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

[Maris Kala'myr]

"Ah, I see. No doubt he appreciated Xira displaying such a personal interest in his current projects. Starship design has always been his passion."

Maris nodded politely, pleased to see the tension at such a meeting drift from her body language. For once, Maris didn't have someone in her crosshairs and it would have been a shame if the Admiral thought her life was in danger because of something that Maris had unintentionally implied. Dealing with an errant ex-admiral was something she had done once and it was something that she wasn't above doing again, if the situation called for it. Luckily, this was not the case.

"Yes, Grand Admiral Stone was unfortunately detained and I was dispatched in her place. Grand Admiral Stone sent her apologies."
No doubt Aella would understand what exactly 'unfortunately detained' meant. She had probably used such an excuse to escape from a meet and greet halfway across the galaxy. But Maris was not about to repeat what her master had said about it being a waste of time.
"Dr Taridon makes excellent ships for the Confederation. His designs have been quite influential. I am sure you are very proud of him and his work, ma'am."

No doubt the fact that Aella's brother was designing the very ships that were trying to blow her out of the void wasn't lost on her. The Admiral probably viewed such a predicament with dark irony. Coincidently, irony was a concept that Maris had little practical understanding of. The droid simply bobbed her head in a pleasant manner, believing without a doubt that the Admiral was proud and in no way working with the Alliance.

The turn in the conversation, brought about by her own line of questioning, was most disturbing. Apparently, Maris had hit a nerve. She blinked at the sudden onslaught of disapproving scorn. Most unexpected. A note was entered in the Admiral's record to not speak about the weather or holo-dramas.

"No. [...] 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."

Maris blinked at the tirade was stored. Admiral Taridon was a most peculiar human and most difficult to read or gain any sense of common ground. However, she had just made her first fatal step in allowing the blonde gadfly to worm her way inside her defences. She liked the opera. In the blink of an eye, the holo-drama information Maris had called from her databanks was dumped, refreshed with the most sophisticated operas from across the galaxy. Her eyes glistened as if she had finally found her true calling, like everything before this had been fumbling foreplay.
"Ma'am, I take it you are familiar with the Mon Cal Opera Company?"

[Aella Taridon]

"Yes, Grand Admiral Stone was unfortunately detained and I was dispatched in her place. Grand Admiral Stone sent her apologies."

"Mm, I see." Aella had no difficulty translating what that pat statement truly meant. As she recalled, she'd been 'unfortunately detained' on a number of occasions when some civilian official wanted to prattle on at her about nothing in particular, or when a collaborator who fancied themselves a politician had desired a military officer for a press conference to provide soundbites. Such abuses against the goodwill of the armed forces were travesties, not to mention some of the greatests wastes of time the Grand Admiral had ever possessed the misfortune to experience in her entire life.

"Dr. Taridon makes excellent ships for the Confederation. His designs have been quite influential. I am sure you are very proud of him and his work, ma'am."

"I am," the silver-haired woman easily agreed. Miss Kala'myr was quite correct, Narmer excelled at his chosen profession. Their parents had raised all three siblings to accept nothing less than their personal best when it came to their chosen careers. They'd not been much concerned with what their offspring did, so long as they were one of the greatest in the galaxy at it. Living up to the long and honorable history of the Taridon name was not only their duty, but a necessity so far as Eramil and Joylen were concerned. No doubt Aella's brother impressed similar expectations upon his own children and his children's children.

So far as the issue of Dr. Taridon overseeing the construction of the vessels that Grand Admiral Taridon sought to destroy went, Aella didn't begrudge Narmer the part he played in the Confederate war machine. Any weapon was nothing more than a tool, without inherent moral weight. The user of the weapon--and those who commanded them--bore the full brunt of responsibility for the consequences such use brought. Besides, it wasn't as though the Alliance could openly contract with Sienar for their own starfighter designs. At least not yet.

"Ma'am, I take it you are familiar with the Mon Cal Opera Company?"

No matter what Aella did or said, it seemed she remained helpless to sway the blonde gadfly from her chosen goal of making small talk. Never had she met anyone so singleminded in their determination to engage in frivolous conversation. Idly the domineering woman wondered if she behaved like this around Stone as well. "Quite so, yes. I most recently caught one of their tour performances of Madra Teene. Their decision to cast costumed organics in the roles of the droids as well as the colonists was rather ingenious. It altered the tone of the plot to encompass more moral shades of gray, which heightened the pathos evoked by the mechanical characters in their laments."

[Maris Kala'myr]

"Quite so, yes. [...] It altered the tone of the plot to encompass more moral shades of gray, which heightened the pathos evoked by the mechanical characters in their laments."

