Elenor

Thepsis

"Hold my holos."

It was harder as a Senator to just get away from it all. I'd finally gotten ensnared by all the obligations I'd spent a lifetime trying to get out of, or thinking I was too good for. Maybe I'd gotten slow. Maybe I liked soft living more than I should. Either way, I'd dropped out of light speed decades ago. Gotten older. Gotten wealthier too, that was nice. Thought that would solve all my problems. And honestly, it solved a lot of them. Not worrying about whether my ship had enough fuel to go from point A to point B. Not having to worry about getting shot over a bad game of Sabacc. All nice things.

I'd even gotten slow enough to commit the most cardinal of all sins of my younger self. I'd gotten married. Elenor Antillies. She had money, but by then so did I. She was pretty, but not too pretty. After all, I'd been burned by a beautiful face more than once. She definitely didn't put up with my bullshit, so once I'd run out of all the usual excuses, what choice did I have? I eventually had to marry her. Had to love her. Had to have a kid with her. That was a tough sell to a guy who'd spent his life only really loving himself, and even that relationship was touch and go. Elenor Antillies snared me just as surely as Sasseeri Reeouurra once did, although the noose was infinitely more comfortable.

"Senator, we're here."

I looked up from my comfortable introspection. Huh. We were already on the ground. Damned luxury shuttles. No inertial tells. No juddering. Sometimes I missed flying in ships where you could tell your speed by the vibration in your spine. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't numb either.

"Thanks Jaxon."

I eased aside the recently-departed remains of my Corellian whisky, and righted myself to my feet. Little things I never used to do now ran on autopilot. Hair, coiffed. Tie, cinched. I caught a glimpse of myself in faint reflection out the window. The only thing that never seemed to change about me were my eyes. Turning back to my aide, I noticed the parcel under his arm.

"Is that it?"

"Like you ordered, sir."

Smiling never came hard for me, even when I didn't mean it. It was good for the public, after all. The parcel changed hands.

"I let the house know you'll be staying the weekend."

The smile diminished a little, and like an idiot, I blurted "How did you..."

"I know what day it is, sir."

Oh.

There was a look. Unguarded, but quickly smoothed over.

"Make sure the committee knows..."

"...it's already taken care of, sir."

Oh.

What kind of fool was I? Of course Jaxon knew that. He shifted on his feet, and I coughed into my hand.

"Right. Right."

Turning back to the window, my resolve fell a little more, but I swallowed it down. Why did I keep doing this? Jaxon closed the distance, and I felt the parcel pushed under my arm.

"Go, sir."

So I did. I shook the lead out of my feet and debarked, stepping into a perfect day. There weren't any shortages of those on Thepsis. Mid-seventies, sunny. The trees and the grass as green as green could get in the galaxy. It was rare that a day fell on Thepsis that wasn't good for a walk, so I took one. Down the trail I knew well. Past the Balo trees. The fountain of the Hospitaler. I'd never had a home in my life (Nar Shaddaa sure as hell didn't count), so Elenor insisted I borrow hers. Her ancestral home. Was it ten generations of Antillies that lived here? Twenty? I never quite fit in, but at the same time, the damned place tried its damnedest to make sure I did.

I took my time. They say its not the age, it's the mileage, but when you've got 65 years and the odometer's rolling over, you sometimes change your habits. No more glitterstim. Constitutionals were my new drug. I probably couldn't walk 200 meters without breathing heavy in my heady days of self-abuse. Now? Five kilometers a go, almost daily. Sure, there was creaking here and there, but it just reminded me of where I was going. Sometimes I'd take a break. Lean against a trunk of a Balo tree. Watch a dozen kids on the quad play a pickup game of smashball. A far cry from hitting tin cans with rebar in the Vertical City.

Still, I wasn't here to envy the young. I pushed on. Still a ways to go. The rest of the way was a hill. It took me fifteen minutes to get up to the top, and by that point, I had to catch my breath. Strategically-placed Balo trees once again saved the day. It also helped me to gather my resolve.

Just a few more steps to go.

Once again, they were heavy. I stared at her, an unguarded face full of emotions. She always waited for me here. Her and the boy. My boy. They were the dependable ones.

"Hey there."

The parcel under my arm felt heavy. I held it with both hands.

"I'm late, I know. Hell back at the office, what can I say?"

They let me do all the talking. I guess that was the nature of our family outings.

"I talked to your mom. She's doing alright. Still insists on the blue hair look, and nobody can talk her out of it. She knew I was coming, and told me to tell you she loves you both."

Turning my attention away from them, I looked down at the box, my clumsy fingers tugging at the ribbon that bound it.

"I got you both something. Same as always, so I guess the surprise is out. Heh. I gave up trying to surprise you. You always know what I'm up to anyway.

