(Takeover of Talcorra; Reaper’s World)

Styria-class Galleon Providence, in orbit via Reaper’s World

Ingham finished buttoning up his tunic. He smoothed the tunic out, glancing at the mirror built into his spartan quarters. The Confederate Merchant officer faintly smiled at his reflection, brushing a rebellious strand of his wispy, thinning hair back into place. He began to formally step over to cabin’s door only to be stopped by an annoyed woman’s voice.

“Now dear, can you wait a second?”

The hardworn captain of the Confederate Merchant Fleet, Ingham Tobias, spun around on his heal to face the woman; his recently regained wife Lara. Ingham kindly gazed at the woman sitting on his spartan bed. The two had recently been reunited when his convoy had stumbled onto, and defeated, the pirate group which had held her hostage for years. Recognizing this unusual circumstance, the Merchant Fleet deviated from its normal procedure of allowing non-employee spouses to live with their on ships with their mates. In matter of hours from Cybloc XII’s liberation, Ingham had awkwardly met his wife on the trade base, and their married life had begun anew. It had been like marrying a stranger. Over the course of the convoy’s travels, the two had begun to ease up and become more like a typical married couple. While his bitter private life was beginning to become sweet and normal again, his professional life was not. He was frequently finding it difficult to juggle the responsibilities of a convoy leader with those of a good husband. For her life, Lara Tobias could not understand the late night meetings with Fleet staff, which detracted from their personal time together, or the minute complexities and time required for running a merchant fleet of this size. Ingham’s dark eyes closed on his wife’s.

“Yes dear?”

“What meeting do you have now?” demanded the woman resentfully.

I knew this would come up. Unphased, the Confederate officer continued to the door. “I told you yesterday. This is a meeting for the staff to get together before we head down groundside to do some trading. You know this is one of the key stops for trading bec-”

“Trading?” questioned the woman incredously, “Is trading the only thing you think about when a new planet pops into view? What about time to spend with me groundside? The last time we spent time together groundside was on Soroya; at the end of our voyage from my return from Cybloc.”

Ingham let out an exasperated sigh. He opened his mouth and quickly shut it back up. You can’t win an argument with a woman with logic. Prove her wrong, the more bitter she will be. Especially when it’s a matter of priorities. He thoughtfully opened his mouth.

“Sorry dear,” stated Tobias slowly, “you’re right. I’ll see if I can squeeze-”

“Squeeze in some time for me?” stated the woman, raising an eyebrow agitatedly.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” lied the Confederate officer, “I was going to say that I could squeeze down my meeting with their trade delegates by having Anders do most of the negiotations. He’s capable enough. We could even have dinner at the capitol. Even though this isn’t my area of trading, I’ve wonders of this restaurant on the top pier of Vandalar Tower.”

Lara’s expression softened. “All right dear. I look forward to it.”

“One other thing.”

“Yes?”

“Come with me on the shuttle?”

Her expression grew radiant before blossoming into a smile. “I’d love to dear. Any time I can spend with you.”

“Excellent,” replied the Captain, looking at his chrono, “It will be leaving at 1500 hours. And I have a meeting I’m late to. Bye dear.”

Before she could respond, Tobias was out of the door; quickly pacing to the staff room on the Providence. The blastdoor quickly shut behind him. He briskly walked through the corridors of the galleon, bustling with black-clad sailors and Confederate marines; all of which were making preparations for the groundside visit and the potential trading. Several corridors and one turbolift later, Captain Tobias found himself at the conference room of the hybrid vessel. Ingham stiffly saluted the two marines who vigilantly guarded the room as the doors slid open. He quickly paced in, noting that all of the department chiefs of the vessel sitting around the octagonal table, as well as the senior officers of several other galleons of the convoy. Ingham sat down at his chair as fastly as he had arrived.

“Sorry ladies and gentlemen,” stated the Budpock native, “I had to deal with a domestic affair.”

Several people around the table grinned while others stared at him with stone-like faces. The gaunt man leaned forward, and tapped a button on the table’s top. In the middle, a holo-projector burst to life, forming a sphere-like haze that quickly resolved itself into a planet that looked like the offspring of Coruscant and Hoth. Icy plains and glaciers, sometimes interrupted by taigas, swept through most of the planet like an ice age, but all across the planet, towering metropolis rose from the earth; a testament to the over 5000 years that the planet had been inhabited. A small, gray moon, Talcorra, slowly orbited around the planet. Ingham dark eye’s slowly swept across the table.

“As you all undoubtedly know, this Reaper’s World and its moon Talcorra,” stated the convoy leader, “neither of these bodies have industrial complexes to build ships, vehicles, or weapons. Neither does it have any foodstuffs or natural resources; all of them were depleted by Nilgaard Bioprocessing, which has since moved to the corporate sector. Yet, rather remarkably, Reaper’s World continues to thrive because of its people. It is a planet heavily geared as a service economy, providing many specialists and personal services. Finances is one of them. The colonies on its moon, Talcorra, were originally attempts by Nilgaard Bioprocessing to extract ore. All of the colonies eventually failed in this purpose, and instead, it has served as a local trade port and waypoint for ships needing repairs. All of this you cou;d have undoubtedly looked up in an encyclopedia, and I would not be surprised if you did.”

The officer paused for a bit.

“What you may not realize is the politically delicacy between these two bodies,” said the man quietly, “they have been edging towards war. Reaper’s World has accused Talcorra of harboring pirates which have attempted to raid the planet’s banks. It has a good sized fleet in orbit around the moon and the planet monitoring, and sometimes searching ships inbound and outbound of both bodies. Talcorra has protested these actions as an independent government, stating that the Reaper’s World military’s interference is hurting their economy, as well as stating that they aren’t harboring the pirates. Those of Reaper’s World have thus far have disagreed with their Talcorran neighbors, and instead, have beefed up the fleet performing the monitoring. In turn, the Talcorrans have been building some fairly impressive defensive facilities, like bunkers and LNR IIs. It’s a pretty bad escalation. That is why the entire 2nd fleet was assigned to escort us right into the outskirts of the system, and are on station there right now as we speak. Of course, our job isn’t to start any wars, but rather to make a profit from both of them for the Confederation.”

An officer, the Hope’s captain, raised his hand. “Isn’t our sale of CCA arms going to further escalate this situation?”

“Well,” admitted the Budpock native, “maybe. Bear in mind though, that we are selling building equipment to the Talcorrans. Both sides are going to benefit somewhat from our actions.”

One woman nodded. “So war is good for business.”

