Styria-class Galleon Warley, in orbit via Lantillies

“What a war can do.”

Standing hundreds of kilometers from the world's surface, Line Captain Nevaere pressed her skin up against the ceraglass pane, taking pain to wipe the condensation from her flaring nostrils off of the viewport. A vast pocket-marked city-scape rose up from the earth towards her orbiting ship. Age and strife had warped more than several of the towering spires, yet she could still make out sections of the planet that were both pristine and relatively. But the disparity between the different parts of the city worried her, particularly with a world that had just suffered a civil war, and then the assassination of the dictator that had risen up to fill the power vacuum. She hesitated and stepped away from the troubling vista.

“And yet here is the homeplace of my beloved Lantillian Spacers' Brotherwood,” mused the woman to no-one in particular, “it's probably a good thing most of them are off traveling the space lanes or are of exploring the galaxy. Not that that's a safe occupation these days with the Reavers roaming about to the west...”

“Ma'am,” noted her comm's officer, “There is a message from the Lantillian Provisional council. They are requesting your presence at 1400 local time, in the great hall. That's about two hours from now.”

Glancing at her chrono, she frowned, “Trading negotiations don't start until tomorrow. Is there a scheduling mistake somewhere?”

“No ma'am,” replied the short-haired man, “it seems to be something else. They particularly referenced your membership with the Spacers' Brotherhood, but it doesn't seem to be officially related to the Brotherhood.”

“Very well,” decided the woman, “I'll grab a ship down there and see what's going on. Put the Ponsborne's captain in charge of the convoy while I'm away.”

She glanced at the imperfect reflection of her gray uniform on the bridge viewports. It looks presentable enough. It'll just have to do. Quietly, she left the bridge without ceremony and strutted past the mostly empty hallways of her flagship. Several corridors and hundreds of meters later, she entered the galleon's small hangar and grabbed one of the gigs to take her down to the surface. The fighter-sized transport floated off the hangar floor before suddenly plummeting through a ventral exit into the world's atmosphere. Dark gray clouds near the color of coruscant's cityscape parted before her. As she neared the surface, the woman could make out orderly lines of airspeeder traffic, and from her level, larger lines of landspeeders closer to the ground, clogging up the roads. It's a minor wonder worlds like this can exist. But they can't without shipping...perhaps that's how the Brotherhood grew to be so influential here. She eased the yoke to her left, sending the ship in a gentle arc to compy with the automap's directions. The route took her past dozens, arguably even hundreds, of skycrapers of all sorts of variety, from window-covered exterior design that was recently taking the Core Worlds by storm to dull gray things still covered in holes from the world's recent infighting. Finally, the automap guided her through a pair of large skyscrapers toward an impressively large structure, which was shaped like a flattened pyramid. It faintly reminded her of the holos she'd seen of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, making her wonder if that design had inspired the one before her eyes. A pair of locally built fighter craft dropped down on either side of her, forming a small and highly maneuverable honor guard for her arrival. She glanced from side to side, trying to get a picture of the face of the pilots escorting her. But huge visors continued to cover their helmets, even though she couldn't tell what the visor's purpose was. She shrugged her curiousity off. Perhaps I'll find that out later...Finally, the two fighters steered her towards a small landing bay neatly inletted on the top of the pyramid. She landed the gig and hopped out. A pair of droids and a security officer approached her.

“Line captain Nevaere, welcome to Lantillies,” announced the guard, “I am here to escort you to the provisional council. If you do not object, these two droids will refuel craft and provide any maintenance needed on your ship, our complements. Is it all right with you if they touch your ship?”

“Certainly,” agreed the woman.

“Excellent, if you'll just follow me then.”

