Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 11 (AU, OC)

You write sport scenes with more liveliness/ drive than a sports commentor makes his comments.

 

I have a lot of practice.

 

As a kindergarten teacher I need patience, too, but also energy and sleep. Especially now that I returned into the creché about 1 month ago.

But thanks for the link!

It reminds me of my days as an AuPair in Dublin and all the enthusiasm the Irish had when hurling matches were on!

 

Funny you should mention that! Gaelic football, the companion sport to hurling, is a major inspiration for my vision of limmie!

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Shenandoah and Niall Fionn Trieste had lived in the Plaza for less than a year, but they already knew it top to bottom. One of the benefits of having two working parents who left several hours of supervision to a droid (albeit a very capable one) was that you had plenty of self-directed time. As a result, the twins had spent months exploring every room of the seven story residence, sometimes using complicated distractions N7 to get into places like their Great-Aunt Regan’s office that they were definitely not supposed to go into. However, what else would be expected from children being raised to be masters of the universe?

After their thorough investigations (which included finding secret passages and tunnels that they surmised could only have been made by their great-grandparents, the spy and the pirate), they decided that they most liked the space they dubbed the Little Study. In almost any other residence, it would have been considered a big study--thanks to features like rows of holobooks in wood shelves, deep carpet, comfortable furniture, and heavy curtains that could block out light--but in the Plaza it was most assuredly the Little Study.

It was here that they spent most of their time--much to the relief of N7 who could rest his gears for a while as they did schoolwork, read, or otherwise entertained themselves. (The twins were actually very good at the last part--one of the benefits of having a playmate from birth.) When Ayn and Declan wanted to find their children, they tried the Little Study first and were not often disappointed.

Today, the politicians had a great matter to discuss with their kids. Declan knew they would not fully understand it and accordingly focused on what would affect them and the high points. He was nearly done with it.

“It won’t be much different than last year,” Declan summarized, “but when it’s over things will be more like the way they used to be. You were very patient last year. I’d like to ask that you be so again. I promise that it will be worth it.”

“And it will start after we get back from Mandalore?” Niall Fionn asked.

“Yes,” Declan confirmed. “No matter what.”

“You know Doe and I will help however we can.” Declan and Ayn had been surprised by the emergence of this nickname for Shenandoah by her brother. They wondered if there were things in the bond of twins that they would never understand.

“You don’t have to do anything. In fact, the best thing you can do is keep going to school like normal,” Ayn said. “I’ll be staying here with both of you.”

“Don’t you need to help Dad?” Shenandoah asked.

“I’ll be doing that here, but very quietly,” Ayn reassured her daughter.

“But we get to come to the big event after Mandalore, right?” Niall Fionn asked.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have you anywhere else,” Declan promised him.

“Mom said there’s usually a song at these things,” Niall Fionn said. “Shenandoah found a song you can use.” His sister picked up a datapad and cued it up. “What do you think?” Declan listened thoughtfully. When it was done, he looked at his children. “It’s absolutely perfect. More so than you could possibly know.”

“I’m afraid we’ve raised a couple of naturals,” Ayn sighed happily.

Niall Fionn and Shenandoah shared a look. Their parents would never know exactly what passed between their kids to smile. They probably never would.

 

The kids are certainly an enigma. I fear that they might share their parents' talent for politics a little too much.

 

“Mom said there’s usually a song at these things,” Niall Fionn said. “Shenandoah found a song you can use.” His sister picked up a datapad and cued it up. “What do you think?” Declan listened thoughtfully. When it was done, he looked at his children. “It’s absolutely perfect. More so than you could possibly know.”

“I’m afraid we’ve raised a couple of naturals,” Ayn sighed happily.

Niall Fionn and Shenandoah shared a look. Their parents would never know exactly what passed between their kids to smile. They probably never would.

Working with kids five days per week leads me to the conclusion that they can be dangerously cute and cunning.

 

I will now forever associate Niall and Shenandoah with the phrase "dangerously cute and cunning".

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn

Golden Prairie, Telaan Valley, Bakura

​

Everyone knew why Declan Trieste was holding this rally in the capital of the county he governed. There was no suspense--the announcement had already been made the day before in Salis D’aar on the spur of the moment at the Bakura Miners end-of-season rally. Declan had sensed the emotional energy of the moment (a heady one to be sure at the Miners’ Galactic Cup championship parade and rally boosting the crowd) and, like any good politician, he seized it. Therefore, no one was surprised by what Declan said to the crowd in Telaan Valley today.

