Paradise System, Cooperative military outpost


Three small space stations had been moved into the system to act as a base of operations until something more substantial could be prepared. The three artificial satellites orbited a fairly large asteroid whose previously eccentric orbit had placed it almost entirely outside of the system's plain of the ecliptic. For reasons unknown to them and well beyond their realm of interest, the Ugor had stabilized the asteroid some time in the past, its orbit now passing symmetrically above and below the system.

Whatever the reasons or circumstances, the asteroid had offered the Cooperative a prime location, placing their outpost much closer to the Ugor homeworld than would be otherwise possible, but staying out of the debris cloud that was the majority of the Paradise System.

That was all rather immaterial at the moment, however, because the meeting being held in a quiet corner of the Venator-class Star Destroyer Redemption had nothing to do with the defense of the Ugor homeworld or the completion of this military outpost. Admiral Blakeley had assembled those individuals he felt represented the bulk of the Cooperative's tactical experience, including the Mon Calamari captain Gorn of the Heroic Defender; Captain Berar, one of his direct subordinates from his time as commodore of the Halmad Royal Defense Force; a team of Drackmarian naval officers who had been assigned to him as consultants after the Drackmarians had decided to further bend their own rules; and Smarts' battle droid Gamma (who had just arrived from Varn).

Blakeley stood to his feet and pressed a button on the control stick in his hand, bringing the viewscreen to life and showing an image from the recent battle in the Paradise System. He waited for the room to fall silent, beginning as soon as it did. “The Brotherhood of Wrath. Information compiled by the Overseer revealed that the recent increase of general, random, violent attacks on nearby worlds is neither general or random. By correlating the times, places, and circumstances of these attacks―as well as comparing the tactics used―we have learned that this organization, the Brotherhood of Wrath, has been almost entirely responsible for every extra-planetary incident in the sector for more than seven months.

“Understand this: these are not pirates. The acquisition of wealth and looting of targets is a bonus to these people, who genuinely seem to be in this for the sheer joy of wreaking havoc. And while the attack on the Ugor appears to have been their most long-term plan so far, it does not seem to be their largest-scale,” He clicked the button again, and images of several vessels appeared on-screen. “Meaning we have confirmed reports of Brotherhood vessels that do not match the descriptions of any ships we engaged here, only a few days ago. Be warned: many of these newfound ships are considerably larger and better-armed than those we chased from the system.

“Our primary goal must be the discovery of their base of operations, or any strikes made against them will be leaving the back door open for their escape.” He clicked the button again, bringing up a map of surrounding space. “We remain uncertain of the organization's total strength, but apparently there are some of you who feel that is a nonfactor.” Blakeley stopped, casting an approving nod to one of the Drackmarians.

“True experience can only be gained through true danger,” The Drackmarian said, pounding his fist on the table. “Overwhelming force teaches nothing, and while some aspects of space warfare do not scale upward reliably, many do. What your men learn from this endeavor will prepare them for the threats to come. This is the way of Drackmar, and this will be the way of the Cooperative. A threat is only a threat if it possesses the realistic capacity to destroy you.”

“You can't be serious,” Captain Berar cut in.

“I have given this considerable thought,” Blakeley began, “and while it has always been my policy to resolve a situation with the utmost regard for civilian and friendly lives, my responsibility to the Cooperative whole requires me to reevaluate my own tactics and beliefs. Experience is what our men need, or when a threat comes that we can't eliminate through overwhelming force, they will be totally unprepared. Another course of action may prove more life-saving in this single engagement, but I believe that those who we lose through this path will prepare us all for the future, a future in which defeat might mean the loss of so much more.”

“My ship and crew stand by you, whatever your course,” Captain Gorn said, waiving his flippered hand for emphasis.

Blakeley nodded in thanks, clicking the control for the viewscreen one more time. Green dots appeared at various points on the local map. “We are deploying the task force throughout the immediate area; we have neither the authority or the manpower to carry out an effective interdiction of sector traffic, but that is not our goal. We will compare observed traffic to a database of known Brotherhood ships in an attempt to map their movements.

