2/3/2
It's on the fourth day of in depth study of the K'Aran culture and politics, that the newly minted Colonel Jefferies of the Order's Diplomatic Corp (previously Lt. Colonel Jefferies of the Order's legal department, now transferred because he speaks diplomat and writes a very spiffy contract) comes into his boss's office, and tentatively asks General Threepio, "Sir, shouldn't we, at some point, meet with the Master and talk with him about what he intends to do at this meeting?"
Now, it is true that Threepio isn't exactly looking forward to a long, or even short, chat with Kylo about this, it's also true that he's a professional, and for a professional to do a good job, he's got to get all of his variables spelled out and into place, and… well… he is starting to get nervous about the huge Kylo-shaped hole where there should be a well-thought-out plan.
But it wouldn't do to show nerves to his underlings.
"I'm sure the Master will arrange to meet with us at his pleasure. Now, tell me more about traditional succession contracts of previous K'Aran lines…"
And Colonel Jefferies, who can write one of those contracts in his sleep now, does.
2/4/2
On the fifth day of in-depth study, meaning two days before the K'Aran delegation will be showing up, expecting to have the Master mediate this succession issue for them, Threepio heaves a great sigh, and says to Artoo.
"I'm swamped with details. Can you call on the Lt. Colonel, and see what it is Ben thinks he's playing at?" (Threepio is scrupulous about only calling him Ben in his head and to Artoo. He does rather like this job, and would prefer not to be tossed out of it, but not so much that he's going to completely rewire how he thinks about the youngest Organa.)
Artoo beeps in the affirmative, and goes scuttling off. He's fond of the young Lt. Colonel, who needs a translator to talk to him, but always does so like he's a real person, and compared to fetching drinks for whomever Threepio's next meeting is, this'll be fun.
(To an extent Jon puts Artoo in mind of Luke. More Luke after he was teaching than Luke when he was young, but there are hints of it, and Artoo likes that. Plus, Jon seems like a rather uncomplicated sort of human. The sort of human who would never just shut him down and then bugger off for a decade, but… Well, he would have never guessed that of Luke, either.)
Besides, heading off to see the Lt. Colonel gives him an excuse to go wandering around, and learn more about the Supremacy and all the fascinating things that live, or in the case of sentient machines like Artoo, dwell here.
He doesn't take the most direct route to Lt. Colonel Jon, but he does find out that there's a fascinating bit of gossip going around the ship. Apparently, Admiral Schiff ordered a check of the air cycling system and found a collection of cyanide tubes in there. His engineers are still working on taking them out without destroying the ship or poisoning everyone.
Threepio's going to go berserk when he gets that bit of intel! Whoever heard of a self-destruct sequence that only takes out the organics?
When Jon hears beeping coming from his outer office, he knows something's off. He likes visiting with Artoo, but he also knows that Threepio doesn't send him down just to chat, which means something is up.
He sighs. Probably something he isn't going to like.
He hits the comm between him and his (new) secretary, makes a mental note that he really should move his office out of the design center, and then says, "R4-6837, send Artoo in."
A moment later, Artoo slides in, and Jon sets the translator for him.
"So, what brings you to Tactical Design?"
Beeps, blips, and a moment later, "Threepio's getting nervous. None of us have talked to Kylo about the K'Arans yet, and he wants to know when you did, and that everything is on the up and up."
For a moment, Jon just stares at Artoo. Then he rejiggers the translator, and says to him, "Can you say that again? I don't think this got it."
Unfortunately, the exact same message pops up after a cheerful collection of beeps, blips, and whirls.
Jon blinks again. "What do you mean no one on your side has spoken to Kylo about the K'Aran delegation, yet?"
Artoo's head swivels a bit and another series of beeps comes through.
"No, I do not see him every damn day. I haven't seen him in…" Jon blinks, rubbing his eyes. "It's been… Shit," he checks his chronometer. "Five days. He doesn't live with me."
Sarcastic beeping.
"Look, that was because the First Year party was in the offing. I don't normally see him every single day. Only Rey sees him every single day, and last I checked, I'm not her."
Less sarcastic beeping.
"Did Threepio not brief him?"
More beeps.
"I know Threepio would have sent a briefing report. I sent one, too. Did no one actually, physically, go talk to him?"
Again, beeping.
"Yes, I know you're not his bloody secretary. I'll call C8, who is, and check with him."
Jon's rubbing his forehead, as he punches in C8's comm number. "C8, uh… I'm sure this is going to sound stupid, but, has anyone actually visited Kylo to talk to him about the K'Aran delegation that's coming the day after tomorrow."
There's a pause on the other side of the comm, and suddenly Jon's feeling very cold. He doesn't know why, but something's wrong. He's already up and heading toward Kylo's room as C8 says, "I'm sure the Master will look at the briefings when he's ready."
Jon shudders. Then he finds his voice, and says, "What do you mean look?"
"Set his head so that his eyes are pointed in their directions and then read."
Jon's running toward Kylo's rooms, cursing the fact that he doesn't have a direct way to get a hold of Rey. "Get me Poe's comm, now," he says to Artoo, who's keeping pace with him.
A moment later, Poe's patched on through to Jon's wrist comm. "Jon, what's up buddy?"
"Don't buddy me, what's going on with Kylo?"
He hears an amused snort followed by, "Not much, I'd assume. Sleeping and puking probably, why?"
Jon crashes to a fast stop, and drags Artoo, to the nearest empty corridor he can find. "What?"
"Did no one tell you?"
"Apparently, not. I've got a full delegation here the day after tomorrow expecting the Master to be up, on his feet, and ready to greet them, and then figure out who's going to succeed the current leader of the K'Aran dynasty."
He hears Poe laugh. "Not gonna happen. Hiffa lasts ten days, and he's been down for four or five of them at most."
Jon stuffs his fist into his mouth and moans.
Poe's voice gets more serious. "Wait, how bad is this?"
Jon whimpers, and then says, "It's our first neutral space, deal broker contract. It's worth eight billion credits over the next ten years and a verygood relationship with the K'Arans if they like the deal we set up. If we do this right more of these fucking contracts will flow in and we'll finally be in danger of being able to pay our fucking bills. He's sick and none of you bastards thought to tell me?" The volume of his voice rose on each of those sentences, and he's a hair away from yelling when he gets to the last one.
He can feel Poe bristle at that. "Hey, cool it. I do not report to you, and everyone else on Lirium is projectile puking and shitting."
"Everyone?" Jon's wincing, finally getting how it's possible no one talked to him.
