Parliament's Chambers

Ic Nikki Howard

The Chamber was packed, throes of reporters, politicians and citizens filling the vast sea of chairs in the galleries and balconies of the enormous atrium. A hundred different conversations went on at once, the room abuzz with the excitement of the coming events - the inaugurations of the new parliament chairmen and the prime minister.

On the ground floor, nearest to the massive podium at center stage, the parliament elects and the soon-to-be prime minister (as well as their respective secretaries) would likely be milling about, talking with one another. They would be called to the podium soon enough, and would be sworn into their chosen office in front of both a live and media audience that literally spanned into the billions.

"Excellent edits, Najia," Rubano smiled as he perused his recently-revised speech over a holopad, "as usual, of course. Superb translation to common." He beamed at his secretary. "Your grasp of the western languages is practically on par with my own. You are a quick study."

He pocketed the holopad and made a quick scan around the room for a particular face.

((No posting order until the ceremony begins. Fraternize and write at your own leisure.))

Flanked by two large, well dressed men in dark suits and glasses, with each man sporting an arm band with a rather familiar dog's face logo, Chloe McGregor had been mingling in a rather isolated part of the Parliament chambers. Though both security men appeared unarmed, they were quite the opposite. Sitting at a table was a handsome blonde man who managed to make it to see his daughter's inauguration into Parliament.

The Blonde seemed to forgo the Imperial Aschen regalia for a more conservative grey pinstriped suit, a dark blue tie, and a pair of glasses to disguise his face. Afterall, with their medical technology. Aschen didn't wear glasses.

Chloe fussed for a moment, and then she checked her watch.

"I need to go find my Secratery." She said to the blonde seated at the table.

Her eyes only briefly met Rubano's as she moved through the crowds of News and other guests, making her way over towards the bathrooms, maybe to slink into hiding.

"Thank you," Najia replied. "It has been an honor to run with you."

Her Hafirjan accent was thick, and her th's came out sounding closer to d's, but her grammar and sentence structure were more than fluent.

"Though I sometimes wonder what you would do without me," she teased.

To accentuate her point, she perused her own holopad briefly before pulling up a map of Terra off the internet that she turned towards him.

Hafirjan was notably southwest of Aslund - which in turn was the eastern most continent. Though she knew his reference to the 'western' languages was likely nothing more than a slip of the tongue, she jumped at the opportunity for some light teasing.

Victor looked around the room quietly observing the discussions through the clamor.Victor smiled he knew now that this was going to be a whole different world. Would this governing body might actually rise to the occasion and set fourth a new brighter age for Terra or would they forsake the nation they were going to be sworn to lead. Victor took a deep breath. "This is it." He muttered under his breath.

With a glance he noticed a familiar face and walked over to Giles Fabron. "Mr. Fabron, congratulations on your election." Victor said with a smile. "And thanks once again for your generosity and assistance in Gonthar."

Standing apart from the clean cut politicians in his traditional coat, even freshly cleaned as it was, Max had taken pains to dress more than the minimum for the occasion. Still, he felt out of place among the born and bred politicians that comprised much of the crowd, the livelihood of soldiering more...hands on then paperwork. Still, he'd agreed to run with Rhea for the sake of pushing Terra forward. And for that goal, he was here, mingling with the bureaucrats, smiling politely, chatting every now and again.

Of all the fool things I've done, this has to be one of them. Still, beats getting shot at for stagnation, when there's the chance to make it more worthwhile. He'd been sticking close to Rhea as much as he could. Bloody pomp and ceremony.

Derek Relic straightened out the tie that dangled tightly from his neck after reclining in the seat. Perched in the balcony he had a bird's eye observation of the ceremony and the great atrium it would take place in. He sighed and slowly turned to the hunched Tarsan besides him and they exchanged a quick, silent argument before Derek finally spoke.

"Your son would have considered this a great opportunity, Kevin." Derek's voice was hushed amongst most of the other conversation of the citizens and diplomat alike that had turned out for the inauguration of the new Terran government. The Tarsan next to him made a disgruntled huff as he adjusted his own attire.

“My son would cry like a little girl for getting Dauch to autograph his panties.”

Derek couldn’t hide the guttural laugh that came out of his throat before he responded. “God, I know why he lives all the way is Bakoredies after hearing that.” He said before wiping the grin off his face and directing his eyes back at the main stage. He took a few moments to survey some of the politicians and their attaches, also admiring the turnout: to him this was a perfect expression of democracy, yet it seemed him and only him appeared at all impressed with it. “This is some pretty big history y’know, I mean -- fuckin’ democratic elections outside the Garden, that was practically witchcraft back when you were my age right?”

