Log Date:
	11/10/97

Log Cast:
	Thomas Drake, Rellawy Woodlake, Two-Onebee_IV, Christopher Morgan,


You move aftwards, through the maze of corridors, towards the observation deck.
Home One: Observation Deck
    This is the observation deck of the Mon Calamari cruiser, Home One,
    that serves as the Rebel Alliance's capital flagship. The observation
    deck, at the stern of the ship, is afforded a spectacular view of the
    ship's hull and beyond, as it curves gracefully away into the
    star-speckled blackness of space. The lighting is dim, but not
    uncomfortably so, the area decorated as a lounge of modest size, with
    comfortable seats and low tables.

    The panoramic viewport is guarded by a decorative railing, as well as
    a large red button that can be pushed to slide blast shielding in
    front of it, an uncomfortable reminder of a war that seems at odds
    with this peaceful luxury-liner lounge. A small bank of computer
    terminals occupy the forward wall, by the arched portal that leads
    out to one of the ship's main corridors.
 
Contents:
Drake                                             
Obvious exits:
Arched Portal  

Drake is seated at the bar, drinking some manner of concotion, talking boredly 
  with the bartender who is not Lerren. A couple pilots are seated at a nearby 
  table, and both Drake and the pilots are studiously ignoring each other.

She is still not quite used to traversing the corridors of Home One without 
  her earnest young escort Abrams; Rell's even less used to the look the lad 
  gave her when he'd received the news she'd given him, and, with that in 
  mind, she hasn't quite found the courage to put on her new uniform yet. But 
  she clutches the insignia she'd been issued in one hand, even as she steps 
  into the room and sweeps it with her gaze. When she spots the Jedi at the 
  bar, she brightens, but it's still with a nervous tread that she approaches 
  him. "Tho... Captain Drake?"

Drake turns on 'Tho,' perhaps either because he answers to it or because he 
  knew she was coming; or maybe he was just turning. "Rell," he replies not 
  formally in a quick syllable. "What's up?"

"I've been lookin' all over for ye," the girl begins. There's something 
  different about her, a subtle alteration of some kind to her stance and 
  expression, manifesting only in a slight awkward smile at least at the 
  moment. "I've got news...!"

Drake looks almost hesitant. "News...?" He repeats the word dumbly, as if it 
  weren't in his vocabulary until now. Before he thinks to ask 'How over is 
  all over,' he clears his throat: "What's that?"

She doesn't straighten -- she's already carrying herself at her full height -- 
  but she does square her shoulders. The nervous little smile remains playing 
  about her mouth as she states, "I spoke with the Lady, the Senator... Mon 
  Mothma. I've asked to stay. Here, I mean."

"Have you really." Drake does a good job of concealing the smile that 
  threatens his drab visage. "What about your--mother?"

Rell's gaze drops at that, and there's a brief ripple down the line of her 
  neck, as she swallows. "I... will have t' put that quest aside, for now," 
  she murmurs. Then, looking up again -- and with rather more nervousness in 
  her gaze, though her erect carriage and resolved features don't shift -- she 
  goes on, "I'm needed here. I wanted to tell ye... before anyone else did... 
  they've offered me a commission, you know. They want to make a lieutenant 
  out of me--" Her words pick up pace, and she abruptly cuts herself off, as 
  if realizing she's starting to babble.

Drake does smile at that, however faintly. "Hey, congratulations, kid. Put my 
  mind at rest a lot more than it would've on Nar Shaddaa. These're a good 
  bunch of people. And Morgan."

For a moment -- about when Drake speaks of easing his mind -- Rell smiles 
  broadly; then, the expression settles down into a crooked, uneasy grin, and 
  her gaze flicks off towards the exit. "I'm to be reportin' to Major 
  Matthias, in the... Infirmary. With the medcorps. I've a room now, and a 
  uniform..." Her hand lifts and opens, showing the cleanly polished if old 
  and slightly battered insignia resting in her palm. "I... guess I shallnae 
  be sleepin' on the _Rampart_ anymore."

Drake shrugs his shoulders, gestures with his drink. "It'll be good for you. 
  Rampart gets moldy if I don't clean it out--'sides, everyone needs something 
  to call theirs. They keep promising to get me a room here somewhere too, but 
  nobody ever knows what my status is around here, least of all me."

