Parcae

[Soto Terius]

Destiny exploded into being, a sudden shock of white and modest red highlights manifesting within the blink of an eye, obscuring the tiniest portion of the starfield above Jovan. A tiny flare of light pulsed from her triplet engine nacelles as the sublights hummed into action, propelling the dagger-shaped hull of the Arquitens Cruiser towards the looming disc of Jovan Station.

On the bridge - an unceremonious grey box that looked more like the command cabin of a commercial liner than the battle-hardened warship that the Destiny was meant to be - Captain Soto Terius sat in relative silence, his fingertips idly grooming through his beard. The more one contemplated these circumstances, the more absurd the juxtaposition became. An Alliance crew aboard a Republic cruiser, approaching an Imperial station that had been turned into a diplomatic outpost by the Cizerack. This was, to some extent at least, the kind of future that the Alliance to Restore the Republic had striven towards: one of peace and unity between the races, one where the cultural barriers and restrictions put in place by Palpatine and his Empire had finally faded away. Yet, it was an unfamiliar circumstance; an alien environment. For many of those who had joined the rebellion, the Republic was at best a distant memory recalled through the improving lens of hindsight, and at worst a fairy tale ideal spoken of in hushed tones to comfort those buckling beneath the weight of an oppressive regime.

Now that they were here, or at least in some approximation of it, everything was strange and unfamiliar. Worse, it all felt like a charade, like people playing at civilization, their childish attempt at peace and equality little more than a thin and fragile veneer over the impending war and conflict that broiled beneath. They were at peace, and yet the full force of the Alliance military was still on constant alert, trapped in a cruel and unfamiliar limbo: unable to indulge the skills and expertise that the Galactic Civil War had taught, and yet unable to relax and enjoy the benefits of true peace, forced instead into mundane drudgery while at the same time remaining constantly vigilant for the moment that everything crumbled apart. Hard-fought victories and seemingly impossible challenges had been replaced by supply runs and border patrols, Terius' crew of ambush veterans relegated to the simplistic tasks of escorting convoys and ferrying dignitaries. Their victory - or at least, their approximation thereof - over the Empire had rendered them all obsolete, and yet the precarious peace demanded that they become a contingency, gathering rust and dust until fate deigned to make them useful again.

The hiss of the bulkhead door behind him pierced into his thoughts. A quiet rumble of words escaped from his throat, about half a second before the dignitary's insistence that it was unnecessary registered in his mind. "Admiral on deck."

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen unleashed a salvo of scowl towards the Captain. The Corellian wasn't facing him, but that hardly mattered: whether by reflection or some latent unrealised Force sensitivity that he was too old and weary to care about, the Admiral had learned that his glare was felt by all: around corners, through walls, and even across interstellar distances, if the recipient had managed to irk him sufficiently.

He said nothing however, instead simply drawing alongside the Captain's chair, and letting his cycloptic gaze settle on the vista ahead. It was strange to see; almost comical, in a way. Vansen had been here before a handful of times, most during the station's heyday as a seat of Imperial power. He had seen it's superstructure full to bursting with the might of the Empire, the mile-long knives of Imperator destroyers nestled beneath it's docking pylons, TIEs and shuttles and gunboats swarming through the air above. He had walked through it's corridors when they had been sleek and meticulous, polished floors and monochrome uniforms marching in neat formations as far as the eye could see.

Now, everything was changed. The berths designed for vast Star Destroyers looked oddly empty, the mismatched assortment of Alliance replacements mostly dwarfed by the superstructure. Even if he'd been able to liberate the Challenger from Bothawui orbit for this visit, he doubted the slender Venator would have looked any more at home. One by one, he peered at the docking nodes and the star traffic, challenging himself to identify the class and origin of each ship he witnessed. It was an old habit, a game that he'd created for himself in his youth, back in his days with the Judicial Fleet; now though, it had become less a game, and more a defense against the addles that his advanced age no doubt had in store.