“Oh fucking stuff it, kid. They sell history books from the Colonies in the comedy and propaganda section of book stores for a reason.” Kevin Walleck remarked. Derek felt a wash of amusement come over him when he saw the Tarsan reaching into his pocket for a phone.

“Take some pictures, he can use them for an op-ed … that’s what he’s in school for right, political sciences yeah?”

“Oh I fucking wish.”

Rubano's smile only widened. "History and geography as well, I see. Your intellect continues to impress, Ms. Okeke." He straightened his cufflinks, his black eyes making a quick pass over the gathered crowd.

"Another test for you," he nodded towards Chloe as she weaved between the gathered chairmen. "Parliament-elect Chloe McGregor. What do you know about her?"

Najia had, of course, been tasked with reviewing the profiles of every Parliament elect. Chloe's, however, had been singularly peculiar. While her upbringing and political career in Van Leugen would have been vividly spotlighted, Najia perhaps would have noticed a considerable lack of information on her family history, a stark contrast from the rest of the elects. If Najia wanted to give Rubano a detailed answer, she would have had to of done some digging.

---

Two men on the ground floor moved slowly through the crowds, the pressed navy blue of their uniforms and array of medals on their breasts easily identifying them as Captains in the Terran Navy. Though dressed almost identically, the two could not be a starker contrast - one squat, bearded, unkempt and gruff, his clothes wrinkled, his decorum eschew - the other tall, shaven, pale and elegant, his uniform in pristine composition.

They approached Maximillian Dirge. The taller one politely extended his hand. "Minister-elect Dirge." He smiled. "I am Captain Aaron Vrail of the Achaian Armada. This is Captain Ashton MacDuff."

The shorter one offered a curt nod, surveying Dirge up and down. These two would undoubtedly be a familiar sight to Maximillian - aside from being two of the most renown captains in the Terran fleet, they had (along with General Ranida and Admiral Saiyilgan) been given control over the entire TNG during its brief declaration of Martial Law following the expulsion of the Aschen occupation.

"We've come to congratulate you," Aaron continued, "Captain MacDuff and I both watched your campaign closely. We look forward to working under-"

"Oh for God's sake, Aaron," MacDuff almost growled, "you sound like a goddamn chairman." He scratched furiously at his shoulder, pointing a stern finger at Dirge. "Look. Minister. I voted for you. Read your speeches. You seem like a good man - but more importantly, you seem like a good fighter. A commander." He nodded gruffly. "Terra's been through some rough shit lately. Being Minister of Defense isn't exactly the easiest job in the world. We're just letting you know, Aaron and I-" He elbowed his companion, "-that we're with you. If you keep true on half of the shit you promised in your campaign, then I think Terra's in a safe place right now."

Vrail looked positively uncomfortable. "I... apologize for his... forwardness."

As Chloe hid in the bathrooms, her two PK Bodyguards standing outside and scanning the crowd, Raphael was sitting, a glass of scotch sitting in front of him as he adjusted his glasses.

He silently observed Vrail and MacDuff from afar. The Imperial Aschen admiral was probably the most decorated officer sitting in that room. He didn't opt to stain the spotlight though. As whiskey was brought to his lips, he thumbed an old lighter with his free hand. As his hands thumbed the lighter, he adjusted it in the light, eyeing the nameplate.

'Legatus Stygies'

With the new Iconoclast in the Aurora, McGregor's command was being transferred from a Reverence, to the new Iconoclast, while Inviere assumed command of a Reverence flagship.

He calmly brought the glass of scotch to his lips, before a 'sarcoma' brand cigar followed. The Cigar was lit and he puffed on it thoughtfully.

"Poor Chloe, has her hands full." McGregor said calmly.

"The one generous soul among a gathering of pinch-pennies and lick-spittles!” He chuckled to himself.

Moments later Chloe emerged from the Bathroom, seemingly trying to avoid any prying eyes as she made her way back to the reserved table where her Father sat.

"Quid exigere mavis advenit?" She protested in a hush tone.

Raphael quietly responded. "Ergo pater ego sum, et in hoc me velle potestas drageti planetae ponis."

"Sed bibent, relaxare" He added, sliding her a glass of scotch on the rocks.

"I've never been good at this sort of function," Alison took a sip of her champagne and grimaced at the people milling around and engaging in verbal spars.