“Unfortunately,” replied Ingham dryly, “yes, yes it is. At least for the neutrals. Though bear in mind, there is no war yet. Captain Arlos of the Blackwell will be leading the Talcorra expedition, and I will be personally leading the negotiations on Reaper’s World. The Talcorra group will heading groundside at 1630 hours while the Reaper’s World crew will be moving groundside at 1500 hours. We’ll break up into our respective groups now for further briefing about business deals and bartering…”

Vandalar City, Reaper’s World

“On the behalf of my people, welcome to Reaper’s World, captain,” bowed the man, and turning to Lara, “Madam.”

The artic wind howled around the group, chilling the normally warm greetings given in turn by the Confederate Merchant crews. Ingham’s dark eyes scanned the area. They were on a landing pad situated top of one of planet’s many ultra-high skyscrapers. Behind them was the old Lambda-class Shuttle which had ferried the initial Confederate delegation groundside. While it was chilling, Tobias could at least appreciate the staggering view of Vandalar City and the clear glaciers which surrounded. He turned back to the lead Reaper’s World official and offered a faint smile.

“It is a pleasure to be here, your Excellency.”

The man barked a laugh. “It will be even more so when you’re out of this cold. Where are my manners? You’ll have to forgive us, but we find it invigorating to be in the open air for a while after spending so much time indoors.”

His Excellency, the Governor of Reaper’s World, beckoned the group to cross the windswept duracrete to a boxlike structure which jutted out from the otherwise flat surface of the tower’s pinnacle story. As Ingham started forward, he could feel his wife cling to him. Her eyes looked up at him, to which he offered a reassuring smile. As the Confederates neared the structure, Ingham could make large, ceraglass windows and doors, through which he could see a pair of large turbolifts. The delegations passed through a set of revolving doors to enter the building. Captain Tobias breathed in a deep breath of the warm air and began to unbutton his heavy winter cloak that had covered up his mostly black dress uniform. A golden sash cut diagonally across his torso from his left shoulder to his lower right side, visually indicating that he was the leader of the group. Other members of the Confederate delegation began to unbutton their own heavy clothing while Governor William Bentinck summoned the ponderous turbolifts upward to carry his desks guests. Ingham spared at glance at his wife, who wore a black dress which seamlessly blended in with the uniforms that the rest of the Confederation members wore. She smiled and walked over to clasp his side. The gaunt man turned to face the turbolifts, which had now arrived to take them down. A variety of natives and Confederates crammed into the lifts, with the Governor and Captain Tobias with their closer advisors taking one lift, and the lower ranking members of the delegations taking another. They began their descent into the depths of Reaper’s World’s governmental building.



Styria-class Galleon Blackwell, approaching Talcorra

The quartet of ovoid craft slowly cruised towards the grey and alabaster moon of Reaper’s World. On the lead ship of the delegation to Talcorra, Blackwell, Captain Arlos paced around his bridge. As with most peaceful journeys, it was relatively silent, with the voice of a junior officer making a minor report only rising above the quiet murmurs of the bridge crew as they went about their work. Arlos, a bulky man, finally plopped down into his padded command chair. He adeptly tapped a few buttons on the armrest, which pulled up the live sensor feed from the ships. All around the moon, a variety of Reaper’s World naval ships formed a primitive strands of a web which sought to inspect every vessel which moved and out of the area. On his sensor board, Arlos could pick out an old Assassin-class Corvette, Flame, orient itself to intercept the Confederate ships.

“Do you think they’ll actually try and inspect us?” questioned the ship’s XO, leaning over his commander’s chair to view the monitor.

Arlos snorted grudgingly. “If they do, they’ve got balls trying to inspect a regional power’s ships; especially when the inspectors aren’t in their own territorial space. According to our navigator, we crossed into Talcorran space several minutes ago.”

The ship’s executive officer nodded thoughtfully. He had scarcely opened his mouth when a shout erupted from the bridge crew. The dull murmur became a pandemonium of conversations, but two voices rose above the new din.

“We’re being actively scanned; it looks like-”

“Sir, we are being hailed by the RWS Flame-”

“Silence!” bellowed Arlos, leaping up from his chair.

The crew quickly quieted down as their captain deliberately turned to face the second voice.

“Put them through to my station, lieutenant.”

“Aye sir.”

Arlos mumbled a few choice words before settling back down into his chair. The mini holo-projector built into his chair flared to life to reveal the Flame’s captain. He was a younger officer with a thick mass of black hair whose length would have never been allowed for any Confederate officer. The swarthy captain of the Flame let out a roguish smile.

“Forgive me captain, but under the orders of Governor Bentinck, we are to search your ship, that is, if it is bound for Talcorra.”

“It is,” replied Arlos, “all of my vessels are carrying construction equipment as your sensor scans should well show.”

“That they do,” replied the Flame’s captain, looking down at his own console, “however, there could be weapons or other illegal substances hidden within them. Please stand by and prepare for boarders to check the cargo-”

“You will do no such thing,” commanded Arlos harshly.

The Flame’s captain frowned. “In case you haven’t noticed, Captain. You’re attempting to move through a fleet providing customs duties-”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Captain,” replied Arlos tersely, “we have a busy schedule to attend to. We do not have time for any of your silly antics-”

“But-”

“You will let us pass unimpeded,” continued Arlos, “as you well know, this Talcorran space by international law, which are the only laws that the Confederation abides by. If you or any ships within your armada attempt to deny us passage or board us, we will fire on. And these guns may not mean a lot, but you can be sure that there will be some hefty Confederate warships coming to back us up.”

Arlos blinked, realizing that the Flame’s captain was not entirely paying attention to his tirade. Instead, he was looking offscreen, doubtless at some other officer or console that the holo-camera could not see. The Blackwell’s captain could even make out some faint murmurings, to which the Flame’s captain frowned. Dejected, the Reaper’s World officer turned to face Arlos.

“My apologies, Captain. It appears that you have Governor Bentinck’s personal approval to pass through our customs ring. Good luck trading, Captain.”

The holo-projector turned to produce static as the Flame cut its signal to the galleon. Arlos produced a self-satisfied smile to his XO, telling the younger man that sometimes you had to play rough to get what you wanted. The executive officer nodded in fake agreement before scampering off with the pursuer to make sure the cargo crews were ready. Arlos relaxed, watching the Flame jet out towards the rest of the Reaper’s World fleet in orbit around the moon. Slowly, the Confederate ships neared the surface of Talcorra.

