Delaborde-class Star Destroyer Themis, in orbit via Till Chorios

A multitude of people filled the Scout Lab’s alabaster conference room; from the lords and ladies from Till Chorios to politicians from Confederate worlds in the Meridian to the military officers of Task Force Justitia. All but one kept their silence, a single CSIS officer who droned on the leads on the Neo-Grissmath Party thus far uncovered by CSIS and regional intelligence services. The intelligence man offered a rhetorical question.

“…where will they strike next?”

“Ampliquen,” stated Valeska dryly, “while we couldn’t stop the freighters from jumping into hyperspace, the stealth fighters trailing them managed to record their exit courses. Most of them seem to go to nowhere in particular; doubtlessly to try and through us off their trail. But two of the freighters jumped on the same vector, and the only planet it leads to is Ampliquen.”

“But that just doesn’t seem likely, ma’am,” frowned one of the junior officers, “because there hasn’t been anything out of the ordinary from Ampliquen. There are no riots, no news, no calls from the government, and our own agents there haven’t detected anything unusual there.”

“Nothing?” questioned General Saheel, jotting down notes on his datapad.

The intelligence liaison nodded his head. “Nothing. It’s as if Ampliquen is in its own separate sector. We’ve heard nothing regarding the Neo-Grissmath Party and the planet at all; not even rumours.”

“But if there’s supposedly nothing there, that and in itself makes the planet suspicious on my list,” noted Valeska, “since nearly everywhere else, there are at least rumours of a Neo-Grissmath presence there.”

“True,” noted the officer, “but that can easily be explained by the planet’s demographics. There aren’t even a hundred thousand permanent residents on the planet, and nearly all of them are somehow related to the planet’s vineyards or tourism industry. Heck, I bet there are four times as many tourists on the planet at a given time than actual citizens. And with the planet’s wealth and general prosperity, there isn’t much of a foothold for the Neo-Grissmath Party to latch onto. Citizens there are happy from what I understand, and our agents are almost certainly more happy then the citizens are.”

Saheel frowned and set down his stylus. “Well, if there is no valuable war material or popular support for the party on planet, then the only reason I can think of is that they have a business down there, perhaps trying to tap into the planet’s wealth.”

“Unlikely,” informed Investigator Hagel, shifting in his seat, “the wineries which form the basis of the planet’s economy, and thus the government, are very exclusive. They are all owned by a set of families which founded them hundreds of years ago, during the reign of the Grissmath Dynasty. If the Neo-Grissmath Party does have a hold, they are part of the tribal government system which rules Ampliquen.”

“But it’s the closest lead we have,” muttered Valeska, “we have no choice but to purse it for now.”

“That will require some subtlety,” ventured Lord Manten, “may I suggest that the use of my government transports to provide transport for a CSIS investigative team? Till Chorios has recently signed a trading agreement which will supply one of their refineries with Isobe grain to ferment a new beer...”

“That will be suitable,” agreed Valeska, “assuming that CSIS can assemble a team quickly?”

Investigator Hagel hesitated, “Possibly. CSIS is rather strained right now hunting down the Neo-Grissmath Party, but I’ll see what CSIS can scrounge up for a team…”

Colomé, Ampliquen

The two people warily eyed each other like opposing male Krayt dragons during the blistering Tatooine spring. Polite smiles and seemingly calm demeanors concealed the rankling disagreements the pair had in the past. Governor Alsia Sunrider let her mottled eyes gaze across her office; as long as they didn’t settle on the vistor; the man, Chairman Mulokhai Alucard, chief operating officer of the planet’s vineyards and wineries, forcibly maintained a calm demeanor.

“We’re talking profit here,” stated Chairman Alucard, “and quite frankly, the Confederation is quickly going to become that only way. Till Chorios just joined the Confederation a little over a week ago, which makes them the seventh planet in the Sector to join the Confederation. Frankly, the Confederation is beginning to control most of the sector’s shipping lanes, most of our outside supplies now, and its currency is becoming the accepted standard to boot. Even some of our key trading partners are part of the country now. As you know, we’ve made a deal with the nation of Zug to use their Isobe grain in our newest product. We’re already tied to them now…”

Governor Alsia Sunrider waved a hand. “We seem to have all of the advantages from the Confederation that we could possibly get from them without taxes, such as protection from pirates, and the possibility of going to war with a major power. Some planets, of course, feel the need to be part of the Confederation or the Coalition in order to ensure that they aren’t dominated by one of the empires. But in all seriousness, why would any of them covet our planet? A small world with not even a hundred thousand people, whose only product is wine? Perhaps if one of the Moffs is a real conisseur of products, but that’s unlikely to say the least.”

