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

Money!!!!

I sure hope Vesper and Rickard know what they're doing. They seem like they know, so that's a good sign.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11 Longtime readers might remember some of the details discussed here, but for the rest of you, enjoy Alternate Universe Republican History 101!

Marian Square, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“I’ve made a decision,” Ayn informed the Deputy Prime Minister in their weekly meeting.

“About the Travers impasse?” he guessed.

Ayn nodded. “They want a hostile takeover of the party. We haven’t gotten where we are by giving in when things got tough.” The Deputy PM had been Ayn’s lieutenant when she’d been Minority Leader. “If they’re not willing to compromise, then they’re not getting anything.”

“You going to do the honors?”

“You can have the pleasure of telling Phyllida that she’s going to get nothing and like it,” Ayn said curtly.

“What about the budget? Are we going to see who blinks first?”

“No. We’ll do this like we used to do and build bill-by-bill coalitions. There are Unionists who can be peeled off on specific issues, including the budget. We’ll make some compromises, but I trust Unionists more than Travers. There are enough pragmatists to carry the day.”

“The Unionists have been emboldened by election returns and Travers’ intransigence. They may not be so amenable as they used to be. They smell blood,” the Deputy PM said.

“We’ll show them it pays to be friendly with us,” Ayn said. “Tell the committee chairs that anything Travers and her bloc puts forward gets spiked. I don’t even want their ideas to have the legitimacy of debate in the Senate.”

“That could drive them out of the party,” he warned. “We’d lose the majority.”

“If we placate them and let them dictate the agenda, we’ll have lost it anyways,” Ayn said. “It’ll make it easier to run challengers against them in the next cycle that way.”

“This will send ripples through the caucus, if not waves,” the Deputy PM said.

“Good,” Ayn stated. “Our senators need to know the price of disobedience.”

---

University of Bakura, Salis D’aar

“…and any discussion of the Third and current Galactic Republic, young as it may be in comparison to the Old Republic, would be incomplete without talking about Bakura’s role in it, or more specifically the role of one of UBSD’s alumna in it.”

“Bet you’ve been waiting for this,” one of Niall’s friends whispered.

He smiled, but said nothing in response.

“While we will need millennia to see if the Third Republic has the longevity or stability of the First Republic, it has already exceeded the New Republic’s track record on both counts. As we’ve discussed, the Second Republic stood for only 30 years and much of them were taken up with maintaining order in the wake of the Galactic Civil War. Only the charisma and leadership of a figure as great as Leia Organa Solo was able to keep it together, and even she couldn’t keep it standing through the First Order-Resistance War.

“The Third Republic, born out of the Neo-Sith War and the collapse of the GFFA, is notable to us because of Bakura’s membership. Bakura had not joined the GFFA and their decision to be part of the Third Republic is attributable to the Republic’s decision to participate in funding the Rebuilding. I’ll leave it at that, but say that if you want to go deeper, I recommend Professor Holswig’s course on Early Third Century ABY Bakuran History.

“In fact, the Third Republic had stood for over 60 years by the time that Kerry Trieste was elected Supreme Chancellor, twice the record of the Second Republic.” Niall got a friendly rib in the stomach at the mention of his grandmother. “Though to that point the Third Republic had proved stable, it was falling victim to the strife that had spelled the doom of the Old Republic: increased tension between the Core and Rim worlds.

“It was in this moment that voters turned to Trieste, who had proven her willingness to preserve a political establishment through the Bakuran Civil War. The coalition that elected her both recognized the power of the Rim and put in place a deterrent to any attempted secession on their part. To seal the bargain, Trieste championed the Rim Economic Development Bill through the Galactic Senate to make good on years of promises of greater Republic support to Rim worlds. Under Trieste, the Republic embarked on aggressive white-collar crime prosecutions that cleaned up the Core financial sector, an area blamed for many woes of the Rim.

“She was also a Rim-looking Chancellor in foreign policy, as evidenced by passing a free trade treaty with the Roon Trade Organization. At the end of her first term she successfully defended the Republic from the external threat of the pirate armada of Coronad Ysenn. Her partnership with the Mandalorians, a culture highly distrustful of the Republic, during the Ssi-Ruuk War not only saved the galaxy, but her work ending the war earned her the Laurel Prize, a rare honor for a Supreme Chancellor.

“Though we should be careful about making pronouncements about living figures—something that frustrates many Bakuran historians given our average lifespans—” This got some laughs from the students. “Kerry Trieste will likely go down in history as a formative Chancellor of the Third Republic, and perhaps even its greatest.”

Before the professor could move on to her next point, a hand shot up rows in front of Niall in the lecture hall.

“Yes?” the professor prompted.

“Don’t you think your assessment of Kerry Trieste’s tenure as Chancellor is a little rosy?” a woman asked.

“How so?”

Niall craned his neck to see if he could tell who had asked the question, but couldn’t really make out much that distinguished her from where he sat despite the gentle slope of the lecture hall that gave him a slight angle on the beings in front of him.

“Even if Trieste represented a compromise between the Rim and Core at a moment of tension, being a symbol like that isn’t actually anything she accomplished. It’s just a reflection of how she was viewed. She didn’t win a war to preserve the Republic; she just said she wasn’t going to allow secession on her watch and no one challenged her.

“She only passed one major bill as Chancellor, the RED Bill you mentioned, and that wasn’t even a cause she particularly championed. The Rim had been demanding that for years. The final version bore few marks of Trieste, unlike the copious domestic legislation that she got through the Senate on Bakura. Domestically, Kerry Trieste accomplished very little on Coruscant.”

There were a few murmurs in the room at the challenge to the professor.

“The financial crimes prosecution that you referenced was executed by Helena Tandy,” the woman continued, “with very little oversight from the Chancellor. In fact, there’s a strong argument to be made that Tandy was the larger driver of this than Trieste, especially given the fallout between them in the second chancellery that prompted a crisis of government. In fact, Tandy was a Coreworlder from Empress Teta. Her drive to go after financial crimes came from her private practice work suing corporations and earning attorneys fees on judgments and settlements, not from sympathy with the Rim.”

“I’ll concede that compared to other chancellors, Kerry Trieste didn’t accomplish as much, but she more than amply makes up for it through her record in foreign affairs,” the professor allowed.


