty of bounties here. The Empire's always looking for extra hands, and I hear that if they like your work, they'll keep choice mercenaries and bounty hunters on retainer."

There's a beat of silence, and something in hissmile changes, subtly; how, it's hard to say. "There's other work, too, though. Really, the Empire has enough hands, even in these parts." It could be taken as simple fact, or it could be taken as disapproval of the Empire. "There are plenty of civil projects Port Pixelito could use a bounty hunter for. The disadvantages of constant skirmishing means city services suffer, unfortunately, and that includes law enforcement."

Revan (414) has posed:
"Guy who had it last hardly needs it any more," the Guardian drawled. Davik Kang had been dead for well over several thousand years in this incarnation of her universe, by her calculation. Although, she thought with some amusement, they certainly don't. Not that she was going to let him know the part was also from several millennia past. At least, not yet.

She seemed to consider his dismissal of having anything to do with intelligence, though she let it drop for the time being, extracting her datapad from a side pouch at her thigh. "How much you know about the 'multiverse', by the way?" she ventured.

At least, until the part came up...along with the price tag on the repair. In truth, that amount was something she could probably cover easily enough, but she had a particular plan for that part. It depended on what Shyre knew and what she could get out of him.

With a low whistle, Lowri examined the part, though she made no move to pick it up yet. "Gotta pay higher for the good work, yeah, but dont suppose we can bump that down a little?" she asked with a slight feigned grimace.

Pale eyebrows arched slightly. "Don't miss much either, looks like," she replied. "Let's just say Mandalorians'n I go a ways back." Technically true.

Revan rested her elbows on the counter, propping her chin up on her folded hands. Time to start putting some old-fashioned feelers out. "Sounds like yer maybe not exactly fond o' our..." she punctuated with a nebulous gesture to indicate the Empire. "Some folks seem t' think they brought some stability, what with that Republic bein' a mess 'n Jedi runnin' all over the place."

Though she seemed to be merely engaging in idle banter with an almost bored expression, she watched him carefully for his reaction...and reached out with the Force to sense sudden changes in emotion.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"Hmn." The acknowledgement is a grunt on Shyre's part, mostly because he's taking up another piece of junk from the counter, prodding at it with a miniaturised hydrospanner for delicate work, squinting at it from under one brow. "Well, sometimes that's just the way things happen."

He pauses in his tinkering long enough to glance at her with those blue eyes; a few shades too grey to be the same as Juno's, but in some ways, just as tired. Shyre snorts before he looks back to the salvage. "Enough to know it's more of a complication than I need to worry about. Malastare doesn't get too many off-world visitors, but we've been known to get the occasional tourist out here." He pauses, fixing a bland look on Revan. "It has its benefits, too," he adds, somewhat cryptically.

Like assistance for the beleaguered Rebel Alliance.

"If you miss things in a place like Port Pixelito, then you'll miss the blaster shot that finishes you off. I've been robbed before. It doesn't really happen too much any more." Shyre smiles an affable smile. If it were anyone else saying that, that smile might have an edge, but he really does seem good at putting off the vibe of a friendly, trustworthy guy. "There's something to be said for a good reputation."

And a big blaster rifle under the counter, too. Of course he's got something like that. Nobody in Port Pixelito would stay in business without, ah, 'countermeasures.' Shyre's shop included.

He takes a moment to tinker again, grunting an acknowledgement at her comment on the Mandalorians; chewing over what to do about the pricing. In contrast to Juno's mind, his is slow and methodical, steady as the plodding steps of a bantha, and about as enduring. Hers is lightspeed by comparison, darting; flicking from one thought to the next, quick as lightning. Shyre is by no means dull, though; merely a much more patient and slow-paced individual.

"Hmmn." Shyre frowns, reaching under the counter and coming up with another tool, ratcheting at something on the junk's outer plating. "Since you were so well-behaved the other day with Blackout, we'll make it three and a half. How does that sound?"

He shrugs indifferently at her pointed question. "Ruling organisations have come and gone on Malastare. I hear it wasn't exactly a fun time when the Gran were in power, at least not if you were a Dug. Things will settle, or they won't." His outward calm hides a slight twinge of annoyance, and resignation; a faint, dangerous whiff of rebellion that his face never gives away. "Sometimes the Jedi are better peacemakers than the local authorities."

