Brand New Day, Attn: Wes

[Aella Taridon]

Aella would admit readily that she was not the easiest woman to deal with under normal circumstances. Even when she was in a relatively good mood, the Grand Admiral was still a demanding perfectionist possessing little in the way of human warmth. While there were notable exceptions to this state of affairs--particularly in private with a certain individual--there was no way in the galaxy the domineering woman would ever come close to winning the Alliance Congeniality Medal.

These were not normal circumstances, to say the least. Instead of being merely distant and cool in her dealings with others, the Aella of today was downright wrathful. To make the situation even more unusual, her anger was not directed at her hated enemies for once, but was instead aimed squarely at some of her own people. In specific, the Alliance's highest ranking medical personnel. There was nothing Aella despised more coming from her subordinates than sheer incompetence. Not even rank insubordination could stoke the flames of her ire hotter than that.

The Corulagi thought it likely the doctors' ears were still ringing from her earlier conversation/dressing down with them. She also thought it likely their bodies still reeked of fear as a result. Few living beings had ever seen the Grand Admiral in the midst of a true rage before, so rarely did she lose her icy shell of professionalism in front of witnesses. Most of the victims of her recent tirade would likely volunteer to take on picket duty in Dolomar Sector rather than risk causing such an event again.

Unfortunately, all the terror she had inspired in the Alliance's medical corps today would do nothing to rectify the errors which had caused her to give in to her temper in the first place. The damage was done, and the effects were irreversible. As a result, Aella stood now in a secure chamber deep within the bowels of the rebellion's underground headquarters, watching the readouts on a monitor display attached to a particular cloning cylinder with no shortage of impatience. The activation cycle was going through its final stages with a slowness which tempted the Grand Admiral to smash the transparisteel cover of the coffin-like device with her bare hands. Not that she'd ever be so inefficient as to waste her strength trying to batter through the impervious material, but the idle thought did continue to run through her mind.

Buried deep below her wrath was a dense kernel of fear, a feeling her subordinates would have been absolutely stunned to know she could possess. Who would she find when the cylinder opened? Would the changes to the genetic template not only affect the cosmetic appearance of her long time comrade, or would the effects extend to his inherent nature as well? She knew she wouldn't recognize him on the outside anymore, but she was wary of the possibility she wouldn't recognize him on the inside either.

[Wes Loran]

The feeling of floating in seemingly nothingness was uncomfortable and eerily scary. It did lend the certain emotion of helplessness, unable to help oneself and others in the state between consciousness and unconsciousness. For someone like Wes, it bordered on a nightmare world, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he was so terrified of this inaction. Things stirred in his mind, but complete thoughts eluded him as of yet. The world around him was dark and the floating sensation disoriented him, he also found a certain difficulty in breathing.

His eyes flew open, and with a panicked gaze surveyed the place where he found himself. His movements remained slow and groggy however, as he hadn’t registered an immediate danger as of yet, and his limbs felt as heavy as lead anyway. Rational thought broke through, and he calmed himself down, quelling the panic that threatened to rise when suddenly the fluids he floated in started draining out of the pod-like capsule he was in. When his face was clear, he brought two slow and clumsy hands up to remove the long tube jammed down his mouth, his gagging reflexes making the task uncomfortable.

The task of ridding himself of the tube done, a mighty heave expelled the disgusting slime from his throat, leaving his airway free. He was barely paying attention when the lid slid away. When it was removed fully, he became fully aware of the world outside. It was cold, as his first thought. His second was that the strength in his limbs failed him for any task other than the most miniscule. Two pairs of hands gripped his forearms, and at first he made a gallant attempt at warding them off, instinct taking over despite his lack of strength and adrenaline aiding him in releasing at least one of his arms. He couldn’t see clearly, the slime he’d been immersed in clouding his vision, which made him more fearful than he would’ve otherwise been. The hands removed themselves, but eventually returned to, more forcefully, pull him out of the place he was in, heaving him onto a soft flat surface.

His struggles ceased at the familiar feeling of fabric, but yet unfamiliar. The thought struck him as odd, but was allowed no time to dwell on it as someone wiped the slick slime away from his eyes and face, allowing him to see clearly, if with a squint at the unusually bright light. A fabric was draped over him, and a light spasm in his muscles made him writhe slightly on the flat bed. He blinked rapidly, eyes flashing around the room; doing everything they were used to doing to his mind, but creating something of an information overload in his mind.

“W-what?” He choked forth, hid hand grasping blindly for something unknown to him. The word, short and brief as it was, strained his voice. He was unused to speaking, and the feeling of all his weaknesses created a well of annoyance to simmer.

