Lambda-class Shuttle Contegorian Courage, approaching Jabiim

Pro-Consul Thorn stared at the approaching sphere. From space, Jabiim appeared to be a mottled planet with a dark onyx base. It also seemed pretty from a distance. As the shuttle approached with its Deathsaber escorts, the Kashan woman could make out the various asteroids that erratically circled around the planet. Most of them had been mined out, and many of those that had had been adapted for a variety of purposes; from miner’s living quarters to automated concussion missile launchers. Despite its apparent outward beauty, the Pro-Consul knew that living conditions on planet were less than ideal with a muddy landscape and nearly continuous rain. It would probably be one of the less than ideal habitats in her mind. She turned to her aide.

“So what do you know about Jabiim besides what we’ve seen in the mission briefing?”

The man from Soroya shrugged and spoke in his typically sophisticated voice. “Jabiim has had a rather, shall I say, a tragic history. You know about the recent horrors that took place during the Clone Wars, and then the Galactic Civil War. Whether the Loyalists were betrayed by Anakin Skywalker or the Imperial fleet bombarding the surface, they always seem to have had the short end of the stick. But they’ve suffered just as much previous to the Clone Wars as well from I’ve read. Plague being one of the things I’ve read about.”

Christina nodded. “I am well aware of its plight during the Clone Wars. My Grandfather was part of the Alderaanian Diplomatic Corps. He was there, and though the negotiations didn’t go so well, he could easily emphasize with them.”

The man sagely nodded. “I imagine building a rapport with empathy for their plight will be one of our better strategies.”

She frowned. “Perhaps if we had requested an audience with them, that would be important, especially for minor dignitaries of the planet. But they’re the ones who have requested our presence. I don’t think that’s a step we should bring up; I mean, if they start some tirade about being bombarded by the Empire, then yeah, some empathy should be appropriate. A lack of it would be detrimental to whatever we could possibly build here.”

“Speaking about Imperial bombardment, what happens if our favorite rivals show up?”

The attractive woman sighed and leaned back in the shuttle’s chair. “Lucerne has been keeping the Confederation Expeditionary Force at Handooine, using elements of the fleet to escort convoys through the hidden routes we’ve just mapped. But most of it, including the Revanche has maintained an orbit around the planet while the planetary defences are being erected. I’ve arranged for a hyperwave transmitter so that we can call on the fleet if we need them. Given how close we are, it shouldn’t take them long to arrive. But that’s a worse case scenario. What are you expecting of the Jabiimites themselves?”

“It’s hard to say. They’ve been so isolationistic since the fall of the New Republic, it seems that no-one has had contact with them. They’ve definitely been staying out galactic politics.”

“Probably trying to avoid another bombardment or invasion.”

The man nodded. “Which makes me wonder why? Never before has there been this much Imperial activity in the last decade. And I don’t see why they’d want to take a side in this Cold War.”

The shuttle slightly shook as it entered the atmosphere. Thorn’s eyes blinked and hardened. She face and stared into the man’s eyes with an overt seriousiness.

“I think I might know why…”

***

Choal, Jabiim

Stratus stared outside of the pre-fabricated building’s windows. Rain drops splattered the ceraglass, making a quiet pitter-patter; a sound that echoed throughout the dome. Torrents of rain continued to pour down, pounding the marshy surface, turning it into mud in many places. It was a sight common to Jabiim for thousands of years. Brainrot plague had decimated the population; Pirates and bandits plundered and left; battles were fought between any number of factions. The surface had been bombarded by the Empire. But there was always one constant: on Jabiim, it was always raining.

Cirrus Stratus, the grandson of Alto Stratus, ignored the common sight; instead focusing on a single shuttle shuttle plowing through the turbulent atmosphere. Rare, because of the lack of outside interaction into Jabiim within the last decades; rare, because the shuttle’s occupants had to have been exceptionally brave. The planet’s atmosphere was heavily electrically charged. Lightning strikes in the upper atmosphere occurred frequently, hitting and destroying small craft that weren’t well-protected with heavier ray shields or other energy defences. Descending towards the rooftop of a higher building, the Lambda-class Shuttle folded its wings and slowly eased on its repulsorlifts. Its landing gear extended and mere seconds later, they absorbed the gentle shock which ran through the starship as the Contegorian Courage touched down. The bearded Jabiimite broke his gaze from the craft and turned to a blue armored soldier standing at the room’s doorway.

“That would be the Confederation delegation,” stated Cirrus matter-of-factly, “please escort them here immediately.”

