“In all honesty, Senator Amear, I have very little interest in your excuse by way of explanation.” Lance Shipwright stood with his hands clasped neatly at the small of his back and attention fixed firmly on the holographic projection being rendered in three-dimensions not two meters from the Commodore. “If your delivery is going to be delayed then we shall simply have to adjust as per the default clause in our contract.”

The Senator, a sickly looking Rodian of untold years, flinched. The image was drawn in blue-scale and inflated so its head, the only part of its body within the capture range, loomed over the Commodore at an impressive two meters. At such obtuse proportions the action was immediately visible to even the pro-human eyes of Lance Shipwright, who rarely invested the interest or time necessary to truly comprehend the expressions of a myriad of alien species.

“You have to understand that these delays are not our fault. Hostilities along the _______ Way have become unreasonable. We have lost six mega-freighters in the past two weeks alone!”

Commodore Shipwright shrugged.

He had made advantage of the opportunity to wear his full military dress. Much of the adornment was fraudulent; just another part of the identity Coalition Intelligence had created for him. Though falsified, the image he imposed was quite commanding even at the moderate age of twenty five years.

“As I said, Ambassador…”

“No, no,” interrupted the azure-skinned alien. “We will accommodate the contract but we would like to ask a favor.”

“Considering your promotion to the Senate was largely due to our commercial contracts, Amear, I would reconsider your approach. Any favors I could accommodate would likely be insufficient to change the situation along your trade routes. The war, I hear, grows ever bitter.”

Moving sidelong around the Holo-Projector Lance happened to glance towards the rear lift and his newly arrived guest. Immediately, and for the sake of Ambassador Mal’Gro, he made quite the display of checking his chronometer.

“Amear, I must terminate this communication. If you have a request to put forth… do so with all expediency. Now, please.”

Browbeat, the Senator struggled for a moment to arrange his thoughts.

“You have been receiving substantial quantities of our gross Tibanna X production. We have been forced to adjust our refineries to accommodate the advanced refinement process. I can only guess what you are using it for…”

The Commodore shot a warning look at the hologram.

“Along with the shipments of fiberplast and impervium the Consortium has been forced to contemplate what exactly these products are going towards.”

With a sigh, Lance conceded. “Go on.”

Investing so deeply within a single economic entity he had known there would be complications. Unfortunately the timetable scheduled for the most recent Uniform Project had forced him to take extreme measures in procuring materials.

“We find ourselves wondering if it would be within your abilities to… escort… some of our shipments. A military escort would greatly increase our shipping.”

“Indeed.” Commodore Shipwright, maneuvered into postion behind an interface terminal, tapped a few commands into his keyboard. “The level of duplicity with which you have approached this situation, Amear, leaves me with a bad taste. I feel as though I had just consumed a past-due cheese.”

Baffled by the comment and further bunching his green forehead, Amear looked lost between insult and confusion.

“If you had simply asked me about this earlier…”

Lance Shipwright looked up from his keypad, “… I would have told you then to go fuck yourself. Deliver my goods post-haste, Ambassador, or I will personally see to it that your entire reigeme is exposed as the corrupt monster it is. If you want weapons, if you want ships, you can bloody well buy them… just like everyone else.”

“It is your responsibility, Amear, to fulfill your obligations. It is my responsibility to protect my investments. If you want protection, you can go about it legally.”

With that, Lance closed the channel. The Rodian vanished.

“I am sorry you had to see that,” spoke the Commodore while crossing the bridge towards Ambassador Irtar and Lieutenant d’Foose. “All the same, however; allow me to personally welcome you aboard the RDS Uniform. Had I known you would be arriving early I would have moved up our schedule. We have a party planned and everything.

With a good natured smile and an even wink, Lance Shipwright offered his hand to Ambassador Irtar Mal’Gro.

Behind them, and all across the bridge, the noise of a dozen interfacing Project Teams filled the place to a dull roar.

“I am sure you’ll want to settle in. Whenever you are ready I have a tour ready. It is my sincere hope that you will find your stay here enlightening.”


~Six Months Prior…

The information was clear. Their source was correct and no one could dispute the evidence.

Four men, all humans in their mid to late twenties, sat around a darkened conference table with looks of perturbed frustration painted across their faces. Lance Shipwright was one of these men, and by far the most infuriated of the group.

“I want answers.”

As one, the three other men turned their glares upon the Commodore.

“What do you think, Lance? We’re building a god damn city-killer. This thing won’t ever see use on a strategic battlefield. It’s going to kill millions, maybe billions of innocent people.”

Between them, rotating slowly along its Y-axis, a holographic rendering of their newest project floated like some cancerous thing that each man seemed determined not to look at. Each man except Lance Shipwright.

