“You'll do fine.” The holographic Togruta offered Nitin Cass a reassuring smile, which the Ithorian returned less certainly.

“I'd be much more reassured if you were to accompany us, Ambassador.”

“Come now, it's much too late for such talk. I have every confidence in the both of you.” Traan Shi's holographic image offered another friendly smile.

“Yes, yes,” Ethan Vang said excitedly, stepping into the holorecorder's field of view. “This'll be great fun.” He flashed an exaggerated smile.

Neither understood why Traan had decided to send two of the least-qualified people he could find to what could prove to be one of the all-time most important meetings the Cooperative would initiate.

“Just remember,” Traan said, “you are representatives of all the Cooperative, not just your people. But,” He said forcefully, “it is for your people that you go.”

“We will do our best, Ambassador,” Nitin assured him.

“No pressure; it's just first contact with the most militant race in the region.” Traan smiled again.

Ethan exhaled sharply. “Yeah, but they're a friendly militant race, right?”





Drackmar Orbit, Defense Station 3

They checked the seal on each other's rebreathers, then the two former Onyxians opened the ship's hatch. They stepped forward to find three large reptilians. The two groups stared at each other oddly for a few seconds, then the largest of the Drackmarians spoke up. “Please, those are not necessary,” she said, gesturing indistinctly.

Ethan and Nitin cast each other curious glances, then a strange electrical sort of sound drew their attention back to the aliens, where they saw the Drackmarian holding out her―they were pretty sure it was a “her”―finger, exciting the magcon field that was separating the Drackmarians' methan atmosphere from their own.

Nitin reached up to take off her mask. She inhaled deeply as Ethan took off his as well. “My apologies,” The Drackmarian said, “perhaps we were not clear in our previous communications. There will be no need for breathing apparatus.”

“Ah, oh,” Nitin said, unclipping the small oxygen tank from her waist. “We appreciate the gesture, thank you.”

“It is the least we could do for our honored guests,” The Drackmarian said kindly. “Please, allow me to introduce myself: I am Mologg of the Drackmarian High Court, Greetings and Exchange Division. Allow me to welcome you to Drackmar.”

Nitin stepped forward, offering a slight bow. “I am Nitin Cass, honorary representative of the Cooperative Combined Council, and elected speaker for the Onyxian Reform Initiative.” She stepped back, gesturing to Ethan. “This is . . .”

“Ethan Vang,” He said deliberately, nodding. “Here at the request of Ambassador Traan Shi, and on behalf of the Coalition Praetorian Guard.”

“Ahh, I see,” She said quietly, apparently considering their introductions. She gestured away from the shuttle: “This way, please.” She led them down the short hallway, some sort of overhead projector following her, keeping the pocket of methane gas safely around herself and her tag-alongs, whom she apparently didn't feel the need to introduce. The door slid open to reveal what almost looked like an interrogation room, if not for the long conference-style table in its center and a beautiful view of Drackmar framed in the viewport. The Drackmarians crossed into another pocket of methane on the other side of the door, the first device moving out of the way of Nitin and Ethan.

They made their way into the room, noticing an identical viewport opposite the one open to space, this one solid black. It really did feel like an interrogation room. “Please, be seated,” Mologg said from the far side of the table. They complied, noting the two other Drackmarians hadn't taken seats. “Would you like any refreshments?”

“Oh,” Nitin said, looking over to Ethan, “no.” She chuckled quietly. “We thought we were going to be sealed in with rebreathers for the duration of the meeting.” She folded her hands, setting them on the table. “My apologies,” she added, fearing she may have offended the massive reptile.

“No such apologies are necessary,” Mologg assured them. “Perhaps there is something you would like to say, to begin?”

This was not at all the forum Nitin was familiar with. The extra Drackmarians had been making her nervous, and she just realized why: they were bodyguards. Then there was the blank viewport that almost certainly hid a dozen or so more Drackmarians, scrutinizing and analyzing the meeting. Then she was aware that the door had not closed behind them, and that the magcon field that surrounded the Drackmarians was probably sufficient to protect them, should the area spontaneously depressurize . . . the hum of the massive magcon field directly behind their shuttle only slightly reassured her.

Nitin snapped out of her growing panic, locking eyes with the massive, intimidating lizard monster in front of her. Stop this. You are Iridonian. You have a duty, you have a goal; perform them. “We are here in the interests of peace and goodwill between the Cooperative of Systems and the Drackmarian Empire.”

“Drackmarian Empire? Is that what we are being called these days?”

Nitin had said something wrong. “I―”

“It's hard to know what to call you,” Ethan said, stepping in. “You ruled the majority of the Quelii Sector and many other nearby systems until the rise of Zsinj. That―by definition―would make you an Empire of sorts . . . or should I say had? Your connection to the Morseerians is uncertain, but many believe them to answer to Drackmar. In fairness, you have to admit that you aren't the most . . .

“Open?” Nitin offered.

“Yes―Open . . . species in the galaxy. Many in the greater galaxy consider you to be generous, but generosity does not necessarily mean kindness, nor by any means un-totalitarian.”

Un-totalitarian? That's not a word.

“We don't know what to think of you,” Ethan continued. “That's why we're here.”

“Do you fear us?” Mologg asked, careful to avoid sounding hostile.

“Of course not.” Niting said.

“Well your bodyguards are making me a little nervous,” Ethan said frankly. “And I happen to know that magcon fields don't make that much noise unless you want them to.” He turned and waved at the impassable viewscreen. “And whether there's actually anyone behind there or not, you want us to think there is.”

Nitin was fighting the urge to cover her face with her hand, compelling herself to focus on the Drackmarian's response. Mologg glanced over at the viewscreen, which immediately became transparent, revealing four more Drackmarians. She made an indistinct gesture and her “bodyguards” left the room. As the door closed behind them, the door behind Nitin and Ethan sealed shut as well.