“I think her influence there is overstated too.” More of the class was now looking to see who was holding forth. “She used significant political capital to get a free trade treaty through with the RTO, but that organization collapsed within a decade of her leaving office. It didn’t leave a substantive mark on galactic affairs. In fact, she spent a lot of time and political capital propping up the RTO to stabilize the Rim. Not only did this bring only indirect benefits to the Republic, but it only bought RTO a few more years. In putting down the Ysenn pirates, Trieste merely fulfilled her duty as Chancellor to defend the Republic. Similarly, her work ending the occupation of Lwhekk by the Bakuran and Mandalorian forces was merely ending a conflict that everyone wanted out of by that point. Any stateswoman worth her salt could have done that.”

“Well, I think that someone’s found her theme for our last paper of the semester before final exams,” the professor said with a smile. “May you all have such well developed theses. For those interested, we can continue this conversation in my office hours as we’re just about at time for today. See you on Centaxday.”

“Are you going to let her take down your grandma like that?” one of Niall’s friends asked.

“That was brutal.”

“Does she even know you’re in this class? I bet she wouldn’t talk that way if she knew you were here.”

“Everyone knows Niall’s in this class.”

Niall made no substantive reply, merely a, “See you later,” as he hastily gathered his things while trying to keep an eye on the seat that had contained the being who’d made the argument. He was having to bob his head around other students as they rose to leave to keep her in sight. For a moment he had a straight, unblocked line of sight and he caught the brown braid of her hair. He’d seen it before—in the library perhaps? Or was he just making that up?

Niall tried to squeeze his way to the aisle of the lecture hall, but was prevented by slow-moving classmates. Though he tried making polite “Excuse me” comments to gain space to move past, he was forced to climb over the back of the seats in front of him to get access to a row with less beings in it. By the time he was in the clear, he’d lost her.

Niall chewed his lip thoughtfully. Whoever this woman was, she talked and moved fast. “Huh,” he murmured to no one in particular.

 

I look forward to seeing who this woman is. And I suspect Niall does too.

 

I look forward to an honest assessment of the Trieste policies. Wish I could read that paper! Well written as usual!

 

In writing this post I had to skim my posts from Bluebells & Edelweiss and, sure enough, when you look at the record it gets a little thin!

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

​

Gesco City Interstellar Spaceport, Bakura

“Ahhhhhhh!” Corrine exclaimed as she rushed out of customs to embrace Vienna. “I’m so glad I’m here!”

“Hi Corr—ie,” Vienna said haltingly as she hugged her cousin back. The chume’doro had set certain rules for the covert visit to Bakura by the heir to the throne, one of which was that Corrine would be known as Corrie for the entire trip to lessen the risk of recognition.

Though Corrine had been willing to cut her hair to alter her physical appearance as an additional precaution, that had been nixed because of the problems it would cause when she returned to public duties on Hapes. Instead, she was wearing a short wig, complimented by green contacts to change her brown eyes.

“We’re going to have so much fun!” Corrie gushed. “I want to do everything you do here!”

“I hope you like reading a lot,” Vienna said.

“Yes! All the trashiest holobooks!” Corrie continued. “Preferably near a pool where we can leer at boys.”

“Your mother did explain that it rains a lot here, didn’t she?” Ginny Harlow asked with a degree of uncertainty.

“We’ve been over that several times,” Corrine’s chaperone said. She was one of three plainclothes chume’doro who were providing discreet protection to the heir and the only one of the three that the Harlows had been introduced to. “It hasn’t dampened Corrie’s enthusiasm, excuse the pun.”

“So nice to meet the other side of the family,” Rickard said, shaking the hand of the royal minder.

“Heading somewhere, Mr. Harlow?” the chume’doro said, nodding towards the bag in his hand.

“I have to go see the other Corrie in the family,” he explained. “Should only take a couple of days.”

“Give our best to Quentin,” Ginny said. “Tell him he doesn’t come back enough.”

“How could anyone stay away!” Corrine continued. “Come on! Let’s go get a nerfburger!” She pulled Vienna along.

“Don’t they have them on H…at home?” Vienna asked.

“Only the healthy kind,” Corrine said. “We’re going to the first drive-through on the way home. Can you order them with extra grease? That makes them more delicious, right?”

“Oh for Force sake,” Ginny sighed. This was going to be a long summer.

---

Marian Square, Salis D’aar, Bakura

“Is there anything else tonight, Madam Prime Minister?” Holly asked, poking her head into the West Office. She always checked at the end of the day before she left if the PM wasn’t in a meeting.

“Just a couple things. Is Declan back from Bothawui yet?” Ayn said, not looking up from the file she was reading.

“He’s due to land in three hours,” Holly said without consulting her datapad as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“Thank you,” Ayn said. “I wanted to ask you about the progress on the investigation into Sevan’s death.”

“No progress yet, ma’am,” Holly said.

“Mmmm, I’m not surprised.” Ayn still had not looked up.

Holly said nothing for a moment. “And why is that?”

“I was thinking. The survivor…Garner Lekworth had been something of a problem for us a few years ago, hadn’t he? He’d been poking around campaign finances from the last election. He backed off, but reporters are stubborn creatures when they think there’s a lead to follow. Sevan was always that way.” Ayn flipped a page on her datapad. “Two stubborn reporters in a late-night speeder crash…they were probably working on something, like exhaustively research for a story. One that meant something to one of the beings in the speeder. A speeder whose brakes failed, an uncharacteristic mechanical failure in this age. And Lekworth was probably a careful being after the Exchequer audit and other inconveniences to his life. He may have kept his research close to him instead of at the Times. Even if the emotional trauma of losing his colleague in an accident where he was at the controls didn’t make it hard for him to pick up the story again, not having any of the campaign finance data he’d been painstakingly analyzing would.”

For the first time Ayn looked up. She locked eyes with her Chief of Staff, who remained silent. “That reminds me, I never fully expressed how exhaustive your work was in identifying Yeoh Gawa’s financial influence in the Senate. It was excellently done.”

They understood each other perfectly.

Ayn looked back to her report. “As admirable as my husband’s desire for justice is, nothing you uncover will bring Sevan back. We have more important things facing us now, namely Gawa and Travers. We are less than a year and a half from the next election. We have enemies at the gate who would undo everything we’ve accomplished. I need you fully engaged on that front, Holly.

