Postby R. Zion » Wed Jan 05, 2005 5:14 pm
Chapter Four
Extravagance was nearly a badge of honor for the Neimoidians, credits the measure of a being’s success. This was the way his mother had raised him. This was the way of his people.
Though the lighting had been set to dim, Loon’s quarters still held a bright glow to them due to the reflection of the near overwhelming presence of gold within the room. What items in the room that were not gold were either plated gold or made of something equally as valuable. Finely woven rugs upon the floor, paintings and tapestries hundreds of years older than he upon the wall, and furniture created by the finest craftsmen known. This was hardly the scene one would find on a Mercenary ship, and thanks to his careful precautions few actually saw it.
Security, though, to this extent almost always assured loneliness.
Loon leaned back upon the stack of plush pillows on the corner of his bed, now wearing only his under robes, surrounded by files, datapads and sheets of flimsiplast from some figures he had been going over. But these were not his focus now. In his hand, he toyed with an ovaloid holoprojector, rolling it between his fingers. In his mind he debated whether to activate it or not, to view the images within as he did on occasion when he got into a sullen mood. The past, though, was not a subject he much liked to dwell on.
There were always chances for exceptions to that rule, though.
Pressing firmly onto a small nob on the orb’s face, something inside hummed to life in the silence, beams of light arcing out from its sides and morphing together into a seemingly solid image of three beings overtop of it. A family. A smile, ever so slight, crossed Loon’s face as he scanned the scene, watching his father, the Duros Fellen Danar, his mother, the Neimoidian Loor Danar, and his own diminiutive form at age six. This was a bittersweet time in his life, a time of conflict on all sides.
Neither by Neimoidian society nor that of the Duros was he ever truly excepted, being a hybrid of the two species. To the former he was merely a worm milking off the good name of the species for his own glorification; to the latter a tainted being who possessed foolish ‘inner qualities’ that ran sometimes contrary to their way of life. Compassion, for one. Had he been wholly Neimoidian, compassion would have cost him his life early in the hive. This was a fact his mother had often reminded him of. She had bred him on the philosophy that in life you must win by whatever means necessary. Whatever means. The strong will live and the weak will die. The winner will take the spoils and the loser would be nothing more than dust in the wind.
His father, though, spoke much to the contrary. While he encouraged his son to do his best and to look towards victory, he told him to keep hold of that compassion within him. Many things in this galaxy can be bought and sold at the drop of a few credits, Fellen Danar once said,but if you lose your honor and the compassionate soul within you, no sum of credits will ever be able to buy it back.
These two philosophies brought his parents into conflict many times, and in fact their differing points of view left them almost constantly in argument from his childhood and even until today. It sometimes seemed beyond him how the two of them could possibly love each other always being in such a state, yet still their marriage somehow remained strong.
Loon glanced up and scanned the elegant and costly decorations that dotted his room. Money, possessions… he had acquired these things in the pursuit of happiness, trying to discover some form of pleasure in his own life. Or perhaps it was his mother he sought to please. While his father’s love was most assured, there was always the sinking suspicion that his mother would never truly be proud of him unless he was a success. That’s what made the choice to join up with Marikk so hard. He threw away a great deal of his success in order to help his cousin. A fool’s errand.
Another button pressed upon the projector’s surface and the image dissolved momentarily before being replaced by another. This time it was an image of two, Marikk and himself, ages 10 and 14. Related by their fathers, Marikk had spent much time with his family during the summers and for a few years in their older teen years. His cousin’s parents had passed on when he was very young, leaving him alone in the galaxy and passing from one relative’s household to another until he finally left to blaze his own trails.
Loon smirked again, remembering their times as children. His cousin often wanted to go out on some ‘adventure’ or another, wherever he could get into mischief around their home of Neimoidia. He, however, was too proper to be running around like a savage all day. There were studies to attend to; work to be done. Despite one refusal after another, Marikk did not lose spirit and kept on asking anyway, in hopes that his big cousin would come join him in play.
His hopes, though, were not in vain as there was finally one adventure he had decided to join in on. In his early twenties, Marikk left their home to find freedom, freedom from the strict rules his adopted mother tried to force upon him. In his travels, by some circumstance or another, his cousin found himself working in the underworld as a pilot and bodyguard for various gangsters, but within recent years broke away from that past life and went to start up what was now Marikk’s Mercs.
It was indeed the much maligned trait of compassion that had convinced him to join his cousin. Having left his firm on Muunilist, he helped to front the money to buy a ship for this little venture, the Nova Hound, and agreed to take care of their new business’s finances with the same ferocity he had done in public work. For this move his mother scowled upon him, but his father gave only a knowing smile and a reaffirming glimmer in his eye.
That seemed to make it all worth it, though. The joy of his cousin and the pride of his father.
Switching off the small projector, he dropped it down to his side and stared up at the ceiling. Perhaps the others had been right when they said he should pay Marikk a little more respect and care. Perhaps there was more to all this than money.
Then again, where would they be now without credits?
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“Well well, so these are the beings with whom the professor has taken refuge,â€