Chapter Text
'59 and '15 fall into formation behind her and '59 can see '15's shock. It's so different, so strange, and '59 has a million questions rolling through his head that he doesn't dare ask.
"This is going to sound odd," the Madame says suddenly, stopping in the hall and turning back towards them, "And wildly unorthodox, I'm aware, and you can say no, but would you mind walking next to me rather than behind?"
'59 now has about a billion questions and couldn't move if he wanted to; he was so surprised.
"It's protocol, Madame." '15 manages to get out.
The woman raises an eyebrow, "And if we were in a battlefield or a board meeting, I'd get it. But we're not, and I've just thrown everyone who'd care in the brig. So," She makes an ushering motion to her side.
This is so kriffing weird. '59 tentatively comes forward, sneaking glances at '15, who's doing the same. They both come and stand next to her, and she beams like she's won something, which maybe, '59 reasons, she has.
They start down the hall again, now side by side, as they walk at a calm pace. They pass a few vode who snap to attention at the sight of the Madame and salute. She nods back with a professional smile and keeps walking, but once out of sight, the smile turns into a grimace before smoothing over. After a few times it happens, she seems to lose her patience with it.
"Why are they doing that?" She asks once they're out of hearing range of the vode they passed, "They know I'm not their General. I'm not even in the GAR."
'59 wants to be shocked, but he's far too numb to be, so he shrugs instead, "It's a sign of respect. You might not be our General, but you are the one who saved us. You killed him. You've earned our loyalty."
"Oh." The Madame thinks it over silently, "That makes more sense." The next time they pass a vode, the smile does not fade to a grimace but stays.
They guide her through a few turns before coming to the officer suites. "It's the one with the heavy-duty security pad, Madame." '15 nods to the respective door.
The Madame hums, looking at the pin pad, "Interesting."
'59 fights the urge to fidget or ask what's so interesting as she examines the door that is just the same as all the other doors in the hall. She pulls out a small metal ball and tosses it at the door. The door zaps it before it hits the door.
'59 blinked; he had no clue that was there, it wasn't in the specs of the ship.
"Very interesting." The Madame murmurs, picking up the ball. She switches her ball for a set of metal tools '59's never seen, and the questions are burning now.
"If you have a question, just ask." The Madame says not looking up, "Your curiosity is coming off you both in waves. Talking is less distracting."
If that's not unsettling, '59 doesn't know what is.
"Did you read our minds?" '15 asks first.
"No, entering your mind would be rude and intrusive. What I picked up on was emotions." The Madame says as she uses the tools to pry the cover off the pin pad and pulled the wires out, "Emotions are not in the mind only; they show up on your face, in your body language, and in the Force. It's like feeling warmth and making the connection the sun is out or feeling heat and thinking of a fire. I felt your curiosity; if I were to read your minds, I would have known your exact questions."
"What are those tools for?" '59 asks, watching her work.
"A mix of electrical tools, lock pics, scrambles, and jammers. My go-to criminal activity kit." The Madame says, cutting two wires and connecting them so the door slides open.
"Do they teach you that in the Jedi Order?" '15 asks almost jokingly.
The Madame laughs, "Depends on what year it is, depends on what classes you take, depends on how old you are. Depends on which skill you're asking about, but mostly?" She yanks out something from the depths of the device, and the pad sputters and dies, "No."
'15 jolts like he's been smacked, and '59 swallows a laugh that seems par for the course. "Then how do you know how to do it?" '15 asks, recovering quickly as they follow her into the annoyingly bland office.
"Let's say your idiot of an ex-general is one side of the weird spectrum cause he was completely evil." The Madame says, holding out one hand and sweeping her other hand in the other direction, "Well, I'm the other extreme where we drop the evil and just leave it at weird."
"So you're eccentric?" '59 said carefully as she began rummaging through the desk (gloves on, he checked).
"In a word, yes."
"So the other Jedi aren't like you?" '15 clarified.
"Ha! No. They're their own kind of weird, but it's more unified. I'm what they'd call a Grey Jedi, while your ex-general was a Fallen one. Most of the Jedi are more, reserved." The Madame laughed, plugging a slicing device into the console, "My turn; how often did he use this office?"