“Tomorrow night you will inform Declan and me that your exhaustive investigation has uncovered nothing that suggests anything but a tragic accident occurred that night. Sevan’s death, awful as it was, was one of the many random events that happen every day in the galaxy. I will take things from there with Declan and you will move on.”

The Prime Minister did not ask if Holly understood because she did not need to.

“Of course, Madam Prime Minister.”

“Good night, Holly,” Ayn said without looking up again.

As Holly Remizan withdrew, she paused for a moment to look over her shoulder at Ayn Trieste. She remained behind her desk, reading the report as if the words that had passed between them had never been spoken. They both knew that much more than those words had been said tonight and would echo between them for a lifetime.

 

Oooookay. Sounds like Ayn was in fact fully aware that Holly is a murderer. And that makes Ayn a murderer. The remaining question is if Declan knows too.

 

Call it accessory after the fact. A slim distinction? Perhaps...

 

Accessory or conspiracy?

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11 In past posts I stated that Corrie and Quentin were hyphenating their names as combination of Ypres-Trieste (or vice versa). I repeatedly forgot that Quentin’s surname was Eldred, not Trieste. Moving forward I will use the name Ypres-Eldred instead, as that’s what the characters would have chosen.

Il Avili, Druckenwell

The fortunes of the Ypres-Eldred family had risen precipitously in the last few years, literally. Ever since they The Way had stopped its efforts helping indentured workers escape the Corporate Sector, Corrie and Quentin had stopped spending everything they had or earned in support of that mission. The pair still donated more than the average Ypres Initiative executive couple, mainly to causes across the Federation, but not to the level of impoverishing themselves as they had done previously. After all, they now had their son Morris Ypres-Eldred to consider. While they hadn’t repurchased the home overlooking the sea they’d one owned, they had a good enough home to raise a child in.

It was, Rickard considered as he sat in their living room, smaller than the residence he and Ginny had in Gesco City, which was something of a surprise. The uninitiated might have thought that made sense. After all, Rickard had been a CEO whereas Corrie was a Vice President at the Ypres Initiative. However, that neglected to take into the account that as “only” a VP at the Initiative Corrie oversaw a budget several times greater than that of The Rivers as a whole. Rickard had led a worldwide retailer, but Corrie managed a division that spanned star systems.

Like the Triestes of the Noble House, she was the child of a political leader. Her father had been President of the Federation. Unlike the Noble House, Corrie seemed to enjoy a quieter life at least in her personal affairs.

As he looked around their modest home, Rickard liked it better than the one Ginny had decorated for their family. The Ypres-Eldreds had a good thing going from what he could see.

“Quentin’s making goulash,” Corrie told Rickard as she set the table. “It’s a Druckenwellian specialty.”

“And before you ask,” Quentin called from the kitchen, “I’m making it because I get off work earlier than Corrie, not just to model shared household duties for Morris.”

“But we are doing that,” Corrie filled in, “and Quentin’s the better cook anyways.”

Rickard was playing with Morris, who had much to say, even if Rickard couldn’t quite understand all of it. He remembered when Vienna was similar, which seemed a far cry from her generally withdrawn manner these days. “No judgement here. Ginny and I are both equally terrible.”

“We heard from Cillian about The Rivers sale. I hope you’re doing OK?” Corrie asked. “If Vesper sold it without consulting you, that would be awful. Ripping your livelihood out from under you like that, I couldn’t imagine. Sure, the family would take care of you, but that’s no excuse. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my position at the Initiative. Sure, it’s not the greatest job in the galaxy but I’ve come to find satisfaction enough there. Quentin and I have done the best that we can to feel like we’re doing some good at the Initiative. In fact—”

“Honey,” Quentin warned from the kitchen.

“Right. Of course. I’m talking too much,” Corrie said. She’d been that way her entire life. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Quentin added.

“Water is good,” Rickard said.

“Water we have. This is Druckenwell. There’s water everywhere. Just not drinkable water. Well, at least not until it goes through the desalinization plant. Have you ever been to one? They’re fascinating.”

“Corrie,” Quentin said again from the other room.

“I’ll tell you about that later,” Corrie said, once again halted by the friendly reminder from her husband, “and I’ll just get you some water now.”

Rickard helped get Morris settled for dinner while Quentin and Corrie brought the dishes out and ladled them for everyone (including Morris, who was a much more adventurous eater than Vienna had been at that age).

“Quentin didn’t say what brought you to Druckenwell,” Corrie said as utensils began to clink against dishes.

“I didn’t hear myself,” Quentin said. “I thought you knew.”

“That would be because I didn’t say,” Rickard admitted. “It’s the sort of thing I thought was best discussed in person, in private.”

“Business things?” Corrie asked. Rickard nodded. “Don’t worry, the Initiative has executive residences swept regularly for surveillance and the like. We’re safe here.”

“Good,” Rickard said. He spooned some of his goulash and paused before eating. “I was curious if you’d like to start a hostile takeover of Bakur RepuslorCorp.”

Quentin dropped his spoon into his bowl, causing the stew to splash all over him, much to the delight of Morris who started laughing.

“Wait what?” Corrie said with surprise.

“Allow me to explain,” Rickard said.

“Yes, you’d better,” Quentin encouraged as he dabbed his clothes with a napkin. This he wanted to hear.

 

I always enjoy the reaction to a casual bombshell like that.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

University of Bakura, Salis D’aar

Niall planned ahead this time. Instead of taking his regular seat (while there weren’t assigned seats in the lecture hall, everyone settled into a pattern within a few classes) he’d taken one on the end of the row. He had a 50-50 shot at being on the aisle that the mystery woman would use. Hardly ideal, but those were just the odds he had to play.

He paid scant attention to the professor today. Niall was too busy scanning the rows of the lecture hall to see if he could spot her. No matter how many times he looked, he couldn’t pick her out. It was only in passing that he realized he’d have to ask one of his friends for their notes and hope they’d share.

When class ended Niall had already been packed up for a good two minutes so he could be on his feet immediately. He swept his eyes across his departing classmates and saw it—the braid. She was on the opposite side of the hall. Niall didn’t run, but to say he walked would have vastly understated his velocity. As he wove around students he made a note to apologize to his Marshal detail. He couldn’t imagine they appreciated this, even if they could keep up.

