(Coalition takeover of Chadra)



It had been weeks since the Overseer had vanished, taking a significant portion of the Cooperative's home forces with him. Every now and then, Traan would receive some fragment of information about the Overseer's efforts, relayed through the Combined Council.

But Traan couldn't worry himself with whispers and quandaries right now: he had to keep the system designed and then abandoned by the Overseer up and running, or the Amorris Plan would grind to a halt, and the delicate, restless peace established on the planet would vanish.

On the bright side, the Coalition had brought backups of the Commonwealth's most recent census reports, and the Cooperative had succeeded with only some small difficulty in integrating the two population databanks. Finally and officially, the Onyxian refugees on Amorris and Selcaron were Cooperative citizens. Led by Nitin Cass, the first signs of popularly enacted government were breaking forth in the major settlements.

Onyxian police and military forces had been reactivated under Cooperative supervision, beginning the conversion of the refugee populace into valued, engaged citizens. Small towns had begun to dot Amorris' expansive plains as work on farmlands was finalized and small pockets of the overcrowded populace spread out to fill these few new jobs.

Selcaron had reached a pitifully stable state, the population sustained by a constant infusion of resources from all across the Coalition. The Ryn Nation had proven integral to this sadly astounding feat, but now it was being called to some far-off land, to fight some new threat to the Coalition as best it could.

The desperate need for new resources and allies had drawn the Cooperative's leaders away from the home worlds, and with the Overseer still missing, Traan had found himself very much alone. The Combined Council was doing a superb job of regulating resources and holding back the threat of total economic collapse, but most of the Cooperative's legislation was still provisional, and the Senate that the Combined Council was supposed to preside over had not even been formed yet. Threats were growing in every corner of the Cooperative, and Traan feared that it would require the total success of all of the Cooperative's emissaries to gather the strength needed to overcome these mounting terrors. There were too many questions, too many secrets, too many evils lurking in the dark; so much rested upon so few, and none of them were prepared . . .

“Sir.” Traan was pulled from his reverie by the young man's voice. “Sir?”

“Yes, yes. What is it?” His eyes flickered open, glancing at the chrono: five minutes of stillness in sixteen hours. Typical.

“There's a . . . situation. Forming on the streets.” The young man gulped, and his features turned decidedly more dour.

“Has the riot control been called?”

“Yessir, yessir,” He nodded deliberately. “But, umm, this is different, Sir. It's big, and they look organized. Police HQ is worried that riot police are going to stir up trouble, and the . . . demonstrators . . . haven't become violent, yet.”

As if on cue, a dim roar entered Traan's small office. He hurried into the hallway, walking the few steps to the large room which served as the command center for the Amorris Plan. On the main viewscreen was a sea of beings, filling the city's Main Street. Thousands upon thousands of souls, marching together, shouting something. They came to a stop at the City Square, which was still only a large dirt void in the middle of the city, partly paved.

Traan sighed wearily, straightening his robes symbolically. “Well, let's go see what they want.”



The front doors opened, Traan Shi stepped out, and he was there. He couldn't see from where he was standing, but riot police had gathered on the perimeter of the crowd, making no efforts to disband them, but ready for the worst. He found a path awaiting him, a narrow corridor through the crowd that led to the center of the Square, where several individuals waited on a large platform usually used for making official speeches.

Traan walked the long trail alone, leaving the handful of guards who had been brave enough to accompany him. He saw passion, excitement, and even fear on the faces he passed, but there was no sign of anger or rage, no malice, no hatred. Whatever was happening here, it was totally unnatural.

Traan finally made his way onto the platform, where a middle-aged human stepped forward to greet him, wearing an exaggerated smile. He made only one single statement: “The Board sends its regards.”

The words froze Traan in his place, eyes widening, breath stuck in his lungs. “No,” was all he could manage.



A few dozen beings of various species and genders sat at a long table, Traan Shi at its head. “What have you done?”

“We sacrificed the chance of greatness for the guarantee of survival,” One of them said.

“It was a difficult decision, but consent was inevitably unanimous,” Another added.

Traan was still finding it hard to breathe, hours after the encounter. “This can't happen.”

“It already has.”

