NationStates Jolt Archive

CW, Godular, Huntaer (as Alliance), post at will here. Anyone else wanting invite, TG or MSN me. New Dornalia, I’m open to you participating in this but plz MSN me first.

WALL OF TEXT WARNING: This single post is intended to cover several months NS time in a timeskip while still accounting for events in that time. As such, it’s kinda…long, and if you’re tired, best to rest and come back later :)

CW, plz correct any inaccuracies about the siege of Jurai. ;)

In the months after the Battle of Konoha (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=499510&page=9)

Nothing was quite the same. Not even the weather. But that was a Good Thing nonetheless.

Partly because Jurai, capital system of CoreWorlds, was thoroughly glazed over by glaciers by the Empire’s little Nightcloak, which had blocked out all sunlight for the duration of a very prolonged siege, mysteriously abandoned by the Empire.

Partly because White Diamond was itself recovering from a Sith-induced drought the previous summer.

Partly because Woodians had long memories. In this case, not so long, as they remembered well the shipments of food from CoreWorlds in the aftermath of the utter and total crop failures of the previous summer and autumn.

But across White Diamond, billion-year old weather records fell on what seemed a daily basis.

Fifty-eight inches of snow fell in the nation’s capital, in the forty-eight hours after Admiral Riordan’s memorial, 19-20 January.

Record rainfall in the equatorial regions only a day later…followed by record warmth.

Record temperature swings on the steppe east of the Bitterwind Range…fifty degrees an hour…

…By the day, it seemed, billion-year old records fell. To the Woodians, it served as a harsh reminder to not fuck things up, as humanity had done on Earth. Everyone over forty remembered the same kind of weather volatility on Earth that had driven Evil Woody Thoughts to the stars in the first place. Indeed, it seemed odd to foreigners that Woodians would even celebrate this kind of weather…they were fully aware of the sentience below the ground that they stood on, fully aware that It was bailing them out from the lingering climatological effects of the Dark Times. Fully aware that such conditions were necessary to undo the lingering climatological effects of the Dark Side. And though it made erosion a problem, it was not a problem so great that a curtailment of industrial-scale überfarming would fail to address.

However, the wacky weather also served another purpose. It breathed life back into the February equatorial harvest. It came three weeks late, actually, in early March, due to late planting. Its yield was only thirty percent of normal. It was enough. At least to last through July’s harvest. It was certainly better than the complete crop failure that had been expected.

For the Dark Times had made themselves known. A grim fact of life it was that the harvest barely yielded self-sufficiency for the prewar population. For the postwar population…minus five hundred million souls…there was a surplus. And within three seasons of Coredians rendering emergency food aid onto Woodians…the time was come to return the favor.

The government, flush with unexpected cash from unexpected capital gains receipts, effectively nationalized the surplus. The Parliament appropriated enough funding to buy a four-month supply of food for half a billion people in a single block purchase, and within two days, the transaction was executed. Within four days, all of it was shipped to the frozen Coredian capital, along with agricultural replicating equipment. Tropical fruits, rice, vegetables, legumes, and nuts suddenly abounded on a planet that not so long ago, would have grown such produce with ease, but now was frozen over like Hoth.

The record snows above thirty or so degrees latitude also left more presents. Melting snowpack meant full reservoirs. It meant slow-released moisture finding its way into the soil that spring. Which, in turn, meant a much better harvest of grains, buckwheat, temperate produce, chestnuts, and hay. Again, a goodly chunk of that found itself on the merchant marine, bound for Jurai. Only the hay was held back, and that to feed livestock so that the Woodians and Coredians alike might have some higher-quality meat than the replicated protein mush to eat this coming winter…


Yet agricultural issues, important though they were, were not the heart of the collective Woodian soul. There were other matters that needed mending. Such as the government structure itself. As usual, it was [Acting] Prime Minister Whitfield’s words that cut to the heart of the matter…

And the members of the government are painfully aware that, for the first time in history, they were not elected to their positions. I was not elected to mine. The first hundred people to wander into the Parliament Chamber became the hundred members of the Eighty-Third Parliament of Evil Woody Thoughts. All are well aware that they are there because of circumstance, not because of an election.

Yet, hidden in the news that six hundred ninety-four million Woodians are either confirmed dead or listed as missing and presumed dead, is the information necessary to rectify that problem. Hidden in the numbing numbers is the information necessary to recompile destroyed voter registration rolls, reapportion districts to restore the one-person-one-vote principle, and hold a fair, free, and honest election.

Therefore, I call for a special election before this year is out, not because running it will be easy, but because it will be difficult...Woodian society must reconstruct itself; a new generation of poll volunteers shall arise to take up the mantle of the purged...and Evil Woody Thoughts shall reconstitute itself as the Third Republic in its history.

I further call upon the Parliament, as soon as it re-enters open session, to enact a process by which the missing, if found, can be welcomed back into Woodian society with open arms, with the full rights and responsibilities as Woodian citizens.

I call upon those of you watching from home to volunteer your time as poll workers.

I further announce that I will not stand for election, and will yield my position to whomever is elected in my place, as it is time for a new generation of leadership to arise.

After the Parliament had dealt with the exigencies of war, after taking its preventative measures against war profiteering and graft (which no Woodian would ever suffer to occur; if there was one profession held in the same esteem as the Jedi to a Woodian, it was the investigative journalist), it turned its attention to this matter. A very difficult matter indeed.

Districts had to be redrawn. Without gerrymandering. Normally, the Parliament would seek counsel from the judiciary in such a situation. But the judiciary itself was still recovering from the ruinous effects of the war…having a maniacal Sith dictator, even for a period as short as a month, tended to do that.

Enter Teh Committees.

It is said that committees exist to table shit and do absolutely nothing. However, the glare of news cameras tended to be a countervailing influence in this case.

For twelve hours a day, six days a week, the Parliament Select Committee on Elections met.

For twelve hours a day it heard testimony from refugees.

For twelve hours a day it considered the outcomes of previous elections conducted in the aftermath of a civil war. It wasn’t as if the experience of Earth didn’t provide enough examples.

For twelve hours a day it poured over statistical studies of democratizing nations, what worked, what didn’t. After all, Evil Woody Thoughts was tasked with re-democratizing.

For twelve hours a day it considered constituent feedback.

For twelve hours a day it considered historical cases of fraudulent elections. Not only in nonconsolidated democracies, but also in such places where fraud would not be so expected, such as the historical United States. Including the cases of Illinois (every election cycle with the Daley political machine), Florida 2000, and Ohio 2004.

For twelve hours a day it considered the issue of the two hundred million missing, and whether any of those had survived the war, and how to reconcile their right as citizens to vote with the prevention of fraud.

Finally, after four months of these debates, the whole thing televised live on public access channels (which actually got ratings in the tens of millions of viewers at any given moment) on 20 April, the Parliament was ready to call a special election to be held on 30 October…


Of Konoha

The Huntaerian Empire’s worst enemy wasn’t Admiral Makaryk.

It was the Woodian engineer.

Following the thorough debugging of the Megadolon, which had been split in half in the Battle of Konoha and left in salvageable condition, thousands of those Woodian engineers swarmed the broken pocket Towerless Super Star Destroyer. To pick it apart, yet put it back together. To cart off its technology, yet improve upon it. To incorporate technology bought with cooperation not only with CoreWorlds, but with the Huntaerian Alliance. If there was one thing that Woodian engineers were good at, it was uniting several disparate technology bases into one horribly efficient killing machine.

It was, therefore, that the Empire’s MLSS would be unrecognizable to the Empire. It combined the Empire’s technology with Coredian technology that allowed the shields to absorb energy and redirect it into the host ship’s systems, rather than simply dissipating it. It combined the Empire’s technology with an anti-radiation shield Woodian engineers had developed in response to the realization that if Evil Woody Thoughts could buy Thalaron-enabled Scimtar Warbirds off the black market, someone else had them too, and for all EWT knew, that someone else might be the Empire.

Moreover, improved capacitators bought from the Huntaerian Alliance found their way onto the Megadolon, such that its weapons capacity could be increased half again. To this end, a hundred fifty particle projector cannons were mounted on it. As well as…six experimental particle projector batteries.

The Immortal II hadn’t been prototyped yet—however, after the Battle of Konoha it was manifestly incumbent upon engineers to develop improved coolant. Coolant that could better handle the strain of a bolt of energy containing heat an appreciable fraction of that of the inside of a star, heat that had slagged the old cannons when they fired the ship’s entire reactor throughput (a tactic credited to the late Admiral Riordan). Cryonics research was probably as important as shipyard capacity to winning this war, at least insofar as Woodians were concerned…

Evil Woody Thoughts relished the opportunity to learn from the Megadolon just as it relished the opportunity to resurrect it and return it to service.

But the Megadolon wasn’t the only thing that Evil Woody Thoughts salvaged over Konoha orbit. Recycling cargoes hoovered in Konoha orbit, collecting wayward scraps and sorting them.

They managed to find some twenty-four short tons worth of armor plating, bearing serial numbers from the EWS Battlestar. The ship that had sacrificed itself to kill the Obliterator…all that was left of the 2.5 km ship would not even build a light scout ‘Mech, and it was found in a million pieces. But it found its way back to White Diamond nonetheless.

The millwrights who handled the scrap handled it more like they would handle mithril, for they held the remains of the ship to be something near sacred. Not so much the ship itself, but the deeds of her crew…they melted it down, and gingerly poured the molds to reforge what they could…


The Summer

17 July

The first anniversary of the Darkest Day (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=452833) was arrived.

There were no mass demonstrations. Certainly no parades. The only thing of note seemed to be the delivery of those 24 tons of the EWS Battlestar, reforged into a single block, to the Parliament Rotunda.

There, stonemasons started the long, arduous process of carving out the names of every single person who had been on that ship when it rammed. Every last crewmember who had sacrificed themselves so that Konoha wouldn’t be occupied by the Empire as Jurai had been.

What went unseen: the fasting. Cafés were empty during noon hour. There were few who ate, or drank anything but water; most of those who did eat were the sick, the elderly, or the children, with very few exceptions. After sundown, the fast broke; people ate their dinner with somber heart, yet thankful that they had been spared. And upon sunrise, the fast resumed again…

…So it was, day after day. For the entire month, Woodians knew not fun as they observed one day of sacrifice for each day the civil war had gone on. For this entire month, flags flew at half staff, and the parks even emptied of children.

21 August

One month, four days of fasting. At long last, on the anniversary of the defeat of Darth Ebolus, people ate breakfast after sunrise. Yet somber mood prevailed.

The time of the pilgrimage had come. One year ago, inhabitants of Great Woody City had buried their dead, a third of the city. They had done so only after a sixty-kilometer, one way pilgrimage to the foothills of the Bitterwinds outside the capital. They had done so by the tens of millions, bearing candles and coffins, shovels and spades. The March of Sorrows ( http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=10731387&postcount=631 ) had formed the nation’s largest cemetery.

The evening of this 21st of August, it was re-enacted. The same participants. The same route. In what would become an annual tradition, the Woodians paid homage to their dead…


29 October
“Election Eve”

The debates had been held.

The election observers were arriving.

The investigative journalists were digging—as uncovering election fraud in Evil Woody Thoughts was the Holy Grail of Woodian investigative journalism.

The ballots were printed.

The outgoing Prime Minister, Jacob Whitfield, had volunteered himself as a poll worker.

The people debated openly in the streets. One thing the civil war had done fucked up: the old political party system was more or less uprooted. The voters had only the debates and backgrounds of the candidates to go on. In the case of the thirty or so members of the Eighty-third Parliament who decided to run again, the “Convenience Sample Parliament,” as it came to be known, as its members had literally walked into the chamber in the aftermath of the civil war, voters also had voting records to compare. The other seventy-ish members decided that they had performed their service in time of need, and wished to return to private life.

And in cases where there were six candidates for Prime Minister, Instant Runoff Voting was made of win, even if it was a pain in the ass to do with paper ballots. But the previous Parliament had ordered it done nonetheless. As a result, elections results would not come overnight, and everyone knew this. To counter the threat of abuse, everyone was also watching like a hawk. It helped that any Woodian citizen had the right to observe the canvassing of the ballots, from behind one-way glass (canvassers not able to see the observers), to keep malfeasance in check. It probably also helped that election fraud was punishable by life in prison without parole—death if bribery was involved.

Even Colonel Keith Allaire, known for groaning that his Master, who just happened to be the outgoing Prime Minister, was “turning him into a politician,” was genuinely interested. His Force-sensitive military colleagues took their leave of the Jedi Order, pausing their training a few days to go vote in person. For Keith, it had been a matter of postponing his Trials by a week or so.

And then there was young John Masaki (who used his last name only with reluctance, as he was the rare six-year-old who hated being royalty). The kid made sure that his adoptive father would be spending the last days in October and the first few of November on White Diamond, even though Taylor Masaki hated politics. The problem: whenever Taylor showed a lack of interest in Woodian politics, he couldn’t get his adoptive son to shut up. Young John, while he had refused to suffer himself to see a soccer game, going so far as to cloak (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12238602&postcount=242) to hide and avoid having to see one. However, John did tell his parental unit that he would be more than willing to see the season opener hockey game in Great Woody City on 2 November…the first observance of sport in Evil Woody Thoughts since the civil war…

Democracy. Elections. Such quaint little things.

The two Avatars scanned through all the various networks reporting on the election as they conducted their duties at the embassy on White Diamond, riveted by all the to-do being generated and the sheer enthusiasm of it all. Truth be told, though the concept of representative democracy was unknown to them, the entire thing was fascinating to behold, both as a learning experience and as a relatively decent spectacle.

The information gleaned even from the networks would be sufficient to keep Godulan sociologists bickering for years. The Political Science sector would be going nuts for a while too, if only because here there was an honest to goodness example of a democracy as unconcerned with bureaucracy as possible, and almost as quick to act as the Godulan Overlink. Surprising, really. The Woodians held debates about declarations of war, economic reorganizations, even dispensation of combat medals... yet they managed a level of proactivity comparable, however roughly, to the Godulans simply saying as one: 'Get it done'.

Fascinating, and intriguing.

One would suspect that they are almost angry. Lashing out at the tragedy that occurred here and on Old Terra the same way we lashed out at Sojun's travesty.

Indeed. By erasing the effects of Ebolus' short-lived regime, they put forth their final act of defiance, one last declaration that the sith lord failed in his plot. Even the planet is erasing him.

Ebolus pissed a great many folks off, though pissing off a planet... that takes skill.

Or stupidity. Keep in mind it killed him.

True. Very true. It made an avatar of Whitfield though. What would have happened if a less suitable individual had been made into the executor of the planet's will?

I shudder to think. I suspect we would have been forced to intervene.

Back then we had not undergone Kythonization, however.

Does it matter? We had Plasmatic Pulse long before that. Before the Triad came, even. It would have been painful, but we may well have been forced to terminate the planet.

Fortunate it is that such circumstances did not present themselves. I suspect that the termination of any planet by our hand would be as traumatic to us as Terivine was... we managed through it once, but how would we handle doing it ourselves?

Again, I shudder to think. I concur with your sentiment that it is fortunate that such circumstances did not present themselves. Let us concern ourselves with the execution of this election...

Concerning the thoughts whooshing through young John Masaki's little head...

During this time, he experienced some of the biggest mood swings known to humanity. In the days immediately following the battle of Kohona, the kid actually played with others, though he normally sought out kids outside of the Masaki royal family's (too narrow in his view) circle of friends. Including what a few in the family (Anakin especially) were liable to consider blasphemy...non-Force sensitives. The six-year old hated to consider himself remotely associated with royalty, and preferred spending time with those Masakis who didn't flaunt it and kept it quiet as possible to those who frequently boasted of their abilities and status. For this reason, he reacted to the capture of Travis Masaki, the great failure of the Battle of Konoha from the Coredian view, much the same way as he would react to the capture of his thirty-eighth cousin. And whenever other Masakis wondered why he scarcely seemed to notice Travis' absence, he cloaked in that special way of his that made it seem like his Force signature had vanished into the netherlands of the Force itself.

During the summer, he observed the Woodian month of memorial for the civil war by silently fasting, same as most people of his nationality, but with a slight twist. He paid his respects silently, and in a solitude rigidly enforced with his Force-cloaking abilities. The ability he had "accidentally" discovered on Konoha was turning out to be the single biggest parenting challenge for the Fire Knight, who frequently could not answer the most basic of questions: "Do you know where your [adopted] son is?"

Nevertheless, Taylor had his ways. Whenever a holovid was lit up with a Woodian news channel, Taylor could figure out that John was filling his young head with news from back home. And paying attention to the upcoming election he was...

Taylor Masaki was as stubborn a Jedi as they come, unwilling to admit defeat and only recently beginning to mellow out from always cursing the sorry fellow who called him 'short' or any of its synonyms. But there are times when he is indeed force to conceed to someone. Most notably, his adopted son John. Exasperation is the order of the day as half the time, Taylor couldn't even *find* the newest member of the Masakis, and the other half, he finds that their interests are quite different indeed. While Taylor doesn't care much for politics, preferring to do things straight, John glues himself to the holo sets, watching every bit of news from White Diamond pertaining to politics. Where Taylor is a fan of soccer, as many Coredians are, John prefers hockey, which is becoming quite popular on the now-frozen world of Jurai.

In short, the two male members of the Clan are quite different, but it wouldn't be Taylor without being concerned for his son. Not to mention he had a few things to talk to the kid about. Therein lies the reason why, for perhaps the thousandth time, Taylor tries to actually find the kid, even go so far as to summon a few felines to his aid to try and sniff out the boy. Hopefully, he'd have better luck with animal senses than human ones...

OOC: Thank you. As 1) you aren't on MSN at the moment, 2) I'd like to use previous MSN convos to possibly chop extraneous transportation posts, and 3) the OP stopped on the eve of the election, I'd like to assume the Masaki family is already on White Diamond...

Also, if we could keep one-line conversation spam to a minimum, it'd be appreciated...

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The felines were hardly necessary. John knew. Not so much because of Taylor Masaki's frantic searching, as John was nearly a mile away from his adopted father when he thought something was whispering in his head.

But there was no whisper, just that Taylor's frantic search rippled through the Force, whereupon the presence a few thousand miles below amplified the frenzy. The Light Side was *strong* here, definitely strong enough to implore John to find his father despite the fact that his method of cloaking, unusual even among Jedi with the ability to hide themselves, tended to shield him from such sensations unless he actually sought them out. Part of Taylor's difficulty in finding the kid rested in the kid's ability to cloak himself not only physically, but to generate the illusion of cloaking from the Force as well. But John had not yet learned how to keep the Force cloak from blunting his senses, especially his passive ones, and it was only the Force-amplification that the planet he stood on provided that overcame this...