“I’m Declan Trieste and I’m running for Prime Minister,” the told the crowd, who immediately cheered.

His staff had packed Golden Prairie with his strongest supporters--true believers who would applaud just about anything Declan said. His organizers wanted a strong start from the very beginning to get the planet-wide campaign rolling, especially with Madsen’s operation already set up in every county in Bakura.

“But I think you already knew that,” Declan told the crowd with a grin. “So let me tell you what I didn’t get to say yesterday. Let me tell you what I see when I look at the Bakura of tomorrow.

“I see a world that has built on its competitive advantages--a world that makes technology and products for which the rest of the galaxy clamors. We produce them not by competing on the price of labor, but through a well-educated workforce that is more productive because it is smarter. The Bakura of tomorrow will not cut wages for workers: it will raise them based on our qualifications, not artificially to satisfy political lobbies.

“I see a clean, green Bakura that holds in trust its natural resources for future generations. On our Bakura, we will not prioritize present gain for long-term loss. While we may take from the land, we will restore it in equal measure so what we leave is as rich as what we were given. This is a principle that benefits us now, with cleaner air and water and a thriving land, as much as it does our children and their children. This idea has long been part and parcel of our communal vision for Bakura--but it is every generation’s burden to carry core ideals such as these forward. Make no mistake: without our commitment it will be all too easy to forget these values.

“I see a planet where all, regardless of species, have the opportunity for advancement. And I do not just mean the 80 million Bakurans of today. I mean the millions of those who would contribute their labor, their intellect, and their heart to Bakura tomorrow. We currently live under restrictive immigration policies that, in effect, say, ‘The Bakuran dream is only for those lucky enough to be born here.’ That is not my Bakura. If you want to work hard, if you have an idea that can change the galaxy, if you believe in a better life for your children and their children, then you should have the opportunity to be part of the Bakuran dream.”

As the crowd indulged in another of many bursts of cheers and applause, no one seemed to register that one of the women responsible for the enactment of those immigration policies, Ayn Trieste, was standing behind him on the stage. True, she had not believed in the values behind those policies, but she’d made the compromise to enact them all the same.

“And to that point--I see a Bakura where we measure success not just by how high the best fly, but by how well we all do. A Bakura that understands that bad things happen to good beings for reasons outside of their control. Maybe it’s the sudden layoff. Maybe it’s an illness that requires expensive treatment. Maybe it’s a household that now had to make do with one parent instead of two. Maybe it is retirement after so many years of productivity, when it is easy to ask, ‘What is my purpose in life now?’ The Bakura of tomorrow is a place that where no one stands alone, where there is a robust social safety net.

“To those who would decry this as the coddling of a nanny state--go find a net,” Declan proposed. “Set it up above the ground. Stand in it. You’ll find you don’t get high just standing in a net. Then go get a ladder and jump in it. You know what happens? One, you don’t break your neck, thank goodness. Two, you bounce back. That’s what our social services do--respect the dignity of sentient life and get people back on the job, in a home, with their family, living a good life.

“My fellow Bakurans, we have never been a planet of modest dreams--but the Bakura I see is not a dream. It can be a reality and that reality begins with us. I humbly ask you join me in our grand quest. Thank you, and Maker bless Bakura.”

With his remarks completed, Ayn stepped forward with Niall and Shenandoah as his campaign song began playing--the song his children had selected.

Think of your fellow man
Lend him a helping hand
Put a little love in your heart

Declan kissed his wife well and good. “We’re on our way now,” he whispered in her ear.

“Straight to the top,” Ayn promised him.

Declan knelt to embrace his kids individually. “Every time I hear this song, at every rally, I’m going to think of you two and I’ll be thinking of the day we walk into Marian Square together, as a family,” he promised them.

“I love you, Dad,” Shenandoah told him.

“I love you too, dear.”

“Go get them, Dad,” Niall said.

“Aye aye,” Declan promised.

The celebratory hugs completed, Declan rose, put an arm around his wife and the pair waved to the large crowd of adoring devotees. There was no feeling the galaxy like a crowd that loved you. Declan was going to get a hit of that for months on end now, all the way to the primary.

And with their help, the world was going to be a better place. Just wait and see, Declan promised himself.

