Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 10 (AU, OC)

Too busy beating up Smugglers...

Now I wonder if Falene will teach them all limmie as a "feat of skill" to show their worth.

 

Even though you have two places were different plots take place, you never stop to leave the reader yearning for more. That is jolly good writing. And your dialogues are always full of fun, so are your characters. I cannot wait to gain more knowledge about the Paleheads. And to see what Falene will do next.

 

I'm glad this new pace is one that you like! I think bouncing back and forth has provided a nice contrast between where each of the siblings is at. I'm much happier with the tighter narrative that's developed as a result.

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn


(For best effect, start at 0:53)

Bakura

“You’re not peeking?” Declan asked.

“I told you I’m not,” Niall said, his hands over his eyes. He was being guided by his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“Why can’t we look?” Shenandoah asked, in a similar predicament, but instead led by her mother.

“Because Dad and I want you to see this as you should for the first time. You never get back your first time,” Ayn replied.

“Are we there yet?” Niall asked.

“Almost,” Ayn said.

“Watch your step, the ground isn’t even,” Declan said.

“What’s so special about this place?” Shenandoah asked.

“You’ll see in a moment,” Ayn promised. “Okay. On three, you can open your eyes. One, two, three.”

The two five year olds removed their hands and found themselves standing at the rim of Thanas Canyon, one of the greatest natural wonders of Bakura.

“Super,” Niall said.

“It’s so beautiful,” Shenandoah said.

The canyon was the result of processes yet to be fully defined by the galaxy’s geologists. Just what forces had created this place were unknown. Layers of sediment had built upon themselves over millions of years, stretching into the billions. The depth of the canyon was such that there were so many different bands of rock running down its length that one could barely count them. They were in oceanic blues, pearls, slates, and deepest blacks, each one telling a different story.

“It’s two kilometers deep where we are here, and in some places as much as two and a half,” Ayn said.

“What would happen if you fell in?” Niall asked, looking down.

“You’d probably scream and then get tired of screaming before you hit the bottom,” Declan said, keeping a firm hand on his son to prevent that fate from even coming close to occurring.

“Where we are, it’s 16 kilometers wide. In some places it’s as much as 25,” Ayn continued. “At its bottom there’s a big river that they think helped to make Thanas Canyon over millions of years. That river runs for over 400 kilometers, winding its way through rock. It gets a little bit deeper every year as the water wears down the rock.”

“Water doesn’t do that,” Shenandoah said. “I’ve seen rocks in the rain. They just get wet.”

“Trillions of liters of water go through the canyon every year,” Ayn said. “That’s enough to wear down anything.”

“If trillions of liters washed over you, you’d probably be nothing but bones,” Declan pointed out.

“But I don’t want to be bones!” Shenandoah protested.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to go down to the river. It would take us all day and maybe even all night just to get down there,” Declan said. “We’ll stay up here on the rim and go for some hikes.”

“I want to go on a hike! Let’s go!” Niall exclaimed.

“I’ll take them,” Ayn said, extending her hand to Niall. “Now everyone stay on the path. Don’t go running off. It gets windy this high up and the wind could pick you up before you know it.”

“No it couldn’t,” Shenandoah said.

“Oh yes it could. Let me tell you about…”

His wife’s voice receded into the trees that surrounded the hiking trails of Thanas Canyon in short order, leaving Declan to wait at their campsite. They’d flown a shuttle out her for just the weekend to enjoy one of Bakura’s great beauties. Declan had been hesitant to leave the capital due to the optics, but in the end he’d insisted. He had wanted to show his children Thanas Canyon as soon as they were old enough to start to appreciate it, to help foster an appreciation for the outdoors in them at an early age.

Over the weekend he’d tell them about how his grandfather, their great-grandfather, the man who gave Niall his middle name, had helped to create spaces like these during the Reconstruction of Bakura. He’d given millions of acres of land from the Noble House’s property to the federal government to be reserved as national parks that all Bakurans--even all beings of the galaxy--could enjoy. It was the foresight of Fionn Dunross Trieste that had allowed Thanas Canyon to remain untouched for all these years, to let it be as it was for new generations to discover.

Declan would tell them about the trips his mother had taken him on here and at other national parks when he was young, escapes from life in Marian Square when she was Prime Minister. Those were some of the closest times he’d had with his mother. There was no Senate, no legislation, nothing but him, his sister, his mother, and his father (though there had been the discreet contingent of federal marshals for protection). It was one of the few times that they were a family, not the First Family of Bakura.

Declan would have gone on that first hike with them, but family was why he was waiting here now. Already he could hear the hum of engines coming in for a landing and powering down. He had not wanted the other member of their party to arrive and find an empty campsite. Declan wouldn’t do that to him.

“Never fails to take my breath away.”

“Typical poet,” Declan said before giving his Uncle Oisin a hug.

“We used to kid my dad that by rights we should still own this place and it was his fault we didn’t for giving it away,” Oisin said, taking in the vista. “And every time Mom would say, ‘It’s much better that all of Bakura can enjoy this, rather than just us.’ And Dad would say, ‘And this way none of you will ever be tempted to start mining out the ore, you greedy little scoundrels.’”

“Who could ever do that to such a place?” Declan asked.

“Someone, someday will see only the short term gain, the credits to be made,” Oisin sighed. “So much better that it’s beyond their clutches.”

“Have a seat, Uncle Oisin,” Declan said. “Must have been a long flight from Roon.”

“It’s never that long, not coming back here. And it’s never long going to Roon. Even if it’s not the home it once was,” Oisin said.

