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

Triple posted by accident.

 

I do think the technical issues earlier this evening may be to blame for this egregious triple post.

Interesting to finally see the horse track come to fruition. I imagine Rossum Bookmakers will be involved with this somehow.

 

It very much is indeed--got an error message several times when I tried posting. I'll see about fixing that now.

 

In thinking about a TV show that I enjoy recently, I realized that their cast is too large and that for their stories to be better they really needed to thin out the herd so they could do a few stories really well, rather than be pulled in all different directions. Similarly, I've been going in a lot of different directions with the Noble House. I've picked up characters as they've struck my fancy, which allows me creative freedom, but I think that it's deprived the story of a drive that it would benefit from having. There are a lot of moving parts right now and for the near future I'd like to focus on just a few of those stories and hopefully do them well.

You likely will not be surprised to know that Declan & Ayn will be one of the threads that I follow closely. Falene's story is told more through the Elite League Limmie RPG than it is here, despite a few forrays in and out of this story. With that said, I open it up to my regular readers @jcgoble3 leiamoody Tim Battershell Vehn plus my occasional readers Bardan_Jusik and CPL_Macja as to who you'd like to see me follow in addition to Declan and Ayn. No promises that I'll listen to your advice, but I wanted to solicit it all the same.

 

Now that you mention it, I've been feeling kind of the same way here. There's so many storylines that by the time you cycle around and get back to something, I have to search upthread to find what they're referring to. So this is a good move.

Ass for who to follow: Obviously Declan and Ayn. Falene ought to have a bigger role here as the Taoiseach around which the story ultimately revolves. Other than that, I've lost track of who does what, so I'm not sure who else to recommend right now.

 

That's a very interesting thought. Even though she gets time in ELL, you're right that there's a lot of Taoiseach that doesn't get covered there. In fact...that could work well. Duly noted!

 

I could never write with as many moving parts as you have, Trieste. It's something I've always admired about the way you've written ever since you first started documenting the Noble House. Having said that, though, I personally in my own writing have discovered that a central focus has been the most successful approach. That doesn't mean that you are off the mark in writing about this character or that but I do see that it could be hard to keep track of and hard to find a central thrust with the plot.

So, my picks for continuing forward:

Corrie Ypres (I'm biased)
Ayn and Declan (I love a good political drama especially when you write one so well)
Ginny and Rickard (Something about their story just has a load of intrigue)

 

I'll keep all of those in mind! Many thanks for the input.

 

jcgoble3 leiamoody Tim Battershell Vehn

Kilmainham Brook, Prytis, Bakura

At this time of year Falene lived at Kilmainham Brook, the family seat of the Noble House. Though she had an apartment in Salis D’aar, she felt the need to come out here. It wasn’t really a need, nor was it a desire. It was closer to a pull, but not quite.

If she had to put it into a single word, it would be guilt.

She was the Taoiseach. As such, shouldn’t she live at Kilmainham Brook as her forebearers had done? True, her own mother had spent more time in Salis D’aar and on Coruscant than she had here during her quarter century as leader of the family, but that had been an exception. When he hadn’t been Prime Minister (and Bakura had been a habitable planet), her grandfather, Fionn Dunross Trieste had spent most of his time here. In fact, even as Prime Minister he’d made it a point to raise his family in this home, commuting nightly to the posh upper class community from Marian Square where the executive branch lived.

Before it had been destroyed in the Sith occupation, Kilmainham Brook had always been the home of the Taoiseach. At least so Falene had been told and the stories had the ring of truth. Or perhaps, she wondered, just of the conviction of the teller. Perhaps this was all a myth that the Noble House believed in because it seemed right, like it was the way things should be. Whatever the ultimate truth was, the need to be here held sway over Falene for the last six years.

Thoughts like these came into Falene’s head unbidden this night. There would be plenty to keep her occupied tomorrow at the Westcott races (for she was going to patronize them as much as possible, as befit a founder of a budding institution), but tonight her mind wandered just like her body did the halls. Though she had grown up coming to the house periodically and knew its layout by memory, Falene had never explored the great house in the way that she did now. Perhaps her eyes had needed the passage of three decades to see how much history Kilmainham Brook held.

