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Katunda, Telona 17th, 12731

Mystic Mobs Investigations: Backstage

by Jedi Knight VN Ysadora

Right, so, this is a loaner datapad in a style with which I am not familiar. It might be a knockoff? It's probably a knockoff.

Best I can tell, it does not have a keylogger installed, nor any sort of streaming or eavesdropping software running.

Some of its parts have been replaced post-factory, that's for sure, so I might have something here waiting for my Banking Clans passcodes.

Which is fine.

I don't have those anyhow.

I was loaned this thing so I could do some research on any names that get mentioned in advertisements for the next arena match. I borrowed it so that I can organize my thoughts in the method that most often works for me. Nothing I do here is going to be of much use to anyone. But don't take my word for it!

I wonder where the "pause" button is on this thing?

Emotion, yet peace.

I have not been this completely alone in ten years.

I am out of the habit.

I got sent on errands as far back as 'Seven-twenty-two, sometimes. But even then, if I took a minute to check around, there were lights. Some of them were dim bulbs like me, some of them sported a complicated spectrum, most of them were tiny water droplets flowing along their own paths before I could focus on them. And then there were the other Padawans, who were like those geysers in Skirzden that the city turned into decorative fountains: and if that was a Skywalker, I might spot them from the next Province over.

Also: the people working the assignment with me. We knew each other long enough that I was aware of them like the scent of the creek in the park. Even when I holed up in my assigned bunk on the Mismatch, even when I ran to make a defensive line between a batch of stormtroopers and the oncoming Reavers, I could spot lights around me, connected to me at least tangentially.

The last time I was anywhere near this alone, it was around the tail end of seven-twenty-four. Even then, I had Ghostie Jinn to point out that I should quit letting Lod get quite that maudlin on me; I had the wacky lads around, a muted cascade more needing me to shine but they still glowed back in my direction sometimes. I had the pirate clusters and the indignant burbling of the Tapani veterans.

This place is all tar sludge, all the time. I don't see any light. I don't hear the flow of the Force trickling along on its business. I am so far away from my favorite waterfall that I cannot even pick up the eddies of breeze it scatters.

Plenty of people here are not soaked in tar. The critters and the plants outside this building are, you know, your basic life. That's all fine. They are not springs of the Light but they are not stagnant cesspools, either.

And I am not wishing that active light sources were here with me! That's not it at all.

I just ...

...

... I am out of the habit of being truly alone.

Ignorance, yet knowledge.

I don't know what I'm doing here.

Strike that. It's inaccurate.

A certain point of view: I am here because Almon De Joy is a twerp.

A certain other point of view: I am here because fighting Boba Fett in the middle of Undercity -- while trying to yank several massive problems out of their increasing ruts -- was the insightful private eye's direct route to getting curbstomped. By surrendering to Boba, cheerfully and sincerely, I planted some new ideas in his head about how the galaxy works and how he functions within it. I gave him a route in to a social network where he can be a happy river rock instead of an increasingly isolated desert spike, if that is the choice he makes. In the process, I got him to help me with the other massive problems: we thwarted the Dark Side assassin a few times, we got the slaves of Undercity free and on their way to Derma the Hutt, we enabled Vance Kerplocken to rescue the priestess. I called the Exclamation Points up and reported the location of the thieves who stole their ancestors, and or their children, I have not got a clear file on that one. And I advised the Exclamation Points that the nearby organic life forms are in a specific category which is NOT the Exclamation Points' enemies. That alone was a big deal that needed sorting in a way that should keep it from becoming a nastier problem down the road.

A certain other point of view: I am here because somebody has got to buy Andan some time.

A certain possible point of view: Somebody here needs to see the Light enough that a single Jedi is worth the various detriments that will fall out of this situation. And, like the Skywalkers, I'm persistent; like Kenobi, I function okay in your typical hive of scum and villainy; unlike Al Saba, I am on a path suitable to direct confrontation on a repeat basis. And unlike everybody else, I'm relatively expendable, if it comes to that. My absence is not going to leave a hole in anyone else's framework.

