Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 13 (AU, OC)

I myself am enjoying all of these developments. Re read what was posted earlier to get an idea where this was all going. I still don’t know but love the ride!

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Hedon, Nar Shaddaa

Lucien stepped out of the turbolift into his penthouse after a day doing business around the Smuggler’s Moon. A being in his position got to know lots of beings throughout the Vertical City. Lucien had been known to do favors for great and small. Those who had seen their markers called in found the repayment terms were never quite what they thought. More than anything else, they were surprisingly legal—and surprising in other ways.

Hedon hadn’t opened for the evening, which meant Lucien had a brief respite before his primary business began in earnest. Naturally, that made it an excellent time for a drink. He paused as he noticed the level of one of the more expensive bottles was lower than he remembered.

“Before you get upset, that lovely lady told me to help myself to whatever I wanted. Kama, I believe? She insisted that I mention her name.”

Lucien’s hand stopped halfway to the bottle. He turned around slowly. “Hi…Dad.”

Leodan Morningstar stood by one of the shelves of Lucien’s living room, examining the displays. “Coming here’s been good for you,” Leodan said. “You never would have developed this kind of taste if you’d stayed on Hyparamis.”

Lucien’s hands curled into fists. “It wasn’t like I had much choice. Or did you forget you threw me out?”

“That was your mother’s decision.”

“And you stood there and let it happen!”

Leodan turned from the artifacts to look at his son. “It was the best I could do.”

“Yes, silence. Very on brand for you,” Lucien griped. He couldn’t look at his father. Instead, he turned to finally get that drink—which he very much needed now.

“You tried to take the company from her. It would have embarrassed her in front of the entire Consortium. She was considering…more extreme measures before I talked her down,” Leodan said gently.

“Oh what? Was she going to have me killed?” Lucien laughed.

Leodan was silent. Lucien turned around with a look that somehow mixed disbelief and complete understanding. “Oh she was, wasn’t she?” Lucien said. He gave a short, breathy laugh. “Of course she was. She had other sons. She wouldn’t miss one, would she? Oh Dad. I hope you got her a nice Mother’s Day gift. A ‘best mom ever’ mug, maybe?”

“I stopped her from doing something she was going to regret later,” Leodan said, walking across to the bar where Lucien occupied himself with pouring a drink. “And she does.”

“Then why isn’t she here to tell me that, hmmm?” Lucien asked flippantly.

“Because she already did. She came out here already. And knowing your mother, that was her saying something.”

“Only so she could marry me off to some Centran noble to further her standing at court. How’s that working out now, by the way? They’ll be calling her Bloody Carley soon. I bet we’ll get some nice horror stories in about 50 years to tell children who misbehave,” Lucien quipped. “Great choice of friends for Mom, as always.”

“Your mother is a minister. Things get complicated,” Leodan said, as if it were actually simple. “What is not complicated is that our family is stronger with you in it. Azrael and Remiel are at court too now. The Morningstars need to stand together.”

“No, Mom needs backup for whatever she’s plotting,” Lucien said, “and she made it clear I was no Morningstar anymore. Didn’t you see the sign above the door? Lucien Shaitan, at your service.”

“I must have missed it.”

“It’s a metaphorical sign not an actual one!” Lucien said in exasperation.

“Lucien…” Leodan put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Your mother did wrong by you. What you’ve built here…it’s shown that you’re not what she thought you were. An impetuous boy who wanted everything. You have dedication, savvy. All this is impressive…” He let a hand sweep across the penthouse. “…but it’s still a prison. And now it’s one you choose to remain in.

“That’s all I came here to say.” Leodan put his half-finished drink on the bar. “Know that you can come home. Whenever you want.”

Lucien said nothing as his father left. He just finished the drink Leodan had left behind.

---

Hyparamis, Hapes Consortium

It was late when Leodan returned to his home. The house was dark. The largest source of light was the fire in the great room keeping the evening chill at bay.

“Have a nice trip, dear?” Darriah asked from the couch where she read with a glass of wine.

“I did,” Leodan said.

“And?”

“He knows he’ll be welcome here again.” He sat down next to his wife and looked at the fire. “Do you think it’ll make a difference?”

“Force knows. But it was worth a try,” Darriah sighed as she scratched his arm absentmindedly. “A different messenger. He always did have difficulty with female authority figures.”

“What inspired you to ask again now? New plan?”

“Same plan, more pieces,” Darriah said. “I’m going to fracture Sierra’s attention until her vision is so blurred she can’t see straight. And nothing grabs more attention in a room than our son.”

 

Darriah strikes but at what cost....great post good sir!

 

Aha! Darriah's son! I knew he had to be related to one of the other characters somehow.

 

Yep, that was revealed a while back. But good to know I can distract you from key details.

 

Why yes, I did forget that.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Bakuran Senate building, Salis D’aar, Bakura

Harle Quinn looked liked she was on the verge of creating flimsi starships and throwing them across the chamber. Shenandoah had the desk next to hers in the back row, the traditional placement for new senators. The fact they weren’t associated with either of the major parties only further condemned them to the backbench.

To her credit, at least Harle wasn’t playing games on her datapad. She seemed to nominally be paying attention to Prime Minister’s Questions, the practice of querying of the executive by the legislature. It was a holdover from when the Senate chose the Prime Minister, a practice ended after the Galactic Civil War. It was, admittedly, one of the more entertaining aspects of the Bakuran political system.

Shenandoah leaned over to speak softly to her colleague. “You know, you don’t have to come. No one will probably notice. They never show the backbench on the HoloNet.”

Harle remained slumped in her seat. “Well that’s gonna make it really difficult when they call on me if I’m not here.”

“You’ve submitted a question?” Shenandoah hadn’t put one in herself. She came because she enjoyed it. PM’s Questions were one of the few times the entire Senate sat together. There could be a lot to learn about her colleagues and what was important to them. It could come in handy later. She was content to observe for the moment, but eventually she planned to rise.

“I’ve put my name on the list every session since we were sworn in,” Harle said. “I thought they would have called on me by now.”

Shenandoah shuffled through her memories. Most, if not all other, senators had been called on to ask questions. Even some of the other new senators had been called upon to ask their questions. There’d certainly been enough sessions that they could have worked through the whole Senate by now. Shenandoah had assumed—wrongly, she now realized—that Harle had no interest in participating.

“They should have,” Shenandoah said. “I will look into it.”

She knew exactly who to talk to about it.

