Aquila Furtiva (Loki)

[Zem Vymes]

Bad business. Black tidings. Ill omens.

Jedi ought not pay heed to such trivium. They were to master their passions, not have their passions take mastery of self. That was the aspiration, at least. The human heart - and as it were, the hearts of nearly all sentients - were full of darker leanings capable of making themselves known at the worst of times. The eternal vigil of the Jedi was to guard against this temptation.

The Jedi settlement on Ossus was in its infancy - a place watched over by the handful of sage masters who had survived an era with no shortage of darkness. These few shepherded the many - the eager Padawan Learners wide-eyed by faith but not seasoned with experience. Those who believed in the better nature of all, in spite of the evidence to the contrary that could beset them on all sides. The balance was fragile. The slightest aberration could shatter this hope of peace.

In the tent that had become Zem Vymes' training sanctum and residence, the old Jedi Master sat at a spartan table, casting aside a datapad he was given. An aged hand rested against his chin, and he had the look of a man burdened with faraway concerns. Bad business indeed.

"News from the excavation site, Master?"

Torral Urth, a Rodian padawan, stood at the threshold of the tent, his sucker-fingers of his hands twined together expectantly. He'd been asked to dispatch a message to Master Vymes, and obviously the news had an effect on the older human.

"Something like that, Padawan."

Zem still looked away, preoccupied.

"Send for Loki."

[Abarai Loki]

Loki was taking inventory of his training supplies when he was approached by the Rodian padawan. He ignored him at first, while he rifled through a footlocker of training sabers and remotes. It was as he suspected: two sabers had disappeared in the past week alone. His mood soured, he turned on Torral Urth with an impatient scowl.

"What is it, padawan? I haven't got all day."

"Master Vymes requests your presence... sir."

First, the footlocker was sealed, and later, a strongly worded note would be attached to it. He took off at a brisk pace, dusting off his trousers and brushing out creases from his tunic on the way. Zem Vymes was not a man given to frivolity, he spoke little, and did not suffer fools. He was a Jedi's Jedi, and he would not have summoned Loki from his duties on a whim. The familiar tent came into view in short measure. Once inside, Loki stopped a respectful distance from his superior, and bowed.

"Master Vymes."

[Zem Vymes]

"Mm."

Zem briefly glanced up, his eyes already confirming what his senses told of his guest. Setting aside another datapad, he made a slight gesture, causing the twine holding the tent flap behind Loki to loose itself. The flap fell into place, obfuscating the occupants of the tent from outside view and allowing for what passed as a modicum of privacy in the Jedi camp. For the moment, he attended to reading one final passage. Loki's impatience was only bested by his sense of duty. He'd wait for a stone to become sand, if ordered.

"Tell me, what do you know of the ongoing archaeological and historical projects going on around the library?"

He at last spoke, but continued to read his dossier.

[Abarai Loki]

"Progress is steady, sir. Alliance engineers have stabilsed the first level, and a team of archeologists and Jedi researchers have moved in. On the second level, the structural integrity of the east wing is suspect, but a collection of data cards and reader tapes have been salvaged from the rubble. And most recently, a squad from the Exploration Corps uncovered what is believed to be an exposed section of the Chamber of Antiquities. That information is, of course, classified."

Thus ended Loki's summary, regurgitated with all the formality and efficiency of a protocol droid. He remained silent thereafter, his eyes forward, aching to know what was so fascinating about Master Vymes's reading material. Behind him the heavy flap stirred, permitting a cool breeze to enter and circulate the tent. It seemed unnatural that a few lengths of canvas could invoke such an atmosphere of tranquility, an oasis amidst the clamour. He wanted one.

[Zem Vymes]

"So you have been doing more these days than swinging a blade."

Zem paused in his reading, letting the datapad clatter to the desk as he finally looked up at the Order's youngest knight.

"Good."

He raised a hand, beckoning Loki to approach his desk, and leaned forward slightly to slide the datapad across for the Knight to read.

"Last evening, one of the Alliance archaeology teams had secured a lockbox from one of the adjacent chambers to the main Antiquities vault. Great Sith War era notations on the box. We believe it to contain a holocron."

[Abarai Loki]

The datapad was ignored. Master Vymes held his attention for what he'd said was far more relevant than any trivia extracted from a datapad. He waited for him to finish, then promptly got to the heart of the matter:

"Had secured, sir?"

[Zem Vymes]

"They camped at the library entrance to secure the cargo overnight for transport here. One of our padawans was to assist them with the delivery at dawn today. They found the case missing, and Jora Klenn - the assistant archaeologist - with her throat cut."

