Jovan: Diplomatic Incidentals

[Tiberius Anar]

"...is totally unacceptable..."

Tiberius Anar was only dipping into the stream of vituperation flowing from Moff Grisen. He needed only get the gist of his argument and, since it was the same gist as he had been getting for months. Every time the argument was presented as though it was a work of great originality, which, by now, it was not.

Perhaps I should write it out and seal it prior to the next one of these meetings. Then I could produce it and amaze everybody with a reveal at the end. I could gain a reputation as a mind reader!

"...foolhardy and misguided..."

The trouble was that the military had been triply humiliated in the past three years.

First they had failed to contain, let alone crush, the rebellion by conventional means. Second, they had then invested heavily in unconventional means, engaging in the expensive race to develop new superweapons only to be beaten to the working model by the rebels. Then, in a third and final kicking, the peace negotiations and resulting treaty had implicitly conceded that force and, by extension its practitioners, had failed.

After such a succession of blows, the military was smarting and spoiling for a fight. They wanted to lash out at the peacemakers, especially the peacemaker in chief Tiberius Anar, Imperial Chancellor.

"...unnecessary reversal of policy..."

Unfortunately, the officers of the Empire were, like officers everywhere, not given to public moaning. Their sense of propriety made them hesitant to voice publicly (or even semi-publicly) their outrage. So they left it to the moffs.

"...a supine acceptance..."

The moffs, for all that they dressed in uniform and occasionally reviewed parades or walked the bridges of star destroyers, were not actually military. They were uniformed administrators, civilians given rank for the form of the thing. Some knew the true nature of their role but others, like Grisen, did not and they allowed themselves to lose sight of their proper place and priorities because of a nominal rank. They posed and overacted the part of militarist.

"...betrayal of our honoured dead..."

Hence the regular verbal drubbings the chancellor was receiving. He had received each calmly, hoping that hitting a target that was not fighting back would weary and bore his attackers. It was working, as it always did.

But it is tedious to take no action. I think it is time to do something, even if it isn't fighting back.

"...no consideration for..."

[Tiberius Anar]

Generally, joining the diplomatic service of one's nation is the career choice of the elite. The most socially gifted sons and daughters of the aristocracy gravitate towards diplomatic corps in the same way that their more rugged contemporaries do the officer corps and the more numerate to the finer merchant banks. Service as a diplomat provides a pleasing interlude for those destined to assume titles and wealth and a steady and a respectable career for those whom inheritance or luck have not made so fortunate. After all, representing a nation abroad requires tack, gravitas, and a lightness of touch that only the very best can provide.

This was true of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps but to a lesser extent than might be considered the norm. This was because the Galactic Empire had claimed dominion over the entire Galaxy. This rather limited the scope of diplomatic work by reducing to a de jure zero the number of nations with which His (now Her) Majesty's Government might have cause to negotiate on equal terms. It also made such de facto nations as did exist far easier to deal with. The military might of the Empire tended to movewith an impunity that most nations can only dream of.

As a result, the present Corps found itself somewhat differently staffed than its predecessor under the Republic. To be sure there were plenty of truly talented beings who joined but they often remained only a short time before realising that their talents were better employed elsewhere. Those few who stayed on longer found their edge dulled by the circumstances of their work. Negotiating was so much easier when unimaginable force was easy to summon and almost as easy to unleash. Quite junior officers could make threats that their predecessors (now in the senior ranks) would never have dared to dream.

Of course, not all members of the service had gone down this line, some had worked to acquire a keen edge and maintain it. These men and women continued to practice the subtle art of diplomacy in the traditional way. They rarely resorted to force or even threats and still achieved their goals. Sometimes this was out of pride, a desire to show that they could play the game as it should be played, and sometimes it was out of necessity. There were some places that military might could not proceed.

Such beings found themselves, quite unexpectedly, in demand now that the Empire had conceded the existence of another Galactic power. The Alliance of Free Planets was quite unlike anything the present generation of diplomats had encountered before as, indeed, was the moras of unaligned powers on the non-Imperial side of treaty line. Practitioners of the finer form of diplomacy were needed to sort things out.

[Tiberius Anar]

Gilad Harth was the quintessential Imperial diplomat. He was urbane, always immaculately turned out, seemingly unflappable, gently reasonable, and tiresomely patient. He also had truly excellent bladder control.

Well one never knew how long a negotiation might last.

At present only the patience was really in play. He was number two in a delegation attempting to secure mineral extraction concessions on Tro'gu, a pitifully unsophisticated world possessed of only two things of value: the aforementioned minerals and terrifyingly statuesque warriors.

These near-humans (unimaginatively also called Tro'gu) had developed tremendous strength and stamina in order to operate in their world's unusually high gravity. So high was the gravity in comparison with the Galactic norm, that the Imperial delegation was only able to sit at the conference table rather than lie prone upon the floor because of the personal gravity dampners they were all wearing.

Their marked homefield advantage made it unlikely that a ground campaign against the Tro'gu would be effective. The invasion itself would require specialist equipment and months of training before boots hit the ground in order to be emptied of their wearers by the irate and fearsome natives. Assuming enough Imperial troops survived to claim victory, they would then need to be substantial reinforced to form an occupation force, again, at great expense.

The minerals were valuable but not that valuable.

Orbital bombardment, the usual tactic for dealing with entrenched or otherwise difficult enemies, was not a viable alternative solution either. The mineral deposits were mainly contained within vast, incredibly fragile crystaline structures that honeycombed the planet's surface and sprouted like glittering moss from fissures all over the globe. A few turbolaser blasts might cow the Tro'gu but would also atomise vast tracts of mineral wealth rendering the entire exercise pointless except as a show of Imperial might and indifference.

Oddly enough, with a goodly portion of the known Galaxy and its resources now out of Imperial reach behind the Treaty line, no one had been keen upon such wasteful action.

So, unable to send in soldiers or spacers (or to threaten the same) to get what they wanted, someone in the Imperial hierarchy had sent in the diplomats. It was slow work but, in the view of Imperial Center and the Sector Moff, more cost effective. Even if the attempt failed it would have cost a fraction of an invasion and sacrificed no options for the future.

Harth looked across the table at the Tro'gu delegation. These were, by all accounts, officials like billions all over the Galaxy. They spent their days writing and talking and, if they were like the slightly overweight Harth, eating good lunches on their Government's credit, and yet they were all tall, hulking beings. Harth strongly suspected that they could do him considerable harm without breaking a sweat.

Dealing with them was, for some of the Imperial delegation, surprisingly ticklish work. The Tro'gu looked like bar bruisers or professional wrestlers (of the sort who actually hit one another hard not the other kind) so it was easy to assume that they could be treated as lunks and told what to do. But they had good minds (well, at least the one's across the table did) and used them to pick apart everything and all the possibilities that occurred to them had to be checked and rechecked.

It probably came of living somewhere that made even a stumble walking down the road potentially fatal on a daily basis.

So it had been an arduous month of carefully setting out terms, re-stating them, and then, after due deliberation and consultations with respective higher authorities, setting out slightly amended terms and...well repeat for a month. And this was after several weeks of pre-negotiations and pre-meetings in order to set the agenda, to agree venues, and catering, and seating and all the diplomatic incidentals that came with contact between people representing powers greater than themselves.

As the number two, of course, Harth got to do barely any talking during the actual negotiations. His function was to sit by The Envoy and look grave or cheerful as required while always observing.

Harth stood. The day's session was coming to an end. The Envoy was exchanging bows with his counterpart. The delegations bowed to one another and, in quiet order, exited the room by separate doors on opposite sides of the room. (This parting ritual was the product of three meetings and four exchanges of notes.) The Tro'gu would be bound for their homes; the Imperials delegation for their ship in orbit. (Five meetings and seven notes.)

As he walked along the passage to the landing pad and the waiting shuttle, Harth was met by one of the staff aids bearing a datapad. She was one of the support team who occupied a set of rooms outside the conference room to provide support and comms. (Two meetings, five notes.)

"This came in while you were in conference, sir," the young lady said handing over the pad, "It was not marked urgent so I reasoned it could wait."

Harth keyed the pad while saying, "Quite right. It would have been quite insulting to our hosts to interrupt for anything short of the destruction of Imperial Center."