(I have been careful to make sure everything is set up that way, so I would not leave a hole.)

Regardless of the point of view, though, I feel like these are contributing reasons. I do not get the sense that any of this is The Reason, you know?

Passion, yet serenity.

I had been on Nar Shaddaa five minutes before I concluded that I might hate this place.

(Dark Side need not get excited: I don't mean hate, like "let the hatred flow through you" crap from Jedi Quest. I mean "hate" like "the smell of this tar gets everywhere".)

Life is cheap here. Compassion is a form of inherent value but this entire star system is woefully low on it. Every act of meaningless kindness is a sort of defiance.

And I got a bag full of defiance, let me tell you!

But I have a long list of problems to work on, which list I hope Davish and company picked up once they figured out whatever was going on as Boba's pursuit craft left the Chalcedon System. I have to trust in the Force that events will rearrange themselves so I have time for this:

There are Crimson Knights out there somewhere, digging themselves further into trouble.

There's someone else who is chasing them down with nefarious intentions.

There are Exclamation Points who instructed me to stay away from Chalcedon, which (obviously) I politely registered but did not comply, and I bet at some point they are going to have Firm Statements on that topic.

There is somebody out there who is stealing my religion's cultural artifacts. And killing to do it. Who? Are we really sure it is not that Ferrin guy?

Bodysnatching parasite symbiote hive-mind thingies. Might have to do with Spartan Imperium somehow. Might have to do with a new-to-me variation of "organized crime syndicate" in addition/instead.

People. Converted to amoeboid composites. Whaaaaaaaaaat.

Bloodsmith Twerps put a kill order out on me. And on So'Zen Al Saba and on Vance Kerplocken. We are going to have to set aside the time to explain, at length, how much this is a terrible idea.

The Guy with the Orchids. We agreed to relocate him, his staff, his orchids, his household basically. Except now he's also the contract employer of an entire cavern city full of low-income workers.

Who the eff keeps swirling up Reavers out in these reaches of space?

Where does the "Thousand Stars" and their pyramidal SSD fit into this whole mess?

Tentacle Face Dudes.

Some Hutts, not just Grakkus alone, got upset about Undercity. They decided to up the pot by putting an open bounty on all Jedi. They declared a "shadow war". (Whatever that is.) I have advised the Old Folks' Home about same, and requested that someone not-me, not-So'Zen, and not-Ben get tasked to go to Chalcedon and sort it out.

All that and: I am certainly not going to worry at all about Vance Kerplocken's new father-in-law being Grakkus the Hutt, because that is personal business into which I have not been invited. (Grakor? Grakkus? This must be the local equivalent of people on Pelagon with the name "Ivan" somewhere on their calling card.)

Just saying it all aloud makes me want to grab a sheaf of flimsies, write out all the components, and start shuffling them into different layouts. Patterns. Connections. Got to be some gaps in there that we could poke.

Chaos, yet harmony.

I need a plan.

I'm not a Mentat, I'm not a droid: I do not "plan for all eventualities". I do not think there is any such thing. Oh, sure, they say they can prove it with math! But what good does "proof" do me that I can't understand? None. And anyway, they make it sound like predestination. I don't believe in predestination. That is someone's Brainweasel of Depression convincing them not to defy the depression.

My plan tends more to be a scaffolding, where I can hang all of my variables. I know roughly what I'm building on. I know approximately what conditions I have to work with. I know approximately where I want to head. Get the plan arranged, start hanging, see how it goes.

That is my usual theory, anyhow. It has worked since I was eight.

More often than not.

So. My foundation:

I am a Jedi.

On Nar Shaddaa.

Those that love me, know I am not going to stick the back of my hand on my forehead and swoon until rescued.

I have an ally in the form of a local political force, and his base of operations, and his experience in surviving this environment.

