Jakria nods, not batting an eye during the entire examination that she had caught him only in his undergarments, "A great deal has changed since the Vong wars.... I'll be sure to get you some historical material you can peruse during your recovery." Sliding the scanner easily into her pocket she moves toward Wes. "It sounds like you had mild symptoms for as long as a sleep you had. Consider yourself fortunate. Now lets take a look at your shoulder." With skilled, deft hands she looks over the wound. Satisfied a piece of the blade didn't get stuck within the wound, she approaches a series of cabinets, opening one, she bends over as she gathers an array of materials from bandages to swabs.

Wes nodded as Jakira spoke about things changing since the Vong war. He found himself agreeing. Yeah, the Jedi Order is no longer, Imperial Jedi are now running around along with Sith. Oh yeah I've come to a better time all right.

He looked at her as she slid the scanner in her pocket. "It sounds like you had mild symptoms for as long as a sleep you had. Consider yourself fortunate. Now lets take a look at your shoulder." Quickly and adeptly her hands works on his shoulder. She was well practiced in her profession he noted.

The knife wound wasn't bad the attacker wasn't with it at the time of the attack. "The guy who did this to me had gone over the edge and lost his grip on things. His attack wasn't very good. Thought that may have something to do with me dropping his woman he was after." He shrugged which brought a wince of pain and discomfort.

She had turned around and Wes had thought he might have said something wrong but only she her go to the cabinets. She opened one and bent over to retrieve a few things. The Mando smiled. Despite what she was wearing it did little to hide what was underneath. "Nice setup you have here Jakira." The smile was still there when she turned around.

Jakira looked up and over her shoulder at the Mandalorian, a wry smile crossing her face as she notices Wes appreciating her. Standing with a tray of materials she brings it over to rest on a cart. "Liking what you see?" she asks, the grin still there, but now more subdued. With a pair of gloves on she takes some gauze and some foul smelling chemical she begins the process of the wound. "This place was a ruin when I came here. It's not much, simple in comparison to some of the hospitals you'd find in the inner rims, but it's mine... It's taken a lot of work to get it where it is now and up until the Sith Empire came here, things were beginning to break even. Now its all I can do to make sure the Hobben survive long enough to keep their planet." She gives a small shrug as she finishes cleaning the wound and picks up a jar. A blue colored substance resided within. With a small wooden tool she began to smear it over the wound and then pressed the edges close.

[ Post made via Mobile Device ]

Wes noticed the wry smile that crosses her face when she caught him looking at her. Then again it wasn't like he was hiding it. "Liking what you see?" She said as she placed the tray on the cart bedside the exam bed.

He chuckled a bit. "I have hibernation sickness, it's not like I'm dead." He replied to her question. Her smile subdued, but stayed present, as she began working again on his knife wound. The foul small of one of things made his nose wrinkle as she worked it. She spoke of the place and how well it was beginning to turn out till the Sith came.

Again with the Sith. Jedi. Sith. Where there's one there is the other. Blast them all to hell for all I care. Prophecy or not. At the mention of the Sith he grumbled something under his breath.

"...Now its all I can do to make sure the Hobben survive long enough to keep their planet." He nodded. What she was doing here was noble. More than what some others would be doing in a time like this. That he could understand. he winced a tad as she applied some sort of blue substance to his wound.

"In the speeder over here I heard mention of this Governor who has been giving you problems. Al may have already offered but I'm sure that a pair of Mandalorians running interference for you might have a beneficial effect on whats happening here. Often times its the threat of violence that gets the pigheaded and greedy to listen." He looked at Jakira. He had a new found respect for the woman. She wasn't just a pretty face. He looked at his shoulder and moved it. The work she had done combined with whatever medicine she used had taken much of the pain away.

"Talented hands you have there Doctor." He said with the same grin he had just a few moments ago. One can only wonder if they have other talents as well. At least she's turning your mood around.


"So whats the prognosis? Have any good remedies?" Just a hint of his smile remained as he was mostly serious with his question. Mostly.

With the blue glue applied to the wound, Jakira started wrapping it carefully with the clean bandages before he could move it a lot. "Don't move it too much or you'll dislodge the glue, she rebukes him when he starts doing the opposite. "You should be able to move it normally in a few hours once it sets. Keep it dry till the wound heals, the glue will be absorbed and aid in the healing."

