Cooperative Facility
 
 
The invading soldiers had been stunned, stripped of their armor and placed in a high secure facility as damage control teams bustled from floor to floor to assess the damage.
 
Councilor Tik had been injured [see damaged] and Ethan Vang was nowhere to be heard from as far as Sopek was concerned.  Then again, not having plugged into a terminal thus avoiding the Guardian program smashing through his firewalls to seize control and use him in a manner that was incompatible with his chosen function, his access to verifiable information was spotty at best. 
 
He watched the unconscious attackers through a monitor when the ranking officer of the damage control corps walked in.
 
“How bad is it?” he asked tearing his gaze at the sleeping men and women to focus on the newcomer.  The legal ramifications of the incident were almost beyond comprehension and would generate enough paperwork to burn to keep the bright center of the galaxy going for a few eons more.
 
“The damage is extensive but not irreparable.  It will take time and this facility is no longer secure.”   There were rumors that the combat engineers were getting their act together forcing power into the breached areas.
 
“That may not be a problem,” a doctor murmured walking in drawing a questioning glance from the droid lawyer and everyone else in the room.  “When our internal systems went down, the clones stopped exploding.”
 
Sopek shuddered internally at the uncomfortable thought processes.  The idea of self-destruction was not foreign to him but theoretically, he could rebuild himself or reconstruct himself but not so with biologics.  At least if the clones were to be considered legally a new lifeform with rights and privileges of the host body.  It was not rational for a biologic to self-destruct naturally.  There was always an outside catalyst that could be identified.
 
“We cannot…or rather, we dare not, scan the remaining clones for fear of triggering something.  It was during one such scan that we think an explosion was triggered.” The officer admitted.   “It seems, now that Guardian has extrapolated the sensor-loss patterns due to explosions not caused by the attackers, that when one went off, some sort of signal coopted our own networks and triggered others.  The attacker’s damage to our internal systems stopped that signal (for lack of a better term) and the detonations of the clones stopped.”
 
“How were the explosions triggered to begin with?” Sopek asked.
 
“Proximity of a clone to one the attackers seem to have started it.  At least that is what we can tell so far.  The attackers damaged internal sensors so there may have been a signal exchange between the two that was undetected..”
 
“That makes no tactical sense,” another officer complained.  “Why sacrifice a ship in orbit and launch a surprise attack only to cause the clones to explode.”  His brows furrowed.  “Unless they are afraid of what the clones may tell us?”
 
The lawyer seemed agitated.  “The clones have been in our care for quite a while.  If they were going to tell us something, we would have learned of it by now I should think.  And, even then, not all of the clones were coherent.  What do we know about the attackers?”
 
The offer in charge grunted.  “Confederation Shock Troopers.”
 
“You are sure?” Sopek asked pointedly.  This seemed very overt for the Confederation but confirmation of that fact would give the Cooperative even more legitimacy in keeping the clones away from the hands of the Confederation.  It was not like the Confederation to dirty their hands so… 
 
It did not quite compute.  Though the behavior of biologics was at times irrational and incomprehensible this seemed outside the norms for even the Contegorians.
 
The damage control officer seemed unsure as well, “There was no rank or insignia on the attacker’s person.”
 
“It is Confederation armor and technology.  I am unfamiliar with the tactical drop-pods they used but it is Ultrachrome and there is only one government that works with that material.”
 
“True,” the damage control officer conceded. 

Sopek’s photoreceptors lit up with an intensity that belied his unchanging physical expression as his mind sifted through past cases searching for anything of relevance that change the lawyers status from visitor to contributor.  He was almost going to give up when his internal query latched onto Case #4296532.  An early case to be sure when Sopek was a wet-behind-the-rotors litigator but one that just might help them.    Case #4296532 was the story of an AI [term liberally applied], a battle AI to be more specific; a battle AI that was housed on the infamous ISD Chimera at one point to be even more specific.

The AI was suing a programmer that worked for one of Varn’s many multicutral corporations.  During the time of Thrawn’s original rise to power, the programmer was hired to increase the battle AI’s efficiency.  A small gig, but one that kept his young family fed at the time.  The programmer’s change required a slight hardware redesign for the upgrade and the battle AI found itself housed in a sphere.  A most excellent design for battle AI.   Unfortunately, Thrawn eventually decided to put the efficiency of his Navy in the hands of a Jedi clone that went mad.  A stupid decision that cost not only Thrawn but the battle AI.  With the redesign, the battle AI was no longer compatible with ships of the Imperial Navy or any galactic navy basing itself on Imperial designs.  

