The Order of the Maji : The Players
1/1/2
01:00 The Supremacy
"Did it go well?" Kinear asks Ellie as they stroll, slowly, toward the tram that will take them to the deck their suite is on.
She nods, also slowly. "I think so. They're rough, but rough in a way people seem to respond well to."
He arches an eyebrow, hoping she'll expand on that. "From what I could see, about half of them are convinced they'll be easily manipulated—"
"And they'll be in for an interesting surprise in the not wildly distant future," Kinear says.
She laughs, gently, at that. People are going to try, and she's going to enjoy watching them fail. "Yes. And the rest seem to have an almost protective gut reaction to the two of them."
Kinear knows better than to say, Are you sure? After almost seventy years with Ellie, he knows she's the sharpest reader of people to ever draw breath, Force skills or no. That said, protective is not generally an emotion felt or expressed by the pirates that pilot these skies. So, instead of questioning her, he says, "Will of the Force in action?"
She nods. And she's got a sense, that just possibly, the two of them emoting around, their own Force bright and sharp, may be working a spell, conscious or not. Actually, watching those two, definitely unconscious. Ellie's still got thoughts, and plans, for what could be done if this were to be done consciously. And she's not about to say anything about that to Pat, not here, not now. That's a conversation for when they're on their own, on her, personal, ship, fully alone.
They're steps away from the tram, and know not to talk about anything of any real matter when they can be easily overheard. They step in, and sink onto one of the benches. Kinear wraps his arm around his wife, and she rests her head against his shoulder.
He kisses the top of her head and smirks a bit. "So, that retirement I was planning for us didn't exactly work the way I was expecting."
She sniggers back. "We'd have been bored." They'd always joked about the little cottage, far off the beaten track, where they could just be Pat and Ellie, the old couple down the road. They'd putter around their garden, and occasionally the kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids would come and visit them.
"Yes, we would have." He strokes the back of her neck. "But, maybe… Vacation? Take a few days off. After this gets settled down?"
They both know he's not exactly talking about what most of the rest of the galaxy would call a vacation.
She smiles a bit. "Maybe go visit Naboo?"
"You had some friends there, if I remember?"
"You do remember." They share a look. Neither of them has to say it. If they can dig up enough proof for the future Baby Girl Ren to make a decent claim on Naboo, they're going to find it, and take custody of it. Information you control is information that can't sneak up and bite you in the ass. "It's been a while, but it's good to visit old friends."
Kinear smiles at that. Old friends indeed.
"Might be a good plan to see New Alderaan."
Pat nods. "I've heard good things about it. They're working on rebuilding Alderaan, or as close as they can get. What are they up to, now? Eight, ten million people?"
"Something like that. Might want to get there sooner rather than later," Ellie says. They both heard Kylo tell Long who his mother was. It's only a matter of time before Prince Ben comes into play.
Pat nods. "They're supposed to be a lovely community. Very fair-minded, egalitarian. Cosmopolitan in their attitudes but still attached to the soil."
"We could certainly do worse on vacation," Ellie says, not watching the other people on the tram, but aware of them.
"We could."
They sway with the ride as it moves across the deck. People get on and off with each stop, and the Kinears sit, holding each other, patient. Any other night, and two old people in formal wear, this late at night would get a lot of questioning looks, but tonight… People have been leaving the party for hours. Some people look twice, but they don't stare.
Eventually, they get to their stop, and to the lift, where they get the lift to themselves.
"What's the next play?" Pat asks his wife.
"You remember the stories we used to read the children? And how many of them ended with the handsome prince marrying the beautiful lady, and they go onto rule and live happily ever after?"
Pat smiles. He does. "Some of my better memories of the little ones are sitting on the bed with them snuggled around, reading to them."
"I bet a lot of people have memories like that. And a lot of them have that story, or versions of it, in their mind."
Pat smirks. "And we've got a literal handsome prince, so we might as well work it within a centimeter of it's life?"
"We said it earlier, people like the idea of an anointed ruler, touched by the hand of God or the Force. They need the idea of destiny and a universe that spins with purpose and design. They clean up nicely. Look good in pictures. Are clumsy in social situations in a cute and vulnerable sort of way that seems to encourage people to like them. Have… an easily swallowed policy that just about anyone can get behind. Assuming we can get them to go along with it… Why conquer with guns and ships when we can just shine them up, stick them in front of cameras, hopefully get them to smile, and ask everyone to join us in the fairy story?"
Pat smiles. "Is it ever that easy?"
She smiles back at him. "No. But we're closer to it than anyone has ever gotten before, so we might as well use it."
"He talks some about building palaces. That might be Jon's idea originally." Kinear kisses his lady's hand. "And what's a palace without a prince and princess to stick inside of it?"
She gently pats his cheek. "And a Grand Vizier behind the scenes."
Pat smiles and kisses her palm this time. "As long as this body consents to draw breath."
The few people waiting for the lift when it opens on the F deck see a very old couple, in very fine formal wear, laughing gently with each other, slowly ambling toward their rooms.
06:30 Lirium
"Oh, fuck NO!" Finn says as Rose explains what Mirina was hoping they'd do for the Order.
Last night had been good. Rey had brought Rose home, Finn had stared at her like he'd never seen her before for a good minute, just about tripping over his tongue, and then they had a very good few hours, before Magiit brought Paige back. But now, the next morning, as they're feeding Paige, and themselves, breakfast, and she's telling him more about what happened… "No! Just… NO!"
"I'm not saying we're doing it."
He eyes her. "But you're thinking about it. I can feel that. The idea of… changing things… You like that." After all, she might have joined the Resistance for revenge, but she didn't stay for it.
Rose sighs. "I do. And she needs someone watching her back."
"She needs to get out of this."
Rose shrugs at that.
"We need to not get dragged into this."
She half-inclines her head.
"Stop that. You don't want to argue with me, but you don't want to agree with me, so you're just… nodding."
Rose sighs. "You didn't see her, Finn."
"She dropped you off. I saw her." In the sense that he was aware that Rey was in the room, but his eyes were glued to Rose, her hair softly waved, and some sort of makeup on, and she'd brought her date night clothing and slipped into that, so he didn't really see Rey. No, he was staring at his wife, all dolled up, and looking like sex on legs, and was intending to enjoy the absolute hell out of that.
"Not there, not on the ship. Not… as a queen. Not as his queen." Watching Ren go mute at the sight of Rey, and then go beaming love and adoration at her, his Force bright and strong enough that everyone in the room got hit with it, looking at her like she's his sun, and if he's very lucky he'll get to spend the rest of his life orbiting around her, went quite a way to helping Rose feel better about this Order thing. Anyone who can feel like that about another person is someone Rose is sure she can find some common ground with. "If he wasn't part of it, you'd be all over getting behind her as some sort of leader."
"He's part of it, Rose. And he's not… He's not like mushrooms, something I can eat around and ignore because I don't like the way they taste. I'll tolerate him being around, here, because I pretty much have to, but I'm not going out of my way to make life easier for him."
"She needs help."
"And I'm more than comfortable helping here. I'll bring stuff here. I'll help kids learn to use batons or whatever. But I'm not getting back on that ship. And honestly, I'm surprised you were willing to do it."
Rose shrugs again. "It's different now."
"Different doesn't mean better."
She cedes that point, but at least compared to how she remembers the Supremacy she thinks it's better, too.
14:30 The Supremacy
Jon can feel eyes on him. Not a lot of them. But the ones he's sensing… matter.
He's not sure how much of it is that keeping under the radar when you're part of the inner ruling circle is difficult, even under the best of circumstances, and how much of it is his Mum and sister are in the back, with a circle of other well-connected, important people, and she's happily off bragging about what he does and how he's doing it.
A lot of things are true about Mirina Frakes, subtlety isn't one of them.
Either way, the days of him being able to just blend in are fading.
But for right now, and at least a while longer, he's not attracting too much attention.
Then Kylo steps up to his podium, hands gripping the edges of the top, and he starts to speak, and no one is paying attention to Jon any longer.
Good.
Jon's listening, and it's good. Kylo's staying on script, doing what he's there to do, make people feel good about joining up, and getting more of them interested in doing it.
