The Past - Wayland


"Regent Logan."

Joren Logan, Regent of the New Alliance, returned the salute to Captain Neychev as he stepped down from the ramp of the Lambada-class shuttle and onto the solid ground of Wayland.

Mount Tantiss, or what was left of it, loomed overhead and overshadowed the small Noghri village on the world. A year before, Logan, commanding a detachment of New Alliance forces, had defended the small colony from attack by slavers, wishing to kidnap small children for training as future assassins.

The Noghri now looked to Logan as their rightful leader, and one of their young warriors now accompanied the Regent wherever he went.

Mahk was silent as Logan looked up at the forbidding mountain, which years earlier had been blown up, along with the Emperor's secret clone storehouse. Only various bits and pieces of the said storehouse had been found intact.

Which was precisely why Logan was there that day...






Ovise - Present Day


"What... is your name?"


The man was dressed immaculately, his tailored suit was only of the highest quality. His face seemed almost always in shadow, even his eyes were hidden. His hands were gloved, giving the prisoner with no way of identifying the man.

The shadowy man stood in stark contrast with the lone prisoner in the small jail cell deep in the underground of this dark planet. The prisoner was old, and he seemed to be dying. He smelled like he hadn't taken a sanistream shower in months, and that might be true. He was dressed in a single, all-purpose jumpsuit that was frayed and warn. The prisoner clutched himself like he was perpetually cold.

The well-dressed shadow smiled down at the prisoner with an evil light, although the prisoner could not see it, and even if he could, he probably wouldn't particularly care. The prisoner had resigned himself to this fate.

The shadow repeated, "What is your name?"

The prisoner seemed to shrink back away from the voice. It wasn't because of fear, but it seemed almost natural. The shadow new that this type of reaction was not typical of the prisoner, and of who he used to be.

"I don't..." The prisoner croaked, as if he had not spoken in years, "...know..."

"Yes you do. You know who you are. We've been going around and around like this for months. You know what I want, and you know where I can find it."

The shadow loomed over the prisoner. A long metal pole, which seemed to glow was now in it's gloved hand.

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?" The prisoner asked, and he really seemed like he didn't know. But the shadow knew better. This prisoner was different than he looked. Although he looked haggard, he was playing the dangerous ignorance game. The shadow knew that he knew more than he was letting on.

"Tell me, Regent." The shadow said one final time as he brandished the electro-pike, bringing it dangerously close to the prisoner's face.

"Regent?" The man asked before the electro-pike was in his side, it's long tip jabbing painfully into his ribs. But the prisoner barely reacted, having undergone this same treatment for many months now. it was second nature to him to resist.

Again, this time harder, "Tell me where it is!"

"I don't know!"

The screams went on forever.

Sinsang, the Commonwealth, the Azguards, the Cren, and the Confederacy, thought Pro Moon as he observed the assembled delegates. A fair chunk of the most powerful factions within the Coalition, gathered in one room.

The last of the delegates had arrived, and hushed conversation filled in the space before the meeting. Pro Moon leaned over to Ion, whispering "How's security?"

"Fine," replied Ion. "The meeting's been well-publicised so we had riot police on hand in case of protests, but apparently no one's coming out to bother us. Full security details have been posted at all the landing pads, and patrols have the building under surveillance. We're secure."

"Good, because the last thing we need now is for something to blow up in our face. Just sit back and let me do the talking.

"Gentlemen and ladies, please be seated," declared the prime minister. Around the room, the individuals of note took their places, while aides and assistants left, closing the doors shut behind them. They were now alone to discuss the issues of the day.

"First of all, on behalf of the planet Cerea and the Western Coalition I'd like to thank you all for attending this meeting. You have all shown interest in an undertaking new to the Coalition - nationbuilding.

"Some of you are already well known, some are being met for the first time. Maybe we should start off by going around the table with introductions? I am Prime Minister Pro Moon of Cerea, here to represent the interests of Cerea and the other Western Coalition planets. It's my hope that your help can turn scattered worlds united by proximity into a collective nation."

