Amorris

For thirty-six hours, Traan Shi had been standing in the heart of Relocation Command, issuing orders, integrating new volunteers, and pulling from the tangled mass of chaos some small illusion of order. "Just give me something to keep me awake," Traan said wearily to a medical droid that had just hunted him down and tried to order him to get some rest.

"I'm sorry, Ambassador," The droid retorted in its shrill voice, "but you have already exceeded the prescribed limit of medical stimulants; I cannot allow you to continue this chain of behavior."

"Here you go," A familiar voice said, as Kerrick Arkanus passed Traan a handful of pills and a glass of water. "Drink up."

"What is that?" The droid asked, trying to take one of the pills from Traan's hand and examine it. Traan clenched his fist and jerked his hand away.

"Caffeine pills," Kerrick responded.

"Archaic. Barbarric," The droid squealed. "Unnacceptable. Caffeine is known to react nega— oh, oh my. Oh my! Unhand me!" Kerrick was dragging the droid out of the room, leaving Traan to swallow a few of the "archaic" pills, pocketing the rest for later.

He was back in the swing of things almost immediately. He hardly noticed Kerrick re-enter the busy room, moving off to the area which served as the command center for on-planet military forces, which were being used to help keep order and peace within the rapidly swelling refugee camps.

For a brief moment, a kind of calm fell over Traan, and he had a chance to look back on the events of the past few days. Fortune's most generous gift had come in the form of a transmission from the Contegorian Confederation, a transmission that had arrived almost concurrent with the Confederation's declaration of secession. A Confederation merchant fleet had been dispatched to aide in the relocation, and even as he considered them, they were undoubtedly on or around Iridonia, meeting with members of the Praetorian Guard to work out an effective course of action.

Traan was pulled from his quiet moment of reflection by the surprised features of a nearby comm operator, who had turned around to address the ambassador.

"Sir, I've got an incoming message for you; it sounds important."

"They're all important," Traan said, distractedly, shifting his focus to a datapad.

"It's the Overseer, Sir. He insists."

Traan looked back up, and with a loud sigh, signaled the comm operator to transfer the incoming signal to Traan's earpiece. "We need to talk. Now. In person."

"I'm busy," Traan said in the same distracted voice, turning back to the datapad. "The Praetorian Guard have reported another large convoy's on its way, and we're already bursting at the seams here."

"This has to be now. There isn't much time."

"Sorry, still busy."

There was a brief pause. "If you won't come here, then at least go to the office down the hall; it has a secure holocomm where we can talk in private."

With a frustration that his exhaustion had turned to anger, Traan gritted his teeth, told his men that he'd be back soon, and stormed towards the hall. As he was leaving, he heard the feeble voice of one of the young men—barely eighteen and a volunteer from Amorris' sole established city—"Sir?" It was more a plea than anything else. When Traan turned around, he was greeted by a face twisted by fear, as if Traan's momentary absence would send the entire operation spiraling out of control.

"Five minutes; I promise." It was the closest thing to a reassuring tone Traan could muster, and it seemed to be enough.

"Don't be so sure," The voice in his ear responded.

The office door slid shut behind him, and Traan threw the earpiece against the wall, breaking it and cutting the line to Smarts. Immediately, a small holocomm sprang to life in a corner, a blank blue field floating where an image would normally appear. "WHAT?" Traan howled, pacing back and forth.

The blank holoscreen coalesced into the rigid features of an Imperial officer, and without introduction, the nameless officer began to speak, a scathing, authoritative tone permeating his every word:


"All property within the former Onyxian Commonwealth is considered Imperial property. The benevolence of his majesty Emperor Hyfe in allowing the former members of this rogue state the choice to leave will not be marred by self glorifying and greedy individuals. Any destruction of Imperial property during the evacuation will be paid for two-fold by the offending parties. There have been noted damages to the facilities on several worlds. The Empire's value assessment will be sent to the offending parties for payment upon receipt or we will seize any and all assets of those parties by force. The Coalition nor the Empire will stand for yet another region gone rogue operating outside the parameters their government has dictated it will abide by.

Such willful destruction intentional or through gross neglegence or incompletence will not be tolerated. Your compliance is expected or you will be expelled forcefully."


The message ended, the Imperial features dissolved, and for several seconds, the only sign of life in the room was the gentle flickering of the blank holoprojector. "AND?" Today was not a day to bother Traan with the supremist ravings of some nameless, faceless Imperial.

"And stripping people of their homes and way of life isn't enough." Traan turned around to see Kerrick standing beside the door; he had no idea how long the military man had been there. "It's amazing how fluid political lines are when the Empire's involved. 'That's ours, and that's yours, and that's theirs, but really its all ours.' It's always the same; they're all the same. . ." If Traan had not been so utterly exhausted, perhaps he would have noticed the unnatural tone of Kerrick's last few words, or the look of introspection that flashed across his face.

As it was, silence hung once more in the air, until the cold, mechanical voice of Smarts interrupted it. "We were expecting this; we weren't sure when it would come, or how exactly it would sound, but we were expecting this. The Empire has gained full control of the former Onyxian Commonwealth; their fleets are positioned around every world, and their Stormtroopers are marching throughout every city. It is now truly, and undeniably, and Imperial Occupation Zone. They want to know where their new toys went."

