“This is ridiculous!” Erek Joron was Teth's senior diplomatic envoy, and he had been assigned―quite obviously against his will―to the Cooperative relief force, apparently with orders to accommodate its needs whenever possible. “You're turning the outer system into a garbage heap!”

Athan sighed. He'd had more than a fair share of trouble from this particular human already. . . though if he were honest, the Ryn would have to admit that he hadn't done much himself to smooth things over. “I've already been over this with you. This fleet was assembled over the course of two weeks from every corner of the galaxy. We've got ships from every region of the Coalition, a host of independent Quelli Sector worlds, trading partners and allies running from one side of the galaxy to the other. We grabbed everything that wasn't bolted down or physically in someone's hand, and then we made the jump here. We've been sorting as we go since the first shipment left the fleet. However crowded you may think Teth is, we don't have any kind of planet to unpack on; this fleet has become our home. These ships have become our livelihoods. We've been digging supplies and equipment out of our storage bays that haven't felt a natural breeze in decades.

“Organizing the fleet is generating an inordinate amount of waste, and we need somewhere to put it. I hear space is pretty good at holding stuff, so that's where it's all going. I've already sent notifications to you and your government about a cleanup plan that will have this whole mess gone in less than a week; I know how touchy you people are about your empty space, but all I'm asking for―no, no: I'm telling you. . . we need a few days. Go do something important, and let me get back to my job.” Athan turned and walked away, leaving the ambassador from Teth standing outside of his shuttle.

“Boss, Boss!” Athan turned toward the screaming Ryn who was running at him from across the docking bay. “We've got a problem with the number two sublight engine.”

“Uhh, talk to Eryl, she's taken over ship's operations until I can get back to normal duties.” Despite his unofficially official super powers granted by Ambassador Traan Shi, ambassador Athan was still Cief of Operations for this particular manufacturing ship, meaning he was responsible when something broke and the maintenance guys couldn't figure out how to fix it.

“Yeah, that's the thing: she doesn't know how to handle this. We've called guys over from half a dozen ships, and none of them can figure out what's wrong. We've replaced half the components already and we're still not getting anything out of it.”

Athan was shaking his head in frustration. He had work to do. “Leave it. We'll run with an engine down.”

“We need it to maintain our holding pattern around the waste dump.”

“Yeah, well I've got to go bargain with a half-dozen Squibs about reclamation rights for that waste dump, or we're never going to get it out of here, and for whatever reason, Teth has apparently reserved this particular space for being . . . spacious, so we've got to clean this place up before we get shot by our own allies for dirtying up―nothingness.” The other Ryn wasn't impressed by Athan's whining. “Argh, I'll take care of it. How long do I have?”

“Umm, about three hours before we get in anybody else's way.”

Athan nodded, glanced around, and then his eyes brightened slightly. “You got a datapad for me?”

The Ryn grew unnecessarily confused, then nodded, digging in his pockets. “Oh, specs? Yeah, here.”

Athan took the datapad from the worker, glancing over it as he walked away. “I'll be right back.”

He was headed for another shuttle, or more precisely the overgrown rats who were standing at the base of its boarding ramp. “Minister! Minister!” Why and how some random manufacturing ship had apparently become the diplomatic center of the Ryn fleet was a question Athan didn't have time to think about at the moment (though if he were a less humble man, perhaps he would have realized that it had a great deal to do with the fact that this was his own home-ship).

The cheerful Chadra-Fan and his entourage turned toward the screaming Ryn. “Ambassador! How good to see you! What can I and my fine people do for you today?”

Athan came to a stop. “Heh, do you like 3-D puzzles?”

The question took the Chadra-Fan off-guard. “Umm, well . . .”

“Because I've got a, erm . . .” Athan glanced back at the datapad, “Mark III Tri-Star Ion Engine that needs to be solved.”

“Tri-Star, eh?” One good thing to know about the Chadra-Fan: they can't resist an opportunity to bury their short arms up to the shoulders in a piece of machinery. “They haven't been in production since . . . before I was born . . .”

“I know this is out of the ordinary, but . . . you're here, and I'm sure you're scheduled for a meeting with our esteemed colleague from Teth, over there,” Athan pointed toward the Teth ambassador's shuttle. “So I know you aren't in a hurry to get to where you're going.”

