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

Here we go, getting into the dirty details. What's politics without a little mud-slinging?

Harle might have to swallow this one. Doesn't sound like there is a better option.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn Let's see how that bargain in Hapes is working out...

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Hapes

The Hapan tabloids tried hard to make a couple name stick. As it turned out, “Lucorinne” and “Morningstrieste” didn’t. “Triestar” and “Corricien” failed to land. It didn’t matter in the end.

Corrine and Lucien made good copy on their own.

For the billions of Hapans who looked to the royal family as a source of inspiration and brightness in their daily lives, the wattage of the chume’da and her rakish beau was tailormade to capture the public imagination. The carefully curated story circulated by palace public relations (The chance meeting! They didn’t know who each other really was! The instant connection! The dramatic reunion!) sold itself.

If there was any danger of the story falling short, the couple’s public appearances took it the rest of the way. Lucien’s broad smile pierced hearts at senior living centers, even penetrating the through the HoloNet to beings at home. Corrine was raised to a new level herself as she cut ribbons at community centers and christened starships. Though marriage did not define Queen Mothers, she suddenly looked more worthy of the burden of state that she stood to inherit. After all, now there was the possibility that she second part of her future title might be beyond being the matriarch of the Consortium. Though she was already a public figure, she seemed embraced her official duties more fully now. In fact, she appeared more than Sierra did, carrying water for the House of Trieste in the mastheads of media and across the worlds of the Consortium.

It was when the couple appeared together that they glowed brightest. Perhaps it was the fantasy of the bad boy tamed by the virtuous woman that entranced so many Hapans. Or maybe they were impressed with how Lucien was equal to Corrine in his ability to charm the citizens of the Consortium in person. She had been trained from birth for such a duty. What Lucien lacked in formal preparation he made up for with his off-script remarks gave him an air of authenticity, even if there was more than an undercurrent of something forbidden.

Those who saw the couple most knew what the crowds could only suspect. These beings saw Corrine and Lucien on shuttles, in palace hallways, and sometimes—for a just moment—behind closed doors.

In private, all formality and propriety were thrown aside. The servants of the palace were schooled not to listen at doors, but even they had to work to not eavesdrop on the energetic passion of the couple. The halls hadn’t heard such cries of pleasure for decades. Though it was never spoken aloud, the servants were left to cleanup the evidence. It hadn’t taken Lucien and Corrine much time at all to christen every room in the palace. It was as if all the restraint they demonstrated in their public lives was just potential energy to fuel their kinetic cavorting through the palace grounds.

Sierra, Trellam, and Darriah were quick to realize that every moment their children didn’t spend on their official duties was spent in bed.

But this was Hapes, a culture built on beauty. No one was concerned about their ardor. If anything, it reinforced their deal. The political union that they’d committed to seemed likely to be knit tighter by a conjugal union.

Such was the way of queendoms.

 

Sounds like the next in the line of succession will be coming sooner rather than later... if Lucien can produce a girl.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn You might want to settle in for this one.

Salis’ Daar, Bakura

“The chair recognizes Senator Quinn from Gesco City.”

“Thank you, Madame Chair,” Harle said, leaning forward at her spot at the end of the committee table. As a first-term senator aligned with the minority faction, she was the last member of the committee to get time. “Justice Wenstrass, thank you for joining us over these last few days. I know these hearings can take a lot out of a being.”

Aryen Wenstrass smiled and inclined her head to acknowledge the comment. Her answers to the committee over the last several days made it clear she’d been extensively prepared for her hearing. That preparation had clearly included not volunteering information unless specifically asked.

“Would you please elaborate on your judicial philosophy?” Harle asked. “Specifically, what would you say have been the most formative moments of your career as a jurist?”

“As I mentioned in my opening statement to the committee, going to law school at night as a working mother with two children at home was a significant period in the development of my legal philosophy. Not only did I come to appreciate the power that the law has in our society, but I also looked at it firsthand through the lens of a parent. It helped me to think about the practical applications of the law, how it would affect the future of my children, of all Bakurans, in a way that I think the average law school student doesn’t because they go through their studies at an earlier point in their careers.”

Though the committee had seven beings on it, only Harle, the Chair, and one other senator were present. The third senator was gathering his things to leave. Like his colleagues, there were better uses of his time now that he’d gotten to make his speeches-disguised-as-questions. The hearing had been largely uneventful. Wenstrass had been vetted by Marian Square and her biography repeated throughout the planetwide media. There wasn’t much left to cover at this point.

“Thank you,” Harle said. “You mentioned the impact the law has on the future of Bakura. Would you agree that as a member of the Supreme Court you’d have a significant influence on the law?”

“Individually, no. I have eight colleagues who would also need to agree with me on any ruling.”

“But you would author opinions your colleagues could join?”

“Yes.”

“And those opinions can have an influence on Bakura’s future?”

“Yes.” Wenstrass’s face started to betray some annoyance that basic principles of the Bakuran legal system seemed to be at issue.

“And out of the 80 million Bakurans, you’d have a much greater opportunity than your fellow Bakurans to influence that future?” Harle pressed.

“Compared to the average Bakuran, yes,” Wenstrass agreed.

“So do you feel it’s appropriate that the Senate provide a certain level of scrutiny in these hearings?”

“The degree of review that the Senate brings to these proceedings is for the Senate to decide.”

“Then we agree. Justice, how many of those 80 million Bakurans belong to a species other than Human?” Harle asked.

The county justice paused before answering. “I could only estimate the number and given that I am a justice and not a demographer, that feels irresponsible of me.”

“Put another way, you don’t know?”

“As I said, I could only estimate—”

“In that case, thank you,” Harle said, interrupting the justice. It caught the attention of the Chair and those present in the hearing room. Wenstrass bristled, but kept her composure. After all, she had only one more senator to get through and these hearings would be done. “The answer, justice, is 1.1 million. Enough beings to fill an entire senatorial district.

“Justice, how many xenobeings—by which I mean beings of a species other than Human—are killed by Bakuran police officers every year?”

“Once again, I could only estimate,” Wenstrass said. The atmosphere in the hearing room grew colder.

“So you don’t know. Then let me inform you that last year 742 xenobeings were killed in officer-involved shootings. Since you’ve made it clear you don’t know or care about these statistics, I won’t bother to ask you what percentage of all police shootings xenobeings are part of,” Harle said. The early friendliness of the questioning was gone as the Zeltron’s eyes bore into the nominee. “It’s 73%. Justice Wenstrass, do you think it’s fair that less than 2% of the population should bear 73% of all police killings on this planet?”

“Those statistics, if true, are unfortunate.”

“‘Unfortunate’?” Harle asked with disgust. “‘Unfortunate’ is stubbing your toe when you get out of bed. This is not ‘unfortunate.’ This is systemic speciesism and, frankly, justice, I’m appalled you can’t see this,” Harle stated. “You’ve spoken at length during these hearings about your time as a prosecutor. During your time as District Attorney of Telaan Valley, how many police officers did you prosecute for shooting a xenobeing?”

“I would need to check the records to be confident in my answer.”

