Under The Skin, Curamelle, Corulag [Attn: Maris]

[Aella Taridon]

Three years, seven months, twenty-three days. That's how long it had been since Aella Taridon had last tread upon the world that had seen her birth. The domineering woman kept careful track of this piece of data along with all the other millions of bits of information her keen tactical mind considered to be significant in some fashion. Unlike the vast majority of the knowledge stored in her brain, however, this was a matter of personal importance rather than military. As private matters rated low on her priority scale at present, normally she would not even spare the time to call the number to mind. However, today was not a normal day.

It was raining over Curamelle at present, the mist of precipitation fading the angular lines of the starscraper skyline in the distance. On a clear day, Aella knew well, the crystal-like facets of the city center blazed brighter than diamonds in the sun. She'd seen the view countless times during her youth while grinding away in her training at the Corulag Academy. The cadet Aella once was decades before had found the clean lines of civilization beautiful to behold, the structures grand monuments to the glory of the Republic. The Grand Admiral of the Alliance she was now spared no thought towards the partially obscured vista. They were only buildings, structures constructed of metals and polymers, nothing more.

She wouldn't have given any thought to the rain, either, were she not being forced to stand out in it. Of course, none of the cloud droppings actually struck her; the hissing static field above her head fended off the water, keeping the mag-lev platform clear. Modern technology made umbrellas unnecessary these days. Something that didn't affect her at all would therefore not rate even a microsecond of consideration under usual circumstances. However, the rain was better to contemplate than the increasing interval that the mag-lev train Aella awaited was late. It was pointless to be irritated at simple weather phenomena, after all.

The holographic display flickering luridly against a nearby duracrete wall blinked out the local standard time of 1326 hours, before returning to its garish scroll of local advertisements mixed with Confederate propaganda. Dolomarian methods at mass persuasion had changed little over the past twenty-seven years, so the Grand Admiral was able to tune the ridiculous catch phrases out with minimal mental effort. Seeing the lies her enemies spread as a matter of course had once disturbed her, but over time she had become callous to it. It was all just so many words, after all, and words were no more capable of changing the truth than ice could exist on the surface of a star.

Many of Aella's subordinates would no doubt be amazed to see their commanding officer out and about in public--and in civilian garb no less! The fact the smart gray dress suit the slender woman wore was comprised of shell spider silk would be lost on them, of course, as would the concealed weapons the veteran carried on her person beneath the tailored folds. The wide-brimmed hat would no doubt be the most surprising for the distinctly feminine tone it struck, seemingly incongruous with Aella's habit of insisting everyone in the Alliance address her formally as 'sir'. She wore it not only because it went with the outfit, but because protecting her skull from a sniper's weapon was something of a priority. Others would call it paranoia; Aella would call it being mindful of her personal security.

It was true though; very few things could convince the long-time naval officer to mingle with 'lesser' classes of people. However, one of those things happened to be on this very planet, which was the whole reason she'd come here in the first place. It was also the reason she currently carried a long, thin florist's box under one slender arm. Being able to visit her family was only a somewhat welcome side effect of her irregular pilgrimage to her brother Valen's grave. Now if only the slagging train would come before the flowers had a chance to wilt...

[Maris Kala'myr]

Per the instruction of Grand Admiral Stone, Maris had travelled to Courlag to inspect the Sienar Advanced Research Division in her absence. The Grand Admiral hated the meet and greet that her standing within the Confederation forced upon her and sent her personal assistant in her steed because, frankly, she had more important things to do. Maris didn't mind, quite the contrary. She greatly enjoyed such occasions. Nothing was above gaining the Grand Admiral's favour and keeping it.

Maris had been planet side for two days now, attending demonstrations of prototype technologies and listening intently to the explanations of scientists and engineers gleaming with pride. The final demonstration of her trip had been unfortunately delayed. The old Maris would have waited in the hotel room with only the four walls and the holonet for company. But the new Maris left the hotel room, walked the streets and observed the humans that she was supposed to impersonate and assimilated their mannerisms. Maris did not wish to be human. But she understood the limitations of her programming and knew there was a vast amount about the human condition that she could never understand. Perhaps, with enough data, a comprehensive model could be formed. Maris had yet to acuminate enough.

Her roaming had brought her far from the hotel block she currently called home. She approached the grav-train platform in a torrential downpour. The heavy foul weather coat protected her from the worst of it, but her face and hands were clammy and wet. With ticket in pocket, she made her way onto the platform and moved about the crowd. Settling in with moderate space about her, she pulled back the heavy waterproofed hood with a content sigh and beaming smile. Her hair had frizzed in the humidity and the rubbing of the hood. Maris ran a hand through it, but it did little to help.

Idly she glanced around the platform, taking stock of her surroundings. Threat evaluations were preformed, analysing movements and body language. No one threw a flag or fell under scrutiny. Maris was pleased to be around thoughtful and loyal citizens of the Confederation. Her eyes fell on the holographic display. She noted the external time and frowned.
"It's late." She mentioned aloud and to no one in particular. It felt odd vocalising her thoughts in such a way, particularly because her thoughts sounded nothing like that. She decided not to do that again. Why the meat bags spoke to themselves she would never know.

