Chapter 29 (Patreon)

A couple of minor incidents occurred before our departure. Arvik ran into another Mandalorian and took the evening off. He came back late—and unusually thoughtful.

Meanwhile, that same evening, while our jet-powered armored infantryman was off bonding with a fellow adherent of the Resol’nare*, I had the honor of receiving a visit from the Supreme Chancellor himself.

To be honest, I was genuinely surprised when Suti informed me that we had some rather distinguished visitors. Palpatine himself had come to my apartments, accompanied by only one other sentient.

“Chancellor. My lady.” I gestured toward the armchairs arranged around a small table in the sitting room, inviting them to take a seat. “Unexpected, but a pleasant surprise. I’m glad to see you.”

I kept my mug of a face respectful and friendly, trying to limit myself to the slightest smile. Seemed to be working: the Chancellor’s smile remained as warm and disarming as ever, while his pale companion gave a small flinch. I suppose Palpatine had already gotten somewhat used to my attempts at looking approachable back at the opera.

“Likewise, Master Siith. Allow me to introduce one of my closest aides—and, I daresay, a friend. Sly Moore.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” I inclined my head in a slight bow. The woman looked strikingly unusual: white skin, white eyes, and not a hair on her head. She was also dressed in something white and distinctly furry. “Allow me to thank you for the work you do. Anything that makes the Chancellor’s job easier and benefits the citizens of the Republic deserves recognition.”

“Thank you for the kind words. I’m pleased to meet you as well.” The Umbaran gave the faintest smile, just at the corners of her lips. Her voice was quite beautiful, low and rich, though there was little actual pleasure in it. Most likely, she was simply here to accompany the Chancellor.

“Forgive the unexpected visit,” the Chancellor said with an apologetic smile as he settled into one of the offered armchairs. His pale-skinned companion followed his lead. “We found ourselves with a couple of free hours, and I’ll admit I took a small liberty with my position to find out whether you were home. I thought I might drop by—neighbor to neighbor. I hope we haven’t pulled you away from anything important.”

Palpatine’s gaze drifted to the half-finished mug of herbal tea beside me, then to the datapad projecting a three-dimensional model of the interface I was developing for direct interaction with a starship’s control systems.

“Nothing important, Chancellor. Just a little personal project.” I waved it off, saved my work, and sat down across from him. “Neighbor to neighbor? You mean you...”

“Rent an apartment in this building too,” the man finished with a smile.

“Now that is unexpected,” I said, shaking my head. “Suti, would you mind bringing our guests... caf, herbal tea, juice, or perhaps something stronger?” I looked questioningly at the Chancellor and his aide.

“The same as you’re having,” Palpatine said with an easy nod. The Umbaran merely lowered her eyelids in agreement.

The little Twi’lek gave a polite bow and silently left the sitting room, moving with her usual light, graceful step.

“How are you finding Coruscant, Master Siith?” the Chancellor asked once Suti had disappeared from view.

“Chancellor,” I said with a slight grimace, “could I ask you not to call me ‘Master’? Just Siith. No titles. The Jedi came up with that one for me, but all this Master-this and Grand-Master-that stuff really isn’t my thing.”

“Agreed,” the man said with a chuckle. “Then call me Sheev when we’re alone. Sometimes I’m starting to think ‘Chancellor’ is my first name and ‘Supreme’ is my surname.”

Palpatine laughed softly, and I joined him. Even Moore contributed a polite smile.

“And Coruscant is impressive, yes. Honestly, it’s staggering. The very idea of a city-world was completely new to me. I’d read about the capital, of course, and watched holovids, but seeing it in person...”

“In person, it’s something else entirely,” the Chancellor said with an understanding smile.

A few minutes later, Suti returned with the herbal tea. Knowing my tastes, she also set out a selection of light but sweet snacks and a large teapot, from which she began pouring the drink into delicate little cups. The whole set, incidentally, was something I’d made myself—and an artifact to boot, capable of detecting substances harmful to whoever happened to be holding the cup. I explained as much when my guests began examining the faint green glow of the tableware with obvious curiosity.

