Chapter Text
I don’t own Star Wars.
The BoSS Files.
Chapter 2.9 Belle of the Ball.
“Both of you” I asked my two vice presidents, who nodded in unison as they unpacked the takeaway dinner I had picked up on my way home from the BoSS Offices on Centerpoint, where I had spent the afternoon in a simulated bridge preparing for my Class-IV certifications after a morning of studying the framework of the current political landscape in Hutt Space. In between these two blocks I had eaten lunch with General Locmarcha, where he quizzed me about various sleemos, smugglers, slavers and spice-heads; which slug they currently served, what undeclared weapons The Bureau suspected their ships hid, and their known weaknesses.
“It saved me from having to go back tomorrow with The Seventh Paw, it was Owen’s idea.” added Beru.
“Now all three of us can helm The Stone Tooth if needed.” said Owen passing me a dish of grilled vegetables “We had been studying together, so she was more than ready.”
“It was a good idea, and congratulations to both of you, The General fixed the date for my Class-IV test, I’ll be sneaking off while The Stone tooth gets her fluids flushed and her lettering done, he still hasn’t told me what ship I will be captaining.” Locmarcha liked to keep me in suspense, and had only confirmed that the ship would be a CE design, not exactly a leap considering The Bureau would be borrowing a ship from the company lot for the test. A chime rang out from my satchel, so reaching down I checked my black datapad, as I read the message I had received I suddenly lost all appetite.
“What’s wrong, did The General send you over the plans for a rust bucket?” asked Beru who could tell by my reaction it was unwelcome news.
“No, It’s not from The Bureau.” The Bureau had better sense than to leave something like this to the last minute.
“Is it news from Tatooine?” asked Owen, concerned with my concern.
“No. It’s from the president's office, Dash Glider is nominated for an award and the winner is expected to give a speech tomorrow night…I am the HEAVY favorite, with heavy in bold, and highlighted.”
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The next morning my alarm caused me to grapple with my scar and fall out of bed in a tangle of sweaty sheets. I had tried some stretching and meditation before a long bath and a mug of hot coco, none of which had helped calm my nerves before I crawled under my covers. When I did fall asleep my mind was not at rest, filled with dreams of impending disaster. I struggled to remember them as I untangled myself from the bedding, the one constant through every outlandish scenario had been the stare of the crowd, even in one of the wildest dream speeches I had given, when President Thirtu had used a conveniently sturdy microphone stand to duel a faceless being wielding a red lightsaber, the cold eyes from the audience seemed more threatening than the battle happening next to me on the stage.
Throwing the sheets in the auto hamper I took a quick, by my standards, shower to wash off my night sweats before dressing in HEMP branded gear, feeding my ever hungry six-pawed companion, and joining Beru and Owen for the walk to HQ. We ate breakfast in the conference room with the D-Hs, and my flatmates shared the news I had received during last night's dinner, which of course opened up the floodgates of opinion and advice.
“One at a time please.” I said after I swallowed the bite of fruit salad I had been chewing. “I want your help but not all at once, what do you think Zinni?” I asked our CSRO who was seated on my left.
“Well I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t suggest mentioning the opening of the three stations, perhaps even the partnership with Edern?” We had decided that even if we did locate a suitable location for Edern that the trio of space stations would be a trade outpost in known space, to protect the prospective colony world from early detection and act as an embassy and waypoint for Edern bound ships, as we planned to tightly control traffic for the first few years.
“Maybe not the name Edern, but I will make sure to mention the opening of the stations and the new gas miner to get those job openings on people's minds.” I turned to Idrilia next, continuing around the table counterclockwise.
“To echo Zinni’s thoughts you should mention the Dac Dash, maybe even drop a hint about the bad deal you signed and how using the new lane is practically their guild duty, with how much revenue will be returned to the CSG coffers.” which earned her a laugh from me.
"Yes I will make sure to do that, and thank you for outing yourself as a Half-K loyalist, Dem make sure to count the blasters when you lock up at night.”
“Will do, now what the ladies are leaving out is attitude, forget about what the audience thinks and stay calm and collected, if you stumble just make sure to mention how great Corellia is and how proud you are to be in the best guild, always gets a cheer, include yourself when you mention them, don’t paint yourself as an outsider to the rest of the guild.”