---

The next day

“Senator Trieste, what a delightful surprise,” Phyllida Travers said, rising from her desk. “I hope you’ve settled in nicely?”

“There remains much to learn, but I’m coming along,” Shenandoah said pleasantly. She took the seat that Travers offered. “Though I was surprised to hear from Harle that she hasn’t had the opportunity to be recognized during PM’s Questions.”

“I’m sure whatever’s on her mind would be scintillating,” Travers said as she settled back into her chair, though she didn’t sound completely convinced of it. “Its likely it’s an oversight on the part of the Deputy PM, who, of course, is in charge of recognizing senators during the question time.”

Shenandoah didn’t bite on the redirection. “We both know he’s not going to accommodate me, but he will if you ask.” With the Unionists in control of the Senate, they were inclined to do few favors for anyone not in their party.

“He absolutely would,” Travers agreed, “but I am not going to spend my limited political capital with him on two independent members of the Senate.”

“Given our votes in support of your caucus, we would appreciate your assistance,” Shenandoah said politely, but with less courtesy than before.

“And the terms of that support were clearly set out,” Travers returned with equal parts of patience and determination. “Committee assignments in exchange for your votes. There was nothing about getting you spots on the speaking order for Questions.”

“It was left unsaid.”

“It was omitted. Senator, if you think you can change the details of deals after the fact, I suspect you will have fewer partners in the Senate than you expect,” Travers lectured calmly.

“You know what will happen if we don’t get questions.” It was free media time. A senator who wasn’t seen questioning the executive branch was a senator who didn’t exist for many voters.

“I do. But you’ve been clear you don’t need Fianna Fail’s help in your careers, save for the business of committee assignments. I’m curious to see how your experiment plays out over the next three years.”

Shenandoah stood. “Thank you for your time, Minority Leader.”

“At least I have 34 senators behind my minority. I can’t imagine what they’d call a leader of 2,” Travers quipped.

Shenandoah left without saying anything. She was aggravated by Travers, but more upset that she didn’t have a clever retort to make on her way out.

It was a moment she would not soon forget—even if there was nothing she could do about it.

 

Come on, Doe. You can do something. Raise a stink on the BBC if you have to.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn Apologies for initially putting an RPG reply in this thread! I hope that didn't mess up your notifications and you're getting a new one now.

Hapes

The Queen Mother was just and merciful.

That was the premise of her open court receptions, where citizens of the Consortium could petition the throne for their intercession. In practice, they were dominated by the Hapan nobility who had the leisure, luxury, and privilege to bring matters to the monarch. Some used their position to champion causes that affected regular citizens and others cloaked their agendas with such framing. Some didn’t bother to obfuscate their requests and directly asked for favors that benefited themselves.

Attendance was not compulsory. The courtiers who came did so to see if they could intuit the mind of Sierra Chume, often with the goal of gaining her approval in other matters. At court, no advantage could be too small.

Since her investiture as chume’da, Corrine sat next to her mother and listened to these requests. The tradition of dual royal attendance was intended to allow the heir to learn how to rule, literally at her mother’s elbow. Practically, it helped her understand the vague currents of court cliques, preparing for the day when she would have to navigate them. It also reminded the beings of the Consortium that the Queen Mother’s line was secure.

“Viscountess Carama,” a herald announced, introducing the next supplicant.

Unlike most nobles, this one was not Human. The Theelin cut a distinct figure in her suit, which made it easier for her to drop to her knees, going so far as to bend and place her forehead against the polished marble of the throne room. Her action garnered a murmur from the observers. Whatever boon the Viscountess would ask must be great. She had already humbled herself beyond the average petitioner. It was quite a statement coming from a being who owned several electronics manufacturing factories.

“Ereneda,” Carama said, without rising, “I ask for your intercession on a matter of grave consequence to my family.”

“Stand, Viscountess,” Sierra instructed. The Queen Mother was not one for excessive obeisance, but that was all. The court knew she never showed any favor until she’d heard what someone had to ask.

“Ereneda, my daughter met a Centran noble at university, here in the Consortium,” Viscountess Carama said when she was on her feet. “They fell in love. They married. We were proud that she would be an ambassador for Hapes, for you, in the Centrality.

“But now her husband stands accused of treason against Queen Carley. They say he was part of the coup that attempted to assassinate the queen. He was arrested and has been sentenced to die. On the orders of Carley, his entire family is suspect. My daughter, a Hapan citizen, is imprisoned too. We have learned that she will join my son-in-law on the executioner’s block.

“My daughter is innocent. Even if her husband were guilty of these things, she never would have taken part in an insurrection against a sovereign. She was raised as a good Hapan,” Carama pleaded. “But Carley has decreed that entire families should be killed, to the root, like weeds. I have tried everything to secure her release. I have failed. Only you can help them now, Ereneda. You have Carley’s ear. Please, save my daughter.”

The court was silent. Some beings did not even breathe. Not even Corrine moved her eyes, though she desperately wanted to read her mother’s face.

“We are saddened to hear what has befallen your family,” Sierra Chume said, “but in the choice of her marriage and choosing to make her life in the Centrality, she submitted to the authority of the Centran throne.

“It is not for us to intercede in matters between the Centran crown and its subjects.”

“Ereneda, would you so quickly spurn one who was born your subject?” Viscountess Carama pleaded in desperation.

There was a sudden, sharp inhalation in the throne room. Viscountess Carama had forgotten in her grief. Pressing one’s case once the Queen Mother had spoken was not done.

Sierra Chume rose, her eyes steely behind her veil. “The day she chose to make her fortune in the Centrality, wedded to a Centran lord, she left our protection. She must trust in the grace of her queen now.”

The Queen Mother and chume’da left the throne room. There may have been other petitions to hear, but the monarch had decided today’s session was done. When they were alone, Corrine asked no questions and made no comments. It was only once they parted to take care of their separate duties that Corrine made a signal to one of her chume’doro that they would speak later.

---

“Your Highness,” the head of Corrine’s personal guard said when they were alone in the chume’da’s rooms that afternoon.

“The chume’doro have always kept the secrets of the royal family,” Corrine stated, seated at a writing table, the guardswoman an arm’s length away.

“Of course.”

“Does this discretion extend within the family?” Corrine asked.

The chume’doro said nothing in reply, looking the princess straight in the eye. Corrine tried again.

“I wish to make a brief trip. One I would prefer my mother not be alerted to.”

The chume’doro raised an eyebrow.

