Drackmar orbit, Drackmarian diplomatic vessel Truthseeker

Though he would never admit it, Traan Shi was glad to be off of Amorris. “Are your people always so . . . strict?” He asked idly, glancing around at the bare walls and enclosed space he had found himself in.

“Yes,” Mologg said simply, apparently content to sit in silence, staring at the blank deck plating. Drackmar had dispatched a single delegate to fill its seat in the Cooperative Senate, and she didn't even bother to stay there. Mologg had volunteered herself to assist the ambassador in pursuing further relations with the Drackmarian Empire, stunning the whole of the Senate and leaving Drackmar's seat unattended.

The ship vibrated slightly, Traan immediately recognizing the all-too-familiar feeling of jumping into hyperspace. “I must admit: I'm a little confused.” Traan walked over to the massive reptile, taking a seat beside her, the magcon field that separated their distinct atmospheres only a few centimeters away from either of them. “This government requested to meet with us and you endorse this excursion completely, but we're not allowed to know where the world is, and I can't bring any of my team along?”

“I am here,” She answered calmly.

Traan chuckled, folding his hands in his lap. “What can you tell me of the world we're going to see?”

“Nothing,” She answered again, still cold and impassive.

Traan nodded curtly, refusing to give up. “What can you tell me?”

“I will fight for the Cooperative's interests to the best of my abilities, and in full accordance with the Drackmarian way.”

Traan was smiling at the Drackmarian. “With a lifetime's knowledge and observation, that is the one thing you can tell me?”

Mologg made that strangely reassuring hissing sound she so often has, and shook her head slightly. “Are you playing games with me, ambassador?”

“I prefer not to play games, Mologg. I have spoken with a mutual friend concerning the manner in which the Drackmarian people conduct themselves. To have you tell me anything of personal worth would honor me greatly.”

She was hissing again, shaking her head in a more pronounced show. Traan stopped her comment with a hand gesture. “I also know that―if I wish something of you―I must first present you with something of equal value, or at least that demands equal trust.”

“Go on,” Mologg prodded.

Traan smiled, staring at the Drackmarian for a long moment. Apparently set on a course of action, he began. “The Togruta are a very social people. We value the company of our friends and relatives very highly, above almost any possession or right. These past months have been very hard on me, well beyond the physical exertion of so many sleepless nights and shamefully stolen moments of rest. I have abandoned the home of my people, left behind my family, consigned myself to public service and private solitude . . .”

Mologg had shifted to get a fuller view of the Togruta. “You have no one?”

Traan laughed, a harsh, cruel laugh. “My children are grown and chose to stay on Shili when I left. My wife came with me, though perhaps two dozen people in all of the Cooperative know that I have any family at all. She is . . . a rare creature, patient and understanding, and the most independent of my kind that I have ever known. The move to Varn and the demands of my duties have driven her into a state of near-seclusion, so far from the few whose company she truly did seek. And now here I am, in the windowless hold of a Drackmarian vessel, flying to a destination unknown, speaking my most-kept secrets to you, the reason for this journey having long-since passed out of mind.”

Molog nodded for several seconds, seeming to empathize with the vastly different Togruta. “That you have chosen to sacrifice so much, yet still you continue, speaks much of your belief in the Cooperative.”

“That wasn't―”

“Of course it wasn't what you sought to share, but it is yet true and pure. You would embrace the pain of all those you know before you would allow the suffering of the faceless masses. It is men like you whose sacrifices can never truly be appreciated by those whom you sacrifice for. You, Traan Shi, are truly worthy of Drackmar's favor.”

The two continued talking for quite some time, sharing personal insights and discussing the various social and personal views that made up the core of the Cooperative. Mologg remained reluctant to discuss the Empire beyond Drackmar itself, but not because of a lack of personal trust. By the time the vessel dropped out of hyperspace, Traan felt that he was as ready as he could be for whatever awaited him. The sound of contact with a docking ring echoed through the vessel a moment later, and the two stood in preparation for their meeting.

Mologg withdrew a bag from a nearby compartment, passing it through the field to Traan. “You will require only your rebreather for the time being.” Traan nodded in thanks, strapping the mask on and double checking the seals. He nodded once more, and Mologg pressed a few buttons on a wall-mounted keyboard. The magcon field expanded toward Traan, shrinking and then eliminating the oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere.

