| Another Pathetic Lifeform By Marnie Qui-Gon began to thread his way through the crowd of gorgeously dressed dignitaries. Already there was an atmosphere of too much wine and malice, and tonight the aquisatory glances of the overdressed women couldn't even amuse him. Users, every one - like Sal. When he was knighted Dex had told him his point value at this kind of gathering had just increased from 5 to 15. A master rated a 30. Though Qui-Gon had suspected that there was some sort of competition between highborn women as to who could seduce the most Jedi, he had never imagined anything quite so crudely numerical. Dex, of course, had blithely set himself a target of bestowing 1000 points a year. But Qui-Gon found the whole thing faintly disgusting. He was not going to be increasing anyone's tally tonight. G'emela, following like a dark cloud behind him, tugged on the edge of his cloak and voiced his own question, in a tone of misery he would have liked to use himself. "Why are we here, Master? What's the point?" "We're here because the Council wants to show how pleased it is by the continual peace and prosperity of this world and it's neighbour." The Council had handed him the mission with the air of giving out a holiday, conveniently ignoring the fact that he and Gem wanted to be challenged, not coddled. Qui-Gon wasn't sure who they were making allowances for; Yoda's wayward padawan, or his own tactless one. Either way, missions like this pointless goodwill gesture had begun to come his way with crushing regularity. They don't trust us. The bitterness of that thought prompted him to add "And because the Governor here feels that a Jedi presence will give his party added prestige. We're young, and untried and on show, G'emela...so be nice." Finally he attached himself to the edge of the knot of sycophants who were smiling brightly and giggling, around the Governor. He felt belittled just by being there. Stop this now, he told himself, noticing the grimness of his thoughts, Don't let your private life make you unfair. Sal-Fina had been playing him for a fool for years. And when he found out he had retaliated in kind, seeing Vernice behind Sal's back. And now he felt...dirtied. Bad enough that she'd hurt and betrayed him, but worse that he had allowed the pain to make him act unjustly. Poor Vernice. A valued friend, and he had used her, in a vile little game of revenge no better than the points system of these bored diplomatic beauties. It had to end. All of it. He would find the strength to tear himself away from Sal. To acknowledge finally that she wasn't what he'd dreamed. And he would try to repair his friendship with Vernice. Better celibacy than this constant dishonesty. He shut his eyes - just to centre himself, to let the resentment and the pain lift, to make himself receptive again to the Living Force. When he opened them he was looking into the Governor's face. He saw walls; eyes like arrowslits. Whatever the man was was guarded so tightly it would be impossible to touch him. It doesn't have to be cruelty, he struggled for justice, It could be fear. It was a handsome face; smooth, patrician, with a straight nose and a thin straight mouth. Glossy black hair fell forward over the eyes that opened on darkness. A frown sharpened the whole expression into a blade as he gestured at Gem; "What possessed you to bring such a gargoyle to a party? Do you want to make us sick?" Qui-Gon breathed out, let the feeling of shock wash away. How could the man say such a thing to a 15-year-old girl? G'emela was insecure enough about her looks as it was. It doesn't have to be cruelty, it could just be a power-play. In humiliating the Jedi he makes himself look stronger. He leaned down, trying to think of something diplomatic to say to rescue the situation, "Gem..." But she had already surged forwards, alight with indignation. "At least my ugliness is only on the outside. I was born with it. You've obviously cultivated yours!" Oh, Gem! "You dare insult me?" The governor's smile drew his mouth out into a line as fine as assassin's wire. A power play; simple, ugly, stupid. Or perhaps he is just cruel. Qui-Gon smiled in return - a smile he had adopted from his master, which managed to convey the faint amusement of a man who is secure in his complete superiority. He was not above a little revenge. "My apprentice has made herself the mirror of your courtesy. She has reflected only what she was given." There was a moment of silence while the courtiers picked the message 'You started it' out of the Jedi phraseology. He felt the eddies of their emotions brush him like perfumes - glee, resentment, anger. But from the Governor, nothing. The man remained opaque behind his walls. He's shielding! Qui-Gon realised suddenly, He's a natural Force-sensitive. The thought made sense of many things. He invited the Jedi here to triumph over us. To punish us because we could have been his destiny, but he wasn't chosen. And to show us how powerful he is now without us. It was a relief to Qui-Gon to be able to feel sympathy for the man, instead of abhorrence. "I ask for a Jedi, and they send me a boy, scarcely knighted, and a hideous child. I am...upset, by the Republic's obvious lack of respect for me." The Governor sought a way of turning their dislike of him into a declaration of war? That, Qui-Gon could not allow. "Please," he said, bowing slightly, "Any lack of respect here was not the Republic's lack. Only my own. I apologise for it. I spoke out of turn. It was very wrong of me." At this show of submission the face - hard and smooth as steel - smiled. He had what he wanted, after all. He had insulted the Jedi, and they had apologised to him for it. Qui-Gon could see how impressed all the sycophants around his chair were with this display of power; could pick out too the few nobles in the further corners of the room who seemed less delighted. It didn't really matter to him. If he wants to think he's humiliated me, if that somehow helps intergalactic relations, that's fine. "I will be speaking to your Council about this insult. In the meantime please go outside, where we don't have to look at you." He bowed again, and glared at Gem until she had copied the gesture - what did it cost to be polite, after all? Then, with the tittering of drunk Telosians following them, he led her outside, into the floodlit grounds. A roar of spiteful laughter went up behind them as he slid closed the door. The 'gardens' were as artificial and as colourful as Coruscant's cityscape at night. Small bushes and low-lying, brilliant flowers were arranged in geometrical designs of dizzying complexity. Mazes, knots, serpents. Nothing was tall enough to give an assassin cover, or wild enough to dare grow one leaf out of order. They were as if painted on the ground. Qui-Gon recalled from the briefing that the Governor had designed these gardens himself. He felt a fresh pang of pity for the man. The stunted plants and rigid, convoluted forms revealed a man of great subtlety and cunning, who was afraid to let even vegetation out of his control. Very intelligent, power mad, and insecure, he thought, deciding to report this as soon as they returned. Such flaws in a planetary ruler often led straight to war. The time of peace he had been sent to congratulate would soon be over - he didn't need to be attuned to the Unifying force to sense that. "Master?" G'emela had found a lilac safflower bejeweled with evening dew, and was passing her hands through its leaves, scattering droplets on the manicured path. In the golden light of the two small moons she looked very young, very hurt. "Do you think I'm ugly?" "No." Aware that the whole scene was being watched from the ballroom, Qui-Gon moved over to lay a hand on her shoulder. Let them watch, if that was all they had the courage to do. "Raime No-Catu said I looked like a shaved Bantha." Her tone tried desperately to turn the whole thing into a joke, but failed. Her smile was as watery as her hands. "You're statuesque," said Qui-Gon firmly, remembering how grotesque and oversized he had felt at her age. It must be even worse for a girl. "Amazonian. You will attract men who are sure of themselves; who have nothing to prove. Not boys, like Raime." "You're saying that geek thought I was ugly because I scared him?" Gem rather liked that idea. She looked up with a grin as brilliant as a fusion cutter and just as dangerous. He smiled back, relaxed, knowing that the audience was drifting away - disappointed that there were not going to be tears after all. "He is afraid of us both," Qui-Gon explained, "So he engineered a situation in which he could humiliate us. It makes him feel more secure to do so. You should feel sorry for him...You should also definitely not call him a geek." |
 |