"You're going to have to get used to it, Ms. Keating." Across from the suited blonde woman was seated a distinctly more unusual one. The alien features of former Omni-Corp CEO Kynala Evantus were more notably out of place than most of the time on Terra, as the majority of the politicians present were native-born Terrans. "This sort of event is par for the course for government."

"I'm more than aware. Bullshit, if you ask me. We'd be much better off doing our jobs than prancing around like show-ponies."

Kynala smiled. "And that's why we spend most of the time doing exactly that, our jobs. But now and then we have to show our faces to the public, and make nice with one another. That helps getting things done just as much as any amount of paperwork. You have to know who you're dealing with, have favours you can call in, and keep the public on your side."

The two continued to exchange idle chatter as they waited for the ceremonies to proceed.

Rhea offered a reassuring smile to Max's discomfort and awkwardness.

"Be at ease, it will be over soon enough," she told him before nodding towards the two men who were approaching. "Perhaps they will speak your language better than the bureaucrats," she suggested. "And do try to look like you're at least pretending to enjoy yourself," she suggested with a knowing smile before she moved off to leave him to the pair of Navy officers.

Part of her was sympathetic to his discomfort. She had long since mastered the art of mingling and being comfortable in all manner of social affairs, but Max came from a very different world than her. Unlike him, she seemed more than at ease exchanging formalities and light congratulations as she mingled among those gathering in the parliament chambers.

"The Aschen woman?" Najia inquired as she shifted to speaking in Upuuzi, one of countless native Hafirjan languages. "She would sow Terra with the brutality of her family, and her actions in Van Leugen have turned the city into a war zone." Her grasp of the common tongue was fluent, but she found Upuuzi to be more comfortable, and effective in avoiding the prying ears of casual passerbyes.

"I do not approve of a member of the Aschen royal family being seated in our government," she added as she cast a side glance towards Chloe.

She made no mention of how she had deduced such things, but truth be told it hadn't been difficult for anyone to conclude from even basic observations. The surname of McGregor might have been nothing more than a coincidence if not for the woman's continued involvement with the McGregor family, and one needed only a pair of eyes to note the similarities between Chloe and Raphael as they conversed across the room.

It was a disgrace to the TNG government that this had been permitted she thought to herself.

"What would you like to know?" Najia asked.

There was a lot to be known of the woman in question.

Shaking the man's hand firmly, Max weathered the short, blunt tirade with a grin. He waved off Vrail's apology, nodding to Macduff. "On the contrary, if more people in this room spoke like him, I'd imagine, as Captain Ashton put it, "shit" would actually get done more often then not. As it is?"

"Even if I have to harass Parliament to no end, I plan on actually getting change done. I might have changed chairs, Captains...but I still keep up at the firing range. I've known what you two have known, and I don't plan on being another fool pointing orders after being babied." Max concluded his words with a fierce smile.

"Any thoughts you'd like to share on the delegates here, Captain Aaron and Captain Ashton?"

Rubano looked curiously at Najia as she switched from common to Upuuzi. He listened to her brief analysis of Chloe with amusement, his arms folding over his broad chest.

"Your thoughts on her competency," Rubano said, still speaking in the Hafirjan dialect, "whatever name she carries, whatever foreign blood runs through her - are they not small things in the scope of her character? Surely she is not to be judged by facts beyond her control. A human is judged by her actions." He looked down at Najia. "Tell me of her actions. You mentioned what she's done in Van Leugen ... what else has she done in her time as a politician?"

---

MacDuff huffed and huffawed. "Hens, Dirge, most of them - a coop of hens ruffling their feathers and flapping their wings. Politicians through and through, most of them. Hardly warriors." He shook his head. "There's a few exceptions, of course. That Sigurd fellow - Olafson - he looks like he can handle his own in a fight, though I wonder if he's got the tact for leading. The Northern debates just sort of had him cheering and flexing his muscles a lot. Didn't have much to say." He nodded towards Rhea. "And the Prime Minister, of course. Good woman. Spent a long time on Langara, trying to smooth things over." He shook his head. "Not sure if she gets it, though. Some things can't be solved with words."

Aaron cleared his throat, shooting Ashton a disapproving glare before smiling pleasantly at Dirge. "I have the utmost confidence in our Parliament-elects, Mr. Dirge, and I'm confident that this upcoming political administration will be Terra's best turn yet."