[Aella Taridon]

Arms folded across the front of her uniform, the Grand Admiral was outwardly impassive as the medics carried the naked clone towards the nearby recovery bed. Internally she felt sickened at having to witness her closest friend in such a weakened and disoriented state. Loran--Wes--deserved better than that. If any of those present in the room ever thought to regale others with the story of how the Director of Intelligence had been naked and flailing about like a confused infant, Aella would see to it they paid dearly for their lack of discretion.

Aella approached the clone's bedside as one of the techs draped a light blanket over his shivering form. She hoped they were only doing so in the interests of keeping the man warm, rather than worrying about how she'd react to the sight of a fellow human without their clothes. Modesty was not an important concern to her. Of all the things to worry about in this galaxy, what someone else looked like naked was a rather laughable concept to get concerned about.

"What's his status?" the domineering woman snapped out, her turbolaser stare fixed squarely on Hal Tanis. Out of all the medical personnel in the room at present, the grouchy old Alderaanian doctor was the least intimidated by the Grand Admiral's presence. That wasn't to say he wasn't bothered by the prospect of rousing the wrath of Old Lady Durasteel, but he was able to keep himself in a professional mode regardless.

Doctor Tanis "hrmmmed" to himself as he poked and prodded at Wes, disdaining the use of the many high end medical scanners in the room in favor of the information provided by his own senses. "Looks good to me, Grand Admiral. His pulse is strong, respiration is fast but unlabored, reflexes are intact... let's see here..." The physician's bushy gray brows bounced up and down as he deigned to take a look one particular readout. "Brain activity is a bit erratic, though that's not entirely unexpected. He'll probably be disoriented for a while now, but it'll pass. The worst scenario is that there'll be a minor amount of memory loss, though that's a pretty remote possibility--"

"Very well," Grand Admiral Taridon interrupted the older man's dissertation without a shred of guilt. "You may go now." Despite her choice of words, her statement was most definitely not a request. Her piercing gaze moved about the room, fixing on each doctor and nurse in turn. "All of you." Aella's tone brooked no argument, even from the normally garrulous Doctor Tanis. In silence all the medical personnel filed out of the room.

Once the audience to the 'show' was gone, the naval officer's attention turned towards to the prone figure on the gurney. Again the fear arose in her mind that the man she was looking at now was not the man she had known for over a decade, and never would be again. Ruthlessly she repressed the emotion, finding it an inefficient use of her mental energies at the moment. "Do you remember who I am?" the Grand Admiral inquired, her tone somewhat gentled from her earlier commanding terseness.

[Wes Loran]

Wes closed his eyes and lay motionless as he felt the vague motions of things going on in the room. He reacted customarily to the poking and prodding going on, mostly disoriented swatting away of the pesky things annoying him. As the moments passed, feeling like hours to him in his state, he found his mind returning to him, he remembered things, he felt his control of his body returning, and with it a certain peace of mind.

One thing nagged on the corners of his consciousness, however. While he felt alive, and recognised the fact that he’d ended up in some vicious trouble, it didn’t feel the same, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what had happened. It confused and frustrated him. He tried sitting up, but someone forced him down, and he resigned himself to accept the treatment he was receiving. He kept his eyes closed, finding the bright lights too burning to his eyes to be willing to keep them open.

He heard a familiar voice through the murmur of voices, and turned his head towards the direction the voice was coming from, the meaning of the words eluded him, as he wasn’t listening to the meaning, but rather the sound. He recognised the voice fully, finding the tones amusing in their own way. He’d had them directed at himself a few times, but he’d never been one to take it seriously. A small chuckle escaped him, as memories of events flooded into his mind at a slower pace than previously.

Suddenly the noises removed themselves from his ears, and his eyes fluttered open curiously, enduring the light to investigate the room he was in. His eyes slid over the walls and furniture in the room, trying to discern which room he was in. He could recognise the fact that it was a part of the medical facilities, but he’d have to admit he’d never been in the room before. That was a first for him.

"Do you remember who I am?"

Blinking, he turned his gaze on the woman who hovered above him, finding the question confusing for a moment. He rose up to lean on his elbows, making them shake slightly, but he locked them in place to force them to carry his weight. He cocked an eyebrow, a lopsided grin seeping into his facial expression.

“You know, I might’ve gotten a solid whack on the head, but I’d have to get my head clobbered in half to forget you.” He let out a slight chuckle, and forced himself to sit upright. A hand came up to rub his forehead, the motion taking more strength than he'd thought it would. "What happened, anyway?"

His eyes narrowed as his eyes took in the subtle signs her body was sending him, his brain slowly processing the information. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes curiously prying for more information. “What’s going on?”

[Aella Taridon]

Aella restrained the urge to assist Wes in moving to a sitting position. She could tell the simple action cost him dearly, but she didn't want to further violate his dignity. The situation was embarrassing enough without her treating him like an invalid. Yes, technically Aella supposed he was an invalid, and would be for several days as the Director's mind worked to resynchronize itself with his new body. Still, she wasn't about to pour further salt on this particular wound.

