1.0 - A Good King's Gambit (Closed)

[Emmettmcglynn]

Mahan gathers up his requested items with a nod and murmered thanks to the human aide. Without changing his tone of voice from that of mild interest, he lazily glanced towards the Bwap merchant.

"So, Rachando, you wake up on the right side of the mud bath today or are you just charmed by our own aphmbibian? Your prices are awfully charitable today."

Edited March 1, 2023 by Emmettmcglynn (see edit history)

[Niraverine]

She looked Lindsey in the eye, the grin still firmly in place. „This whole endeavour is amusing. I could elaborate, but I don’t expect you’d be pleased with my answer”, she replied smoothly and yet again turned her attention towards the console. If she were to say what’s on her mind she wouldn’t achieve anything besides antagonizing them further.

What's so amusing... for starters, she mused eyes set firmly on the blinking screen, the chip on the shoulder half of you seems to have. The prejudices and stereotypes of people here – that was another one. The fact that all of them were just employed to become glorified pirates and yet they seemed to hold Eirene’s profession against her. The irony there warranted a good smirk, she decided, especially if it was bothering the rest. She fiddled with the controls. Shame about the ensign. That one was probably roped into the scheme without warning, to keep an eye on the shady company. And the ship. She could wager it was mostly about the ship. The console buzzed and finally responded. She hummed with satisfaction and patted it with mock affection. She would have to decide her course of action soon. If the attitude continued despite her not causing troubles she would render unto Oleb the things that are Oleb’s and pocket the rest. Despite expectations, she didn’t plan anything nefarious. Yet. She smiled. ‘Yet’ was probably the keyword for 95% of the people who interacted with her. And if no one expected anything good… was there even a point of proving them wrong? She ran a hand through her hair ignoring the bustling of the merchants and her companions, then pushed few buttons until the command window appeared. An ethical problem to discuss in a different place, different time, and probably by a different Eirene, she decided and huffed again. Duchess Eirene, for example. Or at least a very wealthy and retired Eirene. Before that could happen though, there were things that she needed to acquire. Her eyes darted from the computer to the Bwap, then to their staff, looking for someone that maybe, possibly was more susceptible to persuasion, and finally she came to a decision. She straightened, cracked her fingers, and moved from her spot with a swagger.

 “Friend, I need an improved mobile comm, a rechargeable flashlight, and four aerosol grenades. That’ll be Cr220 and for that I have cash. Now comes the uncomfortable part. Any further business dealings with me today require buying on tick”, she smiled good-naturedly and raised an eyebrow at the merchant. “Say, I order today, pay when we land next time and add something extra for your troubles. Or you say no. Understandable. Hurts my delicate feelings and your future wallet, but it’s nothing we can’t move on from.” Sharp eyes observed the trader carefully. “Before you point out something obvious - I am touched by the offer of lending money but those usually come with an interest, and no one specified its nature.”

She looked at Mahan over her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve something in mind already.”

Additional shopping list

 

Weapons and mods
Static blade	900
Gauss rifle	1500
Magazines x5	400
Stun grenade x5	150
Frag grenade x5	150
P-HUD (holographic)	2500
additional module for it	250
smart tracker	500
Armour
Smart fabric	1000
Computer weave (advanced)	1000
Minefield boots	250
Equipment
Bug (audiovisual data)	300
Portable computer/3	1000
Data display/recorder	500
data wafer	5
Electronic binoculars advanced	750
Radio jammer	500
Bug sweeper	100
Advanced safe	600
Infinite rope	1000
SUM	Cr 13 355

 

[Sneaksby]

"I do, Admiral, I do. I hope to have a replica of the old one made. There's a great deal of history in that old hull and it all ought to be properly preserved."

Kesper left the dour admiral with a respectful farewell, now scrupulously polite after the earlier fiasco. He wasn't quite sure why exactly Urien had become so agitated. Was it on his behalf, after the admiral's misinformed comments on the Consulate's most recent conflict with the Empire? Hardly necessary, as the opinion of an admiral from a navy barely capable of projecting force one system over wasn't of particular importance to Kesper. Maybe Urien went and picked a fight of his own volition due to dislike of authoritative figures. That could be a problem in the future. For Kesper's part, he knew the admiral merely lashed out in anger because he had been harmed, and so he had felt no need to respond in kind. He'd expected these people to be at odds more often than not, but this was turning out to be worse than he thought already. How did they get anything done with all this posturing and arguing?

