Delaborde-class Star Destroyer Themis, Meridian Sector

Deep within the bowels of the Themis, officers and other crewmen scurried about in the dimly lit CIC. Dull, monotone chatter stretched from crew station to crew station like a void spider’s intricate web. The past week since the Durren and Strennen governments had joined the Confederation had been a time of speculation and analysis within all of the Sector’s forces. For when Andan Fenn had been captured by Swenson, it was revealed that the Neo-Grissmath Party did not solely exist in that system, but throughout much of the sector clandestinely. They were the ones responsible for escalating the violence and crimes within the Sector after the New Republic had fell. Though they had not managed to otherthrow many of the local governments, the complete destruction of the Durren Neo-Grissmath Party had seemed to excaberate the party. Other worlds in the area were reporting an increase in crime, and minority unrest. CSIS had uncovered more disturbing rumours from its spies and contacts, and as a result, all Confederate forces were busy analyzing traffic or preparing for likely scenarios involving the Neo-Grissmath Party. It was a situation dire enough that the Confederation’s SCO, Rear-Admiral Corise Lucerne, had formed a relatively large fast response unit to deal with the Neo-Grissmath threat: Task Force Justitia. A collection of Unity ships and Confederate army units directed by Commodore Valeska from her flagship, the Themis. The ship had become the nerve center of the Contegorian responses to the Party. In the center of the CIC, Valeska stared at a holo map of the Meridian Sector, occasionally manipulating it through the high-end holo-projector’s control console. She focused it on the Exodo system, which was only a few light years away from Durren and Strennen. Tapping a zoom control, the system grew exponentially to reveal a blue-white star and a dark, volcanic world.

“Well, it looks like we’ll be busy,” muttered the Commodore, her eyes gazing at the holo map. The Neo-Grissmath’s are lashing out everywhere, or so it seems. Unrest is everywhere, and our agents say that the next outbreak is expected on Exodos II.”

“Just Exodos II?” questioned Captain Bendak Drakar, her executive officer, “I was imagining we’d be dealing with outbreaks everywhere.”

The dark-haired woman offered a wrinkly smile. “I imagine there are going to be outbreaks of violence throughout much of the sector, but the only ones which we will be dealing with are ones that affect us or our allies. CSIS has rooted out and basically wiped out the Neo-Grissmath Party in our own territory, and the Commonwealth won’t dealing with them on Meridian because of their work with the plague. No-one is likely to revolt or attack a government that’s helpful to them.”

“So why does that explain our focus on Exodos II?”

She nodded. “A fair question, but we’re mostly doing it because of its proximity to Durren and Strennen. There’s a chance that some of it could sweep back into those planets, and in addition, Exodos II produces much metal and materials for the two planets. Durren especially. Loronar Industries has a presence there too, again, because of its metals. And so in helping ourselves, we help them. I imagine that will be good for business between the two of us; maybe even give us some extra economic stimulations. And on top of that, because of the economic relationships between Durren and Exodo II, their government is already friendly to ours, and is considering joining the Confederation partially to help to stop the Neo-Grissmath’s from ruining their world.”

“Don’t they have a military force to deal with it on their own? I mean, they didn’t get seized by pirates or other criminals during the Collapse…”

“Yes and no. They have a good civil police force, and Loronar provided one of its own fleets to semi-protect the planet. More or less to protect their interests. Problem is, neither of them are particularly well suited for fighting an insurgency or an open battle on the ground. And you know that is a likely scenario.”

“I take it this means Sahaal is in on this as well?”

Drakar referred to General Krieg Sahaal, one of the Confederation’s premier army officers who had been assigned to lead Army Group Justitia to deal with the Neo-Grissmath threat. He was noted for a fierce tenacity and a penchant for unorthodox, if somewhat risky, tactics. Because of the riskiness of his maneuvers, Sahaal would have likely remained a local commander with the Silver Unifer’s armies on Pedduccis Chorios if he had not had a string of astounding military successes during his planet’s civil war. Still, both Valeska and Drakar privately questioned the man’s abilities. Valeska regretfully nodded.

“I had to,” replied the woman, “this is really going to be his concern. The only thing we’re really doing is acting as logistics; hauling around his army and providing fire support. You should have saw how he reacted to this development; I thought he might be going mad. But the only thing he seems to have done is drive our flight coordinators mad…”

“What?”