"Rey dodged it because she's got all the good Force stuff, and like two of the other kids did, too. They're taking care of the entire rest of the settlement."
"Fuck." That's a whisper. Followed by, "You aren't there?" in his normal voice.
"I was bringing back supplies when I got the 'stay the fuck away' message. Can't go home for another week, at least."
"Well, get your ass over here. I'm going to need a fucking miracle to pull this off, and maybe you're good with them."
Poe laughs, long and bitter. "Wrong Maji. You need Rey."
"I don't know where she is, and she doesn't have a comm…"
"Give me a minute." Nothing but dead silence and then… "She's with him, and he's on the Supremacy. Apparently, your miracle just showed up. You still want me to come?"
"Yeah. I'm going to need all the schmoozing I can get, and you're good at that, right?"
"Lead me to whomever needs schmoozed."
Jon can just feel Poe's cocky grin as he said that. "Just let me know when you're on the Supremacy."
"Same code I used last time?"
"Sure. Do you have a decent suit?"
"I think so, but from what Kylo and Rey have said, probably not according to you."
Jon glances to Artoo, shakes his head, and says, "You will by the time you need one. Okay, Master Poe of the Maji, get ready to cover my ass, because I might need a lot of it."
Jon can feel the smirk across the light years. "With pleasure."
After one full hallway, Jon knows attempting to run to Kylo's rooms is just going to make him sweaty and annoyed. He can get to the tram faster, but he can't make the tram go any faster once he's on it, and he can't will the elevators to go faster, so he slows down and tries to think.
Okay, best possible outcome, Kylo's got a light case of… what was that…
Artoo beeps, holding out a micro data pad, which is when Jon realizes he's speaking out loud.
He glares at himself and the universe in general, grabs the data pad, and reads the pro-offered information on Hiffa Virus.
Best case scenario, he's got a very mild case of it, is feeling refreshed by his, apparently five-ish days of napping, and can be propped in a somewhat vertical position, made to greet the K'Aran delegation, look vaguely awake as all of the parties manage to talk through their idea of what should happen, not throw up on any of the dignitaries or mess himself while doing so, and then, somehow, make some sort of pronouncement as to who should run this thing, all without… His eyes widen as he looks at how contagious Hiffa is, and how it spreads.
"Fuck!"
Jon's rubbing his forehead. He was thinking it was, maybe, possible that they could pump enough drugs into Kylo to get him to look almost functional for this, but… he cannot possibly risk the K'Aran delegation catching this from Kylo. They could do the best mediation job in the history of mediation jobs, but if they all get the plague from coming here, no one else ever will.
Second best option. Stuff Rey into her best Lady Ren costume, somehow pry her away from Kylo and the rest of the sick Maji (He wonders idly if he's fast enough with a blaster to set one on stun, hit her with it, and then drop her unconscious body in front of Mom and Lady Kinear and get them to make her do this. He decides that's unlikely. Maybe if he crept up on her when she was asleep, but… Not going to happen. He does call his mom and Lady Kinear and tell them to be waiting in his rooms, and to start reading up on all of his reports on the K'Aran delegation, fast.) get her to listen and chat, and, if he's very lucky, he'll get her to stay on script, and be Lady Ren, and if he's really, really, really fucking lucky, the K'Aran's won't spit in his face for promising the Master, and giving them the not quite official Lady Ren.
Absolute, cluster fuck, everything falls the fuck apart, he's claiming that Grand Marshal title, naming himself second-in-command of the whole fucking Order, grabbing Poe and his mom, designing the most ornate Maji costume anyone has seen, putting her and the droids in charge of getting Poe into it, pumping as much alcohol into the K'Arans as they can hold, showing them a very good time, and praying that once it's all done, he and Poe look enough like the guys in charge that they can pull this off.
He's fairly sure Kinear'll back him if he tries that play. He's not sure if Schiff will, but at this point he doesn't much care. Kinear'll handle Schiff if Schiff's a problem.
He's got… He checks his chronometer… Forty-three hours until he's got to put on the show of his life.
Once he gets into Kylo's office, his shoulders slump. If he were to stack the datapads piled up on Kylo's desk into a column, they'd be taller than he is.
There's no possible way the man's done a lick of work in days.
"You didn't tell me?" He can't even see C8, but he's sure he's in here, somewhere. Fucking black droid in a black room.
He sees the glow of C8's eyes a moment before he hears footsteps and, "Tell you what, sir?"
"Cut the bantha shit. He's sick. I know he's sick. You know he's sick. And because you didn't think to tell me he's sick, we're about to get bit in the ass so badly we'll walk with a limp for the rest of our lives. Supposedly Rey's in there, go get her for me."
"I do not know what you're talking about, sir."
"You bloody well do know what I'm talking about, and if you don't go in there and get her for me, I'm going in there and getting her myself, exposure be damned." He points at the chunk of wall that looks like every other chunk of wall in this office, but that Jon knows, if you hit it right, will slide out of the way revealing the doorway to Kylo's rooms.
"Sir, you are not going in there without Master Ren's express permission. Which you do not have."
"I go in there all the time."
"With him. He has not given me orders to allow you access without his permission."
Without looking away from C8, Jon says, "Artoo, I outrank C8 by a light year, pick that fucking lock and get me in there."
"Artoo, touch that lock and I will shut your central processing down so far you will never be brought back online again."
Jon doesn't need a translator to understand that Artoo finds C8's threat significantly more intimidating than his.
"Get me General Threepio, Grand Marshall Kinear, and Grand Admiral Schiff. If you won't bring Rey out to me, I will temporarily remove the Master as the head of the Order. So, get moving now!"
C8 stands there, impassive, arms crossed against his chest. Artoo's visor spins, and he starts toward the door to the throne room. He's going slowly, as if he's waiting for Jon to change his mind.
Jon winces, looks at C8, who is not budging and that's that. "Go Artoo—Get them— As of right now I am temporarily relieving Master Ren—"
The door slides open, and Rey's standing there, bedraggled, exhausted, Kylo's robe hanging off of her, black circles etched deep under her eyes, looking like she hasn't had a good night's sleep in weeks.
"If either of you fuckers wake him up, I'm slapping your asses into next week with my staff. Now what's so fucking important I don't get to have a nap?"
"Rey," Jon says, voice patient. He can just feel how tired she is. How much she doesn't want to deal with anything else. How drained. He can see it in her face, and the worry lines on her forehead and… "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You dragged me out of bed because I didn't mention everyone is sick? Really? I've been healing or trying at least, keeping everyone hydrated, keeping people alive, and you're miffed I didn't send you a little note? Back the fuck off, Jon, this isn't about you!"
