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The Last Grand Admiral [IC]
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    Default The Last Grand Admiral [IC]



    It has been five years since the Rebel Alliance succeeded in destroying the second Death Star, defeating Darth Vader and the Emperor. The remnants of the Empire have been driven from the core of the galaxy by a new Republic. But the last of the Emperor's warlords has, unknown to the fledging Republic, returned and seized control of the Empire's forces. This evil mastermind intends to undo all the good the Alliance fought for. But in order to do so he needs to rediscover old secrets, and silence those who may recognize his return...
    Episode One
    Ex Libris

    The small interplanetary shuttle shook slightly as it traversed Obroa-skai's upper atmosphere, its three inhabitants shaken in their seats: Keliz Rheir, Garven Senesca and Irys Kas'lya. The New Republic shuttle was taking them down from the orbiting assault frigates to Obroa-skai's capital city of Aruscaga and a meeting with Jodegire: the obroan minister for 'Extrinsic Relations'.
    The obroans had always maintained a neutral stance throughout the Clone Wars and the Galactic Civil War but had at last, with the New Republic pushing back the remnants of the Galactic Empire, permitted a diplomatic party to visit for negotiations. That the senate had seen fit to transport the three along with four brand new assault frigates, commanded by the elomin captain Chrondash, and that Borsk Fey'lya's niece was heading the diplomatic party, spoke of the mission's importance. The party was also composed of three different species: a bothan, a trianii and a human, showing that the new government did not follow the humanocentric views of its predecessor.

    It would be a few minutes before the shuttle set down at the capital's main starport, allowing the three to think over their briefing, their role in the mission and the events which saw them assigned to it.

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    I screwed up.

    Captain Garven Senesca sat in the rear seat of the shuttle, one row between him and the New Republic Envoy, his elbows on the armrests, his face resting in his hands. It was a position he had gotten used to lately.

    I threw my career away.

    He wasn't supposed to be in a diplomatic shuttle, assisting in the negotiation to bring another world into the New Republic. He was supposed to be sitting in the cockpit of an Incom T-65 X-Wing, keeping those who would be conducting said negotiations safe. But he wasn't. And he only had himself to blame for that. He only had the lack of judgement that alcohol brought, the need to display bravado that a young woman was looking for, and his own sense of invincibility that every fighter pilot had to have.

    I lost it all.

    He remembered the board meeting that he survived only a few weeks ago. He remembered their charges. "Conduct unbecoming an officer." "Unauthorized personal use of military property." "Intoxicated operation of a military vehicle." Guilty as charged. He had no defense, and admitted as such. They had stripped him of his flight license, and issued a separation--he would no longer be on active duty, only biding his time until the official discharge paperwork was filed. His family was an X-Wing squadron; his life was the inside of an X-Wing cockpit; his direction came from the uniform of a New Republic Starfighter Corps officer. All gone. At that point, Garven Senesca had functionally ceased to exist.

    But they gave me a second chance.

    He never knew where the orders came from, directly, only that they originated in High Command--and were thus perfectly legitimate. "Separation overturned." "Reassignment: military attache." "Report to Sivantlie Base." Suddenly, he was back on active duty, and on a diplomatic mission--to Obroa-Skai, of all places. The one that had been in the news lately, the one that the Ruling Council had been making a real push to include in the Republic. He cried when he read his orders. Someone, somewhere, had deemed him worthy enough to retain his commission. His life had not been completely destroyed.

    And with his new commitment to walking the straight and narrow, it wouldn't. He read up on diplomacy, bought a half-dozen datacards on the topic, requisitioned and received the official military attache's handbook, read them all until his eyes bled. It had taken a serious dedication to practice that enabled him to be an X-Wing ace--he was only redirecting that ability to a new vocation.

    He looked around the cabin. Up front was the New Republic Envoy, Irys Kas'lya, a Bothan, the chief of the mission. Garven thought he heard that she was related to Councillor Borsk Fey'lya, which would make sense--nearly everyone in the diplomatic service had political connections of some sort. It didn't matter, though; she was his superior officer, and he would obey her orders, which most likely included a bodyguard detail in addition to standard military attache duties.

    What he didn't understand was why a Trianii Ranger was on the mission. Okay, a former Trianii Ranger, but the same thing, essentially. He also thought he heard that she was on the A-Wing development team--just thinking of that deathtrap made him unconsciously shudder--but that also didn't make sense. He supposed they would have need of her technical prowess, but otherwise it didn't add up. Did the Obroans have some sort of starfighter technology the Republic wanted to acquire?

