Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 12 (AU, OC)

I have an older brother who... is very much like that.

Anyway, a lot of action and warrior women. Celtic style! With SF fire arms.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn (especially Vehn!) @SWNerd11

Nouvelle Orleans, Bakura

It was with some surprise that Elyse Carlowe was informed that May Hull was in the foyer, asking urgently to see her. Though Elyse was in the middle of a large meeting, she excused herself and expressed confidence that a deputy could carry on during her brief absence.

It was with even greater surprise that Elyse discovered May was not alone. She was accompanied by her seven-year-old daughter Alynn. Elyse knew immediately that whatever May had to say it needed to be said in private. With only the barest of greetings, Elyse took the Hulls to her office so they could get to the heart of the matter.

“I need a favor from the club,” May said. She didn’t even bother to sit.

“Of course,” Elyse said, trying to divine the nature of the favor. Even so, she meant it when she agreed. If May asked Elyse to rob a bank she would. They were bonded by shared tragedy in a way that transcended everything but their own children.

“I need to go to Nar Shaddaa.”

That caught Elyse by surprise. “It’s just shy of a war zone there right now,” she said skeptically.

“That’s why I need to go. Their medical system is in danger of becoming overwhelmed. I have to go help. They’re my people too,” May said. She might have been the only one of her siblings to keep the Trieste name (prior to her marriage), but she was still half Vehn.

“What do you need? Is it to get in safely?” Elyse asked, her mind flipping into logistics and planning. “Corrie probably knows how. She ran relief in the war, not to mention her deep contacts in the Federation.”

“No, I can get in. There’s an NGO that’s organizing volunteer med staff to help. They’ll take care of that,” May said. “I need you to watch Alynn.”

Elyse’s eyes turned to her first cousin, once removed. Of course. “Yes. Like she was my own daughter.” She turned to look at Alynn. “Elon will be so glad to have you visit, and we see Aunt Henrietta and Siobhan and Aloric all the time. It’ll be grand.” Elyse smiled to punctuate her promise.

“Thank you, thank you,” May said as she hugged Elyse.

“Don’t be a hero,” Elyse whispered to make sure Alynn couldn’t hear. “You’ve got a daughter to think about.”

“So do beings on Nar Shaddaa,” May said firmly. They pulled apart and Elyse crouched next to her daughter. “One more hug for Mommy.” May had already told Alynn where she was going, that she didn’t know when she’d be back, but that she would be back, to be good and mind her Aunt Elyse, and to keep up at school even though she’d be in a different city for a while.

As May left, Elyse asked Alynn to wait and hurried out to catch May for one last question. “Why me? You could have left her in Salis D’aar with Declan and Ayn—or at the very least Regan and Eldred or Trixie and Horst.” That would have involved less interruption to Alynn’s life.

“Because I knew you’d care,” May said, a smile bisecting the scars on her face.

Elyse watched May get into a speeder and depart. When she was gone, Elyse went back to her office to find Alynn. “All right. That settles it. We’re leaving early. Let’s get your bags from the front desk, drop them at home, and then get you a good Nouvelle Orleans wardrobe. It’s more humid here than in Salis D’aar. I’m thinking we need dresses and shorts. What do you say to that?”

Alynn smiled for the first time since Elyse had seen her. “I like that.”

---

Salis D’aar, Bakura

“…and that’s how I broke Nouvelle Orleans,” Fiona finished.

She was reclining on the balcony of her apartment with Corrine and Vienna. The chume’da had wanted to hear all her grandmother’s stories and this was one of the big ones, the operation that had made her name and fame in the civil war. It was at least the third time Corrine had heard it, but she could listen to it 30 or 300 times more.

“I can’t believe you can hyperspace jump through a defense shield,” Corrine marveled with stars in her eyes.

“You’ll need a physicist to tell you how it works,” Fiona said, pouring herself another drink. She’d been tempted to give the girls one, but she was sure the chume’doro would rat her out to Sierra and Fiona decided she didn’t want to have that conversation. “The only thing I cared about was that you could do it if you got your navigation and timing right. There wasn’t much room for error. Could have cut the ship in half if we’d done it wrong.”

“The Hero of Nouvelle Orleans,” Corrine sighed her grandmother’s moniker as she lay back in her chair, looking dreamily off into the clouds.

“I should admit I’m still not the most welcome guest there, even after 40 years,” Fiona said.

“How’d you know?” Vienna asked.

“That we could do it? I didn’t know. I was 75% sure. But I was 100% sure that if we didn’t break their defenses that the Maple Flag Republic might have held out for another year or two on the strength of morale alone. A lot of Marines would have died elsewhere on Bakura. Maybe Dualla and Castor wouldn’t have had the forces to win other battles.” Fiona gave a slight shrug. “Sometimes you have to roll a hard six.”

“Not about that. I mean about what you wanted to do with your life. How did you know you wanted to be in the armed services,” Vienna clarified.

“Ooooh, yes, do tell!” Corrine asked eagerly.

“I knew I wanted to serve. It was a calling. I think growing up in Marian Square, seeing the Marines on guard, and the ones that my father would decorate at ceremonies for bravery and the like…I just wanted to be like them. To know I was doing something with my life that really meant something.” Fiona looked into the bottom of her glass. “I wish I still felt that way.” Things had been different since she’d been striped of field command after Kerry became Supreme Chancellor and had left Bakura. Fiona had become a surrogate target for those who had chafed under her sister’s leadership to punish in her elder sister’s absence.

“So you always knew?” Vienna pressed.

“Since I can remember,” Fiona agreed. She turned to look at Vienna. “I sense another question beyond your question. Or perhaps something slightly less than a question, but still something burning.”

Vienna looked away. “What do you do if you don’t know what you want to do with your life?”

“You remind yourself that you’re 15 years old and that you have a long time to figure out what you want to do. And then,” Fiona said, pointing a finger at Vienna, “you remember that you’ll probably change your mind five or six times anyways and that everybody does that. Just look at your Uncle Horst. He still doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up.”

“I don’t think Uncle Horst has grown up,” Vienna observed.

Fiona smiled. “See? A smart being like you? You’ll be fine. Trust me.” Vienna smiled, reflecting more bravery than she felt. “Now, did I ever tell you two about the Republican War Games of ’47?”

“No!” Corrine nearly screamed. “Tell me everything!”

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11



Marian Square, Salis D’aar, Bakura

It had been a long time since Ayn and Declan had played dejarik with each other. Tonight they were hunched over the board in the study on opposite sides, each with a drink.

“You’ve always been too straight forward a player,” Ayn critiqued as she moved a piece.

“You’ve always relied too much on complicated strategems. You think you can predict what everyone else is going to do,” Declan returned. Neither spoke without malice. He moved a piece. Declan noticed a slight furrow in Ayn’s brow when he finished his move. “See? You weren’t expecting that.”

“It was a stupid move,” Ayn said, her hand hovering over the controls for her pieces, but not yet making a selection.

“Was it now?” Declan said with a smirk. “Or was it the opening gambit in a stunning victory?”