 

Even though he is very manipulative, he certainly has a vision of the future!

 

Declan Trieste is the embodiment of the question, "Do the ends justify the means?"

 

A politician par excellence, hein?

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn

Nouvelle Orleans, Bakura

“I learned several things from my father,” Antrose Trieste explained patiently. That was one of his virtues: patience. “The first was that no matter what the rest of my family might think, the real power is in money. You know how I know this?” Antrose leaned forward to give his explanation. “Because without money, nobody in this family would ever have the time to go into politics, let alone charity. My cousin writes just about everyone a in my family a check every month so they can go be in the Senate or save the Kurtzen or be in the Marines or clean up whatever new industrial accident there is on Druckenwell. Beings look at my family and think, ‘Wow, they’re making a difference in the galaxy. Good for them.’ But without the fortune behind the Triestes, they’d be breaking their backs in spice mines like the rest of them.

“Now, the second thing I learned is that it’s good to control the money. That’s what my father does, you know. He went to his father and asked him for permission to do some investing using the family’s money. Pretty soon he was investing everything. Without my father, Kerry Trieste would have never become Chancellor. She would have been too busy managing a vast estate so everyone could keep doing their good works. But instead she let my father do it. So when she wrote him a check, it was for services rendered--and that check was a lot larger than everybody else’s.”

Antrose stood from his chair and slowly walked around it to lean on it from behind. “The third thing I learned--and pay attention, because this is the most important--is that when you manage the money you get nothing. See, when you put that very large check against the credits he moved--and still moves, you know--on a daily basis, it’s appalling. What my family’s fortune makes in a month and what my father makes in a month--it’s pitiful when you compare them. He has made billions of credits, and I’m not engaging in hyperbole, for my family, to support their lifestyles, and he’s gotten so little in return. If you ask him about it, well, he’ll just tell you that’s what was expected of him. That when you’re born into this family and they pay for you to go to the finest universities, give you a start in life, that’s what you owe the family. That’s what our great Taoiseach expects of you.

“I’ll grant you, my father used those advantages. I don’t know if you knew this, but he once ran the Eden Banking Group--Denon’s largest financial consortium. It doesn’t get much bigger than that. He was pulling seven, eight figure salaries there when you factored in the bonuses. Fair is fair--the family helped make that happen. But do you know what my father does now?”

Antrose leaned across the back of the chair. “He runs a regional bank. Fidelity Fiduciary. It’s not even in the top 10 banks in terms of assets in Bakura. It’s probably lucky if it’s in the top 20. Their major investment product is loans to Nouvelle Orleans businesses. ‘Investing in the community.’ And all because one day he didn’t have the votes at the shareholder meeting to remain in his position. And that was that.

“So that was the fourth thing I learned from my father: no matter what the family gives you, it will never be what you deserve. It will never be enough.

“That’s how we come to be doing business together,” Antrose explained as he took a seat again. “I decided I would forge my own path, get on with an enterprising venture that had lots of growth potential. And that is how I came to be involved in ELT Shipping.” He gestured with one hand to the warehouse around them. “It’s an organization to which I am highly dedicated. And it’s been incredibly profitable. We’ve expanded into new markets, new product lines. I’ve made more credits now than my father did when he was my age, by an order of magnitude. It supports my family--my immediate family, mind you--in the style to which we are accustomed. I have social standing here in Nouvelle Orleans thanks to the profit from our venture. All in all, I’m very pleased with what we’ve accomplished. I take great pride in my work.

“And I don’t take kindly to anyone threatening my business interests,” Antrose said, his eyes suddenly hardening at the two beings across the table from him. One was beaten and bloodied; the other was dead.

“Now, I leave it to you to decide what to share out of all that with those that you work for. There are two things you will not leave out,” Antrose informed his still-alive guest. “The first is that you and your associates will not work on Bakura ever again. In fact, you will not work on this side of Hutt Space. You won’t even sneeze in our general direction.

“And the second is that you bring your compatriot back, just like that--” Antrose motioned to the corpse, head lolled backwards at an angle that betrayed its lifelessness. “--so your organization understands that I am serious. And that, I think, about does it.”