One ship in particular caught his eye: at first he almost dismissed the sleek curves and pigmented hull as being Hapan, but an instant more of consideration and those sweeping predatory wings became unmistakable. He'd never seen her this close; not without her being surrounded by water or by the distractions of battle. Such a shame that the Alliance had gained such an awe-inspiring craft only to find itself utterly unable to put her to use: sending the Khera'Va'ss'io against pirates hardly felt worthy of her pedigree.

His mind turned to things Lupine in nature, Vansen's eyes did the same, settling on the Lupine automaton that had accompanied him onto the bridge. "ADAR, contact the dockmaster: I want a full inventory of every ship that's in-system, in my hands before I step out the airlock. There's a lot of boats up in these stars, and I don't like not knowing what's going on."

"Captain," he added, a subtle shift of his gaze and attention back to Terius. "Bring us into dock at your discretion."

[ADAR]

The was only a moment of silence before the towering hulk of Vansen Tyree's companion droid gave a slightly angled look down to its' partner before following with a look upward, out the viewscreen and at the hawkish Khera'Va'ss'io. A brief bit of silence as the sound of whispering processors went to work in carrying out the order.

Meanwhile, in a show of multitasking, the Lupine construct lowered its' gaze back down and fixated its' own single ocular upon Admiral Tyree. The mechanized iris shrunk, then grew wide once more.

"I would like to see the other one; KHER. We will have time for at least that, I trust."

[Vansen Tyree]

It was curious how expressive the Lupine construct could manage to be. The face, akin to a crudely drawn Selkath with a flashlight in it's mouth, had no features that were discernibly humanoid or familiar, and yet the slight variance of light from it's optic, a slight twitch of servos, and Vansen found himself relating to and empathising more with the mechanoid than he did with most of the organics he was confronted with on a day to day basis. Perhaps it was an unfair bias. Perhaps it was his distrust and dislike of politicians, versus the droid who had for the most part never done anything to earn his ire. Perhaps it was the fact that ADAR was a gift, from one of the few people who had earned her way past the force shields of his sour mood. Maybe it was just the fact that the droid didn't talk much, making him a rather pleasant traveling companion. Either way, Vansen had come to enjoy the droid's company, and the notion of entering the political quagmire potentially without ADAR's company and supervision, caused an unexpected twist in his gut.

Yet, had ADAR not earned a little leeway? If his aide was a sentient, organic being, would he not regard this as a personal request, a rare opportunity to visit a friend or family that deserved to be seized? In the brief moment that Vansen considered the question, the notion wrested with itself in his mind, old Republic and Imperial notions of how droids should be treated and regarded jarring with memories of Alliance pilots distraught over the loss of their astromech, saddened the way one might be over the death of a pet. What were droids now? With the Clone Wars and the Separatist droid armies long behind, where did the automatons fit within the new society that the Alliance had created? All things considered, did it even matter?

Vansen's scowl softened ever so slightly, his head bowing in a subtle nod of approval. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of a family reunion," he conceded.

A breath that wanted desperately to be a sigh, but wasn't granted the opportunity made it's way from Vansen's lungs, as his gaze returned to the looming and growing visage of the station ahead. "I survived the Confederacy, the Empire, and the political gauntlet of Bothawui," he muttered, to himself as much as anyone else. "I'm sure I can manage to muddle my way through a few hours alone on a trade station without anything managing to kill me."

[ADAR]

"That is good to know," came the almost absent-minded response.

ADAR's optical dilated as it turned back to regard the sight before them.

"Though it is not exactly a family reunion, as you say. KHER and myself have been exploring one of your games... Sabacc? It is something to pass the time. Simple enough to play. But he has not put out for the next round, and I intend to discover why."

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen's eyebrows climbed, with such ferocity that it threatened the security of his eyepatch. All this time with the droid at his side, and it still found ways to surprise him.

He made a mental note of that tidbit of information, though. Vansen had been quite the sabacc player himself in his youth, and while he had no particular desire to challenge the automaton - what was the point in playing such things against someone who had no credits to gamble? - a part of his mind suspected that it might one day prove useful. Sabacc could be a powerful tool in negotiations and information gathering if wielded correctly, and the prospect of being able to throw a hard-to-read droid into the mix to keep everyone off balance was quite the appealing prospect.