“But governor,” protested Alucard, “it may seem that way politically, but it is not so economically. The tariffs that protect Confederation trade are being imposed on us now, and frankly, that drives up our cost for most of our customers, since they are now part of the said government. And that makes us uncompetitive, and since our currency is local, they already have a stronger currency rating verses our own even without the tariffs. If we do not join, there is the real possibility that our businesses will fail.”

The woman coldly smiled. “Sometimes the betterment of the people is worth more than business ventures. And that is what a government’s interest is in; that of the people.”

The Chairman’s cheeks flushed crimson. “If the vineyards fail, the people will fail and suffer. No vineyards means no jobs or tourists, and even if our vineyards still exist at lower capacity, we’ll have fewer jobs, fewer tourists, and nothing to subsist on. People can’t only drink wine, beer, and other spirits. They need substances too, like meats and bread. Don’t be a fool, Sunrider. Our fates are intertwined. The government cannot exist without us, the vineyards and wineries, and we cannot exist without the government’s help.”

“The vineyards have survived for hundreds of years,” rebuked Sunrider softly, “and they will continue to do so. I can maybe arrange a meeting with Confederate officials to perhaps get rid of their tariff in exchange for the riddance of our own. Keep your peace. The people and their independence, no, freedom are the supreme law of the land.”

“Oh?” questioned the man, “and what freedom do those in Atriedes have? There is a menace there that kills in the night, and yet you haven’t protected them. I daresay that you can’t protect them even if you wanted to do. Tell me, how free are they if they’re dead?”

“Silence,” demanded Sunrider, “I think it best if you would leave. My customs officer tells me that the Confederate transports from Till Chorios have arrived with…your ingredients…”

Juaire-class Gunship Pride of Zug, Colomé, Ampliquen

One of the ship’s lower airlocks slid open, in the process intermingling exotic scents and gases native to Ampliquen and the stale, sterile air that circulated throughout the Pride of Zug. Captain Gates, accompanied by several sailors and guards, strolled out of the airlock and down a ramp deployed from the ship’s port side. The Till Chorios native shouted out orders, and the lowest deck’s ramp opened to offload the duraplast crates of Isobe grains. At the top of the personnel ramp, Ravenna took a deep breath of the native air; letting the oddly revolting yet intriguing fragrance of the swampland flow through his nostrils.

“You coming down here?” questioned Gates, staring up at Adrian, “I assure you; I’ve been here before. This is probably the safest place to be in the Sector…”

The Susevfian politely smiled and walked down the ramp. The city was large enough to have a spaceport that could handle most freighters and shuttles which plied the lanes of the Outer Rim. Yet Colomé and the number of bulk freighters plying the Meridian were small enough, that the city hadn’t bothered to make any facilities capable of accommodating the two hundred meter long hulk of a Juaire-class Corvette. Thus, when the Jensaarai’s feet finally touched the surface of Ampliquen, Ravenna felt his boots slightly give way to the swampy ground that served as the landing field. Around him, the marshes seemed to be steadily encroaching against the duracrete slabs and buildings which marked civilization. Gates beckoned the Jensaarai over and saluted an aging, middle aged man moving over to greet them.

“Mr. Ravenna,” stated Gates merrily, “may I present you to Chairman Alucard, head of the Wineries and Vineyards of Ampliquen.”

“How do you do, Mr. Ravenna,” greeted the man, “you don’t seem to be a military or spacegoing man. Might I ask what you do?”

“He’s an investor and analysis for the Brandenburg Stock Exchange,” replied the Captain, “the federal government is thinking of the economic possibilities the planet has to offer; they’ve been rather inspired by the agreement between the two of us.”

Alucard beamed. “That is the best news I’ve heard in a while.”

Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Has there been bad news?”

“Well….yes, I suppose one could say that. One of the minor vineyard areas owned by the Sunrider family has had problems as of late. Not economically, the entire planet is good there, I assure you. No, there have been some unexplained disappearances, murders, and some strange ships in the area. Rumour has it that if this continues, Governor Sunrider will sell the property.”

