La Galissonière-class Star Destroyer Joyeuse, in orbit via Ter Abbes

“Did you vote yet?”

Captain Monterrez spared a glance at his XO and shook his head, “Don’t see the point. One vote isn’t going to make much a difference now, and it’s such as hassle to go down planet side just for that.  Besides, isn’t Codi supposed to win by a land side?”

Roygeurs shrugged, “That’s what some of them are saying.  But there are always surprises.  Besides, if Codi isn’t able to take care of the refugee problem…well, I don’t think he’ll last long, even with endorsements coming in from the proper.”

Monterrez shook his head and went back to checking the holo-projectors of his bridge crew.  Yet even with his hazel eyes contently watching the sensor tracks and system updates, he found his mind wandering back to the world below.  While Ter Abbes finally had seemed to become politically stable, the recent turn of galactic events had thrown it into jeopardy once more.  At the request of the Contegorian Council, Codi had begun accepting refugees from worlds struck by the Cree’Ar and the Reavers, temporarily settling them on the continent of Groiux, simply because it was the least occupied territory on the industrial world, but there was a reason for that.  It had been at the center of some of the hardest fighting during the civil war, and despite the addition of Confederation construction droids, it hadn’t restored to half of its original infrastructure yet because of their budget crunching.  While that hadn’t been originally been a problem since no-one had been living there, it had become a problem now, starting protests across the planet.  Some of the protesters, including many of the refugees, had lobbied for Codi to rapidly reconstruct the area for their use.  Others had started counter-protests, objecting to the state sinking in massive amounts of credits to an area that hopefully would be mostly deserted again once the Reavers and the specter of war disappeared from view.  Damned if he does it, damned if he doesn’t.

Suddenly, the star destroyer shook violently, nearly knocking him down flat on the deck.  Alarm klaxons began to sound and the bridge crew became frantic, raising their voices and scurrying about.  His eyes widened.  We’re under attack.  Have the Reavers or Cree’Ar managed to find a way past the Defense Web?  The Maker save us.  He scrambled into an upright position and ran to his command chair.

“Status report!” shouted Monterrez, “Helm, take evasive actions.  Full power all shields.”

“Port shields are recharging, we have a, uh, hull breach in sectors eight and nine, almost dead-center,” reported a crewman.

“Hostiles?”

“None noted,” announced Roygeurs, “but-”

The star destroyer shook another time, though less violently than before.  Thank the maker the real good point about this design is the armor…He rapidly punched in more commands, noting that a second attack had struck on the same port side, but slightly higher, likely as a result of the helmsman modulating the ship’s engines.   Otherwise it might have hit the same place it had just hit…but there’s no ships down there…are it coming from Ter Abbes itself?  He swore.  Roygeurs punched him on the shoulder.

“It’s one of our Flak Towers firing on us.  One on Grioux.”

“Power down weapons and bring that anti-concussion field generator online, and take us out of here helm.  Break geosynchronous orbit, signal the rest of the fleet,” ordered Monterrez, adding a quiet swear after that chain of orders.

“Flak Tower Rampart Eight is not responding to our hails, sir.  I’m not even getting much of a signal from the police units there…”

“Check the news channels,” interrupted a pasty ensign, “it’s happening.”

Monterrez frowned, “Do it comms, and put it on the central projector.”

The bridge holo-projector flared to life, revealing a chaotic mob of people filling the streets of Cuddalore, the former capital of their world, and the largest city on the continent of Grioux.  A thin line of riot police and droids collapsed under the attack of the protesters, many of whom were now carrying blasters.  He watched the government presence collapse under the onslaught and watched as the red and blue banners of his world were ripped down.   Monterrez’s face rapidly scrunched up in disbelief.  How dare they.

“We’re out of effective range of that flak tower,” announced the helmsman.

“The rest of the fleet is following suit and forming around us,” informed Roygeur.

“Sir, I have President Codi on the line for you,” announced his comm’s officer, “Along with General Irzo and the chiefs of staff.”

