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Tychus Alastor of Alsakan - Rooftop Garden Terrace - Sunrise
Being a Republic Senator did have its perks, mused Tychus Alastor the most honourable gentleman speaking on behalf of Alsakan, that proud and venerable world. It was early morning, and although the sun cast a stinging glare in Tychus’s eyes and lent the dewy grass, the rustling trees, the shifting water in the well-kept roof-garden a golden glow, there was still a treacherous nip to the air. But then, that was to be expected when you were on a terrace kilometres removed from the planet’s surface.
An Artiodac, massive but nonetheless unobtrusive, came bearing a chromium platter whereupon a single, tiny cup of steaming vine-coffee stood perfectly centred. A pristinely clean towel was draped over one very impressive looking arm. In his other hand, the servant held a small pitcher containing Traladon milk – a condiment popular in Corellian cuisine and the only sort of cream acceptably added to vine-coffee. The jug looked ridiculous in the Artiodac’s huge fist.
Tychus grinned, amused by his Artiodacan manservant’s diligence and perfectionism. “Thank you, Torka,” the senator said, daintily accepting the ceramic vessel. He took a minute sip, noting that the Artiodac had sweetened the drink according to his tastes. The surprisingly lithe retainer inclined in his head in response, then added a dash of the Traladon milk and retreated.
A deep, relishing sigh escaped Tychus as he reclined on his terrace chair. He loved the smell of good coffee and looked affectionately at the mocha in his cup. After all, this was none of that cheap swill served in the caf shops and kiosks below.
Beeps and boops dragged him from his revelry. “Sir, I have someone you’d like to speak to on an encrypted line.”
“Ah, you do know how to whet my appetites, Ulri,” responded Tychus. He really was in a good mood this morning. Perhaps due to the pair of ladies still fast asleep he had left behind to enjoy the sunrise? He considered this. No. It was the luxurious coffee. “A fine morrow to you too. Who is it?”
“Veralai Brax, of the Corellian Engin-”
“I know who the Sith she is. Patch her through.”
Tychus sat up so fast that he almost spilled his expensive bean-juice. Farkle me sideways. He had not expected to operate on this level just now, though he would rise to the occasion. Undoubtedly this was about the rumours trembling through the Senate’s hallways and backrooms regarding a bill of seizure. How did he feel about getting a call from one of the Galaxy’s most notorious women? After a moment of searching his feelings, he knew it to be flattered.
Vera Brax was evidently an early riser. But then so am I. Nothing encourages a man to leave his bed like being kept awake all night by searing cramps.
“My apologies, Senator Alastor. I’m putting her through holo-feed now.”
Instead of calming himself, he grabbed his excitement and squeezed it for whatever energy he could. Tychus reached into a paper bag, drew out a pinch of bread dust between thumb and forefinger, and tossed it at his feet. A mob of self-important water fowl had already gathered, and now they fussed at each other furiously in their efforts to get at the crumbs while the Alsakan senator watched them, his weathered face affecting an aloof expression.
A number of drones hummed into existence, having come to allow a holographic projection of the call. The CEC chairwoman would be able to view him at whatever locale she was. The image would be that of a man clad in a bathrobe, sipping morning coffee and feeding duck-like water birds. Whether or not she would allow herself to be projected was up to her.
“I am under no illusions, Madam Director,” Alastor drawled in his native Alsakan accent, as he accepted the connection, almost without moving his lips and without looking up from the quacking fowl. “If I were a betting man – and I am – then I would say this has to do with the gossip about our latest bill. You have your wiles and ways, so I’ll just assume you know what’s what.” He feigned modesty but went straight to business and clarification of his stance. From what he knew of the Corellian harridan this was something she would appreciate. No need to talk about the weather, or how the children are, or the relative merits of different-coloured ducks. “I am not a big enough player to compete in this contest, even should I wish to. But I am big enough to get something from it. I intend to get what I can.”
“There is no shame in that.” A melodious voice from an undisclosed location.
“I do not think so. I have a family to feed, and it grows by the year. I strongly advise against too many relatives.” Tychus looked up then, lazily. A sadness tugged at the strings of his heart and he surpressed it. “And then I keep dogs, and they must be fed also, and have great appetites.” Alastor gave a long, tired sigh, and tossed the birds another pinch of bread. He had them imported at great expense from somewhere in the Outer Rim. Naboo? “The higher you rise, chairwoman, the more dependents cry at you for scraps; that is a sad fact.”
“You carry a large responsibility, Senator.” Vera remarked blandly. “How large, might I ask?”
“I have my own vote, of course, and control the votes of several other chairs on various committees. The Perlemian representatives listen when I speak, and there are over a hundred of us.” Of me. “Senators and worlds tied to my own by bonds of friendship, of long tradition, and... incentive. I am a persuasive man.” Incentive could mean bribery and intimidation, though Tychus usually employed both. What good is a carrot when you do not have a stick to beat’em with?
“Such bonds may prove insubstantial in times such as these. You are certain of how many of those?”
Tychus turned his cold eyes on the optics feeding Vera his image. “I am no fool, Director. I keep my dogs well chained. I am certain of them. As certain as we can be of anything, in these uncertain times.” He tossed more crumbs into the grass and the ducks quacked, and pecked, and beat at each other with their wings.
“A hundred, then.”
“A hundred to take into account.” No mean share of the great pie.
Vera’s voice sounded unperturbed. This was business to her. “We would be willing to offer sixty thousand credits for each vote.”
“I see.” Tychus Alastor’s hooded eyes did not so much as twitch. “You are a long way from Corellia, madam. So little meat would scarcely satisfy my dogs. It would leave nothing for my own table. I should tell you that the Kuat family, in a highly roundabout manner, already offered me eighty thousand a vote, as well as an excellent stretch of property and estates. Prime hunting lands. Are you a hunting woman, Director?”
“I was.” A pause. “But not for some time.”
“Ah. My commiserations. I have always loved the sport. But then a spokesman for the IGB came to visit me.”
“How charming for you both.”
“He was good enough to make an offer of ninety thousand, and a very suitable suggestion for some of our corporate interests. This mining security bill for instance has a lot of backing companies up in arms.”
“You accepted?”
“I told their catspaw it was too early to accept anything.”
“I am sure we could stretch to ninety-five, but that would have to be—”
“Rendili Stardrive’s agent already offered me ninety-five.”
“Them? Was it Adira Serret?” hissed Vera.
Senator Alastor raised an eyebrow. “I believe that was the name.”
“I regret that I can only match that offer at present. I will remember your leniency.” He could practically hear her grinding her teeth.
“I look forward to hearing from you, chairwoman.” Tychus turned back to his ducks and permitted them a few more crumbs, a vague smile hovering round his lips as he watched them tussle with each other and sipped his coffee. The allegory, he was sure, would not be lost on a woman like Vera Brax. Then the connection was severed.
“Damn, but this is a good morning.” He then tossed out the contents of his drinking vessel. "Torka! Another. This one went cold."