“We will proceed with the utmost caution and secrecy, and will not engage the enemy unless they take aggressive action against us or civilian targets. We cannot afford to approach this enemy as though it were just another group of outlaws; they are fierce, relentless, and reports suggest they have plan―though we don't know what it is.”

“What of the captives?” Gamma asked, who apparently hadn't been in contact with Smarts recently, or he would have already known the answer.

Blakeley sighed in disappointment. “Those few members of the original Brotherhood attack group who we were able to capture alive have proven totally useless. A number of them have found means of committing suicide within their cells, and three were shot trying to kill their interrogators. Again, let me stress that these are not your everyday outlaws. This is a new kind of evil.”





“Maintain formation, keep your lines of communication open, stay in the mass shadows, and for the sake of all that's holy―try not to look too obvious.” The system was on the southern border of the Gordan Reach, which marked the northern border of the search area. The squadron of Preybirds were on approach to the inner system, where the only spaceport was located. They were leapfrogging from asteroid to asteroid in a rather unusual field that stretched from the edge of the solar system all the way to its primary, where more of the massive space rocks got pulled in by the star's gravity every day.

The squadron didn't know what unusual astronomical event had unfolded to create this unique environment, and they didn't much care. They were just glad for the cover it provided. Their command ship was holding on the system's edge, hiding behind one of the larger asteroids, where a small network of comm satellites was receiving data from the scout squadron.

All throughout the sector, similar events were unfolding in dozens of solar systems. The Ugor had even pitched in, chancing death for the opportunity to help kill these worthless animals. Their ships were spread throughout the sector as well, but their tactics seemed to focus on making themselves as visible as possible, and then trying to outrun whoever came to kill them.

All data was being sent to the Cooperative base in the Paradise System, where it was being processed to form a more complete picture of what exactly was going on in the system. Unfortunately, it wasn't proving to be very conclusive at the moment.




Maridun

A cloaked and robed figure reluctantly nodded, handing over his blaster and chronometer to the Klatooinian “merchant.” He walked away from the open-air shop with two Amanin following closely behind, dragging a primitive wheeled cart and its cloth-covered contents to the edge of the settlement.

The figure continued beyond the border of the shanty town, having to stop several times to wait for the short-legged slaves to catch up to him, but eventually they made it to their destination. He nodded in satisfaction as he stopped in front of a mud hut, and the two long-armed aliens pulled off the covering and set the device on the flat stone slab the man had led them to, then began their slow walk back to the outpost, cart in hand.

Waiting until they passed out of sight (around the edge of a huge stone outcropping), the hooded man took one last survey of the area, content that there was no one watching, and then set to work. It was in pretty bad shape; he hoped he could get it working.

Paradise System, Cooperative military outpost

The Kubaz trader was trying to be cooperative, he really was; he just didn't know anything. The poor traveler had been set upon by a trio of Brotherhood vessels―seemingly without reason―and it had taken a Corellian Corvette to drive the attacking ships away. Unfortunately, they had escaped.

But at least they didn't kill anyone first. Admiral Blakeley stood with his arms crossed, staring through the one-way transparasteel at the unfortunate trader. No, this one didn't know anything, just like the rest. Wherever this “brotherhood” was coming from, it apparently always used multi-jump routes through uninhabited systems, and it was beginning to appear like they changed those routes routinely.

It would seem that a new plan was in order; unfortunately, this was the only one Blakeley had.





Maridun

A lone Amani approached the hut at an abnormally slow pace, intentionally making himself known to its inhabitant but trying his best to keep the massive rock face between himself and the small dirt trail that led to the nearby settlement. The cloaked figure emerged from the hut, another blaster in hand.

The Amani made an unusual hand gesture with his long arms, and the man lowered his blaster, nodding to allow the alien closer. “The Jon-Jon tribe has fallen silent. They are gone.”

“How?”

“The Brotherhood drove them into the heart of a nearby savanna; they dried out and collapsed there.”

“Is that even possible?”

