2/5/2
Rey wakes up alone, disoriented, in a bed she doesn't know, that smells like a man who isn't Kylo, and for a full minute she goes dead still, eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep, listening carefully, trying to figure out what's going on, hoping that something hasn't gone horribly wrong.
Nothing. No sounds at all. Except… Humming. Right, humming, because she's on the Supremacy. Which has a constant low-grade hum, because it's a moving ship.
Jon's room. She sits up. That's why there are things like colors, and the bed is narrower, and it smells like… she's not sure. Cologne. That's in there, and… Jon… and… male… she just doesn't know what the rest of it is, but it's a scent she knows is male. Very much not their room at home, and not Kylo's room here.
Tired must have been an understatement if it took her that long to remember where she was, and why.
She glances at the chrono. Tired must have also been an understatement, in that it's ten hours later, and all she wants to do is roll over and go back to sleep.
Ten hours… So… First shift, then. It's the middle of the night. Likely why she's not hearing any voices. She gets up, tucks the blanket back into place, and puts her shoes on. The door opens with a near silent swoosh, and in the main room she finds Poe on the sofa, snoring slightly, and Jon hunched over his drawing table, working on something.
"Hey," she says, voice quiet.
"Hey back," he keeps his voice quiet, too. "Good nap?"
"Yeah. Maybe. I think I need another one."
He smiles at that and nods back to the bed. "You're welcome to it."
She shakes her head. "Nah. I've got to go home, check in on everyone, see if Xanth and Critt have figured out a way to kick Hiffa in the butt."
Jon raises an eyebrow at that. "You can't just… magick it away? No, of course not, if you could, Kylo wouldn't be in bed."
"It doesn't work that way. I tried. Made everyone I tried on worse."
Jon winces.
"But Xanth might have a plan, and if he and Critt can work it, that'll be much more effective than what I did."
"That's good."
She's looking over Jon's shoulder. "What's that?"
"Me starting to re-arranging the meet and greet area." He's only got a few lines on the paper, but there are several crumpled ones on the floor behind him. Though as he adds a few more, she's getting a feel for where he's going.
That also gets a raised eyebrow, and Rey doesn't say it, but he can feel the tell me more coming off of her.
"Okay, so this is a culture that pretty much worships strength and power. Physical strength and military power. Now, Kylo's about the size of a mountain, and when he feels like it, he can project a tangible wall of don't fuck with me. Plus, we're in the middle of his ship, and it's the biggest, most weapon encrusted one in the galaxy. Now, there's nothing I can do about the ship angle. I can't just whisk up an armada for you on a whim. And I don't know if you can do the don't fuck with me vibe, but if you can, I'd encourage it. I do know you are not 1.9 meters and 93 kilos of trained killer, so, obviously, I've got to do something so that first view of you makes them all understand that you are just as deadly as he is, and just as worthy of immediate, anal-puckering capitulation as he is."
Rey's eyes are wide, and it's clear to Jon which bit of that is shocking to her. He waves it off, "It's a…" Rey didn't go through basic First Order training. Technically, Jon didn't, either. He went through a program designed for officers from outside the First Order. That said, some of the sergeants who oversaw their first year of training had more than a few colorful ways of describing different levels of fear. "You know… just pretend I said pants wetting, because it's the same basic idea."
Rey nods slowly. She looks at what Jon's drawing. "Looks a lot like a throne."
"Because it is. But, in deference to your man, we'll call it a large chair on a raised dias."
She rolls her eyes a bit and snerks.
"They make them that way so that you are literally, as well as metaphorically, higher than everyone around you. It's a visual trick to make people feel like you're better/more powerful than they are. Now, since they are literally coming here to hire our bigger/more powerful-ness, and since you don't have the physical body for it, I'm making do with staging the scene to make you look more… everything."
Rey sighs.
"None of that. They're expecting a warrior king, and I'm going to attempt to slide a warrior queen in on them, with no advanced warning, so, we're going to dress everything up. And, unlike, say, prettying things up and playing up the femme side, this attack requires you to be you. Maybe up your own personal grrrr factor up a bit."
That's reassuring. "So, if I… I don't know, forget the right name or pick the wrong fork..."
"Don't forget the names. That part matters. That part always matters. But they won't know the right fork, either, so don't worry about that."
Rey sighs at that. She looks around the room. "Your mom and Ellie?"
"Not sure about Ellie. Probably, hopefully, making sure we've got Pat and Schiff behind us on this. Mom's back at her place, with your dress and enough droids to fill her living room. She's in charge of the physical packaging of you as the warrior queen."
"And that means?"
"Fairly modest gown, lots of expensive details, they like money, too, and colors that are close to, but not exactly mirroring the Order."
"No head to toe black?"
"Yes, Lady Ren, I didn't think we needed to copy his style exactly. Though, I suppose, if you want to, we can run the fabric through a quick dye." Jon thinks on that for a moment. "Actually… I'll talk to Mom. We might do that."
Rey rubs her head. "I'm feeling less like a person and more like a prop by the moment."
Jon half-smiles at her. "When we get to plan one of these more than," he checks the chrono, "thirty-two hours in advance, we can get more of you as a person here, but… Honestly, we're using you as a placeholder. For this, you are a prop. We need someone to stick on a throne, and you're the next best thing to Kylo, so on that throne you go." He stretches out his hands in a we're making do sort of gesture.
She nods. Then she looks over to Poe. "Uh?"
"He's delivered the medbay, deposited Artoo to make sure it got set up right, and now I've got him here on…" He sees the way Rey is watching him, and he just knows Poe's deep enough asleep he's not going to hear it, though he does lower his voice a bit, "Shit, honestly, I'm not really sure. It just feels right, so… He's here. I'm not sending you in flying solo."
Rey smiles a bit at that. "Wanted another friend, for me and you?"
"Yeah, maybe. I do know what, on a literal level, he's going to be doing. I'm giving him the twins, and you've got grandpa. He'll be getting an uncensored feel for the twins, who they really are and what they're really going to do if we give them this, and you'll be making sure the K'Aar feels like we're not brushing him off."
"I think I'm better at getting a feel for people than Poe is."
It's clear that she's talking about her Force skills, and that Jon had forgotten them. He recovers fast, though. "Yeah, but the chance that I can convince Grandpa that Poe belongs on that throne is just about non-existent, but I can convince him you do. Plus, Poe's plenty good enough at reading people to show two twenty-two-year-olds a good afternoon and charm them into revealing who they really are."
"We could put you on the throne."
Jon just laughs. He's quiet about it, not wanting to wake up Poe, but it's a good, deep one. When he finishes he says, wrapping an arm around Rey and giving her a swift hug. "Thanks, I needed that."
Rey decides not to press further on that one, and says, "We don't know who the boys are?"
"We know what's in the reports. We know what's in the top-secret, no-names-attached, we'll-deny-it-if-it-ever-gets-out report. But we want to know what they weren't willing to write down, even if it didn't have their names attached to it. What we want to know is the kind of stuff no one was willing to write down, and probably get confirmation of the things we've read between the lines. So, with any luck, you'll get Grandpa's uncensored view of the situation. Poe'll get a feel for the kids. I'll stage manage the whole thing. And by the end of the afternoon, the actual experts, who will be hovering in the back, listening, will know what's what, and give us a good plan for how to deal with this."
"And then what?"
"Then you sit down with the three of them, explain what the Order is suggesting, what we're willing to do to enforce that suggestion, and assuming they like it, they say yes, and our legal department talks to their wonks, and we get it all set up, and the credits come rolling in."
"You make it sound so easy."
There's an almost manic gleam to Jon's eyes as he says, "Easy, yeah, right, easy."
That's when Rey gets hit with how nervous, under the surface, Jon is about this.
She sighs at that, too. Then she rests a hand on his shoulder. She looks at the glass that's on his drawing board, but doesn't try to smell it to see if the clear liquid in it is water or vodka.
She wishes she could comfort him, tell him it's going to be okay, that this will all work out, but… She doesn't know, or feel, that that's true. She doesn't feel it isn't. There's… no impending sense of doom. Fear, she's afraid of failing, but she's not getting any pre-cog either way, about this.
"It's late, isn't it?"
"Early, technically."
"How about you get some sleep? I'm going to go to Kylo, spend some time with him, then home, see what's going on there. When do you need me back here?"
"Do you know when second shift starts?"
"Yes."
"Back here, then. I'll have breakfast brought up, and we'll get moving forward."
He takes a sip of his drink. Bringing it up to his face means it's close enough for Rey to smell it. It's not water.
She also notices that he's not moving in any way that's remotely close to suggesting he's going to his bed.
"Sleep?"
Jon sighs. "Rey… Uh… I know, given what you've been up to, it can't be avoided, but, you reek, and now my bed does, and…"
She winces. "Oh."
"Yeah. Once I get a laundry droid with clean linens up here, I'll get a rest, but…"
She nods. "I can't smell it anymore."
"Which is a blessing. That said, if you could… Get a shower and some clean clothing between now and then…"
"I can certainly get a shower. Uh… All of my clothing is in one of two rooms Kylo's been sick in."
He nods. "When you go back to Kylo, tell C8 to make sure the laundry service gets in there. Until then, if you need to, you can borrow a bathrobe from me. When you get back, I'm likely giving you to Mom and Ellie and Threepio. They'll get you ready for tomorrow."
"What will you be doing?"
"Overseeing turning his not-a-throne room back into a throne room. Figuring out what the hell I'm putting him," he gestures to Poe, "in to make him look like The Maji. Making sure that all the details for the meeting have been put into place properly. And likely sewing until my eyes fall out."
Rey looks curiously at him. "Can't you have a droid do that?"
"Yes," he touches the sketch on his drawing board, "but like sketching everything out, I find it relaxing. It's easier to see the problems, and the solutions, if I'm sewing or sketching. Hands busy, mind clear, problems solved."
Rey nods at that. "This isn't easy for you, either?"
"Not easy, no. And it's more not easy than it should have been, but… We'll pull through, and it'll be splendid." He's as much convincing himself as her. "Go, find your way to heal your loves."
Easier said than done.
All of this is easier said than done.
She goes to Kylo first, and he's curled into a little ball, on his side, under all the blankets, shivering slightly. And, having only been near the Hiffa clinging on her skin, her nose had re-adjusted, and now she can smell it hanging on Kylo again. It's on his skin, and in his hair, bleeding through every exhale, and poisoning his sweat.
That makes her wince. Both for her own nose, and for Jon's bedding. Hopefully the laundry droid will be there soon, and he can rest.
You awake? She thinks it quietly to him, and he doesn't stir. So she asks the med droid, "Is his fever higher?"
It nods at her.
