Chương 17: Summation & Charge

[INTERGALACTIC BANKING CLAN // TRADE FLOW ASSESSMENT // 941 ARR] Volatility in peripheral sectors has not meaningfully impacted Core holdings. Established positions remain sound. [CORE WORLDS NETWORK // SOCIETY & CULTURE // 941 ARR]"To witness Alderaan in full ceremony is to be reminded that some things in this galaxy are simply not subject to change." ~*~*~*~ 59 BBY – 941 ARR – Alderaan The day of the gala found Rann in an exceptionally poor mood.

Three days of being in foreign surroundings and not sleeping well due to stress had taxed him immensely, both physically and psychologically. He never thought it could happen, but in ways, he missed the Temple. He missed its feeling of Light in the Force, the Room of a Thousand Fountains, his friends, all of the little elements of familiarity that were missing on Alderaan. And now he was due to meet his biological parents for the first time. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

On the one hand, they were strangers. He had been handed over to the Order – Master Nu in fact – within months of his birth. His master had told him it was in no small part due to his strong Force Visions, which had been uncontrollable and destructive. Apparently, on the ride back to the Temple she'd needed to stay up near-constantly to monitor him and keep him from getting agitated due to fears he would damage her starship. So it made sense that they'd given him up.

Besides, he had parents from Before, who he still somewhat remembered and he knew loved him. Wasn't that enough? Too soon, the hovercraft arrived at the diner Rann's parents had directed him to. He entered to the sound of soft clattering, chattering, and pouring as actual sentient waiters and cooks took orders and prepared food. In a galaxy where cheap droids dominated the service sector for relatively low-skill jobs like this, Alderaanians preferred other beings' service.

To Rann, who had become familiar with Coruscant's cheap tapcafs and greasy diners, this place felt like a wealthy man's pastiche of the rest of the galaxy's life. Yet the diners here probably weren't anywhere near the wealth bracket of the place Senator Malden had taken them to. They looked more middle-class than anything else.

But on a planet like Alderaan, which had a large influx of poorer immigrants from the Mid and Outer Rim, there was room for even the middle class of everyday Alderaanians to experience the luxury of sentient service. Scanning the crowd, there didn't seem to be a couple matching the description he'd been given. He slid into a booth making sure to face the door.

After getting a cup of caf that tasted better than anything he'd ever gotten at Dex's Diner despite being served in the same cheap plasteel cup, he saw a man with artfully greying temples enter alongside a woman who's own hair had grey streaks perfectly framing her face, both too well done to be entirely natural. It had been Alderaanian fashion for quite some time to allow themselves to show their age despite the Core's advanced medical procedures, but with aesthetic considerations in mind.

Their eyes landed on him and they made their way over.

"Hello," said the man simply. Orvelu Crys, his father.

"It's nice to meet you." Rann looked at the hand in front of him, feeling like he was having an out-of-body experience.

"Hello," he heard himself say. The hand was warm.

"Nice to meet you, too." The woman reached out and took his hand in her own. Soft, but firm. He could barely feel it.

"Hello, my son," breathed the woman with a trembling smile. Russ Crys, his mother, was holding his hand.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," he started, suddenly having trouble gathering the words.

"We had heard that you were on planet, but…" his father seemed to struggle as well.

"We weren't sure if you would want to see us," finished his mother. Now Rann felt bad. He hadn't reached out for any kind of emotional reason, but now he was sitting across from them as they looked at him like he was something precious and fragile.

"I do," was all he could say. An awkward, odd silence fell over them. They just studied each other. Orvelu's hands were on the table, perfectly still. He could see lots of little scars and calluses. Russ' hands alternated between gripping him so tightly it almost and hurt and letting go to the point they were barely touching. Rann tried to center himself in the Force but found it difficult. His head was swirling and he couldn't dislodge the physical sensation of his mother's hands.

He could barely keep himself in check, much less actively analyze what it was trying to tell him.

"You have your grandfather's eyes," she announced.

"Warm and brown, with the same shape."

"Fitting," grunted his father, eyes still scanning the diner.

"Your mother insisted you be named after him."

"Oh," was all he could think to say.

"Just like your sister," murmured his mother.

"Sister?" Rann had never really considered that he might have siblings.

"Yes," answered his father.

"Though your sister is only eight months old, so I don't see how your mother knows such a thing."

"A mother knows," Russ said, a wicked smile crossing her face – his smile, he realized. I have my mother's smile. His father huffed but didn't reply.

"Do I have any other siblings?"

"Yes, a brother, who's eight. We decided not to bring them. Didn't want to crowd you," said his mother. Soon, they were asking each other questions about each other's lives. He learned that his parents were much higher-placed than he had expected. His father, Orvelu, was chief of security for the royal family. His mother, Russ, was Queen Serenne's head lady-in-waiting. His brother was eight, and apparently very diligent 'as a Crys should be.'