As the two guests were hauled away, Antrose stood and turned to face his associates who had watched from the shadows of the warehouse. “Reminders like these are necessary in our line of work.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands, which were already clean. “This organization is going to run every concern it can on this planet by the end of the year, bringing order and harmony to our particular market--not to mention lots of credits to us--and when we’re done with that, we’ll begin expansion. Messages like that--” Antrose did not need to motion to the table so recently vacated. “--will help clear our path. And if they want to fight?” Antrose shrugged. “Let them fight.”

---

G.A. Captison Hotel, Gesco City, Bakura

Declan Trieste sat in a reading chair, feet on an ottoman, fingers steepled before his face as what he’d heard sunk in. “Who’s your source?” he asked after a few moments.

“Mid-level enforcer who drinks too much and likes blondes,” Holly Remizan said, sitting on the bed in the hotel room.

It was late evening, the last campaign stop for the day finished, his undone buttons and shoe-less feet confirming the fact. Declan was going to do further campaigning in Gesco City, the manufacturing and commercial center of the planet, tomorrow and was spending the night here. Often he slept in transit to another city, but the city was crucial to his chances for victory with Madsen making a strong play in the rural counties. A few other assorted challengers had entered the ring in the last few weeks, complicating matters further. It was a crowded field for Fianna Fail in 288.

“I heard it straight from him,” Holly confirmed. She gave a slight toss of her brown locks, which hadn’t been so chestnut when she’d gotten this information firsthand. The chume’doro had taught Holly how to disguise her appearance and change her voice to blend in with crowds and make that legendary Hapan beauty less memorable. She might have been able to get away with actually infiltrating Antrose’s operation, but the risk had been too great. Antrose had seen her at too many Noble House gatherings. It took only one glance for some feature to remind him of someone else and blow her cover.

“So, Antrose is a criminal,” Declan said, laying the situation out in the starkest terms possible.

“From what I can tell, he’s been involved in it almost since he left university,” Holly confirmed. “Started off as tax evasion on imports and exports, but he’s moved on to extortion, racketeering, narcotics. He’s probably even insider trading, but I’d need files to prove that.”

“For frak’s sake,” Declan mumbled. “I guess this means no more pictures with him at family reunions.”

“It means you don’t even go to Nouvelle Orleans,” Holly ordered.

“I could win the city. I’m not just going to give it to Madsen,” Declan countered.

“You could win it in the primary, but someone makes this link later and plays it up, you’re finished. The thing about being rich is that lots of beings find it easier to assume you came by it less-than-honestly.”

“I don’t go there and they’ll say I knew.”

“You say you knew that Madsen had a strong position there by the time you got in the race and you strategically prioritized resources elsewhere,” Holly corrected. She could talk politics with the best of them. She might be an unconventional chief of staff in her duties, but she still was one. “You need to lock down Salis D’aar and Gesco anyways, fend off challenges from the left of the party. Shouldn’t be too hard to do riding the championship.”

Declan didn’t immediately agree, but he did close his eyes and sigh. “If only Falene had kept tabs on everyone. We would have known this sooner.”

“We know this now. That’s what matters.” One of Declan’s first tasks for Holly was a thorough investigation of everyone in the family. He needed not only to understand their liabilities with a Prime Ministerial campaign in the offing, but he also needed to understand their assets: what connections and resources they had that he could leverage if he needed to. Antrose was, without question, the greatest liability the Noble House had.

“Short-term actions?” Declan asked.

“Stay the Korriban away from Nouvelle Orleans.”

“Even if he’s trying to pull together a planetary criminal syndicate?”

“Keep away from his base and minimize physical contact,” Holly confirmed.

“Long-term actions?”

“None, for now.”

Declan arched an eyebrow. “Not a permanent solution?”

“Wait. Antrose could yet be an advantage,” Holly advised.

Declan gave one nod.

“Get some rest. Lots of hands to shake tomorrow,” Holly said, rising.

Before she left the room, Declan made use of the one superpower available to great politicians: the ability to sleep anywhere, anytime.

 

Excellent writing. I'm intrigued to see how this subplot develops.

 

Antrose Trieste sounds like a man that Sheev Palpatine would like very much. A man with vision, patience, money, political skills & a large network.

 

That is one of those sentences that really please me about your storytelling. The plot, intrigue and characters are all great and well developed, and you top it off with great use of language like that.

 

Thanks! I must admit, it was funnier than, "the ability to shave one's face four times in the same day". Equally true, just not as entertaining.

