Chapter Text
Dee tries to get to the front of the crowd, but the area below the stage is swarming with buzzing holocams and holonews reporters, each clamoring for a piece of the Jedi. One cam floats too close to her face and she swats it on the plastic casing. “Watch where you’re flying, you bag of bolts!”
The cam operator emits a rude beep - or maybe it’s the holocam itself, Dee doesn’t know how sentient these things are. She flips them both off and shoves past.
Now she can sort of peek around one rodian’s oversized head. Ten feet above the raucous crowd, the Supreme Chancellor raises his hands, beneficent and wide, to encompass them all. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi stands to his right, behind the glass podium, straight and stern. Despite his greater height, Kenobi’s apprentice hunches behind his master, shoulders drawn up around his ears. Anakin Skywalker is scowling, and Dee thinks it is both to do with the glare of the red sun and a general distaste for the experience.
She feels an unexpected wash of guilt at the thought of the photo, spreading like wildfire through the ‘Net even now. The feeling gets worse when he glances down to the roiling mass of people below him, spots her, and clearly recognizes her face. He glowers in her direction.
Honestly, Dee hadn’t even been there for Jedi. Her latest holofeed has been dedicated to Senate style and fashion - with the fabulous Senator Padmé Amidala as a frequent guest. She’d been tracking down Amidala when she’d stumbled on Skywalker.
Dee had posted the image and its caption to her personal feed - which is also her career feed, given the line of work she’s in. Nothing’s private in holonews. She isn’t exactly a celebrity, but she has a respectable number of followers. Particularly on Naboo. Maybe because of her focus on Senator Amidala, recently. That subsection of followers shared her image thousands of times. It isn’t like on Coruscant, where elite society is so over the Jedi. They rub elbows with senators, royalty, and Council members on the daily. The Order has lost its mystery for them.
On the Outer Rim, the Jedi are only a mystery. They hardly bother to venture out that far unless there is a serious conflict, and anyway, most sentients are too concerned with getting food in their stomach and keeping a roof over their heads to devote much energy to keeping tabs on the Order.
Not so with the Mid Rim. They eat up any details about the Jedi that she can glean from public appearances and fluff pieces on various senatorial committees. Historically, the Order has controlled their image and any information about their members and their vaunted Code extremely tightly. Recently, however, there has been unprecedented coverage.
Dee’s not a veteran of the holonews cycle, by any means. She’d shown up on Coruscant six years ago without a credit in her pocket. Got into the industry as the singer Fawliteria Yasco’s personal assistant and holofeed image manager, and boy, she knew how difficult the Hutts could be to please, but Fawli had to be a close second.
The togruta singer had been impossible - he didn’t like the lighting in his apartment, or in the venue, or outside - outside, for kriff’s sake, like Dee could just switch off stellar fusion with a flick of her fingers!
The Core Reporter had been better, marginally, even though she just spit out daily interest articles on Coruscant’s insufferable topworlders. At least she was producing something, at the tabloid. And she figured out who ran in whose social circle - invaluable information, if you want to know where to hang around hoping for a sound byte or a scandalous picture.
Eventually, she’d hooked up with Tamran Elis and her brand, Galaxy’s Best. Tam’s feed produces the most popular lifestyle content of any Inner Rim holofeed. Dee’s one of her boots-on-the-ground types, seeking out who’s wearing what and where they’re wearing it.
Yeah, she’s still a rookie. And she might be from a backwater Outer Rim dustball. But she’s covered Coruscant for years now, and she’s not an idiot. With the outbreak of an unpopular war, the Order has had to start stepping into the limelight to gather support. For every ten stern Jedi posing for photos as they come and leave the Senate building, trying to look busy, there’s another five attending publicity events and charity balls. Where they casually run into well-known holonet reporters and manage to steer the conversation to the necessity of funding the fight against the Seps. Of course.
