LV: Chances
- Pronouns
- They/Them
LV: Chances
So, how to begin? Beginnings are tricky, in a galaxy with a history even deeper than he'd known. Perhaps violence made him philosophical. Perhaps he was a little bit heartbroken with what he had to do. But now he hesitated, considered his words carefully. He meditated for a while, knowing that sending words in haste, or with violence or hatred still on his mind would not help.
He'd had to kill someone, but then did he? Necessity was the excuse everyone made for each and every one of their crimes. Nima, at least, was safe. She wouldn't have been, in circumstances like today.
At last he began.
"Hey, Nima, I hope you're holding up. I heard there was an incident in the Falorka Sector, something about an ancient robotic army and a lost treasure? I'm not sure how Ahsoka and Obi-Wan manage to find these adventures. My missions tend to run together: sentients being terrible, rinse and repeat. You were nearby, but should be well out of the way of any harm, I hope. I wanted to ask you whether you'd been keeping up your sparring. More than that, whether you'd kept up the real practice, which can't involve simple Jedi duels, even though you've faced more force users than most have, but also…"
*******
Nima very carefully sipped the tea, settling back in her seat. She'd chosen a somewhat more bitter tea, primarily because it helped soothe cramps, and she was regretting it now as she looked at the Ikeneli Jedi, F'anr Tuli. Ikeneli were short--a little over a meter tall on average--and rotund by nature, their skin greyish-green and covered in visible veins. Tuli was an experienced diplomat, and a lovely teacher.
They were also sneaky, and so Nima kept on her guard, as she continued sipping the tea. It smelled far better than it tasted, truly. But it was good for her.
"So, Tyruti, what do you do or say if you don't know the cultural practices of a people you're having to negotiate with?"
Nima knew this answer, or thought she did. "Do you keep quiet and try to learn?"
"Close, but not quite," Tuli rasped, shaking their head back and forth in a very human gesture, considering the Ikeneli didn't truly have visible necks. "Sometimes there's not any time at all to learn. If so, the best thing to do is to humbly admit failings, but in a charming way. Show your desire to learn, let their ego and cultural pride swell as they show you what you need to know, and they'll often respect it far more than you'd think. Sometimes, fear of showing weakness is itself a weakness, Ms. Tyruti. This is a lesson that should come easily to Jedi, but I fear has not. We have made ourselves statues and pillars alike in the name of holding up the Republic, but pillars cannot be people, and a diplomat cannot be a pillar and be fully effective. It was… a trend, it is true, rather than an absolute."
"But you have to control trends," Nima said, repeating another common bit of wisdom. Jedi had so little control of all kinds of elements of their missions, but the practices the Jedi brought towards their mission were something they could influence. The Force was supposed to guide them, but when they weren't certain, Jedi tended to act on their training instead.
"Yes, and you have to not move. Do not move, enemies are entering the room. The negotiations have been interrupted, and they are here to kill me because they don't want to negotiate peace between the two warring tribes," Tuli said, voice entirely lacking in even faked distress, as Nima looked around carefully.
She'd feared this was coming. The room itself was relatively empty, other than the table, which wouldn't provide any real protection against blasters. She couldn't be sure, because often there was no such trick. She'd even been on a very minor diplomatic mission, confirming the details of a previously decided treaty, and that had included absolutely no fighting or danger at all. Nor were the training meetings always like this.
Instead, she said, "Get behind me, and… we should probably retreat. If the enemy thinks they can get past a Jedi, they might have reinforcements. Is this area safe? Are we liable to get reinforcements?"
"All good questions." There was a pause in Tuli's speech, as Nima waited for them to continue, and then sensed that they weren't going to.
Nima tensed, not sure if there was going to be an actual attack, or just the outlining of one. "Zir, then, as the diplomat negotiating with me, what do you feel about an incoming attack? Do you think we should retreat?"
"How could they ever dare to attack me! Those barbarians will surely run when they get a taste of hot blaster!" Tuli said, volume raised, but sounding no more interested than before. "I then dramatically draw a blaster and seem to insist on fighting them all myself, in the name of my tribe's pride and honor."
Nima stared for a moment, dumbfounded. "You… what?"
"Do you think I'm afraid of them?" Tuli asked. "Why would I be, I have a Jedi with me!"
"Okay, I tell you to get back, but to keep the blaster ready, and then I try to sense where they're coming from."
"You can't sense anything. Can't feel any emotions."
"Droids, then," Nima said, standing up and looking around the small cave they were using as a classroom. "Are there windows in this scenario?"
"Yes."
"I get away from the windows, and then… and then I prepare for wherever the attack is coming from."
"Hmm, is that so? How do you prepare?"
"Take my lightsabers out, and see what happens," Nima said, a little bit annoyed. What else was she supposed to do without knowing what was coming.
"You're frustrated, it seems." Tuli hopped out of their chair and waddled over towards the door. "But you're not providing bad answers. It is simply that you have to be ever vigilant of the dangers which you will face. These tests will continue, but the more you are prepared, the less stressful they will be."
"Right," Nima said, skeptically. She didn't sense any deception from Tuli, but fighting was always stressful, even when the Force was with her. She didn't think it was that unusual, and thought that probably those Jedi who seemed to find nourishment in conflict were walking a dangerous path.
"Either way, to continue what I was saying, culture is often something that those you are engaging in diplomacy with want to share, in limited ways, under their control."
Nima listened. Carefully.
******
Wherever Nima Tyruti was, she had some very common habits. Every day when she woke up, she stretched and then went on a jog, then a run, and then a jog and walk, making sure to stretch her legs and get both training in endurance and bursts of speed and energy. Then, every other day, she followed it up with a full workout.
This began with weights, which had increased a little bit, but involved all the careful contortions, making sure that she was training her body for the weights in a free and practical way, rather than fixed positions. She wasn't going to be deadlifting from a fixed position, she was going to be climbing carrying something heavy and delicate, or twisting her body as she tried to attack from a different angle.
At the end of the weight training, she'd usually, in part following her Master's guidance, spend a little time practicing sparring, though she did so more on her 'off' days. Then, at last, she'd go take a bath or shower. This was both for her--it relaxed her quite a bit--and for the rest of the world, since all of that workout worked up a sweat that made her feel rather gross and disgusting. Still, the exercise seemed to be working. She felt like she had more energy in general, and she seemed stronger, though it was hard to tell. It wasn't exactly something that came up in her everyday life.
All in all, she found it relaxing and meditative, in a way, despite any strain.
Nima did have to fight against momentary exercises in vanity, pointless though they were. She'd find herself idly thinking about whether Katarina would like to spar with her, or even appreciate her dedication to physical fitness… only to remind herself that Katarina did not feel that way about her, and that besides she shouldn't feel that way about Katarina.
She knew, of course, that Hannah was interested in her, and she had at least a crush on Hannah back, but that still couldn't happen anyways.
So, farewell to vanity, and hello to humility!
Maybe.
It was a work in progress.
The exercise was congenial, at any rate, especially at the new Temple. There was a pulse, a sort of beat in the Force that matched her heartbeat at rest, and so when she ran through the corridors of the caverns, she felt the lava beneath her, its warmth and power, both power deployed and power withheld.
There was a feeling, when something powerful didn't happen, that couldn't really be described in such a way not to seem absurd. But just because it was hard to understand, didn't mean it wasn't real.
Compared to that, her work with Seluku and Baqqanid was rather less restful. It was repetitive, but the kind that frustrated her. She'd hold her Shuhudaku dagger, and then throw it at the target, and hear the fifty different ways she was bad at it and might as well not have bothered. Not that either of them were cruel, but Nima was able to read in their statements the fact that she wasn't progressing as fast as they hoped.
She was able to hit a target. Usually. But she often threw it too hard or not hard enough, and her aim was entirely unsteady. In battle she'd thrown it successfully before, but outside of it her every movement felt clumsy.
In battle she couldn't necessarily rely on being perfectly in-tune with the Force. The Force would be with her, always, but she needed more than just that.
"It will come," Baqqanid said. "It is hardly our specialty either, so we are learning just as you are."
Nima nodded, and tried to not let her frustration with being told to wait and see. She'd been told that the whole time, but she was almost fourteen! She was part of a war for the survival of liberty and freedom in the galaxy, and had almost died a half-dozen times. There was a distinct lack of time, even though she was carefully separate.
"Okay, so, what do I need to do better?"
"You need to visualize your target, and throw in a single motion. You're hesitating, and you're breaking it down into steps. You cannot do that, it's just too sensible," Seluku said. "You want to make all of what you're doing natural, and the more you break it down, the more you think about it, and the less you do. Course, I just did stuff and hoped it worked, but you're trying to be an even better Rider than me. More like Baqqanid."
"Thank you for the compliment, but your perennial laziness is a lie," Baqqanid said. "A form of self-abasement that makes no sense."
"Hah, as if," Seluku replied.
*******
"A key is to continue the development of your own style. Jar'kai is a start, but you can't allow yourself to be held back by any one standard, not merely in combat but in life. I've had to learn again to be flexible, after a war in which I had to stand strong and steady against any attempt to change me. You should be willing to retreat, or even run away, and if you're learning to fight at a distance, or through Rider's hit-and-run tactics, then you need to be willing to do things differently. As such, I suggest that you train with as many different sorts of Jedi as possible, as well as combat droids. In fact, you should try to spar even with less skilled Jedi."
"Heck, here's a suggestion: spar with talented Padawans, with old Masters who normally don't put hand to lightsaber. Try to get an understanding of the wide variety of ways that lightsaber combat can and will break down."
