The Rattataki Captain Zive Brintt was on the bridge of his Longsword Frigate Awakening, diligently attending his post. To port was a modified transport serving as a small carrier, from which light freighters and starfighters had been dispatched. They were scouring the area for a rogue black hole that reportedly moved about the region, undoubtedly the unanchored end of an impossibly unstable but apparently long-term wormhole. They would have to identify a pattern or at least map its extreme range, or the whole region would have to be marked as un-chartable.

Brintt was a warrior through and through, but he understood the importance of this endeavor and was dedicated to its completion. The Coalition needed this hyperlane, maybe more than it needed new fleets and soldiers. This was the priority; this was the mission.

“Sir, I've got something you might want to hear,” The comm officer piped up, glancing back at his captain.

Brintt nodded, and a disembodied voice sprung into the air: “This is Professor Sera Brie of the University of Ketaris to any Coalition official receiving this message: please respond.”

Brint stared curiously out of the viewport, trying to decide what the appropriate course of action was. “I know you're out there,” The voice continued, sighing heavily.

The technology of the universe at her fingertips, and she uses it to sigh across the galaxy . . .

Brint reluctantly nodded at the comm officer, shifting his footing a little as if to brace himself. A one eight scale holoimage of a human female sprang up in front of him, startling the captain slightly. Nevertheless, he pressed on. “This is Captain Zive Brintt of the Coalition Longsword Frigate Awakening; state your intentions.”

The figure smiled pleasantly at the captain, obviously unshaken by his stern tone. “On behalf of the people of Ketaris, it is my pleasure to extend to you an offer.”

“And whatever might that be,” He retorted, very unimpressed.

“We want to help you build your hyperroute, of course.” She was still smiling, seeming genuinely excited about this.

Brintt's eyes had widened slightly at the woman's comment, something she seemed to have noticed. “Oh, come on: half the Rim knows about it by now! You don't keep something this big a secret, and to try would be foolish . . . just about criminal! So how about your people meet my people and we talk this thing out?”

“Nav?”

“Ketaris is pretty close, sir. I'd venture we're the closest Coalition vessel to it.”

“Tactical?”

“It's a trade world, sir. It's last combat involvement was the Thrawn campaign. Nothing to worry about there.”

Captain Brintt turned his attention back to the holoimage. “Well, I'm waiting?” She said impatiently.

“We're on our way,” He replied weakly, waving for the link to be cut. “For the Coalition,” He mumbled, sliding into his captain's chair.





Ando

Without direction, the Ryn fleet floated lazily in orbit around Ando. The Ryn were still assisting with the construction, the problem was they didn't need to be anymore. The Aqualish had managed to get seven new mines operational with the help of the Quarren and Mon Calamari, and the aquatic habitats that they had constructed were more than sufficient to house all of the manpower the construction projects would require.

The Ryn had found themselves mismatched, often unable to operate the aquatic machinery that the Aqualish and Dac species were using. They were still working on what surface projects were available, but it was a fish-man's world, and the Ryn had no business there.

Still, with Athan gone and no new orders to follow, the Ryn were largely stuck right where they were. A number of smaller Ryn vessels had volunteered to help with the initial stages of the space route's development. Elder Ruto, however, had to sit on her hands and watch her people do nothing.





Cerea

Erek Joron had been trying for days now to coerce the West into putting together a more substantial supply convoy to assist with the slowly receding yet ever-present refugee crisis in the East. He wasn't having any luck. Since the creation of a united Western government, its worlds had been doing their best to expand economically and militarily, but their isolation from the rest of the Coalition had made those efforts difficult. The realistic prospect of a trans-Coalition trade route had caught the attention of the West's new government, who wanted to put the West on the map as an important component of the Coalition's politics and economy.

The good news, however, was that the West had pulled the Cren into the endeavor, and now Cren vessels were being rushed in to help chart the dangerous and partly-unexplored expanse that stretched the length of the galaxy.

Erek and his people felt utterly useless, but they were stuck on assignment to the West until the completion of the hyperroute, and probably longer. Well, at least that Rattataki captain isn't around.





Ketaris

“Let me get this straight: you want to join the Coalition?”

