Somewhere on the Chu'unthor:
Anjuf Bendtz was a Blackguard.
It had been a stroke of outrageous good fortune to receive an invitation to the Conclave -- and a personal invitation at that, from Lady Ciaran herself.
Sure, he'd passed along the message and the invitation to his superiors, but after that he'd pretty much beelined straight for Ossus where the Conclave was to be held. Only to discover upon his arrival that the event would be hosted on board the legendary praxeum-ship
Chu'unthor at that.
Of course, he wasn't actually attending the Conclave as a member of the Blackguard.
"Next," the concierge stated. Anjuf moved forward, and was greeted by a "Name and organization?"
"Anjuf Bendtz. Here's my ID."
"Oh, EduCorps? You're the first member of the Jedi Service Corps we've seen; glad you could join us!" The concierge chirped, sounding for the first time like he wasn't bored out of his mind. "Here's your lanyard, here's your room key, here's your informational packet, here's your agenda, and here's your… I'm not really sure what this is. Welcome to the
Chu'unthor!"
Yes, Anjuf might have been a Blackguard Wilder, but his current assignment was to infiltrate the Jedi Service Corps to see what he could learn from them. Happily, the EduCorps was willing to accept non-Jedi Force sensitives as teachers, so he was hired for an entry-level teaching position on Ord Vaxal.
The only thing he learned from that first assignment was patience. Only once had he summoned the courage to ask his colleagues why they didn't just use the Force to implant knowledge of n-dimensional math into the minds of the students. He'd received more than his share of strange looks, so he gave it up and resumed his normal instruction.
Even the most under-developed worlds in the galaxy had some basic educational infrastructure. But rare was the planet that could draw out the potential of native-born prodigies, to allow gifted students to fully participate in the galactic economy. Most such worlds used a lottery system and sent them to the nearest ORD world, where the Jedi Educational Corps had piggy-backed off the ExplorCorps outposts to serve the various regions of the Rim.
That was Anjuf's job: to bring gifted students up to the level of math education needed to attend technical college or university. Most students were fully aware of how lucky they were, but cramming multivariate hyperdimensional equations was still a challenge for everyone except the craniopods.
Or rather, that
was Anjuf's job, until four months ago when he was (finally!) transferred to the main EduCorps facility on Obroa-skai to work on data analysis. That was much more his speed, and he found it far easier to fulfill the mission he'd received from the Blackguard elites: the EduCorps had spent literal
millennia developing Force-assisted techniques to collect, sort, and analyze data.
Then he met Lady Ciaran and received her invitation to the Conclave, and his life was turned upside down again. He had passed the message on to both sets of superiors, and both EduCorps and Blackguard returned his message with the same set of new orders: get to Ossus,
stat. Not that he needed to be told.
And now he was here.
It felt like coming home.
The docking bays on the
Chu'unthor were arranged like forward spurs, so it took some time for him to shuttle to the main halls. But once he arrived… it was a new world. He passed through towering corridors some fifty feet tall, marbled floors and arching columns, alcoves with benches, divans, chaises, and couches. And everywhere, the green of living things.
Anjuf sank into a chaise to read the Visitor's Guide that lay on top of the piles in his arms.
By the time he reached the sixth Force sect in the list, he had started cackling. This wasn't just some convention. It was Career Day. No, it was more than Career Day; it was a kilometer-wide, two-kilometer-long, all-you-eat buffet table!
"Knowledge." He whispered to himself. "So. Much. Knowledge. Through passion I gain knowledge." He nodded in memory of the Blackguard Code. "Through knowledge I gain power. Unlimited knowledge. Unnnnnlimiteddd powerrrr!" he cried, hands uplifted in exultation.
He looked over at the Miralukan couple seated on the divan opposite. Even with their masks, he could tell they were staring at him.
Oops.
He lowered his hands.
The man finally broke the awkward silence. "First day?"
Anjuf nodded wordlessly.
"You're the fifth one today. The other four, however, were not nearly as well-dressed."
"Ah. Thank you?" Anjuf chuckled uncertainly.
"Just remember: don't consume any energy field bigger than your own head."
"I know that," Anjuf protested, his heart rate finally slowing down. "I do, however, plan to consume a knowledge field big enough to give me a headache."
The woman grinned wryly. "Sounds about right. Where are you from?"
"Obroa-skai. Jedi Educational Corps."
"Not far from us, then. Alpheridies. Luka Sene. This is my wife, Eevy. I'm Jasper."
"Anjuf. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He looked closer. "You remind me of someone…."
Jasper sighed. "Everyone says that. Probably another Force-forsaken cousin," he grumbled. "I'll let you get back to your reading."
Anjuf nodded gratefully, and buried himself back in the Visitor's Guide. It was only a few minutes later that he poked his head back up. "Wait, you're Jasper
Parsa? And you're Eevy Varn! You're in charge of the Luka Sene!"