Great Hall, Lantillies

Line Captain Lydia Nevaere, CMF officer and member of the Lantillian Spacers' Brotherhood, strolled through the corridors of the ancient hall. In front of her the security guard, a wiry man named Bomor, held up a large datapad displaying the labyrinthine corridors of the monumental building, following the glowing path highlighted on the display. Behind her, a pair of silver security droids handling pairs of oversized blasters brought up the rear of the formation. Why is security so heavy around here? You'd think I'm going to see some secret military project or something..but given the instability of the world, and given they just had a dictator assassinated before the council, maybe there's some worth to it. They rounded a corner to enter a significantly wider hallway than she had yet seen in the building. A series of large holo-projectors, presenting moving holos of significant people to Lantillies, lined each side of the corridor. She knew few of them, mostly recognizing several almost mythical Grandmasters of the Brotherhood to which she belonged. They reached the end of the corridor where a security checkpoint manned by four guards and another dozen security droids awaited them. Bomor turned to face her.

“I realize this may be a touchy subject, but would you hand us your sidearm please? I will give back to you the second you leave the Council's chambers, you have my word.”

She nodded and slowly detached her blaster pistol's holster from her belt and handed it to the man. Not like I'll ever need with this much security on my side, or with this much security against me...but I'm sure I'll be fine. Shrugging, the woman promptly pushed upon the old-fashioned doors before the guards could open it for her. The room's ceiling towered several stories above her. She noticed many repulsorlift platforms docked at the edges of the room, reminding her of miniature rotunda where the Old Republic had held their sessions. But no-one stood in the platforms. Instead, she noticed a set of surprised beings huddling around a surprising cheap portable table that could be found anywhere in the galaxy. The first man to notice her presence, a military man of some sort rose up and advanced to greet her with an outstretched hand.

“Line Captain Nevaere?” said a gray-uniformed officer, “Colonel Lanian of the Lantillian Planetary Security Forces. You are here somewhat earlier than we expected.”

“I apologize,” smiled the Confederate, “I was not entirely sure how long it would take to get to the heart of the Great Hall. I've only seen it from the outside. It is quite the building.”

“Indeed,” replied the man, offering her a subdued smile, “they built it years ago in the style of the Republic's rotunda. But that power is no longer there, not the true Republic.”

Nevaere suppressed the urge to wince at the man's words. While it was true that the Old Republic no longer existed, she was hesitant to encourage the man's apparent distaste of the new one rising up to take its predecessor's place. Though several other factions had risen up to claim that mantel, including both the Galactic Coalition and the Rebel Alliance. She turned her mocha-colored eyes to gaze at the other four members of the council. The first one to catch her eyes was an alien whose species she did not recognize, though she recognized his clothing denoting him to be a scholar of some sort. The alien briefly nodded.

“Professor Onil,” announced the being, “head of the Lantillian Greater Campus. Please forgive the Colonel, he is not satisfied with how things are now, but even I will admit to longing for the past that once was, but will never be again. Welcome to our world.”

“Now now,” clucked a thin, pale woman wearing a subdued business suit, “she doesn't need to see our dirty laundry air out quite yet. But I haven't introduced myself, I'm President Ylesic of the Lantillian ShipWrights corporations. You came up in our corporate records, you use to fly a GX-1 back when you were new to the trade and an active member of the Brotherhood. But look at you, you've moved up in the galaxy. You have enough of a fleet present to almost make Colonel Lanian here jealous.”

“Well thank you,” replied Nevaere, her lips curling up into a strained smile.

“You talk my Brotherhood as if it isn't important anymore,” muttered a man with closely cropped white hair, “you already know who I am, I suspect, Guildmaster Xenethi. I regret that I've not been able to get on the circuits recently to visit the rest of our brotherhood at the guild houses. Hey, Dr. Jonertar, get off your datapad and meet our guest.”

A camel-headed humanoid raised his dark eyes from a myriad of datapads scattered around his chair. Recognizing the woman, the carosite muttered an apology and quickly paced over to greet the woman with spindly hand. His dark eyes bore into her own.

“I apologize, my good woman. I have a tendency to get caught up in my work, and there is enough of it here for a life time, now that the war is over.”

“It's an honor to meet you all,” started Lydia, “but I don't quite know why I'm here. I expected to do some freetrading here and not much more. Certainly nothing important enough to bother you; you certainly seem very busy rebuilding your world and its citizens' lives.”

“We are,” agreed Ylesic, straightening out a seam in her business suit,“which is why we requested your presence. You and your Confederation seems to be the perfect solution to our problems?”