Slowly her eyes fell on the woman beside her. Maris watched her for a second, observing the silent language of her body and smiling. The hat was covering part of her face, shadowing her features. The droid noted the cut of her clothes as she tried to be noticed to engage in idle conversation. She edged closer until a foot separated them.

The number one starting conversation, or ice breaker as the droid understood them to be, was the weather. Such a fact had not changed in millennia.
"I love the smell of rain." Maris mentioned casually. She didn't understand why, but everyone said that, everyone loved the smell of rain. She had analysed the aroma many times, trying to discern what component made everyone enjoy it so. The droid had failed each time, only identifying particulates in the air, mainly pollutants. How that could be considered a pleasant aroma, Maris never knew. But the droid understood her lot in life much better than many of the organics did. The smell or rain was just another in the myriad of things that she could never comprehend. It could have made her sad if such an emotion was not just a carefully constructed and intricate veil. Peering around the brim of the hat, Maris smiled warmly.
"Don't you?"

[Aella Taridon]

"It's late."

So Aella wasn't the only sentient being inconvenienced by the transportation system's lack of efficiency. A small comfort, considering a plurality of sentiment wasn't about to make the train arrive any sooner. Still, someone voicing her own internal viewpoint on the subject wasn't disagreeable. The veteran awarded the unknown owner of the statement with an impersonal "Mmm" sound of confirmation. By the Grand Admiral's personal standards, this was surprisingly social of her. Individuals who were not of consequence for her current plans were rarely acknowledged in any way.

"I love the smell of rain."

There came same voice again, closer this time. Distracted from her impersonal contemplation of the rain, Old Lady Durasteel listened to see if any potential companions responded to those dulcet feminine tones. As no answer was forthcoming, there were only two scenarios which could explain away the stranger's verbosity. The first hypothesis was that the young woman was speaking to herself, either out of habit or a lack of mental stability. The second--and far less welcome--theory her mind formulated was that of the possibility her temporary associate on the train platform was speaking to her. How unfortunate--both for Aella and the foolish individual seeking her companionship. Grand Admiral Taridon had little fluency in small talk, primarily because she saw no point to it.

"Don't you?"

No question now, the owner of the voice was very much addressing her. Motion on the periphery of Aella's field of vision drew her turbolaser green eyes automatically. A faint frown pursed the older woman's thin lips as the object her gaze tracked turned out to be a smiling face. Well, didn't that just serve her right for acknowledging another being's existence in the first place? Really, the veteran knew better than that by far. Perhaps being on her home planet after so many years had compromised her normally clinical state of mind with a trace of humanity. Unacceptable.

Aella supposed she could attempt to ignore the child--for that was how she could not help but think of the young woman as--but the remnants of the extensive social lessons she'd been subjected to in childhood forbade the same. After a moment's thought, the gray-haired woman decided to cut her unwelcome conversationalist a small amount of slack. After all, by her pretty and pampered appearance, the stranger was a civilian, and therefore was at an inherent intellectual disadvantage. You couldn't expect a civilian to know their proper place without being reminded of it any more than you could expect non-sentients to understand particle physics.

"No." The tone was clipped, proper, and formal, absent of both acceptance and condemnation. Turning her sharp countenance on her blonde gadfly, Aella proceeded to outline the reasons underlying her opinion. "What you're smelling isn't the rain. Water itself has no smell that most humanoids can detect. It's the impurities in the water, both organic and inorganic, which comprise rain's 'scent'. I prefer my water to be colorless, flavorless, and without aroma." The Corulagi edged towards making one of her exceedingly small jokes, though she doubted such a youth could pick up on its sublime and subtle nature. "I like to know exactly what I'm getting."

[Maris Kala'myr]

"No."

Maris blinked as the woman turned sharply. Standing her ground, Maris paused and frowned. How could she not like the smell of rain? Reviewing her records, no one – ever – had not liked the smell of rain. The droid was beginning to suspect there was some genetic imperative that every sentient enjoy the aroma. That theory had just been torn to shreds by the silver haired woman. Maris was about to enquire why when she continued.

"What you're smelling isn't the rain. [...] I prefer my water to be colorless, flavorless, and without aroma."

Blinking again, Maris remained impassive as the information was processed. Her head slowly cocked to the left. She knew that rain didn't have an aroma. She had tried to explain that the first time some sentient decided to announce their love for it. The look she received was promptly stored and a flag left to never, ever, correct anyone on the smell of rain. There were similarities in speech patterns that Maris picked up on almost instantly. The curt and clipped syllables were very militaristic and showed a 69.391 percent convergence to that of Grand Admiral Stone. There was a high probability that the rain-dissing woman had military experience. That made them almost family.

"I like to know exactly what I'm getting."