Matte-black and shaped like some deadly predator, the starship projected sublime grace along with a strange sensation of trepidation and fear. Large fins, the wings of a sea-hawk, arced back and away from the vessel giving it a fierce appearance while also doing a marvelous job of hiding the engine nozzles. A strange, illuminated haze seemed to silhouette the image.

“He’s right Lance. And using the Mon Cal like this… is it some sort of sick joke? They would never willingly choose to build something like this. How did you convince them?”

Lance looked up from the hologram and, turning his gaze between the other three, said, “You do not want to know. None of you do.”

“My god Lance,” the man paled. “What have you done?”

“I want you all to know,” added the Commodore. “If you want to leave the Project, you are free to do so.”

“This,” he wagged a finger at the MC-170, “is the future.”

For many months now Lance had been pressured by Intelligence to develop technologies that would advance their war effort. The idea of it has stung his soul like the taste of bile, but only at first. Slowly he had come to understand.

“This will stop War,” said Lance Shipwright.

“Then we have to hide it,” spoke one man.

“How do we hide it?” Another man asked.

The last man asked, “My god, can we actually do this…?”

“We can,” said Lance with a smile, proud that his circle was coming around so swiftly. “We can and we will.”

((That's right! On a roll!))

Irtar grumbled and groaned as he carried the various bags he brought with him to his room. d’Foose didn’t walk too far ahead of him, with that slightly worried look on her face that she had ever since he refused to let her help him. After all, it wasn’t gentlemanly according to the Jedi. The little R5 chirped every now and then and Irtar muttered at the thing.

Finally, d’Foose stopped and motioned towards the door. “Well, this is your room ambassador. Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“Hrmpf… no… just fine… but could you be a dear and… ermf… get the door… please?” Irtar asked as the bags he was holding started to shift from the lack of forward inertia now. d’Foose pushed the door opened and walked as the Jedi more or less waddled his way into the room. “Thanks…”

“Well, we’ll buzz you when the Commodore is ready to give you the grand welcome. Until then, enjoy you stay. Ambassador.” d’Foose said with salute as she made her way off, the door closing as she left. With a groan Irtar dropped the bags to the floor.

“I really need to get more multi-tools… or a lighter hobby….” Irtar said with a sigh as he whipped the sweat from his forehead. “Y’know, the floor seems like a nice place to leave this for now….”

Irtar lay back on the floor next to his bags and gave his new living space a once over. The room was a simple, Spartan living space. There was a bed, a desk with a simple computer, and a small cabinet. There was a small adjoining room for a bathroom that consisted of a toilet, a sink, and a small shower.

The glories of being an ambassador.

“Well R5, I might as well get started on that report until Commodore Shipwright gets ahold of us. After all, gives me more time to tweak that motivator of yours so it doesn’t blow again.” Irtar said with a slight laugh as the droid gave out a series of agitated beeps. Irtar sat at the desk and cracked his knuckles as he took out a data-chip.

He had been told to be careful with trust on this mission and was given a data chip for doing his report work on. Auto-encryption of documents saved on it or some such. Irtar looked at the chip for a moment and began to think about this whole thing. Regrad didn’t trust this Shipwright apparently. Irtar didn’t like the idea of being a spy but here he was….

“Well, might as well get started on this thing….”

Irtar began to write about the people he had met so far. d’Foose seemed pretty nice, though… distracting. But most of the other people he met here seemed to have this odd… aura about them. Like they were hiding something. And Shipwright, just from the discussion he walked in on, didn’t seem right. He just seemed… dark. He wore a friendly mask, but the Force had a way with things like that.

Why would he need Tibana-X gas? The Coalition didn’t have many ships that needed stuff that burned that clean. Was he developing stealth ships? And why wasn’t he using Coalition standard channels if he’s supposed to be part of some skunk works? And if those bays showed anything, they were building something at LEAST as big as a destroyer.

Well, how was he going to find out something absolute? He couldn’t just ask Shipwright…

The bays. If they were building something, they’d have to have parts near those bays. And if the ship was done, she’d be there. Irtar sighed as he sat there. But if they really had something secretive there, they’d have guards and security protocol. And he wasn’t a secret agent, he was a kid from Dantooine with a couple of tricks.

But, he was a damn good engineer. Who needs the Force when you can hack into the locks?

But what if Shipwright checks on him while he’s gone?

“Hey R-5? I need you to record a message for me to play incase Shipwright checks on me while I’m gone…” Irtar said with a sly grin.

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

Irtar ran through the three dimensional holo image of the Uniform. If the dockyards were around where he thought they were, he’d need to go to section 32-D. He came into the elevator with a purpose as the monotone electronic voice spoke out.

