Luke didn't feel the sweat trickling down his back until he paused for breath, and realized he was soaked.

It was easy for him to lose himself in the Force like this when he was practicing.  Before waking up here, he'd used remotes, three and four at a time firing stinging bolts at him.  It was an exercise in concentration as much as anything, but it served to keep his mind and  body busy too.  And while he didn't have the remotes here to practice with, Luke remembered the forms he'd learned as clearly as if they'd been taught to him yesterday.  He'd come down here, in need of some distraction - a very un-Jedi like thing to need - and had started to practice.

It didn't bother him too much, looking back on it; Luke knew that Mara, Ben, and the others had been returned to the pods, and that they were safe aboard.  He didn't have to worry about them, or anyone else in his family, or even people not related to him.  He probably wouldn't have anyway, but Luke made deep bonds with those he called friend, and it helped to know that when all this was over, they'd be okay.

But he was here because a Jedi needed to be focused, and not dwelling on things that were out of the control of one person.  Igniting his blade, Luke brought his concentration back up, and prepared for the next form.

It took a few moments for any thoughts to register for Steve when he opened his eyes. He recognized the inside of a quarantine bubble, that was for sure, but it took him longer to recognize the medical equipment hooked up to him, an IV in his arm and bandages wrapped around his bare shoulder and in a few other spots.

It didn't take long to recognize the feeling of having been run over by a truck, either. Every bone in his body ached, and even the slightest movement made him want to groan. It felt like he'd been asleep for a month-- a dreamless sleep, preceded by blurry, disconnected memories of what felt like a dream.

Memories of something he desperately, desperately hoped was just a dream. He had a sinking feeling it wasn't and part of him knew it to be the truth. But desperately hoping was the only way he could keep himself from screaming, which would hurt, so he'd keep on with that desperate hope anyway.

Steve lay awake and stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he stayed quiet they'd think he was still asleep, and he could put the truth and all the fear and sorrow that came with it off a while longer.

The streets of Religion Row were stained with bloody scorch marks, leading in a gruesome trail through the maze of temples and shrines. The stains seemed to lessen the further the trail was followed, and the last splotch of blood led to the steps of the Vatican.

The door of St. Peter's Cathedral had been knocked open and inside, the cavernous chapel seemed empty. This place still showed signs of the last battle here, the struggle against many of Veronica's relatives and the innocent people they had infected.

Deep within the chapel, he lurked.

His heavy footsteps were obvious, but the echo made it impossible to tell where he was. Heavy breathing, edged by growls, was audible from the somewhere in the darkness.

He heard them approaching, and he waited.

[ooc: PLOT POST IS HERE! Read it!]

He stalked through the hallways like a shadow, moving too quickly for anyone to keep a bead on him for long. There almost seemed to be a purpose in his movement as he made his way through the dark corridors of the ship, though it was impossible to tell where he was headed. Perhaps the young man whose body had been hijacked was exerting some kind of control, or perhaps Veronica was doing the driving.

Whatever the case, the Tyrant made his way to the City.

He emerged from the tunnels and into the wide open space, at last free of the cramped hallway. He took a few steps into the streets and sniffed the air, smelling human blood. He roared, a horrible and twisted noise, then headed into the streets.

She demanded they all bow to her. They were little more than prey for the Queen in the grand scale of things. These thoughts rang hollow in a primal mind, though, but he knew what he had to do.

They would all die.

Le Prefecture De Police was an impressive building, but that wasn't the reason it had been chosen by the members of the civilian council; it had been chosen because none of the Councilmen (and women) had any ties to it, making it neutral ground. There was also the potential for everyone to have an office with a desk in the same general vicinity if they so chose, making communication easier.

One of the larger rooms had been cleared of most of the furniture, except for chairs and a few tables. It had been left up to each individual where they wanted to sit, and how, since they were all currently equals.

The Council had a lot to discuss. They had yet to choose a chairperson, and three major issues had popped up in a relatively short amount of time: Mei-Xing's clone, Schmuz and Iniss the yeerks, and whether there should be mandatory physicals and/or psychiatric evaluations for the crew.