...Of course, it wasn't like he knew exactly how that all worked...just that it did, and that his father was looking for him. Now. Therefore, young John Masaki took up a brisk pace, backtracking from whence he came, shimmering back into the vision of others about ten minutes later, about five feet away from his adoptive father.

"Umm...you wanted to talk to me?" the youngling asked, with a quiet voice.

OOC: Just the important ones, like Daniel, Taylor, Jacob, and spouses (Taylor is unmarried as of now).

IC:
"Guess I didn't need the cats." Taylor muttered quietly. "Well, yeah, I was kinda looking for you. It uh, comes to my attention that we don't spend a whole lotta time as, y'know a father-son kind of thing. So I was wondering if you'd like to do something together."

OOC: OK.

---------------

"Oh?" John asked, mildly surprised. Yet, he knew Taylor was right. They didn't spend much time together...because he was always cloaked to avoid the considerable number of Masakis (most, but not quite all, of them minors) that he didn't like. "Usually it's just the more...snotty...family members I try to avoid..." The boy's voice trailed off as additional thoughts formed in his head. He almost never wanted his parental unit to spend a credit on him beyond the bare minimum necessary for sustenance; in this he differed most substantially from any of the Masakis.

But concerning the celebratory atmosphere likely to occur after the election...he might be able to make an exception.

A wan smile crossed his face. "I know of a certain group planning on going to the Woodian Hockey League season opener two days after the election. Perhaps we should join them?"

OOC: OK.

---------------

"Oh?" John asked, mildly surprised. Yet, he knew Taylor was right. They didn't spend much time together...because he was always cloaked to avoid the considerable number of Masakis (most, but not quite all, of them minors) that he didn't like. "Usually it's just the more...snotty...family members I try to avoid..." The boy's voice trailed off as additional thoughts formed in his head. He almost never wanted his parental unit to spend a credit on him beyond the bare minimum necessary for sustenance; in this he differed most substantially from any of the Masakis.

But concerning the celebratory atmosphere likely to occur after the election...he might be able to make an exception.

A wan smile crossed his face. "I know of a certain group planning on going to the Woodian Hockey League season opener two days after the election. Perhaps we should join them?"
"Yeah. I can think of a few I feel like getting away from." Taylor smiled. "As for the hockey season opener, well, I think I will give it a shot."

John nodded, smiling that he'd finally pried his adopted father away from soccer long enough to give hockey at least a chance. Mentally noting that it was getting dark, and that polls opened at six in the morning tomorrow, John Masaki provided yet another example of why he was so unusual for six-year olds. "We gotta get up early. I think I want to go to bed..."

OOC: CoreWorlds needs to post in Khal...

IC:

A bald man and a woman were sitting in a brightly lit room with 20 chairs aligning the edges of the chamber, they've been conversing for quite some time now. On the topic of elections... Something which the Alliance hasn't had the luxury to afford for the last four thousand years despite trying to be a democracy as they once were while they were the Grand Republic of Huntaer.

"I'm telling you Supreme Councilor, this is an opportune moment to observe how elections are done properly. We could avoid to have any more Darth Trilkan incidents once we reestablish ourselves in our proper position."

"We know that Senator Dorman wasn't elected due to faulty election polls. He was using the scare tactics similar to what McCarthy used during the classic United State's Red Scare."

The female snorted, "how can you still refer to the Dark Lord's name even after he himself renounced his former name?"

The Supreme Councilor shook his head, "'Increasing the fear of the name of a thing only increases the fear of the thing itself.' As I said, they couldn't help it until my master got me involved with the hearings and I casted out Senator Dorman. He was too powerful for the common politician to control. They needed us."

"You still can't deny the importance of this election. After what Darth Trilkan has done---"

"--Senator Dorman."

"Shut up Jorrus. Anyways, we could use the experience to see how the process is done in their way. They seem to be very efficient at what they do.

"Indeed they do," The Supreme Councilor tapped his foot for a few seconds, "aw screw it. Let's go. I could get away from this place every now and then." Melisha smiled and got up, getting ready to pack, "Oh... I was thinking. Maybe we could volunteer ourselves as ballot counters." Melisha stopped in her tracks, turning her head slowly at the Supreme Councilor, gritting her teeth.

"Oh?"

Jorrus smiled, "yes, I think you don't have enough to do over here." If there was a swinging door with a handle, Melisha would've slammed the door really hard as she walked out. Fortunately for Supreme Councilor Jorrus, he made sure that there were no doors with handles in the Temple. At all.

John nodded, smiling that he'd finally pried his adopted father away from soccer long enough to give hockey at least a chance. Mentally noting that it was getting dark, and that polls opened at six in the morning tomorrow, John Masaki provided yet another example of why he was so unusual for six-year olds. "We gotta get up early. I think I want to go to bed..."
"You're unusual for a six-year old. Most would beg to stay up a little longer." Taylor noted. "Very well. I'll see you in the morning."

He too noted that the polls opened tomorrow and didn't relish having to get more paper cuts. But John begged and Daniel and Jacob insisted, so here he was today.

Sometime before dawn, next day, 30 October

The outgoing Prime Minister, Jacob Whitfield, roused himself early, knowing full well that today was going to be a long day. He flipped on the holovid of the local 24-hour news channel, only to find out that lines were already forming at polling places...despite the fact that polls didn't open until six in the morning...a couple of hours yet.

Great...today's gonna be a long day. Whitfield shook the thought of working the next forty-eight to ninety-six hours without rest from his mind. But a necessary one. A wan smile crossed his face. Today the electorate has its chance to smite the final ruin of Ebolus upon the mountainous rock of the Republic he thought he had overthrown...

The Jedi Master did not tarry, getting ready as quickly as possible, gulping down a ration bar as it was the quickest possible breakfast with a modicum of nourishment. And he went on his way to the polling station where he was slated to spend the day.

The outgoing Prime Minister...working alongside spaceport machinists from the working-class Canal North neighborhood, as a poll worker. His thoughts turned briefly to the Masakis, who would be a couple miles south of him for the day, before turning again to the task at hand. Setting up the voting booths, namely.

Nor did he waste the machinists' time with idle chat; there was a task to be done, and the machinists were just as determined to complete it as Master Whitfield was. So determined, in fact, that when he introduced himself simply as "Jacob," it took them a couple of seconds to realize just which Jacob he was. But the machinists quickly resumed their tasks in preparing the polls for opening.

At last, the first rays of sunlight appeared over the snow-capped Bitterwind Mountains to the east, giving them an eerie, yet beautiful halo. Whitfield looked at his watch. 6:00 in the morning...he threw open the doors to the polling place in the heart of Great Woody City's industrial district and welcomed the line in.

Election Day was here!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, somewhere on the eastern outskirts

Colonel Allaire quickly put on a pair of jeans and a sweater for the brisk morning that awaited him, making sure that the others in his party were not far behind. He had postponed his Jedi Trials a full week to be here, and to observe the results of this day. His companions, having not started Jedi training until after the Battle of Konoha, weren't at that stage yet, but they, too, had taken their leave from the Jedi Order for this occasion.

Keith eyed those in front of him. Kevin Dmitruk, Peter Sorensen (who had shown a keen interest in Juyo), Raúl Vigil (like Sorensen in that respect), and Chris Mrozik (who had shown a specific interest in interacting with other life forms through the Force) all stood, waiting in civilian clothes. Keith motioned for them to hop in the jeep. Of a couple hundred Woodian military officers that Darth Ebolus had directly mindwiped during the Dark Times, these were the only five that had survived to see their minds restored (excluding the sixth survivor, who committed ritual suicide in the aftermath of the fall of Jurai).

The Parliament had passed a law that barred commissioned officers from handling ballots other than their own as part of the post-Ebolus reforms to make sure that the military didn't corrupt the democratic process again. However, soldiers and officers could still vote; no Woodian would dare propose disenfranchising them--they just couldn't work as poll workers like Master Whitfield could.

It was a short drive to the local polling place, some miles apart from Whitfield or the Masakis, whereupon they hurried up to get in line...

Dawn of the next day, Taylor Masaki and his brothers woke up, knowing that there was much to be done today. After washing up and dressing, they started heading down to the poll places to begin overseeing the election process and even handle some ballots. Daniel himself thought it interesting to get a nice crash course in someone else's democratic process.

OOC: I inspired CW to RP Daniel in third person...I autopwn this thread:D

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The lines only seemed to get longer as the hours passed, even though in most precincts, there were so many ballot booths that no room existed to cram more in. While voter turnout had historically been between two thirds and three fourths of those eligible before the Dark Times, it wasn't difficult to tell from the crowds that this election was going to see very close to one hundred percent. By noon, lines in some places were three hours long, and volunteers brought sandwiches and water to those who needed help to stay in line for that long without unpleasant physical side effects.

That turnout included undocumented Woodian citizens listed as missing, too, particularly those recovered from the volcanic blast zone on Earth, which had alone put two hundred million plus on the rolls of missing (most of which were dead, their bodies never recovered, but some of which dug their way out of the ash days, even weeks, after the eruption and had migrated to surrounding areas as refugees in canoes built from salvaged timber), or those who had escaped to the mountain ranges on White Diamond and had not yet returned to society, having not known the war was over. While they were documented before the chaos of the civil war, they had not been stripped of their citizenship by the government. Therefore, the government had made certain preparations for those documented only on the rolls of missing citizens, as quickly became evident...

Taylor's precinct

There were two voters in the line, husband and wife, who looked different from all the rest. Their clothing looked more worn and outdated than anyone else's, as if it had been passed down through generations and then donated to them. The man had a long beard with what looked like grey dirt in it. That dirt, was, in fact, ash, which he had refused to scrub from his beard for months.

Finally, they came to the front of the line, where the Woodian poll worker sitting next to Taylor handled their case. "May I please see your ID?" she asked.

The man extracted his wallet from his pocket, and it seemed like volcanic dust had been falling out of it every time he did that for the past year and a bit. He handed over a frayed laminate ID, covered with so much ash that it took a wipe with a handkerchief to make it even legible, to the poll worker. "My wife lost hers in the eruption," he said quietly.

The poll worker nodded, extracting a datapad and entering his last name into a search query in the missing persons database, along with the ZIP code listed on the man's ID. "Sayeed and Hijra al-Maghrib?"

"Yes."

The poll worker manually entered the ID number into the database, and it came up a match with Sayeed. "Sir, your ID is confirmed valid to prove identity, but I would highly recommend getting it re-issued with an updated address," the poll worker began, handing him a small booklet with instructions concerning refugee registration and resettlement, and a refugee ballot. "However, as your wife does not have ID, I need to run a biometric test to confirm her identity and dispense a ballot. Is that OK?"

She nodded, and the poll worker had her stand still while she took a retinal scan and swabbed her skin for DNA, entering both into the database. And both mached.

The poll worker smiled as she handed the woman a refugee ballot, knowing that at least two people could be removed from the long list of people missing and presumed dead. Today was going to be a good day, for reasons more than just restoring the democratic process...

A couple of hours later

In certain places, today turned out to be so good that it created a little problem.

It started in a few isolated precincts of Eheayana, on Earth, made famous by Admiral Basque's siege of it to liberate it from the Dark Lord's forces, at great cost as the dark "defenders" made it a point to trap the Coredians into killing as many civilians as they could, and as a gathering point after the war for those displaced by the events near the former capital.

Precincts there started running out of refugee ballots, and poll workers there had to make frantic calls to find out which precincts still had supplies of ballots so that they could redirect refugee voters there while they notified the Board of Elections. Local news started airing the precincts that were out of refugee ballots and the precincts that still had them, almost like running school cancellations on a snow day...

...Meanwhile, the national news outlets started to pick up on the reports of refugee ballot shortages...

...Little did anyone know that such a problem was deepening...

OOC: I inspired CW to RP Daniel in third person...I autopwn this thread:D

---------------------------------

The lines only seemed to get longer as the hours passed, even though in most precincts, there were so many ballot booths that no room existed to cram more in. While voter turnout had historically been between two thirds and three fourths of those eligible before the Dark Times, it wasn't difficult to tell from the crowds that this election was going to see very close to one hundred percent. By noon, lines in some places were three hours long, and volunteers brought sandwiches and water to those who needed help to stay in line for that long without unpleasant physical side effects.

That turnout included undocumented Woodian citizens listed as missing, too, particularly those recovered from the volcanic blast zone on Earth, which had alone put two hundred million plus on the rolls of missing (most of which were dead, their bodies never recovered, but some of which dug their way out of the ash days, even weeks, after the eruption and had migrated to surrounding areas as refugees in canoes built from salvaged timber), or those who had escaped to the mountain ranges on White Diamond and had not yet returned to society, having not known the war was over. While they were documented before the chaos of the civil war, they had not been stripped of their citizenship by the government. Therefore, the government had made certain preparations for those documented only on the rolls of missing citizens, as quickly became evident...

Taylor's precinct

There were two voters in the line, husband and wife, who looked different from all the rest. Their clothing looked more worn and outdated than anyone else's, as if it had been passed down through generations and then donated to them. The man had a long beard with what looked like grey dirt in it. That dirt, was, in fact, ash, which he had refused to scrub from his beard for months.

Finally, they came to the front of the line, where the Woodian poll worker sitting next to Taylor handled their case. "May I please see your ID?" she asked.

The man extracted his wallet from his pocket, and it seemed like volcanic dust had been falling out of it every time he did that for the past year and a bit. He handed over a frayed laminate ID, covered with so much ash that it took a wipe with a handkerchief to make it even legible, to the poll worker. "My wife lost hers in the eruption," he said quietly.

The poll worker nodded, extracting a datapad and entering his last name into a search query in the missing persons database, along with the ZIP code listed on the man's ID. "Sayeed and Hijra al-Maghrib?"

"Yes."

The poll worker manually entered the ID number into the database, and it came up a match with Sayeed. "Sir, your ID is confirmed valid to prove identity, but I would highly recommend getting it re-issued with an updated address," the poll worker began, handing him a small booklet with instructions concerning refugee registration and resettlement, and a refugee ballot. "However, as your wife does not have ID, I need to run a biometric test to confirm her identity and dispense a ballot. Is that OK?"

She nodded, and the poll worker had her stand still while she took a retinal scan and swabbed her skin for DNA, entering both into the database. And both mached.

The poll worker smiled as she handed the woman a refugee ballot, knowing that at least two people could be removed from the long list of people missing and presumed dead. Today was going to be a good day, for reasons more than just restoring the democratic process...
As Taylor conducted the ballot process, he noticed that a refugee had come to the ballot next to him and realized that he was one of the missing people from the EWT provinces on Earth.

"That was interesting." He commented to himself. And a good sign, too. If only it was possible for more like that couple to come away from death.

A couple of hours later

In certain places, today turned out to be so good that it created a little problem.

It started in a few isolated precincts of Eheayana, on Earth, made famous by Admiral Basque's siege of it to liberate it from the Dark Lord's forces, at great cost as the dark "defenders" made it a point to trap the Coredians into killing as many civilians as they could, and as a gathering point after the war for those displaced by the events near the former capital.

Precincts there started running out of refugee ballots, and poll workers there had to make frantic calls to find out which precincts still had supplies of ballots so that they could redirect refugee voters there while they notified the Board of Elections. Local news started airing the precincts that were out of refugee ballots and the precincts that still had them, almost like running school cancellations on a snow day...

...Meanwhile, the national news outlets started to pick up on the reports of refugee ballot shortages...

...Little did anyone know that such a problem was deepening...
Daniel was in another polling area and noted that there was a shortage of ballots under his care. "Not a good thing. I wonder what I can do here..."

Jason woke up very early on the day of voting. Still in bed and half asleep, he looked over at his clock. It was 4 am. He groaned as he threw off the sheets and headed for the shower. After a quick shower, Jason put on some sweats and went outside for a quick run and stretch. Today would be a long day, especially just standing there in the lines to vote. Getting back to his apartment, he hit the shower again and then threw on a a hoody and jeans. Grabbing his winter mech warrior jacket as he left, he threw it on as he walked outside and pulled a tuque out of one of the pockets.

It was 5 am when he left his apartment and headed for the nearest polling station. When he got there, there was already a large line up. Sighing, Jason pulled a lawn chair out of his backpack and settled down to wait for his turn. Pulling a magazine out of his backpack, Jason began to read about the season opener for the hockey season which he had managed to get tickets for. Skipping through the rules section that talked about no ties in the league with 3 OT's in the regular season and 3 OT's plus shootout in the playoffs, he saw a page that caught his eye. It showed the record for the longest regular season game; going the full time, 120 minutes, 3 OT's, ending in a scoreless tie, the only one in history.

After about an hour of reading, the line began to move. Jason packed up his chair and threw the magazine back in. As the line moved slowly, Jason went over the candidates again in his mind. He was still trying to decide between the Übernationalizt Party and several Independants.

Finally, it was Jason's turn. When he got to the polling station, he saw Master Whitfield there. Bowing low to him, he went up to him.

"Master Whitfield, I believe that I am not on the registered voters list. I was told you had all the papers filled out for me and I only need to show you my ID."

Jason then pulled out his citizen ID and his military ID and presented them to Master Whitfield. Being cleared, he went to the polling station, voted for one of the independants and then went home.

As Taylor conducted the ballot process, he noticed that a refugee had come to the ballot next to him and realized that he was one of the missing people from the EWT provinces on Earth.

"That was interesting." He commented to himself. And a good sign, too. If only it was possible for more like that couple to come away from death.

Little did Taylor know that it was a bit more widespread than that, definitely widespread enough on Earth to cause problems. Nor were they the only such refugees to vote on White Diamond either, but as a percentage of voters, they were more thinly disbursed than on Earth...

Daniel was in another polling area and noted that there was a shortage of ballots under his care. "Not a good thing. I wonder what I can do here..."

"We expected high turnout." The Woodian poll worker next to him pointed to boxes on the floor. "When we run out, we unpack more ballots." Of course, sequestered from news reports, the poll worker didn't know that Daniel's comment foreshadowed a more narrow shortage elsewhere, either.

Jason woke up very early on the day of voting. Still in bed and half asleep, he looked over at his clock. It was 4 am. He groaned as he threw off the sheets and headed for the shower. After a quick shower, Jason put on some sweats and went outside for a quick run and stretch. Today would be a long day, especially just standing there in the lines to vote. Getting back to his apartment, he hit the shower again and then threw on a a hoody and jeans. Grabbing his winter mech warrior jacket as he left, he threw it on as he walked outside and pulled a tuque out of one of the pockets.

It was 5 am when he left his apartment and headed for the nearest polling station. When he got there, there was already a large line up. Sighing, Jason pulled a lawn chair out of his backpack and settled down to wait for his turn. Pulling a magazine out of his backpack, Jason began to read about the season opener for the hockey season which he had managed to get tickets for. Skipping through the rules section that talked about no ties in the league with 3 OT's in the regular season and 3 OT's plus shootout in the playoffs, he saw a page that caught his eye. It showed the record for the longest regular season game; going the full time, 120 minutes, 3 OT's, ending in a scoreless tie, the only one in history.

