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."