Scenes from Telos, 3. Carth

Carth woke with a start.

He put an arm across the bed, felt around, and then realized where he was. He breathed quietly in the dark for a few moments, waiting for the chill to subside, waiting for the sound of waves to recede. He gave out a sigh, and sitting up, he pulled the chrono toward him for a look. The bleary numbers told him it was too early to get up, but too late to go back to bed. He switched on the lights and went into the fresher, stumbling on a stray shoe on the way. You're cracking up, Onasi, he thought, running his head under the faucet. Bigtime.

Carth needed some noise, so he switched on the holo. While the Near Human anchor read the news, he went into his stretches. He had pulled a muscle some weeks ago, and though he was in top shape, it reminded him that he wasn't as young as he used to be. He didn't like sitting at his desk all damn day, without a throttle, gauges, or navicomp anywhere in reach. To add insult to the injury, that great window was right there, showing all the other ships zooming over the station. Sometimes Carth thought his promotion had been a form of punishment.

The Citadel Station newsfeed tended more toward gossip than anything else; there was no weather, no sports to speak of, so the anchors tried to find filler where they could. There were only a few things about it that Carth liked. The first was that sometimes the reporters would read requests for help or job openings on the air; there was a sense of small-town cooperation about it that he appreciated. The second thing was the "our stories" feature, where one of the reporters would interview one of the native Telians, and they would talk (with sappy music in the background) about how life was like before the bombardment. And the third thing was what his son called "the aqualish in a box", the aqualish interpreter that appeared on the screen in the corner, reading out the news for the alien population. Dustil could imitate this person almost perfectly.

This morning, or what passed for morning on the space station, there was absolutely nothing of note on the Citadel feed. Unless of course you gave a damn about "Lady" Meless, and Carth didn't, not after that little stunt she pulled. He wondered sometimes if she knew that he knew. Uninterested in her latest activities, Carth switched through to the Coruscant feed and let that run while he finished warming up.

After he worked his feet into his running shoes, he left his dim apartment and blinked into the light of his residential module. He had been offered housing down at the garrison but he decided against it for a number of reasons, one of which was that he didn't want questions or paperwork concerning his visitors. He liked his privacy, and he liked to think that half of his "neighbors" didn't know who he was, at least so far. 'Carth', after all, was a common name, or at least it had been, before the population of Telos was melted or dispersed. His grandfather's name.

Carth liked to pick a point to start from, count down, and then run, as though he were starting a race. The act of jogging always made him feel better, like he was accomplishing something. He worked out his thoughts to the rhythm of his shoes. Inevitably he would think back on the dream that he had, the beach dream. He put it out of his mind. That was done with. That was over.

Crowds were thicker this morning, and Carth had to work his way around the edge. He kept a watchful eye, not wanting to ram into anyone; they were stressed, toting luggage or pushing crates, and it looked like there might be some extra hold-up. He slowed his pace and skirted the mass of people and aliens, taking in the sound of birds and breezes over the arguments and complaints. Carth didn't want to know how much the Ithorians had spent on that damn monitor, how much Republic credit it was, but he begrudgingly had to admit it was interesting. At the same time it made him a little sad, seeing old footage of animals and plants that were gone forever. The beasts from the Onderon system were tough sons of kath, good to start a new ecosystem, but they'd never make up for what was lost.

Carth discovered that the hold-up was due to an accident up the way; workers had unloaded some crates from one of utility shuttles, and the transport had tipped over, dumping and breaking open its cargo. The ramps were awash in thousands and thousands of widgets, sprockets, and thingmajigs; initially, passersby had rushed to snatch up the "free" items, but then they seemed to realize that there wasn't really a damn thing anybody could do with the junk. Now the TSF was on the scene, having closed off that ramp, and Carth saw the officers chatting with one another while they waited for cleanup to arrive.

Turning around, he decided instead to jog down to the Great Fountain. He had time to kill, and he always enjoyed it down there. The Ithorians kept fish in there, and some sort of amphibious species that Carth didn't recognize. They were slimy orange things with lots of feet, and sometimes they would just float, noses above water, before disappearing with a little pop. Every time he came down here, some child would try to catch one if they came close to the edge, but Carth had never witnessed any success. This morning, a togruta child was trying her luck; she was peering intently into the water, her mother looking on with a pleased smirk.