His eyes scanned down the short message to get the gist. He read it again more carefully. Had he been a less consumate diplomat the text would have prompted a raised eyebrow or an apprehensive tone. As it was, Harth said calmly, "It seems I have been recalled to Imperial Center."

[Tiberius Anar]

There are many different kinds of quiet. There is the quiet of a place closed for the day or the weekend, which is restful. There is the quiet of a place closed unexpectedly, which is disappointed. There is the quiet of a place abandoned, which is sad.

The quiet of the Imperial Chancellery was the quiet of a place reserved for nothing but work. It was a quiet of intense and sustained concentration. So focussed were its denizens upon their work that they spoke in hushed tones lest they disturb themselves.

Harth was, therefore, painfully concious of his footfalls on the marbled floors he traversed on his journey from the Chancellery's landing bay. He was escorted by a young man, immaculately turned out, who had insisted upon logging all manner of details about Harth on a pad before they had even left the bay but had given only minimal details by way of introduction. He seemed awfully keen to get Harth to wherever it was they were going because the pace he was setting was at the upper end of the walking range.

Harth considered deliberately slowing to a dawdle to test the boy's reaction to such defiance but decided against it. He did slow down slightly, however, as he could see no reason to arrive in a perspiring mess. He was almost certainly bound for an anteroom or other holding area, which was hardly worth the exertion.

[Tiberius Anar]

"Your Excellency," Quintus Varo intoned, "May I remind you that Mr Harth is waiting."

Tiberius Anar did not look up from the file on his desk.

The Chancellor's Principal Private Secretary was accustomed to this behaviour. The Chancellor was either genuinely interested in what was in front of him and had better things to do than meet with a mid-level diplomatic officer or he wished to create that impression. Pushing for a reaction too soon could ruin either his concentration or his performance. Varo had no wish to do either.

After a couple of minutes had elapsed, Varo coughed.

"Ah Quintus," the Chancellor looked up, "What can I do for you?"

"Mr Harth is here, Your Excellency."

"Oh yes." It could have been a question or a statement of recognition.

"He has been waiting some time, Your Excellency."

[Tiberius Anar]

As he had expected, Harth was deposited by his escort in a waiting area. It being in the Chancellery and very near to the Chancellor's own offices it was a very nice waiting room but it was, undeniably, a waiting room.

A droid, presumably present for the purpose, offered the diplomat a drink, indicated a seat and shuffled off to find the requested beverage. Harth settled himself into the remarkably comfortable seat to which he had been directed and set his mind to listing possibilities. He ran through the reasons he might have been recalled to Corsuscant and to the Chancellery rather than to the Diplomatic Corps Offices and, based upon the setting, who it might be that was expecting him.

He toyed with the idea that it would be the Chancellor but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Tiberius Anar was not one to bother with the likes of Harth. The diplomat might be deft, well-mannered, and very good at his job but he was way beneath the notice of the Empire's administrative mastermind.

By the time someone came to fetch him, Harth had narrowed the possibilities to two. Possibility One was that he had been tapped for some diversionary exercise involving one of the Empire-aligned worlds in free space, which would mean a meeting with Ulara Van Farr for whom Harth had considerable respect. Possibility Two was that he was being appointed to serve as some sort of Chancellery liaison, which would mean a meeting with Cornelius Verex for whom Harth had considerable contempt.

He was still trying decide exactly how to react to either of these outcomes when he was ushered into the Chancellor's presence.

[Tiberius Anar]

Tiberius Anar glanced up from the papers in front of him.

"Ah Mr Harth, good of you to come. Do take a seat." A hand waved to take in the five chairs arrayed before the desk.

Harth took a seat doing his level best not to worry about what his choice (second in from the left from the Chancellor's point of view) might reveal. Rumour had it that the Empire's chief minister set great store by such things as a window on the soul or at least upon the workings of the mind.

For a couple of minutes nothing more was said, then Anar looked up from his papers and said, "How are the negotiations progressing?"

[Tiberius Anar]

Harth knew that the Chancellor of the Empire would not summon a mid-level diplomat to ask him about negotiations on mineral exploitation except for two reasons. One possibility was that the negotiations were far more significant than they appeared. The other possibility was that it was a pre-text for some other enquiry.

There was a third possibility, too. This could be a test. Of what, however, Harth could not even begin to speculate.

"The negotiations with the Tro'gu progress very slowly, Your Excellency. That is because of the nature of the Tro'gu."

[Tiberius Anar]

Anar nodded.

"I gather they can be cautious to a fault. Would you say that is cultural or a bargaining tactic?"

"I would say it is pragmatic. They live in a world where a missed step and a sudden tumble can be lethal."

Anar nodded again.

"Tell me about their chief negotiator. A formidable warrior?"

Harth made a show of demurring, canting his head to the right and frowning slightly.

"No. Perhaps by our standards and here, Your Excellency, he would seem so. Like the rest, Kenta Hidan, is massive but there he is just like most diplomats: a thinker. He uses words with care and great effect and he keeps an even temper."

"What position have they taken on staffing levels for the mines? Presumably, we will want some room under whatever cap they impose."

Harth nodded to indicate an appreciation for the question. "Yes that has been a sticking point. The Tro'gu are concerned to minimise the presence of offworlders and have been placing obstacles in the way."

"Yes, their exploitation of their many holy days is striking," Anar glanced at the open file on his desk, "Such cynicism seems uncharacteristic for a primitive people."

"It strikes me, Your Excellency, that they are not entirely cynical about it. They have even offered to compromise on some lesser..."

Harth stopped in the face of the Chancellor's smile.

"Mr Harth, that was just a little too easy."

[Tiberius Anar]

Harth blinked, instantly recognising his error.

Harth blinked again, silently berating himself for being unnerved enough by this unexpected meeting to be tripped up by such simple...even crude...tactics.

Aside from the two blinks his face remained impassive. At least his diplomat's mask had not slipped with his diplomat's sense.

"Mr Harth, you know very well that the details of ongoing negotiations are need to know. You are no longer in a position to need to know and have been removed from the distribution of the head of mission's daily report."

The Chancellor's hand indicated the file on the desk in front of him.

"You should not know the current details of these negotiations and yet you do. This suggests to me several possibilities. You have somehow circumvented the security of the Service's communications or you have retained some contact within the delegation to keep you abreast of developments or you have some connection within the Service's offices here who is keeping you informed."

The Chancellor paused fractionally before continuing.

"Beyond this, Mr Harth, I do not care to know how you have remained informed but I do care to know why. Do you care to explain your reasons for this disregard for the rules?"

[Tiberius Anar]

There seemed very little to be gained by denial so Harth opted for, what he hoped would be disarming, honesty.

"Not knowing what, if anything, would come of this visit it seemed prudent to ensure that I could readily return to my duties on Tro'gu."

The Chancellor gave no sign that he was moved favourably or unfavourably by this explanation, sitting in silence regarding his visitor impassively for what seemed like an eternity. Then, with suprising swiftness, he flicked shut the open file on his desk. A decisive nod completed the dismissal of the matter.

"They tell me, Mr Harth, that you served in the delegation that negotiated the recent peace. Is that so?"

[Tiberius Anar]

Harth nodded emphatically but spoke with more care.

"I served as part of the delegation that met with representatives of the alliance."

He might have been referring to the Alliance to Restore the Republic, or the Rebel Alliance, or the Alliance of Free Planets. Each name came with freighted with its own weight of meaning. To recognise any one was to send a message to which the Chancellor might react favourably or unfavourably depending upon his inclinations. To date those inclinations remained unclear to most people.

Anar's left hand reached to a tray on his desk and plucked up another file. This landed on the desk and was consulted.

"In particular you played a part in the sessions dealing with," here he paused to check the phrasing, " the 'normalisation of interactions'. I imagine, therefore, you are familiar with Article Fifty Two."

[Tiberius Anar]

Harth readily recalled the details of that provision of The Treaty. He had, along with his Alliance opposite number, spent many hours settling them. It had been the hardest deal to make of his career. So far at any rate.

"Article Fifty-Two provides for the two signatories," again he avoided defining the status of the Galaxy's other major power, "to establish offices on either side of the treaty line to deal with business of mutual interest."

"'Offices'?" the Chancellor repeated the word carefully. "Why not embassies or consulates?"

"The Treaty does provide for establishing normalised diplomatic relations as well," the diplomat clarified, "But it seemed expedient to have some other, lesser, means of contact as well. At least in the interim. To push for normal relations immediately would not have played well. With their people or ours."