The woman was right; the attempted humor went right over Maris' head. She just smiled awkwardly, unsure of the statement as a whole. Without the accompaniment of laughter, the presence of jokes was largely overlooked. Occasionally Maris was capable of detecting them, but after a few inopportune bouts of laughter, it was decided to let others laugh first and follow suit.
"Of course I am aware of that. But no one believed me." said the droid quietly with a desperate sigh.

The icebreaker had successfully broken the ice between them and it had taken Maris with her. Now she was left sputtering in the cold waters while Aella stood on the ice and watched her flounder. A change of conversation was needed quickly. Maris needed to divert from the disastrous rain topic and pull herself from the frozen water. Her eyes scanned over the woman again, reevaluating every aspect of her to find a new avenue of discussion.
"I like your hat," Maris finally admitted, choosing to complement the woman's style over atmospheric occurrences, "I'm Maris, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

[Aella Taridon]

Aella noted with an intellectual sort of satisfaction that her verbal volley had effectively penetrated the other woman's defenses. The blonde gadfly's insipid smile evaporated in an instant, to be replaced by a far more dignified frown. It wasn't that Aella took any particular pleasure in cutting someone down to size in a conversation--despite rumors to the contrary--but she did appreciate knowing her words had attained the desired impact. And really, you deserved what you got when you started pushing your company upon others without considering whether or not it would be wanted.

"Of course I am aware of that. But no one believed me."

One thin silver brow arched upward at the child's curious statement. Believed her about what, pray tell? Not that the Grand Admiral was terribly intrigued about the matter; that would require her to hold some sort of personal interest in a complete stranger, which was impossible. "Mm. Most sentients tend towards the sentimental over the practical. Thankfully I do not possess that specific character flaw. To be fair, my preferences have no doubt been shaped by my former choice of career."

"I like your hat,"

Fashion was the alleged lingua franca of all women across the galaxy. While the veteran could appreciate the effect clothing choice could have on the opinions of others, she wasn't the sort to become caught up in such inconsequentials. In truth, if Aella could wear her uniform everywhere without endangering her own life, she likely would. "It serves its purpose well enough." Several purposes, in fact, but Old Lady Durasteel perceived no need to outline them all.

"I'm Maris, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

So the child still wish to converse with her elder, despite the utter lack of any sign on Aella's part that her attention was at all welcome. A pity; the Corulagi would have much preferred to return to her previous silent contemplations. In her esteemed opinion, the vast majority of people talked far too much, and thought far too little. Civilians were notorious offenders at this. What did they teach the present generation in public schooling these days, anyways? Obviously not self-sufficiency or integrity, given the current state of galactic civilization.

"Aella Taridon." There was no compelling reason not to give out her name; unlike her Intelligence counterpart, there had never been a price on her dignified head. So far as Dolomar was aware, the much decorated former Fleet Admiral had been enjoying her retirement in comfort and style for the past twelve years. Bah, retirement. What a ridiculous concept! Why would anyone want to remove themselves from active society and wallow in sloth? It couldn't be a matter of age, as her increasing years made no difference to her level of efficiency.

"Is there something you require help with, young woman?" This was the Grand Admiral's best guess as to why the civilian was bothering her in the first place. Even on her best days, Aella tended to exude a chilling aura that put off most anyone with sense from engaging her in idle conversation. This was a deliberate act on her part; she had no patience for meaningless twaddle.

[Maris Kala'myr]

"Mm. [...] To be fair, my preferences have no doubt been shaped by my former choice of career."

Well, this was awkward. Maris had found a fleshy that possessed a similarly analytical mind, one that was devoid of emotion and sentiment, one that focused on pure fact and ruthless efficiency. But Maris possessed what Aella would call a flaw in the most superficial of senses. Being designed for infiltration and assassination, it was advantageous to emulate the 98 percent of sentients that displayed such traits. The remaining two percent would view her as just another sheep, following trends and keeping in line. Perhaps that was for the best. Maris was also interested in what career would have had such an effect on a person's attitude. A flag was raised for a possible line of enquiry.

"It serves its purpose well enough."

Maris nodded enthusiastically. It did serve its purpose well, the rain didn't stand a chance against the wide brim. She also analysed the hats more unique features that must have been overlooked by the elderly owner. The hat was especially practical at blocking line of sight, she noted. Not only from potential assassins but from the domineering surveillance system that had the unpleasant job of keeping the Alliance at bay. Yes, it was a good hat. Her smile returned with full force, deciding she would have to purchase one when she returned to Dolomar.

"Aella Taridon."

The name was recognised instantly. Grand Admrial Stone had mentioned her former mentor in passing on more than one occasion. The records and data fragments that she had assimilated over the years on the presumably retired admiral were recalled from redundant data cores. But out of the billions upon billions of sentients in the known galaxy, the likelihood of such a meeting was infinitesimal. Quickly the presumed Admiral's biometrics were piped to a database for conformation. It came moments later. Maris continued to smile, throwing in a little nod to herself. Apparently the odds were on her side today and she knew what the former career choice was that moulded her personality into an icy mass of regulation and protocol.

"Is there something you require help with, young woman?"