Niall nearly dashed across the front of the classroom, breezing past the professor who was answering some follow-up questions from students. She’d disappeared through the door and Niall sped through in turn, helped by the modern convenience of auto-opening doors in public spaces.

She was halfway down the hallway heading to the outside. With a quick apology, he pushed through a couple of students and in three long strides had closed the difference. “Wait!” Niall finally called out.

She stopped and turned around. The frown on her face would have dissuaded Niall—had he noticed it. Instead he was pulled up short by her eyes, not because of the hard look she gave him but for their icy color.

“It’s you,” she said, her voice almost a sneer. “I wondered if you were going to browbeat me over what I said about your grandmother. I wouldn’t be surprised given your library etiquette. Or do they let you do whatever you want in the Senate library?”

Niall almost pointed out that the Library of the Senate very much did not let anyone, including him, do what they wanted. Academic credentials were required to use the reading room and disruptive behavior would get such permissions revoked. Not even being a child of the Prime Minister could save you from that. Instead he had the presence of mind to say what had been on his mind since her comments about Kerry.

“You’re right.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Not about the Senate library, we haven’t ever asked to use it since we don’t meet the requirements,” Niall said, “but about the other things. My sister should have been more respectful in the library. Sometimes she gets carried away. What I really wanted to talk about was what you said about Grandma. Her record as Chancellor, viewed objectively, isn’t amazing.”

“I thought you’d defend her to the death,” she said.

“I love her, but I think she was a little adrift when she got to Coruscant. By the way, I think you have the advantage on me.”

“How so?”

“You know who I am, but I don’t know who you are,” Niall pointed out.

She hesitated for a moment before extending her hand in one sudden motion. “Niamh,” she said. The traditional pronunciation—Nieve—rolled off her tongue in a single syllable.

“Do you have time for tea? I’d like to hear more of your opinions on my family,” Niall proposed.

Niamh hesitated. “Why?”

“Most beings don’t feel comfortable giving their honest thoughts about them when I’m in the room.”

“I suppose you’re buying?”

“Of course. I invited you.”

“I can buy my own tea, thanks very much,” Niamh said, “but you’re welcome to sit with me while I drink it.”

Niall smiled. “I can do that.”

---

The pair sat at a table outside the undergraduate library, an ugly permacrete building that paled when compared to the classical architecture that comprised most of the campus. Each had a cup of tea in front of them, but they’d long since cooled as they talked.

“Look, ultimately it’s a question of governmental structure,” Niall argued in a relaxed manner that lacked heat and suggested an academic discourse instead of an argument. “The Republic is what it says it is—a republic. The Galactic Senate is always going to move the conversation, not the Chancellor.”

“That sounds a lot like a justification made to make me think Kerry was actually a good Chancellor,” Niamh said with a tone of gentle mocking. “I thought her record ‘isn’t amazing.’”

“It is and it isn’t,” Niall said.

“Oh here we go,” Niamh said, rolling her eyes and sitting back.

“She didn’t accomplish that much compared to what she did as Prime Minister, but the systems are totally different. The Galactic Senate has no formal political parties. It’s a system of constantly shifting alliances issue-by-issue. That makes it hard to move them in a concerted effort, like most planetary state houses. Very few Chancellors can significantly move the needle.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Niamh said, except this time she smiled a little. “So if that’s the case, why even run for Chancellor?”

“Because anyone who runs for Chancellor has the self-confidence to believe they’ll be the exception to the rule,” Niall said with a smile.

“Touché,” Niamh said, raising her teacup in a salute. She sipped before continuing. “Are you so sanguine about your parents’ political accomplishments or are they off-limits?”

“You aren’t afraid of much, are you?” Niall asked with amusement.

“Isn’t university supposed to be a place of intellectual inquiry?” Niamh asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.

“Touché,” Niall replied, returning her earlier motion with a smile.

 

Interesting that Niall agrees with her. I sense this might develop into a romance.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

Gesco City, Bakura

“Hey boss, there’s something you should see.”

Vesper looked up from her datapad. “I’m supposed to present at the Empress Teta conference in two days. Stop and think about whether what you’re about to tell me is important enough to interrupt my preparations for that.”

“The BASE 300 just jumped for no discernable reason,” the lead trader said.

Vesper was out of her seat and halfway around her desk in what seemed like a moment. Maybe thanks to years of limmie conditioning it actually had been. “Get it on the big board, now.”

By the time Vesper was out of her office, everyone was already standing and looking at the large vidscreen they used when they needed to crunch a lot of data at once. Unlike some planets, Bakura had strict regulations on how securities listed on the Bakuran Stock Exchange could be traded. For example, the role of computer programs and droids who could execute trades much faster than sentient beings were limited to prevent nonsensical crashes and runups. The law said Bakuran traders had to do the work themselves and the best way Vesper knew to achieve that was to get as many brains working on something at once as she could.

“Where’s it coming from?” Vesper demanded of her team as she descended the stairs from the executive level, which overlooked the trader’s floor. The BASE 300 was the Bakuran Stock Exchange 300, an index of Bakuran-listed companies across a spectrum of industries, many of them leaders on-world.

“It’s pretty broad,” one of the traders said. “It’s a general surge.”

“But there were no earnings reports today. This isn’t beings reacting to favorable P/E.”

“We’ll never find it in the share prices. Show me the volume reports,” Vesper said.

The board changed from share prices to trading volume for the day. Everyone’s eyes scanned the board, looking, analyzing.

“Invivohealth is leading in volume.”

“That’s not surprising. Individual investors have been getting into them ever since they announced the efficiacy of their new product line.”

“Drummer Mining is up there.”

“They’re expected to land a new asteroid belt contract.”

“Luke, Leia, and Han.”

“What?” Vesper said, her head snapping around.

“BRC is moving.”

“They’re at 10 million. That’s nothing. Invivohealth is ten times that.”

“BRC’s historical average is what, 6.4?”

“6.3.”

“So?”

“Their average has been 6.3—for the last 30 years.”

Vesper was now at this trader’s side, but still looking at the board. “Tell me more.”

“BRC’s trading volume doesn’t move because most of its shares are never sold. They’re essentially a publicly-listed family company, except there are several families who hold most of the shares. What’s out there is just a result of some specific capital raises they’ve needed to do. It’s held by retail investors and funds doesn’t amount to much. The price might fluctuate, but it never moves enough to generate much volume.”