"Most of them are corrupt," he adds, matter-of-factly. "Shopowners like myself have to rely on themselves for proper security. It seems like every few days there's a riot, and the riots always have looters trailing behind. Just last week someone tried to steal my Kowakian monkey-lizards." He thumbs behind him, to where one of the creatures is finally quiescent, watching Revan with big yellow eyes from the top of a shelf. It almost blends in with the junk surrounding it. "Looter got a pretty nasty bite for his trouble and decided that was a stupid idea."

He looks up over the rim of the component, eyeing Revan as though speculatively. And then he smiles that easy smile.

"So let's try this again. Who are you really, and what do you want from me? I promise I'm not going to threaten you with the blaster." Setting his tools aside, he places his hands flat on the counter, somehow miraculously managing to find empty space amidst the odds and neds. "It's bad for business, after all."

Revan (414) has posed:
The pale-haired Jedi shrugged, dropping her chin into her open left palm, her elbow still propped on the counter as she typed out a few things on her datapad with seemingly languid movement. "Suppose so," she muttered, pretending not to notice the cryptic nature of his reply. "You'd think more people'd be takin' advantage of it, whole new opportunities out there an' all."

"Point," Revan conceded; Port Pixelito was far from being the most dangerous place in the galaxy, but it was a far cry from Coruscant. the nicer parts, in any case. He really was very good at maintaining the affable air, that much was assured. "Why here, then? Mechanic of your talents could work anywhere. They can't pay that much better here than someplace that ain't a pain in the ass to get around."

Slower than 'Blackout' he might be, but every bit as cautious. With, she imagined, very good reason. Imperials and Rebels alike had to be careful here, and it was difficult for even a Jedi to discern friend or foe, potential ally or enemy. "Pretty reasonable," she drawled. "Don't need a deferment, yer right about that..."

Frowning slightly, her eyes flicked to her datapad again, as if making credit transfers, though in truth she was poised to catch changes in tone and other tells. She was beginning to get a slightly bigger picture. "Sounds like you got a good ear to the ground," she commented. "Not really my place to say, bein' new here, and guess I can't complain if it pays good enough. Gotta figure not everyone's happy, though..."

And there it was. Revan heaved a sigh; she had a feeling she wasn't going to fool Shyre for very long if she started asking questions. It was just as well; she didn't seem to be getting anywhere how she was, and she needed information.

"Hm, I guess that was a little too fast, wasn't it?" she replied, her accent dropping completely with a slight chuckle, straightening from her gravity-beleaguered posture into her normal one...which should have been painful or at least wearying for an ordinary person. "Oh well, it didn't seem as if I was really getting anywhere otherwise. I'm Lowri Revan-Shan, with the Jedi Order. The situation is a little complicated, but I'm from a...bit of a different galaxy than yours. And what I need is information. And depending on what you can tell me..."

Her head tilted slightly to the Aratech part. "...You can keep that. Would that be good for business?" she asked with a smile loaded with all the charm she could put into it.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"Maybe. I've been in Port Pixelito for a long time, though. It's familiar, even if it might not be as nice as Corellia. But I can't go back there." Shyre raps a knuckle against what should be his thigh, and it gives a metallic report. "This is engineered for Malastare's gravity. It had to be. Anything else would crumple. I guess it's better than nothing, though. I can still get around; I can still work."

"Besides," the repairman adds, with one of those easy, affable smiles. "Rent's pretty cheap in a town like this. Turns out that things blowing up every few days is bad for property values. Who'd have thought?"

Blunt fingers drum on the countertop, eyeing her blandly at her veiled comment on ears to the ground. He simply shrugs in answer to that, indifferent and noncommittal. It could be an agreement, a disagreement, or mere acceptance.

His expression remains open and placid when she drops her act, and indeed he seems wholly unsurprised by the changes in her mannerisms.

"Good. You sounded just a little bit too backwater Outer Rim to be believable. That Blackout's something else, too, but it's my policy not to ask questions." He points to the sign on the facade. "But when people come asking me things like that; loaded questions... well, it's usually a little suspicious. Nobody asks the repairman questions."

He studies her for a long moment, before nudging the Aratech towards her. "Keep it. Might need it more than I do. It'll just be scrapped for parts if I hang onto it, and it would be a shame with craftsmanship like that. I can always use the junkers the stormtroopers bring me. Some rookie or another is always crashing landspeeders. Taking the corners too fast. Burning out the repulsorlifts by redlining the motors."

"Follow me." He turns, and sets a tool to the shelving unit just behind the door. It whirrs aside with a creak and groan of motors, revealing a hallway.