"Moreover…"
*******
It was a beautiful night, but Nima could hardly enjoy it. She was dressed up in some of the strangest garb she'd ever worn. It wasn't quite a dress of any kind, but nor was it not a dress, and she truly didn't understand the fashion sense of the Chartisian culture, or their insistence on using dozens of types of cloth, wrappings, and so on in dizzying variety of colors. Still, it was the first major diplomatic event she'd been to, and so she was determined not to mess it up.
The Chartisian culture was famous for its respect for academic learning and, flowing from this, its mastery of both slicing and the creation of cryptography. If they joined the war, it would not provide the Coalition with anything they didn't already have, but it would provide means to keep the Republic from using such academics.
All of this led to a relatively small mission, entirely because most of the deal was already worked out. All Nima and Master Denia, an experienced and steady Jedi hand who normally would have been retired, but had been on Cato Neimodia when Order 66 came, had to do was manage not to offend anyone too badly at the celebratory meetings.
So of course, things went bad from the very start. First, Nima found herself ruing her initial decisions not to change clothing. Chartisians, who were a near-human species different mostly in the texture of their skin and its reaction to cold, lived on a planet where if it got over freezing, that was regarded as a rather balmy summer day. It was, in other words, in the middle of a dreadful ice age that would, sources predict, last another five thousand years or so.
She'd shivered the whole time, determined to stick to her Rider's gear, but wishing that it was a little less form fitting, skin-tight, and breathable. All of this made it very, very bad at keeping out the cold. Still, she'd managed to survive the three days of celebrations, and had avoided most of them because of her age. The Chartisians valued highly various drinking rituals which, of course, children would never have been subjected to. She'd only be required to be present for the signing--in which she had stood quietly in a corner until the time had come to applaud, at which point she had done so with the appropriate level of enthusiasm.
It wasn't much of an education, to be honest. She wasn't learning much more about diplomacy as it was done, even if she did get a chance to see what the aftermath of successful diplomacy looked like.
Nobody paid her much mind, and she was fine with that, especially considering she was trying desperately to finish writing something. She'd been continuing in her study of Old Coruscanti, and more than that the influence of the Rakata on the language that eventually became Basic. The machines and computers had confirmed, apparently, her speculations as to some of the phrases, glyphs and so on that were a heritage at the time of Rakatan language.
This had real implications, at least according to some of the historians and linguists that had sent her feedback about her writing. She'd basically ignored all the carefully worded critiques of her writing style. She was used to them, and she'd try her best to fix it, but she just wasn't much of a writer. What they had noticed was that speculation about the division of the Rakata had been tied up in the Liberation War Thesis, the idea that any similarities between languages had to do with the collapse of the Rakata, and Coruscanti explorers spreading their language. It was claimed that the Rakata actually had several different languages, and that the extent and scope of their Empire had been overstated, and the extent to which the "Liberation War" and the fall of the Eternal Empire had begun the union of the galaxy understated.
Except, of course, Old Coruscanti had none of the features required to fit this Thesis, which had been based more on a lack of knowledge than any specific evidence other than a tradition of, well, liberation myths. Nima honestly, when she'd been told, had scrunched up her face and sighed, since it seemed such a human thing to do, to assume that no liberation war could be fought unless it was the humans helping to liberate the galaxy.
Though apparently it was popular not just among humans, but by those attempting to construct greater precursors for the Republic than the mercantile societies that had seemingly been the real pre-Republic structures that had been built on. What is free, or even particularly democratic, about planets agreeing to regulate some small matters of trade via an association that could even… in the middle of the Clone Wars, be described as 'federation of trade'?
So, there had to be a different origin, or at least the distant memory of a different origin, if galactic unity was--apparently--to mean anything.
And then Nima came along. Others were rephrasing her insights and citing her clumsy but properly cited papers in this matter, at least, and taking it to their actual natural conclusions.
It was a controversy, and here she was, on a planet famous for its academics, where University Presidents sent representatives to a central committee that decided all activity on the planet. Still, the odds that it would come up seemed remarkably low.
She was cheating to even figure that much out, of course, since she hadn't come by it by careful analysis, but from just being straight-up told something wasn't true. Seluku had been skeptical of the entire idea that Coruscant, past, present, or future, could save the galaxy from anything.
Baqqanid hadn't believed it immediately absurd, but agreed that the lack of evidence, and the evidence against it, was telling.
All of this had led to her dressing up in a blue, white, and green...robe, perhaps... with a tall, hard back that kept her from being able to see behind her no matter what, and a crazy-quilt of sewn-on parts onto the dress that made it feel like she'd draped herself in the entire contents of someone's wardrobe than anything else.
She couldn't even blame it on her size, since apparently for those who were adults, the amount of material was that much greater. Nima couldn't run, heck she couldn't have jogged to save her life, and it made her feel intensely hot, though the party was not going to have heat.
The party space, the Fertizkaf as it was called, was a vast hall carefully designed around stations of activity and interest, with lighted paths between them. It was considered the highest insult to step on the 'dark' areas of the room until towards the end, when the whole place was opened up to the, supposedly usually inebriated, free mingling of people. She'd be excused at that point, as would the rest of the Jedi. It was cold, of course, at least in theory. Even with the clothing, it was still a little chilly, because the garb didn't seem designed for heat except as an accident.
She made her way down one of the lighted paths, having been dismissed by the even more uncomfortable Jedi Master. She didn't show it, but Nima could sense Master Denia's unease. She could sense plenty of unease, jealousy, and even spite in this entire gathering, despite its supposedly celebratory nature. It wasn't that there wasn't happiness, but that the petty emotions stood out, like chunks of gristle in a fine pie.
The only good news was that everyone was dressed equally absurdly, and so she just looked for where the non-alcoholic drinks were. They were, thankfully, in a different square of light from the alcohol, for ease of access and avoidance of confusion. She was just drinking a rather bitter punch when she felt the approaching sentient.
He was focused on her, she could sense it, and was a Chartisian with a ridged brow and dark, piercing eyes that fit with his elaborate silver-and-white dress. The clothing she wore was apparently unisex, with only minor differences in the weave of the clothing telling apart the four most socially accepted Chartisian genders. He was tall, and he felt solid in the Force, the kind of person who barreled over others, though from his flab probably not physically. Though who knew, Chartisians, perhaps because of the icy cold of their planet, tended towards stoutness even when they were strong or athletic.
"Are you Neyma Tyruti?"
"Nima'tyruti, yes," Nima said. "It is good to meet you…" Nima trailed off, waiting for an introduction.
"Mr. Cael Rodes, Professor of History at Alrlbelg University. I study the origin of the Republic, and I would like to talk to you regarding your accusations and articles." He said it all quickly, as if he was rushing an armed blaster-post.
"O-of course," Nima said, a little nervously. "This isn't the time or place for a full debate, but I'm always happy to talk about my studies." She had to be, since to refuse a discussion of one's academic interests was a sort of laughable rudeness.
"I feel as if your footnotes are not entirely serious: A ghost told me this in a dream, one of them reads."
"I said that a ghost told it to me after I asked him about a dream," Nima said, though her face was hot. "Interviewing a primary source has always been acceptable, and I apologize if I cited it poorly. If you doubt the existence of Seluku and Baqqanid I could arrange a meeting."
"I don't… particularly," he admits. "I'm sure you're truthful, to the best of your knowledge. You're a Jedi. However, they don't speak Basic, do they?"
"They're learning, but not in full, no," Nima admitted, feeling a little uneasy. Attention was starting to grow, and people passing through were stopping, circling.
Academic arguments were common entertainment among a certain class of Chartisian. Nima had seen hints that a large percentage of the Chartisian populace lived in highly unequal circumstances. But among the sorts of people who would have gotten an invitation to a hall like this… they were all interested in these sorts of things.
"You've studied Old Coruscanti, as you label it, for under several years? I've been studying the Jedi ability to learn new languages. It's quite impressive, but it is hardly perfect, and with only two examples to draw on the language, how do you separate individual differences from specifics?"
Nima was taken aback. It wasn't that she hadn't expected and thought through some of these arguments. She even had a response, but a part of her had imagined the criticisms less well thought out. It was foolish, a sort of arrogance, and so Nima nodded, as she was required to do by the rules of debate. "This is a good point, but I did ask Seluku about differences in his speech, and Baqqanid spent his young life as an upper class student. I… er, thought that considering the inequalities present, academic or literary Old Coruscanti was probably more similar to Baqqanid than Seluku's. I did ask them about other subcultures, but nothing fit with your thesis, if you're arguing about Coruscanti spreading to other planets."
"And language stays the same across the entire occupation, and anything that changes is a clear result of the Rakatan, and not other factors?" the professor asked.
Nima took a deep breath. "I can't say that for sure, but if you view the Eternal Empire's fall as so important, then why not their rule?"
"Perhaps, perhaps," Mr. Rodes said absently. "It still seems like there's a lot of assumptions going into this."
"It's evidence, not absolute proof. We don't have anyone who was alive throughout the entire period. Most of the sources were destroyed before or after the time of Revan," Nima said. They'd known quite a bit more about the history of the Rakatan Empire back then, but what had survived--according to the experts she asked--was mostly the general narrative. Neither Revan nor any of the scholars at the time had been particularly interested in linguistic developments. She didn't know how to feel about them, honestly, so she preferred not to consider the distant past before she'd met the ghosts.
"This is true."
Whew.
"But, have you considered…"
Ah.
"The possibility that the upper and elite classes that spoke in that way were overthrown during the fall of the Rakatan Empire? Thus a group rose with linguistic patterns that differed from the norm overthrew the old elite and became a new elite. We can't be sure of it, but we do know that there were at least several changes in the nature of the elites during early Coruscanti History during the Republic period, and…"
She listened, and then she responded, a little outraged by the dodge into ancient speculation. Then he returned fire, and she stood there, frustrated and uncertain, and trying to figure out how to argue against someone who was clearly smarter than her in his field, but who was also using that intelligence to make arguments that just didn't quite make sense.