Rell bobs her head. Now that her news is delivered, she isn't _quite_ sure 
  what to say, and she can't quite manage to look directly at the man before 
  her. "Wanted to make sure ye knew where to find me," she murmurs. "And... I, 
  ah, cleaned up the crews' quarters on 'er, before I left."

Drake rolls his eyes. "You didn't have to do /that/. You'll have enough on 
  your hands with the infirmary--it'll be good for you, though. I'm the last 
  person anyone ought to depend on for shelter. I haven't even put on the 
  uniform they gave me yet."

The uneasy smile falters a bit at the reaction, but only for an instant; Rell 
  then re-orders her features, and answers, just a touch gruffly, "Well, I 
  did, I wasnae goin' to leave the place a mess from my stay. But... aye, I'll 
  have much on my hands, and I should be reportin' to the place, or so I'm 
  told." Is that a flicker of fright in her eyes? If it is, it's firmly 
  squashed a moment later, like that falter to her smile. "So if ye need to 
  find me, 'twill be there that ye'll want to look first, I expect. Alright?"

Drake just regards Rellawy momentarily, blank-faced, as if some outburst of 
  emotion were pending; empathically there is a quick swelling, but then ... 
  nothing. "You will know," he turns back around in his seat, "When I need to 
  find you."

No longer under Drake's blue regard, Rell lingers a moment, unsure. Then she 
  simply says, "Alright..." And the sound of her footsteps signals her 
  retreat, that, and her parting murmur of, "Enjoy your drink then, Captain." 
  She aims herself for the door, her features _now_ set in an anxious and grim 
  determination. _Alright, then, if it's just me doin' this, it's just me..._ 
  And she's out the door.

[Rell doesn't like it much, but she steels her spirit as best she can,
 and steps into the place she'd been avoiding ever since she set foot on the
 cruiser: the Infirmary....]

Home One: Infirmary
        Home One's medical facility is a combination of technologies, the
    original Mon Calamari design giving way in areas to banks of hard
    edged diagnostic panels fitted into the walls. Several holoprojectors
    are located on the ceiling, allowing three-dimensional medical data
    models to be shown anywhere.
        A large Bacta tank dominates the center of the room, filled and
    bubbling, ready for any emergency. In an alcove to one side, the
    smoothness of Mon Cal design is prominent once more with a row of
    beds that seem to flow right out of the walls. A soft and quiet
    sound, almost like a gentle sea at night, can be heard in this
    comfortable recovery area.
        Another alcove contains an operating room, well-stocked and highly
    lit, with just enough room to allow comfortable movement of medical
    personnel around its central table.
 
Contents:
Two-Onebee_IV                                     
Obvious exits:
Central Corridor  

_Dammit_, thinks Rell, _I should have put on the uniform..._ Too late now. She 
  stops at the door of the Infirmary, forcibly focusing her attention on 
  pinning her insignia to the collar of her old shabby shirt, before making 
  herself look up. Tension is evident in every inch of her face and frame.

Two-Onebee_IV moves away from a wall panel which he has been examaning, in 
  order to face the newly arrived human. "May I help you, miss?"

The young woman with the lieutenant's insignia now pinned to her collar 
  flashes wide and nervous teal-colored eyes around to the medical droid. She 
  appears to be trembling, and is with a rough and husky edge to her voice 
  that she says, "I'm... lookin' for Major Matthias, I'm to be... reportin' to 
  him, my name is Rell... I'm..." She trails off, her gaze shooting off to the 
  beds across the way.

Two-Onebee_IV
        This appears to be a standard Two-Onebee series medical droid. His 
  body shows a few dents and scratches, but for the most part is in good 
  repair. When he speaks, his voice is fairly flat and even a little nasally. 
  This seems to sometimes have an adverse effect on his patients, especially 
  when he complains (and he does quite often) that they seem to never follow 
  his medical advice. They should listen better. After all, he is fluent in 
  the medical diagnostic and treatment services of over 300 different 
  lifeforms.

