Pegasus, Contegorian Flagship, in orbit around Almas

“Captain’s on the deck!”

Formalities. Corise sighed as the black-clad sailors and the silver-gray soldiers snapped to attention as the shrill whistle of the pipe. The Commodore would be the first to admit that all of the pomp and circumstance distracted the men, maybe bloated his ego, and was far less efficient than he would like it to be. Some say that it is to keep the men confident and disciplined. The Kashan man silently scoffed at the notion; Kashan soldiers were already well disciplined and confident from rigourous training as well as an undefeated battle record. The only practical use of the tradition is to make a favourable impression on guests. If that knight wasn’t here, things would be as normal. No ceremony, just the regular, quiet efficieny of the bridge crew.

He was referring to the Jedi Padawan on his left, a tall human male whose attitude belied his force abilities as well as his leadership of the Germanican Grays. Corise wasn’t quite sure what to make of the young man. It’s too early to judge. He slightly grunted at the thought. The younger Lucerne turned to the Jedi.

“We’ll be arriving in orbit in about seven minutes,” stated the Contegorian officer, “the people of Almas are holding a reception for the Confederation delegation at Forard; their capital city. There will be a lot of attention drawn to our coming. Albeit we already have obtained their government’s permission for you to explore their sites, it would be preferable if you didn’t draw a lot of attention; at least not yet. It is my suggestion that use reception as your distraction to land and explore the old Jedi Academy.”

He turned to the flight controller, who merely nodded at the SCO’s gaze. The Kashan man turned to the Germanican.

“Your ship has been cleared by Almas traffic control for whenever you want to make your descent. My shuttle will be leaving shortly…”

Max looked at the man, returning his stare.

“Your ship has been cleared by Almas traffic control for whenever you want to make your descent. My shuttle will be leaving shortly…”

Max simply nodded his headand turned around. He moved foward with a little limp in his walk, he had previously hurt his leg the previous day. He winced but kept moving on.

Life is too short to waste precious time on petty things like a sore leg. Max thought to himself, while trying to hide a chuckle under his breath.

He was studying the ship while heading to the hangar where his small ship was held.

Max didn't fully trust, or even like the Kashan men, but he was hiding the emotion with jedi learned content. Max started rushing down to the hangar, he was now in it.

"Now... for my ship," Max muttered silently, surenying the hangar bay looking for his fighter. 'Here we go." Max said as he rushed to it and began to get it primed for flight.

Max slowly muttered the preparations for starting the fighter. Then he found himself in the air, heading down to the ground.

T4a Shuttle Contegorian Courage, Almas

Corise tapped a button on his seat, activating a series of holoprojectors within the shuttle's passenger bay. Where there had been slate-gray walls, there were now expanses of blue and white. The floor too changed, manifesting into a glowing green surface speckled with a series of gray bumps. The Kashan officer turned to his left see a Deathsaber soaring level with the shuttle's passenger bay.

"It looks worse here than from space," dryly noted the Pro-Consul, staring at the floor, which was a real-time view from the shuttle's sensors.

The Commodore nodded.

"The kaluthin are making a comeback."

"What?"

"Up until several years ago, the kaluthin area was being reduced to wasteland through an unexplained erosion," replied the younger Lucerne.

The Kaluthin was a genetically-engineered plant developed by Darth Rivan when the Sith Lord had come to Almas. Then, the planet had been a cold, ice-covered orb with a heavy blanket of heavy gases such as methane and phosphorus. Almas was inhabitable until the Kaluthin had taken root. Coriseclosed his eyes as he recalled the plant information from the databank: Kaluthin is a wavy, grasslike plant that is green on the edges and deeply purple in the centers of the leaves. The stalks are generally greenish, but contain also white areas that mark phosphorus deposits. Kaluthin's unique properties include the ability to synthesize methane from the air and create oxygen, and a taproot that reaches miles into the crust of the planet. He spread the kaluthin across the surface of Almas, and they slowly changed the planet. The taproots brought heat from the center of the planet, and the methane processing turned the atmosphere. As the plants processed the phosphorus in the air, the mineral accumulated in the plants' structure, and they began to glow. Before he was slain, his creations had begun to terraform the planet from an unlivable nightmare into the gardenlike world it is today (WOTC). And its properties have allowed the people of Almas to eke out a living, barely. Almas had next to nothing of value in terms of an industry or in raw resources, hence why most factions left the planet alone. It did have a reasonable agriculture, based on plants genetically engineered to work in symbiosis with the Kaluthin, which pratically covered the planet. But there's more here than what meets the eye.