Professor Sera Brie was wearing the same enthusiastic smile her earlier hologram had projected. A fairly young woman, for some reason she had been put in charge of contacting the Coalition. “Are you kidding me? An Outer Rim trade route!? Do you have any idea what that would do for Ketaris? Look, we've worked hard and manged to make Ketaris into a decent trade hub―even with all of the galactic unrest―but we're in constant competition with worlds throughout the region. The University's been reopened, but it's struggling, to say the least,” She admitted, sounding less than exuberant for the first time. “This trade route will secure Ketaris' future and free us from the shadow of our more prestigious neighbors. This isn't about cornering a market: it's about survival. Yeah, we want in the Coalition, because as bad off as it is, it's nothing compared to fending off the wolves, all alone and forgotten.”

The young woman was getting on the Rattataki' nerves, but he forced himself to remain composed, remembering his position and his duty. The world wasn't particularly close to any existing Coalition planets, but it was well in the projected corridor of the trade route, and if that black hole he had been tracking proved more unstable than he hoped, Ketaris might become one of a very few options anyway.

Regardless, this was well beyond Brintt's mission profile. “I'm not authorized to open any formal talks on behalf of the Coalition. If you'll excuse me, I need to report to my superiors and await further instruction.”

Oh, no. Erek Joron walked straight toward the Coalition captain, nodding in acceptance as the Rattataki gave an obligatory salute. I've got to make this right, Joron thought as he walked past the Western captain, whose expression could most closely be called: disgust.

That would have to wait for another time, though. Erek approached Professor Sera Brie immediately upon identifying her, extending his hand. Captain Brintt had moved just behind and beside the ambassador, standing stoically.

“Ambassador Joron, I presume?” She asked, shaking the man's hand.

“Professor,” He half-nodded, acknowledging. “Am I to understand that you speak for Ketaris?”

She tilted her head, making a half-turn and walking away. “More or less,” She responded. “We haven't had much in the way of a foreign affairs department since. . .oh, I don't know. . . one of those nations' falls.” She didn't seem very concerned with cordiality. “Forgive me, but Ketaris has become a little less sophisticated in the past few years. We've just been trying to stay afloat, ya'know?”

“And you think that this trade route will do that for you?”

“Of course it will!” She responded with a tone that smacked of “you're an idiot.”

“Ketaris is placed in one of the few stable hyperspace corridors in this region,” Captain Brintt piped up. “And its location would make a prime outpost for the defense force that will have to be assembled to patrol the hyperspace route.”

Joron cringed, wishing the captain would shut his mouth and stop telling these people how important they were becoming to the Coalition.

“Look,” The woman said, stopping and turning to face the two Coalition representatives. “We know how to deal with traders. We know how to handle smugglers. We know how to keep a system clear of pirates. You bring us that hyperroute, and we'll be just fine.” she turned back and kept walking, prompting the two men to follow her.

“I noticed a good deal of debris in orbit,” The ambassador pointed out.

“Yeah, it's leftovers from the Trawn attack. We've had all sorts of scavengers picking at it over the past several years. There's nothing of value left, and we've cleared out the space around the orbital stations and the vectors into the planet's trade districts, so not much thought's been given to it recently. There's nobody that wants the stuff, and we don't have the resources to clean it up, so it's just sat there.”

“I don't know about 'nobody,'” Joron remarked, an idea forming in his mind. “But moving on: Ketaris is a world of great oceans, and―”

“You have a lot of fishies,” She cut him off. “It's like this: Ketaris doesn't have a large population by any stretch of the word. We could take on a few thousand, maybe, but nothing―”

“You don't understand,” Joron jumped back in. “The Coalition will sponsor this Dac colony. The goal is to stop them from being refugees, not just spread them around. Now I know Ketaris produces a limited amount of finished goods, but this colony would give the world a significant industrial sector, and it would do it fairly quickly.”

“Yeah? And how are you going to do this?”

“The Ryn Nation, of course.”

She did a double-take. “Ryn what?”

Joron sighed. “How do you people find out about a trade route that's been in planning for a week, but haven't heard of a fleet of manufacturing ships that's been flying around the galaxy for months?”

“The former concerns us; the latter doesn't.” She continued to walk forward, leading the men to what was increasingly looking like nowhere in particular. “So what: you've organized the Ryn into a workforce?”

“Into a dependency of the Cooperative,” Joron corrected. “And before you make any preconceived judgments, they've proven to be one of the prime movers in the Coalition's efforts to reintegrate our refugee populations. Give them a chance and I promise they'll surprise you.”

“We'll see,” Was all she would say in response.