The Nimbus Commando nodded and exited the room, leaving the Jabiimite to himself. He scanned the room, picking out its relics of the past as well as the cheap furniture and walls. How impressive will this be. The President’s quarters consisting of a pre-fabricated dome with cheap office furniture; the Jabiim Congress operating out of an old Imperial Hotel that also serves as our executive landing pad. He wearily smiled. The price of always being the rebels, the underdogs. Every time some galactic government comes, they try and take everything, whether it be the Galactic Republic of the Clone Wars performing a pre-emptive invasion, or the Galactic Empire enslaving our people and glassing half our planet. He narrowed his eyes. No, it is time for change. Time to stop the vicious cycle which continually mixes blood into the mud which covers our planet. It is time for change.

Contegorian Courage, Landing Pad

The ramp lowered with a snap-hiss, venting some atmospheric gases through its side air intakes. Pro-Consul Thorn stood at the top of the ramp, her aide on her left and a CSIS agent on her right. Only the sound of rain falling onto the shuttle and its land pad broke the silence. Christina made an abbreviated shrug.

“It can’t be that bad.”

Her aide snorted. “Sounds bad enough.”

The Kashan woman sighed and started to stroll down the ramp, her two consorts trailing in her wake. As her foot stepped onto the ferrocrete pad and the rain began to splatter on her overcoat, Christina was met by a several individuals. The humanoids were covered in a uniform, teal-gray battle armor which was partially covered by a scarlet vest. Each one held an unusual blaster rifle and carried several grenades on their belt. But perhaps the most interesting feature of the troops was their movement, gliding across the surface by repulsor skates. The Pro-Consul blinked as she recognized them from her father’s old holos. Nimbus Commandoes. So they still do exist. And who wants to bet that they’re just as deadly as back in the Clone Wars. She extended her hand to the nearest trooper.

“I am Pro-Consul Thorn. I believe your leader invited myself and several others for a meeting.”

The trooper nodded, ignoring the woman’s extended hand. “Yes ma’am. Right this way please.”

The squad of armored troopers rapidly encircled the delegation to form a protective and restraining formation around their guests. The first trooper whom she had talked to, led the group forward through a pair of ceraglass doors. As they entered the former Imperial hotel, the woman wiped her face of the rain drops, using the movement to conceal a quick scan of the environment. Looks old, but they’ve kept it in good shape. It’s probably one of the few things that escaped the bombardment by the Imperials. Probably because some Imp owned it or something like that. The entourage passed through several hallways, each one nearly identical to the rest with white plaster walls and gaudy bronze mirrors. The Pro-Consul noticed that the commandoes had turned their boots off, walking on the carpeted floors as normal men. She shrugged the thought away as they stopped at a turbolift, plated or painted in some golden material. The lift doors slid open to reveal a red interior which matched that of the honour guards’ vests. Perhaps their native or official colours? Though that scarlet alone is fairly simple. They’ve got to have more than that. After packing into the lift, the doors slid shut, and the lift began its descent.



The twin wooden doors swung open, admitting a pair of Nimbus commandoes. Each one held the door open for the arriving delegation, standing at attention. Stratus looked up from his desk as the Pro-Consul entered. He blinked in surprise, recognizing the brunette woman. Cirrus resisted an urge to fidget. That would appear to be Pro-Consul Thorn. One of the Council leaders. From Kashan I think? Shrugging mentally, the bearded man rose from his chair to approach the Confederate leader. He extended his hand, which the lithe lady grasped and shook in the common handshake. Cirrus offered a slight bow.

“I am President Stratus at your service.”

“Pro-Consul Christina Thorn, of Kashan, at yours,” bowed the woman in turn, “I believe your government requested a meeting with a Confederation delegation?”

“Yes,” stated Cirrus, waving the woman over to a chair, “yes we did. I’m sure you’re well aware of the increasing Imperial expansion in this region. Sure, they seem to only accept petitions by planets to join their Empire, but everyone knows that those agreements are written and signed at gunpoint. They’re more like hostages than supporters in this game of chess. In fact, they are little more than pawns in the grand scheme of things. And that is something that my people and myself want: for Jabiim to become an Imperial pawn. Are you familiar with my people’s history with the Empire, Pro-Consul?”

“To an extent,” replied the brunette, “if I remember correctly, your people were enslaved and your planet bombarded under Lord Vader.”