Still, she managed to mostly keep her cool, though she didn't have a lot of strong arguments for some of them except that she'd seen no indication of that at the time, and it didn't make sense to her. She did manage to talk a bit about Old Coruscanti, but by the end of the debate, when a crowd had gathered to press around at her on all sides, she was glad when she felt Master Denia coming.
"Ah, Nima'tyruti, you're needed to attend the lecture near the front about the value of this treaty," Master Denia said. Her grey hair seemed even paler against the colorful garb she too was forced to wear.
"Ah, is that so?" Nima asked, turning to him. "Could you send me a message about any further arguments?"
"Of course, of course. It was interesting to talk to you. You're bright for your age, and I would encourage you to continue studying linguistics," he said. There was perhaps a little condescension there, but Nima could feel that he'd been impressed as well. She nodded sagely at him, in the most Chartesian manner she could.
"Thank you for the discussion," Nima said, though in truth she was now sweating rather heavily. It was hidden by the clothing, at least, but it had been rather stressful. She managed to keep her voice light and thoughtful, though, so she was pretty sure he at least accepted her polite fiction. "I learned much from it."
He nodded, and they parted ways. Once they were out of hearing, Denia said, "It seemed like you needed a hand."
"Thank you, Master. The discussion was interesting, but it was starting to wear on me. I didn't expect it," she confessed. "But I hope I acted acceptably."
"Yes, you did. These things happen. You have to be ready and willing to provide the answers needed," Denia said, her voice soft. "Remind me to give you a crash course on the way to Exus Station." Exus Station, of course, being the transportation hub they'd traveled through to reach the Chartisians.
"I will, Master Denia."
******
So there they were, two days later, in clothing more comfortable for both of them.
"So, the first and highest rule is simple: follow the emotions. If you're trying to negotiate between two sentient factions, and you don't understand, you should of course try to understand. But in the case of tariffs, or taxation, you will find that most of the sentients involved don't fully understand either," Denia said, with a single raised brow. "If you understand?"
"I don't understand taxes, so we'd be in the same place," Nima confessed. She wasn't terrible at math, of course, but taxation involved all sorts of categories and considerations that bored her.
"Yes, so feel out what they think about a particular deal. Then understand where they are coming from. This is the secret to dealing with a thousand things you don't know about, if you cannot learn about them in time. You reduce it down to the concerns of the sentients involved. You don't cut deals that would hurt sentients, and if you're trying to negotiate a compromise and one party is miserable and the other happy, that means you should consider more deeply why it's troubling them."
"Sometimes it's because one side is at fault," Nima argued.
"Yes, but you can never know that for sure," Master Denia said. "Even when you sympathize with one side, you should remember the limits Jedi and diplomats operate under. You cannot force others to accept a deal, and if you do and don't have a way to enforce it, they will wait for you to leave and then undo it."
Nima nodded, though she thought about how Bell got around those restrictions and problems. Then again, that was part of why he wasn't a diplomat. He didn't get involved in situations where negotiation of that sort was likely. Nima bit her lip, "And what about specific scenarios? It's one thing to think about diplomatic missions in general, but…"
"I'm glad you asked. You're learning. So first, consider you suddenly meet a diplomat on the other side of the issue--"
******
"Oh," Ahsoka said, with almost believable surprise. "Nima, I didn't know you'd be here." She'd bumped into Nima, literally, despite being a trained Jedi. Nima hadn't dodged because she'd been sure that Ahsoka would not run into her. She'd been wrong, as it turned out.
"You didn't?" Nima asked, looking around the not that crowded space station. They were in a concourse with only a few dozen other sentients, most of whom were playing the tourist by looking out the viewports.
"Okay, maybe I saw you and didn't want to… I dunno," Ahsoka said, with a shrug. That shrug seemed like all the answer Nima was going to get, honestly.
"Are you alright?"
"Scout told me some of what happened on Kamino, but I don't… know." Ahsoka shrugged, and grinned. "So, Nima, what are you up to?"
Nima wanted to analyze exactly what Ahsoka meant, but she also knew that this desire wasn't particularly healthy. She wasn't a Mind-Healer, she was a friend. "Well, we just had a diplomatic mission to the Chartisians, where are you coming from?"
"Space pirate infestations.; They tried to take me captive," Ahsoka said. "It ended badly for them, and we managed to salvage some of their ships. We might be able to use them in the war." She gestured broadly. "We have to use something."
"We do," Nima said, trying to figure out what was really bothering her. "Do you want to get something to eat? I don't have to leave for a few hours."
"Of course," Ahsoka said.
******
"So, Scout's been well, I guess, but she's so busy nowadays," Ahsoka said. "Everyone is. I've only been in the capital a day in the last few months. I haven't even really seen Lux much, but it feels kind of petty, you know? I'm an active Jedi, and there's plenty of adventures to be had." Ahsoka muttered 'adventures' to herself, before looking up from her fried vegetables and sauce, to where Nima was delicately trying to eat meat on a stick. "Oh, sorry, I've been dominating the conversation."
"I like listening, and you're doing good work out there. That's what you need to focus on, if you're ever worried," Nima said. "You're not being petty, complaining a bit to a friend in between risking your life for others."
The more Nima listened to Ahsoka, the more she felt it must be guilt that she wasn't doing more, and perhaps… the way she said 'adventures' made Nima think about how all of Ahsoka's life and death situations had been made to seem like something from an… an adventure holovid.
"Yeah, but sometimes it's… almost fun," Ahsoka finally confessed. "Not always, but Anakin always made it feel like sometimes it could be a game. But he fell to the Dark Side, and so I shouldn't be imitating him. But whenever I try to treat it as something serious and miserable, it just makes it harder."
Nima blinked slowly, thinking that through. It was fun for her? The risk, the danger? That truly was unnerving, but at the same time... "Almost fun? It's okay, as long as you don't revel in the destruction, the violence. But if sometimes it feels a little like an adventure, that's okay. Anakin had a lot of things wrong with him, you know. You won't fall just because of that. You won't fall at all, as long as you trust the Force and seek out your friends, y'know? I don't know where I'd be if I didn't ask for help."
"Right, right," Ahsoka said, as much to herself as Nima. "You know what we should do, if we have time?"
"What?"
"Spar! I've heard you've been in diplomatics for weeks, we wouldn't want you to lose your edge," Ahsoka said. "How about it?"
"I am eating," Nima pointed out. "But… sure. I wasn't that hungry anyways."
This was a bit of a lie, but ah well.
What could it hurt?
******
As soon as Nima returned to the Temple, she redoubled her training. She hadn't done that badly, really, and she'd lost none of her skills, but the spars with Ahsoka reminded her of just how much she had to learn.
She had noticed a few things from fighting such an overwhelmingly powerful opponent that she hadn't noticed before. First, while it was nothing compared to the power of the Force, her greater strength and stamina paid off in at least prolonging the fight, and keeping Ahsoka from winning quite as quickly. In the end, Ahsoka was physically stronger than her, and was more in tune with the Force when it came to enhancing her strength anyways. But it required more effort than it would have three or four months ago.
So she definitely should keep that up. So she did. She had at least a little of downtime before her next mission, though it was unlikely to be all that serious.
So she trained until her muscles ached and sweat rolled down her body, and then she kept it up.
She was finally almost approaching adequacy at knife-throwing when she was interrupted.
"There, that made it! It's progress," Baqqanid said.
"Of course, if you're going to have to ask your enemy to stay still, that really doesn't work," Seluku said, offhand. "But it's a step forward!"
Nima opened her mouth to respond, only to hear the chime of her holopad, which was sitting in the corner. Ah, an incoming message?
She sprinted over to the holopad before it went to automated message, and activated it after quickly wiping the sweat from her brow. She'd just have to manage.
She clicked 'accept' without looking at who it was. If they were getting through to her here, they'd already gotten clearance.
"Oh, I seem that we've caught you at a bad time," Hannah said. Hannah was certainly not sweaty. In fact, her blue-green hair was tied back in a somewhat elaborate style that made Nima assume she'd just come from some sort of function. It drew more attention to her face, compared to the usual mass, and attention away from her Padawan braid, which was now just one of many.
Nima refocused and said, "No, just finished exercising." She heard a sound of dismay from Baqqanid, who had another ten minutes of exercise planned. But she was done now, that was for sure. "Wait, we?"
Hannah shifted her head aside, and moved her recorder, to show that Katarina was there. Katarina's dark eyes seemed to stare right through Nima, though she at least didn't look particularly fancy, the same expressive, long face as ever, the same eyes--
Gah.
"So, you two wound up in the same place?"
"Yep! I had a diplomatic mission, a real snoozer, and Katarina and her Master just finished a hard mission, did she tell you about--"
"Blinma, yes." Nima had, a week and a half ago, had tea with Katarina and talked about philosophy. It'd been rather relaxing, though not particularly memorable. But Blinma had been mentioned, and even the most unmemorable interactions with Katarina (and Hannah) stuck in her lekku. Hannah, she'd seen briefly two weeks ago. They'd had lunch together, and Hannah had talked a little about what she was learning about diplomacy, and they'd compared notes.
Hannah hadn't had this new hairstyle at the time, but clearly something had changed in the meantime.
"So her Master decided to tag along on this mission, to help teach Katarina, I dunno, something about non-violence? I don't really get it," Hannah admitted, with a smirk. "She's better at rejecting violence than I am. It's just that she's better at actually fighting people as a warrior philosopher."