It was a fairly extensive meeting. Erek Joron of the Eastern Province was leading the Coalition delegation, his purpose to secure Ketaris as a member of the Coalition. Captain Zive Brintt of the Western Navy had been granted authority to offer a small defense force, should he deem the conditions of Ketaris' acceptance conducive to Western goals. The Ithorian Merchantate Iyhan Ho-Ven and his Herdship Lifebloom had arrived at the head of nearly half of the Ryn fleet from Ando, having been granted diplomatic authority to negotiate on behalf of the Cooperative.

A number of officials and businessmen had been assembled to represent the various interests of Ketaris itself, but one thing was clear, and Joron was about to make it exceptionally so.

“Let's get this straight, first off,” He began, standing to his feet. “Ketaris wants to join the Coalition; The Coalition wants Ketaris to join the Coalition; Ketaris will be joining the Coalition.” There didn't seem to be any opposition to the simple declaration, and a few people even raised their hands in agreement or offered shouts of accent. “Due to the unusual nature of this meeting, I think it would be best if the Coalition began by offering a general list of our expectations, both from ourselves and from you. Agreed?”

“Sounds fine with me,” Sera Brie responded, who had been chosen as a sort of spokesperson for the rather large and varied Ketaris group.

“Alright, first and foremost: Ketaris will be located directly on the coming Coalition hyperspace route. As such, the debris that remains in orbit and strewn throughout the inner system will have to be removed. Additionally, to facilitate the security of this trade route, a Coalition military force will be established in-system, and will presumably be drawn from the Western Province.

“Secondly: Ketaris will become a host world to the arising Dac government.” The comment drew a number of dissenting grunts from the Ketaris group, but Erek pressed on. “The relocation and construction of ocean-based dwellings will be initiated by the Ryn Nation,” The Ithorian nodded in acknowledgment, his Ryn counterparts doing the same. “I'm sure that this will be a center of increasing debate, but the eventual goal is to equip Ketaris―through the Mon Calamari and Quarren populations―with a significant industrial base with which to further fuel trade. In addition and as a measure of compensation for your accommodation, the Ryn fleet will assist with the construction of new trade facilities, and one of their affiliates will be responsible for clearing the system of debris . . . free of charge, of course.” He smiled.

“Free?” A squirrelly little voice said, indignantly.

“Yeah, Squibs,” One of the Ketaris men yelled, apparently more up to date on Coalition current events than his fellow citizens.

“What of it!?” The tiny voice exclaimed, a patch of blue fur appearing sporadically, moving through the Coalition delegation.

Erek put his hand on the Squib's head as he made his way by, eliciting a dangerous look from the little rodent, but stopping him momentarily. He winked at the Squib, which seemed to reassure him slightly. "Yes, the Squib, who―while overly exuberant and not altogether affluent―nevertheless have proven themselves experts at taking out the trash. The Squib will be compensated by the Coalition for their work.”

“This all seems pretty broad and indistinct to me,” One of the members of the Ketaris group yelled, apparently not feeling the need to make himself known.

“Well of course it is,” Erek responded, sweeping his gaze across the whole lot of them. “I'm not trying to get you to sign on the line and hand over your planet; I just want us all to know that it is we're going for. Let's get the whole picture out there and then we can work on specifics. Alright? Okay, so: what does Ketaris want from this?”

Ando


Elder Ruto stepped out of the meeting with a smile on her face. The Aqualish had endorsed the new Dec government, considerably increasing its chances of surviving an official Coaltion House vote. The meeting had been cut short because of new arrivals in-system, a virtual fleet in its own right. Whatever the Cooperative was doing up north, they seemed to be doing it well, because the Ryn forces that had been dispatched with Athan were returning, and not alone.

Bolstered by more than twenty five thousand highly skilled Mon Calamari, Quarren, and Chadra-Fan, the Ryn force was bringing in a new shipment of equipment and vessels, primarily from Charros IV. They were designed specifically for oceanic construction, and would help increase productivity considerably. But that shipment wasn't destined for Ando.

The Aqualish had insisted that they had everything under control, and though they remained indifferent to the Ryn's surface efforts, they seemed opposed to any Ryn-led subsurface work. So the majority of the Ryn fleet and its new arrivals were setting course for Ketaris, where they would meet up with Merchantate Ho-Ven and the fleet's advance group. Hopefully, this would be the world where the Ryn could truly prove themselves, well beyond the jurisdiction of other Coalition powers.