Carth closed his eyes and listened to the rushing water for a time, his head down in his hands. He could feel the faintest cold mist falling on the backs of his fingers, and he enjoyed that. The fountain was a good idea. Expensive. Impractical. But so good. After a moment, he felt motion nearby, and he looked up to find an Ithorian caretaker edging his way. He or she-- to be honest, Carth was very bad at distinguishing this right away-- was holding a long-necked net, skimming out brown leaves from the clusters of lotus.

Aware of his gaze, the Ithorian rumbled a friendly greeting. They spoke. How was Carth this morning? Well enough, and you? How was Aa Chuya-da, the Little Mouse? Good, thanks for asking, I bet he misses you guys. (The Ithorian wheezed happily.) Would you like to feed the fish?

Carth glanced across the pool. The little togruta had grown discouraged of catching one of those amphibians, and was now splish-splashing her little red hand in the water. Carth caught the Ithorian's eyes, and nodded his head in her direction. The Ithorian wheezed again, catching Carth's meaning. She'd like that, probably. He bid the Ithorian a good day, smiling just slightly.

When he returned to his apartment, he noticed he'd left the holo on. There was some 'breaking news' on the Coruscant feed, the Fobosi District to be exact. Carth lingered a moment to see if there was anything to it; watching the screen, he half-bent to pull off his shoes, but there weren't any details. He tried to remember what was in the Fobosi District-- the University, the Gardens, all that upscale hoity-toity kind of stuff.

When he came out of the fresher, the holofeed only showed some reporters talking amongst one another about some other news item. Carth dressed in plain clothes and pulled on his jacket; he sometimes changed into the uniform in the locker rooms in the garrison. He liked his privacy.

Once he reached his office, he found his secretary already up and around. She was tipping a watering can into a flowerpot; she had her area festooned with plants, some in pots, some hanging, and one interesting specimen set in a bowl with little pebbles and a tiny stone temple.

"Mrs. Ghi, you're here early."

"Morning, sir." She smiled at him over her shoulder. It had taken him years to grow accustomed to the look of filed teeth. "The grandbaby woke us all up crying. Couldn't get back to bed, you know how it is."

Carth chuckled. "I feel for you," he said. "His teeth coming in?" He remembered all the times he had to get up in the bleak hours of the morning, sitting in the kitchen with his infant son. Dustil was a fussy baby, cried all the time. He didn't like me to hold him.

She nodded. "Zabrak teeth come in early. The poor dear."

"Mrs. Ghi--"

"I know, I drug it in there, it's waiting for you all locked up."

"You didn't have to, but thanks. I'd like you to take it easy, Mrs. Ghi." Carth smiled at her and went into his office, switching on the lights. He heard her laugh softly and mock his words, 'take it easy, hmm'. After a moment, a thought occurred to him, and he popped his head back in. "By the way, was there, uh, something happening on Coruscant?"

"Oh I hoped somebody would ask," she said, her back to him while she watered one of the hanging plants. "I'm full of gossip. There was an accident at the Botanical Gardens."

"What, pollen got into somebody's eye?"

Mrs. Ghi chuckled. "No. Some poor fellow met a grisly end in the carnivorous plant pavilion."

"You sound all tore up about it."

"I can't help it. You know that slime, what's-his-name, who was making noise about running against My Favorite Senator?"

"Oh, it was him?"

"Uh huh." She flashed a toothy smile. She could open cans would those teeth.

"How convenient."

"Oh I know. It's almost too good. The movers and shakers are always holding their important little meetings up there in the Gardens. Coruscanti are so odd that way.. if you like greenery so much, why do you let your world crust over into one big city?" Eda Ghi shook her horned head. "Anyway.. I just can't help but smirk to myself. It's damned silly is what it is."

"Almost forgot carnivorous plant humor is big on your homeworld."

"On Iridonia, salad eats you." Eda Ghi winked. "I just can't help it. I just keep picturing two boots sticking out of some plant's mouth and it gives me the giggles. He was a damned slime, they all are."

"Speaking of, has the esteemed senator come on holo yet, saying how sorry he is for the loss?"

"Not yet, but he'll put on this somber face like he always does, whenever somebody has an accident. One little tear might appear in the corner of his eye."

"He'll dab it away bravely, no doubt." Carth rolled his eyes. "I despise him. It's people like him that make me appreciate one small thing about the mess here. At least on the council, everyone's too busy one-upping each other that no one person actually gets into power and stays there."

"Except you?"

"Who are you kidding, Eda?" Carth shook his head with a small smile. "Though to be honest, some days I think I'd like to have a huge man-eating plant in my office. Just for emergencies."

