"You certainly aren't pulling any punches. I thought the most people asked lighter questions over tea." said Obi-wan, pausing to take a sip of his steaming beverage.
"Well I'm certainly not most people." Ciaran shot back with a smile. "But you're right. I should inquire as to one of your numerous hobbies. Tell me Obi-wan, have you learned any new types of meditation recently?"
"Actually, Master Kit Fisto recently returned from Mon Cala, where he picked up a rather peculiar form of meditation. It's difficult to replicate without fully submersing yourself in water, but apparently it's helped him become closer to the Force than ever before. I've been meaning to try it once I find the time and…" Obi-wan trailed off, his gaze turning to Ciaran and narrowing. "…and you're being sarcastic, aren't you?"
"I was." Ciaran readily admitted. "Honestly, the fact that you couldn't tell right away and actually had a story about a new type of meditation is a little sad. You need a pet or something. Surely the Jedi Council couldn't object to a Goldie."
"Many Jedi actually do keep Goldies. They add a tranquility to their surroundings that can only come from another living being."
"Fascinating, really, but you're not dodging my question that easily." said Ciaran, smirking a bit as Obi-wan's face fell. "What is required for peace?"
Obi-wan thought for a moment, stroking his beard. After a minute or so, the Jedi gave a heavy sigh. "There's a Mandolorian saying: If you desire peace, prepare for war. Perhaps the war has made a cynic out of me, but there is truth to that. Peace is a delicate balance, where each faction is strong enough to dissuade the others, but not so strong as to crush their rivals. And the larger the scale, the more delicate the balance."
"Wrong." said Ciaran through a mouth of pastry.
"I beg your pardon?"
Ciaran swallowed. "You're wrong. Peace is simple. The execution is difficult, but the requirements are as simple as they come."
"As someone who's been fighting a war, I humbly disagree." snarked Obi-wan.
"Au contraire." said Ciaran, wagging a finger. "Look at it from another perspective. What is needed for war?"
"Precious little, I'm afraid." mumbled Obi-wan before speaking up. "Two or more factions that cannot come to an agreement, if you want to generalize."
"I do." nodded Ciaran. "And the Jedi have been running around the Galaxy since time immemorial preventing wars by helping people reach agreement, correct?"
"Do my ears deceive me?" asked Obi-wan, voice filled with mock surprise. "It's rare to hear you of all people praising the Jedi Order."
"Don't get used to it." said Ciaran quickly before returning to her point. "Besides, my point was that the Jedi have been doing it wrong. You've been putting out fires, when you should be confiscating matches. Answer me this," Ciaran paused, leaning forward dramatically. "if there was only one group, who would it go to war with?"
"Need I remind you the galaxy is currently embroiled in a Civil War?" said Obi-wan, clearly not impressed by Ciaran's logic. "It's perfectly possible for a single entity to go to war with itself, even if the Republic were restored."
"First of all, this Civil War was engineered by a Sith Lord to amass power. I hardly think it counts. Secondly, Civil War is a result of executive failure. I'd say I've done a good enough job satisfying everyone."
"Wait a second, you're talking about yourself? You plan to conquer the galaxy?" If Obi-wan weren't so used to Ciaran's ego, he might have been reaching for his lightsaber.
"Conquer has a lot of connotations I'm not a fan of, but in essence, yes. I've always wanted to own the galaxy." title dropped Ciaran. "The galactic peace thing has always just been a bonus."
AN: Ha! More support for your quest! That'll show you to… not canonize my omakes. Wait a second…
The books are all up to date for the grand finale of Turn 29. They are not prepped for Turn 30 planning, but at least you all can see the numbers we have going in.
Organized crime is easy to infiltrate. Large groups up to no good can't turn their noses up at warm bodies willing to break the law. Unfortunately, warm bodies don't get sensitive information. If you want at the good stuff, you need to enter high, and more often than not, that means approaching the right person.
"Another round for my friend Galvin here!" I shout to the bartender as I sit down next to the cousin of the head of the largest crime syndicate in the galaxy.
"Now don't let anyone say I've ever turned down a free drink, but I don't think I know you." The best way to a Zeltron's heart was through alcohol. It wouldn't make you bosom buddies, but it would make sure they heard you out.
"Of course you don't know me, we've never met. I have some services that might be useful to you." I said, keeping things vague and quiet, laughing as the bartender refilled Galvin's drink. Bars were great for meeting people, but bad for discussing espionage.
"If you're looking to work together on a job, I'm sorry to say I've just finished one. Not looking for another score anytime soon." Galvin took a sip from his drink. "Flattered though."
"Well maybe you aren't looking for someone, but maybe your cousin is." It's always risky showing a target what you knew, but sometimes it's necessary to learn more.
"I got a lot of cousins pal, you're gonna have to be more specific." Galvin gives me a long, hard stare. "You aren't one of my cousins by any chance, are you?"
"Pretty sure I'm not one of your cousins." I pause to take a sip from my drink. Not enough to get tipsy, but lengthy enough for him to respond. When he doesn't, I continue. "And I think we know which of your cousins would value discretion and talent."
Zeltron are rarely subdued. There wasn't much between party animal and berserker. Honestly, I was impressed Galvin even managed a few second of serious silence before responding. "I'm not the guy to talk to about this sort of thing."
"No, you're exactly the guy to talk to. I don't have the time to cut through all the bureaucracy and red tape." Half of getting in with an asset was buttering them up and making them feel important. "I have the kind of skills that are wasted anywhere other than the top." The other half was making you feel important to them.
"And what skills are those?" Galvin shook his head a bit. "No, scratch that. Who are you in the first place?"
Choosing a cover always runs the risk that you'll be found out. No false documents are perfect, no backstory is airtight, no number of associates vouching for you will cover up the fact that you don't actually exist if someone is willing to look deep enough. And if anyone is willing to look deep enough, it's the head of an intergalactic criminal organization vetting someone for the inner circle. Of course, there's always one cover that is unassailable.
AN: So I maybe watched 4 seasons of Burn Notice in the past month. Now, I'm not saying we need to recruit Michael Westen, but I do want to recruit Michael Westen. Because this is exactly the kind of shenanigans we need more of.
Xana Ordo traded a disbelieving glance to apparently the only other remotely rational being in the room before Rokwurro turned back to Commander Epsken.
"Rarcwo rooohu ahwhcrawhwo?" The Wookie incredulously queried.
Epsken appeared to think about it for half a second and then raised his left hand with his thumb and index finger a short distance apart. A good number of the squad grinned in amusement, with Sarrin letting loose a booming laugh followed with a "She's got you there, Kal!"
"Sir, I think you have a problem with your brain being missing." Xana stated deadpan in response.
"I surely do." Was his infuriating answer, causing Shir and Neal to break out in giggles. He waited for them to stop before looking at Xana and Rock with a raised brow ridge. "Other than my sadly terminal case of void induced madness, what seems to be the issue?"
It took considerable willpower, but Xana managed to not throw her arms up in exasperation or to strangle her superior. Both sounded good right now, though. "Just about everything, Sir. This plan is infeasible, not to mention more than likely suicidal!" She ground out.