“Then allow me to enlighten you: zero. Zero officers were brought before charges for shooting someone who wasn’t a Human. Justice, apart from the issues of equality under the law this raises, I’m surprised you can’t remember the number zero.” Harle’s voice dripped with condescension.

“May I remind the senator that those testifying before this committee should be treated with respect?” the Chair interjected.

“And may I remind you that this is my time and you had yours at the start of these hearings?” Harle shot back without hesitation. She kept her focus on the nominee. “Justice, how many times did you fire your service weapon as a Golden Prairie Police Officer?”

“Once again, I don’t want to misstate any facts before the committee,” Wenstrass said.

“So you can’t remember?” Harle asked with outrage and astonishment. “Did you shoot so much that it’s all starting to blur together.”

“That’s not what I said, senator.”

“Justic, let’s not get bogged down in generalities then. In 287, did you fire your service weapon at Jippia Limi?” Harle’s voice was hard and cold.

Aryen said nothing for a moment. “Yes, I did.”

“How old was Ms. Limi?”

Another pause, this one heavier than the first. “Sixteen.”

“What was your reason for firing your weapon?”

“Jippia Limi was fleeing the scene of a robbery in downtown Golden Prairie. She was told to stop.”

“How many times did you tell her to stop?”

“I can’t recall after all these years.”

“I have a copy of the report you filed after the shooting. In it you say that you told Ms. Limi to stop three times.”

“That sounds accurate.”

“I also have witness interviews attached to the file on the shooting. These witnesses say you only called once for her to stop. Justice Wenstrass, how long did you wait after asking Ms. Limi to stop before you fired your weapon.”

“I believe it was several seconds.”

“And what do you say to the witness interviews that state you fired almost immediately after your one-and-only shouted request for Ms. Limi to stop?” Harle asked.

“I disagree with that version of events.”

“Judge Wenstrass, did the blaster bolt fired from your weapon kill Jippia Limi?” Harle’s eyes were on fire.

“Yes.”

“Was Ms. Limi shot in the back?”

A long pause. “I believe so.”

“Was any evidence found that linked Ms. Limi to the theft? Any stolen goods?”

“I can’t recall.”

“According to the file I have here—” Harle lifted it in one hand to show the room. “—no evidence linked her to the robbery. Justice Wenstrass, was Jippia Limi a mortal threat to you?”

“She failed to comply with my orders.”

“And for that she deserved to die?” Harle was disgusted and outraged.

“It was a tragic event, one I have lived with ever since,” Wenstrass said.

“What species was Ms. Limi?”

“Bith.”

“And were you charged with this shooting?”

“No.”

“Relieved of your duties?”

“I was placed on administrative leave without pay during the investigation.”

“How long did that last?”

“I believe it was two days,” Wenstrass said.

“So you lost two days of pay and a teenage Bith lost her life. Is that a fair trade, justice?”

“I refuse to speculate on the worth of one being’s life. As I said, what happened was tragic.”

“That’s interesting, because I think you’re called on to determine damages, including for loss of life, as a judge at any level,” Harle commented. “You said earlier that this shooting is something you’ve lived with ever since. How has it changed your life?”

“Every day I enter the courtroom, I think about the importance of sparing any family the kind of pain that happened on these days. It reminds me of the need to strive for justice in all matters that come before me,” Wenstrass said, finding her footing again.

“Justice,” Harle said, letting the word roll through the room. “Justice. That’s your title as a member of the Telaan Valley Supreme Court and also what you’re asked to render. Did you ever try a police misconduct case in your courtroom?”

“Yes.”

“And what was the verdict in those cases?”

“It would depend on the case,” Wenstrass said. “There was more than one.”

“I believe the answer is the same regardless of the case: they were acquitted,” Harle stated. “Does a police officer walking free when a xenobeing lies dead feel like justice to you?”

“As a judge, my job was to make sure proper procedure and law is followed, not decide the outcome. That is the job of the jury. Should you find the law lacking, I would say that is something the Senate or the county boards of supervisors should remedy, senator,” Wenstrass parried.

“One final question for you, justice,” Harle said. “Would my guests in the gallery please stand? Justice Wenstrass, if you would be so kind to turn and look behind you to the right, you’ll see standing the Limi family: Jippia’s parents and siblings. Would you please explain to them why you deserve to an 18-year appointment on the most important court on our planet after killing their daughter and sister?”

The judge turned and found the Bith family three rows back. Their dark eyes were focused on the Human. The mics picked up Wenstrass’s words. “Nothing I can say can bring your daughter back. What happened was awful and I meant what I said. I carry it with me to this day and will for the rest of my life. Know that.”

“Do you know what I know, justice?” Harle said. “That while at the start of these hearings I was prepared to support your nomination, now I have grave reservations. In fact, I think that should this committee advance you to a floor vote, it will be as good as a signal as open season for police on xenobeings on Bakura. And maybe you made a mistake, an honest mistake. But a corrupt system let you off the hook. And, whatever your regrets, you are a symbol of that system. Maybe my vote won’t matter, but I’m the being who’s going to have to live with it.

“And thank the Force that you weren’t a police officer in Gesco City 20 years ago. I was 21 years old then and maybe if you’d been on the beat in my neighborhood I’d be the one dead today,” Harle said, her voice grave. “I have no further questions and yield the remainder of my time.”

With that, Harle stood and gave Aryan Wenstrass a long, hard stare before she stalked out of the committee hearing room. It was an image that would be across the Bakuran HoloNet in a matter of minutes.

 

Go Harle!!! Good job digging up Wenstrass's own shooting AND having the victim's family present in the gallery. Brilliant play.

She's not swallowing it without a fight.

I do love that even though Harle's candidacy started as kind of a joke IIRC, she is taking the job 100% seriously and making a difference.

 

Pretty impressed with Harle here. I think she makes some very serious, and poignant, points that resonate in our own time.

 

I guess the joke's on her doubters now.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Hyparamis

Lucien and Corrine strolled through the manicured gardens of the Morningstar estate. These rich lands, an attestation of the wealth Darriah had amassed in selling starships to the crown, were the environs that had nurtured Lucien and his siblings. Even if later events had complicated his feelings towards his mother’s home, Lucien remembered this botanical paradise fondly and had wanted to share it with Corrine.

Darriah watched the pair from the window of her home, drink in hand. She sipped it as she traced their movement down hedgerows and past flowerbeds. In these private moments, away from the public, they ambled without care. Even at this distance you could see the affection, laced with lust, between them. Darriah found it amazing that, should all go well, this pair stood to put a Morningstar child on the throne.

It was so amazing that Darriah didn’t trust that vision of the future.

She did not see young lovers wandering through her grounds. She saw a snake in her garden. Darriah had not gotten where she was today by trusting changes of heart. Lucien might say he would accept the straight and narrow for the sake of Corrine, but he was still the being who had tried to steal her company. Darriah would not pin her hopes of a Morningstar dynasty on her most irresponsible son.