“Not to boast, but I’m a fairly competent chimerologist and artificer, so putting together a set like this wasn’t particularly difficult. It’s no cure-all, of course. Compound poisons that are introduced into the body in separate doses would slip right past it, and a more advanced version needs too much room for the spellwork to fit into a tea set... I suppose I could add a table to the whole arrangement. But carrying a tea set around is one thing. Hauling furniture with it feels a bit excessive.”

The conversation flowed easily and pleasantly. Sheev was an excellent conversationalist—someone genuinely enjoyable to talk to. Courteous, quick-witted, completely free of pomposity, intelligent, and never at a loss for words.

He shared a few stories from his life, and I returned the favor. As it turned out, we had quite a lot in common. He was every bit as healthily obsessed as I was—only while I was “sick” with magic and a hunger for knowledge, he was “sick” with politics and the “well-being of the people.” We had both been orphaned, and both came from noble families. I may have lost my family name, but the Chancellor showed not even the slightest hint of contempt for it.

I was so comfortable that I didn’t even notice when I started telling them about the fifty-year war I’d fought in.

“And there we were, all of Rorschach’s Thunder Boys, pushing into the attack! Two dozen heavy infantry out front, as usual, with their shield reservoirs under my responsibility. Rorschach himself was hammering the enemy with chain lightning every five seconds, while Jarl, our goblin shaman, sat on his shoulders and held off every spell the enemy mages threw at us.”

The little table became a battlefield map, with cups, dishes, and assorted odds and ends from the shelves standing in for the units deployed in that battle. The Chancellor listened with obvious enthusiasm and genuine interest, and so did his companion.

“So we finally reached their line. The heavies slammed into the lizard formation, their shields started melting like butter in the sun, I’m pouring mana into them, and the reservoirs are still draining faster than I can fill them. I’m already thinking, ‘Well, that’s it. We’re fucked.’ And then four massive orcs—breach troops with two-handed swords the size of small trees—launch themselves a good three meters straight over the front rank of those scaly bastards. Two of them got skewered on spears in midair. Good thing they were all wearing stasis amulets. The other two landed right behind the formation and went straight into what the easterners poetically call the ‘Ascent of the Crimson Whirlwind.’”

“The orcs had a simpler name for the technique—spinning in place with a greatsword, cutting upward as you turn.”

“They called it the ‘meat fountain.’”

I took a quick swallow of herbal tea to wet my throat.

“Chunks of meat flying everywhere, severed limbs, the warriors kicking up an actual mist of blood with their techniques—and with one simultaneous charge deeper into the lizards’ lines, they practically ground their shaman and a couple of spellcasters into paste. The destabilization dome collapsed when the rest of the mages in the chain lost concentration, and that was when Rorschach unleashed his signature ‘Thunderous Fuck-You.’ Suicidal spell, Dozdrogodul damn him! A genuine downpour of lightning hammered the enemy positions—and ours right along with them! If it hadn’t been for Drunk Jarl, we’d have been completely screwed. That little goblin was an absolute master of defensive magic, and on top of that, he had a pact with a storm spirit.”

“Why ‘Drunk’?” Sly Moore asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“Because he never went into battle with Rorschach sober. They also called him Jarl Iron Liver. Some people used to joke that he wouldn’t die in battle at all—he’d die of a hangover.”

“And how did the battle end?” the Chancellor asked, casting his aide a mildly surprised glance before turning his attention back to me.

“That’s it. That was the end of it,” I laughed, nodding toward the mess I’d made of the table. “Suti, dear, would you mind cleaning this disaster up? Anyway, back to the battle: the spell left a hundred-meter stretch of ground scorched by lightning, a heap of roasted lizard meat, and a gaping hole in their right flank. That was where the orc boys hit them, tearing the lizardmen’s pathetic attempts to plug the breach to pieces. Rorschach went down with an overstrained core, of course, and Jarl collapsed from the backlash of his pact with the spirit. The lads and I had to drag both of them off the front line, along with our thoroughly roasted breach fighters. We lost one of them for good, unfortunately. Good orc. Fine fellow. But the lightning hit him square in the top of the head. Still, I imagine Gork and Mork welcomed him onto the fields of endless war with open arms. He died exactly the way his faith said an orc ought to—in one hell of a fight, as the greenskins would put it.”

“Siith, all these orcs and goblins have made me curious—what do your own people call themselves?” Palpatine asked, taking a small sip of his tea.