At the mention of the governor, Jakira's nose wrinkled as if she smelled something rotten. "He's just a perverted, man who thinks throwing his weight around will get him what he wants. I might have only made things worse, but Al has already helped me out, though he may not realize it yet." Securing the bandage she gave him a smile again "The governor has a murderous streak so I hope Al can handle him. I wish I could say the governor is cowed by a couple Mandalorians, but with the might of his Empire behind him, I fear violence will only make things worse for the Hobben."

She tossed her used gloves into a reciptical and then handed him the rest of the clothes she indicates he should dress now. "My prognosis is that you need a good nights sleep and some food, both of which I can provide ample of." With a sly grin she begins to undo the ties cinching her smock around her waist. "Anything else is of course a bonus."

[ Post made via Mobile Device ]

When Jakira told him about the blue glue and not to move it too much he simply nodded in understanding.

At his question about the Governor he watched as she wrinkled her nose like he did moments ago. She had nothing good to say about the man. A power hungry individual who would use what even means to achieve his the ends he wanted. It didn't help that he had considerable backing.

His smile faded as he looked at the seriousness in her features when she spoke. He realized that the years hadn't changed anything. Evil men were still evil. That was never going to change.

She tosses her gloves onto the garbage reciptical and then handed him his clothes which he tool with the uninjured side. He stared to dress. "My prognosis is that you need a good nights sleep and some food, both of which I can provide ample of." That grin of hers came back that could make even a Mandalorian pause as she started to remove the smock that was attacked at her waist. "Anything else is of course a bonus."

His grin returned at her anything but subtle play of words. "Sometimes the bonus is all that matters." He said right back to her as he pulled on some dark gray pants. He reached for the shirt which was a pull over. The size wasn't quite right but it went on without much trouble. While he wasn't as big and overly muscled as Al but his physique was in great form.

His grin dropped a bit some seriousness returned to his voice. "I know what you did for me cost you. It could have been used on the Hobben instead of me. I don't have and creds for payment. What I can offer is my services. While I'm here in your care if anyone comes causing trouble I'll be here to see that they are sent away one way or another." He paused quickly as the grin returned and gave her a wink. "Anything else is of course a bonus."

He looked at the door and then back to her "Now about that food.". He said as his stomach rumbled.

Jakira returns the grin as she finishes taking her smock off and throws it over her arm. "The Hobben generally pay me in trade or work so that wont be an issue." With him now dressed she heads toward the door out. " Shall we? I'm certain there will be food waiting for us in the manor."

When and if he goes to collect the armor she shoos him toward the door. "I'll send someone to collect it. Come on."

[ Post made via Mobile Device ]

He nodded at the offer of food. Food and rest is what he needed. First the food then the rest. He turned to grab his armor but she stopped him and actually shooed him towards the door. "I'll send someone to collect it. Come on."

He looked from her to his armor. His armor was his life and it had save him more times than he could count. If the good doctor was watching him she could see him weighing the issues. Rarely was he without it yet in his current state he was really too tired to put it back on much less carry it piece-mail . He nodded but stepped back to the exam table and grabbed his carbine. He was never without his weapon. He slung it over the good shoulder and stepped towards the door.

Stepping out he could smell the food already. "I guess I'll follow my nose." The thought about food seemed to invigorate him as he walked with more strength to where the smell of food was leading him.

Thunner hastily secures his safe behind its very many protections as the Mandalorian barges in, grumbling under his breath the whole time.

"I'm beset on all sides by brigands, blah! Hasn't this ol' son of a sarlacc taken enough from me already!"

The old Besalisk scrabbles to his feet with a roar before dusting both sets of hands on his stained overalls and planting them firmly on top of his desk. Slowly, a devious smile creeps across his wide, rubbery lips as he eyes Kurr and Al'verde.

"Tell yer what... Since I am such an agreeable sort, I'll let ya have that bike Click-Clack," He nods to Al'verde, "Right this instant in fact, but the full price's'a comin' out of the end take for the job. Pleasure doing business with you gentlemen, have a good eve!"

All the Feeorin and the Mandalorian manage to see is a wink from the wiley old Besalisk before Thunner presses something under his desk and the door to his office slams soundly shut and locks with a series of clicks more impressive than when he unlocked his safebox. As they return to the main shop area, the same sales droid that Al'verde had haggled with earlier is awaiting him with the speeder bike's ignition key, while a trio of rusty Gonk droids preps the speeder to some degree of showroom shine.