Another long silence fell. Traan stood silent, immobile, his head pounding harder than his tired heart, until finally, something gave out: "GREAT," he roared violently, turning toward the door. "Send me the list when they send it; right now, I have a billion people to find a place for by sundown."

"Do not forget your duties, Ambassador."

Traan spun about, staring at the blank holo screen, his exhaustion eliminating any semblance of self-control. "And you don't forget the promise you made, Overseer, with no means of carrying it out. I already have a job to do, and the people in that room down the hall need me to do it. You'll have to find someone else to play politician today."

The blank field of the holoprojector contorted, tints and shades began to appear, and a shape took form. It was a shape most people wouldn't have been able to readily identify, and though Traan had never seen it in this way before, he recognized it immediately: the reactor core of the Lucrehulk-class core ship, Smarts. Traan had spent many hours staring at that device in the weeks and months following the Cooperative's inception, conversing with Smarts in the innermost chamber of the ship that housed the mind itself.

"You know me, Traan," Smarts said calmly, and Traan realized suddenly that that may have been the first time the machine had called him by anything other than "Ambassador." "I need your help. I need to know I can count on you, when the Cooperative's future hangs in the balance. You'll accomplish nothing if you work yourself to exhaustion and death here, only to have the Empire arrive and drive these men and women from the feeble lives you've helped them to salvage."

The memory of those days and weeks that now seemed so far away had calmed Traan, and he again remembered that he was talking to something more than simply a machine. This was his friend, his ally, and one of the few beings in the Galaxy that he trusted implicitly. "I'll leave immediately."

Traan walked back into the command room, the terrified eyes of the young volunteer latching on to him immediately. He walked over to the young man's workstation, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Contact the starport and tell them to prepare my shuttle. I have to leave immediately."

Confusion and fear spread across the young man's face. "Leave?" It was pathetic; the poor kid had been working almost as long as Traan, and it was obvious that Traan's presence was all that was keeping him going. "W-what are we gonna do?"

"Don't worry, I'm here." Traan turned toward the source of the voice, his eyes drawn to Kerrick's mocking smile. Kerrick cringed, and Traan turned back around to see the hopeless look on the young man's face. "The tin can's so busy bouncing signals from here to Azguard that he can't take over; Traan's gotta go fly to Hell and face the unholy horde; like it or not, kid, I'm all you've got left."

Traan looked as worried as the young comm worker, but managed to stay slightly more composed. "Kerrick, there are other people who can—"

"Nonsense!" He shouted, the painfully fake smile returning. "I promise I'm not as dumb as you might think." The smile faded, replaced by a deathly-serious look. "I've got this, Traan; don't worry. Trust me."

Traan took one deep breath and nodded in affirmation. "You'll see to it that the Imperial commander knows that I'm on my way?"

"Of course."

"And if you don't mind, make sure he understands that the Confederation has our full support in their evacuation efforts; let's try to resolve that issue before it becomes an issue."

"No problem. It's on the list."

Traan nodded once more, then turned and began to walk toward the exit.

"You just be careful out there," Kerrick called after him. "Worse men have died for a lot less at the hands of the Empire. Make sure there's a Cooperative to come back to, but make sure you come back."

Traan stopped at the door, turning slowly to face Kerrick. A genuine smile broke across his face, the first in what seemed like a lifetime. "'So long as there are those. . . I will not fail.' You'll have to tell me the story behind those words some time."

For a moment, Kerrick looked totally confused. Then, as if remembering some obscure phrase muttered by a total stranger ages ago, realization dawned, and he recalled the unusual moment in which he had spoken to the very men and women who were still working tirelessly within that room to preserve the Onyxian people. A sorrowful kind of smile crept across Kerrick's face, and he said quietly, "Hmm, yeah. . . I guess so." He sounded tired, hurt. . . maybe even a little afraid. Then he spun around, facing the expansive room, with all of its workstations, viewscreens, message boards, and myriad workers, and started shouting jovially. "All right ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and whatever's left—listen up! This operation's under new management, and you've either got to. . ."

Kerrick's falsely energetic voice fell silent as the door shut between him and Traan, and the Chief Ambassador of the Cooperative of Systems made his way as quickly as possible to the makeshift spaceport that currently housed his Theta-class shuttle. Soon, he would be in the heart of the Imperial Occupation Zone, and in the midst of what could prove to be a day of destiny for the Coalition's newest member-state.

The Coalition tore out of hyperspace, the long and graceful lines of the last great Coalition warship slicing cleanly into place in the darkness of space. In its' wake came relief vessels and warships of all sizes and shapes - the Coalition's resources may have been stretched to the limit, but many often forgot that under the endless disasters a once-great nation endured. The federal relief fleet that had been gathered from the remainder of the Coalition was still as great as any other force in the sector.

The Empire included, although Regrad prayed it didn't come to that.

"Status," he snapped.

"Relief fleet has successfully reached the rendezvous point," one lieutenant reported. "All ships checking in, awaiting further orders."

"What about the Cooperative? What's the state of our communications?"

"Contact is still minimal, sir. We have a few addresses and basic details, but their command structure isn't clear about our arrival yet."

Regrad paused, his anxiety and nervous energy held in check. "What about Imperial presence? What news?"