They were also going to have a few guests presenting information, but at the moment, people were still arriving.

Luke was glad, as he walked through the doors of the Sensorium, that no trace of the hole he'd cut with his lightsaber remained.  In his haste to get at Steve, he'd not even thought about the consequences of making his own entrance to the place, but things looked normal again.  He'd have held this in the Jedi Temple, but he needed access to weapons that he was pretty sure Stacy, or at least Security, wouldn't have let out of the armory.  And here, any damage to the area would be correctable.  Like he'd told Steve, if they accidentally shot up the walls of the Temple, it could be a problem.

He was looking forward to teaching again, honestly.  Ben was getting to the point in his study of the Force that he only needed guidance, suggestions, rather than direct training.  And Luke loved to teach, having made it a point to get out to the apprentice classes at the praxeum and the Temple when he could get away from administrative duties.

One day, he promised himself, he'd be back in the Temple hearing the laughter of young Jedi again.  It was why he was here.

But for now, he had to focus on getting things set up for Steve.  The young man needed confidence and at least a method of defending himself in a pinch.

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers. After the revelation that their worlds are gone, many of them are even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings. New crew-mates might see a green-skinned alien and snake girl among their number. There are also several authoritative-looking figures ready to introduce themselves.

There's a lot to tell the new people. It's going to be a lot to take in.

[ooc: Only new characters and Command Staff can start new threads for introductions, to limit the number of threads. Everyone else, just tag in and have your guys greet the newbies.]

The Sensorium was (once again, for this particular occupant) reflecting the glowing opulence of an upper level in the Imperial Palace.

Mara Jade Skywalker's hair was swept up off the base of her neck and she wore a very flowy, light green dress as she leaned against a balcony railing, watching imaginary traffic sweep past her. Above, below, across, the speeders were just flashes of light.

Every so often, a servant or some nameless Imperial would wander by and she would tense, idly worried that her subconscious would prompt Stacy to bring in someone less savory. Like her former Master.

For now, though, it was just traffic and night air.

Ba'al could not say he was particularly surprised about having lost the election. He had not been playing his role well enough, not nearly. He had mingled somewhat, yes, and he had put up the face of a pleasant human as thoroughly as possible. But it needed more than that. He should have branched out more, made more connections. The cause of his loss was clear.

That did not make him any less angry about it, however.

He had missed his chance, surrounded by these imbeciles. Perhaps if he had had surer footing here-- perhaps then they would have been able to see who was deserving of the power they were granting to idiots. He doubted most of them would make more than sentimental fools (the only benefit to which was that perhaps he could still manipulate them, to an extent).

Now, he would have to exercise power more indirectly. Subtlety. Subterfuge.

With that, Ba'al was wandering - seemingly aimlessly - throughout the ship. He was not looking for anyone, but the more people he ran into the better.

((ooc: open to anyone, anywhere! Let me know if you want a thread in a particular place or anything?))

You could spot a redheaded kid running through the hallways of Stacy this morning, occasionally yelling things like "WOOHOO!" and "YEAH FINALLY!"

Once the initial jubilation was over, Steve was quick to celebrate his newfound freedom. He went to the mess hall and ate a meal entirely consisting of real, non-slop food. He walked through every hallway he knew just because he could. He said hi to most people he ran into (who cared if they were untrustworthy and likely to stab him in the back later, they weren't science and medical staff!) He went to his room and flopped down on the bed, grateful to be anywhere that wasn't a 6x6 cell sectioned off by a bubble. He changed into some of the normal clothes he'd bought on shore leave, all too pleased to trash the ripped T-shirt he'd been covering up his injuries in.

And then he made his way to the obs deck, where he flopped down on one of the meaty couches and stared out into the Bleed, because it was endless and interesting to look at after spending three weeks staring at the same walls, the same ceiling and the same floor.

His upper right side was still a bit sore from the surgery, and there were still long bandages wrapped around his forearms, but he couldn't be bothered to care if anyone would ask him about them. He was free. Free.