“He’s basically developed an entirely new procedure for how we launch ships. And it surprisingly makes some sense for this development, but it’s still pretty risky,” mused the Commodore, “so I basically gave it my stamp of approval; for now. If this somehow gets messed up, I’m going to have to control him on a durasteel leash…”

“So where is he now?”

“Finishing off his plans in the Army’s operation center. He needs a lot of communicating to do with CSIS and the local government apparently to pull of his ideas. Probably a good thing too. It’s going to be a little less risky than normal for him…”

Army Group Justitia Operations Center, Delaborde-class Star Destroyer Themis, Meridian Sector

General Krieg Sahaal paced up and down the neat rows of communications and tactical stations which filled the bulk of the harshly lit Operation’s Room, occasionally sparing a bored glance at several of them. He ended his round at his own station, upon which several Arcadia saplings had been placed. Having lived his entire life in a savanna, transfer to a spacebourne desk job was somewhat disconcerting. The tanned man felt trapped within the cold metal walls and the stale recycled air. The saplings alleviated his discomfort somewhat, adding a both natural fragrance and scenery to an otherwise tomblike room. A soldier clad in dark blue Graylite armor with Chartreuse yellow lightning stripes etched across his flanks marched over to the General. He was part of Sahaal’s 8th Regiment; famed on Pedduccis Chorios for their efficiency and lightning strikes. The armored soldier crisply saluted the Silver Unifer general.

“Sir, we have President Gaven Samlon of Exodo II on the line.”

“Which station?” quietly queried Sahaal.

“Eighteen, sir,” snapped the soldier.

“Very good.”

The General marched over to the station and stiffly sat down. His cerulean eyes immediately perceived another set of eyes peering at him from the flatscreen monitor. Their eyes locked and focused for a brief second before zooming out to get a closer glance at each other. President Samlon appeared to be a somewhat pudgy, balding man with a receding hairline, dressed in a typical business suit. Several light years away, the president leaned forward.

“Is there something I can do for you, General?” questioned the man tersely.

“Yes,” replied Krieg softly, “there is. From what I understand, you are the Commander-in-Chief of your government’s forces?”

“In name,” replied the other man, leaning back, “I’m afraid by military forces we mean police forces. You’re the man the Confederation sent to aid us?”

“I am the ground man, yes. But I am not the overall one in charge, I must refer you to Commodore Valeska to deal with all of the other operations. I have a request of you then.”

“And what is that?”

“I wish to embed several my units within your police force,” requested Sahaal

“What? Explain yourself…”

The General mimicked the other’s leaning back maneuver. “From what I understand Mr. President, the Neo-Grissmath party could strike at any moment, and we don’t know how they’ll do it; riots, sabotage, even open war. And if they do it at any moment right now, who do you have to immediately respond with?”

“My police.”

“Right,” agreed the Confederate officer.

“But what of your men? Couldn’t you deploy them here immediately and just station them around important sites?”

“I could, but that would create several problems for us. The first being that the Neo-Grissmath’s will know where my people are, and where to avoid them and what not. Secondly, a large, standing foreign presence on Exodos II will make you look weak; needing the assistance of an outsider to prevent internal strife-”

“It’s true though..”

“-but it doesn’t have to appear that way. If I put small sections of my forces within your police, it will appear that we are merely lending you a few dozen hands to assist you in your efforts. It will show that you though you have access to many foreign troops, you have confidence in Exodos II’s native sons. And that will inspire confidence within the populace. And moreover, since your police know the area and its peoples, they can accurately guide my people where they need to be.”

“That is all fine and good,” interrupted Samlon, “but that by itself will not be enough to hold off a full-scale war.”

The General nodded. “You are correct in your assessment, which also why I have this in mind…”

Ur-Kurgan, Exodo II

Ur-Kurgan, the capital of Exodo II, an ancient city of fire and ash...and more ostensibly, vengeful wrath.