“It looks like we have another civil war on our hands,” muttered Moneterrez, “but at least it’s not Reavers…”




 

Several hours later…

Captain Monterrez edged closer on his seat in the Command Information Center.  Dozens of other fleet and army officers clustered around the room’s main holo-projector, which depicted a conference room in Chamberlin Hall back in Ter Abbe’s capital packed with politicians and a smattering of army officers.  President Codi rose, flanked by two of his lead political opponents: Trent Guzman, a lean but eminently dressed man in red cloth, and Mister Arapto, a Duros community organizer.  Codi promptly cleared his throat and glanced at his two erstwhile opponents.

“We have all decided to postpone election results until this crisis is stabilized,” announced the president, “and we will share power until the uprising on Grioux has been settled.  Shortly after this meeting is finished, the three of us will announce our unity to the press.  We don’t need any offworlders taking advantage of our hospitality to do more damage to our way of life.  All three of us have come to agreement that the rebellion on Grioux must be suppressed in the least violent means possible.  Yes, we have attempted to talk with them, but while their does seem to be some sort of structure to it, we have not been able to make direct contact with any of their leaders.  Attorney General?”

Another Duros wearing a trendy business suit stood up as the president sat down, “We no longer have any control on the continent.  Many of our officers there have been captured or killed.  It goes without saying that we will need to tread carefully in order to get them out of there alive.  Some of our people have managed to escape by boat or speeder.  They’re saying that it’s not a simple riot, there is obviously some very well trained actors involved given their very coordinated actions, including taking over the flak tower Rampart Eight.  That should have been impossible for a normal people.  I fear that we are dealing with a certain country’s special forces...”

“Empire most likely,” murmured Monterrez under his breath.

“…which will make this a difficult task.  I have already asked the federal government for help, and they are seeking to get CSIS agents on the inside, though I fear that will be difficult, especially given the time constraints involved.  Captain Monterrez.”

“Yes sir?” said the soldier to the executive.

“Under the direction of the president’s council, I am placing Ter Abbes under a formal blockade until the rebellion has been suppressed.  No-one is coming in, no-one is going out without every cubic centimeter of their ship being inspected.  We cannot allow these fomenters to escape us or be resupplied.  I want you to make it happen now while the Army prepares their return to Grioux…”
 

Unknown Location, Ter Abbes

A fine mist shrouded the Confederation encampment in the early morning as the morning light began to shine through the towering buildings.  Most of them had long been abandoned since before the world had joined the Confederation.  Yet while Colonel Panib knew that there were both Confederate droids and soldiers keeping careful watch over the budding army in those very buildings, he still felt as though they were under hostile survelliance from the same structures.  He quickly grabbed the sleeve of his digital camo uniform and coughed into it.

“Bless you,” said an olive-skinned man walking next to him, Lieutenant Wyries.

“Thanks Lieutenant,” acknowledged the commander, leading the pair through a maze of a resting dozen Hephaestus walkers.

“We’re growing stronger every day,” observed Wyries, watching a CG-10 pierce through the clouds with a piercing whine.

“Maybe,” noted the Colonel, stopping to observe a quartet of soldiers changing guard duty, “but maybe not.  Perhaps their strength is growing too.”

Most of Ter Abbes’ standing army had been deployed to the nearby Contruum system to beat off the Reavers occupying it, leaving the world only with only a handful of active duty troops and thousands more of green reservists.  To their benefit, the Presidential Council had quickly raised up more automated troops by prioritizing the world’s factories to build the defense forces at a previously unheard of rate.  Every day for the last week there seemed to be hundreds of more C1 battle droids and walkers marching into the staging point.  At the current rate, by the end of the week, there would be three times more battle droids than allegedly there were people on Grioux.  But yet he worried still, the memories of the last battles he fought still fresh on his mind, despite the reservist having last fought almost a decade ago.   He turned to face Wyries.