“Good advice, so don’t mention that I’ve never stepped foot on Corellia.”
“No I’d leave that out, though you would be surprised at how many guild members share that same trait, hell some have never even been to the surface of any planet, let alone Coerllia.” replied the dark skinned mechanic who had been in the guild for more than forty years.
“You should hint at a run for office.” broke in Elrash, who always seemed to tire quickly of Dem’s ramblings about guild history, drawing every eye at the table to him with his declaration. “Not for president or anything, Thirtu has three more years and it would be too early to start campaigning anyway, but there are four board seats up for grabs next year.”
“Elrash is right.” Said Dem, which was surprising as they were constantly bickering over everything from the intersection of their jobs to the best way to fry an egg. “The deal you signed wasn’t that bad, but you should make sure the funds are being used the right way, the best way to do that is to get a seat at the table, if you mention your intention to run for a board seat now it might make some of the incumbents consider retirement, which will make winning easier.”
“What are the responsibilities of a board member?” I asked, not wanting to sign up for another full time job when I had a company to run, a government to found, and a criminal syndicate to destabilize, on top of coming up with a plan to pull a fast one on the Jedi watching the Lars homestead.
“Monthly meetings which you can attend via holo-comms, it’s not nothing, but it ain’t a full time job, I worked for a repairyard where the owner was a board member for two three year terms, it didn’t seem to affect his schedule that much, though he got sick of people asking for favors so he didn’t run a third time.” answered Dem.
It didn’t sound too demanding, so I promised to consider dropping a hint, and after we finished our meal I retired to the lounge of The Seventh Paw to think about the things that had been suggested, and to try and type up something, figuring the more confident I felt with my speech then the more confident I would be standing on the stage later that night.
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The walkways of the Convention Sector had been crowded for the first night of the Meet-Up, tonight as we waited for the doors of the repurposed hangar to open for the Roll-Call ceremonies they were packed to bursting. My employees stood around me like they were mama banthas who had picked up a strange scent and I was a newborn cub unable to protect myself, which increased my sense of claustrophobia as even Zinni and Beru were taller than I was, though not for long Owen had said after he declared Beru the winner when we had taken our boots off and stood back-to-back during a recent dinner, settling the argument, for now.
The Meet-Up workers scanned our passes at the entrance to the hangar that had hosted the ship expo earlier in the week, and upon walking through the doorway we found the massive room had not only been emptied of ships, but had gone through an impressive makeover. The deck of the Hangar was now covered in what must have been hundreds of thousands of neatly arranged seats, steadily filling. The crowd of Spacers continued entering from behind, prompting us to keep moving until we split up; with Dem, Idrilia, and Zinni’s seats far away from us Greenhorns. They waved goodbye as they turned left down an intersecting aisle carpeted in red and green with convenient lettering marking out the rows. Owen, Beru, Elrash, and myself continued towards the center of the room where we would be seated with the rest of the Greenhorns which was better than ‘Pee-ons’, which Zinni had told Dem was terribly out-dated.
We eventually found our seats, which were in the second row back from the VIP section, where nominees and notables sat at small tables and droids were ferrying them platters of drinks and savory bits back-and-forth. Keeping up the mama bantha act my co-workers made me sit between them with Elrash on my right and Beru on my left, and Owen on her left the first seat in the row, which would make it easy for me get up to the stage quickly if I did have to accept an award, and had the side effect of us needing to get up often to let others reach their seats. I kept two eyes open as strangers brushed past me, in case there were more desperates, willing to trade their lives to slip a blade between my ribs, or a blaster underneath my chin. Open weapons were not allowed at the Roll-Call but that didn’t mean much, I still had my Hermit’s Vigil underneath my grey HEMP jacket, Tye’s gift in my right boot, and a vibro-blade in my left.
“There's Ray.” I looked where Beru was pointing and saw our receptionist enter with the rest of the Centerpoint Symphony Orchestra and stand at attention behind his keyboard. After all ninety-nine musicians were in position he picked up his mallets and saluted the conductor in tandem with his neighbors and then began to play. Those still chatting in the aisles took the hint and began to take their seats, by the start of the second number the rowdy crowd had mostly settled in and quieted down.