“I heard that Cillian and Swann were out to help with the rebuilding of Tesserone,” Declan said. “Elfie, Quentin, and Corrie Ypres too. Jane Serena canceled a couple of tour dates to make it. Mom even found time to go. Felt like everyone but Ayn and I were there. I wanted to go, but with the strike the way it is…”

“Don’t apologize. I know you had things you had to do here,” Oisin reassured him. “Remember, I’ve got a daughter that’s been a queen and is a president.”

“But this was family business,” Declan said. “This is when we should be there for each other.”

“The Noble House was there for us,” Oisin reassured him. “We didn’t need all of you. Trust me when I say that many hands made light the work.”

“I must say, I was surprised when you said you were coming out. I didn’t think you’d want to be away from Roon.”

Oisin didn’t say anything for a moment, but looked out on the canyon. He seemed older, more worn than Declan last remembered him being, as if many years had passed since they had last seen each other.

“What happened on Roon was terrible. War raged across the Federation. Our home was burned. My son in-law...my adopted children...murdered,” Oisin said, his voice shaking not with rage, but with pain. “I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“I can’t believe that it was the Sith,” Declan said. “May told us. She also said that Grace is back.”

Oisin nodded and bit his lip, saying nothing. “It’s all just so unbelievable. I thought my life on Roon was going to be quiet, uneventful. Then a daughter went off to be trained as a queen. My son left to become a Jedi. The only child I had left was attacked when she was just a girl, physically scarred. That was too much. That…” Oisin didn’t finish the sentence. “But I never thought I’d see my home in flames. I didn’t think a being could be saddled with this much sorrow. The Balance, the Force, whatever. It just would never give such things to one being to be borne. And now I’m here because I just couldn’t take it anymore. And I left my family behind, there, on Roon.”

Declan’s youngest uncle began to cry into his hand softly. His eldest nephew put an arm around him to let him have it out.

---

“So Great-Grandfather gave all Bakurans this land?” Shenandoah asked her mother.

“Yes, he did. He made it a national park for everyone to experience,” she confirmed. Sometimes repetition was part of learning. She was glad to suffer repetition in the cause of their education.

“But you said that nobody in the government is working right now,” Shenandoah pursued.

“You’re right, they aren’t. That’s why Dad and I talked to Great-Uncle Ronan. We thought that it was important that these places still be open during the strike,” Ayn said. “The Noble House reserves a certain amount of credits every year for charitable donations and we thought that this year’s should go to the parks to keep them open until the strike is resolved. We thought that your Aunt Falene, who should really decide such things, would agree. She goes camping all the time. Sometimes she even goes with Niskat Deenever.”

“Can we go camping with Niskat Deenever?” Niall asked. “She’s soooooo good.”

“You’ll have to ask Aunt Falene,” Ayn said.

“But you said that Aunt Falene should decide to give credits to things,” Shenandoah pressed, returning to the previous topic. “Why didn’t she?”

“She left a while ago to do her exploring. Remember?” Ayn said.

“So where is she?” Shenandoah said.

“That’s a good question,” Ayn said. “We won’t know until she comes back because we’ve never heard of the places she goes.”

“Are they dangerous places like in the holos?” Niall asked excitedly.

“I’m sure they’re perfectly boring,” Ayn reassured her son. “Come now, let’s go back to camp. Dad is waiting for us and Great-Uncle Oisin might have arrived by now. You’ll have to ask him to tell stories about Great-Grandfather.”

“Mom, can I ask another question?” Shenandoah pressed.

“Of course.”

“You and Dad can do anything. Why can’t you just end the strike to open the parks again?”

“We can do a lot, but there are some things we need others to do. We can’t just snap our fingers and end a strike of millions of beings,” Ayn told her daughter. “That’s not how the government works.”

“How does it work?”

“It’s very complicated dear. We’ll talk about that another time,” Ayn reassured her daughter.

Ayn hated lying to her children ever, but it was better that she did. Shenandoah was more insightful than she knew. This strike only continued because Declan and Ayn wanted it to. Soon it would be over...but not quite yet.

 

I really, really, enjoyed this post. Perhaps it has to do with Oisin's perspective on the entire Vehn saga in the Outer Rim or perhaps it just has that touch of wisdom passed down from one generation to the next. Either way, this was good, and I look forward to seeing the next Trieste installment.

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn



Kitokaime, Wild Space

Hands bound, gags in their mouths, the prisoners were led by their Palehead captors through the forest, which gradually began to thin, giving way to fields. Hills rose to either side and Falene guessed that they were coming into the valley that the Trivans had first settled upon their arrival on Kitokaime. Her hypothesis was proved right as the land around them began to be dotted by white beings in the distance with implements in their hands. It was a scene that civilizations throughout the galaxy would recognize as agriculture.

Squat dwellings slowly rose into view before them. They were nothing impressive architecturally, but they had substance to them. Even from this remove Falene could tell that they possessed some permanence. This had to be the settlement they had found on the Wanderer’s scanners, the one created by the Trivans after they realized that this untamed world was their home.

As the Palehead warriors moved closer to the center of the village, they began to attract a crowd that trailed behind them, speaking in sometimes hushed tones.

“Trivans to face justice,” Falene picked up one of them saying.

“Dirty Trivans.”

“Time to answer for what you’ve done,” one jeered.

“Not so tough now.”

Someone spit at them, catching not Elza, Gaius, or Avie, but rather Falene. It was probably best that way. Even with gags in their mouths and hands bound, Falene wasn’t sure if the Trivans—or Haylee for that matter—wouldn’t have tried to start something. Though Falene was sure whatever awaited them wasn’t good, she didn’t think that lashing out was going to help matters.

By the time they reached what appeared to be the center of the colony, there was a veritable crowd of Paleheads around them. Many wore skins of animals, but some were covered by what looked like remnants of the Trivans’ clothing. They looked like clothes that were nearly a century old, threadbare and sometimes just hanging on. These might be the fearsome hunters who had brought the Trivans low, but from the looks of things they didn’t live a life of ease.