“You’ve never seen action Lieutenant, have you?”

He shook his head, “No, but I will see it one day.”

“I truly hope that you do not,” said the old man, beginning to hobble forward towards one of the buildings, “not any truly visceral stuff.  It’s one thing with droids and simulations, it’s altogether another thing with flesh and blood, especially your own.”

They passed the guards they had just observed, exchanging salutes with them before passing through the checkpoint.  They ran into a group of randomly patrolling C1s, who promptly acknowledged them faster than the Colonel had even noticed them.  The metal men continued on their way, adding yet another cordon of security before they reached the impromptu headquarters of the invasion force, a battered and rusting warehouse decades past its prime.  Yet once the guards slid open the doors for them to reveal the interior, it became a whole new place.  A dozen Hephaestus walkers with their attached command modules sat inside along with a host of high tech communication’s equipment.  A duros wearing a gray fleet uniform, one of the few naval officer present, ambled over to meet the commander and his aide-de-camp.

“Morning sir,” said the alien, handing him and his aide a cup of caf.

“Good morning Mister Bodge,” replied the man, accepting the cup, “what news from the fleet?”

“The defense web noticed a group of ships congregating just outside of the system.”

The trio began to walk towards a holo-projector.

“Warships?” questioned the Colonel, “or should I say the worst?”

“Freighters, actually,” replied the gray-skinned being, “humanitarian aid for Grioux, if you could believe it.  They came to be from LON, with aid destined for their member citizens on our world.  They say that we have no right to starve their people to death and compared us to the Trade Federation blockading Naboo right before the Clone Wars...”

“So that’s how they’re playing it.  And the Fleet?”

“…has stated that they will allow the ships through, pending your approval, if they are allowed to inspect the craft before they land.”

“And they said?”

“No chance in hell…”

"Colonel Panib let a rare smirk crease his face, “Better patch me through to your commander.”

“Roger that sir.”

The duros began to fiddle with the control as Panib sipped his caf away.  Finally, the floating Unitas disappeared to be replaced with a stillshot visage of the blockading defense fleet, which then turned to the bridge of the distant Joyeuse .  Bodge offered a quick greeting to the officer on the watch, a man with the nametape of “Roygeurs” sewn across the left breast of his gray tunic.  That man turned his attention to the Colonel.

“Colonel Panib, what can I do for you today?”

Panib gestured at the duros, “Mister Bodge here was telling me that we have some people who are trying to visit our friends on Grioux.  They say they’re from LON?”

“So they say,” replied the fleet officer, “but we can’t get anyone from LON to confirm it.  No-one we have with LON has been able to get a straight answer out of them about it.”

“It’s going to get worse you know, if we just leave them there,” noted the Colonel, setting down his cup of caf, “once the press gets ahold of it, we’ll be made to be the big bad authoritarians like the Empire before us.  We are going to move before it gets any worse.  Tomorrow, we will invade Grioux.  I'm starting it earlier than planned because of this...development.  Make sure your commander gets the proper assets ready.  And if you have a chance, I’d be real curious to see the truth behind that ‘humanitarian’ convoy before we get started groundside.”

“I’ll be sure to let Captain Montorezz know that sir.”

“I’d appreciate that, Commander.”
 

S12 Shadowcaster Wraith Eight, somewhere in the Locris Sector

Flight Officer Wrede tapped the foot-pedal several times in rapid succession, causing a series of small thruster bursts to stealthily propel his fighter closer to the almost stationary convoy of freighters.  Most of them appeared to be commonplace ships: BFF-1s, drone barges, CEC bulk freighters, and dozens of tramp freighters.  But to his surprise, there didn’t appear to be any military vessels.  There appeared to be so many commercial vessels that Wrede wondered how they hadn’t been attacked by anyone else, whether they were bloodthirsty Reavers or opportunistic brigands.  His stealth fighter glided towards a boxy container ship to passively scan its contents.  As his ship crawled over the target, his head constantly swiveled across the starscape, looking for any sign that he had been detected or was walking into a trap. 

