Post by Charlotte on Jun 11, 2007 13:48:59 GMT -5
CORUSCANT, WHERE ELSE?
The Ends Justify
It was a flicker in the corner of his eye. If he turned his head, it would be gone, but only because he willed it so.
It was not truly elusive, however. He had seen it before. Felt it before. Tasted it. It had tasted him, too. The pairing, it appeared, was a natural one, but at this juncture in time that fact did not make it simple, let alone pleasant.
What it was was persistent. Always there.
It had, in fact, been there for years. He'd fought it in his quiet way, sometimes passive aggressive toward it, sometimes perversely violent, but always ultimately alone on the battlefield.
That was not an image he would have chosen, however. Too fanciful.
Today, Sadhric Tlin was monitoring some of his construction projects on Coruscant, and working on isolating a peculiar curiosity that had been causing problems with his new drive system, and subverting a tree of government accounts based in the Republic, and skimming the latest research on cules to make sure no public institution was getting too close to figuring out how to manufacture more, and he was considering the mental health of the survivors of the Cataclysm while mulling the political temperature in Buffton Tower. He was neurotically rolling a glass globe around on the palm of one hand, even as he adjusted controls with the other, and he'd been in such an uncharacteristically amiable mood that the New Order researchers who usually plagued him had suddenly found themselves more terrified of him than ever and one by one had found excuses to be elsewhere.
Far above Sadhric's head, Maltez Buffton was in his office. Sadhric wasn't watching him directly because that would be rude, and there was a certain amount of politeness and respect involved in understandings like theirs. In a sense, it had always been like a truce with unspecified terms. Or so The Mechanic viewed it.
But this thing in his peripheral vision... It was causing him--no matter how many simultaneous tasks he sought to distract himself with--to consider the most efficient and profitable ways to break the truce.
The thing was only temptation itself, after all, and it came down to one stark shard of truth:
Sadhric Daarato Tlin had the means by which to get exactly what he wanted.
His tools were vast and varied. Phobos had not been the first to tempt him into using them, and he had not been the last. Even Brukan had stabbed a pin-sharp finger into the temptation to bring them to bear, and, petty though it was and insignificant, Jeryndi was feeling the results from the inside out.
So while he worked through the logistics of the biotech he was using on Coruscant, and found indications of Rose's whereabouts and status by tracking her finances, and... any of a hundred other things... he was considering Jeryndi Trander and Maltez Buffton and Mekhetu and Ashton Moonrider, and he was wondering how far he could go before he wasn't himself anymore.
And what ends could be worth the means?
The Mechanic pondered that, too. And he was tempted. And, later, sleep didn't push the temptation away, because sleep never came knocking.
The Ends Justify
It was a flicker in the corner of his eye. If he turned his head, it would be gone, but only because he willed it so.
It was not truly elusive, however. He had seen it before. Felt it before. Tasted it. It had tasted him, too. The pairing, it appeared, was a natural one, but at this juncture in time that fact did not make it simple, let alone pleasant.
What it was was persistent. Always there.
It had, in fact, been there for years. He'd fought it in his quiet way, sometimes passive aggressive toward it, sometimes perversely violent, but always ultimately alone on the battlefield.
That was not an image he would have chosen, however. Too fanciful.
Today, Sadhric Tlin was monitoring some of his construction projects on Coruscant, and working on isolating a peculiar curiosity that had been causing problems with his new drive system, and subverting a tree of government accounts based in the Republic, and skimming the latest research on cules to make sure no public institution was getting too close to figuring out how to manufacture more, and he was considering the mental health of the survivors of the Cataclysm while mulling the political temperature in Buffton Tower. He was neurotically rolling a glass globe around on the palm of one hand, even as he adjusted controls with the other, and he'd been in such an uncharacteristically amiable mood that the New Order researchers who usually plagued him had suddenly found themselves more terrified of him than ever and one by one had found excuses to be elsewhere.
Far above Sadhric's head, Maltez Buffton was in his office. Sadhric wasn't watching him directly because that would be rude, and there was a certain amount of politeness and respect involved in understandings like theirs. In a sense, it had always been like a truce with unspecified terms. Or so The Mechanic viewed it.
But this thing in his peripheral vision... It was causing him--no matter how many simultaneous tasks he sought to distract himself with--to consider the most efficient and profitable ways to break the truce.
The thing was only temptation itself, after all, and it came down to one stark shard of truth:
Sadhric Daarato Tlin had the means by which to get exactly what he wanted.
His tools were vast and varied. Phobos had not been the first to tempt him into using them, and he had not been the last. Even Brukan had stabbed a pin-sharp finger into the temptation to bring them to bear, and, petty though it was and insignificant, Jeryndi was feeling the results from the inside out.
So while he worked through the logistics of the biotech he was using on Coruscant, and found indications of Rose's whereabouts and status by tracking her finances, and... any of a hundred other things... he was considering Jeryndi Trander and Maltez Buffton and Mekhetu and Ashton Moonrider, and he was wondering how far he could go before he wasn't himself anymore.
And what ends could be worth the means?
The Mechanic pondered that, too. And he was tempted. And, later, sleep didn't push the temptation away, because sleep never came knocking.
