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

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn

Space

When you flew Cataline-Lynd Shipping (as nobody called it, but since they changed their transponder codes so frequently there really was no other name for their ship or service), you didn’t take the shortest distance between two points. In this case, that would have been Bakura to Cerea to Kinyen to Foless to Allanteen to Christophsis to Tatooine to Hypori.

No, the course that Swann laid in was Bakura to Cerea to Lurmilla, which was the destination they filed when leaving Bakura (not that they’d actually filed anything when they slipped out of the atmosphere). Then they were on to Dolla and Indupar. From there they had to pick their way through minor hyperspace lanes to Sanrafsoc (luckily, Cillian was sober by this point so he could help with the navigation). Once there they could sail on to Tatooine, from which they could pick through to Hypori.

At Enarc they switched over from Republican space to Roon Federation territory. It was normally nothing even worth dropping out of hyperspace for, just a transition on a star chart that meant nothing.

Except for today.

KERTHUK!

“What the--” Cillian shouted. He stumbled into the cockpit with a cut on his forehead. “I love you dear, but give me warning before we revert to realspace! I went headfirst into a bulkhead!”

“We have bigger problems right now, Cillian,” Swann said. “We didn’t come out of hyperspace by choice.”

“This is Federation naval vessel Victoriam. We apologize for the inconvenience to your travel. Please prepare to be scanned. Random checks are in effect,” came an automated recording.

“Since when did the Federation start enforcing customs at its borders?” Cillian exclaimed. “I’m going to have a stern talk with Eleanor the next time she shows up at a family reunion…”

“That’s your takeaway from this situation?” Swann exclaimed. “Not that the Federation is employing interdictors?” She motioned out the viewport to the cruiser with the telltale bulges.

“I knew there was something I was forgetting to ask Aunt Fiona,” Cillian said, using his biological hand to slap his forehead.

“What could she possibly have to do with this situation?”

“The Defense Fleet has had interdictor-prevention technology for centuries. It’s one of Bakura’s few true defensive advantages. We used them during the Centerpoint Station crisis. Wait, maybe it was the Yevethan crisis. One of those old crises,” Cillian said, finally giving up. “Anyways, we should get some of that to avoid precisely this situation.”

“Well next time make a better Life Day list for your family,” Swann said. “We better hope our cargo doesn’t set off those--”

“Freighter Morning Bird, this is Victoriam,” came a voice over the comms that was now most definitely not automated. “You’ve been selected for a secondary inspection of your ship and cargo. Tractor beam engaging.”

“You were saying?” Cillian asked. “Deploying countermeasures.” He flipped a switch over his head.

“I have the helm,” Swann confirmed. This was where the pair’s marriage went to the next level--tandem spacecraft operation. In a situation like this, there was no time for argument.

On the hull of the ship an outer compartment opened, releasing accumulated trash. Though it couldn’t mimic the profile of the ship, it did occupy the tractor beam for a couple of seconds as the beam attempted to find the starship in the confusion and maintain its hold. Swann gunned the engines in the opposite direction, hoping to create enough separation that the tractor beam picked up the trash and not the ship.

A shudder went through the freighter. “Not sure it took,” Cillian said.

“No, we’re almost there,” Swann said, one hand on the thruster controls and the other on the direction. “Plot us a course. We won’t have much--”

The ship suddenly shot backwards as the last vestiges of the tractor beam fell away, sending the ship careening away from the Federation interdictor.

“We need about five minutes to make it outside of interdiction range,” Cillian informed his wife.

“‘About.’ Wonderful. Precision when we need it most. Estimate on how long until fighters can intercept? They are launching fighters, right?” Swann asked her husband.

“Probably scrambling pilots right now,” Cillian said, “Yes, there we go. First fighters out of the bay. I’d say we’ve got...two minutes.”

“Any ideas on how to occupy the other three minutes?” Swann queried.

“Bringing weapons systems online.”

“You plot a hyperspace route yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well you’ve got, what, a minute 45 to do it in?” Swann reminded him.

“No need to be testy,” Cillian grumbled. “I can do it in a minute.”

“Well do it right. I don’t want to wind up in orbit around Roon. As if we need to get closer to the Federation Navy right now.”

“Would I ever do a thing like that?”

“Cillian.”

“Okay, there was that one time. One time!”

“Got that route yet? You’re going to have to start shooting in a moment.”

“Who said I was shooting anything? Laser bolts are expensive.”

“Freighter Morning Bird, power down your weapons systems. This is your final warning. We will open fire with extreme prejudice,” came a new voice, likely one of the fighter pilots.

“I got this, dear,” Cillian said, turning on the comms. “Unidentified craft, this is the Morning Bird. Please identify yourself. We had a report in our last port of call about pirates taking over Federation vessels and waylaying travelers.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Swann muttered as she continued her white knuckle press on the thrusters and kept the ship straight on course for the fastest path out of the interdictor range.

“Morning Bird, this is Federation Navy. Power down engine and weapons systems immediately.”

“See, that’s just what you’d say if you were pirates,” Cillian pointed out.

“Morning Bird--”

“Sorry, getting a lot of static here,” Cillian said even though there was nothing of the sort. He was already turning away from the comm.

“Cillian, remember what we talked about,” Swann said.

“I know, I know. I’ve got everything set to disable, not kill,” Cillian said as he brought up the targeting interface. “One away.”

“Turn and burn,” Swann confirmed, tacking away from their original course.

There was a slight shake as the ship outran the blast radius of an ion wave bomb.

“Supposed Federation Navy and probable pirates,” Cillian said, turning the comms on again, “we just detected a major energy discharge. Everything all right back there?”

“Now you’re just taunting,” Swann commented.

“They’re the ones who started the conversation,” Cillian pointed out. There was no reply. “Federation Navy, do you copy? Having some trouble with your comm systems?”

“Morning Bird, this is Victoriam. We detect you have initiated hostilities. Under Federation law, we are now authorized to use lethal force,” the first voice said.

“Victoriam, once again, that’s what pirates would say,” Cillian replied. “Forgive us if we don’t trust you.”

“Oh Sithspit,” Swann cursed.

“What--”

The ship was suddenly rocked.