Tired and angry. Great. He lays as much soothing calm into his voice as he can, and begins mentally working on what he's going to stuff Poe into in an attempts to make him look important. "No. It's not about me. I'm dragging you out because no one told me, which means I didn't know that he wasn't in any position to deal with the K'Aran delegation, who are already in transit to us, which means it's too late for me to reschedule this thing, and right now, I desperately need Lady Ren, because I'm guessing if you look this bad just from healing this, there's no possible way the Master is going to show up for this thing, so…"
Rey goes pale. She was already pale, paler. "You… need Lady Ren? I… For what?"
He explains what he needs someone, who was supposed to be Kylo, but barring that, her, to do for the K'Arans.
Rey slumps into one of the seats at Kylo's conference table. She was already feeling nervous: resigned, ready, willing, but nervous about the Alderaan thing, which was, if Kylo was approaching correct, playing on the kiddie level. This does not sound like playing on the kiddie level.
This is not easing one toe into the lake to see if she likes the water, let alone if she can swim.
A moment later, C8's got a tray with tea and sandwiches on it. Jon hands her one. "Come on, you've got to eat. First things first, you aren't sick, right?"
"I'm not sick. Tired. Bone tired, but not sick. And… Jon, I just can't. I've got to get back to Lirium. Everyone needs IVs and we've only got so many beds for them and…"
Jon nods. He looks sympathetic. He genuinely is sympathetic, too, but that's not what he needs to be for this. He pulls up his inner fucking bastard and says, "Look, I know you want to be with them. I know you want to be near Kylo. I understand that. I was always a hoverer whenever Lane got sick, too. But… There's nothing you're doing for them that I can't get you a pile of med droids to do. There is something you can be doing here, that literally no one else in the entire Order can do, and that's be Lady Ren. I need you to do this. The Order needs you to do this. If he were the kind of man who can keep his butt in bed when something needs to be done, he would need you to do this for him."
Rey grits her teeth. Jon doesn't have to say it, if she doesn't do this, he's marching right on in there, Hiffa exposure be damned, and getting Kylo up and into something that looks vaguely functional, because they need The Master.
Jon's pleased to see he's sold the lie. If she were even half as tired as she is now, he doesn't think he could have done it, but… She's tired, he's intentionally making himself believe he's going to do this, and… It's working.
He sells it further. "Look, I know you don't like asking for Order things, but… You need nurses. I have nurses. You are Lady Ren. I need Lady Ren. Let's call it an even trade, and then get you dressed and out there before we fail on our first, major, extremely lucrative mediation deal."
Rey's lips press together. She knows Kylo worries about their finances. She knows how much he wants this neutral space, meditations, deal brokering thing to work. She knows that if Jon calls out with his mind, Kylo will wake up, and then he'll drag himself out of bed, and… "Fine. What do I need to do for this?"
Jon sags in relief. "Run in there, grab the plainest of your formal gowns, whatever underthings, shoes, and the cosmetics droid, and then come with me to my place. Mom and Lady Kinear should already be there. I'm guessing they'll make you get a real sleep and feed you up. Poe's already coming here. I'll get him stocked with nurses and all the med tech you could possibly want, and he can deliver them, and then come back here so you've got some friendly back up for this.
"Tomorrow, intense briefings. Getting you looking right. All spiffed up. And more sleeping. You're dead on your feet right now.
"Then Threepio will brief you more.
"Next day, it's a gracious luncheon while you meet with the K'Aar, chat with him a bit, feel him out, see what he wants, and then talk with his grandsons, get a feel for them, too. Then all the involved sides will put forth their own plans for what's going to happen if they win."
"Do I have to handle the talks?"
Jon shakes his head. "Just the one on one chats with the K'Aar and his grandsons. You just have to be there for the rest of them. We've got someone who specialize in K'Aran culture to listen, ask questions, and see what the 'best' answer may be. Once the talking is done, they'll 'advise' you on the next step, and then you'll sit at the head of the table, and talk with them about what you'd like to see happen next.
"Eventually, after you listen some more to everyone else, you'll chat again with each grandson, and then come up with 'The Order's Proposed Solution.' If they don't take it, we get paid for our time and hospitality. If they do take it, we get a ten year contract to enforce our solution and keep the peace in the K'Aran system."
Rey nods, slowly. Then she heads into their rooms, where Kylo is napping. She pets his hair back, kisses his forehead, and gathers her things. "So much for that nap." He's far enough asleep; he doesn't stir.
Then she's in his office with Jon.
As they're walking toward the elevator, Jon says, "How bad is it?"
"It's third shift and he's asleep. Fever's lower, but not broken. And he hasn't had an actual meal in days. It's Hiffa, which is beyond nasty, and if we didn't live in a galaxy with IV fluid and nutrient distribution, and good water sanitation, it'd be a population killer."
Jon nods. "How bad are you?"
She shrugs. "I'm tired. I'm annoyed. I don't want to be doing anything other cuddling with Kylo and setting up an experimental Force healing technique, which, if Xanth is right, might be the key to most of my loves getting up and feeling better, but I won't be doing it because this monstrosity just landed in my lap."
Jon winces. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't… If it weren't a huge deal…"
"Yeah. I know. When you go to the medbay to get those nurses, have them check you for it. Hopefully you didn't just get it off of me, but…"
He waves that off. "I don't get sick." Not strictly true, but, generally speaking unless he's being appallingly stupid, he doesn't get sick. Assuming he's good with washing his hands and not eating/drinking from the sick person's cup, he doesn't get sick. For example, when various colds and flus had been going around, he didn't catch them. "Never have. Don't think I'm going to start today."
"Lucky you."
"Lucky us. You want me to remind Poe not to actually get on planet when he drops the med-droids and equipment off?"
Rey looks listless, and Jon's really starting to wonder if she's right about not being sick, but… Well, given what the symptoms are… Tired. She's probably just tired. "That'd be good."
"We can send Artoo to oversee getting everything set up. If you want, you can record your ideas about the Force healing technique, see if you can get it working from afar."
"Yeah, fine." She looks disheartened and flat as they're walking along, and Jon sincerely hopes a nap and food will help, a lot.
"When did you eat last? A real meal. Not a cookie from C8."
She shakes her head. "I don't know. Three cycles."
"Three days?" Jon's eyes are wide.
