(OOC note: this thread is concurrent with The Cooperative: Reapers of What They Have Sown)

This seemed . . . wrong, somehow. A disproportionate concentration of power. They were talking about an “alliance” between corporate states, between governments that were also businesses. A unified corporate-political entity. It was dangerous.

It was the truest vision of Cooperative come to life.

Regent Miko Minn inspected the new arrival as he entered the room, uncertain how he should feel about the Ugor's inclusion into the group. BlrrVeck, official emissary of the Holy Ugor Taxation Collection Agency to the Cooperative, stepped through the door, thankfully taking a seat well away from the Squib already seated at the table.

The newcomer joined Lady Shen Farool of Narg, Chief Administrator of TransGalMeg Industries; King Ebareebaveebeedee of Skor II, head of the Squib Merchandising Consortium; Port Administrator Pampay Fay of Utapau, a board member of Buuper Torsckil Abbey Devices, which controlled Feethan Ottraw Scalable Assemblies; Mungo Baobab of Manda, head of the Baobab Merchant Fleet; and of course Regent Miko Minn himself, whose position gave him authority over Cestus Cybernetics.

Six leaders of six worlds, six key economic centers vital to the Cooperative and the future of the Coalition.

They met now on Varn, to seal their alliance and change the fate of the Cooperative.

“The simple question,” Miko Minn began, “is do we believe?” It hung in the air for a long moment, total silence as these people traded glances.

“Yes,” the answer finally came, but from the most unexpected of sources. BlrrVeck sat up in his chair, his amorphous form thinning slightly as he grew taller. “My world is under constant threat of Reaver assault. Our most ancient relics are being stripped down to fuel the furnaces and factories of my world, producing a new wave of Guardian war machines. Cestus Cybernetics has committed itself to the same end, converting its droid factories to all-out military production. TransGalMeg Industries is building something massive and secret, which I am certain is very much like the constructs of my own world. The Squib are refurbishing fleets-worth of military hardware―at cost alone. Feethan Ottraw has all but been handed over to the military for the use of its self-replicating factories.

“You ask if we believe, Regent? Let our actions speak for us.”

Lady Shen Farool took the opportunity given by the silence that followed. “In the Cooperative alone is what we propose even possible. This is symbiosis we seek, not infection, not parasitism. The course we are about to set out upon is for the preservation of the Cooperative. We must not lose sight of the goal, for if we turn to personal gain, to manipulation and domination, we will fail, and all that we have worked for will be brought to ruin by the very people we now swear to serve. I have no doubt of the Cooperative's great strength of will. I would not dare to place TransGalMeg at odds with it.

“Is there an understanding between us?”

One by one the leaders affirmed their intentions, signing their names to the document and committing their respective organizations to the cause.

“It is done,” Mungo Baobab said solemnly. “The Alliance of Corporate States is born. Now, the real work begins.”







“Wait a minute,” Miko Minn cut into the discussion. “You mean TGM supplied the Overseer with secret assets as well?”

Before Lady Farool could even affirm the question, King Ebaree added, “The Squib have done the same.”

“The Ugor were not contacted for any such 'secret assets',” BlrrVeck interjected, feeling left out.

“That you know of,” Mungo Baobab pointed out.

This only served to further frustrate the Ugor. “Well, what does it mean?”

“For now,” Lady Farool said, “we can assume it means the Overseer has taken personal control of the development of Guardian.”

“Agreed,” Miko Minn concurred. “ThinkTank Dynamics hasn't performed a single Guardian revision since its initial launch, yet the military base code is under almost-constant update.”

“Similarly, TGM hasn't been involved in any Guardian-based warship designs since our initial assistance with conversion procedures for existing vessels,” Lady Farool added.

“It looks to me like the Overseer doesn't want us fiddling with Guardian's mainline development,” Mungo said, reclining slightly in his chair. The unfavorable admission quieted the whole room for a moment.

What had they gotten themselves into?

“Let's lay it out plainly,” Miko Minn said after no one else seemed willing to carry the conversation. “We're talking about committing the sum of our production and economic capacity to the mass-militarization of the Cooperative. We're talking about the manufacture of guns and bullets in quantities sufficient to repulse the Reavers, the Cree'Ar, the Empire . . . whoever and whatever comes after us or our allies. We're talking about the survival of the Cooperative through military superiority. We can't make Guardian better, but maybe we can make the interface between Guardian and the people who run it better.”