[Abarai Loki]

He was braced for the news, like a man teetering on the edge of a precipice, waiting to take the plunge. However, when the dark truth was at last divulged it pierced him like an ice shard. Gasping and gaping were for undisciplined fools. Instead, Loki closed his eyes and took a long breath. It was hard not to think of the other mysterious deaths that once haunted the Jedi ranks, and the harrowing betrayal that followed in their wake. And now, a theft and a murder on the steps of the Great Jedi Library itself. It was easy to dwell on the implications of such crimes, and stew in a fog of distrust. Loki, however, looked to logic and reason when tasked with making sense of the senseless.

"Someone has been watching us. Patiently. Lingering overnight was a needless risk," he added, failing to disguise his disappointment, "Do we have any leads?"

[Zem Vymes]

Reaching into a drawer, Zem pulled out a mask and slid it across the desk for Loki to examine.

"We also found this at the site."

The Jedi Master steepled his fingers together as he watched the younger Knight examine the crime scene evidence.

"I don't need to remind you how precarious our position here is, Loki. Trust is fragile, and so are spirits. While we're at the crossroads to finally restoring the Order to its rightful place, it can all be undone by a whisper. An act like this, if allowed to stand, can cause rumors and fear to infect the ears of our padawans before they have the wherewithal to steel their minds against that sort of thing. I've kept this as quiet as I can."

At last, Zem placed his hands on the table, sitting up slightly in his seat.

"Tell me, how would you go about the act of retrieving the stolen holocron from the Ysanna?"

[Abarai Loki]

"This attack was carried out in the night, with stealth, and silence. It is reasonable to believe then that the thieves approached on foot. A speeder, or even a tamed beast for that matter, would ruin the element of surprise. There is clay soil around the library, smooth and yielding underfoot. I would first look for tracks, and follow them."

In his hands, the mask was surprisingly light; cobbled together from sheets of pliable bronze metal into an abstract alien visage, it had been recently polished, and was speckled with bloody fingerprints. He turned it over and sniffed the interior: a residual whiff of a sharp pungent odour clung to the metal. The mask was replaced on the table with a look of distaste. It occured to him, upon returning his attention to Master Vymes, that his superior had not yet spoken. Perhaps he was dissatisfied with his answer. Loki recalled his response and felt suddenly quite foolish.

"Forgive me, sir, if you find my ways simple. I am no investigator, but I know how to track things in the wilderness."

[Zem Vymes]

Vymes considered Loki's answer with an inscrutable expression, and for the moments after the Knight spoke, he seemed balanced on a knife over whether to find favor with the notion. At last, a thin smile broke the cover, and Zem offered a curt nod.

"We're in agreement, then.

Take one or two Jedi with you. Someone with knowledge of the temple, or someone with a knowledge of the land."

He held up a hand to give Loki pause before speaking, and Zem's voice was firm.

"Be invisible, and be quick about it."

The upturned hand flicked a wrist, and the tent flap once again flew open.

"Go on then."

[Abarai Loki]

Loki gave a neat bow and parted in silence. Master Vymes had not been vague about the urgency surrounding the mission, and every second wasted put the holocron further from his reach. First, he had to prepare for his departure, and secondly, he was to recruit an able partner to share in the journey, wherever it would lead them. And he knew just the man for the job.

It was early, and the day was starting in earnest with groups of padawans congregating for lessons about the Whaladon. On his way to the transport, Loki noticed a little astromech rolling leisurely about the droid yard, and stopped it long enough to record a message for Wei Wu Wei. In his absence, Loki trusted him to oversee his lessons, Wei being an accomplished and passionate swordsman himself. It was an arrangement that proved mutually beneficial whenever his fellow Jedi fancied another sabbatical in the library. The droid beeped what Loki could only assume was a note of affirmation, and trundled off with a cheerful whistle.

After a quick stop at his personal quarters to collect his rucksack, a bedroll, a canteen, and a spare pair of socks, he departed for the supply depot. Nestled at the foot of the hill was the first freighter of the day, disgorging crates onto the landing pad. Beside it, a wide pavillion manned by soldiers. Here, Loki was a familiar face, notorious for his frequent visits, and confrontations, with the resident supply officer, Lieutenant Ingram Bullwood. Upon sighting his Jedi nemesis, the lieutenant sucked up his saggy midsection into a proud and plump chest, and his bushy whiskers whiffled with combat readiness.

"Now, look here, Barry, if you think you're going to strongarm me out of another crate of training remotes with your Jedi skullduggery, I've got news for you. I-"

"Abarai Loki," he corrected him, for the umpteenth time, "Lieutenant Bullwood, I am in need of two ration packs and a medikit."

"Two ration packs, eh? Just two..." Bullwood stroked his second chin, and his good eye shrank in suspicion, "What new kind of devilry is this? Trying to throw me off guard, eh? I know your game, Barry! Today, two ration packs, tomorrow, two crates! Well, not on my watch, let me tell-"

"That is all, lieutenant. Carry on," Loki said, as he left, having helped himself to the supplies.