Should Revan follow, she'll find that it's a short corridor, completely dark, and the shelving unit thuds closed behind her; clearly weighted and blaster-proof. It's dark for an unnerving moment before the door in front of them opens to a cluttered, chaotic workshop. Shelves hold all sorts of things, including components that are definitely not civilian; datapads with diagnostics running on them, and even a few droid parts.

He'll wait until the second door is securely closed behind Revan to speak.

"Have a seat anywhere. It's a little messy right now. It's always a little messy." Again, that affable smile. "Nice to see a Jedi, though. Not too many of them around any more, you know, after the purge. And it's nice to meet you, Miss Revan-Shan." There seems to be no recognition of the name whatsoever.

"The name's Berkelium Shyre, and I run this repair shop. But you already knew that." He parks his mobile stool near one of the workbenches, folding his arms over the smooth metal surface. "The part you don't know is that the Rebel Alliance uses Malastare as a base of operations." Apparently all that charm works, and he's ready to spill his guts, affable-like. "I used to be a soldier for the rebels, but I took damage from a land mine." Again, his knuckles rap the stool. "Lost my legs, but I built myself this. Now I can still help them by passing on intelligence."

"What do you need to know? I'm happy to help a Jedi, especially if you're going to help the Alliance."

There's a short pause.

"And the repair work's on me," he adds.

Revan (414) has posed:
The idle personal questions might not have ultimately been helpful, but they served two purposes. The first was to deflect suspicion, to make it sound more like a casual conversation with trivial small talk.

The other was that Revan was simply insatiably curious, even dangerously so. She often asked questions of people simply to know them better, even if it served no purpose on a mission. Not that the former had been particularly effective, anyway.

The Guardian chuckled lightly. "Yeah, someone oughtta do somethin' about that. Might be worth lookin' into... 'least, if the pay's good."

Shyre was awarded another resigned sigh. "Ah...I had a feeling Mandalorian had changed over...well, over the years," Lowri admitted, waving her hand slightly. She really needed to do more research. "But I'll keep that in mind."

Silently, she reclaimed the swoop bike part and followed the mechanic, using her ears – and a little bit of Force Sight – to keep up. It seemed that caution had paid off, if Imperial agents hadn't yet discovered this little secret.

"Thanks," she replied with an affable smile of her own, displacing what looked to be the head unit of an astromech droid to gratefully claim a chair. Even with Force powers, that gravity was brutal. "I have to admit that I'm a little behind the times, but...I've heard. I'm sorry, for whatever that's worth."

Inwardly, she was relieved at the lack of name recognition. The fewer who knew what that name meant, the better. What she was unable to completely hide, however, was her empathy. She had once thought she was a soldier, and maintained a certain fondness for the troops even after learning the truth. Or, perhaps she always had, her subconscious seemed to whisper to her, infuriated over the loss of life during the Mandalorian Wars and inspiring troops with her genuine concern in a way that many Jedi could not.

"You've kept this place running for I don't even know how long. I doubt the Rebellion would have even made it this far without you."

Revan shifted slightly in her seat, leaning forward with her arms resting on her knees, her hands folded. "To be honest, it's a multiversal concern," she admitted. "I'm trying to find information on 'Blackout'. There are a lot of pieces about her that I haven't been able to fit together, so I was hoping you could help me out."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Those faded blue eyes regard Revan with some curiosity, but it could easily be mistaken for simple neutrality. As a rebel informant, Shyre's probably learned to hide his reactions ovre the years. He'd have to. If he didn't he would've been caught by now.

"Something for the future," Shyre says with a shrug, regarding her botched accent. "You might want to stick with something simpler. A Core Worlds accent will get you more places, if you're looking for information, but something less complicated might earn you a few more friends in places that aren't friendly to the Empire."

He drums his fingers on the metal worktable. To her apology, he only shrugs. "It is what it is. Besides, it's not like you've had anything to do with it. You don't have anything to apologise for."

"Maybe. I'm just one point on the relay. There are a lot of places like mine. You never know where they'll be. We like places that don't attract much attention," he adds, with a bland smile. "Imperials get curious sometimes. A little too curious, sometimes. They like making everything their business. I guess it is their business, in some places. We don't have many informants in the Core Worlds."

"Blackout?" Shyre seems surprised by this, blinking and furrowing his lined brow. He's probably of an age with the Imperial pilot in question, maybe a year or two older, but there are stress and worry lines on his tanned face that make him seem much older than that. "To tell you the truth, I don't know much about her myself."