“To the far left is General Sarris. The others are here on his behalf, and are of no consequence.” While they weren't in actuality any safer, they felt much better. “I have performed this duty for a long time, and no one has ever performed quite like the two of you.”

“We're not here to perform,” Ethan said.

Nitin reached over and grabbed his forearm lightly; he got the message. “We feel ill-equipped for this task,” She said, immediately realizing how bad that might have sounded.

“Do your leaders value your opinions, your voices,” Mologg asked immediately.

“Umm, I believe so. Yes.”

“Speak truth, and you will need no equipment. Now: why are you here?”

Ethan spoke up. “You once controlled a significant portion of the Quelii Oversector. It would appear that you no longer do. We would like to know what you think of that.”

“Straightforward. Thank you, sir. We have no interest in conquest. The worlds over which we once held sway were not subjugated under our will, were not compelled to oblige our whim. We ruled them, yes; but our rule was not absolute, nor was it imposed upon them. We have lost those worlds, and they have not returned to us. If they choose to do so, we may yet choose to welcome them once more into the Drackmarian Combine. As for your Cooperative, we have had insufficient time to form an opinion of it. My turn: what do you plan for the Quelii Sector?”

Ethan froze. Nitin tried her best. “I can't speak definitively for the Combined Council, but our wish is for an economically strong, socially united, politically free Quelii Sector, safe from the turbulence and destruction of the galaxy.”

“Yet you have joined the Coalition.”

“Don't we get a turn now?” Ethan asked.

“When you answer my question satisfactorily: yes.”

Dang, this isn't fun at all. “What we seek and what we find are often very different things.” Nitin was trying very hard to find the right words to use. “It is the belief of the Combined Council that this Onyxian Crisis will eventually lead to a stronger, more unified Cooperative. The strength of the Cooperative will impel the Quelii Sector to a brighter, safer future, whether the majority of its worlds eventually join it, or not.”

“That is propaganda, and it does not count as truth.”

“The power to believe something is often all that separates truth from lie. I can assure you of this much, however: the fallen people of the Commonwealth are not so ready to give up as others might believe.”

“Are you here to ask us to join you, or to beg of us aide?”

”We-Get-A-Turn.” Ethan was serious about getting his turn.

After several seconds of silence, Nitin finally decided that she should ask something. “Why is the Supereme Commander of your armed forces here, watching us?”

“General Sarris is far from our supreme commander.”

“That is a lie, and it does not count as truth.”

“Coalition involvement in local affairs risks involving our people in another war started by far-off powers who don't know how to have a good, respectable war without involving the entire galaxy. Why haven't you asked me for anything yet?”

“I have: I have asked you for information.”

“That is evasion, and does not count as truth.”

Nitin paused for a moment, reconsidering the question. “The Combined Council doesn't think you'll give us anything simply for the asking.”

“Why not?”

“Does that count as your question?”

“That is not an answer, and does not count as truth.”

“They don't know enough about you.”

“No, that didn't count as my question. Why did you come here alone?”

Nitin smirked. “That is a lie, and does not count as truth. Why do you want to know why we came here alone?”

“I want to know if we are so unimportant to you, if you so doubt our generosity, or if you really are stretched so thin that the two of you are all that the Cooperative can muster.”

“Personal dignity aside, we're here because the Cooperative half-expected you to have thrown us out by now, and on the off-chance that you didn't―as you haven't―the Combined Council wanted you to hear from the people they are trying to save.”

“I didn't ask a question.”

“That was a freebie; in my spare time I'm nice.”

“What do you want from us?”

That “you” wasn't a “your government” kind of “you.” It was a ”You”. Nitin glanced from the general to Mologg, considering them each in turn. “I want the strength to save my people, and to keep them safe,” She said quietly, lowering her head.

“Do you think we possess it?”

“That is my hope.”

Mologg hissed quietly, somehow conveying that it wasn't meant as a hostile gesture. “You did it again. I got two answers, although the second doesn't really count.”

“I wasn't sure if we were still playing,” Nitin said, raising her head and offering a weak smile. “Couldn't give you anything too good.”

“Why does he look so mean, and you look so nice,” Nitin had pointed to the general, and then to Molog.

“General Sarris considers you little more than a sack of meat at the moment, whereas I believe you should at least be allowed to ruin something awfully important before we feed you to the dogs. The 'meat sack' reference is an ill-translated expression, by the way; he doesn't really want to eat you, I don't think.” There was a note of humor in her voice, but Nitin could name more than a handful of sapient species who liked the taste of humanoids. “Are appearances so important to you?”

“Only the meaning behind them. What is the nature of your differing views?”

“I cannot answer that question.”

She figured she'd give it a try. “Why not?”

“It regards the nature of our species and government, and is not information privy to outsiders. Does that bother you?”

Nitin considered the simple question for a moment. “Yes. What must I do to gain the trust needed for you to answer that question?”

“I cannot answer that question.”

“You're telling me that I'm not allowed to know what it is that I have to do in order to be allowed to know those things which you consider. . . requiring of trust?”

“Yes. Why did you leave Iridonia?”

Nitin almost answered, then stopped herself. “I will not live on an occupied world; not again. Is there anything that I can do to gain your trust?”

“Yes. Would you like to know what that is?” She began hissing again. “That's what I call a 'freebie.'”

“Yes. Will―”

“Do you mind if I go take a nap?” Ethan was pointing at the door leading to the shuttle. “Yes? No?” He couldn't tell if he had made the Drackmarian mad, but the General seemed intrigued by Ethan's comment.

“I will tell you when I know what it is, and I will know what it is when you have done it.” Apparently she had decided to answer Nitin's intended question.

“How long is this going to last?” Ethan was becoming quite seriously agitated.

“Time-out?” Nitin asked Mologg, shrugging.

“You are definitely a peculiar people,” Mologg said, shaking her enormous head.

“We prefer to think of ourselves as a peculiar peoples.”

Mologg nodded. “That is an interesting thought indeed.”

“Is this the part where you vaporize us?” Ethan was eying General Sarris again.