“You’re just trying to make a point.” Ayn moved a piece decisively. “You’re always trying to make a point.”

“And you’re not?” Declan arched an eyebrow. “That’s what this is all about in the end.”

“That has never been what this is about,” Ayn snapped, her gaze coming up from the table, “and you know it.”

“I think you’ve lost perspective.” Declan moved a piece. “You’ve forgotten the point of what we set out to do.”

“If we don’t follow through now, it’ll all be for naught.” Ayn made her next move. “We have come too far to lose. And you know it.”

Declan studied the board. “As usual, you make your point rather effectively.” He surrendered the game. Ayn had him thoroughly checked.

They stood, their tilt finished. “First thing in the morning, reach out to the unions. We’re going to need them again. Make it very clear what kind of future they’re going to have without us.”

“It shouldn’t take too much imagination on their part,” Declan said.

“Unions are not the most imaginative bodies. Be explicit. Now, I believe I’m entitled to the usual stake?” Ayn said, gently taking her husband by the collar.

“As always,” Declan conceded gracefully as he was led to the bedroom.

---

Salis D’aar Times offices, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“It’s all there,” Garner Lekworth said. “It goes back years. Nearly two decades. Ayn and Declan Trieste’s ruthless rise to power and the cudgel they’ve wielded against anyone in their way has been credits.

“It began when Declan became Chair of the Fianna Fail Finance Committee as a senator. He was responsible for determining where party funds went in elections. He forged durasteel bonds of loyalty with other senators by sending party funds their way and becoming their savior when they were in danger of losing their seats.

“That’s natural, but what the Triestes did next wasn’t. The campaign finance disclosures show it: union contributions suddenly dried up in ’84. Unions have always been a core constituency for Fianna Fail—but more specifically the Triestes. It was the teachers union that put Kerry over the top in ’52 and that had been through old man Fionn deciding to make her win decisive when the tide started turning. But in ’84, not having union money flowing gutted the party, going so far as to take down the Minority Leader. And who became the new Minority Leader? Ayn Trieste. Four years later, she’d become Deputy Prime Minister when the unions fully backed Fianna Fail.

“Except they didn’t jump in immediately. When Declan Trieste ran for Prime Minister in ’88, the unions stayed on the sidelines through the convention. They only released their funds after the convention, where we know now with reasonable certainty that Declan received guarantees of a prominent cabinet position in exchange for endorsing Madsen. No doubt their ability to withhold that crucial financial support was part of those negotiations with Madsen.

“Then, when things got tight in ’92 and Samson Drave ran against Trieste for her first real election, what happened? He goes down in a financial scandal—one supposedly uncovered by Trixie Penn, Declan’s cousin. Granted, there’s nothing in the campaign finance filings that go to this, but it fits the pattern. Every time the Triestes get into trouble, they dig themselves out with credits—always somebody else’s.

“It gets even worse in ’96. There’s a slew of new donors that went into the most competitive races, ones where the Unionists stood a real chance. That kind of money doesn’t just show up overnight. The union support remained constant, so it wasn’t going back to the well that saved the Fianna Fail majority and the Triestes’ agenda for another term. Someone was bundling new contributions, someone big. And when you work it all back to the source, it’s all connected to Gesco City. What family suddenly starts showing up as a donor at the maximum individual limit across the board, whose business partners suddenly making maximum contributions? The Gawas, the Trieste’s new piggy bank.

“Ayn and Declan Trieste have been buying elections since their earliest days in the Senate. It might even go further back to Ayn’s time on the Board of Supervisors for Watercrest thanks to dear Sabé and her deep contacts in the party.

“All we have to do is publish this story and all of Bakura’s going to know about it. If we put it out there now, we may prevent these white-collar criminals from getting away with it again. Fianna Fail can pick someone else next year. And Force forbid Trieste runs for Chancellor. If she gets to Coruscant like they’re talking about, she’ll really have her hand in the till then. There could be no stopping her. I know it’s hyperbole, but I wouldn’t put it past them to go full Palpatine.”

The editor of the Times had listened to all of it, paging through Lekworth’s proposed article. She’d sat silently, taking it all in. “It’s incredible reporting, Garner.”

“It took me years,” he admitted. “Sevan worked on it with me. We were going to bring it to you before…” Garner couldn’t finish.

“I know this was a passion project of yours. Truly incredible stuff.” She turned her datapad off. “But we can’t publish without the evidence from the campaign finance records.”

“I had it. It was there,” Garner said, his voice straining. “Sevan and me—we’d found it. It was all there. We had the connections drawn.”

“But it was lost in the crash.”

“I’m telling you, this is rock solid. We can publish it. Let someone else do the confirmatory work by digging through the FEC files. I don’t care if they get the real scoop. We’ve got to stop them now, while we still have a chance.”

“If you can recreate the work—”

“You know we can’t. It took years to find this all. We can’t get this out before the election if we wait that long.”

“We can bring in more beings, partner with some government transparency organizations.”

“And widen the field? The Triestes will find out about it. They’ve come after me before when I got close. They’ll do it again. That’s as good as spiking the story.”

“Garner, we can’t release this without being absolutely durasteelclad, top to bottom.”

“Sithspit! You’ve gone to press with less!” Garner shouted.

“Not at this level. Not against a sitting Prime Minister.” The editor paused. “Garner, I think you should take some time.”

“I’ve already taken time,” Garner objected.

“I don’t think it’s been enough. Look, you’ve gone through a lot and to do all that work and lose it…but listen to what you’re saying. Publishing an article like this without the proof in hand? Garner, you know we don’t do that.”

“We can’t wait until 304 to expose them. It’ll be too late.”

The editor paused and slowly sat forward, folding her hands on her desk. She didn’t look at the reporter as she spoke the next words. “Garner, the leave is going to happen. It’s just a question of whether it’s voluntary or not.”

The ultimatum had been given. Garner knew when to stop pleading his case. He nodded. “I’ll…I’ll let you know when I expect to be back.”

“Just know we all understand,” the editor said kindly.

Garner nodded, gathered his things and left. As he walked through the empty floor of reporter’s desks, he knew that she was wrong. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand. They were going to stand by and let a monster keep destroying Bakura.

And he was the only one who knew it.

 

I hate to say this but Garner and the entire idea is so intriguing.....where could this go @Trieste ?

 

Intriguing? Absolutely. And here's the thing:

Spoiler

He's right.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

​

University of Bakura, Salis D’aar

“It’s official—it’s going to be Economics,” Shenandoah said, swinging into Niall Fionn’s room.

“Did it win a vote or something?” Niall asked, looking up from him datapad, which was loaded with reading for his courses. He was sitting up on his bed, one leg angled in a triangle, a classic university student pose.

“No, that’s my new major,” Shenandoah said, throwing herself onto the couch in Niall’s room. In any other undergraduate dorm room that space would be taken up by a roommate’s bed, but the Marshals had politely requested for security reasons that the twins be given single rooms for security reasons.

“What happened to Philosophy?” Niall asked.

“It’s my minor now,” Shenandoah said as she lay on her stomach, idly kicking her legs in the air. “I think it’ll be a good balance. It’s important to understand large scale systems that underpin our society. Combining it with Philosophy will give me a training to reach ethical conclusions in the field.”