“A one-time event,” Corrine elaborated. She was met with further silence. “I cannot imagine I am the first chume’da who has desired a certain level of privacy in her personal affairs.”

“You are not,” the chume’doro said. “We have not always been able to honor that wish.”

“Because?”

“If the Queen Mother asks a question, we will answer her truthfully.”

“And if she doesn’t ask?” Corrine suggested.

The chume’doro was silent again—for a moment. “The chume’doro has a responsibility to respect the Queen Mother’s time and attention.” A pause. “Assuming there is nothing she should know about.”

“There is not,” Corrine confirmed.

“Then, should that indeed be the case, the chume’doro is, as always, ready to serve.”

Corrine smiled. “Very good. It’s a simple itinerary…”

 

I sense Corrine is headed to the Centrality.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn I attribute any mistakes in Declan's understanding of the situation in the Centrality to the difficulties of communication in crisis situations and definitely not to my lack of close reading of Vehn's fanfic.

​

Galactic Senate, Coruscant

As usual, Declan was present for the Senate’s general debate period. His colleagues took it as a mark of pride if they could entice him into a response. But today he barely heard their arguments. His mind was too full, churning with a debate of his own.

He lifted his hand and let it hang over the button that signaled to the speaker’s dais that he wished to be recognized. If he pressed it, he knew he would be given time to speak. Senator Declan Trieste made for good HoloNet. In less than a full term he had gone from obstinate silence to one of the most recognized speakers in the Senate. If Declan wanted to rise, the Senate would hear what he had to say.

Once his silence had been a curiosity. Now it might be the better course of action.

Declan lowered his finger, depressing the button. He closed his eyes, hoping he’d made the right choice. When the current senator finished their speech, the speaker announced, “The dais recognizes Senator Trieste.”

The eyes of the Senate turned to Declan as he stood. “Mr. Speaker, my fellow senators and Republicans, thank you. I wish to address a matter that has received much attention throughout the galaxy, one that I feel compelled to speak on. I refer to the situation unfolding in the Centrality.

“Let me be clear: regime change through assassination is intolerable. I denounce the actions of those who sought to take Queen Carley’s life. And…” Declan’s voice hitched and he gathered himself. “…and I know all too well the deep pain that comes when innocents die.”

It was only now that the Senate, and perhaps the galaxy, remembered that Declan’s father, Mihal, had received the assassin’s blaster bolt intended for his mother when she was Prime Minister.

“Whatever one’s opinions of Carley, her policies, or the monarchy she has built, we must not condone, even through silence, any who would achieve their political goals by violence.

“But a tragedy is only half about what happens to its victims. It is also about how those victims, and their community, responds to them,” Declan said. He planted his hands against his lectern, leaning forward slightly, pulling the Senate in closer to him.

“In the past weeks, the leaders of the Centrality have sought stability and security at any cost. And those are laudable goals. What is not laudable are those last three words. ‘At any cost.’ For in those words, so often used in our determination to never again be victims, to never feel pain again, is the beginning of the evaporation of rights. Of the abdication of justice.

“For what the Centran crown pursues now is not justice. It is revenge. It is rage. And it is in these moments, when it is the hardest to live our values, that we must not compromise them. When we decide who we are.

“And it is with great sadness that we now see who the Centrality is, who Carley is.

“Those of you who are familiar with my work on Bakura know that my diplomacy was always pragmatic. I have worked with the Empire and with the Corporate Sector where we had common cause and interest, even though I disagree with their political philosophies. We must live in the galaxy as it is, not as we wish it to be—even as we continue to work to create a better future.

“But that does not mean that we must remain silent.

“I am gravely concerned by the lack of due process unfolding in the Centrality. This is the kind of thing that the galaxy saws in the days of Palpatine. Beings lived in fear of denouncement. A single being was judge and jury. That this should exist in today’s galaxy grieves me—and troubles me.

“Which is why today I unequivocally condemn the actions of Queen Carley.

“As much as I believe in strengthening ties across the galaxy, the Republic must not reward bad behavior. Let us continue as we are with the Centrality in our diplomatic relations—but not one millimeter more. I propose that the Supreme Chancellor make any further ties between the Republic and the Centrality contingent upon binding action by the Centrality to enshrine civil rights and liberties for all its citizens.

“I do not make this proposal lightly. But I cannot remain silent in the face of such flagrant use of power.”

Declan went to resume his seat, but was stopped by the speaker. “Will the Senator from the Bakura sector yield for a question?”

“I will,” Declan said.

“The dais recognizes Senator Kaparrz.”

“Senator, so that the record may be clear, do you recommend no action by the Republic in light of Carley’s actions?” Kaparrz asked.

“I do,” Declan confirmed. “The Centrality has the right to govern its own affairs as it sees fit. When the Republic and the Senate forgets this fact, we find ourselves embroiled in quagmires that do more harm than good for all involved.”

“A follow-up question, senator,” Kaparrz asked. “Under what circumstances do you feel a response by the Republic is warranted?”

“Such decisions are grave matters and must consider the myriad circumstances of the individual case,” Declan said, “but as I suspect this answer will not satisfy my colleague, let me make some general remarks. Of course, the Republic must honor its treaty obligations allied powers. This is why we do not undertake treaties lightly. When not bound by treaties, I believe the Republic should only intervene in matters outside its borders in reaction to events. Let us not be branded the aggressor. Preemptive action closes off all possibilities for a peaceful resolution. And should events come to a place where the Republic feels compelled to act, let us avail ourselves of the the D13 Security Compact. My hope is that the Republic only takes action as part of a coalition of the great powers of the galaxy. Anything less would smack of opportunism and colonialism. Our greatest errors have been made when we chose to go it alone—and when we have abandoned our founding principles.” Declan took his seat once more, his remarks concluded.

Had he hung Carley out to dry and done more harm than good? Time would tell. But the words had demanded to be said. Innocent beings were dying in the Centrality. He would carry the psychic consequences if need be. But what he did not condemn, he endorsed.

And Declan Trieste could not endorse what was happening a galaxy away.

 

Qui tacet consentire videtur -- he who is silent is taken to agree. Declan is right to speak out against Carley's actions.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

​

Hedon, Nar Shaddaa

“I call it the Fortress Inquisitorius,” Lucien said, suggestion sparkling in his eyes as the turbolift shot up to the penthouse level.

“Why’s that?” the male in the couple accompanying him asked. He and his female friend seemed to be riding whatever vibe Lucien had going on.