Miko cast Lady Farool a knowing look, and after a moment of surprise she realized what he wanted. “Oh, yes, of course. Hoersch-Kessel Drive, Inc.,” she said firmly. “A chief warship supplier of the Confederacy of Independent Systems during the Clone Wars. They possess what is perhaps the most vast surviving untapped reservoir of knowledge on the droid army and―most importantly―its highly automated warfleet. Most fail to realize that during the Clone Wars, while the Senate battled over legislation and the war fleets battled over territory, the corporate powers that fueled the war effort had battles of their own. Battles over information. Tagge Company, our chief competitor at the time, successfully infiltrated our own databases, resulting in TGM's Bulwark-class Battle Cruiser being produced by the CIS. We had our own efforts, largely unsuccessful, aimed at Hoersch-Kessel.”

“One moment, please,” Lampay Fay interjected calmly, holding up his hand―palm out―for emphasis. “Do you really propose our first concerted effort be an act of corporate espionage?”

“Of course not,” Lady Farool smiled disarmingly. “Issues of legality aside, the effort, planning, and time required to extract the information we need would be . . . prohibitive. I propose we buy it outright.”

“Is that even . . . reasonable?” Mungo asked delicately. “I mean, who even owns it now? I haven't heard of a new Hoersch-Kessel product in . . . thirty years, probably.”

“The Nimbanese,” Lady Farool supplied.

“Hutt Space?” King Ebaree spoke up, alarmed.

Lady Farool pressed on, undaunted. “HKD has been in a bad way since the end of the Clone Wars. It was all but closed down for more than a decade, and has been subsisting on Hutt-bartered contracts―primarily for light warships and small- to mid-sized transports―for years now. Its R&D divisions have been shut down for quite some time. It has become purely a starship manufacturing company.”

Lampay Fay sucked in a deep breath, the eery sound unsettling many of those present. “I do not like this idea of . . . buying out such a historically influential company. We are the Cooperative, not Vellixum Enterprises. We do not gobble up competitors and strip them of their livelihoods.”

“Time is against us,” Lady Farool insisted.

“What are you hiding,” BlrrVeck demanded suddenly, catching Lady Farool off guard.

“Yes,” King Ebaree added, casting his historical rival an agreeing nod. “What are we missing here, Lady Farool?”

The Lady seemed trapped, eyes darting back and forth between the two accusers, her apprehension clear.

Miko Minn came to the rescue. “Lady Farool has ensured that Narg possess a substantial personal defense force to deter her neighbors, the Hutts, from interfering with TransGalMeg's business or assets. Imperial incursion into their space and infighting amongst their ranks have weakened the Hutts substantially, but Narg's affiliation with the Coalition has made it a potential target for much graver threats. Narg is alone, on the edge of the most lawless region of the galaxy, and Lady Farool is concerned that its isolation and value may draw the ire of the Coalition's enemies.”

“You want to buy a friendly neighbor?” Mungo Baobab asked, his tone almost disappointed.

“What I want, and what urgency demands are two entirely different things, Mr. Baobab. I have a responsibility to protect my people, and I do not take that responsibility lightly.”

“Enough,” Lampay Fay bit out, probably more harshly than he had intended. “If it is a business we are looking to acquire, that is one thing. If it is a world we are wishing to win over, that is something else entirely. For my part, I do not fear the Hutts, but the Nimbanels have a treaty with the Hutt Clans. If we intent to violate that treaty―if we intend to persuade the Nimbanels to violate that treaty―we must acknowledge and prepare for the consequences of such an action. The Hutts are a savage and long-lived race, and they do not take kindly to being crossed or interfered with.”

“I am prepared for Narg and TransGalMeg Industries to bear full responsibility for any offense taken by the Hutt Clans,” Lady Farool said stoically.

“It doesn't work like that,” Miko said. “We're the Cooperative, and we're going to do this together.”

“If we are going to do this,” Mungo started slowly, “then we must do it right, in the truest nature of the Cooperative. No deception, no secrecy. We must go to the Nimbanese, ask them what they want, what they need, and what they are prepared to offer for those things.