She knows that's normal. It'll go up and down over the course of this. She just wishes it wouldn't, as she settles next to him, and slowly strokes his hair. It's sweaty, which she considers a good sign, because that means he's got enough fluids in him so that he can sweat.
She checks the bedding, smoothing it out, so his IV doesn't get tangled in it, and he fusses some, because she's letting cold air in that he's not appreciative of.
Rey curls around his back. He relaxes in her arms, shivering easing.
Rey kisses the back of his neck. This, here, now is what she wants to do. Take care of Kylo. Hover around him and make him feel better with her touch. She doesn't want to be out there Lady Renning, and she doesn't want to go back to Lirium and be Mistress Rey who's supposed to know all the answers, and…
She just wants to be Rey, Kylo's wife, taking care of her man, making him feel something approaching slightly better.
It's just… too fucking much.
Any one of these things she could… on their own… maybe…
Her eyes are burning. She's tired. Soul tired and body tired, and she can feel that she's going to start crying, and…
She rubs her eyes. She can't cry. Not here. She'll wake him up, and he needs to sleep, and if he figures out why she's crying that'll just make everything worse, and…
She pulls herself out of bed, and grabs a towel, and heads to the refresher.
Shower. A shower. Get a shower. She can do that. Just like scavenging. When the job's too big, break it down into each part.
Shower. Water on. Temperature to 43. Take off clothing.
Clothing.
Oh fuck.
Her shoulders slump again. Her clothing is… nasty. When was the last time she put on fresh clothing, or got a shower for that matter? Rey's got no idea. She tosses it to the hamper, and half hopes it doesn't find it's way back here again.
Water. Water next. Standing about naked isn't doing the job. She sticks her hand under the water, it's up to temperature, so she steps in, and sighs.
It feels good.
Really good.
Hot water, liter upon liter of it sluicing down on her. She turns her face to the water, and feels it rushing over her, pulling away hours, days, a week? Has it been a week? Probably not a full week. Too long… Pulling away too long of taking care of everyone else and not taking care of herself.
You should never be this tired.
Using the tools at your disposal.
But, of course, they aren't tools. They're people. If they'd been tools she could have picked them up and used them easily, because tools have no expectation of what you're supposed to be and what you can handle, and tools don't judge you if you do it wrong, and tools are still you taking care of things that you should be able to take care of.
Tools aren't asking for help. Tools aren't admitting you don't know how to do this. Tools aren't…
She has the sense of someone watching her. That's unsettling because she knows Kylo's asleep and in bed, and he's the only one who should have been able to get in here without opening the door.
She lets her Force creep out, searching for… It's not alive. That's clear, and…
"LUKE!" Then she lowers her voice, because she'd again prefer not to wake up Kylo, who, on a good day, doesn't need to find her naked in the shower with his dead Uncle hanging around, and now, pretty much out of his head with a fever really doesn't need to walk in on this.
She refuses to open her eyes and see what the hell it is he thinks he's doing here.
"I'm not looking. And… Uh… Well, it's not like I've got a body anymore. I never burned really hot in that direction anyway, but… I don't, at all, now."
She opens her eyes, and he is back to her, staring intently at the door.
"Does he really have an all black bathroom?"
"We're working on that."
They're both quiet. Finally, Rey says, "Look this is the first moment I've been enjoying in a while, and… While I might not mind company in the shower, you aren't the person I like showering with, so…"
Luke shrugs. "Enjoying? You're crying out loudly enough with the Force that I'm here, and I'd imagine the only reason he's not is that he's sick enough his sense are down."
She sighs at that, too, and reaches for the shower handle.
"You don't have to get out. Enjoy the water. It blew my mind the first time I got to have a real water shower. Nothing had ever felt like that before, and… especially after…" He doesn't keep talking, but she knows it was after the First Death Star, and what he'd done was just starting to sink in, and Leia had said, 'Go get a shower, it'll help…'
She's almost confused, and then remembers, "Right, Tattooine."
"Yes. Another nobody from a desert with a great destiny set up to go forth and…" he makes a pbthht sound. "I never even saw enough water in one place to get a shower until I was on a Rebel base. And we were moisture farmers, but… A really good season was two thousand liters more than what we personally used."
Rey nods at that, and turns so her back is to the water, letting it roll over her.
They're, again, quiet for a moment, before Luke says to her, "Leia and Han… they… always acted like they knew what they were doing. Always. With Han… I could read him well enough to know it was an act, and when you got to know him better, you could see how often he just… Didn't know. He was winging it most of the time, praying it'd work out. For a man who didn't, not really, even with all of us around him, believe in the Force, he certainly relied on it, a lot.
"But… Leia, and Lando, and… they just… always knew. Right, wrong, didn't matter. They knew what they were going to do.
"Obi Wan, calm and centered and just… perfect. He always knew, too.
"And I didn't. I tried. And they gave me ideas of where and how and all the rest, but… The New Jedi wasn't something I wanted to do. But it was supposed to be part of the balance, and restoring the galaxy that came before the Empire and putting things back the way they were supposed to be, and I was the only one who could do it, and…"
"And?" Rey asks.
"I was never entirely sure if it was right. It had to be right, you know? Destiny and everything, but… I didn't take the time to get into the Force and really feel it."
"You didn't?"
He shrugs. "It was so blindingly, obviously, right, what would have been the point?"
"Ah." She's not immediately seeing where this comes in.
"And I'm not sure if the Force would have… given me the map, you know? We say it does. It's in the ancient texts, but… I don't think it would have just laid it all out for me. Might have given me a better sense of purpose, though. Or more courage to find my own path."
Rey nods, and reaches for the shampoo. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm even more tired than I was the last time we talked, but… I'm not seeing where this is going. It's an awful pep talk, and…"
He waves that off. "Yeah. Okay, short version. You don't have to be all things for all people. And maybe some time in prayer would help you sort of what you need to do, or maybe not, but it likely won't hurt."
"That's advice I can take."
"Also, ask for help. The only person who's judging you for needing it is you."
"There are a lot of people who expect me to be—"
"Fuck them!"
"Luke!"
"What? Just because I don't usually curse doesn't mean I've never heard the word or can't figure out where it'd be appropriate in a conversation. I taught a school and spent fifteen years surrounded by mostly teenagers. I know more curse words in more different languages than Threepio. Frustrated fourteen-year-olds with creative vocabularies and the ability to project their frustrations are not, generally speaking, circumspect in their thoughts."
Rey sniggers a bit at that. She's been mentally blasted with more than a few choice phrases over her teaching career, too.
"And I know this, too. Okay, yes, literally, people are watching, and they are judging, and they all expect you to do or be different things. Fuck 'em. The ones who matter, to you, personally, and in the galaxy as a whole, are the ones who understand that you cannot do or be everything because you are human, and no human can do or be everything to everyone. Anyone else isn't worth the mental effort, so they don't count."
They're quiet again for a moment, and then Luke says, "Better pep talk?"
"Yeah… Luke?"
"Rey?"
"Do you really think there's some great destiny? I mean, now?"
He sighs. "I… I don't know. The sacred texts talk about it. The Jedi of old did. Vader and the Emperor did… Granted, they were talking about a destiny I threw off… So… I don't know. Maybe…" He turns so they can have eye contact, and this bit of the conversation is real, and serious enough, that Rey doesn't mind. "I wonder these days, how much of destiny is a manipulation tactic. How much of it is a way to make people do the things you want them to do. 'You have to do this; it's your destiny.' I've been… trying to understand what the Force has been teaching us over the last hundred years. Last thousand, too, I guess, but… Why Snoke? Why Palpatine? Why… Alderaan and the Hosnian system and… just stupid little petty bits and pieces. What's the point of that? What's the balance, and does it really matter, or are these the things we tell ourselves to make this…" he gestures to indicate the galaxy, universe at large… "make sense? Make it bearable, because being adrift and alone in the galaxy is too terrifying? And, I just don't know."
"What about faith? A lot of the religions I read about talk a lot about faith."
He shrugs. "On one level, faith is easy. I know the Force is there because I use it. I'm here, talking with you, dead because the Force is real. That's the easy level. Of course, that also doesn't actually require faith, because you and I are personally, tangibly, liv- existing it."
"Yeah, not what I mean by faith. Though, apparently, there are religions out there where you can't just… call on the power of your God and do stuff."
"And for people who can't touch the Force the way we do, obviously, faith takes on a different meaning, but… You've got to have faith… Again, real? Manipulation tactic? Coping mechanism? All three? I don't know. Trust in the Force. Okay, great. I was sure I was doing that when I was running the school. I knew back when I was trying to pull Ben away from Han what the Force wanted. I was, also, in hindsight, wrong. But it was real and earnest and… "
"You were wrong only if you assume the Force is always right?"
He half smiles at her. "Exactly. Or assume that my understanding of the Force, and The Force, were one and the same. According to what I was reading, what the Jedi had to say, every ancient text I got my hands on, I was doing exactly what Ben should have needed. I should have been able to guide him away from his dark, and turn him into a happy and serene Jedi. It's there in the books. Do this stuff, and the Force will give you success. The Force wants us to be settled in the Light. So… Did I do a bad job of it? It worked for M'Gll, and Krenna, and Jamison, and Hella, and…" His voice goes quiet as he thinks of his Light students. "It worked more often than it didn't. So, was Ben just… wrong? Or were the directions wrong?" He looks so old right then. And Rey knows in her guts why he was terrified to teach her anything. "I know which of those answers I prefer, now, but…"
"But the answer you prefer now is also the one that absolves both of you of any guilt and failing."
"Yeah." He rolls his eyes and sighs a bit. "Shocking how that's the one that feels right these days, huh? Of course, talk to Be—Obi Wan or Yoda and they're all fine with, 'Yep, you, and us. We all just failed miserably. The instructions are right. The old Jedi were right. We're just bad teachers.'"
"Yeah." She sighs. And then turns her face back to the water. "Luke. Thanks. This… is the sort of stuff I needed."
He nods, and she feels him vanish.
Everything didn't fall apart while she was gone.
Granted, with a new medbay… Well, the same old medbay, just… outfitted beyond her wildest dreams… her primary value to the group, getting sick people to and from their beds to the IVs, has vanished.
Rearranging a bit apparently means that the back wall has been subbed out for an entire other room, filled with sixteen more beds and more… medical stuff… than Rey's ever seen. There's room for everyone in here now. MX-6 and Artoo are riding herd on a… herd, of little hovering droids, which, because they hover, don't take up as much room between the beds as they do, and all of them are making sure that everyone has all of the fluids, meds, and… anything else, they could possibly need.
The only thing the little hovering droids can't do it lift patients and talk, and MX-6 has both of those areas covered.