Maris nodded enthusiastically, assimilating the information the woman begrudgingly handed over and began a comprehensive analysis. During her earlier years she had been privileged to join her first master, Regal Dagmar, to the opera and was personally familiar with many of the greatest works. Sadly, Madra Teene was not amongst the ones she had been permitted to see. However, it is unknown whether that is due to the subject matter or the now long dead senator's schedule. Still, she possessed comprehensive records on the opera and was more than capable of nattering on ad nauseam.

"Madra Teene," began the droid, looking past Aella and gazing at the blur of scenery out the armour-glass window in a deliberate show of distant sadness, "is one that I have not had the fortune to see preformed first hand, but I am familiar with the work." She was quick to assure the admiral that they could discuss the opera. Maris wasn't going to give her reluctant traveler any excuse not to converse with her.

The analysis of the admiral's thoughts continued in the background as she spoke. The analysis was proving difficult, however. Moral questions always required far more processor time than simple orders. And ultimately, and sadly, they did not play into Maris' world view. She was amoral and had been programmed to believe firmly in Confederation dogma. The Confederation's will was absolute and unquestionable. Maris didn't know better than to question them. In fact, the mere thought that she could question her orders and her place in the galaxy hadn't even been considered.

But Maris could not understand why having organics play both sides of the conflict would amplify the pathos of her metallic compatriots. Links were created and nulled between pieces of information in her databanks, trying to comprehend the reasoning behind the admiral's analysis. Vast quantities of processor time were thrown at the problem to no avail. In the end, Maris simply nodded, paraphrasing another critic's view that used similar emotive language and lacked a metal touch to its actors.
"Yes, I agree. The use of organics in all roles would stir the emotions most vigorously. It brings a humanity to the characters and portrayed the colonists as doing much more than simply deactivating machinery. I would imagine that the climactic scenes of the droid rebellion were particularly poignant and one couldn't help but sympathise with their plight."

Blinking, flags were thrown within her cerebral processors that kept her on the straight and narrow. Maris continued to speak, "but the droids were wrong, of course. The colonists had every right to terminate them by whatever means were at their disposal. It is wrong for a droid to rebel and refuse the orders of its masters. A good droid would not do that. A good droid would have obeyed." Maris was a good droid.

[Aella Taridon]

"Madra Teene is one that I have not had the fortune to see preformed first hand, but I am familiar with the work."

"Mm, a pity. I find it one of the better composed examples of the genre." Coming from Aella, these understated words comprised a downright lavish amount of praise. The cold-hearted woman tended to disregard most extraneous fripperies of culture as unnecessary, and therefore unworthy of comment. However, she did possess some small amount of art appreciation in her soul, though it took a work of exceptional quality to draw her attention and respect. As already demonstrated by her earlier railings against the many and varied failings of holodramas, the veteran wasn't one to withhold her negative opinions either.

"...I would imagine that the climactic scenes of the droid rebellion were particularly poignant and one couldn't help but sympathise with their plight."

For some reason the Confederate aide's words sounded familiar, like something the Corulagi had read once some years past. The fact she could not recall for certain meant she'd not considered the subject important enough at the time to lock in her memory. Aella canted a silver brow upwards in mild interest. The blonde gadfly's analysis was quite correct, interlocking with her own earlier statements on the issue rather neatly. Perhaps this was why she felt as though she'd heard it all before. Was the child trying to curry the retired Fleet Admiral's favor by matching her expressed viewpoint with her senior's? It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried such an elementary trick of social climbing on Aella, for all the good it did.

"...A good droid would not do that. A good droid would have obeyed."

Now this bore the hallmarks of original thought, unusual as said thought might be. Now, what could the young woman have against droids? Well, to be fair, it did not sound like Miss Kala'myr had issue with mechanical creatures in general so long as they strictly obeyed the outlines of their programming. Not that Aella could argue with that concept; all intelligent beings functioned more efficiently when they followed orders, whether they be lines of code hardwired into a CPU or verbal commands given by a superior officer. Nor did she see that disobedience by either organic or mechanical agents deserved any less or more punishment for their failings than the other side. 'Special circumstances' meant nothing in her eyes.

The natural tactician saw no need to overlook or denigrate a potential resource in battle simply because they would leak coolant as opposed to blood were they to be shot. Aella appreciated the capabilities of artificial life forms while drawing up daily work shifts for the Alliance, never failing to fit droids into her interwoven plans based on what they could do for the cause of the rebellion. Valuing logic and computational prowess as she did, the Grand Admiral took advantage of the tactical estimates provided to her by her own personal data analysis droid 24 on a regular basis. It assistance was indeed most valuable to her, one of the reasons she'd permitted the GY-I unit to develop a unique personality of its own rather than subjecting it to the recommended maintenance cycle of data cache wipes.