“Yes, this is the Cooperative, but we are the Alliance of Corporate States.” He flashed a crooked smile. “Let's do some business.”

Mungo Baobab felt like an accountant in the midst of an invasion fleet, here only to record the spoils of an imminent victory.

The fact of the matter, however, was that the joint Baobab Merchant Fleet/TransGalMeg Industries security detachment was only here because Mungo was here, that he was the central figure of this endeavor, not some peripheral entity. And as for the veritable fleet encircling him . . .

Well, this was Hutt Space, after all. There's no such thing as “safe enough” when you're in Hutt Space.

Mungo checked his chrono at the main entrance to the bridge: right on time. He stepped through just as alert sirens sounded and the bridge blast doors began to seal in preparation for reversion, standard practice for all TGM security vessels reverting to potentially hostile zones.

Commodore Solaris, a short, fit woman whose short-cropped dark hair fit perfectly with her TransGalMeg security uniform, was standing to the right of the captain's chair, staring intently into the blue-black swirl of hyperspace. She gave the slightest acknowledgment of Mungo when he approached, then moved to action in perfect sync with the fleet's reversion.

“Status report, main viewscreens.”

The command crew reported in with the calculated proficiency Mungo had come to expect in his brief time with them.

“Traffic patterns within expected norms.”

“Reversion point fifty six kilometers planet-ward of plotted terminus, well within operational safety limits.”

“Registering multiple active scans from planetary and orbital defense locations.”

The Commodore absorbed the information without any outward response, turning to Mungo as soon as the last station reported. “Would you like the honor, sir, or shall I?”

Mungo stroked his beard lightly, eyes darting between the commodore and the tactical screens. “Well, I think it only appropriate that a member of the Board of Governors make first contact, yes?”

Commodore Solaris took a short, quick breath, pausing just an instant before responding. “Actually, sir, standard procedure calls for the ranking Military Security officer present to make an initial transmission of identity and intention to the indigenous populace.”

“Oh?” Mungo asked, genuinely surprised. “Well, again, as a memb―

“My rights and authorities are dictated to me by the Provisional Charter of the Alliance of Corporate States, Mr. Baobab. Not even you get to take them away from me.”

Despite her short stature, it was clear to Mungo that the commodore was well versed in pushing people around. “Really? I helped write the Charter, you know, and even I don't recall anything about military priority in first contact situations.”

The fact of the matter was that the Provisional Charter was as detailed and long-winded as the founding charters of every corporate member combined, meaning nothing less than a full team of legal analysis droids could hope to understand the thing in its entirety.

The commodore smiled slyly. “I started with the parts that tell me all of the new powers I have.” She paused momentarily, wearing her thoughtfulness for him to see. “But while we're chatting about matters of authority and protocol, our hosts are no doubt growing uneasy, and my chief responsibility is to the success of this mission. So, Mr. Baobab, at your discretion I will stand aside.”

He returned her smile with something a little more cordial, then spoke up to ensure the rest of the crew could hear. “Hail the planet on diplomatic frequencies. I'll receive the response here.”

The holoimage of a Nimbanel materialized in front of him so quickly he wasn't sure he had actually finished giving the order yet. Its dry, emotionless voice sounded a simple demand. “Identify yourself and state your purpose.”

“I am Mungo Baobab, head of the Baobab Merchant Fleet and member of the Governing Board of the Alliance of Corporate States, a corporate-political entity of the United Cooperative of Peoples and by extension a member of the Galactic Coalition of Planets. I am here as a representative of the Alliance in hopes of opening dialogue with the Clans of Nimban. While I realize the presence of military vessels may give you cause for concern―”

“Your ships cause us no concern,” the Nimbanel answered shortly. “Our people have bore witness to far more crass displays than this. It bears no weight in our decisions.”

“Oh? Well, then―”

“You may land, if you wish. I will meet with you.”

The line closed and Mungo was left staring at an empty point in space.

“Well, that went . . . oddly,” the commodore said after a moment of silence.

Mungo shook his head, smiling smugly. “No, this is good. It means they were expecting us.” Mungo turned and walked off toward the exit. “Signal my diplomatic team and have them meet me in the main hangar immediately. I'd like to get planetside as soon as possible.”