They were both excited that their daughter had been born mere months after the queen's own, making her a good age to be considered as a candidate as a lady-in-waiting. Rann's sister was to be raised along Breha Antilles and several other courtly ladies, under the care of his mother. They both led typically Alderaanian lives, unlike their oldest brother. They asked about his time in the Temple, how he grew up. They told him that after he had been taken away, they had done all the research they could.

He told them about Master Zucul, and how he had been an excellent Crechemaster who helped him fall asleep when the Force gave him powerful visions. His mother had said to pass along 'a mother's thanks,' but her eyes were misty. They asked about his studies and were proud that he got good marks. Both glanced to his waist, where they knew a lightsaber must be, but neither mentioned it. Then the conversation took a turn.

"We didn't want to give you up," blurted his mother.

"We wanted more time."

"What?" Now that the central question the entire conversation had neatly sidestepped was out in the open, he wasn't prepared.

"We knew you belonged with the Jedi," said his father, looking him in the eyes.

"The Crys legacy is one of duty and service. Once we were told you had a high midichlorian count, we knew. You would fulfil our legacy on a galactic stage."

"But we wanted more time," whispered his mother.

"I just wanted to hold my baby."

"I understand," he said slowly.

"Master Nu told me that I was a… difficult child." Russ' eyes grew haunted.

"When you had a tantrum, it shook the house. You threw things around with your mind, or the Force." She gripped him tighter then.

"We couldn't keep you safe. You would levitate, and there was nothing we could do. I was so afraid that you would fall and hurt yourself."

"It was very difficult," supplied his father.

"It's okay. I understand." He wasn't sure if those words were true, but they felt right. Like they were the thing he should tell the two hurting, nervous people in front of him. Orvelu's eyes flicked him and he nodded once, before returning to his scan of the diner. Russ let out a single, thready breath and closed her eyes. She hadn't let go of him once.

"I uhm." Rann wasn't sure how to move on.

"I didn't ask to meet with you about that."

"Yes?" asked his mother.

"Master Nu and I found something… unsettling when we were invited on a preliminary tour of the museum's new exhibit," continued Rann, voice lowered.

"Is this a secure place to talk?" Orvelu procured a small device and placed it on the table, pressing it once.

"Should be now. Audio jammer. But let's keep it short, just to be safe." Rann quickly explained the outline of the conspiracy. When he was done, both of his parents had sharpened considerably. His mother had finally let go and placed her hands at her side, which he oddly enough found disconcerting. They weren't Orvelu and Russ meeting their long-lost son, they were highly placed royal officials.

"Her Majesty needs to hear this," said his father.

"That's why I was hoping to pass it along," he replied.

"No," his father gave a sharp shake of the head.

"She needs to hear it from you. It won't mean the same thing coming from me, and I won't be able to answer any questions." Rann thought for a second before agreeing. He still made sure to hand over the datachip containing all they'd managed to gather about the conspiracy to his father so they could start analyzing it immediately. His parents thanked him for meeting, paid, and left.

A few minutes later, Rann left in a hovercar of his own which took the route back to his hotel before doubling back to the palace via backroads. They didn't want the conspirators to catch wind of what he was doing. ~*~*~ After a silent cab ride, Rann was deposited on the Eastern side of the palace with instructions to wait. Soon, a woman came and guided him to a side entrance to the palace, where his father was waiting.

"Good you made it." He felt every inch the Chief of Security of House Antilles now, even though he hadn't changed clothes.

"I will lead you to Her Majesty's apartments, where you will need to wait for approximately thirty minutes. Your audience will last thirty minutes, and then you will be lead here and a hovercar will take you back to your hotel. Understood?" Rann nodded.

"Yes. I should be able to get the basics across."

"Then let's go." They walked swiftly through the back corridors of the palace, passing many servants and the occasional droid. Each would dip their head at his father and look curiously at him, though no one stopped them to speak. Soon they were at a servant's entrance to the queen's apartments. A hand dropped onto his shoulder.

"Good luck." Rann wanted to look back, but didn't. Then he was inside a literally palatial room with high Old Alderaanian arches that seemed to stretch to the heavens and an understated interior with furniture that almost certainly cost more than Triplehorn Brew made in a year. The walls had artwork depicting scenes from Alderaan's past or landscapes, one of the Oro woods prominently featuring a Vorn tiger. He was studying it when he felt a presence approach in the Force.

Turning, he saw the queen enter along with a guard and an attendant. He bowed, secretly wishing he had his Jedi robes to stash his hands into. He was still wearing the Alderaanian outfit he'd worn to meet with his parents discreetly. He rose from his bow to see her faintly tipping her head – as a Jedi, he was akin to a foreign diplomat.

