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

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn

Il Avali, Druckenwell

The executive, the environmentalist, and the smugglers sat around the dining room table, now on the second bottle (mainly thanks to the smugglers, though the environmentalist was holding his own). The light of morning was still far away, but closer than the long-past twilight. Unsurprisingly the executive was the one who had held forth the most. After all, it was her plan.

“Okay, one more time,” Quentin asked, “just so we all understand the basics.”

“Oh, we’re long past the basics, mate,” Cillian laughed as he poured another glass.

“So, we--” Corrie began.

Swann held up a hand. “How about I try it this time?” she suggested. The Druckenwellian ceded the floor to the Hapan. “Corrie will begin doing business with the Corporate Sector through the Ypres Initiative, 100% above board. She will establish frequent shipping in and out of the Corporate Sector, legitimate goods going into needed business processes. Cost-effective for the Initiative to outsource to the CSA.”

“Got that part,” Quentin said.

“Meanwhile, a new little company called Initiative Shipping starts up, a completely separate legal entity incorporated under Druckenwell law,” Swann continued, “its assets privately purchased by Corrie. Specifically, one ship.”

“One beautiful ship,” Cillian sighed, already dreaming of it.

“A ship that will have files that look strongly like the official sanction of the Ypres Initiative to transit goods out of the CSA. Once we’re out, we go to Dac, where Quibonz and his friends will help them transition to their new lives.”

“And Initiative Shipping’s two extremely good looking contractors,” Cillian said, leaving no doubt as to who they were, “make a decent living and strike a blow against evil, injustice, tyranny, and all sorts of other vile things.”

“The Ypres Initiative is not officially involved because the shipping papers will be faked. The volume of the Initiative’s legitimate shipping will mask our work,” Swann said.

“It’s foolproof!” Cillian declared jubilantly. “What could go wrong?”

“That’s just it--what if the CSA finds out?” Quentin stressed.

“We walk away,” Swann said. “Disband the operation. We won’t keep any records for Initiative Shipping, so nothing comes back to Corrie. It’ll look like someone grifted on the Ypres Initiative to smuggle out of the CSA. Could be anyone.”

“And if they get you?”

“We’ve gotten out of some tough scrapes. Worst comes to worst…” Cillian put his blaster on the table with a clank. “I always figured we’d go out blasters blazing.”

“But let’s not make that a life goal, okay?” Swann suggested.

“And what if someone draws the connection to you?” Quentin directed this at Corrie. “You’re the one with the most exposure here.”

“You mean other than the beings actually running the Espo checkpoints?” Swann asked archly.

Quentin disregarded her, looking straight at Corrie. “What happens if someone puts this together, Cor?”

Corrie Ypres pursed her lips. “Then I get fired from the Initiative having done something good with everything I’ve been given. And that’s that.” She picked up her glass, finished it off, and put it down with a resounding clank on the table. “And that’s the way I want it.”

The executive, environmentalist, and smugglers all looked at each other.

“Then it’s settled,” Cillian said. “Let’s go be heroes.”

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn

Salis D’aar, Bakura

“Your appointment is here, madam, sir,” one of the household droids announced to Ayn and Declan. Bright morning light filled the kitchen nook (if a space with such a commanding view of the city could be called a nook) where they were eating breakfast with Niall and Shenandoah. A day at the natural history museum stretched before the family, followed by holo dramas together in the evening.

“Hmmmm?” Declan asked, finishing off the morning’s edition of the Salis D’aar Times on his datapad. “Appointment? I don’t believe we have any today.”

“Who says they have one, N7?” Ayn asked.

“She didn’t give a name, but she said you were expecting her.” The droid paused. “Tomorrow, that is.”

Declan and Ayn shared a look. “Darlings,” Ayn said to the children, “your dad and I need to see to something very briefly. We’ll be back soon.”

“Are we going to be late to the museum?” Niall asked.

“Not on your life,” Declan promised his son. “Hold me to that.”

“Hold him to it, N7,” Niall instructed the droid in turn.

“Absolutely, master Niall,” the droid said as the two politicians walked off. When they were gone N7 looked at the children. “By the by, if you don’t mind my asking, exactly how am I supposed to that?”

---

Ayn and Declan received their guest in the sitting room they had dubbed “the Forest Room” thanks to the deep shade of green its walls were painted. The room didn’t feel too dark and cloistered thanks to white wainscoting and light colors of the upholstery. Then again, their guest hardly seemed to notice any of the expert interior decoration. Her focus was entirely on Declan and Ayn now that the handshakes were completed and they were seated.

“I’ll begin with the obvious question,” Declan asked. “Why did you show up a day early?”

“To see if you were ready for me,” she replied without hesitation.

“Is this a habit of yours?”

“When judging new beings I find it comes in handy.”

Declan nodded. “You are aware that the chume’da gave us your file?” His datapad with said file sat on a table next to his chair.

“Yes.”

Thanks to that file, both Triestes knew that before them sat Holly Remizan. Born on Selab, a world of the Hapes Consortium, she had entered Hapan Security after graduation from university. After three years of service she had been selected to serve in the Chume’doro, the Hapan Royal Guard. Her assignments included the Queen Mother Irsine Chume and Prince Trellam, their cousin Sierra’s husband. The file noted she was proficient in blasters, assault rifles, and sniper rifles. She’d received formal counterintelligence training to head off threats to the Hapan royal family before they became imminent. In a cutthroat culture like the Consortium, that was essential. It was almost as an afterthought that the file mentioned she had three confirmed kills.

“According to my cousin, you recently became persona non grata in the Consortium,” Declan said.

“That’s a polite way to put it,” Holly replied.

“How would you put it?” Ayn asked.

Holly smiled humorlessly. “I’ve yet to find a good way of putting resigning to avoid being fired.”

“For what reason?” Declan inquired.

“Doesn’t your file--” Holly gestured by raising just one finger without moving her hand. “--say so?”

“Indulge me,” Declan prompted.

“Double homicide. Allegedly.”

“And why...did you become the center of such allegations?” Declan asked.

“One was my husband, the other my lover,” Holly said simply. “The investigation of their deaths revealed that they had been having an affair. Without me, that is.”

“That must have been a surprise,” Declan observed.

Holly gave a short laugh, the first real sign of emotion in the interview. “That’s putting it mildly. I didn’t know she was into males.”

Ayn and Declan shared a brief, bemused look before he returned his gaze to Remizan. “Unsurprisingly, the Consortium is like most places in that they don’t take kindly to murder.”

“Quite to the contrary,” Holly interrupted. “That wasn’t the issue.”

Declan arched one eyebrow. “It wasn’t?”