But nothing happened as his ship glided away from its target with its scan completed.

He glanced down at the readout and frowned.

The ship was empty?  But why?  Unless it has some sort of smuggling compartments in there to conceal what the ship is really carrying…He eyed another nearby vessel, a star tug pulling an array of standardized liquid cargo containers.  Krede watched the scan of each individual container.  Well most of these are potable water, which fits, but why are several of them empty?  He rolled the yoke of his fighter to the right, sending his craft in a gentle banking action to sweep over the stern of a large bulk freighter.  He sent his craft in a spiral around the ship, attempting to get a solid reading on its contents.  Something a little more normal now, foodstuffs and electrical generators…and no oddities for once.  Krede took his fighter over again to scan another nearby vessel, a decrepit-looking light freighter with several large plates welded on.  The scan showed it to be carrying people, which puzzled him.  I suppose they could be aid workers or doctors or something like that, but what if they aren’t?  What if they’re more soldiers? 

He shook his thought from his head and took his fighter for another spin around a bunch of other ships in the convoy.  Most of them appeared to be carrying what could be legitimate aid, though there was also a fair amount of ships that were simply empty, which troubled him.  Suddenly, more vessels appeared to arrive out of hyperspace near the rear of the formation.  He banked his fighter to investigate the new arrivals: a pair of gray corvettes , an older frigate, and swarm of wildly colored snubfighters.  The newcomers began to open fire at the rear ships of the convoy.  Almost as suddenly as the attackers had arrived, a series of bright flashes announced the arrival of yet another group of vessels from behind the pirates.  Three large starships which appeared to space-going cities mounted on a disc-like base appeared behind the opposing vessels and opened fire on the pirates with far more firepower than the criminals possessed. 

His eyes dilating, Krede banked his fighter out of any potential harm in that conflict.  So they’ve been under escort all along.  They just don’t want the escort to be seen…perhaps I should get a closer look at their guardians.  As the pirate ships began to scatter, the flight officer deftly maneuver his vessel closer to the city-ships, admiring the gleaming skyscraper-like superstructures on the vessels.  The city-ships sent out volleys of concussion missiles at the interlopers, destroying half a dozen of the enemy Starfighters before the pirates had all scattered and escaped into hyperspace, leaving behind a wounded freighter which had its engine block slagged.  He noticed the first freighter that he had scanned, the empty one, move over to the stricken vessel. The crews began to transfer cargo between the v essels.  Once the transfer was complete, one of the city-ships dragged the damaged vessel into a bay with its tractor beam.  With that done, the city-ships jumped away into hyperspace yet again, leaving the illusion of an unguarded humanitarian convoy for the next attackers, if any were so bold.  Frowning, Krede jumped away in his fighter back to the blockading Confederate fleet.
 

Poseidon-class Heavy Walker Castor One, somewhere near the Coast of Grioux, Ter Abbes

Colonel Panib leaned forward in a passenger chair of the walker, watching the live-feed holos of the walker showing its rise out of the receding tidewaters.  Around him, the crew of the walker quietly murmured orders and comments.  The behemoth of the walker suddenly lurched through the pulling waters onto the wet sand, leading the Confederate host onto Grioux.  Behind Castor One, dozens of other imposing Poseidon-class Walkers, versatile Hephaestus walkers, and hundreds of Janus CAVs scambered onto the dirt, with many of the vehicles deploying battle droids onto the beach.  A quartet of Piranha drones flew over the landing force, searching for any targets to engage, but there were none airborne.  Panib quickly looked around the beach, expecting much heavier resistance.  But aside from a few startled onlookers, there was no-one.  A few rapid series of stun bolts from the vanguard of C1s quickly put those observers down, allowing the Confederate forces to continue their landings unobserved.  Lieutenant Wyries stumbled up next to him and quickly lashed his hand onto an overhanging railing to steady himself as the walker rose and fell.