"Indeed," Anar agreed remembering his most recent run-in with the moffs. "So what would an office like this do?"

"They would serve as points of contact for settling matters that both powers have an interest in. Exactly what those might be was not prescribed, only the ways establishing a route for dealing with them.

"Personally, I would expect them to be employed at major transit points on the border to settle jurisdictional disputes and handle consular matters."

The Chancellor was silent for some moments, presumably considering this view. This afforded Harth time to wonder to where this conversation was leading.

[Tiberius Anar]

"I assume," Anar resumed the questioning, "you gave some thought to the difficulties...practical and political...of establishing such offices."

"On our side we certainly did. I think it highly likely that they did as well," Harth shrugged, "It seemed almost as difficult to establish these sub-diplomatic contacts as to establish the real thing. If nothing else asking to establish such an office would be hard for us."

The Chancellor nodded. Harth, unaware of the recent meeting with the moffs could not know that his superior was especially sensitive to that problem.

"Would we have to ask? Could we not compel the Alliance to comply?"

"Only in some particular situations, which were enumerated in Section Nine," Harth answered, "But they are most particular, almost peculiar, situations that I do not believe would arise. At least not in the short or medium term."

The Chancellor plucked a sheer from the file before him and proffered it to Harth with the words, "Oh really?"

[Tiberius Anar]

Harth was obliged to stand to retrieve the document. The desk was to large for him to reach for it and the older man behind it was unlikely to stretch out to him.

Automatically, the diplomat checked the classification (Secret) and source (precise point obscured but from a semi-secret observation network) before reading the substance. He was returning to his seat when his mind registered the salient details.

He stopped.

He turned back to the Chancellor.

He re-read the information.

"This has actually happened?"

"Indeed," replied Anar, "We have been keeping them under observation. Just a short while ago," he proffered another data sheet, "one of our star destroyers approached the Treaty Line and made enquiries."

Harth took the second sheet and read this, too.

"This would definitely be grounds for a notice under section nine, Your Excellency."

"I know." The Chancellor pressed a button on his desk. "And that is why you are here."

[Tiberius Anar]

A door (one to Harth's right rather than those behind him through which he had entered the office) slid open to admit two people.

"Mr Harth," the Chancellor had risen and stepped around his desk to stand with the newcomers causing Harth to scramble (as gracefully as he could) to his feet, "I believe you have met my secretary Quintus Varo," nods of recognition were exchanged, "and Ulara Van Farr of the Diplomatic Corps will, I am sure, be well known to you."

"Gilad," Farr extended a thin hand to Harth, "How good to see you." The Corps encouraged its officers to maintain a warm courtesy betwixt them. Farr was respected in part because she respected this tradition assiduously.

"Madam Farr," the Chancellor said, "I believe we are ready to proceed."

"Very good, Your Excellency."

The older diplomat headed to the Chancellor's desk. Harth noticed she carried a dark blue, gold embossed folder beneath her arm. This was laid carefully on the desk and opened. Harth was surprised to see that the folder contained not the plasti-film pages usually used for government hardcopy but actual paper. A pen of the kind that dispensed ink was produced from a pocket and, together with a small box laid, carefully beside the open folder.

"If, Your Excellency will step this way," Farr directed, "Mr Varo and Mr Harth could you stand here and here." Gentle waves of the hand indicated spots before the desk.

It was at this point that Gilad Harth realised what was about to happen.

[Tiberius Anar]

"Gilad Harth," Anar intoned, "I hereby appoint you to the position of Imperial Liaison to Jovan Station."

The Imperial Chancellor turned, took up the pen and signed the left hand sheet of paper. "This is your commission and this," he signed the right hand sheet, "is notice under Article Fifty Two, Section Nine of the Treaty, which you will deliver to the commander of Jovan Station and require him to support you in establishing an office on the station."

This said, Anar handed over the pen to his secretary who also signed both pages. Ulara Van Farr then turned the folder around to face her and went to work.

With deft fingers she opened a small drawer in the base of the box she had previous placed on the table. From this she withdrew two dark blue wax paper wafers and laid one on each document. She then flipped the lid from the box and pulled from it a palm sized disk of metal, which she place on top of first one then the other wafer. With the application of slight pressure she activated this device. When it was withdrawn each wafer bore the impression of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps seal.

Replacing the sealer in its box Farr, too, signed each document. Her green eyes ran over first one sheet then the other before a little nod of satisfaction was given and the folder closed. The whole was then handed to the Chancellor who turned to Harth and said, "Congratulations."

[Gilad Harth]

One week later...

Whatever the drawbacks of his new assignment (and there were undoubtedly many) the accommodation was, thus far, not one of them. For this Gilad Harth offered a silent toast, as had numerous heads of mission, to the achievement of a now anonymous hero of the Corps.

At some distant point in the past this paragon had successfully negotiated with the powers that had been for the heads of diplomatic missions to be accorded the standing and perquisites of flag rank. This mark of distinction had endured through innumerable upheavals in the existence of the Old Republic, including the abolition of the Republic Navy and its eventual restoration, to be tended by the Imperial Navy. As a result Gilad Harth was making the journey to Jovan in considerable style, with a sizeable suite to himself.

Not that he had much time to wallow in all that space. He had covered the dining table with datapads and hardcopies, many already heavily annotated, as he took stock of his position and planned how to carry through his assignment.

His assessment was, so far, a largely hopeful one. To his credit he had a nippy consular ship and top range kit (a result of a decent setup budget being allocated to the mission) and a good staff pulled in from various parts of the Galaxy (a result of Ulara Van Farr's cachet and undeniable authority in the service wielded judiciously). To his debit there were only two significant items.

The first was a lack of decent intelligence of the situation on the station. Imperial citizens upstanding enough to report back were, if not unwelcome there then, at least, warily treated and, thus, rather a poor source of information. The exact command structure and, in particular, the influence of the Cizerack upon it, were a major unknown. Imperial Intelligence and the service's own agents were, even now, racing to establish whatever facts they could for a data packet to be picked up during a brief return to realspace in a few hours' time.

The second item was neither more pressing or significant but it was, at least, closer to hand. For this reason, if nothing else, this was the focus of Harth's concern at the moment.

The item in question was the mission's military attache the presence of whom was, in many ways, a demonstration of the limits imposed upon the mission's originators. It seemed that their best efforts had been, first, insufficient to ward off the military's insistence upon placing one of their own on Harth's staff and, then, ineffective in selecting a more measured candidate for the post. Thus, while the putative Imperial Liaison grappled with datawork, his subordinates gathered in the common room down the passage were getting to know the mind of Captain Tal Kellison I.N. a man of great enthusiasm.

Rather them than me.

[Tal]

The offices of the Imperial Naval Command were mostly empty this time of night, save for the ever-present security and a few stragglers, burning the midnight oil. One of these stragglers was a small, unassuming man: one Admiral Alen Sato. Admiral Sato, once the undisputed military master of several sectors, now fought just one battle, that battle being the neverending flood of administrative tasks that continually threatened to overwhelm him.

Chief among these tasks was the assignment of his officers to various open positions, a task that had recently become much more difficult due to the shortage. Not a shortage of officers, but a shortage of places to put them. Cut the territory a navy was supposed to hold in half and suddenly you had a whole pile of ships and soldiers with nothing to do. Take this military attaché posting. It seemed Anar was establishing a diplomatic office on Jovan Station and Imperial High Command wanted someone there to represent their interests, to get in the ear of whatever mid-level diplomat would be placed in the position. Even with some rather stringent criteria narrowing the search, no less than 200 officers were qualified for the job and currently without an assignment.

Dutifully, Sato pored through the records of these officers, skimming some, examining others more closely. His third time going through the names, one stuck in his subconcious. A captain by the name of Tal Kellison. He wasn't extraordinary by any means - graduated near, but not at the top of his class, had a fairly standard rise through the ranks, managed to collect himself a few commendations for exemplary service. Not extraordinary, no, but especially...competent. If nothing else, the man seemed to have a rather impressive string of bad luck. Pressed into service commanding the Termagent, that was no picnic, if the stories he had heard of Shadow Squad had any kernel of truth to them. An unfortunate incident involving gundarks. Getting blown up while going down with his last ship. Perhaps Kellison's record stood out from all the others as the perfect man for the job. Perhaps Kellison was due for a bit of good fortune. Or perhaps Sato was just tired of work and wanted to go home to his wife's home cooking.


