Pegasus, Contegorian Flagship, in orbit around Metalorn

The Pegasus drifted over the gray planet in a lazy orbit over the nightside of the planet. Arrayed around her with the other silver-coloured ships of the Contegorian Confederation. The wraith-like Deathsabers soared overhead throughout the formation. On the bridge of the Pegasus, the muffled din of busy crewmembers dominated the bridge. Corise stood on the somewhat darkened walkway, facing the planet, whose only visible characteristic was the glowing lights of the cities below.

“How can anyone call that place home?” questioned the Commander, coming up from behind the Contegorian SCO.

Corise shook his head. “It’s beyond me. Apparently there is no plant-life at all, at least from our casual sensor scans. It appears Industry conquered the planet millennia ago.”

Commander Fyre snorted in agreement. Metalorn’s grayish color was not of the natural variety; it spoke of the millennia of industry which had turned what was once a planet full of rain forests to its current state: a completely industrialized planet. A planet that could be compared to Coruscant in terms of how the buildings sprawled across it. But Metalorn was slightly different; different in that its primary function was not administrative, but rather industrious. For skyscrapers didn’t cover it like the Imperial capital city. Instead, countless factories producing anything from com-links to medpacs to starships covered the planet to point where it appeared to be made of the synthetic durasteel and duracrete rather than any natural, earthy base. No, the fires of industry dominated the planet, making it an industrial powerhouse; a great strength, and a great weakness.

A voice shouted over the din of the crewpit.

“Sir! Communication from Metalorn Traffic Control. Your shuttle has been cleared for landing bay Alpha-Blue-Two-Four-Size-Niner.”

“Thank you Lieutenant!” yelled back the younger Lucerne, who then turned to Commander Fyre,“Is Pro-Consul-errr…Ambassador Thorn ready?”

Commander Fyre shook his head with an amused smile.

“If you mean Christina, then no. Her droid told me that she said to tell Commander Fyre to tell you that she’s making a few last minute preparations,” commented the other man.

“That’s quite the mouthful.”

“Some women are like that.”

Corise mock glared at his friend. “Some men are like that too.”

“Ah…well…”

“Nevermind that. Tell her droid that Commodore Lucerne told you to tell the droid to tell her that he will be awaiting her in the shuttle.”

“You learn fast.”

Corise shook his head in exasperation before abruptly walking out to turbolift that would take him to the hangar bay.

T4a Shuttle Contegorian Courage, Pegasus Hangar Bay

Commodore Lucerne leaned back in the shuttle chair amidst the sterile environment of the shuttle, the vibrant hum of the ship’s engines suffusing the Contegorian Courage. Crisp refreshing air coursed through the cabin via the ventilation vents. Given the busyness and resulting stress from it, this should be a welcome sanctuary for me. He squirmed a little in his seat as he checked his chrono. Takeoff was suppose to be two minutes ago.

The tread of armored boots began to reverberate throughout the shuttle. About time. He glanced up to see the white-clad Pro-consul warily approaching one of the seats. Behind her, a full squad of the Contegorian Shock Troopers marched aboard, a quartet arraying themselves about each triumvirate member. Christina was several seats in front of the officer. A frown rippled across his face before disappearing behind the cold, professional mask of a seasoned officer.

No smile. No facial recognition or contact. No expression. No chit-chat. No acknowledgement of my existence; something is wrong. Very wrong. I’ve never seen her like this. Corise began to entertain various possibilities of why she was upset. Through their various trips across the galaxy from the Gestalt Colonies to Audacia, the Commodore had appreciated her company, both in a professional and personal way. Her charming and engaging manner often persuaded people to their cause, and moreover, it was not fake like that of so many politicians and salespeople that pervaded the galaxy. Proof of it was in the time they talked within his cabin on the Seraph or the various shuttles whilst they traveled through space. It as if someone sapped her very essence out of her or replaced with an emotionless android. Corise entertained the possibility of Vice-Commodore Shipwright replacing the Pro-consul with one of his Delta units, before vigorously shaking away the absurd notion. No reason he would, no way he could, well, maybe he could. But given our security precautions and that she seemed fine…normal… about an hour ago, it seems a little unlikely. Obviously something has happened within the hour to upset her, but what?

The lowering whine of the ionic engines followed by a brief thud announced that while the Commodore was engaged in a battle of thoughts, the shuttle had left the Pegasus and passed through the complex, two-layered planetary shielding system of Metalorn and landed; This shield system is very similar used to that used on Coruscant; that had to have taken us at the very least five minutes to pass through at optimal levels, and assume that the flight took us-

“Commodore?”