"No… Take the kids to the IVs, five… uh, six now, open, so, that's…" She pauses. "Uh… about four hours to cycle through all of them. Get them all back home. Make sure the healthy ones eat and rest. Mop up, comfort, make sure everyone is in one piece. Come here, cuddle with Kylo. Go home, take the kids to the IVs, make sure the ones not on the IVs are more or less okay, repeat cleaning and nursing work, come back here, cuddle with Kylo…"
"Got it. Okay, when we get to my rooms, my mom and Lady Kinear are going to be in there. I'm going to meet with them, and I think you're just getting a good long shower," which is a polite way of saying that he'd rather prefer to never smell anything like the Hiffa lingering on her skin again, "and then into bed for a good long sleep."
"Where will you sleep?"
"I've kipped out on my sofa more nights than I can count. Another one won't hurt." This also isn't strictly true. He did sleep on that sofa for more than a year after Lane died, because he just couldn't in the bed they shared. It's also too short for him, not firm enough, and when he wakes up his back and neck will hurt, but if he says that to her, she'll get weird about sleeping in his bed, and… Nope. They aren't going there.
"Fine," she nods absently. As they walk, Jon starts to do what he does, fix things. He's on the comm with Poe, getting him up to date, and ready to move an entire medical ward to Lirium if need be. He's relaying the orders to get that medical ward ready to move, fast. (A few people in the Med Division give him some static, but when he reminds them of who he is, and that this is for Lady Ren those droids and supplies move.)
They're on the tram, and he's talking to Threepio about getting a streamlined version of the cheat sheet he'd laid on Kylo for Rey.
She's not really paying attention, but she does half catch something like, "Mistress Rey is handling this?"
"Yes."
"I'll be there at once."
"At once, she's getting a good eight hours of sleep and at least two meals. Just get it all collected as fast as you can."
"Yes, sir."
As they stand outside of Jon's door, two sets of expectations are about to go crashing into reality.
The first is Rey's. She expects to enter that door, try to wave off the older ladies, get a shower, and then collapse until they need to dress her up, all the while trying to not have a minor mental breakdown at having to be, on her own, for very high stakes, Lady Ren.
The second is Jon's, who grew up with one of these women, and is expecting a lot of what he'd call 'fussing' when he was younger. Rey's about to get fussed-over in a way she's likely never been fussed-over before. And he's not sure if she'll like it or if it'll scare her.
He opens the door, and Rey immediately gets hit with two older woman, both of whom have nursed a collection of sick children, parents, and husbands over the years, both of whom are aware of the fact that she's an orphan who's likely never been properly mothered herself, and both of whom are deeply invested in making sure that the Court of Ren will succeed well and long, because that's the key to them and theirs succeeding well and long, and that she's the current piece of the puzzle necessary to pull it all together.
"Oh, Rey, you look ready to drop," Mirina says, putting an arm around Rey, ushering her to the kitchen table, as Ellie's getting the tea and snacks ready to go.
"Sit down, sit. You can't take care of the rest of them this tired," and then there's tea in her hands, and a plate with biscuits and fruit in front of her, a warm blanket around her shoulders, and Ellie is glaring at Jon, like he somehow fucked something up, but he can't for the life of him think of what it could possibly be.
He doesn't have to wait long to find out what, though.
"Do you mean to tell me, Jonathan Frakes, that you don't have a good enough ear in his rooms to know when he's sick?"
Jon blinks. He's never been scolded for inadequate spying before.
His mom is shaking her head like he's some sort of massive failure, and then says, "I know I taught you better than that!"
"What?" Jon's thinking it, but Rey's the one who says it.
"Honey… That's his job. He can't be a good second-in-command if things like this sneak up and bite him." Ellie glares at Jon again. She's got an arm around Rey, and is gently stroking her back, and Rey's got wide eyes and doesn't know what to do with this, and Jon's actually a bit surprised, too. Yes, the fussing-over all went according to script, the dressing down for inadequate spying isn't.
"I'm… sorry?" He tries, hoping that'll calm things down. "I… uh… didn't think bugging your room was appropriate?"
Mirina shakes her head again, but she does pass him a cup of tea, and it is the way he likes it. "We'll talk about this later."
"I'd… appreciate it if you didn't," Rey says, quietly. And as soon as she does, she knows exactly why this was set up this way, and then she glares at the ladies. "I'll just tell him next time. I've been busy, you know?"
Ellie smiles a bit. "It genuinely is his job to know every major and minor thing going on with both of you as far as it may impact his job. He can't properly diplomat if things like this come sneaking up at him. That said, it's your job to use the tools at your disposal, one of which happens to be Jon. You should never be this tired. And, if you had gotten a hold of him, I'm certain he'd have had all the medical staff you could have possibly wanted at your disposal in less than an hour."
Jon nods, emphatically.
"Are you genuinely trying to nurse twenty-five people? By yourself?" Mirina asks.
Rey sips the tea, and then eats a biscuit. She's so tired, but hungry now, too. "Not just by myself. Xanth, Savarah, and Cassie are helping."
"Savarah's fifteen, right?" Jon supplies. "And the oldest of the three of them."
Now she's glaring at him. But he doesn't care. If this can move the situation so that Rey gets the help she needs, and they don't end up in a situation like this again, he's comfortable with tattling on her.
Both Ellie and Mirina shake their heads. "Those poor children. We are sending a full medical group to them, aren't we Jon?"
Jon's not sure about we, but the main point stands. "Done, Mom. Rey's friend Poe is picking them up as soon as they're ready to go."
"Good."
"I do have a medical droid at our settlement. It's not just me and the kids."
"One droid for twenty-two people, all of whom are sick?" Ellie says. "That's what Pat's first sky command looked like, and it was fine, until they were under attack and more than three people were hurt at once. Then it was a disaster. There's a reason why all of the Stormtroopers are trained in basic first aid and triage skills, and every tech droid on these ships can jackleg medic if need be."
Rey hadn't known that. "All of them?"
"If the attack is bad enough, the codes are in place to get a roughly 1:2 ratio of care givers to people needing care," Ellie says. That idea wasn't Pat's, but he championed it and made sure it went live in the Empire and then over to the First Order. One med droid is more than sufficient most of the time. Until, of course, you're taking fire and you've got two people bleeding out and a third one slipping into shock, and the humans who are trained in first aid are also the humans in charge of the maneuvers that make sure that none of the rest of your ship gets shot to pieces.
Jon winces. "You don't want to see what happens if those codes go live, though. Most of the tech droids are set to shoot you up with enough morph that you won't care what comes next, diagnose the issues, cut off anything they can't immediately fix, cauterize any wounds, get you horizontal and warm so you don't slip into shock, and add you to the triage queue so that the most damaged people get attention from the real medics, first. The only thing they know how to do is immediately stabilize someone so they don't die waiting for a real medic."