******

[Tal]

"...and third: I expect a written summary of any and all overnight communications on my desk each morning at 0600. Single-spaced formatting. Numbered lists, not bulleted. I will provide a sample report for you to follow," the uniformed man droned on in a quiet, somewhat slurred voice.

Captain Tal Kellison stood stick straight at the head of the conference table, arms clasped behind his back. His steely gaze captured each of the diplomat's aides in turn before turning to the timepiece on the wall. Just on time, just as he had rehearsed in his new quarters earlier. Excellent.

Kellison's impression of the diplomat profession was one of excess and privilege. It was important to establish early and clearly how he expected things to be handled. Make sure they knew how a military man expected things to be done. He continued to address the others in the room, some of them older than him and all of them with many years of diplomatic experience.

"I expect each and every one of you to perform to the best of your abilities. If there is anything you need, if you ever want to benefit from my expertise, please do not hesitate to come to me. It is my belief that, should we all work as a team, we will gain the upper hand in any negotiations with these lesser organizations and assure the continued dominance of the Empire. Dismissed."

[Gilad Harth]

The civilians in the room did not, as Kellison clearly expected, rise and file out. Instead they turned their heads from his end of the table to the other. The object of their attention was one of their own, the most senior among them in the absence of Harth himself.

[Kyryanu Sevon]

"Well."

She was almost a wisp of a woman; not particularly fair-haired or delicately featured, but not brutish in appearance either. Slender in build, Kyryanu Sevon did not give off the air of a woman who spoke without thought. Indeed, one could many times over see the calculating gears in her head turning as she gauged her responses.

Now, leaning back in her seat, Ms. Sevon looked at Captain Tal Kellison with eyes that seemed to ask if he was very much finished. Even despite his having uttered that delightful word, 'dismissed', she silently prodded at him. Because she could. And because it amused her.

"Thank you, Captain Kellison."

Her left leg unfolded itself from over the top of her right, and she slowly rose to stand, the fingers of one hand resting slightly on the tabletop.

"I'm sure we all know well enough the importance of this posting, and if the Empire did not have full faith in each and every one of you, you'd not be here. It goes without saying of course, that our duties will be of the utmost importance. This is something of a first for more than likely all of us, in that we'll have to actively work alongside the Alliance of Free Planets."

She gave a pause to allow that last nail in the coffin to sink in. Perhaps more for Captain Kellison than any of the others.

Sevon half-turned her head to regard him, then. There was no malicious intent in her next words; rather an effort to show all present that the two were a united front. Of course, he could read into what she said whatever he wished, but she supposed that that was how things went.

"Isn't that right, Captain."

[Tal]

While a certain amount of annoyance may have been conveyed with this way his eyes lingered on the woman at the end of the table, Kellison's scarred visage showed no other reaction. It was the lack of respect that really rankled him. The way she sat. The way she stood. The way she acted like she was running this briefing. The way she clearly chose each word carefully, knowing their effect.

With careful, deliberate breathing, he kept his composure as she prattled on about working alongside the Alliance of Free Planets. Even thinking the ridiculous name was distasteful. Alliance of Free Planets, bah. It was the kind of euphemism that diplomats used to be, well, diplomatic. Nonsense. They were rebels. They were rebels before, they were rebels now. Disruptive, disobedient children that had to be punished.

In through the nose. Out through the nose. Maintain proper posture.

"Well said, Secretary Sevon." If there was any undue stress on the word "Secretary", it was only in the imagination of the suspicious.

[Kyryanu Sevon]

Her trailing fingers lifted slightly, then fell once more to give a soft rap of her knuckles on the surface of the table. She only sent a nod to the Captain.

"Very good then, we are in accord."

Her attentions turned to those assembled.

"Any questions?"

[Tal]

Silence.

Sevon and Kellison stood on opposite sides of the table. The Colosseses of Jovan.

"She's 3 inches shorter than I am," Tal thought idly to himself.

[Tal]

The painfully drawn out silence continued. In the end, it was Captain Kellison broke.

"And Ambassador Harth? I was under the impression that he would be joining us."

[Kyryanu Sevon]

Sevon slowly returned to her seat and the small folder of flimsis that rested on the table in front of her. And atop that lay a datapad. Switched off.

One hand moved over to halfway pick up the 'pad. Rather than completely ignore him, she turned her eyes upward. The fingers of her off hand once more moved to drum on the table. It was a strange sound; tinny, like a tiny battledroid miniature clanking about in circles. It was not the sound that a flesh and blood fingertip should make when coming into contact with a veneered and polished osa wood table.

Her fingers stopped, going still.

"He will be along at his discretion."

A professionaly sweet smile was sent up to Captain Kellison.

[Tal]

That was the second time she'd done that! Was she mocking him? Kellison flexed his own left hand behind his back. The stiff, scarred skin and damaged muscles fought against the effort. Worse, the sound she made was unnatural, inhuman. It set him on edge. This whole situation did. Completely and utterly unprofessional.


The captain chose to remain standing, his eyes directed in Sevon's general direction.


The smile was not returned.

[Gilad Harth]

Some hours later...

The download of the collated intelligence lay on Harth's desk. He had been over it twice, which was enough to form an initial assessment with confidence.

"This will be a most interesting exercise," he opined, "We have a former rebel in command with a Cizerack as his deputy with a mixed crew and security force under them. The civilian population is equally diverse by all accounts. The potential pitfalls are legion but so are the opportunities."

He gestured at the 'pad on his desk inviting Kyryanu Sevon to offer an opinion on the same.

"Have you ever dealt with something like this?"

[Kyryanu Sevon]

Leaning forward from her seat to take the offered 'pad, Kyry Sevon once more sat back as deft fingers switched it on. She scanned the information that the Ambassador had already summarized. It was a habit. So was the finger-tapping. One finger idly tacked against the armrest of her seat. She half-read in silence, partially mulling over his question while considering the abridged details given to her in digital format.

"I've not," she finally answered.

A surprisingly chipper glint shone in her eyes as she cast them suddenly upward to look at him.

"But, I do know that the old Rebellion had a history of success with such unions."

The 'pad was switched off with the tiniest of feigned flourishes. Again, her motions were of habit. Such things never really died off; habits, ticks, things that couldn't be helped. They made life interesting in their own way. Her professional air extended into every facet of her life, as Sevon was loathe to allow anyone the opportunity to brand her with the same iron that'd pushed into the flesh of her brother.

"I'd also have to make it known that I think calling this an 'interesting exercise' may very well be a hell of an understatement... " One corner of her mouth ticked up crookedly. "... Sir."

[Gilad Harth]

Harth smiled at his de facto deputy. It was a broad and winning smile to which most people responded positively.

"I'll admit to low-balling a touch."

He clasped his hands in his lap and swung his seat idly a little to the left the better to regard Kyry diagonally over the desk. A nod indicated the now deactivated datareader.

"But you'll agree, I'm sure, that meeting the challenge will prove intellectually stimulating."

His eyes drifted to the ceiling as he considered the challenges.

"The Cizerack presence, for example. Members of a matriarchal society operating under male leadership and in a mixed environment. How will they respond to us and us to them?"

[Kyryanu Sevon]

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily be worried about that particular aspect things."

The datapad was returned to his desk, and Kyry pursed her lips in thought before finally going on.

"The Pride sided with the Separatists during the Clone Wars. There were many battles that took place in the Cluster, and the balance of superiority did not swing to them. I have to wonder if there may still be a small bit of wounded... pride, if you will."

She quirked one corner of her lip upward at the wordplay.

"But who knows. Either way, and no matter what, I would suggest remaining cautious. We are coming from the Empire; from the government that grew from the Republic on the orders of the Emperor Palpatine. We represent, ultimately, the government that quelled them many, many years ago."

[Gilad Harth]

Like a lot of people in the Corps, Harth enjoyed a bit of wordplay especially when it was deployed to good effect. He responded to the sally with a smile and to the words of caution that followed with words of reassurance.

"I have no intention of being overly assertive though a little forcefulness might be called for."

Harth's gaze had returned from the ceiling as Sevon spoke. His steady gaze held her across the desk as he continued the discussion.

"Which brings me, in a way, to our military attache. How do you find Captain Kellison?"