After about an hour of reading, the line began to move. Jason packed up his chair and threw the magazine back in. As the line moved slowly, Jason went over the candidates again in his mind. He was still trying to decide between the Übernationalizt Party and several Independants.

Finally, it was Jason's turn. When he got to the polling station, he saw Master Whitfield there. Bowing low to him, he went up to him.

"Master Whitfield, I believe that I am not on the registered voters list. I was told you had all the papers filled out for me and I only need to show you my ID."

Jason then pulled out his citizen ID and his military ID and presented them to Master Whitfield. Being cleared, he went to the polling station, voted for one of the independants and then went home.

Master Whitfield gave the captain a wan smile, knowing that he had removed Jason Altor from the missing persons list upon meeting him at Konoha. It had resulted in a newspaper story on page A14 in the Great Woody Post, but apparently Jason hadn't seen that article from months ago.

He quickly slid Jason's ballot in the ballot box with one hand as he processed the ID of the next voter.

Dantari and CW, for the 1938485858th time, you need to work out training arrangements...

------------------------------------------------------------

Around sundown

A call to all precincts went out from the Board of Elections to report stocks on hand of *refugee* ballots for emergency requisitioning. The shortages of refugee ballots at Eheayana and surrounding areas were becoming too severe to address by rerouting voters.

Whitfield quickly inventoried. He grabbed the small stack of refugee ballots, and speed-counted 84. Sixteen refugees had come through his precinct today to cast ballots.

He found another 900, in rubber bands of 100, making them easier to count...

If the shortages are getting that bad on Earth...there will be good news when the votes are counted. He sent 800 back to the Board of Elections to be transported back to Earth where they were needed most...

Meanwhile...

Taylor, Jacob, and Daniel, watching three seperate precincts, could only watch as Woodian poll workers quickly inventoried the refugee ballot inventory and remitted the excess to the Board of Elections, whereupon they were promptly shipped off to the spaceport for a little emergency delivery...

On the news...

The lead story on the evening news turned out to be most interesting. The evening news anchor for WNN shuffled papers as she delivered news of shit hitting fan. "The much-anticipated election turned out to be swarmed by refugees in Eheayana. We have just received word from the Board of Elections that more than half of precincts in Eheayana are out of refugee ballots, and more than a quarter of precincts on Woodyeen Island as a whole are out.* The Board of Elections is issuing an emergency requisition of unused refugee ballots on White Diamond, so that the ballots may be shipped to Earth, where clearly they are in greater demand. This is expected to take about three hours. Refugee voters on Earth are advised not to try to find open precincts but to wait for the arrival of the new ballots. After normal voting is closed, pursuant to election law, polls will remain open for the amount of time that it takes to deliver the ballots to allow the refugees to vote. During this time ONLY refugee voters will be accepted. If a precinct runs out of normal ballots as well, it will extend hours for all voters for the length of time that it was out of ballots....

...Election officials admit they are surprised by the volume of refugees who have turned out to vote, but they say that they are more than happy to scramble to redress the reported problems. Said one official, who declined to be named, 'The severity of the shortages indicates that hundreds of thousands minimum will be able to be removed from the lists of missing and presumed dead.' Indeed, let us hope that this is one case where the silver lining is actually bigger than the cloud."

*ooc: Woodyeen Island=about the size of Honshu, the main island of Japan.

Such a joyous occasion indeed, no? That a bureaucratic problem such as a shortage of ballots should bring to light that maybe the casualties from the war were not as bad as they initially appeared.

Very much so. We can forgive this minor hiccup for the boon that it has brought to light... of course...

Of course what?

Would not these folks have been noticed the moment they made an attempt to earn a salary? Would not the companies employing various folks have been able to eliminate them from the listing of the dead had their name been on it? Would not alarm bells have been triggered the moment such individuals made any monetary transaction or applied for any kind of permit?

A good point. Surely they should have known earlier than this...

"We expected high turnout." The Woodian poll worker next to him pointed to boxes on the floor. "When we run out, we unpack more ballots." Of course, sequestered from news reports, the poll worker didn't know that Daniel's comment foreshadowed a more narrow shortage elsewhere, either.
"Ah, that works." I nodded.

Later on, the three of us had watched the news and had reactions ranging from intruge to confusion. Also, the fact that ballots are running out tells me that there's a hell of a lot more people voting than in other countries, pretty much the entire population. I could understand as they wanted to make a future for themselves.

Eheayana

The day went down in the West, the mountains west of the elongated, north-to-south aligned city of thirty million casting their shadow over the white stone, some of it still burned black by the siege fifteen months ago.

People who survived the Dark Times without ever having been listed as missing cast their ballots as normal, albeit after hurrying up and waiting in line. Those who found themselves on the refugee list waited patiently.

They did not have to wait as long as perhaps they had expected. Within an HOUR, some three hundred thousand refugee ballots had been culled from no less than eight thousand precincts on White Diamond for shipment to Evil Woody Thoughts' default new "terran capital" (the old "terran capital:" destroyed in the war). Other cities reporting shortages received seperate shipments in a comparable time frame as well.

Distribution to the precincts was similarly short. The polls would only be required to stay open two extra hours on Woodyeen Island to deal with the refugee voters. News stations reported the re-opening of precincts to refugees, one by one in what turned out to be a fairly quick process.

There were those times when even the neatest democracies got messy...but Woodians cleaned up their messes as soon as possible...

As the next few hours passed, the time for polls to close was come.

That was the EASY part.

Now came the HARD part.

The prospect of counting all those ballots, by Instant Runoff Voting rules, BY HAND. Computers...could be hacked. And the last thing that a Woodian would suffer to be hacked would be his vote...

Even though we all were in different areas, all three of us groaned at the same time when we noticed the sheer number of ballots to count. But count we had to. So, by virtue of being there, we began to count the ballots...

A shuttle dropped out of the Necrominus just beyond the outer edges of the planet known as White Diamond, home of the Woodians. Melisha and Jorrus sat in this new prototype shuttle, The Viper (http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a172/Huntaer/transports/rd-viper_class.jpg), one in the front of the other. Melisha sat in the front, due to her superior piloting skills over Jorrus's. Jorrus therefor, sat in the back and maintained weapon's council. "Are we there yet?"

Melisha sighed, "you're worse than a padawan on a training cruise. Can't you act like your age like the rest of the Councilors?"

"You haven't been in a crowded shuttle full of Malkir Councilors then who can't fly a shuttle. The answer is: No. How close are we for communications?"

"... We've BEEN in range since we entered the Necrominus. Jesus..."

I love this job, Jorrus smiled to himself, "communication's channel is open. Attention White Diamond Air Traffic Control, this is Supreme Councilor Jorrus of the Huntarian Alliance. We await confirmation to land in an appropriate designated area for the election process. Please reply."

Melisha looked and stared at the planet, "it's simply amazing what a Sith Lord can do to a planet in only one month. Honestly... The corruption, destruction of democracy."

Jorrus nodded, "these guys only have one month's worth of damage to fix. A simple process compared to what we gotta fix..."

"Yes. At the least four-thousand years worth. I'd hate to think of the corrupt deficit budget the Empire would be in as of now. I'd imagine somewhere in the low trillions."

Jorrus nodded, "try at least 20 Trillion Credits."

Melisha's jaw dropped, "Twen--twent---TWENTY TRILLION CREDITS!?! Holy god..." Then she frowned for a few moments, "how would you know this?"

Jorrus sighs, "unfortunately for our economic experts, somewhat, I got my resources... Who knows where that money went."

Melisha sighed again, "well then I'll continue on my current course until I get confirmation."

"Melisha, I just wanna say some----he-y--" Melisha pushed a button on her controls, and a sliding sound proof screen rose up from the bottom and hooked onto the top of the shuttle.

Melisha smiled, and put on her helmet, well well well. Why the hell didn't I think of that during the whole trip?

-----------------------------------------------------------

OOC: See EWT's response for further details

IC:
The Viper rocketed through White Diamond's upper atmosphere at intense speeds, "we're approaching our designated coordinates in a few moment's Jorrus! Strap yourself in, it's gunna be a bumpy ride."

"We're coming in hot! Approaching target point at nearly 1000 Kilometers per hour. ETA, 1 minute." The shuttle roared downward towards the landing pad. It eventually cleared the sky in a brilliant flare, it cooled off as it approached the sprawling city below it, "we're approaching coordinates! Jorrus, lower landing pads!"

"Landing pads... Activated! Initiating landing formation..." The shuttle swerved 180 degrees left, and then slowly made it's way down to the landing pad with a relatively soft "thump." The two Councilor's took off their piloting gears, and stepped out of the shuttle. Melisha and Jorrus looked around for a few moments, wondering where to go. They eventually made their way to the information desk. "Hi, we're Councilor's Melisha and Jorrus. We're here on Prime Minister Whitfield's invitation to observe how the election process goes."

OOC: Sorry. Expect up to a 24-36 hour delay in this post. I've gone going around 60(?) hours without sleep, and had intended for this post to be fairly intensive. Obviously I am in no mental condition to write it.

Huntaer, plz add/edit per our little conversation concerning this post...I don't want to get caught up in ATC bureaucracy. I want to get this moving after I have some...physical rest.

OOC: Huntaer, plz RP the landing and whatnot, I said I didn't want to get caught in space traffic control spam and asked you to RP it, you still did not. For that matter, plz either 1) RP your observers for the next day or so in your next post, or 2) retcon your most recent post.

Even though we all were in different areas, all three of us groaned at the same time when we noticed the sheer number of ballots to count. But count we had to. So, by virtue of being there, we began to count the ballots...

"Not quite yet." The Woodian poll worker took one of the ballot boxes, (there were three; one for regular voting, one for overfill regular votes, and one for refugee ballots that, perhaps surprisingly, only had a few ballots in it) with no shortage of people outside watching through the windows, and gestured to Taylor to follow. He then loaded the ballot boxes into a government speeder. Taylor might have noticed no less than six cameras on that speeder, and a transmitter that transmitted live video feed to some central authority...the Elections Board. Never was the ballot to disappear from sight.

The party of poll workers and volunteers did not go far; the local precinct office where the ballots were counted was less than a mile away. However, upon arrival, all found that they were the watchful eyes of a crowd of denizens, who remained silent, acting as election observers themselves...

The poll worker who had stopped Taylor from getting ballots out of the ballot box too early unlocked a door into an office with a looooooooong window across the entire crowd. A one-way window it was; the crowd could see in but the poll workers couldn't see out. "It is true that they will be watching us count...judging us. Ballots become public domain. They can hear us through that wall as well. Ever suspicious, the Woodian citizen watches for any evidence of fraud, including suspicious hand gestures. If we disqualify a ballot, they will know why, and they will know why on the spot, so fraud in ballot counting is extremely hard to commit...if we appear to count honestly but mistabulate results, the nation will know within a week. This is only the first counting of the ballots. The second is inevitably done by private citizens in the presence of an election official."

The poll workers surrounding Taylor set the three ballot boxes on the table. One opened the refugee ballot box; he found only thirty. Fortunately, biometric identity tests were taken and recorded at birth, so the legitimacy of these votes had already been identified at the polling place. However (and perhaps fortunately for the others), that meant that said worker would be able to join the others soon in counting the regular ballots, which with both of the other boxes were absolutely stuffed.

And the arduous task of tallying ballots, not simply in the vote/no vote sense of it, but having to tally rank order specified on the ballots for purposes of Instant Runoff Voting....

------------------------------------------------------

Next Day, 31 October

The only news of the election returns came from the footage of the poll workers counting ballots, and what observers were able to glean. However, exit polls from the night before foreshadowed something interesting...

...The words "coalition government" were going to have a whole new meaning. One thing the civil war appeared to have done: strongly discourage factionalization.

Which had certain implications for political parties as Woodians had known them...

For years, even decades before the war, the Übernationalizt Party, the party of Prime Minister Whitfield, highly nationalist, otherwise centrist, had been the single largest party in Evil Woody Thoughts. Seldom did they have majority, because of the factional reality inherent in having about five major parties, but they nearly always were the biggest bloc in the coalition governments.

But though the Übernationists claimed Whitfield as a former member, the one who became Darth Ebolus had also claimed party membership...

What to fill the vaccum?

As the outgoing Prime Minister himself spent hour after hour counting ballot after ballot, some tens of thousands of them, he could not help but wonder if the party system had collapsed. At least temporarily...

...In time of war, that might not be a bad thing. Or it might mean five major points of view turning into five hundred squabbles. Difficult to foresee the ramifications were...

"Not quite yet." The Woodian poll worker took one of the ballot boxes, (there were three; one for regular voting, one for overfill regular votes, and one for refugee ballots that, perhaps surprisingly, only had a few ballots in it) with no shortage of people outside watching through the windows, and gestured to Taylor to follow. He then loaded the ballot boxes into a government speeder. Taylor might have noticed no less than six cameras on that speeder, and a transmitter that transmitted live video feed to some central authority...the Elections Board. Never was the ballot to disappear from sight.

The party of poll workers and volunteers did not go far; the local precinct office where the ballots were counted was less than a mile away. However, upon arrival, all found that they were the watchful eyes of a crowd of denizens, who remained silent, acting as election observers themselves...

The poll worker who had stopped Taylor from getting ballots out of the ballot box too early unlocked a door into an office with a looooooooong window across the entire crowd. A one-way window it was; the crowd could see in but the poll workers couldn't see out. "It is true that they will be watching us count...judging us. Ballots become public domain. They can hear us through that wall as well. Ever suspicious, the Woodian citizen watches for any evidence of fraud, including suspicious hand gestures. If we disqualify a ballot, they will know why, and they will know why on the spot, so fraud in ballot counting is extremely hard to commit...if we appear to count honestly but mistabulate results, the nation will know within a week. This is only the first counting of the ballots. The second is inevitably done by private citizens in the presence of an election official."

The poll workers surrounding Taylor set the three ballot boxes on the table. One opened the refugee ballot box; he found only thirty. Fortunately, biometric identity tests were taken and recorded at birth, so the legitimacy of these votes had already been identified at the polling place. However (and perhaps fortunately for the others), that meant that said worker would be able to join the others soon in counting the regular ballots, which with both of the other boxes were absolutely stuffed.

And the arduous task of tallying ballots, not simply in the vote/no vote sense of it, but having to tally rank order specified on the ballots for purposes of Instant Runoff Voting....
Man, the Woodians sure are serious about their politics. Taylor sighed as he helped the hundreds of vote workers count ballots. He knew he would be scrunitized a hundred times more than Coredian elections were scrunitized and that meant that it would be by hand and nothing but hand. Not even the Force can come into play, as he knew well that the Force could be used to cheat. As a consequence, it was very time-consuming to place the ballots in their proper positions, but uncharacteristically for Taylor, it was also a rewarding experience into another country's election process and maybe, just maybe he got a sense that politics is more important than he once thought. Of course, he'd never be caught dead playing politics, he leaves that to his brothers and other family members.

Man, the Woodians sure are serious about their politics. Taylor sighed as he helped the hundreds of vote workers count ballots. He knew he would be scrunitized a hundred times more than Coredian elections were scrunitized and that meant that it would be by hand and nothing but hand. Not even the Force can come into play, as he knew well that the Force could be used to cheat. As a consequence, it was very time-consuming to place the ballots in their proper positions, but uncharacteristically for Taylor, it was also a rewarding experience into another country's election process and maybe, just maybe he got a sense that politics is more important than he once thought. Of course, he'd never be caught dead playing politics, he leaves that to his brothers and other family members.

Fifteen hours. Straight. The ballots were so many. Volunteers expected ten-to-twelve-hour shifts. But Woodian labor law mandated eight-hour rest at sixteen. Coincidentally, it seemed, the ballots ran out right before then.

Volunteers brought in food and water, for the poll workers were basically sequestered. John, having nothing better to do, watched his adoptive father canvass ballots from the other end of the one-way looking glass, father only able to see son through the Force. Though the five-year old was in plain view, not feeling any particular need nor desire to hide, he seemed invisible to the rest of the people watching, simply because his extraordinary patience with the situation did not lend itself to people noticing him. Only occasionally did he tug on someone's sleeve and ask where he might be able to get food. The response was usually "well, where's your parents?" to which he replied, "counting votes."

The response always seemed to bring an understanding nod and assistance in what he needed.

And yet, when Taylor's precinct reported its count (some 160,703 ballots handled, including one hundred eight refugee ballots; before the war, this Board of Elections branch had typically handled 110,000 ballots), and when its volunteers were able to watch the news for the first time, they learned that only forty-five percent of precincts had reported.

In the city of Eheayana, now by far the largest Woodian city on old Terra, the mayoral race was too close to call, and some estimated 350,000 refugee ballots cast there had yet to be counted, definitely enough votes to flip the race. If Taylor could imagine being *more* heavily scrutinized, Eheayana would've been the place for it.

Night fell on the day after the election, 31 October, its results still only very partially known. The wind, seeming to comply with the change in month only hours away like clockwork, turned from the northeast, dropping temperatures outside rapidly from about ten degrees Celsius to just below freezing. Moreover, there was a little storm system forming over the ocean forecast to overrun this cold air overnight, which meant snow.

The first Great Woody City snows started right before sunrise, *still* only seventy-five percent of the vote having been counted...

There were many close races. However, if a general pattern was to be extrapolated...

...The Übernationalizts that still professed party loyalty were losing. But so were the other political parties.

A democracy where all organized political parties seemed to collapse simultaneously might be interesting...

When the Masakis returned to their lodging after hours upon hours of ballot canvassing, it is perhaps understandable that they might want to rest.

But Taylor ran into problems. *Now* his son didn't want to go to bed. He would rather watch the election returns slowly creep in overnight...

When Taylor pressed the issue, young John Masaki simply cloaked. And if there was any uncertainty about what he was doing, the holovid in the hotel room flickered on to the news. News of election returns slooooooooowly coming in...realistically, there wasn't much else that Taylor could do other than 1) sit down with John and watch, or 2) leave John to watch while he went to bed. The kid had his own ways of pressing issues...for hours, even days, at a time. Fortunately for the parental unit, he did not do it over trivial matters, only over things that really mattered to him...usually stuff like this, or the avoidance of a few people he would rather not consider part of his family.

October faded into November. The boy did not go to bed even after daylight illuminated the snows starting outside.

Noon came and went, with only eighty-eight percent of ballots counted. Only eighty-eight seats in the next Parliament accounted for.

Six in the evening. Ninety-five percent of ballots counted.

Taylor still hadn't convinced John to go to bed.

By the time all ballots were counted, it was two in the morning, the second of November...it had taken about fifty-two hours to count up all the ballots. John *finally* decloaked as the final tallies were announced.