Ketaris

The planet's haphazard government had made the proceedings difficult, but Ambassador Erek Joron of Teth had proven himself more than adequate for the test at hand. He had called in a number of specialists to help secure the interests of the local businessmen while ensuring a market for new investors. Due to their existing local ties, Ketaris was staged to become a powerful Coalition trade world, and the world's potential had drawn the attention of the entire Coalition. It was but one stone lain on the Great Path that would stretch around the better part of three-quarters of the galaxy, but it was one that filled perfectly an exposed gap.

The promise of expanded industry and increased significance within the Coalition's internal circles had finally convinced the world to embrace a Dac colony, and with the core of the Ryn fleet on their way, it was none too soon. Scouting operations had begun before the meeting had even been scheduled, its goal to identify the most promising settlement locations and gain a more thorough understanding of the oceans' ecosystems.

With the exception of a few danger zones, the information was proving extremely promising. With the consent of the Ketaris people now secured, construction was expected to begin as soon as the remainder of the Ryn fleet arrived.

Erek had called for a brief recess to break the monotony and give everyone a chance to relax a little, but Captain Brintt of the Western Fleet would not be so lucky. A messenger had been waiting for him outside of the meeting room, passing off a short message before scurrying off. The captain had finally managed to find a comm station, and a vaguely familiar human face greeted him immediately over the holoprojector.

The human and his Defender-class Gunship had been assigned to take over Brintt's previous mission of tracking and mapping a black hole relatively close to Ketaris, and the contact could mean only one thing: the captain finally had some conclusive data to offer.

“Captain,” The human began, offering a salute.

“Captain,” Zive answered back, saluting as well. “You have news for me?”

The man nodded. “Yes, sir. We've compiled the data, and our science boys are calling the black hole's motion 'predictably unstable.'”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it's locked into a fairly regular pattern, with enough instability to give it about a one in a million chance of running across anything of substance in the next . . . ten thousand years or so.”

“And what of the hyperspace viability of the area?”

The captain shook his head. “Totally useless, for our purposes. Some of the locals have alternate routes that they use through the area, depending on where the black hole is in its circuit, but there's no safe and static route through.”

“Our plans for Ketaris remain safe?”

“Yes, sir. Ketaris is well within the safe zone, more than sufficiently beyond the boundaries of the phenomenon's extreme range.”

Captain Brintt nodded in understanding, but remaining as indifferent as ever. “Very good, captain. I presume you have orders?”

“Yes, sir. Gravitics have suggested the possibility of a dark nebula not too far away, and it needs to be investigated, mapped, and tagged. If it turns out to be as large as we think it is, it'll take my group several days to complete the survey alone.”

“I'll see if I can find you some help, captain. In the meantime: carry on, and good work.”

“Yes, sir.”

The line fell silent, and Zive shut down the comm station. It was a little strange for him to be reported to by anyone other than his own crew, but this particular assignment had given him a measure of authority that a captain wouldn't ordinarily possess. If he was honest with himself, he kind of liked it. But such musings would have to wait for another time; right now, he had to get back to babysitting that fool of an ambassador.

Twenty million Ryn floated in orbit over Ketaris, the ships they inhabited no more impressive than ever before, though now substantially swelled in numbers. The Ryn fleet had been growing since its inception, when half a dozen closely knit extended families signed a treaty with the Cooperative of Systems. They had shown a selflessness and a dedication unmatched in all of the Coalition, but now they were being given the opportunity for which they had been searching all this time. They were about to build a civilization, and since that didn't sound hard enough, they were going to do it under water.

Massive machines roared across Ketaris, diving deep and rising high; carving into the living rock, and floating in defiance of the sinking seas. Three dozen floating cities were under construction, with half as many deep-sea structures underway as well. The thirty thousand or so Mon Calamari and Quarren on-hand had proven insufficient to man all of the deep-sea equipment, so Elder Ruto had sent word to Chadra that they needed more skilled workers on hand immediately. No longer were the Ryn content to shrink from the disgusted glances of other races; no longer would they step aside while less qualified and less experienced beings stole from them their just positions and favorable employment.

The Ryn Nation stood proudly upon its backbone, an ugly and outdated fleet of vessels cobbled together from the corners of the galaxy. But this was their fleet; this was their mission. This was their moment to prove unequivocally to the galaxy that the Ryn were a just, fair, honest, passionate, and qualified race; undeserving of the cruelty and malice heaped upon them; forgiving of those who seek their friendship; and deeply devoted to the tenets of the Cooperative of Systems, and the Coalition for which it stood . . .