Rey looks at him curiously. "Were you…"
He looks away. He really doesn't like thinking about those days. He likes talking about them less, but… "We're all trained in first, and likely second, aid. And I'm not saying I'm a good medic or anything, but I at least know not to cut an arm off just because it's broken."
All three of the ladies wince.
Jon looks at his tea, gets up, grabs a bottle, and pours a shot into it, then a bit more. Rey watches him do it, and for the first time it occurs to her that he drinks a lot more than everyone else she knows, save Poe. And it occurs to her that he's seen a lot more than everyone else she knows, save Poe.
His eyes meet hers, and she can almost feel him daring her to mention how much he drinks. She doesn't. That's not for today or tomorrow or… He's not her parents, and she doesn't remember them, or what they did to her well enough to call it into play. On top of that, she's got no… anything… for him. No answers, no real sense of if this is a problem or… Other than right now, he's feeling defensive about it, but…
Whatever this is, it's not for today.
Rey eats another biscuit, and then glances at Ellie and Mirina. "Now what?"
"Resting, for you," Ellie says. "Let me guess, if left to your own devices, you'd spend all your time hovering near Kylo, not sleeping properly, trying to make him feel better. But you've got the sick kids, too, so instead of getting the rest you need, you're trying to take care of everyone."
Rey half nods, and eats another biscuit.
Mirina glances to the bag Rey set down when she came in. "Is your dress in there?"
"Yes."
"Good, we'll get you set for… day after tomorrow, correct?"
Jon nods. "What do you know about the K'Arans?"
"Very little. They're outside my sphere," Mirina replies.
Ellie shakes her head. "I know they exist. They were tangentially part of the Empire, and the Old Republic before that, but between being far enough out on the Rim to make getting to them long and tedious, and keeping themselves to themselves, I don't know much beyond that. But while you sleep, we'll read. And talk. And learn. Come the day after tomorrow, you'll be ready."
And, almost magically, as Ellie says sleep Rey feels her eyes drooping. A moment after that, Ellie's got an arm around her, is gently escorting her to Jon's room, and then tucking her into bed.
And for the first time that Rey can ever recall, someone snugs the blankets around her, pets her hair, kisses her forehead, and quietly shuts off the lights and door for her.
And then she's asleep.
"What did you put in her tea?" Jon asks.
"Nothing nearly as strong as what you put in yours. The poor girl's exhausted, between the chamomile, sleep wort, and not having to be in charge for a few hours, she was done for," Ellie says. "Now, how could you have possibly not known?"
Jon rolls his eyes. "I just didn't. Unlike them, I'm not actually capable of reading minds, and no one told me."
"Well, that needs to be rectified at once. Schiff knew within minutes of Kylo coming down with his cold. Pat had the intel an hour after that. C8 produces daily briefings on what he's doing, and you should absolutely be getting them."
Jon rolls his eyes. The downside of a droid like C8 is, that unless Kylo specifically tells him something, he won't deviate from his programming, and… Jon's official rank is still Lt. Colonel, which means C8's going to give him exactly nothing. He can just feel it. Kylo's so used to depending on him, that it never occurred to him that he'd have to tell C8 to give him access. Because with mind-readers, who spend a lot of time with other mind-readers, remembering they have to explicitly, verbally, communicate things can be iffy.
However, unlike C8, Kinear and Schiff bloody well know who he is and what he does and why he's still at Lt. Colonel. "Then why didn't you tell me?" Jon says, pointedly, shooting back his tea.
Ellie waves that away. "It never even threatened to occur to any of us that you weren't in the know. As soon as Kylo's capable of giving an order again, he needs to make sure that you are in the loop. No, you don't have to literally bug his rooms," Ellie and Mirina share a look that Jon understands as but you bloody well should, as well as any other room anyone who's of any value is in, "but you do need a direct line to anything and everything C8 knows. You should be getting daily updates on what Kylo is doing. And, like with Pat, C8 should know the only things he can't tell you are things he's specifically been ordered not to tell you."
"Fine. As soon as he's fit for human company again we'll get those orders in place."
"What's he down with?" Mirina asks.
"Hiffa."
The ladies wince.
Ellie half inclines her head. "That explains the smell. We'll make sure to get the janitorial staff in here, as well as laundry as soon as she's awake."
"Yes, I was hoping to get her into my shower before you stuck her in my bed." Jon's voice is beyond dry and into arid as he says that.
"It's just a mattress, Jon, we can get you a new one if they can't get the smell out," Mirina says.
Jon winces at that idea. "Says the woman who is still sleeping in the same bed she shared with my father."
"But not the same mattress. Good, gods, love, it's been thirty-three years."
"I know."
Ellie's voice is gentle as she says, "They'll get it cleaned. You won't have to let go of it, not if you don't want to." She shakes her head a bit. "Never Hiffa, we've avoided that, but… Over the years, the kids brought home a lot of nasty crud, and… Blanie's cleaning enzyme, it'll take any stain, any scent off of anything. We used to go through it by the liter."
Jon sighs at that, too. He supposes he can't, not really, still smell Lane in their bed. It's been more than two years, and it's not like the sheets and blankets and pillowcases haven't been washed, a lot, in that time. Still…
Mirina squeezes his hand gently. He feels her finger brush over his wedding ring. "Okay, show us the dress and tell us about what our girl's going to have to do."
Jon pours himself another drink, this one almost entirely tea, pulls out Rey's dress, and starts to explain.
"So that's the short version. It's a culture that worships strength and power, consider conspicuous wealth a sign of both, and they're on the verge of ripping apart. We've got strength and power coming out our ears, so the K'Aar is looking to hire ours until whichever grandson grows up enough that he won't need us as a crutch any longer."
The ladies nod.
"So, you're saying Kylo was literally perfect for the job?" Mirina says. Say whatever you can or will about the Great Black Urus, he's basically the physical embodiment of human strength and power, sitting in the middle of the largest battleship in the galaxy, with the most impressive fleet flying around it, and all of it is at his command.
Jon cocks his head and sips his tea. "Basically. Except, of course, apparently, he's not able to kill a virus at a whim, so he's down for the next five or six days, and if we could get him up and talking, he'll poison anyone who gets near him, so…"
"So, absolutely no Kylo for this," Ellie finishes.
"I'm fairly certain he's not even aware of the fact Rey's not in his room anymore, and for that matter, I'm going to tell her to make sure C8 doesn't remind him that this is supposed to happen if he wakes up, because the last thing any of us want to do is to try and stuff his fever-blasted self back into his room before he gets everyone else sick."