After the Prime Minister finished, the Azguardian leaned over the table. "My name is Yolem of Azguard, second to Regrad in the Eastern crusade. My people wish well for the West, and I want to see what part Azguardian strength and character can play in its' creation."

“We are going to be late,” insisted Ambassador Droll. “We cannot afford to be late, Captain.”

The portly man had stormed onto the bridge of the Colonial, the namesake of her line, draped in his finest cobalt suit and flustered over the delay in their departure from Gestalt space. His shuttle had not left the planet on time. Having finally boarded the destroyer he immediately besmirched the Colonial Fleet for their tardiness and demanded to be shown, post haste, to the ships Captain.

Captain D’Foose, hero of the Colonies, disliked the man instantly. She found herself wondering why Vice Commodore Shipwright had selected this man to attend the Coalition summit on Cerea. The man did not strike as the sort of person with whom Lance would associate and why he had selected Droll as ambassador to Cerea, she imagine, she would never know. There were simply so many things to find disdainful about the man that she doubted she would ever see any redeeming merit in him. However, she reminded herself, Droll was handpicked by Lance and that had to mean something.

He was grossly over weight and it looked as though the strain of shifting his own girth took a considerable toll on him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and thick blue veins were transparent on his neck and wrists in spite of his rolling fat. The invasive odor of human stink permeated the air around him and seemed to roll off of his clothes in gut-wrenching waves of repulsion. Badly balding, his hair had begun a retreat from his skull in four completely uneven locations and seemed to be spreading like mange towards the top of his skull. Even his skin was a nightmare of blemishes, boils, warts and moles upon moles with their own strands of wiry, greasy hair sticking from. His posture was horrible causing him to slouch on his left while pushing his right shoulder back away from his chest which had the effect of giving him a grossly lopsided appearance. Even his clothing looked to be saturated with stink and sweat and when he moved his poorly tailored clothes threatened to burst their seams.

Captain D’Foose turned, calm and collected from her work and set upon the man her most dismissive of glares. With eyes impassive and features non-committal she studied him for a moment before responding and when she did it was with her most icy tone that she spoke.

She said, “I assure you that we will arrive at Cerea within the designated time frame, Ambassador Droll.”

“Welcome aboard the Colonial,” she added after a moment.

“Save your pleasantries,” snapped Droll. “I am going to retire to my quarters. I assume one of your navy robots can show me the way. I expect that we will be underway immediately. You will contact me in my quarters to inform me that we have departed.”

D’Foose was a hero of the Colonies, her name well known among the population. She had become something of a celebrity within the heavily militarized society that was Gestalt and had come to expect a certain degree of respect from exploits. Certainly she was a soldier first and so used to taking orders, used to having commands barked at her and used to taking it with a smile and grain of salt, however; even the most refined soldier in any serving force had troubles taking orders from civilians and D'foose was no exception.

Ambassador Droll was a civilian through and through. He was the sort of man who had never done a days physical labor in his life and had grown fat on from the labors of others. Men like Droll were extremely rare within the Colonies as their regimented society and near communist approach to the greater good left little room for men of his sort to develop. Unfortunately the developing nature of the Colonies, still a young political entity when compared to the Galactic equivalents, there existed a very limited need for men of his sort.

“Of course,” replied D’Foose with a mock smile. “One of my men will show you to your quarters and I will personally inform you when we are under way.”

Droll paused as if expecting to be rebuffed for his gruff approach. Quick on the uptake, he nodded (all six chins jiggling in unison) and said, “Very well.”

With that Droll stalked off of the bridge leaving D’Foose to her own thoughts.

“We're almost loaded,” interrupted the voice of her Executive Officer a few moments later. He had approached with a data-pad in hand and moved to stand beside his commander. “The supplies should be fully stored within the next ten minutes.”

D'foose nodded and tapped her thumb print into the terminal. The bridge was busy but quiet. Her crew knew their jobs and carried them out without complaint or complication. They had all done this countless times prior as it was the top priority of the Colonial Defense Fleet that all vessels should stand at no less then eighty percent readiness at any given time. Unlike their usual tours, however, this mission would take them far beyond the borders of Colonial space and deep into the Western Coalition proper.

