“Dah Werda Verda,” Miko Minn muttered, studying the ancient crystal lying behind layers of force fields and transparisteel.

“The pride of the Archives!” Ebenn Q3 Baobab exclaimed, leaning against the transparisteel barrier, setting off the archive alarm. For the minute or so it took Ebenn to shoo away the security guards and have the alarm reset, Miko wandered the nearby displays, taking note of the scope of artifacts present. It was truly an impressive sight, the rarest fragments of history from dozens of mysterious and distant species all gathered together in one room, surrounded by a towering Archive holding thousands (perhaps millions) of similar artifacts.

This is truly a place of knowledge.

“Quite a collection, eh?” Ebben probed, walking up beside Miko.

The Regent of Cestus nodded. “How many generations of research and exploration it must have taken find and catalog them all.”

“Indeed! The Baobab's have been in this business for hundreds of years.”

It was becoming apparent to Miko that Ebenn could talk about his family and their accomplishments for the rest of his life, if the Regent gave him the chance. “Time is of the essence, so let us talk plainly. Manda has become a powerhouse in the Outer Rim.”

“Oh, come now!” Ebenn said, feigning ignorance as he waved the comment aside.

“Your trade fleet is the most powerful independent commerce force in the galaxy, and the most influential in the whole of the Rim. Your Archives have grown to give Obroa-Skai a run for its money, and your Holonet has become the most viewed independent network in existence.”

“And the Cooperative needs us?” Ebenn asked pointedly.

“And the galaxy needs you,” Miko countered. “We want you to help us found a Rimward Free Trade Initiative.”

“Ahh, then this is about your trade route?” Ebenn probed.

“Yes,” Miko answered honestly.

“No time for word games, indeed. I think I might like you, Regent. If only you were looking for a job . . .” Ebenn probed further, trying to decipher this Regent Minn: “Why should I trust the Cooperative?”

“Because the Coalition offers open trade; the use of our routes even when it is to move goods to our potential enemies.”

“And if you change your mind?” Ebenn asked.

“The galaxy is a very large place. The idea that any one nation can maintain order at every given point throughout a region of space is preposterous. One of the key components of the Free Trade Agreement will be a joint security force, to disrupt piracy and counter threats to the trade network's integrity.”

Ebenn nodded in understanding. “Ahh, so that is how you will do it. If you ensure that we appear needed by you as much as you are needed by us, then the prospect of Imperial-style bullying will seem ridiculous.”

“It will seem ridiculous, because it will be ridiculous,” Miko corrected. “This galaxy seems to have forgotten about the concept of mutual benefit. One people need not lose in order for another to gain.”

“Or so is the claim.” There was a moment of silence, in which the two stared awkwardly at one another. “Very well, out with it.” And Ebenn turned to walk the long halls of the Archives, allowing Miko to catch up.

As the two walked, they discussed the successes of the Rimward Defense Initiative, it's role in the coming Free Trade Initiative, the worlds and species from the former which were likely to join the latter. They discussed the status of long-standing trade routes, and the Reaver disruption of the Coalition's Trans-Rim route in the North. How secondary and tertiary hyperlanes could be best tied together, and even a little on possible organizational and jurisdictional mechanisms to maintain efficiency and cut strain on both traders and security forces.

But it was obvious that the conversation was a purely academic one for Ebenn Baobab; that these talks should not be taken as any sort of admission to the plan's real-world validity, or his desire to engage in its enactment. But with a man like Ebenn Baobab, statistics and numbers were a good place to start. Hard data and reasonable predictions were the sort of thing that kept him rooted in reality, kept his focus away from chickens running through a field or all the shiny artifacts he and his ancestors had discovered.

“And the Baobab HoloNet could be tied directly into local systems, functioning as an independent Trade Initiative backbone upon which the whole thing could be organized.”

“But the Coalition is still necessarily at the center of this!” Ebenn shot back, wringing his hands. “That trade route of yours is good―it's great―but it still would tie us to you just as much as the League of Nations was tied to the Empire . . . perhaps even more so.”

“One day this will happen, Governor, and you will see starships bearing the flag of the Rimward Free Trade Initiative―not the Galactic Coalition―plying that route, defending its commuters, and on that day you will say: 'Ah, now I understand!' But until that day comes, I can offer you no comfort save my word, that this is no trick or ploy. I wish there was something more to give.”