Eevy sighed. "Not 'in charge', no. The Luka Sene are the strongest Force wielders of our species, but given our entire planet qualifies for membership…" She shrugged "We don't have a single leader, or even a council like the Jedi. Most of the business of actually governing the Sene is done by the planetary government on Alpheridies."
"Actually a sub-ministry, within the Ministry of Education," Jasper chipped in.
"Right. We were sent because we're the most experienced teachers in our order. We were more qualified than any paper-pusher, despite our civilian status."
Anjuf had listened with growing excitement. "Teach me. Anything. Everything."
Jaspar's smile was a familiar one -- the smile of one who delighted in teaching, and who had found a student who delighted in learning.
It was a good day.
Elsewhere on the Chu'unthor:
Meanwhile, in another alcove of a different corridor, several visitors were measuring the sizes of their respective… Force traditions.
"My
body is a Force Nexus, a focal point for its energy to work through me." With one arm, the Matukai effortlessly lifted the couch on which two other visitors were seated. "No wasted effort."
"A rancor is powerful, but no one would confuse it with a sapient," the Jal Shey dryly retorted from his perch.
"And you risk your entire self to use your abilities," the Ysanna pointed out. "Isn't it safer to work from a distance?"
"Safer?" The Antarian Ranger came to the Matukai's defense. "Lady, my Force sensitivity measures a few hundred midichlorians on a good day, but you won't see me run away from a fight. Justice needs its defenders, and even the Jedi need our help to get the job done."
"They 'need' your help? I wouldn't say that," the Corellian Jedi condescended to speak. "The Jedi on Coruscant use your help, because they fail to remember what we long since learned: Jedi must work with the civilian government and law enforcement, who are supposed to be the ones doing the job in the first place."
"Trust the government to do what's right? That's a hoot." An accented voice spoke from the apparently unoccupied divan by the wall.
"Where the
kriff did you come from?" The Matukai yelped.
All of them nearly jumped at the sudden appearance of a woman in a long red coat and a red, broad-brimmed hat. The divan was no longer unoccupied.
"Oh, I've been here all along." Cimmeria Sundown smirked. "It's cute how you think you're better than the rest, when all your strength can't fight something you can't see." She glanced toward the couch, behind the Matukai. "You weren't eating this veghash, were you?" She nodded at the plate suddenly in her hand.
"How the
kriff did you steal my food?" The Jal Shey whined. "I just put that down!"
"Magic…" Cimmeria waggled her eyebrows. "It's not my fault I'm the greatest thief in the galaxy. I barely even tried to compete for it."
"There are competitions?" The Antarian Ranger was either disgusted or fascinated.
"Sure, there must be. I raided an Ivax base last month, and the boss had a mug with that inscribed on it. So I stole it." She nonchalantly raised a mug to her lips -- the same one she'd just described. "Ahh. The caf here is excellent."
"Mistress Sundown. Stop tormenting the acolytes." The latest voice came from a… walking shadow? … vibrating in place along the main corridor. "We all know electromagnetism is your bitch, but past a certain point it's not exactly sporting."
"Ah, ruin my fun, why don't you." Cimmeria good-naturedly complained, lowering her hand. No one saw the moment the mug vanished. "Well, it's been a blast. Sayonara!" Just like that, the plate of veghash she'd been holding in her other hand seemed to fall
through her body, a second before Cimmeria herself disappeared with a laugh.
Everyone stared at the plate spinning to a stop on the divan she'd just left.
"What. The.
Kriff." The Matukai said.
No one responded.
Finally, the Jal Shey got up and retrieved his plate in silence. Cutting off a small piece, he brought it to his mouth with evident relish.
"How can you possibly be enjoying that? Veghash is
disgusting," the Antarian Ranger commented with a curled lip.
"This? Oh, that's easy." The Jal Shey popped another slice in his mouth. "You know how taste is a mental process?"
"Yes…"
"And you know how there's a Force technique to alter someone's mind?"
"Oh no." The Corellian Jedi lowered her head to her palm.
"What?" The Ysanna pressed.
"And you know that the Jal Shey teach how to imbue objects with the Force?"
"Wait, you mean..." Now the light dawned.
"Yup. I can imbue any meal I eat with any taste I choose. Like chocolate mint ice cream. Or prime rib. Or pina colada. Here, try one." The Jal Shey tapped a slice with a finger. It levitated toward the others while he returned his attention to his next slice.
They all looked at each other. The Matukai was the first to summon the courage to pluck it out of the air and taste it. "Is… is that a cinnabon?"
"Yup. Veghash may be disgusting, but my brain doesn't think I'm eating veghash. So I get all the enjoyment of pleasure food, and all the health benefits of a strict diet." He smirked. "Now don't you wish
you were trained by the Jal Shey?"