"Hello there." He fairly towered over the bwap merchant as he arrived to the others. "You're Rachando? I'm Kesper. Hope to do good business with you going forward." He leaned over, inspected the goods on display. "I see you have basic medicines. Do you happen to have any stims? Combat drugs? Ah..." Kesper lowered his voice, tapped a finger against his temple, "Psionic boosters?"

[DJ P4NTSL3SS]

Urien, Dawappa, Lindsey, Eirene, Kesperziaiepr, Mahan
The Royal Hangar / Aboard the Harrier, "Reclaimer's Intent"

Rachando gives a muted expression - a frown by Bwap standards, but still hard to read - and shakes his head, "Agree to that deal, I cannot." He shakes his head, "A business, I must run. You understand." That frown deepens on the amphibians face, though its less at you and more at the prospect of turning down money now in exchange for the promise of money later. But then, "Double, later you will pay." Another nod.

Business is conducted easily enough without much fuss or trouble. You are all able to buy assorted goods at reasonable prices, with Rachando's crew even being kind enough to help carry some of the larger orders up the ramp at times.

And coming aboard the vessel, you find it easy enough to stow your belongings and purchases, finding quarters for yourself as you would like, and making everything fit for travel. When business is concluded, Rachando and his crew are quick to stow their tables and displays, loading them into the air/rafts, and lifting with little hesitation to make for the still-open door of the hangar bay. Likely to return to the bazaar where they can make up for the time spent here with some business conducted at Rachando's more typical prices.

Which finally leaves you to your business, setting yourselves up for travel...

Engines hum to life. The lights brighten just that little bit more - sometimes doing the paintings and finishes of the interior no favors - and your ship slowly lifts from the floor of the hangar. Landing gear tucks away with an audible rumble under the feet of anybody standing over particular sections of paneling in the cargo bay. And the old warship can turn, nose forward, and slip from the hangar bay out into the open sky. The storm still rages off in the distance, not quite catching up with the Flying Palace, and both the whole surface of Drinax and the open skies of the the Trojan Reach above you.

And as you make yourselves comfortable, a ping comes through.

A video transmission - one that your computer's lists of contacts identifies simply as 'The Architect'.

[Sneaksby]

The surprise was plain on Kesper's face as he bends down to examine the drugs on offer. Truthfully he expected to be turned down with no small measure of disgust, given the rampant dislike and suspicion of psions. But it seemed the glittering merchant was a bwap of business above all else, a fact illuminated all the more by the shamelessly inflated price of the drugs. He couldn't help but feel some consternation at the brazen upcharge, but then again he supposed he ought to feel lucky to have a supplier at all outside the Consulate. And so he was all smiles and compliments as he gathered together his purchases.

On the bridge, Kesper was only just settling his long body into one of the (to his mind) overstuffed chairs (was that real leather?) when the transmission pinged.

"The Architect," he reads out slowly, squinting at the screen, and turns to his new crewmates with a slightly puzzled expression. "An architect? I think they have the wrong number."

[Dastardly Tristar]

Urien paid off his accounts, but kept quiet as his generosity was rebuffed. His smile finally dropped as the last of Rachando's crew deposited his purchased items by a claimed cabin. After signing on the delivery dossier, he turned to find Astrid atop the pile of boxes, looking at him expectantly. "Mhm." he mumbled, stroking his cat as he pulled out a flat, disc-shaped droid from its packaging. It was called by many names, but a domestic servant tended to be the poor man's droid butler- it couldn't bring drinks or feed you caviar, but it could at least clean up after you. Placing the droid on the ship's floor, he turned it on and waited. 

It beeped once, twice, and then flashed green on its external display. Processing layout, it flashed at him. Astrid, ever the curious ship's cat, dropped to the floor and leaned in, sniffing the new object. The cleaning droid beeped a warning, which did not deter the cat. "Play nice now, please." Urien cautioned the two, before setting loose the second purchased domestic servant. 

He roamed the ship for a little bit, checking in on some of the rooms and lingering at the bow of the ship, by the sensor station. He stared deeply at the decrepit nature of the electronics without a word, lost in his own thoughts. It had been a long time since he was aboard a ship in such conditions- even the most roughneck of freighters by the Reach would attempt to make their ship look decent on the inside. He ran a finger along a seam on the wall and noted the slightly oily, dusty surface. He frowned and huffed in irritation. 