One of the conceits of the Noble House was to hang its history on its walls. Every Taoiseach had their own portrait. They had been good enough works of art to be plundered by the Sith during the occupation and almost all had been recovered--though one, that of their progenitor, was still lost. The art was not limited to just the leaders of the Noble House. The dramatic flair of Falene’s grandmother, Jane Wyvern Trieste, was apparent in her space pirate regalia in the imposing portrait in one of the bedrooms. Her fashion sense was all nerf hide, feathers, and durasteel, at least in this representation. It was not hard to imagine how such a being would have caught the attention of her grandfather.

There were also the traditional holos that most families had. Some had been recreated from files that had survived the occupation, mainly those kept in the family vault on Empress Teta, as secure a place as any in the galaxy. Others were more recent, artifacts of the last three (now four thanks to the efforts of Declan and Sierra) generations to grace the family.

Tonight, one picture in particular held Falene’s attention--an image of her grandparents. There had been a disparity in age between them to begin with, made worse by the passage of time. This holo had been taken after he had been Prime Minister, when Fionn’s years had caught up with him. In a typically Bakuran way, Jane was not showing the passage of time like her husband. It made Falene wonder why it was that her own mother, likely at a similar age now as Jane had been when the holo had been taken, looked so much older than her mother did.

“Did Coruscant age you that much?” Falene wondered aloud. “Were your burdens so much more? Or were you just your father’s daughter?”

Beyond their physical appearance, there was a weariness in their countenances. They were unmistakably together, Jane’s head against her husband’s shoulder, but they seemed so alone, so separate despite their physical proximity.

“What was it in this moment?” Falene asked the silent phantoms before her. “What caused you so much worry?”

But there was another question.

“Why chronicle this moment?”

It was a question that Falene knew would never be answered. Her grandparents died not long after her own birth--her grandfather first, her grandmother not even a year later. Her mother, aunts, and uncles would likely never remember.

Falene lingered on this image long into the night, unable to answer the question that ultimately captivated her beyond all others.

The question sprung from this man who had created a new Noble House from nothing, who had created a new Bakura out of a conviction that the world should not pass from the maps of the galaxy. A man who had wandered in the galaxy almost aimlessly until he was drafted into a higher purpose, perhaps even a calling, to create a home for millions. A man who had given birth to a daughter of fierce conviction, one who fought wars not on the battlefield but through political will. A woman who had reached the pinnacle of galactic power, who had come to embody the greatness of what her father had striven to rebuild.

Something about this picture asked Falene if she, as Taoiseach, was inheritor to her grandfather’s mantle or her mother’s. The longer she looked at it, the further she was from an answer.

 

Great way to reel Falene back into the narrative. Nicely done!

 

When jcgoble3 mentioned that he wanted to see more of her, it reminded me that I have always planned a certain story for Falene. This is the beginning of that story.

 

jcgoble3 leiamoody Tim Battershell Vehn

Commenor

Jane Serena Trieste usually put on a good show when she did a concert. There were plenty of visual effects, dance numbers, and complete orchestration. These days it was a pretty high-energy experience for her fans. However, tonight she’d arranged with her stage director and show crew to insert something into the usual program. She had considered whether to hold off until she arrived at a venue with more historic or cultural significance, but when it came down to it this was something that she felt the galaxy needed to hear sooner rather than later.

So it was that there was a slight lull in the show as Jane Serena stepped into a lone spotlight on the stage to address her audience.

“I’m privileged to have several very good friends, chief among them some Cathar,” Jane Serena said. There were some distinctly feline cheers from the crowd in response. “Yeah, that’s right. One of them recently taught me about an event that’s not gotten in most history books. It happened, it really did, and there are respected, tenure-track professors at major universities that confirm it publicly. That makes it all the more shame that this part of galactic history isn’t better known.

“I’m talking about the death…the extinction of the Trianii.

“It took place decades ago. I can’t say if they did nobly or heroically because I haven’t found any firsthand accounts of what happened. What I do know is that they fought to the very last being. It didn’t save them, but their fight inspired me. I wrote this next song, which I’ve never performed before, for anyone who’s facing troubles, whether they’re big or small, to inspire you to never give up. But, more than that, I wrote it so that we’ll remember the Trianii, who never stopped fighting.”