“I’m sure that will amuse Dad,” Niall said, “seeing as he was almost Chancellor of the Exchequer.”

Shenandoah rolled her eyes as she rolled onto her back. “I think I’d rather not get him started about how ‘great Triestes go to State.’”

“As if Amergin wasn’t a great Chancellor of the Exchequer,” Niall remarked wryly.

“Anyways, as much as I know you love hearing about my daring academic plans, there’s going to be a real corker of a party tonight. You’ve bailed on the last three and I’ve had to go stag. You’re coming to this one.”

“I’m pretty sure if you go with your brother you’re still going stag.”

“You know what I mean. But it’s settled. You’re coming,” Shenandoah decided.

“Oh! Does that mean I got my nights confused?”

Shenandoah sat up, her red hair whipping behind her. The new voice in the conversation belonged to a coed standing in the door.

“No, no, come in,” Niall said, turning off his datapad and setting it aside. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to introduce you both. Shenandoah, this is—”

“Niamh Cranagh,” she said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Shenandoah took it gently. “Charmed. Are you on one of the other floors?” The Marshals kept non-residents out of their dorm building for security reasons unless they were escorted by people who lived there.

“Actually, she’s on the list,” Niall said. “Niamh and I met in our Republican history survey course. We’ve been debating points ever since.”

“Let me guess: hottest Valorum to be Chancellor?” Shenandoah kidded.

Niamh’s mouth curled into a smile. “Actually, it was whether your grandmother was a good Chancellor.”

Shenandoah looked at her brother. “I take it you turned her to the light since you’re still talking?”

“We came to a mutual understanding,” Niall said, giving Niamh a look and the hint of a smile.

His sister caught it and looked out of the corner of her eye at Niamh to find something similar there. Shenandoah caught it.

“Well, forgive me for intruding on any plans you had, but Niall’s engaged tonight. He needs to get his nose out of a book and unwind,” Shenandoah said. “Twin privilege.”

“Actually, I was thinking maybe we could all go?” Niall suggested. “If you’re interested, that is.” This last thought was directed at Niamh, not Shenandoah.

“The infamous library-silence-shattering parties of Shenandoah Trieste? How could I say no?” Niamh said happily. “Sounds delightful.”

“Then it’s settled,” Niall said happily. “Lead onward.”

“Let me just get a jacket in case it rains,” Shenandoah said. “Won’t be more than a trice.”

The redhead withdrew down the hall to her room, but paused halfway through the door. She heard Niamh give a brief laugh, likely at something that Niall had said. Shenandoah knew that laugh. She laughed like that when Niall made jokes. She bit her lip as she stepped into her room. Maybe Niamh would fade. That’s what happened to university couples, wasn’t it?

Then again, her parents had met at UBSD. Her grandparents had met at UBSD.

The realization didn’t put Shenandoah in the mood for a party.

---

Gesco City Interstellar Spaceport, Bakura

“I’ll write every day,” Corrine promised. She was hugging Vienna and had been for almost a minute.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up that kind of correspondence,” Vienna admitted.

“I’ll write enough for both of us. And I’m coming back. I’ll get Uncle Cillian and Aunt Swan to smuggle me out if need be.”

“You know they can hear you,” Vienna said, looking at the chume’doro.

“I’m coming back for the election. I want to see how they’re done. We never get elections at home,” Corrine continued, still squeezing Vienna.

“Maybe don’t come to Bakura then,” Rickard remarked wryly. “Chandrila would be a better place for that. Aunt Nessa will take you.” Ginny gave him a gentle, if firm, slap with the back of her hand on his chest.

“Don’t encourage her,” Ginny told her husband.

“And you’ll have to come over. It won’t be as fun, but there are benefits of being—” One of the chume’doro coughed to forestall a potential disclosure of Corrine’s identity. They hadn’t gotten this far only to have it unravel now.

“I have school. I don’t get to just walk out on that,” Vienna pointed out, still being embraced.

“Pshaw. We’ll figure that out.” She whispered in Vienna’s ear, “I bet we can find you a body double. I’ll have her sent over.” Corrine finally pulled back. “I miss you already.”

“Me too,” Vienna said, “but you’re going to miss your flight at this rate.”

Corrine hugged Vienna again. “Don’t change a thing, V.”

“You too, Corrie.”

And then the pair parted, minutes to go before the heir to the Consortium’s ship left. As the Harlowes watched Corrine and her covert entourage recede into the spaceport it was Ginnifer who spoke first.

“That was something,” she said, doing her best to sum up Corrine’s visit.

“Yeah,” Vienna said. “It was the best time I’ve ever had.”

Rickard couldn’t help but smile. “My daughter who hates going to Miner games had the time of her life with her poshest cousin? Wonders never cease.”

Even though she hadn’t sought it out, Vienna finally felt like she had a real and true friend in the galaxy.

 

A fellow student recently said on Discord to never date someone in the same major and year as yourself, because if you break up, you'll have to see them in your classes the rest of the time you're in school. She was speaking from personal experience.

Niall may be making a mistake here.

 

@jcgoble3 good points!

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11 Was Elvis woke because he understood institutional racism and structural inequality or was he just perpetuating stereotypes? I guess that's up for each of us to decide.

​

Nar Shaddaa

A normal day was a 14-hour shift. More often than not, it turned into a 16-hour shift. There’d be just enough time off to get a little sleep on a cot in a back room and eat a ration bar so you didn’t keel over in the middle of applying medigel or cleaning blaster burn. Those were the easy injuries too. A vibroknife left bleeding wounds that, if not treated promptly, could kill a being through blood loss in under an hour.

May Hull didn’t have time to brush hair out of her face, so she wore it back in a bun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d washed it because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d showered. Most of the clean water they got was needed to hydrate patients—and there were always patients on every surface.

There had been a complete abdication of civil responsibility by local government. The Smuggler’s Moon was close to a failed state. Authorities didn’t have enough to help everyone. All they had was going into keeping the police precincts from collapsing, which would flood more weapons onto the streets. There wasn’t time to look after things like food or medical supplies. If it wasn’t for precision airdrops carried out by the Federation (who for once was of a similar mind with the Hutts in that they had no desire to put boots on the ground), the clinic May was at would have gone under weeks ago.

May knew that she fixed up beings only to send them back out onto streets where they might get beaten up again by gangs who were desperate to find anything they could turn into food to feed their families. She’d been a doctor long enough to know when she was treating symptoms and not a disease. All she could do was save the lives that came before her.

Sometimes that wasn’t on examination table.

“Dr. Hull—there’s beings with blasters in the lobby,” a nurse said, his voice cracking.

May tightened a tourniquet without looking at the source of the news. “If that pressure goes down, you tell someone immediately. If blood flow begins before you get a kolto treatment you’ll lose that arm and we can’t have that.” Things were so dire that they weren’t even getting bacta. They’d had to resort to the less-effective healing gel from the days of the Old Republic. It was only with that done that May turned to the nurse. “What do they want?” Her voice was weary, not worried.