The Amani nodded, his huge body amplifying the motion. “It took weeks for them all to die; the Brotherhood poisoned the water in the area to ensure their fate.”

“The locals say they've been rounding up tribes and carpet bombing them,” The man reported grimly.

“Blue orbs fall from the sky, turning the ground to ash and cinder,” The Amani confirmed. “We think they are preparing to establish another base.”

“Another?”

The Amani nodded again. “I do not know you, stranger, but if what you promise is true, you must act quickly. Even slavery was preferable to this.”

The man paused for a moment, seeming to consider something. “Come here, Tekki,” He finally said, making his way back into the hut. “I need to show you something.”

The alien ducked down, barely able to fit into the small space. “What is it?”

“The power source for that,” He said, holding up an obviously broken object while pointing to the machine he had received earlier. “If you want this to end, you'll find me a replacement. I need it to contact my people.”

Tekki nodded, crawling out of the hut and making his way up a nearby incline. “I will return as soon as I am able.” At the top of the small hill, he fell forward, rolling into a ball and rocketing off, back from wherever he had come.

The man got back to work, trying to repair the device. Ten minutes later, he gave up and decided to go to town. He needed more supplies.





Paradise System

“Recall the task force.”

“Sir?”

“Do it!” Blakeley yelled, still unable to look away from the screen. “They know what's happening here, better than we do.”

“We have a game we call 'blind-man's Dejarik,'” The Drackmarian spoke up. “Similar in many ways to ordinary Dejarik, except neither player can see where the other's pieces are or what moves they're making, until the two sides actually encounter one another.”

“Now isn't a good time for words of wisdom, commander,” Blakeley warned, turning away and walking over to the comm station.

“You are playing blind, Admiral. They are not.”

“Yes, well, there's nothing we can do about that, is there?”

Redemption was one of the few Cooperative ships still in-system, and with the recent arrival of a Brotherhood scouting party, Blakeley feared a full-scale attack. Alone, the Star Destroyer would be no match for their entire force.

Of course, that was surely the Brotherhood's plan: force the Cooperative forces to fall back, and then continue with business as usual. “If only we had more ships . . .”

“You do not have more ships,” The Drackmarian barked, rushing up beside Blakeley. “You have spent your life defending a world from outside incursion. You are still defending worlds, Admiral, but now you are the outsider. You cannot defend an entire sector with two true warships; stop trying to. Strike!”

If only it were that easy. They just didn't know enough.

Maridun

Two dozen men wearing the black armband of the Brotherhood of Wrath were making their way through the now-empty street, snooping thoroughly and sometimes doing more. Two people were already dead, no one knew why and they didn't much care to ask, so long as they weren't next.

The hooded man had managed to find a decent enough hiding spot, but his hand remained grasped firmly on the round orb in his pocket. If they found him, he knew what to do.

They've found the ship. He should have known better than to have tried such a straightforward approach, but he didn't know that they had already begun preparing for the Cooperative task force. He should have been more careful, but now here he was, and there was no turning back.

Finally, eventually, they left, thankfully heading off in a direction that wouldn't lead them by his tiny camp. He grabbed up the bag of supplies and headed off at a dead run. This had to end, now.





Paradise System

Most of the task force had arrived, and the Admiral had spread his ships throughout the system just in case the Brotherhood did actually decide to attack. Heroic Defender was back in-system, which relieved Blakeley greatly. The ship's experienced crew, hailing from the East, exuded a sense of calm that was lacking in the CDF's crews.

“Admiral,” The comm officer called out, searching for his commander. “Admiral, I've got someone on the comm for you.”

“Who is it?”

“Ethan Vang” A distorted but understandable voice said quietly, the roar of static forcing Blakeley to strain to hear him.

“Ethan? What's this all about?”

“Sorry about the call quality, Admiral; I'm using a recycled hyperwave transmitter, and I'm having to fire it through an asteroid field and bounce it off a local transceiver because, well, anywhere else and the fleet in orbit would pick up the signal and carpet bomb the whole region.”