He's seen better. But, of course, he would have. He's been to a million weddings, and weddings, especially the sort he used to go to, could afford to have people who did nothing but give speeches run them. He's seen some of the finest orators in the galaxy get up and weave together a line of words that could keep the listeners practically in tears at their beauty, going on about love and life and the preciousness of binding two or three or however many people together in a meeting of… blah, blah, blah.
Even the best orators tended to lose Jon by that point. When he was going to weddings regularly, he was too young and inexperienced to really get what they were talking about.
And by the time he had been in that sort of love, he didn't want a seventeen hour long speech-fest for his own wedding. Lane didn't, either, so their vows were short, and heartfelt, and witnessed by three dozen people, and that was that.
He listens to Kylo, and it's clear that he's pushing a lot of Force into his voice. Jon can feel it. And… that's interesting, when he's paying attention, aware of the fact that it's there, he can sense what Kylo's doing. It's not compulsion level Force work, but… He's making the crowd go along with him, filling them with his passion for this. Jon's not sure if he's doing it intentionally, but he also doesn't much care. It's working.
Even Jon can feel the shift around him, the way the soldiers near him are leaning forward, lapping this sense of destiny and purpose up.
The last time he felt this he was… well, here actually. Here looked a lot different. Almost everyone around him was in white armor. His husband was two ranks ahead, six men to the left, in his own perfect uniform, standing at attention, as they watched the broadcast of Hux on the Starkiller base, rallying the First Order to greatness.
He felt the shiver through his spine, and the stirring in his soul, the electric sensation of something massive, important, galaxy shifting about to happen, and… Though he prefers not to think too hard about it, like everyone around him, when he saw Starkiller fire, he cheered.
He looks around him, at naked faces, expressions intense and pleased, and then, as Ren sweeps Rey into his arms for a long and passionate kiss, expressions bursting out into laughing and cheering, he knows that there's power in this. Power in the crowd. In the sense of belonging, of… brotherhood, or whatever they'll call it.
The power of the Order, of them, together, here and now, and…
All they have to do is find something to aim it at.
Something good.
14:45: The Supremacy
Rey has never, ever felt anything like this.
She's never imagined feeling anything like this.
She's never had the ability to even begin to imagine feeling anything like this.
Kylo's kissing her, dipping her down low, his body supporting hers, as his lips play against hers, and there's the feel of them, of his Force and hers, bright and happy.
But it's not just them. There are more than four million people right here, right now, watching them, hollering and cheering, and this massive, immense, bigger than any big she's ever even thought to contemplate, bigger than any big her vocabulary has ever thought to describe, wave of euphoria and cheering and happiness and giddiness and CHEERING and voices are clattering over them as people clap and it's just…
Keep breathing, love. Kylo's voice in her mind, and right now he's got her standing up, on her own feet, and using his body to block her from the view of the crowds.
She makes herself inhale, and exhale, and inhale again. Makes the jangling jitter of her own nerves and the nerves of everyone around her smooth out.
I see why you wanted me here for this.
He smiles at that. Right now, he's… calm. Happy, playful, very pleased with himself and the universe in general, but calm.
And she knows he isn't always calm at these things, and wanted her own calm nearby.
He strokes her face, still keeping his broad shoulders between the view of her and everyone else. She can feel he's aware of what he's doing, and how he's intentionally trying to make it look like they're just petting.
He strokes her face. I love you.
I know.
She sees him smirk, and then roll his eyes a bit, and I never told you that story, did I?
Kylo?
When we get a free moment. You ready?
She takes another deep breath. The cheering and hollering is getting softer, but it's not done, yet. They're going to yell more when you step away.
He's grinning. Yep. And you're damn well worth it!
She reaches up, onto her toes, and gently kisses him, and then back to her feet, holding his hand, stepping to his side, as he also turns to face the crowd.
The wave swells again. They… like this. They like what Kylo stands for. They like seeing him up here, with her. They like the show and the party and the festivities. They like the idea that there's a purpose and a meaning and…
And if she had to guess, there are fewer than ten Force sensitives on this ship. Likely fewer than five. Possibly just her, Kylo, and whatever Force Mirina Frakes can bring to the surface. But with this many people, this close, all together, all on one subject, you don't need to be Force sensitive. Just putting this many people near each other magnifies the feelings, spreads them around, makes everyone that much more.
And right now, all of that more is aimed at her, and him, and the future they're out to build.
And it feels… intense and amazing and terrifying and good and nerve wracking, and she doesn't think she's ever tried to deal with this many emotions at once, and she doesn't know what to do with herself, or… actually Kylo doesn't know what either of them is supposed to be doing now, because the speech is done, and they're just sort of standing there, and he's starting to get nervous now, too, and…
Great…
Jon… There's Jon. Thank the Force.
Jon comes over, linking arms with both of them, quietly saying, "Give them a bow or something, and then off the stage we go, okay?"
So, Kylo turns to the crowd and gives them a bow, and another roar hits them, and Rey smiles at them and waves, and that gets more cheering, and then Jon escorts them to the side exit, with Kinear and Schiff following.
"Now what?" Kylo says as Jon leads them to the same chamber they'd been waiting in before the speech.
"Meet and mingle," Kinear says. "Roam around, go see the ship, talk to people."
"Be nice, chat, but don't linger too long," Schiff adds. "People get nervous when the Boss is lingering. Kills the party. So spend more time on the on-duty areas."
"Don't people get nervous when the Boss is watching them work?" Kylo asks. He certainly never enjoyed Snoke or Luke hovering over him.
"They do," Jon says, "but they're significantly more likely to be sober when they're working than at the party, so… Go, ask questions, talk to people. Be nice. Introduce Rey." Jon turns to her. "How are you doing?"
She blinks, mouth opening and closing, and blinks again. "That was intense."
Jon nods. "Yeah. Anytime you get a crowd like that and rile them up, it'll be intense. I can't imagine what it's like when you can feel them all, like you two do." He grins. "That said, both of you looked great. They loved the last bit with the kiss."
"You think?" Kinear asks, voice dry, smile in his eyes.
Jon rolls his eyes at Kinear. "I'm in too damn good of a mood to deal with sarcasm right now. Anyway, off you two go, too. Come back with reports from the party."
"And what are you doing, Jon?" Kylo asks.
"Sticking with you and Rey. Making sure someone who knows the layout of the ship is with you. Don't want you getting lost."
Kylo smirks at that, but… Well, given how much of the ship he's seen, he likely would. Not that he can't fix that readily, just port back to their rooms, but… "Okay. Let's go wander."
15:00 Space, En Route to Lirium
On his ship, returning from Driculam with a load of food for the Faviers, three more shipstones, a regulation roulette table, and a suit, a good suit, hand-tailored specifically for him, Poe decides to settle in and watch Ren's year end… year beginning, speech.
It's… decent. He's good with the content, amused by the kiss at the end, and all in all, it's a solid 'come join me' sort of thing. He's seen better. He's seen worse. (He's done worse. Done better, too, but that was a long time ago, and given how giddy everyone was at just being alive, as long as he didn't trip over his feet and face plant, they would have cheered at that speech.) It's clear that rallying people and working a crowd are not Ren's strong suits, but, not only could he be a lot worse at it, Poe was expecting him to be a lot worse at it.
He's staring at the frozen holo, thinking that Ren's likely trainable. He could probably learn to be really good at this. His mother was, after all. Rey could probably learn to be better than good, she's got the sort of bright, genuine smile people like. He's thinking about that, those pearly whites flashing in her wide, easy smile, when the hair on the back of his neck rise, which has him reaching for the blaster he's not wearing because he's alone on his ship streaking through space.
Then he sees why his body's fear sensors fired off. His mouth drops. He's heard the Force-sensitive Maji talk about this, but… He never expected it to happen, not to him.
"Leia," slips out of his mouth.
"Hey, Poe," she sits next to him, looking him over, seeing the Maji token, and the ship, and the newsfeed, paused on her son kissing his wife in front of the entire galaxy. She smirks a little at the image. "Looks like he's got at least some flare for it."
"Some. That's probably the best part of it."
Leia nods a bit at that. "They'll learn." She looks at Poe, eyes searching his. "They're going to need help."
"I know."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd offered some."
He looks a little insulted at that. "You have to ask?"