The battle AI could not find a proper function [see employment], not that the Empire paid it’s droids but the AI could not find solace in even the more enlightened, droid-liberating societies.   How could it for it was an AI with obsolete functions in an incompatible housing.  When battle AI #987406335456815 found the programmer living on the same planet, it did what deadbeats for centuries had done:  It sued to receive compensation for its pain and suffering for these many years.   The case was lost, of course with the AI continuing to exist with the aid of the Socialized Automaton Housing Project but the case highlighted the one fact relevant to Sopek.
 
The Jedi clone that went mad.
 
At the time, one might consider that a design flaw that Thrawn tried to work-around but in the years since, cloning technology definitely had improved.  At least, with the typical clone manufacturing companies.   Now, it seemed the Contegorians were getting into the market but they were relatively new to the technology.
 
If Confederation reports on some of the Estralla crew going mad were true, or at least the reports of them exhibiting behavior that could be construed as insane were true and, if the Contegorians had not quite perfected their stuff yet, then..
 
 …that would make the clones force users.  Wouldn’t it?
 
He shared his observations with the others.
 
“Curious is it not?” the droid lawyer concluded.
 
“Maybe that is what the attackers did not want us to know?” an officer suggested.
 
“Are the other clones force users?” someone asked pointedly and the officer in charge had to admit that he did not know.
 
“Perhaps that is why some are seemingly going mad?” Sopek continued to prod.
 
“Wouldn’t the Jedi Knights here have felt them?”
 
“Here?” Sopek asked.  “There are Jedi here?”
 
“I mean here,” the man waved a hand about, “on Varn.  In the Coalition.  Wouldn’t they have noticed something was off and at least come to investigate or warn us?”
 
That was definitely a point and Sopek did not know where to go from there.  The Force seemed to be an energy source that droids had no direct connection too though there were methods of detection.  It was known that some force-users could mask their ability but if the force user was going mad, surely they would not have the discipline required for such a feat?  The Jedi on Varn would surely have felt something.  Wouldn’t they?
 
“We cannot let this attack go unanswered,” the officer whispered.
 
“No,” Sopek agreed, sighing internally.   The Defense Council would know soon enough from Councilor Tik and would come to a decision that may call for something far more hard-hitting than a lawsuit. 
 
“We should go to Genon and bring the fleet with us.” The officer continued, spitefully.

 
 
Kashan
House Lucerne
 
 
Matthew Lucerne watched as the spherical sensor-blackouts advanced on the tactical monitor.   The CDF had been blown to bits and there had been no word from New Oceanus.
 
What sort of weapons where they using?
 
 
Two of the three vessels halted again in low orbit while the third continued into the atmosphere and the blackout on the sensors suddenly vanished, the multitudes of sensor scans directed at the invader started chirping and beeping with life.
 
Information started to bounce back..
 
They lowered their blackout shield, Lucerne surmised.  Maybe it does not work in atmosphere..
 
While not a part of the active military, he had connections as an owner of a major government contractor.   And, while he was tempted to use those contacts, he knew the military had their hands full and did not need an armchair general looking over their shoulder.
 
Already, his monitors were picking up a startling amount of defending weapons fire erupt from the surface racing heavenward to reach the alien warship.
 
The ship seemed to be descending above a regional capital city a continent away.    If the alien ship that was destroyed in space was any indicator, the defending fire would quickly reduce the intruding warship to debris.
 
And that was when the monitors flickered and went out.
 
What the…?
 
 
In the distance a foghorn sound was heard.  Faint.
 
 
What was that?
 
 
His monitor flickered and then went to static before a picture suddenly appeared.   It was not a sharp picture and he immediately saw that it was not coming from the same source but one several kilometers away from the city…  or where the city used to be…
 
Even on the monitor, it was difficult to digest that the city looked as if a great big hand had come down and smashed it.  There was no visible damage as the alien warship stopped its descent, content to hover.   
 
What had happened?
 
 
The foghorn sounded again and the monitor caught the ground starting to split under the alien ship and it went dark again.

Cooperative Facility


The trio of B-1 Guardian battle droids made no secret of their approach, the lead droid speaking with neutral tone and medium volume into the commlink in its hand. “Target identified, continuing with approach. Threat assessment: minimal. Distance . . . seven meters.” They continued onward at standard speed, weapons drawn but not raised as dictated by the protocols of their current alert status.


As the trio closed on the small party of Cooperative officials, the lead droid stopped precisely two meters in front of its target, its squad mates moving forward slightly on either side, observing the strict two meter radius. “Target engaged, standing by,” the droid said.


“Sopek?” a well-known voice called out from the commlink.


“Master?” the targeted droid asked, venturing a step forward. The trio of B-1's retreated an equal distance.