"You mind-trick yourself to eat your vegetables?" The Matukai scoffed. "How can you ever expect to grow stronger, when you lack the will to discipline your own mind?"
"On the contrary," the Jal Shey responded. "I don't lack willpower. I just found an easier way."
"Lazy."
"Efficient. It is the nature of sapients to use tools, to enable greater results from lesser effort. Build me a lever great enough, and I can move worlds."
"A tool is nothing in the hands of someone incapable of using it. I don't need a lever to move the world."
"Can't we have both?" asked a passing Blackguard, who had paused to listen to their dispute.
"SITH!" the Corellian Jedi jumped into the low-guard stance of…
"Is that Niman?" The Blackguard tilted his head.
The Corellian Jedi blinked. "You… what?"
"I asked if that was the Sixth Form. Niman. You know, 'Way of the Rancor'?" The Blackguard made air quotes with a smile.
"I… yes?"
"Okay. I was just wondering why you picked that form, if you thought I was a Sith. Niman's pretty ineffective for fighting against an opponent with a lightsaber, isn't it?"
"Yes, but… wait, no, you're a Sith!" She raised her lightsaber. "There's no 'if', you are clearly--"
"A member of the Blackguard, mentioned in the Visitor's Guide? The ones that Jedi often confuse for Sith?"
"Oh." The Corellian Jedi paused, then looked skeptical. "Really?"
"That's what the guidebook said," the Ysanna shrugged.
"If you have any doubts," the Jal Shey motioned to the Corellian Jedi, "ask the Force. What does it tell you?"
A few seconds later, she blinked. "...That you are no threat." The lightsaber retracted, its hilt disappearing back into her robes. "I apologize." Her words were accompanied by a slight bow and a barely hidden blush.
The Blackguard grinned. "Apology accepted. That's why we're all here, after all. To learn about each other, and learn from each other."
"Well said," the Ysanna nodded. "I come from a barren wasteland, a desert planet of mountains and caves, where few edible plants grow and where most creatures consider my people to be crunchy and good with ketchup. Any technique that helps us fight them would be exceptionally helpful, but so would any technique to make it easier to stomach our typical diet."
The Matukai approached. "I understand. That is why we are here." He looked to the Jal Shey. "Truce?"
The Jal Shey considered, then nodded. "Truce."
They shook hands.
The Matukai soon found that he was floating in zero-gravity. "Hey!"
"Sorry, couldn't resist." The Jal Shey smirked. "Tell me: how useful is your unsurpassed strength, now that you have no leverage?" He finished off the last slice of veghash.
"Fix this!"
"It'll fix itself. You'll get your gravity back in… oh, a half-hour or so." He bowed cheerfully. "Ta ta."
The others left as well, the Ysanna looking back with a pitying glance.
The Matukai silently took up a meditative pose. "Force. And flow. With no gravity of my own… maneuver like the ship is zero-g. Wall-jumping, right." He retrieved his
wan-shen, and pressed the hilt down to push off against the floor.
The Matukai looked up. He had admired the ceiling when he arrived, but now all he could think is how far away it was. It would be a long two minutes until he could make another jump.
Elsewhere on the Chu'unthor:
In a secluded conference room, adjacent to an unused training room, connected to an unopened corridor, four Jedi Masters of four Jedi sects met for the first time.
"You know, it really shouldn't have taken a galactic humanitarian inviting us to an unprecedented assembly of Force sects onboard a legendary lost ship over a positively mythical lost world for the four of us to actually talk with each other." Djinn Altis of Bespin began.
"True," Irek Cerulian of Corellia nodded sagely.
"Did any of you expect to find all of…
this, when you received the invitation?" Rogan Sorenn of Tython asked, waving his hand at the transparisteel window, where they could see both the flat lines of the ship as well as the curves of the planet beyond.
"I expected Lady Ciaran to have a surprise for us when I learned this Conclave would be held over Ossus," Lanius Qel-Bertuk of Almas admitted. "We all know how long the Jedi struggled to gain a foothold on Ossus. Not even my own students could get permission to build an outpost there, though a few knights were allowed to walk the ruins before departing. When I saw the invitation, I suspected that Ciaran had somehow negotiated a truce with the Ysanna, and was using the Conclave to show off."
"I didn't know what to expect," Rogan admitted. "I certainly didn't expect this ship!"
"Yes. Even for my followers, it is impressive." Altis commented. "You might recall that shortly after my departure from the Jedi Order, I commissioned a replica of the
Chu'unthor, though far smaller and more spartanly furnished. My students and I have taken to using it as our school. Should this
Chu'unthor not be to your taste, you are of course more than welcome to join us."
Cerulian smiled. "I thank you, but I doubt I will take your kind offer. The spaciousness here is very much to my liking."
Rogan admitted, "I'm not entirely sure how I feel. The relaxed approach of this Conclave, of this 'Unseen University'... it's a bit much."