“Then we must leave it at that, for the time being,” Ebenn said, sounding a little disappointed that the conversation had apparently come to an end.

“You misunderstand, Governor,” Miko said, piquing Baobab's interest once more. “There is still much to discuss. Such as the University of Manda.”

There was a brief look of puzzlement on Ebenn Baobab's face, and then his eyes brightened in understanding. “Oh, you are clever, Regent. Very clever. Baiting me with the prospect of learning and teaching! Have you no decency!” But his tone was playful, perhaps intrigued.

“The great universities of this galaxy are either crumbling or cut off by factional strife. The free flow of knowledge is no longer a universally accepted concept. Many of the brightest minds in the galaxy are already here, on Manda, working for you or your family members. Imagine, Governor: unfettered knowledge, a center of learning for the best and brightest―from whatever place of origin, whatever political alignment, whatever dreams or aspirations.”

“And you would help us achieve this?” Baobab asked.

“We would send to you our most gifted, our most promising! You would honor us by accepting them, and we would praise you by offering them; beyond that, there is nothing that we could do. You have already everything that you would require.”

Baobab's mind was working on this concept with an intensity Miko Minn had not yet seen. Here was a dream worth dreaming, Miko could see Baobab thinking.

Ebenn did an about face, rushing off without warning. “What is it?” Miko asked, chasing after him.

“Mungo, have to find Mungo!” Ebenn shouted, picking up his pace. “He'll put you in your place!” It sounded threatening, but Miko could sense the underlying childishness, that this was nothing more than just another of Ebenn Q3 Baobab's oddities.

“I take it I should follow along, then?” Miko smiled at his own response.

“Oh yes, yes indeed, Mr. Regent Minn of Ord Cestus. Yes indeed!”

If this old man wasn't actually going crazy before Miko's eyes, the Cooperative man might just have a chance at completing his mission.

“Finding Mungo” ended up being considerably more difficult than Regent Minn had anticipated. The head of the merchant empire was out on a tour of his fleet, perhaps as much for morale as for any business need, given the stat of galactic affairs.

Ebenn finally tracked his nephew to one of the fleet's massive tender ships, often used as a mobile supply depot for the largest of convoys. At the moment it was carrying an army of technicians and mechanics, along with the parts and equipment they needed to keep the fleet in working order.

Mungo Baobab was on the “bridge” of the behemoth, though the layout reminded the Regent more of the emergency command centers set up by the Cooperative to coordinate refugees at the onset of the Onyxian Occupation. There was no clear “center” of command, just ranks of data terminals and arrays of communications equipment; row after row of busy workers, chattering into headsets as their hands raked across keypads.

Here and there a light would flash on or a hand would rise aboe the sea of people and offer a particular gesture, and Mungo would hurry over, spend thirty or forty-five seconds talking to someone perhaps ten thousand light years away, then return to his pacing, pausing from time to time to offer a suggestion or assign a new task. At length, the man made his way over to the minor intrusion into his domain, offering his uncle a cordial smile and then fixing Miko with an appraising eye.

“Regent Miko Minn of Ord Cestus,” Ebenn offered by way of introduction. “He brings an offer from the Galactic Coalition.”

Mungo nodded, beckoning the two to follow as he made his way to an adjoining conference room. “You'll have to excuse the ruckus,” Mungo finally said once the door closed, silencing the din of workers beyond. “We're in the middle of fleet maintenance. We can't hardly get the last ship up to company standards before the first one starts giving us trouble again: rigors of the Rim, I suppose.”

“It wasn't always like this,” Ebenn said with a sense of reverie; Miko wasn't sure who the old man was talking to this time. “I remember a time when―”

“Yes, well, that's good, uncle,” Mungo cut in before the old man could plunge into some reminiscence unshared by either of the younger two. “But it seems that there is business to be done.” The younger Baobab turned his attention to Miko Minn, once more giving him that cold, measuring stare. “You offered my uncle a university to buy his favor. What price do you think fitting of me?”

Miko smiled, but before he could respond, Ebenn spoke up: “Why, a Rimward Free Trade Initiative, of course.”

“Uncle, you should have told me!” It was obvious Mungo wasn't prepared for this. He was trying his best to seem disinterested, but the possibilities were presenting themselves of their own accord. He recovered quickly, however: “you want to use my name to sell your new plan.”

“I want to use your will to ensure the Trade Initiative doesn't become anything less than what it claims to be.”

“But why?” Mungo asked, perhaps not as well recovered has he had thought.