The turbolift doors slid open and Lucien led them into his living room, walking backwards. “You see, you and I will high five each other so it’ll look like we’re forming a spire and she’ll—”

Lucien turned around to find Azea sitting on his couch, a half-full tumbler dangling from one hand, her shins reflecting the lights of the city, her short hair feathered over her forehead, the skirt of her dress fanned out on the cushions. Her head swiveled on its neck to look at Lucien and his guests. She said nothing, merely raising her eyebrows slightly in inquiry.

“—and it turns out you’ll be drinking on me tonight. Downstairs,” Lucien said, spinning back and shepherding the couple back into the turbolift. “And doing anything else you like. Just ask Kama to arrange it. No expense spared. Have a lovely evening.” He reached inside to press the button to send them back to the club level, snaking his hand out of the turbolift before the doors shut.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Azea asked.

“Yes, but nothing important,” Lucien said crossing the room to meet Azea, who stood to meet him.

“If I filled in the blanks correctly, they could have stayed,” she said.

Lucien cupped her jaw with one hand as he locked eyes with her. “I couldn’t bear to share you.”

---

Corrine knew she shouldn’t have come back. But that look. She’d seen it when she would close her eyes at night. Sometimes she’d even seen it when she’d been attending to court duties, when she knew she shouldn’t let it intrude.

When Lucien looked at her, she felt like he saw all of her, even though she was wearing a wig, the same one she’d worn at Prairie’s hen party. Even though her outfit was designed to her look like anyone but the heir to the Hapan throne. Lucien awakened something in her that she hadn’t felt with any other being.

“Jealous type, are you?” Corrine said, putting a hand lightly on Lucien’s waist to draw him towards her.

“Ordinarily no, despite my other vices,” Lucien said, “but you have that effect on me.”

“And what are these other vices?” Corrine asked, letting her other hand snake up to the top of his shirt. She hooked her index finger just above the top button.

“Wrath.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Pride.”

“I would have never guessed,” Corrine said. She didn’t sound very convinced.

“Lust,” Lucien said, their faces millimeters apart.

“One being’s vice is another’s…” Corrine said before craning her neck so their lips could meet.

---

Corrine slipped her shoes on as what served for morning light on Nar Shaddaa streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the flat. She reached behind her to do up the back of her dress. She’d chosen one that she could manage herself for just this reason. Just like her soft-soled shoes wouldn’t make much noise leaving. Though she’d stayed through the morning last time, she knew she need to make a clean break. Lucien could take it.

Besides, she’d agreed to a strict timetable with the chume’doro. It was one of the many agreements they had made—like how there would not be a third visit to Nar Shaddaa.

“You’re going to hurt a gent’s feelings sneaking out like that.”

Corrine turned to find Lucien reclining beneath his sheets, his head supported by one hand. It was a rakish pose and Corrine had to bite her tongue to combat it.

“After all,” Lucien continued, “I seem to remember the last morning we spent together being notable.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Corrine couldn’t argue with that, but she restrained herself. That would only lead to choices she couldn’t afford. Instead she said, “I’m sorry I have to go.”

“Then don’t,” Lucien said.

“I told you there were plans. They come with responsibilities.”

“And I told you that you get to make your own plans.”

“I choose these plans,” Corrine stated.

“You know, I hear a lot of workplaces embrace remote commutes,” Lucien pointed out. “I’ll get a terminal set up just over there and between meetings we can continue to get to know each other.” It was clear that “getting to know each other” was not going to just be conversation.

“I have a demanding employer,” Corrine said, but she found herself smiling despite her determination to stay serious.

“Let me talk to them. I’m excellent at negotiating deals,” Lucien said.

“Let me guess. You’re an attorney night club owner.”

“No, I’m just persuasive,” Lucien said.

“Tell me about it,” Corrine said before she could stop herself.

Lucien smiled at her slip. “Life’s too short to deny yourself what gives you pleasure.”

Corrine bit her lip and walked back to the bed. She leaned over Lucien and lay a kiss on his lips, which he returned.

Then she pulled away, her face still close to his. “I’m glad I came.”

“But you’re still going to go,” Lucien said, his eyes still closed, as if that would tempt her into kissing him again and falling back into bed.

She brushed his cheek with her fingers, his morning stubble rough. “I…”

Want to stay.

Wish I’d been born to another family.

Know you’ll never accept this is how it has to be.

Don’t deserve to have you remember me.

Hope you will anyways.

Will never forget you.

Might cry on the shuttle back to the Hapes.

“…have to go.”

And be someone else.

---

Lucien watched her enter the turbolift. Azea didn’t even look at him before the doors shut.

He fell back onto his bed, looking at the ceiling, his breath leaving his body. He’d never expected to see her again. That wasn’t how his life went. Sure, many had clamored for another night with it, but Lucien had never wanted it.

And now he wanted nothing more.

He thought he had left Azea behind. Instead, the moment he saw her on the couch, he realized he had only been fooling himself.

Lucien could snap his fingers and have any kind of spice or alcohol to hand. But none of it sounded appealing. None of it could compare to what he felt with Azea.

And she’d made it clear that she would not come back again.

“Sithspit,” Lucien exhaled.

 

I guess not!

If word of this little stunt gets out, that opening will be wider.

 

I have to say I enjoyed that piece of misdirection.

 

All caught up and back from my trip a little early! It turned out well! Had lots of fun . Nice writing going on here and the misdirection was very well executed.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn I guess I'm in an ABBA kind of mood at the moment!

​

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Popular comedians like Stephan Colburt often had being-on-the-street segments where they showed Bakurans holos of beings like the Deputy Prime Minister, Minority Leader of the Senate, and ministers and asked them who they were. Perhaps these bits were edited for comedic effect to exclude knowledgeable citizens, but most of the time these beings didn’t know who they were.

Shenandoah Trieste took advantage of this.

Some nights after she left the Senate she underdid her makeup, chose less professional attire, and put her hair in a different fashion than she usually wore. When she stepped out of her speeder taxi at a bar outside her district, the most she heard was, “You look familiar.” Shenandoah would smile and say, “I get that a lot.” She’d introduce herself only as Doe. Most beings didn’t ask others for their surnames.

Hiding in plain sight, Shenandoah could walk into a bar or pub and order a drink and watch beings who did not have the cares of state on their shoulders. The liquor wasn’t anywhere as good as what she had at the Plaza, her office, or even Trader Sam’s. But the liquor wasn’t the point.

