Star Wars: Diplomat Of Madness

"This is new. A problem I can't run away from."

A year ago, if you had told me I was to be a diplomat, I would have laughed in your face. Loudly and at length, accompanied by some choice observations about your mental acuity. Anyone who had ever known me would have joined in on the laughter, because they all have a long list of reasons why that is a terrible idea, which no shortage of anecdotes to further support the point.

Of course, a year ago, I had not spent three months undergoing a frankly hellish training to become someone who could appropriately represent an interstellar empire fueled by slavery and power trips. Nor had I undergone three months of training to look and sound like a representative of said empire while visiting neutral worlds.

"Ah, you must be Lord Egatio's apprentice if I am not mistaken!" an unfamiliar voice tore me from my thoughts. Looking over my shoulder with casual ease, I saw one of the local notables that ran this neutral little ball of dirt and metal from the shadows. Well, from a dimly lit portion of the stage, anyways.

"That is what he calls me," I said lightly, my new voice still not entirely familiar to my ears. No, not a new voice, just a new accent. Vaguely mid-Atlantic, at least to my untrained ear. I extended my unoccupied hand to the man approaching me as my mind raced to identify this specific man of industry. One of hundreds gathered here. "Though I prefer 'Nestor'. Names tend to be more memorable than vague descriptors."

It had taken not even half a sentence before I had matched to barely mustached face to a name. J'Nah J'Meson. Calling him an industrialist had been a bit hasty; Instead, this was the head of one of the news-guilds of this world. A head, not an anchor. He certainly did not look like the kind of man who sat in front of the cameras.

"So they are," he answered heartily, clasping my hand vigorously. There was an attempt to squeeze my hand tightly – an attempt to prove his dominance or control the flow of the conversation, no doubt – but one he swiftly abandoned. A man with strong hands, narrow fingers, and the ability to deaden pain receptors tended to have an advantage there. "J'Nah J'Meson. Editor-in-Chief of Bulletin Unbiased, Greater Lantyr Ecumene."

Bulletin Unbiased, if I remembered the briefing correctly, was one of the local news networks. Run by local government of each administrative district, or Ecumene as they called themselves, had their own bulletin. And Greater Lantyr happened to be the capital district.

In short, it would be highly unfortunate to get on this man's bad side.

"Nestor, apprentice to Lord Egatio." I met his own introduction with one of my own, using my new name. Under ordinary circumstances, these introductions would have been unnecessary, given how we both could identify the other by face (or all-concealing mask, in my case). Unless he had been using the lightsaber at my waist as an identifier. Regardless of how the man had determined I was (training to be) a Sith, diplomacy was determined to have its due. "A pleasure."

"Likewise," the man said with a professional smile that I mirrored. Not that he could see that, with my face hidden beneath a black mask with strategically placed wrinkles. Something about friendly micro expressions, according to my master.

"I trust my colleagues have given you something worth writing about?" I asked politely. No doubt there was a reason the editor-in-chief of the local news had sought me out. Asking about it directly would not do.

"Oh, we've arranged an interview with one of my boys," he answered vaguely. Whom he meant by 'we' was something I had no good reason to pursue. What sort of envoy went about prying into secrets so soon after meeting another guest? "The people want to know what your Empire would want of them."

"Peace and prosperity," I answered easily and without hesitation, spouting one of the many soundbites that had been drilled into me on the long journey to this small neutral world. "The Republic has spent a decade mired in an economic depression while the power of the Empire has only waxed. It should be easy to see which system is better suited to ensuring the continued well-being of its citizens."

I chose not to elaborate on what the Empire considered a citizen. Or the role of slaves in the economy. Or the lack of rights held by the overwhelming majority of the Empire. Or the barely limited authority of the power-mad ruling class. Or its self-destructive nature.

"A fine sentiment," he agreed. Around us the crowd in the overly decorated ballroom that was hosting this reception shuffled a bit, giving us a bit more space. Or at least pretending to do so while trying to overhear us. This covert stuff was still a bit beyond me. "Though not one that paints the full picture."

"Hence why we repeat them endlessly," I said, smiling just a bit more broadly beneath my mask. He could not see the smile, but I knew it would color my words ever so slightly. "It's the experts you want. They know how to get to the meat of the matter."

"Yes, no doubt the interview with one of Lord Egatio's men will be most enlightening," the man said, his tone amicable enough, but my mind had gone elsewhere at the mention of that name.

Lord Egatio? The man I was socially and legally obligated to refer to as my master? For the briefest of moments, I entertained the possibility of sabotage. By sending J'Meson to a specific intelligence operative posing as a member of the various ministries on this trip, I could have had him singled out for disposal, thus ridding the man who turned my life upside down of a potential propaganda victory.

And subsequently steer the galaxy slightly closer to galactic war. No, not an option.

"I suppose you have not yet determined what questions will be asked," I ventured. If the editor had only recently secured an interview, that left quite a lot still in limbo.

"No, not as such," he admitted readily enough. "I can offer some suggestions and have the final say, but the bulk of the research and question generation will be done by the interviewer and my team."

"Then let's give them a hand," I offered, gesturing towards the crowd of attendees with the mostly full glass in my left hand. Local notables mingled equally freely with the delegations from both the Empire and the Republic. For such a small neutral world, it was quite a lot of fuss. But then again, it was their entire world. "Plenty of experts here who can point you in the right direction. If you would like, I could make an introduction."

