2171 AD
૨૧૨૬ MA

The Committee on the Status of Humans in the Empire (Sen. Pryvani Tarsuss, chair) had concluded its fact-finding. Two weeks ago, over the strenuous objection of the Interior Minister, who claimed such a vote was not allowed, the committee had voted 11-4 on a non-binding resolution supporting the idea that humans should have Class One status.

It would be easy to look at that and think that the major issue was done, that it was just details left to sort. For a normal group of people, that would be the case, but this was no ordinary group of people. This was a government committee. And as it moved toward a formal resolution of the matter, it was doing so the way committees from time immemorial have as their deadline approached – with chaos and rancor.

Loona had given up on trying to mandate funding for the transition in the bill itself. She wanted education centers, transitional programs in place, but she knew that putting a number in the bill would just be a distraction – it would give opponents something to grasp at without appearing obstinate. “Oh, no, we support the idea, it’s just…why not x billion instead of y billion? Maybe the committee should revisit this.”

Indeed, as they tried to craft a bill, Loona ruefully remembered her first conversation with Ammer. She was taking half a loaf, at best. She and her allies had given on a number of issues, from regulations requiring construction of human-friendly areas of public businesses to a dedicated enforcement team to ensure compliance. They weren’t mission-critical; getting humans through as Class One Sentients was the key. Indeed, it could be argued once they were that many of these accommodations were already required under basic Imperial laws. And there was a team of lawyers ready to make just that argument. Everything else was a detail to be filled in.

“And so,” she said to the committee, “we move on to a tricky point, the precise legal status of humans. I still say I believe they should all be citizens immediately….”

“Out of the question!” Qorni fairly shouted. “I remember three years ago, you saying they need a responsible path to citizenship. Where’s the path?”

“We’ve established a path,” Loona said. “One that requires them to become educated in exchange for their freedom. I suppose you’re in favor of giving them no legal protections?”

“I think this will be a travesty, and I’m voting against it,” Qorni said, “but you know and I know that you won’t have the votes on the floor to make them all citizens overnight.”

“So we free them as pets, and make them…what?” Loona asked. “They were born in the Empire. What do we do with them?” Loona looked over at the representative from Omicron; he’d talked to her a few days ago about a possible compromise.

“Perhaps there is a middle ground! A way to give them glorious rights without making them citizens immediately! The pathetic, adorable humans will need training to become citizens!”

“A good idea, LerBlrrrr! What do you suggest!?” Pryvani asked.

“Make them official residents of the Empire, and give them the rights of an Imperial – to travel, to work, to move where they wish! But do not give them voting rights or glorious benefits unless they can prove worthy of being mighty citizens of the Empire!”

“So we make them second-class citizens? All of them?” Loona said. “LerBlrrrr, I do not know!”

“Not second-class citizens,” Maybel Zimm said. “Those who demonstrate ability to be independent will be allowed to become citizens immediately. We have already allowed them to take aptitude tests through the Education Ministry; five percent demonstrated the expected aptitude for a secondary-school graduate, they could be granted citizenship immediately. Additionally, there are those who are already married to Imperial citizens – not many, but they would certainly qualify as citizens. The remainder would be able to become citizens as soon as they could pass the test.”

“And what of the Avalonians?” Loona asked.

“The Avalonians scored an average of 66 on the combined aptitude and civics tests. That is equal to the Titan test average of 66, and better than the Ler average of 65, and the average for the People of 64, and it’s nearly that of my people’s average. Statisticaly, these are all equal, of course; we have discussed many times the inadequacies of the standard aptitude tests. What we know is that while each species shows some differences in the way they approach problems, their raw cognitive ability is similar, and this holds true for humans, and specifically, the Avalonians. The citizens of Avalon should be granted full citizenship when the bill is enacted into law; they have shown themselves to be more than capable of exercising their rights. And though I know this may be controversial…I believe they should be made an autonomous province.”

“Unbelievable!” Forna Qorni shouted.

