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It had been a normal, peaceful voyage on the Sylph, until someone died.

The Sylph was a moderately sized transport that ran passengers between Naboo and the Corellian Trade Spine, a fairly minor hyperspace route that could consequently took a not inconsiderable amount of time to traverse. Today's journey was scheduled to take almost sixteen hours, the first four of which were, as always, spent with the passengers confined to their quarters as the crew cleaned the common areas of the ship and squared everything away after the previous journey. It was not, perhaps, the most high-class or professional way of doing things, but it kept the Sylph moving for the greatest possible amount of time and turned over the greatest possible amount of profit. Indeed, it was not a particular hardship today, since the ship had begun its journey late at night and most passengers had quite willingly headed to their rooms straight away.

Everything had been going normally until the ship's lifesign readout dropped by one approximately three hours and forty minutes into the journey, which left Duvar Creeon, the ship's balosar captain, in a bit of a predicament. For starters, he didn't like things going wrong, and passengers dying certainly counted as precisely that. What was perhaps more troubling to him, though, was that the only people besides himself who had access to the passenger rooms during the lockdown were the ship's security personnel, and that his current small detachment of security people were a new and untested group, employed only on a short term contract. One of them could quite easily have committed the murder, and if Creeon let them know that he was on to them, they would most likely just murder him too! That was unacceptable. On the other hand, so was having a murderer running unchecked through his precious ship who could murder him out of the blue anyway! It was all rather a lot for a coward like him to take in. He needed help, that much was clear.

Trying to look nonchalant, he downloaded the information onto a datapad and placed a lock on it so no one else could access it from the mainframe, then took an amble towards the turbolift. His departure from the bridge was unchallenged by the pilot, who couldn't care less what his captain got up to as long as he got paid. Creeon headed for the passenger deck and entered his command override into the locks on a pair of adjacent doors before pressing the buzzers on both simultaneously. These doors had Jedi behind them, and if you couldn't trust Jedi to help you then -- well, who could you trust?



On the other side of one of the doors, Jesse woke blearily from sleep and glanced over to his datapad which he had propped up on the tiny bedside table. He frowned slightly at the time it showed, knowing that no one should be out in the corridors yet. Odd. He closed his eyes once again and extended an empathic feeler beyond the door, sensing the shape of the mind out there. He could feel that it was riddled with nerves before he even made contact, and as soon as the gentle touch of the Force reached him he knew that this was the Sylph's captain, and that the man was in considerable distress.

He stood and reached for his tunic, pulling it on over his shirt and trousers as he walked to the door. Barefoot and tousled from sleep, he looked rather more a humble monk than the imposing warriors many people expected Jedi to be. He hit the door release and blinked quickly as the bright light from the hallway flooded into the small, dim room. Composing himself quickly, he bowed. "Captain, is something wrong? Can I help at all?"