The Battlecruiser Restigouche



The appearance of the Commonwealth Admiral did not immediately inspire confidence in the good Captain d'Foose, nor did his ragged visage serve to dispel the fears, the concerns that she still harbored over the mission which she had undertaken. In contrast with the situation back in the Colonies, however; the rough-shod Admirals countenance was somehow appropriate. Resolved to her course of action and stalwart in its discourse, she swallowed her doubts and, having snapped to attention, turned her palm outwards, proffered to the Commonwealth Admiral.

“Welcome aboard the Colonial starship Restigouche,” she observed aloud. “Allow me to introduce my Executive Officer, Chief of the Ship, and Ships Surgeon. If you will excuse the lack of perfunctory superfluousness, I thought it best that we keep this, our initial meeting, as intimate and exclusive as possible. As they say, 'a ship has a thousand eyes' and this is true even aboard the finest Colonial vessels.”

At that, those in attendance took a moment to exchange brief, uncomfortable pleasantries, none sure exactly what dance they were to preform and ignorant even of the music played in time. To that end, and without ceremony, the Captain signaled that the party should retire to quarters better suited to the tasks at hand, whatever those tasks may be. Their travel through the corridors of the battle cruiser was abbreviated by the swift arrival of a deck-car which, alleviating the party of the need to hoof it through the labyrinthine starship, expedited them to their destination without deviation or delay. None the less their route was meandering enough that even a casual observer would have achieved something of a 'feel' for the Colonial vessel, and the mood there in. Pristine polished steel and burnished bulkheads were evident throughout and the order with which the men and women filed through those same corridors, doubtless in the pursuit of their daily tasks, was not to be scoffed at. To a single unit, everything smelled, looked and, had one the gumption, tasted sterile and new. There lingered no hint of stagnation, nor deprecation throughout the behemoth. Silent appurtenance; the Captains entourage remained silent for the duration of the trip and aside from a few mandatory smiles, nods or grunts of guttural resignation, said nothing of substance at all.

Cogitating deeply of their own accord, the Admiral and his party of Commonwealth citizenry (of the military persuasion) bid their own peace. Neither faction seemed inclined to disturb the other and thus remained, by choice, purposefully ignorant of the looming questions that clearly occupied the deepest recesses of their plotting, tactical minds. Certainly the Admiral would have to be as confused as his peers. To have been so swiftly introduced to, and kept in company with, an element so unknown as the Gestalt Colonies under such unlikely, unexpected circumstances would have left any member of the Galactic elite perhaps a little agitated. Men, and women, of the military mind-set tended towards the direct and evident course of action and relied on their orders and tactical skill sets to resolve problems. Here, joined as they were, there existed no road-map to follow, nor orders to adhere.

Their conveyance came to a halt and it was Captain d'Foose who, disembarking first, motioned towards their destination.

Though she was built to be a ship of war, the Restigouche featured certain accouterments that were not of obvious military function. Near the dorsal ridge of the twelve hundred meter starship sat a squat, protruding bubble of transparent alloy which, in times of peace, served as an observation deck well suited to the requirements of meetings and negotiations of all sorts, which is to say; room to work ones jaw muscles and imbibe far too much alcohol in beautiful symphony. Such quarters were rarely used but still appointed with the usual chairs, tables and buffet style drink areas.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” suggested d'Foose indicating simultaneously to seat and bar alike. Not one to follow, d'Foose estimated that she would have to lead in this, their first dance. She moved, directly, towards the liquor and procured for herself a tall glass of shimmering cerulean liquid. “I hope you will excuse me indulging. While these may be delicate matters we come to discuss, I for one would not mind tackling them with at least a modicum of numbness.”

At that she tilted her flute back and inhaled a large pull of her beverage. The Surgeon and Chief followed suit though, ever vigilant, her Executive Officer remained as sober as space.

Once everyone had relaxed some, indicated by either drink or chair, Captain d'Foose moved to address Admiral Wilkar directly, though the attention of all present had remained, by and large, focused on the pair...

“Doubtless you're wondering why you are here, or more appropriately wondering why we, of the Gestalt Colonies, are here...”

She paused wondering if their ambitions were not coterminous.

“And the said but honest truth is that, though I am loathe to give voice to such a thought, I am committing treason against the New Galactic Coalition of Planets. I hope, however, that in time it will be seen and understood that what I am doing today, I do for the good of the Gestalt Colonies.”

Instantly, as though her simple acknowledgment of that perception had broken some flood gate, the mood shifted from pensive, even tediously ambitious, to outright shock and awe. It became evident that, as mouths worked to form words that minds were yet struggling to formulate, unless Captain d'Foose were to press on, the point might be lost, mired in confusion and questions. To absolve this, she raised a hand as though calling for attention. She did not need to remind those present that this was, after all, her ship.

