Log:Jedi Order: Solo Mission - Zandra

Jedi Order: Solo Mission - Zandra

OOC Date: November 11, 2020
Location: Mon Calamari
Participants: Jedi Order: Zandra naMuriel; and Ben Solo

How many times before had the Falcon swooped down towards Mon Calamari? Add one more to the tally.

Ben Solo is sitting in the pilot seat, idly flipping switches, seemingly at random, as the freighter soars through into the upper atmosphere, heading towards one of the planet's surface cities, perched on the water like a great conch shell, spreading arms of coral-like buildings stretching out away from the center.

"It's been almost two years since the First Order sent their planet-destroyer here to poison the ocean. Many parts of Dac are still recovering. These people should hate me. Maybe they do, but they loved my mother, and they're asking for help. She'd want me to give it to them." He swallows a sticky spot in his throat, adjusting a lever that doesn't need adjusting as the ship hovers over the water.

A force-field shoots up from the surface of the sea, splitting the water in two and pushing it back in the shape of a large circle, a yawning tube of empty air for the ship to descend into a wide, submerged hangar port, where a few deft movements of the controls later, they settle into one of the berths. "They're requesting a small group. Three seems small to me."

Zan relaxes then, not flipping switches, though she does keep an eye on the boards, instinctively. Pilots. You can take them out of the pilot seat, but it's hard to take the pilot out of them. She listens to Ben as he speaks, considering the situation quietly. "Your mother was very well beloved," she says simply. Zan qualifies as one of those, truthfully. She has a new hilt at her waist, where her old plain saber hilt always used to rest, but it's by now just one of those things. She is settled into a passenger seat, ceding the copilot to Rey or Chewie. Someone has to watch the ship, if they step off, that's not a bad thing.

As the ship heads down through the force shield, she looks over to Ben calmly. "Three is a pretty small team, but big enough to do many things. What things are we doing today? Do we know what they need help with?" Zan shifts her cloak, adjusting her posture so she can see out at the watery planet just a little bit better.

"A representative named Heffar requested assistance. She's a member of the city council here. It would seem word is starting to get out about me." Ben frowns slightly as he powers down the various systems, pushing up from the chair. "All I know is, she said it couldn't be handled by anyone else." Then he walks back the corridor to the landing ramp, striding down it in a puff of steam and leaving the ship in Chewbacca's stewardship.

"Ah, the Jedi emissaries!" The voice is gruff, but high-pitched, belonging to a female Mon Calamari who hurries over towards them, expensive dignitary's robes trailing on the hangar floor. "I wanted to greet you in person. The matter I contacted you about requires a sensitive touch only a Jedi can provide. To tell you the truth, in days past, I would have contacted Senator Organa about this, but we have lost that light from our constellations." A googlish eye rests on Ben with what might be judgment; it's hard to tell. Then her look shifts behind him, towards Zandra, the one dressed like a Jedi. "Please, follow me. I'm sure you have questions."

The way ahead leads through a pair of sliding doors and into a smooth, metallic corridor, with transparisteel inserts in the ceiling that allow the occupants to look out into the ocean surrounding them. "Master Jedi, do you know what it is like to have your home threatened? Your life and your loved ones?" Ben remains silent, glancing towards Zandra expectantly, one eyebrow lifting.

Zan does indeed look like a Jedi, there's no denying that. She follows, as they are lead from the hangar into the corridor. Her gaze goes to the ocean, with a curiosity to look, but not touch. She nods her head to the comment about emissaries, listening as they walk. And then Zan stops for a moment in her tracks. It's not noticed, though as everyone stops. Ben might see her face for a split second, but only that.

Master Jedi? That brings a slight smile to Zandra, and a hint of amusement. Who else would they send to answer such a request? They must all be master jedi and none, at this point. But it is comfort looked for, at least a bit. Ah, well then. She pauses, pulling back words, as her instinctive reaction is to deny that master jedi title. "I do, indeed," Zandra says. "Jedi will do nicely, your excellency. I am Jedi Zandra. It is a terrible thing to have your home, life or loved ones threatened with harm." Her voice is calm, though she provides no details. Her gaze flicks only momentarily to Ben, before she turns to the Emissary, curious to see if this is some sort of trap.

"To tell you the truth, I have never met a Jedi before," Heffar replies in her characteristic gruff Mon Calamari voice. "I did not mean to offend; I believed in the old days that was the standard honorific. Please forgive my improriety, Jedi Zandra!" Everything Mon Cals say comes across as half-shouted, and Heffar is no exception.

