There were days when Lothärius did not want to get out of bed in the morning. Those days were special, because he altered his morning routine ever so slightly.

Every day, at 0600 hours, the Commander woke in his modest quarters and quickly prepared a light meal of eggs and toast. He reviewed the holonet news on his datapad while drinking a cup of coffee. After breakfast, he cleaned up the dishes and packed away the table, making space for his regimen of stretches and exercises. He kept pace with the same series of crunches and pushups that he had done as a young man. He took pride in the fact that he could still pull off the same workout every morning, and yet he was acutely aware that every morning his body ached just a little bit more afterwards each day.

He took a quick shower in lukewarm water, and dressed himself in the uniform he had pressed and laid out the night before. He took great care in grooming his hair and mustache, not a single strand out of place. When he felt that his appearance was adequate and appropriate for a man with his responsibilities, he left his quarters and made his way to the bridge of the Order of Mercy's flagship.

This was where the change in routine was prevalent. On an average day, he would proceed directly to the bridge to hear the overnight report from the night's watch captain. He would sign off on the record logs and then proceed to the shuttle that would take him down to the surface of Yavin IV, where the Order's main headquarters lay hidden deep in the jungle.

On those special days, however, when getting out of bed was particularly difficult, Lothärius allowed himself a detour.

Since their break with the Republic over five years before, most of the ship's crew had been lost. Most had retained their first loyalties to the Republic, which Lothärius could not fault. The few that stayed behind with the Order were good men and women, but they lacked the manpower to work the entire Valor-class cruiser. To help fill in the gaps, Lothärius had commissioned some of the Order's more tech-savvy members and allies to automate the ship as much as possible. In some cases, simple labor-class droids were sufficient to maintain the engines and equipment. Low-awareness Virtual Intelligences were programmed and uploaded to help run the essential functions, running in conjunction with and under the supervision of the sentient crewmen.

Despite all of this, several decks of the ship had been shut down and marked as off limits to personnel. The lower decks were filled with miles of empty hallways and corridors, quiet and solitary. It was here that Lothärius would sometimes sneak away to, before his obligation to his command carried him away for the day. In an abandoned hangar, Loth had hidden away an old swoop bike. It was badly damaged, rusted and weary. Several burns of old blaster scorch marks painted the hull, and it looked like it would have been right at home in a scrap heap.

Still, over the years, Lothärius had been slowly restoring it. He would come down here, remove his jacket, and spend five or ten minutes with the bike. Sometimes he brought along a spare part or power cell, or sometimes he would just grab a rag and start gently working the burns out of the hull. It was his secret pleasure, and while he could not disappear for too long without raising suspicion, it was good for his state of mind to get away for a few moments. It was a quiet and personal time for him, in a galaxy that rarely afforded him that luxury.

Before long, he would clean his hands in a nearby trough, don his jacket and return to the bridge, where his day would officially begin. But on those days when he got to his office just a few minutes later than usual, he felt only then that his day had gotten off on the right start.

As he entered the office, he was greeted by young Cathar male in a dusty jacket and a peaked cap. He offered a sharp and smart salute to the Commander. "Good morn, General. Didja get a good night's sleep, then?"

"Just 'Commander' now, Jodoc. I haven't been a General in some time." He shook the Cathar's hand and gestured for him to take a seat. "I slept very well, thank you."

Jodoc sat back in his chair and lit a cigarra. "Of course, sir. Old habits do die hard." He grinned at Lothärius, blowing a whiff of smoke through his teeth. "What can I do for ye?"

The older man settled in his chair, allowing his eyes to shut for a moment as he prepared his thoughts. "I need your help, old friend. I am..." he chose his words carefully, "...beset on all sides by trouble. And I need another pair of eyes in the field."

Jodoc considered this for but half a second before nodding. "I'm all yours, then. Was getting tired of merc work anyways. Nae in my nature, you know?" He leaned back in the chair. "What's the job?"

"This clan I've signed on with. They are good people, mostly. And they have so much potential. The Halcyon's could have conquered the galaxy several times over by now, I'd think, if it weren't for the fact that they are all, down the the very last one, intense drama queens."

Jodoc snorted at that, and coughed on his cigarra. "Wasn't expecting that." He waved the smoke from his face and coughed again, laughing through the pain. "You've got a way with words, don't you?"

Lothärius shrugged and sat back. "It'd be funny if it wasn't so damn dangerous. The family problems these people come up with, more often than not there's blood involved, and I'd like you to help me make sure that as little of it spills out as possible."

The Cathar looked at him nervously. "I've ne'er been a very good babysitter, Loth. What is it you expect me to do?"
"You are going to help me identify problems before they become problems. These people, I swear, they are like children sometimes, and if we expect the Order to gain any traction, then we need them focused on the cause, and not bickering and/or stabbing each other."

Jodoc nodded. "Alright then. Suppose I can give it my best. What do I need to know?"

Lothärius sighed and pulled out a heavy binder from his drawer. He dropped it on the desk, where it landed with enough force to rattle everything on the surface. "This is as much as I could piece together of the Halcyon Clan's history. We'll go through it together."

Jodoc eyed the stack of papers nervously. "I shoulda packed a lunch."

"So, wait, what happened to Oryon then? Was he executed?"

Night had fallen on the forest moon, and Lothärius and Jodoc were only now reaching the final entries in the dossier. Sleeves were rolled up, the remains of dinner were cluttering the office, and the ashtray near Jodoc was practically full.

"No, Asmodeus used his connections to have Oryon imprisoned on Belsavis." Lothärius looked up at Jodoc and pointed at him. "That's classified, by the way. I don't know who all knows that."

Jodoc flipped back a few pages. "And this is the same Asmodeus that I've seen out there waterin' the tatties all day? The big red lug?"

Lothärius nodded. "The death of Calliope hit him very hard. Greatest warlord the galaxy ever saw, now a humble gardener and pacifist."

Jodoc twisted his head and widened his eyes in disbelief. "That's wild, mate. Every word of this nonsense is wild. It's no wonder you wanted some backup on this."

Lothärius nodded again. "It's more than a little insane, there's no question. But I've been living that insanity for several years now. There is great potential here, but we've got to make sure it gets used the right way. No more self-destruction."

"So..." Jodoc lit another cigarra. "How exactly do you plan to pull this off? I cannae just walk in as a stranger and start policing these people. They don't know me."

"Well...that's the part I've been saving for last. I've arranged for you to be inducted."

"Eh? What's that then? I'm joining your organization?"

"Well, yes." Lothärius smiled at him. "More than that. You get to join the family."

Jodoc's mouth fell open, and the cigarra fell to the floor.

"Oh pish it all."