Shenandoah was looking for something. For someone. She was patient. Eventually he’d show up. This was Bakura, after all. 90% of the population was Human.

She’d notice him by his build first. Lithe, thin, just short of painfully so. He’d have that dark hair that was longer than the average male, brushing his ears. But she wouldn’t know for sure until she saw his eyes. They had to be blue. She needed them to be that piercing blue, almost lighter than his fair skin.

And then Shenandoah would catch his eye and beckon to him. His name would be Han, Petr, Lex, Yeorg, or something like that. It wouldn’t matter. It never mattered. All that mattered was that he looked like that. She’d whisper in his ear the name of a hotel nearby. Shenandoah always found one in advance to make it easy, simple.

They’d lie together and Shenandoah would look into those eyes and sometimes for a moment she could forget. Sometimes it worked. But it never lasted.

She’d always be the first to leave, letting him know the room was paid for through the night if he wanted to stay. She never did, so someone might as well get the use of it.

She just got into another taxi and went home. Sometimes the feeling would last for a while. Sometimes she’d wipe away tears. But eventually it would fade.

Because he wasn’t him. These random men were just the best she could do.

It killed her.

---

Kilmainham Brook, Prytis, Bakura

Kerry stood, brushing the dirt from her knees and hands as the light filtered through the leaves and branches above her. She was a being of her word. She always had been when it came to family.

The ashes of Ronan Trieste now mingled with the roots of the tree that had welcomed so many of the Noble House.

Not everyone had been able to make it for the internment, but most had. All of Ronan’s living siblings were there. For the first time, there were more dead than living. It was just Kerry, Fiona, and Regan. All the males of their generation were gone. Declan had returned from Coruscant, as a taoiseach should. The others who lived on Bakura had made the journey to the ancestral seat.

Mandy had seen her husband’s remains to Bakura herself. She had lost a great love, one so great it had birthed a pop song. Though her days of performing were long behind her, the music remained. Jane Serena still toured, carrying on the Syfred musical legacy. She was as popular as ever, but, like her mother, called Denon her home more than she did Bakura.

It was Ronan’s daughters-in-law who carried forward the Trieste name on Bakura these days. Henrietta and Elyse had come together with their children, now in various stages of young adulthood, from Nouvelle Orleans. They owed their standing in the Noble House to Ronan’s welcome, especially Elyse who had never married Enoch even though she’d borne his child. Though he was not their father by birth, they still felt his loss keenly.

Though his grandchildren lived on Bakura, Ronan had made it a point to be a presence in their lives as much as he could. It was the first death close to Siobhan, Aloric, and Elon and all were appropriately somber as mortality lost its abstract quality.

But no one’s presence today was more notable than Ronan’s eldest and surviving son, Antrose Trieste. His attendance required the presence of federal marshals. They were a requirement of his compassionate leave in the midst of his decades-long sentence for his role in the syndicates of Nouvelle Orleans.

“You deserved better, Ronan,” Kerry said as she looked at the fresh mound that marked where she’d laid her brother to rest. “You always had a home here, even if your life was bigger than Bakura. May it be a home to you now.”

There had been a service before this where some had shared their thoughts. More words would be said in the house where the family would have lunch. For now, though, there was nothing else was needed. Ronan was fully gone now. The Noble House began its walk back from their family tree.

Siobhan fell into step next to her father. The marshals kept a respectful, if not great, distance.

“Ironic, coming from her,” Antrose said, his eyes fixed on Kerry meters ahead of him. “She used him his entire life, making hundreds of millions of credits off him, leaving him table scraps.”

“Everyone knows it,” Siobhan agreed.

“Bakura’s great statesman,” Antrose spat. “I heard they want to build a monument to her one day. The being who won the Civil War. Bakura’s first Supreme Chancellor. ‘First Supreme Chancellor.’ No doubt they believe Declan and his ilk will beget another soon enough. And it’ll be paid for by the toils of Vesper and those like her.” His eyes darted to the current financial manager in the family, who happened to be walking next to Declan, their heads bent towards each other. “Content with measly percentages for managing the billions of the Noble House.”

The father and daughter were nearing the house now and their privacy would soon be over.

“Come see me again soon. There’s still much on my mind,” Antrose said softly, making sure only she could hear.

“Of course, Dad,” Siobhan promised. “I have ideas.”

“Good,” Antrose said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “Good.”

 

What plot do Antrose and Siobhan have? Hopefully not one that will land her in prison too?

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Hedon, Nar Shaddaa

Kama was under no illusions that she was the one doing most of the work around here. She managed the staff, worked the bar at peak times, kept the accounts, ran the inventory, dealt with the health inspectors, and even threw out the occasional unruly patron. But Kama liked staying busy so she didn’t mind.

She also had a soft spot for Lucien. Other beings might have looked at him and seen a party boy, someone using the club as an excuse to justify a wild lifestyle. But those beings hadn’t been on the flight that had brought him to the Smuggler’s Moon. She’d seen the aftermath of his mother kicking him out of the Consortium. A nearly-broken being with a kilometer-long stare who had lost his entire galaxy. Kama had been fleeing her own bad situation, one that was arguably worse than a good-looking rich kid Hapan getting kicked out of his home. But somehow she knew that Lucien was worse off than she was.

She’d watched as him set foot on Nar Shaddaa with nothing but a rumpled pair of clothes and a smile. He’d built a club out of an abandoned ground floor retail space scarred from the last bout of violence on the moon. Eventually he’d bought the entire building, eventually creating a network of favors and connections that crossed the moon and united do-gooder philanthropists with crime bosses (not that he ever told one about the other). With such charming determination, Lucien was an easy being to like.

That made it all the harder to watch him now.

Yes, he still gladhanded with patrons. Yes, he still took beings of every species and sex to his penthouse at night. Yes, he smilingly knocked back alcohol with the kind of tolerance that would make a Wookiee blanch.

But Kama could see that the smiles no longer reached his eyes. Only she could see it, because she was the only one who’d seen him like that before, at the beginning. It broke her heart to watch Lucien go through the pantomime of being the life of the party every night.

Kama waited for her opportunity, because she knew it would come. Lucien, despite appearances to the contrary, had his patterns. Eventually he would run out of distractions and entertainments and for a brief time there would be silence. A silence into which there was just enough time for something short of a conversation. But it would be enough.