The Sluissi traded both the Wookiee and her a look that reminded her of when her father was humoring all of her questions as he trained her the ways of the the hunt; a calm patience born of hard worn experience."Okay, that's fair." He replied evenly before looking to the the Alderaanian medic. "Doc, you see any issues from your end?"
Doctor Ors ran a hand through his bushy beard idly in thought. "Not really. With the shields active it will be at most uncomfortably warm for a couple of minutes during reentry; but the armor will easily ablate it. Between our grav chutes and repulsor packs, getting to ground once in atmo is a non issue."
Epsken held up a silencing finger at Xana before she could interject and turned to Mussaboon who was gesticulating wildly as she privately conversed with Oki. "Oi, Mussa!"
The Gungan span to face her commander, nearly smacking her Clawdite friend in the face with one of her ears if she hadn't of ducked to the side with practiced familiarity. "Yesa boss?"
"The shield will hold long enough to get us through?" He queried.
"Yeppers! Witda the powah generator spliced in the shields will be super bombad." She nodded enthusiastically.
Moxxi broke in shortly afterwards with her programmed sultry tone "I'll have some alone time to interface with the generator controls and make sure those those shields will stay up for a good, long time before they go down. Nobody likes the consequences when their protection fails, after all."
Epsken coughed into his fist. "Yes. Does that ease your concerns, Xana?"
"It does somewhat, Sir. I still have qualms about you plan on dealing with the base." The Mandalorian woman admitted as she subconsciously scooted a bit farther away from the droid.
"I hate to ever admit this, but we're not packing enough explosives to take down the base. So this is the best chance of killing two gizka with one rock. Al'lid, you're absolutely positive this will have enough yield to crack the base?" Epsken asked the Verpine sitting next to him.
"Yezz. By an order of magnitude, at leazt. We will be enhanzing the yield by uzing our ztock of thermal detonatorzz. Thizz would not work normally; but the reactor model uzezz a baradium jacket to zhield the core, enzuring a runaway zupercritcal reaction when it izz breached on impact." The verpines' words had an slight buzzing reverb to them.
Epsken then jacked a thumb behind him at the Correlian in the room. "The last part of this plan requires crashing intentionally, so I think Olvia has that more than covered."
"Bite me, o fearless leader." She shot back without any real heat along with a crude hand gesture.
"Pass. You mammals always taste horrible." The Slussi snarked, his tongue flicking rapidly at the pilot from between his fangs.
Xana cleared her throat to interrupt.
"Anyways, back on track. Issa will be patch into the station-keeping thrusters, and then from there we'll jury rig up a kit bashed control system so that Olvia can 'pilot' it." He emphasized the word pilot with air quotes. Anyways, I figured you'd probably be up for recreating what your ancestors did back during the Mandalorian wars. We unfortunately don't have a basilisk war droid laying around, so sadly we are forced to improvise."
Xana sighed before looking over to Rock to see if she was okay with this. The svelte Wookiee nodded back at her. "Fine. We're in."
"Excellent. Glad you're both on board. I want you supervising the others while I try to give Cünuel an ulcer and pester Dani into helping." The commander ordered before slithering off to the cockpit.
The Oracle, CIC
Cünuel Barnas paced back and forth as he supervised the combat information center aboard The Oracle, keeping everyone with up to date information during the battle for Kalee. Space superiority was still being contested with the CIS having broken through to begin planetary assault with their landers. The quiet buzz of the commlink on his hip pulled his attention away from the monitoring screens.
Cünuel picked up the comm on the next buzz after IDing the caller. "What do you need Kal?"
"Just letting you know that we're securing alternate transport to the planet, the Trayders' Perrel V engines got scrapped by a lucky suicide droid. And a favor."
Cünuel could feel the headache coming. "Kal, the last time you asked for a favor there was a running firefight using hovercarts across Denons' premier greenputt course."
"Heh. Good times." He said with a chuckle of fond remembrance before getting back to the original purpose of the comm. "I need contact codes for the Kallesh Wardens as well as admin access to the emergency broadcast and response system located in the Mournland."
"Okay, I'll bite. Why?" Asked the horribly intrigued man from Coruscant.
"Because I'm dropping KKV ortillery on a hardened CIS position and I don't want to hit any of the Wardens." Epskens' bland delivery was drier than the Tatooine desert.
"That makes sense," he said nodding along before the true scope of the crazy Slussians' statement clicked in his head. "Wait. WHAT?! Explain."
"Do you really want to know specifics or do you want to have plausible deniability when you're asked about this?" Was the measured response.
"I should make Ciaran promote you to manning a desk, you maniac," Cünuel grounded out.
"That's cruel and unusual punishment even for you. Look, this is the best option present out a slew of terrible ones. Besides, if we do kriff things up, it's not like you'll be able to yell at all of us." The Slussi said truthfully to his friend.
"...Fine."
Kalee, Abyss Watchers Military Compound
Dani Plenar was currently mentally preparing herself for the oncoming fight, only to have her commlink beep with a incoming call. She thumbed the device, rejecting the call. It beeped again. Frowning, she rejected the call again. It beeped again.
"What the kriff is so important?!" she hissed into the commlink after accepting the call.
"Wow, somebody woke up feeling Sithy this morning." The voice of her friend Nisskal drawled back.
"What. Do. You. Want." She grated out.
"Nice Asajj impression! I'd rate it a solid eight and a half out of ten, it was a little light on the snarling. Anyways, could you get Fangirl on the line? Please?"
Dani's acerbic response was cut short both by confusion and wariness. The mad snake that that was one of her best friends was being polite. "Why do you need to talk to Kygeetu?" she suspiciously asked.
"Because I have a question that requires a Kaleesh to answer and Grievous practically refuses to talk to this 'honor-less viper' after the Carbonite Incident." The Slussi replied, not sounding contrite about that debacle at all.
She couldn't shake the bad feeling that she was getting about this, but it was easy enough to find the Kaleesh Abyss Walker. Sighing she turned on the speakercomm and called over to the nearby Force user.
"Hey, Kygeetu. Got Epsken on the line. Needs to ask you a question." She didn't miss the look of slight distate on the Kaleesh Abyss Walker's face when she mentioned her friends' name.
"Yes?" She stated.
"Heya Kygeetu! I need to know if there's anything in the Mournland of religious and/or historical significance to your people that I should avoid hitting with any collateral damage." Epsken asked, which cranked Danis' earlier wariness up to eleven. Nisskal preferred to beg forgiveness than ask permission, so he and that group of lunatics were most definitely up to something.
Kygeetu, meanwhile had a perplexed look on her face. "Not that I'm aware of. Kalee as a whole hasn't had time to reclaim the cities we lost there from the Huk occupation. It's more of a symbolic reminder of what was lost than having any intrinsic value."
"Great! That's a relief. Thanks for answering." Epsken said, oddly happy about it.
"What the kriff is this about, Nisskal?" Dani asked bluntly.