“Ethan, where are you? What's going on here?” He added, immediately turning to the nearby Drackmarian. He sensed their meddling all over this.

“Listen, Admiral: this power pack isn't going to hold out much longer, so I need to say what I've got to say. The Brotherhood of Wrath has set up base on a planet called Maridun; you should be able to find it without too much trouble, but you need to understand that some things have changed around here since . . . whenever the last survey of the planet was.” The comm suddenly cleared up considerably, and Blakeley turned an eye on his comm officer, who was looking quite proud of himself despite the fact that he had taken entirely too long to perform what was so obviously a simple task.

“The Brotherhood's been putting the hurt on the locals,” Ethan continued. “Admiral, you have to end this immediately. Any delay will result in thousands more dead. The Brotherhood has at least one major ground installation, but that's not the problem. The natives are primitive, sir, with no form of aerial defenses. You've got to take out those ships in orbit.”

The comm fell silent. Blakeley turned immediately to the Drackmarian at his side. “Signal the fleet: form up.” He kept his yes locked on the imposing reptile, his stare demanding an answer.

“Ethan Vang was dispatched at our suggestion and with the Overseer's approval. What do you think he did before becoming the Praetorian Guard's liaison to the Cooperative?”

“Jump at first possible instance,” Blakeley ordered through gritted teeth. “I'll deal with you later,” He added, his last comment directed at the Drackmarian.




Maridun

Fire. It was everywhere. Ethan turned his attention to the Amani beside him, who had begun writhing uncontrollably. He tore his cloak off and threw it over the alien, his skin immediately beginning to burn. He found the basin of water and dumped it over the quickly-drying creature, ignoring the searing pain. He just hoped it was enough.

Then the explosion of fire was past, though the heat continued to emanate in waves from the settlement just out of sight. He didn't dare to look around the massive stone outcrop that had shielded him from the blast; he knew exactly what had happened.

He glanced back at the transmitter, which the Amani had accidentally knocked over as he fell. It was broken, irreparable, but that was probably for the best. The ships overhead had obviously picked up on the signal. Good thing they hadn't bothered to zero in on its origin, and had just picked the nearest identifiable structures.

He pulled the cloak back slightly, his skin still burning, checking as best he could on the alien. It seemed alive, at least for now. Ethan searched its knapsack, finding an ancient-looking commlink. He knew what he had to do. Depressing the button, he was relieved to see a tiny light flash, indicating it still worked. “This is Specialist Ethan Vang of the Cooperative of Systems, servant of the Galactic Coalition of Planets; Lorekeeper Tekki has been wounded by the Brotherhood of Wrath. Vengeance must be swift. Now is the time to strike. Watch for the skyfire, and then make yourselves known.”

He just hoped Tekki hadn't been bluffing, and Admiral Blakeley would take his advice.




Maridun system

The Cooperative task force dropped out of hyperspace in one great explosion of matter, as if to shout: “We are here!” The “live exercise” the Drackmarians had been pushing for would have to wait: a whole world was under siege. The faster, newer vessels of the Cooperative task force (comprised almost exclusively of a few Longsword frigates and Defender gunships) streaked ahead, supported by the hardier starfighters of the group, such as Preybirds and Blastboats. They were intent on circumventing the enemy forces and offering direct relief to the planet below.

But as the Cooperative task force pushed further into the system, drawing out the Brotherhood's vessels, it quickly became apparent that the Cooperative was going to need every ship at its disposal. The core of the Brotherhood's fleet was comprised of a number of Clone Wars era Separatist ships, including a pair of Munificent-class frigates and a Bulwark-class Battlecruiser.

“Oh, no. How is this possible?”

The Drackmarian hissed menacingly.

“Get off my bridge,” Blakeley said, pointing, to the security officer who had spoken. “Stay quiet,” He added, pointing to the Drackmarian. He had started chewing a piece of gum before they had dropped out of hyperspace, but now he was just grinding his teeth together.

“Admiral,” Tactical reported, “we're reading heavy explosions on the surface, most likely proton bombs.”

The admiral nodded, considering his options for the briefest moment. “Give me the fleet.”

