Sic transit gloria mundi
[member="Tegaea Alcori"]
She was at the very top.
Both in a physical and a metaphorical sense. Her office - the office of Exarch Siobhan Kerrigan - was near the top of the Omega Pyre Tower on Fondor. From this lofty vantage point she an unparalleled view over the city, mistress over all that she surveyed. Buildings upon buildings, vast factory complexes of the industrial town that never seemed to sleep, a sky full of traffic in form of speeders, sky cars, freighters that filled the view of her ostentatious transparisteel window. Clouds of smoke rose up from the chimneys of the factories, day after day millions of citizens went about their business, all part of the vibrant, living, chaotic organism that was the Protectorate. Tegaea and her had dominion over it all, no one there to gainsay them. She had thousands upon thousands of employees in an elephantine bureaucracy that governed more than a quarter of the great nation that was the Protectorate, command over some of its most elite divisions. The name of the woman who had once been a gutter rat on Nar Shaddaa, afraid of being swallowed up by the gaping maw that was the Smuggler's Moon was known throughout the great nation.
Her face, viciously scarred but still beautiful, appeared on the holonet and was thus beamed into the living rooms of her subjects, dressed in an impeccable red uniform bedecked with medals and ribbons, awards for years of service, for having shed more of her own blood than anyone else for this country. The next generation of citizens would grow up with her story - a heavily edited account of course, for there were some details that were just too...unpalatable - and learn of her in schoolbooks, a tale of sacrifice and heroism, one that displayed the Omegan Dream in which even gutter rats could rise from rags to riches. On the day where it had been announced that she would become Exarch, the City Council of Abomey, capital of Dahomey, had overwhelmningly voted to erect two statues of her and her red-maned wife to show their gratitude for having been liberated from warlords and slavers. There was some talk of a holonet series of their exploits, two dashing heroines who had fought their way to the top and made the Protectorate great...
So much power at her fingertips. Not just in terms of armies, riches and shares in corporations, but her prowess in the Force, the intangible energy field that might dwarf everything by far. The power to seemingly make anything and anyone bend to her, destroy cities, tear down buildings. It was the position of influence and prestige they both deserved, for they had earned it. Lady Protector Tegaea Alcori, Exarch Kerrigan - she liked the sound of that.
Truly a ruler like her should be able to spend her time reclining on a luxurious, comfortably cushioned couch, being served by pretty Eldorai girls eager to cater to her every whim, count her money, order that anyone who opposed her should lose their heads. Or lead glorious campaigns of conquest at the head of her army, crushing all opposition before her.
Except...running a galactic power was not all it cracked out to be. It consisted mainly of meetings and bureaucracy. Fourteen hour work days of petitions, requests, decrees, reports. Planets had petty disputes over resources, military intelligence sent forth a flood of reports about threats foreign and domestic, corporations demanded the right to exploit this or that resource. The rulers of the member states demanded their share of the cake, demanding a concession for every decree the Government made.
A very long-winded memo from Director Skaldi that somehow connected Velok, 'unreformed Bando Gora acolytes, publicly professing loyalty to the State' on Bespin ('moriscos' part of a 'clandestine darkside network practising leaderless resistance'), Sith renegades opposing the Chalacta Treaty and the necessity to urgently move trihexalon from Maramere to a more 'secure location' (naturally supervised by MICO) and initiate a bioweapons programme.
A petition from the Council of Notables on Dahomey to allow a local corporation to exploit their share of the gold mines, breaking the Star Corp monopoly, and to grant their planet greater self-rule. A MICO surveillance report on the activities of the relatives of the late Regus Tarkin, coinciding with a petition from his nephew to allow him to stand for the next parliamentary elections on his homeworld, avowing his loyalty to the State. A very long report from Omega Industries on production statistics, progress reports on designing the Manticore, first field tests of the Typhoon - some minor glitches that would assuredly be ironed out soon - more reports from the Supreme Command, Exarchate of Eriadu, on measures to bolster the defences of Eriadu, on new regiments being created, officers sworn in at the military academy - apparently people wanted her to give a speech for some reason - and so on. Oh, and apparently some pacifists on Naboo were feeling sulky about new orbital defence stations being created...because the Protectorate's neighbours were totally peaceful and all embraced 'peace and understanding'.
Then there was, inevitably, a memo from Chief Minister Aurelia Saelari - yes, the former chancellor was inferior in rank to her and as petty as it was, Siobhan liked to remind of her of that. Probably less of a memo and more of a never-ending speech. Siobhan felt like tossing it into the dust bin.
Beholding all that she surveyed, which in this case was a mountain of paperwork that had somehow accumulated onto her enormous desk, she sank back into her overly luxurious leather chair, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. She could throw a tank, tear down a roof, shoot salvoes of lightning from her fingertips, wipe out bloodthirsty legions of Reavers.
But...she could not escape the tedium of bureaucracy.
"Sometimes I feel like Darth Vader's management style of force choking annoying people wasn't half bad. It probably kept people from flooding his desk like this...assuming that he even had one," she muttered more to herself as she ran her flesh hand through her long brown curls, uncertain where to start first. Why could people not think for themselves? "This isn't the way absolute power got marketed to me."
And she still had a meeting with her Executive Council! Then...lots of other tedious things. Brown eyes gazed across to her Crown Princess Anya Venari, heir to the Eldorai throne and her beautiful aide de camp. As lovely as she was, she was also an unrepentant troll!