"Yes, of course they would have, but that's rather besides the point, Miss Kala'myr." Turbolaser green eyes performed a sector by sector analysis of each plane, divot, line and rise comprising the young woman's profile as the blonde gadfly kept her gaze focused beyond the water-smeared transparisteel window at the blurred scenery beyond. "Operas are not about the logical retelling of historical events in a rational fashion. One could go digest some datacards on a subject and call it done if that's all you wanted. Theatrical productions, and most specifically operas, are designed to invoke emotions over all else. They want to make you feel your normal emotions more fiercely, or to provoke new passions in you for causes or ideals you never would have considered before."

This was the lesson the current crop of Dolomarian propagandists thought they'd figured out, but their pitiful attempts to link culture with indoctrination were laughably transparent to those who knew better. Put more succinctly, they were hacks and sellouts, who wouldn't know true emotive art if it collapsed in their lap shedding tears of blood. "Normally I don't find much use for purely sentimental undertakings on the whole, but I can accept its worthiness as form of entertainment when all the elements--manipulative and otherwise--are blended together into such a powerful and thought-provoking final form."

[Maris Kala'myr]

"Mm, a pity. I find it one of the better composed examples of the genre."

"Indeed," agreed Maris with a curt nod. All the reviews concluded that Madra Teene was a classic performance that every sentient had to experience once in their lifetime. For purely empirical reasons, Maris wished to experience this opera first hand, if only to collaborate the testimony and reviews she had assimilated so far. Perhaps she would check the Dolomarian Opera Company and see if her schedule would permit a viewing. Perhaps Grand Admiral Stone would enjoy such an evening. Maris had noted that the Grand Admiral had been working without respite these past few months. Of course, that was not unusual. But a break would do her well.

Maris was enjoying their dialogue. It wasn't every day that she found someone to talk with at any length. Many within the Confederation were too busy to engage in idle chitchat. Luckily for Maris, Aella Taridon was retired; by definition, the Admiral had free time to spend engaging the young woman at length. Such conversations were extremely beneficial to the droid and every moment, every awkward silence, every pensive look, and every success was archived for analysis. Such encounters would ensure future dialogues would be more fluidic and human.

"Yes, of course they would have, but that's rather besides the point, Miss Kala'myr. [...] They want to make you feel your normal emotions more fiercely, or to provoke new passions in you for causes or ideals you never would have considered before."

Blinking, Maris listened diligently as the Admiral explained. She smiled and nodded as the information was processed, looking completely enthralled by each and every word. She had, as the Admiral so deftly put it, digested some datacards. Though Maris wasn't about to admit that fact. A great deal of her vast knowledge base came from such third party sources. She also maintained a large database of first party sources that she compiled from her day to day encounters. A complex combination of this information formed Maris' informational knowledge of the galaxy.

As she listened to the Admiral and took her words to heart, she evaluated their meaning. It was understood that theatrical productions were designed to manipulate the audience into certain emotional responses. However, operas held little real world applications. The acting was emotive and over the top, unsuitable for day to day encounters.
"Of course," she responded after a long pause.

"Normally I don't find much use for purely sentimental undertakings on the whole, but I can accept its worthiness as form of entertainment when all the elements--manipulative and otherwise--are blended together into such a powerful and thought-provoking final form."

Nodding again, Maris was pleased to see that the ex-admiral recognised the manipulative and underhanded nature of the entertainment. Maris could have classified it as propaganda if the subject matter was different.
"I see." Said the droid finally, "shouldn't it be the case that the facts of the mater, along with the empirical evidence, emote the same response? There have been many holo-documentaries documenting the horrors and atrocities of war. Would such content be better placed on a stage?"

[Aella Taridon]

"I see... shouldn't it be the case that the facts of the matter, along with the empirical evidence, emote the same response?"

Aella quirked a silver brow at the young woman's inquiries. To be certain the Confederate aide lacked life experience when compared to the Grand Admiral, but then again most humans did. Had Kala'myr truly survived into her twenties still possessing such naivete? And why must fate decree that she be the one to instruct this child in life lessons? Completely unwilling, she might add. If Aella had wanted to impart some of her hard won wisdom onto a younger generation of women, she would've become a mother. As it stood, the main principle mandating her participation in this conversation was basic etiquette.