But the greater danger was undoubtedly Corrine. Hapan heirs were not just polished with manners. They were also sharpened with cunning. It was necessary for their survival. Whatever love Corrine professed for Lucien, Darriah bet that she would shed it if she deemed it necessary to secure her rule. Darriah didn’t fault Corrine for it. She would do the same. It just meant that the young heir to the House of Trieste was no foundation for all Darriah had worked for.

Whatever public pronouncements Darriah made or positions she now took, nothing in this arrangement prevented her from making backup plans. She stepped away from the window and sat down at her desk and her secure datapad. This upstart princess might have maneuvered all of them to her satisfaction, but that didn’t mean this dance was over.

---

“Does it bother you?” Corrine asked. “Being back here?”

“Not at all. In fact, I enjoy knowing my mom is watching. She’s probably fuming that she has to have me here as an honored guest,” Lucien said breezily. “She might have forgiven me—assuming she’s being honest about that—but she’s never forgotten I almost succeeded in taking CDS from her.”

“Be nice,” Corrine gently instructed. “But that’s not what I meant. I was thinking of how had you succeeded, this all would have been yours.” She motioned to the vast grounds.

“So do I,” Lucien admitted, his gaze lingering on one particular bloom.

“And?” Corrine caressed one arm, waiting for more.

“I wonder now if I ever really wanted it, or if I just wanted Mom to take me seriously,” Lucien continued. He let his fingers trail across the petals of a bright aquamarine bloom. “When I was a boy, she would tell me I was her favorite. But every time she chose spending time at Drive Systems over me, it made me think she didn’t really mean it. And at some point I guess I thought if that’s what she cared about, then that was how I would really earn her love. Or respect, attention, whatever.” Lucien waved a hand distractedly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your sin to apologize for. Besides, if I had won, something tells me you would have looked askance at Lucien Morningstar, arms dealer, when it came to your courtship.”

“You underestimate how sexy starships are to a chume’da. We like a strong—”

“Prow?” Lucien interjected.

“—naval presence,” Corrine finished with a smile. “But I’d like to hear more about that.”

“Lucky for you there are plenty of places in this garden for a good ravishing.”

“Why don’t you show me the closest one?” Corrine suggested, drawing a single fingernail across Lucien’s jaw. “Assuming you still remember your way…”

“As if I could forget,” Lucien purred as he led Corrine on.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Speaking metaphorically (which some senators felt was necessary to point out given the tendencies of their colleague), Senator Quinn had dumped a case of coaxium onto the nomination of Aryen Wenstrauss, lit a flare, and dropped it on the fuel. The resulting explosion had sent shockwaves through the political establishment–and was turning out to be quite a show.

Wenstrauss was done as a Supreme Court nominee. Though plenty of voters had no problem with a pro-police judge, one who’d shot an unarmed teenager was a lot more uncomfortable to support. Several senators who had been part of the bipartisan coalition to confirm her announced they could no longer do so. The winds of public sentiment were clear.

The reporting that followed the dramatic hearings uncovered coverups of the incident in bureaucracy and durasteel police union backing. Many stories pointed out that this was par for the course for many departments across Bakura. The Salis D’aar Times went further, highlighting that in 10 of Bakura’s 32 counties the identities of police officers involved in shootings were shielded from the public by law to “protect officer privacy.”

While the current Senate was unlikely to take up meaningful police reform this session, the Wenstrauss hearings had begun a debate that looked likely to carry into the 308 elections. Though politicians like Ayn Trieste had supported reforming the rules around lethal force on Bakura, it had never gained traction. But no one had dramatized the issue in the way Harle had.

She was now the center of political attention in Salis D’aar, even though her vote wouldn’t have the same influence on other matters before the Senate. Some pundits thought Quinn’s actions might actually galvanize both the Union Party and Fianna Fail to greater solidarity inside their ranks as a result, reducing the likelihood of similar incidents in the future. Quinn made it clear that she couldn’t care less about what the parties might do.

“I’m all for compromise. I kind of love it when everyone’s a little bit unhappy,” she said in an interview on the BBC. “But there are some things where you’ve got to be able to look at yourself in the mirror and be able to live with your choices. I think having Aryen Wenstrauss would have been a net negative for the beings of Bakura. And that’s something I couldn’t be a part of.”

Some beings felt this was all political preening by a grandstander, an athlete-turned-dilettante-politician. Others felt it was a display of moral courage that was refreshing.

Another story emerged as reporters kept digging in. This one wasn’t about what had happened on that fatal night decades ago and the institutional actions that had shielded Wenstrauss from consequences. It was the tale of how that shield had been broken down, how Harle had known to ask the questions she did. It was a story confirmed with background sources and unnamed “high-level staffers in Senator Quinn’s office.”

It was the story of who Niamh Cranangh Trieste was.

Before the hearings, those who followed the comings and goings of the political elite were lightly aware of the most recent addition to the Noble House of Trieste. She was only a being of interest in that she had married into the family.

Then story after story detailed how, in partnership with Quinn, the chief counsel had dug into every corner of Wenstrauss’s career. She’d looked into dozens of shootings that took place when Wenstrauss had been on the force in Telaan Valley, asking questions of those not legally bound to keep silent, to see if the nominee had been involved. She’d directed the investigations of staffers into Wenstrauss’s history of decisions to see if a pattern emerged in her time as a judge. Niamh had checked everything twice, three times, to make sure that the senator wouldn’t ask a question in front of the nation that she didn’t know the answer to.

Niamh did not become a celebrity planet-wide (nor was that the intention–that was Harle’s job), but the politically-interested, especially in the capital, could now pick her out from the indistinguishable gaggle of staffers that crisscrossed the Senate Building. Beings now knew that Harle had intellectual force powering her positions and work.

At the same time, the politicos realized that the independent senators had formed a tight but mighty circle, one anchored at their afterhours hangout, Trader Sam’s. Shenandoah and Harle were the most famous of the group thanks to their elected office. Now it included Niamh, the legal architect behind the emerging platform of the independents.

One reporter discovered that this coterie extended beyond the halls of the Senate in the form of an unlikely fourth member. It only made sense in hindsight that reluctant celebrity and medical researcher Vienna Harlow should be a frequent member of the merry band. This ignited a new flurry of interest in the dark-haired daughter of Gesco City, scion of one of the most visible couples of the industrial city. Heightening her mystique were rumors of secretive work in the labs of the Prytis College of Natural Sciences intended to further Bakura’s already impressive therapeutic practices. Some reporters wondered if perhaps it wouldn’t be Harlow who made the biggest impact out of the four.

When business was done, the four were frequently found in some of Salis D’aar’s toniest spots. They ate well, they toasted frequently, they danced when they felt like it, and did who knew what else in the seclusion of their exclusive environs. That shroud of secrecy only increased the sense that something happened between them that might change the planet.

If anyone was the axis that bound these women together, it was Harle. Though Shenandoah was the logical link, anyone who saw the quartet knocking back drinks together could tell that the Zeltron was the bright, fiery center of the group. She was the connection, the beginning.

Of what…no one could divine just yet. But they knew it would be worth watching.