"We have heard you have urgent news for us, Jedi Rann Crys." Her voice was clear and self-assured.

"Yes. My Master and I were invited to take an early tour of the exhibit and the museum's archives. During that visit, we sensed a disturbance in the Force. In subsequent investigation, we uncovered evidence that there has been a systematic campaign to modify certain documents in order to discredit and delegitimize House Antilles, to the benefit of House Organa, largely carried out by House Alde. I handed over a datachip containing all the data to your chief of security, Orvelu Crys. He should be analyzing it now."

"We thank you for informing us of this," said the Queen. But she didn't sound shocked. Her eyes had widened somewhat at the beginning of his statement, but he had never felt the kind of shock he would have expected from her at hearing that two other powerful families had been conspiring to delegitimize hers. He hadn't noticed a lack of reaction from his parents due to his own connection with the Force being so disturbed, but now that he was slightly calmer, it stood out.

After they were guided to seats by the attending lady, the Queen proceeded to ask more questions. Eventually, they got to the one aspect of the investigation the Jedi hadn't been able to puzzle.

"Your Majesty, there was one aspect of the operation we were unable to understand. It's clear that Houses Alde and Organa would be able to modify their own copies of documents, but wouldn't the other Houses' copies simply disprove their claims, or at least muddy the waters?" The queen looked away pensively before answering.

"House Alde is Alderaan's keeper of historical records and have been for millennia. Their word on such matters is considered the ultimate authority. Additionally, it is not irregular for one of their specialists in preservation to assist in other Houses' archives, including our own."

"I see. So their modifications could be done easily and ignored as routine checkups."

"Quite so." Just then, the attendant whispered into the Queens ear. She then stood, so he followed suit.

"Our time draws short." Queen Serenne's eyes studied him for a moment before she continued.

"We are glad to have another child of Alderaan serving the galaxy as a Jedi. We are also glad to see you, Rann Crys, are doing well. Your mother, Russ Crys, is dear to us." Rann bowed his head and was ushered out of the queen's apartments, back down the corridors and to the waiting hovercar which took him to his hotel. Master Nu did not ask him where he had been. ~*~*~ Rann laid down for a few hours before the Gala, trying to fall asleep or at least rest.

He failed at both, instead turning over the events of the last few days. Uncovering a massive conspiracy, meeting his parents, meeting a queen; it all rolled around and no matter what Force exercises he tried, nothing helped. He'd never felt more… disconnected. His return to Alderaan had proven to him that he had no place here, but it had also raised questions about himself. He'd never felt more like an imposter, unworthy to be where he was and with an impossible task he'd assigned himself.

The Sister had told him herself, he wasn't her champion. He wasn't Anakin, or Luke, or any other important person. He was just… a nobody from Earth who'd been reincarnated into a relative nobody from Alderaan. But every time he thought about not trying, all he could picture was Mace's horrific death, or the temple burning, or the bodies stacked like cordwood once the killing was done. He was paralyzed, propelled forward by the urgency of his task but feeling unworthy of it.

For some reason, Alderaan had brought all this to the fore. It had made him question just who he was supposed to be more. Was he Rann Crys, the Jedi? Was he supposed to be Rann Crys, servant of House Antilles? Or was he still Evan Warbler? Eventually, Master Nu came into his bedroom, standing at the door.

"Come. In times when a padawan cannot center their own mind, they should ask their master for assistance."

"I don't imagine you ever needed much help," muttered Rann darkly, head still on his pillow.

"It was Master Yaddle herself who taught me the lesson," she replied.

"Really?" He turned to look at her.

"Yes, my padawan. I wasn't always Chief Librarian, you know," she said in a consoling tone.

"I guess." He sat up.

"It's just… hard sometimes."

"Come meditate, padawan." They made their way out to the living room, where Miriam was already sitting on the floor. She didn't say anything but smiled softly at him. Soon all three were seated on the floor in asana, Master Nu guiding them through the Force. Meditating with someone in the Force always taught you something about them, much like fighting did. Their Force presence and yours inevitably melded to a degree, leaving you with an impression of them.

Rann knew Master Nu's, with its order and precision that he found clarifying. Miriam's was new, however. She felt, more than anything, warm and inquisitive. Like she couldn't wait to find what was around the next corner. Before he knew it, he was being guided out of their shared meditation. He opened his eyes to see his Master and Miriam looking at him.

"It's time to get dressed for the gala," explained Master Nu. He went back to his room feeling better, if still tired and a little wrung out. As he changed out of his Alderaan disguise and back into his normal robes, he heard a knock on the door. He opened to see Master Nu there.

"Padawan. I have something for you. I planned to give this to you for your next birthday, but I believe this is a suitable occasion and I would be… pleased if you wore it." She held out one hand containing a golden obi with geometric patterns, matching the Ansata robes she normally wore. It would mark him out as hers, both to the Alderaanians and to the Jedi back home, as she was the only one who wore them.