“Please state intended destination.”

“Section 32-D.” Irtar said, nay commanded of the elevator.

“Access Denied. Insufficent clearance.” The elevator responded, as if mocking the Jedi’s attempt to command it. Irtar knew it couldn’t, but that didn’t change the fact of the matter.

“I am Irtar Mal’Gro, Jedi and Ambassador of the Coalition. That’s my clearance!” Irtar demanded of the machine.

“Access denied. Insufficent clearance.” The elevator chimed out again.

“So… he does have a lock-out there. That’s a good sign. Well! I guess we do this the hardway.” Irtar said promptly as he took out a satchel of tools. He walked over to the maintenance panel and removed it in one quick flash of the lightsaber. If this investigation proved nothing, then he’d be sure to buy Shipwright a new maintenance panel.

“Warning: You are not authorized for maintenance duty. Your act of vandalism will be reported imm-” The voice was cut off as Irtar made a quick clip on a couple of the wires, cutting off a lot of the access so that his act of ‘vandalism’ couldn’t be reported. It took a bit of soldering and desoldering and crossing various ICs and what not, but in about ten or so minutes the elevator was moving.

Hopefully to where he wanted it to.

With a ding the door opened and Irtar made a look outside of the elevator door. Section 32-C. Well, a bit off wouldn’t hurt him that much. After all, he wanted to see if there were storage rooms first before heading to where they’d be building anything. Storage rooms generally have less watch than a construction area with people working.

‘Why am I doing this?’ Irtar thought to himself. ‘I don’t know how to sneak! I’m more likely to trip over my robes and get thrown into the brig than to do any use down here!’

Irtar made his way slowly down the halls, trying to keep his ears open and praying not to do anything really stupid. Well, anything more stupid than what he’s already doing. And then he heard it down the hall. The sounds of boots on durasteel. Irtar’s eyes darted back and forth looking for somewhere to hide. There was a nearby door and Irtar quickly ducked in.

He ran to try and find somewhere to duck down and wait to see if the guy was passing or not. He quickly ducked behind a box to wait. And he heard the footsteps get louder, and louder, and then began to fade as whoever it was passed. Irtar looked about the room he was in and… well, there was a bit to look through.

This looked like an armory of some sorts…. There were bombs and ordinance for some sort of craft. Irtar began to run over them. He didn’t know much about bombs and such, because he was more of a laser guy than physical ordinance himself. From what he knew these things seemed like standard Capital Ship grade. Until he came across a set of really big bombs.

“By the Force…” Irtar muttered as he read what it said on the side of the ordinance. He didn’t know much about nukes, but the listed explosion on this thing is huge. You could blow up a good chunk of a planet with the damn thing. What in the name of everything good would they need something with this much explosive fire power for anyways!?!

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

d’Foose sighed as she stood outside of the Ambassador’s room. Time to play baby-sitter again and guide him by the hand so he didn’t get in any trouble. She knocked on the door and stood there for a couple of minutes. There was no response at all. She knocked again and yet still no response. She took a breath.

“Ambassador, I’m coming in.” d’Foose said as she threw open the door and stepped in. The little R-5 droid suddenly spun up, and beeped a bit then stopped in front of d’Foose. The little holo projector lit up and a hologram of Irtar appeared and bowed quickly.

“Sorry that you came to get me.” Holo-Irtar said. “But I decided to go out for a bit of a walk while I was waiting. I should be back some time soon, so if you can just hold up for a while I’ll be ready for the grandiose tour!”

And that’s about when d’Foose’s comm. link began to buzz about someone getting into the restricted section.

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

Irtar was making his way back towards the elevator he used to get down when suddenly he heard a lot of boots running behind him. Were they on to him? Either way Irtar tried one of the doors. Locked. Another. Locked. They were on to him. Irtar began to run down the hallway as fast as he could when suddenly he slammed right into a shield. He lay on the ground, stunned for a moment.

When the stars began to clear, there was a blaster rifle pressed against his skull. “You just stay right there….”

“You just stay right there,” commanded lieutenant d'Foose without humor. “I advise you to roll on to your stomach and place your hands behind your back, Ambassador. You have breeched a high security area and the alert protocols will not be stood down until the subject, you, are safely in custody.”

As if to punctuate her point with due poignancy a pair of retractable laser cannons unfolded from the ceiling and took aim on the prostrate sneak-thief. These were not light weapons and the resolved their aim on the target through sensors visible and invisible alike. Indeed, these weapons were of a sort and variety usually reserved for the most elite 'black-bag' of military installments and while this may not be unusual of a mobile research and development platform, such as the RDS Uniform, it certainly did beg the question; what did Lance and his fellows have to hide that they should go to such extreme measures to conceal their actions.