It’s all carefully orchestrated. And Dee doesn’t want their public relations advisor’s tailored message. She wants an insider view of the galaxy’s newest army and their generals. Dee wants to show her followers something they’ve never seen before. She wants them to get a glimpse of a lifestyle that is more radical than anything they know. So when she’d heard Padmé Amidala was going to be at a small, intimate benefit for war refugee resettlement, and that a Jedi delegate was too, she’d hopped into her speeder and fought her way through the skylanes to Ulann Gardens. Two droids, one blaster bolt.
Amidala is a dream come true for a life and style analyst. She’s fearless and bold with her choices, and each piece she wears has a layer of meaning that Dee’s always eager to dissect. If she’s making a speech that draws on Naboo philosophy and history, the Senator wears a headpiece reminiscent of her previous royal heraldry. A declaration of so many things - Naboo’s sovereignty as a planet, her status as an elected ruler long before becoming a senator, the popularity she still enjoys as an icon in the Mid Rim. Every outfit is a beautifully crafted statement.
Dee would’ve broken forty different traffic regulations just to get a picture of the getup she was wearing to that function. The presence of the previously reclusive Jedi just sweetened the pot.
She’d parked in an out of the way dock, taken off her helmet, shook out her lekku, and noticed a beat-up fighter a few stalls over. She had stared at it, waiting for her thoughts to catch up - there’d been something she recognized in the distinctly sleek shape of the wings, the stylized blue markings stamped on the side.
Jedi. A Jedi fighter. One that had seen recent action. Dee had whipped out her personal cam and started snapping photos. She always carried it. A lucky shot is as unpredictable as a lightning bolt. It could strike at any moment.
And it had.
As she’d crept closer, the fighter’s side-doors released vertically into the air with a hiss. Skywalker had come clambering out, mussed and battle-worn and so unexpected Dee had tripped over her own feet and almost toppled, thinking the craft was empty. Kept shooting, though. A holonews reporter can’t freeze up on the job and risk missing a piece of the action.
The young Jedi had glanced over and glared at her until she scurried around the side of the dock to wait with a couple of other tabloid hounds on the front steps of the lush Ulann Gardens. She hadn’t even checked her photo roll, too flustered and embarrassed at being caught.
Later on that night in her apartment, when she finally got around to checking, Dee remembers audibly squealing with excitement, startling her personal grooming droid into a tizzy of queries.
The picture had turned out perfectly. A rare moment of casual intimacy, a glimpse into the daily life of the mysterious Jedi Order. A shot of the aftermath of battle, of that far-distant war Coruscanti citizens are shelling out for. Not to mention it’d be a hit for Tam’s beauty and glamour feeds. Good-looking, young, half-naked Jedi, saber and all? They’d have to repost her, for once.
She’d asked around for his name and formulated a caption later that night, half-drunk on smugness and Etrellian champagne.
Check out the Jedi Order’s new secret weapon - Anakin Skywalker, a dashing hero fresh from the front lines! Hello, handsome! Message me, and we can pretend I’m a diplomat in need of some close-up mediation ;)
That had sort of made her gag, but her flatmate Mori had giggled hard enough to snort champagne through one nostril, so she left it as is. And added a footnote: Can’t wait until we see more of Skywalker at future Jedi press events. I’ll take him over Master Yoda any day - who’s with me?
The accompanying photo showed Skywalker emerging from the Jedi X-Wing, arm extended high and wide, pulling it through a sleeve, leaving the bulk of his torso bare. A bandage was wound around the upper right part of his shoulder and chest. His brows, drawn down low over blue eyes, lent a brooding aspect to his face as he looked to the right, his profile sharp and defined. A band of late afternoon sunlight reflected off the wing of his fighter, gleaming bright where it fell into a mess of blond hair and illuminating his features.
She’d edited the photo, of course. To make his skin glisten, his hair shine, his blue eyes a deeper and truer color. To make that band of light fall just right. He’d needed the touch-ups. Maybe she’d gone just a little bit overboard, but sue her for trying to make him look less like he’d just rolled up from a droid battle!