“Excuse me?” questioned the Line Captain, shuffling her feet.

Dr. Jonertar nodded in agreement with his fellow Lantillian, “The Confederation is one of the premier producers right now of medical supplies, between bacta from Genon, certain extracts from Treppok, and now I hear Bochani from Calubra. Moreover, the federal healthcare system I've seen on your homeworld captain would be a great asset to our people. There are many who still need healing.”

Lanian cleared his throat, “The truth is, while we are not destitute, membership in the Confederation allows the potential many parts of world to be lifted back up to their former glory. And each of us here has seen value in your government, which we cannot say for many other powers, nor are there fewer things we can agree upon ourselves.”

“No,” stated Lydia, turning her eyes downward.

“No?” questioned Onil incredulously, “I did not expect a reply quite so soon, certainly not one like this.”

“Sorry professor,” apologized Nevaere, “could membership into the Confederation possibly assist you with some of your goals for your world? Quite possibly. But it will not solve them. On top of that, there's no way I can guarantee the Council would accept your membership application right now. Your world still seems fairly divided. As I understand it, this provisional government is temporary. The Council couldn't authorize a treaty with a provisional government that isn't set to last very long. And moreover, I'm not sure if the Council will want Lantillies to join right now, simply because what it seems you are looking for would be hard to immediately grant with our resources stretched so far.”

Onil nodded, “All fair points. But in the long run, this relationship will beneficial to both of us. We will prove it to you and your council.”

“As far as the government is concerned,” stated Lanian, “elections are scheduled in two months, and that date will not move. But perhaps we can allay your council's other fears about our worth...”

Styria-class Galleon Warley, in orbit via Lantillies

“To be blunt, I am not sure how the Council will react to this...development.”

The visage of Rear-Admiral Lucerne wispy moved a hand off-screen to grab a mug of caf. Line Captain Nevaere reclined in the chair of her cabin. Neatly ordered lines and rows of stately landscape paintings and holos lined the man's cabin, along with several formal shots of the himself at state events. Nevaere's cabin was something else entirely, taking advantage of the looser CMF regulations, the woman had completely altered her room's lighting and even the paint on the walls, nevermind a smattering of mementos, including more than a few casual holos of herself and friends, from her past life as a freetrader. Yet Lucerne seemed unaware of her attempts at pushing the limits of the regulations. But more oddly to her, the Kashan man seemed to be ignoring their rank disparity. Corise took a sip of caf.

“The Western Expanse has been a hotbed of political activity as of late. It's as if the Confederation Proper's preoccupation with the area's agriworlds has jacked up their area's politics, and I'm not talking exclusively of our own worlds.”

“You think Lantillies is interested in joining because of Uyter's membership, and probably Balamak's pending membership as well.”

“I do,” mused the man, “ecumenopolis are rather sensitive to their food supplies. I'd be willing to bet that Uyter is one of theirs given their chief location. It's a strategic problem, as we learned with Metalorn, and now again with this latest mystery that afflicts us.”

“Lower prices for food then too probably,” added Lydia, “assuming we eliminate tarriffs then if they both become Confederation members, though I'd be willing to bet that since Uyter's also on Randon Run they see a fair amount of trade together.”

“You are the trader,” noted the Admiral dryly, “I defer to your judgment in this case. I will alert several councilors about this development and I will see what I can do to move this issue to front of the Council's agenda.”

“You support Lantillies' membership then?”

Corise hesitated, “I do, as much as I try to avoid politics.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“No,” stated the Rear-Admiral, eying one of her holos of her with some fellow Lantillian Spacers Brothers, “it will become apparent if a certain issue comes to the surface. I would negotiate in good faith with them, however. I think there's a good chance the Council will rule in favor, if a certain councilor can be convinced of a few items. But that is my worry, not yours. Make sure Lantillies is ready for integration to the Confederation. I'll be expecting an informal report on your findings within the next couple of days. Do you have any questions for me, Line captain?

“I don't sir.”

“Very well. Lucerne out.”