And even then, you always forgave me."

My voice was breaking, and I could feel the heat in the corner of my eyes. I kept my eyes down on the box, willing my hands to work.

"I wish you could teach me how to forgive myself. I can't count up the days, hours, or minutes I wasted. I should have given them all to you both, instead of..."

I shook the parcel for emphasis, closing my eyes tightly.

"You two drug me kicking and screaming to learn how to be a better man, and I've tried, Elenor. I've tried, Jac. Maybe it's the right thing to do and I'm sure it is, but it was for you. Everything.

Even when it comes a day late."

A sigh rattled out of my bones, and I hung my head. A tear fell onto the parcel with a faint pat.

"I'm tired. I've had a good run, and better than I deserve, but I'm tired of it Elenor. I can fake the smiles for a while, but soon I'll be tired of that too. I want to come home. I want you to tell me what to do, because what do I do anymore? I had it all figured out before you two."

Finally, the ribbon gave way. I opened the box with the reverie of some outer rim high priest of some dead religion, pulling the cluster of flowers from within. Seven for Elenor, and one for Jac. It had been the same for the past twenty years.

Elenor Antillies Prent

Jac Ledo Prent

May the light within you outshine the stars

"I love you Elenor. I love you Jac."

Careful hands closed the now empty box.

"I hope that somewhere, you know."

There was a sedan waiting at the bottom of the hill to take me to the house. I'd said everything I wanted to say, so it was time to go. The trip home was as beautiful as I remembered. Nothing ever changed on Thepsis. I remember offhandedly telling Elenor I wouldn't mind ending up here after everything was said and done.

Now I was sure of it.

Tani Antillies was there, of course. She had to be pushing a hundred years, but anyone who asked, she always told them she was just a few years past forty. I liked the old bird, mainly because she liked whisky and sabacc. She always called me Scoundrel. I liked that. I had a notion that she, just like Elenor, had that notion that I knew where the bodies were buried, but that I was at least good on more days than I was bad, so I was her kind of scoundrel.

"Welcome home, you old scoundrel."

I stepped out of the speeder, easy smile in tow.

"Who are you calling old?"

Tani laughed that creaky laugh up on the veranda, sipping a glass of sweet tea that I knew was on the hard side.

"Don't be mad. There's a lot to say about us vintage models."

I made my way up the steps. The help already had my particular brand waiting on a tray. I waved him off. I'd pre-medicated enough on this return trip.

"Vintage model, huh? You should've been in marketing."

"Me? Work?" Tani laughed that creaky laugh again. "My first three husbands did their turn on the snake oil trade. Selling barbecue to ladies in white gloves. I admire the gab, Scoundrel, but I take my leisure seriously."

I'd always heard those stories about a man's mother-in-law becoming a nemesis. Mine was a peach. Maybe I was being too introspective, because Tani got that impatient look in her eye.

"Sit down, you're in my sun."

I did like I was told, finding my rhythm in the rocking chair to her right.

"You know she loved you."

I turned from my gaze of the immaculate Antillies lawn back to her age-worn face.

"I know."

Tani just nodded along, sipping her whisky-spiked tea.

"Everyone thought you were bad news."

I smiled at that.

"Well, they were right on that one."

"I heard it all. That you were mixed up with some bad seeds. You had a sketchy past. But I think you put on. Always have. Elenor could see right through you, kiddo."

I rocked deep in my chair, my mind leaping back decades to the best of years.

"It wasn't all an act. I've got my demons."

"We all do, Scoundrel. You're special, but you're not that special. Two of my three husbands were bootleggers, and the other fella was from Corellia. I'll tell you what's special though. When two people meet each other and see the whole picture, warts and all. Sometimes it's too much and they call it quits. But sometimes it's serendipity. All those bad seeds dry up, and the ones that don't? The other one forgives 'em all."

I glanced back at the old crone, a skeptical look on my face.

"I've called Elenor a lot of things, but never a bad seed."

Tani laughed. "That girl put on a whirlwind makeover for you. She grew up hell on wheels in this house, and you've heard the stories. That ain't the point."

Tani paused her rocking, and squared to face me.

"She knew the moment she laid eyes on you that you were the one. And it took me five minutes seeing you together and I knew it. Saw you through all that flash and new money, and even through all the lumps you took to get to that moment. I just think you ought to know that. You weren't in Elenor's life for nearly as long as you should have been, but you made those years good for her."

A breath rattled out of me after being held for too long, and I picked up rocking in my chair.

"I told myself after it happened that it would hurt, but I'd find a way to move on. I told myself, heh. Guess everyone told me that, and I just claimed the credit for the idea. And every time I keep coming back, I keep waiting for the pain go away. All it does is dull. And all I can think now is that I'm just marking time. Waiting for my chance to get put up on that hill."