“They say they’re going to start shooting unless they get our meds,” the nurse said. May could see the sweat on his forehead.

“Oh for Force sake,” May muttered, storming away from the patient towards the small lobby used for triage, but usually overflowing with beings waiting to be seen in various non-critical states.

When May entered the lobby, patients were huddled against the wall, some shielding small children with their own bodies in case the shooting started. Inside the doorway of what had once been an office of some sort—May had never had enough time to look at any of the things hurriedly abandoned when the riots began to figure out what sort of business they’d once done here—were five beings of different species, all with blaster rifles they had pointed in various directions at frightened patients.

“Are you the doctor? Where’s the medicine?” one of them barked at May’s arrival. Her white coat made it a good guess that she was an MD. She’d arrived on Nar Shaddaa in it, but its color had long since faded under stains of various bodily fluids. She’d done her best to wash it for sanitation, but it would have been burned long ago at Belden General Hospital in Salis D’aar.

“What the frak do you think you’re doing?” May snapped, moving towards the intruders.

That caught the looters by surprise. One actually dropped her blaster rifle’s muzzle towards the ground and another started to the point of almost jumping. It was lucky he hadn’t pulled the trigger in the process.

“You really want to feed your families by taking supplies and leaving these beings to die?” May continued. “Come look at this.” She actually took one of them by the arm and pulled him outside. The other four tightened their grip on their blaster rifles and pointed them at May, but she was either oblivious or past caring.

“Look! You know what that is!” May said, pointing down the street, into the air above the skyline, still holding the being by the arm.

“It’s Vehn Coliseum,” the looter said. “What kind of Nar Shaddaan do you think I am?”

“One who’s forgotten that Rhia Grames never gave up when things got tough!” May said. She actually slapped him on the back of the head to the amazement of the patients inside the lobby who were tentatively watching out the windows. “You think Rhia would have stolen medicine to feed her kids? You think she’d say anyone who did was a true Smugglers fan?”

The looter paused and then dropped his head. “No,” he said quietly.

“There’s going to be a food drop here tomorrow morning,” May said. “Come back then and you’ll get rations for your family. Now go be part of the solution and take pride in the Vertical City like Rhia would want you to.” Before he could reply, May went back inside. “You’re staying,” she said to one of the remaining looters, taking him by the arm.

The other three suddenly tensed again. “You taking him hostage?” one challenged.

“Look at his color,” May said, “he’s got an infection from drinking bad water. I’m going to get him the antivirals he needs so he won’t die in a week. I’ll send him back when he’s done. Now if you’re intent on using those blasters, go see if the VCPD can use you to guard this community instead of robbing it.”

May didn’t wait to see if they departed, but just dragged the infected looter down to the first available bed. She rattled off the medication she needed to a nurse and started taking her patient’s vitals.

“So I come in here to rob you and you’re going to save my life?” he asked. “Doc, you are a breed unto yourself.”

“You remember Dalton Ward?” May asked without looking up from her work.

“Played killer minutes for the Smugglers.”

“Yeah, well he was a Miner first. Got clocked pretty bad in a game. When he woke up, he was completely paralyzed and I was standing over him. He thought he was going to die.”

“He had an injury that bad?” the looter asked, his rifle now on the bed next to him.

“No. I’d induced the paralysis so he didn’t injure himself worse when he came to. He thought he was going to die because he knew I’d overheard him talking about how ugly these scars are,” May said, not bothering to point at her face, “and I was going to kill him on the table. I told him that he was my patient and he would always be safe when he was under my care, no matter what he said or did. That’s my job as a doctor. It doesn’t matter if you insult me, try to rob me, or shoot me. When you’re my patient I will do everything I can to save your life.”

“Who are you, doc?” the looter asked. He understood he’d just tried to shoot up more than an ordinary physician. It wasn’t your everyday doctor who had pro limmie players as patients.

“Nobody special,” May said as the meds arrived. “Take these two now. I’ll be back in another two hours to see you get the second dose. You can go then.”

As May moved off the looter called after her. “Hey doc?”

“Yes?” May paused.

“Do you think you could use any help here?” he asked.

“Hold her hand,” May said after a moment’s pause, indicating the patient next to him. “That’s enough for now. We’ll find something else in two hours for you.”

---

Nouvelle Orleans, Bakura

“What do you think my mom is doing right now?” Alynn asked Elyse.

“Taking care of beings,” Elyse said as they waited for a commercial break on the HoloNet to end. “That’s what she does. And she’s going to be back here before you know it. There’s still a little cake left over from last night. Would you like some?”

“Sure.”

“Elon? Cake?” Elyse asked her son.

“Yes please. Thanks Mom,” the nine-year-old said without looking away from the holoprojector.

“Coming right up. Pause it if it comes back,” Elyse called as she headed for the kitchen. “It’s too funny to miss a second!”

Alynn looked down at her datapad. She still had the last message from her mom up on it. She read it again, as she often did when she missed her mother.

I’m doing well and staying safe. There’s a lot to do, so I never get bored. I miss you terribly, but think about you every time I patch up a girl who comes into the clinic. I think about how much I love you and know they mean the galaxy to somebody just like you do for me. Keep writing with all your stories from school and Aunt Elyse and Elon. They warm my heart and make me think of a million things we’ll do when I get back.

Love,

Mom

Alynn couldn’t put it into words why, but as much as she missed her mom, she was even prouder that she was half a galaxy away helping kids like her.

 

Don't mess with May.

 

Go, May, go!

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11 Given the piece of music I chose for this, I should probably admit I've envisioned Shenandoah as Amy Adams and Niall as Lee Pace.

​

Salis D’aar, Bakura

“Are you sure this dress is all right?” Niamh asked.

“It’s great,” Niall assured her. “It’s basically the same one Doe is wearing.”

Niamh and Shenandoah shared a look of sympathy. They were definitely not wearing a dress, but they couldn’t expect a male to know that. It was amazing that they could even dress themselves, let alone believe their opinions on fashion were anywhere close to right.

“Well I’ve never been to a southeast Salis D’aar party before,” Niamh pursued.

“There’s no such thing. It’ll be fine,” Shenandoah assured her.

“We’re in southeast Salis D’aar. We’re going to a party. It’s a thing,” Niamh said.

“It’s just a dinner with our great aunt,” Niall replied.

“Case and point. Dinner with the Chief Justice isn’t ‘just a dinner.’ And that’s leaving out the fact that your family owns the building you’re eating in.”

“Nice thing about owning the building is that we can slip out to one of the other floors if it gets boring and no one can stop us,” Shenandoah said.

They’d arrived in front of the Plaza, the Noble House’s main Salis D’aar residence. It was seven floors of living spaces that had once housed Fionn Trieste and his grown children. Now the family had scattered and the Eldreds and Penns were the only tenants. The only time Ayn and Declan were here were for special functions that would be inappropriate to hold at Marian Square, most often political business. Tonight’s gathering wasn’t a special one, just a “casual soiree” that Regan and Atticus were hosting. Niall and Shenandoah had been invited since it had “been an age” since they’d last been by, in Regan’s words. Both of those phrases, when communicated to Niamh, made her think this was a far cry from any dinner she’d been to.