"Thank you, master," was all he could manage to say as he took it from her hands.

"Yes, well. You should hurry and get dressed, so we have time to review before the gala. There will be many important figures there, and it wouldn't do to not know who they are." He suddenly darted forward, wrapping her in a brief hug before retreating into his room and closing the door. It was time to get ready. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

~*~*~ As the small party of three Jedi pulled up to the Royal Museum's exterior, they were greeted by a throng of fellow invitees and paparazzi. The Aldes and Organas had gone all out, and it was being billed as the social event of the year, with all the major Houses of Alderaan having been invited, along with many notables from the rest of the Core and Inner Rim as well. Thankfully, Master Nu knew of a side door they could use, so they skipped the press.

Entering into the museum, it was clear that the gala was in full swing. Elites of all kinds from across the galaxy had gathered here in an astonishing panoply of colors and styles. Rann spotted a group of tattooed Mirialans and Chandrilan notables engaged in a lively conversation.

Representatives of the various Ancient Houses of the Azure sector were clustered together with their Senex-Juvex cousins, looking suitably stuffy and mildly off-put by the surrounding industrialists and other beings that qualified as 'rabble' in their estimable view. Tapani Lords socialized with what looked to be members of the House of Tagge from Tepasi, and a man who was likely Ranulph Tarkin, noticeable for his dark grey suit that was bordering on a military uniform, though he belonged or headed no military yet.

He was one of exceptionally few Outer Rim beings present tonight. Working the gathered crowd were a dozen or more Organa senators from across the Arrowhead and Colonies regions, recognizable in their House's garb. Jocasta placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and guided their group towards the refreshments. He turned to see her wearing an empty expression of suitably pleasant but still mystical Jedi equanimity that he felt very jealous of.

Miriam, on the other hand, had more visible signs of nerves with her shifting eyes and fluttering hands.

"You two must calm yourselves," said Master Nu in a deliberately calm voice. She plucked two flutes of Toniray from a passing servant's trey and passed one to Miriam, who gulped down most the teal-tinted wine before clutching the glass. Rann centered himself by focusing on his crystal, allowing it to give him a certain clarity in the Force despite the growing crowd.

"Sorry, dear," she murmured.

"It's been a while since I've been to one of these. And they've never been my favorite." Nu nodded.

"We will circulate until called to our seats. It should be easier after that, as we are seated together with some of Dreya's guests from Obroa-skai. Wonderful. We've been shunted to the nerd table, thought Rann. Obroa-skai was a library world with some of the most complete records anywhere in the galaxy.

While places like Coruscant and institutions like the Jedi Order had been sacked and razed to the ground several times throughout history, the libraries of Obroa-skai had run unimpeded for literal millennia, even surviving the galactic dark age triggered by the New Sith Wars two thousand years ago. Its culture highly valued knowledge and its production, which was great and appealed to Rann's sensibilities in a lot of ways.

But it also lead to a whole planet of know-it-alls that fought vicious academic battles over being listed as first author on a publication. Doubtless they were the guests of House Alde, since the Organas would never bother. Master Nu led Miriam through the crowd by her forearm. He decided that it would be alright if he didn't follow and instead struck out on his own. For the first few minutes, he wandered aimlessly, practicing his 'Jedi Impartiality Face,' as he liked to call it.

Though in reality, it was more than a face. Jedi, as a people, were alien in ways that is impossible to communicate through a medium like film. Due to growing up in the Temple with other Force sensitives, almost every Jedi emoted primarily through the Force, reducing their facial and body expressions as a result. It meant that when non Force-sensitives spoke to a Jedi not being conscientious, they could come across as cold and remote when their Force presence spoke to being anything but.

On top of that, almost every Jedi spent hours every day exercising by sparring, performing katas, or using obstacle courses from a very young age. They moved with the advanced proprioception of boxers or ballerinas, giving them naturally graceful gaits and well-defined proportions in most species. Combine this again with the Force, and it led to smooth, fluid motions that non Force-sensitives could ever hope to match. In an ideal state, a Jedi's every motion was guided by the Force, leaving no waste.

Rann was focusing on these skills as he glided through the crowd, losing himself to the Force as he was guided in and out and through clusters of sentients. It was something like being in the ocean with its waves and currents and intuiting where to go to avoid being buffeted by feel like an expert surfer. He was pulled out of this flow by a hand on his forearm, jerking him back to reality.

"Hey!" Gasped Bail, grinning at him.

"You were moving so fast, it was hard to catch up with you."

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly.

"I was practicing Jedi stuff?"

"Jedi stuff like running through a crowd of senators?" asked Bail. Rann looked back to see a group of gray-haired humans looking at him sternly and talking amongst themselves.