"She's some kind of mercenary. Maybe a smuggler. I think she used to be Imperial, and I'm pretty sure she came from Corulag. Definitely Corulag, not Corellia. I've heard the accent before." He rubs his jaw with one broad hand. "I haven't been able to verify anything."

Leaning down, he retrieves what looks to be a code cylinder, showing it but keeping it in his hand. "Some of the rebels are disillusioned Imperials. And some of them are smart, and lucky. Lucky enough to stay off the Imperial radar. One of them is Rancor. I don't know what his real name is. I don't ask questions. But he used to fly for the Black Eight Squadron. You know what they are? No, I guess not," he reasons. "You're not from around here."

"The Black Eight Squadron is the top TIE squadron in the Empire. Twelve TIE fighters and bombers. They're hand-picked by the Emperor's right-hand man, Darth Vader. They do his dirty work, when he wants things done quick and quiet." He flips the code cylinder in hand, blunt fingers surprisingly deft. "Rancor gave me this. He used to be a Black Eight pilot."

"When he used to fly for them he said that somebody called Blackout was his captain. That's surprising. Women don't get far in the Imperial ranks. They don't like aliens, either." Shyre sighs. "She must've been good. But I don't know if my customer is the same Blackout. She can't be much older than twenty-five. This Blackout–" Shyre indicates the code cylinder, "–has over one hundred combat missions. Some of those were as the Black Eight captain."

He looks down at the cylinder. "I don't really know why you're looking for information about Blackout. And if that woman who comes in here is Blackout, I don't know why she's coming in here. I don't think she suspects anything, or my shop would be crawling with stormtroopers. And they'd have shot me by now." He looks up at Revan, frowning. "Why would a Jedi want to know about one Imperial pilot? The Blackout on these records isn't even Force-sensitive. That's what Rancor said, anyway."

Revan (414) has posed:
Lowri could only guess that the mechanic had had little choice but to hide the curiosity she naturally indulged in. If there was one way to ingratiate oneself to the Jedi, it was intellectual curiosity. "If you have any questions for me, fair's fair. I can answer them to the best of my ability, though my information might be a little out-of-date." She paused with a thoughtful sigh before continuing. "The truth is, I'm from what's probably your galaxy's distant past. Over two thousand years of it, in fact."

Another pause with a slight thoughtful frown. "Eh...give or take a century or two," she mused before flashing a winsome smile. "Thanks for the advice."

Crap. Time to hit the databases yet again once she's back on the Hawk.

"Is it that Core Worlds are difficult to establish relays on, or is there a lack of truthsworthy informants? Or both?" It might not have technically been "her fight", but the mind of the once-time commander of the Republic forces was already working furiously, considering options and angles and possible strategies. she might have been getting ahead of herself, but Revan really couldn't help herself, particularly when the cause was just.

But for now, she needed to focus on her 'quarry'. "Any information you have would be helpful." She grinned before adding, "Not to mention more than what I have."

And it was a good thing she was a damn good listener, because what Shyre told her provided her with more trails than she could have hoped for. Several possible leads, though the best seemed to be 'Rancor'.

The Guardian sat back, frowning thoughtfully, her gaze turning inward. At this point, Shyre would be able to see the mismatched eyes, the grey one she kept hidden with her bangs as she brushed them aside. "I...think this is where the Force is leading me," she mused. "The truth is that I'm hunting something else entirely, something which threatens my galaxy, but I'll be damned if I know what."

Revan let out a deep sigh. "But I have a feeling that...I don't know. I think I'm going to need to help her out of something. And she'll need to help me out of something."

The Jedi smirked with a soft chuckle. "But be that as it may, from what I can tell, she might be one of these Imperials. But...it'll take some digging. And if she is, she's probably also with the Confederacy by association. From what I can gather, they're like the Empire, but on a multiversal scale."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"Both," Shyre says with an almost dismissive wave of his hand. "There's too much Imperial presence. Not much opportunity for the Rebel Alliance to gain a foothold. Information from those places isn't always easy to come by. Troop movements. Fleet movements. Things like that."

He leans forward against his table, toying with what looks like a dented gyro stabiliser; twisting it this way and that, although he probably knows exactly what the problem with it is. He shrugs, looking back to Revan.

For a long moment he seems to study her, as though debating whether or not she can prove trustworthy. Then, he bends over to retrieve a second data cylinder.