“I really can't understand why you, of all people, are so upset by this; the Amorris Plan will be completed far ahead of schedule now.”

The Chief Ambassador of the Cooperative of Systems and the man now singularly responsible for the fate fo the planet Amorris turned a cold stare on the last speaker. He spoke softly, but made no attempst to conceal his anger. “You have done more harm to these people in one day than the Empire has done to them in the entirety of their existence. You have just BOUGHT an entire society; one that has been broken and battered, beaten and scarred. You bought them from the nation that has taken them in, sworn to care for and defend them. All that the Cooperative has gained in trust, loyalty, and faith, has just been undone. They now answer to money, not the ideal of Cooperation.”

“The Cooperative Workers' Party represents the totality of this nation's ideologies. We have achieved in a moment what would otherwise require decades under the best of circumstances. This is not a failure, but the greatest of successes.”

Traan turned to the new speaker. “You have betrayed us! The Board was formed to assist the Cooperative government, not supersede it. You have no power to make policy and establish agencies.”

“And who will make policy in this time of crisis? Where are the leaders of the Cooperative? Where is the Cpombined Council? Where is this phantom Senate which the Articles of Cooperation demand? Our actions are no more unjust or illegal than those carried out by this totalitarian government, now 'provisional' only in name.”

“You really should be getting back to Amorris, Ambassador; have you seen a news feed recently? A quiet meeting in the middle of New Providence City Square, the public declaration of the Cooperative Worker's Party, and then you run away . . . fly off to Varn and hide out. The media is coming up with some rather extravagant explanations. The sooner you get back to doing your job, the better.” The newest speaker smiled maliciously at Traan, who had been shocked into silence, betrayed by the men he most needed to trust.

“Enough!” It was the first sign of dissent among the Board that Traan had seen, and it gave him some small measure of hope. Traan recognized the Varn native from previous meetings, but this was the first time he had ever heard him speak. “Ambassador, I assure you that we are not all of one mind. When the idea of a Worker's Party was brought to us, the majority was overwhelmingly against it, for the very reasons you have given.”

Brought to you?

“Careful with your words.”

The Varn nodded in acknowledgment and continued undeterred. “But the simple fact remains that we represent the most powerful economic forces in the Cooperative. We are the only ones who can give what these people need: work; productivity; success, on even the smallest scale. We have made our existence known and in doing so have destroyed the Cooperative's future plans for us, but look around you: nothing else has happened the way it was supposed to. This is what we can do―here and now―to ensure that the Cooperative has any future whatsoever.

“Once this crisis is over, you and your government―provisional or otherwise―can deal with us however you see fit. But let's make it to that point first. Let's save the Cooperative, however we can.”

Only one question remained in the forefront of Traan's mind. “You said this plan was brought to you. Who is responsible for all of this?”

“The source of our efforts wishes to remain unknown.”

“He has interests of his own to protect.”

Traan couldn't believe what he had heard. “He?” Kerrick.



The Combined Council had heard, and they were very worried. Traan now stood before them, and a decision had to be made.

“It was Kerrick Arkanus; I am sure of it. The question we must ask is: why.”

One of the X'Ting squeaked and scratched something, and its droid translated immediately. “We warned against the threat that the Board would inevitably pose. Gathering them together, legitimizing their merging, keeping them hidden. We warned, but you would not listen.”

Traan shook his head. “We can't bother with that now. Many of them remain loyal to our agreement, and genuinely wish to see to the betterment of the Cooperative. Right now, we have to find out why Kerrick has done this, and how much control he has over the Board.”

Giles Rhade, a representative from Amorris, stood and met Traan's gaze. “Have we come to question his loyalties?”

Traan was shaking his head before Giles had even finished his question “Whatever he's doing, he believes its the best for the Cooperative; but I fear that he may be terribly wrong. I don't think he realizes what he has done . . . what he has made. He has just freed the most powerful businessmen in the Cooperative to do . . . whatever they want. They are going to own every last member of this Worker's Party; spirit, soul, and body. It is beyond our capacity to manage, and beyond our ability to stop; destroying the Board would destroy the Cooperative. Without their assistance, we would go bankrupt in months, or less.”