"Very important Jedi stuff."

"Yeah, sure. Anyway come on, I want to introduce you to my mom." Suddenly he was tugged through the crowd by the younger boy.

"Why do I need to meet your mother?" he asked.

"Because she wants to meet all of my friends," he answered. We're friends? He almost asked but held himself back. Bail was too confident, and he didn't want to offend him. Bail guided them through the crowd of adults, careful to not be trampled by all the adults. Rann dutifully followed behind, sure to offer polite head nods to anyone who deigned to look at them.

"Young master Organa!" Called out a voice from the crowd. Bail turned, bringing Rann up short. Only he could hear the short huff the younger boy let out.

"Hello, mister Valorum," said Bail with an already impressive politician's smile. It conveyed the right measure of warmth for something so clearly fake. A cheerful-looking man with round features was waving them closer, already red with the flush of alcohol. His group parted to make room for their two smaller interlopers to join the circle.

"And with a Jedi in tow as well. Look at this! You must be doing your father proud, to be making such connections early." The man placed a familiar hand on Bail's shoulder.

"Young Bail here is one of my most promising students."

"Thank you, headmaster. I'm just showing my new friend around. I wanted to introduce him to my mother." Bail gestured to him.

"Hello," he said, drawing himself up to a full Jedi bow.

"I am Rann Crys."

"Goodness me, you're certainly the littlest Jedi I've ever seen," cooed an older lady in a shimmering golden dress.

"I believe I outgrew Master Yoda some time ago," he replied, garnering a smattering of polite laughter.

"We haven't introduced ourselves! I am Tarsin Valorum, Headmaster of Valorum Academy." The man gestured to the woman in the gold dress at his side.

"And this is my lovely wife, Olimi." Rann nodded politely to them both.

"And this is my cousin by marriage, Rear Admiral Zan Praji," said Headmaster Valorum, gesturing to a tall, thin man in dress whites typical of Core navies. A few other people in their circle were also introduced, though they slipped from Rann's mind soon after. Wow, thought Rann. This was a real who's who event. House Valorum had produced literally dozens of Senators and several chancellors throughout the Republic, including the current one, Eixes Valorum.

Meanwhile, House Praji was well-known for its ties to the Bank of the Core, the most important bank not part of the InterGalactic Banking Clan (IGBC). Of course, as demonstrated by the headmaster of the single-most influential primary and secondary school in the galaxy and rear admiral of who-knows-what-fleet (he wasn't going to ask), these ancient families had their fingers in more pies than one could ever know.

"You are an apprentice – a padawan, you Jedi call them – yes?" asked Zan Praji.

"Yes, admiral. I am apprenticed to Master Jocasta Nu. We were invited by Noble Curator Dreya because she is the Order's Chief Librarian." He explained.

"Rann's also from Alderaan," Bail jumped in to say.

"Is he now? Well, have you enjoyed coming back to your home planet?" asked Headmaster Valorum.

"It has certainly been enlightening," replied Rann, thankful to his Diplomacy III master for teaching him the phrase.

"Very good, very good," replied the lightly swaying headmaster.

"Well, we were discussing the growing influx of Outer Rimmers to Coruscant and other planets across the Core. Do you have any opinions on the matter, Jedi Crys? Does your… Force have anything to say?" This was decidedly not an appropriate question to be asking a Jedi in the current day and age, and certainly not a thirteen-year-old. Rann's eyes darted briefly, noting that the whole group was looking at him curiously, eager to hear his answer.

"The Force is in all things and guides all people. In it, all things are equal and through it, all things are possible. It will certainly guide the galaxy and the Republic to the correct answer." There. A perfect non-answer. The drunk man blinked at him.

"They certainly teach you how to speak confusingly early, huh?"

"The Jedi Temple's education is second-to-none, Headmaster Valorum." The man laughed uproariously at his terrible joke before turning to Admiral Praji.

"You must tell your cousins over at the Ministry of Ingress to be more… selective. The midlevels of Coruscant are getting to be unbearable. I was walking through Coco Town the other day and barely even heard Basic! They were all speaking Bocce or something. It is unconscionable that the heart of the Republic's commercial district conducts business in Rimspeak and not exclusively Basic like the civilized worlds!" Rann was taken aback, and it was clear he wasn't the only one.

Tarsin's wife, Olimi, squeezed his hand and tried to shush him, but the drunk man just brushed her off.

"Let me speak, woman! Where was I… oh yes." He took a deep breath before beginning anew.

"This last year we accepted some… underprivileged students on scholarship, most of them Rimmers. One of them, a little boy from Boonta of all places, taught his classmates some colorful language from home. Of course, I only learned of this when I received a phone call from an angry senator asking why their precious daughter had just cursed in huttese at the family dinner table! I had to call and apologize to multiple parents. And expel the boy, of course. They just have no clue how to act!"