The shuttle intercomm softly rang.

"We will be arriving at Hawthorne Heights in five minutes," announced the pilot.

Christina turned to make eye contact with the officer.

"I have a bad feeling about this..."

Max Reem looked down to the surface of the planet and felt a lump in his throat. His favorite part of flying was coming. Landing. With permission to land, Reem slowly progressed making sure he didn't mess up.

Just a little more...

Down!

Max exited the old fighter and looked back it. "Thanks pal," was all he muttered as he turned on his heel and headed to the door.

A little man stood at the door, he was squinting at Max, at first it seemed to be a mean look, but then he realized the man had trouble seeing.

"Gretings!" he squeaked in a voice that seemed very untamed, it had a nerdy sound to it, it matched it's owner perfectly.

With a wave Max introduced himself. "Hello. I am Max Reem."

"Yes, I know. I am the dock manager."

"You?" Max said, holding back a laugh.

"Yes!" The man snapped back indignantly. He then cleared his throat. "Theodore Matthews."

He reached out a hand expecting Max to shake it. Max observed the hand a little and slowly lifted his own into the extremely short man's hand. "Nice to meet you Theo!"

"Theodore." Corrected the man, he apparently was getting impatient with Max's little game. "Come."

Max turned back to his ship and Theodore stopped. "It will be alright, I always have people protect the docks."

The words didn't exactly satisfy Max, they really didn't do anything except add something to his mind.

"Yup." Max replied gazing towards the direction of his ship.

T4a Shuttle Contegorian Courage, Almas

A light thrum from the air circulation filled the otherwise silent cabin. The Commodore blankly stared at the scenery below him; the luscious, luminiscent botany below. Airflow from the low-flying shuttle swept over the fields, making waves within the field of grain. Ahead of them, appearing in the dark and misty crags above, lay Forard; a beacon of civilization in a world literally covered in poison. He blinked, catching a quick glimpse of one of the crops, which appeared to be some variation of ancient wheat; obviously genetically modified to flourish within Almas’ bizarre atmosphere. Across from him, the elegant Pro-consul viewed it with apparent indifference.

Corise ventured a glance up. “What is it?”

“What is what?” questioned the Pro-consul, looking blankly over the Commodore.

The Commodore shrugged. “Nothing.”

Christina turned back to looking at the fields.

“Except that you normally more talkative.”

She ruefully smiled and shook her head. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing.”

“You were just thinking about nothing?”

She quickly shook her head. “Nothing that concerns you, the Confederation, home. Don’t worry about it.”

She returned to staring down at the seas of grain, as Corise intently studied the other sole occupant of the cabin.
-----------------------------------------
“Fifty credits.”

“Seventy-five.”

The man shrugged. “Sixty. I could go to Zed’s across the street.”

“That’s not going to work.”

The buyer, Degere, shrugged and opened his hands. Casually turning around, he started to make his way to store’s entrance.

“Wait. I’ll give it to you for sixty-five.”

“It’s a deal.”

“The whole case is yours.”

Degere, a younger man, nodded casually, pulling out the credit chips from his black jacket, which the shopkeeper hurriedly scooped up into his hands. The wooden box, labeled Agrarian Foods Inc, appeared to be as rural and rough as its home planet, complete with worn down veneer and roughed up edges. Its buyer hefted the box unto his shoulder and casually strolled out of the Shop to a waiting landspeeder. The door popped open as black-gloved hands assisted Degere slide the box in.

“Are you sure it’s the right case number?”

“Positive. It’s off the Solar Wind; see the label mark?”

The speeder’s occupant nodded. “It looks good; but the goods better be inside.”

“Hey,” motioned Degere, “have I ever been wrong on stuff like this?”

“No, not yet. It could happen.”

Degere hopped into the backseat alongside the box and shut the door. The speeder slowly accelerated forward among the rough streets of Forard. Degere slipped his hand into his coat pocket.

“You know what else could go wrong bud?” asked Degere casually.

“What?”

“This.”

The newer occupant whipped out a hold-out blaster from his pocket and emptied several shots into the other man. Clutching his streaming chest wounds, the dying man reached down to pick up a cylindrical object lying on the floor.

“I don’t think so,” stated Degere, pistol-whipping the man in the back of the head.

