Ithorian Herdship Lifebloom, Teth orbit

Despite the Cooperative's acquisition of Charros IV, Teth had remained the center of the Cooperative's efforts in the East. Elder Ruto, the official leader of the Cooperative expedition and “keeper” of the Ryn fleet, had moved her official residence to Lifebloom in a gesture of appreciation and welcome to the Ithorian vessel's inhabitants, who had recently been granted Cooperative citizenship.

The fleet was assembling to make the eventual jump to Ando, where Eastern diplomats had already established a loose commitment of aide and accommodation from the native Aqualish for the refugees of Mon Calamari. While official dealings were to be handled by representatives of the East, the Ryn were to provide a startup labor service, paving the way for the first refugees. Though a section of the Ryn fleet remained behind to continue the relocation efforts on Chadra, those vessels had been all but replaced by new Ryn forces dispatched from Varn, where many of the drifter species gathered to seek admittance into the Ryn Nation.

There was a commotion near the back of the control room and Athan Sahalan―representative of Ambassador Traan Shi and the being chiefly responsible for the Cooperative's success so far in the East―glanced over his shoulder to see what the problem was. A handful of Ryn had their eyes locked on a new arrival, a human in rather elegant garb. They were mumbling something Athan couldn't quite make out, but the man didn't seem very pleased by it. Athan waved them off, turning to meet the man, who was making his way straight toward the lone Ryn.

Erek Joron was not a pleasant man. The Teth representative assigned to the Ryn fleet, he seemed to have a strong anti-alien sentiment, which went doubly for Ryn. He extended a datapad to Athan, patiently holding it out as the Ryn eyed him suspiciously. “What's this?”

“Fleet manifest,” He said blankly, quite obviously staring at a point somewhere behind Athan. “At the request of Teth, the East has assembled supplies and equipment to supplement your effort. The Eastern forces dispatched to continue the Mon Calamari relocation will yield authority to the Ryn fleet and its Cooperative allies.”

Athan took the datapad, glancing over the list, which was not at all a short one. “How'd you manage this?”

Erek gulped, struggling to keep his demeanor neutral. “It would appear that your efforts on Chad have proven you worthy of all that the East can offer.” The man turned away and walked off slowly, obviously glad to be getting away.

“Erek.” The human froze in place, turning back reluctantly to look at Athan. “Thank you. You didn't have to do this.”

He gave a short nod, “The Mon Calamari have given too much to the cause to allow this to be their fate; they deserve better.”

“I'll make sure to get those fishies off your wold as fast as I can,” Athan retorted, smiling broadly.

Erek gave a smug smile of his own, walking away once more and waving as he went.

The Ryn had lost most of their support over the past few weeks as unaffiliated ships ran low on supplies and Western vessels grew weary of the months-long excursion into first the Cooperative and then the East. The commitment of fresh (or at least fresher) resources and crews from the East was going to help a great deal once work began on Ando.

“Stand by for jump to Charros IV,” One of the Ithorians called out, gracious enough to do so in Basic. “We will be joining up with fleet elements there, and then reorienting for the jump to Ando. We are awaiting departure of the last members of the Teth delegation. Set countdown to five minutes, and run clock.”

Athan drew in a deep breath, staring proudly at the fleet assembled beyond the viewport. They were an ugly assortment of outdated and overworked vessels of virtually every conceivable type, and Athan could think of no place he'd rather be than right there, right then. “Let's go make some new friends,” He said quietly, smiling into the dark abyss.

Ando

The Eastern diplomatic delegation that had been dispatched to Ando had immediately stepped aside when the Ryn fleet arrived. They claimed that―since the Eastern relief forces sent along had been placed under the command of the Ryn―the Ryn were in charge of the whole operation, and should therefore lead any talks with the Aqualish government. Athan suspected that the Easterners just didn't want to have to put up with the Aqualish temper.

So here they were, Athan and Elder Ruto at the head of a small group of Ryn and Cooperative personnel, the Eastern delegation following reluctantly behind. There were a total of six Aqualish waiting to greet them, two from each subspecies. A flipper-handed Aquala stepped forward with a translator droid in tow, apparently unable or unwilling to speak Basic.

“Greetings, friends!” The protocol droid said exuberantly, trying to mimic the broad gesture made by the Aquala. “Welcome to Ando; we welcome our brothers with open arms and hope-filled hearts!” The droid made a hight-pitched squeaking noise as it said “hope,” and the Aquala slapped it on the head, knocking it over. “Oh, my.”

