"Maybe I should stop feeding the tabloids."
I hated being a diplomat. This, I had decided after less than a week as a diplomat. Would enjoy it more if I were fully trained? Probably.
Would I enjoy it more if I were in service to a government that didn't see violating the Geneva Conventions as a prerequisite for promotion? Almost certainly. But those were secondary. I had known that was my lot in life the moment I stepped off the bus and suddenly found myself all alone in a blood-soaked temple, and the expected disappointment never hits too hard.
But this?
This was a special case.
Because the morning talk shows had smelled blood.
"So, K'Ren, we just got a hot tip from one of our sources inside the Allegiance Conference hosted inside the Governor's Manor." The male host of the talk show had introduced the topic with all the grace and smoothness that one might expect. Dressed in a navy tunic sparsely decorated with silver thread, it was that he was supposed to the calm one with some sort of barely hidden eccentricity.
"Absolutely." His female co-host, meanwhile, was presenting herself as a bit more adventurous. Her outfit was far more recognizable, with a pastel red dress that could have come from any early morning talk-show hostess back home. "We have some very interesting gossip about our favorite Sith/Jedi pairing from the Conference. Best of all, we have ourselves some exclusive backstage footage, so to speak."
On the hologram hovering above my head, the scene shifted. Gone were the two hosts seated on a long couch, replaced by a clearly angled view from a hidden camera. Said view was dominated by a masked Sith, clad in a very well-fitting three-piece suit, standing in a poorly decorated corridor, staring blankly into space.
Almost immediately, however, his head twitched to the side as a noticeably shorter figure entered the frame. If the severe features breaking into a confident smirk had not been enough of a giveaway, the fact that I had had no company beyond the Little Jedi made it painfully obvious who was there.
For the briefest of moments, I hoped that they had not gotten hold of the audio. Perfectly on cue, however, a tinny reproduction of my own voice filled the mostly empty room.
"I'm not here to fulfill your twisted fantasies." Yep, that was my voice. Repeating things I had said. In hindsight, I really should have known that that corridor had been bugged to the gills. Then again, my privacy had never been a priority in this line of work. Or apparently worth considering.
The video continued as the Jedi's face broke out into a grin before the hosts returned.
Damn it, not this again. This was the second time this week! Not just being targeted by professional shippers, but manipulative editing, too! Bad enough that I had been press ganged into joining the nation of war criminals and mad scientists, now it looked like I had one more thing to worry about.
The murmur of people around me reminded me that I was not, in fact, in the relative safety of set of rooms given over to the imperial delegation. No, why ever would I have that luxury?
"My lord!" one of the many bureaucratic higherups that worked in the manor called out to me. The place was absolutely riddled with lobbies, foyers, and antechambers, all with the same swirling cream and ivory color scheme and dark wooden furnishing. And I was on a walking tour of them, so to speak. "Lord Nestor, my thanks for reaching out."
This man in particular was from the local ministry of transportation. Not the minister, mind you, that was far too high above my paygrade. The same was true of the assistant to the minister. No, this portly and balding man, dressed in a fairly restrained navy-blue tunic, was a few steps below making actual policy.
For now, at least. That could change in a few years, which was why I was here.
"My thanks for agreeing to meet on such short notice, Mister A'Ron." A false smile beneath my all-concealing mask colored my words with the good cheer expected of me as we shook hands. Unlike Subaltern Minister Honja, the closest analogue to this man, he had no big important projects to this name, but his work was referenced with astonishing frequency by others in his ministry, far more than his peers. "But please, I am merely an apprentice. Simply calling me Nestor is more than sufficient."
"Thank goodness. I don't think I could keep up with the titles without slipping up once or twice at least," he said. "It's a good thing you called so early; I would have been up to my chin in meetings today."
"How very fortuitous," I commented idly.
"On that we agree," he declared, his gaze briefly flickering off to the side to where the holo-projector was still dispensing slander in stereo before returning back to me. And then very quickly turning back to the projector as he realized what was being aired. "Oh- well- how about we take this somewhere less crowded?"
Quite the polite way of handling things. And, on any other occasion, one I would have gladly taken. Unfortunately, I was supposed to be publicly seen as being personally invested in the success of this world.
But this might work better. Besides, it was a simple request. Being seen acceding to anything at all could help spread a reputation of reasonability.
"That might be for the best," I said after glancing back at the holo-projector spewing concentrated slander. Well, not quite. Much like the artists' interpretations in the tabloids, the rumor spreading was, as had been explained to me by one of the legal experts on my master's staff, exempt from libel laws. Because of course it was. "I'm starting to see why Editor J'Meson seemed so concerned on my behalf."
"Compared to the Tribune P'Cher Affair… well, let's just say it's good you're a relative unknown in these parts."
As we walked along a smaller side corridor, the conversation topics meandered a bit, but still addressed everything I needed to. Just a check-in on how his ministry was running, any problems that I lacked the qualifications to solve, any questions he might have had for about the Sith Empire, any big projects, if there were any people I could connect with him, and the two most important questions: how his department worked and how he was doing.
After all, it paid to be interested in how your future subjects operated. And my master had insisted I ask this question. As for the latter topic, the personal touch was always important. I might not have been a salesman in the past, but I knew firsthand how important it was to be perceived as someone who cared. Especially if that care was for something beyond the next commission.
After a pleasant chat of a dozen minute or so, I took my leave. On my way out, I accepted an inconspicuous scrap of flimsiplast – a word I still refused to believe was real – from a man who was dressed like local security and sent it up my sleeve to join the rest. Then I did the whole thing all over again. Another meeting area, with the projector playing the exact same programming, raving about the potential juicy drama. Another specialized bureaucrat, who also suggested we relocate to a different area. Another brief chat, again along a route determined by the bureaucrat. Another scrap collected, to be dropped off with the rest at a pre-determined location.
And then I did it again.
After the third time, I realized that the locals were plotting something. No doubt they were the ones to have leaked the footage. After the fourth time, I was sure of it. And the fifth time, I was able to predict the reactions and suggestions of the people I was meeting as things were going along.
Yes, something was afoot. No doubt the folks from Intelligence would love to know all about this. Or they already did and had simply not told me. Given how my master was busy using me as a go-fer and a distraction, it was pretty clear to me which was happening.
Unfortunately, that was as far as I had been able to get before my train of thought was rudely interrupted.
"Little Sith," a voice hissed from somewhere to my side. Hidden in an alcove perhaps a third of the way along the length of the hallway – the oddly empty hallway, I noted – situated between a very vivid set of indoor shrubbery that reached almost to the ceiling, stood a familiar figure.
A familiar short figure.
Yeah, no way was I going to engage. If talking to her twice was enough to convince half the planet to theorize about my love life and the safety settings of lightsabers, I refused to ponder what a third conversation would bring. Surely, that would keep the tabloids off my back for at least two days.
Surely. Hopefully.
...
Hey guys I would really appreciate it if you could throw some power stones to help elevate the ranking.
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