Cirrus nodded vehemently. “Skywalker. A name that shall live for infamy here on Jabiim. I myself am a descendant of Altos Stratus, the leader of the Nationalist faction of Jabiim during the Clone Wars, but Skywalker betrayed our opponents, the Loyalists, leaving them to die off alone in the mud. Later he returned, slagging much of the planet into deserts with Imperial star destroyers and enslaving our people. This is our past. Our nightmare. We thought we could ignore it, hide it from ourselves in isolation, even terraform our planet to its original state. But there is no use in running from reality, and recently the Congress and myself realized as much. If we are to stop that nightmare, we must do something about that.”

He picked up a glass of water from his desk and gave it a sip.

“Many of the plied mines were turned into fortresses during the Glactic Civil War, and we could easily hide in their sanctuary, safe from most orbital bombardments by the depths of the earth. But this does not entirely solve our problems. If history is a teacher, another ground assault would occur, and the fortresses would fall. We need help in that eventuality, and there is only one place that we can get it from: your Confederation…”

Unknown Location, Jabiim

“Atten-hut!”

A dozen Nimbus Commandoes snapped to attention. Colonel Anor stepped out of his gray landspeeder into the pouring rain and to the two lines of soldiers. Stepping between their ranks, Anor made his way towards the rocky mountain. He stopped at its edge and pulled out his military identification card and slid it between a crevice within the mountain’s rocky exterior. Anor heard a muted beep, and the concealed doors on the mountain side opened. He quickly stepped through them into a tunnel, and the doors reeled shut as quickly as they had been revealed. Once, it had been a profitable mine during the end of the Clone Wars, but with the subsequent Imperial occupation, it had ran dry because of their captor’s over frenzied mining efforts. During the planet’s open rebellion, the mine had been one of the failed fortresses of the rebels before their capture. Now, the rebuilt Jabiim military had converted it into a concealed military base, the records of the mine’s existence destroyed. Officially, the terraforming process that had reshaped the planet back to its original states had also destroyed and filled up the mines. In some cases, that had been true. But across the planet, many of the former mines had been taken over and converted by to military uses, anywhere from barracks to depots to hangar facilities. The facility in which the Colonel was in charge was actually an armor barracks, home to some Jabiim’s tank and armored units. A pair of Nimbus commandoes guarded the foyer doors into the actual base. Once again, he slipped his card into a reader and passed through, the doors quickly closing behind him.

“Welcome home sir,” stated an approaching armored crewmen, “I trust your trip went well.”

Anor mutedly nodded. At two meters tall, Colonel Repness Anor dwarfed most of his subordinates, but more interestingly, no-one seemed to understand how the man had managed to fit into the armored vehicles he had commanded, whether they were TX-130 fighter tanks or the recent wave of heavily upgraded Espo walkers. What was known among the base’s personnel was his extradionary combat performance during the planetwide occupation. During that time, Repness had hi-jacked an Imperial walker, using it to hold off the advance of an Imperial column while his people attempted to escape into the resistance’s tunnel system. He had lasted an hour before his walker was destroyed and he himself was captured and enslaved with most of his people. With the return of the Jabiimites after the Civil War to their homeworld, Repness had been charged with building the armored forces of planet; a task which he had excelled at. Besides acquiring various vehicles from various sources and training crews to use them, he had even managed to start up a small government factory to produce limited copies of vehicles. The officer had opted to produce copies of the Empire’s AT-AT Mk II with the facility. But that production was not enough in his opinion to provide for all of Jabiim’s increasing army; the result of the planet’s militarization as the Empire once again began its ascent to power in the region. Thus, he was again frequently away purchasing vehicles. The Jabiimite officer nodded.

“Yes Talos, the trip went well,” stated the officer, “I managed to purchase a dozen of old Espo walkers. They were already upgraded for better reliability, but they still have the riot control weapons on them. So we’ll have to change that at the shop.”

“Still, a good catch. You’ve heard the latest scuttlebutt?”

The officer shrugged. “That you got someone pregnant? Or is it something else?”

Talos blushed. “Ah, that’s merely a rumour sir. I was thinking of the visit by a Confederation delegate to the President. We might be joining forces with them.”

Anor rolled his lower lip in. “That would be an interesting move on the President’s part.”

The Colonel began to walk forward, his subordinate trailing him.

“Why’s that, sir?”

“Because we’ve been increasing the size of military rather fastly to deal with this perceived threat. Politically, it could be a sign that he and Congress think that we haven’t accomplished enough to make our people safe. So he’s turning to another source: outsiders. Frankly, I haven’t heard much bad about the Confederation except through those INS reports, and by the maker, who trusts a thing they say? Still, I don’t like it. If we join, that government could come and mess things up for us. All of this work would be for naught.”