Athan stepped forward and did his best to shake the flipper-hand appropriately. Better cash in while they're happy. The droid managed to right itself and chased after them as the Aqualish led the Ryn further into the spaceport. This was going to be exciting.

“We began construction programs as soon as we heard that Dac was being abandoned,” The droid said quickly and decidedly more blandly, trying to catch up with the conversation that the Aquala had obviously been trying to continue without it. “There are a number of prime settlement positions for both Mon Calamari and Quarren needs, but we have been―”

“Excuse me, excuse me,” Athan interrupted, speeding up his step to get beside the Aquala. “You're saying you had already begun construction programs before the East contacted you?”

The Aquala stopped, bringing the whole procession to a halt. He seemed annoyed at being cut off, but answered nonetheless. “Of course.”

Athan was confused. “Uhh, why?”

“The people of Dac saved the galaxy. That it has been lost once more is no fault of theirs. They deserve better than the fate that the galaxy has saw fit to offer them.”

It took the droid a moment to translate, and then it took Athan another moment to recover from the shock of hearing that from an Aqualish, then he scurried ahead to catch up with the Aquala again. “And you didn't bother informing anyone of this?”

“Ando is alone out here, and we weren't finished yet. We still are not. It would seem you have arrived early.”

“Oh, there are very few Dac within the fleet at the moment,” Athan corrected. “We have come here to negotiate on behalf of them, and to aide in construction programs.”

The Aquala stopped again, eying the Ryn suspiciously. “You don't seem equipped for deep sea construction.”

“Are you saying you don't want our help?” Athan asked, laughing lightly. “We've proven useful on Chadra; surely there is some assistance of import that we can render.”

“I'm sure we can find something,” The Aquala said, waving everyone through a doorway and into a rather large room. It was time to make a plan.





“We were told nothing of a Dac Government!” One of the two Ualaq representatives yelled harshly, not bothering with the protocol droid. The six Aqualish burst into a string of native speech and rather harsh hand gestures before finally calming down. “Tell us . . . more,” The Ualaq said reluctantly, still sounding harsh.

Athan took a deep breath and tried collecting his thoughts. “The Cooperative and the East are petitioning the Coalition House of Representatives to allow the Dac seat to remain, though the planet has been forfeited. We hope to preserve the Dac government, though its citizens will be spread throughout several Coalition worlds. Each world hosting major Mon Calamari and Quarren populations will possess a separate Dac sub-government, largely independent of its host government. The local governments will remain linked through a slightly modified Dac Council, and it will be from that Council that the Coalition House representative will be drawn. The backing of worlds such as Ando―who would be hosts of such local governments―would go a long way in helping to ratify the proposed plan.”

The Ualaq let out an unpleasant grunting sound, but the Aquala smacked his shoulder with a flipper and turned back to Athan. “I am certain that we will be able to reach a mutually amicable situation,” His droid translated, once again sounding overly excited, but obviously careful not to get too carried away.

“Your word is enough for now,” Athan said reassuringly, nodding to give a sense of finality. “The sooner we get my men to work, the better. If we could draw up an initial plan now, we can continue discussions on the Dac government once the fleet has been put to work.”

“Of course,” The droid said, then was sent away with a datapad. The Aquala continued talking, his Ualaq counterpart translating. “There is a mountain chain near the equator whose peaks breach the ocean surface. We have plans for cities to be built upon and around them. The droid is sending schematics to your fleet now.”

Athan nodded appreciatively, then sent a couple Ryn to make sure work began immediately. “If you would be so kind, I have duties to attend to. Elder Ruto―leader of this expedition and Keeper of the Ryn fleet―will continue these talks in my stead. I truly apologize for this, but it is of great importance to the Coalition, and may yet prove invaluable to both Ando and the people of Dac.”

“What could be so important?” The Ualaq asked, clearly no longer translating for the Aquara.

Athan smirked. “A Road to Everywhere.”





Squib needle ship Scavenger, Ando orbit

“A Squib does not simply―”

“You owe me, Juri! And I told you there's cash!” Athan was chasing the rodent around the bridge, the little Squib having gone half-insane.

“Yeah, if they don't shoot us!” Juri was shaking his head, still running around like a rabid animal, somehow managing not to smash into anything.

“I have something to offer that none of your kind can turn down.”

Juri froze in place, rubbing his hands together with a greedy glint in his eyes. “Yeah? And what is that?”