“Looks like the satellites were right.  There aren’t any defenses really here…”

Panib frowned, “And that’s what worries me.  They’re making a defensive stand somewhere in the cities.  More likely than not, that will make our job harder.  There could be lots of civilian casualties if we mess it up…”

“Well, I’m sure people will understand…” offered the man, “it’s the very nature of war that things like that sometimes happen.”

“I’m fairly certain that certain people will misunderstand that problem, intentionally” growled the older man, “I…no, we…just have to think of a way to beat them.”
 
“By not shooting at them?”

The old colonel pondered the thought, “Lieutenant, you may be onto something.  But first, let’s establish our beachhead and see where our enemies are at first.”

Flanked by a pair of escorting CAVS, Castor One plodded forward from the beach onto a nearby duracrete road.  Glancing at the vehicle’s holo-feeds, Panib watched as behind his walker, more and more Confederation vehicles streamed onto the beach, which in turn disgorged more and more battle droids into the landing zone.  The old Colonel tapped a button on his headset comlink.

“Pollux One, what’s your situation?”
 
“Landings are unopposed sir.”

“Thanks Pollux One.”

Panib switched communication’s frequencies yet again, “Neurus One, status report?”

“We’re green here Pollux One.”

“Good to hear,” replied Panib before cutting the channel to focus on the present..

Pollux One continued to lumber forward into the abandoned city.  The aged man’s eyes peered forward to a couple of rapidly disappearing specks. 
They’re moving far too fast to be on foot.  Speeder bikes or swoops most likely.  Scouts.  We’ve been spotted.  The Colonel watched as a pair of Piranha Drones swooped in and unleashed a flurry of emerald bolts upon the escaping vehicles.  A pair of brief fireballs enveloped the vehicles, extinguishing the lives of the riders.  Panib winced.  And they are the first casualties of this war…not that their deaths have kept us from being spotted.  The old man sighed.

“Let’s begin to dig in after advancing five more blocks,” decided the old man, “there’s no point to advancing in the face of such opposition right now.”
Lieutenant Wyries frowned, “And not press the advantage?”

“This isn’t a typical battle,” mused the Colonel, “this is a political problem that needs to be contained and lessened, not a bunch of enemies who need to be wiped out.  And we need them to be confused.  They’ll be expecting a frontal assault any moment now.  When it doesn’t come, it’ll mess up their plans.”
 

La Galissonière-class Star Destroyer Joyeuse, somewhere in the Locris Sector

Captain Monterrez watched as the elongated star light of hyperspace travel came to sudden stop; the Joyeuse sailed out of the dark realm into the black ocean of real space, leading a wedge of other Confederation warships towards the alleged aid convoy from LON.  The man wiped a bead of sweat as he glanced at a holo-projector displaying his ship’s positions, looking for one in particular: Constellation.  The Interdictor Mk II cruiser appeared and began to power up its gravity wells.  Time to stall them while that happens…He clicked a button on his headset and grabbed a datapad showing his script.

“Attention LON Aid convoy, this is Captain Monterrez of the Ter Abbes Defense Forces.  I wish to parley with your leader to discuss the terms of the delivery of the aid convoy to Ter Abbes…”

Several of the said ships vanished  into hyperspace before the gravity wells had been fully powered up.  While they were few and small in size, Monterrez noticed that their trajectory was about to take them to his world.  At his side, Commander Royguers dispatched several CG-10s and two squadrons of Starfighters to pursue the escapees.  The fleet commander mentally swore as he continued to read off his pre-written proclamation. 

“…before the crisis on our world becomes impossible for such a delivery to take place to those in need.  Our terms are as follows: all ships will be inspected prior to arrival in our system to ensure that there are no vessels infected with the Reaver contagion.  All cargo will be inspected to ensure that it does not contain contraband or any other materials of potentially morally offensive nature.  Once these conditions are met, we will immediately escort your starships to the Ter Abbes system.  I look forward to your reply.  Captain Monterrez out.”