“Turbolaser fire,” Swann said.

“Of course. Turbolasers.”

“Buckled in?”

“No, one--” Cillian didn’t get to finish as he nearly flew out of his chair as Swann put the freighter into evasive maneuvers. “I was going to say, ‘one second.’ Couldn’t you have waited?”

“This is why you buckle up, Cillian,” Swann chided. “Never know when things are going to shift.”

“There’s shifting and then there’s trying to plaster me against a bulkhead for the second time this flight. I’m not a BB model droid who can just suspend myself in midair, dear,” Cillian said, clawing his way back into his flight seat.

“You’d be much less interesting as a droid,” Swann said. “Range to hyperspace?”

The ship jolted again as another turbolaser blast hit their shields. “Thirty seconds.”

“Shields?”

“Barely holding.”

Another crash.

“Make that down,” Cillian clarified.

“You got that hyperspace route input?” Swann asked.

“No--yes, yes I do,” Cillian said after frantic pounding of a screen.

“Count me down.”

“Seven.”

“Seven? Terrible place to start a countdown.”

“Five, four, three, two--”

“Jumping.”

“One.”

Cillian waited for a moment after the long pull of a hyperspace entry. “Are we alive?”

“Probably,” Swann said, finally releasing her hold on the controls. She exhaled deeply and put her head against the control panel in front of her. “Now, where are we going?”

“Yeah, about that…” Cillian hissed. “Before you say anything…”

Swann heaved herself out of her chair. “No. Stop. I don’t want to know. Give me five minutes to get a drink. Then I’ll be ready to punch you in the face.”

“Five minutes it is, love!” Cillian said cheerily.

 

The Federation Navy has never looked better.....and......neither have Cillian and Swann Oh yeah! Great post!

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn

Druckenwell

“I told you the last thing we needed was to be deeper in the Federation,” Swann complained. “Yet here we are, on approach for one of their biggest industrial centers.”

In hyperspace they’d changed their transponder codes. They were now flying as the Edsel, registered out of Tralus. What were the chances that the Federation Navy was going to check every freighter of their class, and a common one at that, at every planet? If you asked Swann, the chances weren’t small enough for her liking.

“Would anyone in their right mind flee a Federation checkpoint by going deeper into their territory, to a major port no less? It’s the perfect place to hide,” Cillian told his wife.

“At least we can agree you’re not in your right mind,” Swann added without hesitation.

“There is method in the madness,” Cillian said.

The comm squaked at them. “Edsel, this is Ypres Initiative control. You are cleared for landing at Docking Bay Eta 72-A.”

“Roger, Ypres control. On our way in now,” Cillian acknowledged.

“And heading to the company controlled by the President of the Roon Federation no less. Yeah, you’re a real Yoda, darling,” Swann groused.

“Don’t worry about it. This is why we have friends,” Cillian said. “They love us.”

---

“You care to explain this?” Vice President Corrie Ypres demanded, shoving her datapad in Cillian’s face. “An all-points bulletin for a ship described in uncannily similar terms to the one that’s currently sitting in my docking bay for running a Federation checkpoint?”

“Good to see you too Corrie,” Cillian said with the best smile he could pull off. “Quentin, mate, thanks for arranging the stopover here.”

“Oh no. This conversation is not over,” Corrie continued with Cillian, preventing anyone else from interjecting into the conversation. “Do you know the scandal that’s going to break out if anyone finds out that I let a wanted ship onto Ypres property?”

“There won’t be a scandal. I called Quentin and he’s the one who let us land. It’s plausible deniability. You corporate types love that,” Cillian pointed out.

Off to the side, Swann leaned against the exterior of the ship with Quentin next to him. “Think Corrie’s going to kill him?” she asked her cousin in-law.

“It’s a toss up,” Quentin admitted. His girlfriend did not get mad like this that often, but when she did it was fearsome. “Going to hold it against us if she does?”

“Nah. After Horst Penn, Cillian’s probably the biggest idiot in your family,” Swann said, “and every family’s got some. Including mine.”

“Yeah, but I’m guessing yours are prettier, what with being Hapan and all.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Meanwhile, the reaming that Corrie was dealing out continued. “And what’s more according to Federation law if I don’t report your presence here I’m an accomplice to your crimes! Won’t that be a great headline? ‘President Ypes’ Daughter Detained on Crimical Charges.’ Yeah, that’s going to go over well. You know, I came back here because Druckenwell needed leaders to help get it back on track after the war. Instead I’ll be getting 15 to 20 for aiding and abetting!”

“Corrie, we just needed a place to set down for a little bit and then we’ll be out of your hair. Nobody’s ever going to even know we’re here,” Cillian placated her. “Besides, this is a research facility. No one would ever think of scanning this place. And even if they did pick something up, they’d assume it was all that researchy stuff you do.”

“Wait. Why is being scanned be a problem?” Corrie demanded.

“Like I said, it wouldn’t be a problem at all,” Cillian repeated lightly.

“What’s in the ship, Cillian?”

“Oh this and that.”

Corrie turned around. “Swann, what’s in the ship?”

“Whatever the manifest says is there,” Swann said.

“You have got to be joking. You’re smuggling and you came here?” Corrie exclaimed, connecting the dots. “This just keeps getting better and better.” She headed up the boarding ramp of their freighter.

“Corrie, dear, where are you going?” Cillian called out with concern, following her.

“To find out what’s on this blasted ship!” Corrie shouted.

“That’s not the best idea, Corrie,” Swann said. “Some of it is very delicate.”

By this time Corrie had barged into the freight bay. “What should we open first?” she wondered aloud. “Let’s start with the big crate.”

Swann and Cillian looked at each other. That was Antrose’s box. “Corrie--” they said in unison, as they started forward.

But they were too late. The crate decompressed and the top popped open. Corrie threw it back and stopped. Swann and Cillian peered in. Quentin was the last to look at the contents.

“Is that--” Quentin began.

“I think so,” Cillian said.

“Not that I’ve ever seen one this close,” Swann added.

“I work in defense contracting. It definitely is,” Corrie confirmed.

The four were looking at a silent, dormant bomb.