The lieutenant did not brandish a weapon, though a trusty, military issue blaster hung in a holster on her hip. Her gaze alone was enough to pierce steel and melt through glass and she fixed it firmly upon the accused. Shoulders set and feet planted, she maintained a defensive position as if readying herself to counter any further evasion tactics. Still, the lieutenant was no fool and knew, only too well, that one did not mix blows with a Jedi, of any rank, without serious consideration. Her padded combat suit would only save her from so much.

“I have a stun-baton and I will not hesitate to put you down, Ambassador.” She bent at the knee and fetched a pair of electronic shackles from behind her back and a pair of similarly designed cuffs which she then slid across the hall towards the captive. “Moving slowly, extend your right hand and collect the restraints. Do not make any quick movements or they will be your last. Once you have complied with my requests I will stand down the auto cannons and escort you to the brig.”

“And you can imagine that Lance will want a word...”

After all, it wasn't like the young Ambassador had much choice. Fight though he might, he could only hope to get so far aboard the very isolated RDS Uniform and, more importantly, he would likely end up having to hurt or otherwise disable numerous seemingly innocent personnel on route. Without much drama, he obliged and was soon locked behind the energy shields of the brig.

*

“Let him out of there,” ordered Lance Shipwright. “He is an Ambassador with full rights and privilages.”

Standing to the left of the would-be inventor, lieutenant d'Foose moved to carry out the command of her superior. Though this duty would normally have fallen to one of the security personnel she felt a personal obligation to the situation, having first captured and then detained the Ambassador. A handful of armed and armored men, men of the security detach, stood at the ready should the Ambassador try to effect another escape but, as both d'Foose and Shipwright knew, he was not going anywhere.

The security beams folded back.

“I am sorry about the confusion,” began Lance while moving to release the mans restraints. “But we do have a number of automated security systems in key areas designed to keep some of our more secret projects just that; secret. You seem to have stumbled into one of those zones and, I'm afraid, it was beyond my control to have those systems deactivated quickly enough. My people were just responding according to their training. I hope you can understand.”

Lance stood and moved a few paces away. He offered the restraints to one of the security men before making a motion to dismiss them. They stood, perplexed for a moment, before he ordered them outside. This left only Lance, Irtar and d'Foose in the small junction between cells.

At this point all pretense seemed to fade and Lance grew dark. In perfect simpatico with her commander, the lieutenant unfastened her blaster and rested it against one hip with a finger lightly on the trigger.

“Well, it seems we have a problem now don't we?”

Irtar said nothing, and so Lance went on.

“You have uncovered my secret, at least, in some capacity. Don't delude yourself into believing that any of what you saw is not known to me. Doubtless your curiosity was further excited, having discovered my thermo nuclear warhead depot, when my systems responded so harshly to your interloping.” Lance shrugged. “So I guess that just leaves us to wonder what, exactly, each of us thinks is going on...”

Irtar parted his lips to speak, but Lance went on anyway.

“It's called the Krakana and the weapons you saw are part of its arsenal. Before you chide me on the employment of such weapons according to the myriad conventions barring their use.. don't. I am not a man who concerns himself with morality, sir. I am a scientist.”

“The Krakana is a stealth first-strike weapons platform; a simply massive cloaked starship capable of penetrating deep into enemy territory and station-keeping above a hostile target. Should the Krakana be called upon to engage a target, it will be able to devastate its enemy with an unparalleled barrage of high yield weapons.”

“It's targets will include starships, shipyards and yes... even planetary installations. The destructive capability of a Star Destroyer, of any size, will be rendered mute versus such targets.”

Lance and Irtar talked long into the night. They discussed the ramifications, both morally and politically, of such an advent. Alone in the brig, despite the lack of creature comforts, Irtar, Lance and Lieutenant D'Foose conversed until the next day. Parting ways, it was the Ambassador who returned to his quarters and began to gather his belongings. It was made clear, between both men, that whatever happened, would be conducted in the light of honest and truthful examination. A few hours later, the Ambassador disembarked the RDS Uniform bound for his next post.

And, standing on the flight deck, watching his shuttle disappear amongst the stars, lieutenant D'Foose asked, “Do you think he will tell anyone, Lance?”

Shrugging, Lance simply said, “It doesn't matter if he does. It won't change the fact that it is real and that the Galaxy demands it.”

“But what about morals, what about the laws that say...”

“Laws are made by the men with the power to do so, lieutenant.” He smiled and turned towards her. “Morals are made by men without any power at all.”

He strode away remaking, “And both are always subjective.”