“Tri-Star built some pretty ion engines, that's for sure. Well, I suppose we could take a look at it, at least. Any objections, men?” He asked the question, but it was obvious he didn't care for an answer. Then they were off, to the engine room of an eighty year old ship, to stare at a piece of technology that was older than any of them.





The Minister had been compelled to leave soon after he arrived, but he had left a couple of his assistance behind, and sure enough, they had managed to get the engine working again. Of course, everyone was too afraid of what might happen if they touched anything to try to find out what exactly the crazy Chadra-Fan had done. All that mattered was the problem was solved, and Athan was able to get back to work.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, friends. We had some minor technical difficulties that had to be addressed.”

A blue-furred squib turned from the conversation he had been having with an associate and gave Athan a quick once-over. His face split into a monstrous smile. “Athan! Good to see you friend!”

So we're friends now, are we?. Athan fended off the Squib's attempts to rub his hand, taking half a step back as he did so. “Listen, Juri. I don't have time for a bartering session with you right now, so I'm going to keep this simple. I've given the fleet sixteen hours before they've got to button up and get to work, which means in sixteen hours we're going to pull out, and you can have your way with that trash-ball out there.

“We wait, friend, we wait. Happy to wait for friends.”

“But I need you to understand a few tings. First: we're cleaning out the fleet; this is all the trash we have. Don't follow us; I'm not going to have to threaten you, am I?”

Juri shook his head excitedly.

“Second: I need it all gone. All of it. It's a packaged deal. Don't pick through it and take what looks pretty. If you've got to call in help, th―”

“Oh no, friend! We get it all! Every bit! Everything fit nice-nice!”

“Third: you owe us one. You can even consider that a personal debt, so you can report to the Merchandising Consortium that you got something for nothing. I don't really care, but you owe us one.”

Juri was looking around frantically, rubbing his hands together nervously.

“I've got to go. Ten seconds. Just say 'okay.'”

“How about―”

“There are plenty of Coalition companies that would be more than happy to clean up this mess for us.” Juri was panicking under the weight of the time constraint. “Alright, I'm gone. I'll get one of my men―”

“Wait! Okay, okay! We make good deal. You shake. Hard bargain, Mr. Ambassador Sir.”

Athan nodded. “Thank you, Juri. Now I've really got to go.”

There was so much to be done.

Charros IV, Xi Char Principle Cathedral

Athan stood alone in a sea of bugs. To one side were a few hundred Xi Charrians, to the other was a group of twenty thousand X'Ting who had accompanied the Ryn fleet to the East specifically for this task. Off to either side were translator droids.

As hive insects, the Xi Charrians would consider Athan's words to be scripture, the unchangeable will of the Cooperative people. Athan had been coached extensively on how to explain himself in such a way that the insects would not misinterpret his statements, and the X'Ting were there to clean up any inevitable misunderstandings. Though not a true hive mind, the X'Ting often functioned as such, the will of the individual always being subject to the will of the whole. Hopefully, working together, Athan and the X'Ting could bridge the gaps between this species and the Coalition, and offer the Xi Charrians something they hadn't experienced since before the Clone Wars.

Athan was unbelievably nervous, but he tried his best to hide it, and was pretty sure the insects couldn't tell and probably wouldn't understand anyway. “I am Athan; I speak for the Coalition.” It was impossible for an avatar of the hive to speak for only a fraction of that hive, and so―as a representative of the Cooperative―he was a representative of all the Coalition. Talk about pressure.

One of the droids began clicking rapidly, and a few dozen of the X'Ting burst into their own chatter. “They are clarifying,” Another droid said, apparently noticing Athan's apprehension.

“Can they understand all of this?”

“Oh yes, they have extremely complex auditory receptors.”

“Oh, okay,” Athan nodded, turning back quickly as the noise died off and a single Xi Charrian began “speaking.”

“I am Prelate of the Xi Char,” The highly synthesized voice of the first droid said, translating. “What do you wish from us, the keepers of perfection?”

Wow, they're not arrogant at all. “I'm here to offer you inclusion into the Galaxy once again.”

“We do not require the praise of others.”

Athan shrugged. “But you do require their credits. Their resources. Their acknowledgment. Especially if you wish to return to your former greatness.”

“Quality over quantity.”