"You know, I might’ve gotten a solid whack on the head, but I’d have to get my head clobbered in half to forget you."

The Corellian's response to her cautious inquiry drew an actual smile out of the domineering woman, her body language clearly communicating both her amusement as well as her relief. There was no point in her trying to hide her feelings from the head of Intelligence; he could read her emotional state like a book, even through her usual icy exterior. "Good." The voice the words had been spoken by was unfamiliar, but the content of the statement was pure Wes. Aella was gratified at being given solid evidence that inside the clone's shell of flesh, the man she trusted with her life remained whole.

"What happened, anyway? What’s going on?"

As much as some of his more... frivolous behaviors gave Aella reason to mentally shake her head at him on occasion, she appreciated his tendency to get straight to the point when talking with her. After all, it was only efficient to cut to the chase; Aella had little to no patience for word games. Such questions were more than logical for Wes to ask, and the Grand Admiral was not about to begrudge him an answer. This was why she'd ordered all the medical personnel out of the room. She wanted Wes to hear it from her, someone he would have no reason to disbelieve.

"You died, Wes." Unfolding her arms from across her chest, she lifted one thin-fingered hand to rest atop the Corellian's shoulder. Even when the two of them were in private, it was a rare thing for her to give such a gesture of affection or support outside of their more... intense moments. In this case, Aella felt the situation justified her behaviors. "That was rather sloppy of you," she informed him next, in the manner that was the closest she normally came to attempting to make an actual joke. There was good reason why it wasn't well known in the Alliance that the Grand Admiral actually possessed a sense of humor.

"You were on a mission to assassinate Chancellor Tokenin on Abraxis. A few hours after we confirmed your safe arrival there, your cloning chamber was activated." Her words were on the clinical side, but the tone she offered them in was downright sympathetic. Obviously this whole mess was bothering her a great deal, for reasons Wes had yet to learn. Aella wasn't looking forward to informing him of the consequences of the Medical Corps' mistakes. "We haven't received any word from the Mandalorian you were supposed to be working with; they may have been terminated as well. Do you remember what happened?"

[Wes Loran]

It warmed Wes’ heart to see her smile, a rare event in itself. He guessed it told him the galaxy hadn’t gone completely crazy. A reminder that they weren’t slaving away their lives for a galaxy that wasn’t receptive of it. The lives lost, directly or indirectly caused by orders issued by himself, actually mattered in the end, that it wasn’t all in vain. The true state of the game lay shadowed of course, for both sides, but he liked to think they’d get the upper hand at some point. It couldn’t be all for nothing, not if there was any all powerful Force as the Jedi preached.

Of course, every freedom fighter believed their cause wasn’t lost in their lifetime.

"You died, Wes."

He blinked, staring at her, uncomprehending for a few moments, his mind going over the facts in his head, trying to find a way to disprove her of the simple statement that should, in face of the trust he held in the woman before him, accepted without a pause. If he’d been in a more lucid state of mind, he might’ve done such a thing, but he found it hard to struggle with the information at the moment. Remaining quiet, he processed the information, coming to a conclusion to why he hadn’t seen the room before.

The cloning chambers were kept off limits until someone actually had to come out of the pods that lined the walls, the strange feeling he had of loss of control was because every piece of his body wasn’t as old as the 53 years it had taken for them to develop. It all made sense, but it didn’t make him any happier about it, even if he could accept the truth for what it was.

A shaky hand came up and clasped Aella’s on his shoulder, staring at her for a few quiet moments, his face set in an expression of serious thought. “Cloning chambers,” he said simply, a sign of his acceptance of his fate.

"That was rather sloppy of you,"

He let out a barking laugh, finding her joke morbidly amusing. He squeezed her hand, his thumb making circling motions on the back of her hand. The simple statement managed to lift his spirits some, and the base of the matter was that even if he’d died, he was still here. If Aella could crack a joke in the face of this, it wasn’t too bad.

“Do you remember what happened?"

“Vaguely,” he murmured, leaning his head on his hand on top of her hand and closing his eyes briefly. “It’s slowly coming back to me.” He spent a moment in silence, staring straight at Aella as he did so. While he was thinking about the mission, he couldn’t help but also keep his mind on the signals Aella was unconsciously giving him. There was something else in this, but she wasn’t telling him right out.

“I remember it being more or less an easy mission until we reached Tokenin, he was trying to make a run for it and I stopped him, and then he shot me. I think I was knocked out after that, the back of my head hit the wall and that was it,” he explained easily, a watered down version, but he didn’t have the thoughts to go into any details in the little he remembered at the moment.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” He asked after a moments silence, his eyes trying to pry out more information.