“I’m human. If you mean my nationality, we’re called Tailfolk, because we live on the Continent-at-the-Tail,” I said with a shrug. “I checked when I first met the Jabiimites.”

“And the eyes?” the man asked, pointing to his own.

“Oh, that’s a funny story—and an important lesson in manners for me.” I stroked my beard a little sheepishly. “A divine miracle, you might say. When I was younger, I failed to keep a sarcastic remark to myself about the priests of a certain god, and this was the warning I got for it. Nothing fatal. My face was hardly a masterpiece to begin with, and you and Lady Moore have already had a chance to appreciate the smile, so the Lightbringer merely added one more finishing touch to the overall look.”

All in all, we had a very pleasant conversation. At Sheev’s request, I told him a little about Vivec, the Immortal Emperor of the dark elves. I had to explain some peculiarities of their race, since a few of the ash-skinned folk’s traditions came as something of a shock to the Nabooan. In particular, their “institution of betrayal,” the doctrine of the “perfect stab in the back,” and the rather bloody relationships between teacher and student, ruler and heir. Vivec himself had once said, “A teacher who dies by a student’s hand was a poor teacher. A student who dies in the course of training was a poor student. Neither deserves mourning, any more than we mourn the waste leaving our bodies.” Or, “If, in your pursuit of personal power, you kill your ruler and weaken your House in the process, then you are lower than the dirt beneath your feet. Empty ash has more worth than a fool whose lust for power brings ruin upon his own bloodline.”

When Palpatine asked why I had given him such morally questionable books, I answered honestly that I considered democracy far too soft a form of government and thought it could use a little sensible cruelty. Still, I added with a shrug, it was all in the Supreme Chancellor’s hands, and the books could just as easily be read as the life story of a rather unconventional sentient living in an equally unusual society. When I added, “Though if you do go with cruelty, the important thing is not to overdo it,” Sly Moore suddenly choked hard on her tea. I even got a little worried, but thank Hecate, she was fine.

The Chancellor and his aide stayed for nearly three hours before finally getting ready to leave. Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked that much. Palpatine really was a wonderful conversationalist, and his charisma was downright disarming. I even let him in on a little secret: in the near future, the JMG planned to start training people from outside Jabiim. I offered the Chancellor first pick of the available places—and naturally, training his people would be completely free of charge.

“We’ve already got the dormitory nearly finished, and the food will be good—I’ll be keeping an eye on that myself. If any of the candidates are particular about comfort, there’s a town not too far away where they can rent decent housing, hire servants, and either rent or buy reasonably priced airspeeders adapted for our weather. I doubt they’ll get the very first houses built, but something in the teens or twenties should still be available. Just don’t send them in whole companies, please.” I snorted, imagining a neat formation of the Chancellor’s supporters made up of secretaries, relatives, and bodyguards. “We’re still short on teachers, so the first intakes will only be a couple dozen sentients at a time. At first, the curriculum will be limited to artifact-making, the theory of sorcery, defensive magic, the basics of combat sorcery, and introductory chimerology.”

At that, Sheev and Lady Moore stopped getting ready to leave, and the Chancellor began questioning me in detail about the subjects and fields of study. Fine by me. It wasn’t as though explaining it cost me anything, so I walked them through each discipline in a little more depth than I planned to put into the eventual advertisements.

“If you’ll allow me a bit of advice...” I gave Sheev a questioning look, and he nodded with a pleasant smile. “I’d recommend sending your people to study defensive magic and artifact-making. Perfect for anyone serving a suzerain whose work tends to put him in harm’s way. I’ll personally put your people through their paces on defensive magic. They’ll learn to make amulets almost like the one I gave you—minus the healing module, but otherwise with the full package: protection against blasters, kinetic impacts, thermal damage, mental intrusion, even an air-filtering bubble that shields the wearer from sudden pressure changes. Fantastic for people with high blood pressure, by the way. Back home, older folks used to snap those things up like hotcakes. Well, the ones who couldn’t afford to have a good healer fix the problem properly.”

“Mental protection?” the Chancellor asked, surprised.

