LOCATION
THE SENATE CHAMBER
DRUCKENWELL POD
Verity stared at Aurelian.
For once, there was not an ounce of calculation behind it, no search for the politically useful answer. Not even irritation at yet another series of provocations. She didn't understand the question. Why did she care?
He kept going, because of course he did, and understanding came slowly enough that something in her expression changed as the enormity of what he said dawned on her. "You really do mean that," she said, her voice low.
No accusation lingered in her voice. If anything, she sounded faintly astonished -- a rare feat for Aurelian Veruna to accomplish these days. Her eyes grew hard then, and colder even than their normal glacial reserve. "You are one of the most capable people in this chamber. You know it. I know it. You have wealth and position and access and an extraordinary instinct for knowing people. You have enough political influence that you can kill a bill just by twitching your little finger."
It was odd. All these things were compliments, yet Verity poured them from her with a mixture of revulsion and cold fury that made it sound like a prosecutor rattling off a list of heinous crimes. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the Plooriod III pod, eyebrows giving an uncharacteristic twitch.
Verity stood and crossed back to her podium, reaching for the control to signal her intention to speak. Her hand stopped just short of it. She turned back instead, returned to the center of the pod. She might have looked to the cameras like she was rather looming over the King of Naboo. It was all she could do not to raise an accusatory finger.
"I could understand incompetence," Verity began. "I could understand cowardice. I could even understand greed. Greed, at least, has an objective." Her mouth tightened at the edges "But you are neither incompetent, nor cowardly, nor even greedy, really. You're better at this than you have any right to be."
She paused her head shaking almost imperceptibly. "I care because the things that happen in this room impact people whether we care about them or not. Someone is no less a father or mother, soldier or pilot, merchant or lawyer because they live here and not on Druckenwell. Wars will happen. Governments will fail. People will be displaced and impoverished and killed and that's when the decisions we make are the best we can manage. Decisions made in this room will have consequences for people who never voted for you or for me, people who have never heard our names. But -- "
Here, Verity took a steadying breath. She had not expected to care this much, yet Aurelian Veruna maintained his charming ability to surprise her. "But you and I have been given an almost ridiculous amount of influence over these decisions. I don't flatter myself that I always use mine well; I've been wrong before and I will surely be wrong again. But when you ask me why I feel compelled to try, I genuinely don't know how to answer you, Senator. I just have to wonder why you don't." She considered it a moment, then amended. "No. How you don't."
"Because you could. Easily. That is the infuriating part. You are clever enough, and persuasive enough, and ruthless enough when ruthlessness is required -- and when it isn't -- and as much as it pains me to say, you are very often right about people." She shook her head and turned back to the podium. Verity touched the indicator that she would like to speak, and before she was recognized, she glanced over her shoulder. "You could well be one of the most consequential statesmen in the Republic. And apparently, you're just bored."
Her podium light lit, and when she turned her face back to the Senate and its cameras, she was the Verity she always was: cool, collected, and ready to get on with it. "Thank you, Madam Chancellor. In the absence of any formal seconded amendments, I respectfully move that the bill be put to a vote."