“It call it ‘Roar.’”

---

Senate Building, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“Whip the karking votes, Ayn.”

That had been the charge from the Deputy Prime Minister to the Majority Whip. The vote in question was today’s business: a bill raising the limit on campaign contributions by single entities. It was a significant piece of legislation in an electoral system as regulated as Bakura’s. Ostensibly it favored all parties equally as it opened the spigot of credits from any source. Everyone knew that the bill actually helped the Union Party more. With the unions generally backing Fianna Fail, large corporate donors tended to back the Unionists. Finance laws got in the way of making the most of that cash source. The Prime Minister, a member of the Union Party, wanted those credits to bolster her party’s war chest for the 284 elections and had done what she’d needed to do in order to get it through the Fianna Fail-controlled Senate.

“It’s a compromise,” the Deputy PM had told Ayn. “We’ve wanted across-the-board raises for government unions for years. This vote will give it to us.”

“There’s a lot of resistance in the caucus,” Ayn said, “to giving the PM what she wants. We can pass that raises with our majority whenever we want—and have.”

“And the PM will veto it as she has before unless we pass the finance limit bill with it. Package deal.”

“Even so, it’s a high price to pay. Too high for everyone I’ve canvassed,” Ayn reemphasized. “No one wants to sell our chances for 284 over federal employee raises. I can whip as hard as I want but it won’t move many.”

“Just whip me two votes. That’s all we need,” the Deputy Prime Minister said. “The Unionists will bring the rest.”

Ayn thought. “How much are you willing to put on the line for this vote?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t committed. You know that. This is about being able to govern. The PM doesn’t get this and our legislative agenda is dead. It’ll be retaliatory, but she’ll bring down Korriban on us. It’ll be a long two years and a very hard 284 election. We’re going to get painted as the party of no, unwilling to compromise.”

“Will you vote for it?” Ayn asked pointedly.

“You said it yourself—this bill is about as unpopular with our senators as something can get,” the Deputy PM said. “There’d be a no-confidence vote to remove me from the dais before they’d even recorded the final tally.”

“So then you need two iron-clad votes that aren’t you,” Ayn said. “I can find them. It’ll take some payoffs later.”

“Of course. Price of getting things done. Who do you have in mind?”

“Edson will do anything if it means there’s a defense contract in it for his district and he could use some credibility as getting things done right now. As for the other…” Ayn considered for a moment. “…I can talk Silas Madsen into it. Arcterra’s conservative enough that the vote will play well there.”

“Minor miracle how he’s managed to hold that district since the War,” the Deputy PM said. “You and he have a…sketchy history.”

“We have a professional understanding,” Ayn corrected, “and he’ll enjoy being owed a favor. Might never call it in—he enjoys it that much. Word will get out that I’m asking, though. I’m going to have to guarantee the rest of the caucus that they can vote against, otherwise they’ll get antsy. Obviously, not good.”

“Of course—you know I acutely understand myself.”

“Very good,” Ayn said.

Those were the events that led to the clerk of the Senate finishing the intonation, “…brings to the floor for a vote SB 147 entitled Election Finance Reform of 282. The motion is put before the Senate for yeas and nays.”

All voting took place electronically from each senator’s desk and the legislator has to be present to vote. No substitutes were accepted. Ayn’s desk was in the front row, a prime spot thanks to her position in the party leadership. Her husband was not so lucky, even as Rules Committee chair. He had to wander by her desk from further back after casting his vote, no longer able to casually lean over and talk to his wife.

“I see you’ve delivered as promised,” Declan remarked, pointing out the displays that indicated aye votes from Madsen and Edson.

“Almost,” Ayn murmured to her husband as she watched as the votes rolled in.

---

“How dare you even say that!”

“Love, I—” Senator Lyngheuser protested to her husband.

“Don’t ‘love’ me! You don’t get that right!” A plate flew across the room, aimed at the senator’s head. It had not found its mark thanks to evasive action, but it had been a near miss. “Not after these holos! And left on our doorstep! Where our neighbors might find them! Have you no decency, no discretion!”