Someone had changed the board to give only the data on BRC. Vesper’s eyes flicked over it. “Get the trading reports. Find out who’s executing the trades.”

As they waited for the new data, someone said. “What are you thinking, boss?”

Before she could reply, the reports came up. “Eden, Bank of the Core, Bank of the Republic are the top three movers.”

“Those are all off-world houses.”

“Give me the overall trading reports for the day on the BASE 300,” Vesper said. She leaned over one of the trading desks, bracing her arms in an A as she watched the vidscreen.

Eden, Bank of the Core, and Bank of the Republic were the largest traders on the day by an order of magnitude.

“Somebody’s hiding their BRC buys across three trading houses while trading the index. They’re buying the BASE, but they’re buying BRC at a higher rate than the rest of the market,” Vesper said. “Someone’s trying to take over BRC.”

“You can’t takeover BRC. There aren’t enough shares on the market.”

“Then it can’t be solely a market play. One of the families is going to sell their BRC shares,” Vesper predicted.

“That’s never—”

“I don’t want to hear about what’s never happened. I want to hear about what’s going to happen. Find out who’s behind this play and if there’s an angle for us. Call in your favors at Eden, Core, and Republic. I want to find the upside on this. This could make our year, everybody—but not if we miss it. Go!”

The trading floor burst into activity and Vesper returned to her office, shutting the glass door behind her. When she was seated at her desk, she selected a contact from her comm.

“It’s happening,” Vesper said.

“Is it?” Rickard replied.

“BRC shares are moving through off-world bank trades.”

“I Corrie and Quentin went for it.” The statement was one of relief and realization than confidence. Rickard had left Druckenwell without a commitment from their cousins to support their play. The Ypres-Triestes said they’d need to think over whether they were willing to put their necks on the line with the Initiative board. Corrie had sway there thanks to the first of her hyphenated names, but she knew she could only make so many plays.

“The question is whether my traders can find it first or if some financial reporter gets to it first,” Vesper said.

“You think the media could find it first? If this gets out, it gets much more difficult.”

“Lucky for us I employ smart beings who are well compensated.”

“Then let’s hope they earn their bonuses on this one,” Rickard said.

“Don’t worry Rick,” Vesper said with a smile. “I’ve fostered a very strong performance culture here.”

 

Just as she did on Rydonni Prime! She's got a Galactic Cup ring to prove it.



Sent from my comlink using Tapatalk

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

Gesco City, Bakura

“Which of these outfits says, ‘Hey boys, hit on me?’” Corrine asked, pivoting from the mirror where she’d been holding up the two dresses in turn against her body.

Vienna looked up from her position lying on her stomach looking at her datapad on her bed. “Uhhh…both of them?”

“That can’t be true,” Corrine said, swinging back to the mirror. “I haven’t had one boy ask me out since I got here the whole time. It would be nice to actually receive a male advance for a change.”

Vienna cocked an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that you don’t get any attention back…home?” She had to remind herself to avoid saying Hapes or anything else that could be connected to Corrine’s real life. “I thought they’d be falling all over you.”

“Oh they are. Every mother wants their son to meet me. They almost physically throw them at me when they get the opportunity. But they’re so…passive.” Corrine sneered the word as she kept swapping outfits. “Females are supposed to take the lead in relationships and dating at home. It’s nice to have the power of choice, I guess, but it would be nice if a guy would just come up to me sometime and say, ‘Hey girl.’ Are Bakuran boys dumb?”

“Probably,” Vienna said, going back to her datapad.

“What do you mean ‘probably?’” Corrine asked, turning around.

“I wouldn’t know from personal experience, but they seem pretty dense,” Vienna said.

“Have you never had someone hit on you?”

“I realize your expectations might be slightly skewed given your life experiences, but believe it or not that doesn’t happen to the average high school student,” Vienna explained without looking up.

Corrine paused and hung the outfits in the closet. She turned to look at her cousin. “That’s terrible, Vienna.”

“It’s life,” she replied casually.

The chume’da sat down on the bed next to Vienna. “That doesn’t make it OK. Do you think you’re beautiful?”

“I don’t think it particularly matters,” Vienna sighed, finally turning away from her datapad. “It is what it is.”

“That’s one of the most useless statements ever conceived in the galaxy,” Corrine objected, “and it very much matters.”

“I take after Dad,” Vienna explained. “It would be different if I looked like Mom or Aunt Vesper or Aunt Swann.”

“New plan. You don’t need that,” Corrine said, swiping the datapad and tossing it aside. “It’s time for Operation No Female Left Behind.”

“Whatever you’re thinking about, you really don’t have to do it,” Vienna objected.

Corrine wasn’t listening. She’d opened the door to yell down the hall to the chume’doro who were always nearby. “We’re going out in five minutes!”

---

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Garner Lekworth had shown up to work for the last couple months, but he hadn’t really been at work. Yes, he’d filed stories, but they’d given him light ones, even if it was still on the federal beat. Everyone knew what he’d gone through and felt bad for him. Garner knew they felt sorry for him. He couldn’t blame them. Knowing someone was responsible for the death of their closest coworker, maybe even your best friend, was the kind of thing everybody pitied.

Garner sat at his desk, very pointedly not working (sometimes he wished someone would yell at him instead of being “understanding” and letting him get away with it), looking out the window, thinking about Sevan. It was impossible not to the Times offices. Sevan’s desk was just over there. It had a new occupant, the memorials it had once housed swept away, but it was still Sevan’s in Garner’s mind. It felt wrong for someone else to be at his desk. Garner felt badly for the new occupant, having to inherit that space with the knowledge of who had been there before, the implicit expectations to be worthy of his legacy. It would almost be better to use it for storage.

Recently, his therapist had suggested that in moments like this, when the memory of Sevan would invade his mind and bring back those feelings of blame, that the Cosmic Balance might be helpful. Like many Bakurans, Garner had been raised in the faith. Its central tenet was that every bad thing was offset by something good. Sevan may have died, but something positive had come of it.

Lekworth turned to look at Sevan’s desk. The reporter who now inhabited it had gotten part of Sevan’s beat, a promotion for her. That was a good thing for her, but small consolation. It couldn’t compensate for the loss of someone who had been such a shining presence in life. The Cosmic Balance couldn’t explain that.

Or could it.