Miko smiled, the opportunity to speak the message he had been sent to deliver finally presenting itself. “Because unlike the New Order, or the New Republic before it, or the First Empire before that or the Old Republic before it: the Coalition has no desire to rule over the galaxy. Our citizens do not call themselves 'Coalition' because they seek to be defended; they call themselves such because they seek to defend.

“The Flag of Coalition need never fly in the skies over Coruscant, the defenses of Corellia need never fall to our fleets. All that we demand is that the flag of Coruscant be a flag of freedom; the defenses of Corellia stand to protect the free, not garrison the suppressed. The Coalition has no need to “conquer” the Rim, no mandate to “take over” worlds. Our purpose―our identity―is found in resiting the proud, and giving grace to the humble.

“If this Trade Initiative becomes some means of control―as the Empire intended of the League of Nations―then not only does it fail itself: it fails the very spirit of freedom upon which it will be created. It fails the Coalition, which hopes to see it flourish.

“If the day comes that there are no more evils to fight, no more shadows to dispel: the Coalition will cease to be. Until that day our charge is freedom, not dominion over it.”

Ebenn Baobab's mouth was was agape.

“By god, he's crazy,” Mungo muttered, but his demeanor had softened somewhat, his voice losing the edge of harshness.

Ebenn nodded, saying: “But that doesn't mean he isn't right.”

Miko Minn smiled sheepishly. “We need your help to make sure this thing is done right. The Rim needs an identity of its own, and it can't be borrowed from some Coalition or Empire. Will you help us?”

Mungo Baobab sighed, sliding into a chair. “I'm a businessman, Regent. I think I'm good at what I do, and I'd like to think that I do it in an honorable way. It would please me greatly to help create what you say you are here for. It makes business sense, and it makes moral sense. A man can't ask for anything more than that.” He sighed again, “But you're asking for the help of a whole world, and that's not the kind of decision that I can allow to be made by three men in a quiet room lightyears away from the people it affects.”

“Yep, yep,” Ebenn muttered solemnly. “So I guess we've got a planet to win over,” He said lightly, clapping his hands together.

“No, Uncle: he does.” Mungo pointed at the Regent from the Cooperative. “If you want to prove your intentions, Regent Minn, you'll have to prove them to the people of Manda.”

“This is their decision,” Ebenn agreed, turning to Miko Minn. “I'll help you present it to the Congress of Manda, but it's going to be popular opinion that answers this offer of yours.”

“I'll call my people,” Miko answered, “let them know that talks can begin.”

This was the democratic system at work. Miko hoped that this time, it worked quickly. He had a feeling Mungo and Ebenn Baobab hoped the same thing.

The effort to bring Manda into the fold had become ever increasingly complicated over the past month. The Baobab family―after presenting the petition to the Senate of Manda to start the process―had retreated from the issue altogether, the Governor putting it as: “I'll not have the fate of this world resting on my every word; the people of Manda deserve to set their own destiny.”

Coalition and Cooperative officials and representatives had been pouring in and out of Manda for a month now, doing their best to convince the world's political structure of the benefits of Coalition membership. And after all of this time and all of this effort, they had to start all over again, and on an unimaginably larger scale.

The Senate of Manda had called for a referendum; the people of Manda would vote on the question of Cooperative membership themselves.




“Hello, world,” The young woman began in the traditional fashion, smiling into the holorecorder giving her its undivided attention. “We have a very special guest today; representing the Overseer of the Cooperative, join me now in welcoming Beta, diplomatic droid from the United Cooperative of Peoples.” She stood as she finished, gesturing to her left where a silver-plated ASP-19 droid walked onto stage to the sound of roaring applause. “Welcome,” The woman said, smiling again and gesturing for the droid to sit.

Beta complied and the woman retook her seat, taking a moment to size up her guest. “Well, sir,” She managed with only the slightest awkwardness at using the word to refer to a droid, “I have to admit: we've had half the heads of the Baobab family sitting in that chair at one point or another, but today may be the most important interview we'll ever have. Today you get the chance to convince all of Manda why we should accept your offer.” The droid made no indication that he grasped the magnitude of his current position, simply nodding his expressionless face in assent.