“Look, it’s not like I wanted them there—”

“Oh I’m sure you didn’t! But, please, tell me how you were going to respectfully inform me of your philandering.”

The Senator had known several minutes ago that she wasn’t going anywhere, not for a long while.

---

Everything was blurry. And bright. Much too bright. Maybe that’s why it was so blurry. No, wait. The pounding was breaking through. Rhymthic. Maybe it would stop. No, wait. That was his heartbeat. Stopping would be bad.

Senator Sadabrey was slowly pulling himself into consciousness. It had…what had it been? His memories were rather fuzzy. Where was he right now? An excellent question, one he should probably start answering soon.

---

“You can’t do this!” Senator Xeral shouted at the mirror. “I have to be on the floor for a vote right now! Your boss won’t hear of this—the commissioner will hear of it. The governor of the frakking county will hear of it. The attorney general will hear of it! The Prime Minister will hear of it! I’ll have your badges, your pensions—I’ll sue you for your homes and the clothes of your backs! Your hear me? You’re done!”

The senator had not gone crazy, as it might have seemed at first glance. On the other side of the object of his rage were two Salis D’aar PD detectives who had received the senator’s case.

“Who would have thought an anonymous tip would bring in a stash of spice in a senator’s speeder?” one said to her partner.

“Eh, it’s a senator. These types always think they play by different rules,” the other said.

“I mean, he seems pretty upset.”

“You would be too if you got picked up for possession and your career was about to end.”

“No, not like that. I mean, I’ve busted enough spice dealers to know what they look like when they’re stung. He just seems like he’s mad we’re ruining his day.”

“Well, we’ll see when the scene techs finish running the evidence whether he’s got a leg to stand on.”

---

Ayn leaned forward in her chair ever so slightly. The anticipation was delicious. The moment had come the Deputy Prime Minister and the Minority Leader were realizing the same thing.

Three Unionist senators were missing. What should have been a 41-39 vote was now a 38-39 vote—and the majority was now against the bill.

The Deputy Prime Minister was shooting laser bolts with his eyes at the Minority Leader. Aides were hurrying in and out of the Unionist cloakroom, coming up empty-handed each time. The Minority Whip, her opposite number, was just this side of being chewed out right here on the floor. In the sometimes complicated lexicon of the Senate, where politeness covered some harsh truths, this was equivalent to being punched in the face. He might not keep his job if those senators weren’t found.

Ayn didn’t care about the Minority Whip. She was much more interested in what the Deputy PM was going to do. He was voting with the majority where things stood now. He could salvage the situation, change his vote (which as the presiding officer of the Senate broke tie votes in the even-numbered body), and get the compromise through. He would have to make up his mind quickly.

You didn’t become Deputy Prime Minister without knowing how to stay composed under pressure, but you also didn’t become Majority Whip without being able to read beings. Though the Deputy PM looked calm on the outside, Ayn could tell by the ways that his eyes moved that he was trying to figure out what to do. Change his vote or stand pat?

The truth was that either decision served her purposes. Getting to watch the dilemma unfold was simply a bonus for her.

“The allotted time for voting has now passed. The nays have a majority. The motion fails.”

That ended the business at hand and the senators began to disperse. Ayn had no need to tarry here and began to gather her things. She was not trying to avoid the Deputy Prime Minister, already coming her away—but neither was she going to make it too easy for him to get to her.

“This is a disaster,” the Deputy PM said when he reached Ayn’s desk. She was almost ready to leave.

“Perhaps. Not as bad as it could have been,” Ayn observed.

“The PM is going to be livid.”

“And if she is mad at any of us, remind her that she should look to the discipline of her own senators first before she begins casting aspersions as to whether we’re willing to govern and compromise,” Ayn said tartly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for Appropriations.”

Ayn left one thing unsaid, perhaps implied, as she walked away. Such a thing would not happen on my watch. Perhaps the Deputy Prime Minister believed that. The truth was that such a thing was false—this very much had happened on Ayn Trieste’s watch.

She had whipped 44 votes this day and she had done it with a quiet roar.