[Aella Taridon]

"Cloning chambers."

The silver-haired woman confirmed the veracity of Wes' conclusion with a mere nod. No further words needed to be said on the subject, since obviously he understood the situation in full now. It didn't surprise her that the Director of Intelligence pieced together all the available data at hand in such a short period of time, even while he was still more than a little disoriented from the cloning process. Wes was a smart man... or at least he had been, and it appeared his mutated copy possessed a similar level of mental acumen.

A minor amount of cognitive dissonance was generated in Aella's brain at the familiar-yet-different feel of Wes' thumb tracing circles over her skin, even as her grip tightened on his shoulder in response. As adaptive an individual as she was, it was somewhat difficult for her instincts to accept that the stranger sitting on the bed before her was the same man she'd been intimate with for the past several years. He looked completely different, sounded completely different--which Aella was surprised Wes hadn't noticed for himself yet--and more than likely he'd even smell completely different once he'd managed to wash the clinging film of bacta off his body.

"Vaguely. It’s slowly coming back to me...I think I was knocked out after that, the back of my head hit the wall and that was it."

Another measure of relief settled in her chest. The Corellian being able to retrieve any data from the seconds before his demise was a good sign. It proved the clone had not grown so disparate from its original template on a genetic level that the memory engrams hadn't fit properly into his new neural net. Perhaps it was too much to hope for that the mind of Wes Loran had been copied perfectly when the body had not, and as a rule Aella was not one for hope. When it came to the survival of her long time friend and comrade, however, she was willing to consider making an exception.

"There’s something else, isn’t there?"

Anger snapped blazing bright in her vivid green eyes, though Wes could read from the subconscious cues of her body that the near-violent emotion was not directed at him. "Yes. Yes there is." Aella may have held off on addressing the subject of the Director's change in physical status immediately, but she wasn't going to dance around the issue either. That said, the fires of her renewed rage burned away the more delicate sentiments she'd been previously feeling, and with a last squeeze of Wes' shoulder the Grand Admiral slipped out from under his grip and began to pace the length of the room like a restless feline predator.

"Something went wrong with the clone," the domineering woman ground out after a few moments. "The thrice-blasted doctors can't decide on whether it was a random unforseen mutation or if the template sample was somehow contaminated." Both hands balled themselves into fists, and Aella was careful to keep both her arms held close to her sides. Elsewise she might lash out and destroy some delicate--and expensive--piece of medical equipment. "Believe me, when I find out exactly which incompetent member of their number is ultimately responsible, they'll wish I'd only executed them!"

Have already decided that a demonstration would be more eloquent than any words of explanation she could give, Grand Admiral Taridon walked over to one of the instrument carts and picked up the mirror she'd ordered one of the orderlies to bring in. Returning to Wes' side, she offered the reflective surface to him. "This is why I was so concerned about whether your memories would be intact," she confessed, forcing her tone to return to a gentler register than the one she'd used a few seconds ago.

[Wes Loran]

Wes’ brow furrowed in confusion as Aella’s anger bloomed up. He could see it was not directed at him, something for which he was thankful for because he couldn’t exactly remember making her angry in the recent future. Dying wasn’t exactly something he could be blamed for. He’d always found it interesting when it came to how much one could miss by just being disconnected from events for a short amount of time. He could see this was bothering his old friend quite a lot, which made him more eager to know what was going on.

"Yes. Yes there is."

Watching as the anger burned away to be replaced by the previous feelings he’d seen her wearing when he’d first become aware of her presence, he wondered briefly over what could cause such swings in her mood. Aella wasn’t exactly known to have volatile emotions that changed rapidly, she was usually set on one setting, and very few saw the other emotions she had to offer.

He frowned as she removed her hand, finding that he’d enjoyed the comfort it had given him in the few moments it had rested there. As she started pacing the room, he knew she was thinking on the matter. She wasn’t one to beat around the bush, he knew she’d come right out and say it, sooner or later. He could understand the need to think a moment and evaluate the words she planned to use. He hoped she’d hurry, though, as he was getting increasingly bothered by not knowing what was going on.

"Something went wrong with the clone,"

Shocked, he stared at her. Her manner of addressing him as ‘the clone’ bothered him somewhat; certainly he still looked like himself? Just covered in the stench of bacta and feeling something like a newborn babe. Frowning, he signalled his confusion with her statement. It didn’t compute with the rest of the information he was getting. He felt fine, if a bit weak.

“… was somehow contaminated."

“But I’m fine,” he protested, bringing his arms up in front of him and looking down at his body, still covered by the light sheet of fabric. This caused him to stop his motions abruptly, as his eyes took in his appearance. His eyes raked across the new sight of the unmarred flesh that lacked the same general shape as his own did. Slight embarrassment crossed his emotions as he thought about how he’d noticed that things had felt different, but he hadn’t paid it any attention.