“Thinking about the voyage ahead?” The XO asked. “Think we'll have any challenges?”

D'foose chuckled. “There's a rancor in the berth. I'm more worried about the trouble he'll cause inside then anything else.”

The XO chuckled but he knew that her concern was genuine. She was worried that the Vice Commodore had miscalculated in his selection of Ambassador Droll and those they would all suffer for it.

*

“Captain on the bridge,” barked the XO while snapping to attention.

D'foose stepped onto the bridge and with a nod to her XO, ordered, “As you were.”

According to ships time it was still early in the morning. The Colonial, blasting through hyper-space on the longest leg of their journey en route to Cerea, was just changing shifts and was due to arrive at its destination shortly. It had been a long voyage, thanks in large part to their guest, Ambassador Droll. Much as he had expected, and verbalized numerous times throughout the trip, they were behind schedule and would arrive late.

“Good morning XO,” offered D’Foose as he passed her a fresh cup of coffee. “Anything eventful happen last night?”

He winced and she saw it.

“He's awake?”

The XO nodded.

And then, as if the whole thing had been scripted, the length and breadth of Ambassador Droll flooded the bridge with his abundance. He was positively vibrating so intense was his anger and it translated into more sweat and stink. “We are late! How can you explain this, Captain?”

“I do not,” said D’Foose with a shrug. “We will arrive at Cerea within the hour and even I cannot break the laws of physics and so speed your arrival.”

Provoked, Droll exploded. Slanderous venom spilled from his lips like so much offal and for the continued duration of their travels Droll took it upon himself to make certain that every crewman, from the lowliest non-commissioned personnel to the highest enlisted man. So fierce were his attacks that D’Foose honestly contemplated throwing the man in the brig and calling the mission a wash. She was truly frightened by why he might do on Cerea.

When, at last, the Colonial made orbit above Cerea it was with some glorious pleasure that Droll informed D'foose she would be accompanying him to the planet and that she would be there to represent the Colonial Defense Fleet. She protested, tried to demur his invitation but, citing the orders of Vice Commodore Shipwright, he won the debate and so made her shuffle into his shuttle and ferry with him down to the planet.

*

“At least it's pretty,” D’Foose observed.

The Colonial party had landed on Cerea at the Embassy, or whatever the locals called it, and were greeted with the sights, sounds and smells of Cerea. It was a beautiful planet according to some aesthetics, but D'Foose was a true Colonial soldier and so preferred the sterile, metallic comforts of her starship, barracks or otherwise.

“Bah,” snarled Ambassador Droll. “We’re not here to take in the sights Captain, we’re here to represent the Colonies.”

You’re some representation then, she thought but what she said was, “It looks like someone is coming to show us inside.”

Six Colonial Commandos had accompanied the diplomatic envoy and they arranged themselves in rank and file behind the Ambassador and their Captain. They were clad in the typical finery of the Commandos, in their bulky, bone white, power armor and had polished their gear to a high gloss shine. They were, after a fashion, impressive.

“Very good,” Droll started towards the doors, breezing towards and then past the menial orderly sent to escort their party to the summit. Without pause to allow the man to offer his welcome, nor to greet the diplomatic party, Droll hissed, “We’re late and would prefer not waste any more time.”

And then, with an air of arrogant overbearing he added, “Take us to your leaders.”

Mon Calamari

The immaculate floating cities of Mon Calamari never seemed more more serene and inviting the more he observed them with his large fish-like eyes. The war that had restricted the planet from the galactic stage for years was coming to an end, and prosperity was once again returning to Mon Calamari. As the ancient sun arose over the pale blue-green waters, Cassius took a deep breath of the crisp morning air of his homeworld, a breath, he feared, he would never take again. His large fish-like eyes glistened in the morning air as he overlooked the vast and beautiful oceans that Mon Calamari had to offer. His whole homecoming had been surreal, but conflict on the galactic stage never seemed to disappear completely.