“Are we back to question-answer?” Mologg asked.

“NO!” Ethan exclaimed

“Then in that case: no.”

“Otherwise it would have been your turn,” Nitin asked.

“It still is my turn, we're just taking a break.”

She still couldn't figure out what the Drackmarians were up to. Was this really how they handled initial meetings? “Is this really how you handle initial meetings with foreign governments?”

“When they come to our home and intrude upon our way of life: yes.”

Ethan sat back up in his chair. “Wait, but you allowed us to intrude. That's not fair.”

Mologg turned her considerable gaze on Ethan. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“What?”

“You tell me.”

“Umm, giant lizard-men hiding behind variable-polarization transparasteel, staring at me for―however long the two of you have been wasting time―really bother me."

“Tell me something about yourself, Nitin.”

Nitin considered the Drackmarian for a moment, trying to see what hidden meaning that might have. “It is my dearest belief that justice belongs to the just, that our people are just, and that injustice has been done to them.”

“Is that a quote?”

“Only if you say it.”

Mologg nodded. “And what does it mean?”

“It is the duty of the galaxy, fate, the Force―whatever you want to call it―to return all the people of the Cooperative to their just stature.”

"All the people of the Cooperative?"

"They have sworn themselves to us. The least I can do is include them in my prayers."

"Then you trust them?"

"I've offered them my life, and trust me: if given the choice, I'd rather live than not."

"Can you trust someone who trusts someone that you don't trust?"

Nitin stopped, considering the question for a moment. "Did you just tell me how to gain your trust?"

Mologg smiled, and it was terrifying. "That depends upon the answer to my question, doesn't it?"

Varn

“I'm sorry we don't have an environmental bubble to wrap ourselves in, so we could flood the surface with methane and allow you to breathe properly.” Ethan was rather proud of himself for that joke, and Mologg seemed to find it amusing, at least.

“I can't believe you've talked me into coming here.”

Nitin eyed the towering reptile. “I can't believe you won't let us take you to see our leaders.”

“Leaders can make themselves appear almost anything at any given time. The masses, however, cannot be what leaders would wish them to be, and certainly cannot do it consistently. That is, of course, unless the masses actually are what their leaders wish them to be.”

Ethan asked, “Shouldn't we be on Amorris or―worse yet―Selcaron?”

Mologg shook her head. “I don't need to see your poverty. I need to see those with the power to do something about it.” Mologg walked down the long road, listening in on random conversations, reading signs, and apparently taking note of the Cooperative population's composition. “Ryn, in the open even.”

Nitin smiled. “The Combined Council conjured up a whole Ryn Nation.” Her face grew grave. “They've done more in only a few weeks for our people than any other organization the Coalition's cobbled together to handle this situation.”

Something caught Mologg's eye and she reached over to pull a newspaper from a nearby stand. “May I?”

“Of course,” Nitin said, paying the woman behind the stand.

“Printed on flimsi?”

“100% recycled. Of course, we can only fit the local highlights on it . . .” The woman's comments degenerated into incoherent grumbling, and Mologg continued onward.

“Media control?”

Ethan chuckled. “Naw, we've still got the real thing. People nowadays around here don't have much time for reading. The time they do have is usually spent going over efficiency reports and the like.”

“Cooperative Worker's Party?”

Nitin's eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

“This looks interesting. Very interesting, indeed.”

Neither Ethan or Nitin had any idea what she was talking about, but they were sure it was some new government program to boost morale and maybe even cut a few people some slack.

“Ahh, here we are,” Ethan exclaimed, pointing down a side street that ran directly into the nearby ocean.

“What's the meaning of this?”

“Oh, I thought we'd go see the sea farms,” Ethan said, pointing at an aquatic vehicle docked at the shore.

“Sea farms?”

“Sure. The native Varn have had subsurface farms for . . . millenia. I hear there's some work underway to try to grow various species of floating, edible plants, but I don't think they're taking to the Varn water too well.”

“Why is that?”

“No telling,” He responded, opening the hatch to the vehicle and climbing into the pilot's seat. “Could be something as simple as the salt content, or as complex as various algae interactions. Sorry, didn't ever finish my interplanetary cross-seeding of aquatic surface flora credit at the Academy.”

The vessel began slowly, wary of the lines, nets, and Varn that occupied the fishing zone located between the shore and the deeper, ocean-floor farms. They arrived a few minutes later, Ethan activating powerful spotlights to better illuminate the farms. Here and there a few Varn reflexively shot about, turning to investigate the light and realizing it was only a submersible. Row upon row of potential food source stretched on in all directions, most of it looking like various forms of seaweed, but some of them significantly different in appearance and composition.

“How much food do you grow this way?”

“Eh . . .”

Nitin tapped Ethan's shoulder, relieving him of the need to answer. “The Varn pretty much feed themselves with these at this point, including a little of the fish that they catch. The farmlands are located on these shallow sub-sea plains, where they can stay and work for extended periods without the need of any personal environmental gear. There are several other areas throughout the world's oceans that receive enough light to grow some types of aquatic food, but they're too deep for the Varn to work comfortably, making them overall about as efficient as attempts at surface-grown aquatic food.”

“How do you deal with indigenous marine life?”

“Low-power force fields attuned to basically irritate them into turning back. Sections of the farms are cordoned off for the native marine life, and significant brakes in the farm plots allow for a relatively uninterrupted migration pattern for most of the fish and other animal life.”

“Of course,” Ethan began, “when that doesn't work, you can always just fish the little buggers to extinction.”

“Was that a joke?” Mologg asked, leaning toward Nitin.

“I don't know. But I'm pretty sure it's not standard policy,” She added, smiling.

Ethan smiled excitedly as something came into view. “Yeah, yeah. Here we are.”

“What is this?” Mologg found herself looking at the underside of a massive artificial structure, stretching into the dim haze ahead.