“These aren’t my arms.” The statement was simple and rather obvious from Aella’s point of view, but he was still digesting the information.

“… they'll wish I'd only executed them!"

“Relax, Aella,” he admonished, finding himself feeling sorry for the medical crew who had been facing her. “This far along they couldn’t exactly do anything, clones aren’t grown overnight. This thing’s been lying here for months. Whatever happened, mutation or contamination, the clone isn’t worthless. It works.” Referencing the body he was currently inhabiting as a ‘thing’ was odd, but when it came down to it he didn’t know what else to call it.

"This is why I was so concerned about whether your memories would be intact,"

Taking the mirror offered to him, he brought it up to his face and stared into the reflective surface, finding himself utterly surprised at the man staring back at him. This was not Wes Loran. The age was gone, his familiar scars were gone, everything that he’d identified with himself were lacking as he apparently gazed upon his own image. Immediately the pros and cons of this change of face hit him, moving around would be easier, field work would be available for him again, but those he already knew wouldn’t recognise him and it would take considerable time to get used to it.

“At least I’m still handsome.” He shrugged helplessly, throwing a disgruntled glance at Aella.

[Aella Taridon]

"These aren’t my arms."

Out of consideration for the ordeal the Intelligence Director had recently endured, Aella restrained the urge to snap back at him in response for stating the obvious. What was clear as crystal to her, in full possession of her mental faculties--not to mention her correct body--was not necessarily immediately apparent to Wes. Bad enough that she should be so inefficient at present as to allow an emotion, any emotion, to take control of her behavior; she wasn't about to make it worse by lashing out at one of the few people in this galaxy she still gave a damn about.

"...Whatever happened, mutation or contamination, the clone isn’t worthless. It works."

This time she couldn't hold her tongue as she pinned him with a narrowed eyed look. "Relax? Did I hear you correctly? The rebellion was only a few more scrambled base pairs away from losing you forever, and you want me to relax?" Her own personal losses resulting from the same situation weren't anything she was going to lament about, or even so much as mention out loud. It was difficult enough for her to concede she possessed emotions beyond the cold drive for vengeance in the first place, to say nothing of being so gauche as to actually admit she'd been afraid of something.

"It's dangerous enough to be a member of the Alliance in this galaxy, what with the Confederation doing their best to kill us off one by one, without our having to worry about something as ridiculous as laboratory error finishing the job they couldn't!" Oh yes, Aella was in the midst of a prime rage, the likes of which even Wes had only witnessed a handful of times in the past decade. Those other times had generally been due to incompetence within the Alliance's ranks as well. "Would it be so terribly much to ask from those relied upon to keep us alive to doublecheck their work? Or at the absolute minimum ensure they don't cough into the sterile sample containers?"

"At least I’m still handsome."

The furious Grand Admiral glared at her comrade in silence for several heartbeats, vacillating between whether his words should cause her to become more infuriated or amused instead. Since what remained of a decent human being inside her frozen outer shell didn't want to take out her state of temper on her old friend, she eventually opted for the latter. "As well as still vain, apparently," she retorted in a sardonic manner. "I'm quite satisfied that's the real you rattling around inside there now. Only Wes Loran would be concerned about mere aesthetics at a time like this."

Her willful mind sent the command for her clenched fists to slowly loosen. Few living beings understood the potency of the domineering woman's wrath. She knew full well Wes wasn't in the slightest scared or even intimidated by her display, but she felt the need to restrain herself regardless. He deserved that level of considerate treatment from Aella and more. "Needless to say, I shall be personally overseeing a complete diagnostic overhaul of all the cloning chambers now. We cannot risk this happening again, to you or anyone else."

[Wes Loran]

Wes remained quiet where he sat as he let Aella finish off her triad about the medical officers in the facility. He felt she was being a bit unfair towards them; they’d always done their best to make sure all their charges were patched up correctly, but diagnosing the faults in humans was a whole deal more difficult than doing a simple system check on a droid. Sometimes the body didn’t react as anticipated to their actions to fix whatever was wrong, even the best of doctors could get stuck because the body’s immune system wasn’t reacting as expected. Expecting them to catch every flaw was an unrealistic idea, and not a dream they could enjoy.

He’d let her anger run its course, though. It would be best that he let her rant at him for now, but he’d make sure she didn’t do anything rash. Punishing their own ranks tended to lower the general morale of the Alliance, knowing that one of their own had done whichever mistake. Luckily, mistakes in their own ranks were rare and the occasional event of it tended to fix itself. Mistakes for them ended up in a sudden stop of all action.

“… at a time like this."

