Broken.
 
 
Things had been bad at the end of his reign of Tholatin. In fact, he wondered what his people had done after the Dragons had escorted him off-world to be imprisoned. Had they fought back? Probably not. They would have known better than to have done that. Too many people would have died.
 
 
Destroyed landscaping, scarred by the tides of war.   Nature taking root, slowly eroding the despoiled condition amid the remnants of a shattered society.  A society that struggled to remember a better time… 
 

Kamon had loved her for a while now. Arai was the prettiest person he had ever met. He wanted her badly. The only problem was he needed courage. He had followed her to a cantina, and now approached her.  "Excuse me, Don't know if you remember me, but I am Prince Kamon Vondiranach of Tholatin. Can we talk?" He stood nervously.
 
The glass hovered a breath away from her crimson lips and slowly she set the scotch back onto the table's smooth surface. She looked to the Prince, her chocolate eyes taking in every detail from beneath her long lashes.

" Prince Kamon Vondiranach you say?"

Arai sat back in the booth, brushing a wayward strand of her sandy brown hair behing her ear.

" I''m afraid I do not recall ever having the pleasure, but please have a seat."

She motioned to the chair across the table.

" What may I do for you, Highness?"
 
 
"You don't remember me because we never formaly met. But I knew you and was disappointed when you left. I was never able to find you afterwards. I searched everywhere, even the unknown regions. I could never find you. I was concerned because.." he hesitated. ".. I loved you and wanted to know you better. You also know who destroyed the village." He blushed a little, but covered it up. He looked at the table because he was afraid to look at her.
 
All she could do was blink a few times.

He loved her? Did she hear him correctly?

Arai watched the Prince a moment, at the slight rush of color to his cheeks, then reached for her drink. Taking a sip of the liquor she smiled coily.

" Forgive me, but what village do I know about? You speak in riddles, Highness. Let me buy you a drink and you can explain what you are talking about."

She motioned to one of the waiter-droids, indicating she wanted two more of what she was drinking.
 

"Thanks you, but the drink was not neccesary. Anyway, I know you were in the village when it was attacked. Specifically, your building was the one that was attacked. I examined your building afterwards, and found evidence that you left behind. At the time I, of course, thought it best that you leave. That way no more attacks would happen. But I knew one day that I would have to find you. When you left I was deeply saddened and mopped around my palace for three months. I started to look for you after that." He took a moment to sip his drink. He watched her closely for reactions.


~ Sonata of a Prince and his Cagey Bitch

 
 
..better times..
 

"Today is a glorious day, my people! No longer shall we allow ourselves to be hassled by the outside forces that provide goods we need. No longer shall we be a small spec in the galaxies eye. Today I have been crowned your King, but tomorrow I shall be your leader as we take new steps into the galaxy."

 
 
 
 
The tragedy was not that all of what this 'Prince' had built was being pulled down before his very eyes. It was not that most of his children would not outlive him.

"The strong fall before the weak."

The tragedy was that this 'Prince' still had not figured out he was the 'weak' and what his role in this little tale would imply.
 
 
 
 
 
Two Months Ago…
 
 
It was a bar.   A rat-hole of a place but, really, rat’s despised it more than the patrons the observer mused.  It was a human-hole of a place and it was amazing at just how wretched the conditions could be for continued human habitation.
 
Dirty, naked children ran around caked in the mix of mud and sewage that passed for roads in this hovel of a place and yet, the inhabitants still boasted as if they were standing around waiting for their Prince to suddenly show up and issue the call to arms.   Where they would rise up and… and… what?
 
If there was one out of ten working ships and one in ten of those space-worthy, that would be saying something.   If their maintenance controls were any indication, this town would have a fight of it to find clean water and would still probably lose.  They couldn’t capture an unarmed freighter.   But such things like logic impeded not these people.  No, they were the chosen ones.   At least, according to some of these lesser ones who wore their dribbling minds like a badge of courage.
 