Vansen sighed again. "There are days when you baffle me, ADAR," he muttered, with a slight shake of his head.

[ADAR]

"If it is any consolation Admiral, you baffle me every day."

It was a phrase spoken with the most honesty that the droid could inject into his mechanical voice. Before the man could answer, ADAR spoke once more.

"I have received the information from the dockmaster that you requested. Shall I have it put on a datapad, or a flimsi for you?"

[Vansen Tyree]

The fact that Vansen had to give that question genuine consideration cut a sour swathe through his mood, forcing him to contemplate just how damned old he was becoming. He hated those blasted datapads, hated having to fumble around with keystrokes and screen swipes to see the entirety of what he was looking for, and much preferred the tangible feel of reading reports on flimsi. Hardcopies you could shuffle through. You could make piles of them, and glean a microscopic fragment of hope and relief as the pile of unread reports slowly diminished. Sadly, his eye wasn't what it used to be, and tweaking the display scale on a datapad was far more inconspicuous than holding a sheet of flimsi a few inches from his face.

"Printing it on the bottom of a whiskey glass doesn't sound like a half-bad idea," he muttered to himself, though right now a caf cup would probably make more sense; he frowned a little, fighting against the faint tiredness headache that never really seemed to go away.

"Pad," he interjected, before ADAR had the opportunity to take his muttered comment seriously. It was a mistake he'd made too many times already. Damn that droid and it's audio sensitivity.

One last lingering look was cast out of the viewport, watching as the shadow of one of the station's docking pylons fell across the Destiny. "Request permission to come aboard as soon as we dock," he instructed, not an order per se - Admiral or not, it wouldn't do to subvert the Captain and breach the sacred chain of command - more of an insistent request. His gaze shifted, settling on Terius. "If you'll excuse us, Captain, we'll be waiting by the airlock."

[Kes Akiena]

Pylon six had been cleared late the previous night on special order. It was rather amazing how quickly people worked when word was carefully trickled out at the impending arrival of a certain visitor.

It made no real difference to Kes though, as Jovan's commander stood patiently on one side of the blast doors. His hands were folded together at the small of his back, and he stood in a loose, casual stance. Not out of any familiarity - gods knew his interactions with Admiral Vansen Tyree were threadbare at best - but when you conspired with a man, even if you only know of him by reputation, then some things sort of just were. Some things were unspoken.

And so the redhead waited.

He was a patient man, and stood alone, having dismissed the few aides that'd accompanied him.

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen waited with his hands clasped behind his back as the airlock spooled it's way through pressurization, painstakingly slow. It was a necessary measure: not just the airlock, but the clasping, otherwise his arms would have found themselves folded indignantly across his chest. Moments like this were what irritated him. His weary old skeleton made life slow enough on it's own without idiotic machines dragging their heels making it all worse.

Finally the motor servos clunked, and the blast doors began to slide apart; Vansen strode through the central diamond before they were even part-way, stepping over at least a foot or so of shifting durasteel to plant his boots on solid deck. A scowl formed itself on the Admiral's face, but it was a scowl of relief rather than frustration. He'd had the misfortune of making a tour of inspection upon a starship that wasn't familiar with his particular sensibilities: they'd pulled out all the stops, dress uniforms, crew in formation filling the landing bay, flags and banners about the place; he'd chewed the Captain out in private, something about being a frigate and not a village fate; or was it a patrol cruiser and not a pageant? One of the two, certainly. Gorram waste of time and resources. Save it for the Senators and that ilk: save it for people who hadn't been on the other side, and didn't know how much of a pain in the ass it all was.

"I'm disappointed," Vansen lied. If he was capable smiling as he regarded the blissfully empty surroundings, he might have at least considered it; Vansen knew a too-tidy docking pylon when he saw one, but at least Akiena had opted for the effort that doesn't look like effort approach to his arrival, rather than the pandering one. "I was hoping there'd be a band; cake; drinks, maybe."

