I knew first-hand that a statistically relevant portion of the staff had been replaced by Imperial Intelligence. Or, failing that, was on their payroll. He leaned closer to whisper something in my ear.
"My lord, your presence is requested in the Pendel Wing."
...
Ah. Right. Heaven forbid that I actually find some enjoyable work.
I did not bother responding with words. I gave him a nod and the… intelligence asset, for lack of a better term, took the dismissal for what it was and returned to their duties at an unhurried pace. By contrast, I now had to find a way out of a conversation with a Jedi was probably not a diplomat. Unfortunately, the alternative was a bit less pleasant to think about.
So I didn't.
"Beating a retreat already?" She asked, a confident grin plastered on her face.
"You could say that," I said, and her smile... shifted. It did not falter, not entirely, but it lost something I couldn't quite put a finger on. "If you would excuse me, my master needs help plotting how to supply his vast network of orphanages."
Why yes, that was a lie, and an obvious one at that. What kind of Sith wasted their time with something unlikely to increase their own power? Or rather, why would a Sith spend their time on something that did not further an image conducive to their goals?
"With what, orphans?" the Jedi shot back without hesitation. Oh, she did know how to make this conversation fun. A shame I needed to cut it short.
"First aid supplies," I lied, and blatantly at that, as I forced myself back into the persona of someone vaguely diplomatic. It was time for me to keep doing my job. Or another of them, really. Fortunately, all I was doing was leaving dead-drops. Those notes I had collected all night needed to be collected, after all. "They are our most vulnerable citizens, after all. The Greater Lantyr Ecumene can provide those supplies, or these people might know someone who could."
I strode off confidently as I felt her glare follow me. Did I know where I was going? No, but I knew where I needed to be. Once I had a modicum of privacy, I could consult a fire map. Surely, even this place on the border of imperial space had one of those.
...
When I came to power, I would make tabloids illegal. No, I would go further than that. Any paparazzo I found would belong on the cross. Maybe that would keep them from pushing the envelope of libel laws. Or maybe I would make libel a bit broader a term? And more harshly punished?
Yes, there was an idea. Make libel a capital offense. And a criminal matter instead of civil. All so I could avoid having to see more of the travesty in front of me.
A print magazine, or whatever the locals called this rag of condensed liability. Fortunately, it was ink on paper, blessedly devoid of the holographic nonsense favored in more 'advanced' places. Unfortunately, with a front-page image of a masked Sith and a Jedi engaged in lively conversation. Except she Jedi, barely coming up the Sith's shoulders, was leaning in with a smug grin on her face. And the Sith, if his body language was any indication, was having a grand old time. To any casual observer it was obviously the juiciest kind of gossip: the forbidden love between Jedi and Sith.
Unfortunately, that was my masked self on the cover. Opposite a certain vertically challenged Jedi.
"I hate it," I eventually said, breaking the silence.
"I think it's quite well framed, actually," the man who was training me said in response. Lord Egatio was, to put it generously, an old man. Grey, wrinkled, and not quite decrepit, the deceptively grandfatherly smile belied his willingness to use throw lightning at people who disappointed him. "The crowds are visible, but so out of focus to be indistinguishable. It makes the scene appear intimate, yet public."
"You just had to make it worse," I muttered. Sulfurous yellow orbs locked onto me, prompting me to add a few more words. "My lord."
"It is hardly the only one to publish this material, only the most popular," the Sith said, nodding towards the other publications I had been presented.
Spread in front of me on the long table that sat in the center of the conference room sat a spread of magazines. In the yellow-and-cream room in the palatial accommodations we had been provided, the brightly colored magazines stood out like a fools motley. Or like a clown in an oncology ward. Around me, the not-so-motley assortment of my master's staff and advisors sat in attendance. Each of them skimming through the reports and summaries that our friendly intelligence drones had so kindly provide, while I was stuck reading the trash magazines.
Well, not quite read; my knowledge of the local (read: galactic standard) alphabet was tenuous at best. Even if it was as simple as swapping the alien runes for the more familiar shapes I had grown up with, it was a brutally tedious process. I could read just fine; it just took far longer than necessary. The dossiers preparing for this entire event had been an entire day's work.
"I fail to see the relevance, my lord," I eventually said. "These are all tabloids. Nobody of any importance is going to pay any attention to the contents; Their target audience will not be at any of the diplomatic events."
"It is quite simple," Lord Egatio said, enunciating each word with the infinite patience of a man lecturing a slightly slow child. "Each magazine that panders to the lowest common denominator has you and the Jedi on the cover, front and center, with salacious captions to help prod the mind in the right direction. The high-brow publications, meanwhile, are all but ignored. Including the local Bulletin Unbiased."
Right, the local government-owned and operated news source which was publishing an interview with my master in the coming days. I would have wondered why that was good news, or why my master was not any more concerned at his loss of the spotlight, but the previous night's lessons were still quite clear in my mind.
My very much not private mind.
"The situation has broad appeal," I guessed, going by gut instinct. And some very rough deduction. "And that appeal moves units. Which means the media will keep its eyes on me in an attempt to capitalize on that momentum, leaving the rest of the team with a bit more freedom."
"Correct, apprentice," the old Sith confirmed, and my stomach sank just a bit more.
Simply put, I was a very elaborate distraction. No trust, no special information, not even any functional equipment, I was only here to attract attention. Same as before, really, but now the glorified shippers had me in their sights.
Great.
"Are you certain I should be attending today's event, my lord?" I asked. "I am hardly prepared for the spotlight."
The day's event, according to yet another pre-dawn briefing I had barely managed to pay attention to, was… another reception. Or was it a formal dinner? No, that was tomorrow. A second reception today, followed by closed-door negotiations, and being willfully ignorant of Imperial Intelligence committing horrific crimes somewhere out of earshot.
"Actually, putting you in the spotlight would be the optimal course of action, my lord," a middle-aged member of the staff members helpfully added. Intelligence, I think, but I was still not completely familiar with the uniforms. "Having you present for the reception, or at least the beginning of the reception, would draw attention from our other operatives."
Wait, only the beginning of the reception?
"If my apprentice were to leave early, it will cause quite the stir, inviting questions and suspicion," the Sith said. Alright, I could see the logic. My sudden and unexplained disappearance would focus the attention on me, or rather on theories as to my absence, giving the professionals a bit more room to do their jobs. "See it done. See if you can't get him locked into a side wing for a few hours."
A few hours? I resisted the urge to ask the obvious question. Being seen as the eager student was fine, after all, but any hint of the true depths of my ignorance and inexperience was another matter entirely. But seriously, hours?
...
Hey guys I would really appreciate it if you could throw some power stones to help elevate the ranking.
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