"Sounds sensible," Mirina says. "Nothing like a nasty stomach bug to turn the tides against you."
"Indeed," Ellie says.
Jon's certain there's a story behind that, but he's also certain that he doesn't want to know what it is, not right now.
"So, I've got to whip up something that looks like we're still in charge and in power and functional. I'm fairly sure I can pull that off. The question is, will Grand—" Fuck it, he's talking to the man's wife, "Pat or Grand Admiral Schiff back me on this plan?"
Ellie smirks a bit. "Josh. The Grand Admiral's name is Josh, and if they didn't think that you were capable of joining them in the Grand Marshall's ranks you'd be too dead to care. Neither of them is stupid or tolerant of incompetents risking their personal survival."
Mirinia bristles a bit at that, but she doesn't say anything. Jon blinks. She didn't say anything because she knows that's how the game is played at this level, too. As long as he's good for the Order, and them, he'll flourish. And as soon as he's not…
That sends a chill down his spine. As a Lt. Colonel, as a real Lt. Colonel, he's below notice. It doesn't much matter what he does, and who he's friends with, and how he plays the game, because he's just too little to be worth noticing.
As the potential third in the second highest rung of the Order…
He swallows.
Mirina pats his hand. "There's a code, love. And men like Josh and Pat play by it. That's how all the Imperials used to play the game. As long as your service record was good, your family would always be safe. But… If you became a problem, you wouldn't be one for long." She glances at his wedding picture. "That's a big part of eventually warming up to Lane. He knew the rules and played by them. I mean… you knew. You had to know."
He knew. But there's knowing, and there's knowing and he knew, sort of. His previous commanding officer didn't just bugger off to parts unknown. He became a problem. A personal problem, for Jon, and a professional one for Lane, so Lane killed him, and that was that. And no one, not even Jon Frakes, blinked at it, because that's the way things worked.
So, yes, he knew. But there's also the moment when you realize that you personally can sign an order, and people will, literally, die because of it. And other people will, literally, kill because of it.
Or that, if you pull a blaster on someone, and use it on them, the only thing you'll have to do after is fill out some paperwork explaining why you pulled that blaster and used it.
And no one thinks that's remotely inappropriate.
And that's a lot to take in, because while it's true that people have died because of decisions Jon has made (like slightly thinning down the armor plate so he could save a few credits per unit there, and then shift those credits into a slightly better waste disposal system in the Stormtrooper armor) it's also true that he's never, actually, personally, killed anyone before.
And he was rather hoping not to ever change that.
And now… Both of the ladies sitting with him are saying, something, likely that he should be paying attention to, but…
At some point, he'll have to decide what he's willing to do, personally, to defend himself, his position here, and the Order as a whole.
He takes another drink of his tea.
But not today.
"Okay, med center has been delivered, now what?" Poe's voice on Jon's comm jerks him out of his planning session with his mother and Ellie.
"Do you know your way around the Supremacy?"
"Not even remotely."
Jon rolls his eyes. "Great. Get back here, stuff your ship somewhere. Once you know your landing coordinates, let me know, and I'll make sure Artoo—"
"Who is on a different planet, overseeing setting up the fanciest medical bay I've ever heard of, let alone seen."
"Fuck…" Jon's head is in his hands.
His mom gently strokes his wrist. She mouths to him. "Go get him."
"Just let me know when you've got your landing assignment; I'll come find you."
"You have time for that?"
"My current second-in-command seems to think so."
Mirina smirks a bit at that, as she threads her needle and begins to lay down another line of embroidery to the gown she's got in her hands. Apparently, the K'Aran like ornate. She's not going to try to put Rey into something that looks K'Aran, just something that looks like they might have similar values.
Which means she's sewing for her life. Embroidering in thread of platinum and adding seed pearls and tiny emeralds to what would otherwise be a fairly plain dove gray dress. Once she's got the first motif done, though, the droids will be able to copy it along the hem and sleeves of the gown. Mirina Frakes is an amazing embroiderer, fast as fast can be, but she can still only do about two square centimeters an hour. Once this gets to the droids, they'll get up to ten centimeters per hour, per droid, and Jon's going to stuff every droid he can fit around this dress.
"All right. I'll hit the landing queue in about an hour. Anything else?" Poe asks.
"Yeah. I'm sending you a crash course of what we're supposed to be doing, who we're meeting, and why."
"Great. Studying." It's clear from his voice that book work was never Poe's favorite thing.
"Think of it as deep background on a security case."
"Ah. All right. See you soon."
Ellie and Mirina both look at Jon, curious as to whom he's been talking to.
Mirina's the one who asks. "So, he's Rey's friend?"
Jon rubs his lips together. He's sure Ellie will recognize the name. He's not sure if his mother will. "Yeah. You know Rey's Maji-thing?"
They nod.
"Master Poe Dameron of the Maji. He's her… well, me, I guess."
Ellie's face is perfect. There's not a single tell on it. But he just knows that she knows who Poe is. His mother, fortunately, doesn't. The last thing he needs right now is for her to have a melt down over the second-highest-ranked member of the Resistance joining in on this dance.
Which is also making him wonder why he's invited him to the dance, too, but…
Well, fuck, if they're moving to the Order of the Maji, and right now they're a tad light on Order, he might as well fill his ranks with Maji.
Which is as deeply as he's going to think about this right now, as he's working on sketching out something that'll make Poe looks like he belongs in the top diplomatic ranks of what will eventually be a galaxy-spanning organization in the peace, prosperity, and basic sentient dignity business.
(And if said outfit is doing nice things for Poe's hips and ass, well, he is only human.)
It takes Jon a moment to find Poe amid all of the stuff in the… It's a loading bay… He's shaking his head. "Remind me to find you a better place to land."
"Kylo said something like that, too." He grins at Jon. "You look fried. So, what am I gearing up to swoop in at the last minute and save?"
Jon turns and nods them toward the exit, where they can catch a tram, and elevator, another tram, and… "The size of this place is stupid."
Poe shrugs. "It's a city."
"Yes, but that's remarkably inconvenient when you need it to be a palace."
"Ah…" He nods. "Fried… huh?"
"Uh…" Jon blinks. He hasn't answered Poe's question. "Fried. So, you do a lot of swooping in and saving at the last minute?"
Poe thinks about it, decides not mentioning Starkiller is a good plan, and responds with, "Something of a specialty of mine. So…"
"Okay, here's the really sort version—"
"Are you just going to tell me what I read in your write up?"
