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But to digress, it had been a calculated move on Keimann’s part to hold this session in his office. The backdrop of Serano and the spaceport’s inhabitants reminded everyone what was at stake. Heavy-handed perhaps, especially when the situation room only twenty-stories lower served a similar purpose, but the Supreme Archon found that it was an ultimately necessary thing.
Keimann was, of course, at the head of his table, placed directly center-stage by a large holotank the size of a speeder. And no differently, he himself had a cadre of adjuncts and support staff. On his right were the three highest officers in the military, all in their respective uniforms: General Suzui Sho, Wing Commander Belka, and Grand Admiral Laurentius Mercantor.
On his left sat a secretary dictating every word spoken, a technician to operate the holotank, and none other than Jedi Master Aure herself. They all cut a sharp contrast, Jedi robes against military fatigues and tailored suits. Ve was speaking at the moment. An amusing clash of style to Keimann’s eyes.
“It won’t be enough to just simply repeal the rationing mandate,” the Duros said emphatically. The Archon of Human Resources was all smiles and geniality, one of the more optimistic members of the High Council. “Morale is at an all-time high now that we have complete control over the system. I suggest throwing a parade and commissioning a monument to the fallen.”
“That was never in any doubt,” answered Sanada, squinting at a datapad. “The only question to be decided is where the monument goes, and when the parade will be held.”
“We should be careful not to become too relaxed,” Crane replied in a flat tone. The Arkanian’s features gave the idea that she was perpetually scowling, even if her tone was relatively mild. Her white, pupilless eyes did her no favors in appearing amicable. “I don’t want people forgetting that the Tof are still an extant threat. Plenty escaped during the revolution, back to whatever cesspit they crawled out of.”
At that, Sho’s lackadaisical face animated slightly. “Beggin’ your pardon, but we haven’t forgotten about them. If anything, my men were disappointed that there were no more of ‘em on the Chiller, and we had to come back home.”
Keimann grinned, even as Crane’s cheeks darkened. “No disrespect is intended, General Sho. I’m merely reminding the room that the Tof know where we are. And that they don’t take slights to their pride without violent recompense.”
It was an unfortunate truth. In the end, Amagi was only a slave colony, a trade outpost close to Wild Space and the most extreme edges of the Outer Rim. There was little in the way of their defenses that could deter a dedicated, punitive warband hellbent on revenge. The Tof culture was one that extoled callous brutality as one might an indifferent veneer – they would be all the more dangerous, angry and humiliated by their former slaves.
(cont.)