“Why have one when you can have both?” Athan wasn't about to get into a word game with a thousand bugs and half a dozen translator droids. “Misunderstanding has led to most egregious crimes against your people. While it is my great relief to see the emblem of Haor Chall Engineering hanging once more in the Cathedrals of your people, you are far from that which you once were. We wish to help you regain your former glory.”

A torrent of clicking erupted in the room in response to his question, and when it finally died down, the Prelate spoke again. “We are not blind to the workings of the galaxy. What power does your broken Coalition have to give us anything?”

This is it. “The power of Cooperation.” The room remained deathly silent, only the dim and distant sounds of the cathedral-factory's machinery offering any sound. He had spoken a word for which there was no true translation. Willful and free cooperation was a concept that could not be expressed to a hive.

The Prelate let loose a short burst of clicks, and Athan didn't need a translator to understand what the bug was saying: “What?”

Like an explosion, the X'Ting erupted into chatter of their own, bypassing the translators, apparently able to mimic the Xi Charrian language closely enough to forgo their involvement.

Athan stood in the midst of the two groups until time had lost its meaning. There was only the endless, overwhelming chatter of the beings around him. The torrent would wane from time to time, only to be brought back to crescendo by one or two “voices” that shouted louder than―or “off-beat” with―the rest. He didn't know how long it had been, but he had grown hungry and his legs were growing tired.

Hundreds more Xi Charrians had poured into the expansive space, and Athan was pretty sure that that was a good thing. If the Xi Charrians valued this conversation over work, then it meant they believed it a more efficient use of their time. The implications of that gave Athan the strength to remain stoic long after he probably should have left and found something to eat . . .

“They may very well perceive the words you speak to be . . . law.”

Athan considered that for more than a few heartbeats, the single X'Ting standing before him waiting patiently. “Do you understand me? Truly?”

“The fact that I am capable of being uncertain only helps to prove that I do.” The bug's twisted logic hurt Athan's head, but he was pretty sure that he got the gist of it. “The fact that such carefully chosen words can elicit the intended cringe of mental anguish which you just expressed only furthers that point.”

“Stop doing that,” He said sharply, bobbing his head unintentionally in his irritation.

“Of course.”

Athan and the X'Ting were alone with a translator droid in a room, and Athan was just beginning to realize how intelligent a single X'Ting was. They were here because the X'Ting had managed―in some roundabout way―to convey to the Xi Charrians their own understanding of “Cooperation,” which Athan was beginning to believe was more correct than his own.

“You may have created a slight problem for yourself.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“The Xi Charrians have some basic understanding of individuality as humanoids understand it, the concept of 'Cooperation' has circumvented that in their minds, connecting you more firmly than ever with the concept of the hive. As far as they understand, you are the embodiment of . . . everything the Coalition stands for. Every time you speak, your words will be those of the whole of the Coalition.”

“This doesn't sound good.” Athan was reasonably comfortable with representing the Cooperative at this point, especially since Traan Shi had given him a “point-the-finger-at-me-if-you-get-into-trouble” card (literally, Athan kept it in his pocket because it made him feel better) before he left Cooperative space. But to speak for all the Coalition . . . the Combined Council couldn't even do that. “How do we fix that?”

“I don't know if we can.”

This bug was making Athan angry. “For a critter that claims to understand us, you sure don't seem to get the bigger picture.”

“Politics is a mystery even to your own kind. It is unfair to expect me to understand it.”

“Grr . . .” He didn't have any idea what to do with this situation. “Any suggestions?”

“You basically have two options, the same two you've always had: lie, or tell the truth.”

“YOU AREN'T HELPING!” Athan calmed himself down, taking a few, quick, deep breaths and trying to clear his head. “What if I don't know the truth?”

“They're bugs. Say something lofty and overly generalized, then show them something shiny and hope they take the bait.”

“I don't want to catch them; I want to befriend them.”

The X'Ting moved forward, its head cocking at a strange angle. “Bugs must be caught, if you ever hope to make them friends. Stop judging this by your own values, and try to consider theirs. Perhaps then you will be able to see a path that I cannot.”


A few hours later


Athan couldn't get that bug's comment out of his head: “They may very well perceive the words you speak to be . . . law.” He sighed, too tired of insects and too desiring of sleep to think straight. Oh, and it was time for him to speak some laws into existence. . .