"You're a Jedi, so I don't really expect you to turn on us." Revan might just have critically succeeded on her persuasion roll. He passes the cylinder to Revan. "Here. This should give you a briefing on the current situation. Nothing too sensitive, of course. I'm not about to trust an outsider too much. Plug that into your ship's computer, and you should have a good idea of what life in the galaxy's like right now."

He tilts his head, just slightly. "She's in trouble? I never got that impression. She's always confident. Too confident. Maybe she's hiding something, I don't know, or maybe she really is an Imperial. If she is, I can't figure out why she's coming around here. She never asks for information. Gets work done, sometimes. Buys rarer parts." Shyre frowns, thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, she's bought parts from me I've never even seen before."

He rubs his jaw. "Makes me wonder what she might be using them for. A few podracing parts, too, although I don't think she's that kind of pilot. No human's ever gotten far podracing. We just don't have the reaction times you need for that..."

"Anyway." Shyre places his hands flat on the counter again, placid eyes turning to regard Revan once more. "Maybe she is. If she's that Blackout, I'm impressed. Women don't get that far. Women don't captain the top TIE fighter squadron in the galaxy." He shrugs, a little helplessly. "I guess she must have impressed Darth Vader. If that's her, and if she has a combat record like that, I'd be impressed, too. TIE pilots don't usually live that long. Shoddy machines, TIE fighters."

He folds his arms. "Something like that. We don't get too many Confederates around here, but we've heard of them. The Rebel Alliance, they've talked about joining the Union, but not everyone can agree that we should. Leadership's a little divided. Mon Mothma wants to do this. Senator Organa wants to do that. And Garm, well, everybody knows what Garm wants. Hit them hard. Hit them fast. Maybe that's what we should do. But Mon Monthma won't commit. We don't have the numbers. So it's a deadlock."

"I guess they'll get over it sooner or later." He sighs. "Talk to Rancor. Maybe he can tell you more about the Black Eights, and Blackout, too. Funny," he says, almost a little sadly. "I never would've thought Blackout was that kind of person. I can't figure why you'd want to save an Imperial like that, either, but if it's the Force leading you on, I guess that's what you have to do."

He points at the data cylinder. "You can find him in Cloud City, on Bespin. Tell him Shyre sent you. He'll talk to you if he knows I sent you. He trusts me. We work together, sometimes. He'll give me information on what's going on near Bespin. I'll tell him about Malastare. We'll pass on anything important to the Rebel Alliance."

"He'll probably know more than I do, anyway. I was never an Imperial. He was. He was one of the Black Eights, too. And I think he flew under Blackout. Any questions you have, Rancor should be able to answer them." Shyre smiles that placid smile. "If you have any other questions, well, nobody's going to overhear us in here. I made the shielding myself. Haven't been found out yet."

Revan (414) has posed:
Lowri tapped a finger on her lower lip, considering. "There are ways," she mused. "It's a question of resources. If I had a look, I'm sure I could figure something."

She shook her head, refocusing. "First things first, though." For now, the question of the mysterious 'Blackout' had to be satisfactorily answered.

Critical success on a persuasion roll or not, Lowri's slightly sad, haunted smile said otherwise. "You would be surprised. Just be more careful, OK? The Alliance can't afford to lose more soldiers." Again, a genuine concern, even for a lowly soldier.

Nevertheless, she accepted the cylinder. "That's more help than I could have hoped for. I owe you one...several, actually," she added with a slight grin. "I'll do what I can to help us all out. I'm pretty used to multitasking."

Revan shook her head slightly. "No, she doesn't. You'd never know just by looking...it's just a feeling I have." Maybe Carth's paranoia was rubbing off on her...then again, it wasn't paranoia, but a subtle touch of Force sensitivity. So what was likely happening is that she was that much more aware of the mysterious whispers of the Force. And then, there was something of personal experience. "If she was in trouble, she would never tell anyone, even if she knew. At least, that's the feeling I got even just the few times we've talked."

In other words, in some ways, the Imperial pilot was a lot like her.

The Guardian fell silent again, taking in the information and processing it, filing items into what she could use immediately and what she would need to set aside for a later time. Names she didn't recognise, but the cylinder in her hand would clue her in. Crossing her arms, she mused for a moment on the Alliance. "Official allies or not, the Union isn't like the Republic or the Council...they send people in whenever there's this kind of fight. Still..." Once more, the Jedi sighed, leaning back in the chair gingerly, her head falling back to gaze sightlessly at the ceiling. "I would have to know more about the total force strength, supply lines, ally and hostile worlds...so much before I could form a solid plan...." she mused softly before she remembered where she was. "Hah...sorry. I, ah...I have a little experience leading an army. But...for once I suppose I need to keep my sights on the bigger picture."