[Tal]

That same Captain Kellison was currently in his quarters. The latest briefings flickered on a screen on the desk, but his attention was on the ceiling. There was nothing especially interesting about the ceiling, but it made for a decent place to focus as he listened to his opera recordings. As the song built to a particularly stirring crescendo, Tal joined in, his own (surprisingly good) voice growing in power as they reached his favorite part.

Nothing got one's mind off of diplomacy like a good opera.

[Kyryanu Sevon]

* * *


"Captain Kellison."

She spoke in a low, thoughtful tone, her head angling down as her eyes shifted from the Ambassador's face, to her own hands.

"He is a distinctly... military man."

A rather obvious observation, and she let a breath out from her nose, looking back up.

"I'm sure he is more than capable of performing his duties here, and so I have faith in him." A finger came up... a perfectly crafted finger that looked so identical to her others. It had its' own fingerprint, even. "... but. Only as much as I feel necessary."

Kyry considered the Captain a moment longer.

"I am sure he is a capable man, and I have read the dossier provided, so I know that he isn't stupid. But it also tells me that he is a survivor." She paused, mulling over her next words. "I think that he will be invaluable as time progresses."

[Gilad Harth]

Another smile.

"Oh yes, with time I have no doubt that he will make a significant contribution. Let us hope it is to the good."

He allowed that thought to hang in the air for a few moments and then said in a tone that belied the sharpness of the question, "And you, Ms Sevon, what do you think your contribution will be?"

[Kyryanu Sevon]

Kyryanu stared at him, making sure that her eyes remained level and unflinching. And behind those eyes was a mind that calmly went about determining the answer to the question posed. It truly wasn't a difficult query. In itself, it was easy to answer. But there were so many layers to consider that it took her a short while longer to formulate an answer that she would feel to be satisfactory enough.

In the end, it struck her as a rather absurd notion; to quantify one's own future contributions. It was enough to make her break the eye contact that she maintained with Harth, her brow knitting in deep thought as she leaned back slightly, her gaze now fixing upon an empty spot on the wall behind him.

"Any answer I may give would be biased," she started.

"But you've asked, so I suppose I must answer."

She once more looked to meet his eyes.

"I... don't know. I could ply you with the normal, expected words of going above and beyond if that's what you really want to hear, but respectfully speaking, Sir, that's not what I do. This thing that the Alliance has undertaken with the Pride is wholly new. The fact that they invite the Empire to reside and partake in diplomatic roles? It is a strange hand being extended, and I can't tell you with any certainty what sort of future lies with all of this."

She paused, huffed a breath out through her nose, and finally gave a ghostly, impish smile.

"But, I can assure you that I will be honest in whatever I tell you. Even if that may mean making you angry."

[Gilad Harth]

Harth nodded approvingly, "Precisely what I need.

"From your file it looks like your honesty has not always been appreciated. Is that why you've been in your present grade rather longer than would be expected of someone with your qualifications and experience?"

[Kyryanu Sevon]

Kyry paused at that. Her features became a strange look of thoughtfulness.

"It's probably the best explanation, really."

There were other factors that she was somewhat suspicious of being involved in her stalled career. Her brother chief among them. A final inhale, and she settled herself in her seat, hands gripping the armrests almost imperceptibly. It was an unconscious reaction, as if she was rooting herself in place.

"It's not exactly something I try to dwell on."

[Gilad Harth]

Harth nodded his agreement.

"Well it will be appreciated by me I assure you."

The words were accompanied by the reassuringly open and steady gaze he had perfected over many years. In this case it was genuine despite its calculated deployment.

"And it will be reciprocated." How would his deputy take the news? "We have not been invited. Indeed, we are not, as far as I know, expected."

[Kyryanu Sevon]

It was but a split-second. The barest hesitation before her features pulled into a rather amused expression.

"Is that so?"

Her tone had taken on an almost sing-song lilt, and Kyry couldn't help the wry grin that slowly etched itself onto her face. She looked past Harth in that moment, her eyes searching the wall behind him for some invisible sign or portent.

Seconds later her eyes returned to his.

"An adventurous bit of living. Not my first choice of ideal situations, but I work with what I'm given."

And as if to punctuate her words, a single finger tunked against the armrest.

"And here I thought I was getting too old for such excitement."

[Gilad Harth]

"I rather hope it will not be too exciting," Harth replied with a smile, "If it is we will probably not enjoy our next assignments."

He shifted forward a little in his seat, signalling an increased degree of intimacy and confidence by the fractional reduction in the distance between them.

"I intend to approach this as neutrally as possible: at least outwardly. We cannot awe or intimidate nor can we grovel. I shall present my credentials as Liaison and the requisite notice of our intentions as plain facts. I shall leave it to this Commander Akiena to decide whether to co-operate or not.

"The question, however, is how best to secure his co-operation. Is that more likely if he is taken by surprise and his hand forced by our presence or if he is forewarned?"

[Kyryanu Sevon]

"A bit of forewarning may be beneficial."

The words were out of her mouth without her even having to think on them.

"If we are to be making something of a 'home' on Jovan Station, it would be best to inform the powers-that-be of our intentions."

She too angled forward a slight bit. One elbow rested on the armrest as her weight shifted in her seat, and her head tipped a small bit to the side as she continued.

"If we aim to commit to this, it is best that we begin in the correct fashion. If we treat the Alliance like the Rebellion of old, then I do believe we will suffer for it. But if we extend to them an offered hand of cooperation, it will be easier for us to work together on matters no matter how small or how big."

[Gilad Harth]

"Then I suppose I have a call to make."

He reached towards the desk comm unit.

[Kes Akiena]

* * *

It was his off day.

The one day of the week that he was allowed time to himself, with nothing pressing unless he wished it to be so. Or at least, that was the theory. The truth of the matter was that Kes Akiena was afforded little to no time to himself, unless he was asleep. And even then that sleep was interrupted at sometimes the strangest hours of the night. He wasn't entirely disgruntled, but he did at times long for uninterrupted peace. There usually seemed to be some problem, no matter how big or small, that needed his attentions. He was patient enough though. It was an existence that he was coming to settle into with a sense of strange pseudo-enjoyment.

It made him feel necessary still.

In his quarters now, with the lights dimmed, the redhead occupied his sofa, laying along its' length. His eyes were closed, a thin paper 'book' resting on his chest. The illustrated cover was partially obstructed by a hand that'd once been holding it up, but twenty minutes previous had let the comic fall as his eyelids did the same.

The first chirp of his comm sounded without movement, but on the second trill he jolted awake with a vengeance, sitting up. The Captain Coruscant comic he'd been once-reading slid from his chest to land in the small pile of back issues that were scattered across his legs. There were a myriad of titles mixed together; The Imperial Shadow, Jedi League: Yavin, and even a single issue of The Order of the Scorpion.

Blindly, Kes reached for his comm.

"Yes?"

The grogginess in his voice was evident, and the junior officer on the other end hesitated before speaking.

"You've got a transmission, Sir."

He sighed.

"Ran, it's my day off."

"Sorry Sir, I know that. But this is... well, I think you need to take it."

Making a face that the lieutenant couldn't see, Kes acquiesced.

"Fine. Who is it?"

"Bluntly, Sir? It's the Empire."

"Tell Captain Wygraant that I'm busy."

"It's not Captain Wygraant, Sir."

Now it was his turn to give pause.

"Ok... who is it?"

"He's a diplomat. Name's Gilad Harth."

Kes ran the name through his memory, unable to come up with a face, let alone any remembrance of meeting the man. A total stranger then. With another sigh, the redhead reluctantly swung his legs over so that he could sit properly. His little collection of guilty pleasures was wrangled with one hand.

"Fine fine. Put him through."

"Yes Sir."

Another few moments of silence passed, and he used the moment to link the micro-projector on the caf table to his comm unit. The stack of comics was unceremoniously dumped alongside.

And when the small, bluish representation of 'Gilad Harth' materialized, Kes leaned back on the sofa, letting out a long breath as he did so. One hand rested in his lap, the other draping itself over a cushion.

"This is Commander Akiena," came the intoned greeting.

[Gilad Harth]

The disconcerting thing about HoloNet discussion was the lack of context. To reduce signal complexity the default setting on holocams feeding into the system was to record and transmit only the speaker and not their setting. Furniture, backdrops, nearby objects were all omitted. Thus Harth was confronted by most of the commander seated as if in midair while Harth himself appeared as an upper body similarly suspended.


