Even with their own version of the
WeatherNet running full time within the capital, the sun-burdened world of Geonosis was
blisteringly hot. To state that it was simply “
arid” and “
dry” was to downplay the truth of the nigh unbearable heat that drifted down mercilessly from a sulphur-yellow star. At high noon, the brightest point of the day, the sky towers seemed to hold a glow all their own. Massive habitation domes kept the citizens from boiling alive and suffering the dangerous effects of solar radiation storms. The sandstorms were also kept at bay, though, parts of the irradiated surface were still visible where cities hadn’t claimed space. Where terraforming was still a work in progress.
The Confederacy had taken a world that most had forsaken and created a thriving, bustling, and busy metropolis. If Srina focused, carefully, she could almost see the edge of the translucent barrier in a sharply hued sky. She had never ventured beyond those nearly indiscernible walls.
Few would unless they sought a painful, slow, death.
Thankfully, the habitation domes made all the difference. Cooling zones scattered throughout Golbah City could even make it enjoyable, and most preferred the ever-warm quality of life over an eternal tundra-like Hoth. Their guests would be pleased to find that the majority of their business would be held in entirely climate-controlled spaces. The exceedingly pale Echani, who should have withered with a lack of pigment, had acclimated long ago. As albino as she seemed to be—Somehow? She never burned.
The quiet woman had arrived early. She hated, early. She hated idle. The Exarch typically arrived only when she meant to and not a moment before, however, this was a meeting that she had arranged with the candid assistance of
Taeli Raaf
. The thought still boggled the mind. Neither of them expected miracles. At best?
A dialogue. While it might have seemed small to those that were unfamiliar with the score it was actually quite a staggering feat. The Exarch knew who the alchemist was. They’d met briefly before. Only, she’d been on a different side then. On a path of
feigned light.
How foolish, how careless, had her former lover been. Left a broken, fallen Jedi. A Commander of Ashes while Coruscant and
countless other worlds burned.
How foolish they
all had been.
Emotionless orbs of silver stared into the dark corners of the Conference Room. They focused on a singular imaginary point in which to bury her thoughts lest she make her companions uncomfortable. Her stare was cruel. Unsettling, for most. There was always a sense of otherworldliness about her that led to the notion of
something being inherently wrong. That feeling became even more poignant when she stood at the side of
Darth Metus
. Their combined presence was grating on the senses in the truest sense of the word.
A ping went off in her ear announcing that the delegates of the Sith Empire were approaching the top-most landing pad of the Citadel. It was a building in which most governmental decisions and policies were made. It housed the various Ministries and even parts of the Knights Obsidian. More importantly—It was the beating heart of the nation. A fortress made palatable by clever technology and shades of calming, compelling paint. Everything that meant anything passed through these gilded halls first.
“They will arrive shortly.”
Her words were not for the sable-skinned Vicelord beside her. Instead, they were for
John Locke
.
Gerwald Lechner
who would hear her with his lycan ears, regardless, the distance.
Darth Metus
walked the halls of her mind freely. His touch to her arm spoke volumes that none would ever know. Could she place the fall of the Galactic Alliance behind them? The insular warring with the Jedi? The disputes with the Outer Rim? It was a simple choice, clear, and concise.
If they were to place the Confederacy before all else? To claim true neutrality while other powers railed and wept like spoiled younglings? No matter her radical and perhaps
unwanted ideas on certain matters of state—This was the beginning of that path.
Neutrality.
Delicate footsteps pulled across the swirled marble. Toward
John Locke
. From her hair, she pulled one of the exceedingly rare Genosian flowers that had been woven into her ivory
attire. They were feathery, pale, and entirely against her nature. Why did they exist? Why did she bother with it when her tastes ran far darker? It was a matter of pride. Not in herself. In the Southern Systems. Each day that she was seen in public she embodied what the people wished to see. An Exarch was an office, but, it was also symbol.
“She comes first.”, Srina murmured, softly, before tucking the bloom into the lapel of the self-made technological mogul.
“She always comes first. Now more than ever. Do not forget that.”
She turned away from Exarch Locke and the floral patterns on sheer sleeves would become more evident. Unforgiving, glacier eyes, turned toward the wolf that was handling the security aspects. It wasn’t simply for the people in
this room. It was with respect to the delegates as well. Relations were…Tepid. At best. Many wouldn’t forgive so easily. They wouldn’t understand. All they saw, with dull, cow-eyes was another Empire rising into their space.
“Send the Knights to escort and welcome them, Master Lechner. Remind your chosen that they are not to be treated any differently than any other diplomatic envoy. Dignity, intellect, and mindful tongues will see this meeting through to fruition.”, already, she was returning to the side of the Vicelord. Her chilled orders were commonplace. Lechner, more than most, knew it was simply her way.
Srina raised a delicate hand and let it rest in the crook of the elbow of her beloved Master.
Darth Metus
would feel a sense of dry amusement rise slowly beneath layers of ice and poise. She—Who fought as she breathed—Counseled communication.
Patience. The laying down of grudges and the sheathing of swords, at least, until they had reason to use them.
This would be interesting.