“We bring Trivans for justice!” the leader of the warriors called out.

The surrounded Paleheads sent up a cheer—but it was one that didn’t last long. It was silenced by a deep voice. A Palehead had moved to the front of the crowd saying, “I call a court of justice into session. Who shall stand in judgment?”

“I shall,” a female voice said and a Palehead stepped to the fore of the wide ring that had formed around the warriors and Falene’s company.

“I shall,” another said.

Eight more times those two words were heard until ten Paleheads had come to the fore.

“Are any of these before you known to you?” the deep voiced Palehead asked.

The first four said no, but the fifth said yes. “I know the blonde Trivan. She killed my son.”

“Then you cannot stand in judgment. Who will take his place?”

Another Palehead stepped forward and the same question was asked of her. The answer was negative and they continued until all ten had stated that they had no knowledge of the six beings before them.

“You ten shall hear the evidence presented against these beings and render your judgement,” the deep voiced Trivan said. “What crimes are they accused of?”

“These three are Trivans. They are charged with the murder of our people. These three—” here the warrior leader indicated Falene, Mugrog, and Haylee, “—are their confederates. They claim to be from another world. This one—” here he stood behind Falene, “—is their leader.”

“We shall take up the matter of the supposed offworlders first. Will you speak for your confederates?”

The gag was removed from Falene’s mouth. “I will. You have empaneled a jury. I respect your process. But is it a crime to associate with murderers in your culture?”

The Palehead who oversaw the proceedings actually smiled. “This one is clever. I would say that in that case we should begin with the matter of the accused Trivans so that we can establish their guilt and thus convict you after that, but I have questions first. Do you swear by the things that you hold dear and holy that these two are truly in your company?”

“I do. This being is Mugrog Uepu and this is Haylee Kelt. We come from a distant system and are explorers,” Falene said. “We mean no one—Trivan or Palehead—harm.”

“Do not call us that name,” the presiding Palehead snapped. “So you openly associate with the one you call Mugrog, who has the horns in his head?”

“Yes, of course,” Falene said. “He is my friend. We have journeyed far together.”

“If I may,” a Palehead interjected at the edge of the circle, “we know that the Trivans do not suffer those with deformities. We have experienced this ourselves. It is unlikely that this one is a Trivan and attempting to conceal it.”

“This is true. You claim to be from outside this world. Yet you ally yourselves with the Trivans. Explain.”

“We are allies of all. These three Trivans, as you call them, took us into their protection. They told us of their history here. We know that there has been violence between your societies, which I am sorry to hear.”

The Palehead overseeing proceedings scoffed. “There is much I am sure these Trivan have not told you, but that is another matter. You say you are allies of all, but one cannot be an ally to the Trivans and our nation. Kairren—in your encounter, did they inflict any harm upon your party?”

“These two did not—” Falene and Mugrog were indicated, “—but this one killed Aireeann and Kallabra.” This last charge was leveled at Haylee. “She possessed many weapons on her body, some of which resemble those told of in the stories of old. They are the weapons of Trivan.”

The crowd murmured.

“Did your fellow traveler kill two of our number?”

Falene was silent for a moment. “We were attacked by your number. She fought back in her defense. Some of your number died.”

“Does this one...Haylee Kelt, have anything to say in defense?”

Haylee’s gag was removed. “Your warriors died honorably. More credit to them.”

“We had evidence given by the accused,” one of the Paleheads said. “It is time for judgement.”

“Judgement! Judgement!” the Paleheads called.

The presider stilled the crowd once more. “Does the jury require more information?”

The ten consulted. “We do not.”

“Then you may deliberate.”

The jury huddled and consulted privately for a few minutes before they turned back to the presider. “We have agreed.”

“Are there any dissenters?”

“No.”

“Do you all come to your decision with clear mind and no reservations?”

“Yes.”

“Present your judgement.”

“We find them innocent—except for the one called Kelt. She has killed two of our brethren. The law of this world is clear. Blood must have blood.”

“No!” Falene protested. She knew without being told that this meant death for the Mandalorian. “You would defend yourself if attacked, would you not? Think of this and exercise mercy.”

“This world has never shown mercy. Mercy is death,” the presiding Palehead said. “A judgement has been made. Justice must now be rendered.”

Haylee was taken by two warriors. “Haylee, no—” Falene protested.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.” The Mandalorian smiled. “At least I went down swinging. Heck of a ride, Taoiseach.”

One of the warriors punched Haylee in the gut, sending her to her knees. “How dare you speak to the Taoiseach like that! He has overseen your trial fairly! Do not mock him!”

Haylee coughed and spat a glob of something onto the ground as she caught her breath. “Wasn’t talking to baldy up there. I was talking to her.”

Falene felt the eyes of the Paleheads shift to her.

“You would style yourself Taoiseach?” the lead warrior Kairren said, forcing Falene to her knees roughly. “Heresy! This is a crime that must be paid in blood!”

Falene started to speak, but found the gag in her mouth again.

“A charge of heresy is brought against this one,” the presiding Palehead said. “The jury has heard this with their own ears. Do they require further evidence?”

“I have evidence to give.”

These words were spoken by a high, reedy voice. Falene looked towards it and saw Paleheads stepping aside. A stooped Palehead, supporting himself with a crude stick as he walked slowly, unsteadily, came to the fore.

“It is true that the title of Taoiseach is a privilege reserved for our race, but there are some outside it who are worthy,” this aged Palehead said. “Remove her gag so she may answer this question: what is your name?”

“Falene Trieste.”

The Palehead nodded once, slowly. “And of what would you claim to be Taoiseach?”

“I am Taoiseach of the Noble House of Trieste.”

“And from whom do you claim to inherit this title?”