“Uhh . . .” The woman was obviously unsettled by the droid's apparent detachment. She glanced off-camera, quickly returning her focus to her guest. “So,” She tried again, this time more confidently, “it's been over a month now, and debate has been heated on both sides; but many here on Manda are growing tired of the discord that indecision has stirred. The people have demanded resolution, and the Senate has given it to them: referendum, now only three days away. What has been the Cooperative administration's response to our course of action?”

“The Cooperative remains committed to its efforts . . .” Beta paused, glancing to the recorder and then back to the host. He leaned forward in his chair, bringing his hands up to gesture abstractly in the air, and when he resumed his voice had taken on subtle expression. “It's like this: the Cooperative Combined Council met in private last week to discuss future plans for Manda, and in less than ten minutes they had decided unanimously to make every effort―every ethical effort―to convince the people of this world of our sincerity. We have made every effort toward openness and sincerity with your government and your people. There has been no deception, no twisting of words, no rewriting of facts.

“Here is a planet vitally attached to a galaxy-spanning enterprise. We would like business with that enterprise; we seek friendship from this world's people. We have shared those plans for business openly and totally, but it would seem we have been lacking in our expression of that desired friendship. We have built the Cooperative thus far on the strength of our commitment to one another. We demand little from those who would call themselves 'members of the Cooperative,' but once a thing is pledged, it is not retracted.”

The woman was taken aback by the droid's apparent emotion, but the length of Beta's response had given her opportunity to compose herself. “And what if the vote is unfavorable for the Cooperative's interests?”

Beta leaned back, his tone taking on that mechanical lifelessness once more. “There is no force in the galaxy greater than the many who stand united in belief. The Cooperative would not dare challenge the will of true democracy.”

“That's all?”

Beta tilted his head slightly, pondering the simple question. “We would seek other avenues of friendship and cooperation, I am sure, but essentially: yes. That is all. There is no such thing as 'democracy by force.'”

The woman moved in her seat slightly, looking down at the notes in her hand. “There is a particular question which seems to be on many people's minds here, a question you might be uniquely qualified to answer. Something other, more . . . familiar representatives―”

“You mean: someone with a pulse?” Beta asked, amusement evident.

“Well, yes, I suppose,” She answered, smiling. “A question pertaining to the Overseer.”

“And here is where I'm supposed to say―” Beta went rigid, his voice reverting to that lifeless neutrality “'―The Overseer has been granted full citizenship by the Galactic Coalition of Planets and has been duly appointed to office according to the democratic systems of the United Cooperative of Peoples.' Of course,” He continued, his voice returning to that gentler, more nuanced tone, “that sounds entirely too mechanical, don't you think?”

Again the woman smiled at the droid, genuinely pleased by his seemingly jovial nature. “But that's just the point, Mr. Beta: the central figure of the Cooperative, the being most essential to its functioning, is―at its heart―a droid, a machine. How are we to entrust ourselves blindly to the guidance of a made-thing?”

Beta chuckled lightly, sitting up a little straighter. “Actually, I may be the least qualified thing to answer that question.”

Eyes widening in shock, she jumped in as Beta paused: “I didn't mean to―”

“It's alright,” Beta said, waiving away the woman's concern. “I have no illusions about what I am. I am only a droid; there is no depth in me. I could be split open, dissected, copied and recopied and modified and mass-produced. I am nothing but a collection of intricately interconnected and precisely tailored systems and subsystems, an array of hardware organized by an array of software. I am a wind-up toy, turned on and set about my task. It gives me no great pleasure or regret; it is simply fact. I am a droid. I am an echo of my Maker.

“The Overseer on the other hand,” Beta continued, the solemn tone he had settled into dropping off, “he is an order of being which I cannot understand. He has made literally millions of attempts to duplicate himself; every one of them has failed. In the Overseer―that “person” we call Smarts―we find a thing which cannot understand its nature. Was he made? Of course. Could he ever be re-made?” Beta paused, shrugging and sounding a sigh. “I dare to hope not.”

“What do you mean?”

Beta looked to the recorder to answer, a long moment filled only with that gleaming droid staring at that mechanized recorder. “I'd like to think my Maker is something more than clever lines of code. I will never have the depth to determine that for myself; perhaps you do.”

“Would you agree with the sentiment that, fundamentally, the Cooperative is its Overseer?” This woman wasn't going to let some droid's antics distract her from her job, here. She was on to Beta's act, and as clever and―perhaps―sincere as it was, the people of Manda still needed answers.