I took a look back at Tani, and she was just smiling along. I thought I lost her in the plot for a moment, but I often never gave her enough credit.

"I've buried three husbands. It's funny, it doesn't make you any better at doing it the second or third time. And sure, I'd have rainy days where I felt like, hell, thats it. The jig is up. Why don't I just throw myself down some stairs and be done with it. But then I got to thinking about it. Whenever I get to wherever they are again, and they ask what I've been doing with myself, what do they want to hear? That I laid up for a few years like a bump on a log and then decided I didn't want to play? That's no fun."

The old Antillies widow's eyes sparkled.

"So I got this notion that I'd find some adventure to get into from day to day, even if that just means I take my tea with a little whisky or go down to the parlor for some sabacc. Maybe I can't raise the kind of hell I could a few years ago, but I figure I can raise a little. And when I do shuffle off on account of doing something foolish, I figure I get to finally meet them with a whole sack full of good stories."

Tani's charisma was infectious, and she got me smiling along in spite of myself.

"You've got plenty of years in you, Scoundrel. Don't spend 'em moping. Elenor didn't much care for a mope."

Hosnian Prime
-- two weeks later --

Back to work.


The Senate was a regular grindhouse of late. The election of the new Chancellor was delayed - again. Kicking the can down the road a bit as the rest of the Senate tried to work with the transitionary Chancellor on an entire docket of issues. At the heap of the list were the First Order and the Resistance. Ignore them both and let them sort out their little spat in the Outer Rim's seediest armpit? Confront both of them as illegal secessionist organizations? Or side with one against the other?

I fell firmly into the former camp. At least for now. Few things in politics were ever unchangeable. I'd seen more than a few Senators end their careers by taking the wrong stand; backing the wrong podracer. The years had gone by, though. Memories of the war weren't as sharply focused in some people. In the younger generation, they'd never known it at all. That was good, but it also messed with peoples' perspective. If you don't know what war is about, it doesn't seem like a big deal to play with the notion.

I still remembered.

"I have your day's itinerary."

Ah, Luce. The pretty face who kept my little kingdom lubricated. She was from Corulag, and her accent had plenty of Core to it. It wasn't the reason I hired her, but between that and a Nar Shadaan brogue, people clearly trusted words a little more with a Core accent. It also didn't hurt that she was beautiful. A solid seven and a half. That was always fun to keep the tabloids guessing, whenever I wasn't rubbing elbows with any other pretty face. Actresses and musicians at five hundred credit plate charity fundraising dinners. I didn't mind the talk, as long as Luce could manage and massage it. She curated my image. I was the Silver Fox of Bespin, so they said. A charming smile who played easy on the HoloNet feeds, and one of the few committed bachelors in the Senate chambers. Hell, we'd practically made an industry in the press on speculation stories on who I might be taking to dinner.

My eyes fell from Luce's face to the contents in each of her hands. One was a datapad. The other was a highball glass full of what looked like pond scum.

"And breakfast too. You shouldn't have." I said, inflecting on the literal side of my words.

Kalo leaf smoothies. Antioxidants and vitamins and apparently a lot better for cholesterol than a breakfast of a couple of fried eggs. Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, but I was beginning to almost tolerate it.

Almost.

Luce smirked.

"Yes, well no time for a sit-down breakfast I'm afraid."

I gave her a pointed look from where I was currently happily sitting, on my ergonomic office ball. It was a stupid fad I'd stuck with until I'd tolerated it once again, but apparently sitting on it strengthened your core, instead of letting yourself go soft with frivolities like a chair...with a back.

If I didn't look so good on it, it might look ridiculous.

"Alright Luce, lay it on me."

I paused, a little frown here and gone.

"The news. Not the smoothie, that is."

I gestured to the coaster, like she needed any instruction. She placed the drink within easy reach, and I took my first tentative sip.

"You have a meeting with the Energy Committee at 0930 to discuss the fuel cracking depot on Malastare."

"You pulled the Commerce Guild figures for that, right?" I countered after cutting a sip short, daubing my lips with a napkin to remove a trace of green.

"Already assembled." she countered smartly. I nodded along.

"Then?"

"At 1100, the Federal Defense Council presents their joint readiness report."

"Send an aide for a transcript." I replied dismissively.

"You won't be attending?"

"No. It's a dog and pony show. If there's anything in the report that stinks we can press them in committee in two weeks."

Luce paused a little skeptically, then struck the item from the list. "Noted."

"The tibanna mining deal on Karthu?"

"Postponed." Luce replied with muted disappointment.

"Let me guess, the Sullustans don't like it."

Luce rolled her shoulders a little.

"I think everyone is just waiting for the dust to settle after Kuat."

"Don't want to sink a well and not have a customer, figures."