Garner sat back in his chair, his eyes still on the desk, his reporter’s mind starting to see dots connected by tenuous threads. The Cosmic Balance was right: something bad for one being was something good for another. Sevan had been a giant in journalism. His death must have had a giant benefit for someone else, one much larger than a promotion for a reporter.

Someone had benefited from his death. Maybe not directly, but they had benefited. Garner Lekworth had no proof, but he knew who.

“I will avenge you, Sevan,” Garner whispered to himself. “By the Force, I will, and with every tool I have.”

He had to get writing.

 

Wow, I have been away for a while, due to work, various doctor appointments and then 2 weeks of summer holidays, but you and your political family drama has been going on tirelessly. Never losing its thrill.

Ayn & Holly, more or less, "committing murder on the dance floor".

Vesper "digging".

Vienna & Corrine dressing up together.

Garner "on a killer spree" any time soon.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

​

The Terminal Club
Gesco City, Bakura

Gesco had long been the industrial heart of Bakura. When the rest of the Human settlers had been digging ore out of the mountains, an enterprising group had envisioned something else: factories that made things. Their descendants had acquired lands in the plains to house such facilities. Eventually some of them formed a company to do one thing well, a product they could set themselves apart from the rest of the galaxy. They didn’t expect to become fantastically wealthy, but they thought they could achieve something great.

They did.

Those beings founded Bakur RepulsorCorp, which had done more than anything in Bakura’s early history to put the world on maps of the galaxy. Their components went into products ranging from chairs to starships. BRC repulsors were so well-regarded that the Empire garrisoned troopps on Bakura to ensure continued access to their products.

BRC formed the heart of Bakuran manufacturing and the rest of the sector built up around them. Gesco City had become the commercial and business capital of the planet, even if political power sat in Salis D’aar. The two cities would vie with each other for influence for prominence, but Salis D’aar never attempted to spar with Gesco City on economic terms.

Gesco City was home to the trading floor of the Bakuran Stock Exchange. Even if Vesper Lynd hadn’t been raised in Gesco, she still would have put the Frontier Fund offices there to be close to the action. That action included the opportunity to rub shoulders with captains of industry, inadvertently or intentionally. Today, Vesper’s presence at the Terminal Club was quite intentional, but cloaked in coincidence.

The Terminal Club one of the several toney establishments that catered to Gesco City’s well-heeled (who could afford its membership fees). It had come to be the preferred meeting place of the financiers of the city, making Vesper’s membership a natural one. It so happened that a number of club members were also on the board of BRC. Vesper knew them all either through social events or service on other corporate boards. In an afternoon spent in the lounge of the Terminal Club it was almost impossible not to run into one.

One was all Vesper needed. She got it in Armand Bovillier.

Vesper signaled one of the servers and made a sign to set into motion a request she’d made upon her arrival. Three minutes later, she looked up at Bovillier’s greeting.

“If you hadn’t had such lovely conversation with my wife at your beach house earlier this year, I’d think you were propositioning me,” Bovillier said, holding up the drink that Vesper had arranged to arrive for him. The staff at the Terminal Club knew most members’ favorite so it was a small matter to have it placed on her tab.

“You seem like the kind of being who could use a drink,” Vesper said, rising to give Armand a brief, professional hug. When she resumed her seat, he took the plush chair next to her.

“And what makes you think that?” Bovillier said with a smile.

“The hostile takeover you’re dealing with,” Vesper said casually, but quietly, before sipping her drink.

Bovillier’s face betrayed him with a tick and a shift in his eyes that Vesper had seen many times before. It had usually been in the gaze of defenders she had been about to destroy on the limmie field.

“Don’t worry,” Vesper reassured him. “It’s not on the street yet. I just have traders who are very good at their job.” She paused to sip her drink. It was intentional. She wanted Bovillier to stew for just a second.

“We have the situation in hand,” Armand replied, his voice firm on the surface, but Vesper could sense tension beneath it.

“If you can fend of the Ypres Initiative, then you’re in better shape than me.”

“Force,” Armand said, the façade falling. “How’d you know.” It wasn’t a question, but an admission of defeat.

“Like I said, I employ beings who are very good at what they do.”

“We’ll weather it. It might be tight, but there aren’t enough shares out there to for them to pull it off.”

“Of course there are enough shares,” Vesper said. “As long as there are at least three shares out there, there are always enough shares.”

“You know what I mean. On the market,” Bovillier said. He took a large gulp of the drink.

“Armand.” Vesper laid a hand on his forearm. “You know what’s going on here. One of your partners is going to sell their shares to Ypres.”

“No. Absolutely not. We’re united against this,” Bovillier insisted. “Committed.”

“That’s what whoever’s going to sell wants everyone else to think.” Vesper paused. “It’s what I’d do.”

Armand’s face blanched. “Have your traders found anything to that effect or is this speculation?”

“Common sense. Ypres would never make this move if they didn’t have a way to get the shares they needed. If only one of the families sells their shares and Ypres corners the public shares, they’ll have enough,” Vesper said. “There’s a traitor inside your ranks.”

The BRC board member put his drink down on the polished side table between their chairs. His body seemed to sag as it all hit him. “If Ypres already has a line on those shares, then it’s over. We’re going to lose the company.”

“Pull yourself together,” Lynd chided, “and start thinking straight. You can still prevail.”

“How?” Armand asked, almost pleading.

“Get the board to commit to share buyback. Ypres can’t have gotten to everything on the market yet because they’re moving under cloak of secrecy. Whoever’s made the deal with Ypres won’t be able to publicly oppose the play or they’ll reveal themselves. When BRC has bought enough shares back, their deal will be worthless to Ypres and the takeover will be over,” Vesper explained. “It’ll also insulate you from future takeovers by increasing the proportion of the board’s shares compared to the market.”

Armand nodded along. “Yes, it could work. But we don’t have the liquidity right now to pull it off.”

“If credits are what you need, they happen to be something I’m flush with at the moment.”

“In exchange for what?” Bovillier had grown desperate over the course of the conversation, but he hadn’t lost his intelligence as his desperation has grown.

“There is something,” Lynd admitted.

---

Vesper hosted the Harlow family at her residence two nights later. She popped a bottle of bubbling wine with a smile to the applause of her husband, sister, brother in-law, their children, and Corrine.

“I give you, for the sum of 30 million credits—” Vesper began.

“Bargained down from 50 million!” Nicholas interjected.