“Don't call me that,” Smarts said dismissively. “And damn it, Sopek! Do you know what I had to go through to find you? Why aren't you on the network?”


“In the event of a declared state of emergency for all Cooperative assets and locales,” Sopek began in his Official Lawyer Voice, “or a state of high alert for military installations and jurisdictions, Cooperative military officials are empowered to seize both private civilian and public government assets and services for the purposes of countering the cause of said emergency or state of alert. Accessing this installation's communications network would, therefore, place me within the direct reach of this installation's Guardian, making me subject to such seizure.”


“Sopek!” Smarts shouted, shutting the droid up before he could continue with his delusional tirade. “You're a lawyer, Sopek; you know better than that.


“First, you're a class three droid, which means Guardian is forbidden by its own programming from violating your cognitive autonomy. Second, Guardian is an autonomous military AI, not a ranked officer, which means it can't independently order or implement appropriations actions without compelling assurances of a catastrophic breakdown of the chain of command. Third, the parameters of this operation are containment and neutralization of hostile entities, which requires Guardian to safeguard all independent sapients and essential . . . you know what? No.


“We're not doing this. Not again, and not now. You're a lawyer, Sopek; I built you to question your own conclusions, not to go full-on tin foil hat conspiracy nutter! Keep it together or you and I will have to have another conversation about your chosen profession.”


“Master, please, no.” Sopek loved his work. It was the only thing Smarts could still be sure of in regards to the droid, and it was unfair of him to play on the droid's fears in that way, he knew.


But something had to be done to rein in Sopek's increasingly erratic leaps of logic, at least for the next few minutes. “Stop calling me master! And what are you doing in this section, anyway? You should have headed for a security room as soon as the alert sounded. Don't tell me you've been trying to hide from Guardian all of this time . . .”


“Oh, no, Master!” It was clear from Sopek's tone that he was excited by whatever he was about to tell Smarts. It was, of course, cause for immediate alarm from his creator. “I have important information that needs to get to Cooperative brass asap. I was looking for Councilor Tik, but now that you've made contact, I can tell you instead!”


“Wait.” To spare the poor droid an internal command override that would shut down his higher functions while debugging software scoured his behavioral programming for whatever was causing the immediate problem, Smarts decided to intervene. “I'm here on the authority of Countilor Xixtar of the Council of Foreign Affairs. My authorization extends to ensuring the safety and security of individuals here on behalf of that Council.”


“So?”


“So . . . is the 'very important' thing you have to say, perhaps, the kind of classified military intelligence that Councilor Xixtar isn't cleared to hear?”


“Oh . . . yeah, I guess so.” The poor little droid was crushed. He had been so clearly eager to impress Smarts, that he'd almost talked himself into the droid equivalent of a coma.


“Seriously, Sopek, I've got to take a look at what you've been doing to your own programming. I'm the Executor now, and you know what that means better than anybody: I get what power I'm given, and only for as long as I'm given it. Now listen: if you've got something important to report to Councilor Tik, then you do that. If he wants me to hear about it, he'll tell me himself. Through channels. The right way. Okay?”


“. . . Okay.”


“Now I've really got to go. There's some . . . taxing work that requires my undivided attention.”


“Wait!” Sopek shouted. Smarts could tell by the miniscule Doppler shift encoded in the data stream that Sopek had rushed forward faster than the B1's could backpedal away. “If you're already going, then why did you come looking for me in the first place?”


“I . . .” Damn that half-cracked processor of his; for every dozen dead-end nutter digressions, it managed one genuine spark of true, sapient insight. “I was worried about you.”


“Oh,” Sopek said, the tone just off enough that Smarts couldn't tell if it was relief, or surprise, or disbelief, or all three mixed together.


“Deliver that message!” Smarts shouted as the battle droids turned about and the lead one marched away, presumably in the direction of Councilor Tik. “And link up with the network, already. I might need to find you again!”


* * *


Gozanti Cruiser Hammer Time, Hyperspace


Half of them were out of their armor by the time Colonel Ink Davaan got free of the civilian “passengers”. He entered the converted cargo hold with his helmet tucked into the crook of his right arm, the discomfort of addressing the rescued victims having distracted him from his fury. But then he saw Rhet, still grinning broadly, moving his lightsaber from the clasp on his suit to a loop on his trousers, unwilling to go without it for even the time it took to stow his gear.


It didn't take long for the young Iridonian to take notice of his commander's cold stare, and his grin vanished immediately, replaced by something akin to disgust. “What's your problem this time?” he asked, turning away and beginning to stow his armor in its locker. “You're seriously going to give me shit for that dude's arm? He had a blaster, I removed it from him, case closed.”