A loud thud sounded and Molog and Traan turned toward the opening access ramp, waiting patiently as it lowered into place. She hissed again, this time sounding more like a call to battle than anything else. “Welcome to Draconis Secundus,” She said bitterly, leading the way out of the vessel.

The room was almost exactly like the one Nitin had described to him from her efforts at Drackmar. Of significant difference, however, was the lack of a standard oxygen-rich atmosphere, and the closed viewport that would have otherwise shown the world below. The rulers of this world apparently had no problem with making their guest uncomfortable.

The door opposite Traan and Mologg opened and three Drackmarians in what appeared to be some sort of ceremonial armor stepped through, flanked by an additional four Drackmarian guards carrying rather un-ceremonial weapons.

“Identify yourselves,” The foremost Drackmarian said, an exceptionally large male with substantial scarring.

“I am Traan Shi, Chief Ambassador of the Cooperative of Systems,” Traan said firmly, meeting the powerful figure's threatening tone with calm determination.

“I am Mologg of Drackmar, representative to the Cooperative of Systems and loyal daughter of the Empire.”

The Drackmarian warrior snarled, his eyes lingering on Mologg. “Why do you come here?”

“We continue to seek the favor of the Justice and Might with which all the peoples of the Drackmarian Empire equip themselves.” Traan's stature had become statuesque, his eyes locked on the warrior's snout.

“I come to uphold the basest tenets of our people,” Mologg said simply.

“What do you have to offer the Drackmarian Empire?”

“The strength to stand against the mightiest of foes,” Mologg replied before Traan had the chance, then began to circle around the table and face the massive Drackmarian.

Traan watched as Mologg approached, forcibly pushing one of the guards aside and stopping only centimeters from the warrior, who was easily ten centimeters taller than her. She stared up at him with a stern resolve, her hands balled into fists and her snout moving slightly as she inhaled and exhaled heavily. “Drackmarians do not play games. End this shameful behavior.”

The warrior hissed loudly, his lips curling to show his fangs, but Mologg barred her own, her hands shifting as if she was about to attack. With an almost imperceptible movement, the warrior triggered something and his armor suddenly appeared much less ceremonial, sealing the many gaps and holes and forming an almost completely enclosed suit. The quiet sound of static discharge accompanied a momentary flash of light, and his partly-exposed face was covered by a protective energy field.

“Prepare him for the world below,” He said, gesturing at Traan but remaining focused on Mologg. “We leave presently.”

The seven Drackmarian warriors turned and left the room, and as the door slid shut behind them, Mologg turned to Traan and offered him a reassuring nod. They exited through the door they had entered at, boarding the transport once again. “I must admit: I'm confused,” Traan said simply, standing by the closed access ramp as the magcon field reappeared and offered him a sliver of breathable atmosphere.

Mologg pointed at the bag at his feet. “Put it on.” Traan pulled out the heavy environmental suit and stripped off the outer layer of his diplomatic garb. “That was General Cordru, a hero from the Zinj War and the military leader of Draconis Secundus. A Drackmarian does not invite a guest and then challenge his intentions; it is not our way.”

“It seemed to be what he was doing there,” Traan remarked, realizing that the suit was closer to body armor than environmental gear, and fighting desperately to get the rigid material to cooperate.

“There are no administrative officials here. General Cordru is answerable directly to the Drackmarian Senate. You see, Ambassador: Draconis Secundus is the beating heart of the Drackmarian military. There are no settlements as you would know them. There are no police, no homes, no stores, no residents. There is only the Drackmarian military.” Mologg closed her mouth and stepped through the magcon field, pressing a release at the knee of Traan's suit and then stepping back. It separated cleanly and Traan eyed the mechanism for a moment.

“Thank you,” He said kindly, still only barely able to force his foot into the boot. Eying the rest of the suit, he quickly found other releases that separated segments into more manageable sizes. The suit seemed custom designed for his Togruta physiology, which he didn't find all that strange for some reason. Drackmarian customs were almost completely backwards from the galactic norm, but that was obviously not always a bad thing.

“If the Empire won't or can't support us militarily, then why would the General seek out a meeting with us?”

“Let's find out, shall we?” Mologg responded. She had donned a suit of her own in considerably less time than Traan, and retracted the magcon field once again. The ramp lowered, and she gestured for Traan to leave the shuttle. “Do not be surprised by what awaits. If Drackmarian culture had an analogue for Hell, Draconis Secundus would be it.”