Harth felt he had the same worst view as the Alliance officer's posture placed some anatomical zones in your uncomfortable prominence.


"Gilad Harth, commander," he introduced himself, "Imperial Diplomatic Corps. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

[Kes Akiena]

He could always say 'of course not, you're not disturbing anything, Mr. Harth.' In fact, there were a myriad of things he could say to that effect. Tactful, diplomatic words to ease the tone of whatever this transmission was about.

Those types of words were decidedly not the ones to leave his mouth.

"Well Mr. Harth," a hand came up to further rub the sleep from his eyes, "I was in the middle of a nap, to be honest."

His head angled to the side then, his neck eliciting a sharp crack. His hand moved from his eyes to the back of his neck then, applying some pressure to try and spread the relief into the surrounding muscles. On reflex, he leaned forward, off-hand reaching out to the small projector and bringing it up to set on his knee.

"But I'm awake now, so what can I do for you."

[Gilad Harth]

An Imperial officer (any officer really) would have invented some cover, however flimsy, rather than admit to a stranger that they had been caught napping. Harth's first observation about his putative host would be that he was unusually forthright about circumstance or else uncommonly canny in using circumstance to his advantage. A lesser diplomat might be floored by such seeming honesty but Gilad Harth was not a lesser diplomat.

"My apologies, Commander, I will not take more of your leisure time from you than is absolutely necessary. I am sure you have little enough of it and itvwould be discourteous of me to be anything other than brief."

A smile, calculated in its restrained warmth demarked the end of this opening statement.

"Briefly then, Commander, I am aboard a consular ship bound for Jovan Station. It is my intention, my mission even, to establish there a liaison office. I have all the necessary credentials with me, which I shall present upon arrival in...oh..." here Harth made a show of consulting a chronological off screen and apparently calculating an ETA, "eight hours."

[Kes Akiena]

His silence was the only indication of any surprise at this news, and Kes kept his eyes on the holo in quiet contemplation. It wasn't entirely out of the ordinary he supposed, that the Empire would send a representative. In fact, it had been the ultimate intention for an Imperial presence to be aboard in some fashion. Just as the other ambassadors from other sectors were slowly trickling in to essentially 'set up shop' on Jovan, this comm, from Gilad Harth, was in some ways expected. Of course the timing of it...

Kes finally gave a nod.

"Eight hours."

Not an entirely long period of time.

"I hope you're not expecting anything special, Mr. Harth."

It would more than likely be best to be brutally honest, and the redhead wiped a hand over his eyes, sweeping it back over his hair.

"We're not exactly a vacationing station."

[Gilad Harth]

Harth favoured Akiena with another of those carefully calibrated smiles. This one indicated acceptance with, perhaps, a soupcon of...well...condescension.

"Oh I am sure we can get by in the short term. We can always use our ship as a base of operations to begin with."

The liaison-designate was testing the waters. Would an Imperial vessel, even a consular one, be permitted to cross the Treaty Line let alone remain over it for an extended period?

[Kes Akiena]

A hand reached back to scratch behind his neck.

"Yes well, I'm sure that you can. We've got the space to accommodate, so don't think I'm being an inconsiderate host. Just honest."

Letting out a long breath, Kes leveled his eyes at the Imperial. And in keeping with his honest appraisal of the current status of Jovan's still-growing ability to provide amenities beyond basic living needs, he succinctly addressed the latter part of Mr. Harth's sentence.

"But, if you would prefer to stay aboard your ship, then I'll wrangle you a week. After that you're gonna have to officially move to the station or go back to the Core."

[Gilad Harth]

The Imperial nodded, "Reasonable enough terms I think." He then made a further sally, "Upon which to begin at any rate."

For a moment Harth considered mentioning his security team and other incidentals but decided against doing so. Much harder for he Commander to eject visitors than to refuse them entry.

"I look forward to meeting you in person, Commander."

[Kes Akiena]

His normally easy smile once more found its' way to his lips, and the redhead gave a nod.

"The feeling is mutual, Mr. Harth."

A look to his wrist chrono.

"Eight hours, then."

And as he reached forward with his offhand, finger hovering over the button that would end the comm, he went on.

"I'll be sure to have my command staff ready to receive you."

And pressing the tab, he watched as the small blue representation of Gilad Harth ebbed away into thin air. A moment passed, and with a muttered breath, Kes tossed the projector back onto the table. He leaned back into the cushions of the sofa, head angling up as his eyes closed.

Eight hours.

On the bright side, at least it wasn't Captain Wygraant he'd have to entertain.

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

"Hey!"

She shouted over the din of the firing plasma welder to the crewman operating it. Obviously not loud enough, because the work continued unabated.

"Hey!"

She took a few steps closer, raising her voice a little more. He still didn't stop. Finally fed up with the impasse, Gradoona stomped all the way over and dropped a heavy hand onto the human's shoulder, giving him a hard shake.

"Heeey! Wake up!"

The jolted man killed the welder, and found a very-perturbed Herglic staring down at him. Her beak was closed in an even expression, which normally wasn't a bad thing for most people, but was the closest thing a Herglic had to a pissed off face.

"The line is still live! Lookit!"

She pulled him by his shirt collar and dragged him to the power feed indicator, just in case his eyesight was damn-near-blind.

"See! Ya can't goo and spark 'er up aan a live line, ya jackass! Yoou wanna cook yourself half to death? Shut it down! Goo aan and work aan the emitter and foorget aboout this for now, alright?! Geepers!"

[Tamera Beck]

Life on Jovan Station was far and away a different thing than how it was back on Nar Shaddaa. Though in some ways it was exactly the same. After winning the Turbolaser Run, Morgan Evanar had kept his word, leaving the planet with Tamera Beck in tow. And she had been true to her word as well, gifting him the Sansin. She'd gone with him to Ossus, initially, but it hadn't been long before she made her way back out into space, and on a freighter bound for Jovan. She'd signed on as a civilian contractor, landing a decent job that wasn't some dead-end wrench-turning affair.

Now as Jovan's supply clerk, Tamera had her hands full with paperwork, grumpy technicians, and more paperwork.

The brunette ducked past the hulking form of the Herglic, Gradoona, her ever-present datapad clutched in one hand and a bag of See'tai Ne Sajoi puffs firmly gripped in the other. The Cizerack crisp snack had become a fast favorite of hers.

"I've got a ship inbound with a load of actuators and fitting bolts," she interrupted unabashedly.

A quick consult of her datapad at a new scheduling arrival that'd just updated.

"And looks like we have an Imperial diplomatic boat arriving in... six hours... ?"

Her shoulders slumped, and she expertly liberated a crisp from the bag, popping it into her mouth.

"I have shipments coming into this spire for the rest of the day," she got out between crunches.

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

Gradoona's blowhole haauuu'ed, and she doubled back on the contractor deck-hand with a blink.

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa there...back up just a smiiidge. An Imperial whaat now?"

She really needed to learn this contractor's name, since she was marginally competent. Everyone had just been calling her rat puff.

[Tamera Beck]

"Diplomatic vessel," came the half-garbled response as she finished swallowing.

"Command wants them to dock at this spire, but... " another consult of her 'pad, "... I don't know how we can do that if we've got supplies coming in for the rest of the day."

Tamera angled her head up to look at the Herglic. A moment later she looked back away, blowing a breath out the side of her mouth to dislodge an errant lock of hair from in front of her eyes.

"If you got a way to make it work, I'm all ears."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

"Hey hey hey now..."

Gradoona held up both hands in caution at the snacking clerk, straightening up to her full height as she did.

"One..." she held out a finger on one hand for emphasis, "I doon't need to be a Jedi to read the Commander's mind aan that one. It could be the Chancellor of Giju on that tug out there, and he'd still tell 'em to pound sand. Two..."

Another finger rose.

"I'm just the resident engineer. This is naat my penguin to skin."

Gradoona was still stuck on the casual bit of news that Rat Puff had dropped though.

"D'ya knoow the deal with that consular ship? It's naat every day that we dock somethin' like that."

[Tamera Beck]

"Just that it's Imperial."

She glanced back to her 'pad, thumbing through a list of incoming supplies before getting to the details of the ship in question.

"Yeah, there's nothing really on here other than that... oh wait."

A pause, and Tamera glanced over the special instructions that just popped up.