The cyan slit of the shock trooper's visor pierced through the officer’s thoughts to the man himself; Corise snapped out of his revelry.

“Sorry Sergeant,” replied the officer sheepishly, “Just entertaining a few thoughts.”

“Of course sir.”

He rose to watch the Pro-consul’s back disappear down the gangway to the planet below.

Wearing the black and silver uniform of the Kashan Fleet, Corise steady walked down the ramp onto the duracrete pad below, flanked on either side by two stoic Shock Troopers. The view of the landing pad was cold and impersonal, just like the rest of the planet; Metalorn’s industry had taken its toll on the planet, leaving smoggy, dark skies produced by the unrelenting metal and duracrete structures that spoke of decades of work and products. It may be an industrial powerhouse, but how can anyone want to live here? And before the Kashan man, an equally cold and impersonal delegation from Metalorn’s governments awaited them. That’s to be expected. The scary part is watching the Pro-Consul fit right in.

“Pro-Consul Thorn, Commodore Lucerne, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Prime Minister DeMarakesh,” announced the Metalorian honour guard captain.

It can’t be.

Kriel DeMarakesh plodded forward from the somber crowd of gray-suited individuals. While not obese, his stout body seemed remarkably similar to a barrel, and that wasn’t helped by the boiler suit he wore. His thinning gray hair swept over a balding head. His cheeks were craggy then when the Commodore had remembered. But his voice was the same; gravelly and somber.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Pro-consul,” greeted the melancholic man, his eyes now setted on the Kashan man. Both men averted their eyes.

“Prime Minister,” bowed Corise.

The Prime Minister nodded in return. “Commodore.”

As the flashes of light blossomed around the leaders, Corise could only wonder how.
---------------------------
One decade ago, CEC Heavy Frigate Stiletto

The wires broke loose, showering sparks on the frenzied crew. Battle sirens

“Is he frakking here yet?”

“Negative sir!” shouted the Sub-Lieutenant, gripping his chair as the ship rocked again.

Another voice rose up from the din of the crew.

“Anders Three is away. Gundark and Dark Revenge are requesting permission to make the jump.”

The dark-haired lieutenant shook his head. “We must-”

The ship buffeted under another blast of light, sending Lieutenant Fletcher flying off the command chair straight into the abandoned flight console. His head slammed into the screen, spraying shards of glass across the bridge. Crewmembers instinctively ducked or covered their faces as the shrapnel flew across the bridge. The young Sub-Lieutenant swept his hands off his face to turn to the Lieutenant. Blood streamed down from the console, and sparks continually rained upon the motionless man.

“Lieutenant!” shouted a cadet.

“He’s dead,” stated the sub-lieutenant, quickly occupying the command chair, and unlike his predecessor, he took care to strap himself in.

“Comm, patch me through to the fleet.”

“Right Saberboy.”

The blond-haired man shook his head at the nickname as he flicked the microphone on.

“All CEC ships are hereby ordered to retreat under to the safety point.”

“What about the captain?”

Corise shook his head. “We can’t wait for the captain. If we do, the only thing we’ll be is a pile of debris and wreckage. Make the jump.”

The Corellian ship surged forward from the battle, escaping into the safety of hyperspace.

Present

Corise gazed out of the room’s large transparisteel viewport unto the gray surface of Metalorn, and an unusual occurence. Brilliant oranges, yellows, and even a little purple haze splashed across the sky; the vestiges of a setting sun, a setting era, of a settling of affairs that should have been long established. He turned, picked up a crystal glass filled with a crimson liquid. He brought it up to his eyes, before taking a quick shot of the drink; he grimaced.

“Well this is absolutely wonderful.”

He set the glass down hard on the drab table and slowly shook his head. Corise settled his hand on the holster strapped to his belt. Fumbling a bit, he drew the finely detailed holdout and pointed it at the door, as if to shoot an imaginary enemy invading his residence. The door chime rang, sending the man in a frenzied effort to strap the blaster back in.

“Just a second,” shouted the Kashan man, hitting a button on the room’s remote control.

The door slid open, admitting a man with a gray overcoat. The door closed behind him. Both just looked at each other before Corise motioned the visitor to a nearby couch.

“Please, take a seat Prime Minister.”