The commodore turned to watch Mungo go, staring curiously after him. “Excuse me, Governor, but how is it good that a servant species of the Hutts has operational information on the Alliance of Corporate States' first clandestine operation?”

Mungo spun around as he reached the opening blast doors, flashing a broad smile at the commodore. “I'm the head of the most powerful independent merchant organization in the Rim, Commodore. I've signed contracts with more Nimbanels than you've seen in your entire life. The Hutts weren't waiting in ambush, which means they weren't told we were coming. The Nimbanels didn't play friendly, so they're not looking to pump us for information . . . well, that's not all they're looking for, anyway. They did the blank face, neutral tone, short sentences thing, which means they don't want us getting anything out of them that's not on their terms, which means they're looking to hold on to every bargaining chip they could possibly have. Which means they're not just interested, Commodore; they know we've got the better hand.”

The commodore nodded curtly, her features hardening into the impassive mask of a proper military commander. “The fleet will be ready to fall into planetary defense posture at your signal, but we'll hold position out of the locals' way until you give the word. Safe journey, Mr. Baobab.”







Mungo wasn't much for entourages, and he had had enough dealings with Nimbanels in the past to know that he wouldn't be needing any bodyguards. Leaving the pilot behind had been an on-the-fly decision: he hadn't had a good fly in a while. It felt good, the controls in his hands, eyes darting between instruments, the sounds of nav instruments and acceleration notifiers, the slightest tug that accompanied atmospheric entry as the inertial dampers dynamically countered changing resistance from increasing air densities.

All too soon the flight was over. He ran through the powerdown sequence slowly, too slowly. Even after he finished, Mungo sat in the cockpit, staring at the pilot's console, not wanting to leave.

He had been an adventurer once, but that was a long time ago. Now he was a businessman, and he had a job to do.

Except . . . he was still an adventurer, always would be. Oh, if he could just power up and take off, leave this deal-making and political maneuvering to others! To be free, to be out there again . . .

But he was a businessman. People were depending on him. Important things were at stake here, and he was the only one who could see this thing through.

Slowly, deliberately, Mungo Baobab rose from his chair, straightened his suit, and walked toward the shuttle's rear exit. He waived his small diplomatic team to stay seated, then tapped the access ramp controls. “I'll handle round one solo. Just be ready to pull out the big guns whenever I call.”

The boarding ramp sounded a dull thud as it touched down against the docking pad, a circular exterior landing zone. The dock itself was suspended several meters off of the ground, above what appeared to be a private park. A straight walkway, also suspended, led straight ahead, connecting the landing zone to a large, domed building adjacent to the park.

Where the landing zone and walkway met, the Nimbanel from the holocomm stood alone. He wore a simple, brown robe over common spacer attire. The only indication of office that he wore was a small pin that Mungo recognized as the symbol of the Clans of Nimban, which was clipped on the left side of his robe. “Mungo Baobab, I am Kallek Dar. You may consider me a representative of the Nimbanese Clans. If you would follow me . . .” He turned and gestured down the path.

Mungo took a moment to react, considering the situation carefully. Everything about this Nimbanel's greeting was wrong. This wasn't within the Nimbanese protocol. Everything from the man's attire to his saying the common “Nimbanese Clans” instead of the official “Clans of Nimban” was incorrect for the reception of a diplomatic envoy. He had to take a chance, and hope that he was reading this situation correctly.

“I . . . would love a walk in the park,” Mungo finally replied, gesturing to the side at a large tree that reached well above his head, even on the raised platform.

Kallek Dar stepped onto the landing pad, nodding his head as he walked along its outer edge. He turned away from Mungo and stepped off of the platform just as a lift raised adjacent to the docking area. It was a smallish rectangular platform not meant to hold more than four or five comfortably, but the lack of any security railing gave Mungo pause. Kallek Dar, however, spun around to face Mungo and then leaned backward casually, stopped from falling over the edge by some unseen force.

“Repulsor security barrier,” the Nimbanel explained, then motioned Mungo over.

When the lift touched down and the pair stepped onto the finely trimmed grass, Mungo took a moment to appreciate his surroundings. From orbit, Nimban didn't look especially impressive. Even this park didn't seem so spectacular when compared to some of the galaxy's better-known resorts and nature preserves.