He grumped out a chuckle. "Instead I get five minutes alone with the most closely scrutinized Commander in the entire Alliance."

[Kes Akiena]

"Apparently stealing a warship warrants a few more watchful eyes than I'd anticipated."

Kes gave a hapless shrug, though the wry humor in his voice was noticeable enough. He made a look of feigned pain, his hands still clasping each other at his lower back. There was a cautious degree of familiarity with the Admiral, in that both men had been a party to actively stopping General Dan over Ossus. Other than that though, there was nothing but the mutual friendship of Captain s'Ilancy and the knowledge of reputation.

Looking beyond Admiral Tyree at the monolithic droid that trailed behind the older man though, the redhead inwardly groaned.

So that's where the last one went.

It had been bad enough having to deal with KHER, and while he had not had the 'pleasure' of dealing with ADAR (who'd not been brought online yet), he had a good enough notion of what followed in the Admiral's wake.

A grimace as he watched the Lupine construct stop just behind Tyree. He could already feel a slight twitch forming in the corner of his right eyelid.

"Gods," came the suddenly exasperated sigh, "... not another one... "

[Vansen Tyree]

A brief frown of confusion tugged at one of Vansen's eyebrows, before awareness of ADAR's presence and the obvious correlation with the Commander's reaction dawned on his mind. Once again, Vansen was grateful for how unresponsive his gnarled old features were to the muscles that lay beneath them: it made the involuntary flicker of a smile that much easier to conceal.

"ADAR," Vansen introduced, as formal and officious as he could muster. "This is Kes Akiena, the commander of this station."

He turned away from the monocular droid, his expression uncharacteristically pleasant as he turned back to the Commander, though there was something - a glint of mischief perhaps - lurking behind his eye. "This facility has only been operating under our jurisdiction for a short time, and I know from the Commander's reports that there have been a few teething problems as far as resources, technology, and personnel."

He glanced back to ADAR. "Once you're done interacting with your counterpart, I'd appreciate it if you could find some time to sit down with Commander Akiena personally: review his requirements, see if there's anything we can spare from our Fourth Fleet or Joint Operations resources to make life a little easier."

An eyebrow twitched in Akiena's direction, fully - gleefully - aware of the frustration he was about to offload. "Assuming that's alright with you, Commander?"

[Kes Akiena]

There was no hiding the scowl that cut deep lines into his features, and Kes looked from the droid to Admiral Tyree. In his experience with KHER, the redhead was more than certain that the Lupine constructs were all bent to the same disgruntled nature. He'd seen ADAR before the thing had become operational, and though admiring the technical craftsmanship, he did so from afar. Again, KHER had colored his perceptions rather magnificently. That the Admiral offered the services of his droid under the auspices of trying to be as helpful as possible, there was absolutely no mistaking the look on the older man's face.

There was also no mistaking the fact that there was really no real choice to politely decline.

"Lok used to tell me that you were a conniving old bastard."

The commander huffed a short breath out from his nose as his arms came out from behind his back to cross over his chest. His scowl seemed to morph into a wry, ghostly half-smirk as he dipped his head, giving a small sideways shake.

"The Ole Gal was right."

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen let out a dry chuckle, clapping Kes warmly on the shoulder. "I hope that's all she told you," he muttered, somehow managing to sound both gruff and good-natured at the same time. "Anything else is malicious lies. Unless she told you about puking her guts over the back seat of my Y-Wing during the Clone Wars. That much is true."

His expression softened and furrowed slightly; less a concerned frown, and more of a worried one, perhaps with a little guilt thrown in for good measure.

"How is she?" he asked quietly, any pretense of being the stern Admiral momentarily gone. "I've tried to keep tabs, but, well -"

He sighed.

"Don't ever go into politics, Commander. You will hate every second, and it will turn you into a terrible friend who can't manage to find even five minutes without a security subroutine or a suspiciously attentive Bothan subordinate trying to peer over his shoulder and log everything he does."

[Kes Akiena]

"Well," the good-natured lilt to his voice returned, and Kes smiled.