 

What a web you create in this post. Touching on the harsh realities that afflict our nation today, and law enforcement, with some good old Bakuran political tension and speculation. Curious to see, as usual, where this leads....

 

So many threads here. Harle and Niamh have earned their fame. Harle blowing this up as a junior senator immediately reminded me of this scene from Volume 10:

Like Ayn and Declan did, Harle, Niamh, and Shenandoah have found their own way to create influence.

 

I:

1. Completely forgot I ever wrote that.
2. Am highly impressed I came up with such legal jargon.
3. Had no ideas the parallels emerging in my own writing.
4. Probably shouldn't have said #3 and just taken the credit.

 

I'll give you the credit anyway! You're a very talented writer and it shows.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Hapes

Zestra Nigobze wondered every day she walked into the chume’doro headquarters if today would be the day.

As the transparisteel doors, designed to withstand a head-on speeder crash, swished open for her, Zestra thought about whether someone was going to try to kill the Queen Mother today. The Consortium liked to pretend that wasn’t a possibility. She was the beloved monarch of an entire cluster. It was why her title included “Mother.”

But everyone in the chume’doro had clear eyes on this subject. Anyone who took even a cursory look at the 3,300-year history of the Hapes Consortium saw that Queen Mothers were killed regularly. It hadn’t even been that long ago that Terina Chume and her daughters had been assassinated when their shuttle had exploded, not much more than 30 years ago. In the scale of galactic history, it was barely a blink of an eye.

While the security scanners swept over Zestra, searching her for hidden devices and weapons (her issued sidearm removed and inspected by one of her colleagues), she thought about whether she’d be pulled off her desk for diplomatic guard duty. Most beings didn’t know the chume’doro was responsible for protecting foreign diplomats and their kids. The exception was if their home governments came to a security arrangement acceptable to the chume’doro. In select cases this work could be interesting when the royal guard wanted to spy on someone (usually an intelligence operative themselves).

But whenever Zestra was tapped for the duty, she was stuck minding some ambassador’s kid who only knew how to find the nearest club, which was invariably the loudest and a security nightmare. The evening usually ended with Zestra standing in an alley while the teenager threw up on the ground. It wasn’t what she’d dreamed of when she decided she wanted to join the chume’doro.

As she rode the turbolift to her floor, Nigobze thought that maybe this would be the day she’d get promoted out of her desk job. Not to permanent diplomatic corps duty—she’d logged enough of those hours to not be graced with that “promotion”—but to senior protective duty. Zestra didn’t expect that she would get a member of the royal family. Despite the large extended family of Sierra Chume, she had few relatives in the Consortium under the chume’doro’s protection. The Prince Consort’s remaining family was minor and distant thanks to typical Hapan power struggles in the wake of both his aunt’s and mother’s ascension to the throne.

The best Zestra hoped for was to be assigned to a government minister. Though not as high profile as a royal, it was still important work. In Hapes, the threats to the Queen Mother’s senior advisors were far from negligible. Coups often started by targeting a monarch’s most loyal supporters in the government. Stopping the assassination of the Minister of State could stop an attempt on the Queen Mother’s life later.

This dream was why, every night after work, Zestra went to the chume’doro firing range and put 100 blaster bolts into the center of a 100 targets randomly targeted. If the call ever came, she needed to be ready.

While Zestra walked through the grid of desks to her space at the back corner of the room, she wondered if perhaps this would be the day that her coworkers found out about Zak and Criss. Everyone knew about Zak. She had a picture with him from her high school graduation on Jodaka, before she’d entered the chume’doro academy. Her father had been so proud of her, getting into the chume’doro, chasing her dream.

So had her other dad, the one who had taken the holo.

When Zestra was 15, she decided she wanted to join the chume’doro. She sat her dads down and told them why. Then she told them what that meant for their family.

Zak and Criss had never gotten married, which worked to their advantage. Her dads would need to establish separate addresses for the rest of their lives. They couldn’t publicly be a couple. They were already careful about that, only letting select beings, ones they could trust, know about their relationship. Sexual orientation wasn’t a protected class in the Consortium and men who loved men had it much worse than women who loved women. Zak and Criss had too many friends who had been fired when they were outed, forced to start over on another planet without a reference.

But the chume’doro background check would be brtual. They’d interview practically everyone Zestra had ever known. The small circle who knew about Zak and Criss would lie for them, even though it could earn them prison terms. For the next three years until high school graduation, three more years in the academy, and at least her first five years as a guard, they would have to be as careful as a Vors building the Cathedral of the Winds. Nothing. Absolutely no hint they were gay or Zestra would be fired, her parents cited as a “security risk.”

Zestra cried at the kitchen table as she explained this to her dads, who had given her everything. She cried harder when they both hugged her and gave her even more.

As terrible as the possibility was, Zestra didn’t worry about her family getting revealed. There were other places in the galaxy they would go if it came to it. Members of the chume’doro had made excellent livings as mercenaries. Though, her preferred option was cage fighting with Mandalorians. That seemed the most fun.

As Zestra Nigobze sat down at her desk and verified her identity at her terminal, there was one thing that she didn’t wonder about. One thing that she never doubted.

Her screen lit up once the identity confirmation cleared. It read Chume’doro Signals Division.

If there was a pattern in the communications flowing between bad actors in the Hapes Consortium, Zestra was going to find it.

No one was going to be killed on Zestra’s watch. Because she knew, with every fiber of her body, that she was damn good at her job.

 

Well, this is intriguing. We've seen the high-profile side of the chume'doro in protecting the royal family, but like the US Secret Service, we almost never see the large ranks underneath doing intel work at a desk and such. This will be very interesting.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

​

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Thanks to the work of Shenandoah and Niall, the Noble House Yuletide ball was once again a staple of the Salis D’aar social scene calendar. In past years it had been a more muted, personal affair. Politics was left at the door. The menu was a more important consideration than the guest list. Though the event continued an old tradition, it became a quiet affair, one that passed without notice.

That was no longer true.

Media massed on the opposite side of Sixth Avenue to get shots of the guests. The Noble House continued to invite their Salis’ Daar neighbors, pulling randomly from the voter rolls for the area. (The registrar of voters noted a small increase in registration once word of the practice got out.) These beings were not of much interest to the beings who took the holos (though these ordinary beings enjoyed the thrill of passing through the media to reach the party, feeling elevated for just an evening).

The tabloids were more interested in capturing the arrivals of the beings who had recently captured the public imagination. Some, like Senator Harle Quinn, had done so purposely and reveled in the attention, using it to promote her policies and positions. Others, like Vienna Harlow, maintained as much silence and privacy as they could (which only served to heighten the interest around them). The stalwarts of the family like Kerry Trieste and Fiona Westentra still drew their fair share of attention too, a reminder of a generation that had once dominated Bakura in their day.

The decked halls of the seven-story residence were warm and inviting. There were games to play, dances to be twirled, and stories to be told. The deft hand of Shenandoah was there to make introductions with the politician’s uncanny ability to place a name with a face.