By the time the sound of the lieutenant's blustering was out of earshot, Loki was already halfway up the hill. From the top, he could appreciate the entire camp in all of its eccentric slapdash glory, and it made quite an impression. Things were finally starting to come together, and yet, the recent grim turn of events threatened to unravel everything. Speed was the key, he reminded himself. Speed and secrecy. Onwards he marched, until he spotted an old familiar tree on the far side of a stream, and there, beneath it, tending a rich and varied plot of fruits and vegetables, he saw an old familiar face.

"Anbira Hicchoru," he called, as he approached, "I have a mission for you."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

"Have you, then?"

Rising from a kneeling position, Anbira's eyes squinted against the sun in the direction of a familiar voice. He twirled a space in his hands a few times before throwing it to the ground, where the business end sank into the loam. Wringing his filthy hands free of as much loose soil as he could, he looked at his fellow Jedi Knight and the pack he carried with him.

"I won't tease the nature of the task from your grim disposition, but by the size of your pack I imagine it's not help with saber velocities you're after."

[Abarai Loki]

"An item of great value to the Jedi has been stolen and I have been tasked with its retrieval."

Loki spared the sordid details, as far as the mission was concerned a cut throat was irrelevant. Presently, there was little Anbira needed to know. There was, however, much he needed to do. The rucksack was shrugged to the floor with a thud. He inspected the half-naked farmer from head-to-foot with a frown as hard as durasteel: he wore a pair of rotten shredded trousers, and that was all, not counting the dusting of filth that clung to him like a second skin. In places, the excess of hair was such that it could put a wookiee to shame. And there was no sign of his Jedi weapon in sight.

"It was my intention to request you join me in this mission, but..." he raised his hands in exasperation, "Look at the fraking state of you."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

It didn't take much empathy to suss out Loki's meaning.

"A Jedi's ways aren't all matters of soldiery, friend. Dirt does wash from the hands easier than blood."

Still, Loki hadn't come to debate the finer points, and Anbira was certainly willing to help when a task was needed.

"No small amount of thievery to call for the tenacious Abarai Loki to set it right."

Anbira frowned at the implications.

"Bad business, this."

[Abarai Loki]

"Indeed."

That Anbira had divined the severity of the matter without needing it spelled out was a relief. Not that it helped resolve his current state of undress. Perhaps buried somewhere amongst the shrubbery were his belongings. Little good they would do him there. He stiffened in his place.

"The success of the mission requires haste. If you could ready yourself instead of standing there like some fossilised mountain man, Anbira Hicchoru, I will brief you on the way."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

"Forgive my dawdling tongue, then."

With a nod, Anbira hastened to the trunk he kept situated at the base of his tree, and unclasped the hinges, taking out a set of lovingly-preserved armor - complete with body glove and composited with customized tunic to project his status as a Jedi Knight - and his lightsaber.

Standing with his bundle, he looked a bit expectantly at Loki. After all, he wasn't used to many visitors in this place.

"A moment's privacy to change?"

[Abarai Loki]

Obliging the request, Loki turned on the spot, and set his eyes on the ridge of tall trees in the distance. And, although his gaze was on the horizon, his thoughts dwelled on Anbira's fascinating set of composite armour. It had been a while since he'd last seen it: immaculate, as always. As someone who agonised over the quality and presentation of his own effects, he could respect that. Behind him, the clunk and clatter of amour, as it was equipped, tantalised him with more unanswered questions. Some of which he could no longer silence, and his irrepressible curiosity got the better of his otherwise disciplined tongue.

"Your armour: is it not cumbersome?"

[Anbira Hicchoru]

"In another life, I was a recon scout."

A fair bit of fidgeting could be heard from the other side of the tree.

"The armor is light, and allows free movement well enough. We depended on that fact more than anything."

Rustling in the tree suddenly sounded from above.

"If you worry that I may slow you down..."

More rustling, and Anbira dropped to the ground on the other side of the tree in front of Loki in a squat.

"...I will put your mind at ease."

Bounding to his feet, the Jedi hermit clipped his lightsaber to his belt, his last act of readying himself.

[Abarai Loki]

Anbira's boorish appearance prompted from Loki an almost imperceptible start. Rankled that his cool exterior had been chipped, Loki waited for the dust to settle, and considered his chosen partner, and his boyish enthusiasm. He could not complain: in a matter of moments, Anbira was suddenly presentable and prepared, and his armour was nothing short of impressive. Instead of a reprimand, all Loki could muster was a twinge of envy, and a nod.

"Good. Let's go."

Shouldering his pack once again, Loki lead the way back up the hill, towards its verdant crown of kingwoods. There, amongst the trees, he walked a familiar path flanked with vibrant beds of pirada aquilla flowers. True to his word, Anbira's pace was unfaltering, and, given his expeditious efforts, it was only fair he knew the reason for their sudden adventure. So, Loki divulged the details of his meeting with Master Vymes: the lockbox, the murder, and the mask.

"What these savages expect to do with a holocron is beyond me," he concluded, "But they will pay for their crimes."