Audacieuse, Confederation Flagship, in orbit above Genon

The ethereal voice, accompanied by several string instruments, poured into the white room. As the celestial voice rose and descended in pitch, the younger Lucerne laid sprawled across a sofa, staring at the white paneled ceiling above. On a table beside him sat a half-empty wineglass of Abrax Cognac. He let out a sigh. If only every day had its moments of relaxation. Corise glanced at his wrist chrono. Apparently not for much longer. Meeting in a hour. Time to get ready. Lucerne abruptly rose and turned off the music via remote. Stumbling over to one of the flagship’s viewports, he was rewarded by a corona caused by Genon eclipsing its golden sun. He stared at it for a few seconds and meandered over to his wardrobe to fetch his dress uniform. The pounding of fists on his door stopped the Kashan man.

“Yes?” question Corise.

“Rear-Admiral sir, it’s the Pro-Consul.”

The Rear-Admiral stopped midtracks, his heart seeming to skip a beat. While there were actually two Pro-Consuls from Kashan, his crew only referred to one: Christina Thorn. She was in charge of Kashan’s foreign affairs while the other Pro-Consul, Ryan Tier, governed the populace at home.

“Yes sergeant?”

“She told me to tell you hi.”

The man let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s it?”

A light feminine laughter suffused the air as the door opened, revealing the said woman in the doorway. Catching him somewhat disheveled from his rest, she looked at him amused eyes. Thorn shook her head.

“Is this what promotions do? If so, I’m going to have to recommend that we demote to you cadet and then let you lead the fleet like that.”

He met her eyes in a mock glare. The younger Lucerne had recently been promoted to Rear-Admiral at the bidding of the Contegorian Council; partly to allow promising officers under him to advance as the navy grew, and partly because his counterparts in terms of rank and power were full-fledged admirals or generals. Rear-Admiral would only be a step up from Commodore in the Old Republic’s rank system, but the Kashan man could care less of that. Aside from the title, all of his duties, rights, and powers were still the same.

“Certainly,” replied the officer, “And going with that philosophy, you should be demoted to secretary to the Director of the Economy.”

She raised an eyebrow as she neared him.

“It could be worse,” mused the woman, “Besides, the Department of the Economy is a pretty influential and vital part of our government these days.”

“Naturally, just as the Department of the Department of the Council of Janitors is an important too.”

She lightly jabbed him in the rib. “Come on, the meeting today won’t that bad. I think the Department of the Economy actually might be interesting.”

“Hopefully more so than the Mon Calamari ambassador at the station.”

Christina looked at him.

“What? The Colonials didn’t seem to like him either.”

“You should probably get your dress uniform on,” stated the woman dryly.

“Probably.”

“I’ll wait outside the door.”

He nodded as she walked out the door.

T4a-class Shuttle Contegorian Courage, Genon

“...some of the first duties of politicians is to try and educate the masses to not take medicine if at all possible,” stated the officer adamantly.

“Did you drink too much Cognac?”

The younger Lucerne smirked with amusement at his companion. He opened his mouth only to get interrupted by the pilot’s exchanged with Genon Flight Control over the intercom.

“This is shuttle Contegorian Courage, transmitting clearance codes.”

“Shuttle Contegorian Courage, the deflector shields will be down momentarily. Stay on your pre-planned course.”

“Roger that control. Courage out.”

The shuttle arced through the clouds. Ahead, a gray cloud seemed to shimmer: the local shield hex deactivating to allow the shuttle passage to the Confederation’s unofficial capital below. Unlike many governments, the Confederation had made it a practice to have their deflector shields up all of the time, except for when letting traffic in or out. Not only did this ensure that the Confederates couldn’t be caught with their defences down, but it also hampered smuggling and infiltration by less desirable elements. After passing through the small hexagon, the shields were immediately raised back up. The couple swayed in their seats as the Courage encountered a brief spurt of turbulence. The Rear-Admiral nodded.

“They seem to be doing their job all right.”

Christina let out an exasperated sigh. “What did you think? That the flight controller would let a novice pilot transport not only his commander, but a chief-of-state as well?”

The man shrugged, turning off the intercom with a flick of a finger. “You can never be too sure. Inspecting and observing subordinates work is always a good thing.”

She slowly shook her head. “If you say so. Try and explain why medicine is bad again for the people.”