The phantom of the Confederate commander flickered out of existence, leaving her alone in her sanctuary. She grabbed a bottle of Doxxen Spiced Tea and took a sip, letting the nearly translucent fluid slowly trickle down her tongue before disappearing down her throat. I forgot how good this stuff is. Something not terribly hard to find near the Core Worlds or any major trading planets...but how often have we been there recently? The Confederation's always sending me to most random planets with so little traffic...but I suppose there's always a reason...

Observation Deck 8A, Great Hall, Lantillies

Line Captain Nevaere leaned against the transparisteel panes of the enclosed balcony, watching the world's urban traffic stream against the setting sun. Amber light emanated out from the star to bath the various airspeeders and landspeeders with a dull golden glow as the vehicles shuffled around the world in their orderly lanes. From behind the windows, it seemed almost mesmerizing peaceful to though woman, even though she knew from her own experience driving in the world-city's streets that it was not the most pleasant experience. Kind of like this...

“Another drink?” offered Colonel Lanian.

“No thanks sir,” replied the brunette, “I've had my fill for the night, as tiny as it is. Though I appreciate your graciousness in entertaining me for the evening. That's something most of the other Confederate's aren't very good at yet.”

His face opened up in a grin, “All work and no play? I think the rest of the Lantillians will fit in rather well with the Confederation. I'll openly admit to being something of an aberration. I'm not originally from here, you know.”

Nevaere paused, “You do have a slight accent. Contruum, perhaps?”

“Close enough,” nodded the man, “I'm from a nearby moon near it with nothing really valuable on it. Not that my birthplace stopped the Lantillians from accepting me, they're remarkably inclusive.”

“I know the feeling,” admitted the woman, “after being rejected from the Corellian Merchants Guild, I was surprised by how inclusive their Brotherhood was. I didn't have much experience or wealth to really add to them, but they took me in like one of their own almost instantly. I'll admit to being surprised that it hadn't flourished more than the Corellians.”

Lanian snorted, “Empires have a funny way of squashing hopes and dreams. Though that guild has now suffered pretty heavily from the Empire's occupation of Corellia...that's one thing you won't hear Guildmaster Xenethi openly admit.”

She nodded, “It's a mute point for things that have happened decades ago.”

“Don't say that,” sighed the man, “the past is full of examples of things to emulate and resurrect to the present.”

The past is more constraining than a pair of stun cuffs...

She weakly smiled, “Maybe. But you didn't really want to talk personal philosophy with me, did you?”

Rubbing his chin, the colonel paused. That's what I thought. There's always that problem when mixing business with pleasure. This is getting more awkward than dinner, good thing there was plenty of food to shove into my face then. Now what is there to channel the conversation? Hot pink airspeeders? Clearly the most diplomatic and official conversation for a representative of the Confederation to have...

“No,” replied the man, “you're just so different than what I was expecting, in a good way. I was going to take you up to see how fleet, to demonstrate how Lantillies is capable of defending itself already. You know that a group of Reavers got up pretty close to here.”

“And a Confederate patrol from Quas Killam destroyed them.”

“Yes,” admitted the man sheepishly, “I suppose you would know that. But you've been in orbit long enough to see our fleet, even if you haven't seen it in action.”

“Your world has a strong tradition of military excellence,” stated Lydia, “I really don't think it would be necessary to reprove it again. That is one thing I think the Confederation already trusts about Lantillies, though there were concerns in the past about some power structures in the security forces using it to their benefit in the past. I'm speaking about a certain general...”

“He is no longer with us in this life, nor are many in their power circle after their public exposure,” defended the Colonel, “but I can see why that would worry outsiders. I hope the survivor's ongoing trials would prove to you that we're doing everything we can to right that wrong.”

“You don't have to prove it to me,” reminded the woman, “you have to prove it to the Council.”