She left Hedon to its own devices—Kama ran it well enough that it didn’t require her constant supervision (though she didn’t want anyone else to figure that out lest they relax)—and took the turbolift to the penthouse. It was early enough in the night she knew Lucien wouldn’t have found companionship. She was unsurprised to find him with a drink in his hand. He wouldn’t have had too much yet.

“You spend an awful lot of time looking at that view,” the Shistavanen said, announcing her presence.

Lucien looked over his shoulder at his guest before returning to the skyline. “I paid enough for it.”

“Funny thing is you don’t seem to enjoy it anymore,” Kama continued, arriving at Lucien’s side against the railing. “And yet you keep looking.”

“They say contentment is a virtue.”

“Since when were you ever content?”

“If I wanted unhelpful remarks like that, I’d go see Dr. Linder,” Lucien quipped.

“And if you did see her, we both know you’d do the exact opposite of what she says,” Kama pointed out. She’d never understood why Lucien bothered to have a psychologist in the first place with that kind of behavior.

“That is not how therapy works at all,” Lucien objected.

“No? So you don’t use misdirection to avoid talking about your actual feelings?” Kama raised one eyebrow.

“I see what you’re trying to do there. All right. I’ll humor you. What would those feelings be?” Lucien asked.

“That ever since your mother kicked you out, you don’t think you deserve to be happy,” Kama said.

Lucien looked at his dwindling drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

Kama threw up her hands with an exasperated sigh. “Right. Of course you are.” She turned and headed for the turbolift. “See you downstairs when you care to grace us with your presence.”

Lucien made no reply as he turned his attention back to the twinkling vista. It was so beautiful that one could almost forget they lived on Nar Shaddaa.

---

Hapes

“Though it’s been decades since we’ve needed to use them, the structure of a chume’da’s courtship is well documented,” Zena Atelier, Social Secretary to the Queen Mother said. Corrine suspected that if Atelier’s datapad was converted to flimsi documents, there would be a towering stack. The Hapan court loved its ceremony. The selection of a consort would be no exception.

“How regimented is this structure?” Sierra asked. It was as new to her as her daughter. Trellam’s low standing in the line of succession at the time of their marriage had spared her this process.

“Consider it a menu,” Atelier said. “Some courses fit in certain places. Sometimes you can skip, other times you choose from options.”

Corrine rolled her eyes. “Let’s leave the analogies behind. Is there a first step?”

“Traditionally, the crown would host a levee for interested mates to make themselves known to the chume’da,” Atelier said.

“And too bad for those who don’t have the financial means to hie themselves to Hapes, let alone the time,” Corrine said in an airy tone that didn’t conceal her criticism.

“We sympathize with our daughter’s desire to cast a wider net. After all, we benefited from nontraditional methods,” Sierra pointed out. “Perhaps there are supplemental activities that can be interlaced into the formal ones?”

“That can be arranged. While there are certain official events that must take place, you are not restricted to the choices on offer there,” Atelier told Corrine. “We can include other sorts, like charitable visits throughout the Consortium, for example. Though, of course, you’ll have more support at court with a consort who brings alliances to the table.”

“Corrine is fully aware of the political realities attendant upon her choice,” Sierra stated.

“Yes, I’ll be a good princess and find a nice, convenient boy,” Corrine said, her voice saccharine before it returned to its normal tenor. “Wherever he might be.”

Sierra decided to let her daughter’s remark pass. “And when could this levee take place?”

Zena consulted the official schedule. “Working around existing state commitments and providing enough notice for beings to make plans…we can begin in three weeks.”

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s get this meat market started,” Corrine said, pushing back and standing from her chair.

Now it was the Queen Mother who rolled her eyes.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Prytis, Bakura

The guests had moved to the sitting room of Safin Ayada’s home. Its large windows looked out on the forest, its snow-covered branches just visible in the light from the house. A few beings had wandered onto the deck to enjoy the crispness of the cold air (and perhaps more intimate moments, which Safin was glad to facilitate).

Those who had remained indoors were snug in their sweaters, the thinnest-blooded among them positioned close to the fireplace. Most held postprandial snifters between their fingers, letting the alcohol warming them from the inside out.

Safin rotated her guest list as a matter of course, playing with combinations of the elite and interesting of the forested community and the nearby capital to spark engrossing conversation. Given the size of her holodex, to receive more than two invitations from Mrs. Ayada in a year was unusual.

There was one exception. She always sent word to her neighbor, Declan Trieste, whenever she was having beings over. When he was on planet, only the rarest business that prevented him from attending. She had heard few others enticed him to their tables. Safin wondered what it was that caused the senator to accept her welcome so often.

Though her guests expected him to dominate the dinner table, more often than not he stimulated conversation instead of running it. Tonight, however, her guests were having none of that. They all had one topic on their mind.

“Are you running for reelection this year?” one doyen asked. “The Unionists have put up their candidate, but Fianna Fail has yet to do so. Clearly they’re waiting to see if you’ll be in the ring, so to speak.”

“Given how the Deputy PM is treating the PM’s agenda, they certainly won’t want to risk splitting the vote and handing the Unionists the seat on Coruscant,” another chimed in.

Only those with a keen eye for fashion could tell that, despite the seeming casual attire of a sweater and slacks, Declan was dressed in finely made garments. Safin had indulged herself once by allowing her hand to brush his sleeve. The softness of his close-cut sweater was divine. You didn’t own a home in Prytis without having serious credits, but even Safin didn’t have a sweater like that. Much like his relaxed pose with his glass, Safin guessed that her featured guest was not so cavalier when it came to his office as his manner might suggest.

“Well, I certainly won’t be relying on my daughter to run my campaign out of her bedroom this time around,” Declan said. The room chuckled. “Mainly because she has her own career to worry about these days, as it should be and of which I could not be prouder, including how she’s found her own way in Salis D’aar.

“But to your question, I don’t mind telling all of you that tomorrow morning I’ll be on the BBC’s morning show to announce my reelection campaign,” Declan said calmly.

“Oh that’s wonderful,” Safin said as the room murmured with approval.

“Do make sure we hear about any events that will be around here. I’d love to attend,” one guest said.

“Forgive me if this is gauche to say out loud,” another said, “but I don’t think we’ve got the same values, so I’ll politely pass on showing up.”

“No offense taken,” Declan said with a slight smile. “I know not every Bakuran agrees with my positions. I’d be concerned if everyone did. But there will be no rallies.”

“None?”