"Rey!" This time she's sure MX-6 is pleased to see her. "I see you found me some help."
She glances around. "Apparently." Jon wasn't kidding. Everything they could have possibly needed is here.
So are most of the kids, too. Jacen seems to still be resting in his own cottage, and right now Finn's nowhere to be seen, likely also resting in his own cottage, but, everyone else is here.
She notices the smell of Hiffa, but it's significantly less intense than she'd expect it to be. "Uh… I was expecting… more mess… if everyone was all in one space."
"If Artoo hadn't brought fifty liters of hexadihydrazinelyne, it would be an intolerable mess, but as it is, we can keep up," MX-6 says.
"What's…" she gives up attempting to name that chemical.
"It's an anti-emetic."
She blinks. Right… Kylo's on one of them, too. That's why he's only running to the refresher two or three times a day.
"You weren't giving it out before…"
"Because we didn't have it."
"Ah… Is there anything else you'd want stocked but—"
"Not any more. Anything and everything I could possibly want is here. They set up an extra storage shed outside, and… I have medications for diseases I've never even heard of before. And the upgrades to my database to diagnose them, now."
"Okay…"
"I suppose the likelihood of you and yours exploring the wide reaching strands of the galaxy, and then getting into fire fights while you're there, coming back both wounded and infected are low, but should that happen, I'm ready for it, now."
"Excellent?"
"I think so." MX-6 appears to be quite pleased by this. And likely by the sound of seventeen sick people, mostly sleeping, though a few of them are just lying around feeling horrible.
And no one, at all, is throwing up.
Rey heads over to one of the lower bunks, where Torine is napping, and Xanth is sitting, cross-legged, at the end, quietly reading a story. Several of the Maji around him are either listening or drifting along.
Rey sits there for a moment, too, and, this is something she's never considered, but Xanth's reading is a medicine of its own, she thinks. His voice is soft and warm, the vocal equivalent of being wrapped in a warm blanket and offered a cup of perfect tea.
"You mind an interruption?" she asks.
Kven, Opal, and Blaine, who are the awake and listening Maji all answer with variations on, "No."
Xanth marks his spot, and then lays the datapad down. "Is this… From Kylo?"
Rey half nods. "From the Order, yes."
"It's…" he's still looking around. "Really impressive."
"Yeah. I… It didn't occur to me to ask. I didn't think it'd be… this."
"Yeah. Well… Anyway. It's here, and," he gestures around. "Suddenly our job got a whole lot easier. We're just… sort of keeping them company, now. Reading stories, holding hands, fluffing pillows, and adding or removing blankets as needed."
Rey nods at that, too. She looks across the room to where Critt is crashed out on his bunk. "You talk to Critt?"
"Nah. It's not so urgent anymore. He's mostly sleeping. MX says he's doing better. Fever's broken, but he's really tired and weak and feels like he was run over by every Favier we've got, twice, so…"
Rey nods again. "Resting is the best thing for him, then."
"I think so." He looks at the other Maji. "I talked with MX a bit about my idea, too. It thought of a downside. Maybe."
"What?" Rey's worried that this is going to be some sort of terrible thing, like her plan, but at least they didn't try it on anyone.
"Okay. You go through Hiffa, either regular, like them, or sped up, like Critt, Jacen, and Finn, and when you're done, you're immune to it. Your body kills so many Hiffas it builds up Hiffa killing specialists, and if Hiffa shows up again, it kills it dead on sight. MX thinks if we use my plan, especially from the beginning, that your system might not get to kill enough Hiffa to be immune to it when you're done. Might not be an issue here, now, but if we get good at this, and try to use it with other illnesses, it might be an issue then."
Rey thinks about that. "So, as long as we're really careful with re-infection vectors…"
"Yeah, Hiffa can't survive below 30 for more than a few hours, so go to a room, open the doors, give it two hours, and all of it's dead. But, say, back in the summer, that wouldn't have been an option, so… Reinfection might have been a real issue."
"Everything in the galaxy is a series of tradeoffs, isn't it?"
She's not sure if Xanth gets what she's saying by that, but he does reply with, "Yeah."
"Are you and Critt going to try anyway?"
"When he's feeling better, assuming anyone's still got live virus, sure. I think it's worth testing." Rey can feel that sitting here, in the medbay, that Xanth just figured out what he wants to do with the rest of his life. He wants to run the best medbay ever, and heal people, and find new and interesting ways to kill diseases that no one thought were killable before. And right this second, he's wondering if Critt may decide to be his long-term partner for this, because for him to swing it, he's going to need a darkling with an interest in healing.
She smiles at that.
"That sounds good to me, too. Tomorrow?"
Xanth shakes his head. "Day after, maybe. Jacen's up and moving around some. And we've seen Finn come in to check on Rose a few times, but Critt's just wrecked, and everyone else is pretty flat."
"It's under control and manageable, but not good?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I probably won't be able to get here tomorrow, and maybe not again today."
"Did something go wrong with Kylo?"
She almost snorts a laugh at that. "No. He's snoozing away, killing Hiffa, and resting. No, it's the fact that he's supposed to be off being Master Ren, and he's in no condition for it, so apparently I'm supposed to step in and be Lady Ren, and…"
At this point, Savarah's drifted over, leaning against the wall behind Elias. "You're going to be great. We watched the footage of you at the First Night parties, and you were perfect. Looked like princess."
"What does a princess look like?" Rey asks, wondering if Savarah's got the image of the Handsome Prince and Princess in her mind.
"Like you in a fancy dress with pretty hair."
Rey laughs at that, too. "Thanks."
Savarah rubs her lips together. "Uh… Could I come?"
"Come where?"
"The court of Lady Ren?"
"Uhhh…" Rey's not panicking, but that idea does make her nervous, but she's not sure why.
"We talked about it, when we watched the video. You need people like us, who can go to these things, and blend in, and make people feel good about it, and pay attention, and… Jacen'll kill me if I get to go to one before he does, but…" Rey can feel that Savarah's really eager to get one over on Jacen. Critt might have been too sick to notice what Jacen was projecting, but Savarah wasn't, and right now… She's not angry, too much, or jealous, too much, after all, she knows that Critt prefers her, and she knows that Critt's an awfully spiffy person, so she understands why people would want him, but if she got a chance to poke Jacen some, she wouldn't say no.
"Not this time. If there's another Last Night style party, maybe, but… This is a mediation deal, so there's no room for someone to linger in the background just… making things go smoothly." Though as Rey thinks about it, building something like that in for future deals is probably a good plan. Then she thinks about it more, and realizes that's basically Jon's job and what he's going to be doing at this thing. "I'll talk to Jon about it, for future ones, too. He might have an idea of how to use people like you, if you'd want to."
"Want to? Of course we want to. The others are all sick, but… If they weren't…"
"Rey…" Opal's voice this time, she hasn't opened her eyes, but she's apparently tracking the conversation.
"Yes, Opal?"
"Why don't we live with the Order? Cassie's wondered that, since it's become clear we're not… Hiding out from them."
Rey sighs at that, too. "I think… Because I don't, yet, really know what the Maji is or does, besides make sure you guys have a good place to live and decent lessons about how to… be… with and in the Force, it's easier for us to be out of the view of the galaxy at large. If we were on the Supremacy I think we'd get a lot more attention—"
"And we wouldn't have Critt, that's for sure," Xanth says.
"If we'd started as part of the Order…" Rey says, "I don't think Kylo could have made it the Order, not the way it is now. And we wouldn't have… any of this, because Master Poe, who found most of you, wouldn't have helped me to set this up if he'd thought it was part of the First Order, back when we were starting up."
"Because he was with the Resistance," Opal says. "Granted, so we were."
"I know. So was I. I met Kylo, fighting for the Resistance."
They all stare at her. She notices she's getting a bit more attention from some of the other beds, and Cassie's heading over to listen, too.
And… okay… well… If this is the Handsome Prince and his Lady, and managing this story is part of the job… Well…
"You know how Master Finn and I met, right?" Rey starts, and from there she begins to tell a somewhat edited version of the story of her handsome prince, and how she saved him from the monster, and how he cut the monster in half, and how they started to drift into each other's orbit.
And, apparently, Xanth isn't the only one who can soothe sick people by telling a good story.
Food is good.
Food she doesn't have to cook for herself is better.
Food she doesn't have to cook for herself, sitting, waiting, hot and ready, in a room that doesn't smell like Hiffa (which also means it doesn't taste like Hiffa) is even better.
Jon's looking pretty tired as he sits at his kitchen table, letting everyone else buzz around him, eating their fill, but he's also looking fairly pleased, too.
This, everyone, in one room, eating, getting ready to do this, with… twenty-six hours to go, is good.
"Nap soon?" Rey asks him.
"Yeah. Laundry got here about an hour ago. Soon as we're done. I'm going to crash."
"Good."
Poe's sitting next to Jon, tucking into his breakfast. "So, what do you want me doing while you crash? Sticking with the ladies?" He smiles at Mirina, Ellie, and Rey.
Rey can feel that they might not mind having Poe around, but he's also not part of their idea of how today with her is supposed to go.
And she can see that Poe knows that, too, but he's making sure that if she wants him around, he'll be there. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "They tell me part of what I'm supposed to do is learn how to navigate women-only spaces."
Ellie smirks a bit, but doesn't say anything as she spreads butter on her toast.
"Well, never let it be said I butted myself into a hen-party." Though it's clear that if he were invited to one, say by the hen sitting next to him, that he'll butt his way in with the best of them.
Jon's pretty tired by this point. It's not the first time he's gone more than a day without sleep. It won't be the last, but, since Laundry left less than an hour ago, he didn't take a stim because he's hoping to sleep, so he's flagging seriously. So, if didn't have to, personally, oversee the throne room set up, that would likely increase not just the probability, but the duration of a good nap… "You've got command experience, right?" he says to Poe.
"Supposedly that's what the rank indicated."
"Right. Commander Dameron," Jon misses the way his mother's eyes light up at that. Commander is not a First Order, or Order, or, for that matter New Republic rank. It is a Rebel one, though… Poe's got to be too young to have been part of the Rebellion. Even they weren't so hard up for people as to put toddlers in charge. She glances at Rey, and realizes it's got to be a Resistance rank. "My second-in-command, Emily, who is generally who I put in charge of stuff like this, is supposed to be running the Tactical Design wing these days, which, even though Ren kept forgetting, is also a full time job requiring a lot of attention and focus. So… I've got plans, and I've got people, and I can get this done on my own, but assuming you're feeling a desire to be useful, making sure they get it done right would be useful to me, and to her because instead of pausing her job to do mine, you could do it."