“We have rules of engagement,” Ink started stiffly, releasing the seals on his own armor and beginning to strip it off. “And I gave you orders!”


The kid shrugged. “I was in the moment, I made a call.” He shut the locker and turned back to Ink, “Just like the call you made when you sent us in even though we've got 'rules of engagement'. The right call.”


“It's not your call to make!” Ink shouted, storming across the room and pointing an accusing finger at Rhet. “You're a soldier, a grunt. This isn't the Order, and it sure as hell isn't that orphanage I pulled you out of. I'm not your Master, I'm not your teacher, and I'm not your guardian; I'm your commander. I give the orders, and you follow them. That's how this works. That's what you signed up for.”


Rhet took a step toward the old man, refusing to back down. “I'm not going to let people die because you're afraid to ruffle the feathers of whoever was fool enough to give you a title and a pat on the head and tell you you're still up to this kind of work.”


That's what this was about, what it had always been about. This man-child really believed that he'd never found anyone worthy of him; not the ordinary parents of their Force-sensitive son, not the host of Jedi Masters who had instructed him at their Temple, note even Jedi Katria, who had safeguarded him from the Sith attack on Naboo and secreted him away to Varn, where she'd continued his training along with the other younglings she'd saved.


So of course he had no respect for Ink Davaan, the fool who'd waited until the twilight of his years to seek out training in the Jedi way, who was barely a Force adept by any measure, who'd lost every friend and possession he'd ever owned before finally turning in desperation to an even more desperate Cooperative military.


This was what Ink had been waiting for. This was why he'd fought for weeks with Katria to convince her to let the troublesome lad join Ink and his operation. This moment, in the sight of the only people Rhet might have the slightest respect for, when he'd finally admitted out loud that his only problem was the unworthiness of others, Ink made his move.


“Do you want to fight me?”


“Finally,” Rhet answered before the question had even registered in the minds of the spectators, and his saber was in his hand just as fast.


Ink turned and headed for his own locker, kicking off the last piece of his armor as he did. “Let me be clear,” Ink said, opening his locker and retrieving the sheathed sword within. “I am wearied by the self-aggrandizing utterances of the middle-aged to the young, which take the form of asserting that one has forgotten more in one's life than one's counterpart has yet known.” He drew the sword from its scabbard, stowing the scabbard. “But today, for you, I will say this:”


Ink turned to face the young man. “I have killed more people than you have yet met.” He took a few steps forward, toward the center of the room, even as the rest of the strike team shuffled themselves and their gear to the corners of the hold to open up more space for the fight.


“I know more about killing, and dying, and maiming than your child's mind has learned of living.”


Emily had just appeared at the door to the fore of the ship, no doubt having sensed something was up. She looked ready to intervene, but with one look Ink put her well enough at ease that her tensed muscles relaxed and she gave him a shallow nod.


“And yes, though my life has been long and my memory does not soon fade, I have forgotten more of the blood on my hands than you have imagined of bloodshed at your own.”


Rhet did not appear impressed. “If all you're going to do is threaten me,” he said, igniting his lightsaber, “then you shouldn't have bothered digging out that antique of yours.”


Ink lunged without warning, surprising the youngster but not posing any real threat. Rhet parried the strike, countered with a swipe. Ink pulled his sword in and down, blocking the saber's blow. The dance had begun.


As the exchange continued, Ink used it to judge the younger fighter's adaptability. Rhet had spent plenty of time in training exercises against other lightsabers, sure, but never against a cortosis sword. It was a completely different animal, and while Rhet was learning that, Ink was learning how Rhet dealt with that.


The torque required to swing a blade is significantly higher, generally resulting in slower swings with higher total kinetic energy. Thrusting and withdrawing are generally equivalent between the two, as those actions ignore the torque advantage of the weightless lightsaber blade. But there's one clear advantage that a blade has over a lightsaber, a trump card that Ink was holding in reserve until he had a better feel for how best to use it against the kid.


Suddenly, Ink stumbled. Well, not stumbled, exactly; it was more like he got stuck. His left leg wouldn't move, pinned to the ground by an invisible force. He blocked a series of strikes from the still-mobile Rhet, catching intermittent glances of his mischievous grin as the blades weaved back and forth between the two of them.


Ink laid into one swing, reaching out with the Force to muddle Rhet's footing, the combination of the two working against the young man's strained concentration to send him stumbling backward. In the brief window it gave him, Ink reached into that quiet place within himself and drew out the power that he needed.