"Or accidents. I'll ask the Ithorians for you, sir." She set down her watering can, and added, "By the way, and I know you said no, but have you changed your mind about Lady M?"

"You mean have I changed my opinion of that gold-digging, self-absorbed, meddling bitch?"

"Well. I didn't know if you'd let that get in the way of having tea with her sometime this week. Thumbs up or down?"

Carth didn't like tea, and he sure as hell didn't like her. "She'd probably put poison in it. Like she did for her first husband."

"Now that's not true. The poisoned tea death was her second husband, the Alderaanian." Eda Ghi grinned. "Are you sure? It might be entertaining if nothing else."

"Meless can play her games with Dekkart and the others. I don't want any part of it. She's nothing but trouble."

"You're right, it is a game, but you have to learn to play your part. If you went over there, you could pay her back for what she did to your office." For a moment, Carth looked tempted, and Eda Ghi saw it. "Hmm? I could fill out all the paperwork for you, it would be nice and neat."

Carth shook his head, and made a dismissive cut with his hands. "No. I don't have any good reason. She's just meddling busybody."

"Then I'll tell her little manservant that you're too busy." Eda Ghi nodded. "It's probably for the best that she's told you don't have time to come running at her beck and call. Unlike some people." She took in a breath and smiled. "I'm going to put on some caffa. Hey.. you doing all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She raised an eyeridge. Their eyes met, and he lingered by the doorway a moment before he went. "I'll be in my office," he said. "Let me know when the kid gets here."

Mical Matale showed up not too long after, just as Carth suspected. He had Mrs. Ghi bring him in, just as soon as Carth finished his messages. Councillor Dekkart wanted to accompany him down to the planet again; Carth wasn't sure what Dekkart was up to this time, but the more that the council saw of the restoration project, the better. Sometimes they forgot the reason they were here.

The kid was pleasant and polite, almost to a fault. He always seemed to wait for Carth to sit before he sat down; he stood if Carth stood. Wonder what would happen if I sat down, stood up, and sat down again?

"If I may ask, sir," Matale put in, "what other sorts of people are involved in this project?"

"All kinds," Carth replied. "I know that elsewhere they've got scouts, merchants, linguists, even treasure hunters and scoundrels. One of my colleagues has even enlisted the help of an archaeologist from the University of Alderaan. There's a lot of interest, but it's a sensitive matter, you know. We have to make sure we pick people wisely."

Matale inclined his head slightly. "I am, as ever, grateful for your trust. Are there others such as I, from the agricultural corps perhaps, or the medical services?"

"There might be. I know that there is at least one person who left the order to start a family, long ago. Sometimes it's hard to get ahold of these people, especially with what's happening now. They want to stay hidden."

A contemplative look was slowly seeping over Matale's face, as though something occurred to him. "I'm sorry, did you say treasure hunters and scoundrels?" When Carth nodded, he asked, "Are you sure they can be trusted with such artifacts?"

"It's worked out fine so far," Carth replied. "You just have to know their limits, know what they want and what they'll do. I have one who likes to steal from the smugglers." Did she ever.

"I suppose it takes a thief to catch a thief," Matale mused. "I was going to ask if you knew of any jedi perhaps.. " Carth dismissed the question with a shake of his head. He didn't like to lie, but his friends' secrets were not his to tell.

"So. This holocron." Carth motioned to the ornate box upon his desk. "This came in here from one of the underground markets, and before that, the merchant claimed to have picked it up on Nar Shaddaa. It's a bit beat up, but it does work. Somewhat. I don't expect you to understand the language on there, but I've been informed it's very old."

"I've been looking at it just now," Matale told him. "It looks like someone has attempted to chip off the crystalwork for a quick credit. Jedi holocrons are largely useless apart from reselling them, since only force sensitives may activate them." Getting it to talk wasn't the problem. It was shutting it up.. "I'll attempt to turn it on.. with your permission?"

Carth nodded, watching the young man push back his sleeve and reach out his hand. He fitted his hand into the indent, and after a moment, a dim glow pulsed within the cube. A scratchy voice began to speak, stuttering and jolting in a language that Carth could not even identify. The first part of the holocron was confusing as ever; even Matale seemed to have some trouble understanding. Carth began to think that perhaps it was unfair to begin with this artifact. It was difficult after all, and Matale so clearly wanted to please.