I shifted on my ergonomic ball, taking another sip of breakfast.

"When, then?"

"Next month, it seems."

"And we don't have enough votes to just throw it on the floor and see what turns up."

"Not likely, no."

I began to run through my options, to see who I could put pressure on to get the Sullustans to come to the table. The Cizerack had been ready to go, but then the Mon Cals backed out which left me needing a mover to convince them. Corellia was...unreliable. That left the Nubians, the Siintaali, and the Fel Group.

"Is lunch open?"

Luce panned down through the itenerary.

"You're meeting your new intern for lunch."

Damn. I closed my eyes in exasperation.

"Cancel that."

Luce pursed her lips a little and didn't flinch.

"You've canceled that twice already."

Double damn. It was an understood that sometimes things happened in the Senate. Cancelling an engagement one time was common. Two times was occasional. Three? People began to talk. Even if that meant turning away some unpaid rube from a local university. It was bad press.

"Alright, fine. Tomorrow then. Reach out to Zarnil Fel, and Kdorrjac. Beshaal Gant if you can get her too."

"Done." Luce gave me a look to see if I was intent on wriggling any further on my daily obligations.

"Have that new kid meet in my office at noon. Working lunch, nothing fancy."

11:57

There were a whole heap of things in the galaxy worse than being late, right? Crime. Treason. Murder. Mass-murder. Those were the thoughts that ran through the mind of the esteemed Constantine Antilles the Third as he fidgeted, shuffling from foot to foot; awkwardly, timidly, and ineffectively trying to make his way through the bustling crowd of people pouring out of the Senate complex elevators, making it nigh impossible for him to navigate his way through in the other direction.

"Hello? Excuse... can I just...?"

Something muscular and furry growled at him as Constantine inadvertently found himself in it's path, a harsh shove sending him stumbling back a pace or two, into a trio those spider-looking walrus aliens that he absolutely knew the name of even though it didn't spring readily to mind. They gabbled away at him in a language that he didn't entirely understand, but at least they didn't stab him or anything, which was actually helping his whole anxiety situation the tiniest bit.

Well, maybe anxiety was over-selling it. Nervousness. That sounded better, and a lot less pathetic. Not that Constantine was some frightened, naive, out-of-his-depth kid from New Alderaan who technically hadn't set foot on another planet his whole life because his Dad always told him to stay put and guard the ship on the rare occasions that they made landfall instead of docking at an orbital station. Okay so sure, technically his big brothers had never got around to teaching him the fighting back part of rough housing; and yeah, technically even his sister could beat the crap out of him if she really set her mind to it; but just because he wasn't strong didn't mean he didn't have strengths. His talents were more cerebral. Vocal.

Mouth-related. Tell the ladies your talents are mouth-related.

The problem with being the kind of guy who could talk people into anything - or talk yourself out of any situation - is that you kinda needed a face-to-face, one-on-one sort of situation to thrive. A crowd of people, absolutely none of whom had any real interest in listening to anyone? Not really his forte. And so he ducked, and dodged, and weaved, trying to ascend up the river of lunch-going Senatorial staff, but making pretty much no progress whatsoever.

His eyes were drawn to the vast holo-display on the wall above, flashing up time codes and environmental summaries for all the important worlds of the New Republic; because for some reason knowing that it was overcast and breezy at 0743 in Coronet City was vitally important information for anyone entering the Senate Complex. Whatever. The Hosnians had done a whole load of weird stuff to celebrate the years that the Senate would spend here; what they chose to waste their people's tax credits on was their business, not his. The corresponding time here on Hosnian Prime threatened to drain every last drop of blood from his entire body. Two missed opportunities to meet with Senator Prent in person, and he was about to be late to the third, all because he had some stupid idea about bringing a gift.

His gaze darted around desperately, looking for some gap in the tide of pedestrians that he could slip through, but there was nothing. Even if he made it to the elevators, they all disappeared from view the instant they emptied, off to ferry the next batch of hungry politicians to the poorly-conceived building's solitary ground floor entrance. Then his eyes saw them: ominous, foreboding, and yet tragically his only option. Shifting the paper-wrapped bottle into a more secure grip in the crook of his arm, Constantine mustered every last ounce of determination in a five mile radius, surged across the flow of people to the nearest wall, and charged his way off up the stairs as fast as his spindly legs would carry him.

12:00

Idle hands build a Sith Lord's toys. My ducking of the Federal Defense Council was somewhat premeditated. I meant what I'd told Luce that it was probably not worth my time, but I hadn't lined up any real power brokering to fill the gap. Instead, I occupied the dead hour by screwing around on my computer. My workspace was full of a dozen holopages, and gleefully none of it was politics related. It started with a handful of old memories, and suddenly I was looking at a picture of an old ship - one that looked very much like a ship I used to skipper.