Poe's looking awfully pleased by that. "I can do that. Hell, not like I've never built anything before. I can likely toss in on getting it set up, too. The problem I can't fix with a welding torch doesn't exist."
That stops Jon and Mirina short. In their world, officers oversee, they don't… do.
Ellie smirks a bit, still pleased. In her world, or more correctly, Pat's, officers oversee, and good officers, if there's a time crunch, or if they happen to be good at whatever it is, and there's nothing else more pressing for them to be doing, both of which appear to be describing Poe's current situation, do, as well.
Poe and Rey don't miss that.
"Lady Kinear?" Poe asks.
"The first officer Pat served under in the Republic… this was, of course, a long time ago… came up from Engineering. And if the men couldn't do whatever it was they needed to do because their tools weren't up to the job, he'd hop right in and fix them himself, rather than waiting on Engineering to get their bums over and take care of it. Sometimes he had other things he needed to be doing, but if he didn't, he'd take care of the problem himself. Pat always appreciated that."
"So, he'd step in and fix things, too?" Rey asks.
"Only in the metaphorical sense. There's a good many things our Pat can do, but anything involving fixing something with tools wasn't on the list. That said, if you ever needed someone to fix something involving people… He'd delegate if he was busy, and, especially as he went up the ranks, he often was, but… If he had the time, and one of his men needed him, he was there."
Poe cocks his head a bit. "Sounds like a good officer."
Ellie appreciates that. "One would hope that after seventy-five years of ordering people around, he'd be good at it."
Poe smirks a bit at that. "One would, but… Well, I'm sure you know, some commanders haven't had a new, or good, thought in decades, so…"
Ellie nods at him. "Oh, I do." She smirks a bit at that. "Did you know… Well, you couldn't have, not personally, you aren't old enough… Did you know of General Hestor of the Amalia Wing?"
Poe smirks a bit back at her. "I've heard a story or two. Back when I was in officer school with the New Republic, he was in the curriculum."
That gets an intrigued, and irked, and… there are more layers there than Rey can easily read, but they aren't immediately angry, flush out of Mirina. She wonders a bit if Ellie's the one who came up with this idea, just to rub Poe and Mirinia together so she can sharpen up her people reading.
And as soon as she's had that thought, she notices Ellie looking oddly satisfied.
Her eyes don't narrow, but she does wonder. Then she says to Poe, "Desert orphans on the far edge of nowhere, haven't. What's the story with him?"
Ellie looks to Poe, likely curious to see how the Rebellion taught this.
"Hestor… He had to have been ancient… Uh… They finally took him down in… What was it? Ten BBY?"
"Something like that," Ellie replies. "And, from my perch, I'd have called him, a bit past middle-aged, but…"
Poe offers her a bit of a smile. "I know he predated the Empire. Made a name for himself during the Clone wars for one, very successful, attack. You know what a PBR-8 is?"
Rey, Mirina, and Jon shake their heads.
"Little two-wheeled scooter type things. You sit astride them, and use your hips and thighs to steer, leaving your hands free to fire, and with proper armor, you turn infantry into cavalry, but, unlike, say a CR-4 or Plusane 2, you can maneuver through things like a forest."
"Which is the terrain he was in the first time he did this," Ellie adds.
Poe nods. "So he masses a million men on those little things, and winds them through the trees, and obliterates the forces he's up against. He's more mobile than the enemy, so he can flank them, and get behind, and just crushes them. It was one of the most decisive victories of the war."
Ellie nods. "I would also add, that he's the one who designed the PBR-8. In addition to having won amazingly with them, they're also, his, personal, baby."
Poe nods at that, and takes a sip of his juice. "That makes sense. Anyway, end of the fight, he's got his General's stripes, and something of a reputation for being a genius tactician. Fast forward a bit, and the Empire's in play, and they toss him, and his PBR-8s into service in several other fights."
"And he does exactly the same thing, every time," Ellie replies
"And the first two or three, it works amazingly." Poe continues. "Which is likely why we studied in him officer school."
Ellie smirks a bit. "Because the first two or three, he's again, in tightly packed terrain where he needs a lot of motion, and there's plenty of cover, so heavy armor is less of a necessity."
"And he's fighting against a million guys all tightly packed together in huge, lumbering vehicles that are bogged down by the terrain."
Ellie nods at that. "Then came the battle of R'Lorh."
"Which is a swamp. It's filled with tightly packed vegetation. So maneuverability is still an issue. You want something light and small, but those wheels on the PBR aren't designed for mud and water. He got his guys down there, massed on the battle field, and they got massacred because the PBRs sink like the rocks they are."
Rey and Jon wince. Mirina looks embarrassed.
"It gets worse, doesn't it?" Rey asks.
Poe's grinning, enjoying this. "Let's just say, they were bad in swamps, worse on sand, a death trap on ice, and a fucking disaster on bare rock. And time after time after time, he kept doing the exact same thing."
"So, each time, each new terrain, he became even less effective because as soon as the enemy side found out they were fighting him, they immediately knew how to counter him," Ellie adds. She glances at Poe… "You know, there were stories… we could never get confirmation, but… It was rumored that your side used to poison decent Generals to get them out of play so Hestor could be brought in."
Poe just smiles. "Before my time. Literally, I was born in 2 ABY. But… If I'd heard that sort of rumor, I wouldn't have doubted it. And if my training had involved stories of how moving the people you want into positions where you need them, on both your side and the other's, well, you wouldn't have doubted it, either."
Ellie's eyes are knowing. "No, I wouldn't have doubted that, at all."
"I'll admit though, there was a question about him on our side…" Ellie raises an eyebrow. "How'd he stay in command so long? We thought the Emperor took men like him out on the second misstep. But, he was there for what? Thirty years?"
Ellie smiles a bit at that, too. "Let's put it this way. He was just so horribly bad at what he did… How could that be an advantage? But… If you look at the timeline, he fought a lot of battles. And lost a lot of them. But, really critical battles. Ones that mattered. He won all of them. His tactics suddenly changed. He—"
"Wasn't actually him." Poe doesn't say, you fuckers, but it's clear he's thinking it. "You guys built up the worst general in the galaxy, and then we'd go in, sure we could beat him, and we won a lot of little, stupid battles against him, because he was terrible, and…"
"And when it mattered, we had someone who looked a whole lot like him, but wasn't him, who had real commanders who knew what they were doing, in play." Ellie's smile is bright, and then she looks to Rey. "Control the information around you. Control how people understand you. And then you can use the expectations of the people around you to your advantage. Once the Rebellion knew they were going up against General Hestor, they'd send in their less-experienced commanders, and less-well-equipped troops, knowing they could beat him one-handed. Many times they were right. But when it mattered, they weren't."
Mirina smirks a bit at that. Likely because that's a story of the Empire doing well. She adds, "And if something doesn't add up… Well, anyone can be lucky once or twice, but much beyond that, something's hinky."
"And you should have an easier than usual time figuring out what the hinky thing is," Ellie adds. "Likewise, there are no contradictions. If someone is, for some reason, acting horribly out of character, like the Emperor not summarily executing Hestor, you know you're missing information."
Poe adds a lopsided smile to that. "Leia always used to say, 'You can always trust a man to be himself.'"
Mirina stiffens at that mention, but Ellie nods. "There were a legion of things Organa and I never agreed on, but that would not have been one of them."
When breakfast wraps up, Ellie says to Rey, "I think… and… I know you probably won't like this, but… Hiffa reeks. It's not a subtle scent at all, and… we," she gesture to Mirina, "think this would go a lot better if you didn't smell like it for tomorrow. So… Go, spend some quality time with Kylo. Snuggle him, get another visit with your Maji, and then, once you've done that, you're going to join us, and then stay with us until after the meetings are all done. We'll have clean clothing for you, and special soap for your skin and hair. That way, when you meet the K'Aar, you won't have the scent of it lingering on your skin."
Ellie's right. She doesn't like that. "But…"
"We'll make sure that if anything happens C8 will get you, immediately." Mirina says, "But… it's on your skin and in your hair and… At least two showers, and we've got the soap for it, and probably some perfume, too, and new shampoo."
"The Princess in the stories doesn't smell like something died in a sulfur mine after rolling around in a vat of puke?" Rey's voice is dry as she says that, and… Actually, sarcasm does seem to help.
"Generally, no," Ellie replies. "Or if she does, no one mentions it because they'd prefer she didn't."
"The Princess, in the stories, has no bodily functions at all, and is made of light, good thoughts, beauty, and calm. This is also true of everyone around her. No one ever has to fart in a big meeting, and the Handsome Prince can ride for days on end to go rescue her without ever having to take a shit." Mirina's horrified to hear this coming out of Jon, "But, the Princess and the stories are also fictional," which is the first comment from Jon that's Rey's heard on this, and she rather likes how critical it is. He sighs a bit. "But… No meeting in the history of meetings ever went well when one participant smelled like death warmed over, so…"
Poe snerks at that. "Did I tell you the story of Leia meeting with the Kerath delegation?"
"No," Rey says. "Is it going to involve terrible smells?"
"And gross bodily excretions. The Kerath were a sort of sentient slug, distantly related to the Hutts, but less attractive by human standards."
Rey glares at him. "I can probably live without this story. At least now."
"I'll give you the punchline. It's not like we were in a battle or ill health. This is just a formal treaty discussion between a wannabe member of the New Republic, and Leia as the New Republic's representative. And we're all dressed up and fancy for the gathering, but… we're humans. Clean and spiffy humans, but humans none the less. They took one look at us, winced, and left. The translator told us that they couldn't take how bad we smelled."
Jon, who is clearly so tired he's hit the point where everything is funny, starts to giggle at that. "The stench of humanity insulted their sensitive nostrils?"
"They didn't have nostrils, more like… uh… stalks. Four, wet, slithery protrusions from the tops of what I'm going to call a head, with an eyeball on the end of each one. They were really fast though. We stepped in, and suddenly they just squirted this… mucus… and went zipping out of the room, gliding along on it."
By that point, everyone else is laughing, too.
As Rey's getting ready to go to Kylo, Poe catches her hand, and quietly says, while looking at Ellie and Mirina. "I've got my comm on me. No matter what they say, this does not have to be a you and them only sort of deal. You want company, you call, and I'll be there, okay?"
She nods.
He squeezes her hand. "Maji unity or something, right?"
"Or something. You okay with overseeing… The throne room?"
He waves that off. "I've run security on more of these than I can count. That's part of why I know how to build a lot of this stuff. Sometimes, you don't trust the guys setting the stuff up, you send someone in on the crew to make sure it's on the up and up."
Rey nods. "One day, I want to hear why you were doing security instead of flying around."
He gives her a little kiss on the cheek. "One day, I'll tell you."
Rey nods again, and vanishes, heading to Kylo's room.
