Bell Zettifar pressed through the crowds, thanking those who stepped aside and waving at the children who excitedly pulled at their parents’ arms to say that they’d just seen a Jedi.

In her office, Samera watched his progress on her screens, having just commed ahead to check if Kitrep and Jom had been spotted at the Innovator. They hadn’t, and neither had any problems been reported by the portmaster. The line of cruisers and shuttles continued their ordered progress through the Valo system, ready to be assigned a landing spot. She drained the last of her caf, raising the mug to attract a serving droid who immediately beeped and trundled over, refill in pincer. Samera tried not to let Master Gios’s rudeness rankle her. He had just been doing his job, and if something was wrong, she would rather know about it, even if it meant being ordered about by a Jedi who bordered on the pompous. She smiled as she sipped her caf. At least not all Jedi were like Stellan Gios.

Elsewhere other Jedi went about their business. Nib Assek and the other members of the display drift were fielding questions about their Vectors, now parked near the Starlight Pavilion for a later demonstration, while inside medic Torban Buck was delighting a bunch of youngsters with stories about his past exploits that their parents thought were just on the wrong side of gory but the kids thought were all kinds of awesome.

A family of Krantians from the Mid Rim were standing in the exhibit, the youngest of three children already wondering how long it was until lunchtime and imagining the delights of the rycrit wrap his mother had promised him. Not far away, other parents were “enjoying” the United in Song exhibit while secretly hoping they could drag their children to the next exhibit sooner rather than later.

High above them, repulsorpods slipped effortlessly from one sky-island to another, and down in the theater Mon Calamari soprano Madam Conserra started the first of six planned performances, the opening stanzas of the Wildwater Cycle filling the auditorium from the orchestra droid pit.

Conserra’s voice soared from the stage, mixing with the hubbub of life on the promenades, just one of myriad musical styles that were playing across the park. Mantessa Chekkat had been particularly looking forward to hearing Fi Yona and the Hyper-Gazers play on the stage, but was currently reclining in a Valo security cell, her disgraced bodyguard across the corridor trying her best to trip locks that were complex enough to frustrate even the most adept Force-user.