“Heavens no,” Holly said with a wave of her hand. “The Chume’doro would never quibble over that. No, the problem was my lover was a Baroness loyal to Irsine Chume.”

Declan folded his hands in his lap as that sunk in. The rule in the Consortium wasn’t that you didn’t kill anyone: it was that if you killed the wrong being, you didn’t get caught. “Ms. Remizan, I assume my cousin made you aware of the proposed arrangement regarding your circumstances?”

“Quite. I work for you, my slate in the Consortium is wiped clean and the Chume’doro does not kill me one night in my sleep for my transgressions,” Holly stated. “She neglected to say exactly what it is I’d be doing for you.”

“Ayn and I require a being who can look at home in the halls of the Capitol, yet go unnoticed when needed,” Declan said. As he spoke, he appraised Holly Remizan. She was clearly a product of Hapan breeding with strong facial features, but there was something about her that broke that classical mold. It was precisely the sort of thing that would cause her to pass in a crowd without notice one moment and stand out the next...precisely the sort of thing he was looking for. “And I think you can.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Holly said, leaning back. “You see, when I walk out of this building, it will be the last time the Chume’doro will know where I am--if I so choose. I don’t need the chume’da’s deal. What I need is something to do. So, tell me: what do you want me to do?”

“Whatever it takes,” Ayn said.

“So it’s one of those,” Holly mulled. She didn’t seem to shy from the idea.

“Why did you join Hapan Security and the Royal Guards, Ms. Remizan?” Declan asked.

“To serve the Consortium,” Holly answered.

“How would you like to go from serving a world to building one?” Declan asked.

Holly sat back, for the first time relaxing. “I think you should tell me more,” she suggested with a smile.

---

As it turned out, the family Trieste was not late to the museum and no accountability had to be prompted by N7. Ayn and Declan enjoyed the afternoon knowing they had their Willem Dorian.

 

Nicely written.

I wonder if Holly was part of the group that confronted Tendra after the Truce Day game last season?

 

Now that's something I hadn't even thought about! What a possibility!

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn



Salis D’aar, Bakura
Senate office building

Ayn Trieste never got tired of hearing it come over her comm.

“Leader Trieste,” her desk comm buzzed.

Yes, it meant that there was a bill to discuss, supplicant to gladhand, or other minor annoyance...but damn if she didn’t like being reminded several times a day that she was Minority Leader of the Bakuran Senate. There was no one responsible for that but herself. She had earned her position through cunning and guile. Fianna Fail now followed her in the Senate and she had it on a path to greatness. When they reached the mountaintop, the entire planet would know it was her doing.

“Yes?” Ayn answered.

“I have Senator Kuznets for you. He’d like a few minutes.”

“Send him in.”

Ayn stood and greeted her fellow Senator from Cape Suzette warmly. Kuznets held down East Cape Suzette, adjacent to her district of West Cape Suzette. Like Ayn, he represented fairly liberal Bakurans, making him a reliable vote for anything Fianna Fail (or more accurately, Ayn) wanted. He needed little tending to vote with the caucus, but that didn’t mean that Ayn neglected him. That was what Prime Minister Garlant did with her Senators and why Ayn was picking off just enough of them bill by bill to foil the PM’s legislative agenda, changing her targets with every vote.

“So good to see you,” Ayn greeted her guest. She poured tea without being asked, knowing her colleague’s preferences by heart. “What brings you by today?”

“I’ve just come from Armed Services,” Kuznets said. He was the ranking member on that committee for Fianna Fail, in line to be the Chairman if Fianna Fail gained a majority in the Senate in next year’s elections. “There’s something you should know…”

---

Cape Suzette, Bakura
Bakura Fleet Academy

Admiral Fiona Trieste Westenra, Superintendent of the Bakura Fleet Academy, sat behind her desk, as ramrod straight as the mast on a ship. Her gaze was unflinching and unblinking. In fact, if looks could kill, the hard stare of the Admiral would have burned out the eyes of her guest, the Minister of Defense.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush.”

That was how he began the meeting and when Fiona’s posture had adopted its current rigidity.

“After a review, we’re making some changes in the command structure. We’re moving you out of the Academy to Facilities Engineering Command. You’ve shown exceptional organizational ability here and we want you to bring that to a group that sorely needs it. You were the only choice for the job,” the Minister said.

“Sithspit,” Fiona replied curtly.

“Like I said, there was a review--”

Fiona stopped listening. She opened one of her drawers and pulled out a piece of flimsi. She picked up a stylus to date and sign it. When she’d finished she pushed the flimsi across the desk. “You have my resignation, effective immediately. I’ll have my effects sent to me later. Good day, Minister.”

And so Fiona Westenra ended 45 years of active military service. They had begun after graduation from the very Fleet Academy she now helmed. She had lost her leg in a starfighter crash while serving with the Republican Fleet. That had taken her out of her passion for flight into capital ship command, which she did in the G’rho War and the Bakuran Civil War. The latter conflict had earned her status as one of the mythical Heroes of Nouvelle Orleans for her daring maneuver to break the defenses of the rebel city. She had commanded the Republican Fleet against the pirate flotilla under Coronad Ysenn and won. In the last phase of her career she had overseen the preparation of generations of ensigns at the Academy to assume roles as officers. One could say that today’s Defense Fleet bore the mark of Fiona Westenra more than any other officer.

And, without even looking back, she walked away from it all.

---

“And this just happened?” Ayn asked.

“If it hasn’t, the Admiral is being informed as we speak,” Kuznets confirmed. “The Committee was briefed that these changes were being implemented by the Ministry of Defense, effective immediately.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I will remember this.”

Kuznets rose. “We have known each other too long to keep score,” he said, shaking Ayn’s hand with a smile.

Ayn laughed lightly. “Ah, Derek, you know I’m always keeping score.”

“That I do, that I do.”

Ayn saw her fellow Senator out of the office. When he was out the door, Ayn turned to her reception droid. “Get me my husband.”

---

Golden Prairie, Bakura
The next day

The now-former Admiral Fiona Westenra stepped into the empty firing range for the first time in civilian clothes. In fact, she hadn’t been to a range outside her mandated marksmanship exams in well over a decade, maybe two. One didn’t have much need of a blaster when commanding a desk. Truth be told, it hadn’t even been her idea to come here.

“Aunt Fiona,” Declan said, greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I hear you gave it to the Minister when he informed you of the change.”

“I’d had enough time to prepare just how I wanted to do it,” Fiona said wryly. “We knew that the PM was going to come for me once she felt the coast was clear and no one would think of connecting this with my comments on the Mark V. Facilities Engineering my rear end...it was banishment. They wanted me out.”

“We’ll make sure the media draws the link,” Declan said. “I’ll see if May’s fiance is interested in the story. At the very least we’ll get the Cape Suzette Gazette to pick it up.”