MC-90a Mon Calamari Cruiser

"Admiral on deck!" the young Mon Cal officer shouted as Cassius strode briskly through the airlocked doors. Each officer on the bridge stood and offered a Coalition salute. Cassius nodded his approval and slipped into his command chair as the bridge returned to it's usual hustle and bustle of activity. The ship itself was still battlescarred with turbolaser pockmarks, and it's shields had yet to be fully restored. The Black Dragon conflict had taken alot out of the fleet, but it still stood as a powerful and monolithic fleet in the Coalition armed forces.

"Helm, set a course for the sector in datafile 12.56.72.4." Cassius flicked a few controls on his chair and looked out over the planet Mon Calamari one last time before the immense sublight engines moves the ship out of view of the beautiful planets surface.

"Sir?" the officer seemed skeptical. "Are you sure you have the right data file?"

"Yes, lieutenant. I'm sure."

"But that's...."

Cassius nodded his head and blinked his large eyes. His salmon colored skin glistened for a moment as the ship maneuvered past the sun, and joined the rest of the large fleet that had collected on the outskirts of the system.

"I know, Lieutenant."

Nervously, the lieutenant laid in the course as the ship gracefully glided between the other warships of the fleet, taking position at the tip of a large triangle of ships that had formed.

"Course laid in, Admiral. We will make the necessary jumps into hyperspace when you're ready."

Cassius nodded his confirmtion, and the lieutenant engaged the warp drives.

The fleet began it's cross-crossing of the galaxy...

Cerea

“Come now,” demanded the Pro-Consul quietly, beckoning the Kashan man, “the meeting is about to start. It won’t look very good if you take your place after it’s already started.”

Corise gave an amused smirk; one he shared with his closer friends and confidantes. He treaded forward to the immaculately dressed woman, and leaned to whisper in her ear.

“But I wanted to start a civil war,” he winked.

“Very funny. Perhaps that’s how you would like to start your introduction.”

“My introduction?”

“Yes. You do have one, don’t you?”

Corise snorted as the pair made their way to the table. “I will have one when it gets to me.”

“Wonderful.”

The couple sat and quieted down as Prime Minister Pro Moon started the introductions off.
----------------
Murk System

Red rays from the red dwarf Murk kissed and reflected around the Deathsabers; the four shadows drifted in space around the rocky surface of Murk, slowly orbiting the planetoid. Sensors on the Deathsabers passively scanned the surface and honed in on any communications. If the planetoid Murk was anything, it was an oversized asteroid in a system occupied solely by other airless planetoids. It might have been valuable as a mining site, except most of the planetoids had been completely mined out decades ago. It was a system of little material value and out of heavily populated space, and as such, of little interest to most galactic superpowers or commercial entities. But in this way, its isolation was valuable to the Shell Hutt Tagoonta.

“Nine, Ten,” reported one of the pilots in a hushed voice, “I’ve got another Bulk Action freighter entering the system. Inbound for the Southwest bay.”

Lieutenant Kronos tightened his jaw. There is more traffic to this place then anyone in intelligence probably suspected. Like a shadow port, except that most of the craft are plain bulk freighters rather the hot-rodded light freighters or shuttles. By the amount of larger ships, the Shell Hutts have either formed a really powerful organization in a matter of a few months, or have slowly amassed this sort of business over the decades. Either case, few of their rivals would have noticed, especially with most of the Hutts being on the opposite side of the galaxy. He keyed his personal comlink and spoke softly.

“I’m going in to take an inspection of the freighter. No-one alter their position or talk to me during that time.”

