Weekend* Treasure Hunt 20: You Never Walk Alone

[Khallesh]

Jun Paarth watched her Warrior protégé very carefully as she walked through the opening. The Master Shaper in her noted the way she walked easily on the new leg. The master manipulator watched Khallesh' expression for any revelation. The visit had been cut short which caused her concern. Khallesh Val was supposed to be her mouthpiece in the warrior caste and someone she could deploy undercover. If she could not grow beyond the preconceptions drilled in by traditionalist doctrine... Well, Jun would perhaps need to find an alternative.

"You're early," she stated. "What did you learn?"

"Their decadent ways cannot be tolerated. We must purge the Galaxy of all infidels," Khallesh stated metronomically.

Jun let out a long sigh. There was a promising subaltern in Domain Tresh. Maybe a warrior from a less traditional domain would be easier to mould. Then she noticed the edge of Khallesh' mouth turn up.

"Was that... A joke? Khallesh Val I don't think I've even seen you smile before!" Jun exclaimed. Khallesh looked quite pleased with herself.

"Rubs off on you doesn't he? A very charming man when he feels like it!" Jun continued.

"Not really," Khallesh snapped. Her expression was stoic all of a sudden. The expression seemed forced. Jun could sense something bubbling just beneath the surface. She made a mental note to look into the circumstances of Khallesh returning early.

"So what did you learn?"

"That if we want to break them we should start with their economy. Use their greed against them."

"Now we're getting somewhere Khallesh. Sit down, I'm going to teach you how to play a game called sabbac."

 

[Khallesh]

Willard tapped his foot impatiently. The leather sole of his immaculately polished shoe making a gentle slapping sound on the marble. He idly ran a finger down the butterfly stitches above his brow. The cut still throbbed.
"No, no you're seeing Mr Dunkins on the 4th," Vuun said, as she scrolled the screen of her data pad.

"Fine," Will said, though he was certain she had said otherwise before.

"Do you like my new necklace?" she asked before he could head up to his office. She leant across the desk, so that the carved figure hung in front of her cleavage.

By Yun Harla, he thought, did the trollop have no dignity at all?

"That barbarian left it for me for some reason," Vuun explained. "It's a lovely carving of the Lover Gods. Did you know they still sacrifice couples to the Lover Gods if they come from different castes?"

"I know that," Will snapped looking at the simple representation of the entwined gods. "Cancel my eleven o'clock."



One of his junior executives followed him into his corner office. Willard turned on his heel and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Mr Jamaane, I thought we could... Maybe later," he said. The lad had the sense to leave promptly.

Willard sat back in his leather chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He could hear Maurice moving around in his tank, clearly attuned to his owners emotions.

"Yes, I think it's time for the bottom drawer Maurice," Will said. Reaching under his desk - whilst trying to pretend he couldn't see the deep scratches - he found the hidden button. The glass panes of his office frosted opaque and his door locked with a quiet click. Will lifted his emergency bottle of twenty-six from the bottom drawer. He poured himself a long glass and left the bottle on the table.


THE END


Something a little different for me. If I went back and did a proper edit, it would probably come under the word limit...

 

[Ashin Varanin]

OOC/ Well, it's taken me a lot longer than it should, but I've finished reading the stuff you've written, and it's been a blast. Props to everyone who finished: [member="Snowflake"], [member="Daedel"], [member="Jared Starchaser"], [member="Kira Vaal"], [member="Matsu Ike"], [member="Cerita Sarova"], [member="Kana Truden"], and [member="Khallesh"]. You guys did great.

Most of you have been awarded your prizes. For the few who finished since the last time I checked in, let's see...

[member="Snowflake"] - Nicely done. Made me engage with the setting, and you got pretty deep inside your protagonist's head. Your prize is A NEW CAAAAR - or rather, an MC33 Leechar-class Star Yacht for whichever character you prefer.
[member="Daedel"] - Nicely done. I really felt the environment and the culture. Good immersion. I'm betting you'll get some joyful use out of a crate of BRKR-12 Taserblades.
[member="Khallesh"] - You exceeded the maximum word count by a little, but I'm exercising my dictatorial prerogative to keep you in the running, for three reasons. Your story had the clearest and least expected arc, it was probably the most thematically ambitious, it was one of the best at making me care about the characters, and it made me laugh out loud several times (this is not a thing I do). For the above reasons, not only is your little word count peccadillo forgiven, but I dub thee the winner. Thou hast written a fully functional fething novelette. Your prize will be posted IC, shortly.

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Khallesh"]

"Do you trust me, Jorus?"