Gone were those who had held onto their talent and escaped the Dragon treachery.  Ground under-foot were those what would have been able to mold the collected emotional angst into an effective resistance, their families broken, battered or outright killed.
 
The thought was downright depressing for while the spark of defiance was still an ember in the eyes of these lowborn, at least they possessed enough self-awareness to realize that they would not have the first clue as to go about it.
 
Even the whispers of the Dragons and their enigmatic leader disappearing two years ago did nothing to inspire action, the shadow of their defeat ensuring that spark never evolved into a flame.
 
Their spirit was willing but the body of their soul was shattered.
 
“To Prince Kamon Vondersnatch!!” shouted a particularly grizzly patron, throwing a shot glass into the air spilling its contents before attempting to down it.  
 
“May he reign in hell!” another continued, snorting out an obstruction from his nose and fingering it.
 
“There is talk that he haunts the hills around here…” coughed a voice seated around a dirty table.
 
“Well, at least he is in hell.  With the rest of us!” someone else shouted causing a few guffaws from the smelly masses.
 
The crowd became subdued as a well-dressed visitor pushed past the swiveling metal doors.  At least well-dressed in the sense that his camouflage colored outfit was clean and pressed and did not reek of industrial sludge and rancid tabac smoke.
 
The intruder stopped and a hand went to his forehead as he raised the hood of his camo pancho and stared at the tensing patrons appraisingly.
 
“Fuck the dragons!” he muttered and everyone exhaled and went about their business.  He walked purposefully towards an occupied table in a dark corner.
 
“Could you have found a shittier place to meet?” he growled as he sat down at the only empty chair opposite the occupant of the table.   The occupant raised her hood slightly, her eyes narrowing at the gruff visitor.
 
“Yes,” she stated simply and the man grunted a response.
 
“So, what do you think?” he asked as she handed him a datapad.
 
“I think I found the new Phalanx and we will be rounding them up in the next few days.”
 
“Royal Phalanx Guard Corps,” the man’s lips curled in disgust.  “What a bunch of pussies!  They didn’t seem to guard shit when his royal-fucking highness, their royal fucking charge was captured by the Dragons.  I mean, ‘what the fuck?’  They all should have all fell on their swords at the dishonor of it all!”
 
“Just like your soldiers did for you?” was her quick reply and the man’s eyes darkened.   It was not a pleasant memory but the man had little patience for comparing his gigantic fall from grace to the relatively, comparatively stumble of his fucking-highness-Kamon.
 
But, in the end, he smirked, “Fuck right!  I should have had all of them shot when I had the chance!”
 
The man’s voice carried a little and a certain patron’s head came up and turned towards them.  After a moment of indecision, the man planted his two meaty hands on the table to steady himself as he rose.  Shambling over to their table, he glowered at the two of them through a mop of facial hair that would have done a wookiee proud.
 
“Did I hear you mention Prince Kamon?” he whispered out.
 
“Cum on, who?” the man asked, in a perplexed tone.
 
“Ka-MON” the native man clarified.
 
“Cum on, you?”
 
The man clenched his fists but before he could do anything else, the seated man slapped his hand down on the table.
 
“Oh, Kamon.”  The seated man looked up.  “What is it to you?”
 
“You were disrespecting him,” the burly man answered.
 
“So was the man who earlier saluted him,” the woman suddenly spoke up in a tone that was not challenging, only curious. 
 
The large man could sense the utter lack of fear these two seated individuals displayed which unnerved him. 
 
“That was only old Riley.  I know old Riley.  I don’t  know you.”
 
“So?” the seated man asked.
 
“So, he was my King!”
 