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn Though I would have liked to do a blow-by-blow of the primary campaign in keeping with my recent short-but-sweet posting style, we’ll let our august editor give us a flyby version.

​

​

The Fianna Fail Primary of 288 was not unusual in its broad strokes. Though Governor Declan Trieste and Senator Silas Madsen were frontrunners thanks to their planet-wide profiles, native son and daughter candidates arose to create a field of seven serious candidates for the party’s nomination for Prime Minister. (Meanwhile, it should be noted that Trixa Garlant used her position as incumbent PM to consolidate the full weight of the Union Party behind her, making their primary season a mere formality.) Thus, Madsen and Trieste were not just duking it out against each other for precious votes from the registered members of their party, but five other candidates, each of whom threatened to occupy their own niche and draw off votes.

Madsen and Trieste refrained from bald-faced attacks on each other. Both were motivated by a desire to appear Prime Ministerial: Madsen emphasizing his long experience in the Senate, Trieste staking his claim as another in a long line of Noble House political leaders. Their opponents, however, needed to capture the public’s attention and saw their only path to victory was by tearing their opponents down. To this day, scholars have offered convincing arguments supporting and debunking the notion that Madsen and Trieste used these other candidates as proxies in their battle against each other.

In the long primary campaign, however, a few moments would have profound reverberations…

---

Salis D’aar, Bakura
Five months to the primary

Ayn Trieste gave a high pitched whistle, recalling the blue and red pagen to her heavily gloved forearm. Without the thick covering, the talons of the pagen would have ripped her arm into shreds. The Minority Leader pulled a piece of meat from a pouch at her waist to reward the pagen for its timely return.

“You must have made friends with that easily,” Silas Madsen said. “I imagine that predators flock together.” With her husband in the race, the once-friendly relationship between the Senators had cooled considerably.

“I always wanted to take up falconing,” Ayn replied without turning around. She had been expecting her visitor here on the roof of the Senate Building. She would have had him to the Plaza, but it wouldn’t do for anyone to spot them meeting there. The suggestion of collusion between campaigns had brought down bigger political empires than either of theirs. “What good is the Noble House fortune if one doesn’t indulge one’s desires?” She now turned, the pagen still on her arm, its large eyes flitting from the sky to Madsen, to face the senior Senator. “What can I do for you, Silas?”

“I want your thumb off the scale,” Madsen stated bluntly. “You are the most senior elected official in the party. No matter what the stated role of the national committee is, you effectively run Fianna Fail. If you choose to bias this proceeding in favor of your husband, you can do it with ease.”

“Stop and think about that for a moment,” Ayn said as she fed the pagen another bit of meat. “That sort of interference would never stay quiet. There’d be a leak eventually. Even if I kept it quiet through the convention, it’d almost certainly break before the general. If the leadership--any of us--biases the choice of our nominee in anyway, the Unionists will have a field day with it. We’d practically give Garlant another four years.”

“Then I take it I have your word you’re out?”

“I will draft a public memo to the national committee stating that no primary matters are to be coordinated with me or my office,” Ayn promised.

“Thank you.”

“In exchange for one thing,” Ayn added.

“Go on,” Silas asked with the slightest hint of unease.

“That, after the release, in your next press briefing, you will agree with the decision and endorse my chairing the national nominating convention.” Ayn noted the flicker in Madsen’s eyes. “After all, the primary will decide the nominee. We’ll need our best face forward--including our senior leadership--when we face all of Bakura, don’t you agree?”

Madsen considered. “Of course. I look forward to having you and the leadership fully behind me at the convention when I win,” he agreed, allowing himself a smile.

Ayn gave a slight heft of her arm and the pagen took flight. “I thought you’d agree.”

---

Senate office building, Salis D’aar
Four and a half months before the primary

While her husband kissed babies in Cape Suzette to energize the party’s base, Ayn hosted two of her fellow Senators, the chairs of the Fianna Fail Finance Committee (the Triple-F-C, as it was colloquially known) and the Fianna Fail Senatorial Campaign Committee (the FFSCC, which for some reason never called itself the Double-F-S-Double-C like its counterpart) to discuss not the Prime Ministerial election occurring later that year, but the Senate district elections.

“We will take back the Senate this year,” Ayn stated.