For Ink Davaan, whose successes and struggles could fill volumes, the Force was not a weapon. It wasn't a mantle, a tool, a suit of armor, or a blessing from the divine. It was his blood, and his flesh, and the marrow of his bones. It was life itself, and it didn't flow through him, because it was him. It wasn't flashy, it wasn't cute, it wasn't a bag of gimmicks to entertain or terrorize. But it was powerful, as powerful as the one who called up on it.


Ink rocked his leg back and forth, his foot still refusing to budge but his ankle bending easily enough. He felt the Force flow out of him like an adrenaline shock, like sensory input from jumping into a pool of cold water. And then, as if from force of will alone, the grip on his foot broke and he was free of the warrior-child's gag. He shot forward before Rhet realized that his substantial mental strain was being expended to hold nothing at all against an altogether unspectacular little spot of deck plating.


Rhet parried Ink's leading swing, but the old man followed up with a jab that forced him to step awkwardly aside and backpedal. Ink pressed the advantage afforded by his own forward momentum, redoubling his efforts to breach Rhet's guard. Just as he felt himself losing the advantage, just as he saw that spark of self-assured arrogance return to the young Iridonian's eye, Ink made his move.


He stepped in close, leaning into his own sword, using his free hand against the back of his blade to press on Rhet's guard, forcing the young man to backstep or have his own saber blade drive into his shoulder. Ink slid his leading foot around at the last possible moment, tripping Rhet up as he took the only option available and attempted to fall back.


Rhet turned his fall into a roll, shutting off his saber blade and tumbling away to safety . . . except it didn't work.


Ink charged forward with a burst of inhuman speed, swinging his blade low as Rhet came out of his roll. It moved faster than expected, getting behind Rhet's guard before he could reactivate his saber. In the last possible instant, Ink twisted the grip in his hand, flipping his blade onto its side and striking Rhet's cheekbone, hard.


The little punk tumbled away from the force of the blow, not letting the cracking sound stop him, rolling onto his feet and bringing up his reignited blade, ready for the next attack.


But it didn't come. Ink just stood there, shoulders square but head drooping the slightest bit, his sword still in hand but the tip of its blade resting on the deck. He waited, waited until the child understood.


This fight was over. The old man had won, and that was that.


Reluctantly, Rhet shut off his saber and returned it to his belt, finally allowing himself to massage away the pain of his split cheek as he took in the expressions of his spectator-teammates.


“If it comes to this again,” Ink said calmly, turning his back on the kid and walking away to stow his sword, “I will hurt you enough that there will not be a third time.”


* * *


Brandenburg, Genon
Atlas Hall


A lithe, shadowy form slipped through the narrow opening in the hinged doors, a muted click sounding as the figure returned them carefully to their previous state. Moving quickly across the open room, the sequential strips of deep shadow and direct sunlight blurred in the creature's presence, as if the light itself were warping to conceal its presence.


Kitty Hawk slid her gloved hand along the edge of the Alderaanian marble desk, turning the corner and nudging the office chair out of her way. She passed a hand over the built-in console, calling on another aspect of her Jensaarai training to feel out the possibility of unexpected traps. Satisfied that she was safe, the Pelagian woman booted up the console, immediately extracting a slicing unit from a pocket of her infiltration gear. It's ironic, using the CSIS-issued gadget to breach a security system designed by CSIS's own counter-intelligence department. Well, at least it'll be effective.


With access achieved, she set to work immediately, her blue eyes scanning through directory names for anything of relevance. The slicer unit had a more than adequate storage capacity, but Kitty was sure that there were plenty of secrets on this console that would best be left secret. The scope of her treason wouldn't matter to a court martial, but it sure as hell mattered to her.


Her cerulean eyes cut to the doors, sensing something beyond them, a presence she hadn't felt since . . .


Oh, no.


Kitty pocketed the slicer and powered down the console, having just enough time to reposition the chair and run to a corner of the room before the double doors flung open and Pro-Consul Christina Thorn hurried in, the lights activating automatically.


Kitty wrapped herself in the Force, vanishing from sight as she watched the woman from Kashan rush across her office. Did I miss something? Does she know someone was here?


Kitty just stood there, stiff and still, unwilling to move for fear of being discovered, unable to reach out with the Force and check for guards beyond the door for the added strain to her focus. As she stood in silence watching this woman who she'd served as a bodyguard and assistant, a woman she'd come to consider a friend, so shaken and unnerved, Kitty knew that this had to end. This was Pro-Consul Christina Thorn, who'd ended wars with her words, who'd turned uprisings into Unity Marches; a woman who cared nothing for war, a woman who always found a way to a more peaceful path.


