Renora regarded her Master’s features with a mixture of bemusement and intensity, trying to detect any trace of humor in that gentle smirk. Besides evidence of the normal, snarky wit that was a mere fact of life with her Master, she couldn’t locate any kind of trickery. Which was really too bad, because the last four seconds of her life were starting to make her feel depressed. Really depressed.
“That’s not really the word I like to begin my day with.”
“Since you ended your day so well yesterday, I thought I’d make up for it by ruining the start of your day today,” said Giddy, suppressing a snicker.
“Your generosity astounds me, Master.”
In truth, as far as endings go, yesterday had ended very, very, very, very well for Renora. If you had to have a conclusion to the story, that was the one to have. D’onny had continued his clumsily tactful investigation into the enigmatic premiere explosion, and was only a little infuriated when Renora told him that it had been a fake bomb that Giddy and she had put together themselves, complete with phony, dimensional, air-contact bodies that would stand up to a Level 3 DNA matchup.
“You are without doubt the best kidnapper I’ve ever heard of,” D’onny had said to her, shortly before she deposited him at the rear entrance of the same building she and Lari had snuck into.
Renora wondered whether he remembered using the same sentence only hours earlier, with one adjective replaced with something decidedly less tasteful. She didn’t care.
“It’s about time you were astounded by something other than yourself,” said Master Giddy, bringing a halt to Renora’s brief voyage into the past.
“Is it my fault I have high standards?”
“‘High standards’ here having the meaning of ‘an ego problem?’”
“A problem is in the eye of the problem.”
“And you’re my problem.”
“Good, I’m doing my job, then.”
Giddy sighed. “Do you want to hear why we’re going to Mandalore or not?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Jedi do not have prejudices, Padawan.”
“But they can have preferences.”
“Don’t let your hatred of the Mandalorian way of life cloud your judgment.”
“All right, Master. The weather forecast for my judgment is showing absolutely clear, absolutely cloudless skies,” Renora laughed.
“I’m glad you’re finding this so amusing,” said Giddy, crossing her arms.
“And that’s accurate to the twelfth decimal point.”
“Very humorous,” she said dryly, a smile twitching the corners of her lips.
“Just in case you were wondering.”
“I was. How did you know?”
“Just a hunch. Now, are you ever going to tell me why we’re going to Mandalore?”
“Suddenly, I’m not so eager.”
“Come on, Master, we’re burning daylight here.”
“Oh, you have plenty of that. Or so the weather forecaster tells me.”
“They’re always wrong, you know that.”
“But you’re always right. But you’re the forecaster. Where does that leave us?”
“At a regrettable but uninteresting impasse.”
“Uninteresting? I’m finding it very amusing.”
“Me too. I’m amused. Now tell me!”
“Say please.”
“Do I have to?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“But I won’t tell you if you don’t.”
=========================
If you were to ask Renora what she considered to be the most important thing in the entire galaxy, under normal circumstances, she would probably reply that she regarded the Force as the answer to that question. Living beings -- breathing, struggling, flawed and dangerous, beautiful and terrible -- created the Force, and the Force sustained them. It was central to her purpose and her existence, the reason she came to be, the reason she continued to live. It brought her to the galaxy, brought the galaxy to her fingertips. It created a partnership between Master and Padawan like the galaxy had never seen before, and would never see again.
The Force was the most vital, most fundamental, most essential facet of the galaxy; the Force itself, and the beings who imbued it with a wondrous power. Under normal circumstances.
These were not normal circumstances. In fact, these circumstances were quite abnormal. In these circumstances, Renora’s physical and mental states were both highly compromised. And she was enjoying it.
“I have two words,” said Renora.
“Only two?”
“Only two. Nerf. Steak.” Grinning as if that were some kind of revelation that had come to her from deep within the sonorous echoes of the Force, she viciously stabbed another forkful of the succulent meat, and shoved it, as delicately as possible, into her mouth.
“Just chew it, will you? I’d hate to be the Master whose Padawan died because she choked on a piece of nerf steak.” The rate at which Giddy was shoveling in the steak belied her words of caution.
“Chew it, Master? I’m too busy swallowing it!”