He settled in his room as the ship roared to life. Offering a quick prayer to the Solomani space pioneers of yore, he tried to clean his room. Between unpacking boxes and wiping down every surface with an ever increasingly dirty rag, his mind chewed on his thoughts on the mission. He wasn't too happy to be working for royalty again, but as long as the job was interesting and paid well, he'd bow and kiss the floor if Oleb asked for it. 

Checking out his new piece of equipment, Urien kept his new shotgun hanging on the insides of his trenchcoat for ease of access. Standing before his cabin mirror, he checked various angles of his body, trying to look for the obvious bulge. He mimicked a few quick draws, trying out various stances and styles. He took a look at himself in the mirror, a shotgun in one hand and his laser pistol drawn from his vambrace with a fake smile on his face. "What are you doing, Urien. . ." he murmured, stowing away his weapons in his locker. "Playing space cowboy?" 

Leaving his own question unanswered, the former agent walked to the bridge and sat at one of the swivel chairs, spinning lazily. As the communications panel lights up with the Architect on the screen, Urien stopped his childish glee and walked over to the panel. Looking to see if anyone would stop him, he raised the question: "Any ideas who this might be?"

[Emmettmcglynn]

With Rachando's departure, Mahan searched through the rooms to find where his own effects had been delivered before draping his jacket over the top bunk to claim it as his own. Mentally noting to sort lodging later when the crew organized itself, he made for the bridge to claim the pilot's station before the non-spacers among them could.

"I have a suspicion we've just finished speaking with her. His Majesty did specify the organizer - or architect if you will - of this endeavor." Mahan interjects, chewing the end of his unlit pipe idly as he pilots the craft into a stable orbit. "Pseudonym aren't such a bad idea, given the circumstances."

[kostyora]

'Damnation' she thought to herself. She had been sure Rachando had been up to something; she couldn't say why -- but her gut told her the... resourceful... Amphibian had something special in mind. But perhaps he simply was out for a profit like he presented himself as. The Reach was a special stretch of charted space after all, with the ruins of empire and its wild warlordism reminding her somewhat of a land she had read about on old Earth. A place so notorious it had earned the moniker 'The Graveyard of Empires.' Making a trade in artifacts from this region was smart as Imperial nobles - and though she was loathe to admit it, Solomani notables - liked those sorts of knick-knacks; as it allowed them to pretend to have class and sophistication to people that had none. (That is if they were generous and didn't produce some mothbitten chronicle to prove their 'ownership' of the spoils anyway.) His deciding to play nice for his erstwhile employer meant he still made a return on his investment, and the fact it wasn't as large as he would normally make, was easy to swallow in the face of the greater profit from this near monopoly he had built for himself.

She could scarcely conceal her excitement to be back aboard a Navy ship. The fact it was neither her Navy nor a mission she was in any way equipped for bothered her little. Her job had always been to ensure others performed at their peak. And thus she was content to let the others claim the staterooms reserved for officers first, a small bed would do her fine -- though she would have enjoyed being able to control her room's temperature, as even the cold of space can get intolerable after a while. But perhaps she could make her presence felt differently. Though Sindalian design was splendorous and aesthetically magnificent, she found the layout intuitive enough and noted approval that the common area was not far away from the wardrooms. Scarcely after stowing her things, she commandeered it. As it was what passed for cooking space aboard the ship. A good meal would do them all good before their new life of pira... 'privateering' she reminded herself while she busied herself with making the space acceptably clean by her standards. "This is strictly legal," she attempted to reassure herself while her hands scraped, polished, and washed away.

