3/5/2

Well now… Orlac blinks a bit, as he reads a note from one of his former students, who now lives on New Alderaan.

It's not exactly all over the news. At least not the bit he's looking at. But, apparently, the presumptive bride/wife/friend… consort seems to be the term that pops up most often, of Kylo Ren, formerly Ben Organa-Solo, will, in the next month, be visiting the home he's never claimed, and once there, will do… Force alone knows what. Though the chattering class is somewhere between apprehensive and welcoming of the idea that he may attempt to make a play for it.

Officially, the idea is that The Order and New Alderaan will come to a formal non-aggression pact of some sort, but some sort covers a lot of territory. And no one knows what, if anything, the presumptive heir of Alderaan is going to attempt once he's got said pact.

The current leaders of Alderaan are blandly talking about how, as a bastion of peace, they'll work with anyone who also incorporates pacifistic leanings, and seek to build bridges to any sentients in the galaxy.

The local papers are of split minds. Some are opining about how the child of Leia Organa (Never Solo. She's never, ever called Leia Organa Solo in the newsies.) might bring some new life into the stultifying morass of Alderaanian politics. Some are talking about how there's no proof that Kylo Ren even is the child of Leia Organa. (He suspects those voices are being paid by the leaders of Alderaan.) Some are begging the government to arm, and arm intensely, the man who controls tens of thousands of City Killers will be up to no good, coming to them, child of Organa or not.

Orlac reads, and notes, and flips to the real estate section. It's bigger than usual. He makes a note of the fact that real estate prices in Alderaan are dropping right now, which means people are nervous enough to sell, but not nervous enough to drop everything and flee.

Probably a rational place to be if Kylo Ren's about to swoop down on your planet.

Orlac's got another note from his Mum, which he's sighing at. The Corporation doesn't want to extend any sort of formal address to the Order. But, if Ben… Kylo's doing what it looks like he might be, they'll end up in direct competition with each other, at least when it comes to The Calrissian Corp's unofficial businesses. From the note, it's clear that she wouldn't mind if his behind the scenes sort of feelers wandered into that direction and reported back.

He rolls his eyes at that. Years of complaining about what he's been up to, but all of a sudden, now it's useful.

His Mum is easier to brush off than his 'student' in New Alderaan. Officially, he's politically neutral. And she knows it. Unofficially, he's a collector of intelligence, and… he is woefully lacking in information about what's going on inside The Order.

And that's getting to be a glaring blind spot.

He re-reads the official information coming out about New Alderaan. The Order is making it loud and clear that it'll show up with offers of peace and goodwill. Though, if memory serves, and it doesn't have to because he's got vast store if intel hidden somewhere on this planet, and off of it, that was also what the Empire claimed when it began moving toward a new territory.

"Go along with us and everything'll come up roses," he mutters under his breath.

Orlac isn't sure if boasting to the galaxy about how peaceful you are, when most of your holdings are a pile of flying weapons, is an ideal strategy, but… It's probably not a terrible one, so why not?

What's the worst that could happen? People get itchy and try to shoot Solo… Ren… Ben… whoever he is… out of the sky? And would that be any less likely with him not offering peace treaties right and left?

That said, Ren appears to be making waves, and Orlac's hit the point where he likely should know more about what's going on in The Order.

Which means going to visit Stjerne.

There are likely other ways Orlac could learn more about the recent changes in The Order. It's not like he isn't sitting on a repository that records and archives every major news feed in the galaxy. And it's not like he doesn't have a collection of 'avid journalers' who just happened to graduate from his program, spread across the galaxy, collecting interesting bits and pieces day in and day out. And then, discretely, send him the intel back.

One of the great things about digital copies of art, you can hide so much information in the color coding, including a lot of sensitive information that most people wouldn't want getting out.

The problem is, he wants something beyond the puff pieces the Order keeps putting out. And he wants what the Order doesn't know, as well. And his journalers, as good as they are at what they do, haven't yet felt any desire to actually join the Order, so right now, he doesn't have an ear actually inside of it.

Near it, yes. He's got ears near pretty much everything.

Which means, sooner or later, most news comes through his school.

Alas, his explicit neutrality stance means he can't just linger around on the quad or pay extra attention at the supper tables and just listen in. He knows his students don't practice perfect neutrality, but they're also smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves and select friends.

He also knows that several of his students are from First Order friendly families, but that finding each other can be… difficult. They can't breach the topic openly, but…

But they know who they can talk to. Even if they're only barely paying attention, they know.

Stjerne Hux has been at Orlac's school for the last seven years.

