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“Now remember, behave yourself – Lord Vader is not known for his patience.”
Oh, Korkie was well aware of that. He was sharply aware of just how much the Empire could take – not that Korkie had much left to give, after the Clone Wars. He thought of a cold throne room on Sundari.
He straightened his back and dipped his chin formally, letting the leader of the group, a stern Chagrian, take over. Cool as a Kuat eel, the Chagrian bowed to the Moff. “Of course. We are more than happy to wait for Lord Vader.” With a mild smile, he added, “I understand the results of mining operations are perhaps not high on his priority list.”
The Moff didn’t smile back. “You understand correctly. Lord Vader had no intention of meeting with you, until the uprising in the lower city started. Our understanding is that your mining company employs a significant amount of the population. As such, I’m sure you can realize that the Empire will have new expectations of your business’ employment practices.”
Korkie stepped forward. “As the company’s legal counsel, I must advise that labor laws set in place by the Empire itself—”
The Moff scoffed. “Refer your objections to Lord Vader, not me.” With that, he smartly clicked his heels and then walked off without looking back.
“Discussing legal minutia is not going to get us anywhere with Vader,” the Chagrian hissed, once the Moff was out of earshot. “Not anywhere good, anyway.”
Korkie’s mouth tightened. It was true. The Empire would run roughshod over the miners and their families, carelessly trampling their lives without so much as a passing glance at the law, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. After the uprising, Korkie had pored over legal briefs in an (admittedly foolish) attempt to prepare to defend the miners against the Empire, which almost definitely would use the mining company as the proverbial boot to stomp out any resistance – or at least, demand that the company do so.
He had spent years fighting for more reasonable work schedules, safety requirements – slowly lacing together tighter protections that were about to be ripped out and shredded. The work was hardly glamorous, not what Korkie would have picked, but at the least, he could use the assortment of strengths in the political toolkit he had been raised to have. He had always been good at negotiating, striking an even keel and balancing concerns diplomatically, all while keeping his gaze true to what was fair and what was right. In a different life, Korkie imagined that he might—
“I think the best thing you can do in there,” Korkie’s boss suddenly said, teeth gritted, “is keep your mouth shut. Be seen and not heard. Am I absolutely clear?”
Korkie carefully brushed some lint off his new jacket he had purchased (really needed to stop losing them). “Completely.” He couldn’t blame the Chagrian for stewing and getting in his own head. Unlike other conferences, Vader’s business meetings tended to have fatality rates.
Anyway, Korkie did not have the luxury of dreaming. After…after Auntie Satine had died, and Mandalore had gone to hell, the years following had taught him very quickly and very harshly that the best thing he could do was keep his head down and try to make a difference in his own small way. Being of the House Kryze was a liability in these times, not an advantage, and Korkie was not eager to renew those connections. The only connection he had cared about was dead and had been dead a long time.
(His aunt had really been more like his mother, and her death had cracked something in him that had never healed over).
Taking a breath to center himself, Korkie swept up any remnants of grief from his mind. The last thing he needed was tear up in front of Vader or be noticed by Vader at all.
His goal for this meeting was to be quick. In and out. He would stand in the back and let his boss take over, who would probably hastily agree to any number of labor law violations to save his own neck. Korkie wasn’t worried, though. Luckily for him, the last person Vader would be interested in was a burnt-out lawyer.
After a few more hours of waiting, the doors to the throne room slid open and a stormtrooper beckoned the group in. The Chagrian led the way, charging in with a confident authority Korkie was sure he didn’t feel. Ah, well, fake it until you make it.
Darth Vader loomed at the front of the room, examining a datapad. Scurrying around him were a few Senators of the planet, Imperial officers, and a garrison. Despite being only one person, Vader’s presence engulfed the room, a heavy cloak of fear shrouding the atmosphere. The crowds in the room were avoiding him like bugbants swarming everywhere but the spot of sour lima juice.
Reaching the front of the room, the Chagrian and the rest of the group halted before Vader.
The Sith Lord’s mask turned toward the group.
“Lord Vader. It is our understanding that you wish to speak to us about the uprisings,” the Chagrian began, voice only slightly faltering (Korkie had to give him credit).
“You employ traitors. They must be dealt with.” The or else didn’t have to be said aloud.
“I understand completely. We have already drafted a plan for responding to—”
“I am not interested in plans. What actions have you undertaken?”
“Well, I’m not sure—”
“Your hesitancy does not speak well of your loyalty to the Empire.”
Korkie’s boss was growing increasingly flustered, terror bright in his eyes. Tugging his vest down over his plump stomach, he tentatively said, “We can dock wages the next pay cycle.”