“Please, allow me to go on,” declared d'Foose. “It is no secret that the Galactic Coalition is fraught with flaw and failure and that those failures are obvious and monstrous in their scope and scale. For the past decade the governments that now identify themselves as the Galactic Coalition have perused agendas of aggressive expansion. I draw an analogy here to a powerful and dangerous creature of myth; the hydra. The Galactic Coalition is not unlike this many headed beast in that it is a single whole comprised of numerous, biting and snapping heads.”

“Recently the Onyxian Commonwealth embarked on a hostile path against the Empire which threatens to lead the Galactic Coalition, as a whole, to war. What has to be understood is that this is not a war that all parts of the Coalition desire, but rather the mad ambition of independent, dare I say rogue elements of that same body.” The Captain sighed, heavily, before going on. “It has come to my attention that these attacks were authorized by the Prime Minister of the New Galactic Coalition. This, along with various other information which I have become privy to, indicates a disturbing trend...”

“As everyone here is aware, Prime Minister Regrad is not unacquainted with making unilateral decisions that affect the rest of the Coalitions member governments without concern for their repercussions on a larger scale and there is no greater evidence of this then his move to declare himself, and let us be brutally honest here, a tyrant on par with the likes of Simon Kaine.”

“The words I speak may be declared sedition by some, but rest assured that I have document able evidence that will support my actions here, today...”

“I am not alone in my desire to find solutions outside of the Coalition and, in fact, I represent a considerable movement towards distancing the Gestalt Colonies from the Galactic Coalition of Planets. It is my belief that I could not have uncovered these horrible truths were it not due to Coalition dissent emanating from positions of higher rank and authority then my own.”

“What I do here today I liken to the first drop of rain in an ever growing torrent.”

Finished, and acting before anyone could question, the Captain signaled and the lights dimmed. Set in the center of the room, the previously boring and unimportant table came to life with much blue-black radiance. Well accustomed to the workings of a holographic projector, none present were shocked by the grainy, though obvious, images that resolved themselves in the air above the table.




"What about Lance?" The speaker was Caleb Logan, stepping in for his father still preoccupied at Bilbringi. "The Colonies aren't far from the Cren - no further than the West, anyways. Why don't you send some forces?"

Lance Shipwright shifted uneasily in his seat, but otherwise his practiced neutral expression held. "The Colonies have no reason to join in this conflict yet. The Empire have yet to show overt aggression against Gestalt, so I'm inclined to hold my forces in reserve."

"Why you cowardly son of a bitch," growled Caleb. "We've got the Empire tearing through Coalition space and you're planning on staying neutral?"

"The Empire is tearing through Onyxian and Cren space, Logan," replied Lance in an icy tone. "This doesn't appear to be a galaxy wide conflict. I don't see what the fuss is about - the Empire's made attacks like this before."

"Never in these numbers, Lance." The speaker was Corise Lucerne, commodore of the Contegorian Confederacy. "I agree with the Prime Minister's appraisal, these attacks are similar to the tactics displayed by any galactic power at war, or at least nearly at war. We are all threatened."

The Confederacy, the Onyxians, the Azguards, the East, the West, the Cren, the Colonies. Seven small nations divided in the face of one powerful one.

Lance remained implacable. "I will not send Colonial forces into combat in situations that don't require it. That would be an escalation and signal the beginning of a galactic war - these are local forces, mobilized by Joren's reckless actions at Bilbringi, nothing more. Give it time and it will die down."

"Joren was acting on my orders when he attacked Bilbringi," said Regrad, who narrowed his gaze towards Lance. "It is therefore the opinion of the Coalition government that this attack by the Empire signals their level of alertness. Local forces are attacking now because the Empire believes they are under total attack and this is their first response. If we don't act fast, real response will begin to mobilize."

"So what are you proposing?" an indignant Lance declared. "War?"

The council fell silent.



Once the segment had played through, it repeated. Done for the second time, the images slowly vanished in to apathetic nothingness and the lights, dimmed, rose to their previous levels. Painted in the now yellow-white glow, the aghast faces of those assembled were displayed in a painfully clear light. Silence reigned in the space between. No one spoke for fear of making manifest the ugly picture painted by that brief, excerpt.

“That was captured during a private meeting, via holographic communications, between some of the highest ranking members of the Galactic Coalition. This meeting was called only after the attacks on Bilbringi were made known to the rest of the Coalition, and not through the command channels. We had to discover this for ourselves. And then, in response to our outcry, and let me assure you that when this was made public the people of the Colonies were calling for resolution, the Prime Minister calls this meeting in which he informs our Vice Commodore that yes, the Prime Minister had in fact authorized a course of action that could lead us in to full fledged war with the Empire without first consulting members of the Coalition cabinet...”

“Sadly, the flaws do not end with Regrad and his cabinet. One needs only examine the foundation of the Colonies themselves to see what a gross lack of unity the Coalition functions upon. Our Vice Commodore Shipwright was initially recruited by Coalition Intelligence to found and develop a 'black bag' technology resource to explore technological advancments that might otherwise be considered immoral by the rest of the Coalition, to reverse engineer Black Dragon Empire technologies and employ those same weapons of mass destruction against that same Empire...”