Varn's head representative stood, drawing the room's attention. Grave and aged, the Varn had weathered many hardships in his long life, but never one which would determine the fate of so many souls. “Regardless of your assurances, I am more fearful of the possibility that a military leader such as General Arkanus could obtain real political power of any substance. If he exerts any control whatsoever over this Worker's Party, he could very easily possess the power to undo the Cooperative, and remake it as he chooses. We cannot rule out the possibility that his is less than noble. We cannot afford to lose control; not now, not on Amorris, and not to anyone―however benevolent. We cannot allow this 'Workers' Party' to threaten what we have achieved. Ambassador, you must speak to the General; you must ensure that the situation does not degenerate. We must know who our allies are, and we must know their intentions.”

Amorris, The Recent Past

Athan stepped into the ambassador's makeshift office, his confusion evident. He gave an odd sort of nod-bow, and then just stood there. Traan smiled a devious smile, turning from the newcomer and to a datapad on his desk. “And so we meet again,” Traan said, picking up the datapad and tossing it to the Ryn.

Athan fumbled with it for a moment, finally righting it in his grasp and glancing over the first few lines. “What's this?”

Traan sighed, bowing his head in an almost shameful manner. “That was our future. That was stage one of the Cooperative's expansion beyond the Quelii Sector. It was to be the day that we reached out our hand in friendship to the East, and the Coalition saw the power of our purest cooperation.” He shook his head. “Then there was Glee Anslem . . . and Bilbringi. Then the Commonwealth fell and the Confederation fled . . . and we found ourselves with a sea of Coalition citizens at our feet, with no worlds to claim as home. Then we heard news that Mon Calamari was lost.” Athan's surprise at the statement about Mon Calamari was evident, and Traan realized that most of the Cooperative probably didn't know about Mon Calamari; they were so busy all the time, contact with the rest of the Coalition had been so sporadic, and news like that wouldn't be good for anyone's morale.

Traan took a deep breath to break the moment of silence. “So, here we are.”

“I don't understand.'

“Good people often find themselves in the midst of terrible circumstances. Without the right people to help them through, terrible things begin to happen. But just the right man at just the right moment has a chance to redeem an entire people, birth a nation thought lost forever, and reshape destiny to give justice back to the just. We're in bad shape, but we have a plan, and we have the means to execute that plan. The East, on the other hand, is on the brink of explosion, or implosion, or total dissolution. We want to send them help, but we don't have much to give.”

“You want to ship us off to the East?”

“In a word: yes.”

An indignant expression overtook Athan's features. “Look, I don't know what you were expecting from us, but we did everything we could. My men and I have worked as hard as anyone; I've seen plenty work crews collapse from exhaustion, pushed to the absolute brink. I drove them to that point, demanded of them the highest price, and they answered. You can't just pack us up and ship us off to some smoking crater halfway across the galaxy because you gave us a task we were totally unprepared to undertake. I'm sorry that we don't hold up to the standards set by y―”

Traan chuckled, and Athan froze. “You don't understand,” He said, shaking his head. “We're serious about this. The East needs help, and we are sending help: you, your men, your nation. I had to bend a few rules and break a few more, but I've managed to commandeer several vessels from the Coalition relief forces that I'm sure will prove beneficial. What was and is being achieved on Selcaron―with virtually no planning or guidance―is truly amazing. The Coalition owes you and your people a debt that neither of us can ever realistically expect to see paid. I am about to test how much you truly believe in what we are trying to do here, because I'm about to send you into the unknown with a task that would be all but impossible in the best of times. I need you to find a way to save the East; whatever it takes, make it happen.”

Athan had calmed down, but he was still struggling to wrap his mind around this. “Why are you telling me any of this? I mean: why do you care what I know or don't know?”

Traan smiled again, the first true smile he had shared in a long time. “The Overseer likes you, and more and more I find myself sharing that sentiment. You're good with people; you're an honest, hard worker; you're smart; but beyond all of that, you're a believer, even if you haven't realized it yet. It is upon the shoulders of men like you that this Cooperative will rise to its height. I am entrusting you, specifically, personally with the success of this mission. Your duties and position will remain as they are; you are subject to the laws and dictates of your people and the Elders who lead them; but you are my personal emissary. I'm sending you out, a representative of the Cooperative―of me. You will speak on my behalf, and every choice you make will be my responsibility. I am trusting you implicitly; whatever happens, you are the voice of the Cooperative to your people, and to all the East. Do your duty, man your post, fulfill your pledges, but beyond that: lead.”