“Medicine by itself is a wonderful thing,” stated the Kashan man, “We know that; Bacta produced on Genon could easily save the lives of many of the Coalition’s soldiers that wouldn’t have been savable before, and besides, we can even cure some of the citizens of diseases and injuries that wouldn’t have been possible before.”

“And that shows why medicine is a bad thing how?”

“It’s not. People relying on it is. People who think that a little drop of Bacta will make everything better is. People who think that medicines and dietary supplements can take of all of their health needs,” rambled the man, “because it cannot. Bacta doesn’t improve the conditioning of your muscles or organs of any sort, like your heart. It only repairs it to the extent of which it was originally.”

“Your point?”

“People should be taking more preventative measures, something simple as running a half hour every three days and eating decently. Not only would that keep their heart in good shape, it would them more physically fit, and consequently, in better condition than before, as well as heavily decrease the odds of contracting some disease; exercise improves the immune system as well.”

The brunette pursed her lips and looked at her partner questioning.

“I know you train with your crews in keeping them fit, but there’s more to it than that. You think this applies to the meeting somehow? I don’t think half of the department would survive a thirty minute jog, much less endorse it to the populace.”

He snorted.

“True, on both accounts. In essence, the body I was referring to is the military. Exercising the various forces in live-combat drills and simulations makes them more competent, more experienced. Given sufficient time and maneuvers, even the most inexperienced of the Confederate fleet will become like seasoned warriors, seeing the action, and knowing what to do without the losses, without the pain. The economy is like the doctor providing the Medicine, which is the replacement troops and vehicles, to the military. They won’t be any better than the old ones if our forces never drill or see actual action.”

“There are flaws with that analogy.”

“There are flaws with most analogies.”

“So what do you intend to gain from this meeting?”

“A proverbial shot in the arm.”

Atlas Hall, Brandenburg, Genon

A pair of Kirkanian Guards, in battle black dress uniforms, stood at attention at the hardwood doors, or rather, the durasteel doors with hardwood laminated over them. Many sets of Confederation soldiers had stood at its doors, from the shock troopers of Kashan to elite commandoes based on Genon. Confederation troops were often rotated between the different planets of the Confederation, allowing peoples of different cultures within the Confederation to meet and often build relationships, thus unifying the Confederation as a whole. The guards opened the doors, admitting the Kashan couple into the Councilors’ chamber hall. The younger Lucerne’s eyes darted amongst the room’s occupants, notably the newer representatives to Atlas Hall, first catching sight of a graying man.

There’s Councilor, formerly commander, Lavrik of Soroya. And that’s Corana Leone of Valinor talking to him. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that the newer members would have an easier time bonding together, despite the opposites of their worlds. Soroya was almost as bad as Hoth in terms of climate and resources, instead relying on its position on the Perlemian Route for its income whereas Valinor had previously relied on its mineral wealth, like many planets within the Expansion Region. Rumour has it that Valinor would be announcing its newest economic plan in order to counter its reliance on mining. After all, typical mining could only on so long. Not that it’s the only rumour circulating about. Almas genetic lab and the Kirkanians have apparently developed something of importance for the Confederation, even the Coalition at large. What it will be, the maker knows. Christina tugged his arm, looped her arm around his, and dragged the pensive man to his seat. The other representatives of the Confederation gathered around the table. Sitting down, the politicians and officers stared at a man approaching the central holograph projector: Councilor Harding. The Audacian man pressed a button, a flurry of light coalescing into the crest of the Confederation: the azure shield with argent lions parted by a golden embattled line.

“Esteemed Councilors, officers, and guests of the Confederation,” stated Harding solemnly, “it is an honour to have your presence with us today. These are looking like dark times within most of the Coalition, though it has ever been lighter here within our beloved Confederation. Nonetheless, the Confederation as a whole, and its member worlds, voted to prepare the Confederation for a full-scale war; an event that seems to draw closer every day. For this, we stated that we must not only build up our military might, but that of our economies in order to advance the military’s strength as well as be able to support our allies in their time of need.”

He paused for a second, his eyes sweeping across the assembled leaders.

“It has not been an easy task for any of us, I know. But toil has shown the first of its fruits. Today, we gather to share the progress of our efforts, to ask for aid, and render it if need be. Today is a time of unity, not darkness. Councilor Bren Solman please step forward.”

A tall, brown-haired man with thinning hair rose from a chair. Over a decade ago, Solman had been one of Abhean’s leading naval officers, commanding a line of Abhean’s Vindicators before he “retired” to politics. His seemingly stern manner coupled with a military-style suit seemed to make him appear like the active duty officer he was years ago. But when he spoke, there was tone of calm, gentleness instead of the stereotypical booming voice suited for a commander.

