The throngs cheered. Banners waved. Confetti frustrated the after-party's cleanup staff. In front of Cerea's parliament, Pro Moon smiled and waved from atop his platform erected earlier that day. Below, his supporters expressed their joy as above them all the results of the election were reported on a huge holoprojector.
"People of Cerea," Pro Moon began, waving broadly to encompass everything before him. "Tonight, you have voted for unity - unity in Cerea, unity in the West, unity in the Coalition! And as your Prime Minister for this second term, I promise I will deliver it to you!"
The cheering kicked up again. The black and red banners of the Coalition clashed with the white and blue colours of Cerea, held aloft by the crowd. Pro Moon took a moment to turn and smile to his election staff and political supporters on one side of the platform, then to the Coalition dignitaries, public officials, and guests of honour on the other side.
Grasping his podium with both hands, the grinning Pro Moon continued his acceptance speech. "All across the west this cycle, the news has been the same. Everywhere there is talk of Western Unity, of nation-hood, of taking our place amongst the greatest of the Coalition. It is the realization of our potential, and with your support tonight, we can finally make it happen!
"I thank you all for your contributions this election season, and I extend my honourable congradulations to my opponants, but the people of Cerea have spoken. Now is the time to lead the West forwards towards our destiny!"
Again, the cheers rose, drowning out any attempt to extend the speech. Pro Moon basked in it for as long as it lasted. As a consumate politician, his biorythem was set by moments like this, and the disquieting collapse of talks at the last cross-Coalition conference had worn at his mind. Now however, resplendent in his ornate robes of state, he was reborn.
And soon, he reminded himself. So too will be the West.
The morning after is rarely as dramatic as the night previous. This is one of the few unbending universal laws of society that applies to all species and all civilizations. So too was it the case for the newly-reelected Prime Minister of Cerea, Pro Moon, who was also now Interim Prime Minister of the West.
After the victory of the Western Unity party in the pan-West elections the night before, they had unanimously agreed to forming an interim Western government even before going to sleep. From the Rakattan Regent who had just received his results to the Lord of Riflor whose term was renewed thanks to crippling depression sinking voter turnout, each world agreed that their disparate people should unite.
The next day, however, brought hangovers, headaches, and relatively little actual progress to show for it. Pro Moon awoke.
"Wuzzat?" he murmured, glancing around his room. "Morning already?"
His wife (or simply "Mrs. Moon") glared at him from the doorway, her imperious dress and pointed head giving the sense of an angry traffic cone. "It's lunchtime, actually. Although you'd have known that already if you'd have gone to bed at a sensible hour last night."
Sheepishly rising from his bed and swathing himself in his loose prime-ministerial robes, Pro Moon said "Honey, I was busy, honest. The Unity party was elected unanimously and we had to set a meeting date for the first interim government mee-"
"Oh, so that'd explain the stink of booze and slurred singing at 2:30 in the morning then?" rasped Mrs. Moon as she straightened and adjusted his shoddy dressing.
"I was just tired!" exclaimed Pro Moon, who yanked his robes into place. "I wasn't drinking, I was just-"
Though the previous exchange may seem a setup for a joke about marriages and half-conceived attempts to cover up misbehaviour, in a marriage where both members are part of a naturally psychic race, it's difficult to get away with even pathetic half-lies. Pro Moon gave up and sighed. "Yes, dear."
Finished preening over him for the time being, Mrs. Moon left the Prime Ministerial bedroom, adding "I'll be filling in at social events all week now, because of this election, so I guess it's no bother that you're running off to another conference. You never get anything done at them, I don't see why you bother."
Pro Moon just stayed silent. He didn't even dare think of frustration - again, because even a badly chosen thought could become a relationship nightmare for mind readers. He instead tuned out of the conversation and considered the upcoming meeting - the first session of the Interim Western Parliament.
It was being held at Cerea, which stood above the other worlds of the West in political prominence to the region. The members would be accepted into the temporary quarters of the Western Parliament in the Coalition Building on the outskirts of the city. He and his chosen delegation had but a few hours to prepare for a meeting he hoped would be more profitible than his last.
He realized that his wife had finished speaking and left the room. Able to think freely again, he idly speculated on the cost of a sturdy shovel, and filed through the available plots of land in his backyard.
Finished daydreaming, he departed the scuplted grandure of the Prime Minister's Palace, with its' shimmering steel built into the face of a mountain, and got into the backseat of a waiting speeder.
Captain Ion, his top military commander, nodded to him. "Good morning, Mr. Prime Minister. Congradulations on your reelection yesterday."
"Oh, spare me," said Pro Moon, waving it away. "The matter at hand, if you will. What's that status of the meeting?"