He glanced at his chrono.  Thirty two seconds on the dot.  The Constellation’s gravity wells should be fully online now.  There’s no escape for them now.  He tapped a button on his headset comlink and set down the datapad.  Now will they take it?  His dark eyes scanned the starships, but few of them seemed to notice the sudden arrival of the Confederation vessels.  For a few minutes, the whole situation seemed to drag on uneventually; his bridge crew murmured together as normal, few if any of the ships present moved, and no-one acted as if he were present.  Finally, his communication’s officer, a strapping lad of Grioux descent cleared his throat.

“We’re being hailed by the lead bulk freighter,” announced the man, “I’m patching it through to you sir.”

Monterrez nodded and faced the holo-projector, which in turn displayed an aging woman with poofy black hair wearing a white lab coat emblazoned with some medical insignia, suggesting that she was some sort of medical provider.  The Captain guessed that she was one of the ranking aid workers, yet it seemed odd to him that such a large group of ships wouldn’t have some sort of purely administrative person to head up the project.  She adjusted her spectacles.

“Captain, I am Doctor Optier of the LON delegation…”

“Excuse me ma’am,” interrupted the man, “can we cut the bull and tell me who you really are?”

Her face grew red, “What do you mean, who I really am-”

“There is no league any more,” continued Monterrez, turning his head to the side, “and that’s a fairly obvious mistake to the informed.  Almost a month ago, the League formally voted to become part of the Commonality.  You have to be out of the galactic news loop, or think that we are, to act as if you’re part of LON, yet know about the sudden uprising on Ter Abbes.  And you managed to put this all together rather quickly for such a sudden crisis.  So I’ll say again, who are you really?  One of our spyships saw who has been protecting your convoy.  Are you with the Entmyal?  We can protect you-”

With her face turning pale, Doctor Optier cut the channel between them.  He let out a sigh.  Roygeurs came up behind him and patted him on the back.

“Well, that didn’t go so smoothly…”

Flashes of light began to light up his viewport.  Monterrez swore, wondering who had begun to fire.  Yet as he pulled up more detailed holos, he realized that no-one had started shooting: the ships of the convoy were exploding without any apparent outside interference.  Several of the ships began to shoot out escape pods before they detonated.  Monterrez began to swear.  We might have jacked this up good.  Not all of them jettisoned their crew before exploding, suggesting that they were hostages, or at very least, someone is cleaning up after themselves.  Well, at least we got here before the news crews were scheduled to arrive, or so CSIS says…
*
 

The next morning…
Poseidon-class Heavy Walker Castor One,  Somewhere on Grioux, Ter Abbes

“To be a droid,” softly mused the old Colonel, slouching in his command chair.

The holo-projector in front of him showed the man his debacle in motion.  Thousands of angry refugees had gathered in throngs, waving sticks and impromptu weapons alongside a myriad of signs.  Their chants and songs boomed across the artificial chasm, dug up by the walker’s during the night, that separated them from the Confederation army and the inevitable clash of violence.  Some of them attempted to throw stones and debris across the gaping obstacle at the Confederates, leading the Colonel to make a wall of vehicles guarded by unnaturally patient and insensitive battle droids.

Lieutenant Wyries scampered up the walker’s ramp and gave a stiff salute to the colonel, who straightened up and returned it.

“What’s the world from the navy?”

Wyries hesitated, “They’re pretty sure that they shot down most of the ships attempting to break through the blockade, though one may have made it here if it didn’t crash into the ocean.  They said they’re not a 100% sure what happened to it.  The one ship they did manage to capture self-destructed, like the ones outside the system.”

“Quite the motivation to do a job well done.”

Wyries nodded, “And if we could motivate our politicians with threats like that.”

Panib ruefully smiled and shook his head, “Then we wouldn’t have any politicians…”

“I feel that that’s part of problem sir.”