The other man wanly smiled. “I remember when we first met; when you were a mere sub-lieutenant.”

Kriel briefly hestitated. “Do you remember the cabin meetings on the Stiletto. And Barflos insisted that you have caf at three times the normal concentration?”

Corise gave a predatory smile. “Yes. I immediately ran to the refresher station and spit it out after taking a single sip. That was terrible.”

The other man chuckled. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t laugh when Roberts was initiated.”

The commodore made his first smile during the trip. “Very true. It was only because it instantly spit it out over Barflos.”

They both laughed at the memory before it died down. Corise stared at the far wall in remembrance.

“So long ago.

DeMarakesh nodded in agreement.

“Now you’re a Commodore, and of a reasonably sized Confederation, and I’m the leader of the Galatican Party.”

Corise turned to look at the empty glass sitting on the table. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No,” stated the bulky man quietly, “no. The Galatican Party has sent me to discuss to you some of the more sensitive matters.”

The Kashan man raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the leader?”

“Yes. As they say, those who want to be great among must be the lowiest of servants. Corise, I am here to beg you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

DeMarkesh shook his head ruefully.

“You’ve heard about the Empire’s recent conquest of Agamar?”

“Yes,” stated the officer, refilling up the crystal glass with Cambrian Wine.

“We had a deal with Agamar. We make the machines and droids they need, and they gave us a large stock of grain and foodstuffs that we need.”

“Go on,” stated the Coalition man, watching his former crewmate closely.

“The deal’s off with the Imperial occupation. Our major food source has been completely cut off. We have products tailored specifically for Agamar’s agriculture sitting in warehouses. It’s not public knowledge, but there is likely going to be a food shortage now when the reserves run out.”

Corise frowned. “Can’t you have private traders bring some in?”

“We already are. But few traders are interested in bringing foodstuffs. There isn’t a lot of profit in trading food. You and I both know that; CEC taught us that.”

The Commodore relunctantly nodded as he set down the glass back on the table.

“And it doesn’t help that we have agriculture hardware sitting with nowhere to be. That in itself won’t devastate the economy, but it will be a small setback for the government’s factories. There is a reason we want in Corise,” stated Kriel, rising from the couch.

“The nearest major supplier of food is Audacia, and that’s at least as much of an agricultural powerhouse as Agamar for this sector. You can prevent the food shortage. You can prevent the hunger.”

Corise warily shook his head.

“I don’t understand. I am not the deciding factor of if Metalorn can join the Confederation.”

Kriel looked down at the blue carpeting.

“Maybe, maybe not. You have influence the Confederation to allow us to join fastly.”

“I don’t doubt that the Confederation would not allow your membership even if I didn’t have any influence within it.”

“That may be, but you can make it faster, more seamless.”

Corise frowned. “Forgive me, but I don’t follow.”

“Sure, signing the articles of the Confederation and having them ratified takes at most a day; we’ve been waiting for this. Actually integrating us into the Confederation’s infrastructure to get those foodstuffs that we need will take weeks. We need them soon. We need them now; we just activated the foodstuff reserves hours ago. That’s not public knowledge.”

Corise shook his head. “I can probably arrange through Elder Monoceros to reroute the next shipments of foodstuffs from Audacia to get to you. My home planet can also send some of its products.”

“Corellia?”

“Kashan. I lied on my birthplace when I entered the CEC corporate fleet. We didn’t want to have someone realizing that a new planet existed with humans on it.”

“Ah.”

“We have much to discuss then…”

In the Past, CEC Heavy Frigate Stiletto

“Damage report on all systems,” demanded Sub-Lieutenant Lucerne, walking up to the various bridge consoles.

“Engines are at 72% efficiency. One of their missiles hit our port thrusters hard; we’re going to have some difficulty maneuvering. As for our hyperdrive, it’s fine, at least from the basic diagnostic test. The Chief’s been busy checking and securing hull breaches.”

“Right,” stated the temporary commander, moving on to the next station.

“Most of our weapons have been knocked out. For pirates, they have a fair amount of accuracy and advanced technology.”

Corise nodded. “I think it was a set-up by our competition to try and inflict some losses.”

“Yeah, but they had CEC built ships.”

“Anyone can get CEC ships,” countered the officer, already moving on.

“Crew losses are pretty bad sir,” stated the personnel chief, “that first surprise salvo hit us with our shields done on the aft starboard side. We’ve lost an entire gunnery crew and some of the quartermaster department there. There are minor injuries everywhere else with, well…”

“Yes?”