But this was Hutt Space. In the midst of an entire galactic region known for nothing but deserts and waste dumps, a region ruled by a planet whose masters were well on their way to polluting a second homeworld into uninhabitability, this was the most beautiful thing Mungo Baobab had ever seen. This blue-green world was a marvel of the galaxy, her people an example to be emulated.

Mungo knew that the Nimbanels had evolved from grazing animals, that their early civilization had developed with a respect and appreciation of the cycles of life on this world, but to think that they had preserved that sentiment after so many years of service to the Hutts was truly amazing.

Surely, Nimban was the true “Glorious Jewel” of Hutt Space. If there was one world in the whole region worth winning over, this was that world.

Mungo's attention snapped back to Kallek Dar, who seemed content to walk in silence at Mungo's side, waiting for the visitor to speak. “Since this little stroll of ours isn't officially happening, I suppose you wouldn't mind if we dispensed with all of the usual protocols?”

Mungo studied the Nimbanel's face carefully, but could only pick up on the slightest tinge of amusement when he answered. “Mr. Baobab, I'm just a simple merchant, who happens to be on favorable terms with the Nimbanese Clans, taking a walk through a park that my affiliations grant me access to. There aren't any protocols to dispense with.”

“Alright, then.” Mungo stopped on the spot, grabbing Kallek Dar by the arm and turning the alien to face him. “Then let me be straightforward and to the point. Lady Shen Farool of TransGalMeg Industries has informed me of the Cascade Programs of the Clone Wars Era―” Kallek Dar tried to turn away, looking almost disappointed, but Mungo hadn't let go of the Nimbanel's arm yet and gave it another tug to stop him from turning away. “And she knows that they were a decoy.”

Kallek Dar's eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise before he recovered, but it was enough to let Mungo know he had struck a nerve. “To be perfectly frank with you, Mister Baobab, accusing the Nimbanese Clans of conspiring to perpetuate a supposed cover-up dating back to the Clone Wars and the Confederacy of Independent Systems seems like a strange way to . . . how did you put it . . . “open dialogue” between our two peoples.”

Mungo released the Nimbanel's arm, nodding curtly as he set off again. “I'm not in the mood for political maneuvering, so I'm going to put this plainly. We want Nimban to join the Cooperative, the Coalition proper if you'd like. We are prepared to defend you from the Hutts, if needed, and want to help Hoersch-Kessel Driveworks become a major starship manufacturer again.”

“Is that so? And what do you expect from us in return?”

Mungo pulled a small datapad out of his pocket and handed it to the Nimbanel.

“What's this?”

“A treaty of admission into the Cooperative. All that it requires is the authorized signatures of the heads of the Nimbanese Clans.”

Kallek Dark frowned, studying it lightly. “And why are you giving it to me?”

Mungo smiled in response. “Because I want you to understand. That treaty is binding. You could take it to your leaders now, have them sign it, and the Cooperative would have no choice but to admit you under those terms, which I think you'll find quite favorable to you. Yes, we want something from you. But we need your friendship more. And we won't accept what we want unless you give it in friendship, unless you show that you understand the nature of the partnership we seek. So we're removing the option of you using it as collateral for a trade. We're giving what we have to you without charge, and you can accept it if you want it. Then, if you so desire, you can help us in friendship.”

This time Kallek stopped Mungo, fixing him with a determined stare. “What is it that you want from us?”

Mungo returned look of determination with one of his own. “The truth of the Cascade Files. Everything you have on the next generation of CIS droid warfare.”

Kallek Dar offered the datapad back to Mungo. “We have nothing. We were just a decoy. Cascade was a ruse, and our possession of it was as well. We don't have anything to offer you.”

Mungo pushed Kallek's hand away, refusing the datapad. “You still don't understand. You, this world, these people; that is what we need. Cascade is just and excuse. We believe that Nimban, free, would make a powerful ally. And having HKD - in any condition – as an ally is certainly worth offending the Hutts. Your people made a deal with the Hutts, and it served you well for a long time. But the Hutts are on the way out; they have been for a while now.

“The Clans of Nimban control the commerce and industry of this world and its people. Take this treaty to them, sign the names that belong on it, and let us open doors for you that have long been closed to the Hutts. Let us protect you as they no longer can.

“It would be our honor to count you among our friends. I can only hope that you would say the same of us.”