 

What a way to twist my emotions. From the light humor of the approach and initial conversation to the dark and potentially deadly situation they are now in. I'm not sure how they're going to get out of this one. Falene might need to intervene here (but is she willing to do so?).

 

Do I hear the bombastic notes of the Imperial I mean Federation march playing in the background here? This was great! You ran the gambit with the Federation Navy and then you proceeded to do the same with the tension of the piece. Well done! So now I'm oh so curious.....what next?

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn

Kurtzen Reservation, Yenshay, Bakura

The Senators Trieste had journeyed far from their constituencies and the capitol today to receive a tour of the Kurtzen Reservation. Now nearly a year into its existence, only a few tents remained. Most of the temporary structures had been replaced with permanent buildings that kept out the cold and heat. Roads were simple, but they would be added once all the dwellings were finished. The next phase would be permanent homes for community services.

As a result, Declan and Ayn Trieste were sitting in folding chairs inside a tent. It was large enough for them to be joined by six Kurtzen, all of whom were elders of the race. The Senators had come to speak with them explicitly.

“Thank you for welcoming us to your home,” Ayn said.

“Humble as it is,” one of the Kurtzen elders, the resident of the tent in question, said. “We decided that others should receive their permanent homes first.”

“Such is how we learned to lead in the times of slavery. Our real leaders were those who took punishment to spare the backs of those who could not,” another Kurtzen, this one a female, said. “To us, leadership is sacrifice. We shall be last so that others shall be first.”

“And what we learned in the dark days of Kitokaime was that it was incumbent upon us to think of all Kurtzen, not just ourselves,” a third added.

“Noble indeed,” Declan agreed. “This is the leadership that we think the Kurtzen need to move forward with their new lives in the galaxy. We are here to talk to you about that future. To partner with you in making it a reality.”

“We have not brought reporters or journalists with us,” Ayn said. “For us, this issue rises above politics. We are not here for publicity, even though your cause is popular throughout Bakura. We are not even here because our sister, the Taoiseach, enlisted our aid in your cause. We would have carried your banner in the halls of government without her saying a word. We are here because this is the right thing to do.”

“We pledge ourselves to forever advance the welfare of the Kurtzen,” Declan promised, “even when it is not convenient to do so. As you said, it is for us to serve.”

“These are strong words,” one of the Kurtzen elders said, “but we hear and learn about what this new Bakura is like. We hear you two have ambitions. Ambitions do not always mix well with what is right. Promises are easily justified away, deferred.”

“What you have heard is right,” Ayn said frankly. “We seek to rise in our station to make Bakura a better place. Our opponents will decry us and question our motivations. That is why we come to you today in private. We promise we will ever be your allies.”

“You are right to be suspicious,” Declan continued. “However, we pledge our word and our reputation. Should we ever fail to be a friend to the Kurtzen, tell the planet of this meeting and promises broken.”

“But politics requires compromise,” Ayn added. “When compromise is required, we will come to you, to work together to do what is possible and to determine where compromise would do your nation a disservice.”

“These are bold promises,” a Kurtzen elder said.

“We do nothing by halves in the Noble House of Trieste,” Declan replied with a smile. “We promise much and we expect you to hold us to account.”

“And what do you ask in return?” another Kurtzen asked in a reedy voice. “Surely such loyalty does not come without a price.”

“We ask that you let the Kurtzen know how we work together as partners to solve the issues between them, and from time to time speak publicly about what we accomplish,” Ayn said.

“The truth is all we will require when the time comes,” Declan said.

“And when the Kurtzen take their place in civil society, with voting rights, that you remind them of all that we have done together and how we will continue to advance issues that are important to the Kurtzen,” Ayn said.

“Some of our people will find this hard to believe coming from the Noble House. You brought us out of Kitokaime, but you did not punish the Sith,” one of the elders said. “Instead, you brought them into your family.”

“My sister is committed to peace. We can be friends to the Kurtzen and the children of the Sith at the same time. Bakura is not Kitokaime. Conflict does not need to rule your lives,” Declan said.

“The Sith will receive care and rehabilitation to leave their old ways and to join society as productive members,” Ayn said, “but they will not be given the advantages your people will be given.”

“We understand, but some of our people will not. They understand family,” one of the Kurtzen said.

“We know. Help them understand, in time,” Ayn said.

---

As their shuttle left the reservation and the plains of Yenshay behind, Declan and Ayn’s minds already began to turn back to Salis D’aar.

“They will be an important constituency for us and the party,” Ayn said, looking out the window at nothing in particular.

“A lot of voters support doing right by the Kurtzen,” Declan agreed.

“As long as we let their support percolate naturally, we won’t be accused of making hay out of this,” Ayn said. “Perhaps directing sympathetic journalists to them when needed, but nothing more.”

“But we are doing this because we have the responsibility to do so,” Declan said firmly.

“Of course. But doing the right thing does not have to be a sacrifice,” Ayn said, taking her husband’s hand. “Not if one knows what one is doing.”

 

Oh, Ayn and Declan. Even their selfless acts have a selfish motive.

 

I think you're starting to get the hang of this.

 

Ypres Initiative campus, Druckenwell

“So...is this the part where nobody moves?” Cillian asked, moving only his eyes to look at his three companions. They were still all leaning over what was most definitely a bomb.

“No, you can move,” Corrie said, but even she was reaching a hand towards the bomb slowly. A bomb was not something that seemed to inspire precipitous action.

“Corrie,” Quentin asked with concern.

“Like I said, I work in defense contracting. I think I know the most about explosive devices out of the group,” Corrie insisted. “Look, that’s not lit, so it’s not armed.”

“Is there a counter on it? You know, one of those things that shows how long until it explodes?” Cillian asked.

“No, but we’d only need to worry about that if it was armed,” Corrie said. She was progressively digging deeper into the wires and circuitry of the bomb. “This is actually pretty ingenious. It’s incredibly stable. It’s not very compact--I mean, look at it, it’s taking up the entire crate and you could fit six proton torpedoes in this thing--but nothing’s going to set this off early. And, judging by the explosive package here, this is going to make a really big explosion.”

“So why are we poking something that could explode?” Swann asked with evident concern.