As someone born and raised in one of Bakura’s smaller villages, Niamh had never thought she’d be in a place like this. Yes, UB Salis D’aar was the finest in public education that the planet had to offer, mother of prime ministers and senators, but those were beings to be glanced fleetingly in passing, remembered as someone who “was there at the same time as me” not beings “I dined with once in their prime.”

So it was that Niamh stepped off the lift trying to not look around with wide eyes at the rarified sanctum of a place built by the Second Father of Bakura. She tried not to stutter when Regan Eldred shook her hand and offered her a drink whose component parts were worth more than her food budget for the week. Somehow she found her voice when over that preprandial she was asked her opinion on the stalemate in the Senate as if she was not a third-year university student. She did her best not to choke on her food when Niall casually mentioned that the woman sitting to her left was not just his Aunt Elfie, but the granddaughter of the Jedi Master Lexine Wydra.

Somehow the evening lasted forever and before she knew it, she was seated next to the Chief Justice in the library for postprandials, Niall and Shenandoah nowhere in sight. “I was so pleased when Niall asked if he could bring a friend,” Regan was saying.

“I suppose it made the table settings easier to have an even number?” Niamh replied, not knowing where she found the familiarity to make a joke with the leader of a branch of the federal government.

Regan actually chuckled. “No, it’s because it’s the first time either of them have ever brought a friend by.”

“Maybe the rest ran off when they heard they were going to have dinner with the Chief Justice,” Niamh said, continuing to surprise herself at her boldness.

Eldred smiled briefly. “They’ve had Marshals following them around since they were six years old. 15 years of their life. It’s hard to make friends when you’re in that bubble. And I suppose they had each other and it was easy to be happy with that.” Regan paused. “Maybe if they’d had another sibling…but their parents’ generation wasn’t much interested in having many kids. I suspect if they hadn’t been twins Ayn and Declan might only have had one. Forgive me, I’m showing my age by waxing nostalgic. The young don’t deserve that.” Regan sat up straighter. “What I really meant to say this whole time is that I’m glad you’ve stuck with them. We Triestes can be a stiff drink sometimes.”

“Speaking of…” Niamh held up her nearly empty glass with a glint in her eye.

“You’re going to fit in just fine, dear,” Regan replied with a grin as she took the glass to refill it.

---

Out on one of the balconies, Shenandoah and Niall were looking at the stars. It was hard to do from their regular vantage of a dorm room window. Even with the lights of the city muting their sparkle, they were still impressive.

“I miss this place,” Shenandoah said.

“You remember it?” Niall asked.

“You don’t?”

“Just vague memories from before Marian Square.”

“It was nice when it was just the four of us. Aunt Regan and Uncle Atticus were upstairs, but it wasn’t like they dropped in all the time,” Shenandoah remembered. “Sure, Dad was gone in Telaan Valley most of the time since he was governor then, but I remember him as if he was always here.”

“Do you wish Mom had never become Prime Minister and we were still here?” Niall asked.

“No,” Shenandoah said emphatically. “But it makes me think maybe we should move back here at the end of the year. Get out of the dorms.”

“There are benefits to being close to campus. Easy walks to class, the social scene.”

Shenandoah gave Niall a look. “‘The social scene?’ You mean the one in the library right now, no doubt being cornered by Uncle Atticus?”

Niall laughed.

“I’m serious. Do you know what you’re doing, Niall?” Shenandoah pursued. “Bringing her here? To meet family?”

“Niamh’s the best debater I’ve ever met. I thought she’d enjoy clashing sabers with Aunt Regan. She’s said she’d love to take on a senator or two sometime,” Niall said.

His sister sighed. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” Shenandoah asked. “We were born into this. We know that Supreme Court justices and senators are beings like any other. But to someone like Niamh? This is a world you just don’t get invited into, not casually.” Niall furrowed his brow and Shenandoah decided she’d have to go further. “Niamh’s going to think that you’re not just friends—if she doesn’t already.”

“Maybe we aren’t just friends,” Niall said.

“Just make sure. If you show Niamh too much of this world and then yank it away from her, that’s just cruel,” Shenandoah said.

Niall made no reply, but looked back up at the stars and retreated into thought. His twin let him roll it over. She said her piece.

“You have a point,” he said eventually. “I’ll take care of it.”

Shenandoah nodded. “I’m going to head back in. Coming?”

“No, I’ll stay out here a little longer,” Niall said. Shenandoah nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

---

“It’s always lovely to see you, Aunt Regan,” Shenandoah said, giving her a hug.

“Just because there’s a separation of powers between the executive and judicial doesn’t mean there should be in the family,” Regan replied with a smile.

“We’re sorely missing a senator in the family so we can have a mini-federal government at the table. Since Trixie’s in no hurry to leave her job as Federal Attorney, we might need you or Niall to do it for us. You’ll be graduating next year anyways, might as well go straight to the Senate,” Atticus kidded. Regan gave him a loving eyeroll. “Anyways, we’ll have the Marshals bring a speeder around for you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Shenandoah said. “The monorail still runs this time of night.”

“We couldn’t possibly send you home on that alone. Even with the Marshals your parents would have our heads,” Atticus said.

“Or impeach me, which would honestly be worse,” Regan said.

“Alone?” Shenandoah asked.

“Yes, Niall and Niamh asked if they could stay over. I think they decided rather suddenly,” Regan said. She couldn’t resist a smile that was one part knowing adult and one part wistful remembrance of university love affairs.

“I know from personal experience how thin the walls of UBSD dorm rooms can be,” Atticus said. His wife gave him an oh-really-now look. They had not met until their 30s and as a student at rival Tiarest University she certainly had never tested the soundproofing of UBSD dorms.

“Oh, well then,” Shenandoah said, working quickly to find the right tone, “a speeder would be lovely.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” Regan said sympathetically, putting a hand on Shenandoah’s shoulder. “It might take a while but you’ll find the right person. Force knows it did for me, but it paid off in the end.”

Shenandoah managed a smile and a few parting pleasantries before she took the lift down to the ground floor. She held it together in the speeder for two blocks before she started sobbing.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11



Harmonia Gardens, Salis D’aar, Bakura

It was another Prime Ministerial date night and Declan and Ayn had just resumed their seats after acknowledging the crème de la crème of the capital with smiles and waves. Even now, after over a decade of prominence, it was still gratifying to receive such adulation when they went out.

The pair talked while they ate. The Marshals enforced enough of a cordon between them and the other diners that they could speak in confidence.

“How are the unions?” Ayn asked.

“With us all the way,” Declan assured her. “Every one. Teachers, nurses, construction, manufacturing, government employees, all of them. Lockstep.”

“Good. The more we can present a united front, the better it will be.”

“They’re aware of the stakes.”

“I’ve had Holly setting up meetings with some sympathetic parties. We can’t just rely on our natural constituencies. We need a broader base,” Ayn said.

“Anyone I’m going to need to hold my tongue around?” Declan asked, sensing something more beneath this arm of the strategy.