The reply took a moment longer to tabulate. "Imperial forces seem entrenched in the area, but so far conflicts are still minimal. Refugee ships are still safe. No news on how aware they are of our arrival or of other relief efforts."

"Right..." Regrad muttered. "Now or never, I guess. We'll head for the center of Cooperative operations to oversee the relocation. I'll meet with the Cooperative's local leadership in person to help coordinate our efforts. In the meantime, have the relief fleet split up and start redirecting the scattered refugee ships to safe shores or to one of the relocation camps. Order them to avoid any Imperial entanglements at all costs.

"Oh, and release the Knights. We'll need some eyes out there."

As the Prime Minister settled back to observe the chaos, the Coalition fleet began to spread out. Squadrons of transports and warship escorts broke off from the main group and leapt towards distant knots of refugees, while sleek White Knight Kris fighters disappeared on missions unknown. One by one the fleet vanished until only the gargantuan Coalition remained. At long last, it pointed its' prow towards the coordinates of the Cooperative's relocation center. It jumped into infinity. Much-needed reinforcements were on their way for the beleagured rescue workers.

Admonishment

From the office of the Minister of Ethics
To be announced across the Coalition.

On behalf of the government of the Coalition and in my capacity as Minister of Ethics of that government, the Sinsangese are hearby officially admonished for acting in a manner unbefitting a member-state of the Coalition. Their conduct towards the Onyxians is entirely unacceptable, and is in no way endorsed or supported by the central government. That should about cover all the official comments I'm supposed to make. As a little private clarification, however...

Fuck you, Sinsang.

No, really. You've earned it. At a moment when the Coalition's shaking and shuddering, when we need to show solidarity and commitment more than ever, your response is an armed standoff with refugees. I salute you for doing more PR damage to us by staying than by going, as well as throwing in some physical damage just to make things interesting.

It's not that you did anything illegal. Oh no, you've proven how dedicated and committed you are to the written word of the law. As they're official 'rogue state' members, you're totally within your rights to fend off the Onyxians like they're plague-carrying nerfs trying to shit all over your yard. Just like I'm allowed to call you an asshole for doing so. The written word of my job description is I'm allowed to say whatever the hell I want, and guess what? There's no appeal process for being called a dick.

As for the Onyxians, I feel strangely magnaminous to those knuckleheaded warmongers today. Maybe it's the epic scale of their suffering that draws out my sympathy yet leaves the Sinsangese unaffected. It looks like the Prime Minister and the House share those sympathies, because they've been federalized - that's right, all those nasty rogue staters who cross into Coalition territory and claim asylum are automatically declared Coalition citizens by the federal government.If you've any interest in sticking around at all, I suggest you start treating the Onyxians right. I'm sure Dean Doran's lawyer will be called in any day now.

So there you have it - Sinsang, being a dick. This has been an official admonishment from the Coalition government. Your tax dollars hard at work.



Amorris

The Coalition emerged once more from Hyperspace, hanging a fair distance back from the planet to avoid the flow of traffic around the world. Rarely except in times of war could so many ships be seen drawn together, but then again, a kind of war was being waged.

"This appears to be the center of the relief effort, sir," declared an aide. "Communications suggest a mission is being prepared to enter the heart of the Occupation Zone."

"Sounds dangerous," Regrad replied with a grin. "Patch us through to their command. Tell them the Coalition is here... and we want to help."

Chao was torn between insult and laughter at this point. The Coalition, after all the blunders they had suffered, dared to think they could command who would have access to his planet? Did the Coalition ever try and speak with the Sinsangese as for what to do to these people? It was insulting that a government that was so slow to respond dare to mock the Sinsangese for what was a long-term decision made for the security of their system and not just for some non-existent face.

And yet, despite the overbearing nature of this ‘Minister of Ethics’, Chao couldn’t help but laugh. He found the whole concept so ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh. The Sinsangese were one of the last powerful industrial bases in the Coalition. One of the only planets that could give much needed trade goods.

If it was something more serious, like trade embargoes, maybe Chao would be in to sour a mood to reply so quickly. But the pure ridiculousness of it was getting the better side of his humour today. It is not too often one is admonished for following Coalition law as a ‘dick’ to the Galaxy as a whole.

And they thought that him showing a bit of backbone would lower the galactic respect of the Coalition?

“Miss Naori, please send the following message to the Minister of Ethics, Viryn Quell.” Chao began, preparing to send a well formed and concise rebuttle in the privacy that is gained between two men of politics. In other words, one that’d be released to the press later in the afternoon.

“My dear Viryn Quell, Prime Minister Regrad, and the men, women, and other sexes of the various species within the Coalition:

I am shocked that the Coalition would reduce itself to public name calling and a lack of research before drawing conclusions.

If the Coalition had referred to myself, they’d have learned of the overpopulation problems on Sinsang and that we’d have no place to put those people, thus forcing many to live on shanty in the streets until temporary housing could be established. We were in the process of searching for a suitable planet that the Onyxian refugees may live freely upon so that they may govern themselves.

Unfortunately, within Coalition Laws, we were bared from revealing this and negotiating thanks to the overriding law that we cannot deal with terrorists. It saddened us to do it, but the event passed with no shedding of blood and Dean Doran has been released back to his people to spread the good news with our blessing now that he’s agreed to break up his blockade.

