"Yes, I'm fairly certain I know exactly where I'm going, D9-G3..." Jedi Craft Ramsay grumbled, as his faithful Astromech droid beeped furiously beside him, "I've not been out of the game that long."

The frustrated flurry of bleeps from the small blue droid indicated that it did not share his opinion, and to be truthful, Craft wasn't sure he did either. He was following co-ordinates relayed to him in a dream by his dead Master. Jedi have been known to communicate from beyond the grave, but Craft wasn't sure he wasn't going completely insane. Especially as he entered a rather dense asteroid field.

"How about you get helping with the navigation, Deenine?" Craft suggested calmly. He was never the best pilot, often glad to leave it to others or his more than capable droid. D9-G3 might not have the complete faith in Craft's plotted course, but he had enough sense of self preservation not to let the Defender he was currently in smash against anyone of the thousand chunks of rock floating through the endless void.

Craft watched calmly as, the dot representing his ship on the sector map maneuvered closer to the destination coordinates. The small quadrant of space they had come to was on the outer edge of the Outer Rim systems, a place that seemed to be of absolutely no redeeming quality. From the vast expanse of nothing but floating rock and debris, the Jedi was starting to consider the whole adventure to be the by product of a bad dream.

With a disappointed grunt, Craft closed his eyes and ground his teeth. He had left Coruscant almost immediately after the sacking, and had wandered for a number of years, before settling down on an isolated jungle planet. He thought getting away from it all would allow him some peace. It wasn't until he dreamed of his old Master that he realized he was missing something. He was ignoring his drive to be part of something bigger. To do some good in the Galaxy. He certainly didn't miss the lectures from the Jedi Council, nor the endless rules they seemed to hand down, but he missed doing good for people. He missed wandering to where he was needed with his Master, being a voice of reason, and a tool of Justice.

"BeeeWAAAAAWWWWRAP!" D9-G3 interrupted Craft's thinking with an astounded shriek. Looming, beyond the last edge of the asteroids, was a ship, a War Cruiser.

"Take us closer, Deenine." Craft ordered, his heart pounding against his chest. The voice of his fallen master echoed in his mind. At least... Craft mused, I'm no where near as insane as I was starting to believe.

Deenine took the Defender on a slow pass of the War Cruiser, shining light as it could on the undamaged hull of the ship. Craft immediately noted how odd it was for a ship to be abandoned in the middle of no-where, seemingly in good condition. The light illuminated a name on the hull, and an insignia of a four pointed star.

"The Argent Exodus..." Craft mouthed, "Why is that familiar?"

D9-G3 bleeped a notification that the ship still had a functioning power system, it was just disabled. Curiosity got the better of Craft. Despite all the problems that could exist on a ship like that, lost out in space for who knows how long, Craft knew he had to go over.

"I suppose I'll need to gear up."

The space suit was a little tighter than Craft recalled, and when he mentioned that perhaps D9-G3 shrunk it on the last cleaning cycle, the droid responded with a torrent that Craft interpreted as questioning his diet the past few years. Standing in the Airlock, Craft took his Lightsaber in hand. He had kept that locked away from a few years now, and it still felt a little foreign to him. He once was considered one of the better up and coming saber fighters in the Academy, which Craft still believed as the only reason the Council didn't drum him out all together. Instinctively he took a deep breath and gestured for the Airlock to be open.

The Argent Exodus was absolutely empty, there was no sign of life, no evidence of droids. It was like someone took a battle cruiser right from the shipyard and dumped it at the end of the galaxy. He wandered for hours, deck to deck, calling back to the ship for instruction on how to power the ship up. Eventually, on D9-G3's instruction, he made his way to the bridge.

The bridge itself was like the rest of the ship. Barren. Sterile. Craft scowled and look around the sweeping windows, looking for any evidence of how the War Cruiser would have gotten here. Seeing nothing, Craft grumbled into his comm, "Can you send power to the bridge? I'd like to see what we're dealing with."

A happy whistle over the comm was followed by lights quickly flickering on. Panels began to light up, and as Craft took a quick glance around, his eyes were drawn to a holoterminal in the center of the bridge. Taking a step towards it, it came to life, a flickering blue image of a familiar person standing before him.

His Master, Pace Corlas.

It wasn't his Master as Craft remembered him, he was younger. Younger than Craft had ever known him.

"Greetings. I am Commander Pace Corlas, of the Argent Exodus. We were taking this prototype on it's maiden voyage when we discovered a problem with the cruiser. As we navigated through the Asteroid field where you likely found it, it began to vent atmosphere. We left a team of droids to repair the ship as we evacuated, taking the two shuttles we kept in the docking bay. We have every intention to return, so I hope that I am speaking to myself, of a Republic official who would know the passcode to disable the the autodestruct. That autodestruct was activated the moment this Hologram was, so if you are an Imperial or a scavenger of some sort, I hope you are prepared to have your smallest particles spread across this sector of space..."

Craft blinked, and cursed loudly, "Really? You sent me here to die, Master?"

Craft turned quickly, barking an order to his droid to have the ship ready to leave as soon as he was aboard. As he reached the door that would take him off the bridge, he stopped. His dream had led him here, and obviously his Master would not want him to die. The passcode was something he'd obviously know.

Craft thought back to the years he spent with his master, quickly searching his memories. It would be something that stood out, that could be recalled easily. And something that no-one else would easily think of.

"Lightsaber Blade Polish!" Craft cried out.

Nothing happened for a long moment and Craft knew he should get running, but instead he waited. And when the long moment was over, the familiar voice of the hologram stated calmly.

"Well, I pass my command of the Argent Exodus on to you, Commander."

With that, Craft collapsed to his knees, ignoring the questioning beeping of his droid.

He prepared a message for the Holocomm, asking for the assistance of those he felt were trustworthy, those he considered friends, and those he thought could be helpful.

He would make the Argent Exodus ready... but he needed some help.