“Gloria Imperium,” A Ryn yelled, and the whole workforce burst into laughter.

“You boys better live forever, now. Don't go choosing poorly.” More laughter.

The sounds of machinery and toil were all about them. Sparks and glowing embers, highlighted by the flash of fusion cutters and arc welders filled the area with a dazzling array of lights. It was upon ships like this that the Cooperative's singularity of purpose would be carried throughout the stars. They were each―every one of them―ambassadors in their own right, and they had all come to understand that.

“Where peace reigns, and hatred has no home.” Most of the faces turned from laughter to confusion, but a scarce few recognized the quote from the Morseerian governor, their features morphing to express grim determination and hopeful belief.

“Here, here!” One of them shouted, and they all cheered in unison, grasping the heart of the thing if not its origin.

“All right, back to work you filthy, no-good Hutt-loving sons of―”

“Whose filthy!?”

“Do I look like somebody's son to you!?”

“Shyaddap,” The shift boss responded lazily, smiling at the grease-covered man and the young woman who had deemed their thoughts worthy of expression. “We've got work to do.”

“You call what you're doing 'work'?”

He spun around sharply, looking for the little runt who had made the unfortunate remark. “Chaz? I thought I sent you to Hell, you little―”

“Hey Boss!” A short, skinny Ryn shouted from behind him, having snuck around somehow. Boss turned around, immediately picking out the Ryn who had decided the workbench was for standing on. “Yeah, you did,” He continued playfully, leaning against a hanging piece of machinery. “But I just had to come see 'ya, boss. Cost me a whole day's wages to get switched back.” He smiled defiantly at the shift boss, goading him on.

“Hell” was this fleet element's foundry ship, responsible for melting down and processing the metal ores that came into the fleet. It was among the least-desirable jobs in the fleet, and so the workers were rotated out frequently. Although, if you knew the right people and had a little spare change, you could sometimes get out early and surprise your fat, lazy shift supervisor.

“Alright, get in line. Get in line.” The boss waved Chaz off of the workspace, pointing toward the end of the work line. “Poor Speedy's been needing help all day long. Go see if you can do what he does half as fast as he does it, willya?”

Chaz gave a mock salute and jumped down, strolling off to take up his new station.

This was how the Ryn worked, and somehow―unbelievably―it seemed to work very well.





It was terrifying to watch Squibs work. Terrifying. Merchantate Ho-Ven couldn't understand how half of them weren't dead yet. One of Lifebloom's tractor beam operators had actually felt the need to push one of the ships away earlier―fearing collision―and Lifebloom was at least two hundred kilometers away from the nearest piece of debris.

Still, they had already put an impressive dent in the cloud of wreckage, and more and more Squib ships came and went as cargo holds filled up and new places were opened for salvage. They had even brought in some modified freighters and heavier transports, but those, too had quickly been laden with space trash and jumped away.

Regardless, they were making good time, and at this rate the three space stations the Ryn were working on in extreme orbit would have more permanent places closer to the planet cleaned out by the time they were finished.

A small group of Western warships had dropped out of hyperspace only moments ago, quickly taking up positions in one of the safe low-orbit zones. They would be assigned to Ketaris until the Coalition High Command worked out the specifics on the long-term defense of the coming Coalition trade route.

Lifebloom itself had become a sort of hub for the Coalition's deep-space scouting missions in the area, which were scouring the intended corridor for major spatial anomalies. The Ryn had been considering putting together their own task force to assist with the scouting efforts, and as soon as he had the chance, Merchantate Ho-Ven intended to help them inventory potential scouting vessels. Everything was coming together nicely, and it wouldn't be long before Ketaris became a shining beacon of commerce and trade, helping to link the West to the rest of the Coalition.

That is―of course―if they didn't run out of supplies in a few days, leaving Ketaris' oceans dotted with the barely-recognizable skeletons of dozens of Mon Calamari cities . . .

Cerea

Ambassador Joron is going to be furious. Elder Ruto smiled to herself as she walked away from the meeting. She had traveled to Cerea in a somewhat desperate attempt to secure additional resources to shore up the Ryn's rapidly dwindling supplies. Surprisingly, after only a half-hour of haggling on the part of her Squib assistants, they had agreed to render long-term aide to the Ketaris effort. The East's ambassador, Erek Joron, had made extensive attempts to coax additional relief commitments from the West for the East―and to no avail―but there were several major differences between then and now.

