Gouyen Chee
Jun 13th, 2002, 06:28:17 PM
The Mantis delicately set down on the landing platform, a puff of vapor venting from the now-quiescent engines. Two figures emerged -- a tall, rather elegant looking woman, dressed simply in black, and a large brindled canine. The woman activated the comlink that was hooked to her left ear. “Manny, shut down all unnecessary systems and activate cloaking until I return.”
“Yes, madam. But if I’m cloaked, then how will other ships know that this landing pad is occupied?”
“I have that covered,” she exasperatedly replied to the ship’s droid intelligence. “You should know the drill by now.”
“Yes, I remember now. But it doesn’t feel, well, logical to me, that’s all.”
She smiled. “The Force is is rarely logical, even for us organic life forms.” And with that she closed her eyes and concentrated, imagining a common model of pleasure yacht in minute detail. When she opened her eyes, the arcane angles and matte black hull of the Mantis had been transformed into that very ship. With the ship safely hidden, she turn her attention to flagging down an air taxi for a trip to Coruscant’s main library.
The trip from the landing platform took only a few minutes, enough time for Gouyen, as the lady was called, to review her search strategy. She was researching the history of the various Force-using groups in the galaxy, reacquainting herself with them. For although she had been affiliated with a couple of them at one time, she had been long away, sharpening her Force skills on her homeworld of N’dena, learning a path quite different from either the Jedi or the Sith. She reached deep inside herself and touched the still, small center that was her anchor in the Force, and took a deep breath. Calm and focused, she entered the library, her canine companion by her side.
“Excuse me ma’am,” said one of the clerks. “We don’t allow pets inside the building.”
The canine sat up and deftly used her forepaws to fish out an identification card from a pocket on her harness. “Rrrregiisteeerrrred sentient, Cyberrrrrniaaaan woooooolf doooooog,” she said, a strange, ululating accent coloring her speech as she showed the clerk her ID card.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the clerk replied with an embarrassed smile.
Gouyen fixed her with her eyes, an eerie black-in-black. “Remember, sentience comes in many different shapes, sizes and colors.”
“Sentience comes in many different shapes, sizes and colors,” the clerk obediently parroted as the two moved on into the main hall of the library.
“Some people,” she muttered under her breath. “Think sentience only walks on two legs -- bah.” The Cybernian trotted on by her mistresses’ side, saying nothing. Being canine, albeit an intelligent one, gave many people the wrong idea, a misconception she wasn’t always quick to dispel as it so often worked to her advantage. But there were times, such as this one, when it was downright bothersome, and she silently thanked her master for putting the clerk in her place.
Of course, Robi, she replied, her hand reaching down to caress the Cybernian’s massive head. You have as much right to be here as anyone else. This was one of Gouyen’s pet peeves, one arising from personal experience as master to several distinctly non-humanoid naa-tendia, the Assazi version of padawan learner. The Assazi Way was conducive to such thinking, as external appearance was considered to be an untrustworthy illusion. It was only through the Force that the truth could be seen. And when Gouyen first laid eyes on Robi in a Coruscant alleyway, she could see that the canine was possessed of singular talent and intelligence. They had bonded on the spot and ever since, Robi had been her faithful companion.
The Cybernian’s acute senses had seized upon an empty computer station; she trotted over to it and sat, staking her claim. Gouyen followed, pulled out the chair and sat down. She took her personal data recorder from her belt, connected it to the terminal, and started her search. Jedi, history of the Jedi, the Greater Jedi Order -- nothing too explicit, but good enough for her purposes. Now, on to the next search -- the Sith. The records were scanty, listing only a brief history of the order and the location of its headquarters on Corellia. A search under “darkside” came up with more hits, with a large number of them relating to Darth Vader’s former base on Vjun. She downloaded the information to her data recorder and disconnected from the terminal, sighing heavily. At least the little bit she had gleaned from the library’s main computer bank was better than what she had known before, which was almost nothing. She clipped the data recorder to her belt and rose. How ‘bout a drink before we go? she silently asked Robi.
Robi’s tail wagged slowly in approval. Another chance to freak out the locals? she asked with a mischievous gleam in her yellow eyes.
Gouyen was just a few strides from the exit. Not likely, my friend. They get too many other bizarre aliens to be fazed by a beer-drinking canine. Then, out loud, “C’mon, let’s go,” and they flagged down another air taxi.
They got out in an entertainment district commonly known as the Old Town because of the unusual age of its buildings. Some had been restored to their heyday and adapted to other purposes, others had been gutted and covered in neon and flashing bright signs. She headed towards one of the restored buildings and entered a small bar, marked by a glowing “35.” Robi headed towards a nearby booth, claiming it, while Gouyen went to the bar. “A pitcher of Half-Wits with one glass and one bowl.”
The bartender looked at her strangely until it dawned on her who was ordering. “Oh, you’re that Jedi type with the smart dog, aren’tcha?” Gouyen nodded and the bartender began filling a pitcher. Half-Wits was a small brewery with the slogan, “Half-Wits, full flavor.” And it was true. Their amber ale had developed quite a cult following and was only available in a relative handfull of bars on Coruscant, of which “35” was one. The stuff also had the reputation of turning the drinker into a half-wit, although this was typical of any alcoholic beverage drunk to excess.
She levitated the pitcher over to the booth where Robi was sitting and set down the glass and the bowl and sat down. With the pitcher still floating in mid-air, she filled the glass and the bowl and delicately set the pitcher down. Although many masters would frown upon such frivolous use of the Force, Gouyen was of the opinion that the more one used the Force, the more comfortable one became with and the more adept one became with it. So her actions were as much exercise as showing off, as well as the practical consideration of not wanting to drop or spill anything. She took a long pull at her glass, savoring the malty rich flavor, with just the faintest hint of bitter to give it character. She pulled out her data recorder and settled down to analyze the data she had acquired at the library.