“She’s worked with Vesper arrange discussions with industry executives,” Ayn said.

Declan sat back with mild disgust. “These are just the sort of folks we’re trying to get away from. They’re the allies of the Gawas.”

“Potential allies,” Ayn corrected. “The Gawas have not used a light hand when they’ve wanted something—as we’ve learned firsthand. I suspected if they were willing to go this far in opposing us, they must have burned plenty of bridges in boardrooms. According to Vesper, there are a lot of beings who would enjoy sticking it in the Gawas’ eye.”

“And they probably vote Unionist,” Declan pressed. “They’re going to want the same things that Travers does. We’ll be making a deal with Palpatine to defeat Snoke.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of a grudge among industrialists. Vesper says that most of them would sacrifice 20% of their net worth to get back at the Gawas. If we get credits like that…” Ayn didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“I’ll come to the meetings with an open mind,” Declan compromised. They’d been married long enough that Ayn knew he wasn’t happy, but that he would honestly listen and consider what was said.

“Good. After all, you do so enjoy being pleasantly surprised,” Ayn remarked with the hint of a smile.

“Gentlebeings, as is the custom at the Harmonia Gardens,” the maître d’ announced, “we open the dance floor tonight for any and all of our guests. But, in particular, if we may be so bold to prevail upon them, may we request the pleasure of the Prime Minister and Minister of State as one of our opening couples?”

Ayn and Declan knew this was coming (it was half the reason they went to the Harmonia Gardens on their nights out) and placed their napkins on the table and paused their meal to accept the honor. They settled into the waltz like a pair of favorite slippers.

“I received a RINT briefing today,” Declan said. He didn’t need to speak loudly for their mouths were next to each other’s ears thanks to the intimacy of the dance.

“And what does the Republic’s esteemed intelligence service have to say?” Ayn murmured.

“They’re concerned about instability in the Centrality. The Heraat alliance is in danger of splintering,” Declan said.

“What does the Federation have to say about that? They have the strongest interest in the region.”

“Carley Heraat is an adopted Vehn, after all.”

“She is?” Ayn asked with surprise. “I never keep them all straight.”

“Anyways, the Federation hasn’t called for the D1SC yet,” Declan continued. “They must not be planning any intervention.”

“That would be a first,” Ayn remarked wryly.

“The political repercussions of their last intervention in the Centrality may still be reverberating on Roon.” Declan pursed his lips, which had gone dry with the memory of it. That raid had launched Ayn and him into Marian Square, though it had come at the terrible cost of Enoch’s life.

“Keep an ear open. The last thing we need right now is trouble in the Rim,” Ayn said. They danced silently for a bit before Ayn said. “It seems today was a day for briefings.”

“Oh? Anything good on your end?” Declan asked.

“In my routine briefing from the Marshals they casually mentioned that they wanted me to know they looked into Niamh Crannagh and everything looked good,” Ayn said.

“Who’s Niamh Crannagh?” Declan was perplexed.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Ayn said.

“So you asked Holly to look into her.” It was definitely not a question. Declan knew his wife.

“No, I asked Raylan.”

“The good-looking Marshal?”

“Yes. He’s always been very friendly,” Ayn said.

“I’d prefer if her were less friendly or uglier. I’m not picky,” Niall said with equanimity. He had no real doubts about Ayn’s ability to resist the handshome Marshal, but couldn’t resist the quip.

“He was just as confused as us,” Ayn continued. “But he was back a couple hours later to say that Niamh Crannagh is on Niall’s list of precleared visitors.”

“You don’t think…”

“We’ll let him bring it up,” Ayn said gently.

“Good idea,” Declan agreed. “Though if she is…”

“We’ll let him bring it up,” Ayn repeated, still gently.

“I was going to say half the woman his mother is, he’s a lucky being,” Declan finished.

Ayn moved her head to kiss him on the cheek as they danced. They both knew they’d passed the point in the evening where words, the stock of their trade, were no longer necessary. It was a wonderful place to be.

 

Election planning and spying on their children away at college. Nicely written.

 

At least they weren't intending to spy on their kids.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11 Some songs, like the last one I used, I choose because I've got an idea in my mind and they fit the vibe of what I want to convey. Other times I'll have music on when I'm writing and I hear something and think, "Yeah, that'll do." This would be one of the latter.



Salis D’aar, Bakura

Niall and Niamh were a couple, but they did their best not to be the glaringly obnoxious couple that everyone rolled their eyes at. Their mutual friends thought they were perfect for each other with the certainty only found on a university campus. The circumspect ones didn’t go as far and said that they were “well suited to each other.” The cynical ones commented that they were witnessing the beginning of the next generation of a Noble House dynasty. No one mustered an argument against the cynics.

The one being who avoided any cliches or hyperbole was Shenandoah. By the time Niall sheepishly returned to his dorm room the morning after the dinner party, she had only an understanding smile for him from down the hall as she raised her morning tea in a salute. He returned it with a grin that his sister could tell reflected a different state of being. Every time Niamh would come by (which was now often), Shenandoah did not pretend there was some new sisterly intimacy between them or special connection. She treated her brother’s girlfriend like a friend, withdrawing at the appropriate moments, inviting them to join her at events that fit their interests.

Shenandoah betrayed none of the turmoil that roiled inside her. She let it out only when she was alone, never more grateful to not have a roommate. Even so, she cried into pillows so her neighbors couldn’t hear her. She checked her appearance every time she went out so that no one, least of all Niall, would know what she was going through. When she fixed her makeup, she reminded herself that she’d made her play. She’d tried to steer Niall into getting rid of Niamh, but he'd chosen the opposite path. She’d known that was a risk, but she was usually a better judge of her twin. She also knew that to be openly hostile towards Niamh would create an even greater rift between them than the one Niamh’s presence created now.

Despite it all, Shenandoah was the daughter of a Prime Minister and Minister of State and the granddaughter of a Chancellor. She did not wallow. She accepted what she could not control and forged ahead. Shenandoah decided she needed something to do, something to occupy her mind.

It only took knocking on four doors in the Department of Economics to find a professor who needed a research assistant. One handshake later, she was filling out employment forms to earn 11.11 credits an hour in her spare time.

---

Nouvelle Orleans, Bakura

“Running is an outside activity!” Henrietta called with as much friendly tone as she could put into a raised voice.

Though her own children were now teenagers, their nine- and seven-year-old cousins brought out the childhood of Siobhan and Aloric that wasn’t as far behind them as they might like to think. Henrietta sighed as she handed Elyse a cup of tea. “I don’t know what I’d prefer: that they go back to being babies or that they go to university tomorrow,” Henrietta admitted.

Elyse had brought Alynn and Elon over to Henrietta’s so the kids could play and everyone could have a dinner. Even though they saw each other at work, the widows felt most at home in each other’s company. They weren’t quite like sisters to each other, but they were family.

“I feel like I’m about to hear that you’d like to trade them,” Elyse said.

“I love them to pieces, but keeping up…” Henrietta rolled her eyes. “My mother would have put me on bread and water if I’d said some of the things they do.”