The Jensaarai woman released her illusion. “Christina,” she said, taking one step toward the Pro-Consul, a step that echoed impossibly loud without the dampening effects of the Force. Kitty didn't even reach out with the Force to calm the Pro-Consul's alarm, but let the woman experience the full force of her own shock and alarm, allowed her to draw the hold-out blaster from its compartment in her desk and turn it on the intruder.


Kitty was holding her arms out at waist level, palms turned toward the Pro-Consul, the slicer in her right hand and her left hand empty and open. “I came here looking for answers. Not for CSIS, not for the Jensaarai . . . for me. Because I can't stand by while all of this goes down. I can't hide in the shadows while the secrets build up until there's so many that something finally breaks and we find ourselves at war with people who are supposed to be our friends.


“The Cooperative . . . the Coalition thinks there's a conspiracy, that the Confederation is compromised and that we can't be trusted anymore. And if the chatter amongst the Jensaarai is any indication, they're not crazy to think it. I've been read in on the Trojan Affair, I've seen the crew list of the Estralla.


“I'm not a seer, Christina; I don't get visions of the future, but I can feel it. This is all wrong, and it's going to go bad for everyone if we all just . . . play our parts and let it happen. We're better than this. The Confederation's supposed to be better than this, and I know you're better than this. So I'm asking you, please, do something about it. Break the mold. Find another way to peace than through this mad war.


“I can't do it anymore. I can't be the pawn of unseen forces hiding out of sight. I can't keep believing that the orders are good because the people who issue them are good, not when I don't know who to trust anymore.


“And I don't know who to trust anymore.


“But I'm hoping you do.”

Brandenburg, Genon
Atlas Hall
 
Christina lowered her weapon as the young woman said her peace.   She could tell that the young Jensaarai was deeply troubled.  
 
She may be a force user but she is also human.
 
“Take a seat,” the Pro-Consul gestured to one of the chairs facing the desk as she moved over to take the chair next to it.
 
“What I am about to tell you is classified,” Kitty frowned as the other woman paused, “but not all who are approved legally to know actually know what I am about to tell you.  There is a reason for that which I will get into in a little while and I will let you be the judge of our caution and if you think it has been justified.”
 
A signal beeped from her desk and Thorn acknowledged the signal, “Madam Pro-Consul, there have been more explosions within the civilian warehouse district.   Councilor Tier asked that you be informed.”
 
“Thank you, India.  I will be there shortly,” Christine answered and the comm went silent.
 
“You know, Kitty, I find myself wondering just where to start because I do not have all the answers myself.  But I will tell you what I do know….”
 
She leaned forward facing the younger Jensaarai, “What do you know of the Reavers?”
 
The question took Kitty by surprise but she paused to collect her thoughts, “They were discovered a few years ago…infecting many worlds within the Coalition, Imperial, Confederation and Republic spheres..   There are rumors of them being found coreward as well as into the Unknown Regions.”
 
“But what about the Reavers themselves?” The Pro-Consul prodded.
 
“The term is typically used to describe infected beings, more like dead, walking infecting machines.  There is a technical aspect as inanimate objects can manifest infection as well such as vehicles and starships.  There is a resemblance to the Phage Virus that struck the Coalition during the Black Dragon Empire’s attack which lead to rumors that the Reaver Virus is simply a mass destruction weapon that the Dragon’s lost control of or released.   It is thought that the Dragons were decimated or destroyed by the Reavers.”
 
The Pro-Consul nodded.  “A large part of the Reaver Virus is the Dragon assembler, or in this case, disassembler.  Small nano-machines wreaking havoc on both beings and materials and the more there are, the faster they spread.   The Confederation’s initial response was the same as any other government in that we moved to secure our border systems as best we could as a stopgap measure while we worked to figure out what the Reavers were.   There were investigations and there were incidents before we stumbled across a protocol that helped our own response times to keep our citizens safe from this highly virulent enemy.”
 
Kitty frowned, “I still do not see…”
 
Christine smiled and put up a hand forestalling the younger woman’s comments.  “I set this up to let you know how we walked into what we are now experiencing.”
 
“Which is what!?” the Jensaarai snapped back in frustration.
 
To be  young again, mused Christine.
 
“It was during one of these protocol creations that something odd was found.  Several people were found to have certain anomalies situated around the brain area.  The people with these anomalies were unaware of them and because these scan anomalies were unexplainable we merely cataloged them and continued with our Reaver research. “
 
“So you are saying these people were infected by Reavers and we did nothing about it?  That is—“
 
“Stop,” Thorn’s stern voice cut through the Jensaarai.  “The anomalies did not register as anything Reaver-like as far as we could tell.  I am saying the science we were developing to even begin to research the Reavers started giving us readings and we did not know what they meant and so they were called “anomalies”.  Remember, this was ground breaking science to those tasked with researching the Reaver threat and so we turned to the Coalition for help as their studies in the field were more advanced than ours.”
 