Captain Ion pulled up his datapad and passed it to Pro Moon. "As you can see sir, security is assured for the meeting of parliament. I've got some of my best guys above us and the army's even staked out positions on the ground. So far as I can tell each of the delgations is bringing their own military escort too, and we went ahead and picked up their codes this morning to make sure there are no uninvited guests." The Tynnian commander scratched at his muzzle distractedly. "All in all, nothing to report."
Pro Moon passed the datapad back and stretched out in the speeder. "Well, that's something then. Everyone's left?"
"Yes, sir. We'll be arriving only shortly before the first of them appear in orbit."
"Good, good," said Pro Moon, equally distracted as his captain. "Well... I'm going to catch up on some sleep. Wake me if there are any developments."
Pro Moon opened his eyes gradually, his vision coming into focus. He was seated in the grand hall of the Coalition building, where the interim government had been set up. Podiums and desks were prepared, translators and microphones were on hand. He himself sat in the Prime Minister's seat, looking out at all the empty seats waiting to be filled.
"I said wake me if there are any developments," grumbled Pro Moon. "I should think arriving counted."
"Didn't want to wake you, sir," replied Ion, with a smile. "Don't worry, we've still got a few minutes."
Pro Moon nodded and opened up the datapad in front of him. Time to go through the numbers again.
"Well," murmured Pro Moon. "What a bunch, eh? Hoth, Nkllon, and Mestra's got nothing but mining interests, and Hoth and Anoat are so far out they're only in the Western Province to protect them from the Empire. Everyone on Riflor's depressed, Warmart's inhabited by half-feral retail employees, and Emanon is a living planet - who did it send?"
Ion shrugged "Settlers, I think. I don't know who could stand living on a living planet though. I mean... kind of awkward."
Pro Moon nodded. "Renteg? What the heck's Renteg? Why are they on the list?"
Ion looked embarassed, eventually admitting "I don't actually know. No one seems to. They're just... on the list. Coalition member, it all checks out. Not very talkative."
Pro Moon rubbed his prodigious brow, as he was wont to do when things challenged him. "Well, alright then. So it'll be a learning experience... which is just a nice way of saying we've got a lot to learn."
The delegates continued their debating heedless of Pro Moon's cries for order. In the end he actually had to take off his shoe and slam it on his desk before finally there was silence. "Please, good people, there has to be some sort of concensus. We are men and women of wisdom and vision, if we work together we can find a way past this impasse.
"I mean, King Emoth of the Riffles, you agreed to split your seats with your former colony of Warmart - in doing so, we've written the framework of our national political system. And Regent Y'noo, here representing Queen Asajj of Rattatak, your enlightened views on society helped form half the body of laws! That's impressive! Why then is it the economy that divides us so?"
All around, members of close to a dozen races clustered, murmuring to each other and comparing economic notes. Eventually, Ya'Mana, an elder of the Meradians of Xal 3 rose to his feet, clacking his wide mouth and blinking his yellow eyes in preparation to speak.
"The problem, Prime Minister," said Ya'Mana, "is that we all have different needs. My people are nomadic - we need parts for our crawlers, and we offer little beyond our crafting skills to the people of the West. The miners of Nkllon have all the craftsmen they need, but it is food and other essentials that they need. Each world has people with a specific diet, with specific desires and needs, so that our trade is incompatible with one another."
The delegates began to nod in agreement. "The problem is one of supply," declared Y'noo of Rattaka. "How can there be common regulations with uncommon societies? Economic prosperity with nothing but closed systems all around? Should we look inwards, then, to our own ecomies? Small ponds for small fish?"
The solution slammed Pro Moon like a sack of bricks, causing him to leap from his chair. "No! We don't need a dozen fishbowls, we just need a bigger aqarium!"
This didn't exactly elict the reaction he was expecting. All around people waited for an explination, quietly hoping their esteemed patron hadn't simply lost it.
"Look, Ya'Mana, your people need parts for Crawlers. Cerea doesn't have that type of industry, but Tatooine does. Y'noo, your people are strong workers in stone - not the steel of Nkllon, but the quarries of Onyx. We shouldn't be worrying about trading with each other, if anything, our diversity is a strength in international trade! We can form a united negotiating and trading block to bring wealth and prosperity to our individual worlds."
This idea brought cheers and applause from the delegates, who were rightly pleased with the idea. Ya'Mana rubbed his narrow chin thoughtfully as the idea was praised, considering its' benefits before saying "But if we are to be a nation of traders, to whom shall we go to trade? There is great risk in a merchant strategy as this. Where can we find something for everyone to prove the system works?"
Pro Moon was uncertain, so he consulted his datapad. The delegates waited in silence as he typed in their various economic keywords and statistics, waiting for the results of his search.
After a few moments, a light *ping* signalled that a match had been found.
Pro Moon looked up at the delegates and smiled. "Sinsang. We shall go to Sinsang."
