Private The Price of Competence

[Zara Saga]

A continuation of: The First Bastion Games​

Zara had perched herself on the boutique's hovering chaise, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, a glass of chilled mist-wine in her hand, which she had definitely not paid for, and watched Iandre's expedition through the showroom with the silent scrutiny of a royal judging a dueling match.

She'd said ten minutes, but she gave her twelve. Which, in Zara's internal economy, was basically an act of sainthood.

When Iandre emerged, arms at her sides, looking like a wistful rebel who'd accidentally wandered into a fashion editorial, Zara tilted her head and took her in with exaggerated slowness.

The long leather coat, the ivory shirt, the soft gray boots. A bit restrained. Subtle. Tame, even. But... it worked. More importantly, it fit Iandre, in that way Zara couldn't help but notice.

Zara sipped her wine. Then:

"Well," she said, voice cool and faintly amused, "look who came back from the dead and discovered structure."

She stood, circled once around Iandre like a lion doing recon before a pounce, her fingertips briefly grazing the sleeve of the coat.

"I was braced for something catastrophic. You know. Fringe overload. Mysterious pouches. A cloak that says 'I collect broken lightsabers and abandonment issues.' But no... this is almost restrained. Almost."

She stopped in front of Iandre, eyes sharp and amused. Then, with exaggerated ceremony, she gave a single nod.

"You look... competent. Like someone who might one day order someone else to shoot a senator and not immediately feel bad about it."

She handed her glass off to the hovering tray-droid without breaking eye contact.

"I'm keeping you."

Zara gestured for the attendant to finalize the purchase, no mention of credits, of course; the boutique knew better, and then stepped forward, slipping her arm back through Iandre's with a possessive ease.

"Now, let's find you something sharp to clip onto that new self-esteem you're growing. Jewelry or a vibroknife. Or maybe both. You're off the leash today, darling. Try not to bite anyone I like."

And just like that, they were out the door again, gold light spilling across the steps, the crowd still thrumming with celebration, and Zara was already scanning the horizon for their next indulgence. Or target. She liked to keep her definitions fluid.

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

The sense of danger still came off of Zara, but it no longer seemed entirely directed at the former Jedi. Allowing the blonde to circle her, Iandre did not think she would arbitrarily attack her. Then again, maybe she would. She would take her chances. From how Zara was speaking, she sounded amused. She couldn't figure out why, but didn't think it mattered. What did matter was that Zara wasn't trying to stick her full of various weapons. Iandre felt good about this.

Lifting an arm and then the other after lowering the first, she enjoyed the feel of the quality work in the clothing. Being in this time, her life was different than what it would have been. Very likely, her life would have been cut short, and any legacy she might have had would be lost.

"Fringes are so ugh. I can't even think of a word to describe my feelings. Thank you. Though I don't think I'll ever be able to order somebody to shoot...Never mind."

Memories of her first life filled her mind for a moment after saying those words. While she had not ordered the shooting of anybody, she had been involved in the Clone Wars. There had been plenty of shooting then.

Coughing just slightly when Zara suggested she was going to keep her, Iandre wasn't quite sure how to react. Deciding to go with the flow, she allowed her to put her arm through hers again.

"Who do you like?"

She did not mention she wasn't going to be biting anybody today, but the question would give her a chance to know Zara better. Come to think of it...she didn't even know her benefactor's name.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara's eyes flicked sideways at the question, amusement curling at the corner of her mouth like smoke off a slow-burning fuse.

"Who do I like?" she echoed, as if the words themselves were an abstract riddle. "Oh, darling. What a rare and dangerous question to ask in public."

She swept them both back into the crowd, moving like a tide that didn't care who it carried or crushed, her arm still looped through Iandre's with that infuriating blend of intimacy and control. They passed a knot of holosculptors sculpting mid-air renditions of the opening parade, and Zara did not break stride.

"Let's see…" she mused aloud, voice rich with practiced mischief. "I like my students terrified but respectful. I like my enemies confused and unarmed. I like my wine cold, my weapons charged, and my robes steamed twice before public engagements because one wrinkle is a conspiracy against the state."

She turned toward Iandre then, her expression mock-serious. "I did like a senator from Serenno once. He quoted poetry and smelled like power and regret. Unfortunately, he also voted against one of my planetary embargoes, so now he smells like sulfur and guilt. Still handsome, though."

Her gaze softened, fractionally, as she added, "And I like anyone who doesn't lie to me. Or to themselves. Which, strangely enough, might include you."

Zara broke the moment before it got too real, because stars forbid vulnerability happen, and gestured toward a gleaming stall bristling with ornate weapons and ceremonial accessories. Silvered knives with starlight-infused hilts. Chains that looked like jewelry but locked like bonds.