“He was a fucking moron!” the seated man cried out in exasperation.   As the crowd in the bar growled in unison at the exclamation, the seated man seemed to pause and think for a minute before pounding a fist into the hard wood table.  “Actually, you all are the morons!   I mean fuck!  Who the fuck makes it a law to make the heir the youngest child as opposed to the eldest?  I mean shit, you are worse than the Naboo with their child queens.  Did it not occur to you dipshits what would happen when the heir was suddenly replaced simply because his randy father and mother couldn’t use a contraceptive?  Or did they want their eldest to accrue the humiliation and resentment that comes from each sibling that gets popped out?  And who the fuck gives a fucking child a political advisor?  You don’t advise a fucking child!  You tell him to stop sniveling, wipe is ass after he shits and send his ass to bed!  You morons know that he killed thousands of you when he raged about his parents being killed but you still heaped praises on him accepting him as your heir?  I am sorry, but you dumb shits deserved what you got!”
 
The seated woman gave her ranting partner a look of disapproval at his outburst.  When the hairy patron stepped forward with clenched fists, he asked in a low, dangerous tone, “Give me a reason not to kill you right now.”
 
The seated man pulled down his hood revealing a thinning scalp of white hair.   He simply sat there staring at the threatening hulk standing over him with an amused expression on his face.  The crowd knew the bruiser and knew the visitor did not have long but one did not simply haul off and kill an unwelcome visitor, especially an unknown unwelcome visitor.  Not when the prospect of brutal retribution overshadowed them like a shroud.  The old man slowly stood up discarding the camo-pancho as he did so to reveal a rather expensive looking solid black jumpsuit-uniform.  
 
The pressed, unmarked black uniform gave a quiet authority to the old man even as the lack of insignia or rank confused the crowd as to who he was supposed to represent.
 
Even slightly inebriated, the hairy man paused for this was not the usual rough-and-tumble circumstances one might find in a Tatooine establishment.  No, the people here had been beaten, broken and their prostrate necks stomped on for good measure by the prevailing powers so much so that a cautious hesitation had been ingrained into even the most inebriated of minds.
 
“I am someone who is going to raise Tholatin up from the shitter it seems to have fallen into,” the old man replied with almost absolute certainty.
 
“What promises do you bring, old man?” scoffed a voice in the crowd, causing some to chuckle.
 
The old man’s lips curled into a slight grin as he pulled a flat handheld device from a pocket and placed it on his table.  “You mean promises like this?” he asked as he activated the device bringing to life a hologram of an old inauguration speech given by a sixteen year old Tholatin:
 
"As of now, we will no longer be the Kingdom of Tholatin.  From now on we are the Tholatin Republic, and we are a galactic power. A senate shall be elected to truly govern this planet. More worlds will be sought to join our Republic, adding to our number and our strength. I will represent the Republic as Chancellor and have no fear as I will still be your King, but I have great ambitions for us."
 
The teenage Tholatin lifted his hand in a fist, a broad smile appearing on his face.
 
"We are a great and glorious people! The galaxy will one day be freed from tyranny and strife, and it will be at our hands!"
 
 
“How’d that promise work out for you?” the white-haired man inquired innocently.
 
The inebriated man’s fists clenched not so much in a burning rage at memory of past failure but at the humiliating embarrassment this old man drew out of him with his leering grin.   One punch is all it would take and he would probably kill the old man.   His arms shook with pent up frustration.
 
One punch!
 
The old man’s grin stretched wider as if knowing what was going in his mind.
 
 
His eyes narrowed at the short-sided old man.  One punch! 
 
 
He exhaled violently and turned away, ashamed.    It was not the first time a Tholatin was humiliated and it definitely would not be the last.   Such was their lot in life after…
 
 
...after so much loss.
 
 
“Well, fuck me.  A Tholatin with self-control,” the old man whispered in awe.
 
 
“DO YOU WANT TO DIE, OLD MAN!?” the man spun around shouting.   
 
 
The bar had gotten quiet and tense, everyone realizing that if something happened to these well groomed visitors, another big ship just might appear overhead and burn them out of existence.   
 
 
The white haired man turned to the woman, “Perhaps I spoke too soon.”
 
 
“I give him credit,” the woman replied.  “I would have simply stabbed you in the neck with a spoon.”
 
 
The older man paused, a little puzzled, “Why a spoon?” 
 