 

Politics is a dirty game - the Bakuran Variety especially (if I'm reading this right).

 

As with any system, some practitioners can be dirtier than others. In this instance, you're reading at least one player rightly.

 

Oh my. Ayn Trieste is brutal. She will go far in politics.

 

I'd vote for Ayn Trieste. She gets things done unlike some block heads in real life Great post!

 

jcgoble3 leiamoody Tim Battershell Vehn



The Plaza, Salis D’aar, Bakura

Once a year, a collection of the most prominent Bakurans bundled themselves against the cooler than average weather to avail themselves of a prized possession. It was never a certainty that they should have it in a given year, so it was always used when received. It always required a good set of clothes (and often justified new ones). Ugly sweaters were never called for.

The item in question was an invitation to the Noble House of Trieste’s Yuletide Ball.

It was only natural that a family so closely connected to the political scene should have a permanent residence in the capital and former Taoiseach Fionn Dunross Trieste had overseen the construction of this private, multi-story residence. It could house even today’s Noble House and still have bedrooms to spare. Unlike Kilmainham Brook, which was a place that only family went to, the Plaza (as they called it), was a space for public entertaining. The Yuletide Ball was a tradition and one of the few occasions that a majority of the family got to be in one place. That made the guest list rather varied.

Ayn and Declan had restrained themselves and not invited the entire Senate--just 30 of their allies they wanted to reward. However, Regan Eldred had insisted on inviting all of the other Supreme Court Justices and their immediate families. Ronan and Mandy Trieste had requested that a handful of Nouvelle Orleans’ prominent families be invited. Ginnifer and Rickard Harlow wanted several coworkers from The Rivers department store in Gesco City to come, including Mr. Rivers himself. Nessarose Trieste had asked for no one, but her daughter Elfie had put some of her coworkers from work on the list, like her cousin Ginny had done. Thankfully Quentin Eldred had only asked to bring Corrie Ypres, but she talked enough for half a dozen beings all at once. Cillian Lynd had a gaggle of spaceport hands that worked his hangar on Bakura (and their “best” clothing was far from the level of what was usually seen at the event but their still cut a respectable enough figure). Jane Serena Trieste was surrounded by a veritable intrigue of Cathar (which as far as anyone knew was the proper term for a collective of Cathar). The entire Vehn clan--even the recently adopted ones--had been invited at Oisin’s request. By the time all was said and done, Falene wasn’t sure that she’d be able to fit all her teammates in, but the party planner she’d engaged for the event thought it could be done, so Falene put them on the list.

After what she privately referred to as The Financial Debacle with her uncle Ronan, Falene was willing to pay for anything that would reduce the burden of being Taoiseach whenever she could find it. Planning this event might have been something that her mother enjoyed, but it certainly wasn’t anything that she liked. Falene barely knew what kind of food would be served. She’d delegated as much as possible to the event planner and was glad of it.

The one thing that she couldn’t hand off--and that was an apt term if ever there was one--was greeting each guest. Falene had suggested that she do it organically by wandering throughout the event, but the event planner knew that was just a ruse to get out of doing it at all. It would never do for the Taoiseach of the Noble House to not greet her guests. A receiving line was insisted upon and that was where Falene found herself now, giving the same rotation of six greetings to each guest as they came in.

“So nice of you to come.”

“Glad to see you.”

“Welcome, I hope you enjoy.”

“Happy Yuletide to you.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Enjoy yourself tonight.”

By that point the recipient of the first phrase was far enough off that Falene could begin the recycling process. The tedium of it was up there with financial statements--though at least this was punctuated by occasionally finding someone she knew that she could actually welcome with real enthusiasm.

---

Ordinarily, it might have made a bit of a statement to have excluded the Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister from the Yuletide Ball, but both Declan and Ayn were pretty sure that neither of them would have come anyway--especially if they thought the other had been invited. No need to waste an invitation on them. Both were in a terrible mood over the defeated campaign finance bill. It had made the Unionists look bad and despite the nonattendance of critical votes on their side, the Fianna Fail legislative agenda was looking stalled.

Besides, Ayn and Declan had no desire to see either senior politician anyways.