Altis bowed his head. "As I said, you're welcome to join us. Though, admittedly, our approach is nearly as relaxed, and their University has more of a code than I do."
"Oh?" Lanius asked with obvious interest.
"I teach 'Being good. Doing good. Asking good questions.' Or at least, that's the translation in Basic." Altis smiled. "Sounds much more impressive in Old Tionese."
Cerulian cackled. "Everything does. I often give advice in
Olys Corellsi for the same reason."
"Old Corellian? It suits you, I think," Rogan smirked.
"And why not? I am an old Corellian, after all." Cerulian laughed again, this time joined by the others.
When the laughter had dissipated, all four Masters paused to take in the silence. The Force was… pleased.
"So. We are all here." Lanius began, the joy of the Force showing on his face. "We all come here with different histories, different ideals, different practices. Yet we are all Jedi, and now we may speak openly. What do we want out of this Conclave?"
Altis was the first to respond. "I want to discover new ways of using the Force. There is so much we don't know, so much the Jedi no longer teach. My students have reached incredible breakthroughs with only a few decades of study -- imagine how much we could learn from groups with centuries of experience, and none of the Jedi's preconceptions about what is not possible!"
Rogan smiled at his enthusiasm. "For my part, I'd like to learn new stories from our history. Too often, our narrative of the galaxy is the history of the Core. But all of these Force sects… they've lived out there, working in the Rim, and they know so much that has been overlooked."
Lanius waited for Cerulian to speak. He didn't, so Lanius went ahead. "At Almas Academy, before a student can graduate, they must go on a number of 'Jedi quests'. For padawans these are short errands to other planets or systems, to give them a bit of experience with the world outside the Academy. I'd like to meet these other sects, and see if any of them would be willing to host our padawans during their quests, so they can explore farther afield in safety."
Cerulian finally broke his silence. "I am the Master of the Corellian Jedi, but a thousand years ago my title would have been Lord. Master Rogan, it is good to discover new history, but there is so much more history we
know and fail to appreciate. For three thousand years we've known of the ruins of Ossus -- how many Jedi have ever visited its surface? During the New Sith Wars, the Jedi sent colony ships out into the stars, a desperate attempt to save our history if all was lost. How many of those colony ships survived? How many sects descend from such Jedi offshoots? How much history have we forgotten, or covered up in our shame? I want to hear their stories, to learn if they can tell us how our own stories continue."
Silence filled the space.
At length, Lanius again broke into their thoughts. "What are your thoughts on this… Unseen University? What does the Force tell you?"
The four Masters meditated.
"Perhaps it is merely a case of the Force returning my own thoughts back to me," said Altis with a smile. "But my heart delights at the 'right to learn'. To know that each sect will contribute their knowledge, their history, their techniques… it gives me joy. And hope."
"Aye." Lanius nodded, "My heart as well. For my part, I am most interested in the 'right to interact'. To establish a foundation of peace and understanding between all Jedi orders and Force sects, has long been a dream of mine."
"I share your hope, but not unmixed with worry," responded Rogan. "I wonder about this 'duty to be responsible with knowledge'. There is a reason we do not teach advanced techniques to our initiates, a reason we fear the holocrons of the Sith Lords. There are certain kinds of knowledge that by its very nature corrupts. How can we be certain that this
pledge to be responsible will be responsible in fact?"
They sat, feeling the Force.
Cerulian spoke, "For my part, I am more concerned with the 'duty to share knowledge'. How much will be shared? How little? How will we learn to trust others to share of ourselves, or trust that others share of themselves? So much history has been lost. Even after a thousand years of peace, neither the galaxy nor the Jedi can claim to have recovered even what was taken in those hundred years of darkness, let alone in the centuries of war that preceded it. How can we make sure such priceless knowledge is never forgotten again?"
More silence.
"The good times give us good memories. The bad times give us good lessons." Cerulian began. "We have a thousand years of good memories. Perhaps it is time to give the good lessons a second glance. What do you see as the future of the Jedi Order?" The green sage's eyes penetrated each of the other three masters.
Lanius was the first to answer. "Almas Academy was founded partly as a testbed for reform. We have found great success in accepting older students, even adults."
"With older initiates, you'll have to deal with more students -- how have you dealt with the limited numbers of Masters to teach them?" Altis asked.
"We've also experimented with a communal model of education," Lanius answered. "At Almas, masters may teach multiple students, and students may learn from many masters. In this too, our results have looked promising."
"I saw those reports before we evacuated Coruscant," Rogan added. "The Tython Jedi had made similar reforms, with similar results. It's hard to say how it might scale up, but…"
"We can no longer afford to turn away students simply because they are able to think and feel for themselves," Lanius concluded.