“My mother Kerry Trieste.”

“From whom did she inherit the title?”

“Her father before her, Fionn Trieste.”

“From whom did he inherit the title?”

“His father, Lennon Trieste.”

“Who begot this Fionn Trieste?”

Falene had to think for a minute. “Maeve Trieste.”

There was a moment of quiet. “So you claim to be descended from Lennon Trieste?” the old Palehead said.

“I do not claim. I am. Ask my companions.”

“Perhaps it is true,” the Palehead said, “but there is one thing that causes me to question your claim. Why do you stand with the enemies of Lennon Trieste?

“Why do you stand with the Sith?”

 

The Sith?! And the Paleheads know who the Triestes are?!? Oh my. This has just taken a very unexpected turn.

I can't wait to see Falene and Haylee escape this.

 

There was a moment of quiet. “So you claim to be descended from Lennon Trieste?” the old Palehead said.

“I do not claim. I am. Ask my companions.”

“Perhaps it is true,” the Palehead said, “but there is one thing that causes me to question your claim. Why do you stand with the enemies of Lennon Trieste?

“Why do you stand with the Sith?”

Wow, this came unexpected (even to me who watched so many Star Trek episodes). The Sith. Here. On this planet.

Well, old Obi-Wan is right after all. The truth has always has a certain of view from the person who tells it.



But it seems destined that an heir of Lennon Trieste shows up. I hope for Falene that she makes the right choices.

 

I take that as a high compliment! Now if you've watched a lot of Twilight Zone too I'll know I nailed it.

As for certain points of view...well...wait until next time!

 

Now I cannot stop laughing and that hurts a lot with with streptococcal pneumonia. (By the way, my first ever! We kindergarten teachers always pick up interesting things at work.) And life itself is a sort of "Twilight Zone" we live in. (But no, I did not watch many because German TV was not showing them so often in the 80ies and 90ies. And when they did, they did so at queer times.)

But I am as keen as I am patient.

 

Unbelievable. What a great twist and I imagine we shall discover just who close the Triestes of old were to the Paleheads of this perhaps not so mysterious planet.

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn and Bardan_Jusik because, that's right, we're going back to Kitokaime! (I knew you all couldn't wait to hear more from that distant world.)



Kitokaime, Wild Space

Falene accepted a cup of water from her host, Celgrod. She was sitting cross legged on what passed for a rug in the hut that was his home. The bombshell that he had dropped had shocked Falene, Mugrog, and Haylee to such an extent that their reactions alone had exonerated them before the Palehead court. Celgrod had asked the presider to hold judgement on the Trivans--who were apparently the Sith--until he had time to confer with the Taoiseach saying, “She must know all before we proceed.”

He had hobbled his way with the assistance of a stick back to this hut, apologizing for their treatment. “This world has made us hard and rough. You heard Taoiseach Elspart say that there is no room for mercy on this world. It is sadly true.”

With each of his guests provided with drink, he lowered himself on creaking joints to sit across from them.

“I have a million questions. What do you mean that the Trivan are Sith?” Mugrog asked immediately.

“Patience, my horned friend,” Celgrod said kindly. “This is a long story, and one that must principally be told to the Taoiseach.” He turned to Falene to begin.

“Forgive the historians’ conceit of a focus on biography, but I feel it is necessary. I have, by my reckoning, reached something approaching 90 years of age. I was born at the close of the previous century on Bakura.”

“Bakura?” Falene echoed.

“Yes. We all were--well, not all now living. But all of us back then.” Celgrod waved his hand. “I’m getting ahead of myself. In those days, a great war began to take the galaxy.”

“The Neo-Sith War,” Haylee interjected with the obvious interest of a student of the conflict.

“We did not have a name for it, not by the time it reached Bakura. They invaded us in one great sweep. There was no escaping the occupation that began,” Celgrod said, “but there was resistance. A resistance that your ancestors led.” This was directed to Falene. “Lennon Trieste was, at that time, Deputy Prime Minister of Bakura. When the Sith came, he was offered the Prime Ministry--if he collaborated with them, as the Prime Minister would not do. I understood these things only dimly, as the child that I was would. In fact, much I did not understand until later. Your...grandfather, was he?”

“Great-grandfather,” Falene clarified.

“Yes, I suppose, great-grandfather. He rejected the Sith’s offer and went to ground with his wife, Maeve. Though they were advanced in their years, Bakurans have never been limited by age. They led a resistance against the Sith, striking at anything that symbolized them or their occupation--including taking lives where they could,” Celgrod said. “This made the Noble House of Trieste a symbol of hope for the planet. It also made them a target. The Sith hunted them ruthlessly. They claimed to have killed your entire family. It seems they lied.”

“My grandfather was offworld when it happened, as was his cousin,” Falene explained. “They, however, were the only two who the Sith did not kill.”

Celgrod nodded. “My parents joined the rebellion and fought beside Lennon and Maeve. Though I was a child, I had no choice but to do join the resistance. For a while we were able to strike at them, but eventually the Sith found us. The day that they captured my parents and me, they took your great-grandparents. I heard later that they were killed publicly. I am sorry.”

“My grandfather heard these stories later,” Falene said, gently trying to assuage Celgrod’s pain in relating such terrible events.

“It was not long after that the Sith herded us onto a ship. They packed us into a cargo hold. There was barely room to stand, let alone sit. We slept on top of each other. The passage was long and dark. We were given only enough food and water to keep us alive. Nothing more.

“When the cargo hold opened, we were led outside, onto this world...in chains. The Sith made us kneel as they dedicated this world for the glory of their empire. It was to be a citadel of their strength, untainted by the stain of the GFFA or the Jedi. They called it ‘Kitok Laime.’”

“Abridged over time into Kitokaime,” Mugrog said, understanding instantly. “I have not studied the Sith tongue or perhaps I would have realized it sooner.”