"No Admiral Taridon, ma'am." Maris replied curtly with a smaller and more restrained smile. Now she had more information to go on, the droid could begin altering her personality and behaviour to better match the target's expectations. However, these specifications were not far off the set she used with Grand Admiral Stone. "But thank you for enquiring, ma'am. Are you enjoying your retirement?"

[Aella Taridon]

"No Admiral Taridon, ma'am. But thank you for enquiring, ma'am."

As a natural born tactician, Aella understood you could never completely prepare for the unexpected. One always had to make accommodations for unforseen events. However, she remained rather unfond of surprises, on personal matters as much as military ones. Being recognized by this chipper stranger definitely qualified as one. Turbolaser green eyes narrowed as she gave the young blonde another scan, forced to re-evaluate the child's true position in galactic society as a result of her actions.

Obviously, the Grand Admiral's initial categorization of the girl had been in error. The odds against a civilian recognizing her by name alone were so improbable she would've actually bothered quoting them to a Corellian, they bordered on that impossible. This left the domineering woman at something of a loss. Now the evidence pointed towards this Maris person as being in the military, but Aella did not possess enough hard information to draw a firm conclusion as to which military the blonde gadfly belonged. Given how sharply the battleines were drawn these days, this was a rather important problem to resolve.

After a few seconds' consideration, the Corulagi's calculating mind determined Maris was most likely a 'fellow' Confederate. While it was theoretically possible Aella could have chanced to encounter an Alliance agent on her homeworld unintentionally, it was unlikely any such agents would not have been apprised of her presence already. Maris had displayed little actual emotion beyond that damnedably insipid smile, but she had appeared surprised at the Grand Admiral's introduction. Additionally, just about all members of the rebellion were fully aware of Aella's preference for being addressed as 'sir' instead of the alternate feminine title.

"I do admit to a certain amount of astonishment," Aella confessed after an uncomfortably long pause. Despite her claim, the silver-haired woman was far too disciplined to actually show any and all alleged emotions she experienced. "It's been quite a while since anyone's recognized me. The 'favor', such as it is, cannot be returned by me. As I possess an excellent memory, I therefore must conclude you enlisted in the armed forces at some point well after my departure."

"Are you enjoying your retirement?"

"Yes." In a way she was lying, and in a way she wasn't. While Aella didn't consider herself reitired, she most certainly had been enjoying herself since her official retirement from the Confederation Navy. Getting your long-awaited revenge tended to be a pleasurable experience, after all. "May I inquire as to your current status, Maris... I do believe you've neglected to provide your surname?"

[Maris Kala'myr]

There was a long pause, the duration of which Maris maintained eye contact and smiled. Maris did not find it awkward or uncomfortable. But she noted miniscule signs of surprise. It was barely noticeable, just the twitch of facial muscles that disappeared in an instant. Maris continued to smile. The admiral's reaction wasn't a surprise. Having someone you've never met recognise you in the street must have been unnerving.

"I do admit to a certain amount of astonishment. [...] As I possess an excellent memory, I therefore must conclude you enlisted in the armed forces at some point well after my departure."

Nodding politely, she pretended to understand the Admiral's plight. However, actually putting herself in the shoes of a retired admiral of the Confederation was more difficult than expected. Simply enjoying the waning years of life was not in her instruction set, nor could it be extrapolated with any degree of accuracy. A retirement was a luxury that Maris couldn't afford. A more likely scenario for the droid was performing her duties until either replacement or destruction. Both would render her useless to her Confederate masters. But such treatment was expected. In their eyes she was nothing but a tool, a means to an end, an asset. Her death, as it were, would not be mourned except for the finical and technological loss.

"Yes, you would be correct in that conclusion, ma'am." Maris said, omitting the details of her 'enrolment' in the Confederation. The death of over two hundred Confederates would not sit well with the former admiral. Coincidently, Maris recalled the heretical memory constructs of the last ex-admiral Maris had the misfortune of meeting. He was dead now. Maris was pleased that some of those withdrawn from the battle had not fallen to the words of sedition and corruption. The ever present smile was reinforced.

"Yes. May I inquire as to your current status, Maris... I do believe you've neglected to provide your surname?"

"Kala'myr, ma'am. Dolomar central command, aide to Grand Admiral Stone." No doubt the life and daily duties of an aide meant little to someone who had commanded entire battle groups. Maris understood that she didn't even enter into the Confederation hierarchy. She even had to salute the privates and midshipmen. "Grand Admiral Stone has spoken of you on occasion."

[Aella Taridon]

"Yes, you would be correct in that conclusion, ma'am."

Well, of course she was. There was no other logical explanation. Aella refrained from commenting upon this out loud, however. While the veteran did not often engage in social encounters outside those required by her duty, that didn't mean she was unaware of the unspoken rules of manners which dictated such situations. Expressing her strong sense of self-assurance in public was often taken as an indicator of arrogance, a character trait Aella avoided acquiring at all costs. Arrogance led more often than not to overweening pride, and as everyone knew pride goes before a fall.