    He shoved the thought from his mind. Now wasn't the time to ask questions like that. Now was the time to shut up and answer questions, to do his job. He went back to staring at the spine of the seat in front of him and reviewing the facts about the world ahead.
    Opinions are like armpits. Everyone has at least two, and they usually stink.

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    Irys scowled at her datapad.

    Seated more or less by herself near the front of the shuttle's passenger compartment, she thought back to the events that led to her present task. Just over forty-eight hours prior, she'd been having a dinner meeting with her uncle, advisor, and (to an extent) benefactor, Councilor Borsk Fey'lya. The meeting had, at first, been business as usual, then he told her that he'd secured the power to choose a diplomat for an important assignment and that he'd chosen her to go. Their meeting had ended on a positive note: she'd spent the last week in the senate, trading verbal barbs with her Mon Calamari analogues, aides to Admiral Ackbar, who vehemently opposed her uncle's recent power plays...and she was desperate to move on and leave such things to those farther down the political food chain.

    A day later, she'd had her briefing with her handlers for the mission: her uncle, and Councilor Organa-Solo, quite visibly pregnant. they'd given her the typical rundown of a diplomatic briefing, mostly rehashing information she'd already learned from her own research, and providing her with a general outline of just how much she could put on the table to lure the Obroans under the Republic banner.

    Organa-Solo had surprised her with a mildly offensive jab, implying that, were she not the daughter of Fey'lya's brother, she may not have been here.

    "My dear Councilor", Fey'lya had replied, "I only want what is best for the mission and the Republic. In this case, my niece Irys is simply the most qualified being for the task. Who among your own retinue might be more suited to this challenge? Your husband? His wookiee friend?"

    "Councilors.", Irys interjected, to the mild surprise of both, "I will do my best to convince the Obroans that there is much to gain by joining us. It is obvious that you both care deeply about the future of the Obroans, and it is my deepest desire to ensure that this future is one in which we've put an Obroan in the senate, and benefit from their shared knowledge. There is no need for contention at the relatively minor choice of who will be the one to show them the light."

    This had seemed to mollify both, and they provided her with datacards and sent her on her way. When she'd met her team, she was less than pleased: a drunken ex-fighter pilot and a Trianii grease monkey.

    Not exactly the first choices that would have come to mind. She thought dejectedly, as she filtered through various informational displays on her datapad. Oh, she'd been cordial to them, after all, it wasn't really their fault that they pulled this assignment, but they were simply the most visible reminder of what all this political infighting was doing to Republic foreign relations. Political infighting, she thought, incited by my uncle...

    Suddenly, she got a message notification on her datapad. Pulling up the communique, she saw it was a series of personnel transfer documents. A favor she'd called in from a friend in the state department. After scanning them over quickly, her cream fur rippled with renewed interest.

    Apparently, these two were here at the wishes of Councilor Organa-Solo. Apparently, Fey'lya had been permitted to choose mission lead, and she'd chosen support...and decided not to give Irys the least bit of help in accomplishing her objective. Rather...bothan...of her.

    This thought made Irys grin, and put her in a proper mindset to speak with her companions for the assignment. Standing and gracefully walking back to the human and trianii, she smiled and informed them (probably needlessly), "We're nearly there. Any last questions about any of the data I've provided for you? Feel free to interact with the dignitaries, but for procedural matters, allow me to field questions. The Obroans are a fairly sensible people, not easily offended, but the success of this mission will depend heavily upon appealing to their practical side, and the Obroan culture values organization. For us to send a mixed message implies that we'd similarly mix up their libraries."

    She smiled a bit, then added, "Either way, you both seem quite capable, and I'm glad to count both of you among my teammates."
    W.W.G.D. - What would Grimace do?

    What kind of dust?
    Dirt-laced dust. Probably originating from the ground.

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    Keliz fidgeted.

    She fidgeted constantly.

    I had forgotten how blasted irritating being cooped up inside a small starship can be, she mused. She allowed herself a slight grin -- most humans would have found it more threatening than amusing -- at that thought, as she had spent most of her Rebel -- New Republic! she corrected herself forcefully -- career working on and designing starfighters, which were easily the smallest starships around. She let her thoughts drift as they would for a while, then snapped them back the events of the last month when she found herself inexplicably tied up in politics.