“As evidence of that lack of oversight, that lack of basic cohesiveness, I present to you the MC-170 Krakana. If you'll just look over here...”

Outside, in the visible blackness of space beyond the observation dome, appeared a starship of immense magnitude that seemed to have conjured itself of nothingness. At over two kilometers in length, the massive black behemoth looked like a creature spawned of the depths themselves, featuring long, slender lines that belied it size and foreshadowed its strength. It loomed, and even at such a distance from the Restigouche, dominated their view and stretched off in to the distance on either side.

“Cloak-capable, and armed with a deadly array of weapons of mass destruction designed to destroy and obliterate any designated target. The idea being that this ship could penetrate enemy space and, utilizing it's stores, keep station on any given target until such time as, for instance in time of War, deploy its considerable armament against an enemy installation before it can be activated or alerted.”

“My point is this,” continued the Captain by way of summarizing her somewhat rambling and indirect diatribe. “The Galactic Coalition is a failure and its failure will eventually destroy everything that we of the Colonies have worked for through the uncoordinated acts of others. I am thankful that, through the Coalition, the Colonies were able to see life and I am ever thankful and indebted to them, due their own ineptitude, for that reason if no other. My hope is that the Colonies can salvation in the Commonwealth, salvation from the eminnant downfall of the Coalition, and perhaps, in so doing, find absolution for the Coalition as well.”

The weight that Captain d'Foose bore upon her was evident and, as she reached her conclusion, it was apparent to those present that the telling had taken from her a great deal. Her shoulders slumped and her brow perspired but she found herself, oddly, looking to Rear Admiral Wilkar for support, looking to a man she did not know for the answers that she could not find within the Coalition. In truth she felt unworthy, felt as though she owed the man a great debt for dumping such a serious matter in to his lap. A military man, no doubt he would have to answer to his superiors and, she reasoned, those same events would soon see her telling the same story, again, to an assembly of the same.

This was the course she had chosen and now she would have to steer it.

The Battlecruiser Restigouche



The room’s lights returned to their regular level of brightness as the hologram of the MC-170 Krakana disappeared.

Wilkar leaned back in the seat provided by his Gesalt hosts, looking at them. He was taken back by the revelations in which the holograms had exposed. The Admiral had known that the Galactic Coalition was reaching a level of incompetence, but this disclosure revealed an exponential intensification of the government’s level of total ineptness.

Wilkar was disgusted.

So disconcerted in that, to the palpable displeasure of the Restigouche’s Surgeon, he lit a cigarette.

Exhaling a cloud of cancerous smoke, he began, “Regrad the Azguard is crook. I’ve always been outspoken in that respect. Joren Logan is a regular blight of daft futility on the face of the galaxy. I can not begin to comprehend why they let him retire. I would have had him shot. I don’t know anything about this Cren Alliance, but I could care in the least about a bunch of aliens in the ass-end of nowhere of the known galaxy. I’ve met Lucerne. He’s smart, but I think the venomous rhetoric of Coalition ill-intention will eventually turn him in the end.”

Wilkar paused to take a long drag on his cigarette. “What does that leave us? A complete cluster fuck…”

The Colonials were unmoved by his discourse. It was evident that not a gram of levity could be found onboard the Restigouche.

“This brings me to why you all are here. You want to burn some bridges, distance yourselves from the Coalition? Whatever it is, I don’t give a shit. Why? Because it’s not my job. I’m not a diplomat; I’m a killer. The only reason I’m sitting here is because someone ordered me too. We wanted to make sure this isn’t some haphazard scheme like that travesty at Bilbringi the Coalition calls a battle.”

The aura within the room had transformed. Wilkar always made an effort to not come across as belligerently and unreceptively as he found himself being, but war had changed him.

“How do I not know that big chunk of black marble of a first strike vessel that you just showed me isn’t a light year away about to take potshots at Bonadan. You don’t strike me as the radical types, but who says the Azguards aren’t above brainwashing.”

Wilkar stood up, flicking his cigarette butt into an ashtray that had clearly never been used. The Gesalt Colonials seemed to be fastidious people.

“If Gesalt wants to talk business with the Commonwealth, come to Bonadan, talk with the governmental types… but the Restigouche stays here. Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t fuck around. I don’t give chances to people that I don’t trust. It got a lot of my friends dead.”

Wilkar stopped in the bulkhead’s threshold, “We gave the Coalition a chance. That chance was punctuated with me having to order a battalion of Death Watch Marines into riot gear because some ungrateful alien on Meridian scum don’t know how to return a fucking favor. So… If you want to cut to the chase, come to Bonadan. If you deviate from my instructions and are not going back to the Colonies, I will open fire.”

At that, Wilkar left the room, returning to his shuttle.

Ministry of State - Consular Operations




"He did what?" Scipio nearly shouted, causing a stab of pain to shoot up her spine as she leaned on her cane that much harder.

Mark Rubino seemed amused at the outburst, "Cineburg is not the best person to use in these situations."