One guest who chose to observe the festivities from a detached perch was the district attorney of Salis D’aar, Trixie Penn. Once again, her husband had thrown himself into childcare duties (a chore to others, but infinitely more fun than attending a fancy party for Horst), which gave her the opportunity to track the eddies of the party.

In particular, Trixie kept her eye on Shenandoah. She had inherited her father’s charm (at least when he cared to deploy it—usually for the purposes of winning a vote), but had polished that talent to a more brilliant sheen than Declan had ever done. Though Trixie was dedicated to the law, she was still an elected official. She knew how to read a room, to understand its dynamics and opportunities.

And she knew that what Shenandoah doing was not random.

“Centicred for your thoughts?”

Trixie turned to find Elyse Carlowe standing next to her.

“They’re worth considerably more than that,” Trixie responded drolly. “I thought you were good at business.”

“Then I guess it makes sense a run a nonprofit,” Elyse returned with a slight smile. Perhaps despite herself, one flickered across Trixie’s face too.

Trixie gestured to the room. “Despite Shenandoah and Niall’s statements to the contrary, this is not just a holiday party.”

“How so?”

“What do you notice about how the guests are dressed?”

“Nicely. Makes sense. You’re an average being and you get an invite from a famous family like the Triestes, you’re going to want to look good. That’s what you think is expected.”

Trixie agreed. “Most of them have some Yuletide flair in their outfits.” She gestured to one knot of beings that all had green somewhere in their attire.

“Guilty,” Elyse said, sweeping an arm down along her shimmersilk dress in a dark emerald hue.

“But not him, or her, or them, or them, or them…” Trixie said discreetly singling out individuals from the group.

All of a sudden, Elyse saw these beings everywhere. They were dressed well, but there was something more professional about their appearance compared the other guests. They were still laughing, drinking, and having a good time, but something was different in their bearing. Some had even sought each other out.

“If it were a handful, I’d say they just didn’t think the dress code through, but there’s more of them than that,” Elyse mused.

“My best guess is there’s around 70 of them here,” Trixie commented.

“Huh.”

“And as I’ve watched Shenandoah and Niall, they’ve talked to every one of them,” she finished.

“It’s an election year next year,” Elyse said. “After scraping by the first time around, I can’t blame Shenandoah for wanting to get a head start.”

“She’ll need one.”

Elyse narrowed her eyes at Trixie. “This is more than about next year’s election?”

“No,” Trixie said, straightening her posture as she readied to head elsewhere in the party, “it’s all about the election. More than they want anyone to know. For now.”

“And you’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“You’re smart. You’ll get there,” Trixie said. “After all, you keep that nonprofit afloat, don’t you?” She smiled before she walked away.

As Elyse took up Trixie’s former position, she couldn’t help but pick out these beings from the crowd. She was more like the guests than she was the members of the Noble House. She’d never married into the Triestes. They had taken her in after Elon’s death as a matter of course. She’d accepted it because of what it would do for her son.

And now that Trixie had opened her eyes, Elyse realized she’d always enjoyed celebrating Yuletide doing a puzzle by the warmth of a fire with a drink. It seemed Trixie had given her a gift this Yuletide, one she was happy to open early.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn It's been too long and now we need to cross over into ELL land for a moment...

Hapes

“We’re moving to condition three,” Subcommander Abnigail Roogt informed the Signals Division at their morning briefing. “Early this morning, local time, the Queen Mother’s first cousin, once removed, Vienna Harlow, was kidnapped on Euceron. The news has yet to hit the HoloNet, but we’ve been told Eusebus PD intends to speak to the media within the hour.”

Zestra didn’t even bother looking up. Like everyone in the chume’doro, she could recite the monarch’s family tree backwards and forwards. While most beings found the Noble House of Trieste a mess to understand, the Hapan royal guard regularly made connections between seventh cousins in the course of their work. These Bakuran relations were rudimentary compared to their everyday work. She also knew what wasn’t in the genealogy.

“As some of you know, Ms. Harlow is one of the chume’da’s closest friends and confidants. No evidence suggests that this is related to the chume’da, so the condition elevation is precautionary for the moment,” Roogt continued.

“Ransom demand?” someone asked.

“Not at present.”

“Do the Bakuran authorities have any leads?” another voice piped up.

“We’re in contact with the marshals. They’re allowing Eusebus PD to take the lead,” Roogt stated.

Zestra sensed something behind the unusually passive response by Bakuran authorities. One of her less insightful colleagues needed it spelled out for her.

“That’s odd.”

“That’s the official line. Unofficially, the Triestes have a specialist who they say has the matter in hand,” Roogt said.

“And does she?”

“Senator Trieste has assured the Queen Mother that he has full faith in this contractor,” Roogt said. “For now, we will focus on hardening our defenses in case there’s a connection to the royal household that we’re not seeing. I’ll update you when there’s news to report. Until then, it’s condition three. Dismissed.”

Zestra headed promptly back to her desk and got to work. Everyone, even the guards who asked the most obvious questions, knew what that meeting was about—and it wasn’t protecting the royal family from a kidnapping attempt.

When it came to civil liberties, the Hapes Consortium was not a model for the galaxy. A system of government founded on absolute power and divine right (one sometimes brought about by the vicissitudes of velvet revolutions) was never going to rank high in that regard.

But even the pretense of respecting the rights of citizens went out the door in a time of crisis or emergency. The chume’doro’s condition system didn’t just raise vigilance across the guards. It also dictated how far they could go in their activities.

Condition three opened up new options to the intelligence branches like Signals Division. Within five minutes of sitting down, Zestra had filed two requests to tap communications for some courtiers she’d been watching for some time. Ordinarily their positions shielded them from this kind of scrutiny, but Zestra didn’t have to run her plans by anyone now. The Signals Divisions techs she worked with could implement them immediately on her word alone.

Zestra had worked at the chume’doro long enough to know that you kept a wish list for moments like this in a drawer—and you moved fast when the window opened.

---

Gesco City, Bakura

“I’m surprised you came back,” May Hull said.

“Ginny didn’t want to. She wanted to stay on Euceron. I told her that when Vienna…she’d come home. Here. It was the only thing that persuaded her.” Rickard Harlow was surprisingly calm for a man whose only child had been taken and could be anywhere in the galaxy. The Harlows’ large house was quiet. The generous property lines of their tony suburb kept the media away from the house. In truth, nothing was happening here. All that they could do now was wait.

May had been on Euceron when Vienna had been kidnapped. The team didn’t hear about it until after the game was over. Though the Miners had won a tense overtime victory to finish the regular season with the best record in Elite League Limmie, when the locker room heard the news it was as if the Commissioner’s Trophy was a piece of scrap metal. May had to hand over the postgame patching up of players to her colleagues. She didn’t trust herself to focus.

The doctor had immediately gone to find Ginnifer and Rickard, but they’d left shortly after the start of the game to tell the local investigators everything they knew (which wasn’t much). Declan was gone as well and Regan, the most senior member of the family present, didn’t know anything other than that Declan and his security team “had the matter in hand.”

The Harlows had returned to Bakura separately from the team. Even though there was a playoff game May should be preparing for as team physician, she’d gone halfway around the planet to find Ginny and Rickard. Though her first purpose was to offer comfort, there was something else on her mind.