Then he shook his head and waved away any reply that might have come forth.  Turning to the humiliated man, he stuck out a finger, “You think you know humiliation.   Imagine how fucking humiliating it is for me to even be here, speaking to you.   Me!    And do not kid yourself, just because I am raising this god-forsaken planet out of the squalor you seem to have sunk yourselves into, I do not do it out of love for you fuckers.   Quite frankly, I wouldn’t give a shit if every one of you just up and dies right here, right now.   You are not worthy of my time or my attention…fuck, barely even my insults!”
 
 
“Then why are you here…” the patron asked against the crushing pressure to whatever self-esteem or pride he had left.
 
“Because, I know my duty,” the old man replied.   Turning to the seated woman, “May I present, Ayren Nikkita of the Royal Phalanx Guard.”
 
 
The woman slowly rose as whispered conversation suddenly flared up.    She removed her own camouflage pancho revealing a silver and red uniform.
 
The whispering died down at the sight of her uniform and the bushy native stared at her for a rather long time before his hoarse voice rang out, “They are the wrong colors..”
 
“Wrong!” the old man shot back.   “They are the right colors!   Wipe away the traces of the old regime.  Kamon is the past.   We are here to take you into the future…”
 
“You found Amarie?   Andreas?” someone called out referring to the twins born to Kamon Vondiranach.
 
“They are no longer the heirs of the Kingdom,” Ayren commented which started people conversing all over again.
 
“Such as it is..” added the old man.   “It took us a long time to find the new heir but we did it.   It was high time that that stupid rule of yours was made to work for you!”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“There is another heir?”
 
The old man considered giving them all heart attack by naming Heir Raktus as that heir but he reigned himself in.   It was not their fault the Dragons burned their world to the ground.  Well, actually, it was their fault but that was neither here nor there.   Not even a respectable connection to the holonet system so how would they know what was going on.   Not that concern for those things outside their world would do them any good anyway.
 
“Do you know how many people fucking Kamon Vondirandy slept with?   Arai Heishi, Whisper, Syren, Katie Toran, Jade, some feline creature named Katrina something-or-other…”  he turned to the Phalanx soldier, “how would that work?  Damn, the man is an inter-species fuck-all!”
 
He turned to the crowd, “Anyway, we found another child.  One that has not been warped with his fucking family issues.”
 
“What makes you think we will follow you?” someone asked.
 
“Not us!” Nikkita corrected.  “But Princess Carlotta, King Vondiranach’s youngest surviving child.  We have been visiting every habitation on this world to regrow the ranks of Phalanx.”
 
“So we can make war on the galaxy again?” came a bitter voice.
 
“Fuck the galaxy!   So you can be a part of Tholatin’s rebuilding.”
 
 
“Why should we trust you?” the hairy man asked suspiciously.
 
“Because we are here to give you your fucking soul back!”
 
The bearded man gave a pained laugh.   “And how do you expect to do that, old man?”
 
“Come outside and find out?” the white haired man replied cryptically.   “And if you find my answer satisfactory, you will be the first one to join the new Phalanx.   This world needs a lot of work to prepare for the arrival of your new Lady.”
 
The bearded man snorted at the wishful thinking but shrugged as he followed the two newcomers out of the bar, followed by the rest of the curious patrons.
 
 
 
 
 
Outside, hovering overhead, casting a large shadow over the countryside were two Victory Class Star Destroyers, the Redemption and the Dauntless.  But their names were not important.
 
What was important were the small shadows that were leaving the hanger bay under the giant vessels….small shadows in great numbers.
 
 
“What are…?” the hairy man started, squinting.
 
 
The shadows were growing larger as they approached overhead, one opening it’s mouth letting out a shrieking cry that split the air.
 
 
“Monteradons!” someone shouted and the people began to break out in cheers.  
 
 
The old man turned to the bearded man.  “You got something in your eye?”
 
 
“Some dust..” he whispered.
 
 
The old man gave a shark-like grin.   “Welcome to the Phalanx, son.”