"Not much choice as he was the closest military man on the scene and this Restigouche is a military warship."

"Restigouche," muttered Rubino. "Sounds like a femine product."

"Real diplomatic, Rubino, real diplomatic." Scipio muttered herself, dryly. "I would take offense if I did not think that you are also correct."

The Commonwealth Ambassador sighed, "Anyway, since you are already on assignment, I shall be heading this one up."

"Terosk returning to get you?"

"No. I don't want to be near that ape of a man. He needs psychological counselling.. especially after what he went through with the war. Why they stuck him back on duty is beyond me."

"Every government needs a crazy military man in their pocket," Rubino remarked sagely. "In any event, I think you are trying to keep the Colony warship away from Bonadan."

"You'd be correct, Mark. We don't really know anything about the situation except what Wilkar is sending us and I already don't like it. Like this talk of treason against the Coalition.."

"Isn't it?" Rubino remarked.

"What are they teaching you in Ambassador School?" Scipio rebuked lightly. "You need to be objective about the situation. How can it be treason if the Coalition allows the individual societies within their sphere to dictate what they will or will not do? The only thing this move reveals to us is a breakdown of communication between the Coalition government and their local governments. If the Gestalt Colonies wishes to leave, they, like all members of the Coalition, have that option. Either this Gestalt military officer does not know this or.."

"..there is more going on than we know and this Cineburg is too busy barking at them to make sure they don't trespass carrying weapons of mass destruction..." Rubino added.

"..exactly. Besides, Simon Kaine's move coming to Bonadan recently has me nervous. All we need is that damned Imperial Battleship coming back with this Gestalt warship in orbit or military personnel here and.."

"... the shit will hit the fan?"

"...mind your manners, Rubino! Just because Wilkar has taken a liking to that craven, perverted old man of the Empire doesn't mean you can!"

Mark laughed and waved his hand as if warding off her warnings. "Do not worry, the old man may be intimidating but his behavior is not worth imitating. When do you leave?"

"In two hours," the blonde woman answered. "It's a science vessel, Stellar Expanse and it should be able to put me on location quickly."

"New engines?"

"The idea of science vessels was brilliant. Every ship has their own distinct scientific community and they are always trying to break barriers."

"As long as they don't blow up the ship in the process.."

"If it does, Wilkar will see shadows and blame the Colonies for treachery and attack their warship on the border."

"How are you going to keep him in line?"

Scipio shrugged, "I'll slap him around with my cane, if I have too. Besides, if he kills me, Achinta will break his neck."

"Good luck, Ms. Arien."

"You too, Mark. Good hunting."






Rendezvous


The space between a person's ears sometimes is as vast as the space between solar systems. It is a distance that seems to pound down and grind to pulp the hope of understanding between societies and cultures.

Every so often, however, there are those that are determined to prove that the space between isn't so distant after all.


"MY FRACKING ENGINES!" the engineer cried as various alarms shouted out their designed sound informing all that could hear that they had exceeded every sort of tolerance for which they were manufactured to take.

Scipio Arien ignored the lament communicated from the bowels of the Stellar Expanse to the Captain endeavoring instead to get a good look at the Gestalt warship before them, flanked by Admiral Wilkar's fleet.

"At least everyone has stayed put." the Captain observed after calming down the irate engineer. He turned to an officer, "Open communications and prelude our address with formal greetings and welcome...", he paused, "Do we know if these people speak Basic?"

"If Wilkar can talk to them, I think it's a safe bet." Scipio remarked.

The Captain chuckled, "We'll, I heard he can cuss in the three dialects of Wookiee."

Scipio grimaced, "Then we should be okay."

"Coms are ready, ma'am."

"To Gestalt Colony Vessel, Restigouche, we bid you welcome to Commowealth Space. I am Scipio Arien, Ambassador at Large for the Commonwealth. I would like to invite Captain d'Foose and her officers over to the Stellar Expanse for a dinner to start an informal dialogue and discuss this situation face to face as amicably as possible. We shall await your response."

When the comm was complete, she turned to the Captain. "You might want to send an invite to the Admiral as well, should he desire to come as well."

"What do you hope to gain from this meeting, Ambassador Arien. Surely, the Gestalt Captain made her request plain enough?"

"First, I want to ensure that what the Admiral has been relaying to me is the request in it's entirety as I cannot continue on assumptions of what I think they are requesting. Plus, this business about treason may either be an overreaction or it may be something that would endanger our own relations, such as they are, with the Galactic Coalition. I need to meet these people first hand before moving on to the next level."

The Captain pondered this. "You know, I've been thinking, the Empire calls themselves the Galactic Empire and the Coalition calls themselves the Galactic Coalition... .perhaps we should call ourselves the Galactic Commonwealth..eh?"

"Write your Councilor, Captain. Maybe the motion will be passed. Of course, we'll need new writing instruments and letterhead..."


They continued the small talk while waiting for a response.