"Nothing you need to worry about. Or not worry about for long." He blithely brushed off her question before apparently remembering something. "Oh! One final thing Dani! When you get a chance would you tell Piebald and Gorta that 'I win'. Thanks!" The comm went dead as the two Abyss Walkers stared blinking at one another.
"I don't know what that was all about, but it giving him free reign was probably a bad idea." The Zeltron Abyss Walker told her counterpart.
"Ancestors, what have I done." Kygeetu moaned with dawning horror.
Kalee, Low Decaying Orbit
Fifteen minutes later, YCS/186, a weather/communications satellite was noted to be shunted suddenly out of its normal orbit while rapidly decreasing in altitude. The personnel and droids monitoring the battlefield on both sides flagged it as a result of combat debris or an errant shot from the pitched battle before turning their attention to other more important details.
A/N: I intended to get this out earlier, but between my inner muse suffering ennui and my work I kinda left this by the wayside. Anyways, the finale in part 3 should hopefully arrive quicker than this one.
I wrote a thing, it's been buzzing in my brain for days since I re-read my favourite bits of the story. It's set three turns (two years IRL) ago.
Grandfather's Wisdom Or, Ciaran's secret talent was a secret for a reason.
Mitth'raw'nuruodo had always been curious, even as a small child, but by his reckoning this facet of his personality had helped more than hindered him, overall. For one, it made him accept the offer of a quite fascinating woman some years before and his employment at her service had him meet many other subjects for him to study, both animate and not.
Yet, he had to admit, among the colorful collection of figures composing the leadership of the Abyss Watchers, the image of Silas Cata didn't stand out in any particular fashion other than for his progeny's tendency to stumble into each other. To put it simply, as competent as he was, the galaxy was full of old philanderers, many of them with a past as adventurous as his had been.
Of course, this only made the old man's reaction to a small reminder from Ciaran's assistant droid pique the Chiss' interest more as he approached her office.
It was quite easy to deduce this was a golden chance to learn more about his mysterious current employer, so Mitth'raw'nuruodo quickly set aside the report he had intended to deliver and stepped up beside the rapidly departing human.
"What seems to be the problem, Silas?"
"Nothing. There's nothing wrong, Thrawn, what makes you think anything isn't just perfectly alright?" Curiously, rather than the panic he had first seen in the human's eyes, now he all he could read was resignation and… was that dread?
"I'd ask you not to insult my intelligence, but you would take it as a challenge" that at least drew a smirk from the scoundrel, meaning he would be more open to his questions. Excellent. "Be it as it may, though, I simply won't ignore you hearing of Ciaran's new training regime ony to immediately march towards her private training hall."
The Chiss calmly kept pace with the human as he mumbled something about blue busybodies and being too much alike for his old bones.
"Have I have told you how Ciara ended up in the intelligence field?" Silas started after a second of silence.
"I believe that would be because you abandoned her in the Coruscant underworld." Mitth'raw'nuruodo answered with a lifted eyebrow.
"Nah, that's how she started working there. I mean how she learned the ropes." Silas' poker face couldn't hide a slight flinch behind his flippant answer.
"I'd just presumed you had taught her during your peregrinations."
"Well, yeah, but there's more to that. I'm a scammer and a conman first, I deal with my marks face to face, read them and play them on the fly; oh, I inform myself, prepare as much as I can beforehand to sell it right, but the whole information brokering thing isn't really my bread and butter. Fact is, I initially wanted to teach her what I knew best."
"What changed?" The admiral asked as muted thumps came from down the corridor.
"First lesson I gave her was how to play the poor lost child to fleece idiots out of pocket change, so after she got her acting good enough I had her try it with a couple of marks while I watched her back. Only problem was, just as she was trying, someone I owed money to walked down the street and I had to hide for a couple minutes; when I came back, Ciara was nowhere to be seen and I could hear crying from a dark alley."
"..."
"Exactly. So, I run in the alley with my heart near my shins and guess what I see?"
"I'd rather not imagine it." Responded curtly the younger man as he made to open the gym door.
"Ah, shows what you know."
Mitth'raw'nuruodo stood in the doorway, frozen by the unexpected answer and the scene before him.
"Ah! How's that for a throw, you bucket of bolts?!" Echoed from inside, followed by a metallic crash.
"Lady Ciaran, please, my specifications never contemplated someone would be able to lift me-"
"Challenge accepted."
"Aaaaah!"
The old human deflated as the scene played back in his mind: "I saw a crying rodian, beaten black and blue, shoving credits in Ciara's hands swearing he hadn't seen anything and two other men knocked out in the floor; apparently, the third guy had heard the commotion and came to check it out... and then," Silas continued with a haunted look, "my nine year old blind granddaughter turns to me smiling with a steel pipe in her hands and says she's sorry it took her so long to convince the marks to give her the money, but now we could go get ice-cream like I promised."
"So you taught her how to acquire and sell information instead of conning." Commented slowly the Chiss, eyeing the scene of devastation before him, rapidly noting the many steel plates torn to pieces, the terrified training droid flying into a wall and the Matukai master huddled in a corner hiding behind a piece if personal armor with a fist sized hole in the middle, looking as if he had just unleashed a great evil upon an unsuspecting galaxy. He had.
"I taught her the only profession I knew with virtually no chance of her needing to personally convince someone ever again."
"I haven't had this much fun in years! Hey, watch this!"
"Lady Ciaran, that industrial ball bearing weights over 200kg, kicking it would shatt-" A meaty thump was followed by a deafening bang as the room metal walls gained yet another dent.
"You're telling me that the real forte of the woman who singlehandedly built one of the galaxy most powerful secret organisations in just a few years isn't in intrigue but…"
"Caving heads in, yeah. And now she isn't just psychic, she's got super strength, too."
Mitth'raw'nuruodo about-faced and walked back down the corridor. He supposed he should feel grateful to Silas Cata for the experience: before today, he had never equated existential terror with a single young woman juggling industrial machinery.
"Oh wait, where's my commlink? I've got to show this off to Asajj!"
I looked over my shoulder at Darra. She was breathing raggedly, the blood flowing freely from the wounds the mutant reeks had given her before we'd managed to take them down, the jungle air wet and heavy as I tried to catch my breath. Out of the forest, a three-headed, winged bright yellow lizard the size of a small freighter crashed through, roaring a challenge to our possession of the clearing. "Right, time to run," I said, and she agreed. We started to make our escape into a cavern the lizard wouldn't be able to follow us into...only to find it the nest of a K'kayeh dragon...and the mother wasn't very happy we'd arrived.
I blew out a breath. "Fine. No other options." I focused my mind, my brow knitting in concentration and a hand reflexively pointing at the dragon. A moment later, a jagged line of lightning surged forward from my hand at the dragon, making it twitch and shriek. My other hand angled to intercept the other threat, blasting it with another line of lightning, the wattage making Darra's hair stand on end but arresting the hydra's progress for a bit.
"Seriously, Riphath? You've had that the whole time and you've been playing around with dash attacks and just stabbing things?" Darra asked me incredulously. "You got anything else you've been saving for a rainy day?"
"Hey, you just threw around Sith Lightning, so far as stuff the Jedi wouldn't do? Pretty sure you're ahead of me on that score," she said, eyes alight with manic glee at the number of damage dice she was rolling.