Tall spires and blocks of obsidian, iron, and volcanic rock jutted out from the ashy plains and the flows of lava. Years ago, before the rise of the Grissmath Dynasty, these formations had been a fortress to an ancient race; until they had been wiped out by the exploring Grissmath Dynasty in a brazen act of genocide. Rather than construct and experiment in building new structures, the Dynasty had simply occupied and modified the fortress city to their own needs. All the traces of the vanquished had been wiped out, save its name: Ur-Kurgan. Nearly a millennia later, nearly no-one knew the city’s past, but all could feel the nature of its creators on their final day. Grim bastions ominously dwarfed the planet’s visitors, and the members of a newly arrived Confederate fire team found themselves wondering what could possibly threaten a city of monolithic, defensive towers. Presently, the soldiers found themselves marching off their shuttle to a landing pad built into the side of one of the citadels. The overwhelming scent of sulfur and superheated metal greeted the men before their hosts could offer as much as a salute to them. A bronze-skinned Confederate Lance Corporal marched his men over to a waiting squad of riot police, already dressed for duty in battered Merr-Sonn KZZ riot armor. With grim faces and stun batons and blasters girding their belts, the Confederates had little doubt that these were men prepared for the worse. The lead Confederate man offered a stiff salute to the police.

“I’m Lance Corporal Rayfe Aquilla, of the Talcorran 1st Division,” introduced the soldier, “and these are my men: Kelly, Hunter, and Elysar.”

“Sergeant Terrano, at your service,” replied the police officer gruffly, “I am under the impression that you are to be imbedded into my men. Let me make one thing clear to both sides. I will not differentiate between police officer or Confederate in my judgements. If I tell one of you to do something, then be assured that the other will probably be having to do it too. That pertains to everything, whether I have you watching security monitors or holding the front lines.”

“With all due respect, sir,” protested Aquilla, “I appreciate your candor in ensuring impartialness to our treatment. Bu my men do not have the same training as yours, nor the same equipment. We cannot do things that your men can, and vice-versa. I hope that you will take that into consideration when you issue your orders, sir…”



Mathazar Ka’s apartment was situated on one of the highest levels of the Marlbough Tower; itself located on the outskirts of Ur-Kurgan. Throughout the years, it had once been a storeroom, once a part of a barracks, and even at one point, a slaughterhouse. Some claimed they could still smell the stench of the spilled blood. But even if one could smell the nonexistent scent, the large room provided a vista to kill for. From these heights, Mathazar had an excellent view of the ancient city, the lava flow mining, and the frequently tangerine-coloured sky. From this vantage point, the man carefully watched the descending Confederate shuttles, jotting down on a datapad the numbers of ships and types with the precision of a brain surgeon.

“Fewer than expected,” muttered Mathazar Ka, letting a smile crease his face, “at most…they could have not even brought five hundred men. That will not be enough to offset the brethren. Especially if more come from the stars like they promised.”

A sharp rap on his door alerted Ka to the presence of a visitor. The middle-aged man hastily concealed the datapad in a desk drawer and moved to open the door. He felt a sense of dread mingling with excitement flow through his heart. He peered through the see-hole, and opened the door.

“Ah, Curran, come in. What news do you have of our guests?”

Curran warily walked in and Mathazar shut and bolted the door behind him.

“They’re being mingled into the local police force by piecemeal,” informed Curran.

“And they don’t even have five hundred men too,” replied Ka, “that’s enough to signify a diplomatic unity…solidarity with the government, but not really enough to do anything useful. At least against our flood of fighters.”

“Speaking of which, when do the Brethren from the stars come?”

“As soon as the Loronar Fleet is disposed of.”

“Just how is that supposed to be happening?”

“Through a feint,” informed Ka, “we’ve managed to get Kronn and his lackeys to attack one of their convoys coming in near by. Once the fleet responds and rushes to their rescue, the transports jump in and land. And we will reestablish the Dynasty from Exodo, and it will spread to reclaim all of its lost dignity and possessions...”

Nightfall, Ur-Kurgan, Exodos II

The Exodo II’s rusty red sky began to sucuumb to the darkness. Already, the prinpricks of light from distant stars were stitching themselves in and out of sky’s canvas. A small group of men huddled close to Jaymach Tower, seeking to avoid the temperamental winds of the volcanic planet. One of them, Mathazar Ka gazed at the sky, picking out the gray hulls of the Loronar Fleet framed by the colossal citadels. The man eagerly glanced at his chrono. A minute passed, a series of bright flashes across the sky announced the departure of the Loronar Fleet to pursue Kronn’s pirate armada. A BlasTech Persuader slid into man’s hand. He glanced at Curran, who pulled out a slugthrower pistol from a concealed holster. Other members of the Party drew quietly drew their weapons. But they waited a few more seconds. Bright flashes of Cronau radiation dotted the sky; the Brethren transports had intentionally maneuvered their hulls to produce high amounts of radiation for an umistakeable signal: the assault was on.

