Jedi Padawan Quest (Star Wars)

LVI: Perchance

This was certainly not the best birthday she'd ever had. Sitting in a cramped ship, reviewing endless history of an absurd system that seemed to have dominance over what was ostensibly a democracy, but seemed to take most of its cues from Count Nives of Jaxxor. And he believed all sorts of strange things, especially politically. His reign had been prosperous, but it was very clear that whoever would succeed him, whenever they did, would almost inevitably go in a different direction.

The Republic and Coalition, Nima assumed, both wanted to make sure it was a direction they supported.

This was typical enough, but the nightmares were another strange thing. After all, what did his nightmares really mean? Was he force sensitive? He wouldn't allow himself to be tested, that much had been clear already. He didn't distrust Jedi… maybe.

He said he didn't, which could mean anything, honestly. Still, there was the issue to consider involving--

"Ah, I can almost hear the brooding even without the Force powers," her new temporary Master said. A tall, silver-skinned humanoid, he had a shiny bald head and big, wide yellow eyes. Master Massick was always cheery. Always. He was also an experienced Mind-Healer who'd also served as a diplomat for decades. His species lived to five hundred at the lowest, and he was a young, spry hundred. "You don't have to worry. You'll do fine. We'll do fine. Hopefully we'll have that Count in a better mood by the end of the week. And if not, well, there's supposed to be only four serious candidates. And he's given indication he won't pick beyond them short of 'unfitness.'"

They were in a cramped room in the hold of a passenger ship that had been repurposed to be a transport. There would of course be an honor guard with the diplomats, Jedi included, but they weren't going to be bringing an army. Jaxxor was not known for its army, and the Count had encouraged members of parties' especially willing to listen to him to act in ways to reduce the army and navy.

Still, they'd all be within the power of the Count. And when it came down to it… "Master, does Jaxxor even fit the standards?"

"By a relatively narrow margin, yes," Massick said. "Plus, there might be new reforms whenever he goes. Or if the people vote against his agenda. As far as we can tell, they hold real elections, they've just learned to listen more than act out against authority. Well, enough people to win the elections." Massick shrugged. "It's the best you can do sometimes. You deal with the situation you have in front of you."

Nima nodded, but somewhat reluctantly.

"You really are more like your Master than you think."

Nima turned. "Oh?"

"It's not an insult, but even though you have the mind of a diplomat, you're still thinking in part about ways to change it. Maybe we'll manage that, maybe we won't." He shrugged, a big, expansive gesture that started at his arms, and ended with his head shifting back and forth. "In the meantime, why don't we turn it into a game. A quiz show maybe, like in the holovids?"

"Turn what…"

"Your prep work! So, for a bowl of mushroom soup, what is the name of the first of the candidates."

"Dulia Nives, I think? His daughter." Nima frowned. "But she apparently has spent a lot of time off-planet, so either she has her own life or… are they estranged?"

"We can't know!" He was cheerful even when talking about grim things, though she could feel that some of it was an act. When others suffered, he felt their pain, but tried to turn it into something else. He was an alchemist of a very different sort, and Nima wasn't sure what to think at all.

"Right…"

"Now, here's one. What's the national fruit of Jaxxor?"

"I… don't know." Nima wondered whether she was supposed to.

"Neither do I, but when we land down, we should certainly take time to appreciate the little things. Each planet we see, Nima Tyruti, is a part of the tapestry of the Force, and only by understanding it can we see where it might fit. But seeing where it fits isn't the same as making it fit how we see it."

"I understand that," Nima said, gently.

"Next question! Where does the Count live?"

"The Island of Settlement, I think. Where the first colonists landed down?"

"Yes. And five-hundred years ago the Count granted them a charter to democracy on that very island, in exchange for certain symbolic powers that led, of course… to cultural influence. The Force works in very mysterious ways." Massick nodded sagely. "Meditate on the varieties of life, and know that politics is no more outside the Force than the birds and the beast. They are all equally 'sacred' and 'profane.'"

Nima thought about it, and could find nothing un-orthodox about the opinion, though the way it was expressed was slightly odd. There wasn't much of a focus among most Jedi around the idea of profanity, really. Evil and good, dark and light, right and wrong, yes. But profanity drew to her mind the idea of impurities, and sacredness of… what? Blessings?

Nima gave herself a mental shake, and tried to focus on the task at hand. "I understand, I think."