“Standing by, Sir.”

Blakeley pushed a button on his command chair, unclenching his jaw long enough to speak clearly. “This is your admiral speaking. The world below is under siege; its people are being rounded up and exterminated. Make no mistake: our enemy today is the most vile, putrid filth any of you have ever encountered. We will incinerate them, without mercy, and without remorse. For the sake of the innocents of this world: stand firm, man your posts, fight as though it were your home burning. This is a new breed of evil, and it falls upon us to eradicate it before it is permitted to spread.

“Let us show to those who would shun the light both the justice and might of a united Cooperative of peoples. Stand as one, and victory cannot be denied us. Onward; justice is calling.”

He pressed another button on his chair, speaking once more. “Captain, you will take the lead, best possible speed. The fleet is counting on your shields.”

“Understood, Admiral,” The grave voice replied. “We Mon Calamari know how to build them right.”

“That's what we're counting on, captain,” The admiral said quietly after the line closed.

The fleet formed up in a rather odd alignment, the Redemption taking up a position aft and starboard of the Mon Calamari vessel. The fleet's various support vessels took up positions aft and port, turning the whole formation into a lopsided, ugly mess.

The plan was simple: drive straight into the enemy formation and crush their lead ships beneath overwhelming fire. Of course, there was one potential problem. “Watch out for swarms, people,” Blakeley warned. “We don't know if or how many droid fighters they may have.”

The largest vessels engaged one another about the same time the fleet's surface-bound ships encountered resistance. The frigates engaged the edge of the enemy formation while the gunships continued onward, the smaller vessels better-equipped for the task at hand.

“Dispatch Captain Tershin's attack group to aide our frigates.” A small group of vessels, headed by the Kaloth battlecruiser Spoils of Freedom, broke away from the fleet's port flank, increasing its forward acceleration to pull ahead of the fleet.

The Cooperative had advanced at an angle on the Brotherhood fleet, putting the Mon Calamari Cruiser between the Brotherhood's core and the cruiser's port-side-focused support vessels.

With the fleet's total firepower disproportionately stacked to the port of the Heroic Defender, it drew much of the fire from the enemy formation, though Heroic Defender, being the most forward vessel in their line of fire, took the brunt of their attack. Redemption was left almost totally by itself in its position starboard of the Calamari Cruiser, but by moving only slightly forward, it gained an open line of fire on the enemy's command ships, into which it poured the full force of its weapons.

The Longswords and captain Tershin's attack group were driving into the enemy's flank, which diverted some of the Brotherhood's attention from the weaker port-aligned Cooperative ships, destabilizing the enemy's formation as it did so.

It was an all-out brawl, and though the Cooperative's force was largely inexperienced and under-trained, it held to a discipline and coordination that was sure to win it the day. The mix-matched task force continued its relentless assault, the Mon Calamari Cruiser braving the withering fire of its enemies until its considerable shields began to collapse under the combined fire of its enemy.

As it pulled back, the remainder of the fleet surged forward to point-blank range, Redemption simultaneously moving to cover the cruiser's withdrawal. The varied fleet released a full barrage of equally varied ordnance, relying on the common truth that pirates and the like didn't spend money and resources on missiles and torpedoes of their own.

Maridun, surface

A flight of starfighters flew overhead slowly, drawing screams of terror from the amassed Amanin. The three Preybird starfighters rocked back and forth several times, wiggling their wings as a sign to the lone human.

Ethan Vang didn't have time for the Amanin to calm down. “Forward!” He screamed, pointing the flag-bearing spear as he did so. What may very well have been the only free speeder left on the planet rocketed forward, a dozen armed Amanin crammed on it with him. He waved the flag madly as they dashed down the hill, continuing to yell despite the fact that no one could hear him.

He dared to turn around, relieved to see the thousands of curled-up aliens rolling down the hill after him. Fast approaching was the sole ground base of the Brotherhood of Wrath, a large but not substantially fortified complex of tents, collapsible buildings, and mud huts. The Amanin, many armed with blasters and many more armed with long spears they carried horizontally while rolling, continued onward even as the trio of Preybirds launched a set of proton torpedoes at the enemy base, tearing a massive hole in one of its largely aesthetic walls and obliterating several of the internal structures.