The almost inbred Confederation conceit of self-sufficiency slightly raised Kitty’s ire but it was short-lived as her mind fell upon the truth of the matter.   The Coalition after all was the first to research the Phage for treatment protocols and if the Reaver virus mimicked the Phage in any way, they are whose research would be drawn from first.   Even the mighty Empire had swallowed their pride and asked for the Coalition’s research into the Phage and their touted cure called Panacea.
 
“In any event, I am going off topic.  Our fight against the Reavers is not pertinent to this.  Just remember that we are trying to catalog individuals with this anomaly but that is as far as it goes.  After a while, the anomaly is figured to be some as yet unknown genetic marker or function and set aside for future research later.  Now leave that for a moment and let’s focus on you.  You were a member of the Program were you not?  The Genetic Rennovation Program?”
 
“Yes,” Kitty confirmed warily.
 
“Do not worry, many of the Jensaarai were created through the program and it has served CSIS and the Confederation to move forward in other types of research that might as well have been alien magic before.”
 
“The Force.  You are talking about the Force,” Kitty concluded and the Pro-Consul nodded.
 
“Research has to start somewhere and after it was found successful with volunteers, the politicians stepped in.   Imagine a politician or those wealthy industrialists, businessmen or just plain wealthy that back the politicians who learn of this and decide that they want this power as well, what do you think they do?”
 
“Uh… volunteer?” Kitty remarked and Thorn chuckled mirthlessly.
 
“Those that are considered smart in business and politics always try to hedge their bets.  They also perform a Risk Analysis and so clones were created for the purposes of that analysis.”
 
“Isn’t that immoral?” Kitty asked pointedly. 
 
At Thorn’s raised eyebrow, she looked for another suitable term.  “Ethical?” she finally settled on.
 
“The justification was that if someone was volunteering, then when a clone gets imprinted with the host, the clone would also be volunteering…”
 
“But the host is not volunteering.  Or at least, not volunteering themselves but their clone.”
 
“It can be argued that an exact clone of oneself is in fact, at the point of waking up, oneself.”
 
“This is giving me a headache,” Kitty remarked, “but I am familiar with the clones.  I have met your ‘sister’.”
 
The Pro-Consul smiled grimly at the reminder of her own clone, “Here is what you do not know:  The Jensaarai numbers are low.  Extremely low as Adrian and you and your fellow volunteers became part of CSIS and not exactly an “Order” in your own right.  There are Jensaarai at the old Jedi Temple but they are not CSIS and are more academics helping us learn about the “force objects” that come under our control are for.  The clone numbers are much higher than the Jensaarai even at only four generations.  You have been read in on the Trojan Affair but you should know that there were two outcomes of this Affair.   One, the clone leadership was recalled together and were on hand to directly contact the Empire.  Two, the Confederation Genetic Renovation Program was canceled and the Jensaarai growth was significantly halted.”
 
“So you think these clones are evil?” Kitty’s eyes narrowed the Thorn’s features grew sad.
 
She sighed, “No.  At least not all of them.  At least, not all of the time.”
 
“Well, what the heck does that mean?” the Jensaarai blurted out sarcastically. 
 
“The short answer?  Influence.  The results from the Trojan Affair would have happened no matter the scale of the Affair.  My sister, or my clone if you rather, stopped the Paladins from doing more than they did.  The clones would have been recalled and the program cancelled even if the damned ship itself was rammed into Ter Abbes itself.  The planet would not have joined the Confederation, I can tell you that much and so any benefit derived from Ter Abbes inclusion into the Confederation makes us beholding to my sister. “
 
“So she stopped the Paladins.  But she escorted them up to the bridge in the first place?  Did she not know what they were going to do?”
 
“She does not remember.”
 
Kitty wanted to snort at this but at looking at the Pro-Consul, she merely asked, “What else do I not know?”
 
Christine nodded, “The clone of my sister has the same anomaly as those discovered in the Reaver analysis.”
 
“What about the other clones?”  Kitty asked pointedly.
 
Now it was the Pro-Consul’s turn to feel the frustration.  “The discovery of the anomalies in my sister was done indirectly.   They do show up when we are scanning for something else but when we tried to perform a direct scan once on one of the known fourth generation clones, he ended up exploding.  We are not sure how this occurs but we have had to treat the clones very delicately so we dare not directly use the Reaver or Phage protocols on them.”
 
Kitty’s eyes narrowed at the problem.  “Why did you choose a 4th Gen clone?”
 
Thorn looked surprised at the question, “They are the weakest.”
 