"Hannah… this is perhaps true, but if you wanted to learn, I could teach you," Katarina said.
Nima froze, a weird sort of jealousy washing over her. "Oh? I'm g-glad you're getting along, I'm sorry my path hasn't crossed much with either of you. I barely have time when I'm in the Temple, though I did get lunch with Ayguin." She'd also gone to another therapy session, and the group therapy, where she'd mostly listened to how hard a lot of Jedi had it. She agreed, but she was also in a better place for the moment.
"We miss you too," Hannah said.
Katarina hesitated before saying, "I agree. Nima, I wish I could see you more often. You mean a lot to me, and are my best friend, and I apologize if I don't say it enough."
"Wahh," Hannah said. "I feel slighted! I'm not your best friend?"
"No, you are not. But you are my friend. As you know." Katarina was smiling now, the kind of smile that Nima actually wanted to get out of Katarina. She wished she could feel Katarina's emotions in the moment and understand them. But through the screen, she couldn't always tell what everyone was feeling to the same extent.
"I do know, that's true. So, Nima, you just got out of exercising, so what are you learning there?" Hannah asked. "I could tell last time that you looked stronger. Er, as a Jedi." Hannah stumbled over her words. "Not that you did not also look stronger."
"Your heart seemed more whole the last occasion we met, and I really want nothing more than that," Katarina chimed in. "But your training is interesting."
Nima found herself spacing out for a moment, flustered at Katarina's concern and for that matter, the flustered way Hannah was reacting to Nima's new exercise routines… or something.
"Well, I've been practicing throwing the Shuhudaku dagger, and I'm finally starting to get better. But I also did plenty of running and weightlifting."
"Ah. That's good. I haven't really, uh, been exercising much," Hannah admitted. "Katarina, of course, could lift both of us."
"I could not. Perhaps just one of you," Katarina protested. Then, she smiled and said, "Hopefully one of you."
"Listen, just because I complained about a little extra weight…"
Nima blinked. "What happened?"
"I ate a little too much at a diplomatic function, and combined with the indolent nature of the last few assignments, I've gained almost a kilogram," Hannah said. "But I intend to work it off, when the time is right."
"When will it be right?" Nima asked. "Won't you always have your diplomacy, or political philosophy?"
"Are you offering to continue the three person workout routine we enjoyed so a while back?" Hannah asked, with a teasing wink.
"I-of course, if we have time. Which we probably won't. Still, if we cross paths, perhaps we could do something like that. I sparred with Ahsoka a few days ago."
"How was she? As sharp as ever?" Katarina asked. "I would like a rematch with her, actually."
"I can get you in touch," Nima promised, glad to be able to be of some assistance to Katarina, and glad to find a way to get away from thinking about… everything.
"Well, that's good," Katarina said. "I was wanting to ask you if you'd learned anything about the philosophy of decision-making from your lessons. I've been wanting to talk about that."
"How fascinating," Hannah said, with absolutely no sarcasm evident at all. "I've been looking into that, but I don't really have any free time. Herdrik has some interesting thoughts about the question of how we make decisions, but he also ignores the Force entirely."
"They always do," Katarina said, with another fond smile towards Hannah.
Jealous? No, Nima had never been jealous in her life, and even if she was jealous, she shouldn't be. So she wasn't.
Still, it would be nice to be able to hang out with both of them for more than a few hours a month. It'd be nice to see just what they truly meant about a lot of the philosophical talk. It'd be nice to help Hannah keep in shape, and spar with Katarina, and…
"You're frowning, Nima," Katarina said, voice quiet.
"Oh, sorry. I was thinking, but I should be mindful of the present," Nima said, nodding and centering herself and her thoughts. "You say the mission is boring, but there are always stories to tell even about boring missions. So tell me about that…"
"Well, it is a beautiful landscape, though it is quite cold," Katarina said. "I want to go for a walk through the glacial peaks. But I'm pretty sure you would be adverse to joining me there."
"Yeah, but you should do it if you want to. Your Master can't insist that there's not time," Nima said. "If the peaks are culturally valued, you'd even be doing your job."
"We're negotiating tariff rights," Hannah said, with a long, weary sigh.
"Is it going well?" Nima asked. "Is everyone involved satisfied with them?"
"Maybe, I don't know," Hannah said. "I don't read people like you do, but they're moving towards actually signing the stupid treaty, so I guess?"
"That sounds like a good sign," Nima said, nodding. "Can you tell me any more about the people, the culture?"
"Well, I suppose so," Hannah drawled. "But only if Katarina helps."
"Oh, of course," Katarina said nodding.
By the time the conversation was done, the sweat had long since dried, and it was well past lunchtime, and in fact on the way to dinnertime.
She'd hold it close to her, in the future, these moments.
She'd need them in times of disaster.
******
This was a disaster. This was the wreckage of everything! She carefully kept a straight face, and tried to understand how this could happen.
"So, Mala'tyruti, it is good to meet you," Darrin Arkanian, a Sullustian Jedi Master, said, "You're the representative of the group in charge of the creation of standards for labor negotiations?"
Nima's own mother stood there in a crisp suit, baby weight noticeable but ignored, and gave a sort of shrug-nod with her lekku. "I'm the one they chose to help represent the decisions of a very ad-hoc body. The standards we have drawn up are, we hope, acceptable to you."
"What is your exact role?" Master Arkanian asked. The Sullustan wore traditional Jedi robes, but had on a Sullustan skullcap. "Or position, rather."
Mala Tyruti walked around the table as she answered. "I'm currently a project manager, which is to say I focus on the organizational and bureaucratic side of things. I'm partially on leave right now, thanks to having just had a child, but I assume I'll be assigned more permanently. So, we've decided on a strategy to work with the various unions, but we have to create a policy for wildcat strikes."
"The Jedi Order will not, according to a decision by the High Council, act to interfere in any way with strikes, even ones illegal under any bargain made. However justified the government thinks it is, it is not our job," Master Arkanian said, with a nod. "This is a hard line."
"Yes, of course. We didn't expect you to, but we were wondering what your position is on being mediators in case of any such disagreements. Internal diplomacy is diplomacy, after all," Mala Tyruti said, with a warm, if practiced, smile.
"Well, actually, if you do not mind, Padawan Tyruti has studied this issue extensively. As a test, I'd like her to outline this position, and then we can get into further discussion."
"I'm sure that she will do an amazing job," Mala said, tone still level and professional, but eyes slightly misty. Nima could feel the pride coming off of her in waves, and this only served to fluster Nima further.
"I-er yes. We're willing to serve as negotiation staff, but we also want to keep our options open. Put simply, the Jedi Order is in its composition an allied government of the Coalition, for legal purposes. Many such unions are intergalactic bodies just as we are, so we do not want you to assume that we will act as negotiators for the government. It may well be that a union requests that we talk to you, rather than you simply requesting that we talk to them." Nima said it hesitantly, stopping and starting because she could see and feel her mother's smile at her words. "Thus, it is the Order's position that we cannot make commitments to any particular intervention regime. But we could work to put procedures in place for such requests. It's outlined in documents we are sending you."
"Ah, that all makes sense," Mala said, her lekku indicating, 'Good Job, Nima.'
Master Arkanian could in fact read lekku at least a little bit, and from the amusement spreading through him, he'd noticed it.
Nima was blushing, and she stumbled through the rest of the meeting. Once it was done, she went to use the restroom.
It wasn't that Mala Tyruti ambushed her, since that wasn't really possible. But she allowed Mala to catch up to her. "Ah, Nima. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, I didn't actually know that you'd be there. It was a welcome surprise, though."
"I didn't know you were back to working, even part time."
"I want to keep in, show that I can play a role. We'll really see what happens," Mala said, softly.
"I really do hope it goes well. It's not that far from your new apartment," Nima commented. "So it must not have been a long journey."
"Yeah, so I should be able to be back in time for breastfeeding."
Nima shook her head, "Mom, I…"
"Don't want to hear about that, I know." Mala Tyruti quirked a lekku in the equivalent of a shrug and said. "So, has diplomatic work been treating you well?"
"Mostly, yes, but there was an incident, actually."
"Please, tell me about it," Mala said, clearly eager to hear from her.
Well… it began like this.
Of all the minor missions she had, one stood out as particularly challenging, though not potentially lethal. Which one did she take part in?
[] The Nightmares of Count Nives: The symbolic Count of Jaxxor is old, ailing, and now having nightmares. He has called together representatives of both the Republic and Coalition, being a neutral system considering changing sides, to decide his succession and the path of his country. He doesn't have direct power, but he's a figure of great religious and cultural cachet. The Republic sends a delegation… and Nylirah is on it, so Nima will have a chance to confront her once more.
[] Ill met by Sun-Moonlight: An eclipse is coming, and a very important one at that, for the people of the Fize, a planet of little importance itself, but near the front lines in the 'southern' part of the Mid-Rim. Observing this ritual is important, but something strange is happening with the solar events, something that doesn't quite make sense.
[] Contract With The Enemy: The planet of Isi-97 is a weird player in the Confederate of Independent Systems Civil War, a breakoff of a breakoff, currently in unstable situation. They're reaching out to the Coalition, at least at the moment, and they want to discuss a deal, trading some of their resources for neutrality or some sort of escape from the violence. Of course, the Republic is noticing this as well, and the complicated corporate structure of Palpatine's machinations comes into play...
******
A/N: So, please read this! These are a new form of mini-mission. I can promise you that, at least for this set, Nima's life will not be in danger. Failure will be possible, and incomplete success will be likely.
They will be between two and four updates, ideally. These are not entire 12-15 update monstrosities, but instead a brief exploration.
Then we spit you out to plan voting again, have another such mission, and it continues until… well, you'll see.