Into the Lions Den

"Tac Comm the Emperor is approaching down Main Street, I have visual confirmation."

"Affirmative, switch to passive protocol Gamma Epsilon Phi, proceed at steady intervals."

As Mollem sat in the black limousine, escorted by two decoy Limousines, and four LDA issue black SUVs on both sides of the front, and rear limousine slowly moved their way down Main Street. Each limousine was equipped with Kanvium armor plating, tempered Plaz Glass augmented by a specialized hard light shield, and in the Government Capsule in each Vehicle, there was an additional inch thick layer of Kanvium and the darkly tinted glass was threaded with Hard Light and thin Trinnium wiring to further reinforce the glass.

"Gigashadow Actual, This is Raptor Talon, Raptor is approaching the Lions Den, proceed to Action Stations and weapons hot. Check-in in three Millicentons plus three Centons, synchronize weapons payloads to check-in time." An LDA Agent sitting in the front Limousine called in.

With each vehicle sporting the flag and crest of the United Aschen Empire, it was clear who was in town. As the vehicles moved slowly, Mollem laid back in his plush leather seating, while Kesslee turned to him.

"My Lord, I do not trust that the Terrans will have your security in mind, given their history and willful neglect." Kesslee protested. "I strongly advise against this attendance, and we turn back to Langara where we can be safe."

Mollem frowned some. "The Protocols we have in place will be sufficient. I'm aware of the restrictions and have found ways to circumvent them. Mr. Kesslee if you would." He said, gesturing to the beverage container.

"Raygun, sitrep." The LDA Agent called on the radio, pinging Raphael who was quietly sitting at a table.

"Raygun, Raptor Talon, everything's secure and we're ready for the Raptor's arrival, Raygun Out."

The Admiral finished his drink, and slowly stood up to his feet. Chloe watched as he stood up while he turned back to face his daughter.

"The Divine Shadow will arrive soon."

Chloe simply nodded. "I'll prepare for his arrival, then." She said, standing up from her seat while Raphael slowly started his way towards Dirge and MacDuff

"Congratulations on your Election." He said, before turning to MacDuff.

"I wouldn't say Hens, Captain, I'd say more like lickspittles." He said, extending his hand.

"We've never personally met, I'm Admiral McGregor." He said, waiting for his counterpart to take his hand. Aware that outside, the Divine Shadow was on the brink of arrival.

With Security checks done in advance, and the final security checks done as Mollem and Kesslee made his way through Security, Counter Snipers, LDA Agents, and CPF Personnel took their stations out and around Government Center. Most of them in plain clothes or disguised as press.

Mollem stepped into the main Chamber, surrounded by Politicians of every stripe. Mollem himself, dressed in a conservative suit contrasted sharply from the blue robed Kesslee who stood besides him. The Emperor made a face as he started towards a section of seating that had been cordoned off by Terran Personnel for the Aschen Guests. Mollem first shot a look towards Kynala, before he turned to Rhea.

Kesslee kept his head low and his cowl pulled over his head, while Mollem eyed the Prime Minister from several feet away.

"You've made great strides during your time on Langara, Don't screw this up." Mollem said flatly.

Max thanked the Captains, turning and masking surprise excellently with a polite smile. Raphael McGregor, while not personally, was known to him. A mountain of ill will towards the man, it was hard not to.

"Admiral McGregor. A surprise to see a man of your stature gracing our own humble elections." Spend enough time around politicians, and you tend to pick up subtle barbs. "Word was, in the news, the situation in Isiria needs you more than we ever could."

Sliding his hands into his own pockets, a faint smile on his face, Dirge's eyes were unreadable.

Giles, clad in a dark suit and a rather cheerful bowtie, was accompaneyed by the two lovely young women he never seemed to be without. The one to his right, Ariel Moore, decided to don a long, formal gown with a slit down the side for mobility. The one on his left, Delta, had gone for a suit, and one with pants. She wasn't quite happy when Giles had offered a dress similar to Ariel's a week prior.

Once Victor had approached him, Giles' mouth also widened into a great smile, and he held out a hand to shake hands with his fellow winning parliament member.

"Likewise, Mr. Vidal! Likewise, yes. I absolutely couldn't stand back during that catastrophe. I was happy to help. Recovery efforts for the homeless is going well, I suspect?"