Tholatin
 

The grids were laid out in an economical and simple plan as the gargantuan machines moved along their predetermined coarse over the mud and ash where the capital city of Tholatin once stood proudly.
 
Retribution was the dish the Dragons had served and served it heavily they did upon the capital completely dissolving the pride of both Kamon and his people.   Some had said the systematic destruction of the cities had been the weight that had broken their pride.   Or perhaps, what had broken their spirit as they were laid low.
 
Against the overwhelming superiority of the Dragon Imperium and their unfathomable technology, of what hope was there for the likes of Tholatin?   They had betrayed an alliance with the New Order and would find no quarter there.   They had once supported the Dragons in their infancy only to betray them setting the stage for their eventual destruction for Heir Raktus was not one to forget a slight.  They had allied with Chadwick Fearsons thus alienating most of the like-minded lightsiders and when the Jutraalian Empire’s flame blew out, what were the left with but the ill will of an entire galaxy?
 
Their prince, their king, the great Kamon Vondiranach had played his enemies for fools laughing along the way until he found himself alone on a path surrounded only by enemies.   Rabid wolves snapping their jaws in anticipation around the wimpers of a little girl and one would finally have a glimpse of the situation that Kamon had placed his people into.
 
Only this was no fairytale where the wolves were suddenly beaten away by some rescuer but the icy cold of reality that played out here.
 
Tholatin had drowned in its own screams as the unfeeling eyes of their enemies rained fire down on them time and again until their hatred was sated.
 
Which begged the question…
 
 
“Why?” the man stated as he was at once admiring and fearful his new silver and red armor.  The filaments tugged and pulled as it started to form-fit around the large frame of the man, inadvertently informing him that he was out of shape.
 
“Why not?” the cryptic woman answered, not bothering to stare up from her pad as the figures spelled out their story to her inquiring eyes.   Not all of it was good news but it was better than she had been expecting.   Genocide, even a half-hearted attempt at genocide did have an upside ironically enough, especially so when that attempt was the hands of the Dragons.
“No one invests this much into something without expecting a return,” the man commented, sliding on the armoured gauntlets and gloves.   A single ping designated the positive connection and the man instantly found himself a reservoir of strength and…and…
 
 
information!
 
 
The head’s up display (HUD) of his helmet began to register the rapid connections his suit intercepted as it took its place in the network.
 
 
“That is true,” the woman whispered, her soft voice picked up by the armored suit as clearly as if she had whispered in his ear. 
 
As his head turned to her, his HUD picked up the subtle tell-tale of her own slender armour under the free-form silver and red uniform.   He could see that her armor, while having been inserted into the network was not relaying any information itself.  It was merely acting as a receiver whereas his own armor, has he stared through helmet wonderingly at a raised arm, was both receiver and transmitter.
 
She turned to face him catching him off guard, as her attention suddenly focused on him.   She was unnerving that way and he was not sure he liked it.  He preferred women who were more lively and …well, boisterous.  Not quiet and mousey…
 
Of course, thinking this woman as mousey was probably a mistake but the thought amused him just the same.
 
“So what kind of return do you expect from us?” he asked, pointedly, matching her attention which took concentration since his mind wanted to wander and take in the new suit and new abilities.
 
“The Phalanx is going to go through several weeks of intense training…” she started when he waved a hand in front of her, causing her statement to drift off, perhaps catching her off guard?
 
“So you do not expect a return on our inherent fighting abilities,” he concluded.
 
“I think you misunderstand the word ‘inherent’,” she observed absently until her eyes locked onto his.  “We have need of your…pride.”
 
“Pride?” the man was surprised.  “What pride?  We had the shit beaten out of us..”
 
“You are humbled but you are not humble,” she replied and as he mulled over the paradox she continued, “You are the raw potential that we are investing in to shape and mold..”
 
“Into what?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
 
“Into a solid core.” She answered back, staring down at her figures.
 
“A solid core of… what?”
 
Her eyes flickered briefly from her pad.   It was slight but his HUD captured the movement.
 
“The Tempest.”

“You were right.  I owe you a hundred credits.  They are building underground!”
 