Two-Onebee_IV nods seriously to the young woman, then motions with an arm 
  towards the large screen that he was just examining. "Miss, please stand 
  here and I shall see if I can contact him for you. He is bound to be about 
  somewhere."

She doesn't look back at the droid; in fact, her attention seems riveted in 
  the direction of the beds, and Rell takes two faltering steps in that 
  direction before, quite abruptly, keeling over backwards.
You paged Drake with 'IC: From the direction of the Infirmary, there comes to 
  you a brief and urgent flash of fear. There's no words to it, but if there 
  were, they might be in Rell's voice, calling out raggedly, _Help me, 
  Thomas!_ And then, abruptly, there is silence.'.

Two-Onebee_IV moves as quickly as his locomotion systems allow, to her side. 
  "Oh, dear," he says. Bending over, he runs a quick visual scan over her 
  before deciding that she is, in fact, safe to lift. "You will be alright, 
  miss," he says as he carries her toward an examining table. At his silent 
  command, several of the room's holoprojectors fire to life, bringing up 
  virtal datascreens about the examing table area. They seem to contain data, 
  sketchy at best, about Rellawy.

The girl seems barely conscious, tears leaking out through her clenched 
  eyelids. As the screens flicker into shapes of color and light, several 
  items spring up, designating the girl as a human lifeform. But what data 
  does actually settle into place _is_ sketchy... and one or two figures that 
  _should_ be providing readouts for a human show nothing at all.

Two-Onebee_IV moves a scanner over the girl and starts a 3-d imaging program 
  running. "Oh, dear," he repeats. He scans the readings, shaking his head at 
  the elevated blood pressure and mental activity readings, then decides on a 
  dull-dose for her. Moving his hand to a recepticle in the table, he measures 
  out a dose and then administers it. "You will be alright, Miss Rellawy," he 
  says, quoting her name from the medical logfile. "Try to relax, please." In 
  the recovery ward, an audible alarm sounds as well. "Damn," the droid 
  curses. "Why do I have to do _everything_? So hard to find good help these 
  days..."

Another holoscreen appears before the med-droid, showing a change in condition 
  of his current burn patient. Two-Onebee swats at the screen, which promptly 
  vanishes, then malls out a quick prescription to be autoinjected to the 
  patient in the other room. The alarm shuts off.

"I have... I have to get up," the young woman mumbles, trying to do exactly 
  that. Her gaze is still pointed in the direction of the beds across the 
  room, her eyes wide, her pupils going dilated as the sedative hits her 
  system. "He's... hurt, and I have to... I have to..."

Two-Onebee_IV places a very firm hand on the patient's chest, holding her 
  down. "You are in shock, miss. I do not know why, but please try to relax. 
  The gentleman in the other room is recovering nicely, and will do so without 
  your aid." If he could smile, he'd probably try to now. "That's why _I_ am 
  here." He pauses, only for a moment. "What is the nature of your illness, 
  miss? Help me to help you, as I can find nothing on your charts that my 
  medical database knows how to diagnose or treat."

Rell focuses -- well, mostly focuses -- on the droid holding her down, and 
  explains plaintively, "I hafta go to him, he's... so badly burned, I... 
  please, let me get up, please..." Her hands twitch reflexively; on the 
  holocharts, the data there shows a surge in her mental activity. She's still 
  crying, the tears oddly making her rounded pupils seem even rounder, 
  indigo-black.

Two-Onebee_IV tries his best soothing tones with her. "Miss, I assure you, he 
  will be fine. Please relax." His droid body is not quite designed for 
  holding down struggling patients, and she slips free of his grasp. "Damn," 
  he says quietly, plugging into the table for another dose of dullmeds.

The girl is not exactly steady -- but she is surprisingly nimble despite the 
  sedative in her system. She half-scrambles, half-falls off the examining 
  table, hitting the floor with an awkward thud before staggering to her feet. 
  Her eyes going distant, she makes a beeline straight for the alcove of beds.

Two-Onebee_IV is slow to follow, due to the fact that he is preparing a dose 
  of meds for the girl. "Miss! Please come back. Oh dear..." He pulls his 
  socket out of the table's recepticle, causing a hiss as the medicine sprays 
  out onto the floor. He moves forward across the medical bay, but not nearly 
  as quickly as the girl.