"Kala'myr, ma'am. Dolomar central command, aide to Grand Admiral Stone."

Both silver brows elevated by a subtle increment at that piece of information. Today was turning out to be the occasion for one statistical improbability piling atop another. Out of all the sentients in the Confederation military the Grand Admiral theoretically could have encountered, it was a direct adviser to her Dolomarian counterpart who'd taken it upon herself to initiate unwelcome conversation. The irony of it all left a metallic taste in the older woman's mouth.

Now the tactician faced a conundrum. If the overly friendly child had been most anyone else in the Confederate rank and file, Old Lady Durasteel would cut the conversation short and walk away now. She had no wish to reminisce or commiserate about her years spent in the enemy camp. But an aide to Stone herself... the opportunity to gather fresh information about her former subordinate was too potentially promising a venture to pass up. Surely the Director would no doubt agree with her, after setting his own personal feelings on the matter aside.

"Grand Admiral Stone has spoken of you on occasion."

"Understandable. We once spent a great deal of time together." Indeed, the current Grand Admiral of the Confederation had been one of Aella's most promising 'students'. Promising, but not perfect, of course. Stone's unshakable loyalty to the Dolomarian cause had always made her incapable of earning the Corulagi's true approval. Despite her other admirable qualities, this fatal flaw rendered her as expendable as the rest of the enemy in Aella's eyes. "Her promotion to High Command demonstrated the Confederation remains capable on occasion of awarding rank based on actual merit, rather than political expediency."

"I'd be interested to hear all about how my former protege is doing." In the distance, Aella's still keen ears picked up the hum which heralded the mag-lev's train approach at last. Sometimes the timing of events never went quite your way, despite any preparations you may have made. "However, I do need to catch this transport, if I'm to make it to the cemetery and back before I'm scheduled to meet my brother for tea."

The silver-haired woman pursed her lips faintly in thought. "Would it be a great deviation from your own plans to accompany me, Miss Kala'myr?" Loran was either going to applaud her quick thinking or shout at her for taking unnecessary risks. Perhaps both. He rather enjoyed being contrary at times. "I have no desire to keep you from any important Confederation business, of course. Your efficiency rating shouldn't suffer due to my personal interests."

[Maris Kala'myr]

"Understandable. We once spent a great deal of time together."

"Yes," Maris added with a noncommittal nod, a small audio-visual queue that she was listening and paying attention to the Admiral's words. Humans did these things on a subconscious level. What could be described as Maris' subconscious, the low level protocols and functions that did not require cognitive input, was dedicated to a different task entirely. The interactive features she displayed to the world was a high level function and ultimately redundant to her true nature.

"Her promotion to High Command demonstrated the Confederation remains capable on occasion of awarding rank based on actual merit, rather than political expediency."

An illogical statement for someone who shared many of her tenants, Maris concluded. The data lingered in her cerebral processors for a microsecond. Why would a military machine, like the Confederacy, employ a system of advancement based on political reasoning instead of intellect and distinction? It made little sense. If Maris understood the statement correctly, the Admiral was suggesting that many of the upper echelon did not deserve their standing. She frowned at this realisation. Was this treason? No, but criticising the judgement and rule of Dolomar was frowned upon by the Confederate equivalent to the Ministry of Truth.
"Of course. Perhaps such promotions were commonplace when you served, ma'am, but I can assure you that officers are promoted upon merit. You do not have to fear." Maris smiled again, trying to put the Admiral at ease and her fears to rest.

"I'd be interested to hear all about how my former protege is doing."

"Yes, the Grand Admiral is quiet well." Maris responded with a nod. She too had heard the humming reverberation that signalled the maglev's approach. She had also reached out to the Curamelle sector of the Corulag global transport system to verify the train's approach and destination. She nodded silently to herself.

"However, I do need to catch this transport, if I'm to make it to the cemetery and back before I'm scheduled to meet my brother for tea."

"Oh," her face fell instantly when the cemetery was mentioned. Maris understood that while smiling was considered polite and friendly for the vast majority of situations, when death entered the conversation, it was considered the opposite. Sadly, Maris learnt this fact the hard way. Never again would she smile at a foreign dignitary's state funeral. "I am sorry for your loss." Maris echoed hollowly, keeping a look of solemn respect in her eyes.

"Would it be a great deviation from your own plans to accompany me, Miss Kala'myr?"

Frowning briefly at the next statement that defied logic, Maris remained silent and quickly shook her head. She had understood cemetery visits to be a private affair where one reflected upon the life of those that had passed. It was not a place to bring strangers from the train platform. The lack of protocol verged on disturbing. She remained silent, contemplating a different scenario to the Admiral's request. She had not intended to bring Maris to the graveyard, it was merely a courtesy that she was expected and required to turn down. Why humans said one thing and expected another was something that Maris couldn’t understand.
"Oh, I couldn't possibility impose on such a private moment." She still looked sombre, like someone had just killed her kitten and she was trying to keep it together.

"I have no desire to keep you from any important Confederation business, of course. Your efficiency rating shouldn't suffer due to my personal interests."