"When I asked you to leave the Republic, you remember what I said?"
"That we needed passionate, rash people, people who still remembered what it meant to feel to get off their asses and change the path of the galaxy."
"Yeah." She nods to the newsfeed. "I think they've got rash and passion covered. But they're going to need someone older, wiser—"
Poe rolls his eyes extravagantly. "You are not talking about me. Someone who fucked the whole bloody war sideways and got three quarters of his command killed in one move? That is not older or wiser."
"Someone who knows how badly failure can hurt, yes. That's a big part of getting to older and wiser. You remember why the Death Star was right near Yavin for us to blow it up?"
He thinks for a moment… That part of the story is always pretty hazy. In fact, as best he knows, no one has ever actually told him that part of the story. Leia, Han, Luke and the droids land. They hand off the intel. Then the Death Star pops up.
Leia shakes her head. There's a reason why that part of the story is pretty much never told. "I led them straight to us. I knew they let us get away, but somehow I didn't put that together with they were following, and within hours of getting to the base, there they were. Luck and the Force means we lived to see another day, but…" Left unspoken is the fact that more than three quarters of the Rebellion's fighter pilots died in that attack. "Surviving something like that is how you get older and wiser." She's got that look aimed at him. The one he thinks of as the mom look, and he briefly wonders if Ren ever saw this aimed at him. "You haven't made a command decision since the battle of Crait."
"I think it's abundantly clear that I'm not the man for it. It's not like I only made one bad decision that day."
She shakes her head at that. "And I think it's abundantly clear that it's time you got off your ass, stopped wallowing, show off what you've learned from your failures, and help my son and daughter make this fucking galaxy work." She glances around at the ship. "They've been playing around for a year, getting things sorted out, and that probably had to happen, but playtime is over."
He snorts.
"Or maybe it's just starting. The board is set, and it's time you pick up the dice and get in on the game."
"How?"
She touches the token on his chest, or, at least, her finger hovers over it. "Time to claim who and what you are, Master Poe of the Maji."
"What does that mean?"
Leia smirks. "Honestly, I'm not sure, yet, but we'll know, soon. Things are going to be moving, and it's time for you to get in on them."
Poe sighs. "Yes, Ma'am."
"Do not give me that Ma'am stuff. You know better than that."
Poe laughs at that, and Leia smiles at him before vanishing.
15:30 The Supremacy
"You think he knows what he just did?" Schiff asks Kinear as they meander toward the F-deck after Ren's speech.
Kinear shrugs. "I honestly don't know. I'm not sure if my 'economic warfare will hurt us just as badly if not worse than bombardments' lesson sunk in. And on top of that, I don't know if he realizes he just declared economic warfare on every system in the galaxy that depends on chattel slavery."
"And yet you didn't stop him, Pat."
Kinear shrugs. "Should I have, Josh?"
Schiff tilts his head to the side. He's not adverse to the move they're planning, but… Timing… "Maybe until we were a tad more secure…"
Pat shakes his head. "After last night… I think a bold statement was the way to go."
Schiff catches the look in Pat's eyes. "You've got more under your vest than you're letting on."
Kinear inclines his head, as if to say, and you don't? "How many governors and provisional consuls did you chat with last night?"
"At least a hundred," Schiff replies.
"And were many of them getting interested in taking advantage of our 'eventual emancipation' program."
"They were."
Kinear smiles and nods. "If we're moving into the emancipation, security, neutral meeting space, and contract enforcement business, an unstable galaxy is of value to us. Makes what we can offer of more value to the people around us. His statement is going to make a lot of systems clench hard in on themselves. Trying to keep colonies and people from coming to us and the like. That'll start rebellions. Rebels need safe places to talk, plan, and buy goods." And they can both envision a future where there will be Order places, very free markets, perhaps, where said Rebels can do that. And Kinear can envision a future where those very free markets take note of who buys and uses what, and then uses that information to further the future financial flourishing of the Order. "Those rebellions will eventually come to terms." Because all rebellions die, eventually. "And here we'll be, sitting pretty, strong and stable, ready and waiting to offer our services as mediators and enforcers."
Schiff shakes his head a bit. "The over-world overreacts. That build sympathy for the new system. They fight among themselves for a while, burning off their best and brightest..."
"Then they come to us, and we've got a much easier time enforcing the situation because they're weaker, and more of the people on the ground are happy to see us. We'll swoop in as liberators and protectors, instead of one set of overlords made a deal with a different set. And, once we're there, well-trained, talented, good people might decide that we can offer them a better deal than their home world can."
Schiff smirks. "Is there any situation where you haven't already gamed it ten moves out?"
"Ellie would tell you that there are a lot of them."
Schiff sniggers at that. "If that's our play, though, we're going to need more ships."
Kinear sighs. "More everything. If he's even close to right about how fast we're going to grow, even this monstrosity will be overrun in a matter of years." He sighs again. Credits, they need more credits just to stay put, growing will take even more of them, and… He prays that getting where the Order is trying to be is lucrative.
"I think the first order of business for Frakes' diplomacy department is getting in bed with as many systems with functional ship-building space-docks as will have us, and seeing if any of them are willing to shift alliance."
Kinear nods at that. "What do you know about his new friend?"
Schiff raises an eyebrow. "The droid?" Schiff's fairly sure that Kinear means Threepio, and not the three attractive people Frakes wandered off to entertain privately over the course of last night's party. He's still not sure if seducing people aiming for The Master is a good move or not, but he does know that's not a situation he needs to stick his nose in.
"The droid."
"What do you know about the droid?" Schiff asks, which tells Kinear all he needs to know about what Schiff knows about him.
"Did you see he told Long who his mother is?" Kinear asks, confirming to Schiff that he knows all there is to know about the droid, without either of them, specifically, mentioning that he appears to be Leia Organa's personal protocol droid.
"I heard. Leia Organa's boy." Schiff sighs at that. A lot of the direction they're moving in is starting to make more sense. The thing he can't tell is if Organa just played the ultimate long game and won, or if her son was giving her the biggest fuck you in the history of fuck-yous. But, of course, he's still her son, and her ideals still rubbed off on him. Schiff's leaning toward fuck you, but only because Organa hasn't been seen in more than a year. "And I notice that that was not a surprise to you." There's a bit of annoyance in Schiff's voice at being kept out of that.
Pat checks, they are, for the moment, alone in the hallway. "I wasn't breathing a word of that until he did. That said, he and his lady were silly enough to almost introduce her as Rey Amidala."
Schiff winces. He knows the name. He doesn't know the connection. But he knows how that name could be trouble. "His name or hers originally?"
"His. Even Vader couldn't conjure babies from nothing."
Schiff's wince intensifies. "That would have been a fire in the O2 processors."
"Yes. We averted that."
"They are married, then?" Schiff says.
"Ish… There's a records trail from Ben Solo to Ben Amidala to Rey Amidala, and, of course, you can trace his finger prints and iris to Ben Organa Solo, who was properly registered by his parents as a toddler, but…"
Schiff smirks. "But that's not a wedding. And that's not the chance to open this thing up and…" There are screens showing images of the speech around them for people who didn't get to see it live. And there he is, Master of the Order, kissing the hell out of his bride. They pause to watch. "They're extremely photogenic."
Kinear's nodding. "And there's not a single system in the galaxy that was worse for the wear because it had young, pretty people with a glorious love story and a huge fucking wedding."
"Join the Order, we're prettier than the rest?"
"Well, not me and you. Not for a few decades at least," Kinear chuckles. "But we've got it, so we might as well flaunt it. Beautiful, popular people have an easy time making alliances. People will want to be near them just to bask in their shine, so… we might as well use it."
Schiff nods. "Might as well." They stroll a few steps further, out of the eyes and ears of the crowd. "Do you think she's still out there?"
"Organa?" Kinear asks.
"Organa. That's her droid, right?"
Pat nods. "I think so. I never met her, or Threepio, in person, but I did see videos. And there was only one golden droid at her side with a little R2 hovering in the background."
Schiff keeps looking at Kinear, making it clear he hasn't answered the question.
"He told Long that both of his parents were no longer physically capable of attending things like parties."
"So, dead, or so incapacitated as to be useless," Schiff says.