“And did you come back because you think Vienna will be here,” May asked, looking her cousin-in-law in the eye, “or because you needed to get your rifle?”

If the large house had been quiet before, it was deathly still now as Rickard returned May’s gaze with his gray-green eyes. “That would only be useful if I knew where the beings who took Vienna were.” It wasn’t a denial.

“You remember what my face looked like when we met,” May stated.

“I remember.” It was hard to forget the hashmark of scars that had crossed her face. “Of course I remember.” He didn’t need to say that back then he’d only had half a face himself. It had been May’s hand that had restored his appearance to something that didn’t make beings cringe.

“You know how that happened.”

Rickard nodded. A moment of senseless violence on her homeworld of Roon. A being with a knife scarring a child for no reason, none that was ever explained or proven. It was the sort of thing that made parents clutch their children tighter and pray they’d be safe from such terrors.

“I hope whoever did that got what they deserved,” Rickard said. The husky undertones of his voice made it clear it was no idle wish.

“Officially, he didn’t,” May said. “The authorities never found him. But I know he’s dead.”

“Good.”

“You don’t want to know how I know?”

“We’re both members of this house. We know how things work. Kerry, Declan, Ayn…say what you will, but they don’t allow anyone to harm the Noble House and get away with it,” Rickard said. “And though sometimes I’ve felt they were heavy handed, I always understood why.”

“Kerry didn’t kill the man who did that to me.”

“I’m sure.”

“You misunderstand. She had nothing to do with his death,” May clarified, holding Rickard’s eyes. “My father did.”

That caused Rickard to go still. “Oisin…”

“Didn’t seem the type?” May finished. “He wasn’t. But I think he felt what you feel now and he did what you want to do. I remember when I came out of sedation and I looked in his eyes. I saw something—it was gone in a moment—but it was something hard. Something at odds with the kind being I’d known my entire life. And even though I was just a child, I understood what my father had done. For me.

“I don’t know if he ever confessed to anyone. I don’t know if my mom would have stayed with him if he had. She was a doctor like me because she’d seen enough of death. All the Vehns have. And I wonder if she ever saw the way he looked at the mountains when he didn’t realize anyone was looking, the weight that pulled at his face. But once in a while I saw it.”

May stepped forward to touch Rickard’s arm. “I’d hate to see that on your face one day.”

“What am I supposed to do. With what I know, what I was taught. With what I can do,” Rickard whispered. “When it’s my daughter.”

“Thank the Force that someone like Declan is around to carry that burden for you,” May said. “This is what taoiseachs are for.”

“And if Vienna comes home at the end of it, how am I supposed to repay that debt?”

“That’s the thing about this family,” May consoled him. “When you’ve been in it as long as we have, we’re all too tangled up in each other to ever get out clean.”

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn Some cleanup from limmie events to start, but there's also always a hump for me to get over when a certain cyclical event rolls around in my story before things start rolling...

Gesco City, Bakura

Truth be told, Vienna would have preferred to have gone back to work at her lab in Salis D’aar. Even so, she accepted that for the moment it was best to leave progress on her work to her labmates.

She had already been an unwilling public figure on Bakura before her kidnapping. Now her capture on Euceron had catapulted her into an even higher strata of visibility. The media coverage during her absence had been intense and the public relief over her return hadn’t abated. The property line of her parents’ home seemed like it was a meter deep with flowers and other tokens of affection.

As a naturally private person, one whose only desire was to work on expanding organ replacement therapy beyond Humans, Vienna had no interest in indulging the public curiosity. The only thing to do was to let the media exhaust itself and move on to another obsession. Given the close quarters of the capital city, the best place to do that was the Harlow family home in Gesco City.

That brought its own challenges—namely that Ginnifer was prone to burst into tears of relief and happiness at the slightest provocation. It was a condition Rickard and Vienna knew how to bear. They were used to Ginnifer’s intense emotions, even if they didn’t share them. They knew it all came from a place of love and they quietly bore the burden without complaint.

Thankfully, Ginnifer had moved beyond the point of feeling that she needed to keep Vienna in eyesight at all times, giving her daughter some modicum of alone time. It was a welcome development as it allowed Vienna to do what work she could remotely. Though she’d had plenty of quiet while the Hutt-hired Corporate Sector stooges had kept her locked up, Vienna wasn’t intimidated by the silence.

Assuming she got any, that was.

Vienna looked up from her data analysis at the sound of footfalls on the plush carpet to find her father walking into the room. He had taken time away from BRC Lightspeed ever since the kidnapping. “Dad,” Vienna said, the word carrying the hint of a question.

“Can I have a minute?” Rickard asked.

Vienna nodded and he took a seat on the ottoman in front of her chair. “I…need to apologize,” Rickard said, his voice low. “I failed you.”

“Everything turned out fine. It’s OK,” Vienna said, setting her datapad aside and leaning forward to take Rickard’s hand and squeeze.

Rickard looked Vienna in the eye. “I could see it in your face the moment you stepped off the shuttle,” he said quietly.

Vienna was quiet. “Saw what?” The question didn’t sound genuine, like Vienna knew what Rickard was asking, but didn’t want to admit it.

“You killed someone to get out, didn’t you.”

The scientist closed her eyes for a moment. “You taught me how to defend myself.”

Rickard put his head in his hands. “I never wanted you to have to,” he whispered through his fingers.

Vienna leaned forwards to hug Rickard, wrapping herself over the top of him. “What you gave me saved my life. I’m proud to be your daughter.”

“I never wanted you to have to be,” Rickard said, his body convulsing lightly with sobs. “I wanted you to be your mother’s daughter.”

“I will always be a Harlow,” Vienna told him, “for better or worse.”

Perhaps one day what Vienna would reckon with the full effects of what she’d done to survive. For now, she’d help her dad process the things he had been unable to stop.

---

Trader Sam’s, Salis D’aar, Bakura

The coterie of independents clustered in their usual booth in the tropical bar while a server took the New Year’s decorations down. The complete orbit of Bakura around its star brought more than resolutions for this group. Any excitement was tempered by anxiety about what the year held.

308 was an election year on Bakura.

“I’ve done the follow-ups after Doe’s work,” Niall said. “Everyone’s in.”

“I know everyone here is committed, but are we sure that we’re ready?” Niamh asked the table. “Once we start, we have to see it through.”

“I couldn’t be more ready,” Harle declared. “Let’s start swingin’ and breakin’ things.”

“Maybe not the best metaphor to use when talking about representative democracy, babe,” Harle’s wife Pamila commented.

“Metaphor?” Harle asked with what seemed like genuine confusion. “What metaphor?”

“We can’t wait another four years,” Shenandoah said. “If we don’t move now, we’re going to stagnate. If Travers picks up seats, we’re done. She’ll have no reason to work with us. The Unionists won’t ever give us the time of day. We don’t have a choice.”

“I agree,” Niall said. “If we don’t follow through, we’ll lose all momentum. Doe and Harle have visibility after this session and limelight has an expiration date. We need to capitalize now.”