The six-year old kid watched as the clearly exhausted news anchor read off the latest wire from the Board of Elections...

"...One hundred percent of precincts have now reported. The final number of ballots counted was 1,363,905,787 out of 1,391,354,210 eligible voters."

"A total of 1,534,892 refugee ballots were tallied, 351,309 of them in Eheayana city proper alone."

The ramifications of that raced through John's mind. Fully a million and a half who had been thought dead, the population of a small city...had now been found. His tired mind reached some strange semblance of peace...

"The Übernationalizt Party has won twelve seats in the new Parliament; the Socialist Party, eleven; the Capitalizt Party, five; the Green Party, five; the Libertarian Party two. Combined, all five political parties control thirty-five of a hundred seats in Parliament, the first time that all political parties taken together have constituted a minority. Those claiming no party affilation will control sixty-five seats."

John did not really understand the ramifications of this; his mind was too young; all he knew was that something major had just changed. A simple understanding in its own right.

"The new Prime Minister-elect won forty-one percent of the vote in the first round, out of seven candidates in the race. Therefore, tabulation for the Prime Minister vote went into a second-round Instant Runoff, where Alexis Elleayovskii, no party affiliation, is now Prime-Minister-Elect. She will also serve as the first female Prime Minister in Evil Woody Thoughts, having served in the Eighty-Third Parliament."

The coverage then turned to various provincial and local races, some of which had been closely contested. It was only now that John gave into Taylor and allowed himself to fall asleep...on the floor, right there, in front of the Holovid, which he left on to give his father the option to continue watching.

Some miles away, the outgoing Prime Minister quietly bowed his head in deference to the results. Woodian law allowed forty-eight hours for the new government-elect to arrive, which meant that the new Parliament would be sworn in on the fourth.

OOC: Really fancy bump cuz CW needs to post.

---------------------------------------------------

Dawn, 2 November

Prime Minister Whitfield had only managed three hours of sleep between the certification of election results and the path that lay before him. For a Jedi Master, it was enough. John Masaki would've loved to be here, but, having seen the election results, he had finally suffered his father's urgings to rest, not even bothering to go to bed, but instead sleeping on the floor in front of the Holovid.

Meanwhile Prime Minister Whitfield sighed, realizing that, after a lifetime of politics, there were the simpler things in life. He opened his mouth, tilted his head back a bit, and let the swirling evidence of winter's first snows enter. The eighty-year old had forgotten how good snow tasted...the last time he had indulged in such simplicities was on a vacation to Scandinavia as a child.

There were those with him. Those wondering when their training would restart now that the elections had finally concluded. Oh, they're not quite done, yet. That is why you are here...

When are my Trials? Master Whitfield's apprentice apparently wanted to move on with the politics.

Patience. You are the one that requested the leave of absence.

Yes, Master.

The group of six entered the Parliament building. For Master Whitfield, it would be the second to last time, unless he was called to testify at some hearing, which he couldn't completely rule out. Five of them turned in their lightsabers (not to mention other weapons such as blasters) at the security checkpoint...after the Dark Times, Whitfield was the only person permitted to carry a lightsaber in the Parliament chamber, per legislation passed under the outgoing Parliament. Even the Emperor of Coreworlds would have to surrender his lightsaber if he chose to come here. As for Whitfield...he had earned his permit, quite literally. But even he had to present both ID and said permit.

The five guests, wearing their Class A military uniforms, went to the observers' balcony, whilst Whitfield went to his podium. There was a bit of housekeeping to do.

There were no long-winded speeches. After more than a year of twelve--and sometimes sixteen--hour days (and that didn't include the forty-eight hour Konoha meeting), most everyone wanted to go home. Of the hundred people here, only fifteen would return in a couple of days, the rest having decided to return to private life and thus not seeking re-election. Those that had sought re-election encountered no complaints from the electorate...this had been one of the most productive legislatures in history, even by Woodian standards.

A mere fifteen minutes passed before Alexis Elleayovskii, MP and Prime-Minister-Elect, moved to adjourn the Eighty-Third Parliament of Evil Woody Thoughts. A mass raising of placards, signifying seconds, ensued.

"I see multiple seconds," Whitfield announced. "Are there any questions as to the effect of this motion?"

Someone in the observers' balcony coughed.

"All in favor?"

A chorus of "AYE" filled the room.

"All opposed?"

Someone coughed again.

The outgoing Prime Minister obliged, striking the gavel hard enough to break it. He had a sense of humor and gave a sheepish grin...apparently he had wanted out of here too. As giggles filled the chamber, Mr. Whitfield, bearing a smile himself, announced, "The Eighty-Third Session of the Parliament of Evil Woody Thoughts is hereby adjourned."

The observation balcony had capacity for about 2,000, and those filling it stood, giving the outgoing legislature a standing ovation for the work they had done. They had left big expectations for the next session...

OOC: CW, I've been waiting well over a week, and when you said you had writers' block, I went a bit further to give you more to reply to...and I remember when the shoe was on the other foot during my civil war RP and you were asking me to speed up.

I would appreciate it if you would remove the mothballs from this thread.

OOC: Mothballs are removed!

IC:
Taylor woke up to do some late-night business. Sleepy-headed, he didn't notice John sound asleep on the floor until after his business was concluded. Then he saw the little squirt sleeping in front of the HV set.

"Hehe. At last." Taylor smirked as he tucked the kid into bed, then watched the news a bit before turning it off. "Well, looks like everything is all set up for EWT. Glad to know. *yawn*"

With that, he headed back to bed.

Established parties now in the minority? How fundamentally curious.

I suspect that the voters leaned towards proactivity and honesty over experience in this election. Likely skill with a gun would also prove an interesting drawing factor.

How so?

Ebolus ordered the parliament terminated shortly after his takeover, did he not? Perhaps if the parliamentary members had been capable of shooting back, in addition to being equipped to do so, things might have turned out differently. However, it is uncertain whether they knew how, but were unequipped to defend themselves.

Defenselessness... a hard concept to understand for us.

Centralization of power, as well. Even before the triad came, the Archonate was spread out and well defended. It was impossible to terminate all of them at once without terminating every city on the planet.

Ah so, not even the Triad managed to terminate them all.

Indeed. Amusing it would have been to have anyone attempt a coup on Godulan Terra. A full-out civil war would have developed between the battling archons before the Homeguard restored order. Short lived, bloody, and ultimately ineffectual.

Perhaps we should advise them towards a decentralization to prevent any similar catastrophe from taking place in the future? Perhaps keep things in regional establishments, with communications between each to facilitate proper and timely voting? The workings of the Parliament are considered public domain, are they not? The citizens have every right to see their government at work, unless I am mistaken.

I believe so. Let us submit an inquiry/advisory. Do not expect immediate change, however. The new parliament is purported to have an itinerary of truly titanic proportions. 'Reshuffling' would be a relatively low priority.

You know the adage. 'We do not care how it gets done, only THAT it gets done.'

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so it was that a request for a meeting was sent to the newly established prime minister, Alexis Elleayovskii, with little explanation as to what it was they wished the meeting for.

Established parties now in the minority? How fundamentally curious.

I suspect that the voters leaned towards proactivity and honesty over experience in this election. Likely skill with a gun would also prove an interesting drawing factor.

How so?

Ebolus ordered the parliament terminated shortly after his takeover, did he not? Perhaps if the parliamentary members had been capable of shooting back, in addition to being equipped to do so, things might have turned out differently. However, it is uncertain whether they knew how, but were unequipped to defend themselves.

Defenselessness... a hard concept to understand for us.

Centralization of power, as well. Even before the triad came, the Archonate was spread out and well defended. It was impossible to terminate all of them at once without terminating every city on the planet.

Ah so, not even the Triad managed to terminate them all.

Indeed. Amusing it would have been to have anyone attempt a coup on Godulan Terra. A full-out civil war would have developed between the battling archons before the Homeguard restored order. Short lived, bloody, and ultimately ineffectual.

Perhaps we should advise them towards a decentralization to prevent any similar catastrophe from taking place in the future? Perhaps keep things in regional establishments, with communications between each to facilitate proper and timely voting? The workings of the Parliament are considered public domain, are they not? The citizens have every right to see their government at work, unless I am mistaken.

I believe so. Let us submit an inquiry/advisory. Do not expect immediate change, however. The new parliament is purported to have an itinerary of truly titanic proportions. 'Reshuffling' would be a relatively low priority.

You know the adage. 'We do not care how it gets done, only THAT it gets done.'

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so it was that a request for a meeting was sent to the newly established prime minister, Alexis Elleayovskii, with little explanation as to what it was they wished the meeting for.

The Godulans might have been surprised at how quickly the response came. And, for that matter, how quickly Ms. Elleayovskii could hold such a meeting. For her, it was actually best to hold a meeting before she was sworn in.

Her reply note was short and blunt.

It would be best for me to meet tomorrow, the 3rd of November. Otherwise, with all due respect, you might have to take a number.

/s/

Alexis Elleayovskii


Taylor woke up to do some late-night business. Sleepy-headed, he didn't notice John sound asleep on the floor until after his business was concluded. Then he saw the little squirt sleeping in front of the HV set.

"Hehe. At last." Taylor smirked as he tucked the kid into bed, then watched the news a bit before turning it off. "Well, looks like everything is all set up for EWT. Glad to know. *yawn*"

With that, he headed back to bed.

Sometime around noon, a hard knock on the door woke John up. Groggily, he made his way to the door, which thankfully, had one of those chain locks which allowed you to open the door a few inches without fully exposing yourself to the other party.

John did so, and saw someone in military uniform. Someone whom he recognized as one of Keith's friends in the military. "Chris, right?"

"You know how to read rank insignia yet, kid? Anyway, where's your father? I got presents for him."

"Asleep, I think." John yawned, shaking the grogginess from his head.

"May I come in?"

"Sure." The kid grinned. "But I'm not sure Taylor will like it." He unhooked the chain and opened the door fully.

Mindful of his presence in a hotel, where yelling probably wasn't the best thing to do, Major Mrozik decided that Taylor might respond to...alternative means of persuasion. Shoving the extra two hockey season-opener tickets into one of his pockets, he found the biggest pitcher in the hotel room and filled it with icewater...

"Oh Taaaaaaaaaaaaayloooooooooooooooooor, time to wake up!" The Major poured it over his head.

In hindsight, it would have been a good idea to produce some sort of Silencing spell as Taylor yelled out loud upon waking to find that he was drowning. "AAACK! You bastard!"

Taylor was pissed, wet, but definitely awake. "What the hell was that for?!"

"To wake you up without waking up the entire damn hotel in the process." Major Mrozik smirked. "I have presents for you. Good luck obtaining these elsewhere, because I bought them a month ago."

Major Mrozik then pulled those two 'extra' season-opener tickets out of his pocket. "I had a feeling your son might want to drag you off to this..."

Almost as quickly as it was sent out, a response came back with a relatively short response:

What time?

Almost as quickly as it was sent out, a response came back with a relatively short response:

What time?

Alexis sent another short response in reply.

The third is the day BEFORE my schedule clogs up.

Name a time.

/s/

Alexis Elleayovskii

Har-dee-har-har.

We said nothing about the date. Our question was what time would be more convenient for YOU. We have no concern for the time of day. If you must insist that we decide the time, then we of course put forward the stroke of midnight. It is on November 3rd, after all... if only barely.

Har-dee-har-har.

We said nothing about the date. Our question was what time would be more convenient for YOU. We have no concern for the time of day. If you must insist that we decide the time, then we of course put forward the stroke of midnight. It is on November 3rd, after all... if only barely.

Done.

I shall meet you there at the Godulan Embassy...unless you have other ideas. Also...we Woodians usually consider the date to be a part of the time, especially when scheduling meetings and whatnot.

/s/

Alexis Elleayovskii

"To wake you up without waking up the entire damn hotel in the process." Major Mrozik smirked. "I have presents for you. Good luck obtaining these elsewhere, because I bought them a month ago."

Major Mrozik then pulled those two 'extra' season-opener tickets out of his pocket. "I had a feeling your son might want to drag you off to this..."
"Too late." Taylor heard grumbling from the other room. Fortunately, it was one of his brothers. Then he saw the tickets. "Yeah, he's been begging me all week about the hockey game. Might as well go."

"Too late." Taylor heard grumbling from the other room. Fortunately, it was one of his brothers. Then he saw the tickets. "Yeah, he's been begging me all week about the hockey game. Might as well go."

"Hehehehehe." The major smirked as he overheard Taylor's brother moan about it being too late, and the boy gave a wan smile. "The boy didn't start begging you early enough then, because these things sold out three weeks ago. Good thing I had a feeling..."

The smile disappeared. "How did you know?"

"You're telling me that a six-year-old boy who's been moping around for the last fifteen months isn't going to enjoy the first real celebratory event his country has had since then?"

John quietly nodded. Major Mrozik's logic was impeccable.

Later that afternoon

John had read the tickets by now, and wondered why on White Diamond there were two times listed. Taylor sure as hell didn't know.

But there were those who made sure that father and son were on time...for the earlier time listed on the ticket. Around four in the afternoon came another hard, crisp knock on the hotel room door. It was one that Taylor might by now recognize.

The man whom he loved to hate (or perhaps used to) simply for being nearly a foot taller than him, and for his incessant habit of getting promoted one military rank above him, the man who he had had to suck it up and follow orders from despite the fact that he could've cremated his ass (at the time).

Young John decided it was time to play hide-and-seek. Thankfully for the parental unit, it was hide-and-seek from the presence at the door, so the youngling felt no need to use that cloaking ability which drove said parental unit insane. Instead, the kid simply dove behind the bed.

"Oh Taaaaaaaaaaaaaayloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooor! Get yer rear end out here, unless you want to be LATE!" If he didn't recognize the knock, he *would* recognize the voice...

Taylor was sorely tempted to snap his fingers at the door but held his fire. "I'm ready already!"

"And get out from behind that bed, kid!" Taylor yelled as he reached for the doorknob and opened it to allow Colonel Allaire in.

The kid shuddered. Apparently Keith's voice was somehow contagious.

John hated Teh Üb3r Drill Sergeant Voice of D00m.

Therefore, Taylor soon found himself with a big weight on his leg, holding on as if it was a cancer tumor.

The Colonel, wearing traditional Jedi robes for what must have been the first time in two or three months, glared at the kid. "What's gotten into you?"

"Please don't knock on the door again..."

Colonel Allaire immediately humored the kid by knocking on the door (but not quite so hard). "Come on, let's go. The welcoming committee awaits."

He turned around and went outside, not particularly waiting for Taylor or his...symbiote attached to his leg. Or cancer tumor. Or fungus. Or whatever it was.

Taylor might have been surprised at the quantity of people waiting for him.

"So now, Taylor, you see the real reason why the Woodian Jedi Bloc took their leave en masse..." a crisp, clear, eighty-year old's voice called out.

"Hey! We stood in line for four hours to vote! That's longer than a hockey game!" a tall, well-tanned Lieutenant Colonel protested. Lieutenant Colonel Vigil gave the Prime Minister a playful elbow.

Well it was good to see everyone in a good mood.

"Let's go." Master Whitfield pointed to a nearby subway station, and the group was on its way. Major Mrozik grumbled something about the snow swirling in his face, only to find a snowball go splat in his face. Major Sorensen, who looked like a professional defenseman himself, asked Taylor why the Masakis weren't...better represented.

It was not Taylor who replied, but the mass on his leg (more formally known as his adopted son, but don't tell the mass on the leg that). "I have to drag even Taylor to this because all the other Masakis only like soccer."

-------------------------------

At five-fifty, the group of eight (five padawans, Master Whitfield, Taylor, and tumor) took their seats, right behind the net where the Great Woody Bluewinds (the home team derived its name from the influence of the Bitterwind Range on winter weather patterns, such as the snow outside) would be shooting at twice. All in all, eight of the best seats in the house.

Keith pulled out his ticket stub. The first time listed on it, the time for which he had dragged Taylor out of the hotel, was six o' clock. He simply waited patiently, knowing that in due time, Taylor would learn why he was dragged out here a full hour and a half before puck drop.

The lights went off, right on schedule, and a highlight reel started playing on the scoreboard, in complete silence, no sountrack to go with it. One constant there was on the highlights that flashed upon the screen...

There was always the same number. And last name stitched on the back. 29/ARNUZ.

The sold-out crowd remained dead-silent, as if at a funeral. The silence certainly explained to Taylor why there had been no hockey season last year, as if the carnage he had seen with his own eyes was not hint enough. Even with the economy about even with pre-war levels again, even with the swearing in of the new democratically-elected government two days hence, the silence served as a poignant reminder that the bloody civil war had still killed a third of Evil Woody Thoughts' population, a blow that would be the last to heal.

Not even professional athletes were exempt from the destruction.

Not even the best of them.

After a few minutes, the highlight footage set itself to music...a song typically played before an athlete's final game before retirement. A farewell song. Followed by the full soundtrack...the sounds of the game layered in along with the video footage.

When it ended, the lights came back on. The ice was empty, as it had been.

An announcer's voice filled the stadium. The voice of a eulogy. "Fourteen months ago to this date, Iriye Arnuz was found, along with all close family members, executed in the Bitterwind Range. His closest relative to have survived the war is his first cousin. Please stand for a moment of silence." One who hadn't seen the war might have expected a litany of his career stats, like how he had represented Evil Woody Thoughts three times in the Winter Olympics back on Terra, or like he was the only hockey player in league history to have amassed 3000 points over a career spanning nearly two decades (862 career goals/1,870 career assists). In another two or three seasons, he would've been the first Woodian hockey player to have a thousand goals to his name.

Yet, somehow, the manner of his death superceded that...and any good Woodian could tell you Iriye Arnuz's stats anyway. Not to mention that said stats were listed on the scoreboard (in silence) for those few who didn't know.

The crowd obliged with the moment of silence. For Woodians, silence during memorials was inviolate. The moment of silence was a long one, that continued even after the lights went out.

Except, for one, that is, aimed at Jersey #29. Sure enough, it had ARNUZ stiched to the back. Slowly and in complete silence, it was raised by pulley up into the rafters where it would rest, among the Bluewinds' eight championship banners and numerous other banners denoting the various offensive and defensive awards their players had received over time.

By the time the retirement of Jersey #29 was done, an hour had very quietly slipped away, but the lights came back on and players skated on the ice for their little twenty-five minute warmups. The crowd watched them shoot around, and the goalies practice their saves, for that time, before standing yet again for the national anthem, which in eight decades had yet to be set to words. It would've been good memorial music for the jersey retirement though--the sound of mournful bagpipes filled the arena. The five starting players on each team stood on their respective blue lines, their heads bowed; the goalies did the same within their creases. The anthem was an ode that had had its origins in the aftermath of the nuking of the old capital eight decades ago...there was a reason why it no one had ever set it to words.