“It’s still an option for you.”

“I really only have one rule: do the exact opposite of what my mother did and I’ll turn out to have great kids.”

“You turned out fine,” Elyse assured her.

“I married a criminal,” Henrietta admitted, “and it was partially her fault.” Not that Henrietta’s mother had known what Antrose was, but Mrs. Loring had certainly pushed her daughter to make an ambitious match in her drive for social status.

“I got knocked up before I was married. We’re a pair, all right.” Elyse clinked cups with Henrietta.

“How are the Masters of the Universe?” Henrietta asked.

“You mean the Council of Captains?” Elyse asked by way of correction. “Not much to report, but I can tell Ayn and Declan are planning something.”

“I could have told you that they’re planning something,” Henrietta said. “They’re always planning something.”

Elyse shook her head and blew on her tea a bit. “This is different. They’ve always been focused…but this…” She paused to sip her tea as she gathered her thoughts. “…I probably shouldn’t even care. Ayn and Declan are going to do what they’re going to do. We have Rosefield. That’s enough to keep us busy. Let them have their politics.”

“As long as it’s just that.”

“Please. Declan and Ayn are good at what they do—too good maybe—but they can’t do everything. The reason they have the Council is to leverage the rest of us when they need to do things outside of politics. They’d be lost in the business world without Rickard and Vesper.” Elyse laughed. “Though it would be fun to see them try.”

“Imagine if they had to earn a living,” Henrietta said, her mouth broadening into a smile.

“If they had to work some of the jobs I’ve worked I think their hands would bleed.” Now Elyse was really going, which got Henrietta laughing too.

When the laughter subsided, they found themselves both looking out the window at the four kids. Their eyes were inexplicably drawn to Alynn at the same time.

“What are you going to do if May doesn’t make it out?” Henrietta asked, surprised that she could even put the question into words.

“Love her,” Elyse said. “That’s all she’s going to need.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’s a Trieste-Vehn. If she wanted to, she could conquer the galaxy.”

Henrietta nodded. Now words did fail her. She couldn’t bring herself to say that Vehns had a habit of dying before their time. That was one thing that she couldn’t tempt the Force with. No matter what, May had to come home.

Though they didn’t even exchange a look, the exact same thoughts were in Elyse’s heart too.

 

We do die before our time. Hard words for an even harder galaxy! Eastern Outer Rim isn’t a slouch.

 

“She’s a Trieste-Vehn. If she wanted to, she could conquer the galaxy.”

Well, true. You nailed it down in two sentences.

Anyway, I am glad that I finally caught up with this story again. It is always a great treat to see how politics and love come together.

All spiced up with great music choices.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

​

Marian Square, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“So what’s it to be this time?” Ayn asked. “Sit in silence for a full half hour or just five minutes and you’ll use the rest of the time to take a tour of the Mural Room? Either way you can still tell the media that we had another ‘productive’ discussion, but, alas, the Prime Minister remains entrenched in her position despite your continued willingness to compromise.”

Phyllida Travers did not take up the sarcastic bait that Ayn offered, mainly because they had in fact done variations of those things a number of times. It was to their mutual benefit to be “actively conferring” in pursuit of “common legislative goals,” even if nothing of the sort happened when they met. Instead, Travers folded her hands in her lap calmly.

“Actually, I come bearing a proposition this time,” Travers said. “I am prepared to offer you the votes of my caucus for two pieces of legislation.”

“And which two business-friendly bills are you prepared to vote for?” Ayn asked sweetly, the spice barely hidden in her undertone.

“You misunderstand me,” Travers said. “Two bills of your choosing.”

That caused Ayn to stop. She sized up Travers for a full second before speaking. “In exchange for what?” Ayn said.

“Your public announcement you will not be a candidate for Prime Minister next year,” Travers said.

Before Ayn could respond, Travers followed up by saying, “I’ll make the same announcement. I have no designs on your job. I’m quite happy in the Senate. But to the point of today’s offer, I will guarantee you the votes of my bloc on whatever two bills you want: an opportunity to cement your legacy before stepping aside for the next generation. And if you had designs on higher office, I’ll ensure that my wing of the party enthusiastically support you. No matter what our policy disagreements may be, Bakuran influence in the Galactic Senate is a good thing.”

“And would I have these votes before or after my announcement?” Ayn asked.

Travers knew where the question was coming from. “Before, but I’ll have a handwritten note from you, countersigned by Declan, that you will not run in 300. As insurance, of course.”

Ayn smiled. “You’ve thought this out—or your masters in Gesco City have.”

“My constituents are my only masters, but—” Travers held up a hand to forestall Ayn’s retort. “—if you’re referring to the Gawa family, they’re aware of this offer.”

“And you’d give me anything?” Ayn asked.

“Anything.”

“A wealth tax.” It was something Ayn knew was anathema to Travers and the senators who followed her. Ayn used it only as an extreme example to gauge the depth of Travers’ commitment to her plan.

“You will have our votes,” Travers promised without hesitation, “but I won’t be responsible for the rest of the party’s votes. Those are your responsibility.”

“Understood,” Ayn agreed. She stood. “You have given me much to think about.”

“This is a limited-time offer,” Travers said.

“Of course,” Ayn said. They did not shake hands, but the meeting concluded just as surely as if they had.

When she was alone again in the West Office, Ayn sat down at her desk and slowly swiveled her chair to look out the windows, tapping her finger against her jaw. Someone was scared and, if she had to guess, it was Travers. Yeoh Gawa wasn’t one to budge. This offer was illuminating as it was tantalizing.

Ayn swung around and press the button for the comm on her desk. “Have the Minister of State come over at his earliest convenience.”

---

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Garner Lekworth had taken the story to every outlet on Bakura. The Gesco City Chronicle, the Cape Suzette Gazette, the Nouvelle Orleans Picayune, the Evenvale Morning Star, the Atalanta Journal, the Golden Prairie Express-Post. He’d gone to the news networks on planet, off-world, all the way to HNN. He’d even pitched the publicly-funded BBC, even though he knew they wouldn’t take it.

He assured them all that it was solid, that he’d seen the financial filings to support every assertion. If they published, citizen journalists would flock to the disclosures and find the proof. He told them they’d be doing a service to Bakura, to the galaxy. He promised they would win awards for it. He said they could publish without his name on it, give it to anyone in their pool, whatever it took, as long as they got it out there.

They turned him down flat. Every one. By the time he got to the Bradd Tribune, they wouldn’t even take his meetings. Security asked him to leave. He knew that the Noble House may not even had to go through the effort of thwarting him this time. The respectable journalists of his homeworld had decided to shut him out because he didn’t have the proof. By now, the Times had certainly heard about his attempts to push the story they’d rejected. He’d be lucky if they didn’t already have his belongings packed up whenever he returned from his “leave.”

As he stood outside in the rain outside the Tribune offices, Garner knew this as sure as he knew the Noble House was crooked. Whether it was because they were colluding with the journalists or circumventing campaign finance laws, Ayn and Declan Trieste were going to get away with high crimes against the nation.