Mismatched eyes fell to the cylinder again. "Bespin, hmm? Looks like I have a place to start, at least."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"Sounds like you have more on your plate to worry about than the Rebel Alliance's concerns." Shyre punctuates his words with a drumming of his fingers against the worktable. "We'll appreciate any help you can give us, though. We're still outnumbered. Outgunned. We need ships. Soldiers."

The Empire is a bottomless well of stormtroopers, and the Rebel Alliance can't match that kind of manpower. There are always volunteers, but they need training, equipping, outfitting, and troop assignments... the logistics are disheartening, sometimes.

"I'd have you talk to General Kota, but nobody's heard from him for a few years now." Shyre frowns, thoughtful, as he picks up a tool and prods at some wreckage with it. "He was good. I'm sure he's dead by now, or we'd have heard otherwise. Or maybe the Imperials caught him... he had the right mindset. Decisive strikes. Quick strikes. Raise morale; keep the Empire reeling... well, maybe Rancor can give you what you need."

He glances back to Revan. "Worry about your own problems, for now. Finding Blackout seems important to you. The Rebel Alliance can wait. We've waited this long. The Emperor can't stamp us out, no matter how hard he tries. We're stubborn." That affability melts away from his face. "And we've had enough of the Empire's tyranny. We can't just be erased, so don't worry about us."

Setting his tools aside, he waves a blunt-fingered hand. "Keep the Aratech. I don't need it. I can't move something that old, anyway," he adds, glancing to Revan. Seems he's more observant than he might look, or he just knows his parts very well. "Too many questions if I tried to sell it."

"Take a look at that data cylinder. It should tell you everything you need to know. It's got Rancor's whereabouts, too. Just tell him I sent you. He hates the Empire more than I do." Shyre smiles, prodding the wreckage around on teh table. "He'll talk."

Revan (414) has posed:
That drew another soft chuckle. "It wouldn't be the first time I've had to juggle more than one galaxy-threatening crisis at a time," Lowri quipped with a grin. "There'd be no point in being a Jedi if I refused people who needed a lightsaber or two. I'll do what I can. Still, I appreciate the concern."

Pale eyebrows raised slightly. Those tactics sounded an awful lot like the ones she had apparently employed against the Mandalorians all those years ago, the constant harrying onslaught which brought the warrior clans to their knees, and ultimately, their defeat. "He definitely had the right idea...damn. But...you're right. Tracking down Blackout is my first priority. She probably has a bigger role to play somewhere...maybe even in finally defeating the Empire once and for all."

And possibly an even greater danger down the proverbial road.

Revan turned the part over in her hand, examining it with an appraising eye and a lopsided grin."Heh...good point there. It's hard to keep a perspective like that. It's a rare gift."

With the cylinder in one hand and the Aratech part in the other, Revan stood with a little more care than she otherwise would have, naturally compensating for the gravity. "I had better get started as soon as possible, have my droids analyse this data. Again, I'm in your debt, Mr. Shyre. I'll tell 'Rancor' you said hi."

Before departing through the corridor, the Guardian tossed one more grin over her shoulder. "And I have a feeling I'll be back here in the foreseeable future. May the Force be with you."

With a small backwards wave, Lowri headed out...though it wouldn't be long for Shyre to discover that his accound had been credited for the original full amount of the repair.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"This isn't the first time we've had to fend for ourselves," Shyre retorts, passively. He waves one broad hand in dismissive gesture, unconcerned. "We'll be alright in the meantime. Tend to what you need to. This isn't even your galaxy, so it'll continue to spin without your help. We'd appreciate the help, but I think it would be less troublesome if you waited until you could commit to us fully. The Alliance leadership is already in a deadlock."

Shuffling some of the tools and wreckage around on the table, he looks up as Revan gets back to her feet, mindful of Malastare's harsh gravity. "You do that. And tell him to come back to Malastare from time to time. He's been overdue for a while, now."

"May the Force be with us all," Shyre responds, with a sigh. "You know the way out. Be seeing you, Miss Revan-Shan. Come back soon."

With that, Berkelium Shyre goes back to his repairs, patient as a mountain.