"People of Cerea," Pro Moon began, waving broadly to encompass everything before him. "Tonight, you have voted for unity - unity in Cerea, unity in the West, unity in the Coalition! And as your Prime Minister for this second term, I promise I will deliver it to you!"
The cheering kicked up again. The black and red banners of the Coalition clashed with the white and blue colours of Cerea, held aloft by the crowd. Pro Moon took a moment to turn and smile to his election staff and political supporters on one side of the platform, then to the Coalition dignitaries, public officials, and guests of honour on the other side.
Grasping his podium with both hands, the grinning Pro Moon continued his acceptance speech. "All across the west this cycle, the news has been the same. Everywhere there is talk of Western Unity, of nation-hood, of taking our place amongst the greatest of the Coalition. It is the realization of our potential, and with your support tonight, we can finally make it happen!
"I thank you all for your contributions this election season, and I extend my honourable congradulations to my opponants, but the people of Cerea have spoken. Now is the time to lead the West forwards towards our destiny!"
Again, the cheers rose, drowning out any attempt to extend the speech. Pro Moon basked in it for as long as it lasted. As a consumate politician, his biorythem was set by moments like this, and the disquieting collapse of talks at the last cross-Coalition conference had worn at his mind. Now however, resplendent in his ornate robes of state, he was reborn.
And soon, he reminded himself. So too will be the West.
***
The morning after is rarely as dramatic as the night previous. This is one of the few unbending universal laws of society that applies to all species and all civilizations. So too was it the case for the newly-reelected Prime Minister of Cerea, Pro Moon, who was also now Interim Prime Minister of the West.
After the victory of the Western Unity party in the pan-West elections the night before, they had unanimously agreed to forming an interim Western government even before going to sleep. From the Rakattan Regent who had just received his results to the Lord of Riflor whose term was renewed thanks to crippling depression sinking voter turnout, each world agreed that their disparate people should unite.
The next day, however, brought hangovers, headaches, and relatively little actual progress to show for it. Pro Moon awoke.
"Wuzzat?" he murmured, glancing around his room. "Morning already?"
His wife (or simply "Mrs. Moon") glared at him from the doorway, her imperious dress and pointed head giving the sense of an angry traffic cone. "It's lunchtime, actually. Although you'd have known that already if you'd have gone to bed at a sensible hour last night."
Sheepishly rising from his bed and swathing himself in his loose prime-ministerial robes, Pro Moon said "Honey, I was busy, honest. The Unity party was elected unanimously and we had to set a meeting date for the first interim government mee-"
"Oh, so that'd explain the stink of booze and slurred singing at 2:30 in the morning then?" rasped Mrs. Moon as she straightened and adjusted his shoddy dressing.
"I was just tired!" exclaimed Pro Moon, who yanked his robes into place. "I wasn't drinking, I was just-"
Though the previous exchange may seem a setup for a joke about marriages and half-conceived attempts to cover up misbehaviour, in a marriage where both members are part of a naturally psychic race, it's difficult to get away with even pathetic half-lies. Pro Moon gave up and sighed. "Yes, dear."
Finished preening over him for the time being, Mrs. Moon left the Prime Ministerial bedroom, adding "I'll be filling in at social events all week now, because of this election, so I guess it's no bother that you're running off to another conference. You never get anything done at them, I don't see why you bother."
Pro Moon just stayed silent. He didn't even dare think of frustration - again, because even a badly chosen thought could become a relationship nightmare for mind readers. He instead tuned out of the conversation and considered the upcoming meeting - the first session of the Interim Western Parliament.
It was being held at Cerea, which stood above the other worlds of the West in political prominence to the region. The members would be accepted into the temporary quarters of the Western Parliament in the Coalition Building on the outskirts of the city. He and his chosen delegation had but a few hours to prepare for a meeting he hoped would be more profitible than his last.
He realized that his wife had finished speaking and left the room. Able to think freely again, he idly speculated on the cost of a sturdy shovel, and filed through the available plots of land in his backyard.
Finished daydreaming, he departed the scuplted grandure of the Prime Minister's Palace, with its' shimmering steel built into the face of a mountain, and got into the backseat of a waiting speeder.
Captain Ion, his top military commander, nodded to him. "Good morning, Mr. Prime Minister. Congradulations on your reelection yesterday."
"Oh, spare me," said Pro Moon, waving it away. "The matter at hand, if you will. What's that status of the meeting?"
Captain Ion pulled up his datapad and passed it to Pro Moon. "As you can see sir, security is assured for the meeting of parliament. I've got some of my best guys above us and the army's even staked out positions on the ground. So far as I can tell each of the delgations is bringing their own military escort too, and we went ahead and picked up their codes this morning to make sure there are no uninvited guests." The Tynnian commander scratched at his muzzle distractedly. "All in all, nothing to report."
Pro Moon passed the datapad back and stretched out in the speeder. "Well, that's something then. Everyone's left?"