"I don't know what this means," he admitted. "All I can say is that it may be poetry of some kind. There is a sort of rhythm to it, despite the damage to the recording."

"Don't sweat it," Carth said. "There's a second part, actually.. "

Matale glanced at him. "You've heard it speak?"

"Just what I was told." He'd ask who activated it for me.

Their eyes returned to the artifact. It was pulsing a dull gold from inside. It was slightly grimy on the outside; Carth and Dustil had tried to fix it up, wiping off some of the muck, but they hesitated in actually getting it wet or doing anything more to it. So for fear of breaking it, they just let it sit on the caffa table, dingy and a little smelly, lecturing at them in weird voices. When it had started to sound preachy, Dustil had put on an exaggerated face and announced, "I don't let some dumb little box tell me what to do."

The scratchy voice blipped out; there was some technical difficulty, and then a new voice came on mid-sentence. This happened a lot throughout the recording. Hearing the new language spoken, Matale leaned closer, and his blue eyes widened slightly and then narrowed. Carth could tell by the kid's face that not only did he understand what was being said, it was going to be something great. Carth was growing more and more curious, but he let the kid listen; Matale would tell him when he was ready.

It was at this moment that the incomparable Mrs. Ghi arrived with the second round of caffa. She set the tray on the desk far from the holocron, smiled at the boy, and exchanged a glance with Carth. Wordlessly she made a motion to tell him that Dekkart wanted to speak with him. (She always used a slightly rude gesture to refer to him). Carth mouthed, 'Is it important?' to which he received a head shake. To this, he motioned 'later'.

"So," said Carth. "Any idea what it is we've got here?"

Matale nodded eagerly, and his eyebrows were up in his hair. "This is fantastic," he said, probably the first time in a year that Carth had heard someone say this word seriously. "Simply fantastic. The second part translates and explains the first; it is a commentary on ancient poetry."

"Ah, great," said Carth, thinking, poetry? At the very least, and from the nature of its damage, Carth had hoped it was some ancient forbidden knowledge or the juicy last confessions of a jedi. Hadn't Dustil said it might be sabotaged?

Carth must have made a face, because Matale continued, "Oh, but not any poetry, it is the work of an anonymous author referred to as the Hijoian Verse Scholar. His name is lost to us by now. Or deliberately concealed by former generations. His work is highly controversial. Love poetry. There are scholars who have attempted to argue that it is a metaphorical sort of love of the universe and the Ashla, the light side of the force. Yet the linguists who specialize in this dialect will tell you that the words he employs are clearly, ah, erotic in nature. Then you have another group of scholars, armed with that ammunition, who argue all sorts of implications.. "

Carth could see where this was going. He sat straighter. "So this unknown poet.. he was a jedi, then." He reached for the tray of caffa, but Matale made a staying gesture.

"Almost certainly, if one examines the sort of speech he uses, and the fact that the original poem was recorded on a jedi holocron." Matale poured them caffa as he spoke. "His works, at least what remains of them, have sparked intense debates over the centuries. He isn't the first to explore this area, of course.. some believe he has lifted considerably from other sources... but his is best known."

"I was led to believe," Carth said, "that someone tried to tamper with this holocron.. "

Matale hadn't looked away from Carth nor had he spilled a drop of caffa. That's jedi school for you. "It is too early to say. I would need to study it further. One can clearly see the shell is damaged from changing hands, from being shuttled around in the markets, as you've said. The crystalwork chipped here. But they are supposed to be rather sturdy. One thing I noticed, however, is that this holocron does not appear to have a gatekeeper."

Carth prompted him with nod, and accepted his caffa with thanks.

"As with ordinary holo communication, a little hologram of the speaker appears. However, jedi holocrons are renowned for their gatekeepers, a representation of the speaker's personality and behavior. Their purpose is to reproduce a sort of face-to-face, master-student communication. The gatekeeper teaches, but, as the name of the term would imply, it controls the access of information. To be honest, I am not entirely certain how it works, but the holocron seems to know whether it is an initiate, a padawan, a knight, or a master who activates it. The gatekeeper adjusts its playback accordingly."

"So you think this holocron would have had a gatekeeper. Probably a holo of the second speaker on the record, giving his lecture?"

"Ah, yes. Even a minor gatekeeper. I think that we would have seen a little glowing blue man standing on your desk just now. Yet there is no holo.. and the recording itself is very disorganized, with lapses in information and some garbled speech."