When the music stopped again the lights in the room that weren’t pointed at the stage dimmed, and the same dozen spacers that had been in the background during the broadcast of the opening ceremonies waked onto the stage to polite applause, sitting in a single row. They were shortly followed by a pair of politicians more familiar to myself and the audience as well, judging by the increase in volume. The greying Senator took one of the empty seats in the row of board members, while President Thirtu stepped to the podium and after a brief moment of basking in the guild's apparent appreciation began to speak, causing the clapping to abruptly stop so her words could be heard over the speaker relays.
She gave a quick welcome, then to all the new members she asked that we stand while thousands of names quickly scrolled up the screen behind her and the musicians once again took up their instruments. They moved so fast I didn’t even see my alias, though I did hear a cheer as the G’s flashed, and had trained my eyes by the time the W’s appeared that I was able to read Beru’s name.
After we had been entered in The Rolls she turned the podium over to my future tour guide, whose highly anticipated speech quickly devolved into a rant about his disdain for everything Coruscanti, highlighted by his lament that he could not be the Master of ceremonies again next year and spend an extra week in his home system. It didn't seem that inspiring to me but Corellians didn’t elect him because he gave good speeches, he was popular because to them he was the walking embodiment of the can-do, care-free, Corellia-first attitude they prided themselves on. He wrapped up by announcing a donation from him and his wife of half a million credits, an interesting number that all but confirmed to me that the Senator had been bidding on dinner with himself in order to get out of the obligation, a tradition unlike any other indeed. I made a quick voice note to remind me to stretch out the Senate tour and dinner as a way of returning the favor, and getting the full 510,000 credits worth of his time.
Once the crowd finished applauding, apparently I was the only one who had thought it low effort, the board members took turns handing out green and gold half-oval statutes that featured the CSG logo, which Dem called a Golden Guildee and Elrash called a shiny side mounted ashtray. One thing I quickly picked up on was the length of the talks given by each spacer who won or accepted on behalf of their company. The winner of Passenger Carrier of the year thanked her employees and the guild, the shortest speech, but not by much. Had President Thirtu meant I would be expected to say the same and bow off the stage like everyone else? Her message had made it seem like she was expecting more, had I over-prepared?
I was really starting to regret the little scheme Half-K had cooked up with our musical co-worker. The winner of Top-Traveler, a Ryn who had jumped through hyperspace every day in the past year, started to name the places he had seen and the Orchestra had drowned out his list after a dozen systems were namechecked, prompting the winner to make a rude sign before winking and walking off to the crowds laughter. If Ray had been successful with his plan I would not have to worry about the same thing happening to me, even if I now wished to abort the planned speech.
Thirtu returned to the podium to present the next award or rather awards, I was not expecting the following pronouncement.
“The last two awards are for the largest addition to the public hyplerlane database in over three thousand years, a historic contribution to the Galaxy, mapped by a member in good standing of our very own guild. Please welcome to the stage, winner of both the Golden-Greenhorn, and Most Outstanding Member: Dash Glider of Hyperlane Exploration and Mapping Partners!”
The applause was deafening, well maybe not, but it was louder than any of the other winners according to the display inside my helmet. Owen and Beru stood to let me pass, clapping me on the back along with our CTO. I walked the aisle through the VIP tables where the rest of the award winners had been drinking and snacking throughout the evening.
It was only a dozen steps to the top, not seventy-seven, but I could not help thinking of the steps I had taken toward Seed-Science that fateful night whose anniversary was five weeks away, so much had happened in such a short time. My stay in the tank, the revelations from Dhoula, living on B-9 with Tye, and enlistment in The Bureau. My trip to Poseidonna, the first leg of the Dac Dach, meeting Owen and Beru and mapping the rest of the route, shopping on Centares and establishing ourselves and growing HEMP on Centerpoint. Not to mention a run in with some poachers on a camping trip and a dead spacer in a tapcaf with a still pending investigation.
I pushed thoughts of where I might be if the front door had opened for me that night as I reached the top of the stage and closed the distance to Thirtu, who greeted me with a firm handshake and gestured toward the waiting podium where two statues and a microphone were waiting for me. I made use of the same adjustable step the Selonian politician had needed to see over the dais, cleared my throat with my voice box muted, glanced to the Orchestra Pit where Ray held a finger to his nose, and finally looked out at the multitude of faces staring back at me.