Rell staggers blindly to the bed of the burn victim -- the A-wing pilot with 
  sixty percent of his body scorched, the one who'd drifted in space for a 
  half hour before his squadron had managed to rescue him and his ruined 
  craft. Oblivious now to the droid's entreaties, she slams her palms down 
  onto the chest of the unconscious man, with enough force to cause a sharp 
  falter in the rhythm of his respirator-aided breathing. Her eyes clamp shut, 
  and she stands there, rigidly.

If a droid's eyes could widen, it's exactly what Two-Onebee's would. He gasps, 
  mechanically. "Miss! What are you... no! Get away..." He moves towards her 
  now, trying to pull her from "his" burn patient.

It only takes moments for Two-Onebee to catch up with the girl, but in those 
  moments, the pilot's breathing abruptly grows softer, steadying under the 
  artificial noise of the respirator. Rellawy's slender body is completely 
  stiff of stance now, her arms shaking slightly; she seems locked into place, 
  difficult to move for all the slightness of her frame.

[The droid sets off an alarm, summoning security to the scene, deeply
 worried by the young woman's puzzling behavior. Who arrives on hand, however,
 is Major Morgan....]

Morgan has arrived.
Morgan stomps in, grumbling. "What the hell's goin' on?" He must grumble quite 
  loud to be heard over the blare of the alarm.

Two-Onebee_IV waves his arms about. "Sir! Sir! I..." He turns back to the 
  girl, letting out an exasperated mechanical sigh. "Help me restrain this... 
  girl!"

Rell stands there frozen beside the bed of the unconscious pilot, her hands 
  locked into place along his chest. The man lets out what might almost be a 
  sigh, a strangely relieved little noise; still, Rell shows no sign of 
  moving. Her features are crumpled in taut concentration and her brow is 
  sheened over in sweat.

Morgan frowns, thereafter taking a deep breath. "Rell!" This uses all of his 
  considerable lung power; half to be heard over the stupid alarm, and the 
  other to startle her into curling into an obedient ball.

No dice. Neither the alarm set off by the droid nor Major Morgan's bellow show 
  any sign of penetrating the bizarre trance that's gripped the girl. The 
  longer she stands there, the more her arms quiver; it's almost as if she's 
  trying to drive her entire slight weight into the pilot's chest, from the 
  look of her stance.

Morgan drops a large hand onto the girl's shoulder.

Two-Onebee_IV's body twitches at the bellowed call. "Sir, she's quite 
  unreasonable," he says. "Really."

Rell's body slumps slightly under the weight of Morgan's hand, and she tips 
  just a fraction in his direction. A tiny wordless noise of protest escapes 
  her, though her eyes do not open, and she's still trembling violently.

Morgan squints at the 'droid. "I'll handle this. Sick people can't wait for 
  you t'shut her up."

Two-Onebee_IV throws up his arms in defeat and exasperation, walking away 
  towards his recharge station.

Morgan squeezes Rellawy's shoulder, insistent. "You 'wake?"

Her head lifts, heavily, though she shows no other signs of motion; Rell's 
  hands remain pressing against the pilot's chest as though she's been fused 
  there. Her eyes are glazed, her pupils dilated, oddly indigo-tinged somehow.

Morgan says "Not that I object. His pulse has steadied out for the first time 
  in weeks. But you can't jus' charge in and lay hands on every Joe Papercut."

"M....major?" The word comes out of Rell thickly slurred, and her eyes don't 
  quite focus.

Morgan says "Yeah, s'me. Here to tell you that most people considering 
  charging toward the wounded 'assault and battery,' no matter the intent."
Morgan gestures with his head to the nearest speaker, from whence the alarm 
  now fades.

Rell's brow furrows, and from the look of her, she understands perhaps one in 
  every five of those words. Her gaze wavers back down to the now peacefully 
  breathing man beneath her hands, and she mumbles blurrily, "Had to... had... 
  I..."

Morgan says "You explain when you're coherent. For now ..."
Morgan takes you in his arms, argument or no. Heads for the nearest bed.

Once her hands are pulled away from the pilot's unmoving form, Rell emits a 
  tiny whimper of protest. Her form slumps bonelessly in the Major's grasp, as 
  she mumbles, "Nae done yet. Nae done yet. Needs me, 'e does, hartin'..."