“Thank you Councilor,” bowed Bren, taking the projector’s remote from Harding.

The former Abhean officer tapped a button on the remote, disintegrating the crest and replacing it with the visage of Abhean encircled by its orbital yards. Solman approached the holograph with reverence, and turned back to face his audience.

“As most of you probably know, this is…”

Nebula-class Star Destroyer Trojan, Abhean Shipyards, Abhean

“Captain on the deck!”

Nearly a hundred boot heels of the bridge crew clicked together. Out of the bridge foyer strode Captain Valeska, officer of the Abhean Navy. She was a lithe woman, yet her stride showed more of a military gait than most of her male counterparts. Affectionally known as the Iron Lady throughout the fleet, Valeska had previously been the instructor of naval gunnery at Abhean’s venerated naval academy. Some of the Confederation’s best shots came from that academy under her tutelage. Recognizing her expertise, the Rear-Admiral had recommended she not only be given an actual command, but to have her rigourously drill Abhean’s gunnery crews just like she did at the academy. Valeska had accepted the assignment with pleasure, and even while the Trojan was still being completed at the yards, she had arranged for her gunnery crews to practice on other vessels and back at the academy.

“At ease,” coldly stated the woman, turning her dark eyes to sweep the bridge.

“Captain,” shouted out a communication’s officer, “we have clearance from Fleet Control to launch.”

The pale-skinned woman nodded with appreciation. We’re finally here. She smiled. The first of a new wave. Valeska paced over to the bridge viewport and looked down at Abhean below. This planet has seen many ships come and go. The Chu’unthor. Those of the Imperials. The start of the rearmament and now the dawn of our era. More Nebulas are underway to protect that which has nourished us. She pivoted to face the helmsmen.

“Lieutenant, let us get underway.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The silver wedge of Abhean’s new star destroyer jerked into motion, leaving the yards which had shaped the vessel. Now behind her, laid the forms of other Nebula-class Star Destroyers in various stages of construction. Part of the new heart of the Confederation’s new fleet. Slightly over a thousand meters long, the Nebula-class Star Destroyer was a formidable design, sporting more firepower than a Pegasus-class Star Destroyer and most other similiarly-sized vessels. It was an older design dating from the times of the New Republic, and as such, was not nearly as complicated in terms of technology or materials compared to many of the other Confederation vessels. The result was Metalorn mass-producing many of the parts while Abhean assembled them in their orbital yards. A relatively fast and efficient process for a building a capital ship. It was rumoured among the fleet that Nebulas would probably at least equal the number of Pegasus-class Star Destroyers in service with the Confederation if not surpass them. The Trojan marched forward to join the rest of Abhean’s considerable fleet. In the midst of the fleet stood Abhean’s pride in the Navy: the modified Imperator-class Star Destroyer Valourous, flagship of the fleet. Valeska smiled. And now I have the second largest ship within the fleet…and the most powerful.

Valeska turned to one of her gunnery officers.

“Forty gun salute to the Valourous Lieutenant.”

The man nodded and keyed his comm.

“Aye sir. Topside forward batteries, execute forty gun salute.”

The forward heavy turbolaser batteries sent out a single, unified volley of conflagrated emerald bursts; bursts that just left the barrels, briefly bathing the white exterior of the star destroyer in a forest green light.

As the burst dissipated into nothingness, Valeska could only smile. Sometimes life is good.

Mining Complex AA-23, New Oceanus

Secreted from the prying eyes of the galaxy, the Confederation mobilized its economy for the likelihood of war in the Fyre Sola system. Ships, droids, and weapon designs had been drawn up and the manufacturing assets had been allocated at their respective facilities. But all would be for naught if there were no materials to produce them with. Hence the recent flurry activity on the water world of New Oceanus. Relatively untouched for thousands of the years, the planet was new to extensive mining operations. The relatively small mining that had started at the base of Infinity City when the planet had joined the Confederation now had spread forth, veins of shafts stretching across the island and now beneath the sea. Mole miners and mining droids of various makes began their cavernous conquest of the minerals and metals below, under the careful eye of the natives of New Oceanus and the engineers of the Confederation 3rd Army Corp.

“Captain Jack!”

Captain Jack Sunrider, turned around and down to face the other man.

“Yes Private?”

“My scanner is picking up readings suggesting a thick vein of Zersium.”