My years as captain of the Layla seemed both ancient history and yesterday. I could still smell the close air, a mix of ozone and engine grease. Oxidized metal and Nar Shaddaan curries. Corellian whisky and tibanna exhaust. Stim smoke and fermented fish. Cheap aftershave and the heady background radiation of old laundry and a couple of bodies working together in close spaces. It wasn't a nice aroma, but it was deeply nostalgic. Of all the memories I had in that tin can, that was the first thing that came back - a smell memory.

On one of the holopages, a picture slide played of yet another YV-666 freighter. Layla had never been a beauty queen except to me and the big guy, but this one made her look like she belonged on Naboo. Someone was auctioning off the ancient clunker as a "fixer upper" opportunity. Even as nearly scrap, it was a steep price.

Suddenly, my door whooshed open, followed by a frantic blur being chased by a frazzled Luce.

"Hey! I have to buzz you in!"

I raised my hand to my Corulag assistant, half grin on my face.

"It's a little late for that, Luce."

Turning my attention to my panting guest, I sized him up. Wasn't that much to size up. Maybe fifty kilos wet, and he was sweating enough to qualify that. Damn. I hadn't even paid lip service to vetting this intern. Figured they'd have the decency to send me a female one. He was a twig in a suit, with a face to sink a thousand ships.

Probably won't be handling any pressers.

"This our guy?" I glanced back to Luce, who was smoothing out her hair. She nodded.

"Yes Senator. Meet Constantine Antillies."

I made a pointed face at Luce.

"Antillies, huh?"

Krasst, there sure were a mess of them in this galaxy.

"Alright Luce, I've got it from here."

What was it he'd called her? Loose? Seemed like a bit of an odd name for someone who seemed to uptight at first glance; but then maybe that was the point. Ironic nickname and all that. Constantine was suddenly stuck by a faint apprehension about what sort of name might be coming his way.

It took a lot of self-control not to roll his eyes as the Senator clocked onto his name - a success that, in momentary hindsight, he was especially relieved of. Every single person that Constantine had ever met, without fail, had either known or known of an Antilles, and wanted to know if they he was that kind of Antilles. Was he related to Bail Organa's predecessor, or the space explorer, or to that Corellian pilot guy from the Rebellion who fighter jocks all seemed to hero-worship but who didn't actually seem to have done anything particularly memorable? He probably was, if you looked at it hard enough. House Antilles had been one of the feudal families on Alderaan for thousands of years, and with all the shuffling and intermixing that must have happened over the course of the Old Republic, odds were that their family trees all converged at some point. Heck, every human in the galaxy was probably distantly related to you, if you looked back far enough. But no, he wasn't that kind of Antilles. Just the dull, boring, coincidentally named kind.

"Yes, sir," he answered out of reflex. Not because of military training; more because his grandfather was scary as hell, and Constantine had adopted a blanket policy of politeness towards all old people for fear of being smacked around the head with a belt. "But not the famous kind. Just an ordinary, average Antilles."

An awkward silence descended. Or at least, to Constantine it felt like an awkward silence. Kind of a long one, too. Well, long-ish. In reality, it probably only lasted about 0.68 seconds, but to Constantine - heart still hammering from his multistorey staircase ascent, lungs not quite doing their job as well as they should, and legs feeling more than a little bit trembly - that was nearly an eternity.

He quickly shuffle-fumbled his gift package out from under his arm, unwrapped the paper coating, and carefully settled the bottle down onto the Senator's desk. "My family owns a shipping company," he explained, his eyes scanning around the Senator's office for a trash can. Spotting nothing obvious, he stuffed the surplus paper into his pocket. "We buy rare booze a few cases at a time when and where it's available, because it usually makes for good resale if you ship it far enough. I did some asking around, and I was told that you were a fan... so I had my brothers ship some out. It only cleared through customs about twenty minutes ago, hence my, uh -"

Constantine trailed off, suddenly informed by his struggling lungs that he was rambling, and that probably was not a wise idea right now for a multitude of reasons.

"- high-velocity arrival." He faltered for a moment, wincing a little in apology. "Sorry if I'm late, Senator."

Well this was new. I'd hired enough staff through the years to know that usually the first thing they put in my hand was a resume. To be frank, I usually just scanned it and put it straight in the bin - especially in instances like this.

Lakkan 24 cask proof. That was awfully specific.

"Huh." More a punctuation to a thought than anything.

My eyes went from the bottle, and back to the kid who'd delivered it to me. Resourceful. He'd just sold himself better than a page of artfully-arranged talking points usually did.

"Shipping company? I used to do a little freelance shipping myself. Looking to take over for the old man one day?"