When the rendition of the national anthem was completed, the horn blared, the time on the scoreboard set to twenty minutes, and the starting players assumed face-off position. The memorials had ended...now it was time for the first hockey game that Woodians had seen in a year and a half to begin!

Not before Keith had a warning for everyone present, though. "Don't mess with the puck or I'll kick your ass. And if I can't finish the job, the politician will." He felt that a bit of deterrence concerning the use of Force-telekinesis was in order. Those formally subject to his authority (i.e. more than half) nodded, "Yes, sir."

Not before Keith had a warning for everyone present, though. "Don't mess with the puck or I'll kick your ass. And if I can't finish the job, the politician will." He felt that a bit of deterrence concerning the use of Force-telekinesis was in order. Those formally subject to his authority (i.e. more than half) nodded, "Yes, sir."
"I know, I know." Taylor said, waving his hand about. He knew that little rule from the Soccer/Football (depending on who is speaking) Rulebook of Coreworlds and was sure that it should apply here.

Despite his ambivalence about hockey ("What's so great about hitting a little black dot with sticks on ice?") Taylor could feel the anticipation in the air after the sad moment of silence ended and it was...contagious. Taylor grinned, for once, allowing him some fun and giving the little tumor something to appreciate.

Keith glared at Taylor; by now Taylor would've been quite familiar to that look, akin to something like, "You had BETTER not be lying to me." Fortunately for the gaze's victim, something finally distracted the Colonel. Finally.

The puck dropped, and within a few minutes, Taylor quickly discovered something.

Hockey was a CONTACT sport, far more than soccer. There were certain limitations, yes, but hockey allows for a bit more...flexibility...in methods to pry the puck away from the opponent. Not to mention it moved much faster than soccer, as people can usually skate faster than they can run...and this game in particular seemed to flow particularly smoothly, as the referee and linesman barely needed their whistles at all. The first ten minutes of the game passed without any kind of play stoppage at all, before the Bluewinds mounted a prolonged seige of the net right in front of the party and the goalie finally smothered the puck and refused to let go, necessitating a face-off.

The minutes in the first period melted away. Scoring oppurtunities presented themselves, of course, but the goalies were too good. With about two minutes left in the first period, the whistle finally blew to open the penalty box, a Bluewinds skater having been tripped up by the hook of an opponent's hockey stick. "Penalty against number 46, Jaden Sahorakov, two minutes for hooking, at 17:43." Which, of course meant the first power play of the game. Keith rubbed his hands in glee, knowing he had one of the best seats from which to observe the forthcoming siege of the net.

But once again, the goalie proved too good, turning away all the shots taken. Including the rebounds. There was one shot that actually trickled through, the opposing goalie managing to absorb most but not all of the shot, but the goalie reached back and frantically laid his stick right on the goal line, blocking the puck from entrance into the net, before drawing the puck to his body and smothering it to prevent oppurtunistic players from taking the lead.

It was not until the situation was reversed, a Bluewinds player having been penalized for cross-checking, that one of the goose eggs was removed from the scoreboard. The puck crossed the goal line on a redirected shot, and bounced off the back netting, right in front of the party, much to the chagrin of the crowd, who now grumbled about the penalized player's lack of discipline and its new, nasty little side effect.

When the goal was scored and Steve Jorgensen was released from the penalty box, he received a glare that he saw literally from halfway across the ice. A slight shudder was visible in his figure.

The rest of the second period went the way the game had gone up to that point. Both teams (especially the Bluewinds now) doing everything possible, including some things that didn't seem possible (such as epic dives for teh puck), to score. Both goalies ensuring that such efforts turned out to be made up of epic phail.

It was after the second period ended that the Bluewinds really got their act together. Not necessarily the way one would have expected, however.

Out came the checking lines.

For nearly all of the third period, the checking lines made sure that the puck NEVER got out of the Bluewinds' offensive zone...the zone that the joint Masaki/military party had the best view of. More epic dives to make sure that the puck never made it out to the neutral zone. The Bluewinds managed about thirty-five shots on goal in the first eighteen minutes of the period, which certainly kept the opposition goalie on his toes.

Still, epic phail.

With about a minute and a half left to go, a battle for possession of the puck along the boards played out about ten in front of the eyes of John and Taylor. No less than three players from each team were trying to pry the puck out from underneath someone's skate, as the puck was pinned between that skate and the boards. Finally, after much effort expended, a defenseman of the opposing team managed to pry it out.

Whereupon he immediately found himself completely plastered against the boards by a fourth Bluewind player. The whistle immediately blew, and Steve Jorgensen found himself sent to the penalty box...AGAIN...this time for boarding. The glare he received made him shiver.

It meant that the rest of the period would be shorthanded for the home team. Nevertheless, it was considered blasphemy to leave before the game ended...and little did Taylor know that he would soon see why...

For the time being, it was the opposition's turn to take shots at the other end of the ice. Until, that is, the Bluewind goalie covered up the puck with fourteen seconds left, necessitating a faceoff at the other end.

The opposing team won the draw, and their defenseman took the puck just inside the blue line and passed it. But the pass was picked off, deflected off of a stick, and before Taylor knew it, there was a lone skater charging him with others frantically trying to keep up.

The figure in the Bluewinds uniform veered ever so slightly to his right as he raced toward the net to try to beat the clock on his breakaway. At just the right moment when the goalie committed, he turned hard left, throwing a shower of ice up at the goalie in the process, took a blind backhand shot, and frantically stopped as he saw the boards rushing at him, throwing ice shards over the protective fiberglass in the process, right in the faces of Taylor, John, and company, and having never seen where his shot went. He didn't, after all, want to board himself!

He heard only the clang of the puck bouncing off the post. The clang of defeat. But he had no clue that the puck had bounced almost straight down, but not quite.

But the spectators sitting behind the net had seen it clear as day. The red light behind the net came on. The puck had bounced just barely inside the goal line before bouncing out again. And whether the sudden noise of the crowd or the horn that blared uninterrupted for a full thirty seconds came first, was impossible to tell.

The player in question, number 7, Benjamin Behnke, barely managed to avoid fainting...he managed only a blank stare at the scoreboard, which showed that he had tied the game with 0.6 seconds left.

The goal was only unambiguous to those who were directly behind the net in question, however, as the puck had to completely cross the line to count. Therefore, the reaction of the opposing coach was something like, "Et eeez eeeempossible!" The look on his face from halfway across the ice caused many a Woodian Jedi to grin.

Of course, the opposing coach, who hadn't had such a good view, called upstairs.

A few seconds later, the announcer of doom made his presence known on the stadium's PA, over the cheers. "The goal is under review." The wild cheers nearly instantaneously turned to boos.

"Whoa." Taylor breathed as he melted the ice shards from his hair. He was annoyed that the ice got to him in the first place, but that emotion was supplanted by the awe of the match. "That was a good play. And I can't believe I said that..."

While Taylor melted the ice from his hair (with everyone around him not seeming to mind at all), the scoreboard showd a slow-motion replay from the top-down view, a view that would settle the question of whether or not the puck had fully crossed the line once and for all.

Pretty much everyone in the stadium stared at the replay on the scoreboard, including the one who had (allegedly, pending review) scored. It showed the thinnest sliver of white between puck and goal line before the puck flipped out of the net.

It was laid out for all to see. The puck had clearance, by about two millimeters. A couple of minutes later, this became official as the announcer's voice boomed over everything else:

"The goal stands."

Instantaneous cheering. No one could hear anything but the cheers as the players assumed position for the formality of a face-off with six tenths of a second left on the clock. Benjamin Benke, the nineteen-year-old rookie (the civil war's aftermath meant there were quite a few rookies around) who had scored his first professional goal breathed a sigh of relief.

The opposition won the draw, but of course could not do anything with it before the time ran out. Then the announcer came on again: "Unassisted shorthanded goal scored by #7, Benjamin Behnke, at nineteen minutes, fifty-nine seconds in the third period..."

Immediately after the formal announcement concluded, the conversation around Taylor devolved into placing bets on how much overtime this game would have.

"I bid fourteen minutes overtime," Colonel Vigil said with a smile, always glad to watch more hockey.

"With the goalies involved? No. Twenty-eight," Major Mrozik shot back.

"Screw that. Sixty minutes. Tie." Major Sorensen REALLY had to make things interesting. Keith slapped him across the head.

"That has only happened ONCE in league history. You must be insane. Fifty minutes, maybe, but not sixty...oh yes, two hundred credits. Fifty minutes."

"I'll take that bet..."

==============

OOC: CW, please let me know OOC if you don't feel like posting at this point, so I can continue...

Taylor heard the betting going on and grinned. "I bet another hundred credits that the tie is broken at the very last second! Take that!"

He wondered what the little lump of flesh thought of that.

The little lump of flesh just...watched the exchange. And waited. Taylor would indeed wonder what he was thinking, because he wasn't revealing anything.

However, Taylor's bid met Keith's glare. "Well bid and done," the latter replied, his voice as cold as the ice that had been thrown up in Taylor's hair a few minutes prior.

The group spent most of the time between periods debating how long the game would take to conclude, each arguing why *their* bet made the most sense. John Masaki and Jacob Whitfield simply acted like they weren't there...at least until the puck dropped once again.

The theories of the triple-overtime betters were borne out as both teams applied all the offensive pressure they could but neither team managed to sneak one past the goal line. It would now be a simple matter of which triple-overtime better was correct...Colonel Vigil and Major Sorensen shoved their credits into teh kitty. The crowds cheered whenever a scoring oppurtunity presented itself and grumbled when, each time, the goalie made sure the oppurtunity came up to epic phail.

Sometime around the eight-minute mark in the third overtime period, as the opposition tried and failed epically to score on a power play, their shot-on-goal counter reached 100. The Bluewinds managed the same almost as soon as the penalty expired.

"Holy shii...THAT'S never happened before," Keith remarked as he observed the first time both teams recorded 100 shots on net in a single game.

The ten-minute mark passed...Keith's fifty minutes were come and gone. Still, he had bet against two people who had said the game would go down to the last second. He still might be closer to predicting how long it would take than they...

Sure enough, a minute and a half later, the Bluewinds found themselves another oppurtunity...a two-on-one rush. The puck floated across the ice in what was probably the best centering pass in the game. The goalie turned away the shot but left presents.

Like the rebound, which the player on the other side, who looked oddly familiar by now, flipped up into the top shelf of the net, short side. Number 7. No one had bet on that, but it didn't matter; the red light went off, the horn blew for the second time this game, and the scoreboard halted with eight minutes, three seconds left.

As the rest of the crowd rose to cheer, Keith knew the noise would probably drown out even his voice. But he was especially happy, for not only had his team won, but he could now glare at Taylor just as soon as he was done celebrating. Major Sorensen, he didn't care so much about, but collecting from Taylor would be fun.

Somewhere in the noise floated around the announcer's voice. "Goal scored by #7, Benjamin Behnke, assisted by #51, Kurt Reschley, at eleven minutes, fifty-three seconds in the third overtime period..."

More cheers. It seemed an eternity that the Colonel waited for them to die down, but when he did, he glared at one Taylor Masaki. "I was off by one minute, fifty-seven seconds; you were off by eight minutes, two seconds." His voice left no room for negotiation...

"Wha?!" Taylor groaned as the results were called in. "Aw, damn it!"

He reluctantly gave up the hundred credits to the Colonel. He glanced at the unassuming little brat. "Goes to show that if you must bet, don't bet so wildly..."

Still, there was a big shit-eating grin on his face. "Quite a game, though. Quite a game."

"Hey, I wasn't the one betting what I didn't want to lose!" the kid protested.

Meanwhile, as the crowd slowly died down and started to filter out of the stadium, Master Whitfield realized his apprentice had asked for his Trials to be postponed for this. He also knew that ideas were brewing within the Council concerning said Trials.

"Colonel Allaire," he said with a wry grin that revealed he was up to something, but not what he was up to. "Perhaps we should have a little visit with the Masaki family..."

OOC: Godular, midnight coming up.

"Um. I'm a member." Taylor deadpanned. "What's up?"

"I mean the ENTIRE family. Or at least those members here in the capital." Whitfield gave Taylor a wry grin...Taylor would have his revenge!

(Not that he knew it yet...)

"Ah. Daniel and Jacob should be around somewhere..." Taylor mused.

Some time later, they met up with the Emperor and the Jedi Alchemist.

"So, how was the game?" I asked.

"Impressive." Taylor grinned, elicing an eyebrow raise from the both of us.

"Ok, who are are you and what did you do to my brother?" Jacob asked jokingly.

"Hey, shove off. It just so happened that I liked the game." Taylor replied.

"Yeah. Would have watched except that Sciezka chose that time to land another ton of paperwork on me." I grumbled, making the twins laugh.

"Ouch." They winced and laughed again.

I then turned to the Prime Minister. "So, it is time?"

"Time? Time for what?" Taylor asked.

"In a minute, you'll know." I smiled cryptically.

"Aw man!"

The Prime Minister nodded. "Yes, it is time." His facial expression hinted that Daniel would have the honor of...revealing what was in store.

"Very well." I nodded. "Colonel Keith Allaire. The Council has decided that the time has come for you to undergo the Jedi Trials to determine if you are ready for Knighthood. Your mission, should you chose to accept it, is to survive in one of the most dangerous places on the planet Earth: the failed nation of Somalia. To make it more challenging, you are only allowed the level of technology available to the so-called 'modern world' except for, of course, your lightsaber. But I highly recommend the utmost descretion when using said lightsaber, after all, since it really isn't supposed to be there. While we don't have an official Prime Directive, we do exercise decretion when in underdeveloped nations. Well, you have your mission..."

The Colonel's response was characteristically short, and it characteristically included a glare, directed at Daniel. "Give me ten days."

"Very well. May the Force be with you." I said solemnly.

"Bloody hell. Somalia's the worst place to live, they say." Taylor breathed.

"Yeah. It's even worst than that island Izumi-sensei sent us once upon a time." Jacob recalled.

Taylor nodded. "At least we had to contend with wild animals."

"Starvation."

"Dehydration."

"And that tribe of cannibals."

"Yeah. Ugh." Taylor shuddered.

I smiled as the twins got lost in their memories. Then I cleared my throat to get their attention. "By the way, I have a mission for you two as well."

"Yeah? What is it?" Taylor asked.

"Find Master Curtis and get her to join the Council." I replied.

"Wha...She could be anywhere!" Taylor groaned.

"She didn't want to join last time. What makes you think she will this time?" Jacob moaned.

I smirked. "Well, that's what you two have to do. Good luck."

"This is going to be the hardest mission ever." Taylor prophesised.

"Yeah. I'd have to agree." Jacob nodded. "Let's get going, then."

"Very well. May the Force be with you." I said solemnly.

"Bloody hell. Somalia's the worst place to live, they say." Taylor breathed.

"Yeah. It's even worst than that island Izumi-sensei sent us once upon a time." Jacob recalled.

Taylor nodded. "At least we had to contend with wild animals."

"Starvation."

"Dehydration."

"And that tribe of cannibals."

"Yeah. Ugh." Taylor shuddered.

I smiled as the twins got lost in their memories. Then I cleared my throat to get their attention. "By the way, I have a mission for you two as well."

"Yeah? What is it?" Taylor asked.

"Find Master Curtis and get her to join the Council." I replied.

"Wha...She could be anywhere!" Taylor groaned.

"She didn't want to join last time. What makes you think she will this time?" Jacob moaned.

I smirked. "Well, that's what you two have to do. Good luck."

"This is going to be the hardest mission ever." Taylor prophesised.

"Yeah. I'd have to agree." Jacob nodded. "Let's get going, then."

Colonel Allaire returned the bow, knowing that it might be a long time before he got promoted to Knight. This was an open-ended trial...he had been told to survive, but not for how long. Theoretically, the Order could reclaim him after a month...or ten years.

He had bid himself ten days to prepare. Ten days to do as much research on the place as he could. Ten days to learn at least enough Arabic to ask for basic things (or at least ask for an interpreter...if one could be found.) Hell, it might just be easiest to prepare with one of those "learn a language in six months" holovids and simply memorize the damn thing...the Force came in handy for those sorts of things...

Ten days to raid Woodian military bases for turn-of-the-century weapons. The Colonel smirked as he recalled Taylor's complaints about "primitive" technology, notably coal power plants during the war, because while Taylor may have survived getting marooned on an island, he probably would've been screwed faced with this challenge under these restrictions. Keith found more than an adequate selection of sniper rifles and the ammunition to match. Going into Somalia unarmed with a weapon you pretty much couldn't use unless jumped by a Sith wasn't the brightest of ideas...he knew that much. He selected an old officers' pistol as well, and several clips of ammunition. There would be more on the black market...

...Speaking of the black market, the Colonel smiled at the thought of the hundred credits he had won from Taylor. Black market exchange rates in Africa meant that he might not be in such a desperate situation when he found a bazaar...

The Colonel also did a lot of reading on Somalian history as he prepared to meet a challenge he wasn't sure Daniel would have been willing to meet himself. But he could deal with that after he returned. He was sure his master had had a hand in this, though...

OOC: This probably should become its own thread...

Har-dee-har-har.

We said nothing about the date. Our question was what time would be more convenient for YOU. We have no concern for the time of day. If you must insist that we decide the time, then we of course put forward the stroke of midnight. It is on November 3rd, after all... if only barely.

Done.

I shall meet you there at the Godulan Embassy...unless you have other ideas. Also...we Woodians usually consider the date to be a part of the time, especially when scheduling meetings and whatnot.

/s/

Alexis Elleayovskii

Alexis arrived at the Godulan Embassy with exactly five minutes to spare. Perhaps the Godulan Avatars might have noticed her from all the news coverage of the election.

Either way, when she encountered the security guards charged with determining whether or not she be allowed entrance, she quickly identified herself. "I am Alexis Elleayovskii, and I have a meeting scheduled with this embassy in five minutes."

The two Gendarmes standing guard outside the embassy could have been mistaken for great metal statues, such was their utter lack of motion. At Alexis' announcement, they showed no sign of acknowledgement for several seconds. Then, beneath the armored helmet plate, green eyes surged to life and the right-hand Gendarme's arm snaked out to slap against the heavy door. With the sound of great weights moving about and other various hallmarks of "One helluva heavy door", it opened enough to permit the soon-to-be-sworn-in prime minister to enter.

"MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME, YOU'LL HAVE TO EXCUSE THE CLUTTER. NAX'INCAIL AND ANDROMALIUS ARE AWARE OF YOUR ARRIVAL AND WILL BE WITH YOU SHORTLY. THERE IS COFFEE AND REFRESHMENTS IF YOU WISH FOR THEM, OR TEA, LOCAL STUFF MOSTLY. WE HOPE YOU DO NOT MIND THE INSECTS. THEY ARE HARMLESS. TRY TO AVOID STOMPING THEM. NAX'INCAIL WOULD BE DISTRAUGHT THAT ANY OF HIS CREATIONS SHOULD MEET ITS END."