Smiling, he thanked the stars that he’d lured her out of her bad mood. He was glad he still retained that ability, despite his change of face. No doubt looking at him was strange for her, a familiar personality coming from an unfamiliar man. Hopefully Aella would find it in her to get used to him, he’d be terribly sore if the camaraderie they’d had before his death ceased to exist after his death. He wasn’t that different from his old self.

“I’ve just died,” he protested with a laugh. “I have to look at the bright side.”

“We cannot risk this happening again, to you or anyone else."

Giving a sigh, he gave her a resigned look and remained silent. There was no use arguing with her on that, they’d never meet as perfect level as she seemed to be envisioning, because things broke down, mistakes were made and there was always that human element. Errors were something that would always plague them; sciences within cloning weren’t perfect, weird stuff was bound to happen.

“We’re not droids, Aella,” he said simply, slipping his feet off the flat bed he sat on, figuring he felt strong enough to walk around. Settling on the cool floor on his bare feet, he gave a slight shudder at the chill, but found that his limbs carried his weight sufficiently for him to move around for a small amount of time, at least. Gripping the edge of the sheet, he wrapped it around his waist and secured it, a quick glance revealed that the medical officers hadn’t been kind enough to provide a robe.

With his soles slapping against the sleek and shiny floor, he moved towards the cloning chambers exit, deciding that getting a move one would be something of an idea to preserve his sanity. He leaned slightly on the doorway, finding himself a tad weak for moving around, but refusing to be aided. A medical officer who came towards him backed away hastily at the look Wes shot him.

“Is March alright?” He queried to Aella, as he moved towards the nearby ‘fresher unit that he remembered from his last visit. Stopping a nurse, he ordered some proper garb to be brought. The smell he carried, the clinging stink of bacta, was one he was eager to wash off, a quick shower would be the best to rid him of it, but first he turned to Aella, waiting for whatever response she had. He was eager to know the status of his longtime companion.

[Aella Taridon]

"We’re not droids, Aella."

Aella marked the subtle criticism of her perfectionist tendencies with a mild lift of her silver brows. "Indeed." The fact she applied the same harsh standards of performance to herself as she did to her subordinates did not make the Corellian any more tolerant of what he saw as unrealistic expectations. To the Grand Admiral's mind, the fallibility of sentient beings was no reason to tolerate substandard work. "I would not have reacted so... poorly to the concept of losing a mere droid."

Once more she found herself restraining the impulse to lend some form of physical assistance to the Intelligence Director, as he forced himself to his feet. Were Aella in his shoes--or lack thereof, at the moment--she knew she would have resented anyone else's attempts to 'help' her. Neither of them made particularly good patients, something the senior medical officers had griped about on more than one occasion. If Wes wanted to push himself past his new body's limits, she wasn't about to stand in his way.

"Is March alright?"

"March is fine." Grand Admiral Taridon followed after Wes as he exited the cloning chamber, continuing to converse with him in a primly calm fashion that belied his current state of undress. Aella supposed some of the medical personnel might be surprised to see how casually she was apparently taking all this, but then again none of them took her particularly well. She might always be oh so properly attired herself, but a nearly naked man wasn't anything the domineering woman was going to get the slightest bit flustered about. Besides, it was't as though it were the Director's fault he'd woken up without clothes.

"My quarters, however, are not. He was not pleased with your most recent departure, to say the least." The dryly resigned lilt to her voice signaled she was making another of her faint attempts at humor. "It is fortunate for him that I had no emotional attachment to my couch." For once, the quartermaster had needed to replace someone else's property as a result of tailring depredations. Normally March limited his destructive tendencies to tearing holes in Wes' uniforms.

As Wes moved again towards the 'fresher, Aella politely turned away, addressing her next statements to a point on the far wall. She would give him that modicum of privacy at least, even if she were not willing to remove herself from his presence entirely while she continued to debrief him. "The Confederation wasted no time in making an official statement about the latest 'terrorist attack'. I hadn't thought you'd brought enough munitions with you to demolish the entire central government complex. We're still awaiting the report from our cell on Abraxis as to what truly took place after your untimely demise."

[Wes Loran]

“… no emotional attachment to my couch."

“The little rascal,” Wes muttered with a chuckle, flashing Aella a slight apologetic grin. He was glad March had been fine in his absence, he was sorry for the damages done in connection to his absence, but he hadn’t really been able to help it. March had always been something of a terror when it came to certain things, it had never occurred to Wes to train the tailring in any semblance of discipline. He liked the creature as he was, the critter had learnt what to do and what not to do pretty quickly. Nothing beat practical experience.

“… your untimely demise."

"Figures,” he muttered, shaking his head at the imaginary Confederation officers he saw in his head handling the situation around his death. “They might be laying low until the Feds have finished searching the city for my partner. I don’t know what happened to the Mandalorian, but I’d think she’d be showing up soon. What happened after I was out of action I don’t know, but I know enough about her skills to be sure she’ll get out without too much trouble.” He gave a small shrug, entering the ‘fresher unit as he finished the sentence.

