A Study In Genealogy

[DreadPirateMike]

There was a definite comfort to be found in anonymity. Most people knew it well, even if they couldn’t necessarily isolate the feeling in particular amidst all the others swirling about the private maelstrom that was their consciousness. More often than not, even those who would otherwise be considered brave and strong were driven, or rather held back by an instinctive need to hold on to that comfort. Even at the expense of wealth, power, and all the other aspirations that were always spoken of as virtually universal cravings, they would prefer to stay with the crowd and remain “just one of the guys”. The price of stepping out ahead, all that added responsibility and scrutiny, was just too much.

Jedi were no different. If anything, they embraced that comfort all the more tightly. They were trained from childhood to calm the maelstrom, and to dwell on anonymity in its purest possible form: unity with all things in the Force. What’s more, while it wasn’t specifically anathema to the Jedi teachings, the ambition which drove those few natural leaders was not exactly a core value either.

At least, that was Jaidan’s experience. Authoritative, perhaps, only for his own unique case, but as he was at present the only audience for his wise and learned counsel, it sufficed.

He took the responsibilities of the Jedi Order very seriously. They all did, no matter how flippant a demeanor some had chosen to cultivate. Indeed, Jaidan could think of no compelling reason to expose oneself to the Trials otherwise, never mind where they would find the resolve to actually pass. And yet, the sheer magnitude of what was expected of them, and by how many was more daunting still if you let yourself dwell on it. He doubted that even the wisest and most dutiful old Master could truthfully claim they did not feel the strain of it from time to time.

That doubt, he might call authoritative; he had BEEN one of those wise and dutiful old masters. A seat on the High Council had meant many things. Doors suddenly open to him in the halls of power. Instant recognition throughout the Temple as the newest face of all they were supposed to represent. A good deal of pride, of course. And accompanying it all, a new appreciation for how simple his life had been when he was just another man among thousands with a robe and a laser sword.

But he’d not become so wise, it seemed, that the Force didn’t still have some surprises for him. He’d been plagued by a strange restlessness of late, and he’d known right away that it wasn’t simply uncertainty about the quality of his leadership or the upset habits of a wandering Knight who’d spent decades traveling the stars beholden mostly to himself. He’d meditated on the matter, both in the usual way and in his own. And in time, the Force had proven forthcoming in a way it seldom had for him.

Onin. Darth Aurelius. Lord of the Cult of Ascension. Well before the man had earned most of these lofty titles, Jaidan had known that their paths were intertwined in some fashion. How closely and to what end, he knew not, but he believed the Force had some design for them, and the jungles of Cilpar had not been where they’d find an end to it. Nor, for him, was the high and stately Council chamber.

Jaidan suspected that as a warrior, he was at his peak right now, his skill with a blade and his knowledge of the Force as advanced as they’d ever be while still accompanied with the strength of relative youth. Perhaps that was the source of his urgency? Did fate require that he meet his rival again before he was too old? Was the will of the Force really that blunt? He’d find out in time, he supposed. But he needed to prepare for that day. He needed to understand his enemy better. And he couldn’t do that adequately from the stifling comfort of the Temple.

A High Councilman of the Jedi Order could not simply pick up and go traipsing about the spaceways on such an errand, not when it lacked any clear duration. So, he’d resigned his seat. Whether permanently, that was up to the Council, and he’d learn that in the proper time as well. For now, he wasn’t losing any sleep over it. Rather, he’d been allowing himself to experience the good old days again. Going wherever the mission took him, to places where a brown hood may or may not suggest a Jedi, but nobody knew him at a glance.

That was coming to a close now, he suspected. The derelict station he was approaching lay in open space. If anyone was aboard, and they had any sensors at all at their disposal, then they’d already seen him coming, and more likely than not knew exactly WHO was coming. It wasn’t as though he was making any particular attempt to conceal himself now. He felt a tad exposed, of course, a feeling backed up by the very real possibility of significant danger, but he had no complaints. Tracking down his quarry had been a lengthy and difficult quest, and he knew he’d finally caught a break in the form of a particularly transparent liar. The liar in question had sent out a long-range transmission shortly after claiming never to have heard the name he’d uttered, but Jaidan had already asked a friend in the SIS to put a trace on his holo frequency.