The Clans of Nimban had wanted assurances. It hadn't been unexpected, but the scale of their demands . . .

They had decided that since the Alliance task force had been deemed sufficient for the defense of Governor Baobab during his journey through Hutt Space, it would be sufficient for the defense of Nimban, as well.

The whole task force.

Indefinitely.

There may have been room for negotiations, but the Nimbanels, it turned out, had the capital on-hand to fund a fairly wide-sweeping revival of the Hoerche-Kessel Drive name all by themselves. Such an action would have been considered inconceivable due to a scarcity of available clients, but now, with the Cooperative's assistance secured, the Clans of Nimban were spinning their own schemes.

Schemes that may just make this whole grand venture―The Alliance of Corporate States―worthwhile in a single, broad stroke.

And those sorts of interests were worth defending.

By whatever means were necessary.

For however long it took.

Now, there was just the business of seeing this through to its natural end.



Narg, Official Suites for the Chief Administrator of TransGalMeg Industries

The room that the Governing Board had chosen to serve as its official center of business was actually designed to serve TransGalMeg as a War Room in the event of a military confrontation during the decline of the first Galactic Empire. It was a secure room, equipped with various holoprojection systems and high-power computers for probability computing and scenario mapping. There was plenty of room and workstations to bring in aides if the need ever arose.

It was perfectly suited for plotting the restructuring of the Outer Rim.

Kallek Dar was the first one present. By the disorganized state of the datapads and datacards laid out in front of him on the large, round table at the room's center, he had been there for a while. And he gave no indication of noticing as the others arrived over the span of a quarter hour, but simply continued with his work, sorting through the information in front of him toward some end unknown.

A few of the acquaintances broke into private conversation as they waited for the others, a dim hum at the background of Kallek's awareness. But the work was too gripping to allow for curiosity; he blocked out the conversation as he would the sound of working machinery.

Eventually, though, the meeting had to begin. There were pressing matters to discuss.

“Mr. Dar?”

The direct address snapped Kallek out of his single-minded focus, forcing him to look up.

They were all staring at him. “Yes?” he ventured after a moment, not even sure who had spoken to him, his focus had been so intense.

“Don't you think we should begin now?” It was Regent Minn in that calm, detached manner that he always conducted himself with.

Kallek glanced one final time over his pile of data, then plucked up his primary datapad and began the presentation.

A map of the galaxy assembled itself in the air between them, hovering overhead above the table. “As you all know,” he began, a series of lines appearing across fully half of the the galaxy's Rim, “the Cooperative-inspired Trans-Rim Trade Route has been fully mapped for some time now. Technically beginning at the planet Sinsang―though its recent isolationist stance makes that point all but moot―in the North, it runs through the Cooperative capital in the Quelii Sector, past Paradiso and through Confederation space, right through the heart of the Coalition Eastern Province and continuing south, past Narg and Ando, before curving west, intersecting Gall and Ketaris before reaching Skor II, where it diverges to reach both the Coalition West, and the Cren Alliance.”

As he named off each world and region, new icons appeared at the respective locations on the map, color coded according to some as of yet undisclosed pattern. “Diplomatic efforts on the part of the Cooperative government have secured ongoing trade agreements with the Cren, so their secession hasn't proven as detrimental to the endeavor as Sinsang's. However,” and to emphasize the point, a large swath of sickly yellow sprung up in a slice of the galactic north-west, “the outbreak of the Reaver infection has cut the Route in two, largely isolating Varn, Paradiso, Cestus, and their associated local worlds from the remainder of the Coalition and the transit network.

“The Western Province has been making inroads with independent planets over the past several months as they have sought out trade partners to develop their own economic power, but the developing crises throughout the galaxy have substantially hampered the efforts of involved parties to promote the route and move into large-scale infrastructure development.

“Some Cooperative affiliates, such as TransGalMeg Industries and the Ryn Nation, have already made substantial investments in business ventures totally dependent upon the Route's success―”

“We know this already,” BlrrVeck interjected harshly, his vocoder adding a twinge of strained static to the words. “Tell us something new.”