“This is what you might call a rather hush-hush situation,” Ethan said, twisting in his seat to talk to the Drackmarian, still smiling. “We've got ten thousand Mon Calamari that ended up on Varn before the evacuation of their homeworld began. Now, the resources from the orbital construction plans were diverted as soon as the Cooperative heard about what the Empire was planning to do to the Commonwealth, but all of it wasn't shipped off-world, which was the impression the media and everyone who cared to check got.”

“How do you even know this stuff?” Nitin asked, her face displaying mock hurt by the fact that she'd been left out of the loop.

“Just got to know the right people,” He replied, “and when to tell them your bringing man-eating lizards into town who want to see something interesting, or else.”

Mologg was still staring at the object. “Then this is . . .”

Ethan nodded as he continued a survey of the massive structure's curved edge. “An artificial island, modeled after Mon Calamari floating cities. It's far from complete, but it's almost ready to float on its own. They're building it from the ground up, so it can serve as its own construction platform before too long, and all of the support equipment can move on and start building another one.”

“Does this mean . . .”

Nitin jumped in, glad to know something again. “We haven't heard anything about official transfer of Mon Calamari and Quarren to Varn, but it's a Coalition world with aquatic climates roughly analogous to the major inhabited zones of Mon Calamari, so I'm sure some of them will find their way here, especially if we're building homes for them. . . how did I not know about this?”

“So,” Mologg said excitedly, “where to next?”




Drackmar Orbit

They were back in the interrogation room, sitting in the same seats as before, four (presumably the same) Drackmarians behind the currently transparent viewport. Mologg was back in her cocoon of methane. She had spent a total of three days on Varn, talking to locals, observing farms and factories, wandering around spaceports. Ethan and Nitin had made sure to allow her plenty of time to experience Varn as she saw fit; they wanted her to understand the reality of the Cooperative's situation, in its entirety. But not once did she speak to the Combined Council, or even local government officials. There were a few run-ins with various peacekeeping individuals, however . . .

“I do very much appreciate the opportunity you have given me to see for myself your Cooperative, and its actions. I have given my report to my superiors; General Sarris was privy to it's content.”

“Oh, how nice,” Ethan said, nodding kindly at the general. “Maybe he'd like to come and chat?” Sarris barred his teeth, possibly growling.

“It is my turn: what did I not see?”

“We're back to this? You've got to be kidding me!”

Nitin patted him on the arm. “I'll keep it short this time, promise.” She turned back to Mologg. “A few incomplete space stations. Some abandoned seafloor mines. The Combined Council. . .” She kept thinking, trying to come up with whatever it was Mologg had wanted to hear.

“What did I not see?” She asked again.

“Umm . . .” Showed her the future senate building, showed here that Workers' Party rally, took her to that disgusting cantina Ethan recommended.

“Ships,” Ethan said definitively. “Big ships, little ships, tiny ships. You didn't see a navy; you didn't see an army. You saw a few pieces of the Praetorian Guard and you saw a handful of Defense Force crowd police, but you didn't see a working military.” That seemed to be what Mologg had wanted to hear.

“Did it work?” Nitin asked, taking her turn and keeping it simple.

“That remains to be seen,” Mologg said. “Why?”

“Because we don't have one,” Ethan said flatly. “We've got a large enough piece of the Onyxian fleet at the moment, but we're waiting on orders from High Command before we decide what to do with them. The Praetorian Guard wasn't intended for large-scale space combat, so most of its ships are of the smaller variety. Somehow in all the ruckus, we've managed to keep the small task force that was sent here following Varn's admission into the Coalition, but beside that we've got refit pirate ships and outdated system patrol vessels . . . oh, and a Venator Star Destroyer that Halmad's kept running by scavenging less important parts to replace more important parts. I think that's it.”

“TEST OF STRENGTH”

All three of them turned to the wall that had just spoken, and saw General Sarris leaving the room beyond the viewport, his cronies following closely behind.

“He coming in here?” Ethan was apprehensive.

“No. He's offered the challenge. You won't see him again . . . that is, unless you win.”

Ethan's brow dropped. “Sorry?”

Mologg pulled a datapad from somewhere and slid it across the long table. “A challenge. A wargame. Cooperative forces versus Drackmarian. It is a right of passage for all of those who seek to call themselves friends of Drackmar. I'm sure you you will need time to discuss this with your superiors, and should you choose to accept, prepare. The information is all there, but let me be clear: it is not to be shared with anyone not concerned. This is the first and most inconsequential show of trust between our two peoples. Betray it, and you will never have our friendship.”

Ethan was diligently scanning the information on the datapad, obviously enthralled.

Nitin nodded in understanding. “Thank you.”

“We will see if you thank me, after General Sarris has defeated you.”





Hyperspace, one week later

Task force Justice was en route to the scheduled wargame, Colonel Rusty Pew of the Praetorian Guard commanding. The vessels of the task force had been equipped with an array of systems designed for simulating combat. Turbolasers and ion cannons would fire harmlessly, putting on a spectacular light show but not generating sufficient force to harm even the most lightly shielded starfigher.

The Drackmarians seemed to have everything worked out; this particular scenario called for an even match off. Various starship analogs had been assigned a variety of point values, and each side had the same limit of points to be represented in the engagement. Neither side knew what vessels the other would be using, but both knew the overall strength of the other.

As per the Drackmarians' rules, the Cooperative force would be the offending party, requiring them to initiate combat, and suggesting that the Drackmarians would be waiting in some sort of defensive posture.

Alarms sounded: reversion was imminent. On the bridge of the Claymore-class Battleship High Guardian, Ethan Vang stood apprehensively, watching the torrent of hyperspace before him, and the stone-faced colonel beside him.

Reversion. Sensor alarms sounded immediately. “Sir, sensors reporting a formation in orbit around the nearby moon . . . vessels are of non-standard configuration.”

Ethan looked over the information displayed on the screen before him, listing the individual enemy vessels and all available information on them. They were of Drackmarian design, and though they were contained within the ship's database, little was known about any of them. At the center of the Drackmarian formation was a single, large vessel, measuring thirty-two hundred meters in length, with a dual-pronged prow that made it look much like two partly-merged Star Destroyers.”