The scowl that Skywalker is sending her way now is just childish. It’s called maintaining your image, Jedi! You think Tamran Elis doesn’t retouch?
And yeah, okay, that caption isn’t gonna land on the front page of The Coruscanti Herald anytime soon. Tam’s brand is called Galaxy’s Best for a reason, though. And from what she’s heard around 100 Republica about the upcoming class of Knights, Skywalker is the cream of the crop. Even the Supreme Chancellor is fond of the kid. He’s the galaxy’s best something, all right.
Chancellor Palpatine clears his throat. “Citizens of the Republic, from Coruscant to Naboo, from the Inner to the Outer Rim, I address you today with the greatest joy and pride. I have the pleasure of announcing the success of the Grand Army of the Republic in retaking Morak, so recently and unjustly under siege from Separatist forces. The population of Morak has been returned to their homes and businesses, reunited with their children. The hyperspace lanes around its rings have been secured and are safe for travel once more.”
He turns and gestures for the Jedi to come forward. Kenobi flanks him on the left, Skywalker on the right. Palpatine rests a hand on the younger Jedi’s shoulder. “This momentous victory was the work of two of our most talented Generals, and I invited them here today that the citizens of the Republic might know to whom they owe their gratitude.”
“May I introduce Jedi Master and General Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his former apprentice, Jedi Knight and General Anakin Skywalker.” A cheer rises from the crowd, a swell of noise that rings in Dee’s ears. She squints up at the trio. General Kenobi’s expression is a sculpted study in neutrality. General Skywalker - and isn’t that just strange, to call a kid as young as him General - seems to squirm under Palpatine’s hand, but he’s smiling.
“On behalf of the Senate and the Republic, I would like to extend my personal thanks, to you and to the Jedi Order for your exemplary service.” The Chancellor bows his head slightly. He steps away from the podium.
General Kenobi is the first to speak. His voice is smooth and crisp, with a Coruscanti accent. “The Jedi Order is dedicated to the safety of all Republic citizens. We are more than happy to serve this function in any capacity. I would like to thank the Senate for the support they have shown us, and for the trust they demonstrated by naming us commanders of the Grand Army of the Republic.”
Articulate and respectful, if a little predictable. Dee gets the sense that he’s used to pruning his words to fit the occasion. Kenobi gestures Skywalker forward. The younger Jedi coughs into his hand. “Um - hi.”
A rustle of laughter. Dee shakes her head, smiling without meaning to. The kid’s not a natural public speaker. “I want to thank the Senate too, and you, Chancellor Palpatine, of course.” Skywalker pauses to acknowledge him. “And I also wanted to mention my men - the men under my command. I want to thank them for their loyalty and their service. We - I couldn’t have done it without you guys. So. Yeah. Thanks.”
After it’s clear that he’s finished, the front row, filled with reporters, erupts with questions.
“Are you talking about the clones?”
“Is the Separatist menace a danger to the Inner Rim?”
“Why wasn’t the public informed about the offensive on Morak?”
And one loud shout, late enough that everyone can hear. “General Kenobi, are you single?!”
Dee bursts out laughing along with those nearest to her. Skywalker grins unrepentantly. Kenobi raises an eyebrow. “I’m afraid that information is quite confidential. Though I look forward to hearing all the speculation.” Another ripple of amusement pulses through the crowd. Dee eyes Kenobi. That’s one Jedi to watch. He knows his way around the press.
Chancellor Palpatine cuts off any further questions. “I am afraid that is all the time our Jedi Generals have. The fight against the Separatists marches on, and they have duties to attend. And in an effort to assist them in this fight, I would like to announce my intention to submit a new proposal when the Senate convenes later this week.”