Eyal M'ti was beautiful like a landscape painting, a motile xenofloral half a millennium old, and headmaster of the Jedi Academy network. She wore Jedi robes made of brown plant fibre, carried no lightsabre, and had never served on any of the various and vying Councils. For one who had steadfastly avoided the spotlight and refused the relevant honours, she commanded immense respect.

Jorus leaned against the inner hatch of the Gypsymoth, looking down at the woman who dominated his comm table. "I guess, yeah. It's just that it's hard to give up."

Master M'ti nodded. "I was the healer for a Hoth expedition once. One of our men -- his hand froze to a grenade. The inability to let go is not predicated upon the value of the thing being held."

"You can't tell me this has no value."

"It has great value. This task has shaped you, and benefited thousands. Millions, indirectly. But you know as well as I do that the healthy choice is to humble yourself and give it up to the new generation. Not to me, not to the Councils you've known. We've always known new forms were required."

"Hard words," Jorus said with a grunt. "But you're not wrong. And that's to say nothing of what it's done to my family. I've been on the run, what, eight years for this? My kid..." He grimaced and pushed away from the hatch, and came to sit down with M'ti. "Maybe it really did just all come down to pride. Maybe I'm the simian trying to pull a nut from the hole in the box trap, and he won't let go of the nut to get his hand free. I always did like things more than a Jedi should."

"I won't force your hand on this. But I believe this is the right course."

He grimaced again. "I'd also hate to do this out of...spite? Contempt? No, nothing that strong. Maybe I'm worried about nothing."

"You've spent a large portion of your life working for reintegration. The library network and the last convocation attest to that, at the very least. Not to mentioning rescuing these things so many times, and keeping them available for all. Just this once, I'd suggest cutting yourself some slack, as they say."

Jorus sighed, and knew he was convinced. "All right. Put in yours, I'll put in mine, and let's get this done. You ready for what comes after?"

"Trust me, Jorus. I'm a plant. I know a thing or two about the dangers of clearing the deadwood for the new growth." Master M'ti input her codes into the quantum locked ansible nodes on the table before her. Jorus took a deep breath and input his own codes into his own set of nodes, still dirty from the places he'd stashed them across the galaxy.

***

At the galaxy's edge, in the fringes of the hyperspace distortion, a series of three pilot droids came to life. They were separated by billions of miles, on randomized courses, flying comprehensively stealthed vessels, all unreachable by any comm but the ansibles. This was the security process that the Jedi Order as a whole had utilized since halfway through the war with the One Sith, after raids had made this level of redundant paranoia a necessity.

Each stealth fighter turned and wound its way into the galaxy, through routes charted over hard years. Each fighter -- hidden from gravitic and radiative sensors, hidden from the Force, hidden from sight -- carried one of the most precious relics of the Order: the Great Holocron, Tionne's Holocron, and the Codex of Tython. The network of quantum-linked stealth fighters was larger than this; this was the network that gave life to the Jedi Order Library Card comlinks. Most of that network remained. The three major holocrons remained in the system as well, but physically, they were on their way to a new guardianship.

As they traveled, so did Master M'ti, with Jorus' quantum ansible nodes and his handwritten, long-memorized codes. There had been three sets of comms and master codes; M'ti and Jorus had held two of them. When at last Master M'ti removed the three greatest holocrons from their cold caskets, it was to pass them to the care of others. The codes and comms would no longer be relevant for those three -- or maybe they would. It depended on what the new custodians arranged. It was none of Jorus' business.

***

Jorus sank into the pilot's seat that had been his home for most of his life. "Long road, buddy. Long fething road. Thanks for standing by me; I know you didn't sign up for this."

Beyyr growled something to the effect of "Thanks for disrespecting my culture." They'd had the life debt discussion more than once. Some people were fine with it. Jorus never had been. But after the better part of a decade flying together, the conversation's edges were all worn down to comfortable familiarity.

His callused fingers hesitated on the familiar controls of the Gypsymoth. A flick dialed down the inertial compensator to ninety percent. He stomped on the gas, and the YV-929's acceleration slammed him back in his seat. The mantle -- Master of First Knowledge to the entire splintered Jedi Order -- had weighed just that hard on him. Between five G's and the weight of years, though, he'd take the flight anytime. Beyyr whuffled and engaged the in-flight playlist. A bumping, energetic tune filled the cabin as stars flared to starlines.

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYCPccFQHWA

A free man found the name of [member="Alna Merrill"] in the hypercomm suite, and opened a link to a faraway world with no name.

"Honey? It's over. I'm coming home for good."