“I will make appearances on the HoloNet and do interviews with local media, as requested. Elections seem to only get more frenetic and hurried. Most beings I know are put off by being bombarded with candidate ads for weeks on end. To bring my temperature down, I’ve decided to only discuss the issues through journalists at trusted, reputable outlets and candidate debates hosted by the FEC or established institutions.”

“What a curious strategy,” someone said. “Do you think you can win that way?”

“Perhaps I’ll be drowned out by paid ads from my opponents.” Declan shrugged. “Honestly, I think my record speaks for itself. I’m not going to waste credits running slick ads to blanket the HoloNet.”

“So you’ll run on a record that includes no legislation authored?” one skeptic questioned.

“As if that were the only measure of a politician’s value,” Safin said, gently sliding into the conversation. “Thanks to Declan’s speeches in the Senate, Bakura hasn’t had this level of influence on Coruscant in decades. It would be shortsighted for voters to abandon such a valuable voice in the affairs of the Republic.”

“But do you do anything with that voice if you’re not writing legislation?” someone asked Declan. The question sounded like a mix of genuine curiosity and gentle challenge.

“They say there is no such thing as an invisible legacy in the halls of the Senate. Perhaps that’s true and the work I’ve done will never be directly tied to me. But I believe the debates I’ve participated in have had a material impact on creating better legislation across the board. Were I to spend my time writing the legislation itself, I wouldn’t have had half the impact I’ve had by speaking about issues on the floor of the Senate,” Declan said. “And if there’s one thing that Bakurans appreciate, it’s a Republic that’s working instead of bogged down in bureaucratic morass.”

“Here, here.”

“Well put.”

“I’m still not voting for you,” the being from earlier maintained, “but you’re a fair sight better than whatever hack Fiana Fail might pluck out of obscurity for the position.”

“Now now,” Safin slid in, “I think we’ll steer ourselves away from purely partisan matters and content ourselves with raising a glass to Declan and his reelection bid.”

Declan lifted his snifter and gave Safin a smile. She returned it and made a mental note to write a check. If he wouldn’t take it for a campaign, she’d find a charity he cared about. It was a small price to pay for his scintillating conversation at her dinners.

 

Love interest? Lots of quality developments in here….

 

Very interested to see this campaign.

Just a guess, but I don't think Declan will ever remarry. I think Ayn still has too strong of a hold on his heart. I could be wrong of course.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Hedon, Nar Shaddaa

“The Haskavars are looking for you,” Kama sighed as she stepped through the turbolift doors to Lucien’s penthouse. Though everyone was on best behavior at Hedon, putting off syndicate big shots only distracted her from actually running the club. The sooner Lucien got down to the floor to gladhand with the VIPs, the easier her night was going to be.

Though Kama had become used to a certain level of distraction on Lucien’s part recently, the silence that greeted her statement was unusually long, even for him. “Lucien, I said the Haskavars want to see you.”

Still nothing.

She couldn’t see him on the balcony where he seemed to spend most of his time these days. She checked the bedroom, but the covers hadn’t even been creased. Kama looked in the closets and the hiding spots that only she and Lucien knew about.

“Sithspit,” Kama cursed.

This was not good. It wasn’t the first time, but that was no consolation. Lucien was missing.

And when that happened, bad things were soon to follow.

---

Mamba Federal Penitentiary, Arielle County, Bakura

Officially, Antrose Trieste was meeting with his daughter and attorney to discuss work on his appeal. But there was no appeal. Antrose’s attorney was simply there to facilitate a private meeting, one that couldn’t be recorded by prison authorities thanks to Antrose’s legal right to privacy with counsel. The lawyer sat at the table with headphones on that prevents him from hearing anything, doing other work (they didn’t mind that they got to double bill for this period of time—it helped keep the firm’s revenue up).

“Your plan isn’t going to work,” Antrose said.

“It’s the fastest way to destroy them,” Siobhan insisted, jabbing her finger into the table to punctuate her point. “If I join the Future Fund, I’ll see where all the Noble House money is, even the stuff that’s off the fund’s official books. Once I know that, I can start undermining their positions, launching hostile takeovers through proxies, short-selling, starting rumors, creating runs on their stock, ripping their balance sheet to shreds. Force, knowing Declan there’s probably even evidence of felonies in there I can take to the Attorney General. He’s got no friends left in Salis D’aar. Shenandoah’s going to be no help to him.”

Antrose pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Beings have been underestimating Vesper Lynd her entire life and she’s proved them all wrong. If you are in her house, she will figure out what you’re doing.”

“But—”

Antrose held up a hand to stop her. “And even though Vesper has no great love for Declan, she’s the one running that operation. She’s doesn’t leave loose ends. She’s a little Jedi Knight. If Falene hadn’t fallen back on thinking that the family needed a taoiseach who as a politician, maybe she would have given it to Vesper. She probably would have cleaned up the Noble House.” Antrose gave a brief laugh. “What a galaxy that would have been.” For one thing, he wouldn’t have been in jail. Maybe it would have been him who had taken the family finances in hand and been justly rewarded for his acumen, like his father never was.

“Then how are we going to bring them down and do to them what they did to you?” Siobhan said, aggravated. “They’ve left you to rot in here when the only difference between you and them was that they hide behind a cloak of respectability.”

“Trust me, I know,” Antrose said, “but nobody who ever rushed into anything against Declan and Ayn ever got anywhere. You need to be methodical and patient.”

“But it’s not Declan and Ayn anymore. And you’ve always said she was the smarter one,” Siobhan stated.

“And for all his fine words in public, Declan is as good with a vibroknife as his wife was. Why do you think she ever married him? Do not go to the Future Fund. Instead, find a family shop with decent assets behind it. Surely there’s one among your business school friends. Look for the child of the firm’s founder. Someone who got by on their credits, not their ability. They’ll have been raised with good things, but lack the intelligence and drive of the being who built it,” Antrose instructed. “They’ll think themselves a titan of industry even though they’re a dilletante. You’ll be able to flatter your way into their confidence with ease. Once you’ve made them think they’re the inheritors of the Trade Federation, you can use them to wage war on Declan and the rest of the family.”

“And I still won’t know where their weak spots are,” Siobhan objected, sitting back and crossing her arms petulantly.

“All you have to do is watch the markets. Vesper will have a tell. She did on the field and she will in business too. Work backwards from her deals. You’ll find the signs of when she extends herself—and that’s when you strike.”

“If it’s that easy, then why hasn’t someone else found it?”

“Because they’re too afraid of what Vesper will do when she figures out who comes after them. The Noble House is far from the richest player on Bakura, but wars are expensive. And anyone with enough to take them on will fear losing what they have,” Antrose said.