"Good, good. Now, speaking of politics, what is the Minister seeking the position a minister of?"

"Agriculture, science, and industrial development," Nima said, though when she'd heard that she thought it was somehow three different positions. But no, it wasn't. Which made no sense at all.

"And what battle is Axia, the General, famous for, and against who?"

"It's pirates, obviously, but the battle… I dunno." Nima's lekku twitched in uncertainty. "It was…"

"Blanking on it?"

"Yes. Something about an asteroid!"

"Close enough, and now I have to ask you…"

He was a good teacher, that was quite true, always willing to give partial credit and her learn. But would it be enough?

******

"He sounds like quite a character," Mala admitted. "I'm surprised he didn't throw you a birthday party. Did you get my gift, actually?"

Nima's mother had sent a locket, with a picture of the rest of the family in it. Small personal possessions were acceptable, and so Nima had decided she would treasure it forever. "I did, and thank you so much."

"Well, so, these candidates, you got to meet them? Were they any good? What you told me about them sounds like they're not much to talk about. But wait, why was that woman minister of three different departments?"

"Well, it was apparently a miscellaneous department of catch-all. Agriculture was down to the peasants to decide, science wasn't important, and industries and unions are… necessary but not encouraged," Nima said. And as she said this, she thought about the approach to Jaxxor.

It was both usual and unusual.

Jaxxor was not a rural planet… it was not also an urban planet. So far above, she couldn't see everything, but it was nighttime. But instead of either an almost complete lack of light, or a single light… or a planet filled with the lights of power running all night, it instead had a single huge cluster in the middle of a vast continent, an eye of the storm that was matched nowhere else. There were, when she squinted, flecks of color at a few locations, but even that was seemingly incidental.

They had a city, and it was a nation in size, and then they stopped.

No ecumenopolis, but no economic collapse into the more typical forms. It baffled Nima, though it did seem to explain at least some of the odd politics. Though there were stranger planets out there, by far.

The shuttle she was arriving on banked downwards, as the planet slowly rotated. Night was going to end in three or four hours, and they'd need all the time they could get. Count Nives didn't sleep well because of the nightmares, and had apparently taken to holding his court in the early hours of the morning, before dawn, and then sleeping during the day. He didn't sleep well then, but he slept better.

Nima didn't know what was and wasn't a clue, and so she just stared out the window of the shuttle as they went over waves and waves of dark, shadowy grain, stretching in every direction. There seemed to be villages in between it, but there were no obvious dividing lines from the air. Nothing to say 'this is mine, this is yours.' Instead it was simply endless sameness which turned into endless variety when the sameness shifted to fruit trees, and then another crop, and then the grain again. But each time it was hundreds of miles of it, connected by dirt roads.

They didn't even fly over the city, which apparently wasn't even the capital. Instead a town in the south was, with its elected and bureaucratic population five times larger than the rest combined.

The island, though, it was hard to miss, especially once they were well below cloud cover. There were a small amount of defenses, several turrets and a small airfield, but it was otherwise dominated by a huge, rambling mansion which seemed painted red and black, though in the darkness she couldn't be sure. It had five huge towers ending in sharp spires, and jutted upwards at random places, as if it had been haphazardly constructed over centuries. The towers seemed ancient, though, worn and grey/black near the top, and only shifting into reds barely visible in the darkness. The shuttle turned lazily around those towers, and moved towards the airfield, where a half-dozen sentients were standing. One of them was pacing, wearing a jacket way too big for her, the sleeves not filled in, so that they hung limply. Even from dozens of feet up, she could see the sway of the sleeves as they paced. Impatient.

Their emotions were a storm that could not be contained, and when they landed the figure marched over.

"We'd better see what she wants," Master Massick said. "Because that's our General. The indomitable Axia, spoiled of a fight and looking to start one with us. If she wants it, consider whether it's not cruelty to refuse." He was smiling as he said it. Luckily both of them were fully awake, having slept to wake up just before taking the shuttle down. Of course, it'd make the day itself miserable, but better than falling asleep in their robes.

Nima checked that her lightsabers were present, and nodded to herself. She was ready. The shuttle door opened and she strode out, next to her own temporary Master.

Axia was upon them in a moment, furious but her face smiling widely. Her voice was almost cheerful. "There you are, Jedi! The other ambassadors will be down tomorrow, right? The Count made it very 'clear' that he wanted just the two of you. He makes things very clear, doesn't he?"