Mologg led Traan back through the meeting room and out through the opposite door. They walked a short way and turned down a side corridor. It dead-ended into another small docking bay, where General Codru and his six henchmen awaited in the back of a transport. Traan noted that the General's previously exposed face was now guarded by a mask that appeared to have fully incorporated itself into the armor.

The brief trip from the station to the planet was conducted in total silence, but small viewports permitted Traan a few fragmentary glimpses of the world below. It was dominated by rust red and the darker grays and browns of stone and earth. There were patches of sickly green and yellow everywhere, sometimes snaking across the planet like rivers on a more terrestrial world. He glimpsed two or three significant artificial constructs, but details were impossible to make out from so far away.

The vessel touched down on an open docking pad. The compartment opened to the outside, and Traan followed the others out. He was struck immediately by a swift wind, which pummeled him with flecks of sand.

“That's not sand,” Mologg said, apparently anticipating his thoughts. Her voice had whispered into his ear, carried through the suit's commlink. Traan reached out his hand to collect some of it and take a closer look, but he found it difficult to capture any of the particles. “It's a highly corrosive liquid,” She continued, pointing to the surface below. “Its low density and weak inter-molecular bonds allow the world's powerful wind currents to blow it just about anywhere.”

Traan had dropped his arm, giving up and following the Drackmarian warriors down a long walkway. “Then the green and yellow I saw―”

“There are many things on this world,” General Codru cut in. “Life is not one of them.”

Upon closer inspection, Traan realized just how true that probably was. He could barely make out the structure they were heading toward, but it appeared to be constructed on top of stilts of some kind, just like the landing pad and the walkway. If it was any indication of the overall construction scheme on the planet, then every Drackmarian structure would be a good meter off of the planet's surface.

They entered a domed structure about twenty meters in diameter, stepping into a small decontamination room before entering into the building proper. Inside were several dozen Drackmarians, all wearing full body environmental suits. “The majority of these buildings do not contain proper Drackmarian norm atmospheres,” Mologg informed Traan, the small group still making their way toward a destination unknown.

Traan was taking in the sight as much as possible, watching teams of Drackmarians going about a number of tasks, all of which seemed to be accomplishing very little. They snaked through a series of interconnected domes, halting before a large blast door, waiting while the general and his two associates each entered a series of commands into a keypad. The door slid open and they moved forward, the corridor beyond sloping downward. Another blast door laid horizontally a few meters ahead, and the three again entered a string of commands to open the path.

Descending into the planet's surface, the team soon passed through a magcon field, and Mologg removed her helmet, though the other Drackmarians kept their suits fully intact. They passed through what looked like a secondary, more traditional atmospheric conversion system, consisting of a pair of sealed chambers. Lastly, another blast door opened and Traan found himself in something that looked more like a standard military installation than anything he had seen so far.

He was led into a room that offered a view of what appeared to be a command center. “We have no atmospheric isolation unit,” General Codru said, obviously trying to sound apologetic, but failing nonetheless. “You will have to remain in your containment suit.”

“Very well,” Traan said understandingly. “If I may ask,” He continued after several seconds of silence, “why have I been brought here?”

“The Cooperative represents a potential for the Galaxy and an opportunity for the Drackmarian Empire that neither it nor we have seen since before the fall of the Old Republic.” Codru's tone remained harsh, but there was a sincerity in his voice that reassured Traan of the warrior's intentions. “I wish to weigh the commitment of your people to the fulfillment of that potential, and if I deem them of worth, commit myself to their success.”

Some of the general's word choice seemed to unsettle Mologg slightly, but Codru simply ignored her obvious distress. “You have earned the loyalty of General Sarris, and for that I am willing to forgo a number of the more strenuous Drackmarian tests of honor and strength. I will show you the secrets of Draconis Secundus and the power of its inhabitants, and in turn you will show me if your Cooperative possesses the mettle I secretly hope it does.”

Traan looked to Mologg, who―though she still seemed somewhat uncomfortable―nodded in accent. Traan took a deep breath, trying to process what was really going on here. “Very well,” He finally said, deciding to trust Mologg's lead. “I stand prepared to be astonished.”