"So incapacitated she gave up her Threepio." They both know that no leader, no good leader, and no matter what else was true about Leia Organa, she was good, gives up the electronic mind that knows all of their secrets, not unless they don't need those secrets any longer.
"The Threepio who likely knows where they got their ships." The Admiral says, getting them back to why he thinks Kinear brought up Threepio in the first place. "It was always rumored that the Rebellion had dry docks hidden across the galaxy. Small ones. Nothing that could handle anything bigger than a destroyer. Even if they're in terrible shape, we can fix them up. It's easier to start with a broken down base, than it is to build from new, especially given the state of our finances."
"Shall we float it by him gently? See if we've actually wooed him to our side? Pass the message to Frakes, let him know that's the alliances we want, see if the droid bites, and if he does, splendid, and if not… Well, there are slicers who specialize in that sort of thing. He wouldn't even know anything had happened." Kinear thinks about it, and both he and Schiff know that gently or not, that's exactly what's going to happen.
One day, in the not wildly distant future, Threepio, and the little R2 will have a visit, they'll be turned off, their memory banks copied, and then turned back on with new memory overlays in place.
The beauty of an electronic mind is that, made of metal and silicon, it's malleable in a way organic minds aren't.
That thought triggers another one, and the Grand Marshall and Grand Admiral share it. It's beyond time that C8 got a few upgrades, among others, some sort of system in play so that he can't be turned off.
Or at least, not turned off with his memory banks in place.
19:30: The Supremacy
"And that's what a Rear Gunner First Class does, Sirs… my Lady," The gunner says, wrapping up, slightly nervously, his answer to Kylo's "So, what do you do?" question.
Rey smiles at him, and that eases a lot of the nervous. "Do you like it?" she asks.
And that jolts nervous back up.
Both she and Kylo can feel she asked a wrong question, but neither of them know why.
"It's good work, My Lady," he answers diplomatically, and everyone relaxes again.
"Good. Thank you," she says, and Jon leads them further down the hallway.
He quietly says to them, "Jobs are assigned. Testing finds aptitude. For that sort of job, he needs exceptional eyesight, very steady hands, and extremely fast reflexes. Liking it isn't part of the equation."
"Oh." Rey replies. "Does… liking things come in at all?"
"If you're an officer, sometimes. If you've got a wide enough array of skills. If you, like me, hired on to fill a specific position."
Rey thinks about that, looks at Jon, looks at Kylo, and then says, "Could liking it come into play?"
Kylo shrugs and then looks at Jon. It's clear he doesn't know either.
"Maybe. Probably more than it does now. We've got a system in play right now, where you get in, get tested, get trained according to your strengths, get tested again, and then get shoved into the job that most closely matches your testing results. Depending on how well you tested, and what sort of job, you'll get more training on the job or after, and keep moving around. That's how the enlisted track works.
"If you test well on command decisions, planning, or like me, certain sorts of specialized skills…"
"Sewing?" Rey asks.
Jon scoffs at that. Yes, he's good at sewing, but good at sewing does not an officer make. "Putting a production line in place. Anything with fingers can learn to sew. Not anyone can learn to turn 500 million credits into 2.5 million sets of armor designed for two branches, fourteen specialties, three camo terrains, twelve standard ranks, and twenty standard sizes. Assuming you've got something like that, you'll get moved into the Officer track or directly into a rank."
"Where does like come into play with that?" Kylo asks.
"Enlisted jobs can be very tight. The gunner just guns. An officer has a much wider to-do list, so said officer gets a bit more say about where they go. Say you've got top-class abstract math skills, you can go for the Navi Department or Logistics or Quantum Field Engineering or…"
Rey and Kylo both nod at that. They're in the hallway now, which is, given the fact that most everyone has the day off, fairly empty.
Two Stormtroopers round the corner, see the three of them, snap into perfect attention and salutes, nervous vibrating off of them. Rey does her best not to laugh when she catches one of them thinking, It's her. Thank Iuna someone signed up to fuck that man! He's been so much calmer, since.
Kylo caught it, too, and looks somewhat irked as he says, "At ease," and then waves them on their way, and they go scurrying away.
Once they're out of sight, Jon says, "What was that? They annoy you?"
Rey sniggers and Kylo rolls his eyes. "The girl was thinking 'Thank Iuna someone signed up to fuck that man."
Jon laughs at that. "Thank Iuna indeed."
"Who or what is Iuna?" Kylo asks.
"A luck goddess. Popular with First Order troopers from the inner rim." Jon checks the hallway, and then says. "Okay, so, how are you doing? It's a good time for a break if you want one."
Rey, noticing they're alone, slouches for the first time in an hour. It feels good. "I could do with a break."
Kylo nods. "Me, too." He takes her hand and Jon's and a moment later they're in his rooms.
Jon's gasping and blinking and finally gets out, "HOLY FUCK! Warn a guy! KYLO, shit…" he's turning around looking at Kylo's rooms. "You do not just grab someone and do that without asking. FUCK!"
Kylo winces, and flops onto their bed. "Sorry. I… It's like walking for me. I'm so used to it, now."
Jon takes a deep, steadying breath. His heart is galloping and his hands are shaking. He can see Rey holding a hand up, probably about to touch him and do Force alone knows what. He holds his hands up, steps back, a clear No in his posture, and then says, "Okay, ground rules. For me, and for anyone else you want to interact with as a human: fucking ask before doing shit like this! No… what the hell was that?"
"Teleporting," Rey adds.
"No teleporting, no mind reading, no… magic stuff, without permission. If you've got to use the Force to do it, ask first!"
Kylo nods. "Okay." He winces again. "I'll forget some. Kick me if I do. Using the Force… some of it takes effort, and some of it really is like walking or breathing. I just do it. I can't… not feel your emotional state. I can sometimes be so distracted I don't notice it, but if I'm paying attention to you, I can't not feel it."
Jon sits down at the table, and Rey pulls off her shoes, and hunts down the manicure/pedicure box. They've got a million more hours of walking and standing around today, and her new shoes are a bit stiff and tight still.
Jon sees her do that. A good foot rub would probably help get his heart rate back down. "Good plan."
As he's saying that, and as he's getting ready to talk more about Kylo and the Force, and the Force and other people, C8 comes in. "I thought I heard you." He's got a tray covered in sandwiches, fruits, a pitcher of something, cups, and bowls of soup. "I took the liberty of ordering dinner. If there's anything else you want, let me know."
"Thank you, C8. How are things going in here?" Kylo asks as the droid sets the food on the table.
"Very well, Sir. I have a collection of reports ready for you for tomorrow."
Kylo nods at that. "Of course you do. The day after tomorrow. We're off tomorrow."
"I'll have your coffee and reports ready, sir."
"Thanks, C8."
Once C8 is out, Jon looks over to Kylo. "Okay, basic rules of polite human interactions." Rey's pulling a sandwich to her hand. "And this goes for you, too. It looks like you don't use it as much as he does, but I know you can, so… First and foremost, if you wouldn't want someone to just do it to you, bloody well ask before you do it to someone else. I can promise that neither of you would appreciate suddenly getting yanked out of reality without a hint of warning and plopped somewhere else."
Rey shrugs a bit. "Ask me how I got off Jakku."
Jon glares at her. "Did you enjoy it?"
"No."
"Then just because it happened to you before is no reason to do it to someone else. Especially if you know it feels like shit.
"Rule number two," he pauses, "Actually, there is no rule number two. If it'd bug you to have it done to you, if you can imagine it bugging you if it happened to you…" He stares at the two of them for a moment, and decides that based on what he knows about Kylo, he might need a different track here, "Okay scratch that, if it would bug you if someone did it to Rey," then he looks from Kylo to Rey, "or if someone did it to Kylo, don't do it to someone else without asking permission."
Rey inclines her head, and then nods. Kylo does, too, pulling himself up to seated, and says to Jon, "I'm sorry. Next time I will ask first."
"Good."
Kylo gets up and joins them at the table, fixing up a plate of supper for himself. The three of them take a moment chewing on the sandwiches and sipping drinks. Eventually Rey says, "What if it's important?"
Jon looks at her. "You need to do something, you asked, they said no, but you think it's got to happen anyway?"