CWS Rapier – Admiral’s Quarters


“God damn it Wilkar, if you weren’t a big fucking war hero, I’d have your stars for this. Who do you think you are talking to an official representative of a foreign government like that?’

Wilkar looked up from his freshly poured alcoholic beverage to the three quarters sized hologram of Rance Michel, an Intersystem Congressmen from Bonadan.

“Who am I? Who the fuck am I!?! I’m the guy with the spine who does his job! I’m the guy who cruising around one of the most volatile regions in the galaxy in a twenty-five year old durasteel death trap. And who the frack are you? Oh yeah… You’re the guy that sits around on Bonadan jerkin’ off to alien porn and arguing over flag burning, making 150,000 credits a year.”

The hologram shook its head from light years away. “That’s taking it a little far Cine—“

“Drop the Cineburg bullshit, congressman,” interrupted the admiral. “Before Seth Vinda commissioned me, he gave me one mandate to live by and possibly die by… Defend the Commonwealth.”

“I don’t have issues with that Admiral. It’s only your methods that have us on the Armed Services Oversight Committee concerned.”

The admiral of the Third Fleet chuckled and took a sip of his drink. “You know…. I told you bureaucratic cocksuckers on this so called Oversight committee to go fuck yourselves more than once during the Domain War. You had issues with the Death Watch… You had issues with how I interpreted the Treason Clause of the Armed Forces Code of Ethics amendment. You had issues with me calling out the Death Watch Regiment in riot gear to put down that mob of uppity, alien scum on Meridian. But God damn it! I got the job done did I not? Third Fleet tore the heart out of those Domain bastards. So if I have to be to be hard ass to some shit kicker Coalition upstarts from the ass end of the galaxy who have the mental capacity to know when to cut and run, I’ll do it because it what’s right for the Commonwealth.”

Wilkar took another sip from his drink and leaned back in his chair. “So I hear those Kashan bastards picked up a Super Star Destroyer,” ventured Wilkar sarcastically.

“Don’t change the fucking subject Cineburg,” snapped the politician. “Just keep your fucking head down for once, you prick, or I'll have your stars and your balls.” The man’s eyes drifted down to Wilkar’s bandaged hands. “What the frack happened to you?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality privilege, jerkoff,” yelled Wilkar, switching off the holoprojector. The grizzled man polished off the rest of his drink, feeling something in his pocket he stood up and pulled it out.


A prescription for twenty Deranin.


The Vice-Admiral eyed the amber colored bottle.


Then he fell asleep on the coach.



Beep…


Beep…


Beep…


Wilkar keyed his comlink. “Hello?” he greeted groggily.


“Get your life together.”


Wilkar fell asleep again.


Beep…


Beep…


Beep…


“Aye,” answered the admiral.

The crisp, articulate voice of Ambassador Mark Rubino sounded over the comlink. “Vice-Admiral Wilkar, it has been requested that you attend this second meeting with the Colonials. Please do make an effort to make yourself more presentable this time. That is all.”

The comlink disconnected.

“Yeah… okay…”

The order went out; dress whites.


Captain d'Foose brushed an invisible fleck of dust from her epaulets before taking a moment to study her entourage. Six men, all similarly clad in their ambassadorial best, stared back at her. She smiled outwardly at their appearance before gesturing towards the shuttle.

"Shall we?" The Captain motioned at the open hatch, indicating that she would be last to board. "Let us not keep our hosts waiting."

Vice Admiral Wilkar had disembarked only moments before the arrival of the Commonwealth envoy aboard the Stellar Expanse and while d'Foose was glad to be rid of the rakish fellow she found herself hoping that he would be present aboard the newly arrived ambassadorial vessel. He was, for all their differences, a peer in military service and despite their being from different nations she had felt an immediate kinship; he struck her as the sort of man who would cut right through the debris and strike at the heart of any matter. His no-nonsense approach would be valuable in the meeting to come.

Their initial meeting had not gone exactly as she had hoped but, she admitted, he had been handling the Colonials from a purely military perspective. Vice Admiral Wilkar was simply doing the job assigned him and she respected him for that but, and though she had tried to hide it, his lack of interest or commitment to her rather powerful speech left the good Capitan wondering at the nature of the man, wondering about his character. She harbored her own reservations borne of questions without answers and she hoped that she would be able to answer some of those questions shortly.

She slunk in to her seat within the passenger compartment of the Centaur shuttle and moments later the deep thrum of the drive engines resonated through the craft just before, almost imperceptibly, it broke from the artificial gravity field generated by the Restigouche. They sped along the underside of the wedge, ventral belly to ventral belly, so that the plain of dura-steel stretched off out in front of them. Unable to resist the urge she turned about in her seat and peered out the portside viewer at the antiquated Star-Destroyer that was the flag of Vice Admiral Wilkar and though she tried to remain impassive, could not help but smirk at the dated warship.

“Quite the beast,” commented her Executive Officer sarcastically having apparently noticed the subtle expression. “Eh, Captain?”