Minutes later he emerged, running a hand through damp hair as he fastened the buttons of the shirt the nurse had arrived with. The clothes were the standard garb of a patient that would be staying around for a while, so Wes knew the doctors weren’t going to let him out just yet. Some more poking needed to be done, no doubt. He barely hid a disgusted scoff as he walked up to Aella, scowling slightly at the thought of staying in the infirmary for another few days. He’d already gone through this when he’d been brought back from Dolomar.

“I’ll try not to get shot next time, if only to avoid this place.” He scowled at the white walls as if they’d personally offended him, which they had in a way. The thought that he’d have to be contained to this area for a few days annoyed the living daylights out of him.

A nurse briefly explained to him where he was lodged, and with no small amount of grumbles headed in that direction, glancing at Aella, wondering if she’d follow. It was an odd thing to feel over fifty, but to see a man merely beyond his thirties in the mirror. He felt like he was acting like an old man, and the strength he currently felt matched that of an old man. He’d be glad once he got to his temporary quarters.

“Anything happen when I was out?” He queried, wandering towards his room, trying to walk backwards to watch her as she answered, but failed horribly as he stumbled slightly and had to catch his balance before he tumbled. He let out an annoyed curse, turning forward to focus on where he was going.

[Aella Taridon]

"I don’t know what happened to the Mandalorian, but I’d think she’d be showing up soon. What happened after I was out of action I don’t know, but I know enough about her skills to be sure she’ll get out without too much trouble."

Aella took careful mental notes as to Wes' opinion regarding his Mandalorian companion. The Director of Intelligence was not one to throw around compliments lightly, which meant he had to have found the woman impressive somehow. Perhaps they could specify they wanted her to respond to any future calls for assistance the rebellion made towards their reluctant allies. The Grand Admiral held no illusions as to the Alliance being able to win over all of the warrior people, but they could do their best to make inroads with enough individuals of influence to keep the Mandalorians on their side.

"I admit I am still surprised they were willing to send one of their own to help you," the silver-haired woman mused aloud as the Corellian departed for a well deserved shower. The master tactician considered the Mando'ade--as they called themselves--valuable components of the war effort against the Confederation, but she'd never thought covert operations would be a Mandalorian's strong suit. Unwitting prejudice on her part, perhaps, but in all fairness their culture did its best to present all of its representatives as forged from the same mold.

"I’ll try not to get shot next time, if only to avoid this place."

Old Lady Durasteel found she disliked the sight of her Intelligence counterpart in hospital garb almost as much as he disliked wearing it. This was most likely the case because Wes would never tolerate being put under a doctor's care for a supposedly 'minor' injury. Therefore, his medical condition was always severe when she saw him in that type of clothing. Outwardly, the Grand Admiral merely lifted a thin gray brow in response. "I would heartily appreciate it if you would do so," she intoned dryly. "Too many such interruptions to my schedule would be inconvenient, not to mention inefficient."

When the reborn Corellian started to plod off in the direction of the patient rooms, Aella smoothly fell into step behind him. As loathe as she would be to ever admit it, there was a certain part of the older woman which felt outright protective of her close friend and comrade. Besides, it would be best for everyone involved to ensure the Director made it to his temporary quarters without incident or injury along the way.

"Anything happen when I was out?"

A brief critical frown drew lines at the corner of Aella's mouth as she watched her younger--now much younger--companion stumble. The frozen steel cage that was her sense of discipline and control made her more than able to resist the momentary urge to reach out and steady him. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, life does indeed go on when you're not on Corellia." For Wes' sake, the Corulagi was indulging more in her... unique sense of humor than normal. He had just died, after all; no reason to treat him harshly while he was still reeling from the effects of his unusual circumstances.

"Your Jedi friend dropped off some information with your second-in-command, likely about the upcoming assault." The disdain practically dripped from the hard edge in her voice, like blood from the blade of a recently knife. Aella held absolutely no respect for that decrepit group of Force Users, and she felt no need to make the attempt to hide her dislike of them. "He also mentioned to me the need to discuss with you making some sort of contact with your various deep cover agents following your well-publicized death. The doctors have informed him to stay far away from you for at least a week, however. They felt the need to temporarily relieve you of your duties due to your... current condition."

[Wes Loran]

“… one of their own to help you,"

“They didn’t just send one of their own,” Wes said, sounding more than a little amused. “They sent the symbol of their entire nation. I was surprised they’d even responded to the offer of some cooperation, I don’t really know what’s going on in the minds of those Mandalorians, their bloody helmets and armour make it hard to tell what they’re thinking about.” His tone clearly displayed his disapproval of the overuse of armour. He could’ve gotten used to the armour, but the helmets added only made it a pure annoyance, he wanted to look at someone’s face when he was talking to them.