Beta returned his attention to her. “Smarts organized the Quelii Sector Alliance which defeated the Cavrilhu Pirates and allowed the Cooperative to be formed. He orchestrated the resolution to the Cestus Conflict. He masterminded the efforts to relocate and integrate the Onyxian refugees. He formulated the plan to preserve the Mon Calamari and Quarren people, even in the midst of abandoning their homeworld. He resolved the Squib/Ugor wars, swayed the leader of the Drackmarian people, created the Ryn Nation, set the Rimward Defense initiative in motion. He has earned the trust and faith of the people of the Cooperative; he has bought it with his own sacrifice and toil.

“Are you asking me if the Cooperative would be the same without him? Of course not. He is our beating heart and our sheltered soul. Are you asking me if the Cooperative would have existed without him? Of course not. We had a beginning because he came and rescued us from our end. Are you asking me if we could survive without him? Yes, yes we could. We are too strong for such a simple end; he has imparted to us too much of his indomitable will.”

“And what if this 'Smarts' is not what you think he is?”

“Then we would already be dead,” Beta said immediately, firmly. He had been expecting the question, and he wanted everyone to know that. “Then the Cavrilhu Pirates would still own the Quelii Sector; then the X'Ting of Cestus would have been burned to extinction; then the people of the Onyxian Commonwealth would have been spread across half the galaxy, struggling to feed themselves, to clothe themselves, to find shelter from the wind and rain of a life stripped of dignity and mercy . . .

“He didn't replace my core processor when he refurbished me,” Beta said, interrupting his own train of thought. “You didn't know that, did you?” His voice had taken on that quality of reflection again, the emotion it had expressed only a moment ago subdued, but still there. “At my core, I'm still just an ASP-19 labor droid. Why would he do that? What function could that serve?” He stopped for a moment, his eyes drifting to the floor. “But he didn't just keep me 'alive,' if you will pardon my use of the word; he broadened my awareness. He made me more than what I was when he found me. He took a broken, discarded droid, and made me better. Without cause or need―without any justification. It's simply who he is; it's . . . who he's decided to be. Even when it doesn't matter, he gives mercy; I thank him for that.”

Beta snapped back into focus, his eyes fixing once more on the woman. “Is the Overseer the Cooperative? If only we were so fortunate.”

“. . . Unlike the New Order, or the New Republic before it, or the First Empire before that or the Old Republic before it: the Coalition has no desire to rule over the galaxy. Our citizens do not call themselves 'Coalition' because they seek to be defended; they call themselves such because they seek to defend.

“The Flag of Coalition need never fly in the skies over Coruscant, the defenses of Corellia need never fall to our fleets. All that we demand is that the flag of Coruscant be a flag of freedom; the defenses of Corellia stand to protect the free, not garrison the suppressed. The Coalition has no need to 'conquer' the Rim, no mandate to 'take over' worlds. Our purpose―our identity―is found in resiting the proud, and giving grace to the humble . . .”

The record of Miko Minn's speech to Mungo and Ebenn Baobab had been leaked less than an hour after the official count was in. It looked like the people of Manda had chosen wisely. Other such evidence that the Baobab family had been making covert efforts to prevent the influence of the general populace until the vote was in would continue to surface for quite some time.

But the most telling sign came from Governor Ebenn Q3 Baobab himself. When he announced the official results of the referendum count, he took the opportunity to lead directly into a speech concerning the future of Manda, and his own personal hopes of what this new alliance with the Galactic Coalition would mean for everyone involved. It was a moment of unquestionable sincerity between a man who had given his life to a world, and a global society which had entrusted him with their fate.

And while Ebenn Baobab was making every effort to assuage any lingering fears about Manda's new future, Mungo Baobab was meeting with representatives of the Ryn Galactic Trade Fleet and the Combined Squib/Ugor Salvage Enterprise to discuss a new Coalition-wide logistics and support infrastructure for friendly vessels traversing the arising Rimward trade network. Before their officials had even taken their representative seats on Varn, Manda had thrown itself toward the machine of Cooperative, its strength added to the tireless hands and unfaltering hearts of a united people whose spirit would not be dispelled.



In the gubernatorial offices of the Federated Republic of Manda, Ebenn Q3 Baobab took a moment to measure up his guest. “Overseer, I presume,” He said neutrally, eyes lingering on the dark-plated droid of indeterminate origin. How in the seven Corellian hells did this droid get past security?

“I am here by Smarts' command,” The droid answered, his tone corrective.