And that trace had led him here, to a deserted hunk of desh and plasteel which had once serviced mining operations in a nearby system’s inner asteroid belt. When the mines had run dry, centuries ago, it had evidently proven the cheapest course of action to simply strip out anything with any resale value and leave it there. Jaidan was chagrined to admit he’d not given the matter too much thought, but places like this were legion. Between stations like like this, the actual asteroid installations, planetside variants and everything in between, the galaxy’s lowlife population wouldn’t be hurting for hideouts any time soon. A wonder, really, that space pirates and their ilk were ever successfully tracked down at all.

Roused from his thoughts by the soft clanghiss of a computerized docking procedure completing itself, he rose with harnessed purpose from his seat and made for the airlock.

“And now, Kamirille, let us have words.”

[Rugs]

Kamirille Onin didn’t need the distant thump of a ship docking with the space station to know she had company. She didn’t need the whisper of an automated voice echoing across the mostly-abandoned facility, nor the hushed hiss of air pressurizing the landing bay for the visitor — for the Jedi — to disembark. No, she could feel him, a distant pinprick of light, as soon as his vessel emerged from hyperspace, in this forgotten system on the far side of nowhere.

And even without the Force, this meeting was inevitable.

It had been some months since she noticed the pesky Jedi Master on her trail. At first, she’d resisted; as always with Jedi, it was better to avoid trouble than invite it when they came sniffing around. But this one was persistent, and the little game of cat and mouse they played went two ways. As she’d allowed a hook, a trail to follow, she’d indirectly sought information on him.

Jaidan Shatani. Jedi Master and Councilman, or former Councilman, it seemed, these days. An Echani.

Kamirille’s mouth twisted into a subtle curl as she set a fresh, unopened bottle of Vrieska Vineyards wine on the small, round table between two chairs. Nieraan hated Echani so, after running afoul of one in his youth. How amusing that one should come to her, now.

The seats were set in the dead center of what had been a lobby of sorts, long ago. The room was broad and square, with utilitarian metal floors and a low ceiling with panels missing in places.

Kamirille’s seats, by contrast, were finely made — well-cushioned and expensive, and the wine was one of the most expensive vintages Vrieska Vineyards offered.

Again in contrast, she was dressed simply. Her clothes, dark and sturdy, her lightsabers displayed plainly at her belt. Her raven black hair, streaked with blue — Nieraan had always taken after her, more than Ared — was held back in a ponytail. She was a tall woman, lean and athletic in build. In a near-century of living, Kamirille had learned that choosing to meet someone in their niche, or purposefully stepping beyond it, could have subtle effects on interactions.

For the Jedi — for the Echani warrior — her message was simple: here too was another warrior, willing to fight, but withholding unless provoked.

Behind her, a broad transparisteel window showed a whirling binary star set. One was much larger than the other, and a glowing tail of plasma stretched from the smaller one’s surface and whirled around its larger brother. It was a long, slow death for the smaller star -- begun eons before the station first saw life, and one that would stretch on eons after the station crumbled apart.

Satisfied that everything was in order, she sat. The Jedi would find her waiting, expectant when he arrived, and then they’d see what this little adventure was all about. She had hunches and suspicions, but she would not let them set her path until she knew more.

Come Jedi. She eyed the pair of matching wine glasses flanking the bottle. Let us see what you have to say.

[DreadPirateMike]

Jaidan’s first thoughts as he crossed the threshold and left the familiarity of his ship behind were not on what may be waiting for him as yet unseen - No, he’d had time enough and more to think on that already. - but rather on the smell of the air aboard this derelict. Not nearly so stale as he would have expected, nor so cold. It would appear that this station’s life support systems had been back up and running for some time. New life, of a sort, out here in the void. It was a bit depressing to think that the place may soon be returning to its forgotten slumber, for he doubted if Kamirille would have much further use for a sanctuary known to the Jedi, and the chore of finding her certainly suggested she had the means to see herself established elsewhere in short order.