Morgan says "Can't heal the world in one go. Especially not full of dope."

Rell's brow crinkles again. As Morgan speaks, she frowns vaguely up at him, 
  hearing overlaid over his words Thomas Drake's voice telling her solemnly, 
  'Nobody can fix everything, it'll kill you if you try.' And her features 
  crumple up slightly, making her look as though she's a small child who's 
  just been rebuked. She mumbles, "_Promised_, Thomas....!"

Morgan says "Nobody can keep all their promises."

Rellawy's head tips back along the pillow now beneath her, and she mumbles 
  plaintively, "He's... gonna call me stupid...!"

Morgan says "He does and I'll kick him in the teeth."
Morgan sets Rellawy down, gently. Careful not to give into sin.

If the girl hears Morgan's pledge of teeth-kicking, she gives no sign of it. 
  She slumps back, unmoving, into the bed.

[The Major slips out...]

To say that Drake arrives would be an understatement. It is as if some sort of 
  explosion occurred outside the infirmary, the way people scatter in every 
  direction--some perhaps against their will. "--Excuse me," someone mutters 
  gruffly. Thump. *thud*. And so Thomas Drake, Jedi Knight and Captain of the 
  Rampart, enters the Infirmary.

A rather nervous-looking young Calamari medic wearing an Ensign's insignia 
  very nearly drops the tray of medicines he's carrying, upon Drake's bursting 
  into view. "Uhm," he croaks out in startlement. "Sir...? May I help you...?"

"Rellawy Woodlake," Drake narrowly avoids bowling the poor fellow over with 
  his elbow, much less whatever Force is floating around him; "/Lieutenant/ 
  Rellawy Woodlake." Bathe her, and bring her to me.

Two-Onebee_IV is in a corner, examining some readouts on a holoscreen. His 
  head turns for a moment to look at the newcomer, then he returns to his work.

The Mon Cal's already enormous liquid eyes can't exactly _widen_, per se, but 
  they'd do so if they could. The young being looks more than a little dazed 
  as he blinks owlishly at Drake, stammering, "The... woman, who caused the 
  disturbance? She's resting, sir... over there..." And the Ensign bobs his 
  large head in the direction of one of the distant beds, where Rellawy 
  Woodlake's form is lying curled beneath a blanket someone must have placed 
  over her.

Two-Onebee_IV turns from his holoscreen once more, this time looking towards 
  his most recent patient, Rellawy. The holo disappears as he turns away from 
  it and starts heading towards her.

"I'll show you a disturbance," Drake thanklessly brushes past the young 
  Calamari and strides towards the bed, the lightsaber swaying on his belt 
  daring someone to go on, tell him he can't walk over there.

Two-Onebee_IV arrives at the bedside only a fraction of a moment before Drake, 
  only due to the fact that he was closer and had less obstacles in his path. 
  "Mister Drake, I believe," he says to the man. "I surely hope you have no 
  intentions of disturbing the rest of any of my patients."

The young Calamari eyes that lightsaber, swallows hard, and steps carefully 
  back out of the way. Protocol dictates he keep an eye on the visitor -- but 
  sheer nervousness and awareness of what the lightsaber means dictates he do 
  it from a safe distance. Two-Onebee-IV can handle this, he's sure... well, 
  mostly sure....
Rellawy lies curled on her side, her eyes closed, her face tired and worn. Her 
  breathing is slow, measured, deep.

"If I--" Drake begins to reprimand the droid with a dark scowl, but catches 
  himself, pausing abruptly. He takes a deep breath and composes himself: 
  "No," he says after a moment, "No desire at all. Just this one."

Two-Onebee_IV's eyes dim slightly. "Sir, this one," he indicates Rell, "may 
  have something contagious. She has acted very strangely, but I can find 
  nothing in her charts to explain it. I would recommend leaving the area 
  until we can discover what it is. For your own safety, of course."

"You," Drake demonstrates his grasp of the obvious, "Are a droid. I am a Jedi. 
  And she," he gestures towards Rellawy's dormant form, "Is somewhere in 
  between. I know what she has and I know how to deal with it, and I thank you 
  for your reccomendation."