"Now then," she whispered as she stood in the midst of her handiwork. "What exactly does a fellow Solomani, a Drinaxian, a Vilani, a Zhodani, and an Amphibian eat?" Urien she had an idea for. The Confederation was a large place, but she knew a Rimmer when she heard one. If she had to guess, either from the Aldebaran or Megrez Sectors. She had entertained an Admiral from the Rim once, and he'd enjoyed the kimchi she had prepared. Hopefully... he would too. Mindlessly, she moved to retrieve the ingredients and tools she would need as she proceeded to the next on the list. The Drinaxian she hoped, was partial to the cuisine she'd experienced during her time at the palace. Warm but not overbearing spiced sauce mixed through with coconut milk, over rice and whatever meat was to hand. If she'd wanted to be opulent, she'd have procured fish of some description, but as it is -- she decided to use some of the meat she'd procured for the ex-pirate. 'The ex-pirate' she said to herself reproachfully while she sliced the cabbage for Urien's kimchi into quarters and washed them. She had a name: Eirene. She knew she had been dismissive, even perhaps rude to the Vilani, and she regretted it. For one, she was perhaps the one most suited to this Great Crusade, toward which the remnants of the Kingdom of Drinax had striven these many months, and thus it would behoove her to apologize. She wasn't too proud to accept direction from those who knew better than her... at least for the moment. And, she reminded herself; not all Imperials were beyond hope. They had created and maintained Humaniti's dominion over this galaxy -- despite being determined to render every part of their species' uniqueness moot, with their bland cosmopolitanism and unrestrained corporate greed. There was considerable gold among the dross of the empire, and Eirene was likely one of those nuggets.

Pork, she decided. She knew schabowy was popular in the regions of the Imperium that bordered Magyar Sector. The fact the NSS claimed it as a national dish was an irony not lost on her, and she only hoped whatever world Eirene hailed from had no particular animus against it. But the Zhodani... he was a tough one. She had no idea what to cook for that tall, grim invader of thoughts. Thanks to the Consulate's secrecy, she had no idea what was even en vogue there at the moment and she was briefly at a loss. 'No matter' she eventually told herself. She would decide while cooking the other dishes. The Amphibian, bizarrely, despite being the most alien of the group was the easiest one for Lindsey to decide on. They liked what the denizens of Earth would have called shellfish. A lobster tail with half the rice she'd prepare for Mahan, and a bowl of fresh salad.

Perfect. She could finally get to work.

But in fact, she had barely even started her prep when she heard the ping, indicating an incoming call. And deciding duty came before food... even hers, she reluctantly left everything where it lay. Astrid might decide to punish her for her laxity, but she liked the little fuzzball and hoped the feeling was mutual. Perhaps she would show mercy to a fellow Solomani. Perhaps.

[Niraverine]

Eirene clicked her tongue with a mocking disappointment. “Now, now, friend, don’t be too greedy, it doesn’t bode well for further business dealings. That’s just money extortion and that always leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” The smile she threw Rachando’s way was wry. “Additional 25% to the base price”, she stated clearly after a moment of silence and leaned closer. “Plus a useful contact in the underworld, in case you acquired goods that were… misplaced”, she added in a low murmur. “We all acquire something like that at some point and despair over not being able to profit from it.” She straightened up, the smile turning insolent as she observed the merchant with narrowed eyes.

Business concluded, Eirene turned on her heel in one smooth movement and walked towards the crew quarters without looking back at anyone – strides long, hands stuffed in pockets, somehow managing to take entirely too much space for someone her stature.

She reached her quarter, pushed the button responsible for opening the door and entered the room. It closed behind Eirene with a hiss and only then she allowed her mask and mannerisms to slip. She released a breath and pressed the palms of her hands to her face for a moment, then leaned on the wall and tilted her head back to rest it against its cold surface and raised unseeing eyes towards the ceiling. Familiar humming of a moving spaceship was what finally brought the corsair back to the reality. Somehow, the scheme worked. This time she even had the letter of marque. She also had a ship that could use some paint job, mistrustful companions and no clear chain of command – so that was precisely as usual. She sighed and realised that sometime during her reveries she ended up on the floor. She raised stiffly from her spot then emptied her pockets out of snacks that mysteriously appeared there after the short trip in a limousine. Next step was to retrieve the stealth dagger and her pistol from her baggage – Eirene pocketed the former and holstered the latter with a relief, the made sure that the jacket sufficiently concealed the shape of the gun (she was sure that the very next clash between her and her companions would be due to that particular habit). Unpacking the rest of her meagre possessions could wait for now.

Satisfied, she decided to check the bridge once more – whether to be useful or just to acquaintance herself with its layout remained to be seen… until upon entering it she realised her companions focused on an incoming call. The pitch of pinging was becoming higher and louder.

“No need for guessing games, whoever it is they can’t choke you via holographic transmission, you’re safe to take it”, she informed them drily and flicked the ‘receive call’ button.

