Post by ender on Apr 11, 2009 16:29:38 GMT -5
Chapter 2
Fatal Apprehension
[/color][/b][/size][/font]Fatal Apprehension
His body was lying in a bed. It was in a wealthy room. Its eyes were closed. It was alone. It was still dreaming. Its mind was still planning for the day, searching, and finding what was an influence or a hindrance in its life.
Bedroom. There were a few specks of dust on the portrait of the great plains of Naboo. It was placed along many other natural pictures on the far side of the wall. It hung close to a fireplace, but was not the center piece. It was the only speck of dust in the room. The maid, Karalyn Janea, had been staring at the picture. She wished to go to Naboo one day. She had cleaned it with an absent mind. She had been dreaming of walking through those plains, and feeling the soft grass tickle her hands. On Jedia, there were no such places, only barren rock, city, and thunder. There used to be private gardens for the rich, but those had been removed. There were no more rich people other than those who work for the Jedian Government.
Hallway outside. One of the statues, the one of an ancient Jedi master, was chipped. The sculptor designated to fix it, Morus Bueller, was a few minutes late. The wonders of the Jedian palace were glorious. He had been walking too slowly; the palace had been nothing like he had ever seen. He was now running. He does not know what would happen if he was late. He has not received payment in the last two weeks, he was too busy to wait in line, which usually extended to halfway across the city. He would have to give up an entire day, which would place him in the risk of missing a call and losing his job permanently. He had a wife and a young daughter. They were always on his mind.
Kitchens. The daily banquet had the kitchens in an uproar. Some of the supplies had not yet been shipped in, and the meal was supposed to be served today, and it usually took a day and a half to prepare. Marxus Mexlempar, the master cook, believed that some of these supplies had been stolen. He was aggravated at some of the changes that had transpired since the Government Reformation. He received the same pay as the lowest of his helpers, but believed that he was forced to work twice as hard. He also missed the days where most of his hands had been droids, before they had been all but abolished from the Palace. Although he had been the master cook of the Jedian Palace since its creation, he feared that he was no less susceptible to being put on the street as any other man there.
Royal Hangar. One of the Emperor’s favorite yachts had broken down, and no one can seem to figure how or why. Yina Jade had been the master mechanic for about a year now, and she remembered very plainly what had happened to her master when one of the Emperor’s ships had broken down. The stench from his rotting body would not go away for weeks, as a reminder of what transpires from those who are too lazy to look hard enough for the problem. She had ten of her top mechanics scurrying that ship for the problem and she was down under the ship herself, ignoring the regular maintenance reports from the rest of her technicians. None of these mechanics were fit enough to replace her; she hadn’t had any time to properly train them. She knew that they would drop like flies if she failed.
Maiden’s quarters. Rebecca Nimphald had recently had a new hand maid placed under her charge. She was a very young girl, no more than fourteen. As the Mistress of the Palace, it was her job to keep the palace presentable, and the Emperor’s standards were brutally high. She often had to replace new maids when an inspector of the Emperor came in to “inspect” the job, as she believed. They would accuse the maid of laziness when the room could not humanly be made cleaner than it already was, as she believed. Often, they would create a mess for other maids to clean up, and then come to her, telling her she needs a new maid. She hated how they believed they were so special with their knives and force powers. It disgusted her. She knew that it was very possible that, in her opinion, the young girl may be “scarred” by one of these episodes. She believed she was way too young to be put through it.
Library. The Master book keeper, Sammael Gunsten, was on edge. Some of the rarest books in the collection had gone missing. Some of those books could have bought large estates. Although none of them were favorite reads to the Emperor, it was very possible that he could request them. He liked to spend a lot of time in the library, and he may notice their absence. He believed that although the library was one of the biggest rooms in the Palace, The Emperor would still notice their absence. He had a notorious habit for sniffing out what was misplaced. Perhaps the Emperor may show him mercy, he believed. The Emperor and he had some very good conversations about various things in the library. There was much doubt about the mercy portion of that, however.
There were hundreds of scenarios like this, and it searched through all of them, gathering, collecting information, discarding what was irrelevant and gathering what was important. It looked for the smallest details that could have the largest impact. It moved up the rank.
Rorako Holiday. He was sitting in meditation in one of the chambers set aside especially for that purpose. There was a hint of confusion in him. He believed that he would one day ascend to the throne. He did not truly know what he wanted. He believed that what happened, happened for the best, and he was trying to teach himself to trust to that. He did not know what had happened to his mother, but he knew of his father, Doctor Holiday. He wished to live up to his legacy, and eventually to surpass it. He could Channel the One Power, and he was no padawan in its use.
The Jedian System. Things were normal in reference to what has happened before. The only difference was a tension that was so subtle, it almost didn’t catch it. It was similar to the Jedian Palace. The tension seemed to be a waiting, an anticipating. There was no other that sensed it; it was an unconscious tension. It influenced people’s behavior slightly, but things were normal. It was chaos held back by routine, but things were normal.
The Galaxy seemed to be normal, there was no such tension, but it was so far removed, it may not sense the tension. It had barely sensed it regionally. It would have to go there itself.
It was about to turn back to itself and wake when all of a sudden it sensed something that it hadn’t sensed in a very long time. It attempted to pinpoint exactly where it was; Southeastern portion of the galaxy. It could not sense which planet. It could have been Zhar, Umgal, Dagaboh Sullust, Hoth, Naboo, Tatooine, or many others. It attempted to look more closely, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared. It returned to its bed, and stirred to wake.