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The trip back to the No Chance is uneventful, as most of the atrium and the bazaar hawkers have cleared out. Although it is becoming late into the evening, the surroundings still seem somewhat sparse with denizens and the few Hobben starport patrols lurking around are bereft of their naval trooper accompaniments.

As Kurr enters the bay where the No Chance is being held, he comes upon a pair of heavy lifting droids loading his cargo. Several massive pallets loaded with rich, dark hardwood are lifted, rolled, and shuffled onto the patrol boat as the hodge-podge loader droids go about their work. Everything appears to be in order and there's still not a customs agent or member of port authority in sight.

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The recessed hallway resolves itself into a hidden set of stairs leading into the darkened bowels of the temple. As Oraltor and the Hobben carrying the oubliette tromp down the stairs, glowrods in hidden sconces activate, providing dim guiding light as they procession spirals down into the hidden depths. Before long, the stairs bottom out into an expansive basement that one half the Ithorian has converted into a lab, while the other half functions as living quarters.

A treasure trove of ancient texts, diagrams, and scrolls lines almost every visible surface of the lab, a testament to what the Ithorian had managed to save before the destruction of the Jedi Temple on Ossus. Artifacts of all sizes, mostly Hobben in origin, lean against walls, hang from the ceiling, or nestle in carefully crafted displays. Oraltor flits around the would-be musuem like a nurse-maid tending to an infant ward, moving with a great deal more dexterity than ever he has exhibited before.

While one half of the basement is preoccupied with Oraltor's lab and collection, the other half is cordoned off as a living area, but instead of space befitting an eclectic Jedi Historian the domicile is dominated by almost two dozen Hobben. About half of those gathered are in their middling to advanced years and mostly dressed in traditional garb, while the rest very in age from newly ambulatory toddlers to crones bowed so heavily by age to as nearly be bent double. At their center is a tall, well-built Hobben who appears to be just shading past their prime. Judging by the revered looks almost all of the Hobben give this man, he must be the Voice of the Ali'la.

The Voice and his people turn warily to the entrance as it is opened, and upon seeing the Jedi they all visibly slacken. Their looks become ones of curiosity as a pair of there bretheren follow behind the Ithorian with their heavy package, and as the handlers lay the crate on an examination table the Voice mutters a few hasty words in their native tongue before he and the gathered Elders move to huddle around the crated oubliette.

"The Ali'la sings of you Jareth Henaru. We had word that strangers approached, and so we came down to the archive. Is there trouble? What wonder has the Jebradai brought with him now, hm?"

Deep and sonorous, the Voice speaks as fluently as if Basic was his first language. As he addresses Jareth, the other council Elder's greet the scout with a mixture of warm smiles and barely-tolerated nods, while many of the children gathered babble and bubble about the tall human, some knowing him from his help in their rescue and security.

Oraltor, for his part, has all but forgotten his audience as he goes around removing the press-board crate with a hammer and chisel. As the crystal casket is revealed, a buzzing chatter begins amongst the Hobben with speculation as to what the oubliette is and what it may contain. The Ithorian extracts a handful of tools from a nearby workbench and greedily sets to work analyzing and inspecting the Jebble box, seeking to tease out the rest of its secrets. This whole time Nestil has stood in stoic silence while Rehn's quietude is anything but, as he impatiently taps his foot and shifts too and fro while the historian goes about his work.

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The smell of roasting meats and cooking fires permeates the halls of the Temple, beginning as a teasing hint near the examination rooms and growing in pungency the closer the hospital's occupants come to an exit. As the summit of the ziggurat is gained, Wes and Jakira see roasting pits, cooking cauldrons, and preparations tables lining the well manicured landscape of the doctor's front lawn.

Spicey and sweet, smokey and savory, a cornucopia of sights and smells greets the Mandalorian and the Zeltron as they wade ever deeper into the feasting area. It would appear that the Hobben are intent on creating enough food to satiate all that would attend the feast, and then some. As Jakira and Wes pass each station, tastings of each fair are sliced off, scooped up, or ladled out for the pair's approval, the Hobben not taking no for an answer until delicacy is sampled.

Judging by the increased activity at the vermin screens surrounding the compound, and the greater cacophony of noise in the nearby Jungle, hungry sentients aren't the only ones being drawn to the gathering.