[Dastardly Tristar]

Twin moons stared at the new toy that Urien had bought with his money. Her tail swished curiously, and Astrid cocked her head, analyzing the new addition to her master's curios. She had been with her man-servant for a few years now, and remembered their old nest. Why he decided it was a good idea to adopt the ways of a wandering gypsy was beyond Astrid's rational based thinking. Humaniti, she would always tell herself, sanity did not behoove their station. 

She placed a paw on the new attraction, and didn't move when it beeped back curiously. It seemed the toy could speak. "Very well" she said back, arching her back into a regal sitting posture. "Prithee, tell me of your duties." 

It beeped back, and trundled away from her slowly, whistling a melodic tune to mask its many hidden wheels. Her eyes narrowed in irritation. "Belligerent! How dare you turn your back on your betters!" She ran up to the machine and gave it a good smack on top. Her paw bounced back, and she was reminded that it had a shell hard as rock. Still, curiosity was part of her genetic material, and Astrid leaned in closer to give it a good sniff. Maybe she could smell something that gave away some clue. 

Yet all she smelled was a sanitary, sterile smell, and that of moving wind. Blinking, Astrid sighed as a cat would do, and gave it a bored look. When the machine toy moved away however, some sort of inspiration struck her. Calculating the distance between her spot and the machine, she reared up and- 

---

As Lindsey worked her station, a curious show passed by her. Perhaps not something uncommon on Solomani ships, but something worth noting. Astrid, in her regal stature, sat upon a domestic servant droid, as it moved towards the bridge- followed closely by the second domestic servant, which decided that Astrid's trailing, bushy tail constituted a dust hazard, beeping away. 

As everyone gathered by the bridge, Astrid's procession came in last, mewing on the sight of her owner, and at the smell of meat from the kitchens. 

[DJ P4NTSL3SS]

Urien, Dwappa, Lindsey, Eirene, Kesperziaiepr, Mahan
Aboard the Reclaimer's Intent, approaching Drinax's orbit

As Eirene activates the console and presses to accept the incoming transmission, the screen of one of the forward facing window-cameras features an overlay for the video. Just opaque enough to avoid distorting the secondary image too greatly, but still transparent enough to allow some of the warmth of Drinax's sun to shine through. It makes the crackling fireplace on the video seem that much brighter, that much more brilliantly orange as it crackles and pops.

You all can recognize Princess Rao easily enough as she reclines back in her seat, and regards the camera with that same diplomatic smile. She's clearly changed since you all met her in the throne room, opting for a button-down shirt and suit jacket, slacks, and a pair of simple dress flats instead of heels. She sips from a glass of recently familiar golden liquor and clears her throat, "Ah, good to see you're able to receive me." She sets the glass down on a nearby end-table and in the same act, fetches a flip-case of cigarettes with a lighter stored inside, "How are you finding the vessel so far? I hope satisfactory."

The lighter clicks. Another orange light on the scene, there and gone. A diplomatic pause is there to allow for answers, and the minute but ever-increasing delay as you gain altitude and distance.

She exhales a long, blued cloud of smoke that drifts up and out of frame as she disperses it with a gloved hand when it lingers in front of her face, "While I'm sure you all have many ideas or theories about where things should go, I felt it only appropriate to reach out and give you a lead on where you might start your journey. Two nearby worlds, Torpol and Clarke" as she speaks, her image is replaced by side-by-side read-outs of each planet. "were both recently struck by what seems to be the same raiding party. A party that first landed on Clarke, then headed to Torpol. From there, they jumped, and have not been seen since."

The image returns to Rao at the fireplace in what one might presume is her personal quarters, "Both governments seek these raiders, and have put a price on their heads. The merchant-princes on Torpol have always been friends of ours, so I'm certain they'll give you a warm enough welcome. The Psychopomps on Clarke... " she frowns, staring off aside the camera, and puffing on her cigarette, "Less so. But not harmfully so. I imagine that an enterprising crew who just so happen to speak kindly of our Majesty solving this matter will go a long way to seeing both worlds come more in line with our favor."

She shifts in her seat, once more looking at the camera in a way that has her oddly looking at all present yet nobody in particular at the same time. The curse of communicating through teleconference, "Of course, you do not need to consider this an order. But simply a place to begin if you are at a loss or taking suggestions." She taps at a console on the arm of the chair she sits on, "I've attached some relevant documentation for you to peruse."