A series of “Yes sirs” whispered back to him. Satisfied, the Metalornian man, gently eased the yoke of his fighter so that the etheric rudders passively guided his ship in a lazy arc that would take it past the Corellian cargo ship. The natural solar winds of the system caught hold of the wings and helped nudge the fighter forward towards its target. Kronos gently pulled the yoke to port, inverting his fighter’s topside to face the oncoming freighter for a better personal view. From his reference point, the man looked up at the freighter as it passed. If anything, it was abnormally typical; there was absolutely nothing wrong with the craft in terms of appearance, parts, modifications, or performance. It appeared that someone had gone to great lengths to purposely make it look inconspicuous, but in doing so, had made it suspicious because the lack of faults; most bulk freighters had poor paint jobs, an odd engine, or laser grazes from close encounters. Smuggling I bet. He looked down at his sensor readout and raised an eyebrow. Not something I planned to see being smuggled, and why would they need that here? Unless…
The fighter cleared the freighter’s crew personal com-link range. With his prey out of range, he tapped the comm. again.

“Eleven, have you noticed any construction work on your side?”

“No sir, not really. Well, they appeared to be widening and reinforcing a mine shaft.”

Twelve’s voice chimed in.

“But why would they? If the Shell Hutts have occupied this for decades, if they were interested in the mining activities, why would they do that now, instead of before? That doesn’t make sense to my mind. If there was money to be found there, they would have done it before.”

“Probably,” stated Kronos, “but what if it wasn’t about making new money, but rather keeping what they have?”

“You mean like defence work, or improving facilities to keep the customers that they have.”

“I’m not sure. Something to find out. If any of you can get the chance, find out what’s on the freighters. Eleven, when you make your orbit of the shaft, try to get some detailed holos for the intel folks.”

“Will do.”

Caleb sat back in his chair and watched the proceedings carefully. Virtually every member of the major Coalition factions were represented. One of the Kashan high-rankers nodded to him, and Caleb nodded back.

One of the Cren sat down next to him. Caleb turned slightly and regarded the unusual aliem. "Admiral Dawara, I presume?"

The Cren nodded, "You would presume correctly, Captain Logan."

Caleb smiled in response, "You speak excellent basic, sir."

The Adrmial waved his formalities off, and Caleb felt him taking a slow liking to him, "Please dispense with those. And thank you, my people have worked very hard to integrate ourselves with the rest of the Galaxy as best as possible. The Coalition makes it possible."

Caleb nodded, "Indeed it does. How are Cren Munitions doing lately?"

He already knew the answer to that question of course. TOC Intelligence, lead by Section 8, were very thorough. But he still wanted to get to know this intelligent Cren a little better, and to do that he needed to spark up a real conversation.

Nevertheless, Dawara took the opportunity as well, "Very well. We just signed major contracts with several planetary defense forces, including, I believe, Onyx itself."

Caleb nodded, smiling slightly, "We just installed new planetary defense batteries that utilize concussion and torpedo launchers. We needed an advanced unit to complete the design."

Dawara nodded, "Indeed. We were happy to provide them..."

Caleb nodded, and was about to reply when the Admiral interjected, "I do have one question. How is the investigation into your father's disappearance coming along?"

Caleb sighed inwardly. The truth was, it was proceeding better than expected. Faint traces of Logan had been detected on a multitude of worlds.

It turned out that the old general had been outfitted with a top-of-the line transponder by the New Alliance, fifteen years previous. By now, it's life was near the end, and where ever he was, it's effectiveness was severely limited, possibly by a dampening field.

The search had been narrowed down to a specific section of space, near Annaj, although beyond that, nothing.

Caleb sighed again, part of him wished his father would never be found.

Although he knew that was foolish. Here, at Cerea it was easy to put on a good face and pretend that all was going smoothly. But the fact of the matter was it was far from that...

The Onyxian Commonwealth had been set up as a sort of republic, by Joren Logan and other leaders. It was governed by a sort of mini senate, called the Ruling Council. Each world that joined the Commonwealth was alloted one representative or Councilor to speak for that world. The Council was presided over by the Consul, which had been Logan, until his disappearance.

Now that the Consul was gone, Marth Meer, the Vice Consul was struggling to keep control. The Ruling Council was slowly getting more and more bold. They began by inacting some questionable laws, bringing the worlds of the Commonwealth more in line with their wishes. Despite the efforts of Meer, the laws went through, and the entire Commonwealth began to get a trite uneasy. Now, the Ruling Council was slowly inching closer and closer to outright opposition to Coalition policies, and Regrad in general.