Fiona jutted her chin over Declan’s shoulder. “I thought we were supposed to be alone.”

Declan turned. “Ah, let me introduce my new chief of staff, Holly Remizan,” he said, extending a hand to indicate for the Hapan to come forward.

“I thought you already had a good chief of staff,” Fiona commented.

“I fired her,” Holly said with a smile.

“It was a condition of her employment that she get to do it,” Declan admitted.

Fiona raised an eyebrow. “So why are we here?”

“Two reasons: to talk about the future and what the Noble House can do for you after serving your planet and this family,” Declan said, “and to blow off some steam. After all, nobody likes being fired.” He picked up a blaster from the counter in front of him and aimed with one arm outstretched towards the outline of a Stormtrooper target at the far end of the range. He carefully squeezed off a single bolt that hit the target in the right shoulder. He turned and looked at Fiona. “Well, I was aiming for center.”

“Yeah, that’s what you deserve for a lazy firing stance,” Fiona chastised him as she picked up a blaster, put both hands on it in a classic A frame, and fired off a shot with shorter aiming time than Declan. The bolt hit the center of the target in the Stormtrooper’s chest.

“Not bad,” Holly remarked.

Fiona put her blaster down on the counter before her and turned with a quizzical look. “Oh yeah? Center of mass is ‘not bad’? Surest way to put down a target.”

“We wouldn’t stand for that in the Chume’doro. Too much armor in the chest. Too easy to survive,” Holly explained. “We’d go for the head.”

“What’s that? Hapan mafia?” Fiona asked sarcastically.

“The Royal Guard, actually,” Declan clarified.

“Oh yeah? And what did you do there? Guard princesses’ tea parties?” Fiona mocked.

“Once or twice,” Holly demurred.

“I bet you can’t put three out of five in the center,” Fiona challenged.

“Three?” Holly scoffed.

“What? Don’t think you can do it?” Fiona asked.

“No,” Holly dismissed as she picked up a blaster. She checked the safety and plasma in the power pack. “I’m not sure what I’ll do with the other two. I’ll be working against muscle memory.”

As soon as she finished her last word she swung her blaster up in a two-hand stance and fired off five shots in rapid succession, barely seeming to aim at all. Once she was done, she hit a button to bring the target from the end of the range to the front to inspect her work.

“Force alive,” Declan breathed in surprise as he processed what he’d just witnessed.

He and Fiona gathered to look at the target. There were three blaster scorches inside the bullseye at the head.

“Three out of five,” Declan confirmed.

“Where’d you put the other two?” Fiona asked, reviewing the target. “I don’t see them here but you barely moved.”

“Back in the center,” Holly explained, motioning to the very center of the head bullseye.

Fiona patted her nephew on the shoulder. “I like this chief of staff better than the last one.”

“I think I do too,” Declan agreed.

“Now,” Fiona said, picking up a blaster rifle and setting its butt against her shoulder as she aimed down range, “let’s talk about the future and shoot some Force-forsaken blasters.”

 

Exciting updates that I had trouble to answer on the screen of my tiny mobile phone. And at home I did not go online the past days.



You asked me earlier on about Swann. She is another great female character of yours: inventive, rhetorically skilled and never boring. That is what I like about your writing. It is never about a Mary Sue. Each of your females is intriguing in her own way. All can kick a... in one way or another.

 

Now that is what I love to hear.

 

Bonadan, Corporate Sector

“The Way is open,” Kelay whispered one night in the cramped quarters he shared with his wife Sai. The two Bothans could afford exactly one room in the workers housing district on the Corporate Sector’s capital planet. Actually, the truth was they couldn’t afford it. After they paid for just enough food to not keel over during their shifts there wasn’t enough to cover the rent, even for a hovel like this. On any other planet the building would have been condemned, but it was the best they could do with their debt load. That was the way things worked in the Sector: you still had a place to live, but it wasn’t going to be any place someone wanted to live.

“That’s just a rumor,” Sai said.

“No, it’s true,” Kelay insisted. “I heard La’mak talking about it during lunch break the other day. He said all you have to do is knock three times on this door and say you’re interested in working the late shift.”

“They’ll find us,” Sai said. “You can’t escape the Espos. You saw the broadcast two days ago at lunch, what they did to those seven who tried to skip out on their contracts.”

“They didn’t follow the Way. It’s safe.”

“We can’t run,” Sai insisted. “We’ll never make it. And that’s that.”

---

Hapes

One of the duties of being chume’da was to attend events that were important enough to warrant royal recognition but below the dignity of the Queen Mother. As a result, Sierra had cut ribbons in front of dozens of elementary schools, toured factories producing unexciting but important products like droids and repulsors, and visited countless animal shelters (the only saving grace of this last duty being that she actually enjoyed it).

It also meant she spent a large amount of time in dresses for charity fundraisers. Though as chume’da it was inadvisable for Sierra to make public statements even regarding philanthropy (heaven forbid she endorse one Baroness’s cause and be perceived to slight a Marchioness’s competing-and-identical-except-for-in-one-tiny-way foundation), her presence helped generate donor engagement.

Tonight she was flying solo. Trellam was out on maneuvers with the Fleet, but no one much mattered. A Prince Consort was only conspicuous when he was unmarried. Now that he had (and, more importantly, had obligingly contributed an X chromosome to a child) he could fade into the background of the Royal Family for all most Hapans cared.

As Sierra shook another hand with a smile on her face, she remembered how little she thought this would be her life. She had married Trellam for love, even after she’d learned he was Hapan royalty. Then he was so far down the line of succession that neither of them had thought this life would be thrust upon Sierra. Their days were to be spent happily employed at work they each found meaningful, beings who would be at the periphery of holos on their most important days.

Now Sierra couldn’t even remember what she wanted to do with her life before the death of the previous Queen Mother. The royal education process, usually spread over an childhood and coming of age, had been crammed into mere years and still continued. Though she was not “finished,” as her instructors liked to put it, she had completed enough that the royal advisors trusted her to not screw up these routine social events. Though, Sierra reflected absentmindedly as she delivered another platitude to the current wellwisher (she barely even registered them sometimes), she didn’t know how she would be subtly punished if she were to perform poorly. It was almost worth purposefully doing something wrong to find out.

Almost, though, was key. That something could be a vibroknife between the ribs the way they played the game in the Consortium. She now understood why her great-grandmother had run from Hapes to Bakura after participating in a failed coup. This was not a society big on forgiveness.

“Your Royal Highness, thank you for gracing us with your presence this evening.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Sierra replied automatically.

“Even so, accept the warmest felicitations of your kith and kin as a token of our gratitude,” the guest said, clasping Sierra’s hand firmly, but briefly.