Ethan glanced over at the Colonel, who was accessing a data file of some kind. “What's that?”

“Something the Drackmarians missed,” The colonel said harshly, his lips curling into a scowl. “This'll be over soon.”

Ethan squinted at the screen, recognizing a number of formulas and symbols. “Comm,” The colonel called, “transmit the following data packet to the command hub.”

“No, no!” Ethan yelled, waving frantically at the comm officer, realizing what it was. “Uhh, belay that!”

The colonel turned his stony gaze on Ethan. “I am in command here; you will respect my command, or you will get off my bridge.”

“I won't let you make a mockery of this engagement.”

The colonel sneered. “I have duties to attend to. This is a waste of time to facilitate the childish fancies of foolish and vile aliens.”

“You will carry out this operation according to the guidelines established by the Drackmarian Test of Strength,” Ethan replied firmly.

“I will carry out this operation as I see fit. Comm; transmit data packet.”

Ethan turned back to the viewport, a horrible feeling building in the pit of his stomach. He snapped back to face the other man. “Colonel Rusty Pew, by authority of the Cooperative Combined Council and in accordance with Praetorian Guard General Provision Thirteen, I do hereby relieve you of command.”

The Colonel began laughing, a harsh, cruel sort of laugh.

Something had switched on inside Ethan; he was no longer the message boy he had been playing as for the past few months. He had once again become the man cloaked in shadow, stepping forward only to speak a single word of truth: “Authenticate: Epsilon-Eight-Seven-Blue-Sixteen. Betrayal.”

“Authentication confirmed,” The comm officer reported.

“Authentication confirmed,” The tactical officer reported.

The colonel's eyes were screaming in rage, but his jaw remained clenched shut. It was now Ethan who had turned stone-faced and impassive. “Get him off my bridge.”

Oh, this is bad, Ethan thought to himself as the Colonel was being escorted from his own former command.

“Sir?” The comm officer spoke up.

Ethan snapped back into focus. “Somebody bring me the Book. Comm: get me the fleet, before we pass into range of whatever jamming system the Drackmarians have in place.”

Someone ran up to Ethan with a stack of extremely thin datapads, bound along one side like a book. Ethan began flipping through the pages immediately, looking for something . . . anything. . .

“Good to go, Sir,” The comm officer reported.

Ethan took a moment to exhale. “This is Specialist Ethan Vang, to all ships and crews of Task Force Justice. Under authority of General Provision Thirteen, I have relieved Colonel Pew of his command, and have taken command of this operation. Confirm!” He shouted harshly.

“Confirming under authority of Praetorian Guard Special Operations and Contingency Protocols,” The comm officer said, cutting in on the fleet-wide speech.

Ethan had stopped leafing through the Book and had started scrolling down one of the pages. He smirked: bloomerang. “We are proceeding according to the guidelines set by General Sarris of Drackmar. All commanders and crews are to disregard previous orders from Colonel Pew.” He paused for a moment, reading over the particular entry again. “Prepare for Second Wave attack protocol: Beta three. Maintain pre-existing attack groups. We are proceeding in the name of all the Galactic Coalition of Planets; we will conduct ourselves accordingly. Let us show to the Drackmarians the justice and might with which the Coalition is to conduct itself in all forums, whether friendly or hostile.”

He waved for the comm officer to close the channel. “Sir,” The tactical officer spoke up, “do you have any idea what you're doing?”

“Of course,” Ethan said with a false sense of cheer, hefting the Book and pointing. “It says so right here.” There was a few seconds of silence, and Ethan felt like he owed the crew some kind of explanation. Unfortunately, there wasn't time. That fatheaded pig's going to cost us the strongest ally in the region.

“Fast and light, people. Deploy our fighters and bombers, and signal the frigates to do the same.” Static filled the comm channels, the only ones left open now were those designated for the wargame system. The smaller vessels of the formation, made up heavily of a combination of Onyxian and Praetorian Bird of Preys, took their cues and broke from their positions around the Claymore, moving forward and splitting into defined groups. They would spread out and approach the enemy formation from a number of directions, turning in to face their targets directly at only the last possible moment. The maneuver would have them clear of the enemy force just in time for the Claymore to come into range, hopefully allowing the larger vessel to draw some of the Drackmarians' attention and cover the retreat.

The Drackmarian force was holding position. They had launched their fighters, but made no other significant move. They were obviously waiting to see how the Coalition forces would act. Bloom Ethan thought to himself, watching the Bird of Preys disgorge their drone fighters only a second before entering into Drackmarian firing range, raising their shields just in time for the first volleys of simulated fire. The BoPs and gunships making up the initial attack run converged on the Drackmarians from all sides, the swarm fighters working to keep enemy fighters at bay, but refusing to get bogged down, keeping up with their motherships as they pressed closer.

Bloom Ethan thought again as the BoPs deployed their retractable weapons, breaking from their evasive patterns only long enough to fire a singe, unified burst of fire, tri-bursts of turbolasers and streaks of particle weapons converging on the few preselected targets. A hail of missiles and torpedoes (actually only tiny thrusters with targeting sensors and location beacons attached) erupted from the vessels, arriving immediately behind the energy barrage. Then they were past the still-immobile Drackmarian force, and the Claymore and its few Longsword escorts were in range, opening fire in unison as they continued to barrel forward.

The Drackmarian flagship, identified as Iron Fist, remained unscathed. It had been left alone for the time being, but the simulation hub, located on an observation platform well away from the battle, had reported significant damage to several of the smaller Drackmarian vessels.

“Sir, we've got fighters incoming.” The claymore had moved into the fray, and as the largest and slowest of the Coalition's vessels present, it was drawing the fire of the massive Drackmarian command ship, who had found tracking the BoPs and gunships to be . . . difficult, under even the best circumstances.