“We have contacts. Business, informational, political. The Clans of Nimban hold interests in businesses and governments throughout the Rim. With the potential represented by the trade fleets of the Baobab Family and the Ryn Nation, and the production capacity of Hoersch-Kessel Drive and TransGalMeg at our disposal, we can open avenues of trade and development across half the Rim. The Squib and Ugor salvage and refurbishing industries will allow us to flood a developing market for trade infrastructure with reliable, low-cost alternatives to new production lines made by HKD and TGM. We can revive the entire Rim, now. Today. With one decree of our collective will.”

“Aren't we overlooking something?” Mungo Baobab chimed in. “The galaxy's at war. The Cooperative hasn't issued any kind of official stance toward the Cree'Ar yet, but I'm willing to bet their use of the Phage bioweapon and demand for the witch-hunting of every Force-adept in the galaxy isn't going over well with the guys upstairs. And the Reavers . . . well, they're a nuisance for guys like me, but they're a bona fide horror for the Ugor and a serious impending threat to the Cooperative's political core. We can't afford to ignore these threats, chasing blindly after profit while the galaxy burns around us.”

“But that's exactly the point,” Regent Minn countered, entering the conversation. “The Cree'Ar claim to have defeated the Yuuzhan Vong, seem to have come from beyond the edge of the galaxy. They wield Black Dragon bioweapons and, what's more, they are willing to use them. The Reavers are spreading; not as fast as they initially did, but they are spreading. The political climate of the New Order may once again cause its splintering into Remnant factions. The galaxy is falling apart, and either it's going to take the combined might of the entire galaxy to see our civilization through this Dark Age, or we will have to be the bulwark which holds against the coming storm. Us. The Cooperative. The Coalition. The “good guys”. And if it is to be us, then we're going to need every credit we can get. Every source of material we can secure. Every ally and trade partner we can muster. We're going to need the infrastructure of a true galactic civilization, the realized potential of thousands of worlds. Not dozens; not hundreds.

“Thousands. The galaxy is a big place, and while we're burning worlds on the borders of our wars, we're going to have to start building up worlds wherever we can, while our wars still have borders, while there are still planets yet to be scarred by fire.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then finally Lady Farool spoke up. “We'll have to organize comprehensive security forces to cover the length of the route. A network of trade stations, refueling depots. The logistics of assembling customs and inspection teams alone . . .”

“Free trade,” Mungo Baobab said stiffly.

“What!” King Ebaree screamed violently.

“We've got to open everything up. Bring in third parties to help with maintaining the safety of the route. We'll relegate all customs and inspection duties to local-level authorities only. De-regulate the route itself to the point that isn't even a Coalition property. Maybe we can get non-government entities involved to help ensure neutrality; the Rimward Defense Initiative, Stellar Enterprises security, organizations of that sort.” Mungo paused for a moment, pursed his lips as if trying not to say something. “We'll have to ask for larger commitments from the Confederation and send envoys to the Republic. Their corporation-heavy composition should open them up to large-scale trade and security interests, if we can find a way around the Reaver problem . . .

“And we have to contact the Empire, even if we have to do it piecemeal. The Imperial Core is a wreck; this route may help hold its Rimward elements together, and we need all the allies we can get, even the devil himself.”

“I suggest attempting to open dialogue with the League of Nations as well,” Kallek Dar added. “Their Core-centric industrial centers are highly developed, could pull in massive volumes of raw materials from the Rim, and incentives from Feethan Ottraw and the Ryn construction fleets could sway Rimward worlds to begin developing their own manufacturing capacities in the meantime.”

“I will not assist the Empire!” King Ebaree shouted vehemently. “If we must prepare for war, then―”

All at once the room erupted with the sound of comm beeps and emergency notices. The various leaders pulled out their own data access devices, frantically trying to get a handle on what was happening. It probably didn't help that each of them had routed the signals from their respective emergency networks into this one room.

Only Kallek Dar was sitting in silence, with nothing to do, just waiting for his new allies to explain the situation to him.

Finally, Lady Farool took notice of his ignorance and spoke up. “The Overseer has just dispatched a general distress call through the entire Cooperative HoloNet. The Vahaba Colonies are being invaded by the Reavers. All available military resources are being called to bear.”

All eyes turned to Kallek Dar. After a moment of consideration he flashed a crooked smile. “Well, it's a good thing I know where we're keeping the Alliance of Corporate States' Joint Task Force these days.”