“283 is going to be a big year for us,” Declan said.

“Quite,” Ayn said. She gave a smile to someone across the room and a small wave. “This could be one of the few quiet moments we have before the next Ball.”

“If this is quiet, that’s saying something,” Declan replied.

“That’s what makes for great endeavors, my love.”

They were quiet for a moment, surveying the room.

“I was thinking,” Declan started, “it wouldn’t be bad if we had a more substantial base of operations. The flat is rather public. Comparatively speaking, that is. Even with the doorman and Capitol Police.” Ever since becoming Majority Whip, Ayn was entitled to, and took full advantage of, a police security detail that was allotted for her and her family. “The Plaza is largely empty these days. It’s only Aunt Regan and Uncle Eldred now that Quentin’s on Druckenwell and Trixie’s off for university.”

“She’s coming back to read law at Tiarest,” Ayn said.

“She won’t live at the Plaza. She’s had her taste of independence at UBCS. I’m sure she’ll get a flat close to Tiarest. It’s a large place and we’d have it nearly to ourselves,” Declan said.

“And with what we have planned, do we really want a Supreme Court Justice around?” Ayn asked.

“Aunt Regan didn’t get that seat without knowing how the game is played...and she always had a soft spot for me. We both know what it was like to have your sibling named Taoiseach over you--and the hunger that inspires,” Declan said. “If we had to be worried about anyone, it would be Uncle Eldred. He is a good lawyer with a strong moral compass, but the game we’re playing is far beyond what he thinks about. Besides, we’ll put at least a floor, maybe two, between them and us for good measure.”

“So you think we should ensconce ourselves in a fortress,” Ayn stated.

“When one goes to war, it’s never a bad idea.”

“Well…” Ayn let the word hang in the air as she looked around. “...there are worse places to live. Though I suspect redecoration will have to be done.”

“Of course, but the House will have to spring for it. Family property and all,” Declan pointed out. “See? Benefits already.”

“Glad to know you can put together a coordinated attack,” Ayn said, kissing her husband on the cheek. “Now just do that when it really counts and we’ll be fine.”

“Speaking of coordination,” Declan said, taking his wife’s hand to lead her to the dance floor, “I think they’re playing our song.”

---

“You’re doing it again,” Senator Serling said.

“You know you’re incredibly annoying when you say things like that,” Kerry Trieste commented. “Care to elaborate?”

“You do that thing with your brows when you’re thinking and not particularly happy about something,” Gavin said. “How you ever became Chancellor and got anything done with a sabacc face like that is beyond me.”

“You don’t need a sabacc face when you bring a blaster to the table,” Kerry said.

“Oh yeah, the war thing,” Serling said. “I always forget about that.”

“You’re the only one,” Kerry said dryly.

“Credit for your thoughts?”

“Just looking at my kids,” Kerry said, motioning with the glass in her hand at each of them. “Falene in an endless line of handshakes and Declan dancing. It’s weird. I thought that if I made Falene Taoiseach maybe things would change. I looked at some of those who came before me...Niall, Saraid, Niall Dunross, even my father when he began his career...they were all rogues, and perhaps that’s putting it nicely. I looked at them and thought perhaps the Noble House has been too…” She tried to find the right word.

“Honest?” Gavin suggested.

“Nice try. We’ll go with respectable,” Kerry said. “I thought another Taoiseach like me, like Declan, wouldn’t be good for us. We needed some wildness in us again and Falene could bring that. She’d remind us of a different side of our family, but one that’s still part of us even if we don’t always acknowledge it. But now...I look at her and I wonder if I’ve tried to cage a nexu.”

“At least it’s a gilded cage.”

“Still a cage.”

“That’s enough second guessing for one evening,” Serling said as he took Kerry’s hand. “Your son has the right idea. A Yuletide waltz is in order.”

“But you don’t even believe in Yuletide,” Kerry said, though she didn’t resist the pull of the Galactic Senator.

“And yet my belief in waltzes overpowers such things,” he replied with a smile.

“I think I can make an allowance for that,” Kerry remarked as she shared his smile.

 

“At least it’s a gilded cage.”