Che Geuvara, Emperor of the Galactic Jedian Empire, opened his eyes. “Hope,” he muttered....he had sensed hope.
Che seized the One Power, and channeled. The bed sheets whipped into the air as he stepped out of bed. He used the One Power to clean his entire body as he stepped onto the carpeted floor, and also used threads of air to slice his gray beard to a perfect trim. His clothes and boots floated to him. They were entirely black and heavily embroidered with gold dug from the mountains of Yavin 4. His death-black cloak, blacker than his normal clothes, was threaded with gold that he himself had personally created. Symbols were inlaid all over its surface. It was more powerful than Madnock’s old cloak, and could do twice as much. It had taken him only a few months to make. By the time he was fully dressed and ready, the bed sheets had fallen neatly back onto the bed, looking as though it had been made to be displayed in a museum.
The only servant work that I am willing to do, other than personally clean my meditation chamber, and it still wearies me with boredom. No one was permitted in his Meditation chambers, not even Rorako, his apprentice. There was too much in there that had to remain hidden, and also too many items that could destroy half the palace if even looked at incorrectly. There was none that held the mental capacity to enter it other than Che himself. The only other one who could have entered safely was five years dead.
As Emperor, he was too far above others to deal with petty problems. However, he never failed to look at the slightest details and take note of them. Anything that potentially threatened his rule or could benefit it in a manner that was pleasing to him had to be given some degree of attention. He performed all of this even before he woke up in the morning.
Most of what he had seen was pretty normal. People feared him, and rightfully so. Fear was the strongest means to maintain his power. It also inspired creativity to problems. One thing he despised was a stagnated mind. The cook will find a way to make the meal, or he will be thrown out onto the street. The mechanic will be killed if she does not find a way to fix the yacht before Che next used it, and Che was fully willing to let the line go all the way down to the last helper until one was found with the creativity to fix the problem. The sculptor was selfish for worrying more about his family than about his job. He, his wife, and his offspring were but pitiful specks of dust in a sea of sand; the beauty of the whole was far more important than the lives of his personal family, he should know that. If he wants his paycheck, he’ll find a way to get it, no matter what the cost. Che did not need dreamers in his room. If she wished to daydream about her own fantasies, she needs to take it somewhere else. It was disgusting to him that anyone would dare keep a wandering mind in the Emperor’s chambers. As for the Mistress, he held no pity. The girl would need to learn to grow up, if she wished to survive in this galaxy, and that was that. If she was unwilling to keep his palace clean, than she will be disposable too, just like any other skin cell, easily replaced by a newer, fresher one.
None of this was important to him, at least none of it individually, except perhaps one or two. He was the brain of the body. He was the only one fitting enough to rule the galaxy. The brain did not take note of every cell, only the whole, or that which influences enough cells. He did not need to deal with these petty problems personally. His inspectors did that for him, but even they had a hierarchy, with only the highest permitted to be in Che’s presence, and him, only once a week.
A few things were noteworthy, however. How could anyone steal enough supplies to have hindered an entire banquet? It would have taken half a ship load. That would be interesting to investigate later. His other concern was for the books in his library. While the library was open to most top officials in the government, they were usually far too busy to read. Che was one of the few who were ever in there. Who would have stolen those books? No one would have known their true value, from the very worn state they had been in. One, he was particularly concerned about. The book was very old; it could well be over a thousand years older than Madnock. Che himself had only glanced at it a few times. It spoke of the Veil, but it had been very sketchy, as though even then, they did not know much about it. He doubted there was anything outside that book that ever mentioned the Veil. If there was, he never found it. But then again, he never looked that hard; it was never really that important. However, he was astounded that anyone would know of its existence other than himself. Perhaps they had taken the book in haste, thinking to take off with it in hopes to get a few extra credits.
Che peered through the Naboo portrait in deep thought, not really seeing it. Platinum has been gone for days. He was always a scheming one. He might have taken the stolen books. Some of the books had been dealing with things that could potentially put him in a higher position of power, perhaps high enough to challenge Che himself. Platinum was a fool. He had placed those books there purposefully to root out schemers. While the content in those books were true, he had placed very deadly traps in the places where Platinum would have to go to achieve the powers and abilities that he desired. As a mere force user, he will never see them coming until it was too late.
Che began to head towards the thick, double doors to his chamber. He stood just a few feet away from it, his cloak swirling about him as he came to a stop. Hope. It was something he had enjoyed once. He no longer needed hope. He had achieved what he had always planned for long ago. Now there was a new hope, a hope that threatened his rule, something that threatened it on top of other little threats. Somewhere in the southeastern portion of the galaxy, there was movement. Depending on how it developed, it could be a blessing, or a curse. He would have to know a little bit more before he could truly decipher what it would mean to him. Waiting was half the game. He was good at it, very good. Che had destroyed many an enemy merely by waiting for them to destroy themselves. By waiting, he had also opened up more opportunities than even he himself had imagined.
Allowing himself a cold smile, he opened the doors with the One Power and stepped through them. His mind was already beginning to formulate a dozen plans that waited to have more pieces of the puzzle placed into them by the time he had reached his meditation chambers. Behind him, a mess named Morus Bueller defiled his hallway, where he had been unfortunate enough to be late for his job.