The crowd this time had shrunk do only a few dozen Xi Charrians and a few hundred X'Ting, and they were no longer surrounding him. Think like a bug; think like a bug. “As the first Cooperative world in this region, Charros IV would retain a great deal of its autonomy; however, it would gain the full force of the Cooperative's power in regards to interplanetary dealings and economic resources.” Haven't lied yet; haven't sold my soul yet. “In return, you would have to consent to the will of the Cooperative Combined Council, in which your people would be represented.”

“You have no single leader?” The Prelate had spoken again, making its way out of the small cluster of Xi Charrians.

Athan shook his head. “The Combined Council is a . . . collection of leaders from the Cooperatives worlds. They . . . collectively determine the course that most . . . accommodates the needs of the whole, and execute those actions required to meet those needs. It is a very communal . . . organization . . . thing.”

“You describe a hive.”

Athan fidgeted a little. “Uhh, well, yeah―no.” Think like a bug. Think like a bug. “The will of these representatives is not always singular. It is how we resolve our differences that truly defines who we are.”

“That sounds inefficient.”

A thought occurred to Athan: “Why did you renounce Sienar Fleet Systems' claim to the factories of this world once the grip of the Empire was loosed sufficiently for you to do so?”

“We will not be commanded by those lesser than us.”

“They defeated you. They supplanted your preexisting order. That doesn't sound 'lesser' to me.”

“They defiled the Cathedral. They corrupted the teachings of the Xi Char.”

“But they absorbed Charros IV into their collective. They grew in efficiency, and in turn you suffered. You were stripped of those things which were most dear to you." Athan paused for a second, reciting the words in his head before speaking them aloud. "Not only the mighty deserve to have voice; if that were not the case, then the very fact that the Xi Char Order once again rules this world would be an abomination to the natural orders of the universe . . ." He paused for another moment, finally deciding to add: "and then that” He raised his arm, pointing at the symbol of Haor Chall Engineering, “would be an abomination as well.”

“You dare to challenge the teachings of the Xi Char?”

“I choose to recognize that the Xi Char does not impose its teachings upon others, but instead asks all those who are willing to embrace it. I do not come here to challenge who you are or what you believe, to undermine your order or reduce your efficiency. I come here only to offer you that which you may find of use, in turn only to receive that which we most assuredly need.”

“You speak of 'Cooperation'?”

“I do.”

“You would have us join a Greater Hive―as fragmentary as it may be―that we may receive of their surplus, and give unto their need?”

Athan considered the wording very carefully, finally nodding. “I would.”

“And what of surplus does your broken Coalition have?”

That was the second time the Prelate had called the Coalition “broken,” and Athan didn't like it very much. “Actually, we prefer to consider ourselves damned, and requiring of redemption.” That's new, Athan thought, watching the Xi Charrians apparently convulse involuntarily. The X'Ting once again erupted into chatter, but Athan wasn't going to let them clean up this mess.

Waving his arms frantically, he yelled at them: “No! No! Stop!” Having quieted them sufficiently, he continued. “I've got this one, guys. Really,” He added, though it didn't sound very reassuring. “The Coalition has permitted death . . . death that should be considered irrational, at the least. To atone for that death―to truly redeem ourselves―we must save those who would otherwise meet that same fate. We must mend the wounds which those deaths have caused, and restore those peoples who have fallen under the weight of such loss. This is why I come here; this is why I stand before you; this is why I strive to understand you, to meet your true selves in that place where 'Truth' can be found out, and a 'Lie' is as evident as shadow in the midst of open sky.”

“You come to us seeking redemption?”

“I come to you seeking the strength to continue the fight.”

Charros IV

“The Prelate has spoken and the seal of the Xi Char now adorns the treaty your more traditional ambassadors have drawn up. All we await now is official confirmation from the Combined Council.” Athan was beaming, his posture straighter and his eyes brighter than they had been in quite some time.

“You already have it,” The tiny projection of Traan Shi answered. “I transmitted it right after establishing contact.”

“Good to hear.”

“Indeed,” Traan said, smiling. “I trust our Chadra-Fan friends have arrived?”

Athan nodded. “Along with the Mon Calamari and Quarren teams. I think the Xi Charrians will find the Mon Calamari designs of sufficient quality to put them into production immediately. These Eastern guys should be able to smooth out any problems we may run into.”