For a heartbeat, in the… space… between Jon's room and Kylo's, Rey's not sure if she'd prefer Kylo be awake, where she could interact with him, some, but risk him picking up on what's going on, or asleep, and just snuggle up with him, but miss out on a bit of conversation, and… him.
And then her wishes don't matter, because she's there, and… "You up?" she asks, quietly.
He rolls over, eyes closed, but facing her, and shivering a little less. "Sort of. I know you're here. Don't ask me to open my eyes, though."
"Oh… sweetie." As pet names go, she's not loving that one, either. It doesn't quite feel right. He doesn't seem to mind, and she settles on the bed behind him, snuggling up.
"I think I may have burned through any off time this month. It's been… At least three days, right?"
She holds him a little tighter, and kisses the back of his neck. "At least."
She feels him swallow, and curl tighter into her. "At least? Am I better off not knowing how long I've been down?"
"Probably."
She feels a spark of annoyance at that, but it's smothered by tired and sore and more tired and achy and cold… He's so cold.
His teeth are chattering, so he switches to mentally talking. How are things going on out there? C8 just tells me to rest.
"C8's right. There's nothing going on out there that we're not handling just fine." She's relieved to see he doesn't ask, who, specifically we are, or what, precisely it is, they're handling. "Xanth has an idea for dark-style healing. When Critt's up and moving around more, we're going to try it out."
Kylo has the same reaction Critt did. Dark doesn't heal.
"Nope, but it changes things and destroys them, and right now the problem is you've got a virus that needs some changing and destroying." She feels Kylo perk up a bit at that idea. "Yeah, I just need a darkling who's healthy enough to spare some energy, and Xanth's got an idea of how to use dark to modify the virus so it can't reproduce. Light to bolster the immune system, a little, help it… focus the fight against the virus that can reproduce. Dark to sterilize as much of it as possible. You'll still be sick, but not as bad or long."
He nods. That's… She can feel he's intrigued but too tired to really think about it.
"Go back to sleep, love. Hopefully, day after tomorrow, we'll get you feeling better."
He sighs a bit, and relaxes a little in her arms, and is asleep.
For a long time, Rey just holds him.
Rey leaves Lirium after another quick visit. And like before, with a herd of med-droids, every speck of medication they could possibly need, and plenty of time on their hands, the only thing left to do is wait.
Then she's back in Kylo's office.
"C8?"
"I'm here, Lady Ren." She sees the glow of his eyes light up, and hears him step forward. Black droid in a black room. We've really got to repaint or something in here. "I need to get to Mirina Frake's room, and I don't know how."
"She's in suite 22A in the first hallway on the aftward side of the I-Deck."
Rey smiles a little, and then stops, she doesn't need to pretend she knows what she's doing, not here, and not with C8. "I have no idea how to get there."
"Ah. You'll go to the elevator in the Master's courtyard. From there punch in F Deck. Get off, take a tram to the twenty-second subsection. Then take the first elevator you see that goes up single floors. Hit I-Deck. You'll likely need to use your… Do you have an ID chit?"
"No."
"Certain floors require appropriate access to get to. I-Deck among them. We're on AAA here, and I believe fewer than twenty people have an ID that can access this floor right now. I can't make you an ID of your own, though I am setting the order for one to be made. Would you mind looking at me, with your face neutral?"
Rey does.
The glow of his eyes blinks out for a second, followed by, "Excellent. That's a good image. IDs require your image and prints, but I know they're in the system now. By the time you get back, I'll have an ID chit for you." He thinks for a moment. "And a proper comm link. For now, I'll call ahead to Mistress Frakes, let her know you're coming, and she can meet you at the correct elevator."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Lady Ren."
"You can call me Rey."
"I'm sure I can, but it doesn't seem appropriate. I do not call him Kylo."
"Okay." She pauses for a moment, thinking. "You take orders from me?"
"That's entirely likely. I suppose you could come up with something I won't do, but it's unlikely."
"But you don't take orders from Jon?"
"I have not been given any orders allowing me to take orders from the Lt. Commander. As long as the Master is present, I'll do whatever the Lt. Colonel requests, because I know the Master approves, but as of this time, he has not given access to the Lt. Colonel to my programs."
"If I told you to do that, would you?"
"Yes."
"First of all, anything you can share with Kinear or Schiff, you can share with Jon."
C8 nods.
"Second of all, why can I do that, but Jon couldn't?"
"He is your husband, Mistress. You are his legal next of kin, and have the right to life or death decisions in his place. If, like now, he is incapacitated, you get to make decisions for him."
"Are you saying I'm the… Master of the Order… right now?"
"For all practical purposes, yes. Obviously, if you were to try something upsetting, something the Master clearly would not approve, there would likely be issues, but assuming you continue to do things he would likely do… Yes."
Rey's very proud of the fact that she does not whimper at that.
Rey steps out into the courtyard. That's a good word. She likes that one. The courtyard of the court of Ren, that… just happens to have the start of a…
FUCK!
Okay. She saw the sketch, but, she didn't get the scale Jon was aiming at. Raised dias… This thing is…
She's staring at it, moving forward, when Poe, who's… got a welding torch in hand, and is literally helping the Stormtroopers build the thing, with BB-8 sitting next to him, going over some of the finer detail welds… sees her, and puts his torch down to join her.
"It's going to be impressive," he says to her.
She's still staring at it. "It's half as tall as I am." And more than four meters across, and… It's fucking huge.
He's happily nodding. "Oh yeah." There's a spark in his eye. "Kylo's boy knows how to put on a show, I'll give him that."
She looks around more. There are… They can't actually be Stormtroopers, not anymore. They aren't in armor, and… Maintenance workers, maybe? There are a few of them rolling out some light gray carpet. Some are putting up new hangings, half of them are black or white with the Order Hexagon on it, and she's assuming the other half have to be the flag of the K'Aran system. Another two are in the midst of setting up some sort of luncheon spot overlooking the galaxy. There's the crew Poe was helping with, building a scaffolding for the dais, which, as Rey looks at it closer, she realizes is a series of graduated hexagons, with her not-a-throne at the top. A few others are painting, slapping a light gray on the walls, leaving the floor and the pillars black.
"Who's in charge of the painting?"
"CT-6672," Poe says gesturing to a man with a spray gun in one hand on an elevated platform, covering a part of the far wall.
"Do you think he'd paint Kylo's office if I asked?"
"He seems like a decent chap, so assuming he knows who you are, he'd likely paint anything you asked. Here's the real question, if you paint Kylo's office whatever that gray is, will Jon get in a snit about somehow messing up his eventual grand design for they look of things?"
Rey thinks about it. "Maybe if he had a design in the works for the office, but right now I don't think he does, and… It's so black in there. And… If I'm going to be… doing this… I want to be able to see what I'm doing."
"It's all black in there?"
"You haven't seen?"
"When would I have?"
"Okay, come on." She takes Poe into Kylo's office, and then introduces C8.
Poe's just staring at black on black on black, and shakes his head. "Yeah, this needs some color... or something."
"C8… Can you write up an order to get the painters to do the walls, just the walls in here, the same color they're doing the walls out there?"
"Of course, Lady Ren."
"Don't change anything else. Just the walls. I… It'll be easy to change back if need be, right?"
Poe shrugs. "It's just paint. Shouldn't take more than a few hours of effort, likely less since they aren't doing it by hand."
Rey nods at that. Then she sighs. If she's going to Lady Ren… well, she'll Lady Ren.
They can yell at her later if it's an issue.
Elevator. F-Deck. Tram…
She's never ridden the tram before. When she and Kylo are here, they wander around, but they say in the one subsection, so…
Speaking of which. She checks, she's in the 11th subsection, and… Good there are signs. Ten's behind her. Twelve's in front. So, Twenty-two's got to be in front, too.
She watches one of the trams go by. They're faster than walking, probably about jogging speed. It takes her a few moments to figure out where it'll stop, and then she sprints ahead so she can be waiting with the other people for it.
And for a moment, she's just a woman, in okay clothing, standing with a group of other people, but then she notices them start to smell her, and suddenly they're all shifting away.
Okay, the ladies are right. She's got to decontam her hair and skin before dealing with people.
She also notices them start to really look at her, and one of them recognizes her, and… Oh, that's not good. Why does Lady Ren reek? What's going on? Is this a problem? Is she just bad at hygiene? Rey can feel the gossip getting ready to start, and pulls up her do-not-recognize. The person who was wondering stares at her for another moment, blinks, squints, shakes her head, and then goes back to waiting for the tram. (And steps a little further away from Rey.)
Rey thought she had a sense of the scale of the Supremacy.
Apparently, that was wrong.
Honestly wrong. There had been downed Star Destroyers on Jakku, and one of them was one of her favorite scavenging finds. Yes, before she was born, people had gone through it, taking, almost everything of value. But… There were nooks and crannies, hidden corners, rooms collapsed into the sand, and crushed against rock, that bigger people just… either couldn't imagine were there, or couldn't get into.
But she could. And did. As much as a person could know that ship inside and out, she did.
Hell, she flew the Falcon through that destroyer.
So, in her mind, the Supremacy was, basically, the same ship, just with a different shape, and a bit bigger.
It's not.
Not that she enjoyed doing it, but she could walk from one end of the Destroyer to the other in a bit more than an hour. Not quite two klicks, and if it had been in one piece, and not filled with sand and debris, she likely could have done it in less than fifteen minutes.
Sitting in the tram, moving much too slow for her liking, she's getting the concept that the Supremacy is huge.
She's staring at it, face set, determined. If she's going to be the Lady of this… ship… Order… thing she needs to get to know it. Inside and out. This should be… maybe not her home. It's too big for that. But her… domain.
Tomorrow… Okay, not tomorrow. The K'Aran delegation is tomorrow (there's a huge, sweeping pile of nervous, she beats that down.) The day after, an hour a day, at that speed she'll be at this for years, but… she doesn't have more free time than that. An hour a day, she's going to spend exploring this ship and what's here, and…
If this is hers… well, it should be hers.
"I was starting to wonder if I needed to send out a set of guards to find you," Mirina says when Rey gets within speaking distance.
Rey raises her eyebrows. "To see if I'd gotten lost or run off?"
"Either, both?"
Rey stares at Mirina. Who can and is seeing her. Through her 'do not recognize' spell. "Do I look different to you?"
Mirina looks her up and down. "Should you?"
"Uh… No."
"Good to know. Come." Mirina hits the elevator button, and the group of people also looking to go up step aside as they notice Rey. Or smell her.
When the doors open, they're the only two to step in. Mirina smirks a bit. "I suppose that's one way to get a somewhat private conversation on this ship."