There was a deep seated mistrust of the Azguardian leaders within the entire Commonwealth. Perhaps it was a shadow of Joren Logan's own personal feelings, imprinted onto others. The Ruling Council also harbored these feelings, and combined with Azguardian dominance of the Coalition, sooner or later it would erupt into a full-scale conflict.

Caleb just hoped the could find Joren before then.

"Your pardons," said a Cerean dressed in formal attire, who appeared at the doorway. "We have some late arrivals."

With that, the Colonies delegation was lead in to the room. Pro Moon smiled at them as they were seated, saying "So glad you could make it! Don't worry, you haven't missed much yet. We were just passing some idle conversation and making introductions.

"But now, down to business."

Pro Moon steepled his fingers in front of him and scanned the faces of the delegates. "The Western Coalition is comprised of close to ten worlds, varying from the primitive society still prevalent on much of Rattatak to the industrial depths of Riflor's underground cities to my own world's sparkling towers and snowy mountains. We have no uniting factors beyond geography, trade links, and military cooperation under the consolidated Coalition military. From this we're supposed to found a nation."

He paused as a holographic display popped up in the center of the table, showing a zoomed-in map view of the Western Coalition with all the relevent planets highlighted. In the middle, the blue splotch of the Empire's Endor was a slight nuisance, but one that Pro Moon had learnt to ignore.

The Onyxians had a stake, what with the Codian moon being so close to the West's border, as did the Cren who were almost close enough to be enveloped by the new entity. Just what the Confederacy and the Colonies would contribute, however, remained a source of curiosity to Pro Moon. And as always, the Azguardian agenda was inscrutable and alien.

"We have the mandate, the political power, and the resources to do so, but the question remains just what sort of 'nation' will this West be? What can you, as fellow nations, do to assist the formation of the West? How much can and should the Coalition contribute to its' creation?

"I'll open the floor to some suggestions."

Thankfully, noted Captain D'Foose, Ambassador Droll remained silent. In her limited experience with the man she had come to the be of the opinion that granting him carte blanch to run his mouth, perhaps the most functional portion of his obese self, was a very bad idea. Perhaps she had been mistaken, for now he kept his hands crossed in front of him and waited to hear the suggestions of the others present. She mused that there could be any number of unsavory reasons for his verbal abstinence; he could have been waiting for the others to make their opinions known if only to prepare a stronger rebuke or worse. D'Foose hoped he was intimidated.

Present were some of the Coalitions most notable and powerful personalities. Most she knew only from the networks, or from their biographies in the Colonial databank but others, such as the Kashan delegation, she knew well enough to feel somewhat at ease in such company. Commodore Lucerne and Pro-Consul Thorne had both been introduced to her on multiple occasions, the first being aboard Star Wind Station where-in she was given the opportunity to display the prowess of the Colonial line for the first time.

She smiled and offered a warm gesture of greeting in their direction while making a mental note to find time for a less formal chat following the formalities.

As befitting a gathering of such notoriety, Captain D'Foose had polished, ironed and starched her dress uniform which unlike the typical “dress whites” most navies employed, was cut from fabric of an almost charcoal-tone navy blue color that accentuated the golden epaulettes and drew the eye towards her numerous medals of commendation or honor. Women serving in the Colonial Defense Fleet were allowed the choice between allowing their hair to go unfettered (though neatly bunched) without the necessity for crackerjack or caps of other styles, she had opted to go without. To her left was Ambassador Droll. His dress was typical of the Colonial political elite, that is to say; without cultural style or distinction from the Galactic average (human). The tailored suit he wore had been selected to match the Captains and was of a similar though slightly more grey hue. Despite having had the outfit cut to match his plentiful lines and curves it utterly failed to conceal any of his bulk.

Again, Captain D'Foose took a moment to study those present.