The fast-attack vessels had altered course to pass by the Claymore, which would bring them close enough for a quick comm exchange. Ethan needed something to tell them. “Have the fast-attacks run the same maneuver again. Put the Longswords on cleaning off the fighters that are tailing them as they pass. Have the bombers and superiority fighters break and ride in with the next fast-attack run.”

“Sir?”

Ethan sighed, his foot tapping nervously, his hands clenched tight so they didn't start fiddling with anything. “Do it!” At the last possible moment, he gave his orders to engage the incoming fighters. “Interceptors accelerate and engage. Support fire from the Lonswords.” The forward shields were taking a beating from the Iron Fist, and he knew he had to do something about that.

“Leave the Red Sabre and the Faithful to continue the direct charge and support the dogfight. Don't let those fighters bog them down; drag them with them on the charge. Helm, break thirty degrees starboard, bring our port shields to bear and continue on course until we're in optimum SHP range.”

The battlefield was shortening, space was filling with turbolaser fire. The Drackmarian formation had reoriented, the lighter vessels moving away from the Iron Fist, discouraging the oncoming fast-attack vessels from trying to push in and attack the behemoth at point-blank range. It was obvious that the two forces were fighting completely opposite fights, the Drackmarians content to sit behind their heavy shields and possibly heavier screens of weapons fire, targeting the Coalition's flagship heavily and trying to take its commander out immediately. On the other hand, Ethan was following (to the best of his ability and limited naval training) the latest in Coalition combat philosophy, dealing quick, precision strikes on targets that would immediately reduce the opposition's total damage-dealing potential. Soon something would break, and the tide would shift.

On the bridge of the High Guardian Ethan was afraid it might be their own fake shields.

This is bad. The Iron Fist had surged to life, vectoring straight for the High Guardian, the Drackmarian force around it expanding their formation again, now presenting the Coalition forces with a less-compact target.

The Claymore's port shields were taking a pounding, but it had reached optimal range for its SHP cannons. Its two accompanying Longsword frigates had moved between the Claymore and the Drackmarian command ship, their nearly-unscathed shields taking the brunt of the enemy assault for a few seconds, shrugging off the initial burst of fire with their pulse shielding. They had bought the High Guardian the time it had needed to reorient, however, and with the Claymore's dorsal-mounted SHPs now aligned to fire on the Drackmarian formation, the Longswords broke away, clearing the Claymore's attack vector of friendlies.

Ethan's jaw was set, and he was trying his best to express every bit of the confidence that he didn't have. “Alright people, let's make this count.” The Bird of Preys and gunships had made their second pass on the Drackmarians and had converged at the “safe” apex of their maneuver. Ethan double-checked the positions and vectors of his forces, making sure everything would line up properly.

“Target the SHPs on those vessels between us and the enemy command ship,” Ethan ordered, nodding to himself in an attempt at self-confirmation. “Signal all ships: break previous maneuvers and begin attack run on Iron Fist, maximum attack velocity. Helm, keep us on our current course.” This was it; this was the big push.

Waiting was the hardest part. Waiting to see if he'd made the right decision. The SHP rounds slammed into a narrow line of the Iron Fist's escorts, softening them up in preparation for the attack run that was en route. The BoPs were already pulling ahead of their gunship counterparts, and would arrive at the same time as the other set of Longswords, the two that had maintained the strike force's initial charge.

But the Drackmarians weren't playing along so easily. The Iron Fists's escorts had pulled forward, angling to cut off the incoming attack. Iron Fist maintained its course for the High Guardian, but the Claymore's vastly superior speed would be more than enough to escape the larger vessel's charge.

“Push through,” Ethan said quietly, becoming less and less certain of himself.

“Sir?”

“Signal the Bird of Preys to push through,” He said loudly, but still no more certain. “We're just going to have to see how good that pulse shielding of theirs is. Have the gunships break off their attack run and target those escort vessels.” Ethan considered something for several seconds, then gave one more order: “Take us in, straight at it.”

The BoPs drove forward, through and around the smaller Drackmarian formation, intent on their strafing run against the Iron Fist, dealing and taking a little inconsequential damage as they went. The gunships were a few seconds behind, slamming into the more-or-less matched force, and beginning their own little slugging contest.

The Iron Fist had shifted a portion of its fire to discourage the incoming Bird of Preys and Longsword frigates, but they held to their attack vectors, intent on their target. The first wave of attacking Coalition vessels closed to point-blank range, pelting the massive vessel for a few seconds, then they were past, firing incidentally and executing sharp turns to come about, no longer going out of their way to avoid the hail of enemy fire all around them.

The second pair of Longswords made their run, and then the BoPs were on the massive vessel again, the slower frigates not yet back in position. Not far behind was the High Guardian, its forward shields holding for the time being.

“Torpedoes away,” The tactical officer reported, a volley of the Claymore's ordnance launching directly into the enemy command ship.

Oh, no. I knew I forgot something. Almost before the proximity alarm had sounded, the wargame system had reported extensive damage. Iron Fist had launched its own missile barrage, and it had torn into the aft of the Claymore, overwhelming its aft shields and nearly crippling the vessel.

That feeling in the pit of Ethan's stomach was growing, and for a moment he thought he might vomit. “Bring us about.”

“Sir?”

“Sound retreat.” Ethan sat down, all hope gone. Iron Fist had turned its full attention to the vultures circling overhead, pouring a combination of turbolasers and point defense fire at the BoPs. “Set collision course with the Iron Fist and open fire with all batteries. Transmit the colonel's data packet to the command hub, and then offset our course by ten degrees to port.”

“Sir?”

Ethan covered his face, rubbing his eyes. “Collision contingencies. That's what the Drackmarian wargame system missed.”

“We're going to ram them?”

“We're going to simulate ramming them, and buy the rest of the task force a chance to escape.”

“Sir?”

Ethan pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. “The least we can do is lose graciously. Use the appropriate wargame channel to clarify what we're doing. Order the crew to the escape pods, but don't let them launch; this simulation doesn't need to get that real.”