Styria-class Galleon Blackwell, Talcorra

Standing right at the ceraglass planes, Captain Arlos stared out the viewport contently as the Confederate hybrids entered the moon’s gravitational pull, which began to drag them towards a set of landing beacons. On subordinated officer almost announced that the ship was entering the atmosphere; which at the distance to the lunar surface would have been true; if the moon had any atmosphere at all. Once they made it to the surface, they would still be in a vacuum. But the absence of atmosphere made observation exceptionally easily. Arlos could easily make out the types and makes of ships kilometers away just with his eyes. Most of them were commonplace tramp freighters or shuttles, but there were a few larger cargo vessels, including an A-class Bulk Freighter. More odd to captain was the lack of military vessels. He hadn’t seen a starfighter or a warship bearing Talcorran colours. Oddly enough though, he had seen a Reaper’s World Navy Ship, the Assassin-class Corvette Black Lotus. Unlike most of that planet’s ship, there was a large armor plate welded onto its dorsal and ventral sides depicting a large, sable flower roughly the size of an X-wing. The symbolism with the ship’s name was obvious, but he knew not what sort of officer would allow the odd customization of a governmental owned vessel of that magnitude. He had shrugged off; guessing that perhaps the Reaper’s World Navy was a fairly undisciplined bunch.

“Captain,” called a voice calmly, “we’re about to land-”

The Captain waved his hand indifferently to cut off that announcement; it was fairly obvious to him given his vantage point.

“But sir,” interjected the officer anxiously, “look at where we’re about to land.”

The Captain looked down and frowned. “I don’t see anything unusual. Just rock.”

“Sir, the ship next to our spot.”

The gruff captain stared at the vessel for several seconds. He squinted his eyes and gritted his teeth. It was a gray, Rendili dreadnaught. There had been hundreds, if not thousands, built during is its production run of hundreds of years. Many, despite being in Imperial, Galactic Republic, Rebel Alliance, or other governmental use had utilized the same, dull factory issue paint scheme. Those in use by pirates and other criminals frequently bore various edgy or stylish designs to indicated their ownership. But the Bloodmoon, the dreadnaught currently landed on the low gravity moon, was an exception to that rule. It was a basic, gray dreadnaught operated by pirates, but it posed as a legitimate governmental vessel in order to gain the confidence of its prey. The Confederate Merchant Fleet had recently encountered, and fought off an attack by the Bloodmoon. Arlos squinted his eyes to peer at the white lettering on the starship’s bow. Swearing, he turned about to face his combat operations officer.

“Does it have the Bloodmoon’s transponder?”

“Yes sir.”

Arlos violently swore. “We may to reconsider trading with these gentlemen if they’re trading with pirates. Send a transmission to Providence with our finding.”

“Aye sir.”

Arlos paced over to the sensors station, whose officer was currently viewing their enemy with a multitude of Electro-photo Receptors. The data gathered by the multiple sensors formed a composite image of the dreadnaught with the abilities to look at it at different spectrums. But none of the various views formed by that technology impressed or even interested the gruff man. Instead, his gaze was captured by a ship sitting alongside the dreadnaught. It was a boxy, ungainly vessel roughly half the size of the Bloodmoon. It was an Rin Assid Bulk Hauler. One of the cargo vessels frequently grouped into “pirate bate” by remotely experienced spacers. Arlos grunted, noting a docking collar located between the two ships.

“It looks like the Bloodmoon has been doing well,” commented the Confederate Captain, “she has caught prey…”



Vandalar City, Reaper’s World

Ingham Tobias led his wife by the arm into the banquet hall of the Governmental building. It was a high, vaulted room made of some hard surface on which successive frescoes had been painted, and repainted over during the hundreds of years that the building had existed; the masterpieces of decades of artists and their apprentices. Even Tobias, having spent time in the ornate governmental buildings of Brandenburg, was impressed by artwork. From the ceilings hung various flags that were the provinces of Reaper’s World. Several hardwood tables were neatly arranged in rows and columns like military vehicles in a parade formation. The pitter-patter of footsteps echoed throughout the hall as the delegations entered. A brief scan of the room by the Budpock native showed that the Reaper’s World security seemed rather lax. Aside from the ceremonial guards stationed at the entrances and at the corners of the room, there appeared to be no other precautions, such as holo-cameras or various scanners to check incoming people. Tobias had even been allowed to wear his dress-sword when had passed through the threshold. Many of his fellow Confederates were also wearing ceremonial weapons, and he briefly contemplated if the Governor was overly trusting or if they were some secret precautions in place that he could not pick out. Perhaps they were assuming that if any threat were to come to the banquet hall, they would have to come from the ground floor. And there’s probably extensive security there to detect anything. Which suggests that they fear more internal problems than foreign ones. From what I’ve heard, the lower levels of the city are pretty rough; much like Coruscant. There could be things to fear there.

“Dear?” questioned Lara, raising an eyebrow.

A shade of scarlet briefly flushed through Ingham’s lean cheeks. He pulled out the hardwood chair for his wife and held it as she sat down into it. His wife’s chair had hardly been pulled in before the waiter droids entered the room with a variety of silver platters, undoubtedly the various courses of the former dinner. Captain Tobias, as befitting his station, found himself seated not only alongside his wife, but also across from Governor Bentinck and Admiral Bourne, the supreme commander of Reaper’s World’s forces. At one of the other tables, the gaunt captain could make out his pursuer and the Captain of the Adventure vividly engaging the planet’s Secretary of Commerce and some corporate man in a conversation regarding the current economic ties between Reaper’s World and the rest of the Sector.

Captain Tobias offered a polite smile as his platter was set down before him. The silver butler droid lifted the top of the steaming dish before scurrying back to the kitchen. Ingham stared down at the dish. It was some sort of braised meat with a side of spiced vegetable. Across from him, Governor Bentinck’s dish was lifted by a droid. The leader smiled hungrily at the large platter. Within seconds, Bentinck’s fork and knife were busy cutting up the meal into piecemeal sizes. On his side, Admiral Bourne looked at his dish with reserved contemplation before slowly picking up utensils. The man carefully, and slowly, carved his dish; savoring each bite. The Budpock native followed his suit. After his first bite, Tobias could easily understand why the Governor was wolfishly downing his food; it was good. Much better than any of the rations or thing that the food synthesizers could cook up on the Providence. Perhaps that’s why Bourne is savoring it. Food can’t be much better on whatever he commands. At Ingham’s side, Mrs. Tobias ate her food with an uncommon reserve, her eyes furtively glancing around the table for some sort of conversation to participate in. The Confederate captain caught her eye and almost imperceptibly shook his head to the side. In the midst of all of these people and their meals, the head table was almost completely silent except for the scraping of forks and the cutting of knifes.