The aliens poured through the gaping hole, unrolling and hurling their spears in one smooth motion, downing dozens of Brotherhood members in a single wave. More Amanin unrolled behind them, expertly throwing their spears on ballistic courses that downed more of their would-be exterminators.

Ethan had handed the banner to a nearby Amanin, brandishing his blaster rifle and joining in the fray. A dozen or so Amanin who obviously had had some experience with blasters joined him, and together they fought their way deeper into the complex, leading the charge.

Minor explosions rang out as several of the natives hurled primitive fire bombs into passing buildings, driving entrenched Brotherhood members out or forcing them to burn to death. The frenzied roars of the Amanin were heard throughout the complex, as spear-wielding warriors impaled foes and then took up their weapons, madly spraying streams of energy.

Some would call it vengeance, others justice. Ethan had come to understand that sometimes, some things could be both.





Space

They had been right. The Brotherhood of Wrath's fleet was almost completely devoid of ship-to-ship ordnance, its only bombs and missiles apparently carried by starfighters, most of which had been swept away by the now insanely close point defense weapons of the Cooperative's fleet.

“Break them in half,” Blakeley ordered, and the Star Destroyer Redemption surged forward once more, leading the charge straight through the heart of the enemy fleet. The Mon Calamari Cruiser had now turned itself perpendicular to the battle, its marginally functional port shields offering sufficient protection to assist in the continued attack.

The Longswords had broken from their forced face-off, now making lighting fast runs across the length of the Brotherhood's disintegrating fleet. Many of the Cooperative's vessels had been forced to pull away, a few now laying disabled on the battlefield, but Redemption was holding its position, floating defiantly in the midst of the Brotherhood's disabled command ships, continuing to fire on its broken enemy.

“Bring us parallel to the planet and launch all available ground forces,” Blakeley said finally, content that they had moved close enough to the planet and the remains of the Brotherhood fleet were sufficiently behind them.

Their will had been broken. Their “wrath”―while obviously not appeased―seemed to be turning into cold, bitter defeat. There were no suicide runs by the few remaining fighers . . . no reactor cores set to overload . . . no last cries of defiance. The Brotherhood of Wrath had been judged, sentenced, and punished.





Surface

The Amanin warriors had encircled the complex, expecting those Brotherhood members who had the chance to run. When they opened the gates to flee, they were set upon by Amanin. When they crashed a speeder into the wall in an ill-conceived attempt to bring it down and escape through the breach, the Amanin tore at its weakened structure from the outside, sending it toppling down and storming in.

The Amanin made no attempt to take their enemies alive, and Ethan made no attempt to stop them. That is, until he saw one of the Amanin spear a human in the skull who had thrown down his weapon and collapsed to his knees, screaming for mercy.

When the few who were left realized that it was all over, they finally surrendered. Ethan almost had to shoot an overly enraged Amani to to keep the murderers alive, but the Amanin reluctantly agreed to allow them to live, at least for now.

The dead were everywhere, of all sorts of races, but the Amanin had handled themselves with a skill and ruthless efficiency that had left many more of the Brotherhood's people dead then their own, despite their technological disadvantage.

A dozen or so shuttles landed all around them, disgorging hundreds of Cooperative Defense Force personnel, who quickly encircled the ruined complex. The Amanin immediately formed into a defensive line of their own, leveling newly acquired blasters at the perceived threat.

Ethan dug the worn-out commlink from his pocket, thumbing it on as he rushed forward. “No! No! Stand down! Stand down! These are friends!” Several of the Amanin started shouting in their own language, or―more appropriately―derivatives of the multiple tribes' language tree.

Ethan rushed forward, waving at the CDF members closest to him. “Specialist Ethan Vang of the Praetorian Guard,” He offered, pulling out the leather-bound identicard issued to him by the Cooperative, one which closely resembled the ones worn by every CDF member present. “Order your men to stand down. I'll try to get the locals to help you detain their prisoners, but just wait here, and don't make them angry.”