“I’m proposing focusing our effort on these 20 districts, 11 of which are controlled by the Unionists,” the Campaign chair said, a holographic map of Bakura illustrating the plan. Both she and the Finance chair had been specifically picked by Ayn for their posts. They were reliable allies who had been around the Senate long enough to be known quantities. She was not going to put her first election as Senate leader in the hands of anyone she didn’t trust completely.

“We’ll focus our resources there, overwhelm the Unionists with targeted campaigns,” the Finance chair continued.

“No,” Ayn said flatly.

“Ayn--”

“We’re doing an 80 district campaign,” Ayn ordered.

“We don’t have the candidates or resources for that. The Unionists have energized their base with the last three years of controlling the government, getting major legislation through for the first time in years,” the Campaign chair said.

“I don’t care.” She stood and leaned across her desk. “Let me be clear. We are running an 80 district campaign. We are going to take this fight to the Unionists on fronts they didn’t even know they had to defend. You--” she looked at the Campaign chair, “--find me candidates for every district. Raid the county legislatures for rising stars, find dream candidates, and tell them they shouldn’t worry about their careers being over if they lose--they’ll be over if they don’t run. You--” this at the Finance chair, “--find the credits. I don’t care if you hold bake sales or break piggy banks. Korriban, if you can pull off a casino heist on Carratos, do it. You will get me the money.” The Minority Leader paused. “Am I understood?”

“Perfectly,” they agreed.

“Go,” Ayn ordered.

---

College of Deredith & Millicent, Nouvelle Orleans
Two months before the primary

“....which is why I’ve consistently supported legislation that makes it easier for females to challenge pay disparities by lengthening the statute of limitations. Often, pay imbalances can take years to be discovered, and that’s a major hurdle to ensure there’s equal pay for equal work,” Madsen explained in answer to a debate question being held at the venerable private university. “I’ve been championing female issues in the Senate my entire career.”

“Oh please,” Declan Trieste said, before he realized what had slipped from his mouth. He was about to talk about how before Silas Madsen had ever run for political office, he’d run what could only politely be described as a gentleman’s establishment--hardly the sort of work that a potential Prime Minister of Bakura would want brought up in front of millions watching at home. It wouldn’t much help his image as a champion of females.

But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Declan realized he had imperiled an entire campaign of discipline. He’d been constantly reminded by his campaign staff to never talk about Madsen’s previous occupation. The stated reason was that they were not going to get down in the mud--they were going to act Prime Ministerial. The real reason was that Holly Remizan didn’t know what Madsen might know about Antrose Trieste’s dealings and the first opportunity he had to righteously paint Declan as a hypocrite, he would. And now he’d done it in Nouvelle Orleans, Antrose’s very backyard.

“Do you have something to contribute to the discussion, Governor?” Madsen asked innocently. The Senator could scent blood in the water like a Karkarodon.

Declan thought on his feet--but it still took a second and a half, a noticeable amount of time in the rapid-fire exchange of an election debate. “Senator, this is Fianna Fail,” he replied. “I don’t think you’re going to find any of us would answer differently. In fact, I’m proud that everyone on this stage tonight is united on this issue. Now--” here Declan turned to the moderator, “--Alec, if you want to ask us a question on policy about exactly what our Prime Ministries would do to make sure that we’re enforcing equal pay for equal work, that’s a conversation where I think we can show the differences of our positions.”

It had been a smooth recovery, but not smooth enough. Declan knew that without looking over at the clenched teeth of Holly Remizan in the wings. There was now a crack in his facade.

---

Senate office building, Salis D’aar
One month before the primary

Ayn reviewed the current poll numbers for the Fianna Fail primary in all 80 districts. The Finance and Campaign committee chairs had made one of their many pilgrimages to her office to discuss the Senate campaigns.. No one was saying anything as Ayn flipped through her datapad.

“We are pleased with this?” Ayn asked, without looking up. It was unclear whether Ayn was suggesting they should be, accusing them of bringing such pitiful numbers to her, or genuinely asking the question.

“The word went out: no challengers to the party’s top candidates. Anyone who’s running against our folks are either fringe challengers or rogues who we were never going to control,” the Campaign chair said. “We’ve made it clear who the party organization favors.”

“And everyone answered the call?” Ayn asked of the effort to recruit top challengers against incumbent Unionist Senators.

“Everyone knew a decision to hold a safe seat when the party asked them to run for the Senate meant that they didn’t want to have a future with Fianna Fail. They got the message.”