"Yes."
He raises an eyebrow, not as a question, but as a wry expression. "Sometimes, it's good to be the king. Just do it sparingly, and make sure you're bloody well right about it being necessary. I'm sure our boy over there has a few stories about people who did things to him thinking they were necessary, and they were wrong."
Rey and Kylo both wince at that, and Jon looks fairly satisfied at having gotten the idea across. He takes a bite of the sandwich. "So, next up, time at the party?"
Kylo slumps back into his chair. "If I say, no, what happens?"
"Nothing. You stay here. People don't see you. They don't develop positive associations with spending time with you. They don't chat with their friends about how they got to meet you and your lady. They don't—"
He sits back up. "Got it."
Rey takes a sip of her drink, and then says, "Lead us to the party."
20:00 The Supremacy
"General."
Threepio's back is turned, and for a… not heartbeat, because, of course, he does not have a heart that beats, but for a moment, he can't remember that the young man in gray with an Order badge is talking to him, but Artoo beeps at him, reminding him that he's the General in question, so…
He turns to face the soldier in front of him. One of Frakes' Stormtroopers who cleaned up nicely and had enough manners to be put in charge of keeping visitors amused. Given the fact that he's still a non-com, it's clear that whomever he's entertaining isn't that high of a level. Still, it wouldn't do to annoy any of their guests. "Squad Leader TU-9987?"
"Sir, we have another guest who would like to chat about using the Supremacy for a meeting."
"Excellent, Squad Leader. I have a moment, is now convenient for…"
"Lord and Lady T'Quelleth of the Pnia System."
"…the Lord and Lady to chat?"
"Yes, sir. They were hoping to talk sooner rather than later."
"Good, bring them by."
And five minutes later, he has two very… posh… people sitting in front of him in his office.
His office. Because he's a General. And Generals have things like offices, and staff, (He hasn't hired anyone, yet, though Jon tells him that having at least ten people reporting directly to him is common at his rank. And those people will have people who report to them, and… It's amazing to him what's happening with this.) and people who do nothing but keep track of his meetings and calendar and…
It's a shift.
He's not used to being the person people want to meet. He's used to being the person they meet while waiting to get to the person they want to meet.
But the T'Quelleths are here to talk to him.
He bows to them before seating himself, and Artoo consents to fetch some drinks and offer them around. (He does make a snide comment about how he is not part of Threepio's staff, and he bloody well needs to hire someone to do this because it's not his job. Threepio ignores it.)
"I've been told you're interested in the Order's services?"
"We are," Lord T'Quelleth says. "In the next year, our oldest son will come of age. As such he will be expected to marry. We have three potential spouses in line, but… negotiations can be… tricky."
Lady T'Quelleth takes over. "What my husband means is, we have two 'safe' options. And a third, which is a bit of a long shot. If we can come to a settlement, things would be… advantageous, for both our societies."
"And who is your long shot?" Threepio asks.
"Isolda D'Muir," Lord T'Quelleth replies.
Threepio nods. "Of the Lranian system?"
"Yes," Lady T'Quelleth says.
"And your system and hers has been at war for the last twenty-six years. With, if you'll forgive the indelicacy, disastrous results all around."
"That would be an accurate read on the subject," Lord T'Quelleth says. "Put plainly, both our royal house and theirs is on the verge of collapse. If we keep fighting much longer, neither of our houses will survive."
"So you wish to try the traditional marriage pact to put things to rest." Off the top of his head, Threepio can think of 76,049,847 times this has happened in the past, and 42,458,908 times where it worked. It's not a guaranteed win, but probably as good if not better than any of their other options.
"Exactly. That said, as of this point, feelings are still… running high…" That's a delicate way of saying that the last battle ended less than seven days ago, and cost both houses multiple thousands of casualties. "And should our son set foot on their home world, or Isolda set foot on ours…"
Lady T'Quelleth doesn't need to finish that thought. Threepio does for her, to just to make sure they understand that he knows how the game is played. "You expect an assassination attempt within minutes at the least, hours at the longest, a successful one within a month, and after that, no chance of things ever coming to peace."
"Exactly," Lord T'Quelleth responds. "So, in an effort to actually smooth things over, we'd like to see about having you host the peace negotiations, a wedding if things go well, a place for both of them to live for at least five years, let those high feeling start to fade, and to guarantee security for all of it."
Threepio can't smile, but he is pleased. This sounds like exactly what they'll be good at. "I have a feeling we can arrange that. Granted, Order security is thorough. So, before we get things into play, I'm going to need guarantees from everyone involved that you'll allow us to do our job."
"And what would that involve?" Lord T'Quelleth asks.
"At the very least, your ships won't come within a lightyear of the Supremacy. We will send our people to you, pick up you and your things, search everything more carefully than you can possibly imagine. If we're escrowing goods or credits, we will assess them to make sure they are what you say they are. No weapons will be allowed on your persons, or in your goods. We do not care if whatever it is is a ceremonial weapon of great sentimental worth, it will not come with you to our ship. We will bring you and your goods here, allow you to take care of business with as much security as we deem necessary, and then we'll return you and whatever goods are going with you to your home. If your son is the kind of person who enjoys his privacy, he will likely not enjoy living here. We can make sure that his personal security is discreet, but we cannot guarantee it, especially if Lady D'Muir is one of those with high feelings, without keeping someone near him at all times unless he's in a secure room, alone. Likewise, she would have her own personal security, too. If everyone agrees to those basic terms, we can see about setting the rest of it up."
The T'Quelleth's nod. Lady T'Quelleth adds, "The home for our son and possible daughter-in-law… In addition to secure, it would have to be… nice."
"Are your own rooms not adequate in regards to niceness?" Threepio adds, knowing they have to be good enough, or they wouldn't be asking about this.
"They're fine. Very comfortable, for a visit. Somewhat small for a home…" Lady T'Quelleth says.
"Very small for an embassy," Lord T'Quelleth adds.
Now, that interests Threepio. There would certainly be value to offering formal diplomatic space, secure, open, diplomatic space, where, should something slip through the security the blowback wouldn't immediately hit the home world. A place where it'd be easy to have off the books meetings as well as on the books. He'd smile if he could.
"If all parties are interested, we can, for the correct considerations, make sure that they have a suite in keeping with their status. And if said status were to become some level of embassy for the newly united T'Quelleth-D'Muir house, accommodations can certainly be arranged."
For a moment, Threepio's almost nervous about saying that. Almost. They made him a General, so he's going to command, and if Jon or Ben doesn't like it, well… He doesn't have to be here. It's a remarkably freeing feeling. Artoo hasn't said anything. He knows enough to not interrupt now, but later he's going to tease him about it.
Lord T'Quelleth nods. "Considerations… And… what might those be?"
Threepio would smile if he could. He knows he's got them. If the D'Muirs can be talked into this… "We offer an array of potential payment options. Credits are, of course, always welcome, but we can make do with almost anything. For example, if you and the D'Muir were to be not fighting, neither of your societies would need nearly as many battleships. We of course, being in the security business, can always use battleships."
"And being in the security business, you may also have an interest in… hand weapons?" Lady T'Quelleth says.
"I'm certain we could find a use for them. Or perhaps, for the manufacturing plants that make them?"
That gets both T'Quelleths nodding. "Interesting. You've given us much to think about."
"I'm glad to hear that, My Lord and Lady. In fact, if you like, our diplomatic department could handle arranging the first meeting with the D'Muirs, taking care of everything. All you'd need to do make sure your negotiators are where we ask they be so we can pick them up on time."
The T'Quelleths smile.
Lord T'Quelleth says, "General, I thank you for this meeting. I have a feeling this is the start of a profitable relationship."
"Excellent, My Lord. And I too look forward to seeing you again."
00:30 1/2/2 The Supremacy
It's a quiet chunk of hallway. And the reason it's quiet is that this is a part of the ship that isn't doing much today. "Everyone" is off, which means pretty much no one is in the training sims today.
That makes a certain amount of sense to Yakkon Keth. Everyone's at the parties, or maybe on duty if duty is something that has to happen, but… No one has to be on the training sims. Not today.
That said, if no one is using the training sims today, then why does he have to be in here overseeing four droids, making sure they get into each simulator and clean them out?