“Oh? So terrorism simply comes with a fee?”
Korkie sighed internally. He knew what he was about to do was a stupid idea, but it was clear Vader wasn’t going to be happy with anything less than the wholesale destruction of the miners’ lives, which Korkie had spent years fighting to protect.
He spoke up from the back, keeping his voice flat. “Labor laws established by the Empire and periodically reaffirmed in sunset provision sessions forbid retaliation as you have described it for this specific industry. These mines provide essential materials to Coruscant and other Core planets, and so the industry has unique legal protections.”
Not the most interesting of final words, but legally accurate.
Korkie waited for invisible fingers to wrap around his throat. The rest of his group had gone completely silent and still, probably wanting to avoid being lumped in the blithering idiot who contradicted Vader to his face category. His boss was giving Korkie a glare that clearly said if Korkie hadn’t been about to die, he would be fired.
Vader, however, didn’t say a word.
His mask had tilted half a degree to Korkie when he had first spoken, and had – Korkie didn’t want to say frozen, but it definitely had not moved.
He waited. A few beats passed – nothing.
Korkie was beginning to wonder if Vader strangled people extremely slowly and that was why he hadn’t felt anything yet when the dark lord finally spoke.
“You…”
He stopped there, however.
Korkie uncertainly waited for a follow-up – a sentence, a phrase, a word, anything to clarify what Vader was saying, but none came. The mask remained cemented in place. Korkie didn’t know what to do.
The entire group seemed a bit flabbergasted by Vader’s distinctly non-murderous response. Korkie should have been on the ground, gasping for air by now, but instead, Vader was just…staring at him. Korkie tried not to shift.
“I am happy to answer any questions you might have,” he finally ventured, when Vader still hadn’t spoken.
Nothing.
“I am aware this is a grey legal area, and the finer details can be complex.” Korkie was aware he was babbling now, but he was very unsettled by the turn of the events. He had been completely (almost too) prepared to die, had felt somewhat noble, only to have apparently…he didn’t even know what he had done to Vader. Fascinated him with legal minutia? Blown his mind with Imperial labor law? Vader almost seemed broken, like a droid who had malfunctioned after being unable to process an overload of new information.
The bubble of tension finally burst when a stormtrooper scampered in. “There has been another attack in the south sector!”
Vader seemed to snap back to himself and strode out immediately, probably to quash the percolating uprising singlehandedly. A panicked buzzing rose up in the room, throngs headed for the emergency shelters even though there was really no danger in the palace.
As they joined the bristling crowd, Korkie’s colleagues eyed him nervously, plainly thinking that the calm, polite lawyer had some sort of hidden depth they had heretofore been ignorant of. Korkie quietly followed them and tried not to wince at the fact that he was also ignorant of it. He could only hope it had nothing to do with being part of House Kryze.
At any rate, he didn’t have to worry about it anymore.
Korkie wanted to scream.
He stood uncomfortably next to Vader as the dark figure surveyed the fleet below, hands on his belt.
After the attack had died down, Korkie had headed back to his small apartment to collapse into bed and forget about everything, only to receive a summons from the Empire. Korkie had been frantically scribbling his last will and testament on the speedtrain (not that there was anyone to leave anything to) and had fully expected to die, only for Vader to see him arrive and immediately say, “Walk with me.”
Ever the shrewd diplomat, Korkie had pushed down his inner turbulence and simply nodded with an “Of course,” trying to keep pace with Vader. Vader’s inexplicable interest in him could potentially be leveraged in defense of the miners.
Vader had stopped at a viewport that overlooked the fleet of ships. After a lengthy silence, Korkie got the sense he was waiting for Korkie to say something.
This was the worst day of Korkie’s life. “Ahem…those are some fine ships below.” Small talk, fantastic idea, Korkie, Vader was well-known for his warm pleasantries—
“Correct.” The mask tilted towards Korkie. “Do you…enjoy flying?”
“I’m afraid not.” Korkie offered a wry smile. “I don’t mind it, but it’s not my cup of tea.”
If Korkie hadn’t known better, he would have said there was a sense of…glee permeating the air. A word most definitively not associated with Vader, strong antonyms generally being his descriptors instead. Gloom, misery, woe – the list went on. Not glee.
“Tea – I take it you enjoy it?”
Korkie blinked. He hadn’t expected Vader to take the phrase so literally, or, quite frankly, to read him so well.
“Erm, yes, actually. Nothing like a hot cup after a long day.”
Once again, glee. Almost…smug.
“And blasters? I suppose you consider them to be uncivilized.”