“We later learned it meant ‘New Land,’” Celgrod explained, “and we were to be the slaves whose hands would build their spires and our backs would be the foundations for their castles.”

“Especially when they found that they could not leave,” Falene said. “The Trivans said this was just supposed to be the beginning of their settlement here and then they discovered that their engines wouldn’t start up again.”

“Indeed. A stroke of luck,” Celgrod said. The Palehead stood with a grunt and creaking joints. Mugrog helped him to his feet. “When the Sith realized that they were stuck here, they knew that their dreams of a great second capital was over. They realized that they would have to be something different. In this realization, they were economical. They dismantled their ship to create shelters. You sit in one of them.” Celgrod took one white hand and rubbed dirt off his wall, slowly revealing text. “They called themselves Sith no longer. They were a new tribe.”

The name of the ship, though faded, still stood out as if it was lit in neon to the three offworlders.

“The Tribe of Revan,” Celgrod said.

“Trivan. A contraction of the two,” Mugrog said.

“Yes,” Celgrod nodded. “You understand much now. With this planet their future, they beat us, they drove us into the dirt as we tilled their fields, watching over us with their blasters.”

“Not to mention the lightsabers,” Falene said.

“No, there were no Force users among them,” Celgrod said.

“What?” Haylee exclaimed.

“The Sith who brought us here were not Sith of the mold of Revan or Vader. Those were to come later--once the war had been decided and the Jedi defeated. The Sith who settled this world were soldiers, administrators, their spouses, and children. They were the foot soldiers of that war. Stormtroopers, if you will. They believed in a future that was enforced with the heel of a boot.”

“You could have stood up to them!” Haylee protested. “I’ve seen your warriors. With the right strategy you could have defeated them if they didn’t have the Force on their side.”

“We attempted a revolt when we realized that they we were all stuck here. They slaughtered the first to rise with their laser weapons. The rest were cowed into submission.” Celgrod put his head down, memories coming back to him. “There were days I wish I had died, but the elders among us cautioned that we wait, that our time would come. Years passed. Decades past. Hope faded.

“But then some of us realized that we had not seen their laser weapons fire in some time. The cunning among us wondered if perhaps they did not work. We devised ways to test them, to see if we could trick them into using them against perceived threats. They did not. We were not sure, but we believed our elders had been right: our time had come.

“We rose again. Our bodies had been hardened by forced labor. Our children had been born on this world and were fully formed by it. They led our rebellion and the victory was theirs. The Sith fled this land...but they left behind them graves of our dead. We knew they would never tolerate our ascendance. They had never given us even the slightest advantage or lenience during our bondage. The only way we would remain free was to be continually on guard and to hunt them when we could.

“In the interim,” Celgrod continued, “we had to build a society for ourselves. We swore we would not be like the Trivan, but the young had known no other rule. They looked to those like me who remembered Bakura, then just our distant homeworld, for some clue as to what else we could be. My generation wracked our memories to remember the government that Bakura had. A just society. We swore trials for all accused, even Trivans. We elect our leader, our Taoiseach. Our representatives decide critical questions.

“Time passed. We settled into our new life as slaves no more, but masters of ourselves. But we always watched the Sith, knowing that they were out there. Finally, we caught the last of them a few years ago. We tried the adults for their crimes and punished them with the ultimate price, as our society had determined was just. The children we could not condemn to death. We remembered our dead children, who died under the whip, too keenly. These Sith children still bore hate for us in their eyes. We knew they were not innocent. They were condemned to serve penalties in servitude.

“Your erstwhile companions engineered an escape for themselves and most of their confederates. Those who did not escape died in the attempt. The guilt of those who lived was sealed as fugitives and compounded by their actions since. Their guerilla raids have killed without respect for age. It will be for a jury to decide if imprisonment and servitude is still appropriate or if harsher punishment applies.”

Falene opened her mouth to ask a question, but was preempted by the Mandalorian. “This is great and all, but there’s one thing you still haven’t mentioned: who are you?”

Celgrod tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“What is your species?” Haylee clarified. “We only know you as P...the term used by the Trivans.”

Celgrod’s knobbed brow knitted further. “You have been to Bakura with the Taoiseach, have you not?”

“Of course we have. It is where we left from,” Haylee said.

“Then how can you not know my race?”

“Because…” Falene interjected. She paused before continuing and the air in the hut became heavy as she gathered herself to give voice to a supposition she had started to harbor during Celgrod’s history. Yet the pause was too much. She couldn’t bring herself to speak.

“Taoiseach,” Celgrod said, turning to her, “please say you know us. You, Taoiseach of the Noble House, of all beings, should know us.” He was almost pleading with her.

“I believe I do,” Falene said, her chest tight. “You and your brethren...you are...Kurtzen, are you not?”

“Yes, we are. We are the first beings of Bakura,” Celgrod said. His eyes shone with validation. Even his old, bent frame seemed to stand up straighter with this recognition.

“Oh my Maker,” Mugrog breathed.

“What?” Celgrod asked. The light in his eyes had already started to falter.

“My friends have never seen a Kurtzen,” Falene said, “and neither have I. For, you see, when the Sith left Bakura, they did so after orbitally bombarding it with their warships. They killed all but a handful--leaving enough to spread tales of their perfidy to cause the galaxy to fear them. And those that were left alive reported that the Sith slaughtered....” She paused, but already she could see her host begin to shake.

“Celgrod, until we entered this hut, the galaxy believed that no Kurtzen had drawn breath for nearly 80 years.”

All was quiet as the four realized and attempted to process what this moment meant to them and to the galaxy.

The first one to break the silence was Celgrod as he let loose a high wail and fell to his knees.