Rey shrugs. "I suppose. You said you've got… soap…"
"Everything you could want or need. You'll have a nice bath, maybe do some reading while you're in there, and then we'll begin."
"Wonderful." A wave of reticence washes over her, and Mirina catches it.
"It will be."
The elevator to I-Deck is quick. "What are on G and H?" Rey asks as they exit the elevator.
"Not much," Mirina says.
Rey's looking around at I. What she can see is a very long, very empty, mostly open space, with ten hallways spreading off of it. "Not much is true here, too."
Mirina nods. "Now." She nods down a gray hallway. "That won't always be true." They walk through the empty space. Rey figures it mirrors the market section two floors below them. Eventually, it may be filled with shops like the F-Deck. They continue to walk to the first of the hallways, and once there, Mirina says, "This section is apartments. Suites, really, leftovers from the Last Night/First Day celebrations. I had a few maintenance people work on mine a bit, modify it." She taps a door that looks a lot like every other door they've passed, though there is a number on it, I-1-22:A-C.
"I-Deck, first Hallway, twenty-second subsection, apartment A… to C?"
"They knocked out some walls, rearranged a few things, made sure I had better light. You need good light to sew. Eventually, I'll make sure I've got a professional space in the market area, but right now I need storage and work space, so…" she gestures as they enter.
Given how Jon's rooms look, tidy, organized, attractive and bright, she was expecting that of Mirina's.
But… This is a room filled with bolts of fabrics in what look like haphazard piles to Rey, several long tables, six droids whirling away, fingers… for lack of a better word, whizzing about on what Rey recognizes as the dress she'd brought to Mirina. Behind that, there's another table, with more droids working on… She's fairly sure it's a men's jacket, but beyond that, she's clueless as to what it is.
"This is the work space. Usually, guests would come in the other door, but I wanted you to take a look at it." She gestures to the dress. It was dove gray when she saw it last, and the under dress still is, though the over dress is black now.
"Jon mentioned the dye job to you."
Mirina cocks her head. "No. If he thought of it, it was a good idea, though. This needed a bit more contrast." She watches Rey look at the dress under construction. "Eventually, I'll show you what the K'Aran women wear, and go over why we're doing this, but I'll start here, part of what we're doing is showing off wealth. K'Aran men understand their women as… ornaments, for lack of a better word. In public, their job is to show off the money and power of the man in question."
"I don't want to know how much the…" she doesn't know the name of half of the little sparkly gems on the dress, "embellishments cost, do I?"
"Let's put it this way. This is my personal stash of embellishments, and when this is done, I'll take them back, and sub in paste ones, so the dress will still look right, but, as of right now, Kylo cannot afford this dress, and it's expensive enough I don't want to charge the Order for it."
Rey doesn't wheeze at that. She does say, "And they'll… know that. Just by looking?"
"They'll expect it. I could possibly get paste gems past the K'Aar, but it's certain that whomever is going with him as his chief diplomat will be able to tell the difference. And in order to give due honor to your man, to show off his power through you, you need to be a testament to what he can provide you. Basically, if he's willing to lay down the sort of credits that can buy this dress, something that you'd likely only wear once and never be seen in again, he's more than flush enough to take care of any issues the K'Aran may have."
Rye nods slowly. "I'm an… extension of his worth?"
"For this, yes. This'll play differently in other situations, in some places he'll be an extension of your worth, but since they're a straight up Patriarchy, a big part of what you'll be doing is displaying the luxury in which Kylo can keep you."
Rey bites her lip. "I'm… some sort of pampered pet?"
Mirina shoots her a very sharp look. "No. And, for that matter, neither are their women, but that's what you, and they, are supposed to be, according to the men. Since we're going to drastically flip the script on them by removing Kylo from it, we're going to go heavy on the look of the traditional mores, so they aren't too horribly off foot. The more comfortable you can keep people, the easier they are to move in the direction you want them to go. So, at least visually, we're going to signal that we… understand and appreciate their values."
"Does that mean I just sit there… quietly… and let Jon do all the talking?"
Mirina snorts. "Absolutely not. You are the queen. Jon may be male, but he's still, in the grand scheme of things, a servant. And allowing him to speak over you would be an insult to you, and thus, Kylo. You are there in his stead, as his proxy, and you will demand, and be regarded with, the same honor and deference your man would get. The only person at this thing approaching your rank, and since he's here asking for our help, he is below you, is the K'Aar. And everyone in that room will know that."
"And if Kylo were there?"
"That would be a different story, but he's not, so we don't have to worry about it."
"That's where being a pampered pet comes in, doesn't it?"
Mirina smiles a little. "Only so far as things look."
Rey exhales long and slow, and glances at the dress. "It's pretty."
"Thank you. Now, let's get you in the bath. I want you to get a shower, scrub everything first, then the bath, get a good long soak with the oils I've got laid aside, then back into the shower, scrub everything again, and then, and only then, out you get. The reports are on a datapad near the tub, so you can read while you soak. Ellie will be here shortly, and then we'll begin getting you ready to be Lady Ren."
Rey sighs. Then she squares her shoulders, and follows Mirina out of the work room, into an apartment that looks much more like what she was expecting. Lots of space, good light, overly lush and comfortable furniture, more pinks and rose and cream colors than she would have expected, but… It's functional and attractive and polished.
The bathroom is even prettier. There is a shower, and a bath, and stacks of towels, and more soaps and shampoos that Rey's ever before seen.
"Do you need help?"
"I think I've got this," Rey says, picking up a small, squishy sphere of what she thinks might be one of the oils for the bath. "I'll yell if I can't figure out what to do."
"Good. Take at least an hour. Try to relax. I'd offer you a glass of wine, but I don't want you slipping in there. We'll have supper when you're done."
"Okay."
"Mistress Rey should be with Mistress Frakes in her rooms," R4-6837, Jon's secretary says to Threepio.
"Excellent. Give me the coordinates of her room, and I'll join them there."
"Of course, sir." R4-6837 rattles off Mistress Frakes's rooms.
"And how is the Lt. Colonel doing?"
"I'm sure he's fine. He sent me a note to tell me that besides you, no one with a rank below Grand Marshal was allowed to disturb him today."
"I'll make sure to check in with him myself after I finish with Mistress Ren."
"I'll let him know that."
"Thank you, R4-6837."
"You're welcome, General."
It takes Threepio longer than he'd like to get to Mirinia Frakes' rooms. Jon has floated the idea of turning ZZ, YY, and XX into the official meditation section of the Supremacy and to a degree, especially now as he's cruising through the Supremacy, waiting to get to a meeting, he likes it.
That said… the I-Deck is better situated to the rest of the Officer's corps. It's larger. It doesn't have its own flight deck, so that's a drawback compared to where Jon's thinking…
Tradeoffs. Realistically, it will be a long time before they'll need more space than the three decks Jon's thinking of can provide. Realistically, one of those new dreadnoughts will be done before they're approaching crowded on those decks, so…
He gets to I:1:22: A-C, and just as he's about to knock, he makes the decision, and then gives the orders. As soon as feasible, he's moving his offices, and making sure there's a collection of suites of rooms on ZZ for any visitors to the Supremacy. Time to consolidate. They can't afford to be spending hours just moving from one side of the ship to the other.
Then he knocks.
Another shower feels good to Rey. The soap and shampoo… Does the job and then some. Like Kylo after the sonic, she feels sterilized. Nothing of… anything… still on her skin.
Soak for an hour or so. It seems like a waste of time, but she assumes Mirina knows what she's talking about, and it's not like Rey's adverse to getting a soak. Granted, bath time is more fun with Kylo.
She sinks into the bath after the water's full, and looks at the datapad. She does need to read what's on it, but…
Her motivation to do so is as limp as her soaking wet hair.
She settles deeper into the water, and thinks of what Luke said. More time in prayer…
It won't hurt.
And maybe it will help.
"Ah good, we've been—Where's the food?" Mirina asks, and then chokes on as she realizes the droid on the other side of the door is not there to deliver their supper. She blinks slowly as she recognizes who is standing in front of her. Of course.
"I have no idea where your food is, Madam. I am General See-Threepio, Order Diplomatic Service, and I've been told Mistress Rey is here. I've come to debrief her."
Mirina steps back, allowing the golden droid to enter her rooms. Mostly, she's just too shocked, at first, to react. A million news holos are flashing in her mind, and in the background of many of them, there stands a golden droid. Older memories, rise, too. Meetings. A pretty young woman, a secret, the golden droid, who discreetly, because he understood discretion, and secrets, asked for a private meeting.
A protocol droid, working with and near the senate, would, of course, know where his mistress should go for a… change in her wardrobe, should said change be necessary.
It's as he's stepping into her room, that Mirina clears the fog of too many memories to notice something. He just introduced himself. Granted it's been more than fifty years, and she's not the woman she was when they last met. Time may have barely touched Threepio, alighting on his arm, which is red now, but it did not gently caress Mirina. She's not the spitting image of who she was. And, it's possible he only knows the room he needed to go to. She wouldn't put it past Jon to leave a little detail like whose room Mistress Rey was in.
"Mirina Frakes, General." She doesn't offer a hand.
He nods briefly. "Madam Frakes. Is Mistress Rey here?"
Mirina's watching him. It's abundantly clear that he has absolutely no idea who she is.
But he should.
Very interesting.
"She is, General. Right now she's getting a bath. Then she'll join us for supper and getting ready for tomorrow."
Threepio nods at that, too.
Mirina watches him stand in her living room. "Didn't you belong to Leia Organa?"
He glances at her. His voice is mild, neutral, but Mirina's got the sense he might be annoyed. "I worked with General Organa, but, no, I did not belong to her. I am a fully sentient non-biological being, and thus cannot belong to someone else."
"I see." Well, his personality certainly changed over the years. See-Threepio, servant of Padme Amidala, a… gift from the husband she wasn't supposed to have, wouldn't have dared to speak to her that way. Fifty years did produce some changes, then, beyond the red arm.
"Do you? It seems many people see a metal body and assume a lack of conscious or will. Neither of which are true of me."
Mirina mutters simply lovely, and then says, "And let me guess, you're on the forefront of droid rights, aren't you?"
"It would be silly for me not to be. That said, if you are not, one might wonder why you appear to be helping to arrange a diplomatic meeting of a service that promoted a droid to General."
"I find myself asking that often. Do you mind if I ask who promoted you to your rank?"
"The Master himself."
"Ah… You'll forgive the question, but, if this is the third generation of Skywalkers you've served, in what way do you not belong to them?"
Threepio can't glare, but she has the sense he'd like to. Then the sense of surprise. Skywalker. That's got to him. Then Mirina blinks, hard. This is a droid. These are the kinds of reactions she picks up on people without even having to think about them, but this is not a person.