“But if this goes wrong, the careers of everyone at this table are over,” Niamh said.

“I mean, I don’t think this is going to close my flower shop…but, yeah, the rest of you would be pretty frakked,” Pamila agreed.

“That’s my ray of sunshine,” Harle said, hugging her wife.

“Here’s to either the beginning or the end,” Niall said, raising his glass in a toast.

“The beginning,” Shenandoah proposed as they clinked glasses.

“For Bakura’s sake, let’s hope,” Niamh finished.

 

Someone here is running for Prime Minister. I can sense it.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn And now @galactic-vagabond422 decided to throw me a curveball I couldn't help but take a swing at.

​

Hapes

A flurry of activity had descended on the chume’doro thanks to the Canto Bight Papers. Unlike the concerns besetting most galactic capitals at the moment, the leaked documents on shell corporations and tax evasion didn’t touch the royal family (one of the Queen Mother’s many benefits was that her property was exempt from all Consortium taxes). The royal guard’s interest in these documents centered on any Consortium citizens named in them. The chume’doro didn’t report to the Treasury, but they were more than happy to use the revelations as an opportunity to snatch up anyone they’d been watching—ideally before the revenue agents could get them. Much like the kidnapping of Vienna Harlow, this was not an opportunity to let slide.

Zestra Nigobze was not interested in making any arrests, but that didn’t mean she didn’t find something useful in the Canto Bight Papers. In fact, they sparked an interesting exchange of messages.

What’s amazing is that he wasn’t touched by them. Of everyone at court, you would have thought he would have been the first being named in the Canto Bight Papers, one of Zestra’s surveillance targets from her last set of HoloNet taps wrote. If anything, this makes it all the more urgent that we make this meeting happen. He’s keen for it.

Response: I don’t want to overplay our hand. After all, they’ve got a lot to lose.

We’ve gotten assurances from all the right intermediaries. They’re on board. They’ve got the right credentials. We need to start laying the groundwork now. This is the long game. The window of opportunity is not going to stay open forever.

Zestra sat back in her chair and laced her hands behind her head. Arrests would produce nothing now. Everything she had was circumstantial. Her superiors might support arrests, but nothing would stick. But if there was a meeting, that changed things substantially. She’d need to find the right colleagues to trust. Something like this was career-making, but the chume’doro was not so different from the royal court. You showed your hand to the wrong being and you’d find yourself holding an dud hand.

She’d let this play out a little longer, but only a little. If Zestra waited too long, then her career would be over.

---

Holoconference, throughout the galaxy

“Thank you for rearranging your schedules,” Declan Trieste said from Coruscant. “Unfortunately, circumstances require urgent attention.”

“Why is she here?” Trixie Penn asked from Salis D’aar, jerking her head at Lizsen Fleetfire, managing partner of Fleetfire Zarmer, the Noble House’s law firm. “Because I’ve got three cases against her and I am not having them thrown out on mistrial for ex partie breaches.”

“I am here representing the Noble House’s attorneys of record to make sure this conversation remains privileged,” Fleetfire said from elsewhere in Salis D’aar.

“Oh frak. Who’s going to prison?” Nicholas Arden said from Gesco City. “It’s May, isn’t it? I knew it—the medical experiments in the basement got loose and killed someone. I’m sorry to say I told you so, May.”

“Ha ha ha,” May Hull said from Salis D’aar without mirth.

“If we could please focus,” Declan said with a strained sigh.

“I’m focused!” Horst Penn jumped in from Salis D’aar. “Wait, what am I focusing on?”

“The important thing to know is that no one here is going to prison,” Fleetfire began. “Everything is legal.”

“OK, that makes me think someone probably should be going to prison,” Swann Lynd said from somewhere in hyperspace.

“As many of you have heard, a cache of legal documents being called the Canto Bight Papers have been publicly released,” Fleetfire continued. “The Noble House has been mentioned in the Papers.”

“Honey. No. Do not make me a single parent,” Nicholas said, turning towards his wife, Vesper.

“Can we stop making prison references?” Henrietta Trieste asked from Nouvelle Orleans. She was understandably sensitive to the topic given her history.

“As Lizsen said, we have done nothing illegal,” Vesper said from her office at the Future Fund in Gesco City.

“Please don’t say there’s a ‘but,’” Shenandoah asked from Salis D’aar.

“But the Future Fund has pursued a tax-optimization strategy here on Bakura—” Vesper continued.

“Oh my Force, it’s got to be bad if she’s using terms like ‘tax-optimization,’” Elfie Ralter said from Salis D’aar.

“—that has involved selective use of shell corporations—” Vesper pushed on.

“That was not a term I wanted to hear,” Fiona Westenra said from Cape Suzette.

“—to optimize distribution value,” Vesper concluded.

“On the bright side, at least we’re not Quentin and Corrie. They’re probably not having a fun discussion with the Ypres Initiative right now,” Elyse Carlowe pointed out from Nouvelle Orleans. “They’ve got to be so deep in this that—”

“Stop. Just stop. You cannot say things like that with four attorneys on this call,” Regan Eldred said, rubbing her eyes in frustration.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Siobhan Trieste said from Gesco City. “Everything’s legal. We’re fine.”

“We are not fine,” Niall said sternly from Salis D’aar, “because this is an election year, Shiv, and some of us are held to higher standards than what’s legal.”

“Vesper, why did this ever seem like a good idea?” Shenandoah exclaimed in exasperation. “You knew there are politicians in this family!”

“Can I just ask why we’re all on this call? This seems very much like a Declan and Vesper problem,” Jax Ralter asked from Salis D’aar.

“You are all on this call because you’ve all received distributions from the Noble House that have benefitted from the tax strategies disclosed in the Canto Bight Papers,” Lizsen said, taking the reins of the conversation again. “And you need to be prepared for questions about it.”

“While this is not a legal problem, this is very much a public relations problem,” Declan said. “The timing is, as mentioned, not great.”

“Not great is an understatement,” Dorian Lynd mumbled from Gesco City.

“What’s the plan then?” Falene asked, her transmission choppy from bouncing off several comm buoys linking her to Bakura from wherever she was in Wild Space.

“My advice is silence,” Declan said. “Let it blow over.”

“Not an option for some of us, Dad,” Shenandoah said flatly.

“I have some ideas,” Niall said with a look that indicated they’d discuss it later.

“The question no one is asking is how did this happen?” Atticus Eldred asked from Salis D’aar. “How did the Noble House’s name get in the Canto Bight Papers in the first place?”

“Unfortunately, the law firm the Future Fund used for some of its work is connected to a consortium of firms that are involved in the more unsavory business practices described in the Canto Bight Papers,” Vesper explained.

“Needless to say, the Fund has terminated that relationship and Fleetfire Zarmer has been retained by the Fund moving forward,” Fleetfire stated.

“Needless to say,” Regan echoed with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“If you don’t feel like you can stay silent, go make some donations to balance out the taxes you didn’t pay thanks to Vesper’s work,” Kerry said from Redwood Creek outside Cape Suzette. “It’s the time-honored tradition of the wealthy throughout history. Depending on how guilty—I’ll retact that—implicit you feel, you can even get your name on a building if you like.”