A small hint of a smile tugged at Constantine's face, but there was no joy in it. It was tired, and humourless; the kind of smile to a question that had been asked and answered countless times with a repeatedly tedious and frustrating answer.

"I'm the youngest of four," he explained, trying to keep the answer as focused and objective as he could. It was a fine line to walk down, sparing the Senator the specifics of his family drama while at the same time providing the kind of informative answer that a man of his position and status expected and deserved. "It'd take a whole lot of tragedy for me to get anywhere near taking over the family business."

Another moment of silence fell; more a moment of quiet, really, much less awkwardness than usual filling the air. Constantine didn't act quite so urgently to end it, though he still fumbled through his mind for some sort of follow-up. He'd learned as much as he could about the Senator - which wasn't much, granted, but it was enough to leave Constantine suspecting that if Sanis Prent wanted an intern who would speak only when spoken to, he would've just bought a droid.

"A Corellian freighter, right?"

It wasn't showing off per se - Constantine had done his homework on the Senator in the hopes of making his internship run a little more smoothly, not out of some Bothan or Cizerack style desire to simply prove that he could. If it wound up highlighting his initiative and resourcefulness though, that was an added bonus. He was careful to keep his tone restrained, skewed more towards curiosity than any illusion of showing off.

"One of the YV models?"

"Hmm? Oh."

It took a bit for my eyes to track back to the space between us, and the holograms which occupied that space. I didn't smile, but maybe my eyes did a little.

"Triple six."

Kid knew his ships. The Corellians had been off the Y-line for decades, and the YV's had never been a commercially-popular model to begin with.

I eased off my office ball, pivoting the hologram around as I traversed the distance.

"Hell of a ship. Never had the appeal of the YT series, but they pulled more tonnage and were still pretty maneuverable. They don't make 'em like they used to."

I'd tried to reclaim some of the magic. The YZ-series ship Sasseeri had given me as a gift with strings attached might have been a better ship in most respects, but just like with Sasseeri, it was sex without the romance. It took me losing Layla to understand how much of myself I'd put into her. Maybe I'd been spending too much time in the memory sector.

Back to the now. The kid. He'd definitely done a bit of homework coming in, so it was time to turn this little interview around.

"So...Constantine."

I grimaced over the name. It felt like the kind of name Naboo royalty might only break out with the fine china."

"...can I call you Conny? Look, I appreciate the whole going the distance bit, but you're in. Breathe, relax. I'd like to get to know who's gonna be handling all my documents, research, and form letters before it gets to the boring part."

Always one to glad-hand first, I clapped a hand on the kid's shoulder to hopefully shake out some of the nerves.

"You hungry?"

Kid weighed approximately as much as a wet sneeze. Seemed a good place to start.

"You're hungry. Nerf burger with bacon sounds like a plan, huh?"

Before he could get a word in, I'd already tapped the outside line.

"Luce, can you send up a few number sevens?"

The Corulag voice on the other end didn't disappoint with her disappointment.

"You're watching your cholesterol."

Of course I was. I gave a shrug to the kid, and returned to speaking at air.

"Yeah, okay. One number seven, and the kanso giin-wah."

Hooray steamed sprouts and vegetable protein curd.

"I'll have it sent right up."

I killed the line, and I was looking back at Conny once more.

"Alright, so no to the family business. Where do you see yourself in the next five years? Ten?"

I'd been called worse things than Conny. Tina was my brothers' preference, though Tiny was the one that they stuck to in polite company. Dad had always called me Trip on account of the Third, but I never really new if that was a sign of affection, or if he was just waiting for the chance to twist it into an opportune pun. Wouldn't surprise me if that's all he was. Dad was never the sort of man where you took anything at face value.

The Senator didn't really give me much of a chance to weigh in on that, though, sweeping me off on a whole new tangent with a pat on the shoulder. I'd had this all planned out, all these talking points about YV freighters to ingratiate myself with the guy, and instead we were steering off into uncharted territory. Relax, he said. Bugger that. If he'd wanted me relaxed, he should have kept things back in territory where I'd rehearsed what to say.

Just because I was out of my depth didn't mean I stopped paying attention, though. The Senator was watching his cholesterol. Probably not voluntarily. That was filed away for later.

But the question though? I hated that sort of question. Where do you see yourself ten percent of your lifespan from now? I could barely remember myself ten years ago; I had no concept of how things would be that far from now. Where do I see myself? I don't know where I see myself in ten days. One challenge at a time, one point of focus at a time.

I couldn't just out and say that, though. People like the Senator expected answers to those sorts of things. I tried my best to seem confident, and offer the most classy-sounding vague answer I could.

"Probably working in regional government somewhere. Something to do with projects. Making a difference. That kind of stuff."