Sierra felt something against her palm, a small cylinder, no more than a few inches in length. Kith and kin. She reacted instantly, bringing her free hand over to secure the item before it could fall. It was a graceful motion, precisely the sort of affectation a Hapan royal would adopt after shaking hands with a subject.

“And may the stars rise to meet you on your way,” Sierra said, her smile never faltering.

The guest departed and the next wellwisher took her place. Sierra returned to the cycle of greeting dignitaries, but her mind dwelt on the item she had now nonchalantly secured between her left wrist and a bracelet. Even if her Chume’doro were watching, they would be more concerned with the beings approaching her than they would be with her jewelry.

Thank you, Declan, Sierra thought as she felt the cool metal against the inside of her wrist.

---

Outside the banquet hall, Haylee Kelt wanted to pull off her high heels and throw them into the bushes before catching an airspeeder back to the spaceport. However, that would attract too much attention and the job requirements had been clear: no one could suspect that she’d delivered the package off to Sierra Iseult. She’d thoroughly scouted the hall before she’d approached the chume’da. Declan had said that she’d be ready for it and thankfully she was. If either of them had botched the handoff…

Haylee decided not to think about it. Once she got back to her ship and escaped Consortium space the job would be done. After dealing with Kaminoans and Hapans, she was definitely going to ask a lot more questions the next time she took a job for the Noble House of Trieste.

“If I ever do again…” Kelt mumbled as her ride arrived. At least once she got back to her ship she could burn this evening gown. And maybe the heels. No, definitely the heels too. It would be worth the flamethrower fuel.

 

Hopefully the interior of Haylee's ship is fireproof.

 

That something could be a vibroknife between the ribs the way they played the game in the Consortium. She now understood why her great-grandmother had run from Hapes to Bakura after participating in a failed coup. This was not a society big on forgiveness.

You bring political thrillers to a totally new level with Hapes niceties & etiquette.

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn You're probably going to want the family tree for this one.

Bonadan, Corporate Sector

Sai kept her head down like a good worker did. The funny thing was that elsewhere in the galaxy droids would be doing the work she and her husband performed, but the Corporate Sector had done the math. For the company scrip they were paying the workers it was cheaper to poorly feed and house sentient beings than it was to pay the purchase price and maintenance cost of a droid. Not that Sai knew that--such numbers were well above her pay grade. She just took care of her piece of the process--tightening down one bolt over and over and over and over again on the line--like the bosses wanted her to.

However, everyone knew how to look out the corner of their eyes as they worked the line anyways. She didn’t take time to watch as one of her coworkers on the next line had his back seared and torn by a laserwhip. She didn’t slow her pace to listen to his screams. She didn’t falter as she tightened down that bolt, as if the cruelty that the supervisors and work bosses so frequently visited upon her coworkers wasn’t going on.

All she said, softly, so only her husband next to her on the line could hear, was, “Okay. We’ll go.”

---

Salis D’aar, Bakura

​

Elfie Trieste looked at herself in the full-length mirror and took a deep breath. “I’m still not sure this is real,” she said to her reflection.

“I felt the same way,” her mother, Nessa, said from her position behind her. “If it helps, you look gorgeous.”

“You think so?” Elfie asked with genuine uncertainty, twisting around.

“I know so, Elfie.”

Elfie looked back at her reflection and surveyed her white lace wedding gown. It had looked good in the store, but now...when she was about to face all her friends and family she wasn’t so sure. “Do you think--”

“It’s perfect,” her mother said, placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. She paused and lightly bit her lip. “Your father would say so too.”

Elfie knew in an instant that was what lay so heavily on the day. The absence of her father. He’d been dead for over a decade, shot by a jilted lover when she was barely a teenager. She’d lived longer without him now than she ever had with him. Sometimes she’d go days, weeks, even months without thinking about him...but now she couldn’t escape that the being who was supposed to walk her down the aisle couldn’t.

“He’d be so proud of you, of everything you’ve done,” Nessa said, squeezing her daughter’s shoulders. “And he’d like Jax. The two of them would have tried to drink each other under the table at least three times by now.”

Elfie gave a laugh that almost turned into a sob. She looked around for something to catch any tears before they ruined her makeup. Her mother already had her covered, extending a handkerchief so her daughter could dab her eyes.

“And since he loved a good party, he wouldn’t want either of us crying on his account,” Nessa said. “So, what do you say? Ready?”

Elfie turned around. “Thank you, Mom. I’m glad you’ll give me away.”

“Of course, dear,” Nessa said with a smile as she lowered the veil over Elfie’s face.

---

Elfie Trieste and Jax Ralter took each other in marriage in the sight of the Cosmic Balance. There couldn't be a better emblem for balance than them. She was white and delicate as a lily, he was as dark and strong as stone. She uplifted the survivors of Kitokaime, he worked a detective’s beat in the capital city. She was the granddaughter of a Prime Minister of Bakura and a Jedi Master of the High Council, he was the child of working class parents who had never even seen the streets of tony southeast Salis D’aar until today. On the surface, they shared nothing. Yet, as they held each other’s hands and recited their vows, they shared everything.

The reception was hosted by the Noble House of Trieste at Declan’s insistence. Protestations to the contrary by the happy couple were politely dismissed. Elfie was a member of the Noble House and a loyal lieutenant at that. The Taoiseach was determined to begin her married life on a high note.

Almost the entire family was in attendance. The out-of-towners from Roon, Hapes, and Druckenwell caught up with brothers, sisters, and cousins. Sierra and Trellam had brought Ivgenni and Corinne to see a family they were now just old enough to appreciate. Oisin and Verity seized the opportunity to meet May’s new fiance, Sevan Hull. The whole family had some innocent fun at her expense by commenting how her bridesmaid’s dress seemed to be a portent of things to come. The doctor just blushed happily at the ribbing. Director of Foreign Affairs Eleanor Vehn conveniently had a summit with Bakuran leaders just before the wedding that put her on Bakura. Of course, one could almost forget she was there with the way her boss’s daughter was showing off her engagement ring, dragging Quentin in her wake.

The itinerants had all made sure they were in port for the nuptials, each for their own reasons. Cillian was never one to miss an open bar, Swann had been tickled to serve as a bridesmaid, and Falene would never miss an important event like a cousin’s wedding.

The former Taoiseach had decreed that not even university studies were a worthwhile excuse for missing the wedding and so her three adopted children were there. Elza, Gaius, and Avie (who was preparing for her entrance exams) tried their best to fit into the polite society that had been thrust upon them by this strange thing that was the Noble House.