Al'verde was slightly confused by what had just happened, but as he saw the bike he really didn't care. He walked up to the bike and ran his hand over the body, like a pilot getting to know his ship for the first time, before hopping on it and starting it up. It wasn't the greatest sound in the world, but it was a sound he knew all to well. Something pushed past its limits but refused to die. It reminded him of himself. He had lost count of the number of time he was sure he would die, yet he always found a way to dig deeper and find the strength to pull though. As the bike rose into the air he looked around and realized that no one had given him directions to where they were headed. With a heavy sight he thought about heading back to the ship, but also wanted to try out his bike.

He finely looked around again and clicked on his comlink and flips it to the No Chance "Hey Kurr, It's Al'verde. I'm heading out to test my new bike Bad Company and see about getting a job or something. Let me know if you need any help or hear from the others." As he slowly pulled out of the shop he looked around for a spot that he might be able to test out the bike, and get some paint so he can add the bikes new name to the body.

Kurr chuckled as he walked into the cargo bay. Good ol' Thunner, he thought, Always quick on the gun. Walking up to one of the droids, the pirate asked, "'Ey, either o' you buckets got th' manifest fer this cargo, eh? I'd like t' get things checked in sooner than later." He waited patiently for the info, and looked forward to getting it into the No Chance's system. Sooner this happens, sooner I can get moving, he considered.

Hearing ship's comm squawk with Al'verde's voice, Kurr punched up the conversation. "Jus' keep in mind that yer little squat-runner there comes outta yer cut, Mate. We should gather up here soon an' start makin' dust, if ya gets me, eh?" He didn't wait for Al to respond, heading back to check over the final bits of cargo. As soon as it was all in, the feeorin quickly closed the cargo plank, making sure the bay was locked down before starting to look over the course.

Kurr's just looking over the course and possibly plotting it if he has a few moments. Better to have the route plotted before take off and all.

Jakira pauses to take in the smells bombarding her senses as she leaves the confines of the hospital. Her hands clap together in joy at the sight of all the delicious food. Dragging Wes from station to station, she insists he tries a sample of everything. It’s not long till she’s gathered a platter herself of almost every food being offered. Platter in hand she leads Wes to a comfortable patch of grass to sit and enjoy the feast. The position offers a good view of the activity on the lawn.

She pauses a moment as she finally notices the cacophony from outside the hospitals barriers. “I hope the fauna don’t become an issue tonight. Would be horrible if they ruined a good party.” Looking around she tries to spot Litasha among the Hobben gathering on the lawn and failing to find her by those means pulls out her commlink to page her Hobben assistant. To Wes she adds, “I hope someone’s had the good sense to take measures.”

"Voice" The explorer gave a nod to the man as a greeting. Jareth scratched his head and surveyed his surroundings. He then greeted each one of the Hobben men and children in return before addressing the Voice of Ali'la. "I was going to give the Ithorian and his friends a tour of the hospital, so I trailed them here." The young man smiled and rubbed the head of a nearby Hobben child.

"Uh, where is *here* exactly? Don't think i've seen any of this before."

Kurr finds that Rathalay is situated at the center of the near-arm of the Mid-Rim. Close enough to the Corellian Run to discourage most pirate activity and remote enough to be considered "kitsch-y" by the wealthy trendsetters of the galaxy, from Solsis VII a trip to Rathalay would take the better part of two days.

Although hideous amalgamations of junk parts and electronics, the loader droids complete their task with a surprising efficiency, leaving the No Chance's cargo bay neatly stacked with it's new cargo.

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The starport is made for ship landing's and visitor reception, and as such doesn't provide avenues for Al'verde to race through. Likewise, the only place nearby that does *any* sort mechanical work is Thunner's shop, and with the erstwhile shop owner holed-up in his office, that would leave the Mandalorian's paint job in the hands of the twitchy GONK droids.

With the atrium mostly empty and many of the bazaar's patrons packing up mysteriously early, the Mandalorian has little to no luck of finding additional employment. Most of the Hobben scatter or cower in seeing the massive, armored warrior lumbering towards them, or buzzing around the mid-sized starport on his loud speederbike.