"I've no plans to make my way into the political arena, but I've gotten my fair share of watchful eyes as of late."

There was a softening of his eyes then, as the redhead let his eyes dip down to the deck for a few moments. A slight laugh, and his gaze once more tracked upward to meet the Admiral's single eye. He'd always found it odd, how the Admiral and Lok shared the same unfortunate luck of a lost eye, but in the long run he supposed that it made sense. From the many stories that he'd heard from her, the two were in some way destined to share something.

Stepping to the side a small bit, Kes glanced up past the Admiral's shoulder to the droid, then quickly back to Vansen.

"She's well, if not a bit stretched thin. I'm sure she'd welcome your company, even for a short time."

[Vansen Tyree]

Another chuckle escaped the Admiral. "I'm not sure my company is something anyone ever welcomes, Commander," he offered ruefully, "But I'll be sure to make some time for her. I don't get insulted as much when she's not around - need to remind myself that not everyone is afraid of the big scary Admiral from time to time."

He let out a sigh, secretly glad of the walk and talk. This wasn't something that was possible back on Bothawui or Moonus Mandel: any time he ventured beyond the confines of his offices, beyond the protective screen of his sentinel secretaries, people came and bothered him. Before, he'd scoffed at politicians and bureaucrats ostentatious enough to demand a private refresher in their offices, but now Vansen had begun to see the appeal. The number of times he had been ambushed by people trying to skirt around his irritating nerfshit filters while on the way to satisfy the kind of biological urge that had become increasingly frequent in his old age, was enough to drive just about anyone to the brink of murder.

Sadly though, there was a purpose to his visit beyond being a contrived excuse to flee from his responsibilities in the Bothan Sector, and now was as good a time to get it out of the way as any.

"How are things holding together?" Vansen asked, continuing before Kes had the opportunity to execute his usual kind of detail-sparse response. "And don't give me the clean version that goes in your report. I've held enough commands over the years to know that nothing runs as smoothly as the version you tell your superiors, but you don't need to play politics with me, I'm not looking for an excuse to replace you or rake you over the coals."

He shrugged. "Frankly, I don't give a bantha's ass how you get your job done; but my job is to ensure that you have what you need to do that. In short, Commander, I'm here to hear your honest bitching about this place. How much of a thread are things hanging on by?"

[Kes Akiena]

Well then.

He couldn't help the wry grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as they walked.

"You've a certain way with words, Admiral."

A few more moments of thought passed before he went on. There wasn't really any need to gloss over or sugar coat anything.

"We're a bit of a far cry from those old days of scrabbling from planet to planet, scrounging up whatever we could to feed ourselves and fight. But frankly - in a way - it feels like we've cycled back to that hand-to-mouth existence. I'm not complaining, in fact it feels somewhat nice. To be on the brink again.

"Not great, but... nice."

Lifting an arm, Kes ran a hand through his hair as they rounded a bend in the corridor.

"On the other side of the credit chit though, it's a bit frustrating, yes. We're expected to conjure miracles in the form of perfect operational standards, but with what we are given, it's a wonder we can do as much as we do. We've had our hiccups to be sure, but we find ways to work through the problems. Our methods might not be to most people's liking, but we do what we can, and the outcomes are almost always favorable."

His grin remained.

"The thread we hang by here is growing strand by strand. It's thin, but strengthening all the same. Though," Kes gave a shrug as the two men and the droid slowed to a stop before the doors of the spire's lift.

"... it would be nice to have a bit more supplies for my engineers. They do the best they can, but there's only so much I can give to them until what I have is gone. Some of them are even sharing toolboxes, and basic repair jobs sometimes take twice as long as they should."