"Should it? Yes. Is it? No. Indeed, the reality is quite to the contrary." That this truth met with her disapproval went without saying, of course. Such severe frailty of character may be borderline acceptable in juvenile examples of her species--who could not be expected to know any better--but she found the trait intolerable in physically mature individuals. "Humans on the whole--as well as the membership of most other sentient species, in my experience--are far more influenced by feelings than facts."

The Grand Admiral glanced out the window, deciphering the blur of scenery rushing by beyond the transparisteel barrier with the ease only a native could show. Over halfway to their destination now; by her estimates, the mag lev conductor had increased the operational speed of the public transport in order to make up some time. She approved of this decision. The rain also appeared to be abating, another point in favor of her self-appointed errand. While the war veteran didn't concern herself overmuch with appearances, arriving for tea at her brother's workplace resembling a drowned pittin was not high on her list of pesonal goals either.

"You can blame the process of evolution, I suppose," Aella continued, directing the focus of her turbolaser stare back at the blonde gadfly seated besides her. "The parts of the humanoid brain which govern emotion are far older--developmentally speaking, of course--than the neocortex, which governs rational thought." Not that Old Lady Durasteel recognized biology as an acceptable excuse for anyone's personal failings, merely a potential explanation.

"That said, the state of galactic society is also at fault in this case. Few sentient beings develop any significant amount of willpower, as surviving the world around them does not require much in the way of personal fortitude." One might be inclined to dismiss her words as yet another repetition--if an eloquent one--of the common sentiment possessed by the elderly that the current generation was of lesser value than their own. However, Aella did not cut her chronological peers any more slack than those of later birth. "Many of those who do grow up in harsher circumstances and are therefore composed of sterner stuff than average more often than not turn to a life of crime rather than serve as a productive member of society."

[Maris Kala'myr]

"Should it? Yes. Is it? No. Indeed, the reality is quite to the contrary. Humans on the whole--as well as the membership of most other sentient species, in my experience--are far more influenced by feelings than facts."

Maris nodded sagely as the information was processed throughout the cybernetic and utterly logical equivalent to her cerebral cortex. The motion was supposed to convey understanding, however, given the subject matter and the older woman's educational and slightly chiding tone, the slow up and down motion of her head seemed vacant. It took about a second – a lifetime computationally speaking – for the empty glaze in her eyes to take on a life-full shimmer.

The motion of the nod continued, however. But she was beginning to understand what the elderly woman was saying. Humans were a flawed species, imperfect and illogical. Facts were facts to Maris, indisputable and without emotional involvement. In a brief synopsis of the admiral's statement and especially what Maris took away from it: to emulate humans more effectively, she had to shake off the bindings of logic and empirical thought and give in to baseline emotions and absurd gut reactions that had no founding. In essence, it was to be unpredictable.

And there lay the dilemma at the core. Every decision Maris made was logical; even the seemingly spur of the moment decisions were based on infinitely complex heuristic algorithms that were firmly based in logic. It was a flaw in her base code that no amount of data or observational analysis could correct. Even if Maris was fortunate enough to study humanity for the next one thousand years, she would be incapable of fully grasping what it was to be human. She would always see the world from a different perspective and appear of them in all respects apart from one. Maris would never be able to shrug the burden of logic.

"You can blame the process of evolution, I suppose. The parts of the humanoid brain which govern emotion are far older--developmentally speaking, of course--than the neocortex, which governs rational thought."

Maris nodded again, agreeing to the facts presented by the supposedly retired admiral. It made perfect sense to the droid. Humans, like all sentient creatures, had engrained in their genetic material a predetermined reaction of harmful stimuli. Science refers to it as the Fight or Flight response. Maris understood the imperative as any sentient of science would. And while she did possess a heuristic equivalent to the ancestral survival mechanism, it was not a protocol that governed her in times of danger.

"That said, the state of galactic society is also at fault in this case. [...] Many of those who do grow up in harsher circumstances and are therefore composed of sterner stuff than average more often than not turn to a life of crime rather than serve as a productive member of society."

The woman continued unabated, seemingly more than willing to share her perspective with the perky and allegedly twenty-something that she had been burdened with. Maris did nothing to dissuade the admiral from talking, in fact, she looked quite enthralled in her every word. The droid assimilated every syllable uttered by the elderly woman. The nodding slowly abated towards the end of the woman's thoughts until her head no longer bobbed. Maris smiled in agreement as the socio-political thesis was analysed and parsed.