Ethan continued to watch as the screen before him reported more and more simulated damage to the Claymore. This wasn't cool, not even a little bit.

Drackmar Orbit

A low, steady, hissing sound was coming from General Sarris, who now stood directly beside Mologg. Neither of the two Drackmarians seemed happy to be there.

“I was forced to relieve Colonel Pew of the Praetorian Guard of his command,” Ethan began, standing and facing the towering reptiles resolutely. “He apparently believed the exercise to be a fruitless one, and sought to end it as quickly as possible through a course of action that I found to be . . . disrespectful to the spirit of the Test of Strength.”

Neither of the Drackmarians spoke as Ethan paused for a moment, their cold stares locked directly on him. He took a deep breath and continued. “The supplementary data file I transmitted near the close of the battle originated from the Colonel; he had intended to simulate a ramming of the Iron Fist at the onset of the battle. Our escort craft were of such numbers to have made short work of the remainder of the Drackmarian formation. He believed that―under the strictest interpretation of the rules and guidelines supplied to us―such an action was legal, and therefore justified.”

The two reptiles continued their silence, apparently unsatisfied. “I obviously disagreed. What good is a Test of our Strength if we are tested only on our ability to cheat the rules? My orders to the task force were to conduct ourselves in a manner true to the spirit of the Coalition. My personal command failures aside, the men and women of Task Force Justice did just that. ” He released a sigh and dropped his head slightly, finished whether the Drackmarians wanted him to be or not.

Nitin watched as the two Drackmarians turned to look at one another. They made no gestures or audible sounds, and quickly turned back to fix their eyes on Ethan. “You have been judged and weighed,” Mologg began, still ever-so-grave. “The words of Drackmar are thus: We have found the Cooperative of Systems to possess―albeit in the most untraditional of ways―both the justice and might with which all friends of the Drackmarian Empire are to conduct themselves.”

Nitin's eyes had widened in disbelief, and the shock was finally giving way to joy. Ethan―apparently―was angry. “Empire? What happened to that 'Drackmarian Combine' nonsense?”

Mologg hissed, signaling a return to her kinder predisposition. “Your people seem to like 'C' words; we were simply trying to put you at ease.”

“You have been embraced by Drackmar,” Sarris said, not giving up the smallest measure of hostility in his voice. “Now you will hear our secrets.”





Drackmar, surface

“I'm sorry; could you repeat that?” These lizards were really starting to hurt Ethan's head.

Molog nodded from the front seat of the speeder, beyond the magcon field which preserved the bubble of oxygen-rich atmosphere Nitin and Ethan were sitting in. “Let me try this from another perspective. The Drackmarian social structure is divided into two broad yet almost completely opposite groups. The Drackmarians the greater galaxy meets are generally like me. They are generally kind, patient, outgoing people, generous with their excess and genuinely interested in the affairs of those not like them. These people form the backbone of the Drackmarian governmental and economic systems, and all but worship those systems.

“General Sarris, on the other hand, is of quite a different sort. Like General Sarris, they possess an inherent distrust of outsiders, a strong militaristic inclination, and would generally be considered pessimistic by outsiders.”

“But the Morseerians―”

Mologg cut Ethan off. “Are indeed members of the Drackmarian Empire. Over the passage of time, they have proven their loyalty beyond doubt, and have been embraced by all the children of Drackmar.”

Nitin spoke up now, leaning to within only a few centimeters of the magcon field. “I must admit that the social order you describe does not sound very effective.”

“Do not misunderstand,” Sarris responded, turning slightly in his seat. “We all serve the needs of the Empire. The safety of the Drackmarian people is the principle concern of all true Drackmarians. Our efforts―though often contradictory in action―are singular in purpose.”

Mologg picked up where Sarris left off. “There is no greater goal than the perpetuation of the Drackmarian way of life. The safety of our people and the assurance of their independence are our only goals. Do not misunderstand what I have said before: we Drackmarians are a cautious people. Whatever kindness we may show to outsiders, it is rarely trust. We have chosen to share with you our trust, in part because you have shown a desire to do the same for us.”

Ethan started nodding, but it sort of turned into a head-shake. “But you were saying about your government―”

Mologg cut him off again. “The Drackmarian people have chosen a different path than the other peoples of the galaxy. You could say that we have created―by our natural affinity for one another―the very system which your Cooperative strives to artificially create among its members. The worlds of the Empire are almost completely independent, but that is not to say unconnected. Our only central authority resides in our national military, and our foreign affairs department. Our economy, however, is almost completely internalized, cutting off the need for extensive contact with the outside galaxy.

Nitin spoke up again. “Wait, wait. Your only central authority? That doesn't seem very practical to me.”

Sarris hissed angrily, but Mologg shook her head. “We posses a Senate of sorts, but their authority is constrained only to only those two fields and the preservation of millenia-old laws intended to guide the development of individual worlds' governments. It is only with a declaration of war that the worlds of the Drackmarian Empire are mobilized as one, turning their collective power to the elimination of the present threat. Even so, if we were to suffer the loss of the Senate, or one or more of our worlds, the remainder of the Drackmarian Empire would be fully equipped to continue the fight.”

Ethan wasn't buying it. “This doesn't sound very practical to me.”

“You are not Drackmarian,” Sarris said, harsher than usual.

Nitin was trying to see the bigger picture, however. “So this system is derived from your collective will to ensure the protection and perpetuation of your species?”

“And our way of life,” Mologg confirmed. “I tell you this because you need to understand that any alliance you may successfully forge with Drackmar will not be with the Drackmarian Empire, and that Drackmar's responsibilities are first to the Empire, and then to her outside allies.”

Ethan wasn't getting it. “But the fact that Drackmar has embraced our friendship will surely count for something throughout the rest of the Empire.”

Sarris snarled at him. “Weakness.”

“You must prove yourselves worthy to every world in turn, if you ever hope to gain the true trust of the Drackmarian Empire. Is that what you seek?”