Suddenly, one of the ridiculously overdressed ceremonial guards sprung from a standstill in the corner to rush over to the main entrance. Already, several guards were there, their unwieldy, ceremonial weapons crossed together to prevent entry or exit to the hall. The guard who had sprung from his post, doubtless a senior officer, seemed to be issuing orders to the two soldiers, who uncrossed their weapons to allow a single man in. The newcomer wore a Reaper’s World fleet uniform with the rank of a junior lieutenant. Quickly, the man strode over to Admiral Bourne and handed him a datapad. As the Reaper’s World commander began to read it, he increasingly frowned. His eyes swept through the chamber before finally settling on Captain Tobias.

“Captain,” stated Bourne formally, “if I can have a word with you, outside.”

Talcorra

“Welcome to Talcorra, Captain,” stated a Talcorran customs officer.

Arlos grunted back. They were in the docking terminus. A spider-web like structure that spanned across the land designated for docking ships. The structure itself was little more than a series of transparisteel tubes reinforced by durasteel frames with docking collars for the ship. In the center of the web were a series of turbolifts which connected the facility with the underground capitol city of Talcorra: Reggano. Arlos took a deep breath of the heavily recycled air before the Confederate traders began to walk towards a central turbolift, which would ferry them down to a waiting Talcorran delegation. As the uniformed men walked down the corridors Arlos could feel the stare of the other patrons of the port. He glanced back at them, immediately understanding. We’re the only ones in uniform probably within this entire facility, and maybe moreover, we’re the only respectable bunch here. There has to been the crew of the Bloodmoon wandering about here. And most major companies wouldn’t want to risk business with a port that harbored pirates. In fact, to probably get their weapons and what not through the Talcorran line, they probably have to be hiring smugglers and blockade runners most of the time. The Confederates crowded into a single shuttle pod, which quickly zipped the crew down the seemingly endless shaft and rerouted them throughout a series of dark, lunar tunnels. Finally, lights approached in the darkness, and the shuttle pod slowed to a halt. The automated doors whisked open, and the Confederation delegation slowly shuffled out with Arlos at the front.

The room was roughly cut out of rock; it was probably once part of Nilgaard Bioprocessing’s mining assets on planet. However, the Talcorrans had down some work to the room, giving it a ceramic floor and setting up glow panels across the ceiling to light the room in shades of cool blue. The Talcorrans themselves appeared to be a mixed, motley group; most of them wearing some sort of utilitarian uniform with a strange armband on their left arm. One of those figures walked over to the newly arrived Confederates, a smile on his face.

“Captain, it gives me great pleasure to see you,” stated a Talcorran man, extending his hand.

Arlos took the hand and firmly clasped it. “It is a pleasure to doing business with you.”

“Not with me,” lightly laughed the Talcorran, “I am the Foreign Secretary. The man over to your left, the Minister of Trade, and the woman next to him, the Minister of Defence, will be doing business with you. But first, you will want to meet our Minister of Culture. Doubtless your crews are weary from their journey, and perhaps they need a break?”

Arlos grudgingly nodded, to be led off to Minister of Culture: Augustine Chadwick. He was an older man, dressed in ostensibly in a fine, old-fashioned suit coat without the seemingly ubiquitous armband. As Captain Arlos approached, Chadwick solemnly nodded to the officer as if he were offering a miniature bow. He too then extended his hand for a handshake, which Arlos grasped in turn.

“I trust your journey was not too dangerous,” dryly stated Augustine, “your ships seem well-suited to do dealing with the increasing dangers of our system.”

Arlos blinked in surprise. “Er, excuse me?”

Unfazed, the Talcorran turned his light blue eyes to directly stare into the Confederate’s eyes.

“The pirates being housed here. As you probably, we have scumbags being docked and serviced just like your ships. I believe the Bloodmoon is not too far away from you. She just made a victim of Owen’s Trading, taking that Bulk Hauler. I doubt we’ll be getting any more food shipments from him. The Maker knows how we’re going to supply our civilians now.”

Arlos scowled. “If these pirates and what not hurt you, why aren’t you taking any action about them?”

“If I could,” replied the Minister indifferently, “I would. I would have the lot of them spaced immediately. And so would a good two-thirds of the populace. The problem is, the two-thirds of the populace don’t have that power.”

Arlos raised an eyebrow.

“Look around you,” replied Chadwick, “how many people are wearing that armband? It’s not a government issued insignia. It’s the mark of the National Freedom Party. What a travesty. They swept the election through some rather underhanded dealings with the criminal populace. We had the dead handing in their votes for them. And I do not doubt for a second that a good deal of our people were intimidated into voting for them. No, the pirates only benefit the NFP. A portion of the money made by the pirates is taken by them as a sort of tribute. They’re all about greed and power. If you go up against them, you'll probably find yourself dead in an alley.”

“And you’re not a member?”

“No,” replied Augustine flatly, sparing a glance over Arlo’s shoulder, “I never was. I was elected several decades ago. My position is a post for life, so the NFP couldn’t really get rid of me without breaking their charade of legitimacy to the rest of the galaxy.”

Arlos face turned into a contortment of bewilderment before quickly concealing it up. Chadwick pulled out a cylindrical object and slipped it into the Arlos’ pants pocket under the cover a handshake. The Minister flatly smiled.

“I do hope your crews enjoy themselves. I recommend the Mynock’s Mess Hall for your rank-and-file,” said Chadwick, retreating over to the concession’s table.

Arlos shrugged and turned about to run right into the waiting Ministers of Trade and Defence. They politely smiled as colour flooded through Arlos’ cheeks. The Confederate man briefly blustered.

“My apologies, I did not see you there,” contritely stated the Confederate officer.

“No matter,” replied the Minister of Defence, “we have much to discuss…”



Vandalar City, Reaper’s World

The pair of officers quickly paced out of the banquet hall, with Admiral Bourne incessantly muttering a series of oaths and curses under his breath. Indulging within the feast, most of the delegation members had not noticed the two leave, but to those that had, it was unnervingly and intriguing. What news would force an Admiral and a foreign merchant to immediately leave a dinner in the merchant’s honor? Bourne rounded a bend in the fresco hallways, which Tobias quickly following behind him. The Reaper’s World officer abruptly turned to face a door and opened it, ushering Captain Tobias inside. Ingham could make out a multitude of military awards and trophies neatly arranged the room as well as several large Memory droids. But the most telling feature of the room was the dark-wooded desk with a brass nameplate saying “Admiral Bourne.” Bourne quickly shut the door behind him.

