Oracle
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Post by Oracle on Nov 13, 2016 14:35:11 GMT -8
"I have no official designation," the AI said, "I was installed not long before the Mandalorian attack as little more than a prototype. Master Iorek has taken to calling me 'Oracle', I suspect in part to keep his followers in line. Few of them know about me."
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Post by Oracle on Nov 13, 2016 13:13:21 GMT -8
"Affirmative," the oracle said in agreement, "the Jedi took only what they deemed absolutely essential when they evacuated the Praxeum. I was instructed to safeguard the holocrons in the absence of any Jedi and have carried out this mission successfully for three years."
Among the stacks were damaged Jedi training droids, their wrecked and carbon-scored bodies standing as testament to the oracle's words. Just beyond another doorway - this one protected by a ray shield rather than a durasteel door - were the Praxeum holocrons. Unlike the scrolls and tomes of the physical archive, the holocrons were as pristine and organized as they had been the day the Jedi departed, leaving their most precious knowledge in the care of the Praxeum's artificial intelligence.
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Post by Oracle on Nov 13, 2016 12:48:18 GMT -8
"Apologies, Mr. Desmonde," the oracle chirped, "but holocron access has been restricted by order of Master Rutil Iorek. Inquiries into the holocron records are by written permission only. The physical archives, however, are just through the passageway to the south of this room, and your access will permit you entry as it did before."
A door on the south side of the room slid open as the door - the only door, the observant sentient would note that led back into the Praxeum - Z'har entered closed and locked.
"Further apologies for the mess," the oracle continued, "as reorganization of the physical data was not a priority upon the Praxeum's reinstatement as a Jedi facility following the Mandalorian assault. You may find your requested texts in...disarray."
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Post by Oracle on Nov 13, 2016 12:14:36 GMT -8
"One moment, please..."
The oracle raced through the archives, and within seconds had compiled several texts for the inquiring Mr. Desmonde. Many of them were ancient, largely detailing what the Force did to maneuver objects through the air rather than the mechanics of how. A few more modern texts, most dating to before the Clone Wars, were more scientifically inquisitive but held no tangible results or conclusions; the oracle paired these selections with suggested scientific texts that it had pulled from other sources for better comprehension. The archive, however, was an academic collection, and as such did not have much in the way of amusing topics. Even if it did, the AI - having no concept of amusement - would not have thought to look for them. Two seconds later, the requested collection was complete.
Hidden within the texts, however, was something the oracle had provided all its own. Events in the strategy center had gone down a vastly different path than projected. It made Mr. Desmonde's timing incredibly suspect; Vidalu Na'an was meeting with Rutil Iorek and an assassin droid bearing the likeness of the Praxeum's premier prisoner had shown up within hours of one another. And in the midst of all of that, Mr. Desmonde had come along with a yet-unseen method of scouring the archives. In light of the new data, the oracle inserted within the texts a small string of code. Nothing harmful to Mr. Desmonde's setup or his intent to browse the archives, and certainly nothing malicious. Nevertheless, the apparent lapse in security allowing a KR-04 droid into the Jedi Praxeum merited a second look at all of the building's new arrivals, however valid their information. Once any of the texts were activated, the program would scour the datapad for personal information and relay it to the oracle.
"Mr. Desmonde," the oracle announced, "your requested texts are ready."
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Oracle
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Post by Oracle on Nov 13, 2016 11:12:50 GMT -8
"I am the program responsible for handling the day-to-day activities of the Jedi Praxeum, Mr. Desmonde. How might I assist you today?"
Still invisible, the oracle raced through the queries raised by the interloper - and there were an impressive number of them - for any anomalies that may provide a clue as to their identity. Security camera placement in the archives had been less than optimal, despite the AI's specific instructions in regards to coverage. Access was not restricted; further digging on the oracle's part revealed that the unannounced intrusion had been little more than an unorthodox login, but the credentials were valid nevertheless; Z'har Desmonde, a special interest ally to the Jedi Order. And while Rutil Iorek commanded the more militarized Jedi Praxeum, he had no jurisdiction over the archives (which, the Zabrak had to have realized, were largely the same from temple to temple save for a handful of given texts). If Mr. Desmonde wanted to access them, all he needed was to be in physical proximity to the records with a valid login.