The large, expertly crafted wooden dome had become the new meeting place for the the Combined Tribes of Maridun, the new multinational government that had just been acknowledged by the Cooperative's official representative, the Amanin-declared “Lorekeeper” Ethan Vang.

Though years of Imperial manipulation had turned the simple border rivalries of the Amanin into all-out war, the years following the First Order's collapse had forced the Amanin tribes to band together to fend off encroaching outsiders and protect one another from what the natives had soon come to realize was an impartial and growing slave trade.

Equipped with a little technology gleaned from the greater galaxy, rough and limited communications networks had been set up by many lorekeepers (tribal leaders). But when the Brotherhood of Wrath chose Maridun as its home, it employed its ruthless tactics in the extermination of all Amanin who fell into sight, forcing the clans to band together more tightly than ever. Their newfound unity only stoked the Brotherhood's rage, however, who then set out on a deliberate and methodical genocide, determined to secure the world's surface for their own uses.

If the Cooperative hadn't intervened, there's no telling how many more Amanin would have been slaughtered. Thousands, maybe millions. Maybe all of them.

But that had not happened. “Lorekeeper Vang” had come and saved them. While Admiral Blakeley and the Drackmarian detachment of advisors were still fighting about who should have known what and when, Ethan was just glad that he could be of some assistance.

Ethan knocked on the primitive door, and Tekki pulled it open to let him in. “Mr. Vang! How good to see you!” The familiar voice made the Guardsman smile.

“Admiral,” He acknowledged, taking the man's lead and shaking his hand instead of offering a salute.

“We've been discussing the future of Maridun,” Blakeley explained, pointing to an array of datapads that had been laid out to form a sort of map of the world. “The Combined Tribes are asking for our help, Ethan. They are asking for the Cooperative's protection. We've already offered humanitarian aide and assistance with solidifying the arising government, but they're talking about something more substantial.”

“Membership?”

“That would be arrogant of us,” Tekki said, joining in the conversation. “The Combined Tribes do not represent Maridun's entirety, and we will not speak for those who have not given us their voices.”

Ethan was genuinely surprised by this turn of events. “What happened to your warrior's spirit, Tekki?”

“Proton bombs,” He said grimly. “We will not become those we despise, no matter how . . . expediently it may resolve our conflicts.”

“They wish to be admitted as a protected planet,” Blakeley stated, which didn't help Ethan understand. “There is a measure of provisional legislation in place concerning the specifics. It basically outlines a commitment for social, political, and military protection of a native species from outside influence. We've already backed the Combined Tribes' efforts, I'm not about to let this planet get occupied by another marauding band of bloodthirsty vermin, and trying to meddle with the Amanin social structure would probably get you skinned alive, so I think we've already got all three of them covered.”

“The Lorekeepers are in agreement,” Tekki said. “We will perform whatever rites your Cooperative requires to make our protection official. The Amanin will not forget what you have done for us.” And with that, Tekki left the hut.

“There is another matter we need to discuss,” Blakeley said, turning a grave look on the other man.

“The Drackmarians?”

Blakeley shook his head. “I'll deal with them when I have the time. This is about the Brotherhood of Wrath.”

Ethan knew he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. “Oh?”

“We've inventoried their hardware on-ship and planetside. Almost all of the battle droids and droid starfighters were missing. Now it's possible that they didn't have them or were lost in previous engagements, but its also possible that this Brotherhood is larger than we thought, and those droids are still in their possession.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“I've sent word to the Combined Council,” Blakeley said. “I want them to consider funding a task force specifically designed to stop these sorts of organizations before they can gain the kind of power the Brotherhood had . . . may still have. The Rim has become a very dangerous place, Ethan, and no one seems to care. We have to deal with the evils we can face, or what point is there in calling ourselves 'good'?”

Glee Anslem. Ethan nodded in agreement. “It'll be nice to be the good guys again.”