“—our newest acquisition, the BRC starship division with rights to the BRC brand name in perpetuity!” she finished. “To Rickard, the being behind the plan.”

When Rickard had said that their new civilian starship enterprise should be BRC, his idea was simple: get the rights to include the name in their company’s. They would have all the benefits of a galactic reputation without needing to own Bakur RepulsorCorp. They were helped by the existence of a small, boutique starship operation that BRC had been running for years. The division had allowed them to do R&D for their starship model repulsors and bring in revenue at the same time. Investigation had proved that there was a solid base of starship patents associated with the division. They could get the name and an existing concern they could expand simultaneously.

From there, it came down to finding a way to pry the unit from BRC at a good price. Vesper had come in at that point, suggesting a market play that would require capital. They needed someone with larger capital reserves than they had to provide a credible threat. The best option they had was convincing Corrie Ypres-Trieste to use the Initiative to make a feint. Rickard’s pitch was helped by the promise of a sizable profit when the Initiative started selling their newly-acquired shares back to BRC with a premium.

It had all come together, even if Rickard and Vesper knew the cracks in the plan. They’d needed a BRC director who was under stress, paranoid that he could close their familial influence, but one who could still move the board to back the buyback plan. Even once the Frontier Fund had the starship division it would require further investment to get to where they wanted it and that could ultimately cost more than the proceeds from The Rivers sale. They weren’t in clear skies yet, but they had made a start with a brand that would inspire confidence.

“So Rickard, what are we toasting?” Nicholas asked.

“I give you” Rickard said as he raised his flute, “BRC Lightspeed, the future of galactic space travel.”

“Here here!” Corrine exclaimed thrusting her glass into the air. “And I’m buying the first one off the line!”

The chume’doro leaning against the wall shook her head and mouthed “No” so Vesper could see.

“Before you put your glasses down, I’ve got a little bit of news as well,” Vesper said. “As we discussed from the beginning, Rickard will be helming this operation, including the day-to-day operations. However, I’ll be taking a further step back. In fact, I’m going to be taking a periodic leave of absence from the Frontier Fund.”

“What?” Ginnifer said. “Is everything OK?”

“More than OK,” Vesper said with a smile. “I’ve just gotten a wonderful opportunity I’ve decided to pursue.”

 

Pass through one door and another door opens. I wonder what Vesper is up to now?

 

Acting like a Sith lord really. Plans within plans. One machination leads to the next.

 

What? Hedge fund managers are evil like Sith Lords? How did you ever make that parallel?

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

Ministry of Defense
Salis D’aar, Bakura

“There they are,” Fiona Westenra said brightly, rising from the sturdy durasteel desk that dominated her office. It had been presented to a previous Minister of Defense by the Republic as a sign of the partnership between the Republican Fleet and the Bakuran Defense Fleet. The desk was made of salvage from a Republican starship that had engaged Sith forces over Bakura in the Neo-Sith War. Fiona sometimes joked that it was as solid as any flagship she’d commanded when in the field.

Part of Corrine’s visit to Bakura was spending plenty of time with her grandmother. It was not an opportunity Fiona often had. Visiting Hapes was a fraught situation given its matrilineal lines of descent. A former admiral showing up while her daughter sat on the throne could easily be construed as a military coup. Fiona had to make do with sporadic visits when Sierra and her family were off Hapes that rarely lasted more than a few days.

“Hi Grandmama,” Corrine said.

“I was expecting a little more enthusiasm than that,” Fiona chided. Corrine had sounded rather glum. “I didn’t tell the Armed Services committee they could stuff their oversight hearing because my granddaughter was in town.”

“You told them that?” Vienna asked skeptically.

“I told them the bureaucratic equivalent of it,” Fiona winked at her grandniece. She’d been an ace pilot, a steely starship commander, and a strict commandant of the Fleet Academy (and loved by troops under her command for it). It was unsurprising that she spoke to senators straight. “Now, what’s up with you two?”

Corrine sighed. “We spent hours at a mall trying to attract the attention of boys but none of them talked to us.” She looked as glum as she sounded. “We bought new outfits and everything.”

“At least we can keep the outfits,” Vienna said, finding the bright side of the situation.

“You’re not going to hear a full-throated defense of males from me,” Fiona said. Considering she’d divorced her husband when she’d found him in bed with someone else (his defense that she’d been believed dead in a starfighter crash hadn’t been accepted), the Minister of Defense was certainly the last being to think well of Bakuran men. “Come on. Time to cheer you two up.” She leaned across the desk to press the comm button. “Alert Camp Thanas that I’ll be over shortly. Ask them to reserve some private range time.”

“I thought we were going to tour the Mark V?” Corrine asked. She was eager to see the latest BakurStar capital ship model, especially since she’d gotten to see several Hapan Battle Dragons with her mother. The chume’da was interested in drawing comparisons between the models.

“Change of plans,” Fiona said, grabbing her coat.

---

“Let’s shoot some frakking blasters,” Fiona said as she took up her firing stance.

“Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Corrine bellowed as she jostled back and forth, emptying the power pack of her blaster rifle. She wasn’t hitting the target down range, but she was enjoying herself immensely all the same.

The Minister of Defense found that nothing relieved frustration (especially at the opposite sex) as unloading at the range. Corrine had gotten to fire blasters on special occasions when Trellam had taken her and Ivgenni on tours of Hapan military facilities. At those times she’d only gotten to take a few shots with a blaster pistol. Today her grandmother had gotten one of everything at the armory for the teenagers to fire (after a stern lecture about range safety and etiquette). The chume’da was clearly taking full advantage of the experience.

“Grandma!” Corrine shouted when her rifle was spent. They were all wearing ear protection, requiring them to speak loudly to be heard. “Twenty credits says you can’t put three out of five blaster bolts in the bullseye!”

“Really?” Fiona asked.

“What? Pilots don’t get enough range time to be that good?” Corrine teased.

“No, just figuring out what I’m going to do with the other two…” Fiona said as she resumed her stance.

Before Corrine could reply, Fiona snapped off five blaster bolts in quick succession and pressed a button at her station to show a display with the neat cluster of three scoring marks inside the target.

“Too bad I didn’t ask you to do four,” Corrine said with an annoyed twist of her mouth.

“Actually…I think she put three of them straight through the center,” Vienna said, looking at the result.