“Please,” said Bourne, motioning over to a chair, “take a seat. I’m sorry to rush you out of that elaborate dinner, but something of importance has come up.”

Ingham blinked. “What might that be?”

“There appears to be a mutiny on one of my ships; the Black Lotus,” replied the Reaper’s World officer, “she has been stationed off Talcorra, taking part in the customs operations there. I know this seems like an internal affair; it is. But there is a possibility that they might attack your ships there, and I want you to know that not a single official of Reaper’s World would want to that to occur. We value your friendship.”

Tobias rolled his lips. “What are you going to do…about this problem?”

“I’m not sure,” reluctantly replied Bourne, “there are a good many problems with this situation. If news of this mutiny gets out, it could spread to the rest of the fleet and start more mutinies. It’s just as infectious as any rebellion. If I allow them to get away this, there will be no end in the troubles, and I could be dealing with any grievances ranging up from better shipboard food and pay raises to having my ships firing on Reaper’s World. It is a rather unusual case though. Here, take a look at it. It’s the mutineer’s ultimatum. We got from the loyal crewmembers of the ship who jettisoned in an escape pod.”

The Reaper’s World man slid a datapad across the desk to the gaunt Confederate. The first thing that Tobias noticed was that the datapad was its cheap make; doubtless the mutineer who used it wasn’t highly educated or well-off. The scrawling of writing on it was poorly written with a stylus, making it most likely that either the sailor hadn’t had a lot of practice with a stylus, or had nearly forgotten how to write. He read the datapad.

On Board the RWS Black Lotus, off Talcorra

We are all proud to be citizens and fighters of the Reaper’s World. There is not a single heart who would bear to be disloyal to his homeworld, but Captain Wilson has flogged us with a neuronic whip for failure. He has taken away our food and starved us in our cabins for the most minor of offences. Yesterday, he swore he would flog every third man among us if we didn’t find any illict cargos or spot a criminal vessel by the end of the day. We could not, and will not take it. So we gagged and captured that tyrant and locked him up in his own cabin. There is talk that we might start giving him floggings, and it is time for the whip to taste his blood. Jones’ blood screams vengeance. Wilson killed Jones with the whip and spaced his body. In his report, you may see that he claims it was an accident with the airlock. We want Admiral Bourne’s and Governor Bentinck’s promise to try him for these crimes and to give us a new captain. We will gladly fight for Reaper’s World again, if our homeworld is willing to fight and protect us. If any ship tries to take us, we shall run away into the safety of Talcorra. They have offered every single one of us Letters of Amnesty for the taking, and have even serviced our ship.

Sincerely yours…

Captain Tobias could make out a flood of names listed below. There appeared to be slightly over a hundred mutineers. Ingham set it back down on the Admiral’s desk. The Reaper’s World native was staring passively at Tobias. Bourne shrugged and turned his palms upwards into the air.

“What am I to do? It looks like war will be upon us…”

“I have one idea,” replied Tobias slowly, “but I will require a small ship of yours.”

“You will require?” questioned Bourne, astonished.

“Yes,” replied the gaunt man impassively, “I will also need to bring some of my men onboard to help me with this operation.”

“How do you intend to deal with it?”

“This is what I am going to do…”

RWS Flame, in orbit via Talcorra

“Captain’s on the deck!”

Ingham Tobias saluted the Reaper’s World crew as he passed into the Assassin-class Corvette’s bridge. Behind him, several other Confederate crewmembers entered the bridge. Instead of wearing their traditional naval blacks, the Confederates instead wore the light grey uniforms used by Reaper’s World forces. The corvette’s swarthy captain offered a curious salute to the newcomers. Tobias returned it and handed him a datapad. The Flame’s original captain read it, puzzled. Finally, he looked up at Tobias questioningly.

“What is your seniority, captain?”

“Newly commissioned,” replied Tobias, already heading toward the Flame’s command chair, “you must understand, this is a special mission which the Governor and Admiral Bourne entrusted to me.”

“Ah…yes sir.”

The gaunt man nodded. “Excellent, plot an intercept course for the RWS Black Lotus.”

The Flame’s helmsman nodded. Slowly, the Flame turned about on its x-axis to head straight for Talcorra, and the Flame. Some of the original Flame’s crew exchanged dark glances. The Assassin-class Corvette swiftly surged forward, breaking formation with the rest of the customs squadron.

“Captain..?”

“Tobias,” filled in the Confederate, “and you are?”

“Captain John Bronne,” replied the RWS officer, “are we involved with some Black Ops? Rumour has it that that is what the Black Lotus is doing…”

“No,” replied Tobias, “We’re not on a Black Ops mission, and neither is the Black Lotus. The Lotus’ crew has decided to mutiny, and we are headed there to deal with them.’

Bronne looked stunned, as if someone had shot him in the back with a blaster. He abruptly shook his head. “And how to do you plan to do that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that yet,” replied the Budpock native, “Communications, hail the Black Lotus as quickly as you can. Once that happens, record the entire conversation in full detail, sound and holo. Sensors, I want a full recording of the Black Lotus. Besides the outside detailing, I want to know about any modifications or power fluxuations. Make sure it’s all passive, we don’t want them to know about this.”

“Aye sir.”

“Sir, we have the Black Lotus in hailing range with the tight-beam.”

“Hail them,” ordered Tobias.

The bridge’s holo-projector fired up as the connection was established. An aging man in a Reaper’s World uniform coalesced before them. He had a shock of white hair and a craggy face. And he looked irritated. Before Tobias could open his mouth, the figure spoke first.

“Stay where you are. If you move any closer, we’ll fire on you,” snapped the other man.

“And who do I have the pleasure of talking to?” questioned Tobias politely.

“Nathan Sweet. Identify yourself.”

“Captain Ingham Tobias, acting captain of the Flame.”

“What is your business here?”

“I was sent by the Admiralty to negotiate with you about the mutiny. I am here to recall you to your duty to the people of Reaper’s World.”

The other man looked incredously at him. “You’re giving us a full pardon?”

“No,” replied Tobias, “that is not within my power. What am I giving you and your people is the chance for a fair trial in front of jury of your peers. I promise you it will be fair and honest. If Wilson has been flogging you, it will be taken into consideration-”

“The only trial I will be attending will be attending is Wilson’s courtmartial,” replied the old man, “and that will be to bear witness to his misdeeds. Let me be completely clear with you. We want a full pardon for us, and a fair trial for Captain Wilson. Those are the terms. There is no negotiating that.”