Traan pulled something from one of the pockets of his robes. It looked like a solid, thick square of leather, stiff and rigid. Then he slid his thumb into the side of it and flipped it open, revealing a set of symbols plaited thinly with various metals. He walked over to Athan, pulled the Ryn's jacked out of the way, and slid the back flap of the badge into Athan's shirt pocket, the symbol clearly visible. “This is the emblem of the Combined Council. In case you didn't notice, that writing beneath it is in Ryn.”

Athan lifted the bottom of the badge, reading the words upside-down:





Traan nodded proudly. “You are marked―now and forever―as a leader of men. This is your one chance to get out. If you walk out of that door with that badge on your chest, then you will live with it for the rest of your life . . . good or bad . . . blessing or curse. What say you?”

Athan understood. He didn't have a clue what half of what Traan had just said was supposed to mean, but he understood. He pulled the badge out of his pocket, holding it in his left hand for a moment. Traan's features immediately turned dour, but he nodded in understanding and reached out to take it back. Then Athan surprised him, grabbing his outstretched hand and shaking it firmly, sliding the badge into his jacket pocket with his free hand. “No sense in wearing the mark of your people if no one can see it. When do we leave?”





Teth System, Present

Seven hundred thousand Ryn marched, shuffled, clambered and crawled through the motley assortment of starships that was the mechanized heart of the Ryn Nation. Around the jumble of manufacturing ships and supply freighters, hundreds of vessels representing as many species waited patiently, holding formation in a crisp, precise, very un-Ryn-like fashion. And then there were the Onyxians; those scattered remnants of the Onyxian Fleet that had found their way to Cooperative space had been split in half, and one of those halves now maintained a defensive posture around the Cooperative's ungainly relief force. Finally on the edge of the formation, floating alone in a sea of Eastern diplomatic vessels, was a single ship unlike any other in the system.

“We are gathered here today, in the Grand Conference Chamber of the Ithorian Herdship Hr―. . . Khr―”

An odd sort of wheeze interrupted the bumbling announcer, and attention turned to an Ithorian whose head had tilted in an attempt to convey some emotion to his more humanoid counterparts―amusement, perhaps? “Basic will be fine, Mr. Ambassador: Lifebloom.”

He nodded, smiling in appreciation, then gestured to the Ithorian, “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present Merchantate Iyhan Ho-Ven, leader of this herdship and friend of the Coalition.”

“I am friend to the people of Dac, and to those who have come to aide them, Ambassador. Your Coalition is of no concern to me.”

“Umm, of course.” Athan was a little shaken by the elderly Ithorian's rather blunt comment and uncharacteristically stern tone, but was determined to carry on and see this meeting through to a success. “As I was saying: we are gathered today to discuss the fate of the Coalition's East, beginning with the―”

“What authority do you have to dictate to us the course of this meeting?” A human delegate from Teth cut in, glaring condescendingly.

Besides the fact that I called it? Athan managed to restrain himself, pausing for a few seconds to make sure he was composed enough to handle the situation. “I am Athan of Clan Sahalan of the Ryn Nation, and you may consider me Chief Ambassador of the Cooperative of Systems.”

“And what has become of Traan Shi, that you would be required to replace him?”

Athan sighed deliberately. “The East is not the only of the Coalition's member-states to have suffered calamity, Sir. Ambassador Shi is putting his abilities to good use, and so was unable to attend this meeting.” He allowed the implications of that last comment to work themselves out in the assembled delegates' minds. “I have been chosen to represent the Cooperative generally and Traan Shi specifically in the East. That is all you need to know.”

The man from Teth set down a datapad he had been looking at, a sly smile crossing his face. “Then perhaps you can tell us what has become of Overseer Smarts; he departed soon after the arrival of the Mon Calamari, and left all of your Defense Force personnel behind.”

“I had been hoping you would be able to answer that same question for me . . .” Athan said quietly, obviously at a loss as to the Overseer's intentions, and clearly unaware of the question everyone else in the room knew was coming.