Ayn nodded. “And national committee receipts?” She still didn’t look up from the report, but the inquiry was definitely intended for the Finance chair.

“We shook the trees. Are we flush? No. Do we have enough to run an 80 district campaign? Yes...if managed carefully.”

Ayn finally put her datapad aside. “There’s more out there once we get past the convention and have a nominee to rally our donors around. We’ll remind our friends who’s been fighting the Garlant agenda for the last four years on their behalf and be very clear about the price if they want to avoid another four. Go,” she dismissed them. “Don’t screw up these primaries and saddle me with surprise candidates that hand the Unionists a single district. The less surprises in my life, the less I am going to inflict them in yours.”

Her message came through loud and clear.

---

Golden Prairie, Telaan Valley
Primary election night

Declan and Ayn said nothing as the BBC summarized the Federal Election Commission’s announcement of the primary returns.

“We will get that most exciting spectacle in Bakuran politics: an open convention for Fianna Fail,” the anchor said. “Senator Silas Madsen has captured 40.3% of the delegates to the convention in Gesco City, with Governor Declan Trieste narrowly trailing with 39.8% of the delegates. The remaining 20% belong to the other five candidates in the race with Governor Halla Angell of Watercrest County capturing the largest share with 10%. But, as we know and have seen as recently as the 284 Unionist convention, anyone can rise after the first ballot when all delegates become uncommitted…”

Declan and Ayn stopped paying attention to the Holonet at that point. They knew all they needed to by then. “Nouvelle Orleans. Damn Antrose. We could have taken the lead if we’d been able to campaign there and take more delegates,” Declan said bitterly. “Then we’d be going in with the lead, with the mantle of Bakura’s first choice. Now the conversation will center around Madsen as the candidate to beat. It’s the wrong narrative.”

“This is why I’m chairing the convention,” Ayn reassured her husband. “We’ll control the rules, the debate, everything. I’ll take care of it all and by the end we’ll have put Madsen in his place.”

“No,” Declan said firmly as he stood, restless in the face of this unexpected obstacle to their ambitions. “We can’t be perceived as tilting the field in any way, especially with Madsen claiming the top delegates going into the convention. No, this has to be open war, a full-on floor fight played out before all of Bakura. We can’t just win--we have to be seen to win.”

“An open convention doesn’t suit us,” Ayn objected. “Too much can go wrong. Too many variables. There are ways to sway the delegates through procedure and order.”

“We don’t have any choice. Madsen will be on his guard. They all will,” Declan insisted. “You’ve told the unions to hold back their major contributions until after the convention?” He knew that she had, even as she’d told the FFFC to be aggressive in their fundraising, but making sure the details were sown up would help his peace of mind.

“They won’t open the coffers until I say so,” Ayn reassured Declan. She put her hand on his neck. “Nothing will happen without us deciding it is so.”

“Good. We need a few ways out of this. In case.”

“We will win. We don’t need contingency plans.

Declan paused and looked his wife straight in the eyes. “I need you to do something.”

“Of course.”

“Move out,” Declan informed his wife.

 

Why?!?! I really hope he's not breaking up with her! I'm sure there's a reason, though...

 

“They won’t open the coffers until I say so,” Ayn reassured Declan. She put her hand on his neck. “Nothing will happen without us deciding it is so.”

“Good. We need a few ways out of this. In case.”

“We will win. We don’t need contingency plans.

Declan paused and looked his wife straight in the eyes. “I need you to do something.”

“Of course.”

“Move out,” Declan informed his wife.


That is a cliffhanger hitting the reader like a big nasty hammer! Well done. You really make adrenaline race through my veins. Politics has such a nasty face under its surface.

 

Great writing! Declan as usual is ice cold.....

 

AzureAngel2 DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging too long, did you?

Gesco City, Bakura

Holly Remizan and Declan Trieste stood on the floor of the convention hall. In a few hours they would begin admitting the delegates to the 288 Fianna Fail National Convention. Ordinarily, this convention would be heavily scripted, a presentation of their platform to the planet in primetime. In a few weeks, the Union Party would do just that. This convention, however, would follow a much different agenda. Instead of days of inspiring speeches, the first thing they would do would be vote. Everyone knew what that the outcome of that vote would be.