“That’s what the men have been saying too, sir,” stated Talos as the pair entered the vehicle’s hangar.



Choals, Jabiim

“Hush now,” stated the mother, “it is only the rain.”

Rain. Often portrayed as the bringer of life on most planets.

Rain. Often portrayed as consistent misery by the inhabitants of Jabiim.

The baby cooed as the woman slowly rocked the infant in her arms. As her baby became silent, Wren Lavira slowly lowered him to the crib. She glanced outside. Still raining. Wren sighed. Won’t be able to get to the store for a while. It’s too heavy even for the repulsor bus. Why must it continually rain? Why did the government even restore the rainy atmosphere when they terra-formed the planet after the Imperial bombardment? Some worlds might envy us for having this much water, but I will envy them for never having to deal with its pain. Lavira walked through her pre-fabricated home’s hallways to the living room. She tapped a button her personal comlink. The room’s projector flared to life. Wren smiled. For once today, I’ll get some time for myself, with the baby sleeping. Time for a holo-drama. Maybe a good soap opera if they have it. She tapped her the remote’s controls several times. It flashed randomly to Jabiim’s holo-news. Seeing it, the mother frowned. By the maker…

“Today, there was a collapse in Tusk’s Mine in the historic Hyber Canyon mining district. Currently, officials have not released any figures regarding the number of missing miners. However, based on interviews with anonymous miners who worked for Caldera Mining Ltd, it is estimated between a dozen and twenty miners lost their lives. Tusk’s Mine has been in operation for several decades, being opened just before the start of the Clone Wars by the prospector for whom it is named. Tusk later sold the Caldera Mining Ltd after that war to pay off debts. Caldera Mining has been continually extracting rich veins of Berubium and Lavarium ores during Imperial rule. Like many mines of that era, the occupiers overmined it, and thus weakened the structure. After the occupation, the Jabiim Safety Agency ordered the company to insert extra structural support into existing tunnels to ensure that such a collapse wouldn’t happen. The company complied, and also opened new tunnels. It is apparent that these tunnels did not receive the extra support beams found across the older shafts…”

Wren bowed her head. My maker, I hope Ken wasn’t there today. She began to softly sob at the thought of losing her husband. The Jabiimite woman collapsed into a chair and curled up into a ball. And for once in the week, the baby did not wake her during the night.

President’s House, Choal, Jabiim

Christina eyed the Jabiimite with interest. He certainly resembles his kinsman Alto very much. Wonder if they are of the same lineage. Then again, it could be the cultural flavoring of the long beard and wearing the same type of armor. Actually, I can’t see differences between Cirrus’ armor and that of Alto’s. Perhaps its passed down through the family or office? She mentally shrugged. But I digress… She focused her attention back on the Jabiimite leader continuing his rant on the Galactic Empire and Lord Vader.

“…their evil has been exposed through the galaxy for decades. And yet this Empire continues to flourish despite its dastardly deeds.”

The Kashan woman nodded in understanding. “There have historically been four approaches to the Empire. One is to fight the Empire. One is to flee from the Empire. One is to be peacefully be annexed. One of them is to coexist peacefully with the Emire. And all of them have been done with varying results. Your people chose to fight the Empire. My people chose to flee from it. The Gran chose to be conquered peacefully. But in the end, despite the many different philosophies and results that can be derived from any combination of these ideas, none of these solutions are remotely close to perfect. Either losses of life or loss of freedom occurs. So it becomes a case of priorities. Let me ask you this: which do your people prefer to lose?”

Cirrus frowned, deep lines forming around his face. “My people have tried many of those. We tried peaceful occupation. We tried fighting. We have been trying peaceful coexistence so far. But while the latter preserves the most life, the most freedom, it is merely a temporal state. Sooner or later, the Imperials will return and force us to make that choice again. And not only would I have my people fight against their oppressors, but I would have them fight with a reasonable amount of success. If we do this on our own, there is no doubt in my mind that we will be conquered. But it is the opinion of the Congress and myself that as part of something larger, such as the Confederation, we will be significantly harder to take. Enough so that they we might not be conquered with your people’s help.”

The Pro-Consul nodded. She opened her mouth to reply, but in that instant, two doors of the room burst open with a pair of Nimbus Commandoes quickly treading towards Cirrus. The President stared and frowned at the guard’s sudden entrance, his face nonverbally questioning their actions. One of the troopers removed his visored helmet to make eye contact with the leader.