"Lot more fun than you were expecting when I said I had a nerd game we could play on the way back to Tython, right?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
She scoffed, counting up the damage and announcing that the hydra's body burned to a crisp and the heads dropped to the ground harmlessly.
I'd rigged up a droid brain to GM Corridors and Chests and programmed in the Soulbound class, which seemed to fit myself and Darra rather well. Merged hit points, merged skills, psionic abilities based on held tokens that could be acquired and upgraded in a variety of ways, and the ability to rapidly gain and "pass" psionic focus. It was a totally different system from how...just about any other class worked, but I'd put it on par with sorcerers and the like.
I'd picked up Darra on my way back to Tython and suggested playing the game as an exercise in tactics and working together. We were several days in, stopping mostly for food and sleep. It was a lot of fun, and suggested to me that there might be value in developing games like this for the Tython Jedi; just because they weren't an arm of the Republic's military didn't mean that they didn't need to develop the ability to solve exploration and combat problems.
We landed on my usual landing pad and reported in to the Council. They informed us that when searching through the files we'd discovered in the past they found additional references to another Jedi Temple on the continent. Given that we were "the premier exploratory archaeologists" of the Jedi on-planet, in their words, they suggested we go check it out.
------
"Exploratory archaeologist sounds rather a lot like the people who are best at poking old things with a stick and not dying if something decides to poke back," I said as we saw the temple in the distance.
Darra laughed, helping guide me around a fumarole. The next temple was built around a volcano. It had previously been active and was still heating the groundwater to the point it would bubble and boil and break through the earth, causing it to vent and react with the atmosphere...resulting in some very pretty rocks, some very smelly gasses, and some extremely hot and extremely acidic water...and the wildlife adapted to the environment.
We found our way in and saw what clearly looked like a reception desk. I did what I could to start up the old computer systems and load files off of them, while Darra checked for threats. "Welcome to...Voor Tape? Vur Tay-Pay? Teep? Look, Bendu isn't exactly my third language, let alone my first."
Work orders. Work orders from all over Tython, thousands and thousands of years ago. Swords, staves, and pikes for a place called Stav Kesh; some to be left blunted. A training temple, apparently, in the "Ice Giant Range" on the "Fire Plains". I wasn't sure if that was symbolic language or what, but maybe people who spent more time here might.
Writing implements, art tools, to a place called Bodhi. A temple of arts, perhaps, given they were being shipped to what seemed like an idyllic island. Interesting, that the proto-Jedi were thinkers who studied calligraphy and theater as much as pragmatic sciences, industrious crafting, and combat skill.
References to schematics from "the cradle of ideas", a place called Anil Kesh, said to be over The Chasm. I think we went there before, the place with the library and the classrooms and dormitories, the big metallic spider planted across the enormous canyon that threw static at Darra's Force sense. If that place was a cradle of ideas, this place was a crucible of physicality. You couldn't let your mind wander here, or you'd wander into a pool that would burn you; whether that was acid or sheer temperature was academic really, it would hurt like hell nonetheless. It focused the mind, to be sure, the need to be absolutely present in your current reality and neither examining the past or predicting the future.
The orders went on and on. I was sure there were at least a dozen of these places. The Jedi Masters would be fascinated, I was sure, and if they weren't, the Abyss Watchers would be. I'm sure if I got my findings to Public Cola, he would be fascinated and likely send archaeology teams once we got the blessing of the Tython Jedi, perhaps in some form of cooperative expeditions. "One of us, one of them?" I thought aloud.
"One of who?" Darra asked me.
I gestured to the computer bank. "I think I hit the motherlode. References to numerous other temples, with the sorts of crafts they often used. If nothing else, I imagine the archaeology arm of the Watchers might be interested. Maybe send Jedi with each group to keep them honest and share what we find so we are all enriched. Each side thinking to themselves 'one of us, one of them' with regard to the teams."
Darra smiled to herself. "It's worked pretty well so far, I'd say."
"Yeah, well, part of that might be related to my own personal version of the galaxy beginning and ending with you," I said, pulling her into a warm embrace and an equally warm kiss.
A/N: References to a number of other proto-Jedi temples. @Publicola , feel free to go nuts on the archaeology stuff. There's kinda a lot going on.
Also, apologies for the double post. I ended up getting to finish it after all.
The echoing halls of the family castle were a stark reminder of his isolation. Only the occasional serving droid, nobody's honest idea of a conversationalist, clanked its way through the silence. On the one hand, he could imagine that the staleness would not exist with a family, or (given the sheer expanse of this place) families comprising a greater whole, wandering these halls. In another time or another life, perhaps that would have been the case. On the other hand, he supposed that the castle had been built to impose upon anyone within the notion that their words and actions echoed beyond themselves, and to have a care how loud or what sound was made. The unintentional side effect of the size and reverberant nature of the rooms was that unless one was surrounded by a cacophony, those echoes were fleeting, and one's own isolation and insignificance to the larger whole was practically manifest in the room alongside you, a not quite physical but ever present reminder. He did not care for it.
Idly, Count Dooku wondered if depression or sociopathy ran in the family. If this castle was any indication, he wouldn't like what he found if he looked too hard. While silent, it was still doubtless that ghosts roamed these halls. Perhaps not in the literal sense, but the weight of the past was almost palpable at times. Entering the study, really a library all its own (the true 'library' in the castle was immense and far too cavernous for his liking) he passed by a collection of stone busts, not unlike the ones in the Archive of the Jedi Order. He pointedly avoided sparing any of the cold faces a glance as he leafed through the titles on the closest shelf before finding his quarry: an old book about apostate Jedi from the long distant past. Before his final departure, the former master had 'liberated' it from Jocasta Nu's collection, where it had been undisturbed for several hundred years. It, along with several other forgotten or discouraged tomes, possessed knowledge, thoughts and wisdom that he needed…or at least, he didn't need the Jedi Order wasting their access to.
Now, he intended to do a bit of reading up on his former pupil's favourite era and heroes. Ciaran seemed to have gleaned a great deal of insight about the present day from these times, so it stood to reason that it might be worth looking into himself. He paused near the bust of his brother and predecessor, feeling a twinge or two of regret about everything there. Perhaps it had been a mistake to drive Kostanza and Adan off-planet and into the arms of the Republic, but if one couldn't even depend on the loyalty of family, then what loyalty could ever suffice? Certainly he had more or less usurped her position as Regent for his nephew, but her goals lay along a different path than his, to say nothing of their respective needs. Besides, Kostanza had never liked his methods, nor he hers—they would have clashed sooner or later, and that was nothing that Adan needed to witness or grow up around. No, it was better for everyone that they were safely ensconced on Alderaan (Really, did she think he didn't know precisely where they were or how safe their situation was? Honestly.) and it was for the best that he was here in the castle. Alone.
