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?
...
"Back to being a distraction, then," I commented, leaning back in my seat. "Do I still need to make the dead drops?"
Over the hours I had spent at the previous day's reception, I had accumulated no shortage of scraps of paper- or flimsiplast, or whatever they called it around here. Lots of notes had been passed to me, hidden up my sleeve and eventually deposited in a prearranged place.
"Of course," my master said.
"But if they are intercepted-"
"Then the Republic cryptographers will eventually receive the fifth step of my mother's famous recipe for jambalaya," the Sith revealed.
Wait.
Wait wait wait.
I knew I had been a distraction all along. This, however, went a lot deeper than simply attracting the attention of the more curious and/or morally bankrupt members of galactic society. Damn it all, I had thought at least one of my tasks had been relevant.
"Were all of my actions yesterday just distractions?" I asked.
"No," the older Sith reassured me. "Your hand in arranging the connection between the editor and the subaltern minister was helpful." He turned to another member of the staff. One of his assistants. No, his primary assistant, an older woman. Well, solidly middle-aged. It was hard to call any one old when compared to Sith Lord Wrinkles over here. "Sasha, how much did the local Bulleting Unbiased outperform its peers?"
"There is a nine percentage point difference in sales per capita, rounded down," the woman helpfully provided, yielding a pleased smile from the Sith. In the few short months since I had started 'training' under Lord Egatio, I had yet to definitively nail down the nature of their relationship. Strictly professional, it was not, or she would have addressed him with the necessary supplications.
"You hear that apprentice?" the senior Sith asked. "You made a difference."
There was a note of sarcasm in his voice. Eh, I could ignore it for now.
"Message received, my lord," I said with a sigh, sagging back against my seat. "Permission to change into something attention-grabbing?"
"Granted," he said, his perpetual smile twitching into something more genuine for a fraction of a second. "And dismissed."
No more than an hour later, I found myself back in the main area of what I was reasonably certain was a local gubernatorial palace. Except now I was dressed in that most alien of fashions: a well-fitting three-piece suit. In imperial colors, sure, but a suit was a suit. And more importantly, not a glorified bathrobe as preferred by so many Sith.
"Ah, Nestor!" my attention was grabbed by a familiar voice. A blessedly friendly voice, one free of any sort of combativeness. Turning slightly, I saw Editor J'Meson approaching, barely mustached face wearing a pleased smile. "I'm glad to see the bloodsuckers haven't chased you off."
And he was happy to see me. Odd, but not terribly so.
"J'Meson," I greeted the man, forcing a pleasant smile that would color my words slightly. "If by 'bloodsuckers' you are referring to the tabloids, then I confess that I was tempted."
"No wonder, what with the filth they've been slinging." He mimed a shudder, to my slight confusion. I had given the covers a cursory glance, barely able to piece together a few headlines and blurbs. Had- had I missed something? "I've seen government investigations started and careers ended over less. Reported on it, too."
Yes, I had missed something. After work, I'd give the tabloids a closer read. Preferably with something on hand to fortify myself.
"How convenient that I do not need to worry about reelection," I commented idly before changing topics. "You do not seem too inconvenienced by it. I thought the sudden jump in sales would hurt the Bulletin Unbiased."
"I appreciate the concern, but it happens almost every month. Evening press," the editor responded, as though that explained everything. "They can't maintain the attention for long, so their sales will tank until they find a new topic. If we delay publishing the full interview until the attention on you wanes, it will shoot us back to the top."
"So you need me to avoid feeding the tabloids." I gave the crowd a quick scan, letting my eyes roam without moving my head. Fortunately, the small Jedi was nowhere in sight. That meant I could slowly amble forwards without danger once I was done talking with the editor.
"I would settle for another introduction to one of your experts," he offered. The forced smile beneath my mask shifted, settling into something far more genuine. Now that I could do.
Of course, I was not able to enjoy the beautifully decorated main hall of the palace for very long. No, letting me enjoy a tasteful amount of gold filigree on ivory was too much to ask for. I had left the editor with an assistant to someone halfway up the ministry of production before moving along the safe route I had spotted earlier, occasionally getting flagged down to make another introduction, or to answer a question.
In the middle of a perfectly pleasant conversation with a local industrialist, however, I was told that there was a message waiting for me by a passing servant.
Five minutes later, I was a dusty side corridor, contemplating why I put up with this. Truth be told, I knew full well why. If I did a good job supporting the Empire, we might be able to achieve success through diplomatic means. If we could point to successful examples of diplomacy, it might persuade some in the Empire that victory could come from something other than war.
All to convince the bigwigs of potential alternatives to stave off war for a few years. Or months. Weeks. Days. I'd even settle for hours of delay.
If. Might. Could. So much uncertainty… and my part in it was waiting in a dusty side corridor. At least when I was being a meaningless distraction, I was doing something. Something to ensure peace for just a little while longer.
"Did your thoughts somehow get louder overnight?" a barely familiar voice filled the otherwise abandoned corridor, sending chills down your spine. Turning around, I saw that my initial response had, indeed, been the correct one. Standing in the middle of the otherwise empty corridor stood the little Jedi. "Seriously, I could hear you from the ballroom."
Seeing her smile was unnerving. While being greeted by a smiling woman was usually a good thing, these were not usual times. Especially when there were no witnesses and said smiling woman was capable of killing you in seconds.
"Please tell me you did not follow me out of the event," I eventually said. "People are already talking."
"That's what concerns you the most?" she asked, sauntering to distance I instinctively called 'too close for someone who might want to kill me'. At her hip, the shiny silver cylinder that could only be a lightsaber swung with every step. Yes, definitely too close for comfort, which she no doubt knew. "A Jedi follows you into an abandoned hallway, and your first thought is what people will say?"
Oh good. Here I thought the first Jedi I meet was only diplomatically inept. Turns out, I can add political ineptitude to the list. And judging by the way her perpetual glare got just a bit harsher, she knew exactly what I was thinking.
Well, it wasn't like I was much better.
"At least one of us needs to think ahead," I pointed out.
"Some people might prioritize their own survival."
"Were you expecting me to beg?" I asked. Was I going to have to add 'inability to profile people' to her list of shortcomings? "I'm not here to fulfill your twisted fantasies."
There were tabloid journalists who would have a field day with that sort of thing. Come to think of it, they would have a field day with just the recording of this whole exchange. Several field days if they had the video.
"I was expecting you to draw a weapon," she countered, competitive grin appearing on her face. "Or to fumble with it and cut off your own foot."
"Expecting?" I asked. "Or hoping?"
"Can you blame me for wanting an excuse to get rid of a Sith?"
"Only when that Sith is me," I said. Or my master. Come to think of it, my master's death would be… bad. Horribly, utterly catastrophic. Worse for the galaxy than my own death, at least in the short term. In the long term... I could cope. I had plenty experience with that. And I was about to get a lot more practice.
"Little Sith, you're hardly worth the title of Sith," the Jedi shot back, a smirk on her face.
"You have my name, Little Jedi," I pointed out. "And you have earned every bit of your title."
Yes, there was plenty of practice to be had coping with matters outside of my control with far-reaching consequences. But I could always find something to enjoy.
...
Hey guys I would really appreciate it if you could throw some power stones to help elevate the ranking.
...
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