Someone didn't think that through.
Or maybe Lt. KT-5928 just has it in for him, and made him stay on duty just to bust his stones. He's always pretty snotty about the trainees that actually joined. Treats them as hard as he can get away with, sniffing at them like they leave a bad stink in the air.
Though, rumor has it, that's just the way the Numbers are. Poor bastards had the souls ripped clean out of 'em and all that's left is hate and spite.
Either way, Yakkon will not be distraught to see the last of the Lieutenant. Five more months on this rotation, and then he's onto deep-space non-atmo flight training. He can't wait.
He's grousing, to himself, and the droids maybe, though these little guys don't talk, barely even beep, about how the Numbers wouldn't know a good time if it walked up and sucked their shafts, when he hears footsteps and quiet voices.
Great, someone else to deal with. He tries to look like he's actually doing something vaguely useful. The bloody droids can do the damn job themselves, they don't actually need any sort of person with them, but… Keep an eye on the droids is the job, so he's fucking doing it, instead of being up on the E deck doing some fucking.
(Resh, his bunkmate, said the Specs are on sale today, patriotism or something. He doesn't care why, 10% off tuffing and sucking is his idea of a grand day, and fuck if he's gonna miss that! He just hopes the sale is still going when he gets off duty, at 02:00.)
He's behind one of the training sim pods, and hears, "What do you think they do down here?" Woman's voice, quiet, an accent he's not familiar with, pleasant though.
"You know, I don't actually know."
His eyes go wide. That voice he knows. That one's been broadcast all over the Supremacy all day.
The footsteps are getting closer, and he can hear one of the pods being opened.
He peeks around to see the Master and his… lady friend… no one's entirely sure who she is, though that snog they shared earlier certainly made some things clear, are looking at the inside of one of the sim pods.
A frisson of fear starts, and then stops; it's one of the clean ones. Fucking hell and thank you Iuna for that!
Supposedly, since the rally, The Master's been wandering around the ship all day. Meeting people. Asking what they do and how. He's heard that TR-9908 saw him, talked to him, said he's a lot taller in person than he seems from further away, but he's almost doubtful of that. 08's a good guy, for a Number, but he does like to pretend he's higher up than he actually is. He'd be the sort to say he saw the Master whether he did or not. (Plus, how the fuck could the Master be bigger in person? The man looks like a Wookie on holovids, and there's no way he's actually three meters tall.)
"The setup is a lot like one of our fighters." The Master slides in. He's big for it. (Yakkon smirks, he's the size he's supposed to be. 08's full of shit.) These are for first year fliers, and they're normally half his age, and maybe four-fifths his size.
They're quiet for a moment, while the Master does something, flips the sim on apparently. "Oh… Flight training simulation."
"This isn't how you learned to fly?" the lady asks.
He hadn't known the Master was a pilot.
"No. I started on the standard TIE/INSSS, and moved onto a TIE/FO, and finished with my TIE Silencer. I've never used a sim."
What freaking maniac taught him to fly on a live ship? Holy Force that's bleedingly stupid!
The girl crawls in with him, settling herself on his lap. The Master's hands come to her waist, and his lips touch her shoulder. Yakkon's attention sharpens… Shit… Maybe… He takes a quarter step to the side, so he's got a better view. Catch the Master and his pet in action… Shit, that'd be a show! The girl's kind of light on tits but she's got an ass for days, and if he got the angle right… Shit that'd be a view!
The Master does kiss her. And she makes some sort of comment about keeping a steady hand on his shaft while reaching behind her and wriggling her hips a bit. The Master smirks, and kisses her again. And for a second, his hand is moving toward her breast and then stops dead.
He kisses her cheek and then gives her a little boost, out of the sim.
Yakkon's certain of two things: he's been caught watching, and there's no possible way the Master could have seen him. He's got line of sight on the Master, but the Master would have to turn his head to have line of sight on him. His Lady doesn't have line of sight on him. And there are no reflective surfaces inside the sim.
His heart is racing, because he's half expecting the Master to march up and eviscerate him here, now, on the spot for peeking. But the Master just takes his Lady's hand, and they walk off the deck, silent, though… Yakkon could swear they're talking, but… He just can't hear anything.
01:00 1/2/2 The Supremacy
"Mum!"
Mirina Frakes is waiting in her son's rooms when he finally comes home at the end of the parties.
"Jon." She gives him a gentle smile, and pats the sofa next to her. That's making him feel nervous. Gentle smiles generally go along with bad news. He sits next to her. "You look tired."
"I am. I'm off for the next three days though, so that'll help."
She nods. "You like him, don't you."
He doesn't need to ask which him is in play here. Certainly not either of the two he charmed into a blind corner yesterday. (Though he rather liked both of them, too. And if he's ever in the Xquelxior or Brannath systems, he'll look them up.) "Yeah, I do." She's really looking at him. And he knows what she's asking but not willing to say. "Not that much. He's a good boss, and I think friend, but… Nothing like that. He's the most married man in the galaxy from what I can see. There's no room for me, or anyone else, in there."
She nods. That meets her assessment of the Master and his Lady, but it wouldn't be the first time someone got an inappropriate crush. "Good." She's quiet for another moment. "I noticed you were in and out throughout the party."
"What party planner isn't?"
That gets a mild glare. "Uh huh… Yes, you were… vigorously… attending to the details… With… several… guests?"
"Yeah." He rolls his eyes. Once it became clear his Mom wasn't going to get him bound to some well-connected Lady through an 'oops' of a pregnancy, she decided his 'promiscuous' ways were inappropriate. They likely always were, at least by Imperial sexual mores, but she was willing to look the other way if it got him married to a high-born lady. "I'm all about the details."
Two men, one woman, yes, he'd thoroughly tended to his details. He does make a mental note to head to the medbay tomorrow or the next day. He wasn't as careful as he should have been with one of the men, but he was so damn pretty, and it'd been a million years since he'd done it without a slick, and… Better get checked out sooner than later. If he caught something, it'd be better to get the shots before it became symptomatic.
Normally, his Mom would have given him a little smack for the comment, or maybe the details he tended, but she doesn't. Her face and voice are sad and quiet as she says, "When you were out, he told Amelda Long he's Leia Organa's boy." It's clear from her voice that she expects this to be a bomb. And it's even clearer from her next sentence, "We're expanding the business, the brand… If you want… I know Coruscant won't be a going concern, not for you, but… I'm setting up Omara and Helene in their own branches, Tasha and Junni are staying with me. I can set you up, too, any world you like. You don't… have to feel like you're stuck here, okay?"
Jon sighs. He supposes he could have been a tad more specific when he told Kylo not to mention who his parents were to his Mum, and spelled out that he needed to not mention it to anyone, but… It was going to get out sooner or later. "I know, Mom. Have for a while."
"Jon," it eases out of her in a shocked breath. "How…" He's never seen her look more hurt. "He killed your father."
"He wasn't even conceived when dad died."
"His mother—"
"Yeah, I know. But Dad got his own back. Or got his own first. Took out Organa's entire planet. Killed her mom and dad, cousins, family, entire royal line, the whole damn planet, right?"
"They were Rebels!"
"And we were Imperials, and there was a huge fucking war on, and a shit ton of people died, Dad and three of Kylo's grandparents among them, and if we keep score for things like that against people who weren't even born, like Kylo and I, all we're going to get is eternal heartache, so stuff it! He didn't kill anyone, not in that war. Dad's not on him. And it's not my fault he doesn't have any grandparents, so just... Leave it!"
"Jon… We lost… Everything…"
His eyes narrow. "We bloody well didn't. And I, personally, didn't lose shit, because I never had it. He was onboard when I was born. We never even saw each other. Yes, I know he was your husband, and if anyone can you look you in the eye and say, I understand, it's me. None of the girls know, but I do, so don't just sit there and look depressed at me. I get it. I know. And I am telling you, as someone who has chosen to work this closely with this man, that he is worth our respect and alliance. And beyond that, if we're going to have the sort of galaxy where your grandkids and my nephews and nieces don't have to commiserate with us about how bad losing a spouse in some fucking pointless act of intergalactic violence hurts, then you'll throw in behind him, too, and help us to build a functional Empire."