Carth smiled, wondering if the kid knew he talked with his hands. "So," he said. "Maybe someone tried to pry into it and learn more than the holocron wanted him to know. Or someone tried to tamper with it, or erase it. That would explain it. Certainly more dramatic, in any case, than being banged around on a thriftseller's junker."

Matale grinned a little. "It's too early to say. But I find it suspicious at the very least, owing to the controversial nature of the recording.. "

"Right. I guess these old verses get dragged before the council whenever jedi run away for a Nar Shaddaa wedding, or somebody's robes are getting tight around the middle?"

"Well essentially yes," Matale said, his grin becoming something of a smirk before it faded. He scratched his head briefly and then gestured with that hand. "Let us examine the Nar Shaddaa wedding scenario, then, as an example. Suppose that man and wife are hauled before the council and given their comeuppance. There is a general rumbling as people take sides. Then someone brings up something like the Hijoian Verse Scholar, arguing that there is a precedence for such marriages and that perhaps things were done differently in older times."

And then all hell breaks loose, Carth thought. "Seems to me that these decisions have a poor record for consistency over time. Kind of wishy-washy if you ask me. Someone like Arren Kae gets the boot, but Nomi Sunrider was the greatest thing since hyperdrive." Carth thought he saw a shadow pass across the young man's eyes. He shouldn't get too sarcastic this early in the morning. "Eh. Not to speak ill of Nomi Sunrider. It wasn't her fault that the council never took issue with her." No. Not Sunrider. Had he known Kae?

"No, you are absolutely correct to point that out." Matale was nodding. "We must examine such inconsistencies, and also the policies of former generations. There has been too much waste and grief in fighting over these things. Fighting over words and what-ifs. They teach every initiate that emotional attachments can lead to danger.. as though presuming the worst of everyone from the very beginning."

"There is no emotion, only peace." Carth's recollection of the code got a little out of order after this one, but that line he knew well, remembering Bastila chant those words through gritted teeth.

"Well, that's one way to put it, yes." Matale lifted his cup. "Personally, and it is only my opinion, but I think that's a bit asinine.. "

Carth raised an eyebrow. Maybe it was the way he said it, that slightly wry undertone, as though he were trying to be polite about it. "You too?"

"Well it makes no sense, taken literally. And so many do try to take it literally. Is there no place for joy, for love, for anger, even? Should one not enjoy helping others? Should a jedi watchman maintain a cool indifference for the worlds under his care?"

"Or shouldn't you get angry when the Mandalorians burn cities," Carth mused over his caffa cup. He thought he had the kid's number here.

Matale nodded his head, looking so earnest in his expression. "Precisely." After a pause, he told Carth, "Some argue that the original version of the code ran something along the lines of 'emotion yet peace'."

Carth smirked. "Common sense." He set his cup down. From what he could tell so far, Matale seemed to have a good handle on things. The real world and years in the army probably helped to wise him up as well. "So you don't think love leads to the dark side, basically."

"No. In fact, to revive the topic of our friend Cay Qel Droma, it was love that helped to bring back his brother from evil. When Ulic struck Cay down in the end of their duel, killing him where he knelt, Ulic realized what he had done and how far he had fallen. It was then that he realized he had been used to commit such heinous crimes. I do not believe all attachments are dangerous. I would hazard that apathy is more dangerous than any attachment. In any case, that tired statement that 'love leads to the dark side' is a gross reduction. Yet I think it sometimes becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Do you mean that it's just easier to go to the sith, because they don't care about that stuff?"

Matale nodded. "Precisely. I suppose some of them do not care what happens, so long as they are together. Or they feel the order has betrayed them." He had heard those words before..

"This is not to imply I hold any sympathy for sith teachings," Matale continued after a pause. "They are evil, self-destructive. In the end there is nothing they can offer except.. Is something the matter, admiral?" His tone softened.

"Nah, just thinking," Carth said. "I actually didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Matale nodded, and even without asking, he reached out and took Carth's cup to freshen his caffa. He did this in exactly the manner that he would dispense medicine or first aid supplies.

"So where do you stand?" Carth accepted his new caffa with a nod of thanks.

"I have always felt that the rules were poorly defined and in some cases, arbitrarily enforced. I don't like to speak ill of the order, but this is my honest criticism. I personally believe that there are much more pressing issues in the galaxy than jedi getting into one another's robes. In any case, where does anyone suppose that new jedi come from. They don't grow on trees.. "

Carth wondered if he had left because of a girl. "Sounds reasonable to me," he said. "Now.. I'm thinking what I should do with this holocron. It's damaged."