A lone droid wandered into the study, asking if he desired anything. He dismissed it without a word or a glance, merely a gesture in its direction. As it clanked away, he wondered if his master would disdain him wanting a person or two around, or if he would simply act to prevent it from happening. He wasn't entirely sure why Sidious kept him isolated, though he had a few theories: perhaps it was a way of reinforcing that all his past bridges were burned and gone behind him, that the only way forward was by his master's side; or perhaps it was a sign of Sidious' lack of faith, that his master thought him malleable ... or worse, redeemable. Or perhaps Sidious didn't spare him any more thought than necessary. That seemed increasingly likely the longer they went without sustained interaction, never mind positive ones (he unconsciously rubbed at the soreness of his neck) and the longer he had to stew upon what Ciaran had said to him over their dinner.
Dooku was curious, he could admit, about how much of the former Darth Traya's teachings Ciaran truly adhered to, and what her feelings were about the Sith title of Darth - it had not come up in their discussions at dinner, nor at their most recent conversation. In retrospect, her actions were certainly in line with Sith ambitions, and possessing not only the desire but the ability to influence events to her favour if not directly control them was impressive. And yet she clearly rejected the grasp of the Dark Side and being consumed or controlled in turn by her emotions or ambitions, and he suspected that her willpower might simply be stronger than his. He would never admit it, but that wasn't the only impression she'd left upon him—his joints still ached sometimes, especially when inclement weather was approaching. Their battle, while brief and invigorating, was as firm a reminder as anything else could have been that he had grown terribly old. Even with his frustrations and anger at his condition fueling the dark Force energies within him, he could not make himself younger or faster. A master of his crafts he might be, but his increasingly decrepit body betrayed his peerless mind, and no amount of irritation or rage could turn back time.
He wondered, out of nowhere, if it was what his father had felt like as infirmity claimed him. His brother had not exactly been a young man when he died, but their father had been very old by human standards. And Dooku was older now than his father had ever been. Without the Force (and he wondered every once in a while if the Dark Side truly helped him any more than the light in this respect) he would have likely aged similar to his father, even if he took infinitely better care of himself than the old man apparently had. Following a sudden compulsion, he walked onward and approached the podium where the stone likeness of Gora Dooku sat on for eternity.
He found his father's bust to be at once aloof and utterly unremarkable. Perhaps his own impressions colored his vision, but he felt some certainty that he wasn't wrong. He usually wasn't, in his estimations. The eyes of a bust could not truly capture life, but Dooku was sure he didn't imagine the dullness in them, and he definitely did not conjure the air of sloth nor singlemindedness that recreated what he was given to understand was almost a perfect likeness of his late father.
After their respective accessions to Jedi Master and Count of Serenno, he and his brother Bron had maintained distant but cordial contact. He learned a great deal about the planet, the family, and himself from his times with Bron, but most particularly he learned that Gora had cared little for anything that was not in direct relation to his personal pleasures or power plays…including his wife and sons. It was after Bron's passing that he learned not only was their father a selfish hedonist, he was also a prize fool that other nobles dismissed or denigrated depending on their amount of exposure to him. Dooku had learned also that Kostanza had expertly played off of their mistaken impressions of the family as a whole, and was doing her utmost to ensure that her son had nothing of his grandfather save his familial name. On that front, at least, she and Dooku were in perfect agreement.
"I don't know what wisdom I could hope for you to impart to me," he dryly imparted to the stone bust in front of him. "You clearly never invested any interest or effort in me, nor in any other facet of your life, and even if you had you're in no position to offer anything now. Narrow-minded pursuit of your goals didn't work out in the end, did they?"
The lifeless eyes somehow gave features to the quiet voice within his head that asked, And how has your approach been working out again? Dooku did his best to ignore this. He already dealt with enough doubt in himself and his choices, he needed no help in that respect. Shaking his head, he began to turn away before feeling compelled to say, "At least when I work towards a goal, I do so from any angle that will succeed, regardless of if I like it or not. It doesn't have to be my plan in order for it to be the right plan."
Is that how you justify your allegiance to Sidious? He scoffed at the thought. "I don't justify anything to anyone. Krayt dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of banthas, nor I with those of the willfully blind. Inaction and trust in entropy has done nothing to encourage good results, and I'm not so sure it hasn't discouraged them. The ways of the Order, the ways of the Republic are inefficient."
The Rule of Law, in complex times, has proved itself deficient, the voice taunted. We much prefer the Rule of Men, it's vastly more efficient.
Dooku rolled his eyes, unbound by social custom in his solitude. "When the law is twisted by those with power, men must rise up to right the natural order. That isn't descending into anarchy, it is course correction, and it is a course correction only those willing to act with complete ruthlessness can provide." If that order is purchased with chaos, destruction and the blood of billions, and paid to a man like Sidious, who consorts with and is surrounded by the very agents of perversion and corruption you so detest, what worth can it conceivably have? Dooku had no good answer to that, and he knew it. "It must be better than doing nothing."
Must it?
For a time, there was nothing. Then, Dooku looked at the bust with a certain amount of self-deprecation. "This conversation would be far less absurd if you were anything approaching an active participant," he said ruefully. "Then again, perhaps I have reached that age where I'm moved to utterance of thoughts properly kept silent. At any rate, you're certainly the closest thing to a lively conversant I'll find here."
"I'd like to test that theory," came a voice from behind. Dooku whirled, but not bristling at the notion of someone intruding on his solitude. What he felt and heard could not possibly be real, he must have been succumbing to madness brought on by his isolation. But the insolence in the inflection, the quiet yet firm rebuke that had been his bane for almost a decade and lingered inside his head far longer than that was outside of it now. He could not possibly believe his own ears nor his own eyes, yet they only confirmed what the Force told him about what he saw. The presence, the tone, and the appearance together were irrefutable. The book of apostate Jedi fell from his hands, quite forgotten.
"Hello, Master," said Qui-Gon Jinn.
Part II is forthcoming.
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(Omake) Conversations With Dead People Pt. 2 (Canon)
The Dookus of Serenno were known for their composure, their cool under pressure and their ability to maintain at least some control over the situation at hand. Even before he truly claimed his mantle or gained relations with the rest of the family, Count Dooku had carried on those traditions in the Jedi Order. He was known for being unflappable even in his crèche days, being asked more than once well into adulthood if he had been born at the age of 55. Now, in his eighties, his jaw firmly dislodged and striving to reach the floor, that composure fled him completely.
Qui-Gon Jinn glowed slightly as like a hologram, but at once fainter and more substantial than that. Dooku had no illusions about the reality of the other man's presence—the ever-present impertinent air around his smile could not be replicated in any way, even from a holo image. More than fifteen years had passed since he'd last laid eyes on his former apprentice, yet here he was without a day more of age upon him. It was wildly unfair. "Padawan," Dooku greeted him. "It has been some time."
"It has been some time since you were open to hearing anything I have to say, Master," Qui-Gon replied.
The arch look on his face was as exasperating as ever. Dooku found himself grinding his teeth before he realized what he was doing, the long-forgotten habit rearing its head in the presence of its inspiration. "Not even thirty seconds in my presence and already the reproach begins," he said through teeth firmly gritted as to prevent the reflexive grinding. He'd almost forgotten how easily Qui-Gon could locate his last nerve and proceed to get on it.