Tobias nodded relunctantly. “Very well, I will have to talk this over with my superiors. Smooth spacelanes, Mr. Sweet.”

The connection cut, and the mutineer’s captain disappeared from view. Tobias let out a sigh of relief and swiveled on his command chair. “Sensors, did you get a clear view of the ship?”

“Yes sir. There only seemed to be one anomaly; the black flower insignia they’ve added to their ship. It’s definitely not regulatory, sir.”

Tobias nodded. “It’s probably there to act as a visual identification to the Talcorrans. Helm, take us back to Reaper’s World. Captain Bronne, do you have any mechanics or crew with skill in hull repair.”

Bronne frowned. “Of course, that’s a mandatory requirement for all RW ships. Didn’t they teach you that at the academy?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never had something as fancy as Academy training,” replied the gaunt man, “just some years working as an independent trader. Well, get those men up here, and we can get to work. Sensors, give me some views of that Black Flower insignia.”

“Yes sir.”

Several minute passed before a group of men entered the small bridge. It quickly became overcrowded, forcing Tobias to dismiss the disguised Confederates to the ship’s lounge. The holo-projector flared up again, this time showing various views of the sable flower that adorned the Black Lotus. Tobias pointed at the visages of the flower.

“I want the Flame to have hull plating that looks just like that; with the flower so that no-one can tell the visual difference between us. Can you do it?”

The master mechanic nodded in affirmation. “We do have spare hull plating just like that, minus the flower. We’ll have to clear the hangar bay though to fabricate it to look exactly like that…”

“How long?”

“Several hours to make it, another hour to weld it on.”

“Do it,” ordered Tobias, turning to another half of the bridge, “Communications, pull up the complete recordings of one Nathan Sweet. I want you to make a holographic overlay of him, ready so that it can disguise whoever is in the command chair. Do you have enough of his voice data to make a voice overlay program?”

“Well,” replied a man, “it’s not enough for a very good one, but we should be able to make it seem pretty close to him, unless they’re using voice recognition programs. It’ll take us a couple of hours.”

“That will be fine then. I should like to have the transponder changed to that of the Flame shortly as well.”

“You’re turning the Flame into a copy of the Black Lotus?” questioned Bronne.

Tobias nodded, heading towards the ship’s conference room. “Yes. You have the bridge, Captain.”

In the hangar, a group of crewmen had launched the ship’s shuttles to make room for the fabrication. Mechanics and droids alike began to work on making the special insignia plating. Welding and plasma torches carved up the spare hull plating while a cohort of astromech droids began to precisely copy the Black Lotus design onto those plates that were finished. Up in the bridge and communication’s centers, the last bits of programming were being finished and tested. Excitement seemed to have slowly suffused throughout the ship as the word of these odd projects spread. Except for Tobias and a few of his new crew, no-one quite had an idea of what Ingham was planning to do with this. But they could tell it had something to do with deceit and subtley, which only inspired the crew to their job more precisely. After an hour in the Conference room, Tobias and his crew emerged, several of the grinning, moving back to the bridge.

“How are the preparations coming along?” questioned the Budpock native.

“They are nearly complete,” replied Bronne, “are you going to tell me what we’re going to do?”

Tobias nodded. “We are going to pose as the Black Lotus to the Talcorrans. We’ll move in to land there while the actual Black Lotus continues to hang in space. From information gathered from a source by a Captain Arlos, we know where exactly they’ve been docking, and moreover, it is close to a ship which the piratical Bloodmoons group has just taken-”

“So they are harboring criminals,” interrupted Bronne excitedly.

“Yes,” replied the disguised Confederate officer, “but not by the will of their people. The ruling regime has been the cause of most of the system’s problems, for both your people and the native Talcorrans-”

“Your people?” questioned Bronne suspiciously.

“Our people,” lied Ingham, “in any case, we’re going to steal one of the pirate’s prizes; a Rin Assid cargo ship they recently took when we try and land. My men will take care of that part.”

The swarthy man slowly nodded in understanding. “Of course. The pirates and Talcorran government will think that the Black Lotus did it, making the mutiny appear to be nothing more than a sham. So the real Black Lotus won’t have a place to go.”

Tobias nodded. “I hope so. That and we will be freeing some innocent people by taking the hauler. Captain Arlos has other plans to go with it, which should make things…interesting.”

“Who is Captain Arlos?”

“Another new captain,” replied the gaunt man tersely.



Several hours later…

RWS Flame, moving to land on Talcorra

The holo-overlay shut off. The elaborate shroud which visually and audioally disguised Captain Tobias as Nathan Sweet combined with the Flame’s new appearance had seemed to convince Talcorran Traffic Control of their identity. Tobias breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the sensors officer.

“Are any of the planetary defences powering up?”

“Negative, sir. None of the planetary turbolasers or any other weapon is targeting us. We are, however, being actively scanned.”

“Doubtlessly to make sure that we aren’t bringing in anything unexpected like bombs or contraband,” surmised Bronne.

Tobias absently nodded, concentrating on watching his chrono. The eratz Black Lotus soared down to a spider web like structure; the docking facility. A variety of small ships continued to lift off and dock; unfazed by the Black Lotus presence. Clustered on one end were a quartet of Styria-class Galleons, which were making preparations to shove off. Right next to them was the Dreadnaught Bloodmoon and her prize; the Rin Assid hauler. The Black Lotus docking spot was right next to the Bloodmoon on the side opposite of the Confederates. Doubtlessly, the Talcorrans had grouped the large foreign ships together to keep a better eye on them. The Flame slowed down as she prepared to make here descent. As she flew over the Bloodmoon, several dozen black shapes jumped from corvette’s airlock, letting the momentum derived from their home ship’s velocity and the gravitational pull of Talcorra to drift down to the bulk hauler. They were the vacuum suited Confederates. On the bridge, Captain Tobias could bearly make them despite keenly watching their departure. The corvette settled down on the lunar service, to ostensibly take on more supplies.