“With the exception of Lieutenant Barflos,” stammered the man, referring to the body being picked up off the flight console.

“And Captain DeMarkesh?”

The other man shrugged. “I’m labeling him as being missing in action. His shuttle took a direct hit; it didn’t look like there was much left of it when it plummeted into the atmosphere.”

Corise nodded. “Very well. Comm, status of the fleet?”

“We’ve all been hit pretty bad, but we should be able to make it by the main office at Corellia in several weeks.”

“That slow?”

“The Rose is operating on her back-up hyperdrive now; a missile took out the main hyperdrive core.”

“Blast. We may have to leave her behind; she’s slowing down the shipments and supplies.”

“Yes sir.”

The Kashan man moved on to the inspect the ship as Lieutenant Barflos’ body was unceremoniously removed with the broken cables, glass shards, and other debris from the battle. The younger Lucerne’s eyes rest on the ship’s XO in the stretcher, and he bowed his head in respect.
-------------------------------------
“No, I’m not being unreasonable,” shouted the woman.

“But-”

“But he bypassed the established diplomatic protocol completely…”

The companion droid stood mute in the dark corner; it had been forced to retreat under the verbal onslaught of its owner. Protocol droids were often considered to be annoying, and thus were more subject to derisiveness than most nonhuman entities. But few droids had been subject to the derisiveness that the droid was under now because its owner’s friend and that friend’s friend had done something wrong. The droid meekly attempted to talk.

“Perhaps-”

“No perhaps. None,” stated the woman, “Corise is a warrior not a diplomat. Does the Metalorn government think that because I’m a woman, they should simply bypass me and talk to a military representative instead? For the maker’s sake, I am the chief envoy of the Confederation. Governor DeMarkesh must be ruling a very chauvinist society.”

“You could have asked the Commodore on the shuttle what the message was about.”

She shook her head.

“How could I? I picked up the datachip from the Commander. I don’t think he would like knowing that I have read his mail.”

“You don-”

“Fine, I don’t like the idea of him knowing that he knows that I’ve read his mail.”

The droid curtly bowed. Pro-consul Thorn sighed in exasperation and bowed her head. And for once in that half-hour, her quarters were quiet. She looked up at the droid with a weak smile.

“If you want madam Pro-consul,” stated the droid, “I could enquire from the Commodore about the man who was at his door.”

“The Governor or the delivery man?” smiled Christina.

“Ah, the Governor madam. Of course I wouldn’t tell him that I knew he was the Governor if that is what you are getting at.”

She gently shook her head.

“No,” sighed the brunette woman, “Corise respects people who discuss personal matters with him one-to-one. He doesn’t trust messengers; always wondering if can actually trust someone with them.”

“As this whole situation proves his point,” commented the droid.

“Since when did you become Corise’s supporter?”

The droid made an awkward movement analogous to a human shrug. The woman paced over to the window to watch the last vestiges of the setting sun. With the last of the light being reflected off the metallic surface of Metalorn, darkness set in, sending a rippling cold breeze through her window.

“Another glass?”

DeMarkesh shook his head.
“No, I’ll have some caf if you have though,” replied the Metalorian, “it makes a good chaser.”

Corise shrugged as he walked over to the cabinet.

“Say Corise?”

“Yes?”

“I want to let you known that I would have done the same if I was in your position.”

The Commodore blankly stared at the man.

“At Telos Prime.”

The Kashan man set his jaw and focused his attention back on the caf that he was pouring.

“That was a long time ago. Let us move on to the future.”

The older man grunted as he continued to review their work on Metalorn’s admission to the Confederation. Much of it was fairly routine, albeit in order to ensure that Metalorn would not suffer foot shortages. To that end, the Commodore promised to make some idle KDI bulk freighters, normally used to transport ores to shipyards, would instead be transporting Kashan and Audacian foodstuffs to the planet. That had taken more time than the Commodore would have liked, drawing up the corporate fleet manifest and checking the crew rosters and coordinating that with known Kashan and Audacian food stocks stored in warehouses. Still, it’s probably been worth it seeing the Captain so satisfied. Probably more important is preventing people from starving or going with less food. Corise pictured the stereotypical working family, going without food, and shuddered. Metalorn’s people deserve better than that; they’ve worked for centuries, endured tyranny under the Empire, and they still keep on going.
The door chimed, startling the two men. The Metalorn leader turned to Corise, who in turn shrugged.