"Yes, sir. We'll be arriving only shortly before the first of them appear in orbit."
"Good, good," said Pro Moon, equally distracted as his captain. "Well... I'm going to catch up on some sleep. Wake me if there are any developments."
***
Pro Moon opened his eyes gradually, his vision coming into focus. He was seated in the grand hall of the Coalition building, where the interim government had been set up. Podiums and desks were prepared, translators and microphones were on hand. He himself sat in the Prime Minister's seat, looking out at all the empty seats waiting to be filled.
"I said wake me if there are any developments," grumbled Pro Moon. "I should think arriving counted."
"Didn't want to wake you, sir," replied Ion, with a smile. "Don't worry, we've still got a few minutes."
Pro Moon nodded and opened up the datapad in front of him. Time to go through the numbers again.
Firrerre
Mnedia 4
Cerea
Morianda
Emanon
Riflor
Warmart
Rattatak
Xal 3
Hoth
Anoat
Renteg
Mestra
Nkllon
Mnedia 4
Cerea
Morianda
Emanon
Riflor
Warmart
Rattatak
Xal 3
Hoth
Anoat
Renteg
Mestra
Nkllon
"Well," murmured Pro Moon. "What a bunch, eh? Hoth, Nkllon, and Mestra's got nothing but mining interests, and Hoth and Anoat are so far out they're only in the Western Province to protect them from the Empire. Everyone on Riflor's depressed, Warmart's inhabited by half-feral retail employees, and Emanon is a living planet - who did it send?"
Ion shrugged "Settlers, I think. I don't know who could stand living on a living planet though. I mean... kind of awkward."
Pro Moon nodded. "Renteg? What the heck's Renteg? Why are they on the list?"
Ion looked embarassed, eventually admitting "I don't actually know. No one seems to. They're just... on the list. Coalition member, it all checks out. Not very talkative."
Pro Moon rubbed his prodigious brow, as he was wont to do when things challenged him. "Well, alright then. So it'll be a learning experience... which is just a nice way of saying we've got a lot to learn."
***
The delegates continued their debating heedless of Pro Moon's cries for order. In the end he actually had to take off his shoe and slam it on his desk before finally there was silence. "Please, good people, there has to be some sort of concensus. We are men and women of wisdom and vision, if we work together we can find a way past this impasse.
"I mean, King Emoth of the Riffles, you agreed to split your seats with your former colony of Warmart - in doing so, we've written the framework of our national political system. And Regent Y'noo, here representing Queen Asajj of Rattatak, your enlightened views on society helped form half the body of laws! That's impressive! Why then is it the economy that divides us so?"
All around, members of close to a dozen races clustered, murmuring to each other and comparing economic notes. Eventually, Ya'Mana, an elder of the Meradians of Xal 3 rose to his feet, clacking his wide mouth and blinking his yellow eyes in preparation to speak.
"The problem, Prime Minister," said Ya'Mana, "is that we all have different needs. My people are nomadic - we need parts for our crawlers, and we offer little beyond our crafting skills to the people of the West. The miners of Nkllon have all the craftsmen they need, but it is food and other essentials that they need. Each world has people with a specific diet, with specific desires and needs, so that our trade is incompatible with one another."
The delegates began to nod in agreement. "The problem is one of supply," declared Y'noo of Rattaka. "How can there be common regulations with uncommon societies? Economic prosperity with nothing but closed systems all around? Should we look inwards, then, to our own ecomies? Small ponds for small fish?"
The solution slammed Pro Moon like a sack of bricks, causing him to leap from his chair. "No! We don't need a dozen fishbowls, we just need a bigger aqarium!"
This didn't exactly elict the reaction he was expecting. All around people waited for an explination, quietly hoping their esteemed patron hadn't simply lost it.
"Look, Ya'Mana, your people need parts for Crawlers. Cerea doesn't have that type of industry, but Tatooine does. Y'noo, your people are strong workers in stone - not the steel of Nkllon, but the quarries of Onyx. We shouldn't be worrying about trading with each other, if anything, our diversity is a strength in international trade! We can form a united negotiating and trading block to bring wealth and prosperity to our individual worlds."
This idea brought cheers and applause from the delegates, who were rightly pleased with the idea. Ya'Mana rubbed his narrow chin thoughtfully as the idea was praised, considering its' benefits before saying "But if we are to be a nation of traders, to whom shall we go to trade? There is great risk in a merchant strategy as this. Where can we find something for everyone to prove the system works?"
Pro Moon was uncertain, so he consulted his datapad. The delegates waited in silence as he typed in their various economic keywords and statistics, waiting for the results of his search.
After a few moments, a light *ping* signalled that a match had been found.
Pro Moon looked up at the delegates and smiled. "Sinsang. We shall go to Sinsang."