“Sir,” stated the soldier, “we have a situation. There’s been a mine collapse in the Hyber Canyon region.”

Cirrus pulled out his comlink and tapped several buttons. A holoprojector built into his desk flared to life, running a holo-report on the disaster. The Jabiimite leaned back, slightly fidgeting with his beard as the reporter continued his narrative of the story. Pro-Consul Thorn stared at the visage with rapt attention, noting the small statistics that scrolled near the bottom of the projection. Thorn bit her lower lip. Her lip quivered, then opened.

“I am sorry Mr. President,” stated the Confederate politician, “if you will excuse me, I would like a chance to communicate with the Confederate Fleet. We might be able to lend-”

The Jabiimite solemnly shook his head. “Bacta can’t cure anything. Those who are injured in there will either die of suffocation or from rocks falling on them. Mining is a dangerous occupation. It is a risk they all knowingly took when they started the job. The earth gives, the earth takes away. Nonetheless, I thank you for your kind offer. Our rescue crews arrived there right before the collapse, they’re already rescuing those who can be saved. Supposedly, they’ve found nearly a dozen still alive, though a handful were killed. We will learn from this experience, and so will Caldera Mining Ltd, hopefully.”

Christina uncharacteristically blinked. Cirrus gazed at the surprised woman with calm reflectiveness. He slowly opened his mouth as the holo-news continued their ongoing commentary.

“Power and wealth cannot buy you everything. Power and wealth can’t bring the dead back to the life. At most, it can only help salve the wounds. They are not the first, and they will not be the last to die from mining on this planet.”

She nodded. “Yes, I understand. What will you do?”

Stratus made an abbreviated shrug. “I will my people do their jobs, whether it be rescuing the miners, reporting the news, making press releases, and if it their chosen job, to continue to mine.”

“I understand that much,” stated the Kashan woman, “but I meant to lessen the chances of such an accident and the loss of life.”

“Undoubtedly, the Safety Agency will force Caldera Mining Ltd to add structural supports to all of their tunnels, if not all of the mines on Jabiim. Doubtlessly, they will have other recommendations as well, which I will likely fully endorse if they are scientifically based.”

“Does the government run any of the mines?”

He blinked. “Some. Why?”

Revanche-class Star Defender Revanche, Confederation Flagship, in orbit via Jabiim

Rear-Admiral Lucerne stared down at the rain-drenched planet. His blue eyes picked out bright flares of light occasionally across the globe. It was one of Jabiim’s frequent thunderstorms, or so his sensor operators told him. As the Revanche and her consorts drifted with the many asteroids around the planet, reports continually circulated throughout the Combat Information Center to be dispatched to other Confederate vessels. Something of an amusement to the younger Lucerne; civilian news and orders being redirected from a military control center of a battleship. It was, however, a vital task. Task Force Revanche had arrived with elements of the Confederate Merchant Marine to not only provide humanitarian and economic relief, but also protection as per the request of the Jabiimite Congress. While large Old Republic and Imperial fleets had orbited the planet, the Confederate’s was undoubtably the largest group of vessels displayed in the planet’s defence.

“Rear-Admiral? We’ve received a call from the Pro-Consul.”

Corise turned around to face the black-suited officer. “Very good. What is it?”

“She wants one of the conference rooms made available to her staff and President Stratus and his staff.”

Lucerne blinked. “That will be arranged. Any reason why?”

“Well,” stated the other man, “she only said ‘to talk with the President’. Rather vague I know.”

The Kashan officer nodded in agreement. “She has her reasons. Make sure they get a good reception in the hangar bay.”

Fyre walked up by his side. “Already got it working. We have the Soroyan 81st Regiment.”

A crease crossed his superior’s face. “The Kirkanians?”

“Yes,” stated Fyre hesitantly, “Why?”

Corise shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just that they’re not very representative of the Confederation as a whole.”

“True,” stated the other Kashan, “but I thought our shock trooper’s resembled the clonetroopers which their forefather’s thought of could stir up some bad memories.”

“That’s good thinking, actually,” mused Corise, turning back to the viewport to gaze at the planet, “Ever wonder why anyone would settle on that planet? It’s not as if they knew about the mineral content when the first colonists landed?”

The Commander snorted. “Are you implying that our people did when they first landed? Not everyone settles or occupies land for economic reasons.”