“This is not a good advertisement for your plan,” Siobhan stated.

Antrose held up one finger. “The softest enemy is one who hasn’t been hit in a long time.”

Siobhan tilted her head slightly. “She won’t know how to respond.”

Antrose sat back in his chair, a wide smile on his face. “Vesper might have been a limmie player, but she never played well when she got roughed up. Look at the Future Fund’s public holdings. They’re corporations that create value. She’s thinking of high-minded ideals like creating a better Bakura through corporate and social responsibility. She hasn’t built her shop for war. She could fight one, but it will tear her up inside. The ripples in communities across Bakura will distract her. She might even devote resources to ameliorating them, decreasing her war chest from fighting off an invader.”

“It could work,” Siobhan admitted.

“And what could be sweeter than robbing Kerry, Declan, and the rest of them of all their credits in completely legal transactions?” Antrose asked, extending his hands.

Siobhan nodded. “I’ll put together a list of proxies. See you next month, Dad.”

Antrose rose to kiss his daughter on her cheek across the table to conclude their regular plotting session. “See you then, Shiv.” He didn’t say anything about giving his love to his ex-wife or son.

None of them knew Siobhan came here. They’d abandoned him when he’d gone to prison. They wouldn’t understand.

 

Antrose, Antrose. Still plotting from prison and bribing lawyers to help him out.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Trader Sam’s, Salis D’aar, Bakura

Even though the doors to the establishment slid open like most other doors in the galaxy, it felt like Harle Quinn threw them open.

“Guess who just got a new side hustle!” she shouted. “This lady did and I’m buyin’ a round!”

Most of the patrons cheered in response and raised their glasses towards Harle as a sign of thanks. The regulars just smiled to themselves. Harle was good for about one round a month if you timed your visits right.

Harle strode up to the bar where Sam was punching away at her station. “You know when you do this it’s Korriban on keeping the tabs straight,” the Trailian said. The harshness of her words were undermined by her pleasant tone. Harle’s buy-a-round antics raised the overall revenue. On top of Harle’s contribution, it generally stimulated everyone to drink more.

“Wah wah, cry me a freakin’ river that you’re makin’ more creds tonight,” Harle said.

“So what’s this side hustle?” Sam asked, looking up from the screen. “It’s not a multilevel marketing scheme. Harle, please tell me it’s not that. Please say it’s not an MLM.”

“Nah, I just signed a new contract with the Miners, one year,” Harle said.

“That’s not really a side hustle…”

“What are ya talkin’ about?” Harle said. “The Senate’s my main job.”

Sam shook her head and smiled. “You live an interesting life.”

“I know. Ain’t it great?!” Harle said, throwing her arms wide open.

“Hey, you got some folks at your table already,” Sam pointed out with a motion in that direction.

“I thought I left before Doe. She got outta there fast,” Harle said. “Hey, why don’t we mix it up tonight and order a—” Harle stopped midsentence. “I gotta go! Surprise me!”

Harle rushed over to the table and slid into the booth at a run, friction bringing her to a halt next to Niamh Crannagh. “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii! How’s my favorite attorney?”

Niall’s fiancée smiled. “I’m flattered you remembered me from that one time we met.”

“Pfft. Like I’d forget someone who was clerking for the SD Supreme Court,” Harle said. “So you here because you quit your job and you’re gonna come work for me now?”

“Like I said before, I’m going to finish out the term,” Niamh said, “but—”

“You’re gonna talk to me the moment you finish,” Harle interrupted, as if she was promising on Niamh’s behalf.

“You’re on the list for post-clerkship work,” Niamh admitted.

“You mean ‘at the top of the list,’” Harle corrected. “And also the only being on the list. OK, so let’s talk salary. I was thinkin’—”

“Actually,” Niamh gently said to halt this conversational avenue, “I wanted to introduce you to someone.” Harle only now realized there was someone else at the table. “Meet Vienna Harlow.”

“One of Niamh’s extended in-laws-to-be,” Vienna said with a smile.

“Pleasure to meet ya,” Harle said, grasping Vienna’s hand and giving it an overly vigorous shake. “How many cousins does Shenandoah have?”

“Entirely too many,” Vienna deadpanned.

“Vienna and I know each other through Niall. She just graduated from Tiarest,” Niamh explained.

“And I shamelessly asked if Niall could introduce us,” Vienna said, picking up the thread. “He’s tied down with some kind of Senate appointment negotiations and Niamh graciously offered to do the honors.”

“Any friend of Niamh’s is a friend of mine. But only if she accepts my offer to work for me when she’s done clerkin’,” Harle said.

“Are one of you going to explain what’s going on with that?” Vienna asked, flicking her finger back and forth between them.

Niamh gave Vienna a look that Harle couldn’t see that said I haven’t the slightest idea while Harle said, “I just got a master plan and this gal’s part of it.”

“Well, speaking of plans,” Vienna said, “I did my undergraduate work at Tiarest in full spectrum sentient biology. I’m continuing my work with graduate research at PCNS and I thought we might be able to work together on it.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about biology, other than I passed just enough of it for my psychology major. But go Rangers,” Harle said, having attended the Prytis College of Natural Sciences as a student-athlete.

Vienna smiled. “Actually, I was thinking more of a partnership on a federal funding request to PCNS for the lab I’m joining. I already went to the Noble House well once with the Foundation our Aunt Elfie runs and I’d rather not ask again.”

A server delivered a bright, fruity drink for Harle—the result of her giving Sam free rein with her drink tonight—and departed. The senator took a long, but approving, sip before replying. “Since it doesn’t seem like you follow the news much, I’m not exactly persona grata with the beings who make the budget.”

“Technically it wouldn’t be a budget request. It would be encouraging assignment of already allocated funds,” Vienna pointed out.

“One thing I’ve learned in the last couple years is you gotta be careful about where and when you use your influence. I like ya ‘cause you’re a friend of Niamh’s, but this has gotta be somethin’ good if I’m gonna put myself on the line for it,” Harle said.

“My research is in extending organ replacement therapies beyond Humans and based on my undergrad work, I think I could my doctoral thesis could culminate in a successful, live patient transplant in a hospital,” Vienna said.

Harle sat up straight. “You mean…”

“I think, with the right funding and if we get the regulatory approvals for the trials, this could happen in the next three years,” Vienna concluded.

The Zeltron leaned in. “Tell me everything.”