Behind her were a military guard that was wearing black and red uniforms. There was a pin she vaguely recognized, in its wheat and fist motif, as a sign that they were in the Count's service. However, they radiated respect towards her, and were (perhaps fortunately) out of range of her words.

"We wouldn't know," Nima pointed out. "We've never met him."

"Well. You don't have to meet him," Axia said, with a shake of her head. Up close, she had cropped hair, golden-brown skin, and deep green eyes. She looked somewhere in her forties, and physically fit despite her small size, just slightly shorter than Nima.

"The patch there, it is on the other side from usual in your forces," Master Massick pointed out. Indeed, there was a patch on a side Nima wouldn't have possibly known was wrong unless Massick had pointed it out.

"It was my father's. I inherited it from him, after he was gone, when they downsized the military early in the count's reign."

"Ah…" Master Massick said. He too could feel it, the dark turn, the anger and hate: it wasn't merely normal, it was quite possibly murderous. "I'm sure he'd be proud of what you've done."

"Of course he would. Or else I would not be wearing it, Jedi." She turned, still smiling. "I know you understand pride, being from such a brave warrior order. You have never eaten a blaster bolt from shame and humiliation."

"No, I haven't," Master Massick admitted, taken aback but not showing it at all. "So, where will we be meeting the count?"

"You will be. But I've had it suggested that the Padawan Tyruti should meet with the daughter… by the daughter, and at the protest of the ambassador and his guard. Strange person."

"Guard?" Nima asked.

"You can see her, over there, with her boss."

Exiting from a building were two figures. One was simply a balding, middle-aged humanoid, shaped roughly like a stick, with thick glasses and a feeling in the Force as if he was not nearly as mild as he seemed. However, next to him…

The darkness spread out like ink in the water, but both defensive and offensive, and slimy and sickening. It could almost blind one to the idea of there being anything at all except for it. It was a clouding, sickening, cloying darkness she'd only felt once before. It had a beat, like a heart, but the beat was fast, and growing faster, as Nylirah turned and sensed Nima at last.

Open surprise echoed in the Force for a moment, a moment of humanity quickly crushed as she sneered. Nylirah was as tall as ever, blue-black hair even more striking in the darkness of the early morning. She was still dressed in those flowing clothes, though whether the colors were the same, Nima couldn't see from there.

"Nylirah?"

"Nylirah?" Master Massick asked. "Do you know her? Not as a friend, I assume."

"Ah yes, star-crossed battlefield rivals, then?" Axia asked, tapping her chin. "Very well. Anyways, so the Count's daughter truly isn't someone to be kept waiting, I would suggest. But I also don't get along with her, so feel free to take however long you need."

Nima looked over at Master Massick, who said, "I'll go ahead and try to talk to the Count. Unless you'd rather come with me?"

"No, it's fine," Nima said. She wasn't actually entirely sure that it was, but she hurried onwards in the direction pointed to her. She went through a rather drab back entrance that creaked when the door opened. There on the other side were liveried servants. When she asked about the Count's Daughter, whose name was Dulia, she was directed down a series of passageways.

The passages really were narrow inside the building, a warren seemingly in desert clay from the red color of the walls. There was no gilding, and no portraits, against her expectations of such a pile of credits. She knocked on a big, black wooden door.

"Come in!" a voice shouted, as if screaming. When Nima opened the door, she knew why. Some sort of modern dance music was playing at an incredible volume. The instruments all danced and capered about, half-mad and half-grieving. When she focused a little on it, and on the nonsense lyrics that seemed to fade in and out of meaning, she got an intense feeling of emotions that could not be put into words, that could not be understood, and thus could never be justified or explained.

The bronze-skinned woman sitting at a table banging her hand to the beat must be Dulia. She was rather round, a plump woman somewhere in her thirties dressed in a blue dress that went halfway down her thighs. The room smelled like a distillery, and Nima stepped forward carefully.

"Ah, so not a romantic entanglement. It would have been interesting, but one supposes that one doesn't get every single fucking thing you want." Her voice was rich, deep, and had the ability to draw one in, as if personally confiding to them. Nima could feel deep into Dulia's emotions, though it was muddled by the alcohol, and she seemed more annoyed than angry. "Or anything," Dulia added, but under her breath, so that Nima only heard it because she was watching her lips.

"Not a romantic…?"