I will soon have an ally in the form of Lord Solicitor Londo Mollari, he of the glittery bouncy hair, upon whom I can rely for pageantry and a certain amount of time on the clock. As designated "judge" for this series of contests, Lord Solicitor Mollari will see to the proper representation of Our Imperial Master's interests, whether that is to my benefit or my detriment. Also, anybody who lies to Lord Solicitor Mollari on this world will cheese him off, because he is so much more perceptive than he leads strangers to suppose.

I foresee a non-zero chance that Lord Solicitor Mollari and this Gamesman person see themselves reflected in each other. Either fall madly in love (outside extreme chance), or at least find common cause for future friendship (much more likely).

I know Almon De Joy is messing around.

My operating conditions:

I am a Jedi.

Most highlight reel that got spread around of me is helmet cam footage, later cut to emphasize the "Snarky Optimist Padawan" personality. That is me, but it's an edited version of me. It gives an impression of haphazardness, of lower attention to detail. My first six or so challengers will have studied an edited presentation of the edited version of me -- and at that, much of this old data will involve fighting alongside people who are not in this fight.

Not everyone here has been rolling around in the Dark Side of the Force like a melk in a mire. Let's see who gets interested in me if I go for a jog every morning and a walk every evening.

As soon as the Gamesman can set events up, I am going to start having at least one staged fight each day. Let's make the first few as minimally interactive as possible. It also is a good chance to lay groundwork for the idea that someone is playing games here, but I am not going to follow their script.

I do not have access to a handy Bene Gesserit.

I may be confronted -- probably not on the arena, and not for a couple of weeks -- by Mentat Fu. Oh good.

"Area of Effect", environmental hazards, and "to become a Solicitor one usually spent time as a Street Judge, surprise!" are the only assets I have for that now. Not promising. I should look for replacement assets, especially regarding that last one.

My heading:

Somebody on this world wants to see some Light?

Okay.

And while they're looking at the Light, Almon's frilly card stack will misplace some of its foundation cards.

I might even remember where on the HoloNet I can dig up "No Guts, No Glory" by Phil Galdston and John Van Tongeren while Andan makes faces at me from his bacta tank. Or maybe he'll be into it. Either way, I want him healthy and in shape for shenanigans before the Bloodsmiths remember to look at him.

Anything else I can straighten out as far as "Slavery = Bad" and "Compassion = Healthy" would be excellent.

But more importantly: I need to get back on that To Do List. If I can pick up any useful information toward Priorities One through Five, that would help recover some of this lost time.

In the short term, I am scheduled tonight to face my first arena match.

Some bounty hunter named "Tantor".

What's an Esoomian?

Death, yet the Force.

Databank, voice command: Delete entry titled "Backstage".

I confirm.

Thank you, Databank.

Continue reading...

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Intersections
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Unauthorized scan detected
Atunda, 6 Helona, 12731

The Anti-Life Equation
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one of WHOSE children?
Atunda, 6 Helona, 12731

Space Shanties
Atunda, 6 Helona, 12731

Threes
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The old Chaos Goblin routine
Satunda, 18 Helona, 12731

SSD Hardridge Bulwark
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Satunda, 18 Helona, 12731

Zorphax
Datunda, 29 Helona, 12731

Ghostie al Saba
Datunda, 29 Helona, 12731

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Datunda, 29 Helona, 12731

Escape Velocity
Datunda, 4 Melona, 12731

chuck the faux Gamesman to the crowd
Datunda, 4 Melona, 12731

Here to Rescue Somebody
Natunda, 10 Melona, 12731

Natunda, 10 Melona, 12731
Natunda, 10 Melona, 12731

Pest Control
Natunda, 10 Melona, 12731

No matter where you go
Natunda, 10 Melona, 12731

There you are.
Natunda, 10 Melona, 12731

Library Card
Satunda, 13 Melona, 12731

Mystic Mobs Investigations: Backstage

Emotion, yet peace.

Ignorance, yet knowledge.

Passion, yet serenity.

Chaos, yet harmony.

Death, yet the Force.

Continue reading...

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