“Not at all. It makes sense, really,” Xeum Agace said. “They would be the fifth species to join the Empire. The other three non-Titan species have autonomy. So do the Jotnar. Why not Avalon?”

“What of Vorsha and Azatlia’s wishes? This is their territory.” Dicero Falut grumbled.

“You must have missed the vote, Dicero – they actually support it. To be specific, their provincial legislature already cleared the way to allow Avalon to have whatever status it wants,” Torak Bakadal said.

“Fine. Fine! This is ludicrous anyhow, why not give them a planet!” Qorni barked.

“Technically, it’s a moon, as you know,” Pryvani said.

“So the Avalonians should be citizens right away, then. Okay,” Loona said. “But they’re not the only ones who are deserving.”

“Right. There are the other ones – the ones that run the farm on Archavia. Where is it again?” Ped Dosorovitz asked.

“Yes, the collective in Korafia is a good example,” Zimm said, studying her pad. “They tested out to an average of…62, well within reasonable expectations of variance, and well within the capacity to care for themselves. There are several others…not all would qualify, but those that score above 55 should. I agree, these collectives should be brought in en bloc as citizens, too. Not autonomous, of course – just as municipalities within the existing world upon which they are located.”

“All right,” Loona said. “So Avalon and the collectives – we’ll have to define them officially, but staff can do that – and other humans based on the aptitude, skill, and civics test designed by the Education Ministry. Those that scored high enough to demonstrate ability to function in society will be named citizens, they can retake the test if their initial scores are low, and until they pass, they will be nationals of the Empire, which should grant them the ability to participate in civic life until they qualify. Correct me if I’m wrong, that also qualifies their minor children for education.”

“No, that’s right,” Bakadal said. “Children of Class Ones resident in the Empire may receive education, that’s in the Dunnermac Equality Act.”

“Children born to human-nationals will get education. And children born to human-nationals should be human-nationals, but human-citizen children should be human-citizens,” Representative-for-the-Western-People added. “Just as any other citizen.”

“For now,” Zimm added. “I propose we set a five-year sunset on that; all humans born after the first day of the first month, 2132 will be full citizens. They will have had education for a full generation. At that point, testing them is as unfair as testing the Titans or the Ler.”

Loona frowned. “I still don’t love the idea. But I think it does a good job of balancing the concerns of those who object to citizenship. At the very least, they’ll have the same rights as a visiting Tusolan, and that’s a tremendous step forward. I assume that certification of citizenship will go through the Interior Ministry?”

“Yes,” Qorni said. “It should.”

“Glad to see you’re agreeing to something today, Rep. Qorni. Incidentally, I would remind everyone,” Loona said, “that should this bill pass, the law will be the law. We have all taken an oath to promote obedience to the law. Failing to administer the law fairly and to the stroke is an impeachable offense.”

Qorni stared daggers at Loona, but said nothing.

“All right,” Loona said. “Ms. Lektas, can you and your staff prepare draft language?”

“Of course, Representative.”

“Good. I hope I can explain this to some of my friends.”

“Don’t you mean pets?” Qorni jeered.

The room was silent for a moment, before a voice, full of power and will, broke it.

“The member from Telemaki Three Rivers is out of order; comments should refrain from personal attacks. And she is reminded that it is very likely that soon, that will likely be not merely an insult, but an open statement of bigotry against a Class One Sentient Species, and that her statements in this committee will be part of the public record. She may, perhaps, wish to remember that this debate will be remembered long after she and the other members of this committee are gone, and that her grandchildren’s grandchildren will be reading these transcripts someday.”

Pryvani’s eyes were narrow, and full of fire; she then simply leaned back in her chair, and twirled the hammer for her bell idly, as if she had just ordered a drink.

“Thank you, madam chair,” Loona said, giving Pryvani the slightest of smiles. “All right, I believe that we’ve given staff a number of changes to make; before we recess, I move that we alert the Floor Leader that we will be ready to issue a report at his convenience.”

The motion was moved and seconded and passed quickly. They recessed, Loona gathered her pad and strode out of the room, only to be cut off by Qorni as she neared the exit.