"Yes."
"Okay, not what I'm looking for. I already read it, and just because I don't enjoy studying doesn't mean I'm bad at it. What the hell do you expect me to do?"
Jon blinks. "Right. Uh… Put on whatever the hell outfit I come up with for you, show the fuck up, act charming, make people want to be here, make them feel like there's no problem we can't solve, and help keep Rey comfortable and calm, because she's going to a much better job of Lady Renning if she feels like a friendly face or two, besides mine, is cheering her on."
"I can do that."
"Good."
They walk a few more steps before Poe says, "Do you need my measurements or something?"
Jon laughs and laughs and laughs at that.
Poe has a few seconds to look around Jon's apartment before the introductions begin. It's a nice place. The colors are pleasant, well-coordinated. Everything is tidy. Jon appears to have a few pet fish flitting around in a pristinely kept bowl. And…
Poe mentally grins. Pictures. Of Jon and an attractive man. But Jon has a friend. Who is female… So… Jon's pulling off his gloves, and… He does have a marriage band. Poe didn't imagine that the first time… So, either he and his husband are game to play with others, or his husband is no longer in the metaphorical… Poe glances to what is likely a wedding picture on the wall… if not literal, picture.
Interesting.
He'd been wondering if Jon had been looking him over a bit more carefully than was strictly business-like during their previous meetings. He didn't do anything… flirty, or express anything Poe would consider a direct sign of interest, but… He did look, probably. Granted, Poe's more than used to catching the quick, discreet, look a man flashes when he's not sure the attention is welcome.
Then Jon speaks, "Poe, this is my mother, Mirina Frakes, and Lady Ellie Kinear. My secret weapons in the diplomacy department."
Poe's beyond amused to see that he's meeting Jon's mom, though he's also curious to get to interact with an… Imperial. He's heard about Ellie, so he knows she's something of a big deal, and he's not sure if she's an Imperial so much as... Well, he doesn't know. She pre-and post-dates the Empire, so… A survivor. She's a survivor, and in general, he's always gotten on well with survivors. They tend to recognize each other, and appreciate it, even if they aren't all of the same stripe when it comes to anything else.
That's part of what he liked so much about Leia.
He takes Mirina's hand first, gently kisses the back of it, looks her in the eyes with a big grin, "Charmed, ma'am. This is my first time actually working with your son, and I'm looking forward to it."
He sees Mirina just look at Jon, and then lick her lips, smile at Poe, and say, "Charmed, as well. Thank you. And what is it you intend to do for my son?"
"Whatever he needs me to." Jon is behind Poe, so Poe doesn't see him swallow hard at that, or bite his lip, or not blush, but he feels it.
He absolutely sees Ellie, who is in front of him, smirk at it. He steps over, and again takes her hand, and kisses the back of it, "Lady Kinear." He flashes her the same grin. "I understand we're in a time crunch and need a bit of daring-do to whip a miracle out of the ethers. Fortunately, that's my specialty."
And Ellie, knowing, likely in more detail than Poe himself does (After all, he lived it. He didn't read the in-depth move by move reports on it after.) exactly what sort of last minute daring-do he's been able to whip out, nods slowly, and says, "You'll do."
Mirina raises an eyebrow at that. "Are the Maji in the miracle business?"
"Nope. But if needs be, we'll make one." He's still giving her his best, take-on-all-comers (or cocky-asshole) grin.
Jon smiles at him. And Poe wonders if that smile is a touch warmer than some of his previous ones, and then hands over two datapads.
"Miracle step one. K'Oanan and K'Ahuana. Identical twin boys, who are so identical that no one is entirely sure which one is the oldest any longer. Apparently, back when they were babies, a nanny stuck both of them in the bath at the same time, and, well, no clothing, and… And then when they were little, they'd get naked and pretend to be each other, and..."
"And no one's sure which one was actually born which any longer," Poe says.
"Exactly," Jon replies. "These are the files the K'Arans sent to us. The ones that aren't supposed to get onto our servers. These are the completely non-official, will be denounced if we leak them, internal assessments of both boys, written, from what I can tell, though, of course, there are no names on this, by the boys'—"
"'Boys,' are we talking like, ten-year-olds?" Poe asks.
"Technically, they're young men," Ellie adds. "Twenty-two-years old."
Poe nods. "Okay. Old enough they might pull this off. Young enough no one past thirty is comfortable with it."
That gets the other three, all past thirty, nodding.
Jon taps the datapad. "We think this report was written by their grandfather. The K'Aar of the K'Arans. Probably bits and pieces have been added by the other highest warlords. But this is the most… uncensored… report we're going to get on them, and I want you to know it inside out."
Poe takes the datapad. "Okay. And what am I going to do with this once I know it inside out?"
"I'm thinking I'll give the boys to you, and then set Rey on the K'Aar. We've got a meet and greet period where Kylo was supposed to meet with the K'Aar, then talk with him about what he wanted out of this, get a feel for what's in that pad and what's not, and then he'd spend some time with each of the boys, get more of a feel for what they'd do and who they are, and discreetly hovering around the edges are our diplomacy wonks and Threepio, who really have studied up on this, also watching and seeing, and then they'd come up with a plan, and Kylo'd either accept it and give it to the K'Aar, or reject it and offer up his own ideas."
"Okay, divide and conquer." Poe can handle that. "Rey can lay down her Force and, with any luck, soothe what's likely to be a somewhat miffed head of state, who if we're lucky, won't consider it a mortal insult that instead of getting a meeting with Kylo, we're fobbing him off on Rey and I."
"Exactly." Jon nods. "No one cares much if the boys like us. It'd be nice, because we're attempting to get something like friendly relationships with other nations, but it won't be the end of the Order if they don't take a shine to you. It will be an issue if the K'Aar thinks we're being rude to him."
"All right. More studying." Poe looks around. Ellie is in one of Jon's comfy chairs, a cup of tea by her side, and a collection of similar datapads nearby. Mirina is on the sofa, a… lot of fabric… Poe assumes it's a dress, but he's not entirely sure, in her lap, she appears to be sewing.
Jon's sitting at his… Poe's never seen one before, but he's heard of them. It's an actual drawing board, a slanted desk with a light over it. There's a glass of… it's clear, about two centimeters full, and he'd bet it's vodka, but he doesn't know it is, resting on a small shelf at the bottom.
"What are you doing?" Poe asks.
"Right now, trying to make Kylo's not-a-throne room look ready for them, and reconfiguring it so that I can stick Rey in the middle of it and have all of them look at her and see the Empress."