The phantom shrugged. "I've been in your presence far longer than that, old friend. Merely sensed the opportunity to present myself in the last few moments."
Had he really. "Had I ever given you the impression that I did not place significant value my privacy or solitude?"
"Perhaps. Had I ever given you the impression that I paid such things any mind when there was a greater need?"
"Your definition of 'greater need' always left much to be desired, Qui-Gon," his master's lecturing tone coming out. "Permission to get a restricted text out of the library, wanting to wander into the undercity, all sufficient reasons, according to you, to intrude on my solitude. So what deserving cause have you found this time, apprentice?"
"You."
"…come again?"
Now came the smile, the one that almost always managed to lessen or soothe the ruffled feathers that Qui-Gon had such a talent at creating.
"This is a dangerous time for you, my Master," Qui-Gon said, "where you stand upon the edge of a vibroblade between your present path and your potential path. Stray but a little and you would fail, to the ruin of all."
Dooku scoffed. "Are you certain you're not a projection of my own mind? If you are, even for me I seem awfully full of myself. I have no illusions about my presence and consequence in this war, and important a figure as I am, I'm certainly not so arrogant as to think my choices will have impacts that far."
"I speak not of your figurehead position in this pointless war," Qui-Gon chastised, "but of your position in the endless war. The ceaseless struggle between change and decay, between order and chaos, between darkness and light. And as to what I am," he walked to Dooku and laid a hand on his former master's shoulder. Or moved to, anyway. A ghostly sensation existed, but it was not the weight of a hand on his shoulder while clearly also not an illusion. "I am no hallucination nor manifestation of your mind."
"What exactly are you, Padawan?" Dooku stared both at and through Qui-Gon's hand. It was disconcerting, even more than the average interaction with Master Jinn could be.
"A specter of my former self, a manifestation of my essence that exists within the Living Force, forevermore."
"Life, everlasting?"
"After a fashion."
"You've managed to come across the ultimate goal of the Sith, Padawan," Dooku mused.
"And yet they can never achieve it," Qui-Gon responded. At his master's curious look, he elaborated. "It comes through the release of self, not the exaltation of self. It comes through compassion, not greed."
"Yet there are Sith specters that live on," Dooku argued.
"They are but echoes of a shout in the dark, an impact crater that leaves an impression but no true representation of itself." Qui-Gon shook his head. "They do not join the Force, they cling to the physical world, and as a result they're cut off from both, forcing madness upon what remains."
"I understand a sane one exists." He was not quite willing to concede the point.
"One. One that had no fear of death nor slavish devotion to Sith ideals. Not exactly the best case for your argument, Master," Qui-Gon smiled frustratingly.
"Well, let that aside for now, Padawan," Dooku said, implicitly admitting defeat in that spar. "You're not my conscience as if I were in some child's story, no 'angel' nor 'demon' upon my shoulder, yet you would have me believe I have supreme importance in the everlasting battle between Jedi and Sith."
"I never said Jedi and Sith, Master."
Dooku offered an impressive glower. "It was all but implied, my erstwhile apprentice."
As it almost always had been, to Qui-Gon the glower was just so much water off a Mon Cal's back. It was deeply irritating. "It was explicitly left out, Master, and I had reason why. They are not the only sides in this war, nor do they neatly correspond to one side or the other. And where you now stand, you are presented with paths that leave you where you are or lead you to a new age."
"You're speaking in riddles, Padawan, and I would have you speak plainly," Dooku gritted out.
Qui-Gon's head tilted. "It's not my place to lead you by the nose, old friend. You have to make the choice yourself. But I can dance around the point a little less. Despite the infinite varieties and faces of this war, in this your path is clear. You are in a position to allow the systems you have always critiqued to collapse like a dying star, crushing all within and dooming all in its reach…or take bold action and help guide the change into a bright new body with a long future."
His eyes narrowed. "It's everything you've always wanted, Master Dooku."
"You know nothing of me, Qui-Gon Jinn!" He bellowed as his frustration and anger fueled crackling lightning from his fingertips. The bolts passed through his former Padawan harmlessly, impacting the bookshelf beyond and probably destroying valuable books in the process.
"You will have a significantly harder time wounding me with words or any other weapon, Master," the phantom wryly said, "given my present state."
Was there a way to expel Force ghosts? He hadn't even really heard of such things beyond some Sith phantoms before today, and certainly never such thing as a light-side Force ghost. His considerable mind and substantial recollection were coming up short in this moment and it was becoming inconvenient.
"You said yourself, Master, you are a self-aware man. You see the decay that saturates the galaxy, you know that the present system is both unwilling and unable to respond, and you want to change the galaxy, save it even. And you'd like to be recognised for it. And I don't fault you for that, old friend," Qui-Gon smiled. "Your role should be known, whether it be for good or for doom. But it should not be for doom."
Dooku sighed. "Are you going to try and convince me that the Sith mean 'doom' and the Jedi mean 'good'? Spare me."
"I would never waste your time that way. I would convince you that the path you are on leads to doom, and that the path you are considering leads to good."
"You said yourself you are not a part of nor in my mind, Padawan, so you cannot know what I am considering."
"I've been here and paying attention, though. You said that the 'course correction' imposed by your Sith Master would be better than doing nothing. I don't think you truly believe that, certainly not anymore, if you ever did in the first place."
"I don't have another option, Qui-Gon," Dooku sighed.
"Don't you?" The Force specter arched an eyebrow. "You have allies, even now, that reject the previous order and would resist your Master's plot at the same time. Could you not further align yourself with them?" Even for his former Padawan, the suggestion was astonishing in its impertinence. Apparently seizing on Dooku's pause, Qui-Gon continued, "Perhaps you have as much to learn from her as she has to learn from you. And together, the two of you might forge a new path forward that relies neither on stasis nor destruction."
The Count chewed his tongue, one more terrible habit that he had never fully rid himself of even after the apprentice that caused it had left his side. Finally, he managed simply, "How?"
System MZX32905
The galaxy was a wide and storied place, with more named systems, worlds and settlements than any one person could completely remember. It was rare, then, to encounter a place that did not have a name, let alone a whole system of bodies with no names at all, he mused as he looked out the cockpit to the asteroid field beyond. Yet, here it existed. Utterly unremarkable and forgettable.
A perfect place, Dooku supposed, to hide a secret base. Especially when one was not nearly so self-aggrandizing as other members of one's line. Welcome Home
He could feel a strange mix of trepidation and excitement, as though an entirely new and undiscovered path stretched out before him. He could easily sense, almost touch the Force energy coming from a large iron asteroid within the belt as he approached, confirming to him that this was his final destination.
His comm crackled as the ship's HUD lit up with as much alarm as a non-sentient machine could muster. "We have you on our screen now. There are exactly twenty-five planetary defensive batteries locked onto your vessel. You will identify yourself and your intentions here immediately. Refusal to do so will result in your obliteration."
"Impressive display," Dooku rumbled, clearly unimpressed. Nevertheless, he complied. "Count Dooku of Serenno, seeking to parlay with the owner."