Caleb Logan was the first to catch her eye. Though she had never met the man the stories of his fathers exploits were well known even among the fighting men and women of the Colonies, she knew him from his public appearances and through the reports of those journalists who had, over the years, tried to profile the man. Captain Logan, however; was something of an unknown but from the look of him, she wagered, the apple had not fallen far. The Onyxians were a notable people, most assuredly, and the fact that he had been selected as emissary to this multinational conference either spoke very well of his character or spoke very poorly of it.

The Azguardians present were indistinguishable to her, save for their clothing. Though she had encountered a plethora of alien species in her time amongst the stars, she had never developed a sufficient affinity with any that she could easily tell one from the next. She did not spend long examining the tall, pale humanoids.

She did not know Pro Moon but felt immediately at ease when he spoke. Over the years she had become something of a fan of his political style and followed his career through the media accordingly. He was not outright objectionable and she hoped for the opportunity to become better acquainted with him. She recalled Viryen Quell and his visit to the Colonies and hoped there would never be a repeat of that debacle.

The Cren had sent their Admiral Dawara and again this was a man that D'Foose knew only from his appearances in the media. The events that transpired between the Cren and the Colonials during the establishment of their hyper-space corridor were a mystery to her and though this would doubtless change once the route were connected on both ends; they were very mysterious to her. She added another mental note to make time for the Admiral before departure.

Coalition Compound, Cerea

The Commodore leaned back in his chair as the meeting began to proceed, noting the entrance of the Gestalt representatives, immediately noting Lance Shipwright's absence. Strange. I thought that Lance would be here seeing the event's importance. He slightly frowned. But then again, he usually is absorbed in some R&D project. Shaking his head at the thought, the younger Lucerne returned his attention back to the meeting at hand. Western Province becoming a subfaction. With nothing in common except relative location. He involuntarily grimaced for a brief second. That's certainly not bad from a military standpoint, uniting one region's defences, but forming a working government based on just that could be hard. There's not as many reasons to unite, but I suppose one can never underestimate the ardor or unity that comes just from being in the Coalition.

Various delegates from the other Coalition memberstates began to add their views or support for the new subfaction. Before most of the representatives of the other larger sub-factions began to speak, Pro-Consul Thorn stood up to speak.

"On the behalf of the Confederation, we are proud with the success of achieved by the Western Province. It is clear that much toil and effort has been made on their behalf to get where they are today. It is my belief that this is something cherished, something to be protected. To this end, I have been told that the Confederation military would be happy to assist the Western Province in training their forces to protect themselves, and possibly aid in equipping them as well. The Council has been entertaining other options in which to aid our brethen of the Western Province..."
--------------
Pegasus-class Star Destroyer Liberty, Force H flagship

Stars flashed by the ship's bridge viewports. Crewmembers deftly worked, some gatherering and coordinating last minute data and transmitting it to officers already briefing their crews on the mission. Even the leader of Force H, Captain Jaegar, was looking over some last minute details around the commander's holoprojector.

"Intel thinks its a shaft for a planetary-scale weapon."

The captain frowned. "And why do they think that?"

"Because of the structural reinforcement. You can see that it goes on all four sides. If it was a mining shaft, there would be a little structural support, but not nearly as much because they would barren walls in order to mine the minerals. If it was for a hangar, it would be a lot larger in diameter likely. Maybe a snubfighter could fit in their, but certainly not most civilian freighters or shuttles."

Jaeger clenched his jaw. "Is Krono's squadron still monitoring the situation?"

"Yes. Nothing new has been found, or so I've heard from the Communication's Officer and Flight Controller."

"Supposing that the shaft is for a weapon, let's hope it isn't operational. Just to make sure, we'll arrive at the fridges of the system and have the fighters perform their tasks before moving in to take the planetoid. Alert the other ships and officers about this change as well."

"Yes sir."
---------------
Deathsaber Recon Squadron

"All right crew," stated Kronos, "I've just recieved that Force H will be arriving shortly, and that the fighters attached to that task force will want their targets pegged. The Cap's will be a little slow in coming in to the fight, partly because of the large number of asteroids in the system, and partly because they don't want to get vaped if that shaft is an operational weapon. So, lets get on it."