Not prepared for this. It was a wargame, of sorts. The explosions were real, as was a good deal of random fire, and apparently a little of the intentional fire. One side was waste deep in the corrosive liquid that apparently migrated across the world, blown to and fro by the ever-present winds. The other side was dragging themselves through some sort of pasty mire. The two sides had some type of senor nets draped over their armor, which disabled individuals when struck by the specially designed weapons.

General Codru was watching coldly from beside Traan, taking in the sight with an odd sort of satisfaction. “All members of the Drackmarian Army receive two consecutive months of training here, on this world's surface. The world is infested with a narrow pool of silicon-based microorganisms; mixed with a host of natural phenomena such as the corrosive liquid which plagues the surface and infest the atmosphere, they produce one of the most inhospitable environments imaginable. Most standard galactic technology would fail after anywhere from a few hours to a few days on this world, depending on where―and at what point in the world's ecological cycle―it would be placed. And that is not to mention the extraordinary temperature changes which take place almost at random.”

“You said there was no natural life on the world,” Traan pointed out, keeping his tone non-accusatory.

“Flesh eating monsters don't count as life,” Codru said simply, crossing his arms. He noticed Traan twitch slightly at the sight of one soldier hit by what was obviously not a training laser. “Their armor is sufficient to prevent any wounds from being fatal, so long as the medics perform their duties appropriately,” He commented in the way of reassurance. “If our men can take a wound in this sort of situation―and if our medics can handle them―then they can take and patch a wound anywhere.”

“Surely there's a safer way,” Traan commented, turning away from the battle and toward the general.

“These soldiers are undergoing training to be accepted into our most elite force. Only those who prove to have both the will and strength are permitted to don the title of Raptor.”

Raptor?. “Tell me, General: why has the Drackmarian Empire scavenged the names of Warlord Zsinj's fallen empire?”

Codru hissed in his people's approximation of a laugh. “The Drackmarian Empire often claims the names of our fallen foes' greatest forces. And so it is that the flagship of our fleet and the designation of our most elite soldiers share their names with Zsinj's fallen armies.”

Traan nodded, turning back to the training exercise. “How many will you lose?”

“Rarely does a Drackmarian committed to obtaining the title of Raptor quit. They are either ejected or―sometimes―killed. Approximately thirty percent of those accepted to undergo Raptor training are not permitted to complete it. Approximately one in three hundred succumbs, often due to the failure of other trainees. In such cases those responsible have the whole of their training nullified and the right of non-service revoked.”

“Non-service?”

Codru's fangs appeared as he snarled. “All Drackmarian citizens are permitted to decline military service during a time of peace. If a trainee forfeits the life of another, then he must undergo training again, and is sworn to continued service as payment for the life wasted.”

“What if he refuses?”

“He is tried, inevitably convicted, and then sentenced for murder. Drackmarian law demands the life-service of those who take life. If we cannot obtain it honorably, through loyal military service, then we will obtain it through the just hand of the law.”

Traan was mulling it all over, trying to wrap his head around so many Drackmarian concepts. “You permit a trainee who is responsible for another's death to continue, so that he may learn from his costly error and continue to serve the Empire?”

“Of course.”

Traan nodded. “Most peoples of the Coalition would find your methods unconventional in the least, perhaps unjust . . . but most peoples of the Coalition do not possess such inherent loyalty toward any thing, except perhaps their own families.”

“The Empire is our family,” Codru countered. “I have lost seven brothers and sisters in the war against Zsinj, three of them hatch-mates. Their sacrifices were in the name of the Empire, as will mine be should the time come. So long as the Empire stands, our people endure. If a few must die to ensure that the many are prepared for what is to come, then so be it. They know the risks; they accept them openly; death and life are immaterial, so long as they are conducted in service to the people of the Empire. The Empire is more than the sum of its subjects, and therefore is deserving of the sacrifices fate would demand. The Empire will endure . . . the way of Drackmar will endure. We who serve it are prepared for whatever its perpetuation demands.”





“We cannot approach closer?”

Codru shook his head. “They must conduct this test in complete seclusion.”

Traan was looking through a set of powerful macrobinoculars at a group of a dozen or so Drackmarians, fighting against the now-terrible winds and a downpour of the corrosive liquid, now raining from the sky, having mixed with something in the atmosphere to turn it into a sticky mess of corruption. They were fighting with a deployable tent, trying desperately to protect equipment from the destructive downpour.

“Surely this isn't standard armor for Drackmarian warriors.”