    Keliz was unique. As unique an asset as there was in this New Republic as a Trianii Ranger -- still, even if her sabbatical had stretched on for years at this point -- she had a cachet that had made her invaluable in negotiations with the Trianii. As a Trianii both sides could trust -- a law officer and a long-time Rebel Alliance member -- she had been an ideal figurehead for the diplomatic mission. Of course, she had screwed that up entirely by reminding everyone, forcefully, that she was not window dressing. Why do I let my mouth run like that? She frowned slightly, a mannerism humans often mistook for mirth in her. She had never figured humans out, despite living and working with them for an almost inconceivably long time by her species' standards. She'd attended the negotiations and said very little save to facilitate introductions and make objections -- on behalf of both parties -- to actions that might be considered rude by the other. By the sixth day, she had co-opted the dialog and conducted the negotiations more or less one-on-one with the Ranger Triumvir representative. An absolutely galling act of arrogance on my part. To her own amazement, she managed to work out a deal. The Trianii would be granted full membership and representation, and would not have to provide fleet forces in exchange for law enforcement training. Plans for academies had begun even as she had walked out of the meeting room that day. She shook her head and snapped her tail against the armrest. It was so stupid, in retrospect.

    Now she was being dragged halfway across the galaxy to participate in an envoy mission to Obroa-skai to "demonstrate diversity," and help "massage the negotiations." What they mean is, be myself and drive a hydrospanner through the plasteel, she concluded with a cynical eye roll. She'd been given a couple of interesting choices in companions: a former Starfighter Corps officer she knew by reputation, Captain Senesca, who should probably have been replacing a Rogue Squadron casualty instead of sitting on this shuttle. Pretty handsome for a human, I suppose. She'd heard rumors that his career had derailed, but this seemed like a promotion if anything. The other companion, Irys Kas'lya, the diplomat in charge of these talks, was Borsk Fey'lya's niece. She was the New Republic's acknowledgement of the gravitas of the talks. Not Fey'lya himself, but a blood relative leading the negotiators. With Captain Senesca, she supposed, they probably could have been a decent recruiting poster. The Obroans would feel obligated to be flattered, easing the initial negotiations.

    Well, if nothing else this government is proving itself competent at setting up bureaucracy, she mused as her gaze drifted to the viewport. Her tail thumped out a steady rhythm against the armrest, and she allowed herself to relax before the real fun began. I wonder if they'll let me become a trainer at one of these law enforcement academies after this, she thought idly. I kind of miss that work.
    I awoke
    Only to find my lungs empty
    And through the night
    So it seems I'm not breathing
    And now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be - Dallas Green (City and Colour), Sleeping Sickness

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    "Yes ma'am," Garven said, letting his arms drop to his sides. Now is the time to straighten up. "I do have one question--well, perhaps two; namely, is there going to be more of a security detail on the planet, and what about our support staff in general?"

    If he was it for security, he'd have his work cut out for him. But maybe that was why he was chosen: either to prove his worth to command, or show how much of a dimwit he really was. He shook the thoughts from his mind, only to have them replaced with, Why is the Trianii smiling?
    Opinions are like armpits. Everyone has at least two, and they usually stink.

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    "Yes ma'am," Garven said, letting his arms drop to his sides. Now is the time to straighten up. "I do have one question--well, perhaps two; namely, is there going to be more of a security detail on the planet, and what about our support staff in general?"
    Irys' fur rippled slightly as she arched an eyebrow, "This is a diplomatic mission, Mister Senesca, not a planetary assault. What were you expecting? That the Elomin task force would send down a detachment?"

    Irys' voice is even, balanced. While she may have meant the jab as a reproach, her tone lacked any venom...then again, if she meant it as a friendly joke, it could have used a bit more softness. Regardless, she continued.

    "When we arrive planetside, it will be just the three of us, though I must stress to you that relations are good with the Obroans. You needn't fear any sort of hasty action on their part, and as their guests, the Obroan security will see to our safety as well, should something...unfortunate...happen."
    W.W.G.D. - What would Grimace do?

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    "Relax, flyboy. Obroan security is excellent. Our job is to look pretty and deflect pointed questions to Irys." Keliz shifts her weight anxiously, her body demanding the freedom to move.

    "Besides, opportunities to be planetside and enjoy ourselves are rare enough. Just approach it like structured R&R and you'll do fine."
    I awoke
    Only to find my lungs empty
    And through the night
    So it seems I'm not breathing
    And now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be - Dallas Green (City and Colour), Sleeping Sickness

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    "I'm only going off standard protocol," Senesca said, keeping his irritation out of his voice. "If I'm going to be the only bodyguard--or, the two of us--that may pose complications. And it's my job to not be relaxed."