“Sounds like a way for the Exchange to get a foothold in Ampliquen,” considered Ravenna, “Would it be possible to perhaps visit the area? So that I may report back to my superiors about the possibility of assets here in Ampliquen?”

“Yes, though I must warn you that it is not for certain that it will be for sale…it must be publicized first.”

The Jensaarai Warrior nodded. “But of course. I have a few assistants and specialists too that have come with me, I hope that I am not intruding in wishing they can come along too.”

The Chairman shook his head. “Not at all. I can arrange transportation for your group, but I am afraid that you will probably have to stay and pay for rooms in Jolif. They are quite nice for the price, I assure you.”

Ravenna nodded. “I trust they are. You must excuse me, Chairman, I need to talk to my people about this development. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Should I message your ship about the arrangements?”

“Yes,” replied the Jensaarai, already walking back towards the ship, “that will be fine. Thank you very much.”

As the Chairman and Captain Gates prattled on, Ravenna let his hand slip through his jacket to rest on the pommel of his lightsaber. He passed through the airlock, whose doors immediately shut behind him with a tumultuous thud. Well, that looks like our place. Mysterious ships and murders? It’s as if the Neo-Grissmath Party knows that we’re coming and is planting signs. But why would they, unless it’s a trap? Yet there really isn’t much else for us to do but spring the trap. I suppose it’s best to start pulling up any info on the site that I can…

Jolif, Ampliquen

The Tantalis Winery and Vineyard stood in front of the Confederate entourage and their guide, Torin Baptiste. It was a squat building of uncarved stone with multiple levels and depilated tile roof which seemed ready to collapse at a moment’s notice. They passed on a gravel path through iron gates which enclosed the building and the surrounding vineyards. Vines ran rampant over their structures, and Adrian wondered when the last time the fruits had been harvested. The group abruptly stopped as Baptiste waved an arm which engulfed the facility.

“This is the Tantalis,” announced the Torin Baptiste, “the Sunrider family has owned it for several hundred years.”

Ravenna frowned. “So the Governor or her family members are aware of touring of the facility?”

“No,” replied the Ampliquen man, hesitating, “Ampliquen has a sort of complex operating system to offworlders. The family does indeed own it, and makes profit on it, but every vineyard and winery is actually operated, perhaps maybe leased would be the better word, to the Chairman. In any case, the Sunrider family is still in charge of keeping everything in working order, but they haven’t made any repairs for in quite a while.”

“So it’s not in use then?” questioned one of the Confederates.

“No,” announced the man, “which is a loss for us, but not for the Sunrider family. They own several other, larger facilities, and since one of them is the Governor right now…almost everything is going perfect for them. But enough chat, let’s get on in to the place to you can have a looksee at it...right this way.”

Baptiste swiped a keycard in front of the door. A sharp click emanated from the inside, and the man swung the front door open. It was as old-fashioned inside as it was outside; with walls made up mottled stones likely locally harvested and set in place with duracrete. Rustic lights hung from the vaulted ceiling, to which their guide frowned as he stepped in.

“Odd,” remarked the man, “the place hasn’t been used in a while according to my company papers, the lights shouldn’t be on. Unless the Sunriders finally sent a repair team to fix the place up.”

“Bad news for us,” sighed one of the Confederates, “we may not have a chance to get a foothold in Ampliquen then.”

Adrian sagely nodded, as if in agreement with the man. But his mind wandered among the hallways of the winery, probing and getting a feel of the building’s aura. Through the Force, the Jensaarai could feel the mirth of drunken revelers in ages past and the industriousness of Ampliquen workers. This was the steady tempo that flowed, but the Jensaarai felt another, more recent and disturbing spike in emotions: anger; hate; deceitfulness. The Susevfian man let the other CSIS agents walk ahead of him with their native guide. As the last man passed him, the warrior dropped into a steady Jensaarai trance; his breathing grew deeper and slower, and his mind surged almost out of his body; actively probing the area around him. He felt the aura of other intelligent life besides himself and his team, and eavesdropped on their thoughts. Thoughts of vigiliance and alarm; of people musterering for combat. And more importantly, he felt another. Another force-user who was not quite like him. The aura emanating this creature seemed incomplete and confused; constantly fluttering from thoughts of the light to the depravity of dark; like an elaborate, contrasting puzzle which was missing pieces. His hand dropped down into his coat pocket and onto the hilt of his lightsaber. And then he heard a challenging yell.