The same smirk crossed Athan's face again. “A market free of the Ugor.” Sworn enemies and market competitors, Ugor were as mean as Squib were annoying.

Juri tilted his head, obviously wary. “And how are you going to do that?”





Skor II orbit, Squib needle ship Thrifty


King Ebareebaveebeedee was among the oldest of his people alive. He had served as king through the fall of the Old Republic, the fall of the Empire that had risen to take its place, the fall of the New Republic born from the dreams of the old, and now he seemed to be bearing witness to the fall of the galaxy's last bastion of hope. He was weary, of both life and duty, and his sole remaining fear was that he would live long enough to see hope extinguished.

The comm crackled to life and he heard the voice of one of his guards, saying: “Greetings, far-off stranger ones! The Illustrious Chieftain of Junkyards, Commander of the Thrifty, King Ebareebaveebeedee bids you welcome to his Momship.” The king sat up in his throne, trying to summon some shred of the vigor that he had lost so long ago.

A lone Ryn stepped through the now-open doorway, a single red-haired Squib following reluctantly behind. “Ryn!?” The king exclaimed, genuinely surprised to see him. “Ryn? Friends of wander-walkers and keepers of hush-hush thinkings! Come, come friend of Squib-kind! Come!” The king had stood from his seat, beckoning the Ryn further into his chamber. The king hobbled forward, rubbing his face on the Ryn's hand. “Speak friendly, tall one. Keep straight your funny-talkings. What brings good Ryn-kind to the chamber of Squibish power?” He was gesturing all around at the murals and statues that were obviously built of garbage, but beautiful nonetheless.

The king's age had apparently tempered his longwindedness, which meant the Ryn might actually be able to follow most of his poorly-assembled Basic. “I am Athan of Clan Sahalan, and I am here on behalf of the Galactic Coalition of Planets.”

The king's expression turned sour, and he hobbled back up the short stairs that led to his throne. “Ryn clans and Coalitions, eh? Ryn clans are like a Ugor's promise―”

“He's calling you a liar,” Juri whispered, half-hiding behind Athan's leg.

“―and the Coalition is dead.”

Athan took half a step forward, unintentionally dragging Juri ahead with him, the little rat having grabbed onto Athan's pants leg. “It is because of the Coalition that the Ryn Clans were established and to that Coalition that they are indebted. I can assure you that the Coalition is very much alive, and it seeks from you a strength that it has never yet possessed.”

Seated once more in his throne, slouched to one side and his head propped on his balled fist, the Squib king eyed Athan suspiciously. He was intrigued, but decades of bartering had taught him how to suppress his interests and draw out information when it would cost him nothing in return.

Several seconds of silence later, Athan took his cue and continued. “The Squib's fervent support of the Old Republic and their loyalty to friends is well-known to me. I am here to seek that friendship and to offer you partnership in one of the most influential endeavors ever to touch the Outer Rim.”

Athan paused again, this time content to wait out the king. “Are you interested?”

The king grunted reluctantly, shifting in his throne. “What is the meaning of this?”

He smiled mischievously. “I'm here to offer you admittance into the Galactic Coalition.”

“Why would we seek your deflated corpse?”

“Because it would make you a founding member of the Trans-Rim Trade Route.” One edge of Athan's mouth curled up into a sly smile. “What do you think about that?”

Ando


The Ryn and Aqualish had managed to work together without too much trouble, though it was obvious that many of the natives felt the Ryn's inability to breath water somehow made them less . . . well, just less. The Ryn didn't seem to mind too much, though; they were probably glad that the Aqualish at least had a reason for feeling the way they did. It's good to be belittled because one doesn't have gills, instead of just being belittled.

Elder Ruto had managed―with help from the Eastern delegation―to obtain a formal consent from the Ando government that was wordy and indistinct enough to allow for the issue of Dac sovereignty to be addressed at a later date.

Already a small force was grouping up around Ando to assist with the development of the planned trade route that would stretch from Teth to an as-yet-undetermined world in the West. The first groups had already been dispatched to the vast stretch of territory separating Ando from the West, their orders to more accurately map and tag the major spatial phenomena that existed in the broad corridor that would eventually accommodate the Outer Rim Trade Route, or whatever name it would eventually be given.

The already-strained resources of the Cooperative and the East were making any significant work on the trade route almost impossible, but the East had petitioned for additional aide from the Azguard and had dispatched a delegation to the West to try to round up some help from them. With any luck, the ships and manpower would be on-hand shortly.