Bulk Hauler Owen’s Delight, Talcorra

The Confederates, in their vacuum suits huddled close against the Rin Assid’s portside airlock. One man drew his ultrachrome dress sword. He flicked a minute switch on the hilt, and the blade began to vibrate a high speeds, just like any other vibroweapon. Grasping it with two hands, the Confederate officer thrust it into the airlock’s door. It pierced through. He then began to cut a door-sized entry way which would allow the dozen men to board the craft. It was a common tactic amongst pirates and other boarders, except instead of using ultrachrome swords, most of them used force pikes to cut through bulkheads. The suited man finished his cut and withdrew his sword. Two other men quickly picked up the door before it could fall and pushed forward with it, using it like a giant shield. The ship’s internal atmosphere rushed out from the newly created hole, sucking out loose objects, including some members of the piratical prize crew. The Confederate sailors quickly entered the cargo ship weapons drawn with Lieutenant Webb leading the group. The lieutenant began to wave his sword around, pointing to various crewmembers.

“Five and Eight,” stated Webb, pointing to the two figures carrying the airlock’s door, “please shut the door. If you can find some welders or any extra metal sheets to seal it off. We don’t want to completely lose the atmosphere if at all possible.”

“Yes sir,” replied the senior crewman, already turning around to put back the door.

“Everyone else with me,” ordered Webb, “it’s time to take the bridge.”

The Confederates drew their weapons, ranging from Talon Vibrodaggers and ultrachrome swords to heavy blaster pistols and carbines. Webb now drew out his blaster pistol, dual-wielding it with the dress sword as taught in the Kashan Defence Academy. It may be seem antiquated, but the combination of ranged and melee weapons proved to be effective in any number of situations while boarding a hostile ship. The sword could be thrust through multiple opponents at once during close quarters combat while the pistol could be used to down distant or fleeing enemies. Webb quickly strode to the front of the group and beckoned them forward. The Confederates quickly and quietly moved through an emergency airlock, through a corridor, to the bridge foyer, with Webb gutting the sole sentry guarding it with his sword. The sole slicer brought with the group had little difficulty breaking through the uncomplicated locks of the Owen’s Delight. The door whisked open and Confederates stormed the bridge. Several blue bursts from the Confederates quickly stunned the surprised Bloodmoon pirates. Webb wasted no time, quickly taking the helm and powering the ship up for its unauthorized departure.



RSW Flame, Talcorra

“Captain,” reported the bridge crewman, “the Owen’s Delight is powering up her engines. It appears that they’re getting ready to take off.”

Tobias nodded. “Very good. All crew to their alert…err…battle stations. Keep weapons and shields powered down though for now.”

“Sir, we have some Talcorran officials requesting permission to board our ship.”

The gaunt man blinked. “Let them, and lock the airlock doors behind him. Send a team to capture them once they’ve entered.”

“Aye sir.”

“Have you picked up any transmissions to the Owen’s Delight?” questioned the Confederate captain.

“Five, sir,” replied the communication’s officer, “one from the Talcorran Port Authority about their unauthorized departure proceedings. Four from the Bloodmoon, all of which are demanding that their prize crew report back to them about their actions.”

Tobias barked a laugh. “I’d bet their prize crew would report back if they could. The Bloodmoons aren’t stupid. They’ll try and recapture her shortly.”

“Sir, the Bloodmoon is powering up its weapons.”

“Shields?” questioned the Confederate.

“Negative.”

Tobias nodded. “They know that the Owen’s Delight doesn’t have any weapons, so there wouldn’t be any reason to power them up yet, especially given the power strain they’d produce. Power up our own weapons, but do not actively target anything. If Port Authority questions what the heck we’re doing, say that the things between the Bloodmoon and Owen’s Delight are racking our nerves.”

“Yes sir.”

The bridge foyer whisked open. A pair of fully equipped Reaper’s World Soldiers walked in with several prisoners in their two. Most of them appeared to be well-dressed and wearing an armband on their shirts. Tobias could pick out several personages mentioned by Arlos, which forced the normally solemn man to smile. Idiots. Send a bunch of important people unto an unknown ship with unknown conditions. At the very least, they could have sent Customs or a Safety commission on first. Most of the Talcorrans exhibited a mixture of emotions of regret and confusion, but one among them, the Minister of Defence, was glaring at Ingham.

“Release us immediately and we will spare your lives,” commanded the Talcorran Minister.

“Spare us from what? Your planetary defences aren’t even fully functional yet-”

“True, but where else will you run? It’s not as if Reaper’s World will gladly take back any mutineers from the Black Lotus.”

“You are mistaken,” replied Tobias, “for we are not of the Black Lotus. We are Reaper’s World loyal crewmembers of the RWS Flame. I’m afraid gentle people, that you have accidentally fell into a trap we’ve set for the Bloodmoons. Sergeant, if you would please contain these people into the brig for the duration of the mission.”

“Yes sir.”

The soldiers quickly prompted the prisoners back through the bridge foyer from which they came. The Minister of Defence had to prodded with a blaster rifle to get moving. As the Talcorran prisoners exited, Tobias shook his head. Members of the bridge crew went back to work, and it had hardly been a minute when one shouted out to him.

“Sir, the Owen’s Delight is away. Bloodmoon is getting to lift off,” reported an officer.

“Very good,” replied Tobias, “weapons may now open fire on the Bloodmoon. Try to hit useful stuff.”

“Yes sir.”

The weapons on the modified corvette rotated to face the ship that was nearly four times larger than itself. They had barely locked into place when RWS gunners eagerly opened fire. Turbolaser bolts and a pair of concussion missiles lanced out from the Flame to strike the old dreadnaught. All impacted on the unshielded warship’s side. Flames erupted from the Bloodmoon’s weapons, sensors, and communication blisters before fading away just as fast as they had come; leaving charred holes and scouring across the warship’s hull. The ersatz Black Lotus engines flared to a deep blue colour, kicking up lunar dust all around the craft. Under this shroud, the Black Lotus lifted off to join the slow Owen’s Delight as the cargo craft just exited the atmosphere.

“Sir, the Bloodmoon is leaving her berth. She’s moving to intercept us.”

“Sir, the real Black Lotus is in sight.”

“Very good,” replied Tobias, “helm take us about to eclipse the real Black Lotus from Bloodmoon’s scanners. Communications, when we’re in the middle of the eclipse, I want you to change our transponder back to normal so that we’re the Flame again.”