“Who are you?”

As the whine of blaster bolts filled the hallway, the caeruleum blade sprung to life with the characteristic snap-hiss of all lightsabers. A ruby dart surged over his right shoulder, and the Susevfian lunged in the opposite direction to take cover behind an ancient shelving unit. One of the bolts from the Neo-Grissmath insurgents hit the shelf, shattering a glass bottle, but the metal shelf held up against the enemy fire. Around the Jensaarai, the CSIS operatives and their guide had taken cover behind the myriad of empty containers. While Baptiste cringed and cried behind a metal drum, the Confederates returned fire with holdout blasters and a pair of CCA-5 Repeating Carbines brought by an agent who had concealed them with a trenchcoat. The blistering fire from those guns forced the Neo-Grissmath fighters to seek their own cover, bringing the CSIS agents a brief respite.

“Just wonderful,” yelled Lars, “that’s a nice toy you have there Ravenna, care to actually use it?”

Adrian grunted. “It’s a bit more complicated than flipping a switch.”

His emerald eyes shut as perspiration began to seep down his bronzed face. The Susevfian deeply exhaled, letting his shoulders droop in the process. The whines of blaster bolts began to fade in the Jensaarai’s mind as his meditative state took full control of his body. He pivoted on his left foot into the corridor. Red bolts from the Neo-Grissmath lines and emerald darts from the CSIS retinue seemed to slowly drift across the hall. A ruby dart slowly plowed towards his neck; the Jensaarai swung his saber at the bolt in a precise arc of the Soresu practitioner. The blue blade and the dart connected, returning the bolt to the general vicinity of its sender. More opposing darts coalesced towards him, like a molasses-slow rain. Ravenna whipped his saber about in a series of tight arcs which knocked the bolts off course to scatter in a multitude of directions.

More blaster bolts flew through the narrow corridor; Adrian silently cursed. There’s too many of them. Frak. He took in a deep breath, feeling the current of the Force through through his arteries to his left hand. Energy coalesced, tingling his fingers. The Jensaarai released it, sending a concussive shockwave at his opponents in the form of Force Push. As Adrian dove to take cover behind another wine rack, he could hear the screams of men and splintering of wood as his attack smashed into their lines. He spared a quick glance around the corner, only to be driven back by sporadic blaster bolts. The Susevfian allowed himself a slight grin. That could use some improvement. Missed them, but hit a stack of wooden crates instead. At least the crates shattered into their midst…don’t seem to be very wounded, but they’re stunned and still somewhat distracted. A torrent of emerald bolts from the Confederate carbines surged from behind him into the Neo-Grissmath ranks. There were more shouts and yells. One man screamed in pain. Adrian focused and stretched out his mind, probing for the wounded Neo-Grissmath soldier. He found and felt the aura of pain and suffering; the fighter’s jumbled thoughts and hysteria threatened to overwhelm the Jensaarai’s collected calm. Adeptly, Adrian mentally tugged at several strings in the other man’s mind. The Neo-Grissmath fighter fell unconscious, losing his sensation of pain in the process. Ravenna winced. Too often we forget the tragedy and pain of war. Fire from the Confederate carbines sputtered to a standstill as the gun’s powerpacks were drained out of existence.

Adrian jumped back into the center of the corridor, holding his saber in a classic Soresu guard. Crimson darts sprang forth from the insurgent’s positions. The Jensaarai whipped his saber about, the blue beam connected with the various bolts, deflecting away at oblique angles. The Jensaarai advanced slowly, letting the flow of the Force through his body guide his every step, every parry, and every evasive action. All through this time, the saber bounded across his body in the tight arcs, shielding him from any harm from the enemy blasters. He was within a meter of their position. A shout emanated from the Neo-Grissmath lines, to which Adrian swiveled his head to focus on its speaker. But he saw an entirely different thing instead. It was a small globe packed with metal splinters and a thermite core, and it was slowly floating towards him. The Jensaarai felt a slight tremor of fear sweep through him; for the opposing fighter had thrown a fragmentation grenade at him. No amount of mastery with Soresu could protect him. His eyes narrowed as he pushed the thoughts of possible pain and suffering into furthest recesses of his mind. His left hand surged towards the grenade, releasing a minute but precise Force Push which buffeted the grenade backwards, towards its sender. Adrian hit a tab on his lightsaber, deactivating its blade as he dove towards the floor for cover. The grenade exploded in the midst of the Neo-Grissmath lines; and more screams of pain echoed through the stony corridors.