"Quite the favor," he commented, tapping his chin. Clearly, he was making a show of trying to decide.

"Consider it an investment in the future peace of galactic peace," I said lightly. While no longer explicitly a favor, I was about to point this man to a half-open door in which to wedge his foot. As far as building connections went, it was a pretty good start.

"A Sith of peace, now there's a headline if I ever heard it," the man said with a chuckle before sending a subtle nod towards an older man wearing a civil uniform. "Very well, the man from your ministry of justice."

That he could identify the man on sight suggested that the man had done more than his fair share of research before coming here. Or rather, some of his employees had.

"Subaltern Minister Honja," I identified the man in question quickly enough. Old, well-connected within his department, and experienced, but not well enough to become full minister. And held back by his status as a second-class citizen. "Best we get to him quickly, lest he grows too bored with the politics of the evening and try to annoy the staff."

"Bored of the biggest assembly of the year?"

"He is more of a bureaucrat than a politician," I explained, roughly paraphrasing his section from the extensive dossier I had combed through in preparation for this summit. "All the policy knowledge you could ask for."

Unspoken was that this was the kind of man whose expertise did not extend beyond policy. Or, perhaps more pertinently, knew comparatively little about the inner workings of the internal culture and politics within his ministry.

Presumably. The dossier had implied it.

Before the editor-in-chief could change his mind, I strode off towards the subaltern minister. I could hear the editor fall in behind me, and ever so vaguely feel his presence in my mind, so I did not waste time glancing back. Besides, that would suggest insecurity or weakness, and we could hardly have that.

"Subaltern Minister Honja," I greeted the old bureaucrat. He looked over from a hushed discussion with one of the staff. One far younger than him. Hm, maybe this was not the right bureaucrat to foist this editor on to? Eh, that was a problem for later. "I was speaking with my friend J'Nah J'Meson here, when I spotted you and remembered that report you wrote about the integration of imperial law in the systems in the Noolian Sector."

"That is very kind of you, my lord," he said, his voice not quite a grumble.

"And my friend here, one of the editors of the local news, has arranged for an interview with my master Lord Egatio in the coming days," I informed him. The man beside me gave a polite nod as he was mentioned. "And he was looking to pick the brains of some of our experts ahead of time, so to speak."

"I am honored to be your first choice, my lord," the not-quite-minister said evenly.

"Come now. Who better to know the nuances of a facet imperial life that the average man might encounter?" I posed a rhetorical question own before turning back to the editor. "At least, I suppose that is why you wanted to be introduced to him? To hear from a proper expert?"

"Indeed, my lord," the man confirmed, readily using the proper title and form of address.

"That is why I was invited to this function," the old bureaucrat answered, his voice now just a touch more pleasant. No doubt the promise of a halfway stimulating discussion had earned his attention.

"Excellent," I said, taking a small step back, my hand drifting to the comm-link prominently mounted on my hip. While I had no doubt it would be utterly littered with bugs by the time the function came to a close, it served as a useful prop. "If you would excuse me, I fear I have some messages that need answering. Or ignoring, should they prove trivial. No doubt I will see you later tonight, but I must take my leave."

With that said, I left the two to their conversation. All in all, a successful introduction. One more to add to the constantly growing tally of the evening. For now, however, it was time for me to get back to mingling with whatever desperate local needed to be introduced to someone with designs on this planet's resources. But first, the messages.

A quick glance at the comm-link revealed… nothing. It was a fake, after all. You really think the Sith would give me a functional comm-link after all but conscripting me? I was a glorified diplomatic middleman. Barely qualified, incompletely trained, I was here as a distraction.

With space magic. Very limited space magic.

Fortunately, this reminder of my current lot in life was interrupted by one of the countless hordes of catering staff making a circuit of the reception hall. Apparently, the ice in my drink had melted, and I was promptly offered a replacement. 

A replacement with a scrap of paper on the bottom. A note, no doubt. It disappeared up my sleeve with a mental exertion to join the others I had been covertly given as I offered my thanks and resumed my mingling, resigning myself to letting the ice melt in this drink, too.

I couldn't even drink it, lest the liquid leave a mark on my otherwise pristine mask. At least it guaranteed that my mind would be my own when I ended up talking with someone way above my weight class.

Like that very bored-looking Jedi standing by one of the tables laden with hors d'oeuvres. Dressed in a subdued green robe instead of the drab browns of the rest of her compatriots scattered throughout the ballroom, she was busy scanning the room, eyes sweeping across the room in search of… something. Whatever it was, she seemed startlingly willing to change tracks to glare at me as soon as she noticed me.

And not the fun kind of glare one might get after a particularly bad pun, the look of annoyance paired with bilateral disappointment at having unconsciously presented the opportunity for the pun and the other for taking said opportunity. This was more like realizing one had stepped in evidence of an irresponsible dog owner. If ever there was a sign that approaching someone was a bad idea, this was a rather subtle one. Even if she looked like she barely came up to my shoulders.

Then again, since when was I the type to let myself be stopped by an idea just because it's a bad idea? Besides, I could hardly back down now. Rumors would fly, our position would be weakened- and I was already walking over.

Eh, I could manage.