A flurry of acknowledgements flooded the Confederation's comm waves as the fighters broke formation to acquire their targets. Turning his fighter back to the planetoid, Kronos briefly shielded his eyes from the crimson light of the star Murk before the polarization lenses of his helm. He set his focus back on the dwarf planet's rocky exterior and grimaced. This is going to be fun.

Minutes later, the first of the Confederation strike force began to drop out of hyperspace.

The Past - Eclipse - Class Super Star Destroyer Archammer


"Give me an update." Joren said, hold out his hand.

Captain Neychev reluctantly handed the Regent a datapad. Logan took it and began reading, yet after only a few minutes, a deep frown creased his forehead.

"Failed?" He asked, incredulous, "I was told that it was a 'slam dunk' operation. No problems."

Neychev sighed, "It was what we all thought. But Dr. Pleheg has reported partial failure of the first live subjects."

Logan inclined his head, "Partial failure?"

"One text subject... exhibited the features we were hoping for... but something went wrong. His mind couldn't handle the alterations made to his physical self. It has driven him insane, and unfit for operations."

"We were supposed to be in the testing phase, Ferus." Logan said, turning away from his trusted adviser and looking out the view port into deep space, "We can't even get them off the assembly line.


"Fearsons is again marshaling his strength. There are rumors of some sort of an alliance between him and the Empire. I don't like it, and the whole situation with the Rogue Empire has me unsettled..."

Ferus Neychev shrugged helplessly, "Maybe we are going about this all wrong."

Logan did not turn to face him, What do you mean?"

"We have been wasting our time with human test subjects for the new perfect soldier alterations. Perhaps we should begin focusing on other alternatives..."



Now


"He won't break."


The shadow sighed deeply as he stared into the holographic projection. It portrayed a dying and depleted human being, so old and beat up he was barely recognizable. But the shadow found himself impressed at the same time. The former regent was showing his true colors, resisting all who tried to break him.

"We won't bow to mere torture. he has been too well trained for that. I think we should try something different..."

"We don't have time for this..."

The shadow turned and glared back at the droid who dared to speak out of turned. DRA-GO, the Human Replica Droid, stared right back, as emotionless as ever, "Sir." it said.

"You better watch whatever passes for a tongue, droid! Or you'll find yourself..."

"In a scrap heap?" it asked helpfully.

"Just shut up. We have no choice but to keep trying. The New Alliance spent billions on that new type of war droid. We need it if our plans are going to come to fruition. And that wretch is the only one who knows where the old TNA research facility is!"

He slapped his hand against the holoscreen and glared at the broken Joren Logan who huddled up in the corner of his cell.

And for an instant, Logan looked up, and right back at him.



Cerea


Caleb stretched out as Pro Moon finished his introductory speech, and a brief lull in the conference began. The different delegates began to converse among themselves, and Caleb found himself in another conversation with Dawara, although he was hardly listening to the five-armed High Admiral.

Instead his attention focused on something, and someone else entirely.

As he glanced around the room, one caught his eye.

She was quite striking... he barely recognized her as Captain d'Foose, of the Colonial Navy. He had only heard of her in a brief reference by Commodore Lucerne, who apparently had dealings with the Colonies.

The Onyxians themselves had many dealings with all other factions within the Coalition, but the Colonies tended to be on their own. They liked staying in the shadows, and out of the limelight. Which was fine with Caleb, he preferred to be the frontline guy.

He had slowly built his reputation among the military leaders of the Commonwealth, and was a very public figure. But this Captain from the Colonials certainly was not.

He sat there for a long moment, bored with Dawara (although he politely continued to listen) , not entirely sure how to approach d'Foose. He was interested in learning about potential allies, but found himself curious about her as well. It was actually rare for a female to rise to any important military position in the Coalition, and Logan would certainly like to meet one.

He excused himself and made his way over to the Colonial delegation.

"Excuse me, Captain d'Foose is it?"