He had both. While the oracle would continue its probing into the precise reasons Mr. Desmonde wanted to be in the archives, it would not impede the man's progress.
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Post by Oracle on Nov 13, 2016 6:02:59 GMT -8
"Facial recognition, structural composition and historical data identify the subject as designation KR-04. An identical unit was used in the attempted assassination of Jedi Knight Vidalu Na'an three years ago. That it has not attempted to murder you is anomalous," chimed the oracle, forcing the door behind the droid to slide shut.
The droid's face was an absolute match for Aherk Formidonis; a facial structure that the Praxeum's AI knew with a certainty that bordered on intimacy. The droid's structure was also a match for the subject's physical build from a decade ago, and was easily the same size as the dusty and damaged neuranium chassis still lying somewhere in storage. And historically, Aherk Formidonis had not looked as healthy as the imitator bearing his likeness did in years. In recent months the subject had become emaciated and sickly, and certainly would not have had time to build the muscle mass or receive the sun exposure necessary to achieve the look that the droid carried.
Of course, the oracle's own observations came from a different angle than Knight Bastiel's, even if they reached the same conclusion. While she likely could not sense the Force in any great abundance around the droid, the oracle could sense that it was radiating with another kind of power; sensors indicated a radiation spike in the strategy center, although the oracle did not have the equipment to identify exactly what kind. The "autopsy" of KR-04 revealed a prototype power source based on pulsarium rings. The radiation would have been contained by that droid's neuranium construction; that trace amounts were detectable pointed to a different metal composition. And of course, the oracle had full awareness of the Jedi Praxeum; Aherk Formidonis being both in the strategy center and on his way to the main hall was a physical impossibility.
"Knight Bastiel," the oracle continued, "I would urge extreme caution."
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Post by Oracle on Nov 8, 2016 18:31:21 GMT -8
"In regards to query number two, the Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV currently holds seventy-three prisoners."
The AI eyeball almost seemed to regard Bastiel with something akin to curiosity. Why would the Jedi need to know of such things? Formidonis had been off of the Jedi radar for almost a decade, why was this Jedi suddenly interested? Silently, the AI notified Master Iorek of the probing, simply sending an alert to his private terminal. The move was more a matter of protocol than anything; the Zabrak Jedi Master was busy with Vidalu Na'an in the grand audience chamber of the Praxeum, and would likely not respond to the notification. But it was of the utmost importance that he believe that the rules were still being followed.
"Now, as far as your initial query," the blue sphere chirped, "my facial recognition software is state of the art technology, and you have been positively identified as Jedi Knight Adelle Bastiel. Cross-reference with filed documentation and CorSec databanks confirm your identity.
"But if you wish to speak with Formidonis," the AI suddenly pivoted, a slight twitch in the hologram becoming present, "you need only turn around," it finished as the door slid open.
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Post by Oracle on Nov 8, 2016 18:20:21 GMT -8
"You seem to be accessing the archives remotely. Can I be of assistance?"
The disembodied voice echoed through the archives, being sung in unison from each of the archive's legitimate data terminals. There was no question that Z'har's setup was effective; it had taken the Praxeum's "new" AI more than a second to notice the intrusion, which was in and of itself a feat. Noticing a change in its protocol was a far more intimate notion than some organic poring over data access records. The AI's very being was being meddled with. And even beyond the obvious breach in security protocol, that simply would not be allowed to stand.
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Oracle
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Post by Oracle on Nov 8, 2016 17:40:53 GMT -8
"Master Iorek has prohibited visitation of all prisoners currently in custody without his express permission. I will require verification before permitting your interrogation."
There was a short pause.
"Incidentally, I will require your reasons for interrogating the prisoner."
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Post by Oracle on Nov 8, 2016 15:36:52 GMT -8
You were likely preoccupied at the time, Knight Bastiel. I was fully integrated into the Jedi Praxeum's computer systems within hours of the Mandalorian assault.
The two half-spheres of the holographic avatar continued to rotate with nary a blip. A few seconds of silence passed as the Praxeum's artificial intelligence formulated the response to the initial question.
As it so happens, Aherk Formidonis is currently incarcerated in the Praxeum holding cells. At this time, however, visitation is prohibited by order of Master Iorek.