The wounded man slumped; Degere smiled. Life was getting better.

“President Quee, a pleasure to meet you,” slightly bowed the Commodore, shaking the woman’s hand in the process.

He stepped back, towards the Contegorian Courage, which rested on the one of the Forard’s many hangar bays carved into the cliffs, as the Pro-consul exchanged salutations with the leader of Almas. Corise discreetly looked over the sparse and seemingly devoid hangar; it was a rugged facility, like many others like within the outer rim territories, but what surprised him was the lack of other ships, people, or freight for the large facility. They could have cleared it out of all other people and ships for security reasons. But there is only a half squad of Almas police for security. So security probably isn’t the main reason for it’s emptiness. Perhaps they have too many hangars, or too few security personnel? I don’t recall the planet having a standing army. They relied on the Jedi Order presence here before, until it Order 66. Perhaps they had too much reliance on them.

“We have an armored hovercar on the way,” stated Tracy Quee, looking over to the hangar’s sole entrance to the rest of the warren-like city.

As if on cue, a square, black body crawled uphill into the bay. Corise knew the type well: a 8880 Limousine, a widespread armored car used by a multitude of factions and people throughout the galaxy, even the Imperial Security Bureau had used it during the height of Imperial power. The car slowed to rest alongside the sole group within the hangar. A chauffeur exited and opened the door in which the two women entered followed by the sole military man. Both women began to exchange common pleasantries, while Corise contented himself with viewing the somehow rustic yet metropolitan city through the windows of the leisurely moving car.
-----------------------------------------
The building was old; the oldest on Almas, and by far the most forbidding: Darth Rivan’s Fortress. The central gray tower jutted out into the night sky among the desert. Whirling winds swept up dust to continually pelt the fortress, and the few sentient beings that gathered at the base of fortress. A black cloaked man motioned to the entrance.

“Take your speeder bikes with you; never know what those creeps above will see.”

The others nodded, towing their bikes behind them into the dark passage before them. Darth Rivan’s fortress was supposedly abandoned for over a thousand years according to the outside world; but those in the syndicate knew better, as the fortress had served as one of the earliest hideouts for various times over the course of hundreds of years; protected by the dark aura associated with the Sith as well as its remote location in the wasteland. Few dared to set their foots within the ancient building, whose halls once were paced by Sith Battlelords. The shadowy figures continued some ways into it before abruptly taking a right turn into a fissure within the wall; the lights went on as dark curtain slide behind the group.

“Keep your breathmasks on,” ordered the dark figure, “we might be safe from the interlopers, but not the atmosphere.”

Throwing back his hood, Degere nodded. Others did the same, an eerie ensemble of underworld figures manifested themselves. Most dropped their packs and unclasped their cloaks, beginning to relax after a long ride.

“Degeres,” stated the dark-clothed figure.

The young man approached the centre of the group, carrying an old wooden case with him.

“This is the case that Nirama sent for Bludd.”

“Where is Bludd now?” ventured a voice of the crowd.

“That’s of no importance now,” retorted Degere, his eyes sweeping the crowd, “what is important is that this is ill-timed. I don’t know what Nirama was thinking, but we certainly cannot carry out his plan right now with…the visitors from the Coalition. We certainly can’t just do an open operation now, as the government has the resources to stop it from the Confederation. We need to take care of that.”

“We could simply assassinate the Prez and her guests.”

Degere nodded. “We could, but we would have the Confederation flooding over everything on our planet, upturning every rock to catch those responsible for their leaders death. They wouldn’t be gone for weeks or months or until we were caught. I don’t think we can touch the new arrivals or force them to leave.”

“We could make them want to leave.”

The man shook his head. “Threats would only arouse them.”

“You misunderstand me, not threats, but showing them how bad it is here with crime and corruption. Plant some evidence, start some riots, maybe ruffle their feathers a bit. It's not like Almas' police will do anything.”

The crowd snickered; Almas police were widely regarded as joke within the planet's society, both respectable and underworld. Poorly trained, poorly equipped, and lacking in numbers, the running joke was that a squad of rioting protocol droids would beat the cops in a fair fight. Degere waved his hands to quiet the rowdy group.

“It’s a thought. Any other ideas?”

“As you can see, by splicing the genes from the Kaluthin,” stated the scientist, “we have adapted this Elba grain to grow on Almas. As you might know, Elba grain is normally grown on Bonadan, for Elba Beer.”