“All right, I’ll check it out in a second soldier,” replied Sunrider, glancing down at his datapad. He continued to write, set it down, and joined the other man in looking over the sensor equipment.

“Yeah, the chances look pretty good. Have one of the 11-17 mining droids drill in a little bit, take a core sample, and send if off to the lab back at base.”

“Aye sir.”

With that Captain Sunrider went back to reviewing the processing the data of the ore his unit had collected thus far and continued on his report. We'll have enough ore to fuel the war machine for some time, and maybe then some. Hm...Ecavating Droid 3B needs a servo replacement part for its...

KDI Shipyards, Fyre Sola System

"Mr. Lucerne?"

Lifting his glasses from his nose, the elder Lucerne wryly smiled at his secretary and leaned forward.

"Yes Miss Toreau?"

"The latest report from the New Oceanus mining facilities."

Matthew Lucerne, Corise's father, slowly shook his head and reclined in his chair. A graying man, he was of the first of the Kashan born generation; the man responsible in large for Kashan's war industry. A man, that had inadvertently altered the lives of millions of people, for better and worse. His wizened face settled on the datapad in Toreau's hands.

"What's the short version?"

"Production is up between two and threefold," she dryly replied, "probably because of the recent expansion of mining by the Army Corps. But that's not the kicker. The increased production as of right now places it on the lower-medium of the spectrum of galaxy mining operations, like Bespin was during the Galactic War. The projected increases according to the Corp along with finaincing more mining equipment made possible by the returns of these operations means that it'll soon be on the upper scale of mining planets in the galaxy. And even better, it's been all but untouched up until now."

Matthew smiled. "And how long did that take them to write up on the datapad?"

She shrugged. "About ten pages."

"That's why I hired you..."

Forard, Almas

Almas.

A twisted world.

A world with a dark past; the legacy of the Sith still marked the planet. A planet with poisonous atmosphere. Combined with its backworld location, it was a wonder that any life still inhabited if after the Revan’s demise. Yet hardy settlers had not only eeked out a living, but also in the tradition of Revan, endeavored into the world of hi-tech engineering; the engineering that had made Almas not only a habitable world, but also a productive one for the Confederation in which it belonged.

“Crop production is up President,” state the aide, ”it actually looks like we’ll have a sizeable surplus.”

Quee stroked her chin,”Mostly because of Kashan importing those CR-2 Harvester Droids. That’s why we can harvest and sow more than before. The surplus will be nice, and allow us to easily finance Bill 2342.”

Travis nodded. Bill 2342 was a bill set forth by the Contegorian Council shortly after the Imperial Incursion to Metalorn. Each planet’s legislative branch modified to fit the planet’s own particular needs. One thing common to nearly all the bills was the inclusion of full planetary shield generators to all planets that didn’t already have them. Almas was one of those planets that previously had not met that recommendation. With the surpluses from the crops, they would not only have the generators, but also funds to moderately increase the forces already stationed on the planet.

“I’m counting on the Genetics work with Project Utopia to get increased grants for our genetic research,” stated the President.

Travis grinned. “If the project actually works right, we could easily get just as many private investors to help finance the work.”

Quee nodded. “You may be on to something, although Investors will want returns on their products. Grants do not require that sort of thing.”

“Although if we do get results for them, they’ll expect to get them.”

“True, but grants allow us to investigate more riskier research without having to worry,” she snorted, ”investors could be nice for some of our less risky ventures. In fact, organize an exploratory committee to investigate it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The blonde-haired woman looked out the transparisteel viewport towards the setting sun; the last vestiges of the binary star system’s rays beating down on the leafy orchards and fields of golden grain below. A cool breeze kissed her face as she opened the window. She heard a distant clicking and swiveled about to face it. A smile crept over her face. Some of us have to take a break from a hard day’s work. But droids like that keep on ticking tirelessly, even throughout the night. So our world joins the forces of industry.