"I doubt we can afford to turn away students, period." Rogan half-chuckled. "When we evacuated the Temple on Coruscant, it felt like a herculean effort… until I realized that the entire future of the Jedi Order was able to fit in a handful of luxury liners. A single starport on the Plains of Coruscant might see that many ships dock in a single hour. For so long we remained within the Temple, content… blind to the sheer scale of a galaxy that relies on us for peace."
"I agree," Altis nodded. "After my exile, I ran the numbers. Coruscant is home to over one trillion permanent residents, and that's only the official tally. Between the homeless, temporary residents, visitors, orbital population… perhaps two trillion? More? Who knows how many lost souls inhabit the Deep Undercity. But at least it's enough for a conservative estimate. On Coruscant alone, a single planet at the heart of the Jedi Order's power for a millennium, the Jedi are outnumbered at least 100 million to one. And yet the Jedi are entrusted with the protection and peace of a
galaxy, with its hundreds of quadrillions? Small wonder we fell short."
"There are two ways the Jedi may grow," Cerulian spoke. "The first by breadth, the second by depth."
"And that koan means…?" Djinn prompted after a lengthy pause.
"The Jedi may reach out to new worlds, or recruit those with a weaker connection to the Force. This is breadth. The way of depth… the Jedi may encourage the spread of Force sensitivity through our own members' actions."
Lanius shot him a look, "You are suggesting…?"
"It is well known that Force sensitivity is often passed down through family lines," Cerulian answered with an impish grin. "The Corellian Jedi have long permitted marriages by Masters and Knights, and our ratio has never been lower than about one in a million."
Lanius looked visibly taken aback.
Rogan chuckled, "I think you'll find, Master Qel-Bertuk, that you're the only one in this room who holds to Coruscant's teachings on attachment."
"If Jedi could marry..." Altis spoke almost wistfully.
"If Jedi could marry, the Order would fall." Lanius argued firmly. "Endorsing such attachment would only encourage sexual appetites, family loyalties, even risk the rise of Jedi dynasties."
"So you favor Jedi marriages, then?" Cerulian smiled as one springing a trap.
"What?"
"The Force is life -- what is more life-giving than procreation? The Force is nature -- what is more natural than the bonds that form within families, between father and mother and child?"
"...And Jedi dynasties?" Altis asked, quite enjoying Cerulian's conversational gambit.
"In history we knew them as Jedi Lords," Cerulian answered mildly.
"Proof of the galaxy's decay!" Lanius objected. "The Lords were rightly dethroned by the Reformations after Ruusan."
Cerulian breathed -- inhale, slow exhale, expression unchanging. "A
response to the galaxy's decay. The Jedi knew that lines of travel and communication to the Core had failed in the Hundred Years of Darkness. We saw that a local response was needed for local concerns. So we set aside our private lives and took up our public offices. We were needed, we were asked… we served."
"How can it be 'service' to seize the reins of power? I can accept attachments, even marriage, but dynastic power seems antithetical to all that our Order teaches." Rogan clearly favored Lanius' side of this dispute.
"It was a Jedi Supreme Chancellor who restored the Galactic Republic after the Pius Dea crusades, was it not?" Altis asked rhetorically. "Another Jedi Supreme Chancellor -- the child of Revan, no less -- who rebuilt the galaxy after the Jedi Civil War. It was Jedi who held the Republic together for four hundred years before the final battle of Ruusan. Public service has always characterized the Jedi, and leadership through times of crisis is hardly antithetical to the spirit of our Order."
"But those leaders were elected," Lanius countered. "The Republic
asked, and the Jedi served. That's hardly the same as hereditary rule."
"Were not the Jedi Lords asked to serve?" Altis answered. "You seem to define elected office as service, and hereditary rule as tyranny. Yet how many elected tyrants can we find in history?"
"Corellia has been led for millennia by hereditary monarchs, some of them Jedi." Cerulian said. "And our system has been a model of peace and prosperity for the galaxy. Indeed, it was only after the dissolution of the monarchy and its replacement with an elected Diktat that we see a rise in institutional corruption."
"Masters, allow me to cut in." Rogan spoke. "The history lesson is appreciated, but this… the question is not how to
reform the Jedi Order, but how to ensure it
survives."
"What do you mean?" Altis asked.
"The only hyperlane out of the Deep Core passes by Coruscant. I… I wanted to see for myself. " Rogan's voice wobbled a bit. "I couldn't even bring myself to land."
The other Masters waited patiently for Rogan to collect himself.
"I should start at the beginning. Tython is an old world, and in its long history, certain places picked up a pall of the dark side. There's a temple that predates the Republic, spanning a canyon unfathomably deep. It gives my Jedi a headache to even approach it. In the hills are remnants of a Sith fortress, perhaps 1200 years old. In the fortress is a pedestal, where a Sith holocron rested for two hundred years. It was sought by the last surviving Sith from the Battle of Ruusan, pursued by five Jedi knights -- he overpowered and killed them on that very ground. I know what that feels like, what the stain of death and darkness does. Like listening to your stomach churn, wondering which direction it will send the half-cooked, half-digested food within."