“Do you blame them?  These bastards got the shit kicked out of them.  That sticks to a person.  It messes with their head so moving forward, they damn well are going to remember and ensure it doesn’t happen again!”
 
The old man was seated and gestured for Nikkita to sit with him.
 
“What is the latest?” he asked off-handedly.
 
“The Phalanx is at full strength and armor training is tracking nicely.  What will be a larger learning curve are the Augments.”
 
“The plan still to pull from the Phalanx?”
 
“Of course.  After the training, they will have the muscle memory to go along with their new abilities.  The seeding process is going well and the planet is slowly coming back.  The Dragons were not nice the world.”
 
“No, they weren’t.  And I cannot say they did not deserve it.”
 
“Some would say the same thing about Imperial Center,” Nikkita pointed out.
 
“Yeah, well Kamon had a history with Raktus that made this personal.  I can assure you that we did not know shit about this fucking Dominion.  So those that are reveling in Coruscant’s demise are just the whiney little bitches that couldn’t do it themselves!”
 
Nikkita ignored the aside and continued on, “The only thing being built from scratch is the housing and the people themselves.   Equipment, power sources and grid infrastructures are all being imported in.  In six months, Rineeki and Karnak-Alpha will join the Republic and, as you say, we will have a ball game.”
 
“No, I said we will start kicking balls,” growled the old man.  “Six fucking months of interdiction.”
 
“The Reavers are still a threat so communications will be the last to come online.”
 
“Why me?” the old man suddenly interrupted.
 
“Pardon?”
 
“Why am I here?   There is nothing I bring to the table here.  You are the Commander on scene so you do not need my approval for anything.”
 
Ayren thought for a moment before responding.  “You survived extraordinary circumstances falling from one of the highest of galactic positions to one of the lowest.   Not unlike the Tholatins.”
 
“So what?  Is this supposed to fucking inspire me?  Rebuild my soul or some shit?  Look kid, while I do not appreciate  you keeping your legs closed to my advances, I do understand what is happening here.  What I want to know is what is going to happen to me?  Where do I fit into this grand plan of his?  Am I to strap on stormtrooper armor and a blaster and lead the charge to retake Coruscant?  Am I to assassinate Kraken?”
 
“You’re bored.” She concluded.
 
“I am fucking bored,” the old man confirmed.
 
He leaned forward, “Look, I am sure the people of all three worlds are coming to realize their good goddamn fortune of being linked to this republic’s resurrection.  But on the grander scheme of things, it is meaningless.  Three worlds?  What are they going to do?  The only difference they will make is to themselves.”
 
Nikkita nodded, “I will admit that the republic is merely an experiment.  A testing of the waters, so-to-speak.
 
“As well as a measure to see how well you can lead,” pointed out the older man.  Ayren’s eyes widened at the man’s insight and acknowledged it by nodding.
 
“So what is your opinion of my skills so far?” she asked.
 
“You really think I am one to judge?” the old man quipped back.
 
“I do,” she confirmed frowning.  “Why wouldn’t you be?”
 
“Oh, I don’t know.  Perhaps because everything went to the shitter while I was at the helm,” he answered honestly.
 
“I mean, here we are being assaulted from below and above by these fucking Cree’Ar and every other fucking report coming in was a highlight of our crumbling empire or the ineptitude of officers at the scene and do you know what set the local officers under my command off?  Do you know what they decided to focus on all the while plotting my downfall?
 
My taking a fucking drink!  A fucking drink!  Can you believe that shit?!
 
Hyfe’s fucking sister!  When did we all become an empire of fucking pansies?  Their house was burning around them and all they wanted to do was stab each other to take the head seat at the table.  Fuck me, but I would not be surprised if there was a Kashan proverb about that!”
 
The old man sighed, “I wondered for a long time, why the damned aliens didn’t just shut the corridor down after Kach arrived in the middle of our evacuation causing the biggest clusterfuck in history of Coruscant.  You know what I came too? The realization that they were probably too busy laughing their asses off to try.  We fucking did it to ourselves!”
 