    He let it drop there and sat back in his seat. He couldn't let his emotions get control of him again. Not again. Still, he couldn't help but think that the ambassador was being naive, trusting non-Republic personnel to ensure her safety. Though perhaps that was what diplomacy was all about, and not--as a friend once said--saying something soothing while pulling the trigger.
    Opinions are like armpits. Everyone has at least two, and they usually stink.

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    Keliz giggled. "Oh, that's too cute. Can I borrow that phrase when it's time for gloomy internal monologues?" She snorted out a laugh again, adding "We're escorts, not bodyguards. I told you, the Obroans aren't backwater bumpkins."
    I awoke
    Only to find my lungs empty
    And through the night
    So it seems I'm not breathing
    And now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be - Dallas Green (City and Colour), Sleeping Sickness

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    The whispy clouds parted beyond the shuttle portholes to reveal the snowy plains of Obroa-skai below. Amid the vast tracts of rolling white, transitways were barely visible as the snow swallowed everything. A mag-lev tube snaked east-west but was only identifiable by the shadow cast by its stanchions and the pipe itself. But there was one sight that could not be swallowed by the eternal winter: Aruscaga city.
    The obroan capital was brightly lit, almost appearing to be a mirage or a curtain of bright solar radiation as one found at the poles of countless worlds, but as the shuttle descended and drew closer buildings resolved themselves out of the light. Such variety of architecture, here towers reminiscent of Coruscant (the old name for the capital being the politic term once more), there a ziggurat similar to Muun design, whilst an outlying neighbourhood took the form of small clustered domes like those found on fringe worlds and yet more were formed of non-euclidean shapes one could only guess at the origins of. Evidence of the obroan thirst for knowledge of the greater galaxy, and their inspiration by it. One thing was uniform across the jumble of structures was that almost all the roofs were festooned with aerials and antenna.
    The shuttle few over the city now, a pair of small fighters - headhunters Keliz and Garv noted - dipping their wings in a greeting salute as they flew patrol high over the buildings. Lower down the streets and between the buildings were filled with ground and airspeeders as the populace went about their business.
    The chrono at the front of the shuttle's cabin space bleeped as it adjusted to local time: 1400.
    A building that looked like a huge multifaceted crystal caught one's attention off the port side, its myriad faces gleaming different hues, while facing it across a wide boulevard was a large, imposing building some ten stories in height, its entrance flanked by statues of robed obroans. Were it thirty or more years ago and another world it could have been a Jedi temple.
    The shuttle flew on, passing minor ports to a large, multi-layered starport in the north of the city. A cylindrical structure, dozens of pads stuck out on cantilevers while the maws of hangers yawned wide for larger vessels. The shuttle rose upward toward a large landing pad and the passengers could soon see that quite a crowd awaited them.
    At least fifty obroans stood around the brightly-lit pad, some of them holding banners of greeting: welcome messages scrawled in Basic, others waving flags bearing the seal of the New Republic...however a smaller number off to another side, mirroring the greeters, bore the obroan flag and placards calling for obroans neutrality.
    At the foot of the steps down from the landing pad proper to where the crowd gathered, stood an old obroan in green robes, a pipe protruding from his mouth completing the grandfatherly image. He was flanked by four younger obroans, clearly subservient. Each held a datapad and carried a large satchel.

    With a slight shudder the shuttle set down.

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    Irys had to return to her seat for touchdown, but couldn't help smiling at the exchange going on between Keliz and Garven. She enjoyed the views of the Obroan landscape as the shuttle descended, then quickly took note of the 'welcoming party', which included their official hosts, those of the people happy to see her, and those who'd rather not see her.

    Well, I do hope they're comfortable down there, she thought toward the anti-Republic protestors, because I'm going to do my best to ensure that you'll be seeing a lot more of me, and other Republic officials.

    Feeling the slight shudder of contact, Irys released the safety harness tethering her to her seat, and stood, feeling just a bit of adrenaline warming her arms and face. Her fur rippled anxiously, as she led the others to the main hatch. As they arrived at the door, the panel slid open, and the cold, dry Obroan atmosphere gave its own welcome to the three visitors.

    Irys had brought along some clothes for warmth, but felt it was important to look as much like a 'typical Republic representative' for this first meeting, and so she left her parka in storage, having it carried to wherever they'd be staying, and donning it the next time she'd need it. The intensity of the cold was a bit more than she'd expected, but it also galvanized her in preparation of the challenge ahead.

    Abruptly, Irys took her first steps down the ramp, and soon found herself walking across the landing pad toward the greeting party, wind tugging at her hair.

    [OOC: Maybe a Cultures roll to determine the proper way to conduct this first contact?]
    W.W.G.D. - What would Grimace do?