For a long moment, one that almost caused him concern, there was nothing. Then the HUD stopped panicking and returned to an unencumbered view of the approaching asteroid. The facility he sought was becoming visible as the comm returned, "You are cleared to proceed. You will be met in the hangar bay. Do not deviate from this course."
He didn't dignify that with a response, merely guided his ship down to the hangar bay below. Landing on the deck was not difficult despite the significant number of ships and fighters scattered around – it was clear this hangar had been built and used for much larger craft than any that occupied it now. Taking a deep breath to reassure himself of his purpose, he tapped the ramp release, and began walking down before it had finished descending. At the ramp lowered, his most recent erstwhile apprentice came into view.
Ciaran looked quite shocked at his arrival. Ever the soul of tact, she blurted out, "What're you doing here?"
He briefly considered being up-front with the ominous implications of his most recent interaction with Sidious, but almost as quickly dismissed it for the moment; let ill tidings tell themselves when they be felt, a half-remembered quote came to mind. Instead, an uncertain smile crept across his face. "I've come to work my former pupil on further saber lessons," Dooku intoned, "and to meet with her 'shadow' advisor. I believe he and I have a great deal to talk about."
Part III is forthcoming.
Added a small bit here to the start of the last paragraph, to tie it more directly to the Turn 30 prologue, and to semi-sneakily slip some Shakespeare into canon.
Also, can I point out that I wrote the rest of this in 2019, and called Qui-Gon being a bit of a smug asshole "I've been waiting for you to get on my level" Force ghost even then?
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(Omake) Report on the Foundry's Mental Effects (Canon)
Oooo nice omake there Marlowe, now let me share one of my own. It's not the one I wanted to write but it's an omake nevertheless and one in-line with most of my previous ones.
Final Report on the Mental Influence of Rakatan Artifact Known as 'The Foundry' on the Mind
By Doctor Ruundal Kool
While my studies and practice focus mostly upon the direct understanding of sentient minds, this is not the first time I have been called upon to study something outside of that relatively narrow purview. Most often though, this has been limited to the mentality behind organizations and political parties.
In this case, I have studied and attempted to understand the mental influence that The Foundry has upon sentients that board it. As I am not a Force user, nor even the slightest bit sensitive to the Force, I have been forced to rely on the observations of others to determine if the Force is in some way influencing them to my frustration. Not being able to directly acquire data points myself has unfortunately rendered me unable to completely rule out that some form of Force influence that is completely undetectable to the Force-sensitives of the Abyss Watchers is at work. I do not, however, believe the Force to be the primary influence in this situation if it even is one in the first place.
No, I rather pin the blame for this reaction in those upon the station on the physical design of the station itself.
It is well known and understood in medical circles how the environment can have effects upon the mental state of sentient beings. From the slight but simple alterations in the alignment of objects to inaudible waves of infrasound, it is possible to induce thoughts of paranoia and hysteria in individuals as well as outright hallucinations. It is my belief that the desire to use The Foundry is caused by way of similar methods, only ones that have been refined far beyond the current understanding of our medical sciences.
While studying the potential sources and effects of whatever infrasound is present aboard the station exceeds my purview, understanding the effects that the mere design of the station has upon sentient beings does not. To this end, I asked for and received permission to share a carefully curated selection of images of The Foundry with some of my associates under the strictest of confidences.
Among these associates were an architectural historian, a behavioral scientist, an art historian, and a plethora of other degrees from the most prestigious colleges and universities and institutes in the galaxy. In accordance with standard policies, I do understand that these associates will remain under observation for some time to ensure that knowledge of those images does not leak.
With that said, what my colleagues reported back to me as their own observations and beliefs about the structure of the Foundry has only served to confirm my own suspicions about the installation.
This conclusion is that the desire to use the Foundry is something directly inherent in the physical structure of the Foundry.
This is to say that the design of the Foundry encourages the psychological desire to use it. Every line, every corner, every walkway, paint color, odor and lightbulb was put in place in specific positions at specific color frequencies and directions to encourage the desire to use the Foundry. The most basic comparison I could make to help understand this is how simply standing upon the edge of a high location will bring about the same brief urge in nearly all individuals; The urge to jump.
While these responses are drastically different, they are close enough to be understandable parallels. The difference here is that where an individual can see, comprehend, and subsequently dismiss the urge to jump, the Foundry is dozens of orders of magnitude more subtle than the simple edge of a cliff, and is subsequently so much more insidious. In truth, it was Raith Seinar who provided me with the most succinct and comprehensible explanation after I received clearance to explain a bare bit more about the source of those images.
"Ruundal, in truth I had already suspected it beforehand, but the confirmation that those sections of hallway and the like belong to some sort of war machine that Ciarann's group located does not surprise me. What does surprise me, however, is that Thrawn did not pick up on this first as I feel this sort of analysis was more in his wheelhouse than my own given his deep interest in art and design.
That said though, with the larger sample of images and the few holographic blueprints I was provided I now believe I understand how this desire to compulsively use this ship or installation works. The sharp and aggressive lines in corners used so frequently in the construction of this object encourage more aggressive thought patterns, as do the darker interior colors and the color spectrum of the lights. The consequences of which should need no explanation.
The more subtle curves and shadows serve to help direct the mind to follow its current train of thought. This is not necessarily insidious on its own, but becomes much more so when paired with my next observation.
The few examples I was shown of the interface panels are clean and elegant in their simplicity. If I were to physically access them, I have no doubt that system behind them would be almost painfully straightforward and quick to understand in its simplicity. In other words, it is designed to make the user think about just how easy it would be to actually use the systems.
Now when you take these three notes into account, you clearly see that you have a physical design that is meant to encourage darker, more aggressive, and quite possibly more violent thoughts. You have a design that encourages you to think of it as simple, easy to use and easy to understand, and thus easy to master. And finally, you have subtle design elements that encourage the being in charge of this ship or installation to follow their thoughts about said ship or installation to their inevitable conclusion:
That it would be so very simple to use it against the targets of their ire.
Elements of these aesthetics can be seen in almost every design of warship, battle station, and defensive installation ever built from the distant past to the current present and likely into the far distant future.
The Sith designs of the long past Great Galactic War and the still more ancient Sith vessels of the Jedi Civil War were superb examples of the first observation I made of encouraging aggressive thoughts, though this was mostly limited to the fighter craft fielded in the latter case such as the Mark VI Supremacy.In the former example, it is difficult to find a design of vessel that doesn't exhibit crisp lines and aggressively sharp angles. Indeed, to a one nearly all of the Sith small craft of that era -and indeed some of their larger vessels like the Harrower-class dreadnought- feature forward facing wings shaped all too similarly to the claws or talons one would find on an apex predator or a predatory avian. These design elements all served to encourage pilots to be more aggressive and to view their opponents as prey rather than opponents or enemies.
The Old Republic's Centurion-class battlecruisers of the Mandalorian Wars serve as a lesser display of this design school on the outside, but their interiors were much more aggressively designed if what little information about them is any indication.