“Because it’s so stable. I mean, I’ve never seen anything like this come off the Ypres lines--and trust me, Dad made sure I’ve seen everything that comes off our production lines and about three quarters of what’s in the R&D labs,” Corrie babbled. It was clear that as she started probing the bomb she was getting more comfortable, hence the verbal waterfall that was her default setting. “Look at these connections! They’re a little all over the place, but the redundancies in here are impressive. It could definitely be streamlined through process improvement--we’d never build anything this messy here--but this has got some real potential. Reverse engineering might actually yield some new advances for us. Where’d you get this, Cillian?” Corrie stopped and pulled her head out of the crate. “Wait a second. Where did you get this?”

“This happens to be part of a premium contract we offer,” Cillian said slowly. “The discretionary contract.”

“No, seriously Cillian, where did this come from?” Corrie demanded. “This is not a crate of fruit or blenders. This is a frigging bomb and it’s frigging in my hangar and I’m frigging standing next to it!” She jabbed a finger in the direction of the crate to punctuate her point.

“No wonder you ran from the Federation Navy,” Quentin remarked to himself.

“Look, it’s clear that the best solution is to just get out of here with this so it’s not in your hair anymore,” Swann said, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Remember the whole ‘accomplice’ bit I mentioned earlier? And the ‘my Dad’s President of the Federation’ bit?” Corrie said, her voice getting higher as she got angry. “I think the ship kind of sailed on the ‘just leave’ solution Swann!”

“Ms. Ypres,” Corrie’s comm buzzed. “I have an incoming transmission from a Colonel here who’s with the Federation Navy. They think they’ve tracked a ship here that might have landed on false pretenses. It peeled out of a checkpoint at the border of Federation space.”

“Sithspit! Sithspit Sithspit Sithspit!” Corrie shouted. Thankfully, her comm was not on. “Well this is just great.”

“Yeah, it is,” Cillian sighed. “I think we have to, darling.”

“This is not going to go over well when we all see each other at the family game,” Swann agreed.

Both of them pulled blasters out of holsters and pointed them at Corrie and Quentin.

“What the frak you two?” Quentin asked in disbelief.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Corrie shouted.

“We, two completely ordinary smugglers and pirates who have finagled our way into this hangar bay, are holding two completely innocent bystanders at blasterpoint,” Cillian said. In fact, he said it rather loudly. Almost too loudly.

“Yeah, and in an act of mercy we’re going to release our hostages and blast out of here. And since we have blasters trained on them, they aren’t going to touch their comms, because that would be tantamount to having a death wish,” Swann said, also more loudly than she needed to.

“So why don’t you two just back out of here down the boarding ramp,” Cillian said, motioning with his blaster in that direction, “before we have to do something really stupid.”

“You would really shoot me? Me?” Corrie shouted. “We’ve had dinner together! We’ve played limmie together! I actually liked you!”

“Honey, come on,” Quentin said, taking Corrie’s arm. “Let’s just go.”

“No! Not without giving these two a piece of my mind!”

“Okay, seriously?” Cillian said, this time in a regular voice, putting his hands on his hips, including the one with the blaster. “You’re the VP of a major interstellar corporation. Are you not putting this together?”

“Yeah, get out of here, non-accomplices,” Swann said. She, however, did not lower her blaster.

“OH!” Corrie suddenly exclaimed. “I get it now.” She and Quentin began to hustle out of the cargo bay.

“Wait, one second,” Cillian said, putting his free hand on Corrie’s chest. “Just for yelling at me, give me the commlink.”

“Are you kidding me?” Corrie said.

“It’ll be more believable when you have to go run to find a comm, giving us more time to make our daring escape,” Cillian said.

Corrie fished in her pocket for the commlink, which was still chirping with attempts to contact her, and put it in Cillian’s robotic hand. He crushed the commlink.

“Now I’m going to have to upload all my contacts again,” Corrie grumbled. “We are going to deal with this the next time there’s a family meeting. I’m going to want restitution.”

“Get going before he knocks you both on the head so you don’t remember we were here,” Swann said, motioning with her blaster.

“Oh, this is going to come up again. This topic of conversation is not finished,” Corrie promised as she and Quentin got off the ship.

“You’re going to dine out on this story for months. You’ll be thanking me come the family game!” Cillian shouted as the boarding ramp closed. Once it had shut completely, he looked at Swann and she looked back at him. Then they broke out in a sprint for the cockpit.

“You fly!” Swann shouted. “I’ll do navigation!”

“No need to ask twice!” Cillian assented as they tried to squeeze into the cockpit at the same time. “Where are we going this time?”

“I’ll give you some bearings and you just get us out of the gravitational shadow of Druckenwell,” Swann said as she strapped in. “How the Korriban do you think they found us?”

“Well why don’t we sit around and find out? I’m sure they’d love to discuss it while they’re interrogating us in the Maw,” Cillian said sarcastically as he powered up the engines.

“I don’t think the Maw is in the Federation,” Swann replied.

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

“No, it’s an independent system. Or they destroyed it.”

“You can’t destroy black holes.”

“You can destroy a space station built in the middle of all of them.”

“I am 98% sure Daala blew that up.”

“She did not!”

“She did too! Did you not have history classes at your school?” Cillian shouted as they headed for the atmosphere.

“Which of us is in line to know more about powerful women in galactic history? The one who was educated by Hapans or the one who lived on a xenophobic, isolated society that hates droids?” Swann yelled as she continued inputting navcomputer data.

“Hey! That’s below the belt! One, we are okay with droids now! We got over that!”

“Then why can’t we get a droid to clean the ship?”

“Because we don’t need one!”

“Yes we do! You never clean anything!”

“And how about you, Miss Superior Gender? You could wipe down a counter every once in awhile! Oh, and by the way, that reminds me of point number two! We are doing much better on the xenophobia these days, thank you very much!”

“Excuse me? You’re from a world that’s 95% Human and you’re doing better?”

“Well we used to be 98% so yeah, that’s more than doubling the percentage! When was the last time Hapes doubled anything, except maybe smug feminine superiority?”

“Freighter Edsel, power down all engines and prepare for boarding. This is the Federation Navy,” came a voice over their comm.