She nodded, non-committal, but said nothing.

The Imperator dwarfed her own command by almost five hundred meters. Other then her size advantage the destroyer had no obvious advantage over the Colonial battlecruiser, though without the support of a Colonial-class destroyer of her own the Restigouche did…

Catching herself, d'Foose banished the thought. It was a pointless exercise for many reasons, two of the most obvious being that she was here to find allies and there were numerous other ships sitting within cannon range. What she did allow herself to consider, however; was the image this presented. Within the Colonial Defense Fleet there was only one Admiral which meant that even captains like herself were awarded commands far above their rank as compared to many other military services. This was directly attributable to many obvious factors not the least of which was that the CDF operated only in and around the Gestalt star-system as the Colonials themselves were a much internalized people. She wondered at this and found herself curious about Wilkar, curious as to whether he had perceived some insult in this and perhaps that had flavored his reaction to them, their arrival, and their plea.

Soon enough she would have her answers. Audible from the cockpit even from her position in the rear of the craft d'Foose could hear her pilots already engaged in the task of bringing the ship to rest within one of the Commonwealth vessels immense, cavernous bays and the repeated instructions of that ships flight-crew.

She smiled, “Best behavior.”

Lance studied the file.

It was everything they had on the man.

Even this paltry information had taken time to gather and he was thankful their source within the Restigouche had acted swiftly.

They had started with a name and nothing more but with that they had achieved in the matter of an hour…

… this.

He frowned.






He had. He wished he hadn’t.

When he was younger, during his days at the Imperial Academy, he had heard rumors and stories about the man, this Zell but the matter at hand remaind this Terosk Cineburg the Fourth.

Lance grit his teeth. The Commonwealth would have to send a political envoy. It was the only diplomatic course of action but still, he was worried and with good cause. The information provided her would doubtless have a weighty impact on those involved, particularly those first delegates provided with the same. At the same time, however; he had to acknowledge the outside chance that there always existed the possibility for this all to go dreadfully wrong, slight thought it was. She would not be painting the Coalition in a warm light and the blowback could be problematic if approached wrong.

He sighed.

“I should have stuffed Droll on that ship and sent him along. He seems like the kind of guy who’d get along just smashingly with this Wilkar character.”

No one responded. Alone in his office, he had not expected any.

Taking a page from the book of Wilkar he fixed himself a drink.

“The Coalition is anything but,” stated the Chief in a louder tone of voice then he had cared to. Realizing this as he had spoken, the Colonial officer lowered his voice. “And it’s going to lead us all to war.”

Dinner, mused d'Foose, had been ‘informal’ as their invitation had specified. She had been instantly drawn to Scipio Arien and that had, perhaps, set the tone of the rest of the meeting. It seemed to her that the Commonwealth Ambassador at Large was almost the polar opposite of Admiral Wilkar who, she noted with some satisfaction, was present here.

Initially she had encouraged her men to remain quiet but polite in their discourse while she painted a picture of the Coalition that was anything but flattering repeating much of what she had told Wilkar earlier but without the aid of imagery. Here she revealed further details that had not been part of the presentation she had offered the Admiral. She highlighted a seemingly inevitable path to destruction upon which the Coalition had embarked with remarkable forward steam, told tales of Prime Minister Regrad and how he had not only been aware of Joren Logans attack on Imperial space, but had authorized it himself, how the same man had called a meeting of the various sub-factions within the Coalition to discuss the foundation of a new territory in the west while, almost simultaneously, holding discussions with the heads of those same sub-factions to discuss the very real possibility of War with the Empire. Now, she explained, it seemed as though the Prime Minister had gone to Courscant, to Imperial Center itself, to plead with the Emperor…

Then she moved on to tell the story of the Gestalt Colonies, of its foundation. How the Coalition had come to a young Lance Shipwright, a brilliant young man, to embark upon a course to dissect Black Dragon technology and, in turn, develop weapons to use against that Imperium but, failing that, had allowed him to turn his small department in to a Coalition-driven company aimed at developing new warships for the same and then, failing that and further spoiling their limited assets, the Coalition had turned a blind eye while Lance the misappropriated assets with which he had been able to begin assembling the dream of the Gestalt Colonies…

It went on an on and revealed more about the Colonies and their relationship with the Coalition then even the most zealous Imperial agent could hope to garner in a year of study, or a week of torture and when it came to a close, d'Foose found that she was less inclined to keep silent the opinions of her men and, asking a few questions of them in closing, provoked a passionate discussion that had been proceeding awkwardly.

Soon they were discussing matters of the Colonial state, matters which these men of the military were not well suited to but had been selected because of their passion. The Chief himself had fled one Imperial conflict after another, defeat after defeat, and had been party to many militias before joining up with, finally, the Colonies and finding peace, and hope, there.

These were men who did not long for war, but for security and peace. Clearly they hoped to find it outside of the Coalition and, from their far post across the galaxy, the Commonwealth had seemed like a beacon of light in an otherwise dismal abyss of political bullshit that again threatened to tear the Galaxy asunder.

