35:01:07 - evening
Baron Swift hosts a party for the team to celebrate the success of their first mission (see the communique and Swift's Journal); after the others leave, he invites Damaria to the library to discuss his past.
Baron Swift turns to stir the fireplace. He sighs, and sits back down in his high-backed chair, shadows flickering over his face.
“I have never spoken a word about this to anyone; not even my sister.”
He takes a sip of his drink and continues. “When I was 17 my parents were still alive, and actively plotting against the Empire, who had recently conquered Balmorra at the end of the Clone Wars. You realize we saw through the facade of the so-called Republic even before Palpatine revealed his true nature as an autocratic dictator. The Empire confiscated most of the noble houses' assets. Most of the Peers hid what wealth they could, but it devastated most of us.”
The Baron stares into the fire, almost lost in his own words. “In any case, during this time I met a young, attractive women - her name was Circe. I trusted her… but she betrayed me and my family.”
He turns and stares at Damaria. “She was an Inquisitor in training. A hunter of Force Sensitives. Somehow she had discovered my abilities - I admit, I may have used my power occasionally to augment my charms - I was young, after all,” The Baron shrugs, slightly embarrassed for a moment. But then his face darkens and turns back to the fire.
“She weaseled her way into our family, gathered information, and the Empire struck out against the Rebel Peers. The Assembly had been planning a revolt, and my parents were key leaders in the movement. The top five family heads, executed. My baby brother was killed when my parents were captured, but thankfully my sister had been galavanting somewhere around Gorinth Canyon.”
He stands and stirs the fire with a metal poker, swirling up sparks and ash. “During their capture, I was with Circe, naively enjoying her company, not realizing what was happening. We were walking along the cliffs at the edge of the estate, and she… she tried to convince me to join the Empire. She revealed her own Force power, and promised to teach me how to become powerful in the Force. Even to rule together over this planet. Maybe she did care for me somewhat, in her own way, I don't know. In any case, I flatly refused - she didn't know my history, my training in ancient mythology, and the history of Balmorra, of my knowledge of the Sith Empire that once occupied our world.”
Sparks fly as he viciously breaks apart the half-burnt log. “She was shocked, but then attacked me. Some sort of vibro-knife, thankfully no lightsaber. She didn't expect my quick reactions, and I managed to dodge away, and my luck – or the Force – prevailed; she slipped on a loose rock and fell. I was in shock, both at the accident and her revelations. Baron Telmarr found me there when he came to bring the news of my parents' capture, and thankfully he helped me get myself together.”
He is now staring into the darkness of the room. “Circe's broken body was hidden, and I managed to forge documents and bribe officials to make it look like she left the planet in a hurry. I easily deceived the Imperial questioners - they believed I had joined them and was willing to be a faithful dog for them.”
He turns back to Damaria, and his eyes are intense. “And now, 15 years later, I find these old memories stirring, and I need to know. How can I trust you? How can I know that you are not an Imperial spy, or worse, another Inquisitor sent to turn me or kill me?”
As the Baron speaks, Damaria senses an undercurrent of reservation to his words… while he doesn't seem to be lying to her, it does seem he is holding something back. Of course, given the subject, she can't fault him for doing so. She considers his words once he finishes speaking, letting his question hang in the silent room for a moment.
“You can't know,” she says tersely. “No matter what I say, it's not going to rid you of the effect this woman obviously had. And there's nothing I can come up with that will prove that I'm not still somehow working for the Empire. I can try to convince you that if I was a spy or worse, I would probably already have enough on you to turn you in… but maybe you'd think I just wanted to lie low, to find out even more, to make the betrayal even bigger. I could try to point out that I was in as much danger as anyone else a few nights ago, but then again the Empire's lower-levels like Madar often don't know High Command's hidden plans and end up acting counter to them. I could elaborate on my frustration and fear of the Empire, of how I was mistreated then and how I'd be even more harshly treated now… but those are the same words an Inquisitor would use on you.”
A hesitant shadow passes across her eyes as she continues. “And why should I trust you either? Why should I not believe you actually are the Empire's lapdog, a plant to scrounge up the remaining scraps of resistance left on the planet? Just because I'd never heard of you doesn't mean you're not with them either… but at this point, what choice have I but to trust you? And you I?”
She pauses briefly, eyes half-closed in the gloom, and then speaks again more softly. “Truth be told, even I don't fully know why I'm here. I know why I'm not there, not working for the Empire anymore… but I'm still not sure what I'm doing. All I can say is that you can trust I won't betray you or the others, that I've no longer any love for the Empire – not that I'm so sure that there was ever really any there to begin with anyhow.”
With a sigh, she continues. “Maybe that's the best answer I can give you - uncertainty. Do with it what you will.”
Swift stands beside the fireplace, swirling his drink in his glass. Slowly, a half-smile colors his face, and he raises his glass in a toast. “Here's to the Empire. They have graciously bestowed upon us fear, uncertainty, and doubt. Their benevolent dictator blesses us with a security unhampered by freedom, and prosperity for their favorite sons while the rest of us gratefully slave away for our uncouth masters.”
His face now darkens. “May Palpatine's reign be cut short, may our foes turn on each other, and in the battle to come, may at least some trust and innocence be preserved somewhere in this galaxy.”
He drains his cup, and looks back at Damaria with another smile, ironic. “I choose to trust you. Because if indeed you have completely fooled me, then I will take pleasure in dying by a Master Thespian's hand. May the Force be with us! Now, all we need to do is to find my parents' confiscated collection of Jedi artifacts…”