Ka led the men around a side of the tower’s entrance. A set of obsidian stairs led to the doorway, but two sets of riot policemen blocked their entrance. This was unsurprising, as the Jaymach was the capitol building. Ka barred his teeth and threw a sphere at the officers. It exploded with a bright flash-bang, scattering and confusing the policemen. Scattered shots erupted from the governmental men, and the Neo-Grissmath men returned a more concentrated, overwhelming fire. A more ordered set of emerald beams lanced out from the doorway, and Mathazar was immediately aware of another presence. The Confederate soldiers blended in well with the structure, their active camouflage fusing their torsos and appendages with the tower. Only their bare faces and drawn blasters revealed their presence. A sputtering of bolts from the soldiers forced the conspirator to dive to the ground. He felt another person hit the ground beside him with a thud. Ka spared a glance at the familiar looking figure.

“Well, Curran, we knew things would be tough to regain the Grissmath glory, but things aren’t looking quite as good as I thought they’d be, but we will prevail, right?”

Curran said nothing, but his arm pointed the pistol in the direction of the entrance. Ka swore.

“Say something back blast it or shoot already!”

The man did neither, and Ka swore even more.



“But the sergeant’s dead!” cried a police officer.

“Then get the hell in here!” demanded the Confederate Lance Corporal, lining up another shot with his carbine, “those frakkers are going to chew you alive if you don’t.”

He squeezed the trigger, sending another round of suppressive fire through the door crack at the increasing number of Neo-Grissmath conspirators. A motley array of shuttles and freighters clogged Ur-Kurgan’s streets, all unloading more Neo-Grissmath aligned fighters into the mix. The fortificated weapons of Jaymach Tower had helped thin their lines by wiping large swaths through them and knocking out enemy transports; until the newly arriving transports got smart and fired back. Most of the fortification’s weapons had been knocked out, and most of the transports were now damaged or destroyed. Which left only the infantry to do any of the fighting. And with the Neo-Grissmath men outnumbering the combined Confederate-Police forces by nearly five-to-one odds, a protracted street fight would realize the Neo-Grissmath’s quest for dominance. The allied forces had no choice but to fall back into the safety of their buildings or be decimated in the streets. With the last of the live police officers of Teranno’s men having stumbled into the shelter of Jaymach Tower, Aquilla and the Confederates swung the doors shut and began to barricade them with the lobby’s furniture. A policeman staggered over to the Lance Corporal.

“What do we do?”

Rayfe considered the man’s question, even as he hoisted a chair over his head to add to the extensive barricade. The cracking of the door’s glass greeted the unenlisted man’s ears. The crash of other objects being used as impromptu battering rams against the durasteel doors resounded throughout the room.

“Pray,” stated the soldier, “take up some of covered position which you can use to fire at the doorway with, and keep praying that help will come soon.”

Under the starry sky, the fight between the Neo-Grissmath Party and the allied governments of Exodo II and the Contegorian Confederation continued. Open warfare had given way to a siege of the citadels; a scenario with both sides detested. The rhythmic thud of impromptu battering rams against the doors of the Jaymach Citadel deafened both those inside and outside of it. Mathazar Ka gathered with the other coup leaders around the wreckage of one of the downed transports.

“They’re frakking stubborn,” cursed one of the men, “at this rate, we’ll have to fight floor to floor with them…”

“They can’t win though,” offered up another, “They are surrounded, outnumbered, outgunned, and they’ll have to run out of supplies sometime…”

“We don’t know whose side Time is on,” commented Ka, “we could starve them into submission possibly yes, but there’s a chance that the Confederation will send reinforcements. And we don’t have the men or arms to stand up against a full-fledged army; not unless we have the Citadels.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about reinforcements for a bit though,” stated the first man, “we’ve taken over the comm. stations and on their way here, the Brethren destroyed most of the communication’s satellite. It’ll probably take them a few days to realize that something is wrong.”

“Then a few days is all we have,” replied Mathazar, “and we need to take the governmental Towers by then. We need something to make them give up fast.”

“We could take the populace hostage,” stated the second, “if they give up, we’ll start executing them.”

“That would turn the populace against us in the long run though,” muttered Ka, “it’s a short term solution that will give us more headaches later on…that’s not a bad idea…we’ll use that if there’s nothing left to do.”