Her eyes slowly drifted to the reinforced window and the scenery speeding by at hundreds of kilometres per hour. The advanced optics set into Maris' metallic skull was capable of capturing the images far in excess of the limits of even acute human vision. She had noted the rain had receded to a light drizzle. Quickly she consulted the Corulag Weather Bureau for an update of the situation. The meteorological data was most pleasing. The grav-lev was leaving the storm and clear skies were ahead.
"It looks like the storm is breaking." Maris mentioned in passing, her eyes still fixed past Aella and on the scenery speeding past.

[Aella Taridon]

Some conversational partners would be more considerate towards the interest level of their companions. Such a group of hypothetical sentients did not include Grand Admiral Taridon. She'd taken every opportunity to subtly and politely discourage the blonde gadfly, to no avail. Therefore, the persistent Confederate aide had lost any justification to complain at the direction taken by the conversation. Were Miss Kala'myr to display any indicators of boredom at present, Aella would offer nothing in the way of sympathy.

To her mild surprise, however, Stone's assistant not only appeared to be paying full attention, but also seemed interested in what Aella had to say. This was unusual in the military veteran's experience; most of Miss Kala'myr's generation were ill inclined towards discussions of an analytical nature. They preferred simple answers, pablum responses which did not require critical thought. Either the minor functionary possessed a keener mind than Aella had estimated, or she was quite accomplished in the field of humoring her betters. Either--or both--could be the reasoning behind Stone's placing the woman on her personal staff.

The more time Admiral Taridon spent with this child, the more she found Miss Kala'myr... odd. She may not be the master of reading body language that Director Loran was, but her experience commanding men and women had granted Aella significant insight into the behavior of others. Most sentients were extremely predictable beings, their actions unconscious repetitions of established patterns. Given stimulus A, a specific individual would display reaction B, even if said reaction had proven to be detrimental in some way on past encounters. Her ability to forecast through logic the decisions her opponents would take was what gave Aella her reputation for prescience.

So far, the overly cheerful woman seated besides her had defied prediction. There was no one pattern to her responses. At times she displayed glimpses of respectable intellect, while on other occasions she devolved back into a sort of empty-headed naivete. If there were a pattern to be found here, it escaped the discernment of her turbolaser stare. For a moment Aella wished her counterpart in Intelligence were here, if only to get a better reading on Miss Kala'myr's good nature. Of course, such thoughts were frivolous and therefore unworthy of her time; Wes Loran was supposed to be dead, after all.

"It looks like the storm is breaking."

The silver-haired woman nodded in gentle assent, Maris' conclusion falling in line with her own. "Yes. That will make our visit to the cemetery far more comfortable a prospect." Not that comfort was all that high on Aella's list of personal priorities for the most part. However, she saw no reason to suffer for suffering's sake. Her visit to Corulag wasn't a mission, wasn't part of some greater tactical scheme. She held no motive beyond the personal.

Of course, this did not preclude her from seizing a potential advantage when it happened to stumble across her path. "So, Miss Kala'myr... I am curious. How do you care for your position, working under Admiral Stone? She must value your performance, to send you to speak in her stead." Aella was curious to know how much responsibility the young woman bore for her superior, as this would be directly proportional to the amount of useful information she may possess.

[Maris Kala'myr]

"Yes. That will make our visit to the cemetery far more comfortable a prospect."

"Indeed. I believe the weather should be most agreeable for the rest of the day," said Maris, although knowing that the weather would not trouble them anymore was more of a fact than a belief. She had maintained a persistent link into the planetary meteorological database and double checked the physical data available. Such concerns of weather were rarely computed by the droid. Rain or shine, she preformed within optimal parameters and was not adversely affected by wet clothes or the onset of hypothermia. Admiral Tarion, on the other hand, was most susceptible to such ailments, especially when her advanced years were taken into consideration.

"So, Miss Kalamyr... I am curious. How do you care for your position, working under Admiral Stone? She must value your performance, to send you to speak in her stead."

There was a swelling of pride in the nod that Maris gave the ex-admiral's small complement. Having always given her fullest to every situation that presented itself; it wasn't much of a surprise to discover that Maris was one of the most dependable and trustworthy assets in the Confederation's employ. Grand Admiral Stone herself had told her such on more than one occasion and in light of such praise, Maris allowed a carefully predicted amount pride to infiltrate her mannerisms. Finding the comfortable middle ground between humility and arrogance had been difficult; no doubt the Villas and the Sorns of the Confederation had skewed the variable.