“You weren’t expecting anyone else, were you?” questioned DeMarkesh in a hushed tone.

Corise shook his head.

“No,” whispered the Kashan man, “and I gave explicit orders to the outside guards not to be disturbed while you were here.”

“We need to keep this quiet.”

“Agreed, you’d better go into the closet; just to make sure.”

The other man rose and quietly made his way to the room’s walk-in closet. Simultenously, the Commodore quietly moved towards the door, gripping his holdout blaster.

“Corise, are you there?” shouted a voice behind the door.

“Madam Pro-consul?” replied the Kashan man, “isn’t it a little late for social calls?”

“Yes, but there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The younger Lucerne shrugged and open the doored; Thorn, wide-eyed hurled into him, pushing the Kashan man back further in the cabin. She gripped him with a vice that would have marveled a Wookie. She looked into his eyes.

“Um…hello?” stated the mildly bewildered officer.

“Hello indeed,” stated an unseen voice from the shadowy doorway, “I suggest you drop your weapon.”

I know that voice…The metal of a blaster barrel poked its way through the doorway. Corise, partially concealed by Christina, frowned and lifted his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender and lack of a weapon.

“Oh, come on,” demanded the figure, “I remember that precious hold-out of yours, gift from your mother. Surely you haven’t gotten rid of now. I mean, you always had it on whether you were on or off-duty. I don’t have all night. Let’s see it now.”

The Commodore reluctantly removed the small pistol from its concealed pocket on his belt. He set it down on the floor, and kicked forward towards his unseen nemesis, whom in turn shut the door and stepped forward to grab Lucerne’s old memento. The figure advanced forward into the light.

He was a middle-aged man, his hair starting to gray. Albeit he was of average build, his demeanor and menacing steps emanated hate and vengeance. But oddest of all, the man wore a food delivery uniform, complete with the food-warming box. And when Corise studied the face, he didn’t recognize him. And still the woman grasped him tightly.

“Yes, a fine work of art indeed,” stated the man, “it will make a nice memento of my vengeance.”

“Do I know you?”

The other man laughed. “Oh yes, and didn’t recognize me before, when I delivered your Bantha steak to the door earlier. How sad. Or perhaps it’s because of the surgery?”

Glaring in defiance, Corise pulled his lip up, forming a thin line with his lips.

“Perhaps.”

The other man chuckled.

“You don’t remember good ole Lieutenant Barflos? The man that initiated into the Stiletto’s officers club?” stated the former CEC employee.

The Commodore frowned as he studied the man’s face.

“I thought you were dead,” stated the Kashan man adamantly.

“You thought I was dead? Of course you did. That’s why you let the damage control teams just pick my unconscious body up and toss it into the trash. You didn’t check,” stated the man, “Of course you didn’t. Because you wanted power; you wanted a ship, and you took the opportunity.”

“That’s not-”

“Shut up,” demanded Barflos, walking up to the Pro-Consul’s back, “the only reason you got promoted to Sub-Lieutenant was because of my recommendation. And that is how you repaid me?”

“I choose it too,” stated the Prime Minister, opening the closet door.

Thorn and Barflos looked incredously at the apparent newcomer. Barflos scoffed as he faced the other man; his blaster followed suit.

“I know,” sneered Barflos, “that’s why I came to Metalorn in the first place. This is your fault too. I’ve never had the chance into now, and I didn’t even think of being able to take both of you in a single night. You are brash and foolish as always. You never bothered with the odds; you lead us into the ambush at Telos Prime.”

The former captain shook his head. “You know that Corellians have no use for odds.”

“Sure, just as they don’t have a use for their head. Never has it been so prevalent as now. You could have saved yourself; I wouldn’t have bothered to look in the closet but no, you just came out in the open, with no weapon. Now you will-ah!”

Corise’s saber surged forth past the Pro-Consul’s waist and imbedded itself into Barflos’ waist, releasing an electrical shock into the now torn flesh. The former CEC lieutenant instinctively pressed his hand upon the flesh and brought his rifle to bear down on the Kashan couple with right hand. It was somewhat of an awkward motion with the heavy, long rifle and a single hand. But DeMarkesh was faster, barreling into the man at top speed and consequently knocking the man down to the floor. Barflos belated pulled the trigger, sending a flurry of bolts throughout the room, shattering the glass windows and searing the ceiling. The two men struggled on the ground, and Christina ran out to get help. Can’t blame her, and I can’t use the saber now, I’m more likely to hit DeMarkesh now than Barflos. Corise rested his eyes on the holdout and promptly swooped it up.