"That is why," said Admiral Praji, cutting in now that the other man had run out of steam, "my House believes in a rational immigration process, and hope to reform Coruscant's ministry to reflect that. We wish for it to serve as a model for other Core worlds to adopt. Immigrants are essential to Coruscant, as you know Tarsin. Without the engineers of Christophsis, the factories in the Works would fall apart entirely, and Mon Cala shipbuilders provide valuable expertise to Core businesses.

We wish to make sure that we get more of those kinds of immigrants; skilled experts and hard laborers from planets like Christophsis, Mon Cala, and Geonosis who already speak Basic at least as a second language. Less beings from Hutt space and other less developed planets like Boonta, Tattooine, or Ryloth." Several were now people nodded along with him.

"Maybe let the Rylothian women stay," joked one man to a round of laughter.

"We of House Organa," began Bail in a somewhat testy tone, "believe that the success of the Core should be the success of the Republic." It was only then that the adults seemed to realize that there had been children present.

"Of course, dear," said Olimi.

"Why don't you run along and take your friend to meet your mother. And pass along our hellos."

"I'll let her know." He jerked his head to Rann.

"Come on, let's go." When they were a bit further away, Bail let out a loud groan.

"I didn't realize Headmaster Valorum felt like that."

"Yeah?" said Rann, not having much to offer. He was somewhat in shock, processing what he'd heard. He knew that a lot of Core-worlders looked down on people from the Rim, but he'd never really experienced it first-hand like that. In the Temple, everyone was equal regardless of where they came from. And even when he was out in Coruscant's streets, he normally hung around Level 1313 where Tina and Ryuni lived. They'd told him, of course, but he'd not seen it.

"That story about the student was bantha poodoo, by the way. We knew Ben spoke Huttese and we begged for him to teach us curse words. He didn't even want to, because he knew he'd get in trouble. It's not like he sat in class cursing like a Spice merchant. And he didn't get expelled, just suspended for a week. I felt bad about it, and now I feel worse that Headmaster Valorum of all people is talking poorly of him."

"It's definitely unkind that he's distorting it in such a way." Bail sighed explosively again, before shaking it off.

"Enough of that. Let's go introduce you to my mother. She should be over here." This time, they weaved their way through the crowd without being stopped, eventually arriving at a table where an elegantly dressed but pale and somewhat sickly woman was sitting, speaking quietly to two other women. She looked over to them and smiled widely, opening her arms to hug Bail.

"How is my little Prince?" she asked.

"Fine." She let him go and he turned to him.

"Mother, this is Padawan Rann Crys. Rann, this is Lady Mazicia Organa."

"Hello, Lady Organa." She smiled at him.

"Call me Mazicia, darling. There's at least thirty other Lady Organas here tonight."

"Very well. Then please call me Rann."

"I was told that you are a very good flyer, for your first time," she said.

"My mount certainly did most of the hard work, and was perfectly agreeable besides," he demurred. The two ladies sitting with Mazicia giggled and she smiled softly.

"I see why Bail took to you. You're practically alike." Rann smiled, but internally everything started to catch up with him. He'd followed Bail around and was now talking to his mom like they were friends, but he had just gone to the Queen and turned over evidence against Bail's dad, against Mazicia's husband. He looked again, at their warmth towards him and felt sick. He opened his mouth to fumble through a reply when there was a large commotion by the entrance.

There were guards in the Antilles livery making space as Queen Serenne entered the room. After brief bows from all the attending Alderaanians and many other attending guests depending on protocol (Jedi did not bow in crowds, as it was a sign of submission. They would bow in personal settings, as it was a sign of humility.) After a wave of the hand that saw the ballroom rise, she made her way over to where he and the Organas were.

As the ruling House, the Antilles had been given a table of equal standing to the hosts, the Organas and Aldes. Rann felt increasingly uncomfortable as he saw the Queen, his mother, and his father make their way slowly through the crowd and closer to him. He didn't want to talk to them right now.

"This is most unusual," murmured Mazicia. Rann looked over to her as she continued, "normally, House Antilles sends a less-prominent family member as a representative, at most one of the princes or princesses. Certainly not the Queen herself." Rann nodded hurriedly, before saying, "I think my Master is calling me. It was nice to meet you, Lady Mazicia. Bail, I hope to see you again, bye," before leaving at a somewhat clipped pace towards where he knew Master Nu and Miriam were, thankfully away from the Antilles.

Rann followed his Master's presence in the Force until he caught sight of her. With all the adults standing around, he could only see glimpses of her, though he saw Miriam's shoulders shaking with laughter as she reached out to touch Master Nu's arm, who looked at her with a soft smile. Hmm … he thought. When Rann was directly behind them, he said, "Hello, Master. Hey, Miriam." Miriam whirled and grabbed him by the shoulder to drag him into the circle of people, saying "Jo, isn't your padawan just the cutest?"