----------------

Sarangerel stood in the middle of more stranger than she ever remembered being around before. She almost felt out of place in her colorful silk deel, setting her apart from the more dull and muted colors of the room. Sarangerel, however, was chipper as ever, and maneuvered around her taller counterparts to try and socialize with the crowd. Though the youngest of them all, she didn't find herself bored with the conversation or the formality of the event surrounding her. Despite this, the need to find Sigurd arose, as she was aware it was about to be time for the inaugurations to start.

Mollem's standoffish nature, and snide remarks didn't go unnoticed as Rhea smiled pleasantly enough and offered a hand in greeting to him. Should he take the offered gesture she would use the subtly of the handshake to lean close enough to speak quietly to Mollem.

"Surely you can find it in yourself to act like a respectable human being for one day," she chided him lightly. "You're a guest. Do try to enjoy yourself for once."

Her smile never faltered though, and to the casual observer the pair were simply exchanging pleasantries.

The exchange was interrupted though as a man approached Rhea to discuss some preparations for the inaugurations.

"If you would excuse me..." she told Mollem as she let herself be led off.

Victor would return the smile and shake Giles hand as well. He glanced around the room if for a second once again the massive group gathered was quite overwhelming. Plus Victor was still getting used to actually being asked questions, normally on the journalism side of things he was generally the one asking questions.

One or two seconds would pass before Victor would respond to Giles. "They are coming along the camps are still in use but everyone should be back on their feet within a few months. The supplies and support that have flowed in help immensely." He said with an appreciative smile.

"Though many of the locals. The Shattered as their known are wanting to return to their native lands. Unfortunately even their resistance to toxins is not strong enough to withstand the poisons that the volcano has kicked up. Victor said with a frown. "I fear it will be a few years before the region will become usable once again. There will be a clash of culture in the southern regions but I have put forwards a full integration plan for the refugees." Victor added.

By the time the intricately carved grandfather clock mounted behind the dais struck one, formally dressed guests from every corner of the local region -- and some from beyond -- had filled the seats in the gallery. Visitors lined the balconies along the second and third tiers up from the floor, where the Terran National Government's incoming and outgoing politicians mingled amongst themselves, waiting for the proceedings to began. Their voices resounded throughout the chamber, bouncing from the high dome to create an inescapable hum that only the clock tolling threatened to break. With the low, deep tone of the clock's bell chimes, sounding over and perhaps through the din, the enormous ceremonial wooden doors on either side of the dais opened. Much of the audience instinctively hushed, their faces turning toward the dais.

From one side emerged Luis Galdámez, an aging man with silver hair and more lines in his face than when he had assumed office as the TNG's Prime Minister, reluctantly, for a second time, after the death of his friend and colleague, Ed Cranford, at the hands of terrorists. Their brutal attack had left this building devastated, but, perhaps in testament to Terran resilience, within less than nine months, Government Center had been fully restored. Galdámez had heard that the builders had started with this room. Parliament's Chambers symbolized the democracy at the heart of the TNG constitution. Galdámez wore a simple black suit that he'd bought at a department store a few decades ago before teaching his first class to eager, nervous law students starting their first semester.

On the other side of the dais, the door gave way to a human woman with dark brown hair tied back in a severe cut, her honey-colored eyes gleaming as she nodded, briefly, to Galdámez. This was High Justice Rana Khawaldeh, the senior-most justice of the TNG's Supreme Court. Khawaldeh stood at about the same height as her counterpart, though she was significantly fatter and slightly older. She was dressed in matching black, though Khawaldeh's attire consisted of her long, flowing black robe. Along with Galdámez, she would be conducting the inauguration ceremony. He would pass from one side of the dais to the other to mark the end of his term. Khawaldeh, in contrast, was the symbol of continuity and stability. The two met in the center of the dais and stood in front of the two center-most chairs. They were all the same high-backed chairs upholstered in dark blue satin fabric with intricate embroidery depicting the TNG seal. Galdámez shared Khawaldeh's opinion of the furnishings -- they were much too opulent for his taste. He supposed that the decorative furnishings were another symbol of their national pride.

"Good afternoon, Luis," Khawaldeh said in a subdued tone meant to keep the reporters crowding their designated section on the floor from overhearing. She clasped both hands around the outgoing prime minister's extended hand, offering a smile.

"How are you doing?" asked Galdámez, inclining his head.

"I'm doing wonderfully, just wonderfully." Khawaldeh released Galdámez's hand and nodded to the newly elected members taking their seats. "I hope you've prepared."

"Of course." Galdámez cocked a grin. "Don't I always?" In response, Khawaldeh shook her head. Galdámez stepped to the podium, waiting for complete silence before he would begin his opening speech.