She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "Choose something sharp. Something impractical. Something that makes people wonder what you're not saying when you wear it."

Then she straightened up again and added, voice airy and pointed, "And for the record, if you did order someone to be shot, I'd make sure the paperwork said it was a tactical initiative in the interest of Diarchic cohesion. You're welcome."

With a flick of her hand, Zara summoned the stall attendant over like royalty expecting tribute. She didn't look at him, she was still watching Iandre.

"Go on," she murmured. "Impress me. Or at least confuse me in a stylish way."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

There was an innocence about Iandre that even Zara would likely pick up on and probably already had. Along with the innocence was also honesty. Actual deception was not something the former Jedi had ever picked up. Pulling the wool over somebody's eyes now and then was one thing; this was different. When Zara mentioned she didn't like liars, she couldn't agree more.

"What do you teach?"

She hardly looked any older than Iandre, and she was curious. Keeping up with the flow, there wasn't too much for the other woman to control about her movements. A subtle tug or push now, and Iandre moved with the suggestion. Lowering her eyebrows a moment, she glanced at the blonde.

"Who are your enemies? I've never met anybody good from Serenno."

Then again, she hadn't really met anybody in this new time. Laphisto, Zinayn, the Diarchs, and some of the cadets she trained with. Now Zara and she still didn't know her name. Letting out a small sigh, her eyes almost lit up when they saw the weapon's stall.

"I will keep that in mind."

Her tone was humorous, and her lips displayed a slight smirk. Returning her visage to her normal stoic state, she did allow Zara to catch sight of her humor for a second.

Approaching the stall, she picked up a pair of dangly earrings that looked like waterfalls, along with what might be a wrist knife. The kind that is triggered by a simple twitch of a muscle. Trying the earrings on and putting the knife bracelet on, she turned to show Zara her collection.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

​

Zara's expression as Iandre asked what she taught was the kind of indulgent smile one might give a child who just asked where thunder comes from. Amused. Slightly predatory. Only half-planning to answer.

"What do I teach?" she echoed, brushing an invisible speck of dust off her shoulder with imperial laziness. "Oh, light and judgment. Discipline. Rhetoric. Political history, if someone's being punished. And once, very briefly, ballroom combat choreography. That last one was mostly for me."

She glanced over her shoulder toward the colosseum's towering spires and added, almost idly, "I also teach people how to stop underestimating me. They tend to learn quickly or not at all."

At the Serenno remark, her smirk twitched again, half laughter, half something more private. "You haven't met anyone good from Serenno because they only send their bad ones out into the galaxy. The rest stay home polishing heirlooms and plotting civil wars. It's charming, in a tragic, dynastic kind of way."

But then Iandre stepped toward the weapons stall like someone who understood what the assignment was. Zara's gaze followed her, one hand resting idly on her hip, head tilted in curiosity disguised as nonchalance.

And then, those earrings. That knife.

Zara straightened.

The earrings were elegant, but the kind that caught light and redirected it just enough to keep people distracted. Good for drawing the eye away from your hands. Useful, if you had hands that might be up to something. And the wrist knife? Tucked under subtle gray leather like a secret you never apologized for.

Zara stepped forward slowly, heels clicking with leisurely menace, and reached out, not to touch, but to gesture, delicately, at the accessories.

"Well," she murmured, voice like a smile behind a locked door, "now that is interesting."

Her gaze lifted to meet Iandre's, assessing. Warm. But not soft.

"Those earrings say 'I'm gentle and mysterious and probably sketch poetry in quiet corners.' The wrist knife says 'I've absolutely considered stabbing someone during tea and might still do it.'" She paused, then added, voice silk-dry, "I approve of this duality."

Zara turned slightly to the vendor, who looked halfway between honored and terrified. "Box those. No tags. She's not a walking receipt."

She slid her arm through Iandre's again and nodded toward the far end of the bazaar, where food stalls and higher-end lounges beckoned through gold-draped archways.

"Now come on. If we don't get caf or something sinfully fried, I'm going to become very irritable, and you're the only person I haven't snapped at today." A beat. "Yet. But please entertain me from where you are from along the way."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

It was clear the movement to brush that speck of dust was to draw her attention away from something. Iandre couldn't figure out what, though, and instead focused on the answer Zara gave her.

"All of them are quite interesting. What is it you judge? Beyond my fashion choices. I do not underestimate you. I imagine you could easily disable me and have me on my back with minimal effort. It is what you are, and I don't even know what that is, but I'm learning. Who are you? You know who I am. Please enlighten me."