“Tell me, sir: how are we to believe that you are capable of representing a government whose leaders don't feel the need to keep you informed of their most important activities?”

Athan repressed a smile, and worked up his best “righteous indignation” tone. He had been waiting for this. “I'm not here to play word-games or quibble over designations; I'm not here to find the Overseer, or to prove to you my value as a being.” Athan sighed, this one real. “I am here because allies of the Cooperative have found themselves in dire need of aide, and men such as yourself are either unable or unwilling to render that aide.” He lowered his voice, but made sure he could still be heard. “You will learn quickly, Sir, to get in line, or you will be replaced.” The human's eyes were widening in rage, but Athan made sure to continue quiet forcefully before the inevitable reply had begun. “I have been chosen for this task because men such as you would see that it never came to fruition, and only men such as I have so little to lose―yet so much to believe in―to deny you your complacent victory and demand an outcome worth of the people of Dac.”

But before the man could respond, he felt an odd hand on his shoulder, and turned to see the squiddish face of a Quarren staring back at him. “We would like to hear what the ambassador has to say,” Said the Mon Calamari next to him. A Wookiee grunted her consent from somewhere nearby, and several others chimed in with their agreements. With the exception of one very angry human from Teth, the assembled delegates appeared ready to listen, even to a Ryn.

Athan smiled; he was in. “If you will direct your attention to the holoscreen . . .”

Teth, two days later

The unlikely quartet walked leisurely down the muddy path that served as this particular refugee camp's Main Street, quietly taking in the sights. In the distance all around them, converted dropships and modified freighters were dumping their precious cargoes, bringing some small measure of relief to this otherwise hopeless sea of souls.

“The quarantine of Teth has caused great harm to our peoples,” The Quarren said sadly.

The Mon Calamari nodded. “The touch of the phage is still felt, even now. Though the phage itself has been cleansed from this world, it has weakened our people, permitted the rise and spread of a host of diseases . . . diseases that would be almost inconsequential if not for our already weakened states and lack of medicines.”

“The Cooperative's medical supplies will prove most helpful,” The Ithorian said reassuringly.

The Ryn nodded. “We had less trouble with disease during the Onyxian relocation than we had planned for, and the supplies brought by the Coalition relief force swelled our stores. I believe we have sufficient stores on-hand to alleviate much of the suffering here.”

“My people have begun working on a plan for a systematic inoculation of all refugee camps and population centers,” The Ithorian added. “In another month's time, we hope to have freed all significant population centers of disease.”

The Ryn came to a stop, gesturing at the shuttle that awaited them. “It would appear that our time together is at an end, for now. You have matters of a diplomatic nature to attend to, and I have neither the mind nor stomach for such things.”

“We leave our people in your capable hands,” The Mon Calamari said.

“Do keep Ambassador Athan in line, will you?”

“I think he'll find this greeting party much more to his liking than the last.” The fish-man tilted his head and opened his mouth in a way that actually managed to look something like a smile. The three aliens made their way onto the shuttle, lifting off immediately.

The lone Ryn stood in place, allowing the reality of her surroundings to overwhelm her. “Never in all my years, did I imagine that such a day as this would come. That such a noble people would be brought so low . . . that we―of all races―would be those who came to their aide.”





Chadra, two days later

The little rat smiled up at him, beckoning excitedly as he spun about, half-running to match his pace. “This way, this way, friends!” He shouted over his shoulder, continuing to wave them forward.

Athan and his diplomatic backup followed the Chadra-Fan down the long walkway, away from the open landing platform where they had touched down. Further down the path was the small starport's central hub, but that apparently wasn't where they were going.

“Here we are!” The Chadra-Fan exclaimed as he reached a small pavilion attached to the walkway.

Athan's step faltered for a moment, surprised. “An open-air meeting, even? My, my; you Chadra-Fan do do things differently, don't you?”

The Chadra-Fan looked a little taken aback. “I understood that this was to be an informal meeting. Was I mistaken?”

Athan glanced back at the Quarren, Mon Calamari, and Ithorian who were following him; they looked pleasantly surprised, and Athan saw no need to ruin their favorable attitudes. “Only as official as is unofficially allowed, Minister. This looks just about right.”