Entering the prodigious entry area revealed an almost gothic arrangement of tapestries and wooden architecture. Furnishings that looked sufficiently comfortable to inspire an instantaneous state of napping sat about the room in various arrangements. The majority of the light came from self-illuminated stained-glass windows that shined down on the room as though it were broad daylight outside, though secondary lighting sources were interspersed around the room as well. Every now and then, a mechanical scarab would wander out from a tapestry and inspect Alexis for a moment before chittering with glee and fluttering off.

Most captivating though, was the sheer volume of books. Every wall was a giant bookcase stuffed full of volumes of varying age and size, and a goodly portion of the space adjacent to the bookshelves was dominated by stack upon stack of text. Most of the ones in plain sight, though, seemed to deal with sniping, assassination, and various detailings of military coups throughout history.

Off to the side rested a table overflowing with typical woodian take-out food, and next to that... a research book with scribbled notes about points of interest about each item of food. One in particular: "Cheese-Steak Pizza: Unique taste, but not ordering again." Several Scarabs seemed to have taken to the task of removing a donut that had fallen onto the floor.

In the distance, muted voices could be heard, and if one strained to hear, it would become clear that the voices were of various news anchors still covering the political goings-on.

Then, two closer voices piped up as two Godulan Avatars in pinstripe business suits hurried into the room.

"Pardon the mess! We would have removed more books, but we ran out of storage space and cannot requisition more until business hours start back up."

"Do not let us stop you from having a seat wherever you like. We would hate to be thought of as poor hosts..."

Alexis found herself wondering why she wore a business suit to...this...mess, and continually glancing at the floor, to make sure she didn't smoosh the little insects. She didn't want to offend anyone, after all. At least not for stupid reasons, anyway.

However, the books caught her attention, all right...lots and lots of books about coups and whatnot. And she formed a little theory about why the Godulans might want to "requisition" them, but remained quiet as she surveyed the books. Alexis resisted the urge to pick up the one that would most have the Godulans freaking out--"NO NO NOT THAT ONE!"--but simply sat down instead, surveying the refreshments, looking for traditional Kazakh dishes but finding none. "Cheese-steak pizza? I'm surprised it would take the Godulans this long to reach beyond the most common of tourist takeout items and simply go where the locals go..."

She faintly overheard the midnight newscasts floating in from the other room. "And I suppose they're probably going to talk to me at some point. Nax'incail and Andromalius, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Alexis Elleayovskii, originally of the Kievan Rus."

The one on the right nodded at the mention of Nax'Incail and the one on the left 'yoinked' at the mention of Andromalius. The two of them stood at the same height and body build, the only differences between the two being that Nax'Incail had a rather angular structure to his face and black hair, while Andromalius had a rather cherubic face with blonde hair and a serene expression.

Andromalius wandered over to the refreshments table and sighed slightly. "What we would not give for a decent curry. Our favorite place does not do takeout tho. We have been so busy keeping up on events that we have been unable to procure the more hole-in-the-wall stuff that we prefer. And the cheesesteak pizza... bloody hell but that sucked."

Nax'Incail rolled his eyes slightly and moved to sit down in a chair across from Alexis. "You might have noted the texts lying about. We have been conducting various levels of research about what we wish to discuss, and we apologize in advance if referring to what happened to the Parliament when Ebolus took power causes any discomfort."

"Glad the fucker's dead, we are!" came Andromalius' voice as he rooted through the refreshments and pulled out a plate of continental turkish food. "Mmm... borek... though it was all gone. Anybody responsible for that many deaths deserves far worse than an untimely demise, believe you us. Sojun can have the bastard. A trip to The Core sounds just about right."

Nax'Incail grinned sheepishly at the commentary, then picked up a book nearby on case studies of political subterfuge. "One of the things we have noticed, far above anything else that we might learn from this whole string of events, is that the Woodian Democratic Process is far more efficient and streamlined than we had previously anticipated. Every single vote surprises us in its alacrity."

"Efficient little buggers you are! Antithetical concepts such as 'collective consensus' and 'proactivity' seem to have a distinct exception when examined in this theatre."

"It really is a wondrous thing to behold, but one thing strikes our curiosity. Is anything being done to prevent a catastrophe similar to the parliamentary execution brought forth by Darth Ebolus from happening again? Wiping out the governing body in one fell swoop strikes as something that you lot might not be able to handle again... however remote the possibility."

"Turkish food..." Alexis seemed to be lost in deep thought. "I can tell that you have not fully explored the culinary offerings of this city. I know of an Uzbek restaurant that will cook food to order...even at this hour, but it will take a couple hours to arrive because they do not cut corners in the cooking process. Anyway, I suppose I should not distract you too much with visions of culinary grandeur. Let us get to business...oh, yes, security..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Well...if anyone could repeat that dark day, it would be Whitfield himself, as he is now the only one permitted to bring a lightsaber into the building. Even the Emperor of CoreWorlds will be denied admittance into the building if he refuses to yield his. Generals and admirals now must leave their armies one hundred kilometers outside of the Federal District unless Evil Woody Thoughts is under foreign invasion and the Federal District is directly threatened. Not to mention that Force-sensitives are now permitted to hold Woodian military commission or Woodian political office--but not both."

"Moreover, we have found security tapes of an Admiralty Promotion Review Board that led us to discover that we could have predicted this a month ahead of time, had the tapes been visible outside of the Admiralty. More specifically, the review board in which Ebolus extorted the promotion that allowed him...more access. These tapes are now viewable by members of the Parliament Armed Services Committee, any tape at any time. The Parliament lacks veto power over the decisions of the board but DOES have the power to declassify all or part of the tapes. You might imagine what would have happened had the tape of Darth Ebolus mindraping half the Admiralty had gotten out ahead of time. We certainly would have been better prepared for it..."

"We know of that one," Andromalius replied at the mention of the Uzbek place, in between bites of borek. "Lots of stuff involving sheep, if we remember correctly. Baa."

Nax'Incail took in Alexis' speech with what could only be described as stoic fascination, nodding occasionally and cocking his head to the left or to the right once in a while. "An unfortunate side effect of bureaucracy, we fear. In large governments it becomes very easy for the higher echelons to lose track of the activities of other branches. The left hand knows not what the right hand is doing, so to speak. Astounding that the government retains such things and still exhibits the level of alacrity we have witnessed thus far."

Andromalius piped in again as he finally came to sit down at another nearby chair, flinging a book about the effects of heavy artillery explosions on human anatomy off the seat of his chair in such a manner that it landed perfectly on a stack twenty feet away. "Force users capable of holding military rank OR political office, but not both? Would this rule enable one to retire from military service in favor of entering public office? Or is either avenue permanently closed from the other?"

Alexis ignored the commentary on Uzbek cuisine...though it did involve a heavy proportion of lamb meat. If it was cooked right, however...

Her eyebrow raised slightly at the rather flippant display of Godulan dexterity. Probably just enough for them to notice.

"In response to your question...a Force-user would have to resign his commission in the military to be eligible to run for public office, yes..."

Nax'Incail ran with the line of reasoning, as Andromalius was presently munching merrily away.

She noticed your throw.

She'd be even more impressed if she knew that the stack it landed on was where we put the preceding volumes of the same text. Now they're in order!

"Such does not necessarily preclude such an individual from severing all contact from the military, does it not? A retired general could potentially command as much respect and support as a standing general, if not more. This rule strikes as a formality in terms of how much it might actually prevent with respect to those affected."

Andromalius piped in further. "Before we delve any further, one of the points we seek to put forward is that one of the most aggravating things about such attempts at political revolution is that while many such things are often messy and disorganized, the more dangerous ones often prove astounding in the sheer level of subtlety they achieve in their execution. In such cases, the only reason they prove successful is that they literally go unnoticed by the legitimate government until it is too late. Even police-states with unfathomable levels of oversight would fall prey to such things."

"Our questions focus less on prevention so much as containment," Nax'Incail continued. "As we said, remote though the possiblity may seem, there is still a probability that something might happen to the parliament at some point in the near or distant future, and we are curious as to whether any thought has been given towards... decentralization."

"A retired general might command the respect of the military, but would lose the access. If he maintained improper relationships with the military after retirement...those improper relationships would be found, and probably cause a large scandal that would disgrace him. Nevertheless...an interesting point for future generations."

"In regards to decentralization, it would be much easier if Woodians evolved the ability to think telepathically, as one overmind, as you do, at least according to what I've read about you," Alexis said in deep thought, somewhat resigned. "Until then, I'm afraid the best we can do is federalism; if we decentralize too much, we will break down into fifty regional factions otherwise that cannot get anything done. And that is quite insufferable in itself."

"Telepathy?" Andromalius asked between bites, raising an eyebrow. "When did anybody need telepathy to decentralize? Parliamentary sessions are open to the public, are they not? Why not simply take it a step further?"

Nax'Incail smirked slightly. "Our suggestion focuses on the establishment of a communications network to facilitate a capacity for parliamentary operations independent of any need for a central forum. Something as simple as a handheld communication device would allow one to cast votes from halfway across the planet, or with secondary relay stations from other planets entirely."

"It would keep the parliament in touch with its constituency," Andromalius continued, "and an attempt to terminate the parliament would require a planetwide pogrom that could be far more difficult to plan and coordinate."

"And even harder to hide."

"No, it just means that hackers instead of guns are needed to take over the government," came the reply. Alexis thought the Godulans' idea interesting, but she saw the same kinds of problems with that idea that the Godulans saw with a centralized legislature. "A terrorist attack against a comm relay could disenfranchise millions of potential voters right in the middle of an important vote. Moreover, if the voting system was hacked, the hacker could alter peoples' votes, and the voters would not be able to do anything about it, assuming they even knew their vote had been changed. It would leave no paper trail to audit, and recount, to undo such fraud."

Andromalius finished off another bite of borek. "We do not mean for major elections, though in such a case hacking attempts could be rectified simply by giving folks a receipt of their vote casting."

"The majority of this network would be directed towards parliamentary proceedings. Whereupon it simply needs a relatively decent amount of encryption if necessary. Coupled with simply reporting which representative cast what vote, it would be simple enough to spot any attempts at hacking votes through the simple virtue of whichever affected representative calling in and saying--"

"'Blimey! I didn't vote 'yes' on that! Some prick spoofed my vote!'"

"Which would of course lead to the obligatory investigation. It would also be possible to bio-lock the transmission mechanisms that would be carried by the representatives such that each vote they send in relation to whatever pertinent issue is encrypted with identification tags based upon genetic markers."

"Biolocks are quite easy for us to construct, and can even be crafted to read signs of duress or trauma."

"Of course, in times of emergency, such mechanisms can be foregone in favor of having the representatives reconvene at the main chamber in order to rectify any potential issues with jamming."

"I see," Alexis replied. "I was thinking you had meant conducting national elections with these things...at least this proposal wouldn't require getting into the bioethical issues I was thinking of."

She paused for a moment as she more or less decided to tell the Godulans where to go to get this proposal acted upon. "To be honest, a proposal to authorize the Parliament to meet in such a decentralized manner would have to be passed as a constitutional amendment, requiring a three-quarters majority in a referendum. You should really start editorializing..."

"Anything else? Please do tell me that you summoned me for more than something that could be done in a letter to the editor."

Andromalius and Nax'Incail broke into a brainstorm of almost ferocious intensity, adding information to each other's previous lines of inquiry...

"In order to initiate a referendum on that scale would require some form of petition, correct?"

"We would require the support of multiple parliamentary representatives in order to conduct a petition with any hope of a representative sampling. All regions would need to be taken into account to ensure that nobody feels left out."

"It would be important to get it noted on the news services as well. Hardly does any good to get a petition going when nobody knows about it."

"Getting vocal support from several parliament members would be a boon as well."

"Our operating procedures would require them to do the petitioning."

"Strict policy against governmental interference. All we can do is suggest and offer advice, and even that is a gray area. Anything more involved and the Baron tends to get anxious."

"Too many diplomats overstepping their bounds and whatnot."

"It is too bad that the Aktei family suffered such a catastrophic loss at Terivine with Sirzan's death and of so many others. So many of us are terribly 'new at this'."

They paused for a moment, realizing they had left Alexis a tad behind.

"Our apologies," Andromalius began. "We did have some other random things to deal with."

"Namely the fact that we keep getting inquiries about possible arrangements to funnel raw materials into Woodian concerns in order to facilitate post-war rebuilding and military construction, but we have never recieved any official word about it, nor have any officials actually bothered to conduct anything more than a feasibility survey."

"There seem to be some reservations towards purchasing more from us while still dealing with the loan we provided in order to get the schools back up and running."

It was one of those rare times when anyone could tell just how...inexperienced...the Godulans were at dealing with republics. Especially republics where even noncitizens had at least the right to freedom of speech.

Woodian diplomats serving abroad were expected to operate according to local custom, but in the case of Godulan representation on White Diamond, local custom was indeed quite permissive.

Alexis smiled as the Godulans came back to their senses, so to speak. "Raw materials? Yes, we are in need of those. And financially speaking, at least, we have largely recovered, even before we spent all the funds you loaned us, so I would imagine that repayment will commence...slightly ahead of schedule. Konoha, and its therapeutic effects on consumer confidence, were quite impossible to predict when we took those loans. I have yet to appoint a Cabinet, but these sorts of contracts will be among the first items of discussion with you when I can operate in a more...official capacity."

"It is important to note that we are aware of the distinct lack of regulations about foreigners affecting policy on Woodian soil. These strict rules are only in concern to us diplomats."

"We tend to go overboard when it comes to taking direct actions."

"Many precedents."

"Even one particularly convoluted one where we turned an alternate reality mexico into a world superpower and left california a puddle of molten rock."

"What a fiasco THAT was."

"Corbox never did grasp the concept of subtlety."

"He does love his guns."

"And lets not forget the Seleucians."

Andromalius cringed in recognition of the name, then both Avatars made a movement similar to holding their hats at their chests in mourning.

"Or that one thing, with the thing and the thing that did that thing?"

"Oh yeah! That thing! That wasn't so bad."

"Still reflected badly on us."

"Oh yeah, when that thing did that thing it does, things just went straight to hell."

"We believe that the loss of the pumpkin pie was the worst casualty though."

"Aye."

They both looked at Alexis again.

"Oh, and we were wondering about a possible cooperative research campaign. We have a rather interesting project, but it is... troublesome. We were hoping to get the Coredians and some of our other allies to assist as well, but you are actually the first individual 'of rank' that we have had the opportunity to speak with. Granted Baron Skye could just beat down the door to Daniel Masaki's office and tell him about the plan, but the Coredian Emperor has been... decidedly mobile of late."

"Hard to track down. Makes getting to him difficult."

"Flighty little bastard. Don't quote us on that."

Alexis' eyebrow raised. Like any Woodian politician with half a brain, she liked the idea of new research projects. Very much so. Especially if it involved the Godulans.

"Though I am not serving in official capacity yet, as a token of such cooperation, I will remind you that the mikado is in this city right now, as he will be a guest at the swearing in of the new Parliament." A smile crossed her face as she extracted a datapad. "And I happen to have the location of the hotel of where he is staying...Master Whitfield apparently felt I should know." She forked over the datapad to the Godulan ambassadors.

"Oh yes, and the mention of research projects reminds me of the debriefing that the military has already given me. They are quite interested in seeing this system defended by a planetary-scale voidshield. Whether or not the technology itself is licensed to us or whether or not such voidshield facilities are operated by Godulans and treated as Godulan soil as this embassy is, they do not seem to care; however, they don't want to see a Death Star pop up here, either, especially as the results of Konoha...might have called attention to ourselves."

Andromalius took the datapad and inspected it with a rapt interest. For a moment, both Avatars' behaved as though they were both reading the information at the same time, eyes shifting back and forth as if scanning from line to line with disturbing rapidity. The two avatars stopped, then looked at each other, then looked over Alexis' left shoulder.

At the same instant as their gaze shifted in that specific direction, a low but resounding *PWUMM* sound issued forth from behind her.

Turning to see exactly who the new arrivals were would have revealed two of the more recognizable figures of Godulan hierarchy. The first stood seven feet even and sported more muscle than an entire olympic weightlifting team, bald, barechested, and sporting a shark-toothed expression that suggested whenever he wasn't enraged, he was furious. The second stood slightly taller, but were he not wearing a black trench coat, he would have more closely resembled a stickman than an actual human. Curiously, the lanky fellow also sported a blindfold, though it did not seem to actually affect his vision.

"The information is accurate?" Maximillian Foster rasped through his razor sharp maw.

"It has just come to us by the Soon To Be Prime Minister here."

Maximillian turned his gaze to Alexis, a look that would likely send the most composed female skittering towards the authorities on principle more than anything.

"Try to avoid making bad impressions with national leaders," Xenith Steele said, with no small amount of exasperation, as he turned to leave the building. "We have an emperor to corner. Business before pleasure."

And with that, they were gone.

Andromalius and Nax'Incail looked at each other again, conversing silently among themselves, then back to Alexis. "Skye must be agitated. He never sends them out of Godulan Space..."

"Ahem... moving on... we are willing to provide Voidshields, though there is a derivative mechanism that we are working on in relation to that particular device."

"Bloody imperial inhibitor fields."

"We have been fortunate thus far to have only been involved in conflicts where the voidshield does not have any real resistance, but we are cautious."

"Contingencies for contingencies and whatnot."

"A voidshield that can penetrate dimensional inhibitor fields would be of supreme utility against the Death Star. The power system we can manage, but damned if we can never get it to work fast enough."

"The Woodians have an interesting propensity towards refinement. Perhaps if your scientists assist us on making the modern voidshield work with acceptable reaction speed, we would consider this as effective payment for a permanent station upon White Diamond..."

Alexis did not skitter to the authorities on principle, but rather simply ignored Maximillian, diverting her attention away from him as soon as she noticed his stare. Silently, she vowed to ignore him whenever he appeared. Even if she had to shell out for a personal transporter to vanish whenever he materialized.

Then Maximillian vanished, Alexis found herself facing the two Avatars she had been dealing with, and all was well again.

"Actually, my understanding is that the military would prefer several smaller voidshield emplacements on White Diamond's moons, so the breach of one emplacement does not kill voidshield protection, but that is simply a minor clarification. Have you...captured and reverse-engineered one of these inhibitor fields? Doing so would no doubt aid our scientists in devising a counter, though we would probably figure out a way around it otherwise. It just might take longer. Anyway, discussions of how to improve the voidshields are best left to the engineers. I can merely provide you with access to them, and assurances of their cooperation, and inform you that said engineers will probably want to perform stress-tests of their own on the voidshield to expose its weak points and close them. We are ALWAYS interested in technological improvement."