'59 wracked his memories, "Not often. His time was split between his room and the bridge."
"Well, that would explain the lack of use." The Madame said, frowning at the screen.
"What is it?" '15 asked as the Madame frowned harder.
"These are regularly inputted data transfers, but what was transferred is wiped clean. But every few months, like clockwork, the data gets downloaded. The last transfer was five days ago." The Madame swiped through the logs, "I'll have to have Tech look at this."
She fell into silence as she searched the rest of the room. '59 watched how she methodically went through every crevice of the sparse office looming through everything. She was single-focused like a predator hunting prey, and '59 found it fascinating to watch her work. She emptied all the drawers, searched through the console, even looked through the physical desk itself, and walked every square inch of the floor with a single focus.
"Nothing." She huffed, finally giving up, glaring at the desk.
"Did you expect there to be something?" '15 asked, unsure of how to act in the face of her annoyance.
"Sort of. He felt so kriffing smug that I assumed," the Madame trailed off, shaking her head.
"That he was hiding something?" '59 finished hesitantly.
"Not just that. That he was getting away with something." She huffed and dropped into the office chair, leaning back, "I feel like I'm missing something."
'59 shared a glance with '15. He had no clue how to respond in this situation like a normal being. "Well, we can always come back if you get another idea." '59 offered.
"Huh." The Madame said clearly not listening as she sat up, still staring at the ceiling.
'59 looked up and spotted the ceiling vent, too small to be a security risk since no one aboard was cadet-sized. The Madame got out of the chair and clambered onto the desk in a blink of an eye and popped the grate on the veneration shift.
"Madame?" '59 asked, trying to decide if this was Sajuan Ka behavior or Jedi behavior. She stuck her hand in and felt around, and '59 was immensely glad she was wearing her gloves when she came back out with a datapad attached to a data stick and a very grotesque early civilizations-looking mask.
"Well, that's fascinating." The Madame deadpanned, dropping both items on the desk, "Don't touch it."
'59 wasn't planning on it since it's giving him evil horror vibes, but he takes heed, "What is it?"
"A Sith visionary mask, which is interesting cause I could have sworn I burned the last of them a good six hundred years ago." The Madame glared down at the evil mask. It stared back.
"So how did he get it?" '15 asked.
"Great question! No clue." The Madame grabbed the datapad off the desk and powered it up, "But this should have some answers, hopefully." It displayed a rolling screen of numbers that made the Madame frown harder, "That's not good."
"What is?" '59 asked, resisting the urge to come over and look.
"It's data of ration deliveries for the GAR for the next few months. It was downloaded," She stopped and put down the datapad, "Five days ago."
'59's heart dropped; the monster was selling out the army, the Republic, and the vode, and had been getting away with it. '59 had never thought he could hate Krell more. He was wrong.
"Look, I'm not at all well versed in how an army works, but this is basically giving away where your troops are, right? That's not good." The Madame looked between them for confirmation.
"It's giving away troop movements. Yes, that is very bad." '15 assured her, looking very mad.
"Okay, well, there's nothing else here, so, I'm gonna have Hunter deal with it. Maybe Tech can figure out who he sent the info to." The Madame said, putting the datapad down, "Which leaves that." She sighed heavily, staring at the mask sitting almost innocently on the desk.
"Can you fix it?" '15 asked carefully, unsure of what the problem was.
"No. That's Sith through and through. You cannot fix something that doesn't want to be fixed." Madame sighed, pulling a pouch out from her belt and her staff off her back.
'59 private wondered what exactly she was going to do with it as she pulled out some sort of red powder from the pouch.
"I can feel questions coming," Madame said, not looking up as she sprinkled red dust on the mask and then created a design with it on the mask.
"What are you doing to it?" '59 asked, shoving the tingly feeling of being called out again.
"I'm creating a seal on it right now so that it's safe to handle and transport without giving anyone hallucinations or visions; then, when I have time and proper conditions, I'll burn it." The Madame said, pouring red liquid into the symbol she'd made in the pile of powder on the mask. The powder and liquid flashed together like a chemical reaction, then fizzed out. The wrong feeling faded on the back of '59's head as Madame dropped it back on the table with a thunk.
"That's it?" '15 asked surprised.
Madame grinned, "That's it."