I studied the kid's pinched expression, which gradually adjusted to something I'm sure he'd practiced in a mirror. The answer itself? It came out the way cold treacle poured.

It was worth a smile from me. And then a nod.

"That's a bullshit question, isn't it?"

I winked as I walked past Conny, taking a moment to catch a view of the city from the window. Hosnian Prime was one of many ecumenopolises in the galaxy, but it all seemed to be a distinct style all it's own. Not like Coruscant, which managed to find it's weird beauty in all things slapdash. I couldn't tell you what the hell I was seeing exactly, but it looked nice.

"How about a better one then. Is that what you want to do?"

I hadn't expected the Senator to be like this. Reasonable. Rational. Normal. When you were an average person - especially one as undeniably average as I was - you saw politicians and people in authority as something other. They were elevated above you, and so you expected them to behave as if they belonged in some sort of upper class of society. Senator Prent didn't seem like that. It felt more like I was conversing with one of Dad's old trading partners, some old man who'd stumbled into making it big because he wasn't young enough to be doing what he really wanted to any more. Someone who couldn't bring himself to fully commit to all that formality and pomp.

"Honestly?"

I tried to think about my answer to that, but there was only really one thing I could say.

"I don't know."

It was true, but also not at the same time.

"I know that I don't want to just do whatever my family and tradition and all that has picked out for me. I know that I want to do something that I chose for myself. Right now, this is the choice I'm going with. As far and as different from everything I've known so far as I could manage to get. Maybe what's right for me lies somewhere between the two, or in another direction entirely, but I'll never know unless I dive in and try to find out."

There was something in there that I liked. I don't know was a start, because it was honest. Not that there was something dishonest as having a path set out, but it rarely panned out that way for most people. The vast majority of people who glommed onto a five year plan and sold it were trying to sell it to themselves as delusion.

No, it wasn't that. Not entirely.

As far and as different from everything I've known so far as I could manage to get. Maybe what's right for me lies somewhere between the two, or in another direction entirely, but I'll never know unless I dive in and try to find out.

Now that. That I understood.

"I grew up poor."

Again, my eyes were back on the skylanes out the window, and the large ornate clock tower in the distance.

"On Nar Shaddaa. I spent the first twenty years of my life knowing that I didn't like either of those things, and that was all I had to go by. No higher ambition. No mission statement. Just that. I hustled and schemed my youth away to get off that rock and better my situation. I was self-sufficient, self-serving, and selfish."

My shoulder rolled into a shrug.

"And that was okay. I was as young as you are, and I didn't have to have all the answers."

At that, I turned back to look at Conny. I didn't have a lot in the way of wisdom, but I had at least a pocket full of the stuff.

"I think as long as you want to keep looking, you'll be alright."

A knock at the door broke my attention.

"Ah, lunch."

I took the initiative to answer the door, making sure Conny continued to act as natural as he could in whatever he perceived this rareified air to be. Luce was there, and I took both meal trays, setting mine on my desk as I hovered in the no-man's land between the window and the desk with the kid's burger.

"So in the spirit of looking, I'll give you the lay of the land from up here. I represent the Anoat sector in the Galactic Senate. I bring their interests up in matters of galactic importance, and help to make sure they're heard by everyone else. I make deals, bank favors, and broker power. There's a lot of dry material there, but at the core of it, it means I have to know how to both talk and listen. People do that all the time, but it's more than just saying things and hearing things."

I took two steps back to sit on the edge of my desk, putting the burger tray on my lap.

"You play sabacc?"

I didn't respond immediately, waiting a few minutes for Miss Luce to disappear from the room. Out of caution, or paranoia maybe, I swept my eyes across the wall above the doorway, trying to pick out any security monitors that she might be watching through from her desk. I didn't spot any; didn't mean they weren't there, but screw it, worth the risk.

My knife carved into the burger, splitting it in the closest approximation of 50/50 that I could manage. A fleeting moment of hesitation, then I reached over, adding half my burger to the Senator's less than appetising plate. A finger pressed to my lips, a subtle shift of my eyes and jerk of my head gesturing back towards the woman outside. I wasn't really sure what I was doing. Maybe this was me trying to suck up to my new boss. Maybe this was me being the little brother again, offering half a cookie to my big sister because my brothers were being jerks and refusing to share. Maybe I'd been abducted by the First Order without realising, and this was just some elaborate plan to assassinate the Senator with cholesterol without anyone ever knowing. All valid opportunities. Something to lie awake thinking about later.

"I used to," I answered at last, finally tucking into my semi-burger. It felt like sacrilege to admit, but it was actually easier to fit the overflowing, juicy stack of meat and salad and bread into my mouth with that little corner going on there. A whole lot easier to avoid the juices leaking and streaking down the back of my hand, too. Not something to do deliberately in public, that was for sure - I could already imagine the disapproving looks from the other diners that I'd receive - but in the comfort of my own home, when I was too tired and too lazy to cook for myself?