Two-Onebee_IV nods at the Jedi, then nods again, the second time more quickly. 
  "As you wish, Sir Drake. Would you mind offering me an explanation as to her 
  condition, if you do in fact know it? It has my medical database working 
  overtime."

"I believe Major Morgan put it best," Drake smiles briefly, "It's known as 
  'hoo-hah.'" He turns back to Rellawy, and places his hand on her forehead 
  with a bored gesture, as if he were changing a light-bulb.
Sleep! It's so nice. All warm and fuzzy inside. Not quite like a dream, but 
  rather an awareness. << I am here. >>

Two-Onebee_IV's head cocks to the side and his eyes go through a series of 
  dim-light-dim flashes, finally settling to their normal brightness after 
  just a moment. "Really," he says, walking away and giving an electronic 
  "grunt". "These humans and their humor. Really..." He moves towards his 
  medical console once more, leaving the Jedi alone with Rellawy, casting 
  occasional glances their way.

She is... floating, unanchored, her thoughts in a jumbled swirl. She is...
        ... Aaren Val'raen, and star_fire_, how she aches, her breath rattling 
  in her ruined chest, her skin blanketing her in pain, and why can't she 
  think straight why can't she move must breathe please help me somebody help 
  me...
        ... white fire surges into her, and she is both giver and receiver, 
  she can't let go of his chest she has to help him breathe Thomas help me...!

Drake stands there unmoving, the only outward expression a faint twitch of his 
  eyebrows.
A surge of everything and then nothing overwhelms you, but only for a 
  moment--<< There is no emotion; there is peace. ... No emotion ... peace. >> 
  Both purging and cleansing, restoring and blanketing the surrounding pain of 
  the infirmary.

She is Aaren Val'raen, pilot of Blue... she is... she.... her thoughts spin, 
  gossamer tendrils of consciousness that billow out under the surge of that 
  incoming cleansing wave. She is.... her mind shifts, then, and before she is 
  entirely certain of who, exactly, she is, another corner of her mind fumbles 
  up through the fog in wordless query. << Th-Thomas? >>

The voice is tired but familiar, focused and without its vocal strain in its 
  wordless incarnation. << I am here. >> It repeats; << You foolish, foolish 
  girl. >>

Rellawy shifts ever so slightly where she lies, her brow beginning to furrow 
  in the tiniest hint of dismay.
Somewhere in the thick cloud across her mind, the girl's Self falters back 
  towards focus, evidently prompted by the words resonating through her head. 
  She _knew_ he'd say that, she knew, can't remember exactly why, head full of 
  someone else's sensations, but she remembers that voice scolding her, and 
  she mind-whimpers petulantly, << 'M _not_ stupid! >>
Rellawy's eyelids creak open a fraction, and a plaintive frown tugs at one end 
  of her mouth. "'Mnot!" she croaks.

"Rellawy," Drake says aloud, quietly. "Wake up."

Her eyes open more fully, but they're muzzied, oddly soft. Her pupils are 
  dilated, enormous within her eyes, with a strange tinge of indigo within the 
  black. And her voice is thickly slurred, as she mumbles indignantly, "'Mnae 
  stupid, not...!" She sounds hurt.

"No," Drake laughs quietly, "Not stupid. You feel any better than you look, 
  kid?"

If the med-droid could frown, chances are he would now. He carefully keeps his 
  photoreceptors on his work, trying to ignore the Jedi's help, which to 
  Two-Onebee's dismay, is not based one iota on any conventional medical 
  knowledge. He calls the young Mon Cal ensign over, speaks quietly to him, 
  then departs. The flippered assistant puts his attention on a readout 
  screen, or at least it seems that way.

"Aaren c'n breathe now," the girl mumbles. "Hart him, t' breathe, his... 
  insides, all burnt, he c'n breathe now, though...."

"Rellawy Woodlake," Drake's tone lowers, almost pleading, "Doesn't do you any 
  good if he can and you can't! We'll -- figure this out tomorrow, but I don't 
  think you're going to get any sleep in here tonight."