And on that joyous note, we are pleased to inform you of a suitable Coruscanti standard world. It is called ‘Lesalia’, and is an uninhabited world with rich vegetation and forests. It also holds a number of natural resources, and is currently unowned by any legal entity. The Onyxians will now be sent there under Sinsangese escort, were we shall begin to set up pre-fabricated structures. We encourage ALL Onyxians en route to Sinsang to divert there.

Thank-you, and may the Force be with you all.”

Chao sat back in his seat, nodding to himself with his statement. This would be a convenient way to put the Coalition in its place for now, and announce to his people what he was doing. A wonderful way to seem caring, giving, and yet strong willed and indomitable. Hopefully, this would do well for him in the polls.

-------------------------

The corvette Valiance was part of the first group to come out of hyperspace in the system. It wasn’t a far jump from Sinsang, but apparently their government just hadn’t gotten the funding to try and develop it yet.

Dean Doran sighed as he rubbed his forehead. He knew they did deserve it though. To have to start out on a new and alien world and try to start over again. It was THEY who weakened the Coalition. It was reasonable for much of the Coalition to hold them in high state of hate and distrust for a while.

“So what is the plan?” Dean Doran asked his companion. The Sinsangese man in the well kept suit, and silver-tounged tone took out a datapad. He nodded, considering a couple of variable before returning his gaze to the former Onyxian Ambassador.

“Well, Mister Doran, the planet is a big more… rough than some. It is full of a variety of creatures and thick forests, which means the land is fertile and there is good game hunting to be had to support your food stock of rations.” Zhang Sei said with a nod, before pressing a button allowing a holo of the planet to appear. “We shall be setting up several settlements on the planet, to keep you all from feeling cramped, at these locations.”

A set of yellow markers appeared on the screen, one larger in the other which denoted it as the central city to the plan the Sinsangese were cooking up.

“Our civic engineers are planning out a city for maximum efficiency in terms of productivity. Short commute times for materials and workers. We also plan to have a number of parks, and some monuments in the capitol. Things to the suffering of the Onyxians in the past, and to the glory of the Sinsangese for aiding you, all things to make your city aesthetically pleasing enough to keep the people happy.” Zhang Sei went on as he quickly began barraging Dean Doran with his plans for the world and the Onyxians. “Oh, and best of all will be the Trade Center and Spaceport we’ll be building. It’ll be a very lovely building, and I know the members of the Commerce Guild who’ll be starting off this branch.”

“Huh? Wait – Commerce Guild?” Dean Doran asked as he was trying to assimilate all this knowledge at once. His mind was simply reeling with this whole thing. How is it the Sinsangese already had so much planned out? Had they been planning for this kind of thing since the Onyxian Commonwealth was first declared rogues?

“Well, of course. A number of Sinsangese business men have invested into this plan to make profit once things start running along. Most are members of the Commerce Guild and the union laws demand that a local branch be set up where they do their business.” Zhang Sei pointed out, as if it was just a passing concern. “Now, as for military bases, we plan to set up a couple of orbital stations and a number of small outposts for now. We’ll allow those that swear under this new government to stay in service, while the others will be discharged.”

“So, when do we start?” Dean Doran grumbled out, with a bit of disdain touching his voice. As if to answer his question, he saw a number of pods begin to drop down from some of the transport ships that accompanied them.

“Ah… I can already smell the credits this venture will gain us all.” Zhang Sei coyly said, with a large grin on his face.

The White Knight's name was Goomis, a Kubaz. His kind appeared strange in the glimmering white armour of his rank, but regardless of appearances a Knight was reassuring anywhere in the Coalition. They had authority, training, and a reputation for fairness and leadership. All of these traits and more were needed to get the refugee ships safely out of the Onyxian sector.

Walking the bridge of the Charon, a large civilian cruiser registered to a private Onyxian company, Goomis exuded a natural aura of calm that kept the nervous bridge crew in line. Only the ship's captain seemed naturally steady, the rugged old man having had the wits to command his ship out of the Sector the moment the Empire crossed the Onyxian's borders.

"You're sure this is the right place, then?" the captain asked, for the tenth time. "Only I didn't hear anything about a refugee rendezvous back on Onyx. Everyone was just trying to get out as fast as possible, didn't seem anyone had time to make plans."

"Have no fear, captain," replied Goomis, who offered a slow bow. "I assure you, where we're going we'll be entirely safe from the predations of the Empire."

Still uneasy, but resigned for the time being, the captain settled into his worn leather chair. "If you say so..."

"Exiting hyperspace in fifteen," reported one of the bridge officers, who began to made adjustments on his command console. "Giving the signal for passengers to buckle up."

The last fifteen seconds passed in tense silence, as one by one the officers began to glance up at the main port window. In a flash, the swirl of hyperspace gave way to the infinite blackness of real space. At first it seemed as though they were alone, but a faint blip informed them that sensors had picked up something.

"I'm picking up a lot of activity about twenty degrees to our left at this heading, sir," replied the sensors officer. "Looks like... well, a damn lot of starships."

"That'll be the rest of the fleet," Goomis replied confidently. "You may rest easy now, captain, the Coalition shall see you the rest of the way home."

The fleet was already visible, growing larger as the Charon drew closer. several warships and many dozens more civilian vessels of all sizes clustered together, and every minute another ship appeared nearby, coming to join the growing flotilla.