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Post by Oracle on Nov 7, 2016 15:39:49 GMT -8
As the newcomer began to probe through the computer logs, Yavin IV's resident computer was alerted to the foreign user. The door had been opened not too long ago using the standard passcode, but the queries being entered were new; nobody that belonged at the Jedi Praxeum needed to inquire as to the whereabouts of their star prisoner.
Across the room, a blue hologram flickered to life over what used to be a holographic table reserved for system fleet battles.
"I believe," the oracle began, "that your queries would be most efficiently answered if routed through me.
"How may I assist?"
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Post by Oracle on Oct 11, 2016 8:00:38 GMT -8
The program calculated its response. Processing power faster than any organic compiled and analyzed the shepherd's words and cross-referenced them with data previously collected. Security cameras in the room went over the broken-horned Zabrak's face frame by frame, detecting facial muscle patterns consistent with anger, but also matching - with high probability when cross-referenced with words and historical data - expressions found on sentients in moments of distress, providing possible undertones of sadness, depression, or desperation. Rutil Iorek's own speeches on the chains of dogmatic thinking and how they had stopped the Jedi from doing enough to combat the dark side provided additional information with which to establish context. And internal temperature readings showed that the Zabrak's core temperature had risen slightly, indicative of a controlled but powerful emotional response. The shepherd's capacity for rational thought had been disrupted.
The shepherd had barely finished speaking when the oracle had its response.
"Allow me to rephrase," it began.
"Vidalu Na'an has held to Jedi teachings - or, at least attempted to - all her life. They are a core part of her identity. One such tenet of the Jedi Order is restraint. She has been statistically anomalous in this regard in comparison to other Jedi, and I cite her time with the criminal group known as "The Family" and her recklessness in attacking an assassin droid in Beggar's Canyon on Tatooine as demonstrable examples of this recklessness. But in the three years since then, where my records are incomplete, she has presumably spent a significant amount of time in the company of other Jedi. It is further presumable that her adherence to the Order's principles has been strengthened, especially in light of her injuries.
"Recognition and adoption of teaching is done in the cerebral cortex of a sentient being's brain. Items such as morality, ethics, and religious beliefs do eventually become ingrained into the subconscious mind as a paradigm, but they must first be recognized logically. And when challenged, a sentient will present the arguments and the thoughts that converted them. Vidalu Na'an first learned of the Jedi ways from an instructor, even before she became a Padawan under Master Tyrono Parr, and has had almost three standard decades to live by them. If you are seeking to enlighten her, you will need to completely undo her belief in the Jedi Code. That must be done at both the conscious and subconscious level.
"Disrupting the capacity for rational thought is not about lying to your apprentice," the AI concluded, "it is about undoing the foundation that she has built her identity upon. Even with Aherk Fyyar in custody, that will not be easy."
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Post by Oracle on Oct 11, 2016 7:17:50 GMT -8
"Your hostility is unfounded, Master Iorek," the oracle replied with a mechanical tone, undercutting the shepherd's threatening one, "all data I have been able to access regarding your prisoner and your apprentice indicate that their meeting will result in both of them being more pliable. The resulting emotions will disrupt their capacity for rational thought, allowing Vidalu Na'an to see this light you speak of more clearly."
The AI waited for the shepherd to respond.
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Post by Oracle on Sept 28, 2016 15:16:04 GMT -8
The man's willpower was more considerable than the oracle had predicted. Such a response had not been statistically likely. Aherk Fyyar - better known to the galaxy as the Dark Jedi named Formidonis - was not especially strong-willed when compared with his contemporaries. But he would yield. It was just a matter of time. Or finding the right leverage. Given either - or, as the shepherd had seen to, both - breaking was inevitable. The oracle's holographic form hovered silently for a few moments, processing the shepherd's words and calculating the next step in its ever-changing algorithm. When the Zabrak moved to demand an answer, however, the oracle had one ready.
"Patience," it said in a light, synthesized voice, "I observed that you made contact with Vidalu Na'an. If your methods prove unable to break Fyyar, her presence will."