“Yes, madam. But if I’m cloaked, then how will other ships know that this landing pad is occupied?”
“I have that covered,” she exasperatedly replied to the ship’s droid intelligence. “You should know the drill by now.”
“Yes, I remember now. But it doesn’t feel, well, logical to me, that’s all.”
She smiled. “The Force is is rarely logical, even for us organic life forms.” And with that she closed her eyes and concentrated, imagining a common model of pleasure yacht in minute detail. When she opened her eyes, the arcane angles and matte black hull of the Mantis had been transformed into that very ship. With the ship safely hidden, she turn her attention to flagging down an air taxi for a trip to Coruscant’s main library.
The trip from the landing platform took only a few minutes, enough time for Gouyen, as the lady was called, to review her search strategy. She was researching the history of the various Force-using groups in the galaxy, reacquainting herself with them. For although she had been affiliated with a couple of them at one time, she had been long away, sharpening her Force skills on her homeworld of N’dena, learning a path quite different from either the Jedi or the Sith. She reached deep inside herself and touched the still, small center that was her anchor in the Force, and took a deep breath. Calm and focused, she entered the library, her canine companion by her side.
“Excuse me ma’am,” said one of the clerks. “We don’t allow pets inside the building.”
The canine sat up and deftly used her forepaws to fish out an identification card from a pocket on her harness. “Rrrregiisteeerrrred sentient, Cyberrrrrniaaaan woooooolf doooooog,” she said, a strange, ululating accent coloring her speech as she showed the clerk her ID card.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the clerk replied with an embarrassed smile.
Gouyen fixed her with her eyes, an eerie black-in-black. “Remember, sentience comes in many different shapes, sizes and colors.”
“Sentience comes in many different shapes, sizes and colors,” the clerk obediently parroted as the two moved on into the main hall of the library.
“Some people,” she muttered under her breath. “Think sentience only walks on two legs -- bah.” The Cybernian trotted on by her mistresses’ side, saying nothing. Being canine, albeit an intelligent one, gave many people the wrong idea, a misconception she wasn’t always quick to dispel as it so often worked to her advantage. But there were times, such as this one, when it was downright bothersome, and she silently thanked her master for putting the clerk in her place.
Of course, Robi, she replied, her hand reaching down to caress the Cybernian’s massive head. You have as much right to be here as anyone else. This was one of Gouyen’s pet peeves, one arising from personal experience as master to several distinctly non-humanoid naa-tendia, the Assazi version of padawan learner. The Assazi Way was conducive to such thinking, as external appearance was considered to be an untrustworthy illusion. It was only through the Force that the truth could be seen. And when Gouyen first laid eyes on Robi in a Coruscant alleyway, she could see that the canine was possessed of singular talent and intelligence. They had bonded on the spot and ever since, Robi had been her faithful companion.
The Cybernian’s acute senses had seized upon an empty computer station; she trotted over to it and sat, staking her claim. Gouyen followed, pulled out the chair and sat down. She took her personal data recorder from her belt, connected it to the terminal, and started her search. Jedi, history of the Jedi, the Greater Jedi Order -- nothing too explicit, but good enough for her purposes. Now, on to the next search -- the Sith. The records were scanty, listing only a brief history of the order and the location of its headquarters on Corellia. A search under “darkside” came up with more hits, with a large number of them relating to Darth Vader’s former base on Vjun. She downloaded the information to her data recorder and disconnected from the terminal, sighing heavily. At least the little bit she had gleaned from the library’s main computer bank was better than what she had known before, which was almost nothing. She clipped the data recorder to her belt and rose. How ‘bout a drink before we go? she silently asked Robi.
Robi’s tail wagged slowly in approval. Another chance to freak out the locals? she asked with a mischievous gleam in her yellow eyes.
Gouyen was just a few strides from the exit. Not likely, my friend. They get too many other bizarre aliens to be fazed by a beer-drinking canine. Then, out loud, “C’mon, let’s go,” and they flagged down another air taxi.
They got out in an entertainment district commonly known as the Old Town because of the unusual age of its buildings. Some had been restored to their heyday and adapted to other purposes, others had been gutted and covered in neon and flashing bright signs. She headed towards one of the restored buildings and entered a small bar, marked by a glowing “35.” Robi headed towards a nearby booth, claiming it, while Gouyen went to the bar. “A pitcher of Half-Wits with one glass and one bowl.”
The bartender looked at her strangely until it dawned on her who was ordering. “Oh, you’re that Jedi type with the smart dog, aren’tcha?” Gouyen nodded and the bartender began filling a pitcher. Half-Wits was a small brewery with the slogan, “Half-Wits, full flavor.” And it was true. Their amber ale had developed quite a cult following and was only available in a relative handfull of bars on Coruscant, of which “35” was one. The stuff also had the reputation of turning the drinker into a half-wit, although this was typical of any alcoholic beverage drunk to excess.
She levitated the pitcher over to the booth where Robi was sitting and set down the glass and the bowl and sat down. With the pitcher still floating in mid-air, she filled the glass and the bowl and delicately set the pitcher down. Although many masters would frown upon such frivolous use of the Force, Gouyen was of the opinion that the more one used the Force, the more comfortable one became with and the more adept one became with it. So her actions were as much exercise as showing off, as well as the practical consideration of not wanting to drop or spill anything. She took a long pull at her glass, savoring the malty rich flavor, with just the faintest hint of bitter to give it character. She pulled out her data recorder and settled down to analyze the data she had acquired at the library.