The worried expression on the Minister's bat-like features returned immediately to a smile. “Umm, this wing of the starport's been sealed off for our meeting, so there's no need to worry about intrusion. Please!” He said excitedly, gesturing once again, “Sit. Sit!” The Coalition representatives obliged, taking their seats around a small table. They made their introductions, and then the Minister asked the one question that had been bothering him since he had been notified of this meeting. He fixed Athan with an inquisitive glare and asked: “Uhh, I must confess, Ambassador; I'm still not clear on what exactly your purpose is in all of this.”

Athan smiled disarmingly at the little rodent. “Heh, that's the question, isn't it? I asked Ambassador Shi that very question several times before we left Cooperative space, and I think I finally got an honest answer out of him.” Athan's features turned very grave. “I'm here, instead of Ambassador Shi or one of his subordinates, because of how . . . inappropriate my presence makes everything we do.”

The Chadra-Fan lost his smile, staring intently at Athan. He was jovial and tiny, but he was no child; he knew something was going on here.

“Politicians stay away from inappropriate things,” The Quarren said. “Inappropriate things make them nervous. Nervous politicians are quiet politicians.”

The Minister was smiling again. “Red tape and such, eh?”

Athan stifled a laugh at how ridiculous the Chadra-Fan looked. He nodded, continuing. “But it's not just that. We can't go through official, procedural channels if we have any hope of succeeding in the East. The Cooperative believes in the willful consent of individual people-groups, in specialized government and specialized treaties for specialized circumstances, and we will stand by that until all of the peoples of the Coalition are rightly and justly accommodated.” Athan sighed. “I'm not here to make policy: I'm here to save my friends. It's that simple. When I swore allegiance to the Cooperative, I swore allegiance to all those it had sworn to. . . and where I come from, we try to mean what we say.”

“Ehhh . . .” The Chadra-Fan began, one of his ears twitching excitedly: “So I guess you aren't just here about the relocation of the Mon Calamari?”

“We are here to save the East,” The Mon Calamari said solemnly, his eyes fixed on the nearby seashore. “We are here to beg your aide.”

Athan was watching the Chadra-Fan intently, and decided it was time to get serious. “Let's talk palinly, Minister. Dac is lost, and there is no indication that it will be regained . . . now, or ever. It's people need a home, and that is my principle concern. For reasons that are―quite frankly―beyond my understanding, they wish to remain within the Coalition. The problem is, obviously: the Coalition is in no shape to take them in. The worlds suited to take them are too far away, and the people of those worlds are not suited to care for them.” Athan grew deathly serious: “We're here to buy your petition for admittance into the Eastern Province.”

The Chadra-Fan burst into laughter, and almost fell out of his seat. “My, my! You don't play around, do you, Mr. Ambassador, Sir? I'm sorry, but this is the part where I'll have to ask you―yet again―to explain yourself.”

“'Friends' and 'allies' are not synonymous words, Minister.” It was the first time the Ithorian had spoken, and his words were grave. “The Cooperative requires friends if it is to preserve the East.”

“And why is that?”

“Because friends don't secede.” Athan's interjection struck home. “I and my government harbor no ill will for the Contegorian Confederation, and I've got to say: I'm glad they abandoned us before we came to entrust ourselves to them. We're not looking for allies of opportunity; we're looking for friends. Friends stick together; they don't . . . run away. Friends understand one another, support one another, cooperate . . . with one another.” Athan smirked. “That is the difference between the Cooperative we build, and the Coalition we reside in.”

“But you want us to join the East.”

“Yes, because the Cooperative has the strength to survive as it is, and the East does not. Because your people possess a . . . peace, that the East so desperately needs. The worlds of the Eastern Province require a voice of irrational peace, to offset those who seek to reignite an irrational war. The resources of Dac's people require caretakers of irrational kindness, to help heal the wounds made by irrational negligence.”

The Mon Calamari spoke again, still depressingly solemn. “I know the depths to which your people's mercy runs: the kindness and compassion that you cannot help but share. We could ask you to save those who have lost their world, and I am sure that your people would oblige, but we must ask more of you. We must ask you to join with us, to preserve the blood-soaked peace that we now have for as long as we can, to buy the Cooperative the time it needs to prevent yet another unnecessary war. We may yet succeed. Help us.”