The Ryn workers continued to trudge on, building settlements when they had the equipment, and building equipment when they didn't. The Ryn Fleet was quickly becoming a planet-scale workshop, capable of mining, refining, processing, and manufacturing. With swarms of construction droids originally designed for space construction, the Ryn even possessed a limited starship construction capacity, which was being put to good use in constructing more factory ships.

Of greatest import, however, were the construction projects begun and now completed by the Aqualish themselves. Mon Calamari and Quarren were being shipped over by the tens of thousands, many of them having jobs waiting for them in the form of newly opened mines and newly constructed processing plants. In the oceans of Ando, the lost children of Dac had found a world not altogether unlike their abandoned home, and despite the traditional view of the Quarren as a violent and warlike race, they seemed to hold a sort of reverence for these displaced souls born of a common struggle decades in the making, when worlds like Ando and Mon Calamari had been subjugated and repressed under the first Empire's doctrine of fear.

Yes, the Coalition would live on, because now more than ever its people understood that further loss was no longer an option. The broken and scattered fragments of the Coalition would stand together, and in time would be reforged.





Cerea orbit


Erek Joron had requested to lead the Eastern delegation to the West. A very proper man who had spent his life in political and diplomatic circles, his recent and extensive involvement with the Ryn fleet near and at Teth had caused him to reevaluate many of his long-standing beliefs and priorities. It was time to piece this Coalition together, and Erek was determined to be a part of the work. The Eastern vessels had not been granted clearance to land due to Cerea's strict pollution-control laws, but the Cerean government had dispatched a delegation of their own to meet the Easterners in orbit. The whole thing felt very unusual, but Erek had consigned himself to sit and wait for their arrival.

Erek was a little confused when a military-style transport landed in the docking bay, a little more confused when a bald, pale-skinned man wearing a captain's rank bar exited the transport with half a dozen officers in tow. He stopped before Erek and offered a crisp salute. “Captain Zive Brintt, Western Fleet.”

Erek stepped forward, offering his hand. “Ambassador Erek Joron of Teth.” He paused for a moment, eying the man. “You're Rattataki, correct?”

The man looked a little put off by the question, but maintained his military stature nonetheless. “Is that a problem?”

Erek gasped slightly, offering a nervous smile. “No, no. Not at all.” He paused for a few seconds, continuing to eye the man, though now considerably more apprehensive. “Um, is there something I can do for you, Captain?”

The captain gave a rather unpleasant smile, looking past Erek at the men and women behind him. “I understand you need ships.”

It wasn't a question. “Uhh, please, please―” He gestured toward the airlock leading further into the vessel “―let's continue this in a more comfortable setting, shall we?”

“I have been appraised of the situation,” The Rattataki said bitterly, turning around and walking back toward his shuttle.

“Oh, really? Well, might I ask―” A silver ASP droid stepped out from the transport, waving oddly at both the captain and the ambassador. “Umm, excuse me?”

The captain stopped just before rounding the corner and reentering his shuttle. “The Cooperative's Overseer sent his puppet ahead to begin preparations. I have been assigned to the Western task force that has been assembled for this most honorable task.”

He was still sounding rather bitter, and Erek was worried that he might have another Athan on his hands. Only this one might kill me. The captain rounded the corner, and Erek was left facing the approaching droid, which managed to convey a general sense of cheer despite its lack of a face.

“Greetings, I am Beta, representative of the Cooperative and servant of its Overseer.” Erek shook the droid's outstretched hand, confusion evident on his face.

“You are the Overseer?” Erek had read reports on the Cooperative's resident super-droid, but he was fairly certain that it was still in Cooperative space.

“No, not at the moment. The Overseer is coordinating relief resources in the Cooperative at the moment, and he has decided that maintaining a holonet link with me would be unnecessary and wasteful.” The droid's voice lowered slowly, and it gave the impression of glancing about furtively. “This is my first mission without direct contact with the Overseer.”

Erek beckoned the droid into the vessel, turning away as the military shuttle lifted off and departed. They walked the long halls of the vessel, apparently making their way to the bridge. “Tell me: what have you been discussing with the West?”

“The West's primary commitment is unification with the rest of the Coalition. To that end they have supplied considerable resources in the form of vessels―both military and commercial―for the cause of establishing this trade route―”

“Which you've also discussed with them?”

“Of course,” Beta replied, still cheery. “Captain Brintt will transmit more specific data shortly, but the West is committing itself to a substantial segment of the gap between the Mestra Asteroid Field and Ando. They are refusing to discuss further aide to Coalition refugees until such a time as that aide can be guaranteed safe and speedy passage to the East.”