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Wes continually attempts to get a word in with the Doctor, but at each opportunity when he opens his mouth he finds some manner of foodstuff of drink shoved into it. Despite the countless battles and skirmishes the Mandalorian has lived through, nothing has been so dizzying to him as having been lead around by the arm by Jakira.

When at last the good doctor leads the both of them to an unoccupied strip of lawn, Wes finds himself all but stuffed to the gill's. Jakira, being a testament to the incredible Zeltron metabolism, still has a full plate and is picking at it as she delights in the company. Soon after paging her assistant, Litasha exits from the crowd and greets the pair with a slight bow.

"How can I be helping doctor?"

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"Here is one of this temple's hidden archives, but we have converted it into a shelter for those of my people touched by the Ali'la and our greatest artifacts... Or at leas those we could rescue from the clutches of the Sihth'ebradai."

The Voice frowns darkly and so do those Elders gathered around him, the injustices the Sith have inflicted upon these proud people weighing heavily upon them. Jareth knows that the Sith have been taking those force sensitive Hobben they find for "Re-education", and those remaining that refuse to grovel before their new overseers are forced to work in the Solsian mines and lumber yards. All for the glory of Dark Lord Krayt.

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Oraltor continues to flutter around the oubliette with many a muted "Ooo!", "Aaah!", and "Fascinating!" until he comes across a particular impression on the size of the crystal casket. There are a multitude of impressions and symbols forming a border along the side of the casket, many are recognizable as insignias and characters of agencies long past, like the Old Republic and Vader's Empire, while some are barely recognizable and most others remain unknown.

The Ithorian's eyes grow wider by the moment as he fishes in a pocket of his robe for something. Fumbling, Oraltor produces a crystalline object similar in consistency to the casket, although the base is formed into some symbol that no one else in archive recognizes. He begins to gesture to the others to take some steps away from his work table.

"I don't know how the oubliette will respond when I introduce the Akaan'e holocron. I would advise you all to take cover."

Many of the Hobben, familiar with the Jedi's experiments, immediately begin to take cover wherever they can find it, although the Voice and the Council of Elders stand firm. Nestil grunts to herself as she places her hands on her hips and leans forward in a leering posture, while Rehn wear's a squeamish grin as he edges slightly behind the Imperial Knight.

Oraltor slides the crystal into the impression, which is now obviously an enclosure meant to house the crystal, until it seats itself with a slight click. A sharp hiss issues from the casket, causing even the Elders and the Imperial Knight to falter in their confidence if only briefly, and then snaking tendrils of compressed air escapes the casket as it begins to transform. The lid of the casket fractures into several interlocking pieces, each portion sliding into the bed of the casket, while multiple panels within the oubliette's lining retract to reveal several light emitters hidden behind them.

Suddenly, shafts of light lance out from each of the emitters, meeting at a single focal point at a height some two meters above the casket. Moving in concert with one another, the beams of light begin to print the outline of a man, etching him in the minutest detail. In the span of a held breath being exhaled, the lasers fully develop the holographic image of a Mandalorian, although the armor and vestments the Mandalorian wears appear to be even more ancient than Wes's. More curious than the armor is what appears to be an ignited lightsaber held in one of his armored hands, while the other holds an archaic warsword.

The Mandalorian turns to survey those gathered around him, his gaze focusing on Jareth, Oraltor, and Nestil before finally settling on the Voice as their leader.

"Gar ner Mando'ade... A'gar ner Jetiise ner. Val'gar dar'manda?"

A stunned silence permeates the area, only punctuated by the hum of the expectant hologram hovering above the remains of the casket. The Voice looks to Oraltor and Jareth to interpret the strange language, but all the Hobben receives by way of answer is a squeal of childish delight from the Ithorian.

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( Special Translation: "You are not Mandalorian... You are not Jedi either. Who are you, soulless?" )

Kurr let out a knowledgeable "Hmph" as he looked over the information on Rathalay. Thinking on it for a moment, he switched over to diagnostics and checked over the status of the ship. Grumbling a bit to himself, the Feeorin walked down the gangplank and into the docking area, pulling his comlink to his lips. "Oi," he said over the comm as he connected to Al'verde. "Meet me at th' ship, Mate. I'll be needin' sum help ... and I think it'll be yer kinda sport, eh?" Once the message was sent, he clicked the comm over to the Port Authority, saying. "Oi! Anyone there? I got sum work fer ya, if'n ya ken oblige me ..."