The Jensaarai stumbled up onto his feet and glanced about. CSIS agents hovered over him and around the subdued Neo-Grissmath fighters, most of whom were sporting clothing with diminutive crimson rivers running down towards the floor. Ravenna’s mouth twitched, and he wiped a bead of blood from his own chin. Must have hit the floor a little too hard. An agent handed him his burnished lightsaber.

“Good to see that you’re among the living,” commented Lars, “we were worried about you for a little bit.”

“Uh, yeah,” muttered Ravenna, “the concussive force from the grenade must of made me black out. What’s the situation?”

“Well,” replied Lars, “Baptiste is a little shaken; partly from their heat, and partially from our own. I don’t think he was planning on walking into a good fight when he woke up this morning…”

Adrian snorted. “Think this will get us into any trouble?”

“Nah,” responded the agent, “our passports all listed us carrying concealed weaponry, and we didn’t start the shooting…no reason to legally detain us, and even if they wanted to, I doubt they’d want to piss us off.”

“Where is he now?”

“Off getting the police.”

Adrian nodded. “Probably a good thing, seeing that we don’t know what’s completely going on here...”

Lars nodded. “I’ve already commed the task force about this development, they’re sending several ships to help us out, with troops, naturally.”

“They won’t be able to get down here though,” muttered the Jensaarai, “at least not without getting permission from the Governor.”

“Yeah, but they can at least help stop the enemy from escaping.”

“Hopefully,” countered the Jensaarai, “I wouldn’t bet on it though. But what’s our status here?”

“Ah…we’ve just secured the lower basement and this level. Owens here said he heard people above though.”

Adrian solemnly nodded. “Well, you hold down the fort, I’m going to do a recon on the levels above us; just to make sure they aren’t preparing for an assault or are trying to escape.”

Lars shrugged, hoisted his carbine, and continued with his rounds around the prisoners. Ravenna leaned against one of the stony gray walls, feeling the unrelenting hardness press up against his back. He let out an idle sigh, and clipped his lightsaber back to his belt. Crossing his arms, the man began the slow rhythmic breathing which was the prelude to entering the Jensaarai trance. He felt the energy field of the Force fluactate from a chaotic slosh in his body to a dull, rhythmic beat which ran in sync with his blood; it would be easier to focus and control now. Shadows…chameleons…this is what I must become like now. The Susevfian focused on the light surrounding him, and began to bend it to his will via the Force. Through the use of Force Stealth, the Jensaarai was physically shrouded himself and dampened his own Force signature; though the man knew his mastery of the technique was still amateur, and while it may fool non-sensitives, any experienced Jedi or Sith would probably be able to pick him out. The Force cloak complete, the man advanced through the ancient corridors, adeptly dodging and slipping past the wary Confederate sentinels. A few turns and corridors later, he found himself at the foot of a set of stairs.

The man slowly advanced up them, carefully placing each footstep to minimize the amount of noise he could possibly produce. It was a tedious process; a full five minutes later, he had advanced up to one story, but he was certain that no-one had detected his movement. From the head of the stairs, the Jensaarai quietly slid alongside the side of the wall. Footsteps and voice alerted Adrian to the presence of advancing Neo-Grissmath fighters.

“No, I don’t know what she wants…I don’t know what’s going on downstairs, but judging from the squad’s comlink static, I don’t want to know what’s going…”

“We have to get out of here…”

The men came into view as they rounded a corridor, and Adrian grimaced. Frak. They’re too close together and the hallway is too small…one of them is going to bump into me…if I can’t avoid them…might as well make the best of the situation. The Confederate agent abandoned the wall to move to the center of the hallway. He ignored the lightsaber dangling from his belt and the holdout blaster that was holstered up his left sleeve. Frowning, the Jensaarai took up the rooted stance of Broken Gate, the martial art of the ancient Jedi Order during the formative years of the Old Republic. He was now firmly planted and ready to fight; there could be no decision changing now.

As the pair of guards entered striking range, Adrian’s focus from Force Stealth changed to that of Broken Gate. The Force cloak fell, revealing to the Neo-Grissmath fighters a man in a tattered and bloody business suit. The first guard started to line up his blaster rifle to fire at the man, but was caught by a devastating punch to the neck, collapsing the windpipe located within it. The rifle clattered to the floor as the guard seized his own throat, attempting to stave off the damage and reserve precious oxygen that had ceased to flow through his navel passages.