Attached as a file for review, the bounty can be found.

Clarke has posted a bounty of MCr 0.5 for the pirates, ideally brought in alive. Torpol's bounty is MCr2 - dead or alive - but proof must be required that the raiders were the ones who attacked both worlds.

Edited March 30, 2023 by DJ P4NTSL3SS (see edit history)

[Emmettmcglynn]

Mahan stiffened in his chair but restrained the urge to stand and salute — he was nominally unaffiliated after all — and so instead settled for rigid posture in his seat. After the princess finished her explanation of the bounties and the raiders, he finally spoke up.

"Your Highness, the ship is entirely acceptable, given its history. It shall take some investment to bring it up to the standard of an original Harrier-class, but a bit of cleaning builds discipline and camaraderie."

He made a mental note to thank the instructors at the Star Guard for that line.

"The tip for a hunt is also appreciated. Given the iconic design of a Harrier, and its eventual restoration to the Star Guard, I feel it would be better to build a positive association with the craft as a force for justice and safety. I would also note," he said with a quick glance to the rest of the crew to show he was including them in his next statement, "that acquiring a deniable and disposable ship would give us a considerable increase in flexibility."

"Though," he continued dryly, "I suppose we should acquire the bounty first. A simple J-2 from Torpol could put them on any one of six planets, assuming they didn't head back to Clarke. Heading to Torpol and looking for clue ought to be the first step, unless anyone else has other plans. Your Highness, do we have any descriptions to go off of?"

[Dastardly Tristar]

"Astrid!" Urien exclaimed, before picking up the bundle of white cloud into his arms. Rao appeared on the screen just as he returned to the console, stroking between Astrid's ears. He said nothing of the state of the ship, feeling he couldn't cross the line with the Princess here as he could with the Admiral. It suited him just fine, to sit and listen in front of the actual person who mattered the most in the whole operation. He paused scratching his cat and chewed on a thought, wondering what the Princess had been hiding from them. Politicians and royals - both never showed their cards until they were willing to have skin in the game. He suppressed a snort. He had never seen a royal willing to bet a coin if they didn't think they could get the house with it. 

He did have a few questions for her, however. "Your Highness." He gave a short dip, before straightening back up with 3 fingers raised. "How long ago was this attack from now, and how long in between the attacks on the two worlds?" 

A finger curled. 

"Are there any of your own contacts at Clarke we can inquire with immediately?" He dropped his cat on the floor, who received the landing with a lady's grace. She mewed indignantly despite the lack of physical injury. 

"What is our policy regarding third party associates - hiring mercenaries, and so forth."

[Sneaksby]

"Hello there, Your High...ness..."

Kesper trails off as he stares transfixed at the small mammal riding the cleaning robot onto the bridge. The sight inexplicably reminded him of a conquering monarch astride a mighty steed. The cat certainly knew how to make an entrance.

Tearing his attention away from the feline, Kesper takes in the Princess's new demeanor with interest. Before was a mask, then, for public consumption? She had to meet expectations of behavior in front of her father and his court? Regardless, this tracked with the thoughts he had skimmed from the King's mind: this scheme was the brainchild of Rao and no one else.

Giving the documents a once-over, Kesper's eyes brighten and he claps his hands together.

"Bounty hunting! Just like in the foreign movies. And Urien already looks the part, too."

He chuckles at Mahan's words, "Justice and safety? Aren't we meant to be pirates?"

"At any rate, it'd be smart to take an inventory of items stolen, property damaged, casualties taken. Analyze that information and we can determine their motives and goals."

[Niraverine]

Both worlds, at least theoretically, wanted more or less the same from them. Torpol's deal however, sounded too good to be true in comparison with the bounty announced by Clarke. Friendly world with more recent leads, paying more and not caring whether perpetrators were brought alive or not…. a little suspicious. Eirene had a nagging feeling some important detail was withheld from them.

" 'Struck by a raiding party' is not telling us much, Majesty", she drawled. "How were they struck? How were those worlds damaged? Is it just financial, or were people killed and taken too? I assume that either Clarke is both stingy with money and has a government full of goody-goody politicians, or that Torpol suffered considerably more. Which is it then?" She leaned on the console with her arms loosely crossed over her chest and seemingly disinterested expression. However, she did observe the Princess carefully out of the corner of her eye.