 

This is an utterly amazing and intricate tale you have crafted here. Incredible. You deserve a roomful of applause (which is what all the clappy hands emoticons above represent).

 

Un-frakking-believable. That was so good. Nicely done!

 

You are both too kind. This is a big moment that I've been planning for some time...but it's not over yet.

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn If you time your reading right, the post and the song intertwine nicely. Not that you need the song...as I think you'll discover.



The Plaza, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“Are we going to go to the playoff game?” Shenandoah asked her parents as the four of them sat at the dinner table. “Gaeri said that her mom is going to take her so I said I’d see if we were going too.”

“Of course we will,” Declan said. “We can always go to the Miners game. It’s one of the benefits of being related to Aunt Falene and Aunt Regan. And you can tell Gaeri that we’ll have the best seats in the Gardens.”

“But she said that her mom has seats really close to the front,” Shenandoah said. “We sit so far away!”

“We sit in a box and if Gaeri’s mom could get those tickets she would too,” Ayn told her daughter. “You see, when you sit down front you can see a little bit of the field really well, but the other parts of the field are hard to see. Where we sit you aren’t as close, but you can understand the whole game better. You can see how a whole team, all 15 players work together. You see the plays develop. You understand the strategy and that’s what wins games.”

“I thought the better team won the game,” Fionn said.

“Not all the time. Sometimes the smarter team wins,” Ayn said.

“Hey Mom, why aren’t you eating?” Shenandoah said. Ayn was the only one at the table who didn’t have a plate in front of her.

“I have a meeting tonight with the Minister of State,” Ayn said. “She’s invited me for dinner so to be polite I’ll eat with her tonight. However, it is still important to me that we sit down as a family so we can talk about what’s going on in your lives.”

“And important things like going to the Miners game,” Declan added.

“And things like that,” Ayn agreed with a smile.

“Why do you have to have dinner with the Minister of State?” Fionn asked. “Can’t you go see her at her office?”

“Because, my darling,” Ayn said, “sometimes when two beings meet privately they can reach an understanding that they couldn’t when they think others could be watching.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll understand one day when you’re a little older,” Declan said, patting his son on the shoulder. “Now, Mom has to get going or she’ll be late and if we don’t finish soon we won’t be able to watch something on the Holonet while she’s gone.”

“Be good,” Ayn said, rising from the table.

Declan mouthed a “good luck” to his wife as their children wished her farewell. Ayn smiled and gave a single nod.

---

The Garlant-Trieste Dinner, often known as “The Dinner,” is one of the most famous moments in Bakuran political history. Though it has been my policy as editor of this comprehensive history of the Noble House of Trieste to refrain from inserting myself, such is unavoidable now given the importance and nature of this event.

Minister of State Trixa Garlant hosted Minority Whip Ayn Trieste for dinner was not unusual. When they entered the room, they occupied polar opposite points from each other politically: as a Senator Cape Suzette Ayn advocated policies that were more left than center in the Fianna Fail coalition and, through her husband, strongly backed the unions in the general strike. Garlant served as the Prime Minister’s second-in-command of the executive branch, heading arguably one of the most prestigious portfolios in the federal government. Garlant had consistently backed the Prime Minister’s position in opposition to the public sector worker unions, occupying a firm place on the right.

Though one would imagine that the two would not have socialized, Ayn Trieste had always kept cordial relationships with political colleagues regardless of position or policies. As a freshman Senator, she rotated all 79 of her fellow Senators through her office for tea. To meet with Garlant was a natural political instinct.

At the end of the evening, the pair had brokered a compromise that would end the general strike. The contract originally proposed by the Public Sector Workers of Bakura would be passed by the Senate and signed by the Prime Minister, at which point the PSW would end their call for a general strike on Bakura. In exchange, enough Fianna Fail Senators would vote for a Chandrila-style immigration bill that severely curtailed the number of resident visas issued to offworlders--a Unionist legislative priority for decades that had consistently failed to pass the Senate--to ensure it passed the body and could be signed by the PM. Each party received a major legislative victory by accepting a law completely odious to them and their constituents.

The only beings who were present at the dinner were Senator Trieste and Minister Garland. What happened in that room has been the subject of speculation since the moment the compromise was announced.

---

The City Club, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“How did you ever get the Cape Suzette Coquette to agree to give us immigration?” one of the Unionist Senators asked as he poured another drink for Minister Garlant. The mood was festive inside The City Club, one of the great traditional watering spots for the Union Party. Today they were feting the unexpected hero of the hour.

“Yes, do tell! The scheming nexu has been a thorn in our side ever since she became Whip,” another Senator insisted.

“I’m positive that she somehow messed up the campaign finance bill,” a third said, offering Garlant a cigarra. The Minister passed, but took a long pull on her whiskey before beginning.

“Oh, it’s all too good,” Garlant said, unable to resist a broad smile. She switched the cross of her legs as she began. This was not the first time she’d told the story and it she knew it wouldn’t be the last. This was the sort of story you sold memoirs on. It was the sort of story you ran for Prime Minister on. Already she was beginning to perfect the theatrics of the telling.

“The other night I was leaving the State offices, late at night as usual. You know what the workload is like,” Garlant said.

“I know I wouldn’t want it,” a Senator said. “Nobody wakes you up in the middle of the night when you’re Minister of Agriculture.”

“Let alone pulls you out of bed with that hot piece you go around with,” another ribbed their colleague to great laughs and guffaws.