Before the woman could respond, the old man cleared his throat and continued, “However, you, my dear, are coddling these bumpkins.”
 
“In what way?”
 
“You are too fucking nice.  You are not here to be their friend.  You are here to grow them and grow them fast.  That means giving them a swift kick in the ass.  Do not measure your success or standards of preparedness by what they were.  I mean, shit, just taking a shower would be an indicator of 100% growth improvement.”
 
“What should the standard be based on if not where they were formerly?”
 
“Base it on what you want them to accomplish or who you mean to send them up against.”
 
“For example?”
 
The old man chuckled lightly.  “For example, let’s say you want them to retake a planet in Kraken’s Empire?  The question is not how much they have moved away from being drunken louts sitting in a bar but how close they are to actually being able to take a world away from Kraken’s paws and hold it!”
 
“So, if I were to ask what’s the latest on their improvement, you would say?”
 
“Tracking nicely but they are not where I need them to be.  Not yet.” 
 
The old man grinned.  “So that should be your focus.  Where they are now becomes point A and where you need them to be is point B.  What do you need to do to move them from point A to point B?”
 
Nikkita nodded.  “I see your point.”
 
“I hope so,” the old man remarked.  “Positive reinforcement is fine and all for weaning a kid off a dry tit but with soldiers?  You have to break them down and build them back up to something.  Not every person will come out the better for it but it is what will separate the wheat from the chaff.  So please stop trying to get 100% success with everyone because that is not the number that will ultimately count.  The only number that counts is the number of those you have that will be able to do the jobs you send them to do.”
 
“And those that don’t make the cut?  The chaff?”
 
The old man grinned, “Well, shit.  There are more jobs than just motherfucking soldiering.”
 
Ayren smiled at the comment.  “I can see why you are considered a cultivated taste.”
 
“Lady, you can taste anything you want from my…”
 
“I get the picture,” Nikkita interrupted.
 
“No doubt you have visions of star destroyer sized…”
 
“No doubt.”
 
“You never answered my question, though.”
 
Ayren thought a moment.  “I have been charged with bringing this republic to fruition in six months.  But we cannot wait that long to act.  I need help separating the wheat from the chaff and we need intel.”
 
“I can agree with that.  Sitting out here in the middle of fucking nowhere with dicks in hand waiting for killer machines and aliens to stumble by is not my idea of time well spent.”
 
“Not if we cannot do anything about it.  But now we can.  I just do not know how well we can.  Not with the resources we have right now.”
 
“I sense a mission coming on,” the old man clapped with anticipation.
 
“I need you to take the Phalanx and I need  you to go here,” Nikkita pulled out a pad and tapped on a few buttons causing a map to appear.
 
“Cleaning up after Traitor-Kach-fucking-Thorton,” muttered the old man. 
 
“Building bridges,” Nikkita corrected.  “Gaining intel.  There are too many conflicting reports on the Reavers, on the Cree’Ar Dominion.  We need information and we need it now. 
 
“We have intel,” the man complained, “it is just not sorted.”
 
“The droid army of the Cooperative seems to have had success driving the Reavers..”
 
“They liberated a couple of worlds.  I doubt the Reavers are on the run.  Otherwise, there would have been a big fucking announcement regarding the ultimate defeat of the Reaver scourge.  No, like everyone else, their success has been limited.  Their silence is a testament to that!”
 
“The Commwealth…err.. Republic and Coalition have been combatting the starvation descending on various worlds caught by the lack of traffic in and out of the Reaver Zone,” Nikkita continued.
 
“These Reaver bastards are really tying up quite a bit of resources.  Especially in light of the fact that this Dominion is knocking on people’s doorsteps.  Coincidence?”
 
“Find out,” Nikkita ordered.  “Here are the forces at your disposal.”
 
The old man mused at the relatively small list but he was not deterred.  He was, after all, going to escape this self-imposed interdiction.
 
“Bandomeer,” he whispered.