Metalorn

Prime Minister DeMarkesh, flanked by a shock trooper on either side, proceeded through the foyer doors; only their quiet, measured footsteps breaking the silence. Months ago, the human ear would have been hard pressed to here the faintest trace of their pace; that was back in the day in which secretaries, other office workers, politicians, and lobbyists flooded the building. When a significant portion of Metalorn’s populace left for Genon, many of those people left with their family, their friends, their constituents. DeMarkesh faintly smiled. We get rid of one set of problems and get another one all together. Now we don’t have to worry about starving, but rather some Imp goon thinking that they can just waltz in and take the system. He frowned. They weren’t too far off back then. We’ve gotten better on all side, they’ve gotten better on theirs, and thus this mad race continues. His entourage approached a door; this one guarded by a pair of Paladin IIs. Now is time to see the latest development in this mess, from our side. The group presented their ID cards to the reader, and passed through the door onto a balcony. The thunder of metal striking metal echoed throughout the cavernous tunnel. DeMarkesh looked down. My maker…

Bearing the colours of Metalorn’s celebrated Droid Legions, thousands of Paladin IIs marched by in the traditional tour de force; one exemplified by the marches of the Clone Troopers during the wars which bore they name. This is the might of industry. It takes years for sentinent beings to become equipped and fully trained soldiers, the cost to raise them up is extradionary. Even for Clones. This; this is the future. A new Paladin II is churned out at least every three seconds. A single day and with the production at full speed, we could easily amass nearly twenty thousand. Provided we had the resources on hand to keep up with that pace. We can at least hold our ground in Metalorn’s defence with this. DeMarkesh shrugged the thoughts away, taking a moment to glance at his associates. Most of them looked down on the droid army with a pride derived from a successful effort. But there was another one who simply frowned. DeMarkesh quietly moved forward to woman among the clattering.

“What is it daughter?”

“This,” stated the girl, her hand sweeping over the passing army, ”The resources used to make these could have been used for relief efforts to the rest of the Coalition.”

The Prime Minister leaned back. “What would they have made for the relief effort?”

“I don’t know. There’s got to be something.”:

DeMarkesh nodded. “There is. We have allocated one factory to fabricate emergency power generators and pre-fabricated shelters.”

She shook her head. “And how many of our factories are producing components for warships? Producing droids like these? Producing blasters for militia units on Almas? How much is the percentage is devoted to war?”

The former CEC man gazed at the continuing procession of droids.

“What could have done what you have suggested. We could have thousands of emergency shelters. Thousands of emergency power generators. We could make more of them than would be needed by the Coalition. But you know what?”

“What?” questioned the woman.

“We would have nothing. If we fully devoted our manufacturering to that, what would we had to stop the Empire when it showed up at our doorstep mere months ago? We’d have part of the Confederation’s Navy, but that wouldn’t stop a full-fledge Imperial assault, at least not back then. We would lose our world, and our factories. The factories would be under Imperial control. I don’t think the Empire would somehow continue to send emergency shelters to any Coalition planet, no matter how close. Our defence right now is important because what we do have devote for those humanitarian efforts would easily be engulfed and destroyed by the Empire, or even BDE. There will be a time for what you want, but that time is not now. Now is the age of war.”

The clatter of the marching droids suffused the chamber. The clatter of industry suffused the world; for the world was one essentially one gigantic factory; most of which was devoted to the Confederate war effort. Paladin IIs were churned out, some to be assigned to a Metalorn defence unit, some to be shipped out to other Confederation planets, and in a few rare cases, out of the Confederation to the rest of the Coalition. Factories that formerly manufactured civilian starship components now mass-produced parts for warships which would be shipped to one of the Confederation’s shipyards to be assembled into any number of starships. Factories that once made civilian landspeeders churned out Sentinel tanks. Factories that had made civilian airspeeders made starfighters. An relentless machine crewed by untiring workers: droids. Droids supervised by sentinent beings, mostly human; while much of the populace had left for Genon and other Confederation worlds, some had stayed, being promoted from a typical factory worker to that of a factory supervisor. A job with more power, more benefits, and more pride. And in their zealous pride, Metalorn was swept with an industrious fervor to expand the Confederation war machine.

Audacia

Songbirds serenaded throughout the vibrant forest; their song the only sound in the forest aside from the rustling of trees. The scent of tens of trees, flowers, and other plants suffused the air. Beams from Audacia’s sun beat down on the forest, bringing a heat that only was salved by the cool breeze winding throughout the woods. It was the perfect visage of natural serenity; untouched, unspoiled by the human, or alien, world. Or so it would it would seem to the casual observer. Throughout the woods, a new voice sounded.

“Atten-hut!”

Hundreds of boot heels clicked together, echoing throughout the forest valley, silencing the wildlife within. Yet no soldiers marched; there was no grand ceremony of formed ranks of Confederation; a practice common throughout the Confederation military. Instead, a pair of men wandered about, checking the terrain for the telltale signs of the two platoon’s presence within the woods. While neither of the observers wore a uniform as they hiked through the woods, they walked stiffly formal, as if on a parade. It was not a conscious habit, but one bred from years of duty.