“Still a cage.”

I wonder if anybody will break free from that cage at a point...

 

Nice to have you back AzureAngel2 I'll get you back on the TAG list.

 

@AzureAngel02 jcgoble3 leiamoody Tim Battershell Vehn and Bardan_Jusik for reasons that shall soon be eminently clear.

Kilmainham Brook, Bakura

The rain was coming down hard outside the windows of the great room of the Noble House manor. It was a real downpour, a torrential pounding of fat raindrops. It had been going on like this for most of the day and now into evening. In fact, they’d gotten so much water that it was pooling in places on the grass that Falene could see by the lights thrown through the windows from inside. She had no desire to be outside tonight, but her mind...that she was allowing to wander.

She had returned to Kilmainham Brook after Yuletide festivities were complete. The ball had been draining, just like the other social chores that she had to do. The Union Westcott races she enjoyed and those were of her own doing, but she was expected to make a show at family social functions as well as periodically in public. Falene knew she could decline--no one could tell the Taoiseach what to do--but she also knew that she shouldn’t. She had responsibilities that were thrust upon her.

This evening was something like one of those responsibilities. More exactly, it was a debt. She had not entered into it, but it fell to her to discharge it.

“Taoiseach.”

Falene turned to find a Mandalorian standing in the door of the great room. Beads of water were still dripping off the beskar’gaam, which was painted in dark blue and gold.

“Should I be alarmed by the fact that a Mandalorian can just walk in here?” Falene asked.

“Ha! Hardly. I was met with the appropriate security. Not that it could have stopped me,” the Mandalorian retorted.

“Still not very comforting.”

“The Mandalorian who kills the Taoiseach of the Noble House will not be long for this galaxy,” the Mandalorian said. Before proceeding, the helmet came off of the armored visitor. “For they shall answer to me,” Haylee Kelt said as she shook her blonde orange hair out.

“A comforting thought,” Falene replied with a smile, “though it won’t do me any good if I’m dead.”

“None of my Mandalorian brethren would ever harm a hair of the head of a meshgeroya player. We have too much respect for the beautiful game, even if they have no love for the Miners,” Kelt said as she set her helmet on one of the finely polished tables of the room.

“And you? Miner fan at heart still?” Falene asked. Kelt had been born on Bakura to a Mandalorian mother and a Bakuran father. The family had returned to Mandalore when Kelt had not attained the double digits. Bakura was her homeworld, honored in the color scheme of her beskar’gaam but Mandalore was her culture.

Haylee wagged a gloved finger. “I don’t take sides in that game. I just hope you don’t ever face the Mercs in the Final again.”

“Given what they did to us this year, it would be a good idea if we didn’t,” Falene commented. “But I don’t think we’re here to talk about limmie.”

“No.” Kelt turned serious. “Your mother gave me a commission several years ago--not long before that fateful Miners-Mercs Galactic Cup Final. I come to fulfill that contract.”

She motioned and a droid pushed a hoversled through the doors of the great room, its contents draped by a heavy cloth.

“Before the Sith razed Bakura, they occupied the planet,” Kelt stated.

“It was easy pickings. An independent world that had long eschewed the GFFA, there was no one obligated to come to their aid. The tragedy of independence and isolationism,” Falene said. It was history they both knew, but the moment called for such remembrances.

“During the occupation, they took the prerogative of many conquerors and sacked the world,” Haylee continued. “Priceless art, historical artifacts, national treasures, what have you, were taken by the Sith before the orbital bombardment. That occupation extended to the previous house that stood on this site. As prominent political leaders, it was inevitable that they would ransack the Noble House. Many of your family treasures are kept on Empress Teta?”

Falene nodded. “Then, as they are now.”

“Their vaults prosper from the felicity of position that grants them natural defenses that are nigh insurmountable. A good place to keep such things. But, of course, one does not live in those vaults,” Haylee said. “Here, at Kilmainham Brook, were kept the portraits of the Taoiseachs. Seven at the time. They were presumed lost.”

“Until my grandfather, spy that he was, learned differently,” Falene said.

“Taken as trophies by senior Sith commanders.”