“We could try an aerial assault,” remarked another, “have the transports lift up and drop men onto the tower roofs. It’ll force them to defend two different areas at once. And they don’t have enough men to defend both ways, I think.”

“That,” stated Mathazar, “is the best idea I’ve heard all night. Does anyone else concur to adopt this stratagem?”

Murmurs of accord greeted the proposition. The cabal of ring leaders ended; each one leaving to get their people organized and ready for the attack. He pulled out a comlink from his bloodied jacket and tapped a button. He spoke, only to be answered by static. The man frowned. Another confederate of his next to him also pulled out a comlink, which too replied with static. Mathazar frowned.

“What the hell? They don’t have any jamming equipment, do they?” demanded Ka.

“No,” frowned the other, “at least that’s what Baummann said. All they had was as the Ur-Kurgan communication’s center, which we can see from here. Our sentinels are still standing guard...”

The Neo-Grissmath member was cut off by shrieks, screams, and muffled cries for help emanating from across the rebel’s perimeters. An eerily fog began to sweep through the city. Mathazar gripped his holdout blaster tightly. Phantoms of ages past began to flicker in the fog’s mist; a ghostly army of ancient Grissmath Dynasty soldiers rose up and preceded through the fog. One of the Neo-Grissmath’s fired, sending a bright red burst clearly through the breast of the phantoms. Still the phantoms advanced. As they passed through the Neo-Grissmath lines, the engulfed Neo-Grissmath men shouted, cried, screamed before quickly fallen silent.

“What the hell?” exclaimed Mathazar, beginning to fire indiscriminately into the encroaching cloud of ghosts.

Something gripped his foot, and yanked him down to the ground. Mathazar cried and pulled the trigger of his pistol, sending bolts indiscriminately into the area. An armored fist struck him in the face, and the man fell unconscious. And the phantoms continued their ghastly march, unphased by the sporadic fire of the defending Neo-Grissmath.

Sahaal crawled towards the thinning mass of Neo-Grissmath fighters, leaving a trail of unconscious Neo-Grissmath men in his wake. Across the battlefield, other members of the Confederation Army’s VIII Legion, better known as Army Group Justitia, creeped on the pavement, partially covered with volcanic ash. His own Silver Unifer 8th Regiment and the Kirkanian 5th were spearheading the Confederate advance. The 8th was already experienced to Saheel’s leadership in night raids, and the Kirkanians had little difficulty doing anything in the darkness. A man in front of him whipped out a holdout blaster began indiscriminately firing into the ghosts being holo-projected from distant Confederate shuttles and Ur-Kurgan citadels. With concealment from the holo-projectors and staying low on the ground, it was unlikely that the man would actually hit any of the Confederate soldiers. Still, there was always the chance given the number of bolts Mathazar was firing.

Krieg lunged forward gripping a leg with both arms and jerked hard. The Neo-Grissmath’s balance detoriated and he fell, flailing his arms. Mathazar held onto his trigger, sputtering out several more bolts. The Silver Unifer lunged again and smashed the other man’s face with a punch from his armored glove. As he felt the side of the man’s face give way under his attack, Saheel heard a pained yelp. The Confederate general whipped his other hand against the man’s neck. The sounds from the Neo-Grissmath man stopped as he fell into unconsciousness, as his airway was disrupted. The Confederate spared a glance up; only a clustered group of the Neo-Grissmath fighters remained, facing back-to-back. There would be no stealthy way to overcome them. Several of the fighters fired, sending bursts into the darkness. One of them hit a Confederate, who let out a shout of pain. Almost immediately, the Confederates abandoned their subterfuge and returned fire. Bright blue stun blast surged from across and through the ghastly crowd of holo-projected ghosts into the desperate Neo-Grissmath fighters. Sapphire bolts knocked into the men, and the renegade’s formation collapsed as man collapsed haphazardly across the pavement. After the last opposing fighter collapsed, the General pulled out a whistle from his pocket, and gave it a sharp blast.

The soldiers rose from the ground.

The holo-projections ceased.

And the ghastly ghosts of the Grissmath Dynasty faded to reveal the new guardians of the Meridian.