And then, quite simply, d'Foose had revealed that these were not the actions of a treasonous crew despite how, when revealed, the spin-doctors would tell it in the media, that they were in fact acting with the consent, neigh the supervision of key powers within the Colonies and that, oddly, there was no clear opposition to this move within the population of the Colonies. It was then that she realized her and her men had dominated the discussion thus far and was eager to hear what their hosts would have to say, what questions they might ask.

“We just want hope for peace,” she said conclusively. “Not war with the Empire, nor civil-war within the Coalition.”

Scipio, throughout the dinner 'discussion' that weighed in on everything from what sounded like Coalition mismanagement to war to peace and all that crusty history of the Colonies inbetween, sipped from her wine glass slowly allowing the various tales from both the Colonial Captain to her officers to merge seeking a commonality out of their shared accounts.

“We just want hope for peace,” the Captain had said conclusively. “Not war with the Empire, nor civil-war within the Coalition.”

She thought she had found it. The cause of the underlying tension.

Fear.

Some would look upon this with derision. As if fear was something only cowards felt. As if uncertainty in the future was the food of the weakminded and that the staving off of war were the wishes of the old and infirm.

She knew because she had felt it too. Still felt it.

War was not something to be desired. War was not something to be sought after.

War was that ultimate objective to be feared. Was the last resort in a path spiraling ever downward into dismal failure.

War was the failure of negotiation. War was the failure to communicate. War was the ultimate descent into everything base a living thing could become.

The seeking of ripping asunder everything another had built up. Whether that everything was a life, a family, a city or a society, it only had one objective: destruction.

But Scipio also knew something else. Something she learned a long time ago.

That sometimes there was no choice but war.

The First and subesquent Second Invasion of Capricia by the Yuuzhan Vong taught her that. Sometimes the choice to fight was taken away and you had to steel yourself to do things one never imagined themselves doing.

To peer over that precipice that was madness and stare into the darkness without flinching.

Her thoughts had turned so inward that she almost missed the fact that the Colonial Captain had stopped speaking.

Scipio decided to fill in the void starting with the Yuuzhan Vong invasion of her homeworld of Capricia. Her story encompassed the entirety of the Caprician defeat after the First Invasion and how it was by whim that the invaders just up and left. She talked about their attempts at rebuilding, the divisions within Caprician society and how it almost dissolved into anarchy. She spoke of the restructuring of their society and a hope amid the fear of another invasion that came five years later. Stories of heroism, tragedy and of hope blown apart and left hanging by a thread were shared. Their fateful gamble at the end that ended in a victory. Stories of Seth Vinda and how nothing they had today would have been possible without his valor and generosity.

How do societies come together to shed their isolationist shell and stand up in this great big galaxy saying "This is who I am and this is how I want to live?"

Scipio smiled ruefully. "Everything hinges upon communication. Our society and our technology revolves around communication and the ability to understand one another. Who we are. Where we are. And what we want.

She told the story of their meeting with the Hapans. The Helixian's and their many names and how after a year of mutual friendship, they joined hands in common fellowship.

She told of their fateful meeting with the Domain and their brutal attacks on the fledgling Commonwealth's border worlds. A war that was as unique as any their collective military ever recalled and ironically, one that would not be settled by the sword but by communication.

"Communication?" one of the Colonials asked.

Scipio's smile turned grim. "It was an insect species twisted in purpose by the machinations of one possessed of by what is called the Dark Side of the Force. Apparently they only speak one language. We just had to find the right tone to use."

Her eyes darted to the Admiral who had relaxed slightly as if remembering that little bit of aggressive diplomacy.

Scipio then spread her hands wide, encompassing the ship with a gesture. "As you can see, the Commonwealth has weapons of war. I can see that you do as well so I do not think we need to waste each other's time denying the realities of the galaxy we live in.

I agree that a life of peace is preferrable. But if I were to promise you a guarantee of peace inside the Commonwealth for generations to come, I would hope you would know that I'd be lying. Even the best intentions cannot erase the spectre of war."

Her palm slid across the table and she drummed her fingers as if in thought. "I can say that we do not go looking for war and have put forth considerable expense at maintaining good relations with governments outside the Commonwealth. We are not, however, pushovers and we will not shrink back from our duty to our people come what may.

I will also say that we are not perfect. In any democratic society there is bound to be some corruption, some mistakes accidental and some just plain inept.

But we are checked and we are balanced."


Her eyes lit up slightly, "However, I do not need to sing our praises or court you like a salesman. You are here which means you've done your homework on us or you wouldn't be here.


So, I have to ask: With the Coalition close to war, have you made your intentions known to them? Have you pulled out and if not, why not? Are you asking to become part of the Commonwealth or are you asking for something different?"

