On another side of the galaxy, a party was held to celebrate the victory at Alvisa. The star was supposedly Commodore–he was naturally promoted–Abbas al-Salem.

However, in practice, the many politicians of the Republic tried taking the spotlight for themselves. Elections were about to come and they were eager to score easy points.

In the Republic, there existed thirty-five provinces, each led by a governor. Each of the provinces was in turn made up of countless star systems, both inhabited and uninhabited–these were led by mayors. There was a central government, led by the High Council, which was in the turn led by the Council Leader. There was also a legislative body, the Representative Council. In a year or so, there would be an election (conducted once every eight years) to elect all these important officials.

Abbas was not good with speeches, so he was initially glad to have these orators take over. Many of the speeches scared him, however; some called for all-out war. Many demanded the shedding of Imperial blood.

"Viva democracy! Viva republic!" one politician shouted after declaring the urgent need to "hang the Imperials by the neck" to "save the Republic and ensure its livelihood forever".

Abbas shook his head. He had seen the bloodshed in space, how many had been killed or maimed under his command in Alvisa. And he won. The Imperials must have lost even more men. How many families were grieving thanks to that one battle?

"It's always these bloody cunts." The voice of Admiral Tang was loud and clear, though not enough to overcome the voice of some third-rate politician currently speaking with a microphone. "It's always those who hide in the Coreworlds who call for war."

A good number of party guests who heard it frowned, many among them fellow military officers. Admiral Tang the Turtle Admiral–who at eight major battles and countless minor ones had destroyed more Imperial ships than almost all her fellow fleet commanders combined–was not one to hide her opinions. She gazed back at each and every stare, and cowered them all.

"All fine and well to have an opinion, but you don't have to blather about it unnecessarily," came the voice of Rear Admiral Yue, the eternally stressed out chief-of-staff of Battlefleet Chiyou.

These two were walking around, drinking cups of tea when they stumbled upon Abbas, who, lost in thought, nervously saluted.

"Fancy meeting you here, Commodore," Admiral Tang said. "I haven't heard your speech yet."

"Oh ... I'm not sure when's my turn." Around nine or ten politicians had made their speeches. One of the party's organizers approached them.

"Apologies for taking so long, Admiral Tang, Commodore Abbas. Your speech is due in three or four minutes."

They were guided to go behind the speech platform. When Abbas was called to make a speech, he was almost overcome with nerves. He made some bumbling speech about being glad to win and remembering to honor the dead.

"That's already better than all the other speeches combined," Admiral Tang commented amidst reluctant clapping.

"In its essence, anyway. Your delivery was horrendous," Rear Admiral Yue added.

Admiral Tang made a far more dramatic speech. She drew a knife from her pocket and slashed her own cheek with it.

"This is the most infinitesimal fraction of what you have gone through, my fellow soldiers. So rest well. This is also the most infinitesimal fraction of what our fallen friends and even foes have gone through. So let us remember our friends with fondness and our foes with respect. Remember the price of victory in battle–paid not only in cash but in life and blood."

"What are you, a soap opera character?" Rear Admiral Yue said amidst very, very reluctant clapping.

"You're very brave," Abbas complimented.

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"A knife slash through your cheek doesn't hurt much. Shrapnel through your eye–now that does."

Abbas' reluctance for war had found new, unexpected friends. He sat next to his two superiors, watching the rest of the event. A popular and aggressive young officer, Admiral Potiorek, was delivering a speech calling for an invasion of the Empire, to retaliate for this battle. "Coreworld bastards. Imbeciles, all of them. Childish tactics, awful strategy. Do they not learn of logistics?" Admiral Tang cursed freely. At this point, her chief-of-staff gave up trying to rein her in. Abbas only smiled somewhat softly. He couldn't agree with that sort of prejudiced statement, especially as he himself came from Olkutchen, a coreworld.

"There is distrust between central command and frontier fleets," Rear Admiral Yue said to her newfound friend.

Abbas nodded a few times. "It's quite common throughout history," he said. "Central command can't control frontier fleets as well as the coreworld fleets." Here he lowered his voice. "If one of the frontier fleets rebel, it'd be a bigger problem than if one of the coreworld fleets do."