Codru shook his head. “Raptor trainees will keep this armor until it is destroyed or they are buried in it. Standard soldiers will receive less-versatile armor upon completion of their training here. Their suits will be reprocessed for use by others at a later time. With a very few exceptions, those on Draconis Secundus undergoing training spend only minutes per day without full environmental seals intact. If they can survive for three months in a form-fitted tomb, then―”

“They can survive anywhere, ever,” Traan said, nodding in understanding.

“The Empire prepares for two things: war and victory. Both are inevitable.”

Several moments passed in silence, in which Traan considered what he had seen in the past several hours. “Tell me about the war with Zsinj.”

Codru snarled again. “The New Republic and Galactic Empire may have dealt Zinj his final blow, but we Drackmarians had been fighting him since before the death of Palpatine. He exhausted incredible resources trying to find our core worlds―those worlds which house the Drackmarian people―which is virtually all that remains of our Empire today. We sacrificed much to protect their locations, but in the end, he learned of Drackmar.

“Twice he attacked our homeworld, and twice we repelled him, though at great cost. Realizing our strength, he sought out other core worlds, Draconis Secundus among them. The loss of so much of our former strength had left us with factories and shipyards, but drastically reduced sources of materials. We were forced to draw on sources outside of the Empire, and it was only by channeling them through other acquired worlds that we were able to protect our core worlds' identities. A dozen worlds were lost to protect Draconis Secundus alone, but its location remains secret, and will continue to be so.”

The roar of engines sounded overhead, and a formation of Drackmarian vessels flew by, spraying a cloud of dust behind them. “Feeding time,” The General remarked, watching as the dust dissipated into the atmosphere.

“I'm sorry?”

“We have cultivated the rare lifeforms of this world throughout the years, promoting mutation at times. The destructive microorganisms which now dominate this world's surface and atmosphere have had their numbers swelled by the seeding of minerals and materials required by them for growth. They now feast upon the complex molecules which form the building blocks of modern technology and alloys, turning them from rare and moderate nuisances to pervasive and excessive threats. This feast will agitate them, presenting the training crew with a greater challenge.”

“You have cultivated the dangers which dominate this world?”

He nodded. “Only true danger can prepare for true war.”





The shipyards of Draconis Secundus were significantly more expansive than those of Drackmar. A number of vessels were under construction, ranging from Star Destroyer analogues to frigates and gunships. Massive, box-like factories dotted the planet's orbit as well, undoubtedly producing starfighters and ground vehicles.

General Codru was staring through the viewport, his face unreadable but his eyes glinting with pride. “The growing galactic unrest has brought the Drackmarian Empire to a state of high alert. We have not seen such production since the fall of Zsinj, though we have been preparing for it. Though we have lost much from the reign of the Galactic Empire and the greed of Zsinj, we have consolidated our power in recent years and once more stand ready to face those who would seek us harm.”

Codru turned to Traan, the look of pride in his eye turning into one of hope. “The Empire cannot stand against a foe so powerful as those who now grow in the dark places of this galaxy. Though this New Order has dispensed―at least openly―with the more vile of the first Galactic Empire's policies and practices, we Drackmarians fear the rule that they would enforce upon us, if they are permitted to grow and encompass all of the galaxy once more. It is only together that the free nations of the galaxy have any hope of survival. Prove to me your people's worth, and perhaps we may yet stand together should the day come that we find ourselves once more threatened by far-off powers and unjust thrones.”





Amorris, three days later

“This, General,” Traan began, “is why Specialist Ethan Vang was unable to resume his post within Drackmarian space.” In one of the few open fields remaining on Amorris' surface, ten thousand members of the Cooperative Defense Force were spread out in various stages of training.

Ethan had his hands clasped behind his back, watching from the floating platform on which Traan and Codru stood. “Under the instruction of the Praetorian Guard, we have begun initial steps to organize the CDF into a disciplined force, from which the beginnings of a true Cooperative army and navy can be drawn. We accept all Cooperative residents willing to serve; while this sometimes causes potential problems―like trying to find out how best to train and equip the insectoid X'Ting―it is the Cooperative's belief that greater diversity permits a greater pool from which to draw out strengths and shore up weaknesses.