Swann slammed the comm transmitter. “We are in the middle of a heated argument right now! Hold your eopies!” She let go of the transmitter button. “Before you get all high and mighty on me--”

“And you would know what that looks like, wouldn’t you?” Cillian shot back.

“--we can jump to hyperspace at any time you like!” Swann finished.

“Fine! I will!” Cillian shouted.

“Then do it!”

“I will!”

Cillian thrust the hyperspace controls forward and suddenly they left Druckenwell, and the Federation Navy, far behind.

“Now,” Cillian continued shouting, “I assume the only reason we’re still yelling at each other is because we’re going to go to our cabin and ravage each other in an adrenaline- and argument-fueled romp! Right?”

“Damn straight!” Swann shouted back, getting out of her chair.

“Just one question!” Cillian shouted.

“Shoot!” Swann said as she began to take her husband’s shirt off.

“Where the frak are we going?”

 

Pure awesome.

 

^^^^ What he said!

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn

Ayn & Declan Trieste residence, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“Dear, the sitter’s here,” Ayn said, poking her head into the study as she put her earrings on. It was a rare night out for the Senators Trieste. Finding someone to watch their kids was an accomplishment on the same order of magnitude to passing a budget in the Senate: not many beings wanted to watch twins.

“Yes, of course,” Declan murmured absentmindedly. He was reading on his datapad, already fully dressed for dinner.

“Now, dear,” Ayn said, calling him to attention. “The speeder is waiting and you know how the Gardens are about holding reservations.”

“Right,” Declan replied, this time with more evident attention to the matter at hand. He turned off his datapad and set it on his desk. “Let’s be off.”

Harmonia Gardens, Salis D’aar

Harmonia Gardens was one of the great high society dining establishments of the Bakuran capital. It was a gilded, transparisteel paradise replete with staircases, tropical plants, a starched and creased wait staff that seemed to intuitively know exactly when to appear and disappear. One did not eat at Harmonia Gardens—one was in society there.

It was Ayn and Declan’s favorite places to go for a night out without the kids (the thought of children at Harmonia Gardens would have caused the head waiter to have died of apoplexy). Though they both belonged to the traditional Fianna Fail watering hole of Club 33, which provided a good dinner and equally exclusive society, Harmonia Gardens was the nonpartisan place to see and be seen.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Trieste,” the head waiter said, receiving them with equal parts pleasure and gratification, “how good to see you again!”

“Good evening Rudy,” Ayn said, allowing the head waiter to kiss her hand, as was his affection. Her evening gown was a cut above the outfits she wore to the Senate—and the décolletage was a cut below. The fabric shimmered between dark blue and purple, the neckline extending up into a stiff collar in the back. Her brown hair curled down the back of her neck in large ringlets.

“Right this way,” Rudy said, leading Declan and Ayn down the grand staircase, which descended from the foyer to concentric, tiered rings of tables that culminated in a dance floor at the center. A concourse encircled all this, with private dining rooms opposite the tables. Above everything was a second floor lounge and bar for those who wanted to see, but not eat.

Ayn and Declan’s table was in the second row of tables, one ring removed from the dance floor. A waiter pulled out the chair for each of them as they sat. “Do Mr. and Mrs. Trieste have need of a menu?”

“Kitchen’s choice, this evening, Rudy,” Declan said. There was no such thing as bad food at Harmonia Gardens, so trusting to the chefs was no great sacrifice.

“Of course,” Rudy said, withdrawing. No orders were ever written down at Harmonia Gardens—everything was remembered and nothing ever came out wrong.

Once they were alone, Ayn turned her incisive eyes on her husband. “Now, would you care to explain where you’ve been ever since we left the flat?”

“Hmmm?”

“You’re clearly of thinking of something other than me this evening.”

“Oh, yes. It was the paper that was published by the Ministry of Commerce this week. It’s drawing on some new telecomm research out of the Core. Did you see it?” Declan asked.

“Oh yes. I never miss a Ministry of Commerce paper,” Ayn said with evident sarcasm.

Declan did not heed his wife’s tone. “Apparently, the infrastructure of the Holonet has remained essentially unchanged since the Old Republic. It’s about three centuries old. All the work that’s been done has been replacement repairs.” Declan leaned in and jabbed a finger into the table. “However, there is a consortium of researchers who have been testing new hyperbuoys. They’re faster, more secure, higher bandwidth, and—interestingly enough—written in an entirely new programming code. It’s clean, elegant, open source. It’s got none of the crust that’s built up on the current Holonet network. More than that, you can port existing Holonet content and media into it almost unchanged, but those sites can be rewritten to be simpler, easier to maintain.”

“Interesting,” Ayn allowed as a waiter poured a bottle of champagne for them. “However, hardly the sort of thing that usually captures your attention. There must be something else.”

“Nobody’s installed this yet. It’s only being used in research environments,” Declan said.

“Of course. The capital investment required must be tremendous.”

“Yes, but much lower than when the Holonet was first instituted. That was completely proprietary. It eventually got nationalized by the Republic. However, no such restriction would be in place on this network,” Declan said, picking up his champagne goblet to toast with Ayn. “In fact, in theory there could be competing networks. However, in practice, the first network could become the network, at which point one of two things happens: interstellar governments like the Republic could purchase the system outright to provide common service as a public good.”

“Or?” Ayn prompted.

“They could essentially sanction a monopoly on the first to market and allow it to continue operating as a private entity, though potentially subject to significant regulation, potentially including price. The Ministry of Commerce cites opinions from several political scientists that suggests that the Roon Federation might be particularly open to a public-private partnership of this model.”

“William Ypres was a business magnate before he was a politician,” Ayn allowed. “He’ll believe in the free market even more than Eleanor did—and Eleanor followed the rest of the Federation in that regard.”

“But here’s where things get interesting,” Declan continued, leaning in. “The Republic and the Federation would be the only two major players in the Holonet. When the Republic broke up, the galaxy didn’t change the way that the Holonet is governed. It’s operated as a common resource ever since. The independent systems have never fully regulated—mainly because they don’t have the resources to administer it properly with shared governance. They’ve just accepted the status quo for two centuries.”