They all nodded. The commodore regarded the sample of modified Elba grain with skepticism and admiration. The basics of genetic engineering are easy enough, but splicing genes from an already genetically synthesized and engineered plant like Kaluthin has to be a nightmare of reverse engineering and logic. They probably had to map its genome to get this far. He glanced at female leaders, who seemed rather bored with the presentation of Almas’ genetics facilities. The younger Lucerne cocked his head back and faced the sample.

“Has there been any genetic engineering work besides modifying foods to adapt to the atmosphere?” questioned the officer thoughtfully, “such as say, to make larger yields?”

The scientist shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets in the process. “Funny you asked that, we started a project about a month or two ago to for that. No, I really can’t think of anything, except for Lab B’s work on the fish?”

“Fish?”

“Yes,” replied the Almas native, “you probably know that with the introduction of the Kaluthin brought up and synthesized the water, so there are some large aquifers of water across the planet, but since they aren’t natural, being a product of the plants’ existence, there hasn’t been time for a water species to evolve, so several entrepreneurs have tried to stock them with fish in the past, but none have succeeded; probably because the Kaluthin removed the toxic gases and deposited bits of them in the water; our processing water-processing plants don’t have much of any trouble with it, because it’s in very minor amounts for human..errr…galactic standards for water, but fish are very sensitive species, a little too much of anything, and many of them will die off. Lab B has been trying to genetically engineer fish to not only survive the environment, but also be edible for our own consumption. You know, it wouldn’t do any good if we were able to raise the fish to survive and then simply die because the fish absorbed the poisons.”

Throughout the man’s rambling, Corise just nodded, grasping and pondering the core concept.

“Would it be possible for the labs to genetically tailor a plant for another environment besides that of Almas?” questioned the Commodore, “or modify an existing crop for faster production?”

“Theoretically, yes. It depends on the specifics, though,” stated the scientist.

Corise nodded. “I see.”

“Well professor, thank you for hospitality in showing our guests the lab,” interrupted the President.

“It was my pleasure.”

Corise managed an inward smile and glanced at the female leaders. This probably drove them both nuts. It’ll be back to talk over the caf table…again. Not truly a diplomat by any means, the younger Lucerne typically shied away from social exchanges, such as those over the caf table. The Pro-consul and the other leader generally were the main speakers in those meetings, mostly because the discussions seemed to revolve around a lot minor and subtle nuances involving internal politics; not exactly the younger Lucerne’s forte, mostly because of a lack of experience in such matters; being brought up in a military household, learning at a military institution, and serving in a military capacity as his full-time job. The military infrastructure, and to some extent, the military machines and infrastructure of foreign militaries, friendly, hostile, and neutral alike. That is where he operated best, seeing the strengths and weaknesses in friend and foe alike; and perhaps more importantly for the Confederation, seeing the possibilities of a potential development; and while Almas seemed both backwater and bizarre at the same time, potential abounded in Almas, in more ways than most fathomed.

Darth Rivan's Fortress, Almas

The computer consoles were busy within the former fortress of Darth Rivan. Criminal sentries, armed with blaster rifles, walked the lower levels of the fortress in pairs. Machinery and other equipment had been trickled in via landspeeders in the dusty night. In the lowest level of the fortress explored by the criminals, Degeres smiled and leaned up against the latest console.

“How things have evolved so much,” smirked the man, loosely striding over to his lieutenant, “How goes it?”

“Good. If we can get a hold of those power generators, it is as good as done.”

“No sweat; the Ice Grisnal should be bringing them in tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that the ship that we’ve used to transport glim?” questioned his lieutenant.

“It is. It’s bringing in another monthly shipment as always.”

“It has the space to do both jobs at once?”

“Of course. The legal cargo it’s carrying is the power generators, instead of the farm machinery we’ve always used to cover up the glim.”

“Right on. This is one hell of a scheme.”

Degere nodded. “Even better, we hardly have to do any risky work; let the others riot.”

“While we pull the strings.”

“While we pull the strings,” agreed the crime boss.