First (and probably most importantly), Squibs could be unbearably annoying once they've set their mind to getting something. Of course, the fact that Ketaris was very close compared to the East probably had something to do with it, although Ketaris' up-and-coming role in the Coalition trade route had proven undeniably to be an important factor.

And then there was the news Elder Ruto had just received from Skor II; Ambassador Athan had secured the entirety of the Squibs' Outer Rim star charts, including their own commonly used hyperspace routes. While far from a functional trans-galactic trade route, it was the single most important component of the Cooperative-led effort. The West was markedly closer to achieving their own goals of integration with the rest of the Coalition, and as such had felt much more comfortable with releasing resources.





Ketaris

“Captain.”

The Rattataki froze in place, the voice of the man behind him bringing his blood to a boil.

“Captain, I'd really like to talk to you.”

He turned slowly, reluctantly. This Eastern ambassador was really starting to get on his nerves. “Yes, Ambassador?” He asked grimmly.

“I . . . feel I may owe you an apology,” He said, slowing down as he approached the Rattataki.

“Oh?” The Captain replied sardonically.

“I meant no disrespect . . . to you or your people.”

“How very comforting to know,” He retorted, turning and walking away.

“Would you give me a moment please!?” Erek exclaimed, chasing after him. “To be perfectly honest, I was surprised to see that the West had gotten itself together enough to have a Rattataki captain in their navy by now.”

“Again: very comforting.” Captain Brintt continued to walk away, trying his best not to pay attention to the human.

“I'm trying to apologize!”

The Captain came to an abrupt stop, turning to face the ambassador, obviously infuriated. “I do not require apologies from men like you. I have duties to attend to; you will excuse me now.”

Erek stood, rooted in place, watching as the Rattataki walked off and vanished from sight. Well that didn't go over very well.

In the darkness between the stars, the Kaloth-class Battlecruiser Mournful Messenger floated idly, serving as the centerpiece of one of the Cooperative's twelve ship scouting teams. They had launched from Ando fifteen hours ago, jumping over several other teams to find themselves in the outskirts of the Cadavine Sector, whose western edge fell within the projected hyperspace corridor of the trade route. A number of brown dwarf stars were on record in the area, and attempts at mapping the area through gravitational readings had shown excess mass in the area, so the team had been forced to fan out and try to more accurately pinpoint the unidentified objects, which were presumed to be additional sub-stellar or post-stellar masses.

It was all very boring to the ship's captain, one of the few members of the Varn species who had volunteered for the Cooperative Defense Force. This was not what he had signed up for. News that most of the CDF left back home had been mobilized for an operation in nearby space had only further angered him. He had wanted to see some action, to get into the thick of it and test what he was made of.

The comm suddenly burst to life, static filling the message. “Clean that up will you?”

“Sir, I think something's wrong,” The comm officer reported, fiddling with the controls on his board.

“What, like our comm antenna's down?”

“No sir; like theirs is.”

The captain was pondering the possibility when another message came through, this one also on the continuously-open channels between the battlecruiser and the rest of the team. “This is Captain Verrin of the transport Last Call. We are under attack! Repeat: we are under attack!”

The captain jumped to his feet, then froze.

“Captain? Captain?”

It was somehow unreal. If they had been there. If he could see them. If they had been firing at him . . . but they weren't. They were out there somewhere, too far away but still his responsibility . . .

“Captain!”

“Signal Ando; tell them what's going on. Nav, pull up the Last Call's location and―”

Another call came in, this one also filled with static, but barely comprehensible. “ . . . Captian Oati Ferris of the bulk cruiser Dumbell. We're getting shot to pieces out here! Messenger, do you copy? Can you hear us?”

Silence.

“Nav, coordinates, now!”

“Sir, I've lost the Last Call.”

The comm officer's report tore into the captain's soul. They were my men. They were my responsibility. No time for mourning; however unreal it had been before, that was gone. “Recall everyone and update Ando. Nav, pick one of the ships we've got left and jump us to it. Someone is going to survive this . . . attack.”

The navigation officer had picked poorly. Mournful Messenger arrived a moment later at her destination, finding only debris awaiting them. The Skipray blastboat had not gone down quietly, however. A second tiny cloud of wreckage marked where one of the attacking starfighters had been destroyed, and upon closer inspection, the crew found a mostly-intact TIE Fighter wing, its Imperial symbol painted over with a variant of the Blazing Claw, the emblem that was almost universally adopted by pirates throughout the galaxy.

Someone was going to pay for this. Someone was going to pay dearly.