"We believe we have acquired various forms of inhibitor fields over the years. For the lesser ones, such as gravimetric inhibition and the like, the Voidshield functions perfectly. It is the ones specifically geared towards preventing dimensional breaches that give us trouble."

"Of course, the level of inhibition is proportional to the amount of power dedicated to it. In many cases, this simply means that if we should require the utility of the voidshield we would need a Slaughterstar Class vessel in order to properly affect the portal."

"Such would work against Eclipses and Sovereigns but that Death Star... it is a tad bit larger."

"The power expenditure necessary to properly initiate a voidshield in the Death Star's inhibitor field would be astronomical."

"Planetary Installations are the only feasible option."

"BIG Planetary Installations."

"They can be hidden, but we worry that Planetmind might have reservations about people digging several kilometers into its crust."

"Might take offense."

"Might get angry."

"Might get violent."

"Not at all pleasant."

"The moons... a good idea indeed. Unless they are sentient too."

"Planet-size poker buddies."

"We assume that there are other defensive emplacements already constructed on these moons? A planetary shield-type affair would likely be necessary to defend the Voidshield emplacements."

"Make them harder to get to."

"Undesirable targets."

"Overlapping Catch-22s are our specialty."

"Go for the voidshields and risk attack from all other sides? Or go for the planet itself and... risk attack from all other sides?"

Andromalius took the datapad and inspected it with a rapt interest. For a moment, both Avatars' behaved as though they were both reading the information at the same time, eyes shifting back and forth as if scanning from line to line with disturbing rapidity. The two avatars stopped, then looked at each other, then looked over Alexis' left shoulder.

At the same instant as their gaze shifted in that specific direction, a low but resounding *PWUMM* sound issued forth from behind her.

Turning to see exactly who the new arrivals were would have revealed two of the more recognizable figures of Godulan hierarchy. The first stood seven feet even and sported more muscle than an entire olympic weightlifting team, bald, barechested, and sporting a shark-toothed expression that suggested whenever he wasn't enraged, he was furious. The second stood slightly taller, but were he not wearing a black trench coat, he would have more closely resembled a stickman than an actual human. Curiously, the lanky fellow also sported a blindfold, though it did not seem to actually affect his vision.

"The information is accurate?" Maximillian Foster rasped through his razor sharp maw.

"It has just come to us by the Soon To Be Prime Minister here."

Maximillian turned his gaze to Alexis, a look that would likely send the most composed female skittering towards the authorities on principle more than anything.

"Try to avoid making bad impressions with national leaders," Xenith Steele said, with no small amount of exasperation, as he turned to leave the building. "We have an emperor to corner. Business before pleasure."

And with that, they were gone.

Andromalius and Nax'Incail looked at each other again, conversing silently among themselves, then back to Alexis. "Skye must be agitated. He never sends them out of Godulan Space..."
It didn't take long for the two to find my hidey-hole aka hotel room. and unluckily for me, I was available.

After what seemed like several door-smashing knocks, I walked over, irritated. "Sheesh, can't you people knock quietly and not try to break down the door? I don't fancy paying the management...oh, hey guys."

Two thirds of the Triad, here? I rubbed the back of my head in slight confusion. "What's up? It's not every day you two come out of Godular...and together at that."

Maximillian gave Daniel an acknowledging grin, and uttered on simple word under his breath:

"DAMMIT!"

Of course, the sheer outburst of sound could rattle windows and degrade structural integrity of the entire floor, but Maximillian would still have said he was talking under his breath and that nobody could hear him.

And so, as Xenith stomped off towards the ice machine, Xenith shrugged slightly and smiled a bit more accomodatingly.

"He was hoping you would run. It would have helped explain why we have been unable to find you recently. We did attempt to pinpoint you on White Diamond, but with the planetmind, attempting to locate mental power signatures would have been like attempting to discern a lit match several inches from the surface of a star. Not going to happen.

"In any event, we've been hoping to get a hold of you so we could ask about a mutual research and development project."

I chuckled and sweatdropped at the same time at Max's 'predicament'. "Right. I was wondering about something as well. Come on in. Beer's in the fridge."

Of course, they were already inside when I said that, but semantics, semantics.

"Let's get down to the nitty gritty." I said, grabbing a beer.

"We believe we have acquired various forms of inhibitor fields over the years. For the lesser ones, such as gravimetric inhibition and the like, the Voidshield functions perfectly. It is the ones specifically geared towards preventing dimensional breaches that give us trouble."

"Of course, the level of inhibition is proportional to the amount of power dedicated to it. In many cases, this simply means that if we should require the utility of the voidshield we would need a Slaughterstar Class vessel in order to properly affect the portal."

"Such would work against Eclipses and Sovereigns but that Death Star... it is a tad bit larger."

"The power expenditure necessary to properly initiate a voidshield in the Death Star's inhibitor field would be astronomical."

"Planetary Installations are the only feasible option."

"BIG Planetary Installations."

"They can be hidden, but we worry that Planetmind might have reservations about people digging several kilometers into its crust."

"Might take offense."

"Might get angry."

"Might get violent."

"Not at all pleasant."

"The moons... a good idea indeed. Unless they are sentient too."

"Planet-size poker buddies."

"We assume that there are other defensive emplacements already constructed on these moons? A planetary shield-type affair would likely be necessary to defend the Voidshield emplacements."

"Make them harder to get to."

"Undesirable targets."

"Overlapping Catch-22s are our specialty."

"Go for the voidshields and risk attack from all other sides? Or go for the planet itself and... risk attack from all other sides?"

"These moons comprise a significant portion of our static defense. We have no less than sixty planetary-grade turrets whose field of fire criscrosses and overlaps emplaced upon these moons, and yes, these turrets are defended by such shielding. Though the shielding is a bit weaker than the shielding planetside, but the power grid on the moons can be...upgraded. Yes, upgraded." Alexis smiled for no apparent reason. "The moons have no recorded sentience...and believe me, if they had sentience, those who inhabited this planet before us would have documented it."

Maximillian turned and looked in the fridge, removing a bottle of some apparently high quality beer and sniffing at it momentarily. It appeared to be one of those amusing little single-serving sample bottles. He smirked at it, then popped the entire thing into his mouth. The sound of grinding glass accompanied his approach to a nearby table, where he investigated the chair and decided that they would be incapable of supporting his weight.

Xenith sat down at a chair and grimaced as Maxie swallowed, then took out a toothpick and dislodged a piece of glass from his lower jaw.

"Not half bad. I like the canned stuff better though."

"We've been attempting to get in contact with you, but as I said we've had a considerable amount of difficulty in doing so. The matter is relatively urgent as we are decently far along in the initial stages of development, but damned if even our own considerable resources are proving insufficient to the task."

Maxie went back to the fridge and ate another beer, this time rooting around to find a canned version beforehand.

"Its a hull material we learned about from the Shirassi archives. Apparently they were working on it shortly before they constructed Sivv'Nakh. They understandably did not get very far, but we have been able to re-start the project and expand upon it in many ways. Rough samples have been very promising."

"Downright miraculous, you ask me," Maximillian said between sounds of wrenching aluminum.

"It is completely transparent to visible light. For every other wavelength, and any form of energy for that matter, it is completely reflective. You could fire turbolaser blasts at a dinner plate sized sample of the stuff and there would be nought to show for it. Not even a dent.

"Short of gravimetric disruption and an unfortunate problem with antimatter, the hull material is completely invincible."

Maximillian grinned. "A ship as small as a freighter could literally shrug off a shot from the Death Star."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

meanwhilst:

"Upgrading is always good."

"We like upgrading."

"We do it for fun."

"Too much rock? Too much free time? Build a castle!"

"Then throw rocks at people who don't like you."

"Then build ways of throwing rocks further!"

"Aherm... sorry, got caught up."

"Will any official action on this need to be discussed with the parliament, as all of the other items on our itinerary seem fated to be?"

"Yes. Armed Services Committee. I will have to schedule you a hearing with them. Soon after inauguration. Ditto with your research proposals."

Then the words all of the other items on our itinerary seem fated to be? struck Alexis' mind. "Umm...in regards to the other items...most notably the decentralization of Parliament...ironically, you don't need to bring that up through Parliament at all. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but submitting a present for the op-ed column of the Great Woody Times, followed by appearing as guests on the next round of Sunday talk shows, will get *that* debate rolling on its own, and meanwhile, you have avoided even the appearance of improper dealings with government officials. If you initiate the necessary debate in the public sphere, it will become self-sustaining. If you bring it up in the Parliament, it can be tabled on the grounds of 'wrong place to bring this up; requires ballot initiative for a constitutional amendment.' Even we have our quirks."

"We said though, we cannot do anything direc--"

Both Andromalius and Nax'Incail stopped cold, as close to literally as actually freezing in place. For a good ten seconds they held position, as though someone had simply pressed some form of pause button. As suddenly as it began, the pause came to an end.

Both diplomats looked at each other, and then grinned at Alexis.

"Clearance... granted? Skye was paying attention to us after we notified him of Mr. Masaki's location. Um... Sunday talk shows? We will need to establish communications..."

Alexis returned the grin, somewhat amused by the theatrics of the Godulans' sudden pause. "Oh, rest assured, when that op-ed gets printed, the Sunday talk show hosts will establish communications with you."

"Was there anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, there was one last little tiny thingamajig.."

"A trifle really."

"If we could only remember what it was."

"Think think think..."

"Oh yeah! Is there anything special we would need to do in order to have an in-person spot at the inauguration ceremony?"

"Just show up early. If, however, you want the seats reserved for foreign dignitaries, simply check the mail." Alexis gave the two avatars a knowing grin.

Both Avatars turned in perfect unison, bringing an intense gaze upon a pile of junkmail some four feet high resting in a corner. Nax'Incail broke off first, reaching over and smacking Andromalius over the head.

"You are supposed to sort the mail!"

"We did! We thought it was a credit card offer!"

"From the parliament?"

"Some nations are like that!"

"We order the food, you sort the mail. We agreed on this! Sorting includes opening! You know which letter we speak of, you know where it is. Get. It."

Andromalius sighed and moved sulkily over to the pile, mumbling under his breath.

Alexis watched the spectacle of Godulan avatars arguing over mail with a bemused smile. Of course, it was easy to smile, considering she never let her mail pile up for more than a couple days at a time. Given her new position, even going through mail accumulated over two days might become a chore...but she would also have the ability to hire staff to relieve the burden if it got too out of hand.

When Andromalius *did* find the right envelope, he would find two tickets to the inauguration inside, along with a little typed note on Parliament letterhead detailing verboten items, including weapons of any kind. While the Godulans probably wouldn't care, the verboten list included lightsabers, which might make things interesting for...certain other honored guests.

"Erm..." Andromalius began, after reading the invitations.

"There might be a slight issue."

"We are not combat trained, but we are equipped..."

"And not in a way that we are easily disarmed."

Nax'Incail raised his left hand up towards Andromalius' former chair, then flexed his fingers slightly. A green shaft of light erupted forth from the palm of his hand and hummed happily as he brought it about to show to Alexis. Held upright, it seemed somewhat like a lightsaber, up until he flexed his hands again and the shaft of light burst towards the ceiling, where it dissipated against some form of internal shielding just shy of the roof.

"We feel it necessary that this be made known. Such is the standard armament of a Kython Drone, and by extension also a Godulan Avatar."

"Is there any accomodation to be made in this case? You have our word of honor that we wouldn't even dare show anything off at the ceremony..."

"Is there any way to disable it?" Alexis asked, a tinge of concern in her voice. Understandably, the security restrictions on entrance into the Parliament were...somewhat inflexible. "Like by removing a power cell?"

"There is the possibility of a low yield dampening field hindering us sufficiently to prevent us from concentrating sufficient energy to activate the weapon. It must be very precisely calibrated though. Any higher and it severs us entirely."

"That means the Kython programming takes over. You would not happen to be expecting any Imperials to attend the ceremony, would you?"

"Things could get very bad."

"Kython mad. Kython smash."

"Kython get very unpleasant to be around."

Alexis chuckled. "No. No Imperials. Imperials make mad. Must kill Imperials....now, on a slightly more serious note, the Parliament building is currently vacant and now might be a good time to do such...calibrations."

"Capital!" both Avatars said in unison, just before pausing in thought.

Andromalius broke the silence after a couple seconds: "We assume of course that means you are offering to take us down to the Parliament building and show us where any field dampening machinery might be."

"Umm...I am willing to take you to the Parliament, but the field dampening machinery would be located at White Diamond University. We usually only have a Force-inhibitor at the Parliament itself...we screen everything else out before it even gets there. Somewhat difficult to do that in your case."

Alexis then excused herself for a moment whilst contacting UWD's maintenance department. "They will have the proper equipment moved within two hours, after which point you can make the necessary adjustments."

Maximillian turned and looked in the fridge, removing a bottle of some apparently high quality beer and sniffing at it momentarily. It appeared to be one of those amusing little single-serving sample bottles. He smirked at it, then popped the entire thing into his mouth. The sound of grinding glass accompanied his approach to a nearby table, where he investigated the chair and decided that they would be incapable of supporting his weight.

Xenith sat down at a chair and grimaced as Maxie swallowed, then took out a toothpick and dislodged a piece of glass from his lower jaw.

"Not half bad. I like the canned stuff better though."

"We've been attempting to get in contact with you, but as I said we've had a considerable amount of difficulty in doing so. The matter is relatively urgent as we are decently far along in the initial stages of development, but damned if even our own considerable resources are proving insufficient to the task."

Maxie went back to the fridge and ate another beer, this time rooting around to find a canned version beforehand.

"Its a hull material we learned about from the Shirassi archives. Apparently they were working on it shortly before they constructed Sivv'Nakh. They understandably did not get very far, but we have been able to re-start the project and expand upon it in many ways. Rough samples have been very promising."

"Downright miraculous, you ask me," Maximillian said between sounds of wrenching aluminum.

"It is completely transparent to visible light. For every other wavelength, and any form of energy for that matter, it is completely reflective. You could fire turbolaser blasts at a dinner plate sized sample of the stuff and there would be nought to show for it. Not even a dent.

"Short of gravimetric disruption and an unfortunate problem with antimatter, the hull material is completely invincible."

Maximillian grinned. "A ship as small as a freighter could literally shrug off a shot from the Death Star."
"Wow. That's impressive!" I grinned as if Christmas came early. "This new hull will go well into my plan."

"You know that lately the Empire's been having a few victories of its own. It's high time that we turned the tables on them. I plan to make a trap. A trap so irresistable that the Empire will have no choice but to fall for it."

I pulled out a scroll from one of my pockets and laid it out on the table. "Top Secret, but you know that already."

"Phase 1 of this plan is to gather enough material to build a shelter about oh...the size of a Corellian Corvette or so (150 meters), with the capability of surviving something like a supernova. I currently have people searching for enough neutronium to do so, but maybe this hull will do better. Phase 2 is to select a target, a star with planets, but nothing in the way of life for lightyears around and place the shelter near the core of one of the planets so that it would further enhance the survivability. Phase 3 is to gather some bait for the Empire to try to attack. I'm thinking a combination of some kind of 'superweapon' and the Coredian leadership, ie me. Once the Empire sends its ships to destroy this bait, we blow the star, which is phase 4. Phase 5 is mopping up any survivors and gather up the shelter for reuse elsewhere."

I folded my arms, grinning. "So, what do you think?"

Xenith and Maximillian both looked at the scroll, then at Daniel, then at each other, then in odd directions completely unrelated to anything else in the room. Only the odd *CONCH CONCH CONCH* of Maximillian still chewing on a can of beer broke the silence until both of their apparent lines of thought came back to reality and Xenith turned expectantly towards Maximillian.

"You're the warmaster, hoss."

Maximillian snorted, then swallowed his aluminum repast. He placed his hand on the scroll and came down to one knee, leaning forward to come in almost uncomfortably close.

"The key towards an operation of such a magnitude is that a charade is simply not an option. Something so important must be true. The experiments must be genuine. The development must be genuine. The weapon must be genuine. It must be genuine, and sufficiently threatening for the Empire to be unable to afford ignorance.

"If you haven't yet given this consideration any real thought, we happen to have something else that might be of interest.

"The system of Thorn is a great testbed for many of our weapons, and is the birthplace of my Kythons. If you should happen to... oh, I dunno, accidentally make a misdirected jump into Thorn, you will note some rather interesting... occurrences going on. I will not go into more detail save to say it really is something you should see for yourself.

"After some study, we realized that the cause of these abnormalities was in what we had done to the star itself. We took a core sampling and discovered an... interesting material. Apparently it reacts strangely in high energy situations, more strangely than anything we have ever encountered before.

"Testing out in the intergalactic void has been most promising indeed. A sudden surge of energy causes even a few grams of the material to explode quite spectacularly, along the lines of our own Guiding Light weapons but a FAR more efficient reaction. An expanding shockwave of spatial disruption and gravimetric force that will rend and tear enemy vessels caught within. The larger the ship, the greater the damage...

"This could be the weapon you seek. The perfect bait, for a weapon that gets stronger against larger vessels would be something that the keeper of the vaunted, and somewhat ungainly Death Star could not afford to discount. The key, in this case, is to send the impression that we are not as far along in the project as we really are.

"In such a case, they will come, seeking to cut us off at the pass, and we will terminate them."

"Hmm." I thought. It seems Maxie has a point. A piece of bait is only worth it if it's genuine. Guess I'm just used to faking things, being a student of understanding underneath the underneath.

"A good point, I suppose." I said. "It would be quite irresistable indeed. I take it you'll be helping us with this?"

"Do you honestly believe we would skip on the opportunity to pulverize that spherical Imperial Phallic Symbol?" Maxie asked with a wicked smirk. "Or to annihilate one or more of those super star destroyers in one shot? Oh such hilarity should that meager little blue-skinned man come to our doorstep, seeking to steal our secrets. Or the pansy in the gas-mask. Or even grand-supreme emperor walking corpse."

Xenith snorted. "All hail Overlord Wrinkles and his Personal Puppet Show!"

"Pity the Chronosians are always so eager to lick Palpy's boots. Birds of a feather they are, except for their ever-growing sycophantic streak. But I digress. When it comes down to blowing up Imperials, I think you will find no better folk than us, particularly when it comes to... enthusiasm.

"That being said, I have a question: Whatever happened to the Coredian concept of Opsec? You keep this Empire-Smishing Plan on a scroll? You can get encoded datapads for few credits... hell, I saw a whole display rack of 'em in the souvenir shop in the lobby."

Maximillian rolled up the scroll... and ate it. He burped a bit of wax seal before continuing.

"Even on friendly planets such as White Diamond, ya shouldn't be walking around carrying your most secretive plans in writing."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nax'Incail nodded. "Should we still go over now? We would prefer to get the whole thing out of the way..."