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    As she approached the man, obviously the focal point of the group of officials sent to meet the Republic party, Irys recalled the proper greeting ritual from her brief study over the past few days. She moved deftly, offering her hands to be accepted by the official (who was most certainly the 'host' in this interaction). With her hands in his, she gracefully leaned forward and to the right, then carefully, slowly, she moved toward the official's also-bowed head.

    She hadn't actually tried this gesture, so she wasn't sure how tricky it would be, but Obroan physiology was fairly consistent with most bipedal beings, including bothans, and she was relieved when she felt the head of the dignitary softly coming into contact with her own.

    She said nothing, hoping that the successful execution of the gesture would speak for itself. Letting the moment extend slightly, she took her cue from the dignitary, and when he started to move away, she did the same, allowing her hands to return to her sides as well.

    Then she smiled warmly and waited for this official to formally greet the party.
    W.W.G.D. - What would Grimace do?

    What kind of dust?
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    Garven scanned the crowd, trying to keep an appropriate distance but not look like he was trying to keep an appropriate distance. A part of his mind went looking for bandits in the crowd, but it wasn't at the forefront; this was a diplomatic mission to a neutral world, and he had to (grudgingly) agree with the envoy; there was likely no threat here. The Obroans were a peaceful people, not like the happy band of murderers called the Empire.

    He tried not to look at the dissenters in their own crowd, just looked at them out of the corner of his eye. "At least they're just saying they should stay neutral," he said to Keliz. "I'd hate for them to start criticizing my figure."
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    Keliz frowned slightly at Garven's comment but shrugged it off, figuring the snubjock was nervous. She instead turned her attention to the security situation, taking careful note of positions she'd have watched and positions she might decline to have watched because they were too obvious.

    (OOC: PER I guess? Just spotting all the security guards and ingress/egress routes. Law enforcement maybe?)
    I awoke
    Only to find my lungs empty
    And through the night
    So it seems I'm not breathing
    And now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be - Dallas Green (City and Colour), Sleeping Sickness

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    Keliz's sharp trianii eyes, and years as a ranger, enabled her to pick easily spot not only the obvious security guards -blaster rifles across their vested chests- stood in front of the turbolift doors which lead down into the starport itself, but also a couple of obroans who unlike the crowds and media who had turned out to see the New Republic's representatives, were watching the crowd itself. Dressed in what seemed to pass for casual clothing on Obroa-skai in bulky jackets, thick-weave pants and boots as was the rest of the crowd, a few individuals spared little attention for the three aliens as they greeted the obroan representative, rather they seemed to be focused on the actions and reactions of the spectators.

    The portly, old obroan stepped back from his head-touching with Irys, an approving smile on his face. He adjusted the pipe in his mouth and looked the bothan up and down.
    "Irys Kas'lya, welcome to Obroa-skai. I am minister Jodgire. Your uncle speaks highly of you, young Irys."
    Before she could respond, one of the minister's attendants leant forward, clearing his throat and reciting.
    "Bothans, minister, hailing from Bothawui, Kothlis and several colonies within the area designated Bothan Space. Mammalian anthropoids, they are known to have been members of the Old Republic for over four thousand years. Though never officially recognised as having entered the Alliance to Restore the Republic they and their Spynet are credited with having acquired the Empire's plans for the second Death Star battle station at the Battle of Korriban. Bothan culture is based upon the acquisition of personal power and influence over others, a tenet set out by Golm Fervse'dra in his work The Way."
    Jodgire nodded to acknowledge his aide's input though did no turn to face him.
    The second aide in line then spoke up, eyeing Keliz.
    "Trianii, minister. Felinoid beings from Trian and colonies in the Tingle Arm including Brochiib, Pypin, Ekibo and Fibuli. Famed for their excellent balance and acrobatic ability. Females are known to be the stronger of the species, minster, with a tribunal known as the Yu'nar as their culture's religious and spiritual leaders. Spirituality is said to permeate trianii culture, though trade to industry. The fiercely opposed the Corporate Sector's expansion into Trianii space, with their Rangers pushing out the invaders. Trian is not, as far as our records indicate, a member of the New Republic."
    Another nod from minister Jodegire and the last of the three aides quickly steps forward to provide his research on the human race.
    "And a human, minister. A male of the species. As you of course know: the most numerous of the known galaxy's sapient species with homeworlds throughout the core systems, from Coruscant to Chandrilla, Alderaan and Corellia. A highly adaptable species, if known for their impulsiveness." He coughs uncomfortably, and apparently has nothing else to add.
    Minister Jodegire blinks then smiles, awaiting their introductions.

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