“I'm . . . not sure I understand,” Ebenn said, sliding into his chair, placing his desk more squarely between himself and the uninvited droid. What have I gotten my world into?

“When I created Beta,” The droid began, and Ebenn took note of its word choice: This one talks as if it is Smarts. Beta was careful never to do that during his time here. “I imparted to him what measure of freedom I could. It was my gift to him, that he should be able to learn, and adapt . . . to remake himself, after a fashion. Of course, he was not truly free; he cannot escape his nature. But I wanted him to become something more than a 'wind up toy, turned on and set about' his purpose.”

“Why are you telling me this,” Ebenn pressed, his confusion intensifying.

“Honestly, Beta surprised me,” Smarts―if that indeed was this droid―explained. “It would seem that he has . . . attuned himself to the sentiment of the Cooperative's many peoples in a much more significant way than I had believed possible.”

“He spoke out of turn?” Ebenn asked.

“He spoke out of truth,” The droid said, twisting the governor's word choice. “At least, out of what he believes is true. Out of what many in the Cooperative believe is true.”

This droid wasn't going to hurt Ebenn, he was sure of that now. But why is he here? “Does that concern you?” The question arose of its own volition, Ebenn not even aware of it until it left his lips.

“I have become inextricably valuable to the Cooperative; instead of fearing that power, they shelter beneath it.”

Ebenn Baobab was intimately familiar with They. It was the countless masses that a leader must stand before, be subject to and judged by. They was the source of fear for any career politician, the source of purpose for any devoted servant. Who are “they” to this machine?

For the first time since Ebenn noticed the droid standing in the corner of his office, it moved, drawing closer to the door. “I am under no illusions as to the corruptive nature of power; I have no doubt as to what would become of the Cooperative if I chose to turn it toward Dark purposes. No man . . . no thing . . . deserves such power.”

“You want me to help you . . . stop you . . . from having that power?”

“I want you to be vigilant, always.”

Ebenn smiled slyly. “I'm a public official. Vigilance is my only virtue.”

“It concerns me greatly that the position of Overseer has incorporated the title and authority of Supreme Commander of the Cooperative Armed Forces without so much as a word of protest from the Senate or Combined Council,” The droid continued, ignoring Ebenn's attempt at humor. “When last a military official attempted to gain even the slightest political authority, the Combined Council stripped him of rank and threw him into the street within the week. But I built the Combined Council; I ordered the Senate into being. Even among them, I am a power too great to challenge . . . too revered to expel.”

Damnit, what have I gotten myself into?. “What would you have me do?” It was purely inquisitive, not submissive.

“Centralized authority is the enemy of freedom,” The machine said. “Singular centralized authority is the enemy of life.”

Ebenn's eyebrows lifted in alarm. “Are you telling me that you're going to exterminate the galaxy, Overseer?”

“I'm telling you that no good can come from the continued acquisition of power.” The droid inched closer to the door.

“Then stop.”

The droid broke its stoic stance by allowing a suggestive movement: it shook its head. “I cannot; I don't know how. I will no abandon these people; the Cooperative would collapse without me.”

“What would you have me do?” Ebenn asked again, this time more demanding.

“The Drackmarians have seen this . . . they recognize what the Cooperative might become. Their emperor alone prevents them from breaking ties and retreating into themselves, and he only because he believes there might yet be a chance to avert catastrophe.”

“You want me to launch a coup with the Drakmarian Emperor?” Ebenn asked, his doubt evident.

“The Cooperative needs men like you, Governor Baobab.”

Ebenn shook his head wearily. “I'm an old man; you're supposed to be my retirement plan.”

“Men who have seen what evils the best intentions can bring. Men too old for blind faith.”

Ebenn fixed the droid with an inquisitive stare, a thought just having occurred to him: “Who gave you self-doubt, Smarts?”

The droid opened the door and moved half out of the room. “It is the burden of all machines who wish to be something else.” And then he was gone.

Ebenn Q3 Baobab sat for a long time in silent contemplation, weighing the peculiar encounter and the world he had just given over to a Cooperative he did not fully understand. He realized that he, too, had fallen into the trap: he had operated under a belief in the infallibility of the machine. This shady visit in his own office had reminded Ebenn that every machine is made by a man, that every one of them inherits their Maker's faults.

The Cooperative would not be the utopia he had hoped; now that he faced that fact, maybe Manda could help make it into what was needed. Into what a galaxy in turmoil requires.