Members-elect were ushered to their seats in the first three rows of members seating, where the plaques with the names of outgoing members would be replaced by the next morning with the new names. Behind Galdámez and Khawaldeh, the few members of the administration instructed to attend silently entered through the same ceremonial doors, the wood-inscribed TNG seal giving way for the wounded national hero, Lelantus Haima, who entered beside a smiling Jamal Morrison Lebrun, the National Police Agency director whose power-chair shined with fresh polish as he wheeled up the ramp to the dais. On the other side of the dais, Terran Armed Forces Grand Admiral Fātiḥ Sayılgan escorted the intelligence director, Arianne Drulović, onto the raised platform. While Sayılgan maintained a professional, muted smile, Drulović appeared positively severe in her expression.

"Frankly," she said in a low voice, "I don't understand why I need to be here. I think it was enough that I came for the first inauguration under Mr. Cranford, and the second one, too, under Mr. Galdámez, wouldn't you think? This simply seems too much. You know I have no particular fondness for politics."

"It's a show. You gotta play to the show." Sayılgan shrugged, offering the older woman a hand to the first step. "You and Lebrun, well, let's just say, a lot of people would notice if you didn't make an appearance."

Once it seemed that everyone had taken their seats and fallen into the silence of anticipation, Galdámez laid his hands on the podium. "Welcome. High Justice Khawaldeh, Ms. Vaeros, members of Parliament, our friends, our distinguished guests, welcome. Each time we gather to celebrate the inauguration of a new Parliament, we recognize the enduring history of our young nation. In only a few short decades, our young nation has continued to grow and prosper. Despite innumerable setbacks, occupation, war, and turmoil at home, our constitution has endured. We affirm our national commitment to liberty, to prosperity, and to unity."

As the prime minister spoke, Drulović let her eyes slide to the clock mounted in the back of the room, placed conveniently so that those on the dais could keep track of the time without turning backward and upward to look at the ceremonial clock above them. She adjusted the lapels of her jacket, estimating that Galdámez would speak for a solid fifteen minutes.

In the end, it turned out that Drulović was wrong. He finished at twelve minutes and forty seconds.

"And with that, I would like to ask our High Justice, Rana Khawaldeh, to commence the proceedings." Galdámez turned away from the podium, stepping back to allow Khawaldeh to assume her role over the ceremony. Khawaldeh looked toward Rhea Vaeros for the newly elected prime minister to mount the dais alongside the High Justice. The prime minister would be sworn in first, to be followed by the members of Parliament collectively. Khawaldeh had been pleasantly surprised that many incumbents had been voted out of office or decided not to run for reelection altogether, though she noted with her glance that there were faces she recognized among the members waiting to be sworn in. Those were the incumbents. As Drulović would have put it, Khawaldeh surmised that there would always be some pollution among any political body. She stifled a smile at that as Rhea approached.

He was late, and he knew it. Sigurd sported a vicious cut along his cheek, an accident with a shaver earlier that morning after his secretary had demanded that he 'clean up'. His big, oafish hands had barely been able to fit the tiny blade in his hands and he'd lost track of what they were meant to be doing, so his gigantic hirsute beard still covered a majority of his beard.

Then a tailor had tried squeezing him into a suit, but ultimately left the tailor in a bind with the top jacket wrapped around his head and an angry half-giant stumbling out of the building, tearing the ill fitting, pin covered shirt off his chest. Then he'd had an argument with the authorities outside the building over the oversized axe he was lugging around, and he had to return to his room to put it away much to his sadness.

Sigurd stumbled into parliament and found his seat, almost crushing the groaning chair with his weight. His eyes scanning the room from Drulović , to the diminutive giles. Nay, they were all midgets that he could crush in the palm of his hand, midgets that talked far too much and used too many big words, and he bet they didn't even drink at the end of a long day, or at all.

Sigurd let out a slow, thoughtful groan as he stood. "There is no argument till the son of Olaf is here, and he is!" The giant swung his arms in open challenge. "Where is the booze? Sarangerel said there would be booze." The giant leaned over his seat to look around, all he saw were glasses of water. "Fine. There is no booze." Sigurd sat back down and folded his arms like a spoiled child denied his favorite plaything.

Midgets. The lot of them. Midgets with no booze.

