skin, bone, and arrogance
ODESSEN
DAYS BEFORE THE WRATH OF GOD
In the moments when it was flung high in the air, there was a temptation to believe that anything -- a stiff breeze, a cough, the whims of a mercurial god -- could change how it landed. But nothing could. It would land as it landed. The only thing that could change fate then was how the table it landed on reacted. The Renascent Heirate, for years a proud member of the Galactic Alliance, lending its resources and whatever else it had, to the behemoth because it was what could do the most good. For all its faults and all its flaws, the Galactic Alliance had been a guardian of civilization.
But that die had been cast, too. The Alliance had become unrecognizable since Coruscant, since the Core. She had seen it reeling before, of course. The Mandalorian Enclave's sucker-punch -- metaphorical in the case of the Alliance, but all too literal in the case of Natasi Fortan, whose jaw still sometimes clicked from her long-forgiven encounter with
Jenn Kryze
-- had struck dozens of worlds from the Alliance's fold. But it had picked itself up, dusted itself off, and gotten back to work to earn the territory and the trust of those worlds back. But now -- nothing.
The Hidden Path had come to Natasi's attention like a lifeline in a dark sea of despair. Instead of sitting around, bemoaning their fate, doing nothing to prepare for what would inevitably a long war, here was someone doing something. It had come as no surprise that that someone was
Valery Noble
, the prolific and well-regarded former Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order. Natasi was one with the crowd that regarded Master Noble well. It was slightly tricky, with the Alliance all but branding the Hidden Path a terrorist organization, but once her intelligence services had confirmed that they were nothing of the sort, it was off to the races. There were niceties to observe, of course. Natasi had the good grace to disguise the movement of funds and materiel to the Hidden Path so that, if interdicted, it would not have the Heirate's fingerprints all over it. But that pretense had come to an end upon the briefing by
Cressida Tolliver
regarding the Senate's apparent lack of will to defend their systems, particularly the broad swath of material to which the Heirate belonged. Funds had been placed in escrow rather than into the Alliance's coffers, diplomatic treatises were drafted, signed, delivered, and ignored. And the Renascent Heirate was in the process of withdrawing its membership officially from the Alliance, having no faith in its willingness to defend them in the event of an attack.So Natasi had come to make it official -- after a fashion. There were more important matters than ceremonial exchanges of friendship, after all, especially in the middle of a war, when the forces of the dark were gearing up for a cataclysm. So it was in her personal ship, the Allegro-class Stealth Corvette, rather than the Hyperion, her Titanic-class fleet flagship that she arrived to Odessen, alone save for the presence of her husband and -- still -- most loyal guardian. The ship had limited cargo, so her offering this time had come in credit chits and in a promise yet to be made.
She hoped it would be enough.
There was something like Galidraan in Odessen's conifers, in the clean, alpine scent that greeted her when the ramp seals opened. She liked it immediately. The Sovereign had dressed simply, and she pulled the shawl hood over her dark hair as she stepped out into the mist. She descended the ramp, her footfalls soft and cautious. She approached the dockmaster. "Good afternoon," Natasi began. "I'm here to see Master Noble. I believe she is expecting me; I sent word ahead."