"I was wondering why Nylirah reacted so badly when she heard the name of one of the Jedi diplomats."

Nima startled at that, but Dulia kept on talking. "I've only known her a few hours, but I'd watch a holovid show about her life. I'm pretty sure she's 'evil' or something as you'll assure me, but really, can anyone be that bad with such a good taste in music?"

"Wait, did she choose this music, or like it, or…" Nima asked, baffled, as she stepped forward. The room itself was relatively dark, with glowing lights on the wall. There was a seat for her.

"Oh, interesting story. Please, sit down."

Nima settled into the chair, which felt cold and icy beneath her. "Ah, sorry, I'm still experimenting with chairs," Dulia said. "If I am in charge, this whole place is getting knocked down and replaced with something industrial, or post-industrial, just as soon as I finish pissing on the old man's grave."

Okay, that was two candidates that despised him, out of four.

"I haven't met the man," Nima admitted. "But if this is your mansion, if you inherit, I suppose you could do what you want."

"Ooh, a lot less measured than Nylirah, who all but said that if there was a coup against me, the Republic would back me to the hilt. Remember, you're trying to buy me."

"I'm trying to talk to you, right now," Nima said, with a smile.

"Oh ho! How personable." Dulia took a sip of her drink. "Hey, if you give me a moment, I can order some mocktails." Some what? "I was going to try to convince you to drink, but you can't be, what, twelve?"

"I'm fourteen," Nima shot back defensively, unable to keep from blurting it out.

"Oh, fourteen, that's very different… nah, I think I'll wait to offer anything until you're at least sixteen. So, you're curious about the music?"

"Yes," Nima admitted, drawn in despite herself. The woman was clearly dissolute, a classic wastrel by Holovid standards, but it was her job to be interested and curious, and so she was. The music was interesting, too, emotions hidden, veiled, obscured but obviously present.

"She wrote it herself! She told me that it would auto-delete itself within three days, as it was a creation and could not be preserved, which sounds awfully avant-garde to me! She really missed out with this whole 'war' profession of hers, considering her obvious talent. Now, where are those non-alcoholic cocktails?"

Nima stared for a long moment, not moving at all, and then listened to the music closer. Ah, yes. It was clearly toneless and without passion, a paint-by-numbers aping of other music in the genre. How could she have missed that?

Finally they arrived, and Nima got to have the 'pleasure' of trying seven different fruit juices mixed together with something to make it fizzy and bubbly. Her mood was ruined, caught up on the snare of Nylirah's existence, but she managed to smile and keep reasonably reactive. She promised to stop by again, and left as soon as she could.

******

Someone ran into her when turning a corner. She half-dodged them, so that it was only their insistence on plowing endlessly forward meant they clipped each other at all. It was enough to send the other sentient to the ground, stumbling.

Which meant that Nima had to stop.

"Ah! Sorry! Sorry! I need to… oh, wait, you're the Jedi." The sentient was dressed in ill-fitting black clothing, pants and a shirt covering most of her skin, which was the same color as both Dulia and Axia, but whose eyes were a stunning, slightly manic looking blue. "Ah, so, I'm a Minister, and one of the candidates," she squeaked. "Anyone with the blood of the Count can be selected, and my mother's cousin's great-great-grandmother married the bastard child of the Count of that time's brother. You can look it up!"

Nima wasn't really interested in that, and instead offered her hand. The woman, who couldn't be older than her early thirties, was light and easy to help pull up. "Ah, so why do you want to be heir?"

"There are some policies he's pursued that have been bad not only for the factories, but also for the peasants that are his greatest concern. They're understandable flaws, of course, I'd never think he was responsible for them. He isn't the Chancellor, of course, but… I'd like to do things a little different if he steps down for some much-deserved rest."

There was a spike of distaste when she spoke about him, like the bitter aftertaste in bad food.

So. Three of four.

"Right, I understand entirely," Nima said, quietly. "I'm sorry we ran into each other."

"I'm glad I ran in you. Surely something has to be done. Someone has to do it. I don't know, perhaps I should talk to Dulia? I'm not sure. Oh, did I introduce myself? I don't know if you--"

"Hali Suli?" Nima both said and asked, remembering the name vaguely.

"Right! Very good. Uh, so, I'll see you…" the woman hurried off, heart obviously beating double-time.