For his part, Ben remains mostly silent, hanging slightly back from Zandra, letting her lead by a pace. "It was, in the old days," is all he supplies, studiously considering something on the ceiling.

"Well, at any rate, then you understand how seriously such a threat must be taken. The First Order came here almost 1000 days ago and laid seige to this planet. Likely on your orders, /Ben Solo./ But this is not about you. You have only your mother to thank for that; she was an incredible woman! An inspiration!"

Ben looks harder at the ceiling.

"No, this is something else." The councilwoman stops before another set of double doors, keying in a combination at the keypad. The entry swooshes open, revealing a sort of prison chamber beyond, complete with cells and forcefields for detaining prisoners.

"...are you sure?" Ben balks in the passageway, his voice flat with skepticism.

"I didn't bring you here to put you in a cell! It's who's already in one," their Mon Cal escort announces, large eyes narrowing slightly. She steps into the room beyond, shuffling up to one of the cells, and again enters a combination that thins the opaque forcefield enough to see inside. A man in grey prison garb sits with military precision against the far wall on the only piece of furniture, a metal refresher jutting from the wall. "He's a First Order scientist. The poison was supposed to be neutralized as part of the peace agreement. Most of it was. Some of it... some of it is still killing the ocean. Down in the deep. He knows how to stop it. I know it! But he won't tell us, and my fellow councilmembers don't care. The deep is the Quarrens', and they hate the Quarren."

Zandra looks at Ben, looks at the Mon Cal, and then back again. She listens to the back and forth, and when there's an appropriate moment, she says, "No offense taken. I'm certain there will once again be master jedi, but I am a bit too young for such an auspicious title, though it was used in days long past." Another glance at Ben, who is about to stare holes in that - if they drown cause of how hard he's staring at the ceiling, Zan's not going to be happy. She steps into the cells, when Ben balks, letting him stay by the door if he chooses. A decision made, a moment of trust on her part. "The Quarren are still in danger then, despite all the good work done so far," she murmurs, catching up with all the explanation.

Her gaze goes to the prisoner, curious to see if she recognizes anything about him. She does not look back at Ben, assuming he will jump in if he has anything to add. "And you do not hate the Quarren?" she asks, first, though it's as much a statement as a question. "Is there a problem with neutralizing all the poison?" she asks, her gaze now on the scientist, with expectant curiosity on her face.

"We don't know how it works. We never have. The First Order was supposed to neutralize it /all,/" Heffar affirms, with an enthusiastic nod. "But they failed to hold up their end of the bargain. Our relations with the Quarren have always been... strained, to put it mildly," she admits, large flippered hands fidgeting with the fringe of her expensive garment. "But I do not wish for their extinction. We are all members of the great sea. And I will not stand idly by while it is threatened." She turns hard eyes in towards the cell. "The same cannot be said for that man!"

Inside the cell, the prisoner doesn't give any sign that he can see out, or see or hear the visitors outside in any capacity. He remains in his seated position on the refresher, simple inmate's clothes immaculate if plain, back erect.

"You /must/ make him reveal what he knows. Extract his secrets, somehow. For months, he has refused an answer under every interrogation New Republic ordinance allows. A Jedi is our only hope to put an end to this."

And so saying, she steps back, watching expectantly. The cell's control panel harbors a number of switches and options, and a small readout in plain green letters declares 'Ready...', so evidently it is active. The cell itself, beyond the barrier, is nearly empty, consisting of the refresher, a bed molded into the wall, and the same transparisteel viewports out into the ocean as the corridors sported.

Zandra looks at the man in the cell, watching carefully for a few moments, following his breathing perhaps, as she first checks to make sure he is still alive. Then her gaze goes to the Mon Cal, Heffar, as she listens, finally coming to the point. The First Order certainly has given Force Users a bad reptuation, that's for sure. But for a bit, Zan stands there, taking this in, and feeling a bit at a loss. What - should she do. She looks back over to Ben, willing to follow his lead if he gives it. Instinct - teamwork, and Zan then takes a deep breath. "Step back, please," she says to Heffar. "I would like to talk to him." She's still not sure what, but she is thinking. What was it that old smuggler said? Kid, you can go far, if people think you know what you're doing. Don't tell 'em when you don't. Zan steps into the cell, right past that horrid panel, pretending it doesn't exist. She moves to look the prisoner in the face. She is standing at ease, but ready in case he is able to try something. "Would you tell me your name?" she asks, simply first.

When the forcefield keeping him confined fizzles enough for Zandra to enter, the Order scientist glances up sharply, giving the woman a quick up and down glance before sniffing and settling back against the wall again. "Spode. Lieutenant commander. Identifier OK-3592. That's all you'll be getting out of me."