At greater ease with Falene was her nephew Dorian, who she was more than happy to take off Vesper and Nicholas’s hands so they could dance. A pregnant Henrietta was not much in the mood for dancing, but Uncle Enoch was more than happy to entertain four year old Siobhan to give his sister in-law a rest.

The ninth generation looked on wistfully as yet another of their successors took flight into a new stage of life. Siona and Dorian, all their children all happily married off, sighed contentedly. Unemployed Fiona was more than happy to toast with Nessa to the day. Regan and Atticus smiled at each other as they watched their future daughter in-law parade through the family in happy anticipation of her own vows with Quentin. Ronan and Mandy were content, but couldn’t help but wonder if Jane Serena would ever stop touring and attempt to settle down.

Beneath a bower decked with flowers, Kerry Trieste sat with Galactic Senator Gavin Serling, who knew better than to ever think perhaps one day he’d enjoy similar bliss with the former Supreme Chancellor. She had made it clear that as much as she enjoyed his company, she would never remove the wedding band placed on her hand by her late husband. He’d made his peace with that and was content with what he got to share with Kerry.

“Think they’ll make it?” Gavin idly asked Kerry, motioning with his glass in Elfie and Jax’s direction.

“If she can take the cop hours,” Kerry said.

“And can she?”

“I would never bet against the granddaughter of Lexine Wydra.”

“I wouldn’t take those odds either,” Serling agreed.

Before she could open her mouth again, the ninth Taoiseach of the Noble House locked eyes with someone across the room. “Darling, if you’d give me a moment,” Kerry said. “I have to do a little family business.”

“Bring me back another drink, would you?” Serling asked, shaking the ice in his nearly empty glass.

Kerry just laughed as she walked off and the Senator smiled. Yeah, he didn’t think would work, but it was worth it if only for the brushoff.

The crowd unconsciously parted for her as she traversed the room. Even a former Supreme Chancellor possessed a magnetism that affected beings. It was convenient, especially because Kerry didn’t want to put this off any further.

“Taoiseach,” she said, greeting her son.

“Mother,” Declan said. They both knew this moment had to come eventually. Even though he’d called her after he’d taken the oath, they hadn’t been in the same room until today.

“I think we’d both appreciate not beating about the bush,” Kerry said directly. “Things were said ten years ago.” Things like allegations of dirty politics and that she would never make him Taoiseach.

“Things were.” Things like she had ended his career in politics and insulted him in the eyes of the whole planet.

“I won’t lie to you and say that this is what I would have done if I’d been Falene,” Kerry said bluntly. “But I’m not Falene. I trusted her when I made her Taoiseach.” She paused and pursed her lips. “And that includes trusting her choice of successor. It occurred to me that Falene might know you better than I do. Force knows I was not the most attentive mother. I was in one office or another from the day you were born until you were 27 years old. Perhaps I don’t have the right to judge.

“I wish you well Declan. Just remember the oath,” Kerry finished. “If you do, then everything’s going to be okay. Niall’s genius wasn’t just that he made it so the most capable member of the family would look after the Noble House. It was that he tied every Taoiseach to an oath that asked them to be the best they could be for our family and homeworld. So keep to the oath--” She put a hand on his shoulder. “--and know that you are my son.”

The Taoiseach said nothing for a few long seconds. Then he silently folded his mother in a hug. “Thank you, mother,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Long may you reign, my son,” she replied as she returned his hug.

Their embrace may not have been warm, but it was genuine.

 

Well, I'm happy for Elfie. And I'm glad that Kerry can accept Declan as Taoiseach after what was said when Falene took over.

But somebody needs to get going on the Corporate Sector situation. That's just cruel.

 

“I won’t lie to you and say that this is what I would have done if I’d been Falene,” Kerry said bluntly. “But I’m not Falene. I trusted her when I made her Taoiseach.” She paused and pursed her lips. “And that includes trusting her choice of successor. It occurred to me that Falene might know you better than I do. Force knows I was not the most attentive mother. I was in one office or another from the day you were born until you were 27 years old. Perhaps I don’t have the right to judge.

Epic, full of dignity! Thank you!

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn

Bonadan, Corporate Sector

They timed it carefully. Primeday was their only day off from work. In this they were lucky--some corporations worked seven days a week, supposedly an “opportunity” for their workers to get out of debt quicker. This meant that they’d have a full day’s head start before anyone knew they were gone. Of course, the Espos upped their patrols to look for runaway workers on this night. They knew that plenty of beings would take advantage of the opportunity to try to skip on their contracts.

Sai and Kelay took nothing with them. They tried to look as much as possible as two ordinary workers heading to a bar to forget their troubles, only to accrue more debt in the process. They kept their eyes on the pavement, like the beaten down proletariat that they were. The two Bothans stayed on the main streets, knowing that they’d be scrutinized if they slunk about back alleys. It wasn’t until they reached their destination that they turned into a side street.

Kelay’s hand shook ever so slightly as he reached forward to tap the metal door three times. The wait was interminable. The Bothan looked around, as if he could sense the Espos coming. Surely, someone would see. They’d be caught and--

The door slid open, revealing a Khil.

“We’re interested in working the late shift,” Kelay stammered, despite every intention of sounding strong and confident.

“Come in. We have some forms for you to fill out,” the Khil said, extending one arm towards the guests. “It won’t take long. If you like, we can get you on a shift tonight.”

Kelay and Sai exchanged a look as they stepped inside. Whatever happened now, they were committed.

---

University of Bakura, Salis D’aar

It still amazed Gaius that he could travel halfway around Bakura with less effort than it had taken him to walk a mile on Kitokaime. For his entire life his only mode of transportation had been his feet. Then Falene Trieste and her fellow explorers had stumbled into the trap Elza, Avie, and he had set for Kurtzen. His world had literally changed starting with that day.

Now he lived lightyears away, material comforts far from his mind, and was in his second year at the Bakura Fleet Academy. The decision to attend was easy. Being a soldier was one of the only things that Gaius knew how to do. He’d had to be one his entire life to survive. His classmates hadn’t seen the things he had on Kitokaime. They hadn’t even come close. From what he’d learned of warfare in the known galaxy, he wasn’t sure there were many beings who knew fights like the ones he’d survived.

Gaius had not made many acquaintances at the Academy. He wasn’t surprised by it. He was “a Sith” to everyone he met. Not even the Trieste last name erased that stain--even if it was inaccurate. He didn’t know what his forebearers had done as part of the Sith colony on Kitokaime. They could have been farmers just as easily as soldiers. They certainly hadn’t been Force sensitives. All things considered, it was probably more likely they’d picked up rakes and not blasters. But that didn’t matter to the great-grandchildren of a generation who had read histories and heard stories of what had happened on Bakura nearly a century ago, of laser bolts raining from space, of a fate worse than the Death Star. To his peers, “Sith” was the worst insult they could hurl at anyone.