“Well, yes.” I nodded, grimacing slightly. “Against mind-readers, compulsions, that sort of thing. Someone with a well-trained mind can resist a lot of it on their own, but back home we had creatures that could drive you insane with a direct mental strike. I haven’t run into anything quite like that here yet, though I’ve heard the Jedi can muddle people’s minds. Then again, whether I’ve encountered it or not...” I flicked a fingernail against my amulet. “I wear protection at all times. ‘Constant Vigilance,’ as... a friend of mine used to say.”

“A very sensible precaution,” the Chancellor agreed, smiling toward his aide. Lady Moore gave a brief smile of her own and nodded in agreement with her patron. “Aren’t you concerned that the Jedi Order might come to see you as competition?”

Palpatine looked doubtful, and there was even a trace of genuine concern in his expression at the thought.

“Not really. Why would I?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “The JMG’s interests don’t really overlap with the Jedi’s at all. In fact, I’m almost certain that sooner or later they’ll start sending members of the Order to train with us. Knights, I’d imagine, if not Masters—so the different teaching methods don’t end up confusing the upbringing of younglings or Padawans. We’re not an order devoted to spiritual guidance or anything like that. We’re closer to craftsmen and scholars, and frankly, I don’t see any problem with Force-sensitive members of the Order studying our tradition.”

I scratched at my beard, then gave a quiet snort. At the Chancellor’s questioning look, I explained:

“If the Jedi decide, for whatever reason, to turn their backs on sorcery, sooner or later they’ll fall behind their enemies—the Sith. From what I’ve been able to gather from public sources, those people are definitely not the sort to pass up a chance to make themselves stronger.”

The Chancellor raised his brows in surprise and shot his companion an odd look.

“And the JMG would simply accept those... creatures?”

“Oh, honestly, I doubt any Dark Side Force-user is going to walk up to me and say, ‘We’re Sith. Teach us sorcery.’ I’m almost certain they’d simply enroll without drawing attention to themselves, pay their tuition like everyone else, keep their Sith traditions to themselves, and generally stay well below the radar. Their Order managed to remain hidden in the galaxy for a thousand years, after all. And most likely, anyone coming to Jabiim to study would arrive wearing one of our protective amulets, hidden from everyone’s notice.”

I scratched the back of my head, looking doubtfully from the Chancellor to the Umbaran.

“I’m not going to put every applicant through analysis rituals, am I? Maybe we could get away with it for the first intake, but once the students realized we’d practically been looking straight through them... Sure, nobody cares much about commoners, but I doubt anyone with real power would appreciate us doing that to their protégés or heirs. You, for example. Or Master Yoda. Or some corporate executive, banker, magnate... No, I don’t need that kind of trouble, and neither does Alto. We’re interested in seeing Jabiim prosper, and if we ever resort to something like that, it’ll be in exceptional circumstances only. The JMG is perfectly happy doing honest business without any prospect of getting dragged into religious or ideological wars. I saw more than enough of that back home. That’s why I founded a Guild, not some brotherhood or cult. Every spellcaster has the right to decide for themselves how to live their life. And let’s be honest—if Jabiim decided not to ‘share,’ how long do you think it would be before certain interested parties started leaning on us?”

Palpatine frowned slightly at that last remark, but a couple of seconds later he let out a quiet sigh—sad, perhaps, but understanding—and nodded. And with that, the Chancellor and I said our goodbyes, exchanging knowing smiles. We wished each other well, and Sheev shook my hand with what seemed like genuine warmth; I returned the gesture in kind. Then I exchanged bows with the white-eyed woman, who by the end of the conversation had thawed somewhat and even allowed herself a rather pleasant, genuinely warm smile.

In the end, I invited both of them to visit Jabiim, very carefully hinting that I could take care of any health problems they might have and telling them about our “wonderful hot baths with exclusive treatments that practically give you your youth back.” In short, I was charm itself, sincerely doing my best to leave a good impression on these pleasant, powerful sentients.

Hopefully, I succeeded.

Author’s Note:

Resol’nare* — the “Six Actions” when translated from Mando’a into Galactic Basic. They were the core principles that governed the life of every Mandalorian: wear the armor; speak the language; raise and educate children as new Mandalorians; defend yourself and your family; support your clan; and answer the first call of the leader of all the clans—the Mand’alor.

(Shamelessly stolen from Wookieepedia.)