They had assembled an army from across the empire and republic both. They had a massive base on a hidden planet situated on the eternal empire's doorstep with no one the wiser. They were gathering some of the most famous men and women from both sides into their ranks; Aric Jorgan, Torian Cadera, Qyzen Fess, just to name a few.
But nothing was as satisfying as when the alliance sprung their latest surprise on Jameson: they got him his ship back! Jameson nearly welled up with tears as he saw his old ship, the Defender, looking like it had just come off the assembly line, fly over the mountains and land on a landing pad nearby. "Not only did we fix her up," said Theron Shan to his left. "We upgraded all the internal systems-while backing up all your old files and programs of course-retooled the flux capacitor, and added heated seats. That's my personal touch." Someone had obviously told Theron that there was an open position for Jameson's best friend in the galaxy, judging by how far above and beyond he had gone in this one gesture.
"You certainly have outdone yourself this time," said Jameson. The ship's doors opened with a blast of steam, and out walked the pilot who brought it in. He stood at the side of the door and gestured toward it for Jameson.
"Go on, give it a look," said Theron. Jameson wasted no time in running ahead to re-enter his old ship for the first time in 5 years.
Cluttered, cramped and just a bit too sanitized to really be comfortable. Just like home. There was so much Jameson wanted to check up on, to be sure Theron kept his word on making sure everything was the same. Were the clothes he kept on the ship still there? His lightsabers he earned from defeated Sith? But at the top of his list was one thing. And it was in a compartment under his bed in his quarters. Jameson practically tore off the metal floor panel as Theron and T7 came in to watch him. "What are you looking for?" asked Theron.
"I always anticipated the possibility that something would happen to separate my crew. In case that happened, I made sure to implant their holocomms with a tracking beacon. Just in case I ever needed them for anything after we went our separate ways. Ah, here it is." Jameson pulled out a small cylindrical device with a red button on the tip. He looked over at T7, who bleeped in joy. "T7, let's get the band back together!" Jameson pressed the button, causing his and T7's holocomms to rhythmically beep.
"So, we'll be able to find them now?" Theron asked.
Jameson stood up and nodded. "I just hope they're alright…"
Another day on Alderaan, another over ambitious noble who started ANOTHER blood feud. And here he was, Archiban "Doc" Kimble, as usual, caught in the middle because the powers that be forgot that there were innocent and very flammable civilians in between their fortresses. He had just finished patching up one of those aforementioned civilians when he heard an odd noise from his coat, which he had hung on a nearby armchair. The noise came from a pocket inside the coat: Doc's holocomm pocket. Doc stood there listening to it in shock before tripping over himself to get to it. He tore the coat from where it hung and dug through the pocket until he found it. His holocomm beeped in a very specifically tuned pattern. Specially modified so that it couldn't be mistaken for any other sound. Doc stared blankly down at the holocomm until his eyes caught fire. He threw his coat on and spun on his heel, heading for the door. "Where are you going?" asked one of the patients.
"To pick up that holo," Doc replied.
"W-what?"
"Because I friggin called it!" he shouted before throwing open the doors and running out.
Fideltin Rusk had spent the past five years waking up with hangovers in very strange places. Sometimes it was various parts of his ship, sometimes the center of whatever den of thieves and killers he was razing to ash that day. But most days, it was his small, one room walk-up on Nar Shadaa. From a shining, well-oiled Jedi Cruiser to the most dingy, degenerate hole in the galaxy. Leading a cabal of murderers, traitors and god knows what else against hutt cartel loyalists and criminal syndicates when Rusk knew firsthand the real evil out there. "Be patient" said supreme chancellor Kalesh, but every moment he was "patient", someone somewhere was dying. He sat up, placing his face in his hands, as those words rang through his mind, and brought back memories of home, of his pacifistic family. How they would watch every atrocity committed against them and make him swear never to fight back. No matter how ungodly the crime being committed before him.
Never again, he always told himself when these thoughts came to haunt him. How fortunate he was to meet a young Jedi who shared those beliefs. Rusk chuckled humorlessly. Jameson really was one-in-a-million. And the galaxy repaid him by killing him. Typical. He looked up, at the mirror across from his bed, framed over a bowl filled with water on top of a stool, where he shaved every morning. All he could see was Kira's face when she saw the ship Jameson was on go down. He had consoled too many grieving families for him to count and stay emotionally stable, but she outdid them all. She was a Jedi, so she must have felt it. He lost track of how long he spent holding her. He never saw her again after the crew broke up on that rainy day on Coruscant 3 years ago. That poor girl deserved some damn peace.
Rusk was then broken from his thoughts by a beeping under his bed. The day Rusk first heard that beep, he trained himself to recognize it instantly, in case it ever came in handy. Rusk slowly crept down under his bed and pulled out a dusty old box. In it, he found his old holocomm igniting with light, emitting the beeping noise. If he hadn't felt his heart beating faster than it had in years, he would've assumed he was dreaming. But it was real. Jameson was alive.
And it was high time he got back to work.
It was widely believed that Mustafar was a gateway into some kind of hellish fire dimension, given how the lava flow and raging blazes never seemed to end. While inhospitable to everyone else, this hellscape provided the perfect secluded place for Lord Scourge to wait for the next turn of history. He sat there, meditating. Waiting. His holocomm went off. A smile crawled along his face as he stood up.
Jameson had returned. Took him long enough.
If you were to travel outside of Corellia's bustling cities, far away from where most would consider civilized society. Far away from where the eternal empire paid closest attention, at least these days, you had the smallest inkling of a chance to come across a small, blown out bunker. This bunker's roof had fallen in from a recent battle against an overwhelming force. If you were to find a way inside, the story would continue, as you would see the rotting corpses of armed soldiers of varying races. Knocked down walls, blown out turret encampments, and the occasional fried zakuul skytrooper littered the cramped, narrow halls. And if you kept walking, you would hear a soft beeping sound. The sound would emanate from further down into the underground base. Were your curiosity to get the better of you, you would eventually find the source in an underground hangar bay with blasted open doors. And in the center of the hangar, you would find a small Jedi holocomm, beeping into the dark, desolate silence. With no owner around to speak of…