"He's not an Emperor."
"And both of us know that's shit. That's how he's putting it in his mind so he can deal with it, and I don't care if he calls himself The Master or the Lord High Poo-bah of the Order or whatever the else fuck he likes. He's The Emperor, and he's building an Empire, and I'm in. You can be in or not as you see fit, but if you can't bury your hate for his parents, then I can't help you. If you can't bury it, you never get to move forward."
She looks so hurt. "Jon… He's not… They weren't just some random Rebels. His parents, personally, with their own two hands, killed your father."
Jon shakes his head, gets up, pours himself a double shot of vodka, and slams it back. He's much to sober for this conversation. When the burn fades from his throat, he says, "If we're going that route, Lando Calrissian killed him. That's what the history vids showed. Lando's the one who got the shot off that took out the Death Star, and last I checked, he's dead, so everything's all wrapped up neat and tidy."
"Jon…" She sounds so hurt by all of this.
"Mom…" He sighs. "It's not on him. There's a ton of stuff you can put on him, like the entire Hosnian system, but if you're going to do that, it's as much on me as it is on him." He slumps back onto the sofa. "Force, there's so much blood on all of our hands. Hundreds of billions of lives, snuffed out in a heartbeat. And I fucking cheered. Got so wrapped up in it when it was happening. The Force bloody well slapped all of us who did. Starkiller and the Supremacy were wrecked a week later, and most of us died for it.
"We can't… It doesn't erase, or even out, not really. But if we're keeping vendettas going forever, we never get to peace. It never gets better, and… I'm in the better business. You going to join me?"
Her teeth grit.
Jon's almost tempted to mention that Kylo killed his father, and broke his mom's heart by joining the First Order, but… He can just feel that's dirty laundry that doesn't need airing right now, and if that's coming out, it's not coming out of him. Also, more importantly, if this is going to work, his mother's got to get behind Kylo's now, who he is and what he's doing, not the man who burned Leia Organa.
She doesn't say anything, but stands up, ready to go to her own rooms.
"Mom…"
She shakes her head. "We're tired. We'll talk again."
He's fairly sure that means she's going to try and get him out of here again. But, maybe he'll nudge her in the direction he wants, too.
1/2/2 10:00 Lirium
"You found it?" Jacen asks Magiit as she fiddles with the holo vid system in the cottage he shares with Critt.
"Just about." She waves him off, not being a big fan of people hovering over her while she's doing tech stuff.
It shouldn't be that hard to get recordings of the First Day speeches and news of the Last Night party, especially since Jacen was part of the Order and knows what channels to watch, but… Someone, and Jacen's thinking it might have been Critt's parents, since technically, it's their holo vid comm, put in some sort of blocker, so it doesn't get certain channels, and…
Magiit's been jiggering it for a while.
"They're home, right?"
Jacen clears his mind and gets a feel for the cottage about a half klick down the only road that makes up their settlement on Lirium. "Yeah. Sleeping now."
"Must have been a long day if they're still in bed," Savarah says.
"Maybe they're just celebrating," Elias adds. "You told us they like to celebrate right, Critt?"
Critt holds up his hands. "Not going there. Besides, he said sleeping, not fucking."
"Okay, first off, if I even let my mind get near them and something like that's going on, Ren's going to skin me alive. I am not going there. Second of all, eeewww!" Jacen says.
His four friends all laugh at that. Critt starts shoving some of the stuff off his bed, so they'll all have room to sit and watch. He can feel that Magiit's getting close to done.
"Got it. Force, Critt, your parents were paranoid. They had two thirds of the channels locked down," Magiit says.
"Yeah… Well…" Critt says, flaring angry, sad, and embarrassed. They all pull back from that. Talking about Critt's parents is still something of a sore spot. Savarah lays a hand on his shoulder, and he tilts his hand, rubbing his cheek against it.
Jacen does not glare. He does take a deep breath and forces his emotions to behave. Last thing any of them need right now is him getting stupid and jealous.
He, along with the rest of them, crowd onto Critt's bed, and if he's right next to Critt, well, it's a tiny screen. Fairly small bed, too. Right now, it's just a standard news feed. Day to day Order stuff, fairly boring. But eventually it loops around and…
"See, I told you she was beautiful!" Magiit says.
It's footage of Rey and Kylo in a receiving line, greeting people.
"Good Gods," Savarah's got her hand over her mouth, hiding her grin. "He looks like he's expecting someone to pull a knife on her." Protective is just radiating off of Kylo, his arm around Rey, as he nods and she clasps hands.
"No, he does not. Trust me, none of us want to see what he'd actually look like if he thought she was in danger," Jacen says.
"Yeah. I think that's what he thinks a polite smile looks like," Elias says, watching Kylo greet whomever is next in line.
"Okay, to me, that looks like he's baring his teeth," Savarah says.
They see Jon move up, but none of them know who Jon is, so there's rising tension as they see him keep moving closer, and Critt says, "Oh, shit, he's gonna flat out smack that bitch into next week if he doesn't stop crowding in."
But Kylo doesn't. Actually, he relaxes as this strange guy kisses Rey's cheek, and then he lets go of her, taking her hand instead of keeping her pulled to his body.
"Okay, who is that?" Jacen says. "He's got to know that guy."
The other four are nodding. "Well… He's got to know that guy well. No way he lets some stranger slobber on Rey," Magiit says.
"Maybe they're friends?" Elias says.
"Do you think he has friends?" Savarah replies.
Jacen nods. "I don't think he's got a lot of them. But he's got Rey, so he's probably got some friends, too."
"Just because you want to be his friend doesn't mean he's got other ones," Critt shoots back at him.
"He got on well enough with you and Ostrae. The man made cookies with you. I think he can do friends," Jacen says back.
They stop bickering as the footage shifts, to the throne room, and the guests mingling. It's a propaganda puff piece. Mostly blathering about how fancy and wonderful everything was. Eventually it heads to the dinner, and they see Rey and Kylo enter. Kylo pulling the chair with his Force. ("Show off," Jacen mutters, planning on whipping that trick out as soon as he can use it properly.) They watch as he waits for Rey to sit, and then sits with her.
"They're so pretty," Savarah says.
Magiit's got a soft look in her eyes, too. "They really are." She looks at the others. "You think they'll let us go along for some of these things?"
That's an idea that's never occurred to any of them, but… "You know," Jacen says. "I mean, we're young, but… not stupidly so. There are probably other young people at these things, and… It's always good to have people who listen, right?"
Elias's eyes light up. "And, maybe… keep people in the right frame of mind. Properly respectful and all."
"Or maybe not. Remember what Poe said about some of his missions, where he'd try to get people riled up to see what they really think. We'd be so good at that," Critt says, looking at Jacen.
"I'm better at talking than listening," Jacen says.
"You're good at both," Magiit replies. "Still… Even I'm good at listening. Even without the Force, you just, pay attention, and… People talk."
"They do," Savarah says. "Back when I was waiting tables, they talked about everything. People like me were just… invisible."
"We get all dressed up; we're not going to be invisible," Elias says.
"Well, some of us might," Critt adds. "Even all dressed up." He smiles a little at that, fairly sure that he can do invisible, or, at least learn how to.
The news shifts, and now it's footage of Ren's First Day Speech. Not the whole thing, just the highlights, which, apparently include him snogging the hell out of Rey at the end.
All five of them are giggling at that.
"Gods, he's like a big, horny puppy!" Savarah says, shaking her head. "So, this is the man that kept half the galaxy petrified?"
"That's not how Finn sees him," Jacen says. He knows Finn avoids him, because, of course, he likes Ren, and Finn doesn't, and he's gotten a good feel for the images/terrors in Finn's mind, so he doesn't blame him for not being Ren's biggest fan, but… It's annoying the man won't get within ten meters of him right now, afraid his affection for Ren will rub off or something.
"I know," Savarah says. "I mean… We watched the Qualee footage, too. So… I know, but…" But they're showing Ren sweeping Rey back into a kiss, again, the voice on the news feed sounding amused and pleased to see that apparent the Master has found a beloved companion and very little is known about Mistress of the Maji Rey, but as they know more, they'll share it.