Altis set aside the cookie he'd fetched from the tea service. "Thanks. I wasn't hungry anyway."
Rogan smiled half-heartedly. "Coruscant… isn't like that. It's worse, much worse. I have little talent for sensing the future, but even someone with poor vision can tell when a blindfold has been wrapped around their eyes. The closer I approached the Temple, the less I saw, and the more I understood. The Force had changed."
The other masters knew that his story was not yet told, and held their questions.
"I remember Naboo, the memorial for Master Qui-Gon Jinn's death. This wasn't like that either. It wasn't like anything I'd ever felt. Betrayal and anger and pain and loss and sadness and fear and…
everything, all of it, too much to be endured. And somehow, I felt none of it. The closer I approached, the 'too much' became too little. 'More' became less. I found myself desiring, even chasing after a sense of numbness. To go about my day, to not engage with anyone else, to lose myself in emptiness. To live without living."
A minute passed, as Rogan collected himself again.
"A Force Wound?" Lanius' question pierced the silence, as his sharp eyes pierced Rogan's.
"Yes." Rogan bowed, to the soft inhalation of shock from Altis and Cerulian.
"So," Cerulian began a short while later. "This is what she meant."
"Stars... a Force Wound beneath the Coruscant Temple?" Altis spoke in an almost hollow voice.
"A Force Wound beneath
Coruscant," Lanius corrected grimly. "Once a Wound develops, it does not require Force sensitives to expand. Any dying or suffering soul may feed it."
"And this one's on a planet with trillions."
"
Mother of stars." A tear tracked down Altis' face, his mind wheeled in futility.
"So. That is why we are here." Cerulian spoke into the silence, as four Jedi Masters from four Jedi sects gazed at each other with unseeing eyes.
Elsewhere on the Chu'unthor:
Anjuf Bendtz was a Blackguard, and right now, he was acting like it.
"That was
so. Crikking. Awesome!" He practically skipped out the door. "Communing with the Force for perfect comprehension of technology, effortless installation of cybernetic aids with flawless organic synchronism… creating technological
life?! I am definitely returning for Day 2." He pulled out his Conclave agenda. "Where is it, where it is--there! 'Cheriss Sair, Intermediate
Mechu-deru, Room 6024, mid-morning Centaxday… aw, that's three whole days I gotta wait?"
He wasn't watching the other exit from the seminar.
"Anjuf?" He didn't hear their greeting at first. "Wilder Bendtz, is that you?"
Finally he looked up. "Wilder Vax! Wilder Florez! You're here too?" He smiled at the sight of familiar faces.
"Where's the fashion show?"
His smile did not last long. Anjuf soon remembered why he'd spent little time with Vax or Florez during their days of Minion training back on Mustafar.
"Yeah, I didn't realize this seminar was a formal occasion," was Vax's contribution.
See, Anjuf Bendtz was a Blackguard, but right now, he didn't look like it.
The Jedi EduCorps provided a standard uniform to all members. Alas, that uniform was often a custom-tailored Dervdisi suit.
Centuries earlier, the EduCorps had been responsible for training three members of the same family: all from a low-class tailor's family on Dervdis, all prodigies, all lucky enough to win their planet's lottery. The siblings had aced the coursework, received scholarships to three Core World universities to train in fashion design, and went on to co-found the galaxy's most exclusive fashion emporium.
In gratitude for the EduCorps' efforts, they offered the Jedi a steep discount on all tailored attire.
"Is that… are you wearing Cyrene silk?"
"Yes?" Anjuf answered hesitantly.
To be fair, the suits were exceptionally comfortable.
They were also exceptionally posh, in sharp contrast with the Blackguard's traditional look: dark robes deliberately designed to be uncomfortable (pain leads to anger), made of whatever low-quality materials were available on a backwater planet like Mustafar, and treated with a chemical bath so they could be worn in the middle of a lava field without spontaneously combusting.
'Coarse' would be a profound understatement.
"You gotta dress to impress when you're up to your elbows in hydrospanners and grease?"
"Or when teaching younglings how to count to ten?"
"Hey!" Anjuf protested. "EduCorps studies show that the suits impart dignity and respectability, which improves class cohesion and educational attainment."
Vax and Florez stared at each other, then burst out laughing.
"He just said that?!"
"What a clanker!"
"Sure, I see it now; the suit fits. You don't just look as prim as a protocol droid; you sound as prissy as one too."
"Yes yes, sit up straight, mind your manners… or 3PO here will give you such a scolding!"
Anjuf had even chosen his colors to pay his respects to his Blackguard heritage: coal-black Cyrene silk, because black absorbs all light (just as the Blackguard seek all knowledge), alongside deep red accessories, because growing a red-toned synthetic crystal was a symbol of a Minion's technical skill.