The late, unlamented General's 'half-sister.'

At least, that's what the lady who brought her, an extremely tall blonde with the same piercing blue eyes as the girl, said. And, it's true that Orlac's got no reason to think that's untrue. After all, if she were the General's half-sister, she would come by her hair, cheek bones, and pale skin naturally. She would have gotten those things from the same place the General did.

It's also true that he didn't believe it for a second. He's got too much of his father's skills to watch someone lie to his face and not twig to it.

(That said, he did check. Just because your gut says something doesn't mean it's right. Always check, that was another of his father's lessons. If Stjerne is the age the woman who never claimed to be her mother said she was, Brendol Hux died just about the time she would have been conceived. Judging by the rumors of how he died, Orlac wouldn't put it past the Blonde that he died right after she was conceived. That said, having seen the Blonde… Well, he knows drugs are a thing, but… The man stupid enough to rape that woman, and then leave her alive after, is the man who's too stupid to breathe. And if that man were Brendol Hux, well, he did stop breathing very shortly thereafter.)

But, even at eighteen-years-old, less than a month after he opened the school, he also had too much of his father's discretion to call a liar a liar to her face, especially when she was obviously talking about her daughter… And said daughter is sitting in the room with them... And she was transferring a sizeable sum of credits, enough to cover tuition and then some, for said child, for the rest of her natural life, should she desire to stay here.

Plus, it didn't hurt that the lady in question, whose name he never got, was big enough, strong enough, and armed enough to break him like a twig snapping under her extremely well-polished boots.

Thus, at eight-years-old Stjerne Hux was the first child to start lessons at Orlac's school.

There are close to four hundred students here now. Most of them are adults, young adults sometimes, but not, like Stjerne was, literal children. Most of them, like Rey, come for a while, a season or two, take a few lessons, make friends, work on a project, do some research, and then drift along.

The ones who he senses are of kindred spirits in regards to the collecting and safeguarding of information, go onto become his journalers. They go, they observe, they write, they beg, borrow, buy, and steal books, they send him pretty pictures back. He uncodes them. And his library grows.

Stjerne's never left. And since that day, she's also never had a visitor. At least, not of the sort who might be kin. The blonde never came back, and though, officially, Orlac would never dream of violating his students' privacy by looking into their communications, unofficially, he does keep a quiet eye on what goes in and out, and if something looks troubling, he lays eyes on it.

He may not be the child his parents wanted, but neither of them suffered, or raised, a fool. And he was not about to have the daughter of the face of the First Order in his midst and not keep a very close, and extremely discreet, eye on her.

Stjerne used to get letters, from a woman he assumes was the blonde. Until the letters stopped coming. She would, also, rarely, get a very stiff, extremely stilted note from her 'half-brother' (and given the contents of said notes, he's fairly sure General Hux was under the impression that said child was his half-sister, too. Or perhaps they were so stiff because he was uncomfortable keeping up the façade. What that says about the Blonde, or the Hux men, or Brendol's sudden demise, he's not willing to contemplate too closely.) until they stopped coming, too.

Hux vanished from view a few months after the letters from the Blonde stopped. He's not officially dead. Granted, given how the First Order works… or worked… him suddenly vanishing, a new General being moved into his place, in addition to the letters stopping, are fairly good indications that he's dead. Or at least so damaged he's in no condition to do anything even remotely useful any longer.

So, as best he knows, Stjerne doesn't have any direct connections to what used to be the First Order and is now the Order. But he also knows that one out of every twenty of his new students, more so now, seem to take quite an interest in the fifteen-year-old ginger girl, who has a beyond healthy interest in stone and metal work.

He doesn't know what, exactly, they have to say to her. He's not watching, that closely, just enough to know that they generally don't spend too long with her. His guess is they find out that she doesn't know where her father/half-brother is, and isn't involved in the Order, and thus return to their studies. And often, within a week or two, wander off, never to return again.

That said, if he does want to get a sense of how the wider galaxy, especially the less-than-complimentary to Ren parts, are thinking, a visit may be in order. After all, if you're seeking out Stjerne Hux, you're likely not a huge fan of Ren.

He smirks a bit. Stjerne can keep a secret, she can. She's practically a black hole when it comes to information, but maybe she'll share a little with the one person who's been a constant in her life for the last seven years.

Maybe.

One of the things Orlac's father always said to him was: "If you've ever got a bad feeling about something, trust it."

"And do what?"

Lando had half-smiled and nodded. "That's the question, now, isn't it? Sometimes you've got to run. Sometime you've got to fight. Sometimes you've got to smile and look like nothing is wrong."