“You think you’re very clever,” Qorni said. “Enjoy it while it lasts. This bill won’t get to the floor, and even if it does, those human votes you were counting on aren’t going to materialize in time for the next election. And my majority will put things right far before they ever give these animals the vote.”

“Maybe so,” Loona said. “But then, you can explain to the humans why they’re having their citizenship stripped from them. And explain to the Dunnermacs and Avartle and Ler and Jotunn why it certainly couldn’t happen to them. I imagine they’ll be a bit concerned.”

“They won’t be a problem,” Qorni said, storming off.

“We’ll see, Madam Deputy Floor Leader,” Loona retorted, and headed off for her own office.

She walked in, and smiled to see it was still a hub of activity. She had always had a good staff, but even without Inna, this might be the best she’d ever had.

“Hi, boss,” Ammer said. Well, to be exact, his hologram said it; he usually didn’t use it, but things were too busy right now for him to bother with the hovercraft. He needed to be able to move.

“Hi, Ammer,” Loona said, gesturing to her office. “Two seconds?”

“Always,” he said, following along. He closed the door, and said, “So, what’s the damage?”

“Humans are automatically nationals,” Loona said. “They can test into citizenship, Interior Ministry will control that, but the language is going to be extremely clear, your girlfriend is drafting it.”

“Avalon?”

“Autonomous province. Citizens right away. And collectives and habitations that test high enough also get citizenship, including the Tribe. And a sunset clause that declares all humans citizens by 2132, regardless of test results.”

Ammer nodded. “So…clean sweep?”

Loona grinned. “Clean sweep. Qorni actually thought I was angry.”

Ammer laughed, and clapped his hands. “Boss, you are too damn good. Okay, nice. About five percent of humans passed the aptitude/civics test so far, right?”

“Yup, including my entire family,” Loona said with a smile.

“That’s the least surprising thing I’ve ever heard. Nonah Armac can read and write? Dhan Armac can add?” Ammer chuckled. Then he sobered, for just a minute. “What about….”

“If a Tusolan marries an Imperial, they are granted citizenship. If a human national marries an Imperial Citizen…well, obviously. And I know for a fact that you passed the test, Ammer, and you’re Avalonian. You’ll be a citizen three times over.”

Ammer nodded. “Just…want to have myself covered however it works out. If….”

“If nothing. Inna will say yes, if she doesn’t ask you first. Now, you think this will play all right?”

“Yamma and I had a bet. He didn’t think we could get anyone citizenship right away. Now, I get to tell him that the moment the bill passes, he is one. Joca will grumble that it’s not everything, but hells, that’s his job. Willing to bet if I cornered him, even he’d admit this was as good as we could hope. Yeah, boss, I think we can sell this.”

Loona grinned, and leaned back. “About damn time,” she said. “Five percent down, ninety-five percent to go.”

“And they’ll be class one nationals. Even the ones who haven’t passed the test…they’ll have the right to do what they want. Citizen or not…Boss, pretty damn soon, you’re gonna free every human in this Empire.”

“I know,” Loona said. “And you know what that means.”

“Of course,” Ammer said, with a rueful smile. “Then comes the tough part.”

2172 AD
૨૧૨૭ MA

It had been a long, long year.

Forna Qorni had been dragging her feet every moment of every day. She had made the budget process a near-disaster. They’d been brought to the brink of dissolution three times, only for Qorni to pull them back each time.

If Rodrec Zeramblin hadn’t been annoyed, he’d have been impressed. She’d worked the rules to their breaking point. And yeah, she’d taken a massive hit in the process – her overall favorable was down to 28 percent, with 52 percent disapproval. Her support, though, was all from conservatives, who suspected exactly what Zeramblin knew to be true; she was trying to find a way to kill emancipation. They respected that. Indeed, a majority of the caucus agreed with her. Qorni had feinted at removing Zeramblin more than once, even cornering him in a caucus meeting and asking him, point blank, if he’d allow the caucus to vote on bringing the Tarsuss Committee report to the floor. Zeramblin had told her flatly he wouldn’t, but that he’d notify the cabinet if he decided to. That had been enough to defuse it, but the budget had passed a month ago, and he knew that the next full caucus meeting would be a good deal more rancorous.