"What about you?" asked the captain, as Goomis departed. "Where are you going?"

"I must continue my search for refugees until all are free from under the Empire's iron boots. We may have been the last to arrive, captain, but I assure you we will be the last to leave," the Knight declared, before departing. Within minutes, his sleek fighter flew free of the Charon's hanger, and in a few minutes more it was gone - off to scour the Onyxian Sector for more refugees.



Amorris

It hadn't taken long for Regrad to get a sense of the Cooperative's operations in the Onyxian sector, but he knew it would be some time more before he understood the full extent of the debt he owed them. Having taken a proactive stance, they had been the first to reach out to the Onyxians in the wake of their disaster and offer shelter.

The Cooperative had sent ships and men into the dangerous territory of the Onyxian Sector to take out those who wanted to. They had helped move valuable military assets and resources to keep them from falling into Imperial hands. Even the Confederation had lent the Onyxians a hand, something which lessened the twinge of resentment Regrad felt towards them.

In fact, the Cooperative had done so well that Regrad was hard pressed to find anything to improve. In light of this, he instead sought to offer them every resource possible to see their mission to completion.

The relief fleet had brought food, tools, supplies, manpower - whatever the relocation effort needed to integrate the Onyxians back into the Coalition, they would be given it. Just as importantly, a brigade of bureaucrats had been deployed to help in the efford to record and regulate the colonization effort. As the Coalition and the relief fleet watched from orbit, hundreds of Onyxian ships and countless Onyxian citizens settled into new lives on a new world.

And as he watched, from the peace and comfort of his ship's command bridge, Regrad could almost believe that everything might end up alright.



A computer screen filled with text. The text was angry. It was mocking. It grandstanded and brimmed with barely contained outrage and umbrage. It dripped with an 'how dare you' attitude and smug superiority.

It was unread.

For the computer screen in question was on a datapad once belonging to Minister Viryn Quell - the once-great Minister of Ethics, who had pushed the accoutrements of his office into the nearest waste recepticle and gone off to drink. There simply didn't seem to be much call for his office any more. Or rather, there was far too much call for it.



The relief fleet, upon arriving at the sector, had split into three. The first section, comprising most of the 'relief' elements as well as Regrad's command, had gone to Amorris. The White Knight contingent and a handful of escort ships had set off for the Onyxian sector. That left a fleet of fighting ships and government officials.

They were going to Sinsang. They were there.

Appearing sans announcement or vanguard at the edge of Sinsangese space, dozens of ships from across the Coalition - Longswords, Dominators, Bakura-class Destroyers, - formed up for approach. At the bridge of the commanding Dominator was a ragged and battered old commander by the name of Yann. Old Yann to his friends, of which there were none.

"Open a channel to the defence forces and the Sinsangese port authority, will you?" asked Yann, as he paced his command bridge, scowling at the distant planet. When the comms officer gestured to inform him the channel had been opened, the captain drew himself up.

"Sinsangese commanders, this is captain Yann of the Coalition relief fleet. Sorry to surprise you like this, but I'm afraid this is just the start. In response to the Onyxian crisis, command has seen fit to enact emergency measures. From this moment not only are the Onyxians themselves federalized, but so is the Sinsangese fleet. We'll be in orbit shortly to discuss the exact details, but in short until the refugee crisis is dealt with we'll be taking direct control of space affairs in the sector.

"Not only that, but I've got a compliment of officials here set to oversee and direct the refugee situation. We'll need information on the current disposition of Onyxian military units and civilian refugees, as well as immediate contact with the Sinsangese government. We'll be in orbit within fifteen minutes. That is all."

Before the Sinsangese could respond, Yann gestured for his officers to cut the channel. "If they try to contact us before we're in orbit, rerout it to the officials on deck five. I don't want to waste my time arguing with some stuffed shirt. Take us in nice and slow."

Yann had been specially chosen for three reasons. Firstly, he didn't trust the Sinsangese. Secondly, he didn't trust the Onyxians. Thirdly, and perhaps most significantly, he didn't trust anyone else. He was, in the Coalition's mind, the best possible man to send to knock some sense into the situation.

Or at least knock the situation around a little.



Amidst the chaos of the refugee crisis, one problem at least was nearing completion. With most willing refugees now out of Onyx, the Coalition and its allies was almost entirely finished with its "official" operations in the sector.

The Onyxians had once been a mighty mover and shaker in the Coalition, however. Vast military power had been stored and subsequently scattered in the chaos, and in the mad dash to destroy evidence of military secrets and escape capture some had been left behind. The refugees were gone, but the White Knights were making one last foray into the quickly tightening noose of the Onyxian Sector. For exactly who or what, however, was not readily apparent.

Nevertheless, as the Charon and other refugee ships set off for either Sinsang or Amorris, the stealthy ships of the White Knights gathered in deep space, intent on another run. One by one, their tiny specks of light in the infinite darkness vanished, as stars being swallowed up by the void. Then, at last they were gone towards parts unknown.

OOC note: Cooperative takeover of Selcaron and Halmad included in this thread

The command bridge of the Lucrehulk-class Core Ship Smarts had been remade into an expansive assembly area. Within it stood, sat, and walked a host of political, economic, social, and military leaders from every involved party, including many neighboring worlds within the Quelii Sector.

