The littler of the two droids disrupted Atris's meditations with characteristic ruthlessness, bleating like an alarm chrono for nearly half a standard minute. Unlike its larger counterpart, Remote generally did little on its own initiative, and so Atris did not waste any of her ire on the machine. She allowed it to lead her through the ship and to the communications room, where she found the culprit waiting.
Atton lounged—he hardly knew how to merely sit—with one elbow resting on a nearby console as he dug through the last remnants of a pack of frag chips, the plasfoil bag crackling obnoxiously in his hands. He acknowledged her presence with a grunt and gestured over his shoulder at one of the screens.
"I trust this could not wait," said Atris quietly.
Atton nodded as if it went without saying. "I need to know what you know about this guy. Y'know, I've never met a squid-head that I liked. Not one. And I've met a lot of them."
"Indeed." Atris drew near, but did not take a seat. Though put off by the slur, she was not about to make an issue of it; to correct all of the pilot's unsavory characteristics was a task well beyond anyone's power. Besides which, she had little energy to spare, and seeing to Kaevee's development was proving enough of a challenge already.
The screen he had indicated was paused on a frame from some security cam footage, showing a hallway from above as Korlen Olligard—Prefect Olligard now, Atris reminded herself—traveled its length. Hailing from an obscure aquatic world in the far Outer Rim, the Quarren were marked by leathery skin, triangular heads, and dexterous facial tendrils. With the hem of his black cloak trailing behind, he seemed to be moving with the peculiar speed and grace of one whose sole joy was productivity—much as he had eighteen standard years ago.
Atton said, "But this one was a Jedi, wasn't he? There any chance you knew him?"
She did her best to let remembering dampen her annoyance at being disturbed. "Not very well, but yes, at the Temple on Coruscant. Until he joined Revan against the Mandalorians."
"Did you expect him to leave?"
"Quite the contrary; I was baffled. He was a political theorist, an academic down to his bones. One of the last I would expect to go to war."
"So he wasn't much of a fighter, then," inferred Atton. Tipping his head back, he brought the bag up to his mouth and poured in the last of the chips. The ensuing sound of his chewing, plus that of the bag being crumpled and discarded, made Atris wince.
"No more or less than any trained Jedi Knight," she replied over the din. "I imagine he's grown more powerful since then, else he wouldn't have survived the wars."
"But there's nothing to suggest he actually fought in the Jedi Civil War, not after the Gordian finished rolling over. Republic fleets never even came close to this sector. So if he's just been sitting at Torque all this time doing government-type stuff, he's probably not at the top of his game, as far as the Force goes. Right?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not."
A sort of tightness crept over Atton's face. "So what else can you tell me about him?"
Lightsaber techniques, unusual Jedi powers, tactical preferences—these are the things he seeks from me. Atris inclined her head, pretending to be deep in thought before saying, "I reviewed most of his dissertations."
"Thanks a lot."
She turned to go. "Do not disturb me again if you wish me to be of use."
"Sure, Your Highness. Whatever you say."