So, how to begin? Beginnings are tricky, in a galaxy with a history even deeper than he'd known. Perhaps violence made him philosophical. Perhaps he was a little bit heartbroken with what he had to do. But now he hesitated, considered his words carefully. He meditated for a while, knowing that sending words in haste, or with violence or hatred still on his mind would not help.
He'd had to kill someone, but then did he? Necessity was the excuse everyone made for each and every one of their crimes. Nima, at least, was safe. She wouldn't have been, in circumstances like today.
At last he began.
"Hey, Nima, I hope you're holding up. I heard there was an incident in the Falorka Sector, something about an ancient robotic army and a lost treasure? I'm not sure how Ahsoka and Obi-Wan manage to find these adventures. My missions tend to run together: sentients being terrible, rinse and repeat. You were nearby, but should be well out of the way of any harm, I hope. I wanted to ask you whether you'd been keeping up your sparring. More than that, whether you'd kept up the real practice, which can't involve simple Jedi duels, even though you've faced more force users than most have, but also…"
*******
Nima very carefully sipped the tea, settling back in her seat. She'd chosen a somewhat more bitter tea, primarily because it helped soothe cramps, and she was regretting it now as she looked at the Ikeneli Jedi, F'anr Tuli. Ikeneli were short--a little over a meter tall on average--and rotund by nature, their skin greyish-green and covered in visible veins. Tuli was an experienced diplomat, and a lovely teacher.
They were also sneaky, and so Nima kept on her guard, as she continued sipping the tea. It smelled far better than it tasted, truly. But it was good for her.
"So, Tyruti, what do you do or say if you don't know the cultural practices of a people you're having to negotiate with?"
Nima knew this answer, or thought she did. "Do you keep quiet and try to learn?"
"Close, but not quite," Tuli rasped, shaking their head back and forth in a very human gesture, considering the Ikeneli didn't truly have visible necks. "Sometimes there's not any time at all to learn. If so, the best thing to do is to humbly admit failings, but in a charming way. Show your desire to learn, let their ego and cultural pride swell as they show you what you need to know, and they'll often respect it far more than you'd think. Sometimes, fear of showing weakness is itself a weakness, Ms. Tyruti. This is a lesson that should come easily to Jedi, but I fear has not. We have made ourselves statues and pillars alike in the name of holding up the Republic, but pillars cannot be people, and a diplomat cannot be a pillar and be fully effective. It was… a trend, it is true, rather than an absolute."
"But you have to control trends," Nima said, repeating another common bit of wisdom. Jedi had so little control of all kinds of elements of their missions, but the practices the Jedi brought towards their mission were something they could influence. The Force was supposed to guide them, but when they weren't certain, Jedi tended to act on their training instead.
"Yes, and you have to not move. Do not move, enemies are entering the room. The negotiations have been interrupted, and they are here to kill me because they don't want to negotiate peace between the two warring tribes," Tuli said, voice entirely lacking in even faked distress, as Nima looked around carefully.
She'd feared this was coming. The room itself was relatively empty, other than the table, which wouldn't provide any real protection against blasters. She couldn't be sure, because often there was no such trick. She'd even been on a very minor diplomatic mission, confirming the details of a previously decided treaty, and that had included absolutely no fighting or danger at all. Nor were the training meetings always like this.
Instead, she said, "Get behind me, and… we should probably retreat. If the enemy thinks they can get past a Jedi, they might have reinforcements. Is this area safe? Are we liable to get reinforcements?"
"All good questions." There was a pause in Tuli's speech, as Nima waited for them to continue, and then sensed that they weren't going to.
Nima tensed, not sure if there was going to be an actual attack, or just the outlining of one. "Zir, then, as the diplomat negotiating with me, what do you feel about an incoming attack? Do you think we should retreat?"
"How could they ever dare to attack me! Those barbarians will surely run when they get a taste of hot blaster!" Tuli said, volume raised, but sounding no more interested than before. "I then dramatically draw a blaster and seem to insist on fighting them all myself, in the name of my tribe's pride and honor."
Nima stared for a moment, dumbfounded. "You… what?"
"Do you think I'm afraid of them?" Tuli asked. "Why would I be, I have a Jedi with me!"
"Okay, I tell you to get back, but to keep the blaster ready, and then I try to sense where they're coming from."
"You can't sense anything. Can't feel any emotions."
"Droids, then," Nima said, standing up and looking around the small cave they were using as a classroom. "Are there windows in this scenario?"
"Yes."
"I get away from the windows, and then… and then I prepare for wherever the attack is coming from."
"Hmm, is that so? How do you prepare?"
"Take my lightsabers out, and see what happens," Nima said, a little bit annoyed. What else was she supposed to do without knowing what was coming.
"You're frustrated, it seems." Tuli hopped out of their chair and waddled over towards the door. "But you're not providing bad answers. It is simply that you have to be ever vigilant of the dangers which you will face. These tests will continue, but the more you are prepared, the less stressful they will be."
"Right," Nima said, skeptically. She didn't sense any deception from Tuli, but fighting was always stressful, even when the Force was with her. She didn't think it was that unusual, and thought that probably those Jedi who seemed to find nourishment in conflict were walking a dangerous path.
"Either way, to continue what I was saying, culture is often something that those you are engaging in diplomacy with want to share, in limited ways, under their control."
Nima listened. Carefully.
******
Wherever Nima Tyruti was, she had some very common habits. Every day when she woke up, she stretched and then went on a jog, then a run, and then a jog and walk, making sure to stretch her legs and get both training in endurance and bursts of speed and energy. Then, every other day, she followed it up with a full workout.
This began with weights, which had increased a little bit, but involved all the careful contortions, making sure that she was training her body for the weights in a free and practical way, rather than fixed positions. She wasn't going to be deadlifting from a fixed position, she was going to be climbing carrying something heavy and delicate, or twisting her body as she tried to attack from a different angle.
At the end of the weight training, she'd usually, in part following her Master's guidance, spend a little time practicing sparring, though she did so more on her 'off' days. Then, at last, she'd go take a bath or shower. This was both for her--it relaxed her quite a bit--and for the rest of the world, since all of that workout worked up a sweat that made her feel rather gross and disgusting. Still, the exercise seemed to be working. She felt like she had more energy in general, and she seemed stronger, though it was hard to tell. It wasn't exactly something that came up in her everyday life.
All in all, she found it relaxing and meditative, in a way, despite any strain.
Nima did have to fight against momentary exercises in vanity, pointless though they were. She'd find herself idly thinking about whether Katarina would like to spar with her, or even appreciate her dedication to physical fitness… only to remind herself that Katarina did not feel that way about her, and that besides she shouldn't feel that way about Katarina.
She knew, of course, that Hannah was interested in her, and she had at least a crush on Hannah back, but that still couldn't happen anyways.
So, farewell to vanity, and hello to humility!
Maybe.
It was a work in progress.
The exercise was congenial, at any rate, especially at the new Temple. There was a pulse, a sort of beat in the Force that matched her heartbeat at rest, and so when she ran through the corridors of the caverns, she felt the lava beneath her, its warmth and power, both power deployed and power withheld.
There was a feeling, when something powerful didn't happen, that couldn't really be described in such a way not to seem absurd. But just because it was hard to understand, didn't mean it wasn't real.
Compared to that, her work with Seluku and Baqqanid was rather less restful. It was repetitive, but the kind that frustrated her. She'd hold her Shuhudaku dagger, and then throw it at the target, and hear the fifty different ways she was bad at it and might as well not have bothered. Not that either of them were cruel, but Nima was able to read in their statements the fact that she wasn't progressing as fast as they hoped.
She was able to hit a target. Usually. But she often threw it too hard or not hard enough, and her aim was entirely unsteady. In battle she'd thrown it successfully before, but outside of it her every movement felt clumsy.
In battle she couldn't necessarily rely on being perfectly in-tune with the Force. The Force would be with her, always, but she needed more than just that.
"It will come," Baqqanid said. "It is hardly our specialty either, so we are learning just as you are."
Nima nodded, and tried to not let her frustration with being told to wait and see. She'd been told that the whole time, but she was almost fourteen! She was part of a war for the survival of liberty and freedom in the galaxy, and had almost died a half-dozen times. There was a distinct lack of time, even though she was carefully separate.
"Okay, so, what do I need to do better?"
"You need to visualize your target, and throw in a single motion. You're hesitating, and you're breaking it down into steps. You cannot do that, it's just too sensible," Seluku said. "You want to make all of what you're doing natural, and the more you break it down, the more you think about it, and the less you do. Course, I just did stuff and hoped it worked, but you're trying to be an even better Rider than me. More like Baqqanid."
"Thank you for the compliment, but your perennial laziness is a lie," Baqqanid said. "A form of self-abasement that makes no sense."
"Hah, as if," Seluku replied.
*******
"A key is to continue the development of your own style. Jar'kai is a start, but you can't allow yourself to be held back by any one standard, not merely in combat but in life. I've had to learn again to be flexible, after a war in which I had to stand strong and steady against any attempt to change me. You should be willing to retreat, or even run away, and if you're learning to fight at a distance, or through Rider's hit-and-run tactics, then you need to be willing to do things differently. As such, I suggest that you train with as many different sorts of Jedi as possible, as well as combat droids. In fact, you should try to spar even with less skilled Jedi."
"Heck, here's a suggestion: spar with talented Padawans, with old Masters who normally don't put hand to lightsaber. Try to get an understanding of the wide variety of ways that lightsaber combat can and will break down."