Dotted here and there were several familiar faces: Ambassador Traan Shi, the Togruta who had left his homeworld to help the Overseer realize his dream of a Cooperative of cultures, places, and species; Kerrick Arkanus, a somewhat shady Human who had spent the last few months as the closest thing to a soldier the Cooperative had, heading up the Cooperative Defense Force for the meager and nondescript position of "Commander of the CDF"; Nitin Cass, an Ithorian who had become a sort of intermediary between the Cooperative government and the unofficial group of former Onyxian political leaders who were striving to help rebuild social order within the refugee camps; Ethan Vang, a decidedly shady human and member of the Praetorian Guard, who had served as a sort of delegate from the Praetorian Guard since the Cooperative's first entry into the Onyxian Sector; and last, but not least was Athan, a Ryn who had shown incredible promise within the newly formed Ryn Nation, and had just been pulled off of his work sight on Amorris to join the meeting.

The room was a powder keg, and the Overseer was determined that the explosion to come would break through the walls of division, strife, and misconception, and clear the way for them all to reach for the future.

Standing before a massive viewport, framed by the slowly turning mass of the planet Amorris, stood the four droids that had come to be the emblems of the Overseer's presence. As they awakened from their dormant rest, the room fell silent; everyone present was ready to get things started. "Good people, welcome," the droid Beta began, stepping forward and opening his arms in an all-inclusive gesture. "We stand at a precipice, high above the world below, from which we see the future, but cannot touch it. We cannot remain here, on this desolate peak, looking down upon our destiny, but refusing to grasp it.

"But to leave here is to leave our place of inspiration, our place of vision. To leave is to descend, back into the dark abyss that has become this dreadful galaxy of fear. We have reached the height of our journey, and now we have a choice to make: stay, and die, with the glorious view of what could-have-been clouding our eyes, or forge on, back down, back into the darkness, back into the blindness, and fight to reach the tomorrow that that precipice has shown us. This journey will test us, it will forge us, and it may very well crush us, but if we endure — if we persist — if we survive the blind, desolate, terrible path to tomorrow, we will stand as victors over Ruin and Destruction, Fear and Terror, Loss and Pain, Death and Doom. We can reach the tomorrow of our dreams, but first we must leave this place of certainty and beauty, and press on into the hell that awaits us.

"We have been damned —all of us. By the Empire, by the Force, by the galaxy itself. . . I do not know, nor do I care. But if I am to be damned, the I will be damned for what I have done! For what my hands have wrought, for what my eyes have seen, for what my mind has conjured! I will not have my fate dictated to me by some far-off power, too cowardly to look into the eyes of those whose fates they have sought to steal. I leave this precipice; I descend from this place of sight, and knowledge, and hope; I will press on, because even when the fires of hell rise to meet my descent, even as I am encompassed by the brambles of despair, I will remember the sight that I once beheld, once from the ceiling of the world, and I will know that my path leads to victory, prosperity, peace, and strength."

The droid fell silent, but the voice continued, now speaking from everywhere, radiating from the walls, saturating the room. "I will not stand idly by and watch the world below burned quietly to ash, consumed swiftly by shadow, rent wholly by fear. We are the Galactic Coalition of Planets, and though we may be damned, we are far from dead. Tend to the wounded, man the breaches; we are battered and broken, but we are alive. The souls that wander the hell below us belong to us; let us go and reclaim them, and lead them to the future that our brief clarity has shown. Descend, descend into the darkness; gather the lost, heal the lame, forge on, forge on . . for tomorrow, we stand one day closer to destiny."



"This is General Kerrick Arkanus, Commander of the Cooperative First Army, onboard the Redemption. Until further instruction from High Command, you have been assimilated by the Cooperative Navy; disband your formation and report for integration." Kerrick Arkanus flipped off the comm system and took a deep breath, trying to forget the confrontation with yet another Onyxian commander. His mind drifted uneasily, until the red flash of a memory crossed his eyes, and a small smile broke across his face. Two days ago, Amorris military command. The memory was so fresh . . .of drawing his blaster and firing into the ceiling . . . of the frightened and angry faces of so many Coalition military officials . . . of so many blasters leveled against him. . . "Stand down! . . . I am Kerrick Arkanus, Commander of the Cooperative Defense Force . . . and I order you to STAND DOWN! . . . Stop this quibbling and STAND DOWN!"

Then the tin can showed up, saved the day, and. . . Kerrick laughed quietly, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. And declared the formation of the Cooperative Armed Forces. I don't think I'll ever understand that bucket of spare parts. Whatever the Overseer—at heart—truly was, Kerrick new that the Cooperative, the Quelii Sector, and the Galactic Coalition owed him a debt that could not be repaid. The ironic thing was: he owed them all the exact same thing. Your Cooperative at work, tin can.



"I'm still a little confused, Sir. Why is this such a big deal?" The Ryn named Athan was sitting in Traan Shi's copilot's seat, looking over at the ambassador-pilot with curiosity and uncertainty.