Ayn was beginning to see what her husband was driving at. “So the independent systems have no collective bargaining power. They’re taking advantage of legacy controls that are in place thanks to the Republic. No one’s rocking the boat now because of the current regulation, but if there’s a new system in place…”

“…the providers will essentially be able to dictate terms to them, if they don’t go too far, which could cause blowback and result in regulation,” Declan finished.

“And if the programming is open source, it doesn’t take intellectual property to set up the system. What’s the hardware barrier?”

“Not insurmountable,” Declan said.

“And this was published by the Ministry of Commerce? Publicly?” Ayn asked. The reason for her question was clear: if this was public information, then they could act on it. Rules of the Senate stated that they could not make trades on non-public information that they gained as a result of their seat in the Senate. However, information disseminated broadly by a government agency was just as available to the average Bakuran as to them.

Of course, the average Bakuran usually didn’t read policy papers from the Ministry of State.

“Publicly,” Declan confirmed. “Tomorrow I’ll book an appointment to Nouvelle Orleans. I think Uncle Ronan will want to hear about this.”

And the average Bakuran certainly didn’t have the financial resources of the Noble House of Trieste that could be invested in a galactic scale infrastructure program.

Before they could discuss anything further, the Harmonia Gardens band began to play one of their favorite songs. Declan extended his hand and Ayn took it. They descended to the dance floor to begin the fashionable twirling of the day.

“You know, I was thinking,” Declan said as they danced.

“What’s that?”

“My mother became Supreme Chancellor. My father supported her throughout her entire career,” Declan mused, “but never in the halls of government.”

“I know he did a lot for you and Falene before he died,” Ayn said as she slipped her hand lower on his back.

“He did. I can’t help but wonder though…if that’s what my mother accomplished on her own, what are we going to do working together, side by side, as partners?” Declan asked.

“Everything,” Ayn told him. “We’re going to do everything we want.”

“I’ll never find anybody like you,” Declan told his wife. “No matter what, remember that.”

“You and me, to the end,” Ayn reassured him as they, two friends and lovers, danced into the night.

 

Movin' and shakin'... in more ways than one.

Going back to the previous post, though... I can't wait for the family game after that. Hopefully that's not too far off...

 

Given my character in ELL, the family game will probably take place there this year, but it should be a pretty blockbuster event.

 

As usual your posts get me thinking.......

Great ideas about the Holonet Nice write up.

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn

Hyperspace

“I’m not happy about this,” Cillian said, for the fourth time.

“This has got to be better than your idea,” Swann said. “At least I’m not taking us deeper into the Federation. As in, to the exact opposite of where we want to go.”

“No, really want to go to Hypori, which is in the Federation,” Cillian said, holding up one bionic finger. “Ergo, we want to go deeper into the Federation.”

“Wait a second,” Swann said, turning in the captain’s chair to face her husband, “you still want to deliver the mystery bomb your cousin gave us?”

“What else are we going to do with it?” Cillian asked. “I mean, do you want to keep it here?”

“But I don’t think just delivering a bomb to its intended destination is the best idea,” Swann said.

“Why not? It’s an inert bomb. It’s not going to blow up. It’s probably for research and design.”

“Yeah, sure,” Swann replied sarcastically. “Your cousin Antrose is involved in ‘research and development.’ If that’s the case, we’re running a franchised Star Tours operation.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. Hey, we could start the Bakuran branch,” Cillian said, appreciatively. “Nobody on Bakura takes Star Tours because of the droid pilots. They’d be much more receptive to biological pilots like us.”

“Not the point Cillian,” Swann reminded him. “The point is that delivering a bomb sounds like a bad idea.”

“Like I said, it’s not activated. It won’t explode.”

“It will eventually and then that’s on us.”

Cillian put one hand to his forehead. “Love, we are smugglers. We’re not exactly in a conscience-driven occupation.”

“This is different Cillian. We were slipping under borders to avoid taxes and tariffs. This is blaster running. This is the arms trade. We’re not talking about luxury goods that can be sold around trade embargoes or at a lower price,” Swann insisted. “Beings are going to die. I love running along the edge like this. It’s a thrill. It’s our thrill. But this isn’t right.”

“Swann, we dump this cargo and word is going to get around.”

“Sure, Antrose drops us. There are other opportunities.”

“I don’t think Antrose is someone we want to cross. He’s moving bombs, for Force sake,” Cillian said sternly. “These are not the beings you want upset at you.”

“My point exactly!” Swann exclaimed. Before the argument could go further, a chime sounded, announcing the imminent reversion to realspace. “But let’s put a pin in that, shall we?”

“Oh, you don’t think this is the best time to continue this discussion?” Cillian asked sarcastically. “I thought everything was going to be just peaches and cream in your brilliant plan.”

“Well I think someone needs to fly the ship once we’re back in realspace,” Swann said. “I don’t get why you’re being such a gnat about this, Cillian.”

The ship came out of hyperspace...and right in front of a Hapan Battle Dragon.

“Unidentified freighter, this is a Consortium security checkpoint. Release control of your ship. Tractor beam engagement beginning,” came the immediate announcement.

Their ship shuddered suddenly as the tractor beam took hold.

“We didn’t get more countermeasures on Druckenwell, did we?” Cillian asked.

“Nope,” Swann said.

“So, for the record, this would be why I was being, and I quote, ‘such a gnat about this,’” Cillian said motioning to the slowly approaching warship. “Yeah, real friendly welcome from ‘your people,’ as I believe you called them.”

“Trust me, I have a plan.”

“It better not include passing yourself off as Meredith Chambers again,” Cillian warned, crossing his arms.

“That was a good plan! How was I supposed to know that bartender was from Nar Shaddaa!” Swann protested.

The argument continued all the way into the hangar bay.

 

This duo is a real hoot.

 

A short life sign from outer space...

I am really enjoying it, because you bring the fun and the drama back into politics in a galaxy far, far and away!

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn

Marian Square, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“Good morning, Madam Prime Minister,” Ayn said as she entered the West Office, the seat of power in the executive branch of Bakura’s federal government. It was a room she had been in many times—as a young girl when her grandmother had served as Prime Minister and more recently every week for a meeting of the PM, the Deputy PM, and Ayn in her role as Minority Leader in the Senate.

