The Doctor and the Duchess

[Atton Kira]

Star Yacht Iego Angel - Denon

- - -

Atton yawned, stretched, and ambled casually through the hatchway that separated the cockpit from the rest of the ship. The little astro-droid lurking in one of the corners shot him a scathing string of beeps and warbles that his years of exposure to droidspeak informed him was a comment about the suitability of wearing naught but a dressing gown while wandering around the cockpit - of course, the fact that the droid had been saying the same thing to him every morning for years made it some what easier to translate. There was probably some mention of health, safety, and sparking power conduits too: Atton decided to ignore the R4's veiled threats, and patted her gently atop her cone. "Mornin', Kate," he replied lightly, shooting her a smile. R4-K8 threw back something that sounded particularly scathing and rude. Atton's smile broadened.

"Good morning, sir!" the second droid - CZ-41 - greeted enthusiastically, shifting at the communications console to allow its ocular sensors to track Atton's progress down the ramp that descended towards the forward pilot's station.

Always one to try and maintain balance in the universe, Atton's response was considerably less enthusiastic than his protocol droid. He risked a brief look, but turned away quickly: there was something about the slightly humanised Rodian face of the CZ-series that left him a little uncomfortable, but unfortunately there weren't many droids with the specifications required to do what CZ-41 did, and while Atton had considered investing some of the considerable nest-egg his parents had secreted away for him into a Cybot Galactica research project to develop such a thing, he really didn't have the patience. Besides, learning to tolerate the droid was considerably cheaper, and at least he'd already managed to paint over the garish white coverings that the droid had rolled out of the factory with. "Mornin', Sleazy," he muttered, slippered feet finally scuffling to a halt, and lowered himself into the pilot's seat.

Risking a glance out of the forward viewport, Atton stared down from the floating landing pad that he'd been renting for the last few days, down into the bowels of the ecumenopolis that swarmed across the entire surface of Denon. According to the Imperial Tourism Agency, Denon was one of the finest examples of a city world, second only in the scale and engineering greatness to Imperial Center itself. He'd also read somewhere on the holonet that, if you fell from one of the airborne landing pads like his ship was currently resting on, you'd reach terminal velocity long before you reached the ground, and would apparently be able to survive impact. What the article hadn't pointed out is that, once surviving your groundward plumet, you would probably be mugged, raped and murdered within a few minutes by the various gangs that roamed the lower, lightless levels of cities like this. Drawing in a deep breath, Atton released a heartfelt sigh. There were some things about society that just made you feel proud to be a citizen of the mighty Empire, with its dedication to ensuring the safety of its citizens rather than wasting money on giant planet-destroying lasers.

Atton was both a smart man, and arrogant enough to point that out to people should an opportunity arise during conversation. He'd been privvy to all the same information that had been distributed to the Imperial populace regarding the "Death Stars" and the death of Emperor Palpatine, and yet couldn't bring himself to be sucked in by the blatant propoganda that seemed to have ensnared everyone else in the galaxy. For starters, it didn't take a genius to realise that a weapon like the Death Star was a financial black hole: one that a disorganised group of terrorists like the Rebel Alliance could never hope to finance. And yet, the galaxy had been completely convinced that the Rebels had been responsible for the destruction of Alderaan, and that the Emperor's tyrannical rule was the only thing that had saved them all from the same destruction. But then, the populace had always been a gullible breed: something Palpatine had exploited ever since he rose to power. First the Clone Wars and the emergency powers that he had managed to glean as a result, then the Jedi purge after those who had spent millennia protecting the Republic had made an uncharacteristic grab for power; even things like the Ghorman Massacre and the Atravis Sector Massacres had been dismissed as necessary evils thanks to the timely application of propoganda.

For someone like Atton - a reporter for the Imperial Holonet - such things were obvious, as if they had been burned across the very sky in mile-high letters. Apparently, the every-day citizen wasn't nearly so perceptive. Maybe it was ignorance, which after all brings bliss: many people lived their lives by the mentality that, if you ignore something for long enough it will loose interest in you and leave. Or perhaps it was simply fear. Atton had learned first hand how standing up to the Emperor could cost lives: his entire family had paid the price for his father's morals.

Pleasant mood suitably crushed, Atton released another sigh and twisted in his chair to face CZ-41. "Anything interesting on the news today, Sleazy?" he called across to the communications station.

"I have compiled a list of headlines that correspond with your perameters, and have uploaded them to the pilot's communications screen, as you have requested on the past 1173 days, Master Kira."

Atton couldn't help cracking a smile. Had it been anyone else, they would have delivered that last pronouncement with such a thick coating of sarcasm that it would have stuck in the air for minutes. Any droid, on the other hand, managed to deliver the line with its usual, upbeat monotone, repeating it flawlessly each day.

Kate shot out the droid-speak equivalent of rolling her eyes. Atton smiled. Almost any droid, he ammended.

Just six months after the highly suspect deaths of Lord Jakef and Lady Aido Andonel, the Nildur people are once more in mourning, this time over the loss of Archduchess Decelia Andonel.

It was announced earlier today by Shimel Dresden of the Katar, who currently control Baraboo, that the young heiress fell ill with a severe case of the Ascaralan Croup. Medical attention was recieved, but the illness was way too advanced to respond to treatment. "The loss of this youngest member of the Nildur class is felt deeply by all of Baraboo," said Sovereign Dresden in his statement, "And the hearts of the Katar people mourn with them. Be assured that we are prepared to continue to lead our citizens through this hour of darkness."

A frown furrowed Atton's brow. He remembered reading the report of suspicious circumstances surrounding the deaths of the Lord and Lady in an earlier report, but at the time the situation hadn't piqued his interest. Political figures died all the time, and the conspiracy theorists always managed to find something suspicious about the circumstances, if they looked hard enough. Conspiracies existed, and Atton certainly had theories about a number of them, but didn't usually buy in to all the media hype. This latest development changed things however: the situation on Baraboo was beginning to turn into a mystery that was crying out to be solved.

This news comes on the brink of next year's Changing of the Powers. Andonel, was to take control of the ruling house from the Katar class in representation of the tribe of Nildur. The long-established tradition occurs once every decade, and the ceremony is one of the Galaxy's most elaborate.

Even more intreguing. But it was the next line that sold Atton on the story, and determined the investigative journalist's next port of call.

No inquiry has yet been organized to investigate further.

"Sleazy: log on to the Denon computer network," he instructed, glancing briefly over his shoulder. "Download any information you can find on Baraboo - political history, dealings with the Empire; anything. Once you're done, contact Denon Orbital and request clearence to leave the system." CZ-41 announced his compliance, and set to work. Atton's fingers started tapping across the controls, running through the preflight checks that would ready his Baudo-class Yacht for its journey. "Kate: once we've got our flight path from Orbital, plot me a Hyperspace course to the Baraboo system - fastest one possible." The droid whistled something sarcastic about how it was planning to program the most round-about course possible, rather than the direct and logical one. Atton smirked as the droid grumbled, and glanced down at his naked legs. "Atton..." his voice trailed off. "Find some clothes."