"How will I know which to do?"

"Luck and experience. And let's hope, until you've got experience, that you're lucky."

The first time he met Stjerne, he decided smiling and looking like nothing is wrong was the best course of action. 'I've got a bad feeling about this' might as well be that child's name.

She's fairly quiet. And tends to look at people too long and too hard. She doesn't blink often enough. And that's unsettling, but not the sort of thing that makes adults want to run away from her.

Her artwork on the other hand… Well, when he said to Rey that sometimes the galaxy is better off with people painting pictures of bloody battles rather than fighting them, he was thinking about Stjerne.

She doesn't paint. Not anymore. She used to. She was good at it, too. Maybe not the most impressive use of color or depth, but her realism was off the charts. Now she sculpts. Stone and metal. She's happiest with a chisel or rasp in hand, sometimes a massive hammer, sometimes fine detailed scrapers.

She's big for a woman, especially big for an adolescent one. But, her mother was big, too. She's taller than Orlac, and given her love of stonework and metal work she's bigger through the shoulders and arms than he is, too.

Like many adolescents, she's not the tidiest in her personal habits or grooming, so many people coming to see her are greeted by a very large girl, with long, dirty red hair tied back in a lank ponytail, the sound of rasping or loud banging often follows her around, and she's usually covered in sweat and stone dust.

Most people who are also actually artists are unbothered by this. Anyone who's actually been on a creative binge knows that sometimes food, showers, clean clothing… all of that fades in comparison to the thrill of creation.

That said, looking at what she's creating…

There's a sculpture, it's famous. Orlac saw it in person, and took her to see it, too. The original is of a girl trying to carry the weight of the galaxy on her back, and it's crushing her. She's slowly sinking below the weight.

Apparently Stjerne thought that was an interesting theme, and is continuing along with it. In her variation on the theme, the girl is being crushed under the weight of a star destroyer, it's an extremely detailed model of one, thoroughly dwarfing the girl, and the weight of it is not just pushing her down, but her bones are starting to shatter, cutting through her legs and back.

It's depressing, horrifying, and technically astonishing.

Apparently, though, she's modified her plan. There are still tiny models of the girl and the star destroyer in her workshop, but no destroyer.

"It's looking good," Orlac says as he enters her workshop. He can just about glimpse the girl under a huge block of stone. He wanders to her desk, and sees new sketches. Not a destroyer, not any longer. Now they're sketches of a girl being crushed under the weight of StarKiller.

Apparently, he's not the only one who's been thinking of the First Order lately.

She grunts in his direction, for once, she's actually fairly clean and well-kept. But, she's also, from the looks of it, setting things up today. "Not sure about the balance."

He waves that off. "You know just as well as I do that right now, you just need the fields to keep the piece up. Can't balance it until it's done." He gently touches the block of stone, gives it a tiny push. It's solid and steady atop the girl. "That said, it looks and feels right to me."

She does cock her head at that. He's not wrong, but it feels… off… to just use the field generators to hold the stone in place.

"You think everything I do looks right."

"Probably because I've got the eyes of a hawk, and I know when something looks right."

She just looks away from him, staring at the massive block of granite in front of her. "And I've got the eyes of a killer. What's got you here?"

"What's got you saying that?" Orlac blinks at that. Stjerne's always been intense, but that's… off… for her. That 'bad feeling' is intensifying.

"I've been dreaming… weird dreams, lately. My older brother… Except he's not my older brother, is he?"

"The lady who brought you here said he was your half-brother."

"My mom. Yeah, I know." Her eyes narrow. "Too many dreams. I don't usually dream this much."

That 'bad feeling about this' in Orlac's gut is intensifying. "You paying attention to the news?"

"Some. Why?" She's crouched down, looking at the girl dwarfed by the stone.

"A lot of people want to know anything they can about Ren."

That gets a look away from the sculpture. "He killed my brother… father… Armitage. I dream about that, too." She shrugs, puts her file down. "I don't know if the dreams started in my own head or not. Some of the people who visit me tell me that, too."

"Ah… What else do they tell you?"

"They want to know if I know anyone who might come up with a decent strike against him. They look at me, try to see if I can be Hux. If I can be the tech wizard he was, come up with a new StarKiller. Apparently, Ren destroyed every known copy of the plans, and had the surviving engineers, and a few others who could have possibly made a better weapon, killed."

"He never was stupid."

Stjerne doesn't miss that comment. "You know him?"

"I might have known the man he used to be. At least, I met him once."

She nods. "That's one more time than I met my father."