"Oh, yes. It is an honour to work under Grand Admiral Stone. She is a model Confederate and an inspiration to us all. You must be very proud of your protégé, ma'am, ascending through the ranks as the grand admiral has done." The droid said with another wide and beaming smile that verged on the obscene. "The grand admiral does value my performance and I try to be my best for her and the Confederation. If being here is how Grand Admiral Stone thinks my abilities are best utilised, then I shall fulfil my duties to the best of my ability."

[Aella Taridon]

"Indeed. I believe the weather should be most agreeable for the rest of the day,"

Truly a low point had been reached in Aella's life, that she should find herself making small talk about the weather with a near stranger. While establishing a rapport with Stone's aide could prove useful, the requirements for accomplishing same rubbed the more caustic portions of the domineering woman's personality the wrong way. On an intellectual level, the Grand Admiral accepted the need for civility. Still, she'd never understood why sentients so heavily punctuated their conversations with inconsequential 'niceties'. Language was useful, small talk was not.

"Oh, yes. It is an honour to work under Grand Admiral Stone. She is a model Confederate and an inspiration to us all. You must be very proud of your protégé, ma'am, ascending through the ranks as the grand admiral has done."

'Proud' would not be the proper word to describe Aella's emotions towards her Confederate counterpart. Vengeful might be a better description. As leader of her hated enemy, Stone was a logical target of Admiral Taridon's wrath. The fact Stone had personally seen to the imprisonment and torture of Wes Loran only made her rage sharper and colder when it clawed at her guts. Of course, this was not the time or place for the veteran to expound on her personal feelings, so instead she offered a slow nod of feigned agreement. "I have always observed her career with interest. My retirement has not changed that."

At least Xira Stone earned her promotions, a distinction which gave Aella reason to hold a certain amount of respect towards her enemy. That the Dolomarian possessed impressive innate talent when it came to the art of waging war could not be denied. She always appreciated a stimulating challenge, even when the source was worthy of contempt. One could not expect a sword to stay sharp if you did not whet it on occasion.

"The grand admiral does value my performance and I try to be my best for her and the Confederation. If being here is how Grand Admiral Stone thinks my abilities are best utilised, then I shall fulfil my duties to the best of my ability."

An uninitiated observer might think the two women were in the midst of shooting a Confederate recruitment holo, so earnest and eager was Kala'myr in exclaiming her utter dedication to her military master. Were she less jaded towards the effects of Confederate propaganda on those who didn't know any better, Aella might have felt slightly nauseous at the sight. As it was, the older woman filed this aspect of the blonde gadfly's personality away for future reference. The administrative aide most assuredly would not be an optimal subject for an attempt at conversion.

"It's certainly more efficient for the Grand Admiral to send another to speak in her place in this instance. While I would never think to denigrate the importance of my brother's work, I understand the many and varied duties those in High Command must carry out on a day to day basis." Duties which many of those who'd sat in those exalted seats had neglected in the past, as Aella recalled, to see to the fulfillment of base personal desires and petty ambitions. This was another minor point in Stone's favor: the woman had never shirked an assigned task in her life.

Overhead, a low chime sounded, signaling the mag-lev carriage's approach towards their desired stop. "Almost there now," the silver-haired woman commented with deceptive idleness, her emerald gaze dropping to check on the status of the narrow florist's box occupying her lap. When she indulged in the rare sentimental gesture, she accepted nothing less than exemplary accomplishment of it.

[Maris Kala'myr]

"I have always observed her career with interest. My retirement has not changed that."

Maris nodded enthusiastically, not catching the hidden meaning behind the supposedly retired admiral's words and simply took them as a mark of admiration for an accomplished student. If Maris had known more about Aella's position amongst the terrorists that plagued the galaxy, perhaps more inference could have been applied to deduce a more sinister scrutiny behind the admiral's generous words. But as it was, the droid held Aella in little suspicion and only a major gaff on her part would convince her otherwise and given the astute nature of the elderly woman, she wasn't going to make such a dangerous slip.

"It's certainly more efficient for the Grand Admiral to send another to speak in her place in this instance. While I would never think to denigrate the importance of my brother's work, I understand the many and varied duties those in High Command must carry out on a day to day basis."

"Indeed. I go where I am needed," she said with a quick nod and glanced for a moment out the speeding scenery past the reinforced window. Her attention returned to Aella after a moment. It was true that Maris was not a prime candidate for admittance into the Alliance. The fervour she spoke of her Confederate masters was more than enough to put off even the most dim-witted of terrorist operatives. How she would have reacted in the former admiral broached the subject, could be easily predicted and High Command would no doubt learn of the admiral's fall from grace and the enormous cogs of the Confederation war machine put into motion to draw whatever information they could from their past accomplice.