"Moreover…"
*******
It was a beautiful night, but Nima could hardly enjoy it. She was dressed up in some of the strangest garb she'd ever worn. It wasn't quite a dress of any kind, but nor was it not a dress, and she truly didn't understand the fashion sense of the Chartisian culture, or their insistence on using dozens of types of cloth, wrappings, and so on in dizzying variety of colors. Still, it was the first major diplomatic event she'd been to, and so she was determined not to mess it up.
The Chartisian culture was famous for its respect for academic learning and, flowing from this, its mastery of both slicing and the creation of cryptography. If they joined the war, it would not provide the Coalition with anything they didn't already have, but it would provide means to keep the Republic from using such academics.
All of this led to a relatively small mission, entirely because most of the deal was already worked out. All Nima and Master Denia, an experienced and steady Jedi hand who normally would have been retired, but had been on Cato Neimodia when Order 66 came, had to do was manage not to offend anyone too badly at the celebratory meetings.
So of course, things went bad from the very start. First, Nima found herself ruing her initial decisions not to change clothing. Chartisians, who were a near-human species different mostly in the texture of their skin and its reaction to cold, lived on a planet where if it got over freezing, that was regarded as a rather balmy summer day. It was, in other words, in the middle of a dreadful ice age that would, sources predict, last another five thousand years or so.
She'd shivered the whole time, determined to stick to her Rider's gear, but wishing that it was a little less form fitting, skin-tight, and breathable. All of this made it very, very bad at keeping out the cold. Still, she'd managed to survive the three days of celebrations, and had avoided most of them because of her age. The Chartisians valued highly various drinking rituals which, of course, children would never have been subjected to. She'd only be required to be present for the signing--in which she had stood quietly in a corner until the time had come to applaud, at which point she had done so with the appropriate level of enthusiasm.
It wasn't much of an education, to be honest. She wasn't learning much more about diplomacy as it was done, even if she did get a chance to see what the aftermath of successful diplomacy looked like.
Nobody paid her much mind, and she was fine with that, especially considering she was trying desperately to finish writing something. She'd been continuing in her study of Old Coruscanti, and more than that the influence of the Rakata on the language that eventually became Basic. The machines and computers had confirmed, apparently, her speculations as to some of the phrases, glyphs and so on that were a heritage at the time of Rakatan language.
This had real implications, at least according to some of the historians and linguists that had sent her feedback about her writing. She'd basically ignored all the carefully worded critiques of her writing style. She was used to them, and she'd try her best to fix it, but she just wasn't much of a writer. What they had noticed was that speculation about the division of the Rakata had been tied up in the Liberation War Thesis, the idea that any similarities between languages had to do with the collapse of the Rakata, and Coruscanti explorers spreading their language. It was claimed that the Rakata actually had several different languages, and that the extent and scope of their Empire had been overstated, and the extent to which the "Liberation War" and the fall of the Eternal Empire had begun the union of the galaxy understated.
Except, of course, Old Coruscanti had none of the features required to fit this Thesis, which had been based more on a lack of knowledge than any specific evidence other than a tradition of, well, liberation myths. Nima honestly, when she'd been told, had scrunched up her face and sighed, since it seemed such a human thing to do, to assume that no liberation war could be fought unless it was the humans helping to liberate the galaxy.
Though apparently it was popular not just among humans, but by those attempting to construct greater precursors for the Republic than the mercantile societies that had seemingly been the real pre-Republic structures that had been built on. What is free, or even particularly democratic, about planets agreeing to regulate some small matters of trade via an association that could even… in the middle of the Clone Wars, be described as 'federation of trade'?
So, there had to be a different origin, or at least the distant memory of a different origin, if galactic unity was--apparently--to mean anything.
And then Nima came along. Others were rephrasing her insights and citing her clumsy but properly cited papers in this matter, at least, and taking it to their actual natural conclusions.
It was a controversy, and here she was, on a planet famous for its academics, where University Presidents sent representatives to a central committee that decided all activity on the planet. Still, the odds that it would come up seemed remarkably low.
She was cheating to even figure that much out, of course, since she hadn't come by it by careful analysis, but from just being straight-up told something wasn't true. Seluku had been skeptical of the entire idea that Coruscant, past, present, or future, could save the galaxy from anything.
Baqqanid hadn't believed it immediately absurd, but agreed that the lack of evidence, and the evidence against it, was telling.
All of this had led to her dressing up in a blue, white, and green...robe, perhaps... with a tall, hard back that kept her from being able to see behind her no matter what, and a crazy-quilt of sewn-on parts onto the dress that made it feel like she'd draped herself in the entire contents of someone's wardrobe than anything else.
She couldn't even blame it on her size, since apparently for those who were adults, the amount of material was that much greater. Nima couldn't run, heck she couldn't have jogged to save her life, and it made her feel intensely hot, though the party was not going to have heat.
The party space, the Fertizkaf as it was called, was a vast hall carefully designed around stations of activity and interest, with lighted paths between them. It was considered the highest insult to step on the 'dark' areas of the room until towards the end, when the whole place was opened up to the, supposedly usually inebriated, free mingling of people. She'd be excused at that point, as would the rest of the Jedi. It was cold, of course, at least in theory. Even with the clothing, it was still a little chilly, because the garb didn't seem designed for heat except as an accident.
She made her way down one of the lighted paths, having been dismissed by the even more uncomfortable Jedi Master. She didn't show it, but Nima could sense Master Denia's unease. She could sense plenty of unease, jealousy, and even spite in this entire gathering, despite its supposedly celebratory nature. It wasn't that there wasn't happiness, but that the petty emotions stood out, like chunks of gristle in a fine pie.
The only good news was that everyone was dressed equally absurdly, and so she just looked for where the non-alcoholic drinks were. They were, thankfully, in a different square of light from the alcohol, for ease of access and avoidance of confusion. She was just drinking a rather bitter punch when she felt the approaching sentient.
He was focused on her, she could sense it, and was a Chartisian with a ridged brow and dark, piercing eyes that fit with his elaborate silver-and-white dress. The clothing she wore was apparently unisex, with only minor differences in the weave of the clothing telling apart the four most socially accepted Chartisian genders. He was tall, and he felt solid in the Force, the kind of person who barreled over others, though from his flab probably not physically. Though who knew, Chartisians, perhaps because of the icy cold of their planet, tended towards stoutness even when they were strong or athletic.
"Are you Neyma Tyruti?"
"Nima'tyruti, yes," Nima said. "It is good to meet you…" Nima trailed off, waiting for an introduction.
"Mr. Cael Rodes, Professor of History at Alrlbelg University. I study the origin of the Republic, and I would like to talk to you regarding your accusations and articles." He said it all quickly, as if he was rushing an armed blaster-post.
"O-of course," Nima said, a little nervously. "This isn't the time or place for a full debate, but I'm always happy to talk about my studies." She had to be, since to refuse a discussion of one's academic interests was a sort of laughable rudeness.
"I feel as if your footnotes are not entirely serious: A ghost told me this in a dream, one of them reads."
"I said that a ghost told it to me after I asked him about a dream," Nima said, though her face was hot. "Interviewing a primary source has always been acceptable, and I apologize if I cited it poorly. If you doubt the existence of Seluku and Baqqanid I could arrange a meeting."
"I don't… particularly," he admits. "I'm sure you're truthful, to the best of your knowledge. You're a Jedi. However, they don't speak Basic, do they?"
"They're learning, but not in full, no," Nima admitted, feeling a little uneasy. Attention was starting to grow, and people passing through were stopping, circling.
Academic arguments were common entertainment among a certain class of Chartisian. Nima had seen hints that a large percentage of the Chartisian populace lived in highly unequal circumstances. But among the sorts of people who would have gotten an invitation to a hall like this… they were all interested in these sorts of things.
"You've studied Old Coruscanti, as you label it, for under several years? I've been studying the Jedi ability to learn new languages. It's quite impressive, but it is hardly perfect, and with only two examples to draw on the language, how do you separate individual differences from specifics?"
Nima was taken aback. It wasn't that she hadn't expected and thought through some of these arguments. She even had a response, but a part of her had imagined the criticisms less well thought out. It was foolish, a sort of arrogance, and so Nima nodded, as she was required to do by the rules of debate. "This is a good point, but I did ask Seluku about differences in his speech, and Baqqanid spent his young life as an upper class student. I… er, thought that considering the inequalities present, academic or literary Old Coruscanti was probably more similar to Baqqanid than Seluku's. I did ask them about other subcultures, but nothing fit with your thesis, if you're arguing about Coruscanti spreading to other planets."
"And language stays the same across the entire occupation, and anything that changes is a clear result of the Rakatan, and not other factors?" the professor asked.
Nima took a deep breath. "I can't say that for sure, but if you view the Eternal Empire's fall as so important, then why not their rule?"
"Perhaps, perhaps," Mr. Rodes said absently. "It still seems like there's a lot of assumptions going into this."
"It's evidence, not absolute proof. We don't have anyone who was alive throughout the entire period. Most of the sources were destroyed before or after the time of Revan," Nima said. They'd known quite a bit more about the history of the Rakatan Empire back then, but what had survived--according to the experts she asked--was mostly the general narrative. Neither Revan nor any of the scholars at the time had been particularly interested in linguistic developments. She didn't know how to feel about them, honestly, so she preferred not to consider the distant past before she'd met the ghosts.
"This is true."
Whew.
"But, have you considered…"
Ah.
"The possibility that the upper and elite classes that spoke in that way were overthrown during the fall of the Rakatan Empire? Thus a group rose with linguistic patterns that differed from the norm overthrew the old elite and became a new elite. We can't be sure of it, but we do know that there were at least several changes in the nature of the elites during early Coruscanti History during the Republic period, and…"
She listened, and then she responded, a little outraged by the dodge into ancient speculation. Then he returned fire, and she stood there, frustrated and uncertain, and trying to figure out how to argue against someone who was clearly smarter than her in his field, but who was also using that intelligence to make arguments that just didn't quite make sense.