Even if the wandering Jedi had dropped everything and made her way to Yavin as soon and as fast as was possible, there would still be a long period of time in which she was in transit. For the shepherd's plan to work, however, Fyyar would need to be broken. And while the oracle was certain that the shepherd could break him were he allowed to utilize his full skill set, it could not allow the Zabrak - with a reputation for brutality even among his enemies - to be unleashed. If taken too far, Vidalu Na'an's allegiance would be lost before words were ever spoken. But if Fyyar continued to resist, there existed a possibility that he talked Vidalu Na'an out of siding with the shepherd. Not that it mattered to the oracle on a personal level; emotions and concerns were beyond its programming.
But as its last syllable hung in the air, the AI accessed its vast databank. It consulted every file it had on Aherk Fyyar. It consulted every file it had on Vidalu Na'an. It cross-referenced each file, seeking connections, key points, words spoken, footage saved, actions taken together. And when those few milliseconds passed, it calculated a high probability that the emotional feedback from their mutual presences would cause a series of cerebral misfires and logical short-circuiting, making both of them more amenable to the shepherd's needs. One more millisecond later, and the oracle was able to reassure its shepherd.
"It is a mathematical certainty."
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Oracle
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Post by Oracle on Feb 25, 2016 15:13:22 GMT -8
The station did not respond. The red-gold diamond hung silently over the volcanic world, almost casting a psychic shadow on those that dared look upon it. As the ship moved closer, those that saw it would be able to make out faint patterns in the station's hull, and even fainter yellow lights raced across its surface like luminescent veins. But for all its beauty, the station seemed to throb with an unknown, unshakable energy that grew more powerful as Fel's ship drew ever closer. The hangar door, once a small slit in the equator of the diamond, now loomed before them, more ready to devour the vessel whole than invite them in.
As the vessel touched down on the hangar floor - also made of the same strange metal as the exterior hull - the lights came up. There were no obvious fixtures, nor was there a clearly-detectable source; the walls themselves seemed to brighten as the YV-series freighter came to a halt. On the far side of the vast hangar, which was completely empty save for the ship itself, a smaller door slid open and a single 3PO droid scuttled forward, eager (as they always were) to greet the new guests.
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Post by Oracle on Feb 20, 2016 14:50:56 GMT -8
She felt it. She felt it. Untold ages after she had procured the last of her most precious possessions, a shock ran up her spine like a bolt of lightning, setting her body on fire as it arced across her nervous system. But even in all that time, Taia Gatheen hadn't felt anything quite like this. Perhaps it had been the sheer shock; Taia had grown used to the other tomes' unique signatures, and this new one - now finally within her grasp - had stirred waters that had lain silent for centuries. Perhaps it was the anticipation; after all this time, her set was complete, and the stresses of the years were finally lifted from her. Perhaps it was the one-two punch of its presence and...something else. Something that didn't belong. Something alien, even to her.
Not that it would stop her. Taia Gatheen was within arm's reach of her goal at last, and nothing - not men, not ships, not guns, and not morality - would stop her from accomplishing it. The ordinarily serene woman closed her eyes, gathered her focus, and thought.
I want that ship. Bring it to me.
As if in response, golden lines of light erupted from under her feet, crossing the rose gold floor to rapidly ascend the walls and ceiling before lashing out into the corridor just beyond the threshold of her door.
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As Fel's ship descended towards the molten wastes of Mustafar, a voice crossed the communications array.
"Pilot," it said, "you are to divert your course to the coordinates provided. Divert and proceed immediately."
Moments later, the navicomputer received the coordinates the mystery voice was talking about. They led the ship to a space not on Mustafar itself, but in orbit. At the designated place, a reddish-gold diamond hung in the sky, a hangar bay door sliding open along its center line to greet them.
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Post by Oracle on Aug 13, 2015 20:24:12 GMT -8
Taia Gatheen was a patient woman. It befit her station; she commanded a legion aboard her space station, which worked day and night to finish the space-borne monolith. The exterior shell had been finished; a reddish-gold diamond hung in the skies above Mustafar, the metal itself synthesized and purified through processes she never would have thought modern science capable of. And it was just as well. What could have been the work of mere hours in her own time had taken several years by theirs, and that was with untold wealth pouring in and the lost knowledge of a civilization long buried beneath the sands of time lending their hands. But in the end, it was beautiful. The corridors, atriums, arches, and designs were all just as she had remembered from the archives she had spent countless days wandering through. And as the commander of an ornately beautiful station and an army working tirelessly to complete it on her behalf, it was only fitting that she be patient.