“Says the being here who’s going to get her name on buildings anyways,” Trixie grumbled.

“I think that’s my cue. Clearly this conference has reached its limit of usefulness,” Cillian Lynd said from hyperspace.

“Are you kidding?” Vienna Harlow asked from the Tiarest University campus in Salis D’aar. “There’s a good half hour left of everyone sniping at each other.”

She wasn’t wrong.

 

Oh, the Noble House never ceases to entertain when they all get together, even if it's a Zoom call.

Speaking of which, good to see Falene is still alive with all of her adventures. Would be nice to see a glimpse of whatever she's up to these days.

 

She's on...adventures! Very specific adventures! Definitely not adventures I haven't thought about in years! Definitely not!

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Current events didn’t always work in the Triestes’ favor. The Canto Bight Papers weren’t convenient, but Shenandoah and Niall had to accept the hand they’d drawn. Now was the moment. It wouldn’t come again.

Knowing she was facing a headwind, Shenandoah mounted the stage with Harle, their backdrop a view of the Bakuran Senate Building.

“My fellow Bakurans, four years ago the voters of Salis D’aar and Cape Suzette elevated us to the office of senator and invested in us their trust to pursue the people’s business,” Shenandoah began, “to work for every being. We campaigned on a bold vision for Bakura: a society that works for everyone, that recognizes the worth of every being and helps them achieve their potential. A just, equitable Bakura where the circumstances of your birth and your species do not determine how far you will go.

“But we must acknowledge the reality that we were just two senators. This dream of what Bakura could be did not come to pass in the last four years. We often found ourselves on the outside of the conversations that decided the course of our planet over these last four years.

“Harle and I knew there would be a ceiling on what we could achieve from the outside as independents. We could have compromised our values to gain power. But we held firm, even at cost to our careers, because what good is our reputation in the halls of the Senate if we abandoned the ideals that spurred us to run in the first place?

“And in this election, our constituents will have the opportunity to evaluate our work and return us to the Senate or to change course. This is the right of the beings of Bakura, enshrined by our constitution, and we welcome the opportunity to stand before them and receive their judgment.

“But one thing we heard throughout our terms is that more voters than just the beings in our districts support our ideals and what we’re doing. That it is not just southeast Salis D’aar or west Cape Suzette who long for change, for a better planet. It is Atalanta, Golden Prairie, Gesco City, Arcterra, Prytis, Kavanlow, Richmont—every community on this great planet.

“And that brings us to a confluence of events. We cannot go on this way. Two senators will never be able to realize a new Bakura: the Bakura we need. Harle and I cannot in good faith continue this path in the Senate and be true to our voters.

“We cannot continue alone. Harle and I will no longer serve as independents in the Senate.

“That is why today we announce the formation of the Forásach Party,” Shenandoah declared. “We shall be the party of of progress. A party that puts beings first. A party devoted to a brighter Bakura that every day is better than the day before. Should we be reelected, we will assume our seats as Forásach senators.

“And I hope we will not do it alone. My fellow Bakurans, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Forásach slate of candidates for 308.”

The senators were joined by scores of beings who stepped up to the stage. Male, female, Human, Kurtzen, xenobeing, tall, short, thin, fat, old, and young. They arrayed themselves in a spectrum behind Shenandoah and Harle. Each wore a blue carnation signaling the color this party would campaign under.

“No matter where you live on Bakura, there will be a Forásach candidate on your ballot for senate,” Shenandoah continued. “We will contest all 80 Senate districts, because every one of you deserves the opportunity to vote for a bold vision for the future.

“It is time for a new Bakura,” Shenandoah concluded. “It is time for progress.”

 

A third party! Hope they fare better than the third parties we have in the US.

 

@AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

Hapes

Subcommander Nadi Iphegia considered the proposal. Zestra was prepared to wait. She hadn’t worked much with Iphegia, but she’d heard she was fair and considerate. That was what Zestra needed right now. In her post at Operations, Iphegia was more used to consuming Signals Intelligence work product than she was getting plans from them.

“You know this isn’t my desk,” Iphegia stated.

It wasn’t a no. That was all Zestra needed. “Operations had wide latitude in its actions.”

“Traditionally.” The subcommander looked back at the datapad. “I can see why you didn’t take this to Protective Duty.” Zestra decided not to pick that comment up. No good would come of it. “I noticed you didn’t recommend bringing anyone in.”

“That would be premature.”

“If there was a different last name in play, would you still think so?”

Zestra had prepared for this question. “All the signal intercepts we’ve collected indicate that this is still in the planning stage. Deniable. Establishing an observation net now will mean we’ll know when to detain beings.”

Iphegia leaned back in her chair. “And give us an evidence trail.”

“If it comes to that, we will need one. A strong one.”

The subcommander gave a slight nod that Zestra chose to interpret as agreement. “All right, Nigobze,” Nadi said, sitting forward. “If you’re wrong, you’re going to lose your career over this.” Zestra heard the question in the statement.

“I’d rather that than be right and not do anything,” Zestra said without hesitation.

Iphegia picked up the datapad and swished her finger over the surface. “Approved.”

---

“Only in Hapes would I be the one in this relationship worrying about wrinkle lines,” Trellam said as he examined his face in a mirror.

“Poor thing,” Sierra cooed from bed. She’d set aside matters of state for the night and was looking forward to enjoying the evening with her husband.

“We should have just stayed on Bakura,” Trellam grumbled. “No one would have cared there.”

“You would have cared,” Sierra said slyly. “You can’t help growing up here.”

“Nurture over nature,” he sighed, giving up and getting into bed.

“I hope you’re right,” Sierra said.

“What do you mean?”

“Only everything I’ve been trying to do. Moving Hapes towards a more enlightened place. One more accepting of the value of men. One that could support steps towards representative democracy. Plenty of beings argue that these things aren’t in the nature of Hapes. I have to hope that they can be nurtured out of it.”

“You always knew that you would only start the work. That it would be for Corrine to take the first real steps,” Trellam said.

“I did.” Sierra sighed. “I just worry that when her time comes, I will have done enough to prepare the way.”

Trellam knew the moods of his wife well after decades. He could tell something ran beneath her words. “There’s something else.”

“I just wonder…” Trellam waited. “…I wonder if Lucien is the right being to support her. Like you have me.”

“I’d think so. He doesn’t seem to care much about tradition.”

“I worry he doesn’t have the patience for the incremental change that won’t create a backlash that undoes everything,” Sierra admitted.

“Sometimes the times call for a little sudden change,” Trellam pointed out.

“Hapes has never done well with that kind of progress.”

“Or maybe you give us too little credit.”

Sierra rolled to look at her husband. “OK. I’m done. It’s out of my system now.”

“And…?” Trellam asked with a glint in his eye.

“There are a few other things I’d like to get into,” Sierra said, running a finger down his chest.

“Just what I was hoping for,” Trellam said, taking her wrist in his hand and bringing it to his lips.