******

She found Master Massick standing outside a door in the center of a hall. The hall lacked any other doors, and so it made sense that this was Count Nives' room. "Ah, Nima. I've been kept waiting, because someone is--"

The door opened that very moment, and a thirty-something man with red-brown skin stepped out, dressed in an elaborate costume with rather too many belts, far more than were needed. "I'm just saying, Count, that--"

Again, someone was cut off, this time by a fat, elderly, bronze-skinned man who was roughly spherical, but with a small head, like a ball droid. He was bald, and his dark eyes glared out at the other man. "That you want useless reforms that will only hurt peasants and lead to the end of the glorious peace that I have pursued so effectively. But let me remind you of something: three years ago, a man named… Niles, I think, your age? Whips? Chains? Pain? Paddles? Something like that."

The man looked sick. "You wouldn't…"

"I would. I would reveal it to everyone. They'd know of your perversions. If you want to succeed me, you'll need to make better promises than that, Hyrem."

The man looked at him with impotent, endless loathing.

From the smile on Count Nives' face, he liked the impotent part of that. Nima could feel his mind, and it was strange. It was a tangled thing, the thickets of a garden rarely pruned, until it had overgrown itself. He was in pain, oh, in so very much pain, but he was clearly getting his satisfaction from being able to spread it, in being able to dine on the berries amid the brambles of a life that was clearly, even if his nightmares faded away, near its end. He didn't look healthy even without the thorny grasp of his sleeplessness, dragging at him, and his nightmares, plaguing him.

It made Nima feel for him, for all that he was clearly someone so used to cruelty that it was nothing special, nothing new.

It was the sort of garden that the wildlife, if it knew better, fled on instinct.

She wanted to explore it out of a sort of fascinated horror as she looked upon this sentient, the second most odious person she'd met thus far. Nylirah, of course, was a Dark-Side-using murderess. What evils did he do, to feel so grandly petty?

"I… yes, sir. Wait, the Jedi, they're listening."

"Oh, they're very galactic in their tastes, really. Every Jedi I've ever met has been the strangest combination of chaste and entirely accepting of such… immoral acts. But nobles such as us, we have standards. You know it, I know it."

Count Nives didn't care. He really didn't. There was no outrage, none of that bright orange-red of disgusted, righteous anger. No, whatever 'act' involved wasn't something that mattered to him.

"So they won't tell, will they?"

"No," Master Massick said, absently, looking as if he was having to fight to keep the smile on his face. "We would not reveal whatever this is to anyone else. It might well bring shame to some involved."

Nima managed not to blink at just how pointedly Massick wasn't referring to the noble.

"Right, very right," Count Nives said. "So, Hyrem. Are we going to have a problem?"

"No, of course not, sir. I do wish that your nightmares swiftly pass, and the bad sleep soon be something of the past," Hyrem said it and felt like he meant it, at least a little bit. Hyrem shook his head. "It can't be easy to live through it."

"I've lived through my father, and your uncle, and far worse than this," Count Nives said. "But I will keep that carefully tailored expression of sympathy in mind, Hyrem." Nives gave a sickly, gap-toothed smile and shook his head. "It was certainly better than some of these other… carrion-birds. Have a good morning."

Hyrem retreated, and Count Nives turned his smile on Padawan and Jedi Master. It was a weak, strained smile. "I am quickly running out of strength for such affairs. I would like to talk about my nightmares, now, Master Jedi."

"Jedi Master," he replied. "And of course, I would be happy to help however I can. May Padawan Tyruti come with me? She's learning to be a Mind-Healer as well."

"Of course, of course. It'd be rude otherwise. Let's go."

They stepped into the room, and the door closed behind them.

What does Nima focus on over the next period of time? (Choose 1)

[] Doing everything she can to help improve Count Nives' nightmare problem, in the hopes that once recovered he'd be grateful to them and at least let them stage some of their naval forces here, even if he's unlikely to militarize himself.
[] Look into the four heirs. They would both have motivation if this is… less than natural, but more importantly if he retires or feels unable to do his (supposedly symbolic but clearly very powerful) job, then they will be the ones to step up, whichever of them can impress him the most. Or unimpress him the least.
[] Nylirah is up to something. One can tell because she's Nylirah, a darkside illusionist who was sent shortly after a Count started to have nightmares. She couldn't have been the initial cause, based on information as to when she arrived… but could she be making it worse? Of course!

******

A/N: So yeah. Merry Christmas. Shit's been shit here, but that's not important.