The other guard had whipped a vibroshiv; the choice weapon of many a street thug. Its blade surged towards the Jensaarai’s side. Adrian sidestepped and gripped the man’s arm and twisted it. The man wobbled before collapsing onto the ground with a thud. His hazel eyes bulging out, the Neo-Grissmath insurgent opened his mouth. The Jensaarai brought his right foot down in a precisely modulated stopping kick to the man’s head. It reverberated with a sickly thump as the head bounced off the floor. The hazel eyes rolled, and Adrian knew the man was unconscious.

“Impressive.”

Adrian’s eyes darted upwards to view the speaker; a blonde woman wearing a jumpsuit not unsimilar to one made popular by Organa-Solo during her stay on Hoth. Her brown eyes gazed back at him, and a pearly smile blossomed on her face. It quickly receded as she shook her head. She licked her lips.

“Impressive, but misguided.”

“Who are you?” demanded Ravenna.

“If you must know, I am Callie Sunrider.”

Adrian frowned. “Sunrider as in Governor Alsia Sunrider.”

“She is my sister; something of a failure in my opinion, but I suppose there are some who think of her differently,” replied the woman, sinking her hands into her jacket, “she forgot the key things that keep the galaxy better for everyone, and who has been trying to take it away.”

“The Confederation?”

She laughed. “The Confederation? You people have made things a pain for me and my people, but you are not my real enemy. No, my feud lies with the Galactic Empire; this monstrous tyrant with a glutton greater than the largest of Hutts. They steal freedom, they harm people, they sacked and burned my home, and murdered my friends.”

“Here on Ampliquen?”

“No,” replied Callie carelessly, “on Naboo. They came with their big ships and unleashed their Sith minions. And they spared no-one; not even the youngest of the Order.”

“You’re a Jedi?”

The woman withdrew her hand from her pocket to produce a curved lightsaber hilt.

“No, I was a Jedi. But the Jedi are weak, just like the Coalition and your Confederation. They do not take the fight to the Empire.”

“And you and the Neo-Grissmath Party do?” countered the Jensaarai.

She squinted. “We are preparing. To wage war, one needs a base. One needs planets, armies, resources, and where better to start than in original home; backwater planets whom the Empire has carelessly left untapped or untouched. They would have been the perfect place to start a new Alliance to break the chains of the Empire. But you had to interfere…”

Adrian shook his head. “Your party had to interfere and hurt innocent citizens. You tried to rip down the foundations of legitimate governments. How does that make you better than the Empire who does that as regularly as I eat food?”

Her eyes flared with anger. “The ends justify the means.”

“I have to take you in,” replied the agent, reaching for his saber.

“I think not,” rebutted the woman, waving a hand at the man.

Adrian felt his feet lift off the floor before being hurtled backward. His body tumbled, the world moving around him like a jumbled kaleidoscope. The floor seemed to rise above him like an engulfing wave. A dull pang of pain emanated from the back of his head, and he fell unconscious; tumbling down to the bottom of the stairs.


Two days later…

Holo-presentation to the heads of the Wineries and Vineyards

“My own sister,” sighed the Governor, “we thought her dead; killed by the Empire on Naboo. But she returned to us unknown and unannounced. If what you say is true, she is responsible for the chaos of this sector, yet I feel that the goal of her cause is in the cause is right; the toppling of the Empire would bring the opportunity for real justice and freedom unfettered. But her methods violate the very principles that she once upheld, and that she believes that the Neo-Grissmath Party will restore. She is sadly mistaken. Her brilliance has been twisted by a vein of madness, and in the process has become more of a threat to the innocent people of this sector than she could ever hope to be to the Empire. We, the people of Ampliquen, know that the Neo-Grissmath Party must be stopped not because their rule could affect us, but because if we do not, one of our own will harm thousands, maybe even millions of lives of the citizens of our sector. She, the leader of the Neo-Grissmath Party must be stopped. We must stop her. And to do that, I am announcing our membership into the Confederation. For now not only will we have a chance to make amends for her wrongs, but we shall strengthen our economy and prosperity, as Chairman Alucard has so eloquently toted our membership into the Confederation as an aubade to prosperity. May we prosper, and so the Confederation. But may we never forget the ills caused by our own…”