Zandra inclines her head. "I'm - Violet." Hah. That took a moment. "I won't say it's nice to meet you, Liutenant Commander Spode. Certainly this is not the nicest of places." She doesn't however beat around the bush, not really. "I am curious to know if there's a reason for not living up to the agreement made? I mean, this might sound odd, but I'd like to hear your side of the tale." Zan is at this point figuring Ben's got the door, and will keep any exasperated Mon Cal from locking her in the cell too, so her attention is on Spode.

"I was not party to any such agreement," Spode replies with a shrug, "and nor do I know the terms. I was captured during the battle, and the only information I have since has come from these lying fish, and now you, another liar. Violet? Really? Do you take me for a fool, 'Violet?'" He's not a large man, and while he looks overdue for a haircut and a shave, his clothes are neat and tidy, and he does not stink, something of a feat for a prisoner.

That actually gets a laugh from Zan, and she shrugs. "I answer to it," she says. "It might not be my only name, but it counts. So, what would convince you that the First Order lost?" she says, hands resting at her side, and voice calm. That amusement still lurks in her eyes though. "And that there is in fact a peace treaty that includes neutralizing the poison." Well, so said the Mon Cal, right. There is a peace treaty ... isn't there? Sort of? There is a confidence to Zan's words, as she speaks. Whether Spode believes or not, she does. "So, I suppose that means that you're party to all the deals made by the First Order? First hand? You must be a far more important prisoner than they've been giving you credit for, OK-3592."

"If there was an agreement, which there isn't, I would have been ordered to follow it, which I wasn't." The timeline of Spode's capture likely means he's been in this cell since before the agreement was made, and therefore no official First Order word on the subject has reached him at all. His voice is imperious and superior, in the sort of ringing notes only the supremacists indoctrinated from their youngest years can truly master. "I would not give up Order secrets even if the Supreme Leader himself were to command it. And since you're not him, 'Violet,' what chance do you expect /you/ have? Toddle on back out to your fish friends and let them know that the First Order will not bow to their pathetic demands. Not now. Not ever."

"If the First Order were still making demands," Zan says softly, "do you really think you'd still be here? They lost. The entire galaxy came together to tell them no." She was there, it was a thing. Her voice rings with the truth of her words. She knows she's not convincing this fellow, but she does try once more to try to break through. "I expect I have all the time I want, so I have more than a chance." She'll have to figure something out. She's still reaching, and she does reach for the Force, hoping for guidance, as she speaks. After a moment, she looks back over to the door. "Your excellency, Heffar," she calls. No not Ben. "Is it possible to go down to these depths and see the issue first hand? Do you have information that the poison is still in fact there, and is there an estimate on how badly it's damaging things?" A pause there, waiting for answers.

Zan is thinking hard, this is outside her experience. But she knows crystal clear, there's not always reason to fight. "We don't need the secrets you know. You can keep them. We just want the poison gone. How does that give away any secrets?"

"The Order will always look after its own interests over someone like me. I'm a cog in the machine. I serve my purpose and I serve it with loyalty and precision, but I have no more value in and of myself than the purpose I serve. If you think we are beaten, we will rise again." He chuckles dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. "How can you be so sure of what time you have? If you're here then the toxins are still active."

Heffar hurries over when summoned, bulging eyes no wider than usual. "What good would that do? The poison is still fouling the ecosystem in the lower depths. The ocean is not a shallow pond, Jedi Zan- Jedi Violet. The sick Quarren brave enough to come here for help do not do so lightly."

"That /is/ the secret, how the toxin works. It's the only reason your fish friends are keeping me alive," Spode remarks with a sort of bored indifference. "Personally, I relish the thought of those inferior creatures slowly withering away into poisoned husks."

"Ah, so you can't fix it without telling them?" Zan says, trying to ply the man with his own ability. He's good, right? Surely he's /that/ good. "Not that good, I see." She looks to Heffar, and nods. "I was thinking we should go for a look, and bring mister Spode here with us, but you're probably right." She doesn't quite wilt, not yet. She does try one more time straight up without any tricks, but she's starting to think she isn't the right person to deal with this. It's a bit of a waver in her confidence, a bit of a thought that she's only a student after all. She's used to working in a team, not by herself. A little disquieted.

"Why would I want to? The First Order had good reason for unleashing that toxin, and I see no reason to stop it now. Maybe you were able to get some part of it neutralized somehow, but the purge must continue, even if it is slow. The creatures in this ocean disgust me." Spode turns contemptuous eyes on Heffar, who huffs under the weight of his gaze.