Council Chambers, Atlas Hall, Brandenburg, Genon

Lucerne sat near the rear of the chamber, watching nearly four dozen councilors of the Confederation intermingling with each other before the start of the afternoon's formal session. Several aides and councilors greeted the younger Lucerne, forcing the typical wallflower to actually interact with people outside of official Confederation business. But as he did, the supreme commander glanced around looking for the current speaker of the house: Lord Alfred Manten of Till Chorios. The one person I want to see informally and he's nowhere to be found...Lucerne could not see the former Northern Alliance leader until the man ascended the slightly raised diaz where the Speaker of the Council sat. The honor guards from Brachnis Chorios shut the doors to the chamber and sealed them shut. Wonderful, I'll be forced through another session of this. Corise found one of the few chairs reserved for observers and special guests like himself and sat down quietly, next to a junior aide to the councilor from Almas. Two hours of council meetings progressed, with a dozen of various councilors speaking about various topics. Some of which would have been moderately interesting to the Kashan man if they were not so blatantly one-sided. The graying man pointed to Pro-Consul Thorn, who rose from her seat, gesturing for her to speak.

“The Speaker recognizes Pro-Consul Thorn of Kashan.”

“Thank you Lord Manten,” started the Kashan woman, “I would like to recognize a guest to the council's chambers. Admiral Lucerne, if you would please stand.”

Blinking, the man rose obediently to her voice. What the hell? His cold blue eyes turned to gaze into the woman's. A brief flicker of her soul flitted in eyes, bringing out an all too intimate pang of regret and curiousity before just as quickly turning coolly diplomatic. Corise tightened his jaw.

“Admiral Lucerne has rarely attended these sessions,” stated Thorn, “I think the last one he was here for was one of our initial discussions about the cutting the defense budget a month or so ago. So, I would like to ask the Admiral why he is present today. Admiral Lucerne?”

This was not supposed to happen. What the hell am I going to say personal business influencing a galactic government? He shrugged.

“Thank you Pro-Consul,” replied the man slowly, “I am here to serve as a witness to a topic which I am of the understanding may present itself later on today.”

Thorn gazed at the man for a few seconds before opening her lips, “What topic is that?”

“The admission of Lantillies into the Confederation.”

Lord Manten glanced at his datapad and frowned, “I am not aware of such a topic existing, let alone on today's scheduling. Yet membership treaties should be always be a priority. Where is the membership application and the applicable treaty draft?”

Corise panned his eyes to gaze across the entire audience, “It is not yet done. And here is why...”

Great Hall, Lantillies

“I appreciate the time you've taken to show your work, Doctor,” smiled the Confederate, “I will rejoin the Provisional Councilor shortly again, I'm afraid I'm getting an urgent message request that I have to take in my gig.”

If I can get to it in time...The Carosite gazed at her with soft eyes and merely nodded, before disappearing in the labyrinthine halls of the giant building. A pair of security droids fell in behind the alien, leaving her alone with Bomor the security guard. The man ushered out, but nearly fifteen minutes had passed since when she managed to leave the good doctor and enter the privacy of her gig. The starship's micro-holoprojector flared to life, displaying the crest of the Warley, which promptly faded to that of Rear-Admiral Lucerne. The Kashan man had bags under his eyes and the start of stubble growing up in patches across the face. He offered a weary smile.

“Line Captain Nevaere.”

“I'm sorry to keep you waiting sir,” squeaked the woman, “it took a while to leave the Council's chambers.”

Corise offered a rare geniune grin, “You are telling me. I did not call you just to leave a message. But I have something important for you. I have managed to get the Council to give you a carte blanche in negotiations with the Lantillies.”

She frowned, “What? How?”

The Kashan man hesitated, “Perhaps I should phrase it this way, the Council has voted to accept Lantillies already, with the assumption that it will have a permanent government within the next two months to approve a more permanent treaty. We are offering a temporary treaty which the council can approve that is active for six months, enough time for the permanent government coming into power to continue and ratify the treaty. It took a little work to get, but I think it will be worth it to get Lantillies back on its feet again.”

“I don't get it sir, why are you rooting so hard for Lantillies?”

Corise hesitated, “I have been there before, in my more formative years before leading the Kashan Defence Fleet. The Lantillians then impressed me, and truly, they are the closest people that I have seen to the broad national culture that the Confederation as a nation seems to embody: practical, hardworking, and reliable. They will be a good fit.”

“But you didn't use that to persuade the Council to do something so dramatic...”