“No,” suggested Panib, “it’s that we have politicians with opposite agendas who have no concept of paying for the consequences based on ideological agreements.”

“You’re still mad at the president,” observed his subordinate.

Panib scowled, “Of course I’m still mad the president.  The jackasses somehow think that after seeing so many military parades and tours of military bases, that they can simply send in the military to fix up everything, because we’re the best…at everything.  And if people can’t do it, technology can.  And no matter what, we’re going to do exactly what they say and nothing else more, because we’ll just put up with whatever they decide to do, and there’s no consequences from them.”

“Sort of true with the droids…”

The colonel barked a quick laugh, “They’re not quite as sensitive to the stones or insults, but they’re not smart enough to solve the problem in the first place.”

“I’m guessing that we’re not going to simply march all over them…”

Panib sighed, “CSIS finally located several of their leaders, and they’ve agreed to talks.  Codi is going, and he’s asked me, and you, to come along as military advisors.”

Wyries frowned, “And what should we expect?”

“The rioters want their own semi-independent state now, based on Grioux.  They’re going to call it the People’s Republic of Grioux.  But that’s after we, and by we, I mean the Army, move off of the continent.”

“I almost wish that staying here and starving them out was an option.”

“Don’t think I hadn’t considered it,” sighed Panib, “not as a practical option, but one of emotional satisfaction.”

“So where is the meeting?”

The Colonel leaned forward and gestured towards another console with a local map displayed, “Officially, I don’t know.  Unofficially, I’m guessing several kilometers up here, at the Hotel Grioux, which is the only building with power in the area which is in this area, the no-flight, no AA fire corridor.  They’re not even letting our own drones fly through there.”

“In their defense, we would probably shoot down an unknown craft in that area,” admitted the lieutenant, studying the plans.

Panib nodded in agreement, “I guess it’s a good thing they’re picking us up at 1900 hours.  We will at least know in advance when they’re coming.”

Several hours passed, with the colonel and the lieutenant discussing various items, all while receiving hourly updates on a digging operation spearheaded by the rear echeleons of Castor group and a combat engineer company.  But as the night drew nearer, the two found themselves discussing political solutions and practical philosophy more than anything else.  After eating their unnaturally bland military rations, the two men briefly freshened themselves up before ambling down the walker’s ramp to an area cleared out for the president’s transport to land.  Almost  a half hour passed before a wedge-like airspeeder soared down to meet them.  Unceremonially, the soldiers stepped aboard and they were away in the air.  They whisked through the desolate city ruins before arriving at Hotel Grioux, a crumbling duracrete monolith that alone out of all of the buildings in the plaza remained lit up.  Colonel Panib began to murmur.

“I wonder how they managed to get any power to this place.”

“Local generator?” guessed the lieutenant, “I heard we gave a bunch of them to power up the camps before you know…well…this…”

“Seems like a waste to use them here,” noted the older man, ambling forward to a distant turbolift, “there have got to be women and children that could use them better.”

“And if the same gave them up for this?  Or if they think that this is a better use for them?” questioned the lieutenant, “do they share your priorities?”

“Maybe not,” decided Panib, “but they’re delusional.  And that means their opinion’s don’t matter much to me.”

“You’ll have to better than that,” wryly commented President Codi, “if you think I’m going to let you in the meeting with that tongue.”

The craft briefly circled the decaying tower before gliding in to land on a small rectangular platform where a knot of people of awaited them.  President Codi led the delegation out of the craft and began to exchange handshakes and greetings with his erstwhile enemies.  Colonel Panib finally came around the shake the hand of the rebel’s chief leader, a blonde haired man named Alexei, who coldly stared him right in the eye.
 
“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the talks,” stated Panib plainly, “I assume you are here for the same.”

“You weren’t invited,” noted one of the other rebels, a green-eyed man wearing a faded business suit, “if this is how your people work, there’s no wonder that you sent us this hell-”

“My apologies, Mr. Alexie,” cut in Codi, “they’ll just be joining this…discussion to ensure that the military fully comprehends its part in our negotiations.”