“It's the nature of their order, Ethan,” Nitin offered, trying to make sure he understood. “Trust must be earned personally. We must prove incontrovertibly both the justice and the might of our way, and we must do it in the face of those whose favor we seek.”

“We must discuss something else now,” Molog said in a tone that told the two of them that this was important. “What does the Cooperative wish from its new friends?”

Nitin opened her mouth, closed it, furrowed her brow, exhaled, and then just went for it. “Commitment. Drackmar is an economically powerful world, and we wish it to enter officially into an alliance with the worlds and peoples of the Cooperative.”

“You ask us to join the Cooperative?”

Nitin had been dreading this part. “The Cooperative was never meant to function as a nation, but recent events have―”

“Speak simply and quickly,” Mologg said flatly. “We have little time, and it will be General Sarris and I who represent your interests before Drackmar's leaders. We need to know everything you wish to ask them. Are you here to beg for humanitarian aide, or are you here for something more?”

The tone in Mologg's voice gave Nitin the courage she needed, if only just. “We wish to enter into an economic and political alliance that would include your acquisition of a seat on the Cooperative Combined Council. Given Drackmar's membership in a larger interstellar organization, the treaty forged between the Cooperative and Drackmar would be highly specialized.”

“We will not commit to the defense of the Cooperative,” Sarris said flatly.

“Of course not, that would be silly,” Ethan retorted.

“Your existing obligations to the Drackmarian Empire would be acknowledged and upheld by the treaty,” Nitin assured them.

Mologg huffed oddly. “Is it your goal to see all the worlds of the Empire enter into your Cooperative?”

“It is our goal to befriend all those who swear allegiance and brotherhood to our allies; that is all I know. If Drackmar is to join the Cooperative, its representative will posses significant power to answer that question for you.”

“Our people are very wary of treaties and partnerships with outsiders,” Mologg warned.

Nitin smiled. “I have a feeling you've already decided if they will accept or decline our request.”

General Sarris hissed in what Nitin and Athan had come to understand as the Drackmarian equivalent of a laugh.

The meeting was a closed one. Apparently it was also a long one. Nitin and Ethan had been assigned an escort to allow them to tour Drackmar's capital. Armed once again with their rebreathers, they were free to move about the methane-covered world. The city was divided rather standardly into commercial, industrial, and residential zones; dotted here and there were universities, hospitals, and the like. It was not unlike any major city found within the civilized galaxy. Of course, being Drackmarian, the city was circled with defense installations ranging from troop barracks to turbolaser emplacements, and what appeared to be a perfectly geometric deployment of shield projectors cropped up atop the entire cityscape.

The Drackmarian people seemed intensely driven, always on the move, apparently far less concerned with personal excess than so many of the galaxy's species. Everything from the street layout to the staggered building heights seemed to point to an ever-present preparation for combat. Despite their still-limited understanding of the Drackmarian psyche, Ethan and Nitin both could see why this city was the capital of the first among all of the Drackmarian Empire's worlds.

Apparently the world's crime rates were astonishingly low, but that didn't stop the Drackmarian police forces from performing extensive patrols of their domains. From what their guide told them, most Drackmarians who turn to the darker side of justice often left the Empire's borders, their nearly instinctive commitment to their own people making it more difficult for them to wrong their brothers.

The guided tour was conducted with the same openness and honesty that Nitin and Ethan had shown to Mologg on her tour of Varn, and the two were beginning to understand that the Drackmarian sense of duty and trust called for equal reciprocation and accommodation. If the Cooperative was to seek an alliance with the Drackmarian Empire, that simple and seemingly universal truth would have to be remembered and given the respect it deserved.

A few hours later Nitin and Ethan found themselves back in front of the large sealed doors behind which Mologg and Sarris were fighting for the Cooperative's petition. The whole setup seemed very unorthodox to Nitin, but it apparently was yet another deeply ingrained component of the Drackmarian social system. The fact that Sarris was commander of the Drackmarian national fleet didn't seem to affect the influence he would have; and that, too, Nitin found odd.

But apparently the Drackmarians were very careful to separate such concepts as trustworthiness and moral character from the capacity to be used or otherwise manipulated. Simply because Sarris' loyalty and competence was without question did not make him immune to deception.

The massive doors began to open, slowly receding into the walls to either side. From the darkness beyond Sarris and Mologg stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder, maintaining the impassible sense the great doors had expressed. Then they stepped to the side, motioning Nitin and Ethan in. “Welcome, friends and allies,” Sarris said, “to the Inner Sanctum of Drackmar.”

They moved into the dark room, finding themselves facing a multi-level arrangement of Drackmarians, sitting in a large semicircle. “Your words and deeds have been weighed and measured,” Mologg said from behind them. “Your intentions sought out. You now stand where only the most worthy few before you have come.”

“WE EMBRACE YOU NOW,” An indistinct voice bellowed from the mass of Drackmarians, “FOR THE JUSTICE AND MIGHT OF OUR TWO PEOPLES.”

“May we grow in strength, even as we grow in faith.” Mologg's last word hung in Nitin's mind. Faith. Was that an inconsequential accident, or had they stepped into yet another trial set by the ancient traditions of the Drackmarian way?

“May we grow in peace, that our strength may be needless and our faith well-placed.” Ethan had snapped to attention, facing the Drackmarians proudly and speaking boldly.

Nitin smiled, nodding as she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “May we all possess the wisdom to remember what it is that we truly seek.”

A silence settled and it became clear that it was time for them to leave. Nitin and Ethan bowed respectfully to the shadowy assembly, then turned and made their way out, Mologg and Sarris following. “That was exciting,” Ethan said, a little more spring in his step than usual.

“Indeed,” Mologg acknowledged. “A report will be dispatched to the Imperial Senate, but our arrangement is such that their involvement will be unnecessary. Drackmar has spoken; we and you are to be allies, for the fate of both our peoples. Judge yourselves carefully, for I can assure you that no one out-judges a Drackmarian.”