The Minister turned back to Athan and looked him squarely in the eyes. “And what is 'success'?”

Athan waited for a moment, trying to remember something. “Breakwaters do not rush into the ocean; if they were to do so, they would soon find themselves consumed by its fury. And what would become of the shores they once guarded? The Coalition was meant to be a breakwater against those forces which sought to eradicate freedom. It charged into their waiting grasps, and so it has been all but consumed. We must rebuild those breakwaters, and leave them as such. The will to defend only, and the power to do so.”

“You speak of war.”

“I speak of protection against war.”

“How am I to believe you?”

“The dream of the Cooperative was to create a single place of congregation for all of the peoples within it, not to subdue those peoples under the rule of a central authority. The Onyxian Crisis has set back our goals, but it has not destroyed them. We don't have a central army; we don't have a central navy. We have a Defense Force made up of half-trained police and retired mercenaries. We have a few Onyxian ships that we've more or less hijacked from a non-responsive Coalition High Command. I've gotten the impression that plans are in order to build up our military, but right now we're more concerned with feeding people than giving them guns. I can't make you believe me, but I can offer you this: I called the peace your people seek 'irrational,' and I still want it. What does that tell you of those who sent me?”

The Minister inhaled sharply, glancing at everyone. He looked a little nervous. “So . . . assuming I were to present your case to my government . . . and assuming they were to agree . . . what did you mean by 'buy' our petition?”

Athan chuckled. “We would be looking at a long-term combined Mon Calamari/Quarren population of approximately ten billion. The East and the Cooperative would supply the majority of resources needed to construct the needed infrastructure. The division of authority, ownership of resources, so on and so forth would be decided between your government and the Dac Council . . . I'm not about to get into the middle of that. But here's the stuff you're asking about: shared access to the Mon Calamari technological databases, including everything from their shield technology to their island cities.” The Minister's eyes lit up at the prospect of getting to play around with technology from one of the galaxy's greatest shipbuilding races. “Now here's the hush-hush stuff: the Cooperative has begun working to . . . re-engineer Mon Calamari and Ithorian artificial habitats, namely herdships and floating sea-cities. I know it's been decades since the Death Wave, but these are precisely the type of structures that can help protect your people from another such catastrophe, and we would be very interested in helping you build them.”

“You realize my people are afraid of the water, right?”

“You've never seen one of our floating cities,” The Mon Calamari said.

The Minister sighed heavily, taking several seconds. “Tell me this will work.”

Athan kept his face neutral, but the Minister could see the joy in his eyes. “This is going to work.”





Chadra, one day later

“I don't want to make a fool out of you in front of your friends, but I will.”

“Wha― What's he even doing here? Somebody get him out of here!”

“He is here at our request,” The Chadra Fan Minister said cheerfully, obviously enjoying how upset Athan was making Teth's senior representative. “If you're tired of fish, perhaps you should find some way to deal with this one, intolerable soul.” His eyes widened in shock as he realized how inappropriate his comment was; glancing at the small group of Mon Calamari and Quarren representatives, he was reassured somewhat by the pair from the day before, who were calming their acquaintances. Apparenlty the Ryn was rubbing off on him.

Athan had been stifling a laugh and giving the human from Teth a look that said “take his advice.” The human was furious, but couldn't seem to find anything appropriate to say. “The fact is, Mr. Ambassador,” Athan began, “this topic doesn't concern you at all. Chadra has been admitted into the Eastern Province in accordance with standing emergency procedures; your only say in this is concerning the treatment and transportation of the Dac refugees, and―as my esteemed associate put it―play nice, if you're tired of fish.” Athan offered a friendly wave to the very-un-amused fish-people sitting on the other end of the table, then shrugged apologetically.

It was all in good fun, though. Chadra had joined the Eastern Province and would soon sign a number of independent treaties with the Cooperative; and as soon as the particulars were worked out, the watery world would begin accepting its new, adopted species. Redemption was far from a reality, but with friends like the Chadra-Fan, it may yet be a possibility.