“True,” stated the Supreme Commanding Officer, “but if you’re looking for political asylum or a good locale, I don’t think the drenching rains and mud are particularly attractive…”

The other man smiled, “Well, if you’re from Valinor…”



T-4A Shuttle Contegorian Courage, in route to Revanche

“This is quite a majestic view you have here,” stated the Jabiimite President, staring down at the holo-panels attached to the shuttle’s floor.

Thorn stared down at the slowly shrinking surface of Jabiim, “I suppose it is. One of the perks of the job.”

The man winked at her. “I imagine there are other things that come to mind than views from modified shuttles…”

The Kashan woman blushed. “Well, yes, there are a few. Sometimes transport on a Confederation warship. One of the better protected ways to travel these days.”

The Jabiimite pointed to the approaching mass of the Revanche. “On that?”

“Well,” smiled Christina, “only sometimes. If they assign me a warship to ferry me around, it’s typically smaller unless for some reason it requires Lucerne to be there for a joint mission.”

“So the Revanche goes wherever its commander goes?”

She nodded. “In most cases, yes.”

The shuttle slightly vibrated as it entered the magcon field of the Confederation battleship. Folding its wings, the Contegorian Courage goosed on its repulsorlifts into the auxiliary bay. Its pilot skillfully maneuvered his craft around various starfighters, from Shadowcaster interceptors to Nemesis bombers, of the fleet undergoing maintenance procedures of various routines. The shuttle slowly began its descent before two columns of men. It touched down, and lowered the ramp for the two delegates and their accompanying aides.

The Kashan Pro-Consul and the Jabiimite President slowly walked down the ramp side-by-side towards the distant blastdoor. Christina slightly smirked at the show of might. Only you, Corise, only you insist on assigning hundreds of men to impress a handful of people. She turned to Stratus, who was gazing across the assembled forces. Kirkanian infantry stood in their traditional black battle dress uniforms with their automatic slugthrowers at their side, each one of the pale humans staring emotionlessly towards the center of the aisle. Lesser numbers of black-clad sailors and other crewmen were interspersed between the Kirkanian ranks, adding a slight variety among the subterranean raised soldiers. The Jabiimite quickly snapped his head about to face the staring woman.

“It’s very impressive,” stated Cirrus, smiling sheepishly.

She nodded. “It’s a tradition of our people which seems to have pervaded the Confederate ranks.”

His toothless grin briefly widened before receding to its original line.

The gray blastdoor in front of the two quickly retracted to the bulkhead, granting access to the inside of the battleship to the two diplomatic retinues. A dark-skinned naval officer waited before the two leaders. He silently bowed and led them through several corridors and turbolifts to the conference room. Standing at the doors were a pair of Kirkanian troopers with crossed rifles. As the two diplomats approached, they uncrossed their rifles, allowing the envoys passage. The doors slid open to reveal a white room with flowing lines, similar to the architecture of Alderaan and that of the Pro-Consul’s office back on Brandenburg. In the center was a table with several bottles of fine beverages. The entourages shuffled in and the doors shut behind them.

Approaching one of the chairs, Stratus let out an amused chuckle. “All of this pomp and ceremony to sign a document.”

“True,” stated the woman, “but it is an important document. One not to be taken lightly. For in it is the future between our two peoples.”

“In it, we bind our fates together. Life and life. Death and death. For ruin or for prosperity. And we will likely go through some, if not all, of these things together. Congress and myself are fully aware of what this membership treaty entitles. It is our belief that this is what’s best for Jabiim; for our people. Their will be done.”

The Jabiimite pulled his stylus out of a pocket concealed within his armor. In a flash, the man wrote his scrawly signature on the datapad. Other important officials of the Jabiimite government quickly followed suit. Cirrus slid the datapad across the table to the waiting Pro-Consul. She slowly and meticulously drew her elegant signature on the electronic version. Several Confederate notaries onboard soon added their own marks and signatures, making the treaty binding in Confederate and Jabiimite law. Jabiim was now a full member of the Confederation. The lady slowly smiled.

“The paperwork for the treaty turning Jabiim into a Confederation member was easy. The actual task of integrating your planet into Confederation society might take some time. I’ve been assured by the Rear-Admiral himself that some of the most important pieces of defence equipment are being moved from warehouses to Confederate galleons for transport to this planet as we speak. Perhaps more importantly though, we will need delegates from your planet to represent your interests within the Council.”

Cirrus nodded. “We aware of these things. Growing pains. Signs that show that our future is bright indeed.”