Maris tempted a smile, careful to keep it within previously defined parameters for grief. She noted the Admiral's compassion beneath the stern exterior. Even during a trying moment as visiting the final resting place of someone dear to her, she had thought of Maris and her needs. The smile grew a little. People rarely thought of what Maris wanted; she was little more than a slave to the Dolomarian high command. However, she was a slave that didn't know any better. This was the status quo for her.
"My duties have concluded for the rest of this day cycle and I can assure you my efficiency has never been called into question, ma'am."

Taking a brief microsecond to recomputed her situation, Maris wondered if the woman required emotional support. Tilting her head to the left, the admiral didn't seem the type to have need of such trappings. But Maris understood the limits of her perceptions concerning humans. There had to be some small signal that she had missed.
"If you insist, ma'am, it would honor me to accompany you. But I wouldn't want to impose."

[Aella Taridon]

"Of course. Perhaps such promotions were commonplace when you served, ma'am, but I can assure you that officers are promoted upon merit. You do not have to fear."

So the expansive Miss Kala'myr was an idealist. Force preserve Aella from their ilk. While she still held to such 'outmoded' considerations as personal honor and the avoidance of civilian casualties, one could never apply that particular term to her. When she was younger, perhaps, you might have called her that. Before the Confederate uprising, before she'd lost so much... but not now. Baseless optimism could find no footing in an efficient mind. The veteran had long since deleted hope from the portfolio of emotions she permitted herself to feel. "Fear is irrelevant," the older woman noted, the slightest suggestion of a smile on her thin lips. "Facts are not."

"Yes, the Grand Admiral is quite well."

"Mm. I am glad to hear it." The former Confederate actually meant that, in a way. It wouldn't do for someone else to steal her kill. Well, other than Loran, the one individual in the galaxy Aella accepted had more cause to despise the Grand Admiral Stone than she did. "I suppose I should try to catch up with her someday, time permitting." The more vindictive side to her personality longed to pass along a message to her former protege as to precisely who the Dolomarian was up against. Fortunately for the Alliance, the Corulagi never allowed her feelings to override her strategic sense.

"I am sorry for your loss."

There were few humanoid sentiments Aella detested more than pity, especially when it came from strangers. For all her potential sins, nothing she had done justified being demeaned so by anyone. Fortunately for Kala'myr, her behavior toed the line between sympathy and its demeaning companion but did not cross it. "Said loss happened almost thirty years ago." Really, the child's overly sincere attempt to relate to her elder's supposed suffering approached the darkly amusing. Certainly it was the appropriate pat social response, but it was also wholly unnecessary. "I assure you, I do not require any belated condolences. Though the sentiment is appreciated, of course."

"Oh, I couldn't possibility impose on such a private moment."

Yet another irrational statement humans were fond of using to fill the silence of awkward moments. There was no 'privacy' to be had in a public graveyard, for one thing. For another, it's not as though Valen Taridon's remains would take offense to someone else's presence. Aella was beginning to suspect Stone's aide thought the former Fleet Admiral suffered from some sort of emotional distress at present. Obviously the girl wasn't terribly familiar with her psychological profile.

"My duties have concluded for the rest of this day cycle and I can assure you my efficiency has never been called into question, ma'am."

A point in the young woman's favor at last. For all her inadequacies in other areas, Xira Stone had taken Taridon's principles regarding productivity to heart during her tutelage. If her Confederate counterpart found Kala'myr competent, then no doubt she was. Of course, Aella's own standards were no doubt set significantly higher than Stone's tolerances, but perhaps even she would find the aide's abilities to be adequate. The only way to determine for sure would be a far longer period of study, which was quite out of the question. The Alliance naval leader was due to depart for Corellia in approximately 1.7 days.

"If you insist, ma'am, it would honor me to accompany you. But I wouldn't want to impose."

"As you like it." Inviting the blonde gadfly to accompany her was not a gesture she'd invested significant importance in. An attempt to take advantage of a chance opportunity, nothing more. Pressing the matter was therefore unnecessary. Not to mention it would cause her to resemble those 'old folks' who spent considerable effort bending the ears of unwilling listeners with tales of their 'glory days' far more than what she found acceptable. "Perhaps another time then. I will be in the city for the next several hours, if you are interested. Other than sharing a meal with Narmer, I have no other set plans for my visit."

[Maris Kala'myr]

"Fear is irrelevant, facts are not."

What an odd statement, Maris concluded after a brief silence. Her head tilted to the left and her expression turned thoughtful. Of course, she agreed that facts were not irrelevant, but she did not understand what was irreverent about fear? It was the droid's understanding that every sentient experienced fear and reacted to it. The degree and direction of the reaction differed from person to person and by situation, but it was a common trait that she had witnessed firsthand throughout the years.

"Mm. I am glad to hear it. I suppose I should try to catch up with her someday, time permitting."