“We have begun with those things of immediate concern to the Cooperative, such as riot control for ground forces and anti-piracy actions for local system defense. We hope to train the most promising Defense Force personnel quickly and throughly, leaving them to establish and carry out a more comprehensive training program for the remainder of the CDF. Our efforts have been given a rather low priority for the time being, however, due to the continued stresses placed on the Cooperative by the fall of the Onyxian Commonwealth and its efforts to alleviate the Eastern Province's similar pressures exerted by refugees fleeing from the Black Dragon Empire's expansion.”

Traan cut in at this point. “We have secured the immediate safety of the Coalition's refugee populations. We are now focusing on specific segments of that population, using what resources we have to equip those groups to assist the effort themselves. The Cooperative Workers' Party is working on Amorris and Selcaron to construct entirely functional cities, and then inhabit them with Party members. Those members will then take up jobs much like the ones they had before they fled their homes, fueling a standard city-based economy and allowing them to reintegrate into normal society. Industrial and textile facilities constructed as part of the city plans will then be turned to fuel the continued city construction, allowing more refugees to reintegrate and expanding our total production capacity.”

“It sounds very idealistic,” Codru said disapprovingly.

Traan took a deep breath, preparing himself for another burst of Cooperative doctrine. “Party members are protected by government-ratified contracts signed between the members and corporate sponsors. It will take years in many cases, but Party members will be able to repay their sponsors through a tax-type system over a period of time, eventually freeing them from those obligations and allowing them to carry out their lives as they see fit. Until those debts are paid, Party members' possessions gained through Party programs will be in an odd state of limbo, owned by their sponsors but stewarded by the Party members themselves. It is a tricky and even dangerous setup, but it is our best hope of empowering these people once more.”

Codru was mulling over the information. “Upon completion, you will possess massive industrial capacities.”

Traan nodded. “Much of that capacity will be turned toward raising the standard of living among these prefabricated societies, but it will provide us an opportunity for economic reconstruction that would be all but impossible otherwise.”

“And what of defending yourselves?”

Traan sighed. “We have committed ourselves to redeeming the abandoned peoples of the Coalition; all other priorities must fall behind that. You believe in protecting your Drackmarian way through military might, but if your so-called “core worlds” were overrun and their populations forced into an area a fraction of their current size, would you stand idly by, building your warships while your people wasted away? Perhaps you would, but we do not possess the same blind faith in the ultimate success of our military that you place in yours. This is the path we walk; to waver is to stagnate; to stagnate is death. We will live on. We will prosper once more.”





Codru was staring at the data display with a rather unimpressed glint in his eye. “I see the capacity for extraordinary computation . . . a capacity found within millions of supercomputing systems throughout the galaxy. This “Salvation” program is impressive, but not unbelievably so. Your Overseer is indeed a unique and intricate machine, but to claim that it is anything else would be foolish.” He turned swiftly from the screen, taking a further survey of the room.

Traan smiled and stepped further into the mostly empty space, spreading his arms slightly in a gesture of openness. “The Overseer has shown a complexity of character and a self-defining intent that I have never seen in any droid, including those designed specifically to mimic humanoid life. Whatever he was designed to be, he has become something else, something more. He is free of the limitations of traditional machines and the confines of whatever pre-modeled personality he was once given. I have seen him change―fundamentally―in response to new experiences; he is a being free of the preconceptions and habits which so limit our own development, but remains bound by some indefinable self-choice to do good, always. I beg you to open your eyes and consider the possibilities that they show you.”

The room grew dark and a number of holoimages began to coalesce into being, eventually merging to form a representative model of the Cooperative. Various lights and markers began to flash and form, lines intersecting worlds and new images emerging along them to represent resources and personnel traveling between them.

“I have created all of this.” Codru twisted about furiously, searching for the source of the voice. “I compelled the Cooperative to reach out its hand to the Onyxian Commonwealth; I organized its resources in preparation for the event; I created and initiated the first stages of the Amorris Plan; I brought Salvation into being and spread its influence over the Cooperative; I now stand as the centerpoint upon which the Cooperative constructs itself.

“I do not deny my nature: I am a machine. But neither can I deny what I am: a person, whole and true. Through a process which I do not fully understand―and would be incapable of explaining regardless―I have found myself unable to map the full extent of my own program. At my heart is a dynamic, self-correcting nexus of conflicting and complementing data; a fundamental and irreplaceable something that I have been completely incapable of duplicating, though I assure you I have tried. Is it not the greatest quest of all true sapiens to seek out who they are and why they exist? Why is it that when I set out on that very quest, men like you seek to disregard my efforts as semantic and foolish? I am what I am; your disbelief does not change that.”