Devious minds, powered by greed, csn be the most productive ones. And when they are, they oft are the unnoticed menace; they struck where their opponent least expected in ways that few can ever perceive. The government will know that when I blow this joint. And with all of that new wealth coming in, I’m going to be a very, very lucky guy. Early on, the criminals had realized that with such a small, relatively content population, riots were unlikely happen, especially since it was an agricultural world. There was nothing to use to incite the riot; no government brutality, no lack of freedom, no lack of necessities. The only ones rioting then would be the criminals, which would allow the nicely understaffed Almas police force to quickly move in and arrest them. That and most of the criminals were not violent to begin with, being little more than pocket thiefs or smugglers, rather than gangsters or slavers. No, for an effective riot, the citizens, not the members of the underworld, had to riot en masse. But that would require some prodding, some plotting. For that, the fortress was secretly being renovated to act as the headquarters and catalysts for them. For their attack would not be physical, but rather technological. They would bring the computer network of Almas to a grinding halt; disrupting financial transactions and bringing the agricultural droids that kept the fields going to a grinding halt. Public utilities would be out, as well as most civilian power. Would there be anything that the populace wouldn’t blame on the government? That was, of course, if the hackers and equipment they brought in were up to the job.

“It’s getting late boss.”

“Hit the sack. The transport should be here when you’re back on duty.”

“Righto.”
-----------------------------
Pegasus, Confederation Flagship, in orbit around Almas

“Not a whole lot of traffic,” muttered the flight operations officer, viewing the infrequent stops of freighters to the planet.

“Control, Greywind Four here. Requesting permission to buzz the traffic.”

“Denied. We aren’t exactly in position to screen traffic that’s not our own or in our territory. You know that.”

“I do know that. But there’s nothing frakking here. Not even a pesky mynock to vape.”

“CAP is that boring this time around?”

“Not normally. At least there’s more ships to look at.”

“Four, seeing that they can’t detect you, you’re clear to make passive inspections. But don’t announce your presence.”

“And if I find something illegal?”

“Call it into Almas Control as an anonymous tip.”

“Yes sir. Inbound to take a look at the HT-2000 Ice Grisnal…”

Deathsaber II Greywind Four, Almas

“Control,” announced the pilot, “I’m getting some faint levels of glim on the Ice Grisnal from my sensors.”

“Pegasus here, we can detect no levels of glim on the freighter with our sensors. Are you positive of your readings?”

“Yes sir. Recommend sending out another Deathsaber to verify the readings.”

“The Lieutenant says it’s a good idea. Stay on the freighter; we’ll inform Almas Customs about the finding.”

“Acknowledged Control.”

The atmospherically streamlined fighter soared over the glowing atmosphere of the planet, following the Ice Grisnal, which began to slowly enter the upper atmosphere. The bulky medium freighter’s shields slightly flickered red as the ship made its entry, the friction between the shielding and hull burning the gases which they made contact with. Up and behind the criminal craft, Greywind Four cautiously followed the craft via passive Full-Spectrum Transciever, using the clouds to mask the fighter from its prey. As the cloud coverage grew denser for the plunging craft as Greywind Nine joined its squadmate in tracking and scanning the craft.

“Nine here, I have glim on my scopes as well. Permission to engage?”

“Negative Nine. Let Almas Customs handle it; it’s their world, not ours.”

“Yes sir.”

“Continue tracking it. Almas Traffic Control says that the Ice Grisnal is frequent visitor, and is following it’s usual course. It doesn’t have any record of running into any problems with the law, and has been through custom’s searches before. It has a clean slave. Are you both positive about your readings?”

“I am.”

Greywind Nine agreed, “Yes sir.”

Control’s voice just mumbled. “Well, there’s not a whole lot-”

The flight controller on the Pegasus’ voice cut out, before abruptly returning.

“Almas Traffic Control reports that Ice Grisnal is having engine trouble, and is setting down now for emergency repairs.”

“Where?” questioned the first pilot.

“Rivan’s Fortress.”
---------------------------
Rivan’s Fortress

“Frak. Frak, frak, frak, frak,” swore Degenere, pounding his fist on the wall.

“Boss? Mind telling me what’s going on?”

The crime boss turned and looked at his lieutenant. “There is going to be a surprise custom’s inspection of the Ice Grisnal.”

“Sir?”

“We’ve been monitoring the security force comm. waves like always, and we caught that there was an anonymous tip suggesting that the Ice Grisnal is carrying glim. Do you know who could know that? Someone within our trading partners or in our group just sold us out. For all we know, the same guy is already calling down an airstrike right here. And you what then?” questioned the boss.

“What?”

“It’s all over, unless we can pull this off. I’m having the Ice Grisnal set down here under the pretense of engine failure. We’ll unload the spice, and then the Grisnal will dock as planned, and the inspectors can look around all they want; they’ll be nothing there.”