Her voice was lightly muffled from being buried in his hair. He just looked quizzically at his Master.

"She tends to be somewhat affectionate when inebriated," she supplied.

"Let me introduce you to our fellow guest." Rann followed her gesture to where a tall, sinuous Muun stood. If he were human, Rann would have said he was jaundiced, from the yellowed sheen of his skin and shrunken eyes. He was flanked by Sun Guards of Thrysus on either side, looking resplendent in their highly polished gold armor that covered them head-to-toe.

"Please, allow me to introduce myself," said a deep, darkly rich voice.

"You must be Padawan Crys. I am Hego Damask, Magister of-""-Damask Holdings," finished Rann breathlessly, paling even as he spoke. Magister Hego Damask was inarguably of the most influential people at the gala, though his name was not widely circulated outside the halls of power.

His company was one of the most influential members of the Intergalactic Banking Clan, or IGBC, and through it he was able to decide the funding for things like a Trade Federation takeover of a planet, or bribing a Senator to ensure some policy passed or failed. He was also Darth Plagueis. Rann stood paralyzed before the Sith Lord.

"There are not many who know my name amongst your Order," said the Muun, looking at him with some minor interest. He felt like a mouse before a hawk. Rann couldn't breathe. He tried to center himself in the Force, aided by his crystal, and did everything he could to not let his rising panic crawl across his face or come loose in the Force.

From what he could recall, whatever technique the Sith used to hide from the Jedi also made accessing the Force difficult, but he wasn't going to take chances when Darth Plagueis the Wise was right in front of him and expecting an answer because that's how normal sentients carry out conversation you need to reply so you don't look suspicious say something anything-"My apprentice follows politics quite closely," said his Master.

"To an observant reader, your touch is felt throughout the galaxy."

"Then it seems your apprentice is sharper than most, even if words seem to fail him at moment," said the Muun with a deadpan expression. Rann could barely feel in the Force, though he didn't dare to do more than lightly brush.

"Yes. I chose him to be my apprentice in part for his research and analysis skills. It wouldn't do for a Chief Librarian to have a dull Padawan."

"No, it wouldn't. Tell me, Padawan Crys: since you follow politics, you must have an opinion on the ongoing troubles in the Mandalore sector?"

"Many papers – especially Core-focused one – are sensationalizing the ascension of a new Mand'alor," answered Rann promptly, relieved to have a comfortable topic of conversation.

"Though I doubt you need me to tell you that."

"No," allowed the Muun, who gestured for him to continue.

"But do go on."

"Jaster Mereel's new Supercommando Codex is essentially a treatise trying to square away the Mandalorian's current role in the galaxy as bounty hunters with their traditional religious beliefs, which is a difficult task. He wants to reform Mandalorian bounty-hunting, to prevent them from being seen as simply 'thugs for hire,' while also convincing reactionaries that even though Mandalore's time as an expansionist empire is over, there is still a place for them in the galaxy.

And that doesn't even touch on the developing radical, pacifist movement that's emerging."

"Very good, Padawan Crys," said the Muun, in a tone that could almost be called mocking.

"And if I were to try and intervene, invest in the region's stability?"

"Repair Mandalore's damaged ecology," Rann replied instantly.

"But that's very unlikely, and would require either Jedi AgriCorps or an Ithorian herdship."

"You don't think it could be done?"

"It would be very expensive, and would have an incredibly long investment horizon for such an unstable region that likely wouldn't appreciate outsiders." These were all problems Rann had spent a lot of time researching.

"So what could I do, that would make me credits," asked the tall, pale man, seemingly intrigued.

"Invest in Mandalmotors," Rann said, shrugging.

"They're about the only corporation of significant size left in the sector. Their ship models aren't all that widely used and they're a bit behind a lot of their competitors technologically, but their users swear by them and are incredibly loyal customers. Their speeder designs are also quite rugged but are produced in small quantities by galactic standards. Investments in R&D and scaling production could see them becoming large players on the Outer Rim." Why am I giving investment advice to a kriffing Dark Lord?

He thought to himself. He felt like his mind was spinning, but in the opposite direction of his body.

"You have given this much thought," said Hego.

"He is due to give a brief to the Council of Reconciliation once we return to Coruscant," Master Nu said proudly.

"It is good that your Order can recognize your talent, Jedi Crys." With that, the conversation moved away from the topic and he could drop out of it. He retreated behind Master Nu and Miriam, letting them cover as he silently panicked. By the Force, I just talked to a Dark Lord of the Sith. Did he notice? Was I too suspicious? No, we just talked about Mandalorians, nothing too revealing. Probably just thinks I'm a weird kid.