Perhaps he could find some use for this place in the future? Or the Order? Many might have use for a little known bolthole in which to find rest and resupply. But that was, of course, a distraction to allow himself at a time more permissive of indulgence. For now, there was life here, and the means of supporting it. Air, gravity...and light, though not everywhere. Even now, he could see darkened corridors splitting off to the sides, as well as doors that showed no reaction to his presence, the end result being a clear path forward. Whether that had been arranged specifically for his benefit or not, it seemed an invitation all the same, and he took it.

Soon enough, his search was at an end, and indeed it appeared as if his patience had been rewarded. One did well not to trust appearances too readily, of course, but the plushness of the seats seemed real enough. If his host was planning an ambush - And of course she was prepared to kill him if the need and opportunity arose. He would expect no less. - then he could sincerely respect the effort taken to at least be a host in true first.

And as for the host...an attractive woman, provided one was not unnerved by the obviously formidable. And ever since that visit to the swoop bar in the days immediately after his knighting, and the encounter with the shapely stranger with the alluring star dragon tattoo, Jaidan Shatani had known that he liked being set just a bit on edge. The lightsabers at her side counted toward that a bit, and the fact that she felt no need to keep her hands overly ready to wield them counted a good deal more.

He did not fully understand the feelings that had driven Ared to forsake the Order for this woman. Even if he was ultimately able to converse with both of them, as he hoped, he suspected he would still not fully understand. For all the depth with which he cherished his family and his friends, he knew he had never experienced a love quite like that. But he had to assume that a great love began as a strong infatuation, and that was not such a mystery. These were all just private observations to Jaidan, of course, but he found himself briefly imagining how Nieraan might react to them, and had to suppress a most un-Jedi Master like grin.

He took his seat without any real hesitation, pausing only to conduct the nearly unconscious surveillance of his surroundings that came by reflex to one who had wasted as many chances as he had to die young and violently. And when he did sit, it was no longer the woman’s lightsabers, or even her countenance that drew his gaze. Rather, as he sat back, he allowed himself a long and admiring look out at the fantastic cosmic tableau arrayed before him via the transparent bulkhead.

“Magnificent. I saw it from my ship as I arrived, of course, but it’s not the same. Things simply lose their luster if you allow yourself to see them as a mere destination. I wonder, was your choice of this place entirely utilitarian? Or did the view play into it?”

[Rugs]

The Jedi came. That itself was no shock; he wouldn’t have wandered this far from civilization, weeks’ hyperdrive journey away from the nearest inhabited system, to get cold feet. He would not have taken the effort to track her down — not when there were countless other needs across the Galaxy that surely must call for a Jedi’s attention.

He was an Echani. There was some small amusement in that, though whether pertinent to his visit or not, she could not yet say. He was an Echani in full, relatively fair in complexion, with the famed white hair spilling about his face.

Kamirille afforded the whole of this Jedi’s person a quick glance — a Nexu, eyeing a potential target — and motioned for him to be seated across from her. As he spoke, she smiled. It was a subtle expression, a gentle curling up of one side of her mouth.

“I simply appreciate the beauty of our shared Galaxy, Master Jedi,” she said politely. “My years are yet young, but I’ve lived enough to see that there’s beauty in all things. In life. In death.” She lifted a hand casually, motioning toward the stars behind her.

“This star’s death began long before you and I were a glint in our respective fathers’ eyes, or their fathers before them. It will carry on after you, or even I, are long turned to dust. And when it is gone, where once there were two, there will only be one, stronger, brighter for the death of its twin.”

Her smile broadened to the other side of her mouth, showing the tips of her fanged canines. It was an expression Nieraan, for all his stubbornness, had picked up from her, just as his canines, sharper than most Firrerreos’, echoed her own.

“Beautiful in a way, isn’t it? Death gives way to life. The strong feed on the weak. One of nature’s fundamental truths writ large in the heavens themselves.”

“But I doubt, Master Jedi,” she said, leaning forward to the unopened wine, “that you came here to discuss astronomy.” She opened the bottle smoothly, breaking a seal in a subtle show that the contents hadn’t been tampered with, and poured some of the dark red for herself. “Tell me, what brings a Jedi so doggedly after me that he would travel to the far edge of nowhere just to talk?”

She motioned with the bottle at Jaidan’s glass and raised a brow.