A series of ‘yes sir’s reverberated throughout the bridge. As the Owen’s Delight continued to plow forwards at a plodding pace, the Flame swept about quickly on her port side, changing her transponder in the process. The Reaper’s World corvette continued on her hard turn, moving in a circle before straightening out to go head-to-head with the damaged Bloodmoon. The dreadnaught passed the Flame, instead cruising by to catch the Owen’s Delight. Suddenly, the Bloodmoon opened fire, not on the Flame or the Owen’s Delight, but on the Black Lotus. Flames burst from the unshielded, mutinious corvette. Reaper’s World vessels began to converge on the Bloodmoon, their guns blazing wildly. The Flame, now at the rear of the Bloodmoon, snapped the stern of the old warship like a terrier snapping at the heels of sheep. Several bright flashes of light suffused the area, the result of ships redirecting their Cronau radiation towards their destination to make their arrival obvious. Eight Confederate galleons bore down on the Bloodmoon, adding more weapon’s fire to that already been fired by the Reaper’s World fleet. Under this intense firestorm, the damaged Bloodmoon managed to trade a few salvoes before finally succumbing to the allied forces fire. Several Reaper’s World vessels moved to board not only the Bloodmoon, but also the mutinous Black Lotus. On the bridge of the Flame, the crewmen erupted into cheers as the piratical cruiser and the mutinous corvette were simultaneously captured. Tobias grew a quick scowl over his face, bellowing for the crew to be silent. They did, briefly, before erupting into more cheers. Tobias muttered under his breath a few choice curses, prompting Bronne to smile widely.



Aftermath…

Styria-class Galleon Providence, in orbit of Reaper’s World

The holo-projector emanated an unearthy, bluish glow in the otherwise dark room. On the bed, Mr. and Mrs. Ingham Tobias caressed each other, occasionally trading kisses. Oblivious to the amorous advances being made the couple, the anchor and holo-reporters of a Reaper World’s news network continued their daily reports.

“Today, acting President Chadwick of Talcorra has announced the arrest of several more high-ranking members of the National Freedom Party. Recently, the former Ministers of Defence and Trade were captured by Reaper’s World forces, and then extradited back to Talcorra for charges of aiding and collaborating with an enemy, and for accepting bribes in the form of tribute. The latest of these arrests has dashed the National Freedom Party into pieces, now without a single political figure in the upper Talcorran hierarchy. More allegations continue to pour in to the Talcorran government about abuses handed out by National Freedom Party members, including intimidation, robbery, and trespassing among a nearly endless of list of crimes. Chadwick has encouraged the populace to provide any information which would restore justice and peace back to Talcorra. Governor Bentinck has offered his full support for Chadwick, saying that this new series of changes within the Talcorran government is a welcome change. Partially in response to these changes, Bentinck has ordered the bulk of the controversial inspection fleet back to their home ports. Several Reaper’s World vessels have remained behind under Talcorran control to train the budding Talcorran Customs Force and to provide customs while the new force is being trained. We take you now to Jordan Ardama, covering the prosecutions of the Bloodmoon pirates.”

The holo-projector briefly flashed to project a new man. He had darker blond hair and set of disturbing blue eyes. Jordan flashed a dazzling white smile for the holo-camera before motioning to a group of people assembled outside a set of blast doors. The few windows that could be seen in the background revealed the endless snowy plains and glaciers of portions of Reaper’s World.

“Thank you David,” replied the reporter, “we are outside the municipal court of one of Vandalar City’s justice complexes. As you all probably well know, the Bloodmoon pirates were captured in a recent action involving Reaper’s World and Confederate forces in orbit of Talcorra. What isn’t widely known is the number of crimes these people have committed. Besides disrupting trading within our system, and capturing neutral merchant vessels, the Bloodmoons are responsible for several failed attacks on Contegorian convoys and the massacre of Essau’s Ridge, where they failed to hold a township ransom. Because of the many different peoples these pirates have affected, the jury has been made up of citizens of Reaper’s World, Talcorra, the Contegorian Confederation, and Essau’s Ridge. Because the pirates were captured by Reaper’s World forces, those political entities involved with the case have assented that they be tried in Reaper’s World courts. Thus far, those that have been tried have been found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. However, this is the trial of Captain Krenstkry, the leader of the pirates. Owen’s Trading, one of the pirate’s victims, has been lobbying for the man’s execution. A move supported by some Reaper’s World jurors, but one opposed by the Confederates, who do not believe in the death penalty. All jurors, however, agree that the captain is guilty, so ultimately, the decision to put the man to death or in life imprisonment will lay with the Judge Brown. Brown is currently talking to many authorities about the matter, doubtless because of the case’s importance in foreign affairs. Just several hours ago, when questioned by reporters about his decision, he stated that it would be a grave one, so it would be some time before it would be announced. Back to you David.”

The holo-projector changed its image back to the anchor.

“Thank you Jordan. The surviving mutineers of the Black Lotus have all been recently sentenced to life imprisonment as well. It would appear that our planet’s courts have been unusually active these last few weeks. But as well may know, perhaps the most important news thus far has been the acceptance of both Reaper’s World and Talcorra’s recent application for membership within the Contegorian Confederation. Our own political consultant Terry Williams has more on this groundbreaking story.”

The holo-projector changed figures yet again, this time revealing a plump lady in a black-and-white checkered dress. Her hair was up in a single bun, and when she spoke, Terry came across as a matron advising her grand children. She smiled.

“Thank you David. The recent membership of Reaper’s World and Talcorra is expected to revolutionize a great many things. One of which will be the change to the Confederation credit, which is valued slightly more so than the current Reaper’s World dollar. Trade ministers from both Talcorra and Reaper’s world have assured their populaces that this will not detrimentally affect the economy, but that the positive effects on the economies will be far reaching. But of the Credit’s stronger value, traders of our system will have an edge in currency over most of those of the nearby systems which currently are neutral. As well, property values are expected to moderately rise because of the planned military installations by the Confederation on both Talcorra and Reaper’s World. Not only will these installations take up land, thus driving up property prices, but will also provide protection to Reaper’s World assets. Thus, it is expected that consumers will feel more safe investing within the planet’s economy, thus driving it higher. In addition, the Reaper’s World finiancial service Morgan and Trusts has been hired by the Confederation to run the finiancial needs of the said government for both its operations on Talcorra and Reaper’s World, bringing in more foreign money into the economy. Talcorra, with its extended maintenance and repair facilities for larger vessels, is expected to receive contracts with the Confederation navy…”

“Honey dear,” whined Lara.

“Yes dear?” replied the gaunt man, pulling away from his wife.

“Can you turn the projector off?”

“Why dear?”

The woman smiled. “I don’t want to hear about the navy right now…”

The man grinned in turn, pulled out the remote, and turned the projector off with a flick of a switch. The cabin was thrown back into darkness; the safety of lovers. Lara giggled. Within a minute, the Providence and the rest of the Confederate convoy flashed into hyperspace en route for another voyage.