“But they are committed?”

Beta nodded. “The West has been largely isolated for a considerable time, but I get the sense that the benefits of greater Coalition integration have come to outweigh the new threats it will entail. I believe that the Imperial attack on the Cren has startled them significantly, and they recognize that they deserve a greater presence in galactic affairs.”

They boarded a turbolift, and Erik turned an inquisitive eye on the droid. “Why were you sent here?”

The droid returned the stare blankly. “Speed is of the essence. The Overseer saw an opportunity to increase efficiency, and he took it.” The droid's posture shifted significantly, and Erik understood that it was expressing a more casual state. “The Coalition can no longer afford to stand divided. We must all work together if we hope to persist beyond the threats that challenge us at every turn. The Cooperative was founded upon the principles of a united Coalition, and while the Onyxian Crisis has forced a change in priorities, its commitment to the greater Coalition remains as it has always been. We will all succeed together, because only together do we possess the strength to overcome. The future belongs to us all, and we must all grasp for it.”

Erik nodded, stepping out of the opened turbolift and continuing through the ship. “There are some in the East who have begun to believe that the Cooperative is seeking to exert its own agenda upon all the Coalition. The power your Ryn Nation has instilled in the East's extensive refugee populations has begun to concern many Eastern leaders.”

“Understand this: the Cooperative will not be stopped. We will not be stopped because those we serve will not allow us to stop. You cannot ignore the cries of the people, or they will turn their cries to someone else.”

Erik's brow furrowed as he considered the droid's works. “That sounds danger―”

“Do you know the difference between the Cooperative and the East, ambassador? The Dragon border. The Cooperative has come to acknowledge that we cannot survive without expanding, without reaching out our hands in friendship to all those who will take it. The East, on the other hand, has come to realize that they will be consumed by the ravages of the Dragon Empire, if they do not shore up their defenses and stave off its expansion. We have no foes knocking at our door. Not yet, at least.

“Do all you can to save the galaxy, ambassador; hope and pray that―along with others like you―it will be enough.”





Squib Momship Thrifty, Skor II orbit


The negotiations had gone on for a few days now, and Athan had finally talked the king into allowing Juri to serve as a translator. In concept, the deal was simple:

1.Skor II would join the Coalition and be granted major contracts with the East, West, and the Cooperative for the removal and processing of trash.
2.The Squib would not sell refurbished military-grade equipment to any members not allied with the Coalition.
3.The Squib would make available to the Coalition their extensive maps of the Outer Rim, including often-used Squib routes through largely unmapped space.

The problem, in concept, was becoming clearer with the help of Juri translating. Most Squib vessels were almost totally unarmed, leaving Squib captains to use a combination of crafty tractor beam technicians and outright cowardice to survive hostile interactions. While Squib had been known to fight off enemy vessels with the careful placement of tractor-propelled space debris, it was usually their closely guarded maps that allowed them to escape from sticky situations. As such, that information was one of the few non-tangible quantities that the Squib truly prized, and it represented the sum of the Squibs advantage over their generational enemies, the Ugor.

And there was the other problem. The Squib had been battling the Ugor for centuries, fighting over salvage rights and loose space trash at every opportunity. The Squib considered taking the Coalition's offer and hiding behind its defense fleets to be akin to giving up, and if there was one thing a Squib absolutely refused to do, it was to surrender to a Ugor.

King Ebareebaveebeedee had drawn a line in the proverbial sand, one which he seemed unwilling to cross. Talks had ground to a standstill. Athan was very annoyed. “We can offer you protection from any threat the Ugor could possibly pose to you, but we must have your star charts. We have an opportunity to forge the most significant trade route in a thousand years, but we can only do it together. There is a place for you in the Coalition, but you must abandon this senseless feud with an alien race . . . sixty-thousand light-years away! This is ridiculous; the Coalition needs you. We'll be grasping in the dark . . . for the sake of democracy, do this!”

The king muttered indecipherably in his native tongue, and Juri looked up at Athan apprehensively. “He says that democracy died with the fall of the Old Republic.”

Athan sighed, hanging his head in disappointment. “What do you want from me?”

Juri translated once more: “An even trade. You will get our star charts, when you deal with the Ugor.”

Athan sighed again, wiping his face with his hand. “What does that mean?”

“He said deal with them!” Juri shouted, flailing his arms. “What do you think it means?!”