Fiona just smirked, not even bothering to look at her granddaughter. “We’ll settle up later.” As Corrine selected her next weapon for indiscriminate discharge (within the safety of the range), the Minister turned to Vienna who’d yet to fire the blaster pistol on the table in front of her. “Looking for something with a little more punch?” Fiona asked.

“Well…I…” Vienna hesitated. “I haven’t shot one before.”

Fiona nodded. “Let me help.” She took up a position behind Vienna. “Pick it up, finger off the trigger. Now set your hips like this. Bend your knees. You want to be nice and loose. There’s a kick you have to get used to, so I’ll brace you against me. Arms straight like this. Keep them locked. Now, finger in front of the trigger. Don’t put it on yet. All you have to do is give it a light squeeze. There’s a lot of give in it. Jerk it and you’ll look like Toro Calican.”

“Who’s that?”

“A hotshot who had an inflated opinion of himself. Now, breathe in and when you’re ready, pull the trigger while you exhale.”

Vienna nodded several times quickly, her adrenaline pumping. She was about to squeeze one eye shut when Fiona, as if she was standing in front of the teenager instead of behind, said, “Eyes open. Look at the target.” Vienna took one more deep breath and when she exhaled—

Snap.

The red laser bolt screamed down the range and hit the target field. It was outside the concentric circles that made up the actual target, but it was better than Corrine’s painting of the back of the range.

“Not bad,” Fiona said. “Now do it again.”

Vienna did. She’d never been that invested in Corrine’s plan to pick up guys, but she was suddenly grateful they hadn’t had any takers. This was going to be a more fun day than she anticipated.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11 Let's get a primary source in this history!

Excerpted from The Galactic Review[/i]

The Curious Tale of Ayn Trieste’s Biggest Opponent: Her Own Party

One year ago, Rim politicos were debating whether Ayn Trieste would start to eclipse her mother-in-law as the greatest Bakuran Prime Minsiter of the last 50 years. Today their debates focus on whether Trieste will have a job in a year and a half.

Ayn Trieste has gone from master of the Bakuran Senate—displaying more skill than Kerry Trieste ever had to do thanks to civil war-era supermajorities she used to pass her most ambitious legislation—to battling the legislature she once commanded. The unbelievable thing to beings outside Bakura is that her party still controls the chamber. In a turn few saw coming when Trieste was returned to office with a parliamentary majority for her second full term, a cadre of moderate senators have all but wrested control of the agenda from their liberal counterparts.

The leader of the rebellion is the formerly soft-spoken Phyllida Travers, who wields the votes of a handful of senators. Though these rebels are vastly outnumbered by the rest of the party, the margin in the Bakuran Senate is so thin for Trieste’s Fianna Fail party that it’s enough to prevent her from passing legislation without the moderates. The narrow majority is thanks to Fianna Fail losing seats three years ago in the same election that returned Trieste to the executive mansion.

While it’s nothing new to see a planetary leader’s party lose seats in the same election that reelects them, what caught everyone by surprise was that Trieste, who had once ruled the Bakuran Senate with an iron fist (both by peeling off votes from her rivals as Minority Leader and then later through maintaining rigid party discipline as Deputy Prime Minister) is now seemingly helpless to move her bills forward.

“The Travers bloc says they’ve been reasonable, but the PM is refusing to negotiate and accept reality. Marian Square [the Bakuran executive branch] says it’s Travers and her allies who won’t compromise,” Eddard Levyan, the BBC’s lead political correspondent, said. “All we know for sure is that the Senate isn’t passing meaningful legislation these days.”

The growing consensus around Salis D’aar is that this is merely the calm before the storm. Bakura holds elections next year and insiders say that 300 is shaping up to be an election unlike any other since the Rebuilding of Bakura. Trieste won’t just be fighting off a Unionist opponent: she could also be actively campaigning against senators from her own party.

“Trieste is biding her time. She’s destroyed more sophisticated enemies than Travers before. Fianna Fail insiders say that the party leadership—which is allied with Trieste—is actively looking for primary challengers against the Travers bloc. That’s unprecedented in modern Bakuran political history: a party refusing to support sitting senators who aren’t embroiled in an ethics scandal,” Levyan said. “Ayn Trieste is not a forgiving adversary.”

That means the real tilt in the Bakuran elections may come months before we know whether Ayn Trieste will become the first Prime Minister since Kerry Trieste to win a third term. Should Trieste not convince her party’s voters to turn out Travers and her allies, all eyes will turn to whether Trieste is not just elected, but if she can win a large enough majority in the Senate to work around Travers.

Though political reports like Levyan are licking their chops over a battle royale in next year’s elections, some insiders see another possibility: that Trieste will decline to run for another term as Prime Minister.

“Going to war with elements of her own party not only could backfire,” Elana Xularo, a longtime communication director for Fianna Fail candidates and officeholders, said, “but even if she wins she could poison the Senate against her. Fianna Fail would be a party made in her image, but the senators are going to fear her instead of respecting her. That kind of leadership could hurt her if she has ambitions beyond Bakura, as she rightly should.”

Xularo is right that if Trieste already has a legacy of progressive legislation in her wake. It’s the kind of resume that almost calls out for a bid for Supreme Chancellor. If she were to chase the galaxy’s highest office, she wouldn’t need another term as Prime Minister to prove she has what it takes.

“Trieste could be a legitimate contender in 301 for Chancellor,” Xularo said. “In fact, not being a sitting Prime Minister would make it easier for her to campaign for it by freeing her to do serious campaigning. On top of that, she’d absolutely be challenged by any Unionist opponent on whether she’d commit to serving her full term as PM. Not pledging to serve her full term would go over badly with the voters and she’d be dogged on the campaign trail if she did run for Chancellor by her opponents for running out on her commitments at home.”

It's a tantalizing thought. One can almost imagine the wry smirk of Ayn Trieste dropping the proverbial mic and letting her successor deal with Travers. Not everyone can see it. “Trieste has been a fighter for her entire career. She was born to battle. I can’t see her walking away from a fight and potentially leaving her legacy in the hands of Travers,” Levyan said.

Whichever way she chooses, the next year and a half will determine Ayn Trieste’s political future—and if in 301 Republican voters will see her name on a ballot like they did with her mother-in-law.

 

My money is on not running for reelection in 300 and then aiming for the Chancellorship.