They’d been in recess ever since the budget had passed. Qorni had proposed a two-month “listening tour” immediately after the budget passed. That had ended up being negotiated down to one month. Zeramblin knew, as the cabinet settled in, that she’d be looking for something else – but there was nothing. She’d run out of delaying tactics.

It was time. And so, when the discussion of the listening tour ended, Zeramblin spoke up.

“Now, the Tarsuss Committee is approaching the finish line, whether we want it to or not. Forna, what procedures have you implemented to prepare for transition should the measure pass the House?”

“I’m not going to implement anything,” Forna Qorni said. “That’s the Interior Ministry’s position. If the bill passes, I will do my duty under the law. But until it passes…I don’t have to do anything.”

“Statute allows you to begin procedures to make this transition smooth,” Zeramblin said. “I know, you don’t want it to pass, but we’ve got a duty to be prepared if it does. Gotta think of the good of the Empire, not just politics.”

“The good of the Empire requires us to defeat this measure, gorram the cost.”

Zeramblin sighed. “Forna…support is over 57 percent in the most recent polling. And I’m willing to bet it will have the votes to pass if and when it reaches the floor. We have to prepare. Sometimes you lose. You don’t make the people pay for it.”

“We haven’t lost yet, Mr. Floor Leader. That’s why we need to figure out a way to stall this,” the Interior Minister said, flipping through the committee’s final draft report. “We have to push this back until after the next election. We need more votes against it. You need to tell them to keep working, Mr. Floor Leader.”

“Another election won’t bring more votes to the conservatives. You know that. Public’s sick of the debate, Forna,” Rodrec Zeramblin said, leaning back. “They’re ready for us to make a gorram decision already. I tell the committee to keep meeting, Armac’s gonna run to the press and complain that we’re now just brazenly stalling, and the press is gonna report that we’re stalling, and demand to know why we aren’t letting the committee finish, especially when the committee itself is ready to report out. And that’ll be a hard question to answer, because clearly, we are stalling. And calling an election right now is suicide; this will be the issue of the election, and the public is not on the side of delay.”

“We’ve given you cover,” Qorni said. “I’ve held the conservative members of the House firm. You can say that it still doesn’t take into account our concerns. We can put pressure on the marginal voters. Bakadal….””

“Bakadal is only voting no because you’ve made him. He told me flat out he’s voting for the final bill once the question’s called,” the Floor Leader said. “Probably told you the same thing. You’re good at twisting his arm, but eventually, even he’s gonna get tired of being a good soldier. Better to have him switch over now than have him defect and denounce you.”

“Who cares if he denounces this?” Forna Qorni said, pacing. “Mr. Floor Leader, if this comes to the floor, it will have a better-than-even chance of passing. We can’t let that happen! I told you three years ago, this is an existential question for our side!”

“And I told you three years ago that there was more than one path forward, and we had to pick the right one. Unfortunately, I’m not sure history will judge that we did. But here we are. It’s over.”

“We aren’t done, not yet. You have to stall. Buy us time. The caucus will back you.”

“It’s too late, Forna,” Zeramblin said, looking down at his pad. “I’ve already sent through the dispensation papers. Committee will vote tomorrow, as the majority has requested, and they’re going to pass the bill. Best you can hope for is to put in a few mines before final passage. Once it passes the committee, Armac will bring it to the floor within a week or two, and we’re bound to hear it.”

Qorni stared at the Floor Leader; all of the cabinet did, in fact.

“Mr. Floor Leader…with all due respect…you said you would tell the cabinet!”

“That’s what I’m doing, right now.”

“But….”

“Statute’s clear, Minister. Committee reports at the call of the Floor Leader. The committee asked me to call the vote, I called the vote.”

“It wasn’t unanimous.”