Alexei curtly nodded, and the rest of the rebels sullenly accepted the soldier’s presence before starting to amble off to the turbolifts.  Once on the turbolift, the Confederate negotiators took a tense ride down several levels to the one of the hotel’s conference rooms, a rectangular room with cheap foldable duraplast furniture.  The two Confederate leaders glanced at each other as they filled in around the table.  One of the presidential aides promptly excused himself from a seat to stand by Lieutenant Wyries at the doorway.  The rebel leader stared at the Codi and Panib increduously.

“Where to begin…” started the rebel.

“The public of Ter Abbes will not stand for the current offer,” stated Codi plainly, “This is what I think I can do: I can and will find a way for your people to find a home again where you all can have a normal life, or at least closer to normal life.  There are plenty of other places to live on Ter Abbes than here.  Maybe I can even work out citizenship deals with other nations within the Confederation if you do not want to live here, but I cannot do that with the situation we are currently in.”

“No,” said Alexei plainly, “you must give us evidence of your good faith before I can even hope to demobilize the people...”

Panib cleared his throat, “He already has.  The military isn’t moving against you.  It would be too easy for him to order me to either begin capturing your people or more ground, or even to starve you all to death.”

“My people are expecting things out of your people too,” noted Codi, “beginning with the return of Confederation property that you and your like have stolen, and the return and freedom of our people that put here to help you.”

“I cannot do that, it would be difficult…”

“All of this is difficult,” noted the Colonel, “coming here for you I am sure was not easy, and the transition to our way of life sure as hell won’t be easy either.  But neither was accepting you. President Codi here stuck his neck out to give you and your peoples a place to go to till you got back on your feet, and you slapped us in the face for it.”

“Perhaps because it wasn’t fit enough for a rat,” snickered one of the rebels, “and the people in charge of it, including the two of you, are no better than rats.”

“Your allies in space are dead,” noted Codi stoically, “there is no help coming for you from anywhere but us.  You will have to work with us, despite your distaste, if you want anything to change.”

“I don’t like your world, your people, or your way of doing things,” said Alexei, “and I don’t think that will change being neighbors or fellow citizens.  If you do not want to give us independence, you will have to move or kill us.”

Codi hesitated, “Where would you like to go?”

“Not on this world, not under your yoke,” noted the rebel, “somewhere else, where we don’t have to adapt to new customs, to a new society.  Someplace that is our own, our home.”

Codi silently considered the man’s words for a minute, “What if we will provide transport for you, and your people who do not want to join us, off our world to somewhere else?  Wherever you wanted, within reason.  And those of your people who want to stay, can stay, but they must abide by our rules of law.”

“You would send us back to the Empire, to the Coalition, or wherever we wanted?”

“Yes,” decided Codi, “if that is what you wished…”
 
“I think that will work,” said Alexei, “but of course, we will have to arrange out the specifics and put it to the vote…”

“No,” stated Codi plainly, “I’m putting it out there.  If we do not come to a general agreement tonight, I will broadcast it to your people on shortwave, and let them decide with their feet.  I will bet you that you will not have a third of your people remain in your camps over night.”

“You oversell yourself,” countered Alexei.

“He does,” admitted the colonel, “but he’s right.  Your movement will fall apart.  You will not have the people to keep up this pressure, and those that remain will be hungry, tired, and lacking all the necessities of life.  You will not be the leader of this little rebellion; it’ll simply fall apart until one of us walks in and throws you into jail for treason.  The President here is offering a way for you to save face and restart your lives before your movement entirely collapses, and in return, we get immediate peace and a solution to your problem so that we can continue on with our lives.”

Codi nodded in agreement.

Alexei sighed, “Very well, that is our luck I would suppose.  I, for one accept.  What of the rest of you?”

The various rebels in the room slowly nodded, and with the agreements that followed, the rebellion on Grioux came to an end.