Gaius let it pass, as much as he didn’t want to some days. He worked harder because of their enmity. One or two of his instructors were even beginning to move into something like begrudging respect towards him. That was enough.

Besides, Gaius had friends: exactly two of them. When he could get passes for weekends away from the Academy he took them without hesitation and hopped the intraplanetary transit system to Salis D’aar where his fellow Kitokaime survivor Elza was going to university. It was a quick trip via monorail for Avie to make it there from Prytis. When the three were together, they all relaxed into something like normal beings.

“You’re falling down on the job, Gaius,” Avie teased. “Elza’s on the number two squad in the galaxy and Fleet Academy’s not even in the top 25.”

“Just wait until we play them. We’ll see who’s ranked after that,” Gaius retorted with a smile. All three of the Kitokaime Triestes had shown an aptitude for limmie. It channeled their survival skills and warrior instincts into something societally acceptable. Falene hoped it would help them integrate with Bakurans their age as well, especially when they entered university. She believed that even with next to no formal education all three were smart enough to get university degrees. Their grades were proving their adopted mother correct.

“I’m surprised Old Man Mc’Alpine is standing for that kind of thing after last season,” Elza remarked wryly, sitting on her bed with legs crossed. “They say he’s worse than Gregor.” The reference was to a particularly tough Kurtzen overseer of Sith laborers.

“And your pretty boy Draper’s even better? Isn’t he shouting inspirational quotes at you all the time?” Gaius remarked, picking up the banter with ease. “Besides, you couldn’t cut it at the Academy, blondie. Now Avie--you could.”

“I’m going to go to Prytis next year,” Avie replied, referring to the Prytis College of Natural Sciences. “It feels a lot like home. Falene thinks I’ll be able to make the cut.”

“Except this is home,” Elza said, looking out the window at the UBSD campus.

“Huh?”

“You said home and you meant Kitokaime. But that’s not our home anymore,” Elza said. Her eyes seemed to be looking beyond the stately architecture of academia, as if it could see all the way back to their woody homeworld. “This is.”

“You know what I meant,” Avie frowned.

“No, Elza’s right,” Gaius agreed. “We have to commit to this place both in what we do and what we say.”

“A place that hates us,” Avie clarified.

“They’re going to move past that,” Elza said, returning to the present and returning her attention to her friends. “The Accords Foundation has been making progress.”

“Then why do I still get dirty looks at school two years later?” Avie snapped. “I’m tired of it, E.”

“Change takes time. That’s what Falene’s said all along,” Gaius placated, putting a hand on Avie’s shoulder. “Besides, I don’t know about you but I get what they feel. When I see a Kurtzen on the BBC I still get a fire inside of me I’ve got to tamp down.”

“It’s not fair,” Avie said, shrugging Gaius’s hand off as she jumped to her feet to pace the dorm room. “They always make the Kurtzen out to be these great heroes. They never talk about all the things they did to us, about how many of us they killed. It’s always the poor Kurtzen and the evil Sith.”

“I know,” Elza agreed, “but we can’t do anything about that. We’re the victims of history we had no part in. The only thing we can do is move forward and show them who we are. Which brings me to something we need to talk about.”

“What’s that?” Gaius said.

“The fact that Falene’s not Taoiseach anymore.”

“She told us not to worry about that.”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t worry about a politician who’s told the Kurtzen that he’s going to be their ally, no matter what, while Falene’s off galavanting through the Unknown Regions, leaving us with her relatives who barely know us,” Avie said sarcastically. “What could go wrong there?”

“What is there to do about it?” Gaius asked. “The way Falene put it, there isn’t anything anyone can do to change who’s Taoiseach.”

“Were you watching at the wedding?” Elza asked. “This family is tight. We need to make sure that we’re hooked in.”

“And how do we do that?” Avie asked.

Elza brought up an image on her datapad. It was of Declan, Vesper, Elfie, Enoch, and Ayn sharing a laugh.

“We crack the inner circle and show them how valuable we are,” Elza said.

“You’ve got a plan, don’t you?” Gaius said.

“Not yet...but I’ve got half of one,” Elza replied.

 

This certainly sounds fun. I wonder what the Kitokaime Kids have up their sleeves?

And I'm not exactly sure what's going on in the Corporate Sector bit. Did their escape attempt get foiled, or is this code talk for the escape plan? I guess we have to stay tuned to find out...

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn

Bonadan, Corporate Sector

“There’s six hours of oxygen built in for you,” the Khil said, showing Sai and Kelay the cargo crate in which they were to be smuggled off world. It was stamped with a logo they’d never seen and the meaningless words YPRES INITIATIVE. “Once we seal you up you’ll be slipped in with legitimate cargo. Someone will open the crate after four hours, tops.”

“So the six hours of air is because...?” Sai asked with hesitation and nerves.

“Just a failsafe,” the Khil assured her.

“How many beings have you gotten off world like this?” Kelay asked.

The Khil hesitated.

“We’re the first, aren’t we?” Sai said with horror.

“The Way is open,” the Khil said, as if repeating this mantra would make it so.

“Would you stake your life on it?” Kelay asked.

“Yes,” the Khil replied without hesitation, “because if it isn’t then we’re going to be working side-by-side in an Espo prison camp.”

Sai and Kelay looked at each other and took a deep breath in unison. Then they got into their separate boxes and were sealed into the darkness. All they could do was hope that they would exit into the light of freedom on the other side.

---

Golden Prairie, Bakura

Declan’s top advisors looked worn and harried. Some slumped in chairs, others looked like they’d collapsed into couches. Shirts were rumpled. Hair, perfectly coiffed when they had arrived at the Capitol yesterday morning, now looked frizzled. There were bags under eyes, yawns in mouths, and aches in backs.

They had come from an all-night negotiation session with the Chair of the Board of Supervisors’ staff. The due date for the budget was approaching and he had instructed them not to leave the Capitol until they had a budget deal. The midnight work had wrung everyone out.

The stakes were clear: pass a budget before the end of the session or shut down the county government of Telaan Valley. Failure wouldn’t just paralyze government services--it could kill Declan’s mandate as governor. If he went down, they all went down with him. Getting another job after this fiasco would be nigh impossible. Needless to say, they were all as motivated as their boss.

Everyone sat quietly as Declan read through the summary of the budget that they’d hammered out. It was a compromise held together with duct tape and sealing wax. A light breeze could probably cause it to collapse. Perhaps that was why no one spoke as Declan flipped through it on his datapad. Then again, maybe it was because they were too exhausted to even speak.