The smile returned, pleased at the change in topic. The ability to track simple and straightforward conversations was much higher than the philosophical. However, there was one question that sentients had been contemplating since they first wrapped sheets around their bodies and wore sandals that Maris had insight on. After being an impartial observer for humanity, sufficiently detached from their trappings and yet still part of the society, Maris knew the answer. If asked what is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything, Maris would have responded: There isn't one.

For, to the droid, life was but a match struck. It burnt brightly, flaring into life before quickly fading away. Of course, Maris lacked the sufficient understanding of metaphor to construct such a statement.

"Oh, I'm sure Grand Admiral Stone would be overjoyed to hear that!" announced the gadfly with a nauseatingly cheerful demeanour, her hands clasped tightly at her chest. She would have to tell Xira about this chance meeting as soon as she returned. She nodded to herself, tempted to tap into the Confederation network and stream her sensory data across the vastness of space so the Grand Admiral could see her old mentor again. She frowned a little, deciding against the inefficient use of bandwidth. Maris opted to inform the Grand Admiral when she returned to Dolomar.

"Said loss happened almost thirty years ago. I assure you, I do not require any belated condolences. Though the sentiment is appreciated, of course."

"I see," She didn't really, but the Admiral appreciated the sentiment and maintaining the facade was all that mattered to Maris. Apparently there was a statute of limitations that upon which it was considered improper to offer condolences for the loss of a loved one. Maris had been oblivious to this fact and could only ascertain that the number of years was less than thirty.

"As you like it."

Strangely, the elderly woman seemed off put or offended at Maris' insistence that she not intrude upon her. This was most disturbing. Maris reviewed the last few seconds of their conversation, recalculating the values. As expected, her data was accurate. But from the reaction, the woman wished Maris to accompany her, even if she said otherwise. This was an uncomfortable reminder that humans acted in direct opposition to their words on many occasions.

"Perhaps another time then. I will be in the city for the next several hours, if you are interested. Other than sharing a meal with Narmer, I have no other set plans for my visit."

"No, I will join you." Maris said, following Aella onto the train. Narmer, that name had significance to the droid. She blinked in recognition. "Narmer Taridon of the Sienar Advanced Research Division? enquired the droid as she took a seat beside Aella and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

[Aella Taridon]

"Oh, I'm sure Grand Admiral Stone would be overjoyed to hear that!"

"No doubt." The soft, dry witticism was almost lost beneath the sheer volume and exuberance of the young woman's declaration. In all her professional life, Aella could not recall having met another individual who could maintain a cheerful demeanor for so long in the face of the Grand Admiral's staunch refusal to indulge in the same. Most sentient beings ended up feeling awkward when they were the only party in a conversation acting upbeat. Was this the sort of behavior Xira desired in her administrative assistants? Aella didn't remember her Dolomarian protege as being lighthearted to any degree.

Old Lady Durasteel had no intention of making good on her own suggestion to seek out Grand Admiral Stone's company. The only occasion on which she wanted to find herself sharing the same room with the other military leader was the advent of Xira's death. Preferably at her own hand, though she would not be displeased were Loran to claim the 'honor' instead. That said, if chance were to throw the former mentor and student pair into close proximity again in another circumstance, Aella would of course manage to keep her deep seated antipathy from showing. However, there was no reason for her to seek out that particular challenge to her composure. There were far more efficient uses of her time.

"No, I will join you."

Either young Miss Kala'myr was the indecisive sort, or she thought Aella was. That thought was particularly amusing to the veteran. Even as a naive and undisciplined child, she'd always been able to decide on what she wanted and how she wanted it. Much to her parents' dismay at times, from what she remembered of her earliest years. Of course, back then she hadn't possessed the experience or the good sense to always make the best decisions, but what else could you expect from an underage civilian?

"Very well," the silver-haired woman agreed aloud. She did not look back to contemplate her new-found escort as she stepped through the sliding doors providing access to the nearest passenger car on the mag-lev transport. Fortunately for the two of them this route was not much used at this time of day, so there was only a spare scattering of other souls present on the whole of the vehicle. Decades of ingrained habit led Aella to select the rearmost bench seat in this section of the train, where she could sit with her back to a solid wall of durasteel.

"Narmer Taridon of the Sienar Advanced Research Division?"

The blonde gadfly's recognition of the 'retired' former Confederate had significantly strained probability on its own. Xira's aide subsequently identifying Aella's brother's professional status flat out broke probability's back. Coincidences happened every day, to be sure, but Aella did not trust them. Coincidence was far too convenient a cover story for a set up. A thoughtful frown twisted the veteran's thin lips as she evaluated her companion anew with her turbolaser eyes.

Aella accepted it was possible the Grand Admiral had miscalculated the margin of error involved in inviting Miss Kala'myr along on her pilgrimage. As much as she strove for perfection in all aspects of her mind and body, no being was without flaw. No matter; what's done was done, and Aella had faith the Intelligence agents Loran had assigned to keeping watch on the Alliance's naval commander. "Yes... my eldest brother. Am I to take it that you have met him?" The older woman shifted the florist's box she'd been carrying all this while to rest perfectly balanced across her narrow lap.

[Maris Kala'myr]

"No doubt."