“These are the specifications?”

Athan nodded. “Yes, Prelate.”

The bug scanned the overly large datapad, its insectoid arms working the non-standard controls expertly. “These vessels are of superb design.”

Athan nodded again. “They've been pulled straight from the Mon Calamari databases.”

“You wish us to produce these? They will not . . . anger others?”

Athan stifled a laugh. “These are factory ships and mining vessels; there's nothing to worry about here. I can assure you that we want to maintain your factories almost as much as you do.” The Xi Charrians were still sore about the Old Republic attack that had all but wiped out their factories decades ago, and the subsequent disbandment of Haor Chall Engineering. The insects still had trouble understanding that―as a loyal Republic world―they weren't supposed to be selling warships to the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Cooperative treaty with Charros IV insured that nothing of that sort would happen again.

The Xi Charrians had managed to rebuild much of their production capacity, but so afraid of angering outside forces, they had only been producing vessels found on a “safe list” Seinar Fleet Systems had given them when it had absorbed Haor Chall following the Republic attack. The poor bugs had been maintaining their technology and expanding their production capacity for all these years, but producing only those decades-old vessels that they knew wouldn't prove threatening to anyone.

The nearby Xi Charrians had erupted in praise at the prospect of new and high-quality designs, even if they were only cargo haulers and ore miners.

Athan was still beaming, marveling at the strange insectoids. Charros IV had been embraced by the Cooperative. The gap had been bridged. The Cooperative and East were growing closer with each passing day; Teth and Chadra had backed a Cooperative petition to include Charros IV into the East's standing defense plan, and the resources that would soon be pouring out of this world to aide the refugees from Mon Calamari would go a long way toward securing the East's goodwill. It was a good day to be a servant of the people.

Athan watched as the Prelate walked off, fully occupied by the information on the datapad, scrutinizing every line of the Mon Calamari designs. After all, “The deity is in the details.”

It had taken a few days, but Athan and his men had secured commitments from several Eastern worlds to supply the Charros IV factories as long as they were producing equipment to go toward the relocation of the refugees on Teth. The Xi Charrians were producing everything from cranes to whole sections of Mon Calamari floating cities. They were building freighters and haulers to augment the flow of resources throughout the East and from the Cooperative, but their main assistance was coming in the form of droids.

They were producing labor and construction droids by the thousands, packing them up and shipping them off to become the workhorses of the Chadra construction programs. Where construction plans on Amorris and Selcaron had drawn workers from the refugee populaces themselves, neither the Mon Calamari nor the Quarrens were equipped for manual labor outside of the ocean. Teth supported a significant non-fish refugee population as well, but recruiting them to build someone else's home while they had none themselves would have just been . . . evil.

Teams of Mon Calamari and Chadra-Fan were working diligently on Chadra to maximize productivity and push the construction schedule ahead. With any luck, the first groups of Mon Calamari and Quarren would be able to begin moving to Chadra in only a few weeks.

With new mining equipment being produced by the Xi Charrians, both the East and the Cooperative were looking for viable places to put the Quarren's oceanic mining proficiency to use. There was already talk of trying to secure a long-term Quarren settlement on Ando, a Coalition world possessing significant sub-oceanic resources, but nothing was certain yet.

Whatever course of action was chosen, Athan was beginning to feel that the Ryn's unique services were no longer of the utmost importance to the East. His communiques with Ambassador Shi suggested the Cooperative might be trying to put together a more long-term team to send to the East, freeing the Ryn fleet to move on to . . . something else. Only time would tell for certain what course necessity would dictate; for the time being, Athan and his people would remain right where they were, helping the worlds of the East as best they could.

Athan's commlink beeped a familiar tone, startling him out of his contemplative state. “Elder?”

“It would seem that we have a tail, Athan,” The female voice said rather unpleasantly. “I do trust you can handle your friends?”

Athan's eyes widened in understanding Why those stupid, no-good, filthy rats. “I'll get right on it, Elder.”

“You better hurry. They seem to have drawn the attention of our good and faithful protectors.”





Athan had managed to call off the Eastern ships that had broken from their newly-established patrol route around Charros IV before the stupid Squibs had done something to get themselves killed. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO FOLLOW US!”