"Oh come on!!"

With a long sigh, she gave the 'pad an angry shake, as if the act of doing so would make the information it held go away. It didn't, and the words still waited patiently for her on her second look-over. In frustration, she looked up to the reinforced ceiling, rolled her head to the side, and was rewarded with a satisfying crack!.

"Command wants the spire cleaned up and ready for a receiving party."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

The Herglic blinked, a startled hauuuu blurting from her blowhole.

"How faancy a paarty are they taalkin' here? I still gaat a laatta touchin' up t'do. I mean suure we coould eighty-six the emitter jaab, buuut we're already up to the gills makin' suure the mag clamps can withstand capital-class tonnage."

Gradoona yanked the pad out of Rat Puff's hands, scrolling it for herself as she whistled in irritation.

"Exactly where do they think I keep a red caarpet stoored foor craap like this?"

[Tamera Beck]

Making a face, Tamera stuffed another crisp into her mouth, now that she had a free hand. She let her eyes wander from Gradoona to the other workers as they went about their normal daily duties. A few more crunches, and she swallowed. On instinct, her hand dipped back into the bag, liberating another delicious delight. She refrained from stuffing her face for the moment though, looking back to the Herglic.

"You could call the Commander and ask him."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

"Well, I'm gonna haaveta!" she blurted in exasperation, watching in morbid fascination as Rat Puff just continued to monotonously chow down on the Cizeri junk food.

"And, yaknoo, I'm naat uuusually a stickler foor thaat soorta thing, buut if we're gonna have dignitaries here soon, could ya maaaybe naat get orange crumbs aall oover the floor?"

And drink some water for Hwaaju's sake, Gradoona internalized. She'd never seen Rat Puff without a crinkly bag in hand, and all that sodium had to give her hell.

[Tamera Beck]

"Oh hey," she grinned suddenly. Almost maniacally, even while chomping down on the bagged treat.

"Don't worry about me."

Tamera gave a hearty pat to Gradoona's massive arm, her enthusiasm pulling up only slightly at the solid feel beneath the coverall sleeves.

"Oof. Muscles."

Daintily almost, she then reached up and over to reclaim her 'pad.

"I bet you could pick up eight of me, heh."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

Rat Puff left a dismaying smudge of orange-dusted fingerprints on her coveralls. The filth didn't bother Gradoona much, what with all the grease smudges, sealant flecks, and glittery glints of metal filings she normally wore on the job. It was the disquieting understanding of how many of those snack foods had to pass her lips to stain her fingers so vividly. What else had Rat Puff been touching, and where would Gradoona have to worry about orange smudges with Important People about.

"Ya keep aan chowin' aan the Cizerack munchies and it'll oonly be seven of ya."

The Herglic was already moving, stomping onward with weighty steps as she gestured for her hanger-on to follow.

"Lookit...um, I doon't miiind the company, but it's spring cleanin' time and we're a quarter past summer, soo I gaatta get my crew aan taap of things. Soo I'm draftin' ya. Rush docking aan one of thoose ships and tell the rest to either request to queue aan another spire, oor they can take a hooldin' pattern foor as long as the Empire plans to join the housewarming party."

[Tamera Beck]

At that, Tamera looked a bit crestfallen. She averted her gaze as she followed Gradoona along.

"Well see, it's about the end of my shift, and I wanted to tape the latest episode of Archaic Astronauts... "

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

Gradoona would like to have said this all surprised her, but all she knew about Rat Puff was her obsession with junk food. Having an addictive personality when it came to trashy holo programming could only be guessed with confidence.

"That shoow with the guy from Naboo with the hair? C'maan...ya can't buy into that craap. Everything everywhere that everyone's ever done ever, and he always says one thing...its the Rakatta."

The Herglic's blowhole wauumed dismissively.

"Sorry I spoiled it foor ya. But now that you know, you're drafted. Goo put thoose rat puffs oover there with the doughnuts, and rooll up yoour sleeves."

[Tamera Beck]

One hour until arrival


It'd been an education, that was for sure. At least, an education in working with others. She'd always worked mostly alone back on Nar Shaddaa, and Tamera found herself rather enjoying the experience of being a part of a team. Allowed the chance to essentially set aside the datapads and paperwork, she dove in with both hands, and it wasn't long before her orange fingertips were covered in grease and lubricant fluids, a shoprag that was just as dirty stuffed into the back pocket of her work pants.

They'd worked like a well-oiled machine, docking the next ship on her list, and as one they'd unloaded it in short order. Mostly crates of girders, some specialized tools that'd been on order for Chief Rabeak, and a whole mess of hardware from stem bolts to self-driving impact plates. It was a mechanic's golden haul to be sure, and each one was cataloged and put up out of sight.

The rest of the queue was instructed to Spire 2 and 3, with enough profuse apologies to last a lifetime. Those Tamera dealt with with relative ease. She was used to doing such talking whenever it came down to it. Years of having to deal with eye-rolling costumer requests had made her a master. You want your headlights to strobe? Well, you should've told us when you brought your speeder in. Gonna be another week at least; gotta order the specialized bulbs and all, and rewire the harness and boost the battery pack to handle it.

Nothing out of the ordinary for her.

After four hours, the spire's receiving area was actually in a state of mostly-clean.

[Kes Akiena]

An hour before Mr. Harth's ship was set to dock, Kes quietly stepped through the massive doors that led into Spire 4.

His day off had been mostly a lovely affair. Napping, reading, a call from an Imperial diplomat that of course preceded an arrival. It never really got any better.

And so here he was, on the evening of his off-day. In his dress uniform, Kes Akiena felt only marginally uncomfortable. Any irritation sprang from the fact that he was supposed to - at this moment - be preparing himself dinner. He'd even had it planned; had specially ordered an entire Rodian Koweeja Cheese wheel, a wrapped parcel of Umaji meat, some vegetables, and a rather large-ish bag of skinless Yatu'gata thigh strips.

But, apparently the gods did not wish for him to enjoy such delights, and that was why he was here, now.

The spire looked surprisingly well-tidied, and the redhead had to admit that he couldn't ask for more at such short notice.

T'yeellaa would be along shortly herself, as well as a few other members of his command staff, but for now it was just him.

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

"Okaay..."

Gradoona hunched over the exposed floor panel, shining a pen light into the recess to get a look at the internals that helped keep Spire D operating above board.

"Slip differential's good. Gear box all looks above booard. Tension reads within parameters."

She clicked off her pen light, giving a nod to the three junior engineers and assorted help that had been cobbled together to perform a rush job.

"Alright, soo it should be smoooth sailin' foor the umbilical to extend and retract from housing. Nice jaab, fellas. Let's goo and cloose her up."

Two engineers heaved, easing the heavy durasteel plate back over the opening to cover it from view. It fell into the recess with a loud thud, and Gradoona returned her pen light to her left breast coveralls pocket.

"Alright! That shoould doo us here. Let's police up the rest of the tools and finish the spit polish jaab and we can get ouut of the way aaf the impoortant people."

And speaking of, here came notable Mr. Important.

"Commander Akiena!"

Gradoona wedged a hand up toward her bulbous head in salute, as did the other gathered crew.

[Kes Akiena]

Kes gave an almost pleading wave for them to lower their hands.

"Don't salute," his voice was a strange mix of amiable and it's-my-day-off.

He looked to Gradoona, the surrounding area, then back to the Herglic. She and her crew had done a hell of a job considering the short notice.

"I apologize for the sudden change in plans," he started, "... trust me, I'd not send the order down the line if I didn't have to. If it makes you feel better, today was my one day off, but... well... "

He gave a helpless shrug.

"... here I am."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

She'd asked Rat Puff for the scoop before, and the junk food junkie didn't have much to go by. Gradoona was certain that the Big Guy did, however.

"Soo we're goonna have the Empire oover here, eh?"

[Kes Akiena]

It was a slight moment of camaraderie that he momentarily indulged in.

"Seems the case, yes."

There was a short pause as he let his eyes re-roam to expanse of the spire.

"Honestly, Gradoona... "

it was his first foray into addressing her by her first name. Oh, he knew everything about her and her full name, but Kes was loathe to fall upon formalities. He much preferred interacting with his people on a first name basis. He'd been the underling so many times before, after all. He let out a sigh, looking away from her and the brunette.

