01-20-2018, 12:51 PM
Marcus' mouth downturned. Malik seethed. Kill him, he whispered. He did not like being denied. Especially when he had been so.....reasonable. He looked at the man, studying quietly. He had to know what his answer meant. Marcus had as good as said 'no' was a fools option, the threat unspoken.
He stifled Malik. The man refused. The question was, why? He was being offered power. Real power. To control the Force in all its glory. It was alien to him for someone to refuse.
This was a puzzle. He quirked his head and then, on a whim, crouched down and leaned against the wall, his hands relaxed on his knees, his head slightly back, and watched. The action was deliberate, subconsciously reducing his size and bearing. He didn't let go of the Force but reduced it to a trickle. Then his eyes lidded as he thought.
He needed a mentat projection. Likely reasons for refusal.
Pride? Perhaps. But a prideful person bent the neck for a short time if it meant more power in the long term. Not pride, then. Not alone, anyway.
He needed more data. He'd read Carpenter's file on the way over. Looked over his scores. Dishonorable disharge. "Unauthorized use of violence." That was something. Interesting. The man's impulsive action led to his disharge and despite his scores and obvious ability and training, he had been reduced to seeking work as a mercenary.
The datum logged itself in place. Potential likelihoods suggested themselves. But the one that appealed to him on a purely aesthetic note was the most interesting.
Fear. He fears his capability of violence. He is good at it. He knows it. It is his job. But he is afraid of it taking over. All postulation, he knew. But it fit the few facts he had. He liked it.
Step one complete, he now needed a handle. Something to appeal to the man. His scores played through his mind. He was in the top 1% with his highest scores in math and comprehension. He was not a meathead. Not a grunt.
This suggested a course of approach. His eyes went from half lidded to opened. He stood, regarding him kindly. "I think I may have botched this. You are not a man who craves power for itself. Or even what it may do for him. Otherwise you would have said yes."
The admission was calculated to throw him off. Goverent officials did not admit to mistakes. He would seem more trustworthy.
"But perhaps you are a man who likes puzzles. Who wants to understand how things fit. Who enjoys a mathematical problem or solution. Did you know that the power we wield allows us to study how things are made?"
He looked at the cot the man sat on, the metal bars that made up the frame.
Carefully, he channeled a thread of spirit and earth at it, the finest probe imaginable. The more power he had, the finer resolution, but this was sufficient for now. "For example, right now I am examining the bar of your cot. I can see the crude crystal structure of the metal alloy molecules, the various atoms mixed together to give it the lattice structure that gives it strength. Here, sieze the power. I will guide you, let you see for yourself."
He stifled Malik. The man refused. The question was, why? He was being offered power. Real power. To control the Force in all its glory. It was alien to him for someone to refuse.
This was a puzzle. He quirked his head and then, on a whim, crouched down and leaned against the wall, his hands relaxed on his knees, his head slightly back, and watched. The action was deliberate, subconsciously reducing his size and bearing. He didn't let go of the Force but reduced it to a trickle. Then his eyes lidded as he thought.
He needed a mentat projection. Likely reasons for refusal.
Pride? Perhaps. But a prideful person bent the neck for a short time if it meant more power in the long term. Not pride, then. Not alone, anyway.
He needed more data. He'd read Carpenter's file on the way over. Looked over his scores. Dishonorable disharge. "Unauthorized use of violence." That was something. Interesting. The man's impulsive action led to his disharge and despite his scores and obvious ability and training, he had been reduced to seeking work as a mercenary.
The datum logged itself in place. Potential likelihoods suggested themselves. But the one that appealed to him on a purely aesthetic note was the most interesting.
Fear. He fears his capability of violence. He is good at it. He knows it. It is his job. But he is afraid of it taking over. All postulation, he knew. But it fit the few facts he had. He liked it.
Step one complete, he now needed a handle. Something to appeal to the man. His scores played through his mind. He was in the top 1% with his highest scores in math and comprehension. He was not a meathead. Not a grunt.
This suggested a course of approach. His eyes went from half lidded to opened. He stood, regarding him kindly. "I think I may have botched this. You are not a man who craves power for itself. Or even what it may do for him. Otherwise you would have said yes."
The admission was calculated to throw him off. Goverent officials did not admit to mistakes. He would seem more trustworthy.
"But perhaps you are a man who likes puzzles. Who wants to understand how things fit. Who enjoys a mathematical problem or solution. Did you know that the power we wield allows us to study how things are made?"
He looked at the cot the man sat on, the metal bars that made up the frame.
Carefully, he channeled a thread of spirit and earth at it, the finest probe imaginable. The more power he had, the finer resolution, but this was sufficient for now. "For example, right now I am examining the bar of your cot. I can see the crude crystal structure of the metal alloy molecules, the various atoms mixed together to give it the lattice structure that gives it strength. Here, sieze the power. I will guide you, let you see for yourself."