"You're a Jedi, aren't you?" she grumbles at Zandra, beginning to become frustrated. "Senator Organa would know what to say, but I am not Senator Organa! Get him to cooperate! Lives are in the balance!"

Zan's gaze is on Spode, and she knows that diplomacy has failed. But there is no saying she didn't try it. She has an image of Leia in her head, that last meeting in which Leia had special words for all of them there. She remembers that, and she draws strength from it. She has already started reaching for the Force, and she continues to use it for just a little nudge. Heffar gets a look, and a smile. And then back to Spode. "The First Order had no reason to release that toxin," she says softly. Her words sound so very convincing. The force is with her, and she leans into it, the words coming more confidently. "You want to neutralize the entire toxin on this planet. It's the only thing left to do, and you need to do it now."

She knows it won't last for more than a couple hours, if it even works at all. She steps back one step, to allow Spode the room to move, and quietly clasps her hands in front of her. She looks very jedi for a moment.

Something changes in the cell. There's a tension in the air, a cloud that passes over Lt. Commander Spode's lined face. "The First Order... had no reason... to release the toxin...?" It's confused, not the quick switch of a weak mind immediately repeating the suggestion back with absolute certainty. "I- I want to neutralize the remaining- but that would take... I don't have the tools."

"Don't stop now!" Councilwoman Heffar breathes in her gruff voice, keeping it as low as she can lest she break the spell. "Tell him to tell us /how!/ All we need is a clue to get our people working!"

Zandra continues, one more suggestion, as she can. "What tools do you need?" she asks softly. "We can help." She wavers a bit, just a little, and she can feel the suggestion there not quite so strong. She takes a breath, continuing her efforts. "You want to give us the list of the tools and ingredients, the amounts of each so we can help you." She's standing a little straighter, but she's still concentrating as she can, not wanting to ruin things now. She knows Spode has a strong mind, he's certainly proven that. Lieutenant commander after all. That's no stormtrooper meat shield. She glances over at Heffar who better be writing down whatever he says. just in case.

"I'd need... I would need..." Spode struggles with the words, his face beginning to turn pink as some sort of internal struggle wages. "It's a dioxin base, bacterial dehalogenases, halorespiration. Cobalt." The cloudy expression clouds further, skin turning a darker shade. "I want to tell you more, but- it's not- it's complicated, I don't know the exact- it varies!" That feels honest, if deeply conflicted.

"That's enough," Heffar beams, her googly eyes turning on Zandra with pride. "A Jedi! I knew you could do it! No one else cared! But with this information, it should be easy enough to talk them into fixing things. It's not a popular sentiment these days, but we are /all/ part of the Great Ocean. Even Quarren." Ushering Zandra out, she quickly slaps at the keys on the control panel. "But not that man. He can rot in there! Ha!"

In the passageway back to the hangar, Ben is waiting, with a subtle expression that might be approval playing about his face. Or maybe something just struck him as dimly amusing.

Zandra does smile at Spode. "Thank you," she says gently to him, before she does walk out with Heffar. Once the door is closed behind the poor confused prisoner, who is going to be kicking himself in a couple hours, she listens to Heffar, and then she offers a half bow she stole from Ban. "You are most welcome," she says. "I am glad we were able to assist. With business sorted, I trust you don't mind if we depart?" That said, she turns to Ben, catching that expression on his face. "Shall we head back to the Falcon?" she asks, somewhat neutrally. There's a witness after all. Zan's on best behaviour. Sort of. She waits until they are back on the Falcon, having taken the opportunity to internalize and think about what happened, to turn to Ben. "I hope you didn't mind that I sort of took over," she says, finally. "It kind of seemed like the right thing to do."

Probably less time even than that, really.

Happy enough to slip out without spending too much more time apologizing for his continued existence, Ben leads the way back to the hangar and onto the Falcon, flipping switches and prepping the ship for takeoff while Chewie returns to the copilot seat with a dull 'wrrrrgh'. "No, I didn't mind. I don't trust myself in those situations yet. Not without Rey. It's... it's too familiar. To what I used to do, before. I don't know if I know where to stop yet." He purses his lips together, brows furrowing thoughtfully. "You showed restraint, or you don't know how to go further, and frankly, both are good. 'Master' Jedi." There's a hint of a grin and he makes a point of not meeting her eyes, staring out the viewport instead, almost like he's embarrassed to have teased her.

The forcefield reactivates, splitting the water above the hangar like a curtain once more, and the Falcon rises up towards the blue sky and the blackness of space beyond.