Every word was true, and if Zara were trying to read the Jedi, she would feel this. Giving her a slight chuckle, it was probably true about Serenno. Another planet to visit and maybe meet somebody good from there.

Even with the subtle alarm bells going off in her head, Iandre did not pull away from Zara when she reached out. The motion did not connect, and she approved of her choices. She had followed the given instructions. Taking them off, she handed them to the attendant to box up, and now carried a bag with the jewelry.

Closing her mouth with a bit of shock, she was surprised Zara wanted to know about her.

"There's not a lot to say about where I am from. I only remember being on Coruscant, the shining gem of the Galaxy. Have you been there? From what Laphisto said, it has remained the same. It might be better to ask about when I am from."

Allowing Zara to lead the way, she did not resist at all and weaved through the foot traffic like a pro.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara faltered mid-stride. It wasn't much, half a breath caught in her throat, the slightest hitch in the music of her movement, but it was there. Noticeable, if you were paying attention.

And Iandre was.

"You don't know who I am?" she asked, stopping dead in the center of the bazaar thoroughfare, right between a caf vendor selling spiced foam in sand-blasted mugs and a hovercart offering candied bantha ribs on chromewood skewers.

Her tone wasn't angry. Not quite. But it tilted that way, offended not from ego, but from principle, like a herald announcing a sovereign only to be met with blank stares.

Zara blinked once, lips parting, then pressed a hand to her chest in faux astonishment. "Stars, how you wound me. And here I thought I'd achieved basic omnipresence by now."

A few curious onlookers glanced their way, possibly drawn by the sheer gravitas of Zara's presence, or more likely the idea that she might combust someone where they stood.

She leaned in, expression suddenly sharp with amusement.

"I'm Zara Saga. Archon of Light. Member of the Diarchic Council. I teach at the Crucible. I write the procedural bylaws for fleet diplomacy and occasionally terrify trade envoys into peeing in their formalwear." She gave a playful little shrug. "And, apparently, I still have to introduce myself in the marketplace like I'm promoting a new brand of soap."

She shook her head, then, the irritation dissolving like sugar in flame. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Coruscant," she echoed. "That pit."

She resumed walking, guiding them toward the scent of fried dumplings wrapped in glitterleaf and caf so strong it probably had military applications. Zara passed a credchip to a vendor with the smooth disinterest of someone who didn't need to ask the price.

"I've been there. Many times. It's exactly as you remember it, I suspect, if what you remember is blistering bureaucracy stacked atop institutional rot, barely covered by duraglass and perfume. The upper levels have chandeliers. The lower levels have cannibalism. But yes, very shiny."

She took a sip of caf, then looked sidelong at Iandre.

"But the way you said that… You don't remember anything else?" Her voice was suddenly less theatrical, more curious.

Zara took another sip, eyeing Iandre now like a puzzle with sharp edges.

"...when are you from, exactly?"

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

For a second, Zara seemed hung up, but it only lasted that long before she stopped entirely. When she stopped, Iandre did as well. Even if they were in the middle of the walkway. The flow of traffic moved around them like a stream dividing around an island. They were given enough room, and only a handful of people stopped to gawk at them.

After several heartbreaking moments, her question was finally answered. She learned who the blonde was and what she did for the Diarchy. She held a lofty position and had earned it. Someday, maybe, Iandre would reach such lofts, and she looked forward to getting there eventually. She felt her time was rising, and she would become a name known by many.

"I am pleased to know who you are and what you do. Thank you for that, as well as the clothing and jewelry. All of which I will use and wear. To me, Coruscant was grey, and while I thought I wore the color to blend and fit in, Laphisto suggested something different. I'm like weathered stone. Unique on a world made of metal and buildings."

Shrugging slightly, she accepted a cup, sniffed the aroma, and took a quiet sip. Letting out a sigh, she remained silent for just a moment longer than she needed to.

"I was most likely born in 42 BBY. I lived my life with the Jedi on Coruscant. It is the only home I remember. After several missions and skirmishes in the Clone Wars, Order 66 happened. My Master saved my life by hiding me."

Such a short and simple history, but it was just a start.

"Where are you from?"

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara didn't speak at first. She just stared at Iandre, caf suspended halfway to her lips, expression flickering through a rare, nearly imperceptible series of microcalculations, interest, disbelief, intrigue, and something that might have been... awe. If Zara did awe.

"You're from the Clone Wars," she said slowly, as if saying it aloud would make it less ridiculous. "You were alive during the rise of the Empire. You…" She paused, then huffed a sharp, incredulous breath through her nose. "You're ancient. That's adorable."