The Interdictor-class cruisers that saw use under the banners of Revan and Malak in the Jedi Civil War serve to exemplify my second conclusion. Their sharp angles are few and far between, but the long, smooth curves of their hulls encourage both the viewer and the user to imagine something akin to an apex ocean predator... And from there it encourages them to think of just what said predator would do if roused to action. In a way, this serves as both an enhancer of aggression and a deterrent. It boosts the effects of the sharp design elements to encourage aggression while also encouraging potential opponents to imagine what would happen if that aggression were directed their way.
Now, on the subject of ease of use and simplistic design elements, the Sith fighters of the Jedi Civil War are an outstanding example. The few (sometimes partially) preserved examples all demonstrate a clean, utilitarian design philosophy that encourages any user to think that they can use and master the fighter craft. And indeed this is often the case to my understanding given the fact that records state how raw recruits sometimes had less than eight hours of training before being deployed into live combat to surprisingly good results. Their casualty rates were still quite high, but that can be fire attributed to the fact that these fighters lacked any form of shielding rather than poor usage by the pilots.
So as I hope I've made clear, these design elements are not uncommon in the construction of military assets. What is uncommon is the incorporation is all three of them. Even more uncommon is the exclusion of any sort of a diluting aspect that would be caused the personal stylistic preferences of the builders of this object.
And finally, it is entirely unheard of -at least in my experience- for these three elements to be so flawlessly incorporated into one another and optimized to such a ludicrous extent that they produce such a noticeable and inexorable desire in those present.
In short, whatever Ciaran has found, it is nothing less than a weapon, and a weapon designed to encourage its owner to use it. It is fascinating but also deeply disturbing in my opinion Ruundal, and given that this... thing was found and explored by Ciaran... Well, I can only hope that she has recognized its true nature -something which I am encouraged to believe thanks to your contact- and that she keeps the hell away from it.
Dare say, I even hope she destroys it if such a thing is possible, but I've known Ciaran long enough to discount such a possibility. Much more likely in my opinion, is that she has stashed it somewhere far, far away from prying eyes and is saving it for a rainy day. A day which I dare say I hope never comes. This design philosophy does not need the backing of someone with Ciaran's resources.
That said, if you have any more issues like this, please let me know. This was a delightful if deeply unsettling way to spend a decent bit of otherwise boring time."
So while still quite verbose in his explanation, Raith's analysis of the Foundry agrees with my own beliefs and the observations of thirteen other individuals of various educational bents while stating such in a much more concise manner than any of my more academic colleagues.
In short, it is the very physical nature of the Foundry to inspire those aboard to use it and given the orevelance of self repairing systems and Rakatan engineering, I cannot say whether or not a mere redesign of the interior would have any effect on this. In fact, I somehow doubt that there would be any difference for some reason I can only call gut instinct.
Now with my own observations made alongside Raith's summation and rather stringent recommendations for what should be the fate of the Foundry, I hope that this report proves useful to Lady Ciaran and her council.
We arrived to present our findings to the Tython Council. I'd barely gotten a word out when Master Rogan waved a hand to stop me. "Thank you. You've got copies? We'll look into it. There's a matter far more urgent than temples which have sat fallow for thousands of years. They can sit another few months. If we wait another few months, there may no longer be a Jedi Academy on Almas."
I blinked. "Almas?"
Rogan telekinetically handed me a data chit. "Coordinates and all the information you need. We've loaded your ship with a few of the improved cybernetic limbs on the word that one of their combat masters has lost an arm. The request was for our best warrior. Now, you know as well as I do that Tython is a place for Jedi who are less interested in combat and more interested in the ways of the Force as they apply to solving a wide variety of problems. The best we've got that we can spare is Darra. Sending the two of you together gets far stronger results than what you could do apart, and better than two Jedi that have no connection. The sooner you're there the sooner you can help them. You mentioned before wanting to deal with problems quickly. This is a problem that they have and I would like for you to deal with it quickly."
Darra and I collected our things and headed to my ship.
I headed for the cockpit to start making preparations for takeoff and Darra caught my arm. "There was something they weren't telling us. Almas is...well, I heard of it as an experimental Jedi Academy that's been around for...about a hundred years now. The system it's in is along the Corellian Run, about where it crosses with the Harrin Trade Corridor."
I stared at her like I'd been betrayed. "I'd never heard of it before. There always gonna be Jedi stuff like this, that there's an entire culture I was never part of with secrets I don't know?"
"You don't have to know everything. Makes it harder to act like you do that way. Look, you bring a perspective to the whole Jedi thing I don't. Not a lot of Jedi grew up without the Force. Not a lot of Jedi have all the other skills you do. I'm a traditional Jedi. I know things traditional Jedi know. I'm pretty damn good at it. You're a nontraditional Jedi. You do weird stuff with blasters, proper medicine, that whole super-strong thing. You know different things. Do your job and let me do mine. Get over it."
Darra was right. I knew she was right. I didn't want to admit that, though, so I pulled my arm free and started making preparations for takeoff. "All right. Let's go then." We took off and set coordinates. I set my navicomputer course to head for Xorth once we reached Ruan, cutting out Coruscant entirely. With what I'd heard about the bad things going on with Coruscant, avoiding it seemed a better move.
I popped in the data chit and started studying. "Lanius Qel-Bertuk is the headmaster of the Almas Academy. He is a master of the Jedi ability known as Farseeing, which is part of why he was allowed and encouraged to lead the Academy there."
I blinked, glanced over at Darra. "He sent a call to the Tython Academy looking for help with a problem they sent us. From what I've read of how Farseeing works...he's seen something play out in a negative way and wants a skifter up his sleeve, or there's a big cloud of stuff he can't see and we're the biggest stick he can find to swing at the cloud."
Darra glanced back at me. "Well, that's nebulous, ambiguous, and either a handful of bad or a cargo hold full of bad."
I nodded back to her and then felt a cold shiver going down my spine. "Wait. I felt something. Like back when I had that patient that I knew wasn't going to see the next day. A brush in the dark with death."
"Right. We get there, we start digging into everything to see if we can find what's going on," Darra said.
I stared back at her. "Right. Because he didn't have literal Jedi Masters he could ask to do that sort of thing, probably better than both of us."
"Less read-in than both of us. They might not know about...what was it you were calling it? The Sid Vicious Conspiracy?" Darra scoffed. "Seriously, hiding in plain sight only works for Sith Lords if they can use other means of hiding in the Force."
I looked at her incredulously. "You think that they couldn't hide using a Dark Side Nexus like the Sith Fortress there? Just because people think it's been cleared out...well, look. There's ways of hiding one's presence in the Force and there's ways of hiding from sight in the Force too. One of my teachers said they suspected it was possible to be able to go anywhere without anyone knowing, no matter what obstacles were in the way...but nobody had been able to assemble all the knowledge in one person." I blew out a breath. "Come on. Why don't we just go down and meet them and hear what they want us for before we start digging around where we might not be welcome?"
Darra laughed. "When'd you become the conservative one?"
I shivered. "Since the last time I felt like this someone I was responsible for died, and if I'd looked for it I could have saved them."
A/N: I meant to go farther with this and actually get them planetside, but the characters got away from me.