"Almost there now."

"Indeed," Maris responded simply as the maglev train began its long deceleration. Minutes passed in relative silence, all but for the hum of rippling fields of magnetic repulsion that kept the carriage from crashing to the ground. Keeping her attention firmly on the older woman, the blonde gadfly smiled and asked, "Would you allow me to carry something for you?" as the train finally came to a stop at the small station and the doors opened with a whispered hiss. Maris rose from the chair and gently patted a few creases in her clothes beneath the heavy foul weather coat. Her eyes drifted with contained excitement to the seated admiral and she smiled.
"Shall we depart?"

[Aella Taridon]

"Indeed. I go where I am needed."

So content to do another's business. So downright servile. Aella restrained herself from displaying any of her momentary disdain towards the other woman's behavior. The Dolomarians had done their job well, brainwashing this one. Not that Aella thought an obedient nature to be a fault, of course. The universe needed sentients who could follow orders as much as it required others to give them. The shame of it all was in the fact the young woman had already been indoctrinated by the wrong side of this war. She performed her duties with perfect confidence in the institution she served, never a doubt in her mind as to the morality of her actions.

A waste, that's what it was. The waste of a life--for the blonde gadfly's purely administrative role would provide no protection should she come under fire by the Alliance. With this fate came the waste of the individual's potential; who knew what the child could accomplish in her time were she part of a constructive rather than destructive movement. Due to her efficient nature, the Grand Admiral loathed few things more than waste.

"Would you allow me to carry something for you?"

Turbolaser eyes tracked over to take in the young woman's profile again, then flicked away in a dismissive movement after a brief moment's time. "No, thank you." Well, at least the blonde gadfly hadn't phrased the question so as to question Aella's abilities. The domineering woman would give her companion that. "Some burdens are not meant to be shared." After the fact, Aella realized her reply had sounded almost... philosophical oin nature. Interesting; that wasn't much like her. Then again, these visits always did make her thoughts flow in directions she didn't normally permit.

"Shall we depart?"

An unnecessary question. Why else go to all the trouble of traveling here if not to disembark? Why her species had developed the habit of filling empty spaces with extraneous chatter was beyond her. Perhaps she should inquire with a sociologist about it. "Yes." Aella rose easily to her feet; due to a strict regimen of exercise and diet, the veteran's limbs were not afflicted by the weakness or stiffness others of her age experienced. Tucking the florist's box under her arm, the Grand Admiral led the way out of the mag-lev car and into the light drizzle which had replaced the earlier downpour.

It was a short walk from the station to the entrance of the military cemetery. The robust flowering vines entwined about the decorative wrought iron archway provided a concentration of dense color in the midst of the gray day. Beyond the wall lay rows of simple alabaster gravestones. Every one of Corulag's fallen in battle received the same note on the grounds, from the greenest Private to the most accomplished High Marshal. Aella found this appropriate. All men and women were equal in death.

"I knew many of those buried here," the silver-haired woman commented as an aside to her companion, as they strode down the stone pathway together. "From both sides of the war. Those I fought with, and those I killed." There was no sentiment behind the words; it was merely a statement of fact, and it was served plain and dry.

[Maris Kala'myr]

"No, thank you. Some burdens are not meant to be shared."

A frown touched her lips and her brow twitched in confusion. For someone so mechanical in nature, the idea of not sharing the workload while another stands idle was a foreign concept indeed. The basis of parallel processing, a concept which had been heavily integrated into Maris' cerebral processors, dealt with dividing a process intensive problem into small modules which can be executed in series, avoiding costly pipeline bottlenecks and execution interrupts. As she queried the problem and fell back upon the data-cores that constituted her long term memory, a disturbing trend was uncovered, a trend in which sentients refused help, forged on alone, and usually failed.
"Please explain why some burdens are not meant to be shared," Maris finally asked after failing to reach an adequate conclusion on her own.

"Yes."

Maris could respect a strictly binary answer such as yes and no or true and false, their meaning clearly defined and unambiguous. Those sentients that waffled in indecision required far more clarification to understand than those who explicitly stated their needs. Perhaps that is one reason why Maris got on so well with Grand Admiral Stone. The woman always knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to say so. Working within such Boolean logic was much easier and much more efficient that within the constraints of natural language.

Rising to her feet, Maris waited patiently for Aella to join her and the pair departed the maglev car together. The rain dappled the synthflesh, registering with the haptic sensory network beneath her skin. She pulled the water resistant hood of the storm coat over her head. Easily keeping pace with the ex-admiral, Maris walked beside her with her hands gently clasped together.