Except, apparently, he is. That throws her for a loop. Before he can even begin to answer she covers with, "Well, General, you're a bit early. Rey will be out in half an hour or so. Ellie isn't here, yet, and the food's on order. But, please, be comfortable… Uh… Normally I'd offer you a drink and a seat, but…"
"I do not drink. I do sit."
Mirina gestures to one of the chairs in her living space. "I'm still working on Rey's dress and Jon's uniform, if you don't mind, I'll go back to that."
"I do not."
Threepio watches Madam Frakes step out of her room. He takes the moment necessary to get himself sitting down, always a much longer and more drawn out endeavor than he'd prefer. There isn't time for it tonight, but… Soon, he needs a long dip in a hot oil bath, and… He really needs to consider an upgrade to his knee, hip, and ankle joints if he's to interface with humans regularly, and have them see him as an equal or superior.
And he's distracting himself from what matters. Mirina Frakes. He's been in the game too long to miss when someone recognizes him, but… He's got nothing on her.
At all.
But he should. That's abundantly clear from how she reacted to him.
There's no possible way she'd react to him like that if they don't know each other. And he doesn't. He scans through his internal documents on her. Not much. Permission to come aboard. Assignment to this room. A work order to expand, and apparently, upgrade, it. He's not certain if Jon bothered to look at what his mother did with this space before he signed off on it, nor does he think it matters. Much. He glances around, and scans the internal documents. Well, if accounting fussed about how much was spent on this space, they've had the good sense not to put it in the reports.
He has a good database on Jon. Every step he's made since he signed his name to a recruiting contract with the First Order. If he could look shocked, a mild expression of it would have crossed his face when he put together those glowing fitness evals from Jon's commanding officer, and then the marriage license to said officer, but… Honestly, these things happen. Beyond that, Jon's record is… well, spotless. He does his job. He does it well. He actually probably earned those glowing evals. And when Tactical Design was obliterated in the Raddus attack on the Supremacy(Threepio's not sure how to feel about that.) Jon single-handedly rebuilt it from the ground up, to the point of apparently scrounging parts of broken machinery and droids to get his production lines back up.
That doesn't tell him much, if anything about Marina, though.
He keeps looking. He has an older, and it takes him longer to find it, file on her husband. Apparently, at some point in the offing the First Order took custody of the Empire's files, so he scans through them.
A competent, functional logistical officer. Nothing particularly noteworthy about him. His home was on Coruscant, where he must have lived with Mirina. There's an address. Given where they lived they had more money than his pay grade suggested.
So, one of them was old money from the upper echelons of Coruscant.
That tells him very little about why he should know her. Possibly… He was there, in that general neighborhood, frequently, in the service of Bail, but… There's nothing in his memory banks that involves Mirina.
Bail conjures another memory. Three generations of Skywalkers. He's got the sense that that should tell him a whole lot about why he should know her, except, of course, for the fact that, if you really stretched the name to the breaking point, he's worked for two generations of Skywalkers.
He, unfortunately, also has the sense that Mirina did not misspeak.
He supposes she could have meant Luke, Leia, and now Ben, but…
He knows she didn't.
"Drat." He says it quietly, contemplatively. When Artoo gets back, and they have a few free moments, he's going to have to ask about the time before his memories begin.
A billion Reys stretching out into infinity before and behind her.
This time, an irked expression lights all of their faces, before they vanish, save for the real Rey.
She's alone in the cave with the mirror. She steps toward it, seeing shadows. Herself… probably. It was her last time.
This time, when she touches the mirror, it resolves itself in an image of her in the Last Night gown, her hair up, makeup perfect. That holds for a moment. Then it's her on Lirium, in her winter gear. Her in the desert, wind whipping the drapes of her tunic. It settles on her, here, now, wet, naked, alone.
"It's always me." She looks around, and it's just her, the cave, and the mirror.
She stares at the ceiling, exasperation pouring out of her. "There's supposed to be guidance! I'm supposed to feel… settled! Like… you've got a plan for me, or something!" Her voice echoes in the cave as she stands there, staring at herself.
Guidance, settled, they don't come. Wet, pruney toes and fingers do.
A heady desire to be able to talk to Kylo about this, that comes, too. His own experience with praying to the Force, what he's seen, and… hell, letting him see it and see if he's got any insight, because just her… Right now, it's doing nothing for her.
She scrubs again, wraps her hair in the towel, and her body in a robe, and goes out to face the Ladies.
It's not just the ladies. Though Ellie and Mirina are there. Threepio is, too.
She smiles, genuinely, to see him.
"Mistress Ren."
"I see we're being formal, General."
He glances to Mirina and Ellie, and it's clear he's thinking that they are not in private.
Rey understands, nods, and says, "Okay. Lady Ren, reporting for duty, now what?"
Mirina's apparently got the stage first. In her living room, where they're sitting, she has a large… Rey's not sure, it looks a bit like a datapad bolted to a wall, but she doesn't think that's a thing. Whatever it is, Mirina waves at it, it turns on, and there are images of women on it.
"From everything I can tell, this is K'Aran high fashion for women."
"Can tell?" Ellie asks.
"They don't exactly interact much with the wider galaxy, so it took some doing to find images. These are internal, from their own news and entertainment services, and since I don't speak the language, and the—"
"You're watching a gathering of the royal family from three years ago. It's coming of age ceremony for the twin princes," Threepio says. "Adequate translators should never be a problem on this ship. Just ask your son for one, and you'll have it."
"Noted," Mirina says.
The ladies in the pictures are small, plump, round of hip and belly and breast. If Rey knew the word voluptuous, she might apply it to the ladies. Two of them are visibly round with child. Before Mirina can start talking about the clothing, Threepio adds, "Weight and fertility are both status symbols in this culture, both for the woman in question, and as a reflection on her man. We have all of this in our databases. Perhaps, if there is a next time, you might attempt to work directly with our department," Threepio adds.
Mirina glances at him, but doesn't actually say anything to that. She is surprised to see that General Threepio's thorough enough to engage in a culture on that level.
"Is everyone going to be…" Rey's trying not to wince. Between decades of near starvation and Plutt, anything with enough flesh to form large floppy rolls just… gets to her. "plump?"
"Only the women. A woman who is well-fed, preferably pregnant, with many other children, and well-dressed is a woman whose husband is lavishly providing for her. All of her needs have been met, and any want she might desire is available," Threepio says.
Rey glares at the image. Her flat, muscly body is already failing miserably at this.
"None of that," Ellie replies. "We're showing them we understand their culture, not that we're members of it. Do you have any images of the men?"
"I didn't think I'd need one," Mirina says.
"They are seafaring, and nomadic culture. This image is from the high fashion, colder latitude, winter season. During the warmer months, they move closer to the equator, and clothing becomes more casual. High necked tunics, trousers, boots, and vests are popular in more formal settings for men. In the more relaxed seasons, kilts or a kaftan is considered appropriate menswear."
Mirina's just staring at Threepio. "You pay attention to all of this?"
"Madam, I can process billions of pieces of information per second, there's no reason for me not to 'pay attention' to details like this. Unlike a human, I don't have to prioritize in order to prevent myself from becoming swamped in details."
Ellie decides that now's a really good time to get attention back to Rey, and why they're doing this. "You are going in as a warrior queen, Rey. We want to indicate we're aware of their values, and that some of ours overlap, but if you look too much like one of their women, they'll disregard you as anything other than a gem in Kylo's crown."
That helps, some. Rey relaxes, a little.
"Okay," Ellie continues, "look at the image. The clothing, not the ladies under them. What do you see?"
Rey looks. "Uh… Okay… They're wearing gowns. They cover from the neck to the ground. Some sort of coat over the gown. Sparkly. There are a lot of little gems on the dresses and coats?"
Mirina says, "Yes. And they're made of a fabric I can't get my hands on, but is similar to slenisan silk."
"Which my dress is made of?"
"Lords, no!" Mirina laughs at the idea. "The spiders that spin that silk only produce enough for three meters a year. We don't have the resources to buy it."
"And we don't have the pull to borrow it, either," Ellie adds. "No, your dress is silk, from silk worms, but the gems, and the patterning on the hem and sleeves are similar and so is the cut. Yours is a little lower cut to help show off your Order pendant, but otherwise the shape is similar."
"Oh." Rey looks at the dresses. "So this… Helps them feel more comfortable?"
"We certainly hope so, Mistress," Threepio says. "We're also doing our best to provide them with something approaching local food customs when they're here."
"Okay, familiar, but not identical," Rey says.
"Exactly," Mirina replies.
"Great. So… dress me up, then what? How do I… warrior queen?"
Ellie smiles at this. "For the most part, just be yourself in a fancy dress. They've come to us because they need strength, and it's your job to make sure they understand that no matter what, we've got it, and that we're willing to sell it to them."
Rey inclines her head a bit.
Mirina adds, "You've survived the desert and neglect, fought Kylo and beat him, fought the Praetorian guard and won, all you have to do is let that shine through. Help them to see that, though you are a woman in a pretty dress, you can give them what they need."
"And what do they need?" Rey knows that's in the datapads she was supposed to be reading in the bath, but she hasn't read them, yet.
"In the short term, someone from the outside to pick which grandson will succeed the K'Aar. In the longer term, the power to enforce the succession," Threepio replies. "Here, let us begin at the beginning, what you'll be doing, specifically and concretely, tomorrow. In my experience, it's always easier to make plans and deal with whatever is coming your way, when you know as much as you can about it."
Rey nods. "Thank you, General."
"You're welcome, Mistress. First and foremost, Galactic Standard is not their primary language, though everyone visiting us will speak it perfectly, and should one of them say something, in your hearing, in anything other than Galactic Standard it is a direct insult and should be treated as such."
Rey nods. "Okay. How do I… respond to an insult?"
"That, Mistress Rey, depends on the severity of the insult. For something like that, ignore the first time, and if there's a second, a direct, open-handed, slap across the face will suffice."
Rey's eyebrows raise. Then she smiles a little. "I think I can handle that."
Threepio continues, "If there's a third, and unless they're looking to start a war with us, there won't be a third, you may break the nose of the person who insults you."
"I can really handle that. Should I have my staff at hand for this?" Fancy, expensive dress and her lightstaff… That feels like an… aesthetic… that's the word Kylo would use… she can get behind.
"In other circumstances, yes," Threepio replies. "If we were doing this on their territory, you absolutely would be armed, but since boilerplate rules of the Order is that no one gets on this ship armed, you won't have any visible weapons on you."
"Ah." Rey's a little disappointed by that, but she can understand why they don't let armed guests on the Supremacy.