“Freeze,” demanded the Contegorian officer, aiming the hold-out at his two former crewmates.

“Ha,” sneered Barflos, “I know you better than that, you won’t fire, because you could kill DeMarkesh, and that wouldn’t be good for your Confederation now, would it?”

“DeMarkesh, I’m sorry in advance if I hit you.”

“You wouldn’t-”

Corise pulled the trigger and held on the trigger, sending a flurry of random shots at the intertwined men. Most of which hit one of the bodies. One powerpack later, both bodies ceased to move as an odd ozone aroma filled the room. The Pro-Consul ran into the room with the Metalorian equivalent of the secret service. She just stared from Corise to the bodies.

“Tell me you didn’t just shoot both of them,” pleaded the woman.

“I did,” admitted the man.

The secret service men trained their weapons on the Contegorian officer.

“They’re only stunned,” sighed the Commodore.

“Drop your weapon.”

The hold-out clattered as it hit the ground. One of the agents continued to train his weapon on the Kashan man as his partner ran over to the bodies. The second felt the pulses of the two men, he turned back to his partner.

“They’re fine; they’ll be up in a couple of minutes.”

Two weeks later...

“Impressive,” stated the Commodore, leaning on the railing.

The trio of leaders stood atop the platform, gazing down on the vast factory. Ironically enough, the Metalorn Republic Factory Complex was a converted Confederacy of Separist System’s Jail: “The Unreal City”. Instead of housing millions of prisoners, the building was now home to substantial smelting, fabrication, and other manufacturing equipment. And this was only one of the many factories on the planet. Vast assembly lines rhythmically moved frames of metal from station to station. Machines pressed metals and other materials across the frame before the products continued forward to the next stage of assembly. This entire factory complex probably has more output than those on Kashan, but by the same token, Kashan is far more independent than Metalorn can ever hope to be. There is a price to be paid for every strength. For Metalorn’s substantial industrial output, it is considerably reliant on the outside world for food and the raw materials it needs to make the products that are its livelihood; the shackles of industry. In fact, I’d bet that our analysis teams will find that the complex series of shield generators and LNR turbolaser batteries of Metalorn will make it impregnable to many warlords or small factions. Still, it wouldn’t take much for either of those forces to force the planet to surrender if they can keep a months long blockade; Metalorn can’t contain all of the supplies necessary for its populace existence. Of course, now that it is part of the Confederation, and is protected by the Contegorian Navy, such an attempt to starve the inhabitants would take some doing...

“Corise?”

The black-uniformed man snapped back to reality to turn to Prime Minister DeMarkesh.

“Yes?”

“There it is; Metalorn’s first contribuation to the Contegorian Military.”

Corise looked as the first of the products was finished, an imposing humanoid-shaped droid. The Commodore knew it to be the first of Metalorn’s planned droid legions which would not only defend Metalorn, but would be stationed around the Confederation, on ships and planets, to not only defend the members way of life, but also to assault the declared enemies of the Coalition at large. And while the droid was important contribution to the army, the younger Lucerne was more pleased that some of the factories had been converted to start producing ordinance, such as Starflare-class Missiles, and starship components, which could then be shipped off to the yards at Kashan. That addition alone would increase ship production substantially.

But it wasn’t all about industry or war. For some of Metalorn’s inhabitants, the Shackles of Industry had finally been broken after decades of enslavement to the industrial machine. Families once forced to stay on-planet for centuries by impoverishment, and later by the occupiers of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and the Galactic Empire, had been given a chance by the Confederation to be reborn to settle a new world. The exodus of people from this not only lessened the food demands of the planet, but also introduced vast automation in manufacturing, a concept used extensively on Kashan or Uffel, but foreign to Metalorn. But other Metalorians took another way of life: the Contegorian military.

“How many do you believe you will be turning out daily?” questioned the Commodore, referring to the droid, which was being turned on.

“Well, for how many I make myself, none,” smiled the Prime Minister, “but if you mean Metalorn, it is impossible to say yet. During the Clone Wars, the CIS was able to turn out thousands of B1 Battle Droids per day; but that it is a much simpler design the Paladin II-class we’re building here. I would make no specific guesses, but if the material flow keeps up, I imagine that we should have enough to form large units composed of the droids.”

Corise nodded.

“So shall we see.”