Post by Meira on Jul 30, 2019 9:52:34 GMT -5
Through the transparesteel, Nal Hutta loomed in the distance. But that boggy, fetid homeworld of the Hutts was not the focus of attention. Rather, it was the Smuggler's Moon that drew the eye. The moon and, of course, the combined fleets of both the Empire and the Republic that had taken formation there; to say nothing of the enormous flagship of the invading Archeri Chorus. The so-called Singing Spire was simply massive. It was a pity that it would have to be destroyed. So much might be learned from such a feat of engineering.
A loud pop signaled the opening of a new bottle of champagne. Renata turned her gaze from the view port and scanned across the small group that attended to her this day. All of the truly important people were, of course, engaged in some fashion during this endeavor. Many were on the front lines, but most were aboard the ships above Nar Shaddaa, doing their part to bring that Spire down. The Caldera currently housed a number of the Aristocracy whose efforts toward the conflict were not direct. Arms manufacturers, raw material miners, bankers... soft men and women. These sat comfortably, ate plenty, and drank more. They chuckled and gossiped, and they oooo-ed and ahhh-ed whenever a distant ship bloomed in an explosion.
Scattered among them were the spouses or other close kin to key military leaders. These, while not as hardened as their military loved ones, bore the marks of a disciplined life. They sat straighter, ate or drank only as much as manners demanded. They stopped breathing for a moment each time a distant explosion occurred. While the hawks arranged brunches to go over the next quarter's figures, these wondered... Was that his ship? Will she survive?
"Another cup for Lord Tilen." Renata said, her eyes settling onto a thin man standing near a view port clutching a string of beads in a hand so white-knuckled they threatened to break and scatter. Tilan started at the sound of his name, almost dropping the beads. A true aristocrat, he recovered quickly, clearing his throat and shifting from one foot to the other. He discretely tucked the beads away into an inner pocket of his jacket as a servant approached and filled his empty glass.
"To Her Radiance." he said with a practiced projection as he raised the glass. The others quickly followed suit, turning their eyes toward Renata.
"To our brave defenders." Renata added, raising her own glass. They all drank and the chatter soon returned. Renata gestured for Tilen to come closer.
A chair was produced at Renata's side as Tilen walked over. He did not take it until Renata gestured again, giving him permission to sit. He was indeed a proper nobleman. "Tilen," she said, her voice honeyed with concern, "you have barely eaten. If the food is not to your liking, I am sure we can have the chefs make something more suitable."
"Please, forgive me, Your Radiance." Tilen quickly replied. An honest blush reddened his cheeks. It was almost enough to make Renata laugh. "The food is exquisite, of course. I just..." he fumbled.
"You worry for Zela." Renata supplied. Tilen sighed, as if her naming his fears somehow both eased them and worsened them. He kept his eyes down, mostly out of deference to her station. But Renata could sense the shame as well. Tilen loved his wife fiercely, with all his heart. That heart, as it turned out, was what kept him from serving the Empire as she did. And no amount of piteous reassurances the other nobles gave could take away the shame he harbored at his failure to live up to her and to the soldiering expectations of his family. Renata was about to ask him about the beads and the prayers he was repeating in his mind just before when the doors to the room opened and one of the Adamant Guard approached. She leaned away from Tilen, who took his cue and stood, crossing back to the view port. The Guard leaned down and whispered into Renata's ear. All around the room, an obvious chatter attempted in vain to mask the piqued interest of her guests.
"Out." she said, and the room went silent for a fraction of a second. It then rang with the sudden sounds of chairs scraping and bodies moving. The click-clack of heels accompanied the duller thuds of boots and then the room was empty. Renata pressed a button on a console set into the armrest of her chair and a side door quickly opened. A uniformed ship's crew member stepped into the room and bowed.
"A log of available Praetors and their current locations." The crew member bowed and disappeared. Moments later, her datapad pinged with the information. She scrolled through it, searching. When she found the name she'd been looking for, she frowned. That would not do at all. Pressing another button activated a holorecording device. It floated down from a storage space hidden in the ceiling and positioned itself in front of her. Renata took a moment, and then set the device to record.
"You have new orders." she began without preamble. "You will take a detachment to the surface of Nar Shaddaa and seek out Lady Sagitta. Her last known coordinates are attacked to this message. It is paramount to Our interests that Lady Sagitta be brought safely to the Caldera. Failure will not be accepted."