"... I'd rather be in my own quarters, pushing a fork-full of dewback flank-strip through some Rodian melt-cheese right about now."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

Her mouth remained half-open, in expectation of more. When more didn't come, the Herglic shifted her weight, giving a look around.

"Soo...yoou're aboout as cool as a penguin aan ice aboout aall this? Noo tidbits? Naat even a liiittle? Kiiinda doon't think they're heere foor the suushi, yaknoo?"

[Kes Akiena]

A half-knowing look was sent up to the Herglic. As if she should already know.

"Jovan was meant to be a meeting place for governments. If the Empire wants to have an ambassador of sorts, I'm not about to deny them. We've got Alliance, Cizerack, and a host of other delegations converging here, so honestly... "

And here came the brutal truth of the matter...

"... you know as much as I do in regards to who's coming aboard."

But still, he wasn't about to let her go in completely blind.

"His name's Gilad Harth. Over the holo... " there was a slight pause as Kes let his eyes track to the open, yawning mouth of the Spire. "... he seemed nice enough."

Of course - and the both of them knew without saying - that seeming nice was a far cry from actually being a decent individual.

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

She'd expected something a little juicier, but in reality if there was any meat on those bones, she was a few pay grades shy of probably being privy to it. Air passed through her blowhole in a midly disappointed hauuu, but the Herglic bounced her sunny disposition right back as she patted her sides lightly with her hands.

"Well ookay then. Naat like I'm against sippin' tea with the enemy if yoou're ookay with it. Me aand Ra-"

Gradoona's beak snapped closed mid-gesture as she was gesturing towards Beck. She'd almost called Rat Puff Rat Puff. Out loud.

"- me aand my crew were juuust wonderin', is all."

[Tamera Beck]

She'd heard it.

But, datapad still in hand and grease stains prevalent over most of her once-clean pants suit, Tamera couldn't help herself. She popped around one side of Gradoona, looking to the Commander with a cheesy (ha!) grin. A slight wave.

"Beck, Sir. Name's Tamera Beck."

There were no ill feelings to the Herglic. After all, how often really, did anyone make the time to get to know the name of their supply clerk?

[Kes Akiena]

Kes gave a genial nod to the other woman, accompanied by an easy smile.

"Ms. Beck."

He appreciated the introduction, impromptu as it was. He sent his eyes back to Gradoona, giving her a wink.

"Well, if you find anything out, let me know."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

"Ooh suure. I'll keep my gaassip skills aan tip-taap."

Again, she mimed a salute, turning back to Tamera Beck.

"Ookay then Beck. C'maan, we've gaat a laat aaf work to do, eh?"

Getting back to task, Gradoona worked hand in hand with her civilian contractor assistant. Before long, the finishing touches were put on the spire bay, and everything got a rushed spit shine. They even managed to work with time enough to spare so that Gradoona could hit the sonics and report to station in a clean uniform for the arrival.

[Kyryanu Sevon]

Fifteen minutes until docking


Standing at a loose sort of attention, Kyryanu gave a sideways look to Mr. Harth.

"Your call to the station commander went well, then? Might I ask about your first impressions?"

It was a prodding, almost good-natured barb. She knew well enough how things had gone, but open discussion on the cusp of this meeting often soothed nerves on all fronts and for all around. And when the Alliance was a factor, it was an especially tricky bit of mental footwork to make sure one got just right.

[Gilad Harth]

Harth tugged at the cuffs of his suit jacket. Strictly speaking he ought to have donned his Corps uniform (it seemed there was a uniform for everything in the Empire) but that would have been to suggest that this mission had a higher standing than was officially acceptable and so he and everyone else bar the military attaché was in civilian garb.

"It was an interesting introduction, to be sure."

He paused considering the humour in that statement given his first sight of the Alliance officer. He did not allow his lip to curl.

"I suspect that we shall find his style suitably informal."

He checked a mental list of tasks.

"Have you apprised headquarters of our arrival?"

[Kyryanu Sevon]

"I have."

The memory was still a fresh one, if not mundane.

"It was much of the same, to be honest," she admitted.

One hand came up then, to dust an unseen speck from her shoulder, fingers brushing over the stiff fabric of her own light grey suit.

"I've also been in contact with Jovan's second in command, to ensure that we are given a smooth transition to our new lodgings. I was assured that they are ready for you and your staff."

It was a small thing she knew, but the ability to integrate with as little fuss as possible usually allowed a better degree of civility moving forward. In her experience at least, that was the nature of things. That they were dealing now with the Alliance as a formal government had not escaped her attentions, and Sevon had done her best to take that fact into account.

"So far, I'd say that this is a very by-the-books appointment, were it not for the bantha in the room, of course. I'll admit my dealings with the Alliance are haphazard at best, Sir."

A hint of a smile, accompanied by the barest of self-deprecating chuckles that left with an exhaled breath.

"It's a first for a lot of us here, I imagine."

[Gilad Harth]

"As you and I know very well, the first time is often the most dangerous. What we do here might very well set precedent for future interactions."

Harth looked at the ceiling in thought.

"Perhaps we shall one day be cited in support of future diplomats' actions."

He looked back to his colleague.

"Or possibly in criticism."

He considered this for a moment. In oddly reflective mood he asked, "Would you rather fame or infamy?"

[Kyryanu Sevon]

The hinted smile diminished somewhat as his words seemed to strike a chord. But, the professional mask remained throughout, and Sevon maintained her precise posture as she met her superior's eyes.

"Sadly, I am all too familiar with infamy." The curse placed on her family by her brother's rancid insanity had stained what had once been a noble and proud name.

"I like to think that I am only just now clawing my way out of its' shadow, but time will tell."

She gave a slight nod then in respect.

"I would certainly not mind fame for a change, if that answers your question."

[Gilad Harth]

Harth was, of course, familiar with his deputy's history. The Corps maintained detailed files on all its officers and everyone with whom they came in contact. As head of mission, he had access to those files and had read up extensively on all of his staff. Clearly, the reports were correct that this was a sore point. Useful to know though it was unclear whether this was a problem or an opportunity.

"Generally, I believe diplomats are considered to have failed if they are either." He paused and then added, "Though I should always hope we would be judged in all cases on the basis of our own actions."

[Kyryanu Sevon]

Her gloved right hand reached up to delicately scratch at an itch on the side of her nose.

"It's a blessing," a strange, thoughtful pause before she finished, "... and a curse, I suppose."

Sevon let her eyes close then, head dipping ever so slightly as both hands moved to clasp at the small of her back. There was the slightest of shudderings that rumbled the deck beneath their feet, a sign that they had commenced the final docking procedures.

"Any last words... ?"

There was a hint of strange, almost rueful emotion in those words, to signify the strange weight that they all - especially Mr. Harth - no doubt found themselves bearing.

[Gilad Harth]

There was the clang of docking clamps engaging.

"I hope the receiving line isn't too long."

As words to commence a mission they would not, he thought, go down in the chronicles of the service but they had the desired effect raising a half smile from those who heard them.

With a hiss, the hatch before them opened.

[Kes Akiena]

The entirety of Spire Four had been emptied of non-essential personnel, leaving only the commend staff to greet the Imperial delegation. As the shuttle had settled down onto its' struts, Kes stole a glance to his K'ohta'rrou for but a moment. It was a fleeting look that soon enough returned to the now-lowering boarding ramp.

Giving a slight incliniation of his head, the redhead was rewarded with a satisfying pop. With both hands clasped at the small of his back, he waited patiently for their new guests to make the trek down the ramp.

His first impression of Gilad Harth had been genial enough, but only time would tell whether the two could work together. He'd received all of the necessary personnel files and briefings, and his team had been meticulous in making sure that the quarters allotted to their new Imperial representatives were as ready as ever.

His shoulders hitched back, and Kes lifted his chin ever so slightly as he waited for the inevitable.

[Gilad Harth]

Harth counted to fifteen in his head to allow the hydraulic and pneumatic discharges of the ramp mechanism to run their course. Then he counted to ten from the final discharge to allow the vapours to dissipate. He had not desire to make his entrance as through a dry ice fog like some pop star.

When he reached the end of the count he stepped forth and advanced down the ramp. He passed across the deck plates and came to a halt. His staff trailed behind him in order of seniority and took up a position a few paces to the rear.

He had stopped at a point that was calibrated to indicate willingness to meet his opposite number without going to so far as to seem a supplicant.