"Sl... sleep?" Rell echoes blurrily, her eyelids drooping briefly over her 
  drowsy, purpled gaze, then lifting again. "Wan' sleep, Thomas. 'Mall sleepy. 
  Why'm I sleepy, Thomas....?"

"Because you've been mucking about the infirmary all day, taking care of 
  everyone but yourself," Drake says dryly, boredly unhooking monitors and 
  plugs and things from the cot, which he begins to roll towards the door.

"Sir?! Uh, sir...?" The Calamari ensign scrambles to his feet, his visage 
  reflecting alarm. "Mister Drake, you can't...! She needs to stay here, we 
  don't yet know--"

"You use 'we' very loosely," Drake says soothingly to the fish, "You don't; I 
  do. Her condition is worsened by the presence of other sick beings--it's 
  empathic. Now, if you please, Ensign, step aside."

"Em...?" The ensign trails off, doing his species' own version of a furrowed 
  brow. "This is _all_ very irregular... sir..." The young sentient 
  straightens then, and states with as much firmness as he can muster, "I'll 
  have to report this!"

"Bring it up with Major Matthias," Drake shrugs. "I'll clear it with him; 
  other than that, report away. And you are correct," he rolls the bed along, 
  "It is all very irregular."

_The Major's going to have my hide for this!_ The Mon Cal doesn't need to 
  actually say that; his countenance reflects it all too clearly. But the 
  ensign doesn't stop Drake from making off with the cot, either.

[Drake wheels Rell off through the cruiser to her own quarters....]

Rellawy Woodlake's Quarters(#2070RF)
The quarters rated for a second lieutenant are neither large nor impressive; 
  in fact, this single room could be uncharitably described as only slightly 
  more spacious than the average closet. There's just enough space for a small 
  bunk, desk, and chair, and recessed into the walls on either side of the 
  bunk are a miniscule actual closet and the door to an equally microscopic 
  refresher. Everything is crafted in austerely military hues and lines, with 
  no sign yet of any personal effects to add color and life to the room.

Drake has arrived.

Rell doesn't stir much as she's wheeled through the cruiser; she's 
  _definitely_ unaware of the various odd looks given her passage at the 
  Jedi's hands. But as the quarters assigned her are entered, she frowns 
  vaguely where she lies, mumbling, "Had t' report... Sen'tor said so, they 
  need me, promised..."

Drake either doesn't notice or doesn't acknowledge the looks given him, though 
  he seems somewhat gratified when he reaches the small door to Rellawy's 
  quarters. The bed he does not even attempt to send through the doorway, 
  though the door does manage to open rather on its own when Drake eyes it. 
  "You'll have to forgive the indiscretion," he mutters, picking the girl up 
  and toting her inside to put her on the bunk.

"Thomas," Rell breathes, then, her head lolling momentarily against his chest 
  before she's moved to her slender bunk.

Drake's own face is rigidly stoic, relaxing just so when he finally steps 
  back. "I should never've let you go to that medbay so soon," he shakes his 
  head, "You aren't ready yet--just ... a little while longer, we'll figure it 
  out."

She seems to be fighting with consciousness -- either she is desperately 
  exhausted, or else someone in the Infirmary must have administered her a 
  sedative. Something in Drake's words seems to drag her back towards 
  awareness, though, and she frowns anxiously. "Medbay," she repeats. Then, in 
  a sheepish, childlike tone, she admits, "Scared. 'S so scared, Thomas. 
  Remember. Heard me? Heard me..."

Drake just keeps on shaking his head. "Rellawy," he crouches beside her, 
  brushes the hair from her face, "Go to sleep. I'll be back in the morning, 
  we'll work on your training."

Her eyes manage to focus, at least for a few moments, upon the Jedi's face -- 
  her softened, sleepy, indigo'ed eyes. Then her eyelids begin to drift shut, 
  even as she murmurs obediently, "'Kay, Thomas..." 
Rellawy's eyes close, then, her lashes settling down in crescents above her 
  freckled cheekbones. Her breathing is already settling back into the rhythms 
  of deep slumber.

Drake lingers for the moment by the doorway, tugging absently on the ends of 
  his cloak. "Yeah," he says under his breath, "In the morning." And with 
  that, he turns around and disappears into the corridor.