Renata ended the recording and then scrolled through the list of Praetors again, searching for a suitable recipient. A moment later, the message was sent to the comms officer to relay to Lord Zihhaiz.
A loud pop signaled the opening of a new bottle of champagne. Renata turned her gaze from the view port and scanned across the small group that attended to her this day. All of the truly important people were, of course, engaged in some fashion during this endeavor. Many were on the front lines, but most were aboard the ships above Nar Shaddaa, doing their part to bring that Spire down. The Caldera currently housed a number of the Aristocracy whose efforts toward the conflict were not direct. Arms manufacturers, raw material miners, bankers... soft men and women. These sat comfortably, ate plenty, and drank more. They chuckled and gossiped, and they oooo-ed and ahhh-ed whenever a distant ship bloomed in an explosion.
Scattered among them were the spouses or other close kin to key military leaders. These, while not as hardened as their military loved ones, bore the marks of a disciplined life. They sat straighter, ate or drank only as much as manners demanded. They stopped breathing for a moment each time a distant explosion occurred. While the hawks arranged brunches to go over the next quarter's figures, these wondered... Was that his ship? Will she survive?
"Another cup for Lord Tilen." Renata said, her eyes settling onto a thin man standing near a view port clutching a string of beads in a hand so white-knuckled they threatened to break and scatter. Tilan started at the sound of his name, almost dropping the beads. A true aristocrat, he recovered quickly, clearing his throat and shifting from one foot to the other. He discretely tucked the beads away into an inner pocket of his jacket as a servant approached and filled his empty glass.
"To Her Radiance." he said with a practiced projection as he raised the glass. The others quickly followed suit, turning their eyes toward Renata.
"To our brave defenders." Renata added, raising her own glass. They all drank and the chatter soon returned. Renata gestured for Tilen to come closer.
A chair was produced at Renata's side as Tilen walked over. He did not take it until Renata gestured again, giving him permission to sit. He was indeed a proper nobleman. "Tilen," she said, her voice honeyed with concern, "you have barely eaten. If the food is not to your liking, I am sure we can have the chefs make something more suitable."
"Please, forgive me, Your Radiance." Tilen quickly replied. An honest blush reddened his cheeks. It was almost enough to make Renata laugh. "The food is exquisite, of course. I just..." he fumbled.
"You worry for Zela." Renata supplied. Tilen sighed, as if her naming his fears somehow both eased them and worsened them. He kept his eyes down, mostly out of deference to her station. But Renata could sense the shame as well. Tilen loved his wife fiercely, with all his heart. That heart, as it turned out, was what kept him from serving the Empire as she did. And no amount of piteous reassurances the other nobles gave could take away the shame he harbored at his failure to live up to her and to the soldiering expectations of his family. Renata was about to ask him about the beads and the prayers he was repeating in his mind just before when the doors to the room opened and one of the Adamant Guard approached. She leaned away from Tilen, who took his cue and stood, crossing back to the view port. The Guard leaned down and whispered into Renata's ear. All around the room, an obvious chatter attempted in vain to mask the piqued interest of her guests.
"Out." she said, and the room went silent for a fraction of a second. It then rang with the sudden sounds of chairs scraping and bodies moving. The click-clack of heels accompanied the duller thuds of boots and then the room was empty. Renata pressed a button on a console set into the armrest of her chair and a side door quickly opened. A uniformed ship's crew member stepped into the room and bowed.
"A log of available Praetors and their current locations." The crew member bowed and disappeared. Moments later, her datapad pinged with the information. She scrolled through it, searching. When she found the name she'd been looking for, she frowned. That would not do at all. Pressing another button activated a holorecording device. It floated down from a storage space hidden in the ceiling and positioned itself in front of her. Renata took a moment, and then set the device to record.
"You have new orders." she began without preamble. "You will take a detachment to the surface of Nar Shaddaa and seek out Lady Sagitta. Her last known coordinates are attacked to this message. It is paramount to Our interests that Lady Sagitta be brought safely to the Caldera. Failure will not be accepted."
Renata ended the recording and then scrolled through the list of Praetors again, searching for a suitable recipient. A moment later, the message was sent to the comms officer to relay to Lord Zihhaiz.