The ambassador sighed heavily, the lines around his eyes tightening momentarily. "Twenty years ago, Warlor Zinj eradicated a colony on Selcaron because they didn't ask his permission to settle. The world is almost totally useless; it has no valuable raw materials, occupies an inconsequential region of space, and most of its surface could barely sustain humanoid life. But Selcaron was within his 'sphere of influence,' so he razed the colony as some sick symbol of his authority. Since Zinj's death, no one has set foot on Selcaron; it has become a symbol of sorts for the Quelii Sector and neighboring worlds . . . a kind of shrine to those who fell under Zinj's iron fist. The worlds of the Quelii Sector have spent the last two decades with the mutual understanding that Selcaron belongs to the men and women who died for it."

"Then why now? Why are we going there?"

"Simple," A new voice said, somewhere behind them. "The atrocity at Selcaron has given these people a chance to avert another, greater, atrocity."

Athan had turned in his seat, meeting Nitin Cass' cold stare. His eyes widened in understanding. "the Amorris Plan was in jeopardy. The Cooperative had underestimated how many refugees would be coming to Cooperative space. The increased number would have destabilized the economic and ecological plans set in place. The Cooperative's entire development plan would have fallen apart."

Nitin nodded knowingly. "As it stands, Selcaron will be completely dependent on outside sources for a considerable time, but we'll be able to carry out the Amorris Plan unhindered."

"But how do you go about getting permission to settle a world that everyone in the region has reason to want left alone?"

Traan picked up that question. "Since the destruction of the Cavrilhu Pirates by a joint task force, we've maintained close relations with the worlds of the Quelii Sector. It was a fairly simple matter to call a meeting, and with a little effort, we managed to convince them to support our plan to colonize Selcaron.

"'A little effort'?"

"I believe that included a rather spectacular holodisplay from one of the Overseer's droids, which culminated in the reveal of well over a thousand ships, floating in orbit about Amorris, with holds full of people and nowhere to put them. Ah, here we are. Lady, gentleman, welcome to the Venator-class Star Destroyer Redemption."



The entirety of the Onyxian Relocation Plan was laid out before him, blinking lights; glowing lines; bright icons; and cold, dark, space. The Overseer—the brain of the Cooperative—watched, listened, and above all: calculated. Redemption, on its way to Selcaron; Coalition, only a few thousand kilometers away, orbiting nearly synchronously with the Overseer; farms, sprouting like germinating seeds, on the planet below; cities, expanding like floodwaters; ships, pouring in like a storm, but their numbers dwindling with each passing hour. The evacuation was almost at an end, but the Crisis had just begun.

The Overseer allowed himself a brief moment of hindsight. His mind turned back a few days, to a moment when a massive form tore into the Amorris System, spewing comm bursts. That moment of shock and terror was frozen forever in the Overseer's mind; the Empire had come to Amorris. But before the first comm burst had been deciphered or the vessel identified, the Overseer realized what was really happening. The vessel was not ringed with support craft, was not painted with the colors of the Imperial Navy, nor did it sport the massive superlaser of an Eclipse-class Star Destroyer or some other, unholy construct of the Empire. It was the Coalition, Prime Minister Regrad onboard. It's comm bursts were not orders for surrender, but promises of coming aide.

Like a beacon of freedom, the monstrous vessel had lumbered into the Amorris System, disgorging transport after transport, carrying everything from power converters to Coalition ambassadors. But already the Overseer could see potential problems arising; immediately he had set out to map and plot the integration of the Coalition relief forces and supplies. But more and more vessels arrived, clogging up the space lanes, deploying more workers, sending more supplies. It was too much to handle . . . he couldn't calculate it all . . . there were too many variables.

But he had not been alone: the Ryn Nation, the people of Amorris, the battered remains of the Onyxian Navy, the newly arrived Coalition forces. They worked together, they worked as one, speaking, but not commanding, hearing, but not controlling; they became the heart and soul of one another, and the Overseer came to experience a form of "cooperation" that his mechanical existence had previously denied him. Coalition relief forces spread throughout the Cooperative, assimilating themselves into the machine of progress, adding their strength to the failing hands and pounding hearts of the unseen billions who had made this Relocation a possibility, and in a moment of understanding and clarity, the Overseer had realized the greatness of those to whom he had pledged his allegiance. It had been a transcending moment, and everywhere the machinery of construction met the flesh of inspiration, the Overseer knew that a new hope was born.

The Coalition was broken, battered, and—yes—even damned, but the hearts of the faithful still beat in their chests, the hands of the dedicated still toiled at their stations, and the sound of survival was heard in all the corners of the Cooperative. Down, down into hell we plunge, into the darkest depths of the soul's night, into the greatest despair of our people's age. We will die fighting damnation, or we will live as victors over it.

It would seem that the the Coalition had been spared . . . at least for a time. Though aide had poured in from every corner of the Coalition, the Cooperative's intervention in the Onyxian Crisis had largely confined to its own borders the economic epidemic that Supreme Commander Simon Kaine had sought to unleash upon the Coalition. An increasing web of trade sanctions, government taxes, and mandated assistance crisscrossed the holdings of the Cooperative, making good on the promise that the Combined Council would demand nothing of the Onyxian refugees that it did not first offer of itself.

The Empire's evacuation window had closed, but the faithful forces of the Praetorian Guard had remained inside the Occupation Zone until the last moments, rendering aide and accompanying convoys until Imperial escorts compelled them from the Occupation Zone, crossing the border only moments before the countdown struck zero. The last emissaries of the Coalition had abandoned the wreckage that once was the Onyxian Commonwealth; it was finally and totally lost.