“I must say Major,” stated Trutzig, ”I’m reasonably impressed by your unit. I’ve only spotted about a squad or so thus far.”

Major Clancy sighed at the General’s remark. “I was hoping that you wouldn’t be able to see any of them.”

Trutzig barked a laugh. “Hah. It’s not a testament to your men’s skill, but rather to my experience in these woods. Where do you think I trained 22nd Battalion?”

The other man frowned. “I could have swore they were trained in Soresu.”

“Officially, yes. And we were there some of the time,” agreed the Audacian, “But this is mainly where we did our work; that was before the Vong invasion. Nearly a decade ago, if you can imagine. These woods haven’t seemed to have changed much.”

The major nodded. Trutzig eyed the other men intensely.

“Your method of camouflaging our soldiers seems to have though.”

Clancy shrugged. “We still use most of the coverage techniques you developed.”

“But you’ve applied them differently,” commented the older man, ”the men I’ve seen aren’t covered in mud or use nets to carry foliage on them.”

The major smiled. “Times change. No, we’re using Creshaldyne Industries Scout armor these days. Pretty good quality, pretty effective, and above all, pretty adaptable. It even works all right in urban environments.”

Trutzig nodded. “That company has a factory on Metalorn, doesn’t it?”

“It may. I’m not exactly part of the logistics in the structure.”

Trutzig nodded. “Understandable. So tell me, can your men fight as good as they can hide?”

Clancy lightly chuckled. “After this? You’re going to drive my men crazy, sir.”

“What’s keeping you from doing that? Rumour has it that they’re better than the 22nd right now. What’s keeping you from the challenge? You’re not afraid of some older men being led by an older man, are you?”

The Major adamantly shook his head. “No sir, it’s not that. I imagine the name of the 22nd is worth any high-tech equipment we use this day; your men would cream mine.”

“Could they? We’re more experienced no doubt, but we’re not quite as fit as you youngsters. You could easily beat me in a mile run.”

“With all due respect sir, I’m not sure that’s quite a fair comparison. When I’m your age, I’d bet you’d beat in that.”

Trutzig laughed as he continued his walk with his protégé. “With that line of thought, I could argue that when your men have seen as much action as the 22nd, they’d surefire beat mine. You know that. What is keeping you?”

“The Elder’s orders for tommorrow’s work.”

The graying general frowned. “And what might they be?”

“To oversee the collection and transportation of grains and other foodstuffs off the planet.”

Trutzig scowled. “They use commandoes for simple security tasks now?”

“No, no,” quietly mused the man,” I imagine it has to do with all of the harvests coming in; there’s not quite enough men to oversee everything carefully; especially with you leading a lot of our army throughout the Confederation.”

Hans frowned, ”Sacrifices to be made I’m sure. Don’t they have droids for that stuff these days? It’s not like Metalorn hasn’t churned out any for around here…”

“They do, and we have some, but the Elders don’t believe they’re very good for communicating with freighter crews. By the maker, I’d imagine it’d be worse if we assigned them protocol droids to communicate with the Paladins. It would be ugly sir.”

Trutzig nodded. “I guess I can’t blame them then. That does make some sense.”

“Of course it does,” grinned Clancy, ”They’re just as old as you are. That means that they have the experience to know what to do.”

“Politicians,” growled the General, ”they’re just as likely to use their wisdom and experience for personal gain as they are to help Audacia. No integrity I tell you.”

“That seems rather cynical. Wasn’t the Rear-Admiral one of the political leaders on Kashan for a while?”

“Sure, but he is a soldier first, and then a leader. He was no politician; no politicking there. The people loved him as a hero, he didn’t need to delve into politics to that position. He didn’t ask to get that position.”

“Seems somewhat narrowminded to me, sir.”

“Dispense with the formalities. This is all off the record. Politicians…I don’t know, I just can’t trust them. Palpatine is a great example of that. You never know what they’re up to.”

“It’s a good thing that we have multiple politicians trying to check out each other’s powers, motives, and whatnot then.”

Hans snorted. “Sure, but in the process, they’re making them less efficient in terms of work. They’re taking up time they could be using to help our people rather than investigating the various rumors circling the council.”

“But this decision of their’s to have us help with the security is a good one. They can do stuff right.”

“Sometimes…”

Clancy nodded. “Sometimes…”