The men of the 8th Legion started up the mopping up operations. Soldiers flitted about the unconscious, searching and stripping them of all weapons and gathering the captured equipment into piles. The enemy fighters themselves were dragged and unceremoniously tossed into holding pens hastily constructed off the transport wreckage. Kirkanians vigilantly stood watch around the pens. Medics treated the few Confederate wounded, and paid close attention to those Neo-Grissmath fighters who appeared to have serious wounds. Several comlink signals announced to the Citadel’s defenders the success of the operation, and the defenders began to strip the barricades from their doors. The main military operation completed, Saheel stumbled through the darkness to retir to his command shuttle located on the outskirts of Ur-Kurgan.

The following day…

Jaymach Tower, Ur-Kurgan, Exodo II

Despite its forbidding and dark exterior, Saheel found the inside of Jaymach Tower remarkably pleasant. Local artisans and architects had done their best over the years to alter the citadel’s interior to suit human needs and aesthetics. The rough rocks and grainy metals arranged in a jagged mosaic style as on the outside of the tower had been completely stripped away to be replaced by beautifully burnished and sculpted obsidian supported by polished metals. Each panel that made up the walls was arguably a work of art. The president’s office was no exception to the décor; even Samlon’s furniture seemed to be made out of the room itself. Krieg found himself wondering if the furniture was inherited from a long line of presidential predecessors. Gaven shut the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

“Please,” gestured the Exodo II native, “take a seat.”

The General did so as the other man himself reclined behind his massive desk. Samlon politely smiled, but said nothing. Saheel returned the gesture. Does the man’s thoughts must run like the lava outside the city? Slow, and without purpose? But requesting my presence here says something else in is line…but when is he going to say it?

“General Saheel…may I call you Mr. Saheel?” questioned the President.

Krieg nodded. “That is acceptable.”

“Good,” stated the other man, “because that will make things easier for me…an odd little habit of mine, forgive me. Funny as it is. Last night, when I signaled your transports through my shuttle’s subspace transceiver, it was the last thing on my mind. I thought for some minutes that we would fall to the coup, and Exodos II would wake up to find itself ruled by a group of people that it had never elected; scarcely even heard of. But now I am in a different predicament, and I am not quite sure how to explain it to them. You see, I’m inclined to tell the people something about what happened last night. Why there is ship wreckage on our streets. Why we have policemen and foreign troops standing guard over haggard and bloodied peoples within areas of the wreckage. Why people lost family members who were part of the police. But all words just fail me.

The local media has undoubtedly had a field day with this…event. There are specials running across the planet about the failed coup, and I think there isn’t a holonews on-planet that doesn’t have a man, if not a team here. They are covering the surface details and stories well. But how to get underneath the surface? How to show them that there was a very real possibility that last night could have been life altering experience? Few within Ur-Kurgan seemed to realize its magnitude. They thought that we could simply ride it out forever. And we both know how wrong they are.”

Saheel considered the President’s words carefully.

“There is no substitute for experience,” replied the General slowly, “and when words fail, we have only our actions to show how feel; how we think. Your people, I think, at least those in Ur-Kurgan have grown confident in the abilities of their towers. They wake up, and they see that the towers are still standing, like thousands of years before. In those towers, they see strength. Exodo II might not have a standing army or an impressive fleet, but it has these towers; a supposed solace to the weak. But it is really just a shell of strength, or perhaps even a visage of potential strength. For as the age old adage goes, the towers are only as good as the men who man them.”

“And there are planets that do not even have these,” mused the president, “what their people believe in then? Pure faith? But I digress. My cabinet, my party, and thus the majority of the House believe that we have not seen the last of the Neo-Grissmath Party. They will spring up somewhere else across the Sector, or even return here. This attempted coup proves that Exodos II cannot afford to remain stagnant. The Loronar Fleet is clearly not here to protect us, but to protect their assets, and we cannot rely on them. The police force will need to be expanded, and perhaps even a standing army created. But that could not be enough. So I ask this of you: do you think your Confederation could be the solace of the weak? Do you think they would accept our application for membership?”

“In a heartbeat,” replied the officer, “for why else does the Confederation exist? Strength and Unity for a purpose. And I think, that Exodos II’s purpose matches that of the rest of the Confederation. I believe as soon as the application is sent, it will almost be accepted.”

“And what about you?”

The Silver Unifer general squirmed in his seat. “The Neo-Grissmath Party suffered another setback, but they are not defeated yet. We have managed to get some of the prisoners to talk, and they have provided us with a lead. And that is a lead I shall pursue…”