"Do you honestly believe we would skip on the opportunity to pulverize that spherical Imperial Phallic Symbol?" Maxie asked with a wicked smirk. "Or to annihilate one or more of those super star destroyers in one shot? Oh such hilarity should that meager little blue-skinned man come to our doorstep, seeking to steal our secrets. Or the pansy in the gas-mask. Or even grand-supreme emperor walking corpse."

Xenith snorted. "All hail Overlord Wrinkles and his Personal Puppet Show!"

"Pity the Chronosians are always so eager to lick Palpy's boots. Birds of a feather they are, except for their ever-growing sycophantic streak. But I digress. When it comes down to blowing up Imperials, I think you will find no better folk than us, particularly when it comes to... enthusiasm.

"That being said, I have a question: Whatever happened to the Coredian concept of Opsec? You keep this Empire-Smishing Plan on a scroll? You can get encoded datapads for few credits... hell, I saw a whole display rack of 'em in the souvenir shop in the lobby."

Maximillian rolled up the scroll... and ate it. He burped a bit of wax seal before continuing.

"Even on friendly planets such as White Diamond, ya shouldn't be walking around carrying your most secretive plans in writing."
I silently groaned when Maxie ate up the scroll. At least I memorized the whole plan...

"I guess. The scroll *was* enchanted in such a way that only I could read it...but what the hey." I shrugged. "Well, I guess we can get started on our grand plan."

"Indeed," Xenith commented, standing up and turning towards the door. "With that out of the way, we shall depart. You really should go see Thorn for yourself. It is quite... interesting. We shall chat... later."

And with that, both Xenith and Maximillian vanished with a light *Voip!*

Nax'Incail nodded. "Should we still go over now? We would prefer to get the whole thing out of the way..."

"Nah. They'll deliver the equipment straight to the Parliament. Let us go there instead."

"Bye." I replied. Well, this day turned out to be interesting. Taylor and Jacob will go out to search for their old Alchemy sensei, Keith will soon go away to a far away nation to do his Jedi Trials and I am about to embark on a grand plan to bring the Empire to it's knees...a very good day indeed.

Nax'Incail and Andromalius both stood up at the same time, dusting themselves off and moving towards the door.

"Lead the way, if you would be so kind," they said in unison.

Alexis Elleayovskii did not hesitate to lead them off to the site of the Parliament building, and simply nodded in assent to their request. However, she was desirous of a leisurely late-night stroll, not the least reason for which was to allot some time to university maintenance staff to get the dampener over there.

One of those strolls when it was about ten below Celsius out, in the wake of fresh snowfall, the first of the season. A clear night to boot, which made the temperature fall all the faster once the sun had gone down hours earlier. Yet Alexis shrugged it off without bothering to wear a coat.

The shiny lights of Great Woody City reflected off the snow, which had this interesting ability to actually stay white despite being in the largest city in Evil Woody Thoughts, making it seem like there might almost actually be enough light to read a book by without squinting. It might have said something about how meticulously *clean* Woodians liked their cities.

About twenty minutes later, they arrived at the Parliament building, to find a multi-purpose, multi-frequency dampener plugged into the wall of the rotunda, right before the security checkpoint (still manned at this hour). "Well, here we are, the guards will clear this and move it as soon as you're done calibrating the thing...however, they *will* want to see that your calibrations actually work, which will probably necessitate an outside test of this thing before we leave. This dampener will have the range to do such a test outside."

The Avatars themselves made no effort to bundle up in the cold. Even were the cold to have any chance of causing the crystalline beings discomfort, the two Avatars were borne from Alitar, the De Facto Godulan Capital, an arctic world by all standards. As they walked towards the parliament building, the two Avatars scampered about like little children on a snow day, flinging snowballs at each other with increasing amounts of flourish between each throw, and hurling themselves into sufficiently large piles of snow. In places where snow had accumulated to more than three feet, they actually burrowed around in an oddly cartoonish fashion, popping up occasionally like rabbits, running short distances along the very surface of the snow, and diving back in.

Even more strange behavior as they occasionally ran up walls and along overhangs as though they had never left the ground. In leaving their humanity behind, it seemed as though they had also decided that a rather large number of the laws of physics were 'optional'.

As they finally arrived at the Parliamentary building, the two Avatars came sailing in from the sky, pretending to be snowflakes themselves, coming to rest at edge of the rotunda and immediately moving to 'mess' with the dampening field generator.

After Alexis' comment, Nax'Incail responded with: "Truth be told we will be treading new ground ourselves. So you are aware, we would prefer that this be the ONLY dampening field that has this information programmed into it, and that nobody attempts to actually catalog the information in any secondary database, as we are somewhat cautious about letting any information that could prove potentially damaging to us out. If the Imperials somehow get their hands on the information, or the Galactic Federation for that matter, we are not on good terms with them either at the present time... things would get very annoying very quickly. We would have to alter our frequencies, restructure the entire Kythonic genome, yadda yadda yadda... just a lot of work in general."

As Nax'Incail spoke, Andromalius moved in a veritable blur, programming information, flipping switches, testing the wind, scanning for perturbations in solar activity, reflecting that scanning for solar activity at night is something of an exercise in futility... and within minutes, he stepped away from the dampener. Both avatars moved out several steps, and ignited their plasma blades.

"Would you be so kind as to set the amplitude to half maximum and turn that bad boy on?" Nax'Incail said, pointing at the generator.

The Prime Minister-Elect, having been amused by the antics of Godulans in snow (and advising them that based on what she was observing, they might enjoy a trip to the Bitterwind ski resorts), now found that it was time to get down to business.

She acceded to the Godulan request that the amplitude data not be copied anywhere by programming the generator to purge its modulation/amplitude records and start overwriting them with random binary code one million times in twenty-four hours (the one million times bit to make sure that any hackers would never be able to access enough of the data to piece it back together). "However, this means that you will have to go through this security procedure every time you wish to go to the Parliament building," she advised them. "You can thank Darth Ebolus for the security restrictions of late." A scowl filled her face as she mentioned the Dark Lord; it was impossible for her to hide her contempt of the man.

One of the university maintenance personnel present set the dampener's amplitude to half maximum, and flipped the thing on...

"Reprogramming will not be difficult after we have discerned the proper amplitude. It is simply a key of finding which level will prevent us from activating our abilities, yet also allow us to retain control of our bodies. If the power is too high, the original programming ta--"

With the activation of the dampening field generator, both of the Godulan Avatars dropped to their hands and knees, their bodies wracked with spasms in the midst of a sudden shift in form. When they looked up at the surprised onlookers, their forms had shifted into a strange four-armed mechanical demon. A tall, snakelike body with spindly limbs in stark contrast to the tremendous strength they could exert.

They scanned the area, confused and uncomprehending, before locking on to the other people in the area. Alien logical processes churned within the glowing green eyes, and an ear-splitting shriek ripped forth from their great maws.

Then they leaped... backwards. A jump of at least half a block from a standing position and onto a nearby building... whereupon another change of form took place...

Right back into the Avatars.

From their new perch, the Avatars looked at each other, then at Alexis, then at the distance they'd covered. Nax'Incail bellowed forth from his position:

"Okay, now lets turn it down to one fourth and see what happens!"

"--takes effect." Alexis finished for the Avatars quite calmly, seemingly unconcerned with their transformation. There weren't any Imperials around, after all...

Ironically, those responsible for her security were more unnerved by it than she was. But not quite unnerved enough about it to compromise her security.

"Setting to one-fourth amplitude," the university engineer called out, wanting to get this over with. Dammit, it's almost three in the morning, and I'm with aliens who go crazy when this thing gets turned on...

The two avatars climbed down from their position and walked up to a specific spot on the road. Nax'Incail waved a hand in front of him and shrugged.

"This is where the field ends."

"Did you feel anything when you did that?"

"Nope."

"Now try it with the sword."

Nax'Incail ignited his energy sword and pointed it into the field. With a slow thrust, the blade went in, and the length it passed into the field simply dissipated. When he took it out, the blade reshaped back to its original length. He repeated the process several times, then looked at the plasma blade.

"We do not know about you but that is just cool."

"Indeed. We are going to go in."

Andromalius stepped into the field boundary and trotted about in much the same manner as a child testing a new pair of shoes. He held his hand out, and activated his energy sword... or rather tried to, anyway. He shook his hand once or twice, and then really threw himself into bringing the blade out.

Nothing happened.

He took hold of his right forearm with his left hand and shuffed it along, as though expecting something to happen, then turned back to Nax'Incail.

"We cannot even shapeshift!"

"Greater energy is being expended to keep us in these bodies. We would not be surprised if our mutability is compromised by such a thing."

"But our bodies did a full transformation when the Kython aspect took over."

"They did not have to expend extra energy to keep us in these bodies. We were ejected, and the power expenditure was redistributed."

"Oh yeah. Did this happen to you before?"

"Nah. We just read an article about Kythonic Dampening Field safety measures. They transform if they have the opportunity, then use conventional methods to alert nearby Kythons of the dampening field, then try to either escape or destroy the dampening field. We were limited only to escape, as there were no imperials about."

"Wait, was that what the screech was about?"

"Alerting other Kythons? Yeah."

"Huh."

The two avatars walked up to Alexis. "We figure its calibrated properly now. Our powers are sufficiently reduced to prevent any of our combat abilities from being used within this dampening field."

SETTING SAVED. The words blinked at the university engineer. "Finally, I can go home," he grumbled, apparently just loud enough to hear. "Maintenance, get this inside security and set it up again for the inauguration." A couple of underlings rushed to fulfill the engineer's order, wanting to go home themselves.

Alexis, too, wanted a little nap before getting up in the morning to prepare for the inaugration at noon. Technically, it already *was* morning, but she could still salvage a few hours...

She bowed a goodbye to the Avatars. "Well, now that this has been taken care of, I will see you in the audience chamber at noon tomorrow, yes?" She stifled a yawn. "We humans need our sleep...and we can deal with the trade and defense issues when I have my Cabinet appointed and confirmed. Shouldn't take more than three or four days..."

"We shall be waiting," Andromalius replied, and the two Avatars bowed to the everyone on the rotunda before departing back towards the embassy.

*around eleven in the morning*

A hard knock came on Taylor's hotel room door. "Get yer ass out here!" The door seemed to shake, and Taylor probably didn't need to guess who it might be. "No lightsabers, because Parliament security will just take them from you!"

The presence at the door didn't bother to mention that there would be a Force-dampening field as well, due to the large number of foreign Jedi present. New post-Ebolus security measures. The Masakis would just have to...understand.

Suddenly Taylor felt something clinging to his leg again. At least it wasn't cloaked.

Yet.

----------

OOC: Posting may be sporadic for next couple of weeks.

"Fine, fine." A red-cloaked young man with a strange lump on his leg grumbled. He left his considerable arsenal of weapons (including the gloves) in the hotel room and stepped outside once more. Daniel and Jacob followed quickly, also berieved of anything that could hurt. It was time to go see the inauguration of the new Pariliment.

The Colonel glared at the presence of the lump on Taylor's leg. The lump immediately turned away, not wishing to suffer his gaze. "Taylor, you need to get chemotherapy..." The lump immediately fell off and started walking on its own.

Taylor and his relatives might be surprised to see, upon stepping outside, that Keith Allaire, dressed in Class A uniforms (he never quite got the "wearing Jedi robes" thing), had come alone. "The others are already there," he explained.

About a thousand feet from the outside of the Parliament building, John started feeling...weird. Empty. Cut off. He tried to cloak, but couldn't. The young one resisted the temptation to become cancerous for his adoptive father again, and simply said, "I can't cloak," with a confused look on his face. It was his first time in a Force-inhibiting field. As the party got closer, the feeling of emptiness grew deeper. It was the Colonel's first time inside such a field as well, and though he was somewhat confused, he at least knew theoretically what was happening, and more importantly, he could still fight outside of the Force, even disarmed of weapons, if he absolutely must.

Upon reaching the security checkpoint, Keith voluntarily handed his lightsaber over to the security guards, before they could even ask, a nonchalant look on his face, while all five of them (three adult Masakis, John, and Keith) had to face a pat-down search...

The Colonel glared at the presence of the lump on Taylor's leg. The lump immediately turned away, not wishing to suffer his gaze. "Taylor, you need to get chemotherapy..." The lump immediately fell off and started walking on its own.

Taylor and his relatives might be surprised to see, upon stepping outside, that Keith Allaire, dressed in Class A uniforms (he never quite got the "wearing Jedi robes" thing), had come alone. "The others are already there," he explained.

About a thousand feet from the outside of the Parliament building, John started feeling...weird. Empty. Cut off. He tried to cloak, but couldn't. The young one resisted the temptation to become cancerous for his adoptive father again, and simply said, "I can't cloak," with a confused look on his face. It was his first time in a Force-inhibiting field. As the party got closer, the feeling of emptiness grew deeper. It was the Colonel's first time inside such a field as well, and though he was somewhat confused, he at least knew theoretically what was happening, and more importantly, he could still fight outside of the Force, even disarmed of weapons, if he absolutely must.

Upon reaching the security checkpoint, Keith voluntarily handed his lightsaber over to the security guards, before they could even ask, a nonchalant look on his face, while all five of them (three adult Masakis, John, and Keith) had to face a pat-down search...
The Masakis were also feeling weird. They can't even mold chakra properly and that means walking on walls and ceilings are out of the question, nevermind commanding the elements. Alchemy might be possible even under these conditions, but drawing the required circles tend to be very, very obvious (not to mention slow). That left ordinary taijutsu (HtH combat), which still make the trio very dangerous people when it comes down to things. Of course, there's little they could do against the guys toting blaster rifles...

"Augh. Force inhibitors." Taylor scowled in disapproval.

"Aye." I replied, humming a tune and seeming oblivious while the pat-down occurred. "Seems they take their anti-Sith security seriously. You understand."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it." Taylor scowled even deeper, making Jacob chuckle slightly.

OOC: The next post is going to be one of those that takes a loooooooooooooooooooong time to do. As it's finals week, I won't have the time for it till Friday night at the earliest...more likely next week when I get back from Phoenix. Just so ya know.

This msg will self destruct at the appropriate time.

OOC: Right. From here on out, I have summer vacation, so my own posting ability will be greatly reduced. I'll do what I can, though.

3 November, noon
Inside the Parliament Chamber

Prime Minister Whitfield assumed his position at the podium for what he had to assume would be the last time. He wouldn't be Prime Minister for much longer. Granted, the possibility existed that he might be invited to speak to the entire Parliament in the future, but it was best not to assume such things.

He looked upon those in the MP positions before him. One hundred faces, two thirds of which he did not recognize, one third of which he recognized from the "Convenience Sample" Eighty-Third Parliamentary Session, returned his gaze. Like the Parliament immediately before it, this Parliamentary Session contained a smattering of teachers, machinists, customer service personnel, mid-level managers, librarians, an engineer here and there, a couple of university professors--indeed, representing Iyatori Prefecture (a heavily agricultural area in White Diamond's Southern Hemisphere), even a contract laborer, Mr. Aueralias, had managed to get elected, largely on a platform concerning how best to balance "industrial farming" with environmental needs.

Whitfield glanced to his right at Alexis Elleayovskii, who came from a family who, less than a century and a half ago, suffered Soviet deportation from Crimea to Uzbekistan. When her family attempted to change the nationality listed on their internal passports from Tatar to Crimean Tatar, Soviet bureaucrats had told them that Crimean Tatars did not exist, a reflection of the combination of whitewashing and "Russification" of minorities in the Soviet Union; she herself carried a "Russified" last name, her original family name stricken from any official record emanating from the USSR. It was a past that Whitfield knew Alexis was all too aware of, and he hoped that she would put her family's past to use on a national scale. Whitfield could not be certain that his natural lifespan would enable him to see how much of the recent war would go down the memory hole of future generations. She certainly was not wealthy, given her past.

Nor, for that matter, was the remainder of what would be the Eighty-Fourth Session; the median annual income of its members came to a mere forty-eight thousand credits, not far over the national median. Mean income wasn't that much different...the two millionaires sitting in the Parliament only brought mean income of the upcoming Parliament to fifty-seven thousand credits per annum. By all accounts, the members constituting the next legislative session were the least wealthy of any Parliament to sit in national history--including the last one (by a hair).

Alexis had a challenge waiting for her. Herding this Parliament, two-thirds of which probably could never be counted on to vote a certain way due to the collapse of political parties, would prove challenging even for Master Whitfield.

He banged the gavel and called the session to order one last time. Then came Teh Speech, though a brief one.

"Welcome to the Parliament, members-elect of the Eighty-Fourth Session. I will give you no illusions: there is a reason why only a third of those who served immediately before you chose to stand for re-election."

The third of the members who had stood for re-election, and won, nodded in agreement as the outgoing Prime Minister continued. "I have observed more than one child, who, in the bliss of ignorance, dreamed of one day becoming Prime Minister. Invariably, such children imagine a posh life where all they have to do is make speeches while staffers do all the work. Some legislatures in the universe actually DO function that way, but those legislatures lead those whom they are charged with legislating for down the path of mediocrity. Legislative incompetence or laziness ranks among the favorite arguments to justify would-be tyrants."

The Prime Minister drew a breath while the incoming members listened to his advice. "Your predecessors did more in a single year than most Parliaments before them had managed in four. They worked with CoreWorlds, Godular, and New Dornalia to conduct the postwar census, not to mention procuring capital with which to stabilize the economy after the damage that war brings. The recent election in which you participated occurred only after your predecessors figured out how to hold one in an environment that frequently sees states disentigrate into chaos. When the Galactic Empire of Huntaer attacked the Coredian system of Konoha, the Parliament before you reacted before news of the attack had reached most Coredians. The Parliament before you molded the post-battle euphoria into an economic policy that has put Evil Woody Thoughts on equal economic footing with her position two years ago, before the Dark Times, in the space of two seasons."

Another breath. "It was not done on a part-time basis. While I used the Force to compress a good nights' sleep into fifteen minutes, the rest of the Parliament ran on stimulants as its members worked fourteen, sixteen hour days--in some cases, forty-eight hours at a time."

"While the Parliament before you dealt with the crises of the Dark Times successfully, it leaves behind several military issues and a war that must be won. Do not think that those who came before you did the work for you. You ran for office not because fufilling the duties therein would be easy, but because it would be hard, knowing full well that you would vote against a politician who coasted upon the work of others."

He then swore in each of the new members, individually and by name, prescribing to them the oath of office, all one hundred of them. When at last Aiden Zucker took the oath, he prescribed a slightly different oath to Alexis Elleayovskii.

He banged his gavel one last time. "Now come the days of the Eighty-Fourth Parliamentary Session of Evil Woody Thoughts," his voice boomed off the chamber. "May they be as productive as the last."

He then presented the gavel to Alexis, who promptly entertained a motion to suspend session for the inevitable caucusing to determine the upcoming committee assignments.