It was even enough to make him stop thinking about things.

Jacen hadn't known about the courtyard he was currently seated in. He had explored the city and most of the other parts of the ship he was allowed in, but he had only recently discovered this courtyard. When he first saw it, he had stood at the entrance, eyes glazed over and mouth hanging open. He had caught himself, then shook his head and shut his mouth entering the courtyard and seating himself in the middle of it.

That's where he was now, with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap. He could vaguely hear some sort of a soft rustling in the greenery around him, but he had shut out just about everything around him and focused on his thoughts. They were of his life before now. His friends that weren't here -- that didnt make it here -- he was relieved to see his family appearing slowly but surely (their age didn't matter to him), but there were still people he missed.

Jacen kept telling himself he needed to open up to more others here on the ship, but that had always been a slightly difficult thing for him to do anyways. He figured he would just keep telling himself that and maybe one day it would actually happen.

Luke made his way down to Quarantine.  It had been some time since Steve had been put into his containment bubble, and he knew the teen was getting a serious case of cabin fever.  Luke knew the feeling real well--how many times had they been called to their starfighters, only to sit for hours on end waiting?  How long had he spent in hyperspace between crises, not knowing what to expect when coming out the other side and having nothing to do in the meantime?  In a spacefaring society with faster-than-light travel, cabin fever was something that was well-known.

He would have knocked on the door coming in to Quarantine to announce his presence, but since Stacy wasn't made of wood, that option was taken away from him.  So he settled for clearing his throat loudly to get Steve's attention.

Vader was not impressed by the hangar.

Outwardly, he was unmoved, and inwardly he was floored, but he would not ever admit to being impressed by the rows of ships, many of which he'd never seen before. He walked down each row as impassively as though this were any normal Imperial muster, only pausing to examine something that caught his eye if he felt like he was free from the gaze of spies.

Now that Nehaalista could work a little bit more naturally (her leg still ached, but at least it wasn't hard to walk on), she'd set out to find a forge. And found one she did, recently used, if the embers in the forge were any indication. With a little, strange sort of almost-grunt, she dropped her box of ore on the ground beside and relit the flame, stoking it until heat boiled from the red mouth of the forge.

While on shore leave, Nehaalista had been able to purchase some ore. To not do anything with her hands while stuck aboard Stacy would have driven her crazy, and Nehaalista wasn't about to let that happen to her sanity. After all, what would happen if she did go crazy? Start gyrating wildly while standing on a mailbox?

She wasn't a night elf, for Light's sake. Sorry, Choline.

Nehaalista prospected half the box, pulling away a few dozen uncut gems and setting them aside. They were strange, and Nehaalista couldn't think of names, but had arranged them by color. The rest of the ore was melted down into bars, one of which Nehaalista hefted in one hand.

Now, what to make? She pushed away a limp, sweaty curl and swished her tail against the chair, thoughtfully.

After talking to Ben, Luke had decided to go to the Jedi Temple and practice some of his lightsaber forms, working off some of the energy that had built up with a full night of sleep and a healing trance besides.  As well as to calm his mind, keep it focused; he had the sense that they were standing on the brink, watching the storm come swiftly in, and knew that he and the other Jedi would need to get together and work things out, checking in with all of them.

Focus.  Feel the Force, let it flow through you.

His green blade sliced through the air, leaving glowing trails behind, concentrating on those first teachings Obi-Wan had given to him on the Falcon, many years ago.  And gradually, Luke slipped into a sort of trance, the Force wrapping around him and supporting every simulated parry, every practiced strike.

Any other day, maybe, the Doctor might be wandering the ship, looking for something interesting to pull apart or poke his nose into. He still hasn't had a chance to inspect the brain of the ship, after all, and there's that great big city he'd like to explore as well...

But right now, he'd rather not. He's tired and annoyed, and any place he could wander, it wouldn't be far enough. So instead, the Doctor has sprawled on his back, halfway upside down, on one of the couches on the Obs Deck. It seemed as good a place as any to sit still for a while - maybe not the place to go if he wanted to be alone, but he'll take company over quiet just now.