Still, she managed to mostly keep her cool, though she didn't have a lot of strong arguments for some of them except that she'd seen no indication of that at the time, and it didn't make sense to her. She did manage to talk a bit about Old Coruscanti, but by the end of the debate, when a crowd had gathered to press around at her on all sides, she was glad when she felt Master Denia coming.
"Ah, Nima'tyruti, you're needed to attend the lecture near the front about the value of this treaty," Master Denia said. Her grey hair seemed even paler against the colorful garb she too was forced to wear.
"Ah, is that so?" Nima asked, turning to him. "Could you send me a message about any further arguments?"
"Of course, of course. It was interesting to talk to you. You're bright for your age, and I would encourage you to continue studying linguistics," he said. There was perhaps a little condescension there, but Nima could feel that he'd been impressed as well. She nodded sagely at him, in the most Chartesian manner she could.
"Thank you for the discussion," Nima said, though in truth she was now sweating rather heavily. It was hidden by the clothing, at least, but it had been rather stressful. She managed to keep her voice light and thoughtful, though, so she was pretty sure he at least accepted her polite fiction. "I learned much from it."
He nodded, and they parted ways. Once they were out of hearing, Denia said, "It seemed like you needed a hand."
"Thank you, Master. The discussion was interesting, but it was starting to wear on me. I didn't expect it," she confessed. "But I hope I acted acceptably."
"Yes, you did. These things happen. You have to be ready and willing to provide the answers needed," Denia said, her voice soft. "Remind me to give you a crash course on the way to Exus Station." Exus Station, of course, being the transportation hub they'd traveled through to reach the Chartisians.
"I will, Master Denia."
******
So there they were, two days later, in clothing more comfortable for both of them.
"So, the first and highest rule is simple: follow the emotions. If you're trying to negotiate between two sentient factions, and you don't understand, you should of course try to understand. But in the case of tariffs, or taxation, you will find that most of the sentients involved don't fully understand either," Denia said, with a single raised brow. "If you understand?"
"I don't understand taxes, so we'd be in the same place," Nima confessed. She wasn't terrible at math, of course, but taxation involved all sorts of categories and considerations that bored her.
"Yes, so feel out what they think about a particular deal. Then understand where they are coming from. This is the secret to dealing with a thousand things you don't know about, if you cannot learn about them in time. You reduce it down to the concerns of the sentients involved. You don't cut deals that would hurt sentients, and if you're trying to negotiate a compromise and one party is miserable and the other happy, that means you should consider more deeply why it's troubling them."
"Sometimes it's because one side is at fault," Nima argued.
"Yes, but you can never know that for sure," Master Denia said. "Even when you sympathize with one side, you should remember the limits Jedi and diplomats operate under. You cannot force others to accept a deal, and if you do and don't have a way to enforce it, they will wait for you to leave and then undo it."
Nima nodded, though she thought about how Bell got around those restrictions and problems. Then again, that was part of why he wasn't a diplomat. He didn't get involved in situations where negotiation of that sort was likely. Nima bit her lip, "And what about specific scenarios? It's one thing to think about diplomatic missions in general, but…"
"I'm glad you asked. You're learning. So first, consider you suddenly meet a diplomat on the other side of the issue--"
******
"Oh," Ahsoka said, with almost believable surprise. "Nima, I didn't know you'd be here." She'd bumped into Nima, literally, despite being a trained Jedi. Nima hadn't dodged because she'd been sure that Ahsoka would not run into her. She'd been wrong, as it turned out.
"You didn't?" Nima asked, looking around the not that crowded space station. They were in a concourse with only a few dozen other sentients, most of whom were playing the tourist by looking out the viewports.
"Okay, maybe I saw you and didn't want to… I dunno," Ahsoka said, with a shrug. That shrug seemed like all the answer Nima was going to get, honestly.
"Are you alright?"
"Scout told me some of what happened on Kamino, but I don't… know." Ahsoka shrugged, and grinned. "So, Nima, what are you up to?"
Nima wanted to analyze exactly what Ahsoka meant, but she also knew that this desire wasn't particularly healthy. She wasn't a Mind-Healer, she was a friend. "Well, we just had a diplomatic mission to the Chartisians, where are you coming from?"
"Space pirate infestations.; They tried to take me captive," Ahsoka said. "It ended badly for them, and we managed to salvage some of their ships. We might be able to use them in the war." She gestured broadly. "We have to use something."
"We do," Nima said, trying to figure out what was really bothering her. "Do you want to get something to eat? I don't have to leave for a few hours."
"Of course," Ahsoka said.
******
"So, Scout's been well, I guess, but she's so busy nowadays," Ahsoka said. "Everyone is. I've only been in the capital a day in the last few months. I haven't even really seen Lux much, but it feels kind of petty, you know? I'm an active Jedi, and there's plenty of adventures to be had." Ahsoka muttered 'adventures' to herself, before looking up from her fried vegetables and sauce, to where Nima was delicately trying to eat meat on a stick. "Oh, sorry, I've been dominating the conversation."
"I like listening, and you're doing good work out there. That's what you need to focus on, if you're ever worried," Nima said. "You're not being petty, complaining a bit to a friend in between risking your life for others."
The more Nima listened to Ahsoka, the more she felt it must be guilt that she wasn't doing more, and perhaps… the way she said 'adventures' made Nima think about how all of Ahsoka's life and death situations had been made to seem like something from an… an adventure holovid.
"Yeah, but sometimes it's… almost fun," Ahsoka finally confessed. "Not always, but Anakin always made it feel like sometimes it could be a game. But he fell to the Dark Side, and so I shouldn't be imitating him. But whenever I try to treat it as something serious and miserable, it just makes it harder."
Nima blinked slowly, thinking that through. It was fun for her? The risk, the danger? That truly was unnerving, but at the same time... "Almost fun? It's okay, as long as you don't revel in the destruction, the violence. But if sometimes it feels a little like an adventure, that's okay. Anakin had a lot of things wrong with him, you know. You won't fall just because of that. You won't fall at all, as long as you trust the Force and seek out your friends, y'know? I don't know where I'd be if I didn't ask for help."
"Right, right," Ahsoka said, as much to herself as Nima. "You know what we should do, if we have time?"
"What?"
"Spar! I've heard you've been in diplomatics for weeks, we wouldn't want you to lose your edge," Ahsoka said. "How about it?"
"I am eating," Nima pointed out. "But… sure. I wasn't that hungry anyways."
This was a bit of a lie, but ah well.
What could it hurt?
******
As soon as Nima returned to the Temple, she redoubled her training. She hadn't done that badly, really, and she'd lost none of her skills, but the spars with Ahsoka reminded her of just how much she had to learn.
She had noticed a few things from fighting such an overwhelmingly powerful opponent that she hadn't noticed before. First, while it was nothing compared to the power of the Force, her greater strength and stamina paid off in at least prolonging the fight, and keeping Ahsoka from winning quite as quickly. In the end, Ahsoka was physically stronger than her, and was more in tune with the Force when it came to enhancing her strength anyways. But it required more effort than it would have three or four months ago.
So she definitely should keep that up. So she did. She had at least a little of downtime before her next mission, though it was unlikely to be all that serious.
So she trained until her muscles ached and sweat rolled down her body, and then she kept it up.
She was finally almost approaching adequacy at knife-throwing when she was interrupted.
"There, that made it! It's progress," Baqqanid said.
"Of course, if you're going to have to ask your enemy to stay still, that really doesn't work," Seluku said, offhand. "But it's a step forward!"
Nima opened her mouth to respond, only to hear the chime of her holopad, which was sitting in the corner. Ah, an incoming message?
She sprinted over to the holopad before it went to automated message, and activated it after quickly wiping the sweat from her brow. She'd just have to manage.
She clicked 'accept' without looking at who it was. If they were getting through to her here, they'd already gotten clearance.
"Oh, I seem that we've caught you at a bad time," Hannah said. Hannah was certainly not sweaty. In fact, her blue-green hair was tied back in a somewhat elaborate style that made Nima assume she'd just come from some sort of function. It drew more attention to her face, compared to the usual mass, and attention away from her Padawan braid, which was now just one of many.
Nima refocused and said, "No, just finished exercising." She heard a sound of dismay from Baqqanid, who had another ten minutes of exercise planned. But she was done now, that was for sure. "Wait, we?"
Hannah shifted her head aside, and moved her recorder, to show that Katarina was there. Katarina's dark eyes seemed to stare right through Nima, though she at least didn't look particularly fancy, the same expressive, long face as ever, the same eyes--
Gah.
"So, you two wound up in the same place?"
"Yep! I had a diplomatic mission, a real snoozer, and Katarina and her Master just finished a hard mission, did she tell you about--"
"Blinma, yes." Nima had, a week and a half ago, had tea with Katarina and talked about philosophy. It'd been rather relaxing, though not particularly memorable. But Blinma had been mentioned, and even the most unmemorable interactions with Katarina (and Hannah) stuck in her lekku. Hannah, she'd seen briefly two weeks ago. They'd had lunch together, and Hannah had talked a little about what she was learning about diplomacy, and they'd compared notes.
Hannah hadn't had this new hairstyle at the time, but clearly something had changed in the meantime.
"So her Master decided to tag along on this mission, to help teach Katarina, I dunno, something about non-violence? I don't really get it," Hannah admitted, with a smirk. "She's better at rejecting violence than I am. It's just that she's better at actually fighting people as a warrior philosopher."