Poe chuckles a bit. "Good luck with that."
"Thanks."
Poe glances around a bit more. He set the datapad down on the kitchen table. "Uh… Food?" It's well past the time he'd normally eat supper, and going past all the restaurants in the market section of the F-Deck did exactly nothing to take his mind off his stomach.
Jon blinks, "Oh, uh… Right." He taps his comm. "Kitchen services, this is Lt. Colonel Frakes."
"Yes, sir?"
"I need an order of…" He glances to Poe, who blinks. "Whatever you like," Jon says to him.
"Uh… Rugarian noodles and a brown ale?"
"Rugarian noodles and a brown ale."
"Yes, sir. Do you want the noodles hot, medium, or mild? What temperature on the brown ale?"
Poe blinks. He's used to military cuisine that comes in pre-fab bricks and you eat it by spraying it with water to hydrate it. "Medium. Room temperature."
"Medium. Room temperature."
"Done, sir. We'll have it up in about twenty minutes."
"Good. Frakes out."
Poe's still staring at him. "That's how it works?"
"For food. For officers. Enlisted eat in one of the messes or in one of the restaurants/booths or cafes on the C, D, or E decks. We're on the F-deck here, and if you wanted to take a walk, there's a market section about half a klick down the hall to the right, or two and a half, to the left, and there are restaurants and cafes there, too."
Poe blinks again. "Someone will just bring you the food?"
"Thing. Something. If I'd asked for a specific dish from a particular restaurant, something would deliver it, and charge my account. With the exception of the few head and sous chefs, everyone else in the kitchens or on food delivery is a droid. The food supply is too valuable and vulnerable to leave to humans."
"Poisons?" Poe asks. "We used to… Uh…" He glances at Mirina and Ellie. Imperials… First Order… He licks his lips. "When I was in security, one of my jobs was to come up with ways that my people could be compromised. Making sure the kitchens were secure was first on the list of any meeting with food."
Jon smirks slightly. He knows what Commander Dameron of the Resistance was likely thinking. "Yes, avoiding poisons, but also avoiding slips in basic hygiene. Droids don't forget to wash their hands. They don't sneeze."
Poe smirks back at him. "They don't catch Hiffa virus, and then give it to all their buddies the first day they get home when they're all in the kitchen processing the food they brought home."
Jon raises an eyebrow at Poe, sitting a little closer to him. "Is that what happened?"
Poe nods. "Chewie and Finn got home, and apparently Finn'd been exposed. The two of them had a full ship of fresh produce, so they lug it into the kitchen, along with the rest of the settlement, so they're all in there for six hours, and…"
Jon's nodding. "And by the end of the night everyone but Rey and the lightlings are sick? You don't have air cycling in your buildings, do you?"
"Exactly, almost. Chewie's got Paige, and he's making sure she stays okay. But everyone else is down. And no. You don't put air cycling on buildings on a planet with a hospitable climate. Not if you're watching your credits."
"Paige didn't get it?"
"She got such a little dose Rey could take care of it, but she was it. Everyone else had too much."
"And you just happened to be out of town."
"Second luckiest damn day of my life, apparently."
Jon decides to push it. "What was the first?"
Poe grins. It's clear he's circling through a collection of possible responses to that, and it's also clear that none of them are true, but before he comes up with something, probably along the lines of, The day I met you, Mirina says, "A little less flirting, a little more work."
Jon rolls his eyes. "Yes, Mom." He turns his attention back to Poe. "Anyway, food'll be here soon. Make yourself comfortable, and figure out how to gladhand two princelings in such a way that you'll have a good idea of who they really are when you're done."
The noodles are good. Surprisingly good. Stupidly good. No one outside of the Rugrath system has any right making these noodles these well. And yet…
Poe's reading. He's nursing his ale. He's sitting, leaning back, comfortable… And… well, confused.
He doesn't want it to show, but…
This is not what he thought the Supremacy was supposed to be like.
He's heard about Kylo's all black rooms. And, of course there are the chunks he's seen. Well, obviously an interrogation room, a flight deck, or a loading bay aren't going to be particularly lush, but given how austere they were, he didn't think the F-Deck, let alone comfortable little flats like this, could possibly be a thing.
He's kind of annoyed that this bit is not only nicer than anything the Resistance had, but it's also on par with any New Republic base he was ever on.
And he can comfort himself with the fact that it's nicer than Resistance bases by the fact that Resistance bases were funded by charity and the personal funds of the higher ups, and in many cases the not-so-high-ups.
But, the New Republic… He sips his ale. He was an officer in the New Republic. He was on security for a Senator. He doesn't remember food delivery on tap. And he knows for a fact that a lot of the Senate employed their own, personal, loyal kitchen staffs because they didn't necessarily trust anyone else to cook for them.
Not an unwise decision.
After all, it's not like they didn't take advantage of the laxity of the occasional kitchen worker to make sure the right, or wrong, person didn't go where they were or weren't supposed to go. Or vote in certain things. Or…
He takes another sip. What's the line? A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away? Something like that.
Still, it does irk him a bit that "Evil Inc." apparently does a better job of taking care of its people than the "Good Guys."
He thinks about that for a moment, and about Finn's stories. Apparently, "Evil Inc." does a better job taking care of its officers than the "Good Guys."
That gets a sigh. That's likely part of how "Evil Inc." gets to stay in business. Keep the officers happy, and they've got a vested interest in keeping the men in line, and the "Good Guys" from winning.
He takes another sip of his ale, and glances around the room. Ellie's reading. Mirina is sewing. Occasionally they say something to each other. He can, almost, he's not sure if this is genuine, or if he just knows she's there, so he's imagining it, feel Rey sleeping. Jon's back to him, at the drawing board, working on something, slowly, maybe one sip every ten minutes, going through that glass of clear liquid, which, given how he's drinking it, definitely isn't water.
That's the point of being here, right? The hope that this isn't, and won't be, "Evil Inc." any longer. The prayer that he's thrown in with the right side, and…
He glances at the datapad in front of him, with all of the boys' secrets. They'd likely die if they knew how closely they were being watched.
Or, maybe, since they've been watched like this their whole lives, they're used to it.
This far into the report he's got one of the two he's leaning toward, but… He gets the sense the guy who wrote the report may also be leaning in that direction. Which might be another reason to bring them in. Get an impartial opinion.
He sighs and takes another drink. He rubs his Maji pendent between his thumb and forefinger. He can't fix the galaxy, but maybe, right here, right now, in this one issue, he can bring things a bit closer to balance.
And that's got to be worth something, right?