The general spend days within the Cooperative, meeting hundreds of people and watching thousands more. His experience, however, was much different than Mologg's had been. He went to the Senate and spoke to the newly reformed Combined Council. He met the Board, an event that Traan truly believed almost ended in one or more deaths, though the self-important businessmen who dominated the organization had no idea. The general had seen first hand the work on Amorris and Selcaron, had met with Nitin Cass, and had even tracked down Kerrick Arkanus, who had not yet been reinstated to his former position as Supreme Commander of the Cooperative's non-existent military.

However, Traan believed that the general most enjoyed his tour of Ord Cestus. The insectoid X'Ting and arachnoid Vr'ik'ta had been almost entirely integrated into the massive complex that was Cestus Cybernetics, and though their total numbers were almost insignificant when compared against the more humanoid inhabitants of the world, their contribution had nevertheless increased production considerably. The brief period between Cestus' admission into the Cooperative and the arrival of the Onyxian Crisis had given the world a chance to dig deep, turning the dark and dreary underworld of the X'Ting into something approaching a recognizable subterranean city.

It was the scale at which Cestus operated and the fervor with which its citizens operated it that seemed to impress the General, however. Traan explained to Codru the circumstances under which Cestus had joined the Cooperative, and the abiding faith the Overseer had instilled in the population. He also explained that Cestus had committed itself fully to the Onyxian Crisis; its people, sobered by their own experience with Cestus Cybernetics, would not allow an entity such as the Board to exploit labor for their own gluttonous gains.





Mologg had rejoined Traan and Codru, and the three were now . . . somewhere, alone in the passenger compartment of a transport, presumably somewhere between Drackmar and Draconis Secundus. “My position grants me a degree of interpretation, but only a degree. I cannot commit military resources to the active defense of the Cooperative, but I can offer advice. The form which that advice takes is the degree of interpretation I will exploit.”

Mologg hissed, apparently understanding what was coming, and glad that it was coming.

“Draconis Secundus will remain a world shrouded in mystery. We will dispatch no representatives to the Cooperative Senate, and no seat will be held for them. Drackmar will soon assign Mologg a number of assistants, in accordance with standard Senate policy. Two of those assistants will be lieutenants of mine, though they will be registered and introduced as members of the Drackmar Defense Force. Draconis Secundus will be found in no official reports, recorded in no logs.”

The general paused, pulling out a rather standard datapad, one not quite suited to his clawed hands. Nevertheless, he worked it expertly, handing it to Traan only when he had accessed the appropriate information. “As per the indicated allowances, the treaty will be signed in secret between you, me and the Combined Council's senior member of the Council of Defense. In one weeks time, a number of vessels will arrive on Amorris bearing the emblem of Drackmar and fifty thousand Drackmarian soldiers and naval officers. They will be emblazoned with the symbol of the Raptor, and they will assist in the speedy and expert organization of what I must admit is one of the most pitiful military forces I have ever seen. The Cooperative will stand firm; Drackmar will see to that.”

Traan's mind was reeling. This was not how diplomatic negotiations were carried out. “What do you expect from the Cooperative?”

The general hissed. “When the relief from Drackmar swells in the coming weeks, you will ensure that it appears only that Drackmar has increased its aide, and when Drackmar in turn demands more resources from your Kauron asteroid mines, you will oblige without question. You will put the vessels and resources offered by the children of the Drackmarian Empire to good use, or I will be forced to take them back.”

Traan turned to Mologg. Mologg turned to Traan. They stared at each other. They nodded in unison. “The treaty will have to be acknowledged by the Overseer, but beyond that: all is well.”

Codru fixed Traan with a piercing stare. “The day will come when Draconis Secundus stands proudly by the side of the Cooperative and its Coalition allies. That day has not yet come. We require a moment more of shadow and a breath more of Drackmarian air, but the day is coming.”

Traan nodded in understanding as the vessel dropped from hyperspace. “There is so much that I still do not understand.” His words were filled with a longing to grasp the heart of the Drackmarian people, and their intent was not lost on the general, whose eyes were still locked on Traan, studying his every movement.

“Understand this: you are the rarest of a rare people, Traan Shi. You will not fail.”