“He found one of them himself, that of Saraid Trieste. My mother found five of them in here time. They had passed into the hands of speculators, private collectors, anyone who valued the rare and the stolen,” Falene said. “Some were purchased, others were returned through intimidation and legal action.”

“And one remained,” Haylee pointed out. With one gloved hand she grabbed the cloth on the hoversled and pulled it off in one motion.

It revealed the portrait of the first Taoiseach of the Noble House of Trieste, Niall Trieste.

“Your mother hired me to recover it,” Kelt said, “and I never default on a contract.”

Falene approached the canvass and appraised it. “I had no idea what to expect. This portrait…it’s so unlike any of the others.”

“I wasn’t sure myself if it was what I was looking for at first. Your mother didn’t even know what it looked like. After the occupation, your grandfather and his cousin were the only two beings left alive who had seen it,” Haylee explained.

“How did you know that this was the portrait?” Falene asked.

“I found it in hanging in the collection of a former Sith fleet admiral,” Kelt said flatly.

“But the war was—”

“Over 80 years ago,” the Mandalorian finished. “And yet there are spry 120 year old Bakurans today thanks to the miracles of modern medicine.”

“You’re not saying he was a Bakuran?” Falene asked, aghast.

“No, but a middle aged Anzat can be anywhere from 650-800 years old,” Haylee said. “This one had been part of the occupation force the Sith deployed to Bakura. She took it as the privilege of rank. Naturally, it could never be sold without raising attention. It could barely even be shown to close acquaintances. However, show it she did one time too many. I chased rumors throughout the galaxy until I found her den where she had retired after the Neo-Sith War under an assumed name to live out the remainder of her very long days.”

“And then?”

“What else? I administered justice as she deserved for her role in what happened here so many years ago,” Kelt stated without so much as a shrug.

“Justice? The Republic could have prosecuted her for war crimes, in a court,” Falene pointed out.

“Then call it frontier justice,” Kelt corrected. “We are on the frontier of the galaxy here. We solve our own problems.”

“I can’t say that I agree with that,” Falene said, “but that was your decision and I can’t say that caused the galaxy any great loss. I am sure that you and my mother agreed on a price.”

“We did. I will not collect it. Her advance covered my costs. Consider this my service to Bakura and the Noble House,” Haylee said firmly.

“No, you must be compensated.”

“Getting to kill that admiral was my compensation,” Kelt said with a grin. “To think of what she did to my own ancestors…its worth was beyond credits.”

“I will not press you then,” Falene said, extending her hand. “I thank you on behalf of the Noble House.”

“Hang this portrait with pride. I think that Niall would like knowing that Mandalore came to his aid,” Kelt said, clasping Falene’s forearm in the traditional Mandalorian way.

“It shall have pride of place in this house,” Falene confirmed.

“If I may say one thing, Taoiseach?”

“Of course.”

“Just as this portrait is unlike the others that hang here,” Kelt said, gesturing to some of those in the room, “so you are unlike the Taoiseachs that have come before you. I read about your Explorers Club and journeys into the unknown. Keep them up. They suit you well.”

“Thank you. Our next one is being planned now,” Falene said.

“If you ever think you might run into danger out there in Wild Space, don’t hesitate to give me a call. I could use a good adventure,” Kelt said.

“I just might take you up on that one of these days.”

“Please do,” Kelt said. With that, she placed the helmet back on her head and left Falene with her progenitor.

For the first time in over 80 years, the Taoiseachs of the Noble House of Trieste were united once more.

 

Nice to see the last portrait recovered and returned to its rightful home.

Was Kerry's contract with Kelt mentioned anywhere in Bluebells and Edelweiss? It's been so long since I've looked at that one that I don't recall whether it was.

 

I'm glad this little tidbit was finally tied up. I've been waiting for a resolution for years

 

Frontier justice, Mandalorian style.

 

I thought I had when I was coming up with this, but my research revealed that it wasn't. I know that Kerry obliquely referenced the fact that she had "efforts" underway to find the portrait. There's also a possibility that it got referenced in ELL at some point too.

Knew you'd like that one.

 

Portraits really have stories to tell. Who would have thought.

Falene has very interesting family roots.