"You won't have any weapons on you, period," Mirina says. "We're already pushing their boundaries with you on that chair, showing up armed for something like this, especially since this isn't a culture where people wear ceremonial arms, would be an insult to them. A suggestion that we don't consider them to be coming here in good faith."
"There will however, be several security people in the room, and they will be armed to the teeth, and possibly have weapons between their teeth," Ellie adds.
Threepio cocks his head. That seems likely. "Now, you will already be on your throne when the K'Aran delegation will be led in. This moment is a greeting from you, Mistress of the Order, to Urathan, K'Aar of the K'Aran. Everyone else in both groups will remain silent. Neither of you will bow, though both of you will nod to the other, indicating that this is a meeting of equals, though, of course, everyone in the room knows that you are extending equality as a courtesy. We outgun and outpower the K'Aran system by lightyears. It's true they have more people, but we have more guns."
Rey's nodding. "What happens after we nod?"
"You will say, 'K'rith, hlamay onna imir j'ketta wol.'"
Rey sighs, loudly, and then mimics Threepio's words. "What do they mean?"
"Roughly, 'Welcome esteemed visitor, take comfort in our holdings.'"
"Exactly?"
"'Welcome Great Shark, he who tames the waves, feast upon our whales.' Their first planet is mostly ocean, and the idioms of a primarily seafaring people have stuck."
Rey nods, not knowing what a whale is and only sketchy on the concept of sharks.
"From then, you'll move to introduce everyone else."
"I can do that…" Then something occurs to Rey. "Who is going to be at this?"
"Colonel Jefferies and I will be meeting with the K'Arans at their rooms and bringing them to the meeting, so you'll be introducing Lt. Colonel Frakes, though I likely wouldn't mention his rank, it's a bit low for a gathering like this. There will be a few other members of the Diplomatic Corps in tow, but they will be observing, not part of the official gathering."
That springs a few questions in Rey's mind, first of all, "What about Poe?"
"Is Master Dameron here?" Threepio looks like he really would have appreciated a briefing on that.
"Yes, and he'll be joining the gathering. Jon's putting him in charge of the boys…"
Threepio nods. "That makes sense. We do not have Master Ren, so… Introductions by rank, and consider Master Dameron equivalent to Jon. Introduce Jon first, because this is an Order ship."
"Whose rank I'm not mentioning."
"Not unless he's got the sense to stick a Grand Marshal's stripe on his sleeve between now and then."
"No stripe. No stripes, at all, he's redesigned the whole look, but yes, I've just about finished up a Grand Marshall's formal dress uniform," Mirina adds. "That was the second table you saw when you came in," she says to Rey.
Rey's nodding, making herself memorize this.
Ellie can see what she's doing. "We'll also have a step by step cheat sheet for you. You don't have to memorize it all in one go."
"Good." That lets Rey get to her second question. She gestures to Ellie, "You won't be there?"
"Oh no. Not Pat or Josh, either."
Threepio takes over. "Part of why they are seeking us out, is that they are looking for strength, and power, and youth. The current K'Aar is seventy-three years old. The average male K'Aran lives to seventy. He is in good health for his age, but he is, by their standards, old. They are seeking the promise of people who are young enough to come up with a plan, and still be around ten years from now when we're done with it. Unfortunately—" He glances to Ellie.
"Don't fret, General. We both know that Pat and I have lived beyond our expected lifetimes and then some. And we know that ten year plans are a thing we're making mostly for our children and grandchildren. But while these bodies consent to draw breath, and our minds continue to stay sharp, we are willing and eager to serve."
Threepio inclines his head. "Will you forgive me if I say, your reputation indicates serve is not exactly what you and your man do?"
"Will you somehow figure a way to scroll time back and take those words out of the air if I say, no?"
"That seems unlikely."
"Exactly." She glances to Rey, "and that's how polite insults work. No slaps across the face for that, but we both know exactly what we've said to each other."
Threepio cocks his head. "Indeed. That said, the sentient who thinks you serve anything other than yourself is too stupid or innocent to be on this level, so…" And it's clear that's a warning, for Rey.
Ellie smiles. "I see we understand each other, perfectly, General."
Rey makes herself not offer up a long, drawn out sigh. "After I introduce everyone?"
"Ah, yes. After our introductions. Their side will introduce their people. Then I assume Master Dameron will take the boys and their handlers and… I don't know what they're going to do. The original plan was Master Ren strolling with them around a few of the more impressive flight decks, showing off a few of the CityKillers, and talking with them. I imagine Master Dameron will engage in a variation on that, while you, Jon, the K'Aar, Ilnor K'Rith, his diplomatic head, and my connection to the K'Aran dynasty, and I will discuss the boys outside of their hearing, and then have lunch, talking about what they think the ideal solution for the problem is."
"Are we… supposed to just give them his idea solution?"
Threepio shakes his head. "Not necessarily. We need to take it into account, understand what they're hoping for, but if we can find something better, they will appreciate it. Part of getting us into play is to see what someone who doesn't have a vested interest in any given outcome can come up with, and part of it is making sure any solution we come up with, we can enforce.
"If we settle on one son, and the warlords decide to challenge that, it's our job to enforce our settlement. So, the more difficult it looks to be to enforce our settlement, the more expensive this job becomes for us."
"And we want to make money on it, not spend it?" Rey asks.
"Exactly. The hope is that we'll decide on a solution, send men to the K'Aran system to keep an eye on things and report back, and if all goes well, they'll spend a quiet ten years there, managing the recruiting stations, keeping an eye on things, and we'll happily invest our income. If they don't, we'll be getting the call and coming in, armada at the ready, backing whatever side we agreed to back."
Rey nods at that. "Okay. Lunch. Talk things over. Then what?"
"Then the boys will join us. They will be formally presented to you. Now, this was supposed to be the time that Master Ren would have been getting to know them, but Master Dameron is doing it while you're speaking with the K'Aar, so it's likely we'll be moving directly to the part where we chat with our own people, and come up with a plan of attack, so to speak.
"Then we'll offer it up to them. They'll have as much time to deliberate on our offer as they like, though we've been told they'll likely decide in less than an hour. Quickness of thought, and decisive action are also both considered signs of great man in their culture. 'Dithering' is looked down upon as a weakness."
Ellie smiles a bit at that. "Cultures that value fast, decisive action are cultures that you can generally outfight if you survive the first few battles."
Threepio nods. "Generally, yes. Long-term strategic thinking, unless it comes to them in a lightning strike, is not their strong suit. But, we are hoping we won't ever have to fight them. And if we do, as of this point we so massively outgun them that a battle against them really shouldn't take more than a day or two."
"Citykillers?" Rey asks.
"Citykillers. They have a large space navy, with plentiful fighter pilots, but we only have to get fifty or so Citykillers through their defenses to utterly destroy their manufacturing base and economy." And, as if he didn't just rattle off how they could end the K'Aran system, Threepio continues with, "Once we've given our solution, and they've accepted or rejected it, we'll finish off with a formal dinner. They'll spend the night. In the morning, you'll see them off, and they'll return to the K'Aran system, hopefully with a signed deal, and with even more luck, we'll be sending troops, and getting credits back, in the next few days."
"That simple," Rey says.
Ellie gives her hand a little squeeze. "Easy as pie."
"Aren't pies rather complicated to cook?" Rey asks. She's eaten some, but never made one.
Mirina smirks a bit. "Exactly."
They hear a quiet snick sound, followed by a louder buzz, and then Mirina gets up to check on the sewing droids. A moment later, she's back with Rey's dress draped over her arm.
"Well, let's see how it looks." She hands it over and Rey heads back to Mirina's room to try the dress on.
It's heavy. The gems and embroidery, which as she looks closely at it is motifs of some sort of delicate butterfly and intricate knots in… silver maybe? It's a bright shiny silver color. Tiny emeralds and pearls and… embellishments… adorn the knots and butterflies, make them sparkle in the dim light of Mirina's rooms.
Rey's nervous about touching this, afraid she might damage it somehow, but… She grits her teeth. If she breaks it, well, they shouldn't have put her in something so expensive anyway.
She drops the robe on the floor, and pulls the under dress on. It's soft. She likes that. Heavy but soft. It covers from her chest to the floor. Her Order of the Maji pendent is visible, but she doesn't have much, she presses her breasts up and together, any… real cleavage. Not without the help of a bra or something.
The overdress is a bit rougher, the fabric has a lightly nubby texture. The sleeves are very long. If she's supposed to be a warrior queen… No one in their right mind would wear something like this to attempt to fight in. It's… floppy and distracting, and it would get in the way.
But, that's likely part of the point. The Warrior Queen on her own throne doesn't need to fight. She'll fight when she's not in the midst of her own territory.
That feels likely to be true.
Put this on, stand up, welcome guests, sit on her throne, talk to people, listen, and then offer a suggestion. This shouldn't be that difficult.
Add in her Force skills… Anything the K'Aar doesn't want to say about his grandsons, and likely anything those grandsons don't want her to know… She should find them fairly easily.
So… find the right answer… If there is a right answer… That's a sick-making thought, maybe, like healing, there is no right answer. This whole thing is just going to be a collection of tradeoffs. Rey sighs at that, fairly sure that that's a lesson she's learned.
No right answers, just tradeoffs.
She stares at herself in the mirror, wishing that she could rest assured in the idea of right.
"Oh… Mistress," Threepio's voice is soft when Rey comes out in her gown. He might not have much use for Kylo, as Kylo, but as the man who puts Rey into position to do things like this… As… a continuation of the Organa line, and the chance for a history that was killed much too early to finally come to fruition...
For that, he can tolerate a lot of Kylo.
Especially if he doesn't have to personally interact with him.
"General," Rey says, a little half smile, half grimace on her face. She can feel Ellie and Mirina are looking at her critically, expecting to find a way to improve the image. But Threepio is just enjoying this.
"Taking you back in time, General?" Mirina asks.
Rey offers Threepio a curious look when he nods. "The cut is different, of course, and the hair much less elaborate, but, if you could have stood by them, you would have looked like you belonged beside Leia and Breha."
"The Pacifist Queen who raised a spy turned general, who became the mother-in-law to a warrior queen," Ellie says.
His voice is soft, but definitive as he says, "Who raised a leader. Princess, Senator, General… she was always a leader. The title didn't matter." He can't smile to Rey, but she feels the warmth of it, the grimace drops from her face. "The title was just there to help other people understand who they were talking to, but it always came down to her internal, and I hope to think, eternal, Leia. And I do see much of that shining through you right now."
Rey smiles at him, feeling her eyes flush hot, and blinking she says, "Thank you."
"You are welcome, Mistress. Now, let us begin on the backstory of the potential K'Aran heirs…"