The governor put the datapad on his desk and looked up. No one met his eyes--except for Holly Remizan. Unlike her colleagues, the chief of staff looked like she’d just walked out the front door of her flat. Not a hair was out of place as she sipped her tea. Even the creases in her slacks were still sharp. He directed his question squarely at her.

“Is this the best we’re going to get?”

Remizan nodded wordlessly.

“All right then,” Declan said standing.

---

“...and I am proud to sign this budget for 288,” Declan told the media. He was seated at a table underneath the rotunda of the Capitol, prominent legislators from both parties standing behind him, smiling for the cameras. “It represents priorities that both parties can unite behind, priorities that benefit all of the Valley. It was an honor to work with the Chair and her colleagues on the other side of the aisle to create this budget and show what we can do when the Valley works together.” He paused. “Now if only they tried this in Salis D’aar, maybe they’d get something done there.” Everyone had a good laugh at the expense of the planetary capital.

Declan bent over the electronic copy of the budget and affixed his signature via stylus to it, making it law. When he was finished, he stood and shook hands with the Chair to the applause of all present.

For the rest of the news cycle, the lead story was Declan Trieste, Fianna Fail Governor of Telaan Valley, had passed a compromise budget through a Unionist Board of Supervisors in which both sides got a lot, but not all, of what they wanted. “In the increasingly polarized political climate, this kind of bipartisan effort is refreshing for a lot of voters,” the BBC correspondent reported. “Local observers say the Unionists could have stayed united and passed just a budget that appealed to their priorities. Instead, they joined ranks with Fianna Fail to move beyond scoring political points and focus on governing. In fact…”

---

“...dedicated members of each party told us that they’re happier with this than if their representatives had stuck to their blasters in pursuit of principle. It seems, out here in the Valley, it’s no longer politics as usual.”

Senator Silas Madsen turned off the holoprojector in his office, his face filled with disgust. He represented the whole of the county of Arcterra (and parts of other counties thanks to sparse population at the pole) and was one of the elder statesmen of Fianna Fail thanks to his seniority in the body. He had been elected after the conclusion of the Bakuran Civil War and was the only senator to represent Arcterra since Kerry Trieste’s Reconstruction of the former Maple Flag Republican counties (of which Arcterra was one). He had become a political institution, occupying a position just slightly left of center--liberal enough to vote with Fianna Fail but conservative enough for his district to keep returning him to Salis D’aar. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that with over two decades of seniority in the Senate he was a powerful player who could use his influence to return the largesse of the union to his constituents.

He also used it to have one of the nicest offices outside of the party leadership. His travel time to the Senate was even shorter than that of the Minority Leader. He enjoyed that fact immensely, especially since he’d wanted his daughter to marry Declan Trieste, not that Cape Suzette tart. (Though even Silas admitted that at least she was the first Dormingale woman to bear children in of wedlock since her grandmother set foot on the planet.) It also afforded him a view of the Senate Building where he wielded so much influence. Madsen turned to the view.

He’d felt this coming for the last few years and now the telltale signs were here. He had been waiting, hoping he’d been wrong. He hadn’t been.

It was time.

 

The escape is on, government actually works for a change, and Madsen now has something up his sleeve. This is getting better every day. Keep it coming!

 

Missed quite a lot, or rather, saved up for a good weekend splurge

Lots of great dialogue and intrigue, love it. I do miss having more of Declan and Ayns political play a bit, but your other developments are a good compensation and promise of more daring plots and genial conversations!

 

Let me assure you there's going to be more of that soon.

jcgoble3 I hope you can rest easier knowing that the Bothans are indeed in the hands of the Way now. If you go back and reread their first conversation about it, they followed the protocol for contacting them. Good thing you're not fleeing the Corporate Sector or you might have been caught by the Espos.

 

I see that now. I would never be good at escaping anything, unless I do it with guns blazing and killing every bad guy in sight.

 

Sorry, I was busy with RL and 1.001 other matters, but I did lurk and enjoyed the latest plot developments in so far. I love the Kitokaime Kids!

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja DarthUncle jcgoble3 Vehn

Corporate Sector

It felt like eternity. Kelay’s legs were pulled up against his chest, the cramping long faded into just a continuous ache. He had been in this position for hours, but he hadn’t dared to so much as stretch. Who knew who might hear a quiet shift from the inside of a cargo container that was supposed to hold inanimate goods? It was too risky. He barely even risked breathing. If he could have slept, he would have, but his nerves were wound too tight inside the total darkness of the modified cargo box. He could be getting shipped directly to an Espo facility right now and never know.

He’d lost track of how many ways his body had swayed and jostled as his crate had moved from the Way’s warehouse. He’d heard the sound of machinery and droids on a couple of occasions, along with muted voices of varying volume from outside the cargo container. He couldn’t make out what they were saying outside, which probably meant no one could hear him inside--but he wasn’t willing to take that chance. Not with freedom so close. There had been a solid rumble at one point, but it had died away. Kelay had tried counting the seconds after some of these milestones, but he’d lost track after a while. Even with nothing to look at his mind couldn’t concentrate long enough to keep the count.

Periodically he’d have minor panic attacks. Had he and Sai been separated? Were they even going to the same world? How would they ever find each other? What if they got out of the box with precious little time left before the air ran out, only to come out too early and be exposed to the Espos? What if someone found out their history on their new world and returned them to the Espos? What if the CSA employed bounty hunters to find them?

It was in the middle of one such train of thought that he heard a hiss and was then blinded by the cargo container opening. He screwed his eyes shut against the sudden light after hours of dark. When he risked opening them again a second later, a smudgy silhouette was reaching towards him.

“Let’s get you out of there,” she said.

Kelay put his arms forward, creaking from inactivity. He couldn’t quite figure out how to extract himself from the container, which was where the silhouette helped. In the process she seemed to take on the form of a blonde human, who helped the Bothan out with a grunt.

“There we go,” the human said supportively. “How’s everything feeling? Legs going to hold their own?”

“Ummm…” Kelay hesitated, for they didn’t feel quite sound yet.

“Let’s just get you leaning over here then, okay?” She maneuvered him against the crate so he could brace himself against it. After a nod from Kelay, she released her support. To his pleasure, Kelay’s legs held, even though he was glad for the support.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking around the industrial surroundings. They reminded him of the inside of one of the warehouses on Bonadan, except with low ceilings, wires running everywhere in plain sight and pipes snaking across the ceiling. All around were other creates, some of which had disgorged their own sentient cargo. There was something else, something to do with the feel of the metal plating beneath his feet.

“You’re on board the Jolly Somnambulist, under the care of the Captains Lynd,” a new, male voice said. It belonged to another human all in black with a bionic arm, which he used to clasp Kelay on the shoulder. “As of five minutes ago, we officially left Corporate Sector space with nary a second look from the Espos. It should be smooth sailing from here, mate.”