“Seriously, friends, here I am, about to get into my speeder when who do I see coming down the street but Ayn Trieste? It’s all over her face--she’s distraught. Completely undone. Sure, she’s trying not to show it, but she’s clearly unraveling. You all know I’m a compassionate conservative, so I stop and greet her, ask what’s wrong. She says that she’s been looking at the latest Exchequer reports--Neza, you’ve seen them? Haven’t you? Gross domestic product has plunged thanks to the strike. Industry’s been at an almost standstill. Consumer prices skyrocketing. It’s all too much for Dormingale--excuse me, Trieste. She says that she doesn’t see how we can extricate ourselves at this point. Obviously I say it’s a tragedy and we all want the strike to be over as soon as possible. Then Trieste looks at me and I can see that her mind is turning.”

“If only she used her brain more often,” one of the Senators said to chuckles.

“So get this, Trieste starts going on how respected I am--about how everyone knows what I did to clean up Atalanta as mayor and then my two terms as governor,” Garlant said. “She absolutely gushes. ‘You have such bipartisan respect. If you got involved as Minister of State that would be a game changer. You have the ear of the Prime Minister. She’d listen to you.’ Oh I know she’s trying to inflate my ego. It’s pathetic.”

“Though she’s right: you are the foremost member of the Cabinet.”

“I’ll admit, she does get me thinking. I’m of course not going to discuss policy in the streets of Salis D’aar, even if it is the capital. So I invite Dormingale for dinner the next night. I could see the relief flood her. She agrees immediately.”

“But what about the dinner itself? How’d you get her to give up immigration for the union contract?”

“A lady never tells,” Garlant said, wagging one finger. The Minister of State knew that a little mystery was a good thing.

---

Club 33, Salis D’aar, Bakura
“Of course I’m going to vote for both measures,” Senator Silas Madsen said at Club 33, the Fianna Fail counterpart to The City Club.

“You can’t be serious,” one of his liberal counterparts stated.

“I’m absolutely serious,” Madsen said. “Trieste already saw me about it--before the news broke--to ask for my votes and for me to speak to my caucus colleagues on behalf of the compromise.”

“They’re going to vote the union contract first. You can pull out of the immigration bill.”

“Not if we want the Prime Minister to sign both. She’ll veto the contract if there isn’t a passed immigration bill on her desk at the same time, you can be sure of that,” Madsen warned. “Besides, this is good politics. Not every problem exists in a vacuum and, frankly, it’s time we got Bakura moving again. If we want to win in 284, then this strike needs to be over now. And frankly, now is not a good time to be looking for a job, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Senator from Arcterra did not need to make his point any further. The truth was that Silas Madsen had tangled with Ayn Trieste before. Though they had a cordial working relationship, he had never forgotten the fact that she had foiled his plans to marry his adopted daughter to Declan Trieste. He would have enjoyed being present at that dinner to watch Ayn have to eat that immigration bill to end the strike. It would have been delicious.

---

Senate office building, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“How could you have sold us out, Ayn!” a Fianna Fail Senator demanded, having basically barged into the Minority Whip’s office. “Immigration? You gave away immigration to the Unionists? Have you even read their bill? Chandrila basically lets no one in under the guise of ecological concerns! It’ll be just as bad here!”

“With the way that both sides had entrenched themselves on the strike, our options were limited. We were never going to get the full contract, the contract our side wanted, without a major concession,” Ayn replied calmly, sitting behind her desk, hands folded. It was very clear this was not the first time she had been forced to have this conversation with a colleague who disagreed with her bargain.

“Immigration has been a cornerstone of Bakuran foreign policy since the rebuilding of the planet! It’s been our dynamo. Beings want to come here for good jobs, good education, safe homes, excellent medical care. They want to pay taxes here! Taxes that fund the services this planet, our voters, desperately care about! This is nothing more than old school xenophobia, one of the worst traits of our society! We give them this, what will they ask for next? A ban against droids like in the old days? What were you thinking?”

“Ferling,” Ayn said, addressing her colleague by his first name, “it’s a law. Laws get passed all the time. And they get repealed all the time. Contracts with one of the largest unions on the planet, a union on which the federal government is utterly dependent--as the recent strike has shown--do not get repealed. Ever.”

The Senator on the other side of the desk did not have anything to say to that. In his eyes, Ayn could see that he was starting to appreciate her point.

“And who wanted an immigration bill? The conservative base of the Union Party, voters who will never vote for us. You know who won’t like this? Middle of the road voters who need to be given a reason to vote for us. A reason like we are a party that doesn’t fear offworlders. We don’t go back to the old ways. And is this conservative base organized? Does it give large amounts to campaign funds? Does it have lobbyists?”

“Now think about the union contract. Who does that help? A well organized, established political force?” Ayn asked, rising from her seat. “One that can write large checks for our campaigns? One with an important voice in the capital? One that we will need on our side for decades? One that will not forget that we stepped up for them and got them something they desperately wanted even if we had to do something that was anathema to them?

“Let’s be clear: we came here to govern. We came here to get Sithspit done.” Ayn planted her palms on her desk and leaned forward. “You don’t get Sithspit done if you don’t have a seat at the table and you don’t sit at the table if you don’t put yourself on the line. I whip the Force forsaken votes. I put my career on the line every day. I am going to build a better Bakura.

“And if you can’t take the pressure and play the game to make a better world, then resign your seat and we’ll run someone with blood in their veins in 284, Ferling,” Ayn demanded.

As with the others, there were no more recriminations to be had after that.

---

Elsewhere in the Senate office building, Declan Trieste was reading the Salis D’aar Times, the most respected media outlet in the capital. He sipped his tea with pleasure as he flipped back to the lead story for the umpteenth time that day.

THE DEAL OF THE DECADE

Underneath were large holos of the Minister of State and the Minority Whip that took up the entire cover and completed with the byline, “GENERAL STRIKE TO END THANKS TO SWEEPING LEGISLATIVE VISION.”

There was a single knock on his private, side door to his office before it slid open. Declan already knew it would be the woman he’d married.

“Beat back the baying horde?” Declan asked, putting the Times down.