"Whichever Hux he may be."

That gets a shrug, too. "Why is your mom asking you about Ren? Doesn't she know a million people who might know him?"

Orlac half-smiles. That covers the cold down his spine. He didn't mention his mother wanting to know. Stjerne's always been unsettling, but this is a much deeper level of unsettling than normal for her. "She does. My guess is she doesn't want to be seen asking."

"So she asks you, and you ask me, and all I know is that a bunch of people who don't like him are so desperate as to come here, to look at me, and hope I can build them a super weapon, because they're afraid to go up against him in anything smaller than a planet killer, or at shorter range than half a galaxy between them."

"That's a lot of fear."

Stjerne nods. "I feel it coming off of them in clouds of stagnant red and whorls of black. They say he reads minds. That he knows when an attack is coming. That he can kill a man with a twitch of his fingers. They'd leave the Order because he was tearing through others working on coups. Killed them before they could get them properly in place. They figure even he can't feel an attack if it comes from the far side of the galaxy."

"And what do they intend to do once the galaxy is rid of Ren?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I don't think they know. Laugh?"

"Probably the only thing they'll be set to do." He nods to the sculpture again. "You know, if you don't think the balance is working with the fields, we can do it the old fashioned way. Those crossbeams are rated for up to twenty-five tons, and…"

She nods to the far side of the room, and he glances over, seeing the pulleys and hooks already there.

He nods at that, too, and gives her shoulder a little squeeze. "Good girl."

A girl crushed by the weight of a weapon… Not subtle, but that's also Stjerne, not subtle at all, ever. Granted, once it's visibly clear what she's making… Maybe some of the questioners will decide not to ask.

Back in his home, Orlac sighs. Anyone with enemies who are that scared is going to make the galaxy change. Going to make people stand up and notice. Which means he needs an in on the Order. He's got to get someone in there.

It doesn't take more than a minute to find out how to get someone in. Easy as breathing. Apparently, you've just got to show up. That said, he doesn't think any of his journalers are even remotely interested in enlisting in the Order.

From everything he can see, basic Order training is not, on any level, fun.

He's almost given up, logged out, gone back to reading his collection of letters when he notices that the Order is also interested in offering space to buyers, sellers, and anyone else who wishes to market themselves.

Their 'neutral space initiative.'

He's scowling at their information page. That really should be easier to find, not buried away behind three links on a subpage. Anyone who wants to use Corporation space can find all the details on the top of the landing page on their info site.

But… as he finds the information and reads it… Apparently, the Order will offer space to anyone who'll pay for it. Security if they need it. At the low end of the scale, there's space for shops and taverns and… even food carts. High end, they've got places for embassies, galleries, corporate headquarters…

He keeps reading, and shakes his head slowly.

No wonder his Mum is asking. They're not just going up against the Corporation's unofficial business. If they get good at this, they'll be going up directly against them in their secondary business, too. (Technically, primarily, the Calrissian Corp is a mining operation. In that, officially, 54% of their on the books holdings are mining operations, that's still, technically, true.)

There was nothing in the galaxy his Dad and Uncle Han loved more than a free-port. A place where anyone could come, fuel up, their ships and bellies, work a deal, find a job, trade secrets, play a few hands, and move on.

That's part of why, once the money began rolling in fast enough, Lando started building them all over the place. They were… more than anything… his home. Yes, eventually, he became respectable, but the scoundrel living from one hand of cards to the next was always just a centimeter under the surface, and…

Lando never said it. Maybe never thought it, too hard, but if the charmed life somehow uncharmed, and if the magic went away, and if the Admiral was ever on the run again, having a huge collection of free ports friendly to him would be the difference between barely scraping by, and surviving in the style he adored.

And Solo, who calls himself Ren, but really shouldn't, is apparently attempting to build the biggest, fanciest, moving, free-port in the galaxy.

Orlac opens up his personal data pad, and starts a note to his Mum, detailing what he's going to need if he's going to open up an art school on the Supremacy, and take advantage of their 'neutral space initiative.'

After all, if the man is going to make it that easy to spy on his ass, there's absolutely no reason for him to make it more difficult than it needs to be.

One more thought occurs to him once he's sent the note to his Mum. If Ren's good at this, and if people come, not only will he be ideally located to spy on Ren, he'll be ideally located to spy on everyone else, too.

He thinks of his father, and Uncle Han, who loved free ports. Well, maybe there's a world where Orlac Calrissian, who not only can't fly his own ship, but doesn't actually like them much, either, will love free ports, too. After all, they represent… opportunity.