“Never is. But 11-4 is an overwhelming majority, especially when you know it’s gonna be 12-3 for passage.”

“Rodrec…you know the whip count, there are at least 70 members of the majority on the fence. They have 470 votes, at least, on the minority side. If this comes to a vote, odds are it passes.”

“That is correct. The bill is going to pass committee tomorrow, maybe the next day. Then it’s going to come to the floor. And then it’s going to pass the Senate and the House. And then it will be law.”

Half of the other ministers had risen, expressing their shock and outrage at the Floor Leader, who sat calmly behind his desk, taking the abuse. He said nothing, and neither did Qorni. They’d both known this moment would come, for the last three years. He waited for the room to quiet, and for Qorni to ask the question he knew she would.

“Mr. Floor Leader…you support this measure, do you not?”

He looked over at the Representative for Telemaki Three Rivers and nodded. “Yes, Forna, I do.”

“Why did you make this decision without consulting us?” the Minister of State, Diodio Eusy asked.

“Dio, I’ve watched the committee. Listened to testimony. I’m convinced. They’re people. And I know that’s not a comfortable answer, but it’s the right one. Statuary authority on this is mine, it’s my call. And I’ll be fraked if I choose to deny that they’re people because it’s politically expedient. I have to do what’s right. I won’t end up another Gleebo. None of us have to, you know. We still have the chance to switch and back this, and that’s what I would urge the conservatives to do, while there’s still time…we can make this vote near-unanimous, and whatever out position was, we can always say we did the right thing on passage. I urge you to do that,” Zeramblin said, looking at Qorni, “but I have a feeling I know what’s gonna happen next.”

“I lack confidence in you, Mr. Floor Leader,” Forna Qorni said.

Zeramblin grinned. “How many years have you been waiting to say that, Forna? Five? Ten? Hells, I bet you were tempted to say it your first day on the job. Well, Minister, I understand you lack confidence in me, and as chair of Green and Black, that triggers a vote of no confidence among the caucus, assuming any other officer seconds, and I bet you do, Dio.”

“Mr. Floor Leader, I do second,” Eusy said. “I understand your decision, but I don’t think you can lead the conservatives after this.”

“Probably not. All right. Well, I’ll not belabor things. Forna, I think we all know you have the votes, or will once this gets out. I will stipulate that the caucus will oust me, so I am hereby resigning as leader of the Majority, effective immediately. When the House meets tonight, the Majority can formally move to reorganize the legislature with you as Floor Leader. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you have some work to do, and I’m going to enjoy my last day as your Floor Leader.”

Qorni and the other cabinet ministers left in a daze. Qorni was almost giddy; she was going to be Floor Leader. She’d dreamed of that since she was a kid. And now…now it was in her grasp.

Zeramblin had really done her a favor. There wasn’t time for another candidate to come forward. She’d be installed as Floor Leader because someone had to be, and once there, inertia would take over.

She had a lot to do. They didn’t have to hold a formal meeting of the caucuses, but she did have to get the leadership behind her. She’d keep the current group – she thought it would be best if she kept the Interior portfolio for the moment, rather than rush into appointing someone. She could use it as a bargaining chip, not to mention that having it would help the plan along. Plus as Floor Leader she could drag her heels, and allow more of the pieces to be put into place. But that was for tonight; she had a great deal of work to do to be ready for tonight. Hells, she had a speech to write….

She was so focused on what had to be done in the ten hours between now and the floor session that she failed to notice something Eusy had said, something glaringly obvious. But she would. It was just a matter of time.

* * *

“Poron, may I have a moment?”

“Of course, Scylane,” Jota Cesil said. “I assume you heard from Hab.”

“Zeramblin called the committee to a vote, the traitor. Lemescu says he has assurances that Rep. Qorni, who is likely to be the new Floor Leader, will delay the vote. But it is inevitable.”

“Delay is good for us, you know.”

“Hab has made that clear. And she has been receptive; she doesn’t know what we have planned, of course,” Scylane Rimosi said, “but she herself is looking at ways to subvert it on her own. Her containment proposal…well, it’s piqued the interests of our friends.”