[Vansen Tyree]

If that wasn't the perfect epitome of the Alliance's supply woes, Vansen didn't know what was. The big items were hard enough - tell a Senator that you need twelve fighters for a new squadron, and they'll ask you why you can't just make do with four - but at least the Senators and the Alliance's financial gatekeepers could grasp the importance of a fighter, or a cruiser, or a new outpost. It was the smaller things, the running costs, the ordnance and materiel; that was where their minds truly boggled. Some of them genuinely believed that asking the Starfighter Corps to fire fewer missiles was a viable cost-cutting measure. They wanted to know why ships couldn't manage with smaller crews, and why SpecForce needed to make sure it had a gun for each individual soldier when there wasn't actually a war on. Mechanics without enough tools to go around, and facilities too lacking in spare parts to keep themselves running? It was a story that Vansen heard all too often. There were a galaxy of negative things to be said about the Empire, but at least they had the right idea as far as military spending was concerned.

"It's a shame we don't have a duplicate station to dismantle for spare parts," Vansen mused, half-aloud.

A thoughtful frown swept across Vansen's features. "Have you met Senator Stark?" the Admiral asked, with more than a little hesitance in his tone. It was a bad suggestion, but possibly also a necessary one. "He's the Senator who was kind enough to gift Jovan Station to the Alliance military after his little coup in the Goridan Reach. He still has a lot of Imperial assets under his control and, well -"

A hint of a rueful smile tugged at Vansen's lips. "If I were him, I would have stockpiled all the spare parts I could get my hands on, to use as negotiating collateral later on. At the very least, some of the industrial complexes in his sector might be equipped to produce some of what you need."

[Kes Akiena]

The - admittedly silly - thought of essentially handing over a 'parts station' for Chief Rabaek to cannibalize was almost enough to illicit a chuckle, but Kes settled for merely giving a shake of his head.

"I've not met the Senator, no."

The truth, as Kes' own involvement with the political arm of the Alliance was an incredibly limited thing. And truth be told, he rather liked that. There was a small worry that he'd be pulled further in, but he'd worry over that at some other time.

The lift doors opened, and the Commander gestured for the Admiral and his droid to enter first.

"But it seems that it may behoove me to contact him."

A shrug.

"But we'll see. I've got my own sources if I feel desperate enough; comes from the old life I suppose... " There was a touch of the younger Kes in his expression now, and in that face was a deviousness not often seen by those around him.

"... I've been around the proverbial galactic block, Admiral. I was playing this game back when we had to burrow under the deepest rocks lest the Empire find us. You make friends and allies, and you help everyone you can. Sometimes those friends find themselves in lofty positions, and more often than not they don't forget you."

And then the look was gone. It wasn't out of disrespect that he spoke, but the Admiral had asked for brutal honesty, and Kes would allow him that much.

"Not to mention The Pride is surprisingly very helpful. Of course there's always a catch, so we've been treading lightly."

[Vansen Tyree]

"The catch of the day," Vansen mused mostly to himself, remembering a comment that Senator Tukphen had made during one of their meetings. It wasn't the way the idiom was intended to be used, but it fit the Alliance government remarkably well. No matter what you did, no matter how simple or routine the effort might seem, there was always a catch: and each day was defined by which bureaucratic obstacle you had to work the hardest to overcome.

He considered Akiena's words as he positioned himself in the lift. He was no stranger to the way the Alliance worked, though admittedly he had been shielded from the worst parts of it. The Alliance Fleet had always had the benefit of a shrewd Commander fighting it's case with the Alliance leadership, and so while resource acquisition had never been easy, at least the people you were trying to requisition from had enough military understanding to realise why such supplies were essential. Vansen had missed out on the truly old days of the Rebellion, back in the days before and after Yavin and Alderaan, where the Alliance had existed by the skin of it's teeth and the seat of it's pants. The high likelihood of death or capture and torture aside, he regretted not having part of that kind of rebellion: he wondered how different his current role would be if he had been part of the cause back then.

"Before you venture too far into politics," Vansen offered, trying to sound as sage as he could muster, "You might want to acquaint yourself with Senator Tukphen as well. The Minister of Supply used to be an Admiral himself: he understands what's important, and he has a knack for rattling cages until the resources he needs fall out. This command is important enough that if you can set up a line of communications, you might be able to push things through by contacting him directly, rather than getting bogged down in the official channels."