But there was no malice in it. Zara's teasing was instinctual, always, but it was tempered now by something quieter, hungrier. She studied Iandre the way a historian might study a living artifact. Or perhaps the way a pyromaniac might admire a slow-burning fire.

"Order 66," she repeated, softly now. "The purge. You're a survivor." Her voice lowered slightly. "That makes you rare. And rarer still, you talk about it."

Then, after a moment's pause: "Your Master was right about the stone thing, by the way. That color does suit you."

Zara took another sip, then turned, guiding them down a quieter avenue where hanging lanterns cast long shadows over silk-draped food stalls and polished stone benches. The crowd thinned here. A few heads still turned, but more out of recognition than curiosity now. Some offered stiff nods. Others gawked like they were seeing a living scandal.

And in a way, they were.

Zara noticed. Of course she did.

"They're staring because they know who I am," she said lightly, as if announcing the weather. "Archon of Light. Enforcer of Order. Fashion critic. I've imprisoned planetary governors for corruption and then worn their jewelry to public events. My reputation has become… mythic." She smirked faintly. "Scandalous, even. I've done some very unarchon-like things. But no one's stopped me yet. Which, I suppose, means I'm doing them correctly."

She stopped walking for just a moment, turning to face Iandre squarely. "I'm actually from right here, Bastion. Grew up not too far from this area." The playful veneer slid aside, not gone, just set down, and what remained was sharp and curious and entirely focused.

"But let's talk about you, ghost girl."

Zara's voice was low now, thoughtful. "You fell out of time, didn't you? Not just a survivor. A displaced one. How are you here, Iandre? How does a Jedi from 42 BBY end up walking beside me, sipping caf and accessorizing with covert weaponry?"

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Under the severe scrutiny of Zara, the former Jedi started to feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. She just hoped the sun wasn't going to be shining through and burning her in moments. A sense of almost awe came off the other woman for a second, but it was quickly buried.

Iandre remained silent through almost everything Zara said. It gave her the time to think of the best answer she could give. Then, after a momentary pause, something she said astonished her. Looking down at the clothes she wore, she pointed the toes of one foot out slightly and rotated it.

"Thank you, Zara Saga, Archon of Light."

Again, there was nothing but truth in her words. If there were ever a time for her to be honest, she felt this was the epitome. May their names both go down in history. She wanted to be remembered, and the way Zara was talking, she already was.

Taking a long drink of her hot coffee, she glanced as Zara motioned around them. This was her home, where she was born and bred. A place that should be comforting, but to Iandre it was a new place and she hoped it could become a home to her.

Emptying her cup, she felt the need for more and indicated as much by trying to walk back to the stall they had come from. It would take her several extra steps to respond to Zara's thoughtful demand. A hint of sorrow passed through her grey eyes, but didn't cross her face.

"I did. My first master died keeping me alive. She hid me when the clones started to turn on us. She led them away, and they never found me. When all sound faded around me, I came out of hiding."

Drawing in a shaky breath, Iandre couldn't meet the blue-eyed, steely gaze of Zara, and she looked at her empty mug. This had been the most she had said to anybody about her past. Maybe it was time to get the load off her shoulders.

"I found the corpse of my Master and buried her where she died. I then changed my clothes, hid my lightsaber, and boarded a public transport. The rest is as cloudy as my beginnings. The hyperdrive malfunctioned, so I used an escape pod and started meditating to help me remain calm as I drifted through space. The next thing I remember is waking up on Chiron to the cheerful faces of Gem and Zinayn. Here I am."

Finally reaching the stall, she received the new coffee and took a sip as she got her foreign emotions under control.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara didn't interrupt. Not once.

Which, by itself, was notable. Monumental, even. You could count on one hand the number of people in the galaxy who had spoken at her for that long without being cut off, corrected, or withering under the weight of her arched eyebrows.

But she just listened.

The only sound from her during Iandre's story was the faint clink of her caf mug as she slowly lowered it, holding it loosely in both hands now, like it needed anchoring. Her expression didn't shift much, Zara had learned long ago how to wear her face like a shield. But her eyes… they stayed locked. And they didn't waver. Not once.

As Iandre reached the end and turned toward the vendor for her second round of caf, Zara followed behind slowly, arms folded, gaze lingering not on the crowd, but on Iandre. Still processing. Still studying.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before. Less performance, more person.

"You shouldn't remember that much," she said, simply. "Not if what you said is true. Meditating through a full drift? For that long?" She gave a slow shake of her head. "You should've died out there. Or forgotten everything. Or both."

She took another sip from her cup, letting the silence stretch between them for a moment, heavy but not hostile.