Not to mention (it almost went without saying) the classic red-saber-black robe look was just
better than other sects.
It wasn't like being a Jedi, with their 'mild' blue and 'tranquil' green glowsticks. Oh, you say you're a
special Jedi? Congratulations, you get a
pale yellow lightsaber crystal. Oh, you want a different color? Sucks to be you, heretic; have a blue crystal. And their robes? Brown, with tan highlights? How useful, for a dirt farmer.
Most Blackguard were privately convinced that so many Jedi fell to the dark side because they preferred the dark-side look. Black and red was
cool.
Unfortunately, Anjuf was beginning to realize a posh black suit with red highlights would
never be cool.
"You say the duds make you dignified? How much dignity can you really have, dressed up as a red-throated tit?" Florez continued.
Suddenly, Anjuf felt an invisible hand poke the small of his back, then run a finger up his spine. Then push a foot between his own to adjust his stance. Then two hands adjust his shoulders and arms. All in barely enough time to blink, his posture had changed.
"Hey, tiger."
Vax and Florez blinked.
Even as they spun around, Anjuf had noticed the sleek form of Cimmeria Sundown shimmer into existence by the door.
This Cimmeria only had eyes for him.
"I like a man with style," she leered at him, winked as she approached. "Like the lord of the cacodemons, walking 'neath the sun just to spite all the miserable mortals. Red like flame," even as she said it, Anjuf wondered if his tie had really just ignited. "Black like the dark," and there went the lights. She turned on the two Blackguard. "You boys ever heard of the cacodemons?"
They uneasily shook their heads.
Cimmeria smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Well, how about we get you acquainted?" With a wave of her hand, a gout of hellfire erupted from the floor, and Vax and Florez were bracketed by two eldritch creatures, each resting one dimension-rending paw on a shoulder.
"Bye bye."
With a faint cry, Vax and Florez were flung backwards into silence.
"That's better." Cimmeria nodded firmly to herself, then turned back to Anjuf. "Don't worry about them. They'll be fine, once they have a chance to re-think their life choices. Illusions are so much fun if you are as creative as me."
With a twitch of her finger, the corridor cleared of darkness, Cimmeria reappeared two feet from where she'd been standing, and Anjuf's tie somehow un-burnt itself.
He started to slump in astonishment, but a single finger again prodded the small of his back.
"Ah, ah." Cimmeria warned. "Those Sith wannabes think their robes make them tough. But no one messes with a suit if you wear it right."
Anjuf felt almost violated, though his posture was markedly improved.
"You ever teach local religion and mythology class in EduCorps?" She waited. "No? Well, let me tell you then. Most worlds tell tales of the devil. If they think he's real, they make 'im a laughingstock. 'Proud soul, cannot bear to be mocked.' But if they think he's a myth, they make 'im as close to the devils they know. Him: a being who beheld the galaxy and said, 'Screw it, Imma do things my own way.' Don't matter how posh he looked; you know he can
raise hell just by thinking it."
Cimmeria turned and pinned him with a glance.
"Don't matter what you wear. Walk like that, talk like that… you can wear whatever outfit you like." Cimmeria had gathered clouds of darkness around her without Anjuf noticing, and now they suddenly vanished again as she cast a sincere smile at him. "Just take me. I sure stand out in a crowd, but no one sees me 'cept those I choose. I can go anywhere in a minute or an hour, and no one knows where or how to stand in my way."
And with another wink, her form shimmered away again, leaving Anjuf alone.
"What. The.
Kriff?"
Elsewhere on the Chu'unthor:
Riphath Althean, head of Unseen University, waited by the shuttle bay with impressive patience. The witches of Dathomir were notoriously punctilious -- some would say 'bilious' -- so he knew he needed to make a good first impression.
At last, the representatives of the Singing Mountain Clan arrived.
"Clan Mother," Riphath bowed as Augwynne Djo approached. "We are honored by your presence."
"I thank you, steward. So this is what Lady Ciaran has done with the wreck?" Djo looked around with an impassive gaze.
Then Riphath noticed as another figure approached from behind Augwynne Djo.
...Approached very slowly.
Mother Rell finally planted herself in front of Riphath, ignoring the other witches left in her wake. "You are Riphath?" she asked in a frail voice.
"Yes," he answered.
"I am Rell." She licked her lips. "I have a story to tell."
"Mother Rell," one of the junior witches whined, "Can it at least wait until--"
"Quiet!" The elderly Rell commanded.
Augwynne Djo waved her hand to the others, giving Rell the floor.
"I have a story to tell." She licked her lips again. "When I was very, very young. Barely 80. A ship came to our world."
"The
Chu'unthor," Riphath nodded.