“Ayn, good morning,” Prime Minister Garlant said, shaking hands briefly with Ayn. “Please sit. Let’s get to it. The major item is the Mark V BakurStar appropriations bill. It’s imperative that the funds be authorized to begin development on the first line model in the near future. Alex will be bringing it to the floor for a vote this week.”

“We hope that you’ll get Fianna Fail on board with this,” Deputy Prime Minister Alex Kavorn said. “It supports the troops, creates jobs since the BakurStars are made on world, and stimulates the research industry.”

“Plenty of my Senators would love to vote for it,” Ayn said, “but we need something in return.”

“Ayn, we’re offering a win-win,” Alex protested.

“No, let’s hear her counteroffer,” Garlant said, holding up a hand politely. “After all, Ayn and I have a history of reaching equitable compromises.”

“Senator Capzelrod has introduced a bill to increase the monorail network throughout the planet. Passage in the Senate and a signature from you—” Ayn looked at the Prime Minister for the latter point, “—will secure you votes on the Mark V.”

“Of course, the 20 billion credit monorail bill,” Alex said, rolling his eyes.

“Mr. Deputy Prime Minister,” Ayn said, “I detect skepticism in your voice. Would you like to debate the many points in favor of monorail as a mass transportation system? The fact that its installation costs are lower than other forms of mass transit? Or its unparalleled safety record? Not to mention its significantly cheaper installation cost.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” the Prime Minister said, gently taking control of the meeting. “True though those things might be, the monorail bill is a non-starter. Everyone in this room knows that we’re being pressured to keep spending under control. Adding 20 billion credits to the bottom line of the government budget is not going to fly.”

“With you constituents,” Ayn observed.

“All of Bakura wants us to be responsible with the public purse,” the Deputy PM replied without a moment’s hesitation.

“Yet you ask my Senators—and yours—to vote for a 40 billion credit appropriation to make the Mark V,” Ayn said, crossing her arms.

“Planetary defense is a top priority for this administration,” Garlant replied.

“That would be the difference between your party and mine,” Ayn said, standing. “You’d rather spend credits to ultimately tear things down and we’d rather use our credits to build things, like infrastructure that will benefit millions of Bakurans.”

“Ayn—” the Prime Minister began.

“You’ve heard our price for supporting the Mark V. Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean it will change,” Ayn said. “I believe the fruitful part of our discussion has concluded.” Ayn walked out of the West Office without being dismissed.

“We’ll pass this bill with or without you! We’ve got the votes!” the Deputy Prime Minister called after her.

---

Ayn sat in her speeder, heading back to the Senate Building. “They won’t go for the monorail bill,” she told the projection of her husband hovering before her.

“So the honeymoon period ends,” Declan replied. “What would you have done if they had agreed to support it?”

“I would have found something else they wouldn’t have given us,” Ayn said with a slight shrug.

“And if they kept giving you anything you asked for?”

“Then we’d have everything we wanted,” Ayn said, looking out the window at the cityscape of the capital passing by, “which would have infuriated them.”

“And us,” Declan said wryly.

“Tell your team to begin preparing for Prime Minister’s Questions this week. Coordinate with the party office to get time on the morning shows,” Ayn instructed her husband. “It’s time to begin the charm offensive, dear.”

“And you’ll take care of the work in the shadows,” Declan finished.

“It’ll only be in the shadows until the moment right before the vibroknife goes in,” Ayn clarified. “And then Garlant and Kavorn will know it was us.” It would be a moment that Ayn would savor.

 

Interesting maneuvering. I can't wait to see how things unfold in this department.

 

Ayn once again amazes me with her political prowess. From here I can only guess what this shall go

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn

Hapan space

The loading ramp of the freighter slowly lowered itself with a pneumatic hiss. It clanged to a stop against the polished deck of the Hapan Battle Dragon’s hangar. The shiny interior surfaces seemed at odds with the utilitarian aesthetic of the freighter.

“We’re coming out with our hands up!” Cillian called preemptively. “Definitely no reason to be doing anything like shooting or rushing around with fingers on triggers!”

“You are more likely to get us shot talking like that,” Swann muttered to her husband. Even so, she already had her hands on the top of her head. Drawing a blaster on your cousin was one thing--doing it against troopers who weren’t going to be as understanding was another thing entirely.

“My mother was Minister of State and later Special Envoy to the Roon Trade Organization. Talking things out is kind of in the family tradition,” Cillian said.

“Yeah, well I saw the clip on the Holonet of your family screaming at each other at the Miners game. How’s that working out for all of you?” Swann sniped.

“Not the time, love,” Cillian said as he gave a strained smile. There were already Hapans with blasters on board their ship. His hands were above his shoulders. “Welcome to our home. So glad to have you.”

“Disembark immediately,” one of the troopers commanded.

“Right,” Cillian said. “Our pleasure.” He started walking off the ship, with his wife following, and two blaster rifles pointed at their backs. He squinted against the sudden, bright light of the hangar. He instinctively put one hand forward to shield his eyes. “Do you have to keep your ships so bright, love?” he asked Swann.

“Are you kidding me?” came a voice in front of them.

Cillian blinked as his eyes adjusted.

“I so wanted to shoot someone today!” the voice continued.

Cillian looked at the speaker and proceeded put his hands down and roll his eyes at his wife. “If this was part of the plan and you didn’t tell me--”

“Cillian!” Swann said urgently, her arms still up.

It was then that he realized that all of the Hapan blaster rifles had gone from pointing at the deck to pointing at him. He slowly put his hands back up again. “So, mate, I guess we need to wait for you to call your friends off then?” Cillian asked with a hesitant smile.

“What? Oh, right. Everyone, we’re good. Back to stations.” The “mate” in question was Crown Prince Trellam Iseult, cousin to Cillian and Swann by marriage. “Sorry about that. You know how military regulations are. Have to tell everyone to scratch their nose or they won’t do it.”

“As a former enlisted, I can assure you that we really wish you officer types would just let us do our thing and we’d have all the wars in the galaxy won in a couple of months,” Cillian said, lowering his arms, this time to give his cousin a manly hug.