"Hannah… this is perhaps true, but if you wanted to learn, I could teach you," Katarina said.
Nima froze, a weird sort of jealousy washing over her. "Oh? I'm g-glad you're getting along, I'm sorry my path hasn't crossed much with either of you. I barely have time when I'm in the Temple, though I did get lunch with Ayguin." She'd also gone to another therapy session, and the group therapy, where she'd mostly listened to how hard a lot of Jedi had it. She agreed, but she was also in a better place for the moment.
"We miss you too," Hannah said.
Katarina hesitated before saying, "I agree. Nima, I wish I could see you more often. You mean a lot to me, and are my best friend, and I apologize if I don't say it enough."
"Wahh," Hannah said. "I feel slighted! I'm not your best friend?"
"No, you are not. But you are my friend. As you know." Katarina was smiling now, the kind of smile that Nima actually wanted to get out of Katarina. She wished she could feel Katarina's emotions in the moment and understand them. But through the screen, she couldn't always tell what everyone was feeling to the same extent.
"I do know, that's true. So, Nima, you just got out of exercising, so what are you learning there?" Hannah asked. "I could tell last time that you looked stronger. Er, as a Jedi." Hannah stumbled over her words. "Not that you did not also look stronger."
"Your heart seemed more whole the last occasion we met, and I really want nothing more than that," Katarina chimed in. "But your training is interesting."
Nima found herself spacing out for a moment, flustered at Katarina's concern and for that matter, the flustered way Hannah was reacting to Nima's new exercise routines… or something.
"Well, I've been practicing throwing the Shuhudaku dagger, and I'm finally starting to get better. But I also did plenty of running and weightlifting."
"Ah. That's good. I haven't really, uh, been exercising much," Hannah admitted. "Katarina, of course, could lift both of us."
"I could not. Perhaps just one of you," Katarina protested. Then, she smiled and said, "Hopefully one of you."
"Listen, just because I complained about a little extra weight…"
Nima blinked. "What happened?"
"I ate a little too much at a diplomatic function, and combined with the indolent nature of the last few assignments, I've gained almost a kilogram," Hannah said. "But I intend to work it off, when the time is right."
"When will it be right?" Nima asked. "Won't you always have your diplomacy, or political philosophy?"
"Are you offering to continue the three person workout routine we enjoyed so a while back?" Hannah asked, with a teasing wink.
"I-of course, if we have time. Which we probably won't. Still, if we cross paths, perhaps we could do something like that. I sparred with Ahsoka a few days ago."
"How was she? As sharp as ever?" Katarina asked. "I would like a rematch with her, actually."
"I can get you in touch," Nima promised, glad to be able to be of some assistance to Katarina, and glad to find a way to get away from thinking about… everything.
"Well, that's good," Katarina said. "I was wanting to ask you if you'd learned anything about the philosophy of decision-making from your lessons. I've been wanting to talk about that."
"How fascinating," Hannah said, with absolutely no sarcasm evident at all. "I've been looking into that, but I don't really have any free time. Herdrik has some interesting thoughts about the question of how we make decisions, but he also ignores the Force entirely."
"They always do," Katarina said, with another fond smile towards Hannah.
Jealous? No, Nima had never been jealous in her life, and even if she was jealous, she shouldn't be. So she wasn't.
Still, it would be nice to be able to hang out with both of them for more than a few hours a month. It'd be nice to see just what they truly meant about a lot of the philosophical talk. It'd be nice to help Hannah keep in shape, and spar with Katarina, and…
"You're frowning, Nima," Katarina said, voice quiet.
"Oh, sorry. I was thinking, but I should be mindful of the present," Nima said, nodding and centering herself and her thoughts. "You say the mission is boring, but there are always stories to tell even about boring missions. So tell me about that…"
"Well, it is a beautiful landscape, though it is quite cold," Katarina said. "I want to go for a walk through the glacial peaks. But I'm pretty sure you would be adverse to joining me there."
"Yeah, but you should do it if you want to. Your Master can't insist that there's not time," Nima said. "If the peaks are culturally valued, you'd even be doing your job."
"We're negotiating tariff rights," Hannah said, with a long, weary sigh.
"Is it going well?" Nima asked. "Is everyone involved satisfied with them?"
"Maybe, I don't know," Hannah said. "I don't read people like you do, but they're moving towards actually signing the stupid treaty, so I guess?"
"That sounds like a good sign," Nima said, nodding. "Can you tell me any more about the people, the culture?"
"Well, I suppose so," Hannah drawled. "But only if Katarina helps."
"Oh, of course," Katarina said nodding.
By the time the conversation was done, the sweat had long since dried, and it was well past lunchtime, and in fact on the way to dinnertime.
She'd hold it close to her, in the future, these moments.
She'd need them in times of disaster.
******
This was a disaster. This was the wreckage of everything! She carefully kept a straight face, and tried to understand how this could happen.
"So, Mala'tyruti, it is good to meet you," Darrin Arkanian, a Sullustian Jedi Master, said, "You're the representative of the group in charge of the creation of standards for labor negotiations?"
Nima's own mother stood there in a crisp suit, baby weight noticeable but ignored, and gave a sort of shrug-nod with her lekku. "I'm the one they chose to help represent the decisions of a very ad-hoc body. The standards we have drawn up are, we hope, acceptable to you."
"What is your exact role?" Master Arkanian asked. The Sullustan wore traditional Jedi robes, but had on a Sullustan skullcap. "Or position, rather."
Mala Tyruti walked around the table as she answered. "I'm currently a project manager, which is to say I focus on the organizational and bureaucratic side of things. I'm partially on leave right now, thanks to having just had a child, but I assume I'll be assigned more permanently. So, we've decided on a strategy to work with the various unions, but we have to create a policy for wildcat strikes."
"The Jedi Order will not, according to a decision by the High Council, act to interfere in any way with strikes, even ones illegal under any bargain made. However justified the government thinks it is, it is not our job," Master Arkanian said, with a nod. "This is a hard line."
"Yes, of course. We didn't expect you to, but we were wondering what your position is on being mediators in case of any such disagreements. Internal diplomacy is diplomacy, after all," Mala Tyruti said, with a warm, if practiced, smile.
"Well, actually, if you do not mind, Padawan Tyruti has studied this issue extensively. As a test, I'd like her to outline this position, and then we can get into further discussion."
"I'm sure that she will do an amazing job," Mala said, tone still level and professional, but eyes slightly misty. Nima could feel the pride coming off of her in waves, and this only served to fluster Nima further.
"I-er yes. We're willing to serve as negotiation staff, but we also want to keep our options open. Put simply, the Jedi Order is in its composition an allied government of the Coalition, for legal purposes. Many such unions are intergalactic bodies just as we are, so we do not want you to assume that we will act as negotiators for the government. It may well be that a union requests that we talk to you, rather than you simply requesting that we talk to them." Nima said it hesitantly, stopping and starting because she could see and feel her mother's smile at her words. "Thus, it is the Order's position that we cannot make commitments to any particular intervention regime. But we could work to put procedures in place for such requests. It's outlined in documents we are sending you."
"Ah, that all makes sense," Mala said, her lekku indicating, 'Good Job, Nima.'
Master Arkanian could in fact read lekku at least a little bit, and from the amusement spreading through him, he'd noticed it.
Nima was blushing, and she stumbled through the rest of the meeting. Once it was done, she went to use the restroom.
It wasn't that Mala Tyruti ambushed her, since that wasn't really possible. But she allowed Mala to catch up to her. "Ah, Nima. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, I didn't actually know that you'd be there. It was a welcome surprise, though."
"I didn't know you were back to working, even part time."
"I want to keep in, show that I can play a role. We'll really see what happens," Mala said, softly.
"I really do hope it goes well. It's not that far from your new apartment," Nima commented. "So it must not have been a long journey."
"Yeah, so I should be able to be back in time for breastfeeding."
Nima shook her head, "Mom, I…"
"Don't want to hear about that, I know." Mala Tyruti quirked a lekku in the equivalent of a shrug and said. "So, has diplomatic work been treating you well?"
"Mostly, yes, but there was an incident, actually."
"Please, tell me about it," Mala said, clearly eager to hear from her.
Well… it began like this.
Of all the minor missions she had, one stood out as particularly challenging, though not potentially lethal. Which one did she take part in?
[] The Nightmares of Count Nives: The symbolic Count of Jaxxor is old, ailing, and now having nightmares. He has called together representatives of both the Republic and Coalition, being a neutral system considering changing sides, to decide his succession and the path of his country. He doesn't have direct power, but he's a figure of great religious and cultural cachet. The Republic sends a delegation… and Nylirah is on it, so Nima will have a chance to confront her once more.
[] Ill met by Sun-Moonlight: An eclipse is coming, and a very important one at that, for the people of the Fize, a planet of little importance itself, but near the front lines in the 'southern' part of the Mid-Rim. Observing this ritual is important, but something strange is happening with the solar events, something that doesn't quite make sense.
[] Contract With The Enemy: The planet of Isi-97 is a weird player in the Confederate of Independent Systems Civil War, a breakoff of a breakoff, currently in unstable situation. They're reaching out to the Coalition, at least at the moment, and they want to discuss a deal, trading some of their resources for neutrality or some sort of escape from the violence. Of course, the Republic is noticing this as well, and the complicated corporate structure of Palpatine's machinations comes into play...
******
A/N: So, please read this! These are a new form of mini-mission. I can promise you that, at least for this set, Nima's life will not be in danger. Failure will be possible, and incomplete success will be likely.
They will be between two and four updates, ideally. These are not entire 12-15 update monstrosities, but instead a brief exploration.
Then we spit you out to plan voting again, have another such mission, and it continues until… well, you'll see.