He doesn't actually seem to be paying attention to anyone who might be in the room, though. Instead, he's playing with an unidentifiable bit of patched-together technology - it's got buttons and flashy lights and a little dish and there is absolutely no outward indication of what it actually does. It's... entirely possible it's not meant to do anything, at least at the moment; he just wanted something to do with his hands, though someone to talk to (or talk at) would undoubtedly be a better distraction.

By all rights, he probably should have been fixating on the Ohm, but the people he knew well on the ship all seemed to have made it out in fair shape. He’d try to get hold of the debriefings when they were all in, then ask questions if he needed to. But for now, he was more interested in what had happened to Steve during shore leave, partly to figure out who in the crew was messing with people’s heads, partly to find out if the ship had any particular limitations…

He would have liked to hold this conversation semi-private, but, barring locking himself in the Shadow or the Falcon, there weren’t a lot of places no one could sneak into. He settled for second best: somewhere he figured most people would be too busy to stop by, the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He sat nestled in a circle of stones in a cross-legged, half-meditative posture. “So Stacy,” he called casually, “do you have a few minutes?”

[ooc: BENDYTIME, ACTIVATE! Anytime after the crew has returned to the ship.]

When the medics finally woke Steve up from his healing trance, he was not in the best of moods.

For one thing, the trance had left him feeling much, much better than before-- but had not done much for the virus. A good supply of bandages were able to conceal many of the external signs, but he couldn't very well wrap them around the green marks on his face, his fingers or both of his eyes. His levels were stable but until the virus had gone back into remission, he was stuck in quarantine.

For another, there was no news as far as what had caused GLaDOS to go off on him. No clues as to who found out about him, no sign of who might have done it-- just the knowledge that someone on this crew, who he was supposed to trust, was capable of attacking him like that and there was little to be done about it right now.

And of course, someone had to inform him that Zokez II had been nearly annihilated by the Ohm. The beautiful beaches, resorts and cities-- the places where he spent a happy week relaxing, feeling normal, and spending time with Miku-- were gone, destroyed, the people fled and with no hope of rebuilding. His week had been cut short anyway, but now it felt like the whole thing had been ripped away from him. Even the happy moments he had here on this ship were fleeting-- in the end, everything was now just a memory, stuck in the past and never to come again.

And furthermore, he'd slept through it. The first encounter with the Ohm, the stupid aliens who were the whole reason he was awake on this goddamned ship in the first place, and Steve was too busy sleeping off a virus outbreak that nearly stole his mind from him to help out.

"A mistake" indeed.

Steve was not in any kind of mood at all as he sat on the floor and leaned against the bubble, staring at the ceiling. His silhouette was visible through the dimmed bubble.

Morale was high, and everyone had their share of fun, but now it was time to part ways with Zokez II.

As everyone made their way back to the spaceport to be picked up, they could see the Obs Deck waiting for them with ramp open, and large tendrils eagerly moving vehicles and cargo back aboard.

It's about time to say goodbye to this planet...but fate, it seems, has other ideas.

[OOC: PLOT BEGINS! Here's how it goes: A handful of techies and a couple fighty people (as escort) will be on the reactor end of this part of the plot, while everyone else can help out with the evacuation.]

[OOC pt 2: Also, sorry, it apparently wasn't clear that they hadn't actually gotten back onto the ship yet. Plot is obviously taking place on the planet.]

Down on the surface of the planet Zokez II, Stacy's erstwhile (and hopefully much more relaxed) crew began receiving messages over their comm rings and omnicoms.

||Shore Leave is now over, please return to the site for pick up. I repeat, Shore Leave is now over, please return to the site for pick up. I hope you have enjoyed your stay on Zokez II, but all good things must come to an end. Please return to the site for pick up. If you do not return, you will be left behind.||

She means it, too. Better get your butts back to the ship.

[OOC: Please thread amongst yourselves!]