“Right boss.”

“Get the men ready to unload it, oh, and take a couple of repulsor sleds with you.”
-------------------------------
Greywind Recon Flight

“What the frak?” exclaimed Four, leaning closer to view the monitor, “Nine, why would the Grisnal need repulsor sleds for?”

“Moving some major equipment to repair it?”

“Maybe, if there weren’t multiple sleds that were coming from the fortress, along with what it looks like a squad of men. The freighter didn’t come with that.”

“Smuggling?”

“Looks that way.”

“I’m reporting this to Control and Almas Customs. Control, the Ice Grisnal is in the middle of conducting a smuggling operation. What are your orders?”

Thousands of kilometers away, Nine’s report, complemented by the visual feed from both of the fighters’ extensive Electro-Photo Receptors, giving the Contegorian officers and the members of Almas Customs live footage as the unloading of the spice proceeded from the freighter to the fortress. Officers and officials began to sweep through the various sensors that occupied arrays of the craft. Faint, but large amounts of lifeforms within the fortress appeared on the consoles of both factions; prompting queries into both systems to recall information on the Fortress’ history and occupation history. Both searches ended over a thousand years ago; it was an illegal occupation of government property.

“Greywind flight,” replied control,”you are authorized to detain Ice Grisnal and interdict all traffic of any means from entering or leaving the premise. Reinforcements will be arriving shortly.”

“Yes sir. Let’s do this.”

From the sky, the shadowy starfighters plunged down, spraying the area around the grounded freighter with warning shots. Four slowed down and hovered to a standstill on its repulsorlifts, all while keeping its guns on the criminal elements. Greywind Nine continued down, abruptly pulling up to swoop over the smuggling operation like a bird of prey hunting its game. Criminals scattered in all directions, mostly towards the fortress or the Ice Grisnal, which began to fire up its repulsors, most likely preparing to escape, prompting Greywind Four to launch a flurry of shots into the aging freighter. But the freighter wasn’t harmless, returning fire with a turreted pair of blasters. With a steady stream of crimson bolts splashing on Five’s shields, the fighter barrel rolled over, all while scattering its own haphazard, emerald bolts all around the transport. While it didn’t do significant damage, it did do one thing; provide a distraction for Nine, which soared meters over the sand before the fighter sent a pair of missiles right up the freighter’s unpowered ion engines, resulting in a small fireball which engulfed the rear of the craft.

“Ice Grisnal, this is your last chance. Stand down immediately.”

Another pair of ruby darts erupted from the 50 meter long freighter, lancing into space which Greywind Four had occupied during the starfighter’s last strafing run on the smuggler. The Deathsaber Mk II made a barrel roll over to the spot where the Ice Grisnal had previously fired, sending off a quartet of emerald bolts into the freighter’s engines, before gaining elevation over the previous spot. The freighter rattled and crash-landed with an a deafening thud. Across the skies, the Pegasus; fighter complement soared overhead, effectively ending any outside resistance while Almas Police and Confederation Troopers landed to take the laser-resilient fortress from the criminals element. Shock Troopers poured into the seams of the building, drawing the enemy blaster fire, which dissipated across their body armor and then divided all of the damage across the suit. In such a manner, a Shock trooper was capable of taking multiple blaster hits before going down. Internal resistance to the Coalition personnel began to end as the police and troops took prisoners with stun bolts or threw glop or stun grenades into previously unentered rooms in which criminals were suspected to be hiding in. Within a half-hour, it was over; the Confederation troopers and Almas police marching a ragged line of prisoners to the prison landspeeders of the agricultural world.
------------------------
Execuative Mansion, Almas

“You have my word, President,” replied the Commodore, “the next batch of Paladins will be stationed here in order to provide defence. I also believe it might be a good idea if one of our army officers and a training command could help retrain and update your police force.”

“How long would the training take?” questioned the blond woman.

The officer shrugged. “I am not sure, probably several months at the very most. They’ll probably arrive with the engineering crews that will be renovating Rivan’s fortress into Victory Base.”

“Will they be stationed at Victory Base as well?” asked the politician, walking over to the window to view the sunset.

“Most likely. We can change that if you would like.”

“No, that’s all right. The city should be fine, and even if trouble does appear, I’m hoping that the troops could be airlifted over here quickly.”