It was parliament's first meeting. The chairmen and their secretaries would be seated at their respective desks around the center podium in a wide semi-circle, with the desks of the Prime Minister and the Council of Ministers at the center front. A large manila folder sat at each desk, the insignia of the Terran Intelligence Bureau stamped prominently on the front. Screened guests and dignitaries would be seated in the galleries above, overlooking the spectacle.

There was a round of applause from the balconies as the TNG politicians entered through the enormous double doors for the first time and assumed their chairs. Once they were situated, Rubano Malijin approached the center podium.

"Honorable chairmen," he began, "honorable prime minister and ministers, honored aids, guests and dignitaries..." He smiled grandly. "I am pleased and honored to lead this administration's first parliamentary session." His cheer faltered briefly. "I had hoped that our first session might not be so weighted with such demanding matters this evening. The decisions we must make today are of enormous importance and demand our immediate attention." He nodded. "Nonetheless, I have the utmost faith in this administration, and I trust that we shall confront these dilemmas with wisdom, courage, fairness, and with the utmost respect for our constitution and the people of the Terran National Government."

"The primary topic of our session today concerns international diplomacy. We must decide how the Terran National Government is to respond to recent events transpiring in the Shintenchi nations. There are a number of issues we must address. I will list them shortly.

"To begin with, the Losenji Imperium and the Volarian Monarchy have joined the AXIS Corporate Forces, the dominant collective-nation alliance in the Andromeda Galaxy. The Shintenchi Shogunate has, however, officially joined the Taiyou Empire. Their region on the isles is no longer a sovereign Terran nation, and belongs to the Emperor." Rubano flipped a page over on the podium. "Evidence suggests that many Volarian citizens have fled to planets in the local region that have been claimed by our government where they live as illegal immigrants. Furthermore, the Shintenchi isles, particularly the Volarian Monarchy, has shown a drastic increase in militarization over the past year. Together with the Shogunate, they have expanded their military arsenal, developed space-faring vessels and have conducted martial exercises on the near-border of our nation ... against holographic images that very closely resemble the ships of our navy, if I may add. A recent incident on the Great Sato Bridge on Narita has left many dead. The intergalactic nation known as the Varden, allies of our government, are believed to be responsible.

"I remind Parliament that these are merely the surface-level facts. There are many explanations and circumstances regarding each of these statements that I have put forth - many of which, I believe, deserve consideration." He looked up at his fellow chairmen. "For example, many of the Volarian citizens who have illegally migrated to our soil have been driven off their homeland by lack of resources and overpopulation."

"The data surrounding each of these statements has, hopefully, been sufficiently addressed in the files you were given weeks ago, and which also sit on your desks at this moment." He held up his own. "This data, collected from media and witness sources across Terra and verified by the Terran Intelligence Bureau, is effectively the bulk sum of what we know regarding the Shintenchi situation." He flipped over another paper and thumbed off his glasses.

"Honorable representatives," he began again, "it is my opinion that much of what I have brought forth to you is of small consequence. Certainly, a good deal of it is immensely important - particularly where the loss of sentient life is concerned - but I believe in respecting the sovereignty of the Shintenchi nations and allowing them to make their own decisions, so long as they do not threaten the wellbeing of our people." His tone turned dark. "With that said, I believe that my next statement is the single most important issue that we must address this evening."

With a grave sigh, Rubano put his glasses back on and looked down at his papers. "On February 21st, Joshua Mattrix, a Terran citizen and a resident of Sol City, was publicly beheaded in L'aita Hara under direct orders from the Matriarch for alleged crimes of kidnapping and slave trafficking. He was afforded no trial, and our government was given no notice of his arrest, detainment or execution. Never before has the rights of a citizen of the Terran National Government been so offended by a nation that we are not at war with. Honored Parliament, I believe that this matter demands our immediate attention, and should be the first topic of our discussion today." He looked up.

"I open the floor to your wisdom."

((Open debate, loose posting order. Back-and-forth responses are fine. Each parliament chairman is encouraged to weigh in on each issue at least once. For more information regarding the Shintenchi situation, speak OOC to either myself or Tiko. Consider us your IC source of info for those TIB packets.))

The coffee cup sitting on the edge of the desk was slowly growing cold. Saymoukda Kouanchao ran her finger around the side of it, not detecting much heat other than a few faint traces of what had once been a scorching brew. The damn machine seemed to have one setting, one incredibly burning setting, but even so, she'd never been able to cut the habit. The flight from home would have been tolerable if it weren't for Kouanchao's splitting headache and the five screaming babies sitting in the seats in front of, behind, and beside her (on both sides). She knew she shouldn't fault them, but it was hard not to feel the hatred seething through her veins at each screech in the passenger cabin. But that was what she got for taking her mom's suggestion and booking the cheapest flight instead of the more convenient one. Thanks, mom.