"I've read about suspended state trauma before. But never in the wild. You're like something from an archive holodrama, Iandre. Someone should've dusted you off and sealed you behind a stasis barrier. Instead…"

Zara gestured around them, where the glow of festival lights played across the marbled paths and the sound of distant cheering echoed from the Colosseum beyond. The air smelled like sweet oils and ozone.

"...you're here. Walking beside me. In a world that has absolutely no business still containing you."

She paused, then added, more lightly, "Also, I'd like to point out that we've been accessorizing and sniping at each other this whole time, and you casually waited until now to mention you were space-hopping through oblivion and woke up on Chiron like that's normal breakfast conversation."

She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a mock-conspiratorial whisper.

"I mean, I was going to ask if you preferred capes or cloaks next, but now I feel like I need to schedule a full psychological screening and nominate you for some sort of medallion."

Zara straightened, tapping a perfectly manicured finger against her caf cup.

"I don't know what the Force did to you. Or why. And I hate not knowing things, by the way. But…" She inhaled through her nose, exhaled slowly. "Whatever brought you here did it on purpose. You're not lost. You're placed."

A pause. Her gaze gentled, barely.

"You don't have to carry it alone, you know. That old wound. You've already carried it further than anyone could ask."

And then, because emotional availability was an affliction best administered in small doses, Zara abruptly sipped her caf and added in her usual dry, imperial tone:

"Also, please never meditate for nine hundred years again. It's rude. And inconsiderate. I had no one to shop with."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Having just met Zara, the former Jedi who should have been long dead, didn't know just how nice she was being to her. While she seemed to doubt her history, she still accepted it. If Zara had been reading her honesty, then she would know what Iandre said was true. Besides, she had no reason to lie. If there were additional doubts, she would tell her to talk to Zinayn. Eventually, it was clear the blonde believed her, and she went on to say what should have happened to her.

Lifting her eyebrows, she silently took a sip of the new caf and when she had the moment to interject, she broke her silence.

"When or how would it have been better timing to say this?"

Shutting her mouth, she didn't think she had snipped at Zara at all and wasn't sure if she should be offended or not. Deciding she really hadn't meant to be mean, she didn't respond to that at all. Lowering her gaze to her cup, she calmly listened to Zara. Shaking her head, there might be a tear that dropped, but when Iandre looked up again, her tears were mostly dry.

"I don't know why either, and I don't like it any more than you do. Maybe we can figure it out together."

Accepting Zara wasn't going to abandon her, she felt she had started making another friend within the Diarchy.

"Oh, I don't plan on doing that again. The recovery from it took months. Laphisto helped me, though, and I'm grateful to him for that. I'll go shopping with you anytime you'd like. I do need to learn about fashion, and I feel you will be a fantastic tutor."

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara stared at Iandre for a long moment, her expression unreadable, like a statue in a cathedral, beautiful and impossible to argue with. Then she made a small, unimpressed sound in the back of her throat.

"Oh please," she said, with a scoff soft enough to count as affection. "You've been floating through space like a Force-preserved space myth, you've barely adjusted to a thousand-year time jump, and you think I'm the one who should teach you about fashion? Darling. That's like asking the sun to teach you how to glow. It's not a lesson. It's an exposure."

She sipped her caf, then gave a lazy wave of her hand that somehow felt both dismissive and approving at once.

"But fine. I accept this noble burden. I'll educate you. We'll start slow. Nothing that sparkles unless it's weaponized, and we're going to have a long conversation about outerwear that implies you could assassinate someone and then chair a peace summit before brunch."

Zara gestured vaguely toward Iandre's boots. "You're already halfway there."

Her expression softened, faintly, still bristling with her usual arsenal of irony, but… gentler. She'd caught the tear. She hadn't said anything. She didn't need to.

Instead, she looked ahead down the quiet avenue, then back at Iandre with an evaluating glance that landed somewhere between fond and suspicious.

"You know, you're handling all this very well for someone whose last experience with the galaxy involved clones, Jedi temples, and robes with too many layers. Most people in your situation would've had a breakdown, or at least picked up a low-grade death cult on the way in."

She started walking again, slow and deliberate, their cups still warm in hand. Then, without looking over, she added:

"And if you want to figure it out together, why the Force spared you, what it wants from you now, you better keep up. I don't do slow. I do brilliant. And brutal. And occasionally soft, but only when no one's looking."

Zara's mouth twitched into the ghost of a grin.

"And for the record, I don't abandon people. I'm too possessive. Once I start caring, I hoard people like rare artifacts."

She paused, arched a single golden brow at Iandre.

"Congratulations. You may now be catalogued."

Iandre Athlea​