She was at the very top.
Both in a physical and a metaphorical sense. Her office - the office of Exarch Siobhan Kerrigan - was near the top of the Omega Pyre Tower on Fondor. From this lofty vantage point she an unparalleled view over the city, mistress over all that she surveyed. Buildings upon buildings, vast factory complexes of the industrial town that never seemed to sleep, a sky full of traffic in form of speeders, sky cars, freighters that filled the view of her ostentatious transparisteel window. Clouds of smoke rose up from the chimneys of the factories, day after day millions of citizens went about their business, all part of the vibrant, living, chaotic organism that was the Protectorate. Tegaea and her had dominion over it all, no one there to gainsay them. She had thousands upon thousands of employees in an elephantine bureaucracy that governed more than a quarter of the great nation that was the Protectorate, command over some of its most elite divisions. The name of the woman who had once been a gutter rat on Nar Shaddaa, afraid of being swallowed up by the gaping maw that was the Smuggler's Moon was known throughout the great nation.
Her face, viciously scarred but still beautiful, appeared on the holonet and was thus beamed into the living rooms of her subjects, dressed in an impeccable red uniform bedecked with medals and ribbons, awards for years of service, for having shed more of her own blood than anyone else for this country. The next generation of citizens would grow up with her story - a heavily edited account of course, for there were some details that were just too...unpalatable - and learn of her in schoolbooks, a tale of sacrifice and heroism, one that displayed the Omegan Dream in which even gutter rats could rise from rags to riches. On the day where it had been announced that she would become Exarch, the City Council of Abomey, capital of Dahomey, had overwhelmningly voted to erect two statues of her and her red-maned wife to show their gratitude for having been liberated from warlords and slavers. There was some talk of a holonet series of their exploits, two dashing heroines who had fought their way to the top and made the Protectorate great...
So much power at her fingertips. Not just in terms of armies, riches and shares in corporations, but her prowess in the Force, the intangible energy field that might dwarf everything by far. The power to seemingly make anything and anyone bend to her, destroy cities, tear down buildings. It was the position of influence and prestige they both deserved, for they had earned it. Lady Protector Tegaea Alcori, Exarch Kerrigan - she liked the sound of that.
Truly a ruler like her should be able to spend her time reclining on a luxurious, comfortably cushioned couch, being served by pretty Eldorai girls eager to cater to her every whim, count her money, order that anyone who opposed her should lose their heads. Or lead glorious campaigns of conquest at the head of her army, crushing all opposition before her.
Except...running a galactic power was not all it cracked out to be. It consisted mainly of meetings and bureaucracy. Fourteen hour work days of petitions, requests, decrees, reports. Planets had petty disputes over resources, military intelligence sent forth a flood of reports about threats foreign and domestic, corporations demanded the right to exploit this or that resource. The rulers of the member states demanded their share of the cake, demanding a concession for every decree the Government made.
A very long-winded memo from Director Skaldi that somehow connected Velok, 'unreformed Bando Gora acolytes, publicly professing loyalty to the State' on Bespin ('moriscos' part of a 'clandestine darkside network practising leaderless resistance'), Sith renegades opposing the Chalacta Treaty and the necessity to urgently move trihexalon from Maramere to a more 'secure location' (naturally supervised by MICO) and initiate a bioweapons programme.
A petition from the Council of Notables on Dahomey to allow a local corporation to exploit their share of the gold mines, breaking the Star Corp monopoly, and to grant their planet greater self-rule. A MICO surveillance report on the activities of the relatives of the late Regus Tarkin, coinciding with a petition from his nephew to allow him to stand for the next parliamentary elections on his homeworld, avowing his loyalty to the State. A very long report from Omega Industries on production statistics, progress reports on designing the Manticore, first field tests of the Typhoon - some minor glitches that would assuredly be ironed out soon - more reports from the Supreme Command, Exarchate of Eriadu, on measures to bolster the defences of Eriadu, on new regiments being created, officers sworn in at the military academy - apparently people wanted her to give a speech for some reason - and so on. Oh, and apparently some pacifists on Naboo were feeling sulky about new orbital defence stations being created...because the Protectorate's neighbours were totally peaceful and all embraced 'peace and understanding'.
Then there was, inevitably, a memo from Chief Minister Aurelia Saelari - yes, the former chancellor was inferior in rank to her and as petty as it was, Siobhan liked to remind of her of that. Probably less of a memo and more of a never-ending speech. Siobhan felt like tossing it into the dust bin.
Beholding all that she surveyed, which in this case was a mountain of paperwork that had somehow accumulated onto her enormous desk, she sank back into her overly luxurious leather chair, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. She could throw a tank, tear down a roof, shoot salvoes of lightning from her fingertips, wipe out bloodthirsty legions of Reavers.
But...she could not escape the tedium of bureaucracy.
"Sometimes I feel like Darth Vader's management style of force choking annoying people wasn't half bad. It probably kept people from flooding his desk like this...assuming that he even had one," she muttered more to herself as she ran her flesh hand through her long brown curls, uncertain where to start first. Why could people not think for themselves? "This isn't the way absolute power got marketed to me."
And she still had a meeting with her Executive Council! Then...lots of other tedious things. Brown eyes gazed across to her Crown Princess Anya Venari, heir to the Eldorai throne and her beautiful aide de camp. As lovely as she was, she was also an unrepentant troll!