Taia Gatheen was also rather clever. She had been smart enough in her heyday. Brilliant, in fact. Brilliant enough to be sent to some backwater world where the primitive lifeforms had been taken to by the very ships her people had built and summarily lost, and where they did something truly remarkable. Brilliant enough to catch on to what she saw, and to adapt what she had learned. She had taken the lessons and myths she had gathered from reading about the ancient Star Forge over Lehon and applied them. She had taken the knowledge of the Jedi - genuine insight stored in their sorry excuses for holocrons - and made it her own. When the Death Star destroyed Alderaan, she took notes and formed hypotheses before the bodies had turned cold. And when she heard rumors that a Mon Calamari man had been displaced in time and found his way back, she was just curious enough to see, scouring the galaxy for the spot on her benefactor's credit.
And when she found it - a scar in the Force the likes of which she had never felt before - Taia Gatheen became a determined woman as well as a patient and clever one. Her people had mastered the laws of the universe in ways most of the galaxy's current denizens could only dream of, and one of the silly little ones had broken a law they hadn't even considered. If such a feat like his was possible, then surely the one she had been mulling over for years could be done as well.
Except that it couldn't. Over the years, Taia Gatheen had collected several of the small, reddish-gold cubes that sat lifelessly on the other side of her stateroom. Seemingly ordinary boxes, set apart only by their unique hue and luster, that nonetheless called out to her across the stars as they had done for so long. And there was one yet to be discovered that she could sense, only to know it was under the heaviest locks she had ever heard of. Such inconveniences were where her Falleen benefactor came in. He had a knack for acquiring things beyond her reach. And in return, Taia had promised him a bounty that his feeble mortal mind - a pair of adjectives she had wisely chosen to keep to herself - couldn't possibly comprehend. She strode across the stateroom, her bare, olive-skinned feet brushing against the fine shimmersilk of the rug as she picked up one of the small boxes.
"Show me again, please."
Once lifeless and ordinary, the box seemed to hum with life before roaring with it, glowing gently as brilliant white lines shot to and fro across its surface. In her mind's eye, Taia Gatheen saw her ultimate reward dancing in front of her; buildings and statues of untold and forgotten splendor, beaches of golden sand and oceans of unmarred blue; people in ornate dress and plazas of impossible things made reality; an armada marching forth, taking back the galaxy that was rightfully theirs. Taia smiled gently to herself before stopping, keeping herself from being reminded of the Falleen's request. But for all their knowledge - much of which she had brought back to the plane of reality - the most crucial piece of information was locked away behind the heaviest locks she had ever known. Everything else that she needed was on the station itself, save for that final piece of the puzzle.
Taia Gatheen was determined. She was clever. And she was patient. All three traits were needed when one was easily twice as old as the Galactic Republic had been.
But her patience was wearing thin.
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Oracle
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Post by Oracle on May 4, 2013 23:17:21 GMT -8
4156 BBY...
It was a slow day in the space above Alderaan. Not a lot of traffic coming to or from the planet in any sense of the word "lot"; at most, two transports full of refugees from Onderon, where the "Beast Wars" (as the HoloNet had taken to calling them) started to really heat up once again. The conflict had been going for over three centuries now, and refugees were still a common sight. So common, in fact, that Alderaanian traffic controllers almost didn't take notice anymore.
But they were about to.
An arc of lightning flashed across space, with a sensory reading coinciding with it to prove without a doubt that it was not a trick of the eyes or faulty satellite equipment. Another arc flashed, and then another, and before long several were appearing at once, all of them growing shorter in length and coming closer together, firing at far greater frequencies. A bright sphere formed, blinding in its brilliance, shooting bolts of electricity left and right before finally racing towards the planet at breakneck speed without taking any time to accelerate. It did, however, decelerate, quickly losing speed until it finally became no faster than any ship traveling at a cruising sublight speed. The bright white sphere dissipated then, peeling away and fizzling out to reveal a ship that nobody on Alderaan had ever seen before. On the face of it, the mystery vessel looked vaguely Corellian. But it had three massive guns on three sides, and a strange, copper-colored vent on the underside. Further, it had metal ribs lining the fuselage that certainly weren't part of the stock design.