It is said that the greatest movements begin like the birth of great oceans; one drop at a time. Eventually that force collects and garners momentum until it reaches critical volume and that inevitable inertia rolls over everything in its path. Sometimes though these near-tectonic shifts in power come up against a dam, a stop wall and there they build, collect exponentially and then…

The people of Gestalt spread across their colonies in the star system of the same name and created a unique lifestyle drawn from the many cultural elements represented within their societal structure. They prized security and peace but sought to assure themselves of these things through military strength and galactic isolation, practiced trade with few planetary entities beyond their own borders, worshiped no gods but respected, indeed endorsed a faith known as The Way of David which detailed a way of living that was optimally suited to the society they had built around themselves. These were a people highly internalized, concerned primarily with their own future and less interested in the scope of galactic affairs. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one – this was the mantra of the Colonies.

Though their history was intimately connected to the Galactic Coalition the people of the Gestalt Colonies were less and less inclined to agree with the Coalition and its approach to galactic affairs. Where the Coalition supported an ongoing policy of aggression against its many enemies the Colonies had become increasingly centralized and distanced from the office of the Prime Minster and when called upon to bare arms against the Empire on the behalf of the Onyxians, themselves a rowdy and unpredictable bunch, it had been Vice Commodore Shipwright who had opposed Regrad. Kept under wraps, however; the general public was not made aware of this request though, as the news reports began to file in from abroad, it became clear… the Coalition had attacked an Imperial stronghold with a fleet comprised of Onyxian, Cren and even Kashan elements. The attack was itself lead by the now disgraced commander Joren Logan. The people of Gestalt were not ignorant of politics and from there it had begun to spiral.

Vice Commodore Shipwright did not support dissent so with the first signs of public unrest he had set in motion a plan. That plan included people like Jean De’Chancie, a media spin doctor and on-air personality indirectly controlled by the office of the Vice Commodore.

His show, an ‘in-system broadcast’, was a nightly talk-show. The Daily Bullet was half satire, half news and blended both seamlessly. It had become the source for off-beat information about events outside the Gestalt Colonies and the pulse for local politics and was viewed by nearly every Colonial citizen.

De’Chancie was a tall, lithe man that appealed to the people for his suave-wit and attractive features. He had even been voted Sexiest Man of the Year by the population of David Colony (the location of his broadcast offices).

Currently, clad in a black suite with a blinding neon bow-tie, he was seated opposite Lance Shipwright, a table spread between them, in the studios green-room.

“A visit from the Vice Commodore,” De’Chancie observed as casually as possible. He paused to cross his legs at the knees, “This must be a special occasion. Should I get drinks?”

“No. Understand, Mr. De’Chancie, that I am not here.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. “As the kids are saying, what’s up?”

“I have new subject matter for you,” said Lance while producing a pale yellow dossier from beneath the table. In this day of digital information he preferred to keep these transactions as low-tech as possible. “Exercise the usual discretion of course.”

De’Chancie quirked a brow at that before slipping a finger into the manila fold and fishing out an eight by ten glossy image, rendered in black and white. He swallowed.

“This is it then?”

The Vice Commodore said nothing.

She listened while Arien spoke with determined intensity. It became clear as she meandered through her tail that the Commonwealth envoy was drawing certain parallels while simultaneously indicating the differences that both connected and distanced the Colonies with and from the Commonwealth.

Everything made sense, or so it seemed. And then Scipio Arien put it plainly.

What did they want?

Here was a political escape from war with the Empire, a thing the people of the Colonies did not want. But had they made their intentions known to the Coalition government? No, they had not. Why not then? The answer was both painfully obvious and hard to accept; fear. They feared Coalition reprisal. But why then should there be fear when the Coalition by its definition would let them leave without incident? The truth, the fundamental and underlying truth was this – The Coalition had become a thing of contradiction and the people of the Colonies had become weary of that hypocrisy.

Captain d'Foose said as much.

“No we have not ‘pulled out yet’ nor do I feel properly equipped to comment on that. I am not a politician; I am simply a woman with the means and the ability to do something, to do something right about something that is horribly, horribly wrong. Are we asking for membership within the Commonwealth? I do not know, nor is this for me to decide if this is what the people of the Colonies want, whether normal or something different…”

She froze.

The truth was that she did not know exactly what she expected to happen here, today. The awful reality of that swelled in her belly, stymied her words, and left her mentally reeling.

What did she want? What did they want?

What did everyone need?

Her Executive Officer looked as though ready to interject, to save his Captain floundering socially but a calm understanding had taken hold of her. She recalled long discussions with Lance Shipwright, conversations between herself and her crewmen and the simple truth, not the horrible, ugly kind she had first thought, emerged from the debris.

“We want security, from the Empire and everyone else. The Galactic Coalition of Planets is not equipped, as I am unequipped to discuss matters of state in great detail; they are not capable of providing us with that security. We have long been a potent and competent people able to defend ourselves should the need arise but what we fear is that our connection with the Coalition alone may be enough to earn the Empires wrath when they, for example, annex the territories of Onyx…”

“I think it would serve us well then, before leaving the Coalition to its own fate, to secure ours.”

“I am here to ask for your help.”