“Their Mand’alor seemed to be of the same mind as the rest of them, but she seemed to get along with Intelligence work easily enough. I think most of them have a variation of skills, from what I saw, she’d be something of a scout for them if she wasn’t their leader.” His evaluation was easily served, most of it his opinion formed from what he’d seen of her skills during the mission when he’d been conscious and alive. “It was refreshing to see one of them not sealed up in a tin can for once.”

"Too many such interruptions to my schedule would be inconvenient, not to mention inefficient."

“Ah, inefficiency,” he murmured with a smile. “Can’t have that.”

“… life does indeed go on when you're not on Corellia."

Letting out a chuckle, Wes gave the older woman a sidelong glance. She seemed to be over indulging in that special humour of hers.

"Your Jedi friend dropped off some information with your second-in-command, likely about the upcoming assault."

Shooting her a look, he shook his head slightly. Wes was well aware of Aella’s feelings towards the Jedi and, knowing there was no use in trying to correct her attitude, remained silent as far as commenting on it went. In all truth, he didn’t like the Jedi much either, they’d been passive for far too long to earn any respect from him as a faction, only the Jedi who had actually done something had managed that.

“I’ll have to get to that,” he murmured. Planning when it came to the assault was important, because if they took care of this ‘Cult of Sadow’ for the Jedi, they’d be free to openly help the Alliance. The alliance they had with the Jedi would only bring good out of it, as they were outnumbered as it stood already against the Confederation.

”They felt the need to temporarily relieve you of your duties due to your... current condition."

He let out a frustrated growl and curled his hand into a fist, entering the room he’d been assigned to for the duration of his stay. It was much like the last one he’d been stuck with when he’d had to spend an extended period of time in the infirmary, that fact only annoyed him more, and he didn’t keep those emotions hidden as he shot the hospital bed a hateful glare.

“He’s got a very good point, when I get out of this place, I’ll make sure something gets done about that.” He let out a heavy sigh as he stood in the middle of the room, looking just as tired as he felt, the fact that he was confined to the stark white rooms of the realm of doctors didn’t do much to improve on that.

“I hate this place,” he murmured, running a hand over his new face and finding it unfamiliar. It would take ages to adjust to these sudden changes.

[Aella Taridon]

"They didn’t just send one of their own. They sent the symbol of their entire nation."

Again a slender silver brow elevated in mild surprise. "How unexpected," Aella murmured, more to herself than to her comrade. The wheels in her relentlessly logical mind immediately began turning, processing this new information and attempting to determine its context. While it made sense for the leader or a warrior culture to lead from the front, it seemed odd to her why the newest Mand'alor would elect to go along on an Intelligence mission of all things. It was not something she would have conceived of Kyr'ad doing, to be certain.

Truly they were fortunate that the late Cuyan Mand'alor's successor had been of a like mind with her on the subject of working with the Alliance. The Grand Admiral had been quite concerned when she'd learned of the death of the woman she'd met over a year ago after the bombardment. The Mandalorian methods of succession were chaotic, to say the least, so there had been no way of predicting who would have ended up with the mantle of Mand'alor. She hadn't wanted to see all her work in forging a pact between the Alliance and the Mandalorians tossed down the nearest black whole because the 'strongest' happened to be less than rational on the subject of 'foreigners'.

"...It was refreshing to see one of them not sealed up in a tin can for once."

Aella gave a quiet 'hmm' sound of amusement at that. She found it entertaining how positively vexed Wes could become as a result the customs of the Mandalorians preventing him from effectively exercising one of his secret advantages over others. "Somehow I doubt they would be willing to forgo the armor for the sake of your personal convenience," she commented dryly.

"He’s got a very good point, when I get out of this place, I’ll make sure something gets done about that."

The older woman's gray haired head gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment to his response, noting it down in her brain along all the other tidbits of information she gathered on a continual basis. It wasn't as though he needed her approval to perform some aspect of his position. The four members of High Command were left much to their own devices when it came to how they ran their division. They only consulted eachother when they desired a second opinion or a decision had to be made that affected the Alliance as a whole.

"I hate this place."

"As do I," she agreed with him readily. "As any reasonable person would. You'll notice I have taken considerable pains in the past to avoid ending up here myself." The words were not much of a condemnation, though they might have been if they were offered in her more usual stenorian tones. At the moment her demeanor was decidedly casual--well, as 'casual' as Aella ever permitted herself. The relief at finding her old friend, bed partner, and comrade mentally whole was sinking in, leaving her in as close to a celebratory state as she could remember experiencing in the past decade. "Then again, you are Corellian, so I should expect a certain amount of reckless behavior."