Rear Admiral Yue let out a small smile. "You're quite learned. That's good," she said. "But this kind of distrust can't be allowed to foster. We're on the same side, after all ...." Her words trailed.

Aside from a promotion and a medal, Abbas was rewarded with rest of three months. He decided to visit his old orphanage in Planet Olkutchen, bearing gifts. Old, childless Mr and Mrs Baker ran the orphanage with care and love, and Abbas had no intention of forgetting them.

When he arrived, he was greeted by a cackle of younger children. Around half of them knew Abbas. He was busy distributing chocolates and candy to the children when the bent shadow of Mrs Baker came by. "Oh my–is this Abbas?" she asked with a warm smile, adjusting her glasses.

"It is," Abbas said, smiling widely. He hugged his caretaker, one whom he may as well call 'mother'.

"What have you become, now? I remember you joined the military?"

"Yes, Mrs Baker. I just became a commodore."

"Come, let's talk in the living room. Incidentally, another military person just arrived to visit."

Bearing no little curiosity about this "other military person", Abbas followed Mrs Baker to the living room.

There he saw a beautiful woman with a cheerful smile. Her hair was black and short. She was laughing at something–a joke, maybe; Mr Baker was good at comedy.

She was Rear Admiral Yue, Chief-o-Staff of Battlefleet Chiyou. Abbas instinctively saluted.

It was Mr Baker who returned the salute with a wide grin. He burst into laughter, together with his wife and Rear Admiral Yue. "I'm just Yue here, Abbas," she said. "This isn't the military."

"O-oh, I see."

He sat down. Mrs Baker poured some tea with milk and placed a platter of cookies. He felt like a child again. How many years had it been since he left the orphanage?

"How's everything going, Mrs Baker?" Abbas asked. "You both look very fine."

"Same old, same old," Mrs Baker answered with a smile. "Olkutchen's peaceful. There's nothing to worry about."

Abbas knew it. The Bakers had powerful financial strength, having invested in some very profitable ore mines many generations ago. And Olkutchen, with its meager population of a few dozen million, was peaceful ....

Time passed so quickly when in friendly company, Abbas thought. By the end of the day, he and Rear–Yue were exchanging stories about the orphanage.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Yue whispered to the young man eight years her junior, "you know how they say the doors in the orphanage's third floor would creak and bang if no cookies were left on the table?"

"Ooh, yeah," Abbas replied. It was a popular urban tale in the orphanage.

"Well, you're seeing the person who began it all," Yue said with a smirk. "I must've had hundreds of cookies–"

Before Abbas could respond, a loud bang was heard from outside. Someone was hurling their fist or some such at the wooden oak door. Abbas and Yue hurriedly ran down.

"Who is that?" came Yue's icy voice, sharpened after almost a decade of meritorious military service. "This is an orphanage. You are disturbing the children's sleep. If your business is urgent, state it now. If not, leave."

"We are the Interstellar Patriot Alliance. Rear Admiral Yue, Commodore Abbas, you have been mingling with forces counter to the independence and sovereignty of our republic; your anti-war sentiments cannot be interpreted as anything else but treason to the Republic. After all, this war is a sacred war to preserve democracy and destroy despotism!"

Abbas found himself seized by some fury. "If you think so, why don't you join the Armada and fight the Imperials, rather than terrorize orphanages? What have you done for the Republic?"

Yue drew her pistol. Each high-ranking officer was issued a standard laser pistol that they were permitted to bring with them, even when not in duty. Abbas drew his, as well.

Military-grade grenades were thrown, destroying the door. Masked men armed with laser pistols barged in and fired.

The two officers ducked and sought cover while firing back. Abbas' heart was pounding. Just who were this Interstellar Patriotic Alliance?

Old Mr Baker came down to see the commotion, but Yue shouted immediately, "get back upstairs, lock all the doors! Call the police!"

The words "the police" seemed to drive away the invaders. That very same night, Yue and Abbas hurriedly bade farewell to their foster guardians and left.

"Just what have we done?" Abbas asked to himself as Yue and he hailed a taxi and headed to a hotel.

Who are those people?