Loud knocking sounds on Critt's door. Finn's voice. "If you all are done hiding out in here, we've still got the midday meal to get cooked, and greens picked, and the new teaching droid, MX-68, is ready to go, so there are lessons this afternoon…"
And with that, the viewing party breaks up, and the Maji teens head off for their daily chores.
1/3/2
"Mum…" Orlac Calrissian doesn't hate calls home to his mom. He just enjoys literally everything, including deep root tooth cleanings, more.
"Really, Orry… It's time. It's beyond time. It's-"
"The nine millionth time we've had this conversation. I'm not coming back to the Corporation."
"It's your home, Orry."
"Art is my home, Mum. The Corporation was Dad's home."
His mom sighs.
"What else is up? You aren't calling just to annoy me about the Corporation." She does that six times a year, and it's a good month early for her usual call.
"We found your cousin. Maybe…"
Orlac blinks. He's got six cousins, they run the Corporation, none of them are missing… Except… Gods, he hasn't thought about him in forever. "Ben? You found, Ben?"
"Maybe. Do you pay any attention to the Order out there in your temple to political neutrality?" Her voice is sarcastic. The Calrissian Corp has always been political neutral, not in the explicit way Orlac's school is, but in a more lucrative manner of dealing with anyone and everyone who has the credit to buy their goods and services.
"Not since it ceased to be the First Order and the Resistance fell apart." Though that isn't strictly true. But what his Mum doesn't know about what he does here is… well, pretty much everything about why he's here. It's easier that way.
His mum nods. "Rumor has it, the new Master of the Order, Kylo Ren, was Ben Solo once upon a time."
"Rumor?" he asks.
"The first year celebrations were recently, and a few friends went, and according to them, he told Amelda Long, of the United Federation of Byltheen Systems, that he was Leia Organa's boy."
Orlac blinks. "I remember when Uncle Han came to see if Dad could get him back from Snoke, but…"
Annilie Calrissian nods, again. "It always weighed heavily on him that he turned Han down."
"I know, Mum." Orlac was still at home when Uncle Han and Uncle Chewie, Han frantic, Chewie resigned, came to Lando for help. And he still remembers the weeks they spent, pouring over everything they could find about the First Order, about Snoke, about every scrap of intel they could get. And he remembers the screaming fight between Han and Lando, because, in the end, Lando wouldn't commit his men to it.
"I'm not getting five million men killed to fail at getting your boy back, Han!"
"YOU'VE GOT TO!"
"Go home, Han. Go to Leia. Cry about it with her, and then… I don't know, try writing him a letter or something. He'll come home when he wants to."
"Snoke's not going to let him go!"
Lando's eyes were tired, defeated, and Han's were bright with rage tears. "I know. But the only way he's getting out of there is on his own. There's not a single private army in existence with enough manpower to get him out, and even I don't have the credits to bankroll enough of my competitors to get a force big enough to end the First Order, let alone end it tidy enough to make sure Ben gets out alive." Lando shook his head, laying his hand on Han's shoulder, and Han yanked away, burned by the touch. "It can't be done, old friend."
"Don't give me that 'old friend' shit. You'd do it for Orlac."
Lando had looked away from Han, to Orlac, and said, voice quiet, "I'd want to. But every man with me is someone else's child, and I can't send them off just to get killed for a mission I know I can't succeed at. If we had even a one in a million shot at this, I'd try it, but, we don't."
Later, he pulled Orlac aside, kissed him, and Orlac pulled back, he was fifteen and much too old for petting from his father, especially after that conversation. "When you lead, you need to keep in mind that people are with you because they trust you to value them. They'll go to the ends of the galaxy for you if they think you'll go to the ends of the galaxy for them, but if you go off and get them killed stupidly, you break that trust."
Orlac nodded. "What's Uncle Han going to do?"
Lando had a very sad look in his eyes. "Hopefully, get very, very drunk, and let Chewie make all the real decisions for a while."
"And what are you afraid he's going to do?"
"Try and get Ben back himself."
"Suicide?"
"Yes." He gave Orlac another hug, holding him close.
"Orry…" His mother's voice brings him back to the present.
"Mum?"
"You weren't listening at all, were you?"
"No. I was remembering the last time I saw Uncle Han."
His mom nods at that, understanding. "Orry, it's a rumor, and I don't know if it's true, but… Could you check?"
"How? I don't have ears in the Order." Which is literally true, if not true in spirit.
"No. For as silly as this art stuff is," he sighs, a long, drawn out sound, "I know no one in the galaxy has better eyes than you do. There are recordings of his speech. If it's Ben, you'd recognize him, right?"
"Mum, I haven't seen him since I was twelve."
"Yes, but he was twenty then, so he shouldn't have changed that much."
Orlac sighs, thinking about Ben. He, at least back in the day, had an awfully distinctive face. Between the ears and bone structure, he'd stick out. "I'll look." He turns to the side, fiddles with his holovid player, and pulls up a feed from the Order. The first few views are from far enough away, Orlac can't tell. "The hair is the right color, and the ears are similar. I don't remember Ben being that big, though."
She's also looking at the feed. "He always had those enormous ears. The first time I met him was at our wedding, and he was a little guy with these huge ears poking out from messy black hair."
"It's not messy now." The man in the recording has hair smoothed back into a neat pony tail.
The camera moves in on him as he gets into the speech in earnest. The first thing Orlac notices is the scar. Hard not to. "If it's him, he's worse for the wear."
"Someone tried to cut his face in half."
"Succeeded. Not tried." Watching the man, The Master, the size of him, the glint of his eyes, Orlac adds, "Probably died for it, though." He keeps watching. The voice is familiar. Deeper, but the cadence is right. The shape of the mouth, again, is similar, though the lips are larger now. The nose is wrong. Ben always had what Lando called a schnozz. It was always too big for his face, but it used to be straight and narrow. Granted, given the scar, it's likely that nose has been broken at least once, too. That would certainly account for the skew.
The camera pulls in close. Really close. Orlac pauses the image.
"Same eyes?" Annilee asks.
"Probably. Older, a bit deeper and saggier. The same color." It's the moles that sell Orlac on the idea that this is Ben. "It's him. The moles line up the way they're supposed to." He unpauses the video. He sees Ren extend his hand to the crowd, and then turn, extend his hand to a girl, a girl he hadn't noticed before, and she steps to him, and all of the blood drains out of Orlac's face.
He sits there, stunned and silent, as Kylo Ren kissed the girl he knows as Rey, the girl Chewie brought to him to learn more about the Force, the girl who left him a bit over a year ago, his entire library in hand, and vanished.
He blinks, remembering his one visit to Luke's planet, to his Jedi school, and seeing Ben, who was Ben, who was a Jedi then, and there, now, in his arms is another Jedi… or not Jedi… Force user, and…
One of the things Lando had said to Orlac, a long time ago, well before Ben leaving, well before everything fell apart with his art school and the Corporation and everything…
"If you ever get a bad feeling about something, pay attention to it. More gamblers, pirates, smugglers, and traders owe their lives to listening to that little voice than the best blasters, fastest ships, and deadliest aims."
Orlac is watching, nodding slowly. It's not a bad feeling, but something, in his guts and heart and bones, is screaming, aware that something's shifting, and he feels like, for better or worse, he's supposed to be part of it.
"Orry? Remembering again?"
"Yeah, Mum. You know how Dad used to say, 'Felt like a shadow crept over my grave?'"
"Yeah. It never made any sense, but yes, I remember it."
"I'm feeling it right now."
She looks at him, curious, but he doesn't say any more. He just remembers how, if he'd been the son his parents wanted him to be, he would have been the second Senator from Cloud City. If he'd done what his parents had wanted to, he would have joined the Senate at the age of eighteen, and if he'd done so, he would have been sitting there, on Hosnian Prime, at the ripe old age of twenty, and been blown to dust with the rest of them.
And, here, now, he's wondering if all of this truly did happen for a reason, and if he's here, now, because in the not wildly distant future, Calrissian and Solo are, again, going to make some history.
Hey All, and welcome back. Happy Holidays! So, we're gearing back up again. This time I'm going to be slowing down, at least for now, on the update cycle. Probably once a week, maybe a little bit less, and likely on Saturdays and Sundays. I hope you all enjoy what's coming up!