“I should think so,” Cesil chuckled.

“By the way, they’ve asked me to see to something…they have an operative. One that needs a clean identity.”

Scylane pushed a small datacube across the table. “Young woman, they think she’s got talent. Don’t know her real identity, of course, but….”

“Better that way,” Cesil said, palming the cube and plugging it into his desk. He looked for half a second, then hit a few keys. A few minutes later, he pulled the cube out.

“Have some identities set up already?”

“Generally a good idea. Especially given everything that’s coming. Everything’s legal and registered, she can get a new identification card anywhere with genetic matching. I assume they know that having her be a Federationer could be…well, troublesome.”

“They have her education and work histories set up. Those are easier to fake, you know. She’ll have been living outside the Federation since she was a child. But a new identity…that’s hard to keep clean without government assistance.”

“Exactly,” Cesil said. “What’s their plan with her?”

“Honestly, I don’t know for sure,” Scylane said. “But she’s going to make things difficult on the humans, and that makes her our friend.”

“Indeed,” Cesil said. “You know, Scylane…I’m thinking I may not run for re-election in 2130. 25 years is a good long run. I know you’ve been working to find others to support you if you decide to challenge me. You won’t have to. You’ll have my endorsement.”

Scylane smiled. “I appreciate, Poron, that you do not hold it against me. I was only exploring my options, it is no disrespect.”

“If you weren’t looking to oust me, you wouldn’t be worthy of succeeding me. Just remember that I know you were doing this despite you telling your allies not to tell me; remember who’s running this operation.”

“Poron, I could never forget,” Scylane said, with a smile.

* * *

“The Representative from Telemaki Three Rivers is recognized,” the chair of the House said, as opening business had concluded.

Qorni stood, and looked over at her soon-to-be-ex leader. She almost felt bad doing this. Almost.

“Madam Chair,” Qorni said, a grave façade fixed firmly upon her face, “on behalf of the majority, I move to reorganize the leadership of the House, replacing the current Floor Leader with myself, keeping all other ministries as they are.”

There was a murmur that roiled the gallery, and a softer one that roiled the floor. Qorni looked across the chamber to the minority leader’s desk. A motion to reorganize allowed the minority to offer whatever slate they had ready. Qorni wondered if Armac would nominate herself, or have someone else do it for her.

“The Representative from Telemaki Three Rivers on behalf of the Majority moves to change the makeup of the leadership, replacing the Representative from Wedney with herself as Floor Leader. By custom, the Representative from Tannhauser West is recognized to offer her leadership group.”

“Thank you, Madam Chair,” Loona said. “My, but this is surprising,” she added, looking across at Forna Qorni with a smile. “So very surprising. Madam Chair, we move the following slate for the leadership of the legislature. For Minister of Non-Titan Affairs, Rep. Blrrr of Omicron. For Minister of Education, Rep. Representative-for-the-Western-Avartle-People, Avartle Western Continent.”

Qorni looked up in surprise, and caught Armac’s wide smile. Well. She’d managed to get the non-Titans to formally back her? This could be a problem, Qorni realized. A very serious one. She really didn’t want to go to the Titan Party for support. Of course, she wouldn’t have to; doing some quick math, she realized the conservatives would still lead on the first ballot, and she’d be able to put pressure on the non-Titans after that. The risk of the Titan Party joining the government would probably bring them over to her side. It would be a tenuous coalition, but it would hold. And if it didn’t…new elections would delay action as sure as anything she could manage.

“…for Minister of the Interior, myself,” Loona continued. “For Minister of the Treasury, Rep. Marteroc of Vorsha and Azatlia. For Minister of Law, Rep. Cethje of Kaeda Central. For Minister of Defense, Rep. Zimm of Dunnermac North Sea. For Minister of State, Rep. Kriole of Turga Kornzana. For Deputy Floor Leader, myself.”

That brought a gasp. Now, for the coup de grace.

“And for Floor Leader….”