Kelay pushed off from the crate, his legs now ready to hold their own. He immediately began searching the cargo hold’s other occupants. He took in each face. Here a human, there a Dug, here a Duros, there a Gran.

“Kelay!”

The Bothan turned and Sai rushed into his arms. He wanted to say something, to acknowledge what they’d just come through, what lay ahead of them now, but he couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t find the strength to utter the one word that was a dream made real.

Freedom.

---

Westcott Racecourse, Bakura

(Family tree to help with some of the obscure references.)

​

Falene Trieste had been a parsimonious Taoiseach. She had made very few purchases for her own enjoyment out of the Noble House collective property. Her endowments to the Adventurers Club had amounted to a few million credits. The deduction was hardly noticed in the overall scheme of the Noble House’s accounts. She hadn’t even overspent on the Miners, keeping to the Noble House’s usual budget for salaries.

There was only one thing that Falene had cared deeply about and on which she had spent a not-insignificant amount of the Noble House’s treasure.

Horses.

Where she had found these curious quadrupeds nobody could quite remember. All they knew was that she had taken such a liking to them that she’d invested quite a lot of credits to found Bakura’s first horse racing track in the hitherto sleepy town of Westcott outside of Cape Suzette. Thanks to the sizable stake, the Noble House had standing as Stewards of the course, but also one of the finest boxes at their command, complete with an enviable private balcony.

Today was the first day of the Union Westcott races, named in honor of the Federal Union of Counties that comprised the planetary government of Bakura. It offered the largest purses to the winners in all the schedule and as such attracted the best horses and jockeys. As word about this peculiar sport traveled the world, it also began attracting some of the most prominent Bakurans who brought the height of fashion to the affair.

Unsurprisingly, Declan and Ayn were in attendance for they were always where the fashion was. They left Niall and Shenandoah to spend time with their maternal grandmother in Cape Suzette to fully enjoy the day. However, it was not alone time, for much of the Noble House was on hand. They had taken to “Falene’s folly” (as it was no longer known) quite comfortably. For the tenth generation, Union Westcott was almost mandatory.

The box was crowded with the likes of the Lynds, the Harlows, the Eldreds, the Ralters, the Penns, the Nouvelle Orleans Triestes, and the Roon Trieste and fiance. Falene was not about to miss Union Westcott if she could help it and the Kitokaime Kids (a moniker bestowed upon them by Antrose Trieste even though they were more adult than child) had been brought along.

However, certain beings had quietly slipped out for a sidebar in a private room of the racecourse’s turf club bar. The Council of Captains had convened in this wood paneled retreat over fine cocktails.

“For such a new place, it feels rather old money, doesn’t it?” May Trieste commented as she looked around the room. “I mean, the wood’s a bit over the top. It’s like the Taoiseach’s study.”

“Think maybe Falene had that in mind when they designed the place?” Enoch asked wryly.

“I don’t think she was part of the architectural team,” Vesper said. “I’d say that they knew what they were doing though. This makes me want to throw down a bet just to feel like I’m part of the action with the movers and the shakers.”

“Save it for Teak Honey in the fifth,” Declan advised. “She’s from our stables. I expect we’ll be taking the purse there.”

“So the fix is in?” Elfie asked.

Declan smiled. “No, but she’s taken her last three races. I’ve every expectation she’ll keep the trend going. Falene knew what she was doing when she purchased the initial breeding stock if results are any indication.”

“Thanks, but I assume we’re not just here for you to tip us,” Vesper stated.

“No. I wanted to take the opportunity of all of us being together to share some updates. We’ve successfully placed Aunt Fiona at UB Cape Suzette as a lecturer following her resignation from the Defense Fleet.”

“We wanted to make sure she was taken care of,” Ayn added. “She exposed herself on our behalf over the Mark V. It was for the good of the Noble House, even though it cost her a great deal personally. For the moment, anyways.”

“For the good of the Noble House or the good of the Senators Trieste?” Vesper asked pointedly. She hadn’t hesitated in calling Ayn and Declan out.

“What we are doing in Salis D’aar and Golden Prairie is part of securing the future of the Noble House. We shall all reap the rewards of this, and so will our children,” Declan said confidently. “And part of that future is the West Rim Holo Corporation sale.” This last piece was directed at Vesper. It was a smart return of her volley.

“The preliminaries are through,” she reported. “All the players know each other--and I know them. The key for the Republic is Deputy Commissioner Sac Tao of Cato Neimoidia. He’s going to be the one who brings the others along and makes the price.”

“What’s it looking like?” Ayn inquired.

“Nobody’s said.”

“But you must have some idea,” Elfie said. “You’ve been negotiating for how many weeks now?”

“Everyone in that room knows the first one to give a number loses. Don’t worry. It’ll be them.”

“How can you be so sure?” May asked.

“Because, if need be, I’ll put it in his mouth,” Vesper said simply.

She didn’t elaborate further, for there was a soft knock at the door, followed by the effortless entry of Holly Remizan. “Five minutes to post,” she informed the Captains.

“Well, if there aren’t any other items?” Declan asked, the question hanging in the air. Seeing none, the group adjourned with their drinks, returning to the Noble House box. Two, however, remained courtesy of a brief and subtle sign from the Taoiseach.

“Do you have anyone you care about back in the Consortium?” Declan asked.

“Not a one,” Holly replied, barely hesitating. “My life there is over.”

“That is for the best.”

“Any reason you ask?” Holly’s eyebrows inquired of Declan beneath her words, hovering between what she should know and what she needed to know.

“No. Clean breaks present few complications,” Declan answered. The pair vacated the empty room. The horses were being readied for the start of the race. The first was already stepped into the gate. “Where’s the late money moving?” Declan had learned that it was only just before the race that the serious bettors, the ones who made this their livelihoods, placed their wagers.

“Surge on number 3, Young Shipmate. Dropped from 7-to-1 to 5-to-1,” Holly reported.

“2,000 to win,” Declan said without blinking.

He was 10,000 credits richer three minutes later.

 

Somehow it seems fitting that Falene spent more money on horses than anything else.

Also, did you just steal my "Kitokaime Kids" moniker? Does that make me Antrose?

 

The Bothan turned and Sai rushed into his arms. He wanted to say something, to acknowledge what they’d just come through, what lay ahead of them now, but he couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t find the strength to utter the one word that was a dream made real.

Freedom.

It was a brilliant update, but the word "Freedom" takes me back in time into a seat at the Dublin Savoy movie theatre. And watching Mel Gibson faking an Scottish accent. Sorry! Me and trigger-words!

 

Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe.

Not what I was thinking of, but I still love it!