Silas Madsen, 512 votes. Declan Trieste, 505 votes. Halla Angell, 127 votes. Edvard Gfunt, 38 votes. Jaya Tann, 27 votes. Shepard Ryder, 26 votes. Sven Haelstrom, 21 votes. Xi Garvey, 14 votes. 1,270 votes total--and no one with the 635 votes required to secure the nomination.

What nobody knew was what the votes would look like on the next ballot. After the first vote everyone was no longer committed by their county’s primary vote. You not only had to steal votes from someone else, but you also had to hold your own votes. The candidate whose caucus had the greatest discipline would likely walk away with the nomination. Holly Remizan would be in charge of the Trieste floor operation to get to the nomination.

“No matter what, we hold our 505. We build on that,” Declan said as he basked in the last few still moments this hall would know for likely a long while.

“We selected our district-level delegates carefully in case this happened,” Holly assured him. “They are absolutely loyal. Some of them were even around to vote for your mother in ‘64. They are diehards.”

“Angell wouldn’t go for a deal?” Her 127 votes, if delivered in a bloc, would put Delcan at 632--tantalizingly close to the nomination. If they went to Madsen though, it would end everything.

“Her camp thinks she’ll emerge as the compromise candidate between you and Madsen,” Holly reported. “I would too if I worked for them.”

“Garlant would wipe the floor with Angell,” Declan said with disgust. “Halla plays to the liberal wing of the party and we’re going to fight this battle at the center. If she’s our nominee--”

“Then she’s the nominee,” Holly reminded him. All of the candidates had pledged to support the party’s nominee, whoever it was. Fianna Fail would need to close ranks fast to get ready for the general election.

“You take it in?” Remizan asked.

“Yeah, I have,” Declan said, giving one last look around.

“Good. The next time you see this place, you’re going to be the nominee for Prime Minister,” Holly promised him.

---

Three hours later

“Gentlebeings, as chair of the 288 Fianna Fail Convention, I hereby call this convention to order,” Ayn said as she slammed the gavel on the lectern to applause and cheers. “Before we proceed to business, allow me a few minutes to speak to theme of our convention as it is imperative that we consider it not just today, tomorrow, or the next day, but our entire lives.

“It is Planet Before Party.” Ayn looked straight into the camera as she delivered the slogan. “But there is more to it than that. Fianna Fail stands not just for planet before party, but planet before self. Bakura is a world worthy of our affection, our patriotism, and our best. This is what we must remember today: not personal loyalties, but our greater responsibility to Bakura. We must chart a course that will return our homeworld to a path of prosperity and peace. The galaxy shall judge us by our choice. Let us remember the gravity of that responsibility always.”

The convention hall was absolutely still as Ayn delivered these sentiments, for all knew that she had personally born a great personal weight by placing party over self in the last few weeks. The morning after the primary, she had announced her separation from her husband.

“After the results of last night’s vote, it is clear there will not be a nominee on the first ballot of the convention,” Ayn told reporters in the press briefing room of the Senate office building. “As Chair of the National Convention, it is my responsibility to ensure that the selection of a nominee is performed fairly and equitably. As such, I must refrain from any coordination with candidates for the nomination, including my husband.

“From now until the selection of a nominee, Governor Trieste and I will live apart from each other. All contact between has ceased. Though it pains me to take this step, I must place my duties to Bakura higher than my personal vows for the coming weeks. I look forward to resuming my domestic affairs after we have a nominee.”

The talk throughout the weeks to the convention had been full of whether the Minority Leader made the right decision. Some said it was admirable that she would choose her duty to her planet over her own marriage. Others thought it betrayed a cold ambition in the Senator that she would cast aside her husband so brazenly for a position of power within Fianna Fail. Nobody, however, talked about whether or not the Trieste campaign and the Chair of the Convention were coordinating, which was all Ayn and Declan cared about.

“We will now proceed with the voting,” Ayn continued.

All went as it should on the first ballot as the delegates registered their votes on their datapads. The formality was finished. Now the real fight began.

 

So that explains it. Kind of. I await the real vote that determines the nominee. However, I'm surprised that Fianna Fail doesn't have superdelegates to help prevent this kind of thing.

 

The formality was finished. Now the real fight began.

Things will get really, really ugly from here, right?

 

Maybe once upon a time, Sernie Banders forced through a rule that tied the superdelegates to the vote of their counties on the first ballot?

Ugly politics? When Declan and Ayn are involved? When has that ever happened?