“They should be able to,” agreed the Kashan man, joining her at the window, “Victory Base will have several Sentinel Shuttles and Centaur Transports assigned to it.”

“Besides the fighters.”

“Besides the fighters,” repeated the younger Lucerne.

“Very well. Have your technicians been able to fully analyze that box’s content yet?”

Corise shrugged from side-to-side. “More or less. They’re the shards of an exceptionally large stygium crystal. The crystal was used up first though.”

The President frowned. “What’s it worth then if it can’t power up a cloaking device?”

“I’m not sure. Forgive me madam President, but Materials Science isn’t exactly my strength.”

“I understand. The scientific team from the Genetics lab is ready to start work for your special project.”

“Excellent…”

It had been an hour since the last waypoint and Ben sat cross legged in the mostly empty cargo hold. It was now the last leg of his journey and he had over an hour to kill before reversion back into real space. Since the takeoff from Naboo, Ben had gotten more comfortable with the ship and all his former experiances had started to come back to him. Piloting and correcting the ship's course had become a simple proceedure now, one that he remembered doing many times before.

The cargo bay was actually a tranquil place for Ben and it let him be within a bare environment to concentrate better. For the first part of the trip he had practiced lifting and moving some of the crates in the hold, however, now he sat with his eyes closed in meditation. Darami seemed to be able to meditate quickly, but Ben found it a little difficult to start. With his teacher on Naboo, he had to figure it out on his own with the help of the datafiles that he retrieved from the Temple library.

After some practice he learned to clear his mind as he had with using the force and letting himself relax completely. His breath was slow and steady. His body almost completely relaxed except for the mucles that kept him upright. Ben felt the force slowly flow through his mind and body like a cold bath after a hot swealtering day. He felt at peace with the galaxy and completely happy. Even the soft vibrations from the freighter's engines helped him relax.

As he let himself go with closes eyes, Ben started slowly getting twitchs from the force and feeling the various objects around him without so much as touching them. He also realized he did not have to push himself to detect these things, only to allow them to reach out through the force and reveal themselves. When he let his mind stretch out further, he could feel the walls of the cargo hold and the various tools in their cabnets. He could feel and almost see through blind eyes the whole ship that surrounded it. It was different, though, the ship. Different from the planets he had felt in the gardens. It was dead and did not talk to him. It did non pulse with life and did not stretch out towards him through the force. It was just an object in space, like the boxs around him.

For reasons he did not understand, Ben started to tap the different containers with the force and slowly lift them up. One by one the boxs lifted and floated around him as he meditated. After a few moments, one container, then two, then finally all of them slowly began to spin around him, as if in orbit. As he watched this through the force, Ben let out a soft smile. Not understanding why, he felt this entertaining. It had been very very long since he could afford to entertain himself. So long that he could barely remember it.

With his mind relaxed to drift it started to moved towards those days before his world collapsed. The days in which he could be a boy and play without concequences. The days when decissions were made for him and all he had to worry about was growing up and making his mother proud.... Those days when he still had a mother. Still had a family to call his own. Days when he didn't need to struggle and live on the streets.

His whole childhood had been ripped away from him and all he wanted now was some piece of that back. No...it was not his childhood he wanted. He could care less about being a child again, or could he? Ben's mind started to struggle for the answer. Did he really want to be a child again? In his mother's arms...? Yes... yes he did. More than anything in the galaxy. Who could blame him? She had been his everything and then suddenly that everything was no more. All he had of the woman that had given him birth was a holopicture of her.

Ben awoke with some sort of wetness on his face. He quickly realized he had been crying, but why he did not know. The last thing he remembered was meditating and lifting those boxers from the cargo deck. Looking around, Ben could see those contrainers, laying all over the deck, some on the sides, some not. He had somehow lost control of them and they had all fallen from the air.

With a deep breathe, he eased himself from the deck and stood up, wiping the tears from his cheeks with his hands. He glanced at his chrono and saw that it would soon be time for the ship to drop out of hyperspace. With one last look around the hold, Ben moved towards the small lift at the end of the baby and hit the open key.

The instant the door slid open, something inside his screamed danger, but was too vague in what that danger was. It hardly mattered, however, because almost soon as the feeling ran through his brain, the whole ship shook hard and quickly dropped from hyperspace. All Ben knew was the transport had decelerated so quickly that it through him forward and into the turbolift. His head impacted the hard metallic wall and from that second his world turned to darkness.