The rain trickled down the inside of his jacket as he stood and watched the beings who would suffer for four more years—and maybe longer. Old Bakurans who just wanted some peace and quiet in their retirement. Young Bakurans with their whole lives ahead of them. Children who couldn’t fathom the machinations of a self-appointed political aristocracy. Non-humans who, despite everything they faced, had still chosen to call this world home.

They deserved better. Every one of them.

“For you Sevan,” Garner vowed in the rain.

He would not surrender. He would not let them win. He believed in Bakura. He would do what it took. That was why he’d gotten into journalism. He wasn’t going to give up now.

 

Once Ayn makes the announcement, then suddenly Garner's story loses a massively amount of relevance.

On the other hand, if Ayn decides to run for the Chancellorship, well... then perhaps HNN will take another look at that story.

 

@Trieste there has got to be some way to break the news!!! You’re killing me here!

 

Well, the future of Bakura is at stake. If the wrong person wins the election for the highest position available.

Wait, this sounds like a political thriller inspired by RL events.

* coughs innocently

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

​

Gesco City, Bakura

Rickard said nothing for five minutes. His eyes roved over every centimeter of the object before him. He walked slowly, circumnavigating it. A full three dozen engineers and technicians waited with baited breath, the anticipation mounting with every moment. A full year had gone into this, a hard year. It culminated in this moment.

Nicholas Arden pulled himself out. “What do you think?” he asked his brother in-law as he wiped his hands with a towel. Rickard made no reply, continuing his inspection in silence.

Vesper’s husband turned to the engineers. “I think—”

“If I may,” Rickard said calmly.

Nicholas swept an arm in invitation as he bowed slightly. “As you wish, Mr. Harlow.”

Rickard turned to face the group. They felt like he looked each one of them squarely in the eye.

“It’s beautiful. I love it.”

The team exploded in cheers and congratulations. Some grabbed each other in hugs, others high fived. The word was already spreading through the plant, setting off secondary celebrations.

Rickard had rendered this opinion on what they were calling the BRC Lightspeed V1, the manufacturer’s first civilian starship model. It was the culmination of the patents they’d purchased with the rights to the BRC name and new development they’d done on their own. There was still a long way to go before it would be ready for commercial production, but the prototype on display today was the first tangible sign that BRC Lightspeed was really going to do it.

Unlike a speeder or an atmospheric shuttle, both of which had to constantly deal with air resistance, a starship spent 99% of its time in the vacuum of space. Aerodynamics were of no concern to them. A starship could be constructed in nearly any design, no matter how ugly it looked. The Corellian YT series was a classic example. Had it not been for the Millennium Falcon’s fame there would be few devotees to its craft on style points alone. Most ships were designed to haul cargo. You didn’t need to look good to get things from point A to point B. For most manufacturers, it was all about maximizing cargo space and hauling capacity. Everything else was secondary.

In deciding on their design principles, BRC Lightspeed had rejected that concept entirely. They were going to make gorgeous ships, craft that looked as good as they felt to fly. Form would not follow function: form would be the embodiment of function. They wanted to turn heads at the spaceport, to make other pilots jealous their ship didn’t have the sleek lines of the elegant craft parked in the next bay over.

“We have got a spaceship,” Rickard declared, half to himself and half to the beings who had worked so hard to make it happen.

Nicholas threw an arm around Rickard’s shoulder and squeezed him with fraternal affection and exuberance. “And now that we’ve got a ship, it’s time to get a podracing team. Lightspeed, Rick! Lightspeed!”

Rickard finally allowed himself a smile and grappled Nicholas into a hug, slapping the other man on the back. “We’ve got a ship!”

One was the scion of Bakura’s oldest family and had been given every privilege. The other had been born to a family so obscure that they were simply one of millions on the world, unexceptional in every way. Today, the sons of these families were united in complete and total joy.

They had built something—and they knew the galaxy was going to love it.

 

I am glad that you have woven the legendary Falcon into this update and therefore into your own epos.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

​

The anticipation was palpable. Bakurans across the planet had awoken to the news wherever they got their media.

“According to Marian Square, Prime Minister Trieste will make a major announcement in her hometown of Cape Suzette today,” the Salis D’aar Times wrote, their report representative of the news zipping across continents and even beyond Bakura.

Everyone agreed that it could mean only one thing and the debate was taking place on the HoloNet, at water coolers, in editorials. They were all trying to divine the same thing.

Prime Minister or Supreme Chancellor.

Only one being knew for sure. Though, as a BBC correspondent said, “Let’s be honest: there’s probably two.”

---

En route to Cape Suzette, Bakura

“No, strike that passage,” Ayn instructed as she and Declan reviewed the speech. The Prime Ministerial transport was streaking across the skies of Bakura on its way from Salis D’aar to Cape Suzette. Its arc was traced by contrails that ran straight and true.

“It’s good. It’s strong,” Declan said.

“It’s got the wrong tone,” Ayn argued. She paused. “You wrote it, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.”

“Strike it.”

“I’ll get you back for that,” Declan said as he removed it.

“Sure you will.” Ayn’s smirk indicated that she doubted he would. She turned back to the speech. “Let’s keep that one though.”

“You’re just saying that because you know I wrote it.”

“It has all your rhetorical flourishes,” Ayn admitted.

“I’m glad you know I’m the better writer,” Declan said.

“You were always the better speechmaker.” Ayn put the datapad down and put her hands on her husband’s hips. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You would have gotten here on your own, with one arm tied behind your back and without two credits to rub together,” Declan said, putting his hands on Ayn’s shoulders. “You are the greatest politician ever to grace Bakura—and I include my mother in that assessment.”

“We are on the cusp of greatness, my love,” Ayn said. “Where I go, so you shall too.”

“Onward,” Declan said before he kissed his wife, hard and long.

---

Cape Suzette, Bakura

The first couple of Bakura stepped off the shuttle, holding hands, waving to the assembled crowds with their free arms. The smiles on their face were broad and optimistic, a sign of what was to come.

“You would never know the Prime Minister is mired in a standstill in the Senate,” one reporter said, covering their arrival for viewers at home. “This has the feel of a triumph or a victory lap. I would say they look like politicians at the height of their power if we didn’t all know that there are lands beyond the horizon for them still.”

Holly had ensured that there was a sympathetic crowd on hand to greet the Triestes. They were to be greeted as conquering heroes, beloved leaders, beings of destiny. The crowd on hand at the sweeping beaux arts city hall downtown would be even larger, but no less loving.

As politicians, Ayn and Declan couldn’t resist the opportunity to work the rope line under the watchful gaze of the Marshals. The beings who had shown up were the Triestes’ base, the faithful, the bedrock of Fianna Fail. They adored them and clamored for a handshake, however brief. For their part, Ayn and Declan’s faces lit up as they came face-to-face with these citizens. Those brief grasps told them that they were loved, that what they did mattered.

Perhaps it was a current of the Force, but Ayn and Declan simultaneously turned their heads and looked at each other with broad smiles on their faces. They locked eyes for a second and it was as if their hearts grew two sizes.

It was at that moment that Garner Lekworth pushed forward and fired.