“Finally,” Ayn sighed.

“So how many of you asked what Garlant said to get you to give away immigration?”

“Most of them,” Ayn admitted, “but I didn’t tell a one.”

“You’ll tell me though, won’t you?” Declan asked, pulling his wife close.

“You had to be there, my darling.”

“One day, I will be. We’ll both be in the room where it happens. Together. We will get there,” Declan promised.

“Don’t you know? Wherever we are--that’s where it happens,” Ayn said with a smile. Declan responded in kind.

“But today is your day,” Declan said. “Let’s not forget that.”

“And you know how I do it,” Ayn replied.

“Click boom,” the husband and wife said in tandem, mimicking the firing action of blasters with their fingers.

They had just grown the legend of the Noble House of Trieste.

 

Ayn is right. The contract is permanent, but the immigration law can be repealed. That was a brilliant play by her.

I love how the exact events of the dinner are unknown to our editor here; it just adds that extra air of mystery to the whole event. And the proper, capitalized name for the dinner is the icing on the cake; one gets the sense that by the time this volume was written, it's well-known enough to be mentioned in high school history textbooks or the like.

Excellently done.

 

Bravo! Excellent!

 

Your twists and turns never fail to surprise.

The history of Baktura and the present political scandals going on... I wonder when both story lines will be re-united again.

 

I'm flattered you still think so. Hope this reading provided a nice break for you.

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn



Kitokaime, Wild Space

“Judgement! Judgement!” Celgrod wailed as he plodded as fast as his bent, aged body would go. His cries gathered the Kurtzen settlement to the town square where Falene, Mugrog, and Haylee had so recently been placed on trial. The trio followed the elderly Kurtzen as he made his way from his hut to the square.

“What do you have to bring before us?” the Taoiseach of the Kurtzen said. “Are they indeed heretics?”

“No, this one is Taoiseach Falene of the Noble House of Trieste as she says she is. Her family is an old and ancient friend to our race,” Celgrod said. “She has evidence against the Trivans. Bring them forth!”

The three Sith, still bound and gagged were brought forth with no effort wasted on being gentle with them. They were forced to their knees in the mud of the gathering space. As Falene looked at them, she saw that their brief incarceration had dimmed none of the hate in their eyes.

“The Taoiseach of the Noble House has said, and her colleagues have confirmed, that when our people were first led into bondage so many decades ago the crimes of the Trivan, of the Sith, against the Kurtzen did not end. After we were brought to this world, the Sith indiscriminately murdered the citizens of Bakura. They rained fire and laser from space upon them. Children were slaughtered in the arms of their parents! The old were burned with the young!

“And when the Sith had finished their grizzly work, there was not one Kurtzen left alive on Bakura!”

Someone in the crowd screamed. Murmurs that rippled through the assembly.

“They have committed genocide against our race!” Celgrod continued. “This evidence has been given by a Taoiseach. It is truth!”

“In light of this evidence, how do you find the Trivans before you?” the Taoiseach asked the hastily reassembled jury.

“Guilty!” they replied in one voice without hesitation.

“Then as it was done to our ancestors and brethren, let it be done to them,” the Taoiseach pronounced. Already the crude blades had come out and the deathly pale Kurtzen began to move towards the three Trivan.

“No!” the other Taoiseach present shouted, stepping forward, interposing herself between the Kurtzen and the Sith. “If my word as a Taoiseach is respected, then let me speak before you act!”

The warriors hesitated and the crowd stirred as Falene stood between blade and flesh. All hesitated for a moment, though inertia in favor of execution seemed to roll through them.

“She is a Taoiseach. She has the right,” the Kurtzen Taoiseach said.

“You would all kill these three Trivan because of what beings unconnected to them did nearly 70 years ago?” Falene asked.

“Trivan are Sith,” Celgrod said. “They share in the crimes of all who share their name. They would say, ‘No, I did not do this. Others did this. I am innocent.’ It is lies, deception. It is how they would avoid punishment for their sins.”

“But they did not do this! They have never seen Bakura! You charge them with the crimes of others,” Falene insisted.

“They are not without blood on their hands. Ask them. Each of them has killed a Kurtzen in their life. They will not deny it,” Celgrod said. “Blood must have blood.”

“And did you not kill their parents, their relatives?” Falene parried. “By your own logic, were they not justified in what they did?”

“They kill in the night,” the Taoiseach said gravely. “They murder. Here they are tried by a jury. Arguments are presented and heard. This is justice.”

“This is justice by the mob!” Falene shouted. “That is no justice! This is justifying what you want with the trappings of fairness not reflected in proceedings! You fashioned yourself after what your elders remembered of Bakura? This is a sham! My aunt serves on the highest court on Bakura and she would be appalled by this! You give societal sanction to the murder of Trivans because it satisfies your blood lust! Look at them! They are gagged! They make no arguments in their own favor! They have no counsel! They are as good as dead the moment they are captured!”

“We must have justice!” Celgrod railed. “We must have justice for our daughters and sons and wives and husbands! Blood must have blood or our souls shall not have rest!”

“Blood must not have blood!” Falene roared, punctuating the middle of her sentence with a fist. “If blood has blood then this will only end with one of you left alive waiting out the days until death, alone!”

“Then what would you have us do--let them go for them to return to the woods to plot their revenge?” Celgrod demanded. “They are Sith! They will kill us!”

“The cycle must be broken, and that means someone must go first,” Falene said, “That someone will be me.”

 

Interesting that Falene steps in to stop the execution here, though I don't fully understand what she means by her last line. I'm sure I'll find out soon, though.

 

Oh yes you will.

 

Her speech was epic. Almost Shakespearean. I do hope she does not need/ have to bleed.

 

Falene Trieste-explorer, Limmie player, and negotiator extraordinaire.