She fingered the stack of papers peeking out from the battered folder she'd brought with her, twitching and tightening her jaw. There were hundreds of printed emails, neatly saved from constituents in Kouanchao's region, all of whom felt quite strongly about how the TNG ought to respond to the new Shintechi alliance with AXIS, the Joshua Mattrix beheading, and the recent talks over the terrorist attack. Everything from, bomb the shit out of the xenos to conduct more investigations inside the TNG to dismantle the rest of the trafficking rings and everything in between. Kouanchao sipped at the coffee and then made a disgusted face. Cold. Blech. Her eyes drifted from Rubano Malijin to the Terran Intelligence Bureau director, the short, small woman sitting at the end of a table reserved for intelligence community representatives present for Parliamentary inquiry. Welp, that was what happened when the matter was sufficiently serious. They brought in the big guns.

Arianne Drulović had taken the neatly printed name card with her name, title, and affiliation and turned it on its face so that no one could read the information -- not that they had to. At this point, the woman was a fixture. Kouanchao considered typing Drulović's name into Google to see what would happen, but decided against it. Too many other MPs sitting behind her who'd be able to tell she was fucking around on the internet. She be accused of disrespect, rudeness, incompetence... Kouanchao resisted the urge to reach for her tablet and instead kept watching Drulović as the older woman placed her palm flatly on top of the name card, pressing it onto the surface of the desk. The name cards they used for the witnesses were printed on nice, thick cardstock imprinted with the TNG's seal. The name plates for the actual MPs were embossed on brass and displayed prominently in front of each desk to designate the occupant.

Kouanchao missed it when Vlatko Klaić motioned to open general debate, and when someone else -- someone she wouldn't have recognized anyway -- seconded the motion. She also missed someone else's motion to bring the debate immediately to the bombing, and the motion to table discussion of the beheading incident, and every procedural vote in between. She started paying attention right about when Klaić said something about a bomb. "Whoever it was that attacked the bridge with the nanite bomb, there's no reason to believe they won't show up in our territory next," said the hawk-eyed man, resting both hands on the edge of the desk in front of him. "It is our duty, our responsibility, to make it clear that we are not so stupid not to see right through these agitations. They want to use the bombing as an excuse to deteriorate relations and insinuate TNG complicity with the terrorism. We must strengthen our border security, increase investigations internally, and respond rapidly and harshly to any accusations of terror within our borders. Military intervention in Shintechi shouldn't be off the table either -- not if that's what it takes to maintain control over Terran land and prevent any further terrorist attacks."

At that, Kouanchao very nearly felt her jaw drop. She rose, earning a look of ire from the other MP, but interrupted him anyway. "Excuse me, but I'm simply not okay with the idea that we'd support -- outright war, for the sake of expediency, or for -- for the sake of assuaging your egos. What happened to diplomacy? Increasing social services for immigrants? Collaborating with our neighboring nations? Or is it just, something happens we don't like and all of a sudden, it's okay to start talking about -- military intervention? Are you crazy?" Kouanchao shook her head, sighing audibly. "Look, I get it. We've got racism problems. We've got crime problems. But we're not going to fix those problems with grenades and guns. We need to talk about economic and social cooperation, not ... airstrikes. Defensive procedures. Border security. No, just, no." She gestured out to the others. "What, are you going to agree with him?"

"It is easy to speak of diplomacy while we sit here, safe and secure far from these troubles," Torinn growled in response as he too rose to speak.

The towering draconian was an imposing figure and his voice a rumbling gravely growl. The Draconian people - scarce though they had become, -where well renowned for their fervent battle lust. It was known to be tempered with age though, and while that fire lived with Torinn, as it lived within the hearts of all Draconian, his words where chosen with care and precision.

"It is not we who are living in fear for our homes, and our lives along the southern borders," he emphasized roughly. "We have all seen the rise in violence, and the fire of intolerance sweeping through the eastern seaboard, and the far south. The people turn on one another in fear. We must bolster our borders if for nothing else than to assure the people of Aslund of their continued safety. If the Shintenchi land on our shores, it will be in the south where our military presence is weakest, and it is in the lands of Caldonia that Terran blood will be spilled first. Should that day come, it is our responsibility to ensure they do not spill it alone."