What the fu—
“Well, quite truthfully, yes.” Korkie coughed. “I’m not afraid to use them when necessary, however.”
“Of course.”
Vader once again appeared to be waiting expectantly. Korkie’s mind wildly thrashed about for some safe conversation topic, as he strangely felt like a Kowakian monkey-lizard entertaining the crowds at a festival. Vader, however, crisply spoke.
“You are the nephew of Satine Kryze.” It wasn’t a question.
Shavit. “…Yes. Although I don’t associate with the clans anymore.” Korkie studied the ships, counting them to calm himself down. This was bad. The political situation on Mandalore was hair-trigger sensitive to say the least, a firecracker waiting to explode (again). If Vader wanted to use him–
“I see.” Vader purred, crossing his arms. “And your parents?”
Korkie felt like he was being flung about on one of those awful circus rides. “Err…to be frank, my aunt was essentially my mother.”
Vader nodded with a self-satisfied undertone that was completely bewildering. After a few moments – “Your profession is that of the law. I see you enjoy standard procedures and protocol.” His tone implied that the said procedures and protocols were about as enjoyable as watching dirt.
“I do.” Korkie didn’t know how else to respond.
Vader turned away slightly. Oddly, the dark lord seemed disappointed with Korkie’s response, as if he had been expecting something more. Korkie thought to himself sardonically that it wasn’t as if he could take a lesson from Vader and decide not to follow orders or any semblance of a law. And then promptly mentally thumped himself. Vader could read minds.
The mask kept observing the viewport. “Have you ever considered…growing a beard?”
Korkie had to be dreaming. This had to be some weird, madcap, fever-dream driven by one too many holovid dinners. Korkie was probably draped across his apartment’s couch right now, having fallen asleep to a holobook again. Yes, that was it. The book had probably been a history of the Empire, combine that with the events of the day, mix in the healthy dose of fear that had resulted, add a dash of greasy holovid dinner – it was a wonder Vader didn’t have horns and wings or a bright pink suit right now.
Lord Vader was the last being in the galaxy to care or inquire about personal grooming habits, unless his occasional, unhurried – examination – of collar areas counted. Korkie could only hope that the Imperial leader’s query drew from curiosity and wasn’t an order dressed in a trench coat of a suggestion.
“Never my style.”
That caught Vader’s attention. The mask swung directly to Korkie. “It would suit you.”
Oh –
Oh, gods.
Was Vader…no…surely the tabloids would have had a field day…there had been no whispers of, of…personal relationships with younger beings (although Vader’s age was as much an unknown as anything else about him), but also, spreading the gossip of the century probably wasn’t worth the snapping of necks that would inevitably follow. Once again, Vader tended to come with fatality rates.
Unraveling at the seams, Korkie briskly pulled himself together. With all the genteel dignity he had inherited from his aunt (but without the impassioned rectitude) – “I thank you. But I am not interested in beards.” He immediately suppressed a wince at the accidental double-entendre.
Silence blanketed the two. Korkie could only theorize as to what Vader appeared to be ruminating on, arms still crossed as the suited figure gazed out the viewport. His stance bizarrely reminded Korkie of one of his coworker’s little boys wistfully sulking after learning his best friend wasn’t attending the office party. It was Korkie’s turn to ruminate now, meditating on the memory. The poor little boy had simply been lonely, and no wonder, dealing with adult conversations about topics such as imputed tax rates on Coruscant and the outrageous price of vegetables must have been infinitely banal without a friend to laugh with. Not that Vader would understand that, he plainly was the sort who thought friends an unnecessary weakness.
“I must take my leave.”
Korkie started. He had been so buried in thought he had almost forgotten he was technically in conversation with the Emperor’s right hand man.
A gloved finger pointed at Korkie, who instantly felt ill. “I will choose to forget your insolence in the throne room – this time.” For all the biting tone, Korkie got the incomprehensible impression that his ‘insolence’ had been…approved of. Wanted. “Next time, I will not be so forgiving.”
N-next time?
Korkie decided to join the Alliance on the spot. If Vader truly planned to have some outlandish reoccurrence of afternoon teas or desired some sort of – relationship with Korkie, that…that was Korkie’s line. A firm boundary. He had been willing to put up with quite a lot over the years – a dull job, mountains of paperwork, babbling coworkers and pathetic life-forms, but this absolutely was the limit. To hell with caution. Korkie didn’t know what sort of twisted purpose Vader had, but he seriously doubted Vader intended to be a, a fun uncle of sorts.
He watched Vader stride off, cape billowing behind him as he walked away alone.