"I can attempt to clean it off, at the very least," Matale offered. "Master Atris was always fastidious in her care for the collections, and she taught good habits regarding them. Unfortunately, I have no notion of how to repair a holocron. I don't even know if one needs to feel the force in order to do so. I imagine it would be awfully difficult otherwise, not knowing what you are doing."

"I guess we can just do our best, and hope somebody down the line will know what to do. What I want you to do, I've decided, is to write down what you heard."

"Regarding the first part.. "

" Don't worry about the first part, but I want you to write down everything that's in the language you understand."

"The second translates the first, or at least attempts to. I'll do my best." Matale smiled, flushed with a sense of purpose.

Carth almost wanted to smile back. "Leave nothing out," he went on. "Where it cuts off, make an editor's note of it. Where something sounds weird, make a note of that too. I'm going to get ahold of a few blank holos, the ordinary ones, and I want you to take a recording onto them. You could do that, couldn't you?"

"Of course. With the library on Ossus gone, and the looting of the other records, it will be very important to preserve works such as this one."

"Then we're set. I might, ah, be unavailable for the next day or two, down on the planet. But Mrs. Ghi will let you in here and set you up some space to work."

"I would like that."

Carth was starting to feel the lack of sleep by the afternoon. It was always difficult to adjust to the rhythm of life on a space station, with the simulated lights and the weird schedules of activity. And the field of perpetual night, when you looked out of those huge windows. He missed the natural cycle on Telos, down there on his home continent, his home province, his home town. He liked to sit out on the porch and watch twilight slowly creep across the sky. The trailing lights of speeders and ships. Now life was so artificial, so contrived, that if you examined it too closely you fell out of the fragile pattern.

He'd made a good choice in Matale, he thought. He'd drag out a table by the window and let the kid work there. Eda would keep an eye on him; not overtly, but she'd come in with caffa from time to time, or walk in to put something on Carth's desk. It wasn't that he didn't trust Matale; it was just best to be cautious.

The remainder of the day threatened to quash the morning success. All manner of stupidity and desk work. Dekkart, too, but Carth almost wanted to like him a little. Or at least dislike him less. Out of everyone on the council, he was the easiest to work with. He wanted to come down to the planet, and Carth knew he'd find him in the shuttle bay, grinning like it was a holo op, dressed in some ridiculous Tatooine game hunter kind of costume.

Trudging home, Carth was feeling weary, replaying the morning conversation in his head. Emotion yet peace. The shuffle of people was making him tired. Wonder if Matale did know Arren Kae... she was a historian, originally, wasn't she? He'd have to ask him that.. that and other questions, later, when he knew him better. The order has betrayed me.

His apartment was dark when he got into it, and the only light was from his comm console. Pulling off his jacket, he resolved to go straight to bed with no delay, unless the delay involved a stiff drink from the sideboard. Switching on the lights, he took a glance at the screen before he went to find a shot glass. 59 new messages. He studied them closer. The last 14 were from the same person, and Carth groaned, feeling a smile come on. He let them play, and a cheerful, obnoxious voice piped up to fill his apartment.

"Hiii, it's mee, listen, hey, so. Hold on, I can't.. beep"
"Meee again, all right, this is better. You are never going to guess what I found. I can't say over the comm but it's really amazing. It just is, you have to trust me. I... beep"
"Sorry. Hey. Hey, where are you?? What time is it there? I'm so bad I always catch you when you're out. Unless you're dead or something. Oh that's terrible. beep"
"Awwww Carth I've got bad news, I don't think I'm going to be able to make it in time. Something came up. Cry. I'm sooo crushed. Talk to you soon.. beep"
"Nevermind the last one! I'm coming after all! No one can save you from me!! I'm going to try to get there when the angst muffin gets there. Byeee. beep"

Hearing this, Carth was starting to feel his anxiety slip away. He shouldn't worry so much, not about things he couldn't change. He'd spent too much of his life worrying over the past. He was just tired, and things seemed worse in an empty apartment. He should enjoy the solitude while it lasted, in any case.

He glanced at the console. 9 more messages after these.. sweet force. Maybe one more shot. The voice came on again, a perfect blend of cheerfulness and annoyance. It was just what he needed to end his day, and the news was welcome. Carth lifted his shotglass in a silent toast, a toast to Mission Vao.