The Adegan crystal in Rann's 'saber pulsed gently, pulling him away from his non-productive thoughts. Breathing deeply and slowly, he counted his breaths and centered himself in the Force. Soon, he felt less off-kilter, though not back to normal. Just then, the music shifted, indicating they were supposed to head for their seats. Rann, Master Nu, and Miriam made their way to their assigned table with the scholars from Obroa-skai.

Soon, they were sat next to a delegation that would have fit in at a graduation event at any university. Obroans tended to wear formal academic robes, with colors ranging from purple to black, though they wore much more colorful fringes, trims, and chevrons signifying things like occupation, standing in their field, etc. For instance, only a truly exceptional Obroan scholar had the right to wear Kingussie pleats. Like every Obroan across from them was.

"Head Librarian Jocasta Nu." The Obroan addressed Master Nu by her full title and name, as was custom on their world.

"It is a pleasure to be sat across from you," said a man with truly obnoxious double-spectacles.

"Thank you, Senior Codexer Voltairon-Orro. It has been a while since our paths last crossed." Master Nu's presence in the Force was calm and still in a way Rann had grown familiar with seeing during meetings. It revealed nothing to anyone, and was frequently determined to be a product of her steely determination. He knew it to mean she was in for a long, potentially boring discussion that she would nonetheless carry out diligently.

"Yes, the conference at the University of Coruscant, was it?" asked another man, wearing a tall conical hat that had tassels at the top.

"Indeed."

"And I see you've brought your lovely assistant with you. Jedi… Miriala, was it?" Said the first man.

"Miriam, Codexer Voltairon," replied the woman in question.

"Though I am currently the Senior Investigator of the Joint Jedi Polis Massa Excavation Consortium." The collected Obroans looked suitably impressed by the title.

"Ah, forgive me, Senior Investigator Miriam," said Voltairon.

"And who might this be?"

"This is my Padawan, Rann." Said Master Nu.

"Hello, Padawan Rann," said Voltairon dutifully before turning back to Master Nu. Clearly the man had decided that his lack of important titles meant that he was a non-entity.

Still feeling unsettled from his encounter with a freaking Dark Lord of the Sith, he couldn't find the energy to take umbrage with his attitude and instead fell into trying to reassure himself that no, the incredibly scary Sith Lord who controlled the single-most powerful banking institution in the galaxy hadn't taken an interest in him or noticed anything off. He was still in the middle of one of these internal rounds of debate when there was a faint chime, and Malden Organa stood to speak.

But before he could, Queen Serenne stood along with her guards, striding forward, closer to the guests' tables. Behind her, Malden and Dreya were visibly miffed, as well as confused. There was no plan for her to attend the event, much less any reason for her to address the– Oh no.

"We greet you, assembled dignitaries of the galaxy and of our planet, Alderaan. Recently, we have come across knowledge of a plot to undermine our authority, but perhaps more importantly, our people's history. Houses Organa and Alde, through the collusion of Senator Malden and Senior Curator Dreya, have come together to significantly modify many historical documents including, but not limited to, The Accordance of Peace, Alderaan's modern constitutional basis.

This took place not just in the Royal Archives of Alderaan, but throughout each Houses' archives as well, relying on the Alde name to allow its preservationists access. One of Alderaan's own, Jedi Padawan Rann Crys, was instrumental in uncovering these deeds." Rann was floating, somewhere far away, as the queen tilted her head in his direction. He could see his parents, still sitting at the Antilles table. They were holding each other, looking at him with proud and teary eyes.

His body felt like a balloon, unmoored and unfeeling.

"In recognition of his contribution to the people of Alderaan and to our House, we name and title him Antilles. That is all." He looked around in the deafening silence – a loud uproar had just begun as the queen stepped away from the crowd and towards the exit – uncomprehending as the eyes of hundreds of beings landed on him. He looked around, feeling like his vision took eons to catch up, even as each image was burned into his brain.

There were those too stunned to have much of an expression, mostly those too close or too distant from the matter to comprehend its full ramifications. Media-types stared eagerly. Noble Curator Dreya was deathly pale, hands slack by his side. A man who knew he was ruined. House Alde had teetered on for countless millennia, relying on its keeping of the historical records to maintain its last remnants of relevancy. That was now ruined. Senator Malden, on the other hand, was a bright scarlet, absolutely livid.

Bail was looking alternately at his father and him in hurt and confusion. Mazicia had no expression, no visible reaction at all. Turning back, he saw Master Nu's expression, something he'd never seen before. She looked… scared. Miriam too. Looking further back, he saw a tall, ashen Muun. In that moment, he was the visage of Death. Behind him, Rann could see nothing but a vision of Hell itself, the Temple burning as Jedi were stacked like kindling. He remembered nothing else.