The fact that Maris was a droid, and a useful one at that, was probably the only reason that Grand Admiral Stone tolerated her attitude and overall cheerful demeanor. Aella was correct in her assumption, the protégé was not a lighthearted fellow who enjoyed a good joke or the latest gossip. Fraternisation on any account was looked upon in distain. In fact, she had become a domineering presence within the Confederation.

"Very well,"

Sitting down beside the Admiral, Maris was sure to give her enough room. She approved of the choice of seat. It commanded a tactical view of the carriage and Maris was able to watch everyone in a glance. That imperative was a part of the droid that she was unable to deactivate. Maris was always alert to suspicious activities and wary of the warning signs of terrorism. The enemy was everywhere, even possibly sitting on the mag-lev with them. Her scrutiny of the other passengers went unnoticed and while a few passengers displayed characteristics of worry and anticipation, they were well below the threshold.

"Yes... my eldest brother. Am I to take it that you have met him?"

Now she noticed small signs of apprehension in the former Admiral. After a second, Maris realised her mistake. Turning to face the woman head on, Maris smiled, trying to reassure.
"Oh, please do not be alarmed. I was introduced to Narmer Taridon yesterday at the Sienar Advanced Research Division. We exchanged pleasantries for approximately ten seconds." said Maris with a decisive nod.

Maris understood probability better than most sentients and about on par with her mechanical brethren. It was a given that such a meeting was highly improbable, but never impossible. She could have informed Aella of the probably if she so desired. However, Maris refrained from giving accurate probability evaluations in exchange for vague approximations in fuzzy language. This was part of her infiltration programming. Humans rarely stated odds outside of gambling and never with the precision she was capable of. It was for this same reason she rounded durations of time to their largest unit.

The mag-lev departed the station and sped down the track of a cushion of repulsive fields. Maris looked happy and utterly content as she rode beside the Admiral. A smile of some fashion never left her lips. Topics of conversation passed through her cerebral processors. The weather had been a nonstarter and seemed to irritate the woman.
"Have you watched any good holo-dramas recently, ma'am?" Maris asked hopefully. She had assimilated the plots, characters, actors, history, and story arcs for all the major ones for just such an occasion.

[Aella Taridon]

"Oh, please do not be alarmed. I was introduced to Narmer Taridon yesterday at the Sienar Advanced Research Division. We exchanged pleasantries for approximately ten seconds."

"Ah, I see." Aella's suspicions were tempered at the offer of a rational explanation. That an aide to Grand Admiral Stone would pay a visit to those who would design the next generation of Confederate starfighters made sense. Not to mention Taridon was not so terribly common a name, even on the world where the family had risen to importance in the first place. The clan bred for quality of descendants, not quantity. Therefore, it would have been logical enough for the girl to conclude that the Narmer mentioned by Aella would be the same Narmer as the one the blonde gadfly at met.

If it was a lie, it was a good one, so constructed that the domineering woman could not easily poke holes through the fiction. The Grand Admiral always gave credit where it was due, even to her enemies. "No doubt he appreciated Xira displaying such a personal interest in his current projects. Starship design has always been his passion." While the silver-haired woman's current tone could not be properly described as 'warm', there was a detectable thaw in the ice which so often underlaid her behavior. Despite rumors to the contrary, Aella was not a droid, nor had she replaced her heart with a computer. Her emotions were selective in number and often subtle in expression, but they did exist.

"Have you watched any good holo-dramas recently, ma'am?"

So the child was still insistent on engaging in the usual assortment of trivial social behaviors, despite Aella's open resistance to the contrary. Perhaps Miss Kala'myr was a bit slow on the uptake, or she lacked perception. This conclusion did not fit with the woman's other displayed traits, however. Nor would Aella's former protege likely tolerate either of those flaws in one of her direct minions. "No. I find most such programs to be very much a waste of my time. On occasion, some truly gifted individual crafts a storyline worth admiration. However, in my experience any form of public entertainment which require the audience to think tends to be poorly received by the masses."

Folding her thin hands protectively atop the florist's box, the silver-haired woman paused for a moment to consider her next words on the topic. No doubt this sort of discussion was turning out nothing like how the non-commissioned Confederate had intended, but there was no sympathy in Aella for her companion's circumstance. "In particular, I find war dramas--historical or otherwise--especially deserving of scorn. The writers never do get it right, despite whatever research they allege to have performed on the subject matter." Civilian preconceptions and assumptions regarding the armed forces were one of that class' greatest sins, in her opinion.

"Starfighter bays do not come equipped with mood lighting, and angst-ridden lovers are not given leniency by their commanding offers for failing to discharge their duties because of their infatuation with eachother." Turbolaser eyes narrowed in open derision at the thought. "Any military institution in the real world which operated in such a slipshod fashion would be annihilated, and rightfully so." Even the Confederation did not live up to that level of embarrassment yet. "If I wanted to watch overwrought histrionics on the part of my fellow sentient, I'd go to the opera. At least they're artistic about it, and I enjoy the music."