But the Cooperative didn't have the time or energy for such indulgences as resentment and animosity to build against the Empire . . . neither did the rest of the Coalition, at least not anymore. The terrors of the past few weeks had found a way to replicate and expand, and now the Cooperative found itself with two undeveloped worlds filled with hopeless refugees instead of one. Still, more travel-weary ships poured into Cooperative space, arriving now from any number of worlds between Onyx and Varn, where refugees had stopped before deciding their final destinations. Even with the two weeks finally at a close, no end was in sight.

If not for one sliver of hope buried within all of this oppressive darkness, the will and resolve of the Cooperative people might have failed totally, and the Coalition might have found it precisely in the position the Cooperative had fought so hard to keep it from. But then there was Halmad. It had offered food and farming equipment, instructors and workers, ships and resources since it first became aware of the growing crisis. The flagship of its defense force now served as the command vessel from which the colonization of Selcaron was being carried out, and its trade routes now served to shelter Varn from the overwhelming distractions of foreign traders and travelers. But that was not all. Its leadership stood beside the Cooperative as the two nations sent out ambassadors and delegates to beg aide from neighboring worlds and former allies. If not for the unconditional and unobligated devotion of this neighbor world, many would have accepted the eventual fate of the stagnating and dying Cooperative.

But it didn't end there. Some had come to wonder why Halmad had devoted itself so totally to this crisis, entering into agreements it could never rationally expect the Cooperative to keep . . . or even be able to keep. Most people didn't have the time or the energy anymore to consider such things; they just accepted what help they could get graciously, and moved on. But it was the duty of men like Traan Shi to consider such acts of compassion, and wonder at their purpose. And so it was when the Ambassador was contacted by Halmad's chief military official and a growing acquaintance, Commodore Jonathan Blakeley, he thought he might finally get some answers. He would not be disappointed.

“I don't understand.” Traan said after several moments, still holding the datapad in his hands, but his eyes having moved to the Commodore's face. “You can't be serious.”

Commodore Blakeley coughed quietly, his posture straightening even more―if that were possible―than normal. “The governments of Halmad and the Cooperative have entered into a rather involved set of agreements over the past few weeks. My people have committed themselves to yours on a profound level, and for that reason alone we have every right not only to ask this of you, but to demand it.”

Traan blinked several times, his brow shifting as the confusion spread over his face. “But why would you want to?”

The Commodore sighed heavily, setting his jaw as he considered the next few words. “Ambassador, do you know what it is like to be meaningless? Do you have any idea what it does to a civilization when it is forced to realize that its children will live and die completely without purpose? We've watched the turmoil of the greater galaxy; we've seen the fleets of terrible and mighty empires fly by, their courses set for some far-off, valuable targets. We've stagnated and dissipated as the greatest worlds and peoples of the galaxy have entered into increasingly violent and destructive cycles of war and peace. We've become a people completely without value, in a galaxy struggling fiercely to find a way to kill itself. We could vanish in an instant, and no one would notice . . . no one would care . . . and the worst part: it might be better than staying around and seeing what 'civilization' comes up with next.”

Traan was about to say something, but the commodore took a deep breath, giving the ambassador a look that said “shut up,” but sort of in a nice way.

“When Varn joined the Coalition, her neighbors thought that it would become nothing more than another backwater holding, just another world on some list of member planets . . . but the rise of the Cooperative and its involvement in regional conflict had given us all another chance to hope. Finally there was something among us―of us―worth believing in. You chose to forge friendships with your neighbors, rather than calling in some foreign fleet―bound by duty through your membership with the Coalition―to deal with the growing pirate force which had so threatened all of us individually. You managed to resolve what would have surely become a terrible genocide on Ord Cestus in a way that preserved the integrity of everyone involved, and the entire world is better for it. Even your unconditional acceptance of these Onyxian refugees has only gone to show the depth of your commitment to your allies, and the magnitude of your compassion for those who are truly in need.

“I tell you this because I want you to understand that what you do, what you become, has repercussions for far more than the few billion refugees who now flood your worlds. The people of the Quelii Sector―the people of this entire region of space―have come to know and respect the Cooperative of Systems. You've given us all hope that the galaxy still can become better, not just different. But let's face it: now you're fighting a battle that you can't hope to win, and when you loose, we'll all lose. So let's cheat. Say 'yes,' and we'll save this Cooperative―and what it stands for―together.”

Traan nodded in understanding. “And your people are prepared for this commitment? They understand what is likely to come?”

“Nations are built with the passage of time, not the signing of charters. Halmad wishes to help you build a nation, not draw up a piece of literature. We are ready, and we are committed. For the Quelii Sector, for the Coalition . . . for the billions of innocent souls who find themselves without name, without position, without hope. We understand.”

“Very well then. If you can spare the time, you can present Halmad's request for admittance to the Combined Council in person, this evening. I'll make sure we move things along quickly.”

“Thank you, Ambassador.”



Halmad alone would be far from sufficient to save the whole of this slowly dying Coalition, but perhaps it would be enough to keep one of the faltering nation's appendages alive just a little longer.

A Coalition of the damned, no longer with the strength to charge into adversity, now resigned itself to wade through the rotting morass that was its foreseeable future.