The younger Lucerne paused briefly, “I did not. But I will not tell you what happened in the chambers today. Very little leaves the chambers except its edicts, and this is one of those situations. But go tell the Provisional council that. They have been working hard to get something close to this, after all. But it is getting late here. The details are in the file attached to this com feed. Good night, Line Captain.”

“Good night sir.”

The projector flicked off. Without thinking, she went back through the routine of exiting the small craft and locking it up tight. But her mind jumped away from the actions of her physical body. I could read the details right now, or I could go over it with the Provisional Council and learn it with them. They're too good of a group to act like we're not really friends, I mean, they will be part of the Confederation soon, right? Before she could truly make up her mind on how to present it, she found herself in front of the five council members, who stopped their discussion about rebuilding one of the more devastated areas of the world to welcome her back.

“How important was the message?” questioned the doctor, “I hope we are not losing you right away.”

She hesitated before blurting out the truth: “Admiral Lucerne was able to get the council to approve your membership application.”

“What?” questioned Ylesic, “I thought they couldn't until we had formed a more permanent government...”

“I thought the same,” affirmed the Soroyan woman, “and I remain sure of that, at least as of standard operating protocol. But he did something, not sure what, he wouldn't say. I admit that I haven't reviewed the treaty, it's only a temporary membership, I guess to go with your temporary government, but I couldn't really wait to share it with you all.”

“Well, let's see it, shall we?”

One week later...

“The vast majority of the representative candidates we have talked to are endorsing the treaty,” noted Professor Onil, “even though I am not quite happy with all of their motives. But nearly none of them are interested in...angering either Guildmaster Xenethi or President Ylesic. It would be hard for most of them to openly campaign against the treaty and risk getting caught in either the Brotherhoods or the Lantillian ShipWrights crosshairs. They're the economic lifeblood of our world.”

Line Captain Nevaere idly bobbed her head, continuing to stroll with the alien through the Great Hall. The last week had seen the provisional council reach out to the hundreds of political representative candidates and the various parties in the midst of campaigning for the newly reinstated Lantillian Senate seats. After receiving input, the council members had drafted a slightly altered treaty which proved to be acceptable to her and the rest of the Contegorian Council. With a defined treaty already present, the various candidates found themselves having to publicly state their position on it, which combined with the latest polling numbers, had made it fairly easy to determine if the treaty would pass. Several of the council members, namely Guildmaster Xenethi and President Ylesic, had made their opinions widely known, shepherding public opinion towards a more favorable opinion of the Confederation. But other council members continued to be more reticent. Colonel Lanian had already excused himself from the Council proceedings, claiming he had to prepare the Lantillian Planetary Security Forces for integration into the Confederation's military. Yet the man always became available later on in the evening for dinner, much to Nevaere's discomfort. Dr. Jonertar had quietly returned to the medical world, albeit there were rumors circulating that he too was attempting to influence both medical providers and patients about the Confederation as well. Lydia found herself speaking to the one person she knew wasn't actively campaigning for induction into the Confederation, which the alien rationalized as being committed to the Council's original mission of rebuilding their world. She cleared her throat

“I suppose it's too early to tell when your new Senators are going to vote on the permanent treaty.”

Professor Onil halted, “With certainty, no. But several parties have stated that they will push the issue to the forefront. Unless some particularly heinous crime from our late dictator is discovered, I imagine the treaty issue would be addressed within the first month of their session.”

“Well then,” stated the woman, “it would appear that your work here with the Council is done.”

“It is not,” announced the professor, “I am slated to stand as the first Councilor of Lantillies to your Confederation.”

She frowned, “But how?”

“The Lantillian Diplomatic Corps still exists, and I have managed to convince some people there with my knowledge of politics and galactic society that I will be one of the best people for the job. And certainly my experience with Council Confederation politics now is far greater than nearly any other possible contender, simply because of our work negotiating the final treaty together.”

“Should I say congratulations then?”

“I suppose one really should not,” sighed the professor, “things tend to happen then...what do your people call it...jinxing I believe?”

“Yes,” stated the woman, “but I do not believe in it. I think you will make a fine councilor, but let me tell you a few things. Admiral Lucerne wanted me to tell you this...”