“We don't follow, we don't follow, friend,” The Squib said excitedly, working grandiose gestures in for . . . Athan couldn't tell why. “We just look.” The Squib species' ability to redefine the status of a situation to fit whatever their whim desired was legendary, but Athan wasn't going to take this nonsense, not this time.

“You broke our deal, Juri.” Athan had covered his face with his hands, rubbing his hands through his hair repeatedly and putting on a rather distraught show. “What am―what am I gonna do with you?”

“We don't lie, friend,” Athan pushed the Squib away as it tried to rub its face against his hand. “We make good deal; you drive hard bargain. We make good deal.”

“Saying it over and over again doesn't make you sound any less stupid!” Athan had turned around and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the bulkhead and carrying on his exaggerated state of disappointment and annoyance. “How am I supposed to trust you now, Juri? I had such good things planned for us. How are you going to make this up to me?”

Juri was fidgeting madly, obviously unable to handle Athan's apparent state of being. “Uhh, we owe you one?” He said squeakily, not sounding very convincing.

“You already owe me one!” Athan shouted, spinning around and shaking his hands for emphasis. “What? You're gonna owe me two now? That―that doesn't even make sense! I save your life and all you're gonna give me is some indistinct, non-quantifiable―YOU LIED TO ME! What good is your word now?” Athan stared at the Squib for a long moment, his face impassive, his stance set in stone. “Get out,” He said forcefully, looking to Juri's friends. “Now.”

They scurried away, and Athan watched to make sure they were out of earshot. “Drop the act right now, Juri, or I'll let that Longsword frigate outside finish what it came here to do.”

“What do you want?” He said, his accent gone, his voice sounding more like a child than anything else.

Athan calmed down too. “I've got a plan I've been working on, Juri, and I'm going to need your help to pull it off.” Juri looked interested, but not altogether convinced. “But you have to stop following us. This is ridiculous. I am an ambassador of the Cooperative of Systems; I can't be getting called away every time you decide to do something stupid. Knowing you and your crew, you probably would have gotten yourselves killed if I hadn't run across the system and saved your worthless hide.”

Juri had been giggling. “Ambassador. Yeah, I'll buy that.”

“You better,” Athan replied sternly, pointing his finger at the Squib. “What? You don't believe me? I called off that frigate, didn't I?” Juri lowered his head a little, looking more like a pet that knows it's done something wrong than a sentient being. “Yeah, that's right; quit playing around and listen to me. Now you stand to make a considerable sum through perfectly legitimate means, and all you have to do―now this is important―is not piss me off. This is your one stupid error. Don't make another one. I don't have time to find another Squib captain that I can understand. I'll be in touch.”

Juri perked up, hopping a little as he followed Athan out of the room, being led through his own ship by the Ryn. “Good stuff, friend. Good stuff. I'll be waiting, nice and faithful.”

Athan climbed back in his shuttle and sealed the hatch, glad to be rid of the stench of garbage. He shook his head in disbelief and let out a deep sigh. “One of these day's I'm gonna have to shoot him.”



Athan ran through the corridors of the Lifebloom like he was being chased by a rancor, stumbling into the ship's command center as an interesting question came to his mind. “Why are you guys even here?” He asked to nobody in particular.

“The Mercantate has ordered us to remain with the main Ryn fleet,” An indistinct Ithorian announced.

“Well where is he?”

“He has gone to speak to your elders.”

Now the Ryn was confused. “Care to elaborate?”

“I believe he intends to formally request admittance into the Cooperative of Systems, and permission to join the Ryn fleet in its continuing endeavors.”

Athan nodded his head slowly. “Sounds good. Can I borrow your comm?”

The nearby Ithorian comm operator stepped aside, motioning Athan forwar. “Oh, I need to call Teth.” The Ithorian stared at him blankly. “I need to request the aide of a full Coalition diplomatic team.”

“Would you care to elaborate, sir?” The Ithorian he had been speaking to asked.

Athan turned back to him. “Umm, I promised a friend of mine a pile of cash, and I need to get to work on that pretty quickly.”

The Ithorian nodded slowly, clearly having no desire to express either amusement or further inquisitiveness.

The Squib were some of the most annoying traders in the galaxy, but they could prove extremely useful to the Coalition . . .