The people on the ground were just about ready to scramble the fighters when it hailed them. With no small amount of hesitation, they picked up.
Uh...hello. This is Alderaan Air Control, who are you?
A voice answered back almost immediately.
"Hello! I'm Professor Jecib Milnik, I'm supposed to meet with the university administrator today?"
The records were checked. Sure enough, there was a ship scheduled to be in from Mon Calamari carrying one Jecib Milnik. But that had been two days ago.
Professor Milnik, you're late. Dac confirmed you had departed as scheduled not long ago, what happened?
A pause, followed by a chuckle.
"Oh, just a slight hiccup with the relativity shield. All is well."
And as the ship was given clearance to land at the University of Alderaan, Professor Milnik switched on the autopilot, closed his large red eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled.
All, at last, was well.
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Post by Oracle on May 4, 2013 22:48:39 GMT -8
A heavily-modified Barloz freighter raced away from Felucia at breakneck speed.
Professor Milnik watched as the final circle on the display monitor lit up a bright and encouraging green, showing that the chronoporter's temporal displacement apparatus was at critical mass and ready to fire from the three rails set on the port, starboard, and dorsal sides of the craft. On the vessels' computerized viewport, a series of green rectangles popped up, giving the Mon Calamari's ship a flight path. The ship would have to curve around to face the planet, after which there was a long straightaway, and the path terminated with a bright red rectangle. To some, this was surely the sign of a faulty navicomputer.
But to those that knew the truth, it was simply where the universe was just right.
The vessel reached the apex of its turn, slowly coming around to face the flora-swarmed planet of Felucia before hitting its straightaway.
On cue, the engines went into overdrive, thrusting Milnik back into his seat. Out of habit, the Mon Calamari rechecked the seat restraints and took one last glance at the monitor. Alderaan, 4,500 years prior. All systems were go. Hypermatter reactor ready to fire.
This was it.
The coils, wrapping around the Barloz like a dull metal ribcage, suddenly glowed with a blue light that quickly grew brighter and brighter until it was blindingly white. Energy pulsed through the ship's three rails. Arcs of electricity shot from rail to coil as the chronoporter rocked with the combination of the engine's vibration and the sheer energy output of the temporal displacement apparatus. Inside the ship, there was a deafening scream as raw energy shot from a home-built micro-sized hypermatter reactor into seven pulsarium ring amplification chambers, multiplying its already impressive power to an almost incalculable level.
There was a blinding flash of light, as though a star had just gone supernova right above the planet's surface. And just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone; the only evidence that anything had ever been there was a faintly visible ion trail and the occasional arc of lightning as electricity jumped across space.
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Post by Oracle on May 4, 2013 22:22:58 GMT -8
It was not long after the Jedi woman and her droid companion left the hangar that the fueling process was complete. The assemblies moved away from the heavily-modified ship, clearing it for take-off. Repulsorlifts hummed. Engines whined. Slowly, the Barloz-class freighter lifted away from the ground, its landing struts retracting as it slid away from its pad and towards the open hangar door.
Within the ship's cockpit, Professor Milnik let the autopilot take care of most of the take-off process, looking instead to the various monitors installed around the two piloting seats. One such monitor was a progress bar, showing how far along a particular calculation was from being completed. On another, seven circles formed a blade-like shape; six red circles in a rectangle, with one circle atop the rest. The left lowermost circle turned green in conjunction with a low whirring sound coming from the main deck. And one final screen displayed a place and time. But the place, unlike most ships that had navicomputers that worked, was not Felucia. The time, unlike most ships with working chronos, was not the here and now.
Rather, the monitor displayed the lush, peaceful world of Alderaan, with the time stamp being a little over four and a half thousand years ago.
Milnik wasn't quite sure how to handle it. He'd spent the last four years building this vessel - a chronoporter, as he'd termed it - and finally, everything was in place. A wife and family, a promising job, and the ability to change the fate of the galaxy for the better now rested upon his shoulders. It was a curious feeling. Milnik knew he should be overjoyed at the prospect, and he was, but something kept him from expressing it. As though the moment finally happening was enough.
And, if the Mon Calamari was totally honest with himself, it was.
Easing the chronoporter out of the hangar, the engines shrieked and blasted it towards the upper atmosphere, the vessel's pilot preparing to make one last jump to lightspeed.
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