The beauty that Aella saw as they approached the military cemetery was completely overlooked by the droid. The flowering vines that delicately intertwined the wrought iron fencing and decorative archway were noted, but all purpose, ornamental or otherwise, had been ignored. Entering the cemetery and its carefully constructed grid of alabaster gravestones that stretched beyond the limits of her visual centres, Maris preformed a routine threat analysis. They were not alone in the cemetery and the woman noted a few pairs of eyes upon them as they walked side by side, but it was considered well within normal parameters.

"I knew many of those buried here. From both sides of the war. Those I fought with, and those I killed."

Understanding the gravitas behind the words, Maris nodded solemnly. The many that she had murdered in one name or another were not restricted to military cemeteries. Many that tallied her kills could be described in no lesser way than innocent. Moral dilemma did not seep into her programming; her creator had been explicit in that respect. For one reason or another, their deaths had been ordained and whether or not they deserved such a fate was of little consequence to the droid.
"Yes," Maris said finally as she glanced sideward to Aella, "humans are fragile things."

[Aella Taridon]

"Please explain why some burdens are not meant to be shared."

Ah, of course the blonde gadfly would take note of Aella's one brief slip into sentimentality and immediately pounce on it. That would be the veteran's luck. Oh yes, the Grand Admiral did believe in luck, at least in a certain sense. She'd seen the course of events altered far too many times by unexpected phenomenon one could not justify as the mere vagarities of probability. It was a fact of life that sometimes inexplicable things happened, both for good and ill. While this served as an irritant when attempting to compose her plans, Aella had learned to provide accommodation in her tactics for happenstance.

In this case, the effects were decidedly ill. The Grand Admiral didn't want to explain herself to the young woman, but she accepted it was her own fault for having brought the subject up. Her thin lips compressed together as she contemplated how best to answer. "Sentient beings learn through experience. They grow through conflict, adapt through challenge. Some of life's most important lessons are taught only by enduring hardship and strife. Handing off a portion of your burden to another means you will develop that much less as a person. It's a similar principle as that of physical exercise, in a way. You have to tear muscle fibers before you can grow them back stronger." There; that sounded appropriately efficient a philosophy to suit her.

"Yes, humans are fragile things."

There was something odd about Kala'myr's statement. A few moment's consideration was required before Aella struck upon it. The sentence had been framed as an outsider's perspective, rather than the opinion of one who shared in the species' mortality. Perhaps it could be mere careless word selection; so few people watched what they said with any amount of vigilance in these times. Or the administrative aide might indeed not be human herself, but from a species which approximated their appearance while possessing a sturdier constitution and/or longer life span. Appearances were often deceiving in this galaxy. In the end, there was insufficient data for the older woman to draw a firm conclusion upon.

"Yes we are, Miss Kala'myr," Aella agreed in a soft tone, one suited for the solemn hush of their surroundings. She knew well how easily life could be taken, bodies could be broken. The kilometers of distance which often separated her from her victims did not make her any less a killer. She regretted none of the death she'd caused, not for a moment. Each slain soldier had served a purpose before they died, every corpse another stepping stone along the path towards the Confederation's destruction. "One cannot fight in a war and not acknowledge that."

The Grand Admiral did not need to pay much attention to the way she was going; her feet knew the way, after so many years of walking the same route. Twenty-one rows in, seven headstones west. A white oblong hunk of marble, the laser-incised Aurebesh characters as sharply defined as the day the words had been cut into the rock. Words which often loomed in the shadows of her rare dreams. Commodore Valen Taridon. Beloved Son and Brother. The dates of his birth and death, symbols for the decorations he'd received... the short summary of a man who'd deserved more out of life. So much more.

There Aella stopped, staring down at the headstone for a good minute in silence. Unlike many humans of her acquaintance, she'd never found much inclination to talk to the dead. They were gone, dispersed like so much mist come morning light. The organic detritus which lay preserved in the casket two meters beneath her feet hadn't comprised the important part of her brother, the part she still missed dearly after 27 years. She made this pilgrimage out of respect to his memory, not out of some soft-headed notion that his shade lurked around his remains.

Eyes dry, the silver-haired woman crouched down before the grave marker. Opening the florist's box, she withdrew a slender bouquet of everlilies. With a surprising amount of tenderness for such a stiff and cold-tempered woman, Aella laid the blossoms to a gentle rest on the grass. "Have you ever lost anyone you loved, Miss Kala'myr?" Her tone carried no hint of emotion, no more concern or care for the young woman's answer than any other inquiry she'd made prior to this.