"This ship was larger than any we'd ever seen. And it was falling, falling from the sky. Its engines gone out. But it fell soft, like a feather in a gentle wind. The ichor lifted it, like a hand lowering it to the surface of Allya's world." She looked almost wistful.
"Yes, we know -- the
Chu'unthor crashed on Dathomir."
"It landed in the tar river, past the winding glen below the Singing Mountain. We went out to meet it, a full war-band. We found them as they were leaving the ship. They sought food, water, shelter. Demanded it as rightful due. Would not pay the toll. They did not expect our war beasts, or Allaya's gift. We took them captive. Held them. Questioned them." She paused. "And do you know the name of that ship?"
"...Was it the
Chu'unthor?" Riphath wasn't quite sure how to respond.
"You'll never guess," Rell continued with evident satisfaction. "It was the
Chu'unthor!" She dramatically revealed, quizzing Riphath's face to see if he was surprised.
"...Really? Go on." Riphath swallowed the other words that came to mind.
Some of the younger witches behind Rell facepalmed at her theatrics.
"A week later, another ship came to Allya's world. A party of Jedi. The old one, the eldest… they called him Yoda. He approached our camp alone to negotiate. The clan mother then was canny. So was this Jedi elder. I was young then. I interrupted them. Said foolish things. Did foolish things. Yoda… he saw me. Judged my heart. And when the time came, he saved my life. So it was thanks to my foolishness that the deal was struck."
Here she paused, licking her lips at the suspense. Or perhaps they were merely dry.
"The clan mother agreed to release the Jedi and the crew. Yoda agreed that the ship and its contents would remain, that the Jedi and the Republic would give up all claim to the wreck and would never again visit our world." Rell paused. "I agreed… I agreed to protect the reader-tapes, the ship's copy of the Jedi Archives."
Riphath caught his breath.
"Yoda spoke to me. He foresaw a time, he had seen a vision… that in my lifetime, a young knight would come to our world. Would free our people from the control of the Nightsisters, those daughters of Allya turned down the paths of evil."
Rell turned and thrust one bony arm into the bag she carried. "He told me then..." She continued to feel around the bag. "Told me, that it would be a sign, that time was ripe. Seeds planted, ready for harvest. Told me, that when the knight came, when the Nightsisters lay defeated by an outsider…
then I was to make a gift of the data-tapes."
With that, she brought her hand out of the bag, outstretched the same bony limb to Riphath… now clasping in care-worn fingers an archaic reader-tape.
Its appearance struck Riphath like a punch in the gut. He found it hard to breathe.
"Go on. Take it!" Mother Rell waved the data-tape in his face.
Suddenly worried that she might drop it, Riphath shook himself and accepted the gift, holding it with trembling fingers.
"And here." Rell motioned to the Clan Mother standing behind here, then motioned to the bag she carried. "Take this off of me."
Augwynne Djo carefully lifted it from her shoulder.
"Receive this as well," Rell commanded Riphath.
He looked inside. The bag was full, stuffed to brimming with data-tapes. Dozens of them. The Lost Archives of the
Chu'unthor. It was not the secret Jedi library, nor the Holocron Vault, found only within the Coruscant Temple and accessible only to Jedi Masters or Councillors. But the
Chu'unthor archives had held every record from the Coruscant Archives that was available to Jedi Padawans and Knights -- one of the largest private libraries in the galaxy
And now, the Lost Archives had returned home.
Mother Rell nodded to herself as Riphath took the bag from Augwynne Djo. Her mission was accomplished. Now for the second errand that brought her to the
Chu'unthor.
Her sharp eyes moved past Riphath, scanning the other guests already registered to attend the Conclave. Soon, her gaze narrowed on an unexpected sight: a Gurlanin family of five had arrived shortly before the Dathomir party. Now they were all seated by an alcove looking over the Visitors' Guide and map.
Mother Rell nodded to herself. "As I have foreseen." She turned to Riphath. "Use them wisely. I know you will. You already have. Good-bye."
Riphath heard none of that. He did not notice the other Witches of Dathomir move past him to the welcome desk. Nor did he notice Mother Rell making a beeline -- a very, very slow beeline -- in the direction of the Gurlanin family, muttering to herself with great enthusiasm, "Puppies, puppies, puppies" as she moved across the corridor.
Riphath's attention was solely focused on the data-tape still clasped in his hand.
With a shuddering hand he activated his comms. "Darra!" He half-choked in an urgent whisper. "Darra, need some help here. Yourself, minions… gonna need you to send some company."
Riphath thought of the
Chu'unthor central computers, how they'd deteriorated over three hundred years of disuse, how they'd been filling up with reports and records from the
Chu'unthor's travels across the galaxy. He looked again at the datatapes in his hand, that near-complete collection of knowledge gathered by the Jedi Order over millennia of history. "We're gonna need a bigger databank."
---
Written by
@Publicola and
@Barondoctor