She smiled. She paused for just a second, letting the room lean in. Loona knew exactly how much she was going to enjoy this reaction.

“For Floor Leader, Rep. Zeramblin of Wedney.”

The roar from the floor and gallery were so loud that nobody heard Loona say “Wedney.” She grinned across the aisle at her erstwhile opponent, and then looked over at Forna Qorni, who was staring at the man sitting beside her with pure shock.

It took the chair some time to restore order and put the question before the floor, but the result had been obvious the moment Loona mentioned his name. One by one, sixty-six members of the Empire caucus cast their votes, including Dio Eusy and Rodrec Zeramblin, and walked across the chamber to be welcomed by their friends in the minority – strike that, the majority.

“By a vote of 546 to 406 with 48 abstaining, the slate nominated by Rep. Armac is confirmed. By tradition, upon adjournment, the incoming cabinet members are directed to meet with their predecessors immediately after adjournment. The Chair recognizes the Floor Leader, the Representative from Wedney.”

Zeramblin stepped to the podium on the south side of the floor, what was now the majority side of the floor. It felt odd, but in a way, it felt very right. He looked across at Qorni, and shook his head just a bit. He felt bad about it, he supposed; she had to feel betrayed.

But she also had to know that it was never gonna be that easy.

“Madam Chair,” Zeramblin said when a modicum of order had been restored, “I have but one order of business before adjournment; I wish to note for the record that under the terms of the 2124 First Contact Act, I have requested that the Tarsuss Committee do vote on its proposal at its earliest convenience, and submit its findings and any pertinent legislation to the floor. I move we adjourn until 38:00 on the 19^th.”

* * *

In a small bar in Kaol, Salaha Snyusia slid a small satchel to a young woman.

This was, of course, not possible. There were officially no bars on Kaol. No people at all. It was illegal to settle here – too close to Betelgeuse, it would be fried when the perpetually unstable star went supernova. But that was precisely why approximately nine hundred people stuck it out there. It was an excellent place to do business outside the reach of the Imperials.

Oh, that’s not to say the Imperials didn’t check up on them once in a while. They did. But the settlement was built into the bluffs on the planet, and the planet itself was far from inviting. The air was only breathable for about five to ten minutes before its high carbon dioxide levels became dangerous. The planet was tidally locked to its small red dwarf star, and its lone ocean along the terminator was steadily evaporating. There were planets in the Kokinit Restriction Zone that were much more inviting, and indeed, they had their own small, illegal settlements. But the Imperials knew about those, and were well aware of when they were open for business. Kaol, though, managed to slide beneath their scanners, which is precisely why Snyusia was meeting her client here.

“This is everything you will need,” Snyusia said. “Your complete identity. Transcripts, work history, and identity card – if anyone asks, you only lived in the Federation for a year.”

The woman looked at Snyusia, then down at the satchel. There was something just slightly off-putting about this her mannerisms. Nothing Salaha could have put a finger on, exactly – she blinked too much sometimes, or perhaps not enough. Tilted her head at an angle that just seemed slightly off. As if her entire manner was constructed, a constant act to appear normal.

Of course, Salaha Snyusia knew this woman’s history, and knew this was absolutely true.

“This is very good. Very good,” The woman said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She pressed her thumb to the ID card, and smiled when she saw it showed a true match. “Very good indeed. You continue to do excellent service for my family. We had concerns when your father died….”

“My father and my family have benefited from our alliance,” Salaha said. “I am honored to continue our relationship.”

“As are we. Very well,” the woman said. She slid a packet of credits across the table, then slipped the bag over her shoulder. “Thank you again. We will be in touch when we need something more.”

“Wonderful. Oh, and just a tip – you might want to make it a habit to use ‘I.’ The ‘we’ thing will be a giveaway.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, I have no problem using ‘I’ when I’m around Titans…but you, Salaha Snyusia, know who I am, and who my family is. We have no need to act around you.”

“No,” Salaha said. “You do not. Good luck, Overseer.”

“My family does not believe in luck…but we do appreciate the sentiment, Salaha Snyusia. We do.”