Kenobi and Skywalker pause and look to the Chancellor. It seems they are as much in the dark as the rest of the crowd. “This proposal, put forward by Senator Greejatus from Chommel Minor and Senator Amedda from Chagria, and with my enthusiastic support, would enable the Grand Army of the Republic to prevent further Separatist encroachment upon allied worlds and peoples. It will decrease the time required for the mobilization of force and enable us to respond quickly to varied threats to citizens of the Republic. No longer will planets have to plead desperately for aid while their cities burn.”
“The wheels of democracy are necessarily and regrettably slow.” His voice grows solemn. “My own home, Naboo, once suffered and despaired as we awaited the decision of the Senate. I will not allow such a tragedy to befall any other sovereign planet. The GAR will be able to respond quickly and decisively without requiring that our widely dispersed Senate convene and put the matter to a vote. No others shall die, helpless, while we debate the finer points of treaties.”
Dee watches the Chancellor and the Jedi. Skywalker is nodding slightly. Kenobi’s hands are clasped behind his back, his face still impassive as duracrete. She’s not a political correspondent, but she bets this will be at the top of the Coruscanti Herald’s feed this evening. Already, she can hear the hissed conversations between holoreporters around her.
“The proposal shall be put to a vote in two weeks. It is my hope that, in this time of war, my colleagues in the Senate act decisively and effectively to end the Separatist threat and ensure our Republic endures.” Palpatine relinquishes the podium. “Thank you for your attention, and may the galaxy smile upon all of you with fortune.”
As the press conference ends, Dee hustles to the side of the stage. Tamran had been adamant: get another picture. Keep the momentum going. She tugs her cam free from the magnetic strip crossing her chest. Making pointed use of her elbows, Dee squeezes through the crowd and ducks under a roped-off area where three hover bikes float, bobbing gently and scraping along the metal rim of the stage. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has already ascended on one bike. "Anakin," he calls down.
Chancellor Palpatine is speaking to Kenobi's apprentice, a hand pressing on his shoulder, his mouth near Skywalker's ear. The young man glances up at Kenobi, nodding along a little absently.
Dee snaps a photo. Anakin Skywalker pins her in place with another glare. Real pleasant guy. So much for the Jedi commitment to nonviolence. Tam's not gonna like this picture much. The Jedi is covered head-to-toe in black fabric and swamped by a dusty cloak. Not an inch of skin to be seen.
Palpatine releases Skywalker and the Jedi hops on a hover bike. Dee backs out of the way as he revs the motor.
The bike wheels, and before it ascends, Skywalker drags his foot along the ground, kicking up dirt, straight into her face. Dee wipes at her streaming eyes. “Asshole!” she coughs out.
She clicks her cam back into place and lets the streaming crowd push her out of the plaza and into the clean-cut stone streets of Coruscant's Senate district. Some day, she'll live up here. Or at least closer than three air trams, two smelly crowded automated tunnel slides and a twenty level drop. Which puts her back at her apartment, nothing much to show for the day's effort.
She doesn't have a window. That's probably a blessing, since she lives next to a Tholothian spice hut's dumpster. Instead, she flicks on her holoprojector. A sunset over a green glass ocean fills the drab white expanse of the duracrete wall.
Until her comm beeps and the face of her boss intrudes on the scene. Tamran Elis takes the place of the waning sun. Her glossy black hair is pulled into an elegant bun. There are three golden circles in orbit around her amber eyes, following the line of her sharp cheekbones. Applique crystal gems that are all the rage on the beauty feeds. They stand out bright against the deep blue of her skin. "Dee, darling. You’d better come to the office tomorrow morning,” her boss says. “There’s a message waiting for you.”
Dee scrubs at her face. “Message? From who?”
“The Jedi Council.”
Her stomach drops, like she’s fallen out of atmo into free space. “What?” Is she about to be arrested? Put on trial, for taking illegal photos? Can the Jedi do that?
“Don’t get your lekku all twisted up just yet.” Tam grins, revealing moon-white teeth. “They’ve got a proposal for you.”