The Ryn swallowed hard. This was not what he had signed up for. His heart was pounding in his chest, his palms were sweaty, his mind was numb. “I need to speak with my superiors.” Athan bowed respectfully and left the king's chamber, a sense of shame accompanying every footstep. The Coalition was gearing up for a massive project, and its fundamental building block was refusing to present itself. What are we going to do now?

A formation of nearly thirty vessels appeared at the extreme edge of the Paradise System, though half of them could hardly be considered warships. They were well beyond any sensor net the Ugor may possess and entirely too far out to need to worry about the possibility of incidental contact with vessels. In thirty seconds two squadrons of starfighters from Vahaba would arrive in-system, perform a quick sweep of the area, and then jump away.

Admiral Jonathan Blakeley surveyed what little sensor data they could get at this extreme range, waiting for the squadrons to report their findings. An alarm began beeping somewhere, and four separate strings of data appeared on Traan's monitor. The computer compiled the data and displayed relevant information. The inner system seemed permeated with space debris, apparently ranging from dirt to warship husks. It all seemed somehow organized, however, much of it looping around in strange and often complex gravitational orbits.

Another alarm sounded and more information appeared on-screen. The fighters had picked up some unusual heat signatures, and their distribution suggested recent combat. The possibility was confirmed a moment later when a few of the drifting hulks were identified as a variety of craft, ranging in size from light freighters to corvettes.

“Sir, we have contacts,” The sensor operator announced. “I'm readind six Black Hole-class Salvage Dreadnaughts approaching from a nearby orbital body. It appears they were waiting, sir.”

“But not for us,” Blakeley mumbled to himself.

“Four more Ugor vessels en route, sir. They're approaching from an alternate vector.”

Blakeley nodded. “Can our boys make it out alright?”

The sensor operator laughed, then caught himself and returned to a more appropriate military drone. “Yes, sir. Without trouble, sir.”

Blakeley nodded again, watching the sensor data. “We've seen enough here. Signal them to break from their scanning pattern and return to Cooperative space. Turn us about and jump home as soon as our fighters are clear.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Something isn't right here.





The Overseer sat on his perch high above Varn, watching, listening, and directing. But he had turned one of his many inner eyes to peer into a new direction, seeking out a new truth. Admiral Blakeley had been correct: something was indeed not right in the Paradise System. It had taken him some time to correlate what data he was able to glean from the fragmentary Galactic Holonet, but a picture was quickly forming in his mind as to what exactly was going on in Paradise. It seemed that an option may yet be open to the Coalition.





Athan was once more standing before the king of the Squib people, staring into the time-worn eyes of the weary ruler. He extended the Coalition treaty to the king. “Take it. Sign it. Join the Coalition, accept its salvage offer, and we will ensure that the Ugor never threaten you again. Then you will give us the hyperspace data we need, and we will make this trade route a reality.”

The king waved the treaty away, mumbling in his native language. Juri pulled out a datapad of his own, extinding it to Athan. “What's this?” The Ryn asked, taking it tentatively. “Cooperative treaty?” He looked back up, still confused. Shaking his head, he said: “I don't understand.”

The door slid open and a gleaming silver droid stepped in. “Beta!?”

The droid tilted his head. “The Overseer contacted me while in the Western Province.”

“Then you're not . . .”

“Him? No. I have been left to my own devices, free of the Overseer's will . . . for the time being.”

Juri coughed lightly, bringing Athan back to the situation at hand. He glanced back down at the treaty, realizing that there was a place for him to sign. “I don't understand,” He repeated, eying the treaty.

“You cut the deal; you get the benefits.”

Athan shook his head. “But the Cooperative has nothing this far west!”

“Then we'll be the first,” Juri said, smiling.

“If you enter the Coalition independently, the galactic fleet will be obliged to defend you.”

“We've been fine for this long,” Juri said reassuringly. “We can hold out a little longer. You cut the deal; it's your responsibility.”

Athan sighed heavily and signed the treaty, welcoming Skor II into the Cooperative of Systems. Apparently the Overseer was fine with it, and that was good enough for Athan.





Somewhere in the darkness of space, half a dozen vessels converged. Eastern, Western, and Cooperative ships met at some non-distinct point in space-time, marking the first phase of the Coalition's efforts to construct a true Outer Rim trans-Coalition trade route. The broken and scattered peoples of the Coalition stood hand in hand across the galaxy, joined in spirit and soon to be joined in astrography.