"My brothers had a habit of changing the rules when I was about to win, though. Lost a whole lot of candy, trading cards, and action figures to those cheating bastards."

That little bit of selflessness gave me a few things to go on. The kid had empathy, karabast, maybe even a full blown case of sympathy. He didn't mind bending the rules when the rules looked like they could use a tweak. And maybe that went hand in hand with his bad taste of sabacc and getting played. Maybe he had an inkling that I was planning on distracting him from that burger in the first place, filling his head full of back office power plays and setting the tray off to side conveniently in the middle of my oratory.

I didn't feel bad about it. Screwing the kid out of a better lunch than mine. Getting screwed over on the little things was training wheels for the big painful things that hurt. Maybe it would have been a lesson. In either case, we had moved on from that into another lesson of compromise, in which this skinny kid got to do something noble and I got to come out looking a little less like an asshole. And we each got nerf burger.

"So the game was rigged, and you walked away?"

I took that observation in as I chowed into a bite of nerf. Bacon. Pickles. Perfection. Nobody should ever go cold turkey from being a little bad.

Swallowing, I nodded. "Well, either that or you screw them right back. I'm not equipped to make that choice. They're your brothers after all. Just as long as you acknowledge the choice, kid. I'm not about to paint a seedier picture than there is when it comes to politics, but I think that if you're at least rattling these questions around in your head, Conny, then you probably know how to swim here."

Did I walk away? Was that what I'd done?

It sounded so cowardly when you said it that way. I preferred the way that leaving to make my own choices sounded. Going my own way. Being my own man. It felt better when it sounded like I was running towards something, instead of running away. But then was there really a difference? There were always two sides to everything. No one ever ran, no one ever reached, no one ever aspired if they weren't at least a little discontent with where they'd started out. The content stayed; the rest did what they could to make their way to greener pastures.

But there was more to what the Senator had said than that. The game was rigged. There was a description that overflowed beyond the confines of sabacc and siblings. My whole life seemed that way, if you twisted it around and looked from the right angle. The winners were already decided. The deck was stacked against me. The Senator was right: the best you could do in a situation like that was play by their rules, rise or stoop to their level and give as good as you got. I had tried it for a while; but I'd quickly realised that he I t even want to be playing sabacc at all. I wanted pazaak, or sakresh, or literally anything but the game that my family had decided I was supposed to play.

"I'm not sure there's a game that isn't rigged, Senator."

It was the sort of thing that sounded more profound than it actually was. I shifted the burger a little in my fingers, readying myself for another bite.

"But I spent too long playing with the same players; and there's no bluffing someone who's known you longer than you've been alive. The -" I almost winced as the strained metaphor kept progressing from my mouth. "- players out here don't know my tells; don't know how to read my bluffs. They'll learn, eventually, but I plan on winning as many hands as I can before that happens. Maybe I'll have enough of the pot by then that it won't even matter any more."

The kid's gee-whiz modesty had a helluva lot of savvy behind it. Someone once said that the details of what you're talking about matter less than how you sound and how confident you are when you're selling it. I'd practically made a cottage industry out of that.

"You're stumping on the outsider platform, kid." I smiled as I took his own words and dressed them in a suit.

"That's a strong selling point. People like unknowns. They put all their hopes an expectations into them. They color you in. It gets a little trickier when you've got a few sabacc hands in your system. Or a Senate voting record. Then the dreamers come home to roost. But until then, you have no weaknesses. There's no such thing, kid. They're opportunities. Strengths."

I chowed down another bite, going to epicurean dreamland for a moment before daubing with napkin.

"I'm not trying to sell politics for you. I'm good at what I do because I did a whole raft of things before office, and some of those skills and lessons transplant pretty well here. Sometimes it's as simple as finding something you're good at and plugging in."

I caught the old YV holo floating in my peripheral vision, and an idea began to form.

"Let's put that to practice. First assignment. As my intern, you'll probably have plenty of unglamorous and un-sexy things to do in the trenches, far away from the limelight if you're doing it right."

I sized Conny up one more time, considering all the knowns and intangibles.

"How are you with money?"

I wasn't entirely sure what the Senator meant by that. Was I frugal? Was I an entrepreneur? Did I have a gambling problem, or out of control spending habits? Did I know how to creatively bury finances; cook the books as it were? Seemed a strange thing fir a Senator to be asking his intern too; didn't the Senate have highly trained professionals to that sort of thing for them, to keep everything above board and transparent.

"My father taught me how to handle the company finances," I offered, erring for the most pragmatic and innocent assumption; let the Senator escallate it if he was asking for more. "If that's what you mean?"