“You’re supposed to chew it before you swallow it.”
“Aww, that’s no fun.”
“It’s going to get to your stomach sometime, Padawan. Chewing it first just means it’ll take a little longer.”
“Master, this is no time for a lesson in patience.”
They acted like they hadn’t eaten in months, which they really hadn’t, unless you’re liberal enough with your words to refer to nutrient bars and protein shakes with the “food” honorific. As they ate, Renora halting the mechanical flow of fork to plate, fork to mouth, and fork to plate, only to breathe or take a gulp of chocolate blue milk, Giddy studied their lavish surroundings.
It wasn’t called Elava Palace for nothing. It was a palace, in every sense of the word. The dining hall housed an almost comically massive table, adorned with a opulent. deep blue tablecloth of Onderon spider silk. The seats of their high-backed chairs were lined with the impeccably treated, cream-hued pelt of some animal almost suspiciously soft, and a colossal, glistening chandelier, its rim bejeweled with tiny, vague mirrored surfaces, was suspended over the table, ready to fall on Giddy and Renora and kill them.
Giddy and her Padawan sat at opposite ends of the table, about fifteen meters away from one another, and as close as they could get to the room’s two exits. This wasn’t a safety precaution; this was Renora finding something funny about shouting across the room.
“So, Master,” began Renora, clearing her throat and taking a sip of milk. She noticed that the cup matched the plate, which matched the silverware, which matched the chandelier, which matched the various paintings and miscellaneous décor sported by the large room.
“Are you talking in pairs of words today, Padawan?”
“Must be this steak. Interfering with my brainwaves. And my vocabulary.”
“What a tragedy.”
“If you’re quite finished with the snippy remarks, Master…”
“I’ll never be finished with them, my young apprentice, so you might as well banish that silly though from your nerf steak-infested brainwaves.”
“Consider it banished.”
“That curiosity is going to get the better of you someday.”
“Curiosity? What curiosity? I haven’t even said anything yet!” Renora’s voice echoed in the confines of the substantial room, bouncing and tumbling until it came to a rest in Giddy’s eardrums.
“Yes, you’ve been too impatient to say anything. In too much of a hurry to get your question out of your mouth. Which is ironic, considering how fast you were trying to put something in it just a few minutes ago.”
“All right, then, my unbearably wise Master. What’s my question?”
“Nice try, Padawan, but that would be too easy. It’s your question, you ask it.”
“Fine, then. I’ll be a good Padawan and do what you tell me, as I always do.”
“Hmmm.”
“Why…uh…Why are we here?”
“What did I tell you back at the ship?”
“That we were going to speak with a Mandalorian planetary official about some terrorists that needed eradicating.”
“Former planetary official.”
“Right. And the terrorists aren’t really terrorists.”
“How so?”
“Because they’re in power. They’re basically the Mandalorian government.”
“They are the Mandalorian government, actually.”
“So who’s this mystery official? You’ve told me nothing about them at all.”
“Not true.”
“Okay, right, you did tell me something. You met this person before. You’re old friends, but haven’t been in contact in years. Until yesterday, when they contacted you for help.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Some friend,” said Renora, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I don’t know, Renora, you might like this friend.”
“I doubt it.”
“Don’t be so negative all the time.”
“Master, I told you before. I recognize my negativity, but fail to embrace the need to banish it.”
“Well, at least you’ve reduced it.”
“Significantly.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“As does my liking of this friend.”
“You can see for yourself now. I sense that they’re coming.”
Renora sensed it, too. A powerful presence, remarkable in its intensity, but laden with an infinite sadness, tinged with a resolute determination. It almost reminded Renora of her Master, but this person was not Force sensitive, and lacked Giddy’s trivial wit and almost alarming calm.
The figure entered the room on Giddy’s side, strode towards the table, and draped an arm over one of the high-backed chairs.
“Gidrea, it’s been too long. And you must be Renora. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Nothing good, I hope,” said Renora.
“She’s just as you described,” the figure chuckled. “Renora, it’s good to meet you. I’m former Duchess Satine Kryze. Welcome to Mandalore.”
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