“Swann, nice to see you back in the homeland,” Trellam said, giving her an embrace after being released by Cillian. “What’s this about a plan Cillian mentioned?”

“We needed a place to lay low,” Swann said. “The Consortium’s so far out from where we ought to be right now that nobody would think of finding us here.”

“Except you nearly gave us a heart attack bringing us in like that,” Cillian replied.

“We’ve been cracking down on border jumpers and smugglers,” Trellam explained. “A freighter with iffy transponder codes like yours fits the bill of what we’re looking for.” He paused as Swann and Cillian shared a covert, if brief look. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” he sighed.

“Okay, okay, before you say anything, mate, I’ll admit it--our cargo’s a little hot, but it’s more like it’s warm like a cup of caf, not on fire,” Cillian said, holding up one hand as he tried to get ahead of the situation.

“It’s not good,” Swann said bluntly, undercutting her husband.

“Love! I was getting there!” Cillian protested.

“He’s the Crown Prince! I can’t lie to him! He could kill me for that!”

“But you can’t kill me, can you? I’m not Hapan,” Cillian pointed out. “Diplomatic incident and all. Besides, we’re family. Killing isn’t allowed.”

“Have you ever been to one of your family reunions?” Swann asked.

Trellam ran a hand through his hair. “How ‘not good’ is it?” he asked Swann.

“Let’s call it ‘bad,’” Swann admitted.

The Crown Prince of the Consortium sighed. “Okay, let’s see what it is then.”

“Ummm...I don’t think the Queen Mother is going to be thrilled with that. Maybe we can chat in a conference room or something? This thing has conference rooms, right?” Cillian suggested.

“My mother would have me in bubble wrap if she could,” Trellam said curtly. “We are now definitely going to take a look, together.”

---

“Okay, maybe I was a bit hasty,” Trellam said as he looked at the bomb.

“I’d just like to say, again, that it’s inactive,” Cillian said.

“At least according to Corrie,” Swann added.

“Wait, this came from Druckenwell?” Trellam asked, looking up. “You’re moving Ypres tech?”

“It was more like a stopover,” Swann clarified.

“You know what...no...I don’t even want to know. I just want to know why you thought it was a good idea to bring a bomb, inactive or not, into the Consortium. Not exactly a friendly thing to do.”

“We ran afoul of...Federation complications,” Cillian said, attempting to ease into the subject.

Trellam rolled his eyes and threw his arms up. “Wonderful. Now we’re harboring Federation fugitives. You realize we do a large amount of trade with them, don’t you?”

“Fugitives is such a strong word, mate,” Cillian protested. “It’s more like ‘beings of interest.’”

“Well you need to get out of here,” Trellam said, “before anyone finds out you’re here.”

“We’d love to do that, but we need a little help first,” Swann said.

“Anything I can do. Seriously. Anything,” Trellam emphasized.

“Would you mind calling your wife?” Swann suggested hopefully.

 

Wonderful. Now they've gotten Hapan royalty involved in their shenanigans. I wonder how well that's going to go over with the Queen Mother.

 

You have no vested interest in how this turns out, right?

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 Tim Battershell Vehn

Senate offices, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“You know, the first time I ever had tea was in your grandmother’s office,” Silas Madsen said as Ayn poured some of the brew in question for her guest, the Senator from Arcterra. “Though she didn’t host me as often as you have.”

“Well, my grandmother didn’t like tea that much,” Ayn admitted.

“Please. It had nothing to do with it,” Silas said. “She was the Deputy Prime Minister and had been for years by the time I arrived in the Senate. She had no use for a young pup like me because she could crush me with her pinky finger without breaking a sweat.”

“How times change,” Ayn said with a slight smile.

“And yet they don’t. I still sit in the office of the parliamentary leader of my party and she’s a Dormingale,” Silas said.

“And yet we both know that you hold the votes of your caucus and there’s nothing I can do to change that. When I want something, I come as a supplicant.”

“But you understand something your grandmother did not,” Silas pointed out. “We’ve had these teas every week the Senate has been in session since you became a Senator. We have them when you have nothing to ask and when you do. The former times make me receptive in the latter. Relationships must be cultivated when hands are not outstretched.”

“Unfortunately, today is not one of those days,” Ayn replied.

“And what is it that you seek?” the elder Senator asked, setting his tea down.

“Discipline in the party,” Ayn stated. “I need everyone to hold firm on the Mark V BakurStar appropriation bill.”

“In what direction?”

“No.”

Silas raised his eyebrows. “And what is to be gained by voting against the Mark V? The Prime Minister will have all of her 45 votes behind it. Frankly, my Senators are going to want to vote for it. Planetary defense is a vote getter and this is going to be a job creator.”

“I understand,” Ayn said, refilling her tea. “However, the Unionists need to be taught that they don’t just get everything they want.”

“They won 45 seats in the Senate. That’s pretty much the definition of getting everything they want,” Silas said with a humorless laugh.

“We’ll see about that,” Ayn observed.

Silas leaned forward a millimeter. “Planning something, are you?”

“Would I be asking if I wasn’t?”

Silas paused. “I can’t promise I can hold my Senators forever. How long do you need?”

“Two weeks,” Ayn replied without hesitation. “I guarantee that by then your Senators will want to stay in line if you can give me that.”

The senior Senator sat back in his chair. “One week.”

Ayn’s eyes narrowed just slightly enough to be noticeable. She knew what this was. Silas Madsen wanted to find out how much she wanted this. They might have an understanding, but underneath their professional relationship was the fact that he had wanted his daughter to marry Declan Trieste and Ayn had seen to the end of that.

“One week then,” Ayn agreed.

“And one more thing,” Silas added. Ayn raised her eyebrows, inviting Madsen to continue. “My name on the question list at the next Prime Minister’s Questions.”

Ayn’s face relaxed into a smile. “That you didn’t even have to ask for, Silas,” she said. “Any time.”

“Then I take it it’s going to be an interesting week, isn’t it, Madam Minority Leader?” Silas said, standing and extending his hand.

Ayn followed suit and took his hand. “I’d say the forecast looks promising, Senator Madsen. Quite stormy indeed.”