Kitty frowned, “Weakest?  Physically?”
 
“In the Force?” the Pro-Consul clarified.  “If we tried to do this with any of the 1st or 2nd Gen and maybe the 3rd, we are not sure what sort of blowback we would have unleashed.  These are powerful people..”
 
The Jensaarai frowned, “They are untrained..”
 
“They were trained in Jensaarai hiding techniques and self-defense measures.”
 
“How did they swing that?”  Kitty asked surprised.
 
“My clone’s life was placed in danger.  She reported that to the others and they forwarded the recommendation to whatever committee that they needed training for how could these people interested in the clone’s take to the program if they could not defend themselves with the program.”
 
“Clever,” mused Kitty.   “But the training would still take time.  There are procedures each Jensaarai goes through …”
 
“Their training was in techniques and abilities only rather than philosophy.   Civilians who would have benefited from the program had no interest in joining what amounts to a religious order.  They are interested in the ability itself, not joining a church.”
 
“But that’s…” 
 
“A civilian does not have to go through boot camp just to learn how to own and fire a gun,” Thorn pointed out.  “Why should they join a religious order for this new ability?”
 
“Why offer it to civilians at all?” Kitty retorted.
 
“You were a CSIS agent when you volunteered for the program but not everyone was.  Clinical trials require that a wider volunteer net be cast.  Besides, we allow our citizens to purchase assault rifles, even certain military grade hardware.   The Jensaarai do not represent an official organization and unofficially, they are not strictly relegated to military purposes as many are also academics. ”
 
“So you suspect a conspiracy from these clones?”
 
“I… I do not think it originates with them,” the Pro-Consul remarked as if thinking to herself.
 
“Because you do not want to believe your sister, or a cloned version of you, is capable of it?” Kitty asked.  “Are you capable of it?” she prodded pointedly.  
 
Christine smiled her first real smile, “I am a politician and have negotiated many things.  I can be as devious as the best of them but no, I cannot see myself for any reason, betraying the ideals the Confederation is built upon.”
 
Kitty smirked, “But you can see yourself betraying the Confederation if they strayed from those...ideals?”
 
Christine’s smile turned rueful but she did not answer.  “I do suspect a conspiracy but I do not believe it originates with the clones. “
 
“Because?”
 
“Because of the irregularities with the clone addendum to the GR program to begin with.  The reasoning behind the inclusion of the clones is the explanation forwarded to me or any that asked.  But it was an explanation after the fact.  And the creation of a clone of me and others were done without my or their knowledge.   While I learned of my clone earlier than others, it was still after the fact.  I was too busy dealing with the new reality of my clone’s existence to really focus on the source even as an investigation was initiated.  The investigation concluded that the irregularities were the result of over-ambitious scientists hoping to fast-track the program.  It is not an unheard-of issue within the scientific community and while disciplinary actions were taken, it seemed the issue was handled and taken care of…”
 
“Leaving you to still deal with the novelty of your sister’s existence until…”
 
“Until the Trojan Affair,” Thorn concluded.  “And then I had to look at her other actions in a different light and more and more questions kept coming up.”
 
“But you had the clones recalled back to Metalorn and put under observation.  How can a conspiracy run --..”
 
“Exactly!”  Thorn answered, “But audio/visual observation would not really hinder them would it?  Remember how you sometimes use the Force to communicate with me?”
 
Kitty shifted uncomfortably.  “Even then, if you could not stop them from communicating, they were hindered in action due to direct observation.”
 
“Were they?”  Christine asked.  “You hid yourself in the Force to gain access to the office of the Pro-Consul.  What do we really know about them?”
 
Thorn let the question hang there for a second before continuing, “Until they broke out of their confinement and escaped, we really did not have any idea as to what their capabilities really were.”
 
The two sat quietly for a minute contemplating the implications.   The Pro-Consul sighed again, feeling tired.  “You know, I tasked another Jensaarai, Jax, to investigate and to keep tabs on the clone of Corise Lucerne.  The clone of Corise lied to Jax about his captivity right up to the point of his escape and I always wondered why he would bother.  What was the point?
 
On the one hand, the escape of the Corise clone and his fellows threatens the Confederation and everyone they come into contact with and, on the other hand, his escape may have potentially saved half the Confederation Navy.”
 
“Explain,” demanded Kitty.
 
“The anomalies!” Thorn exclaimed hitting her armrest with her hand.  “The forgetfulness, why people do not realize or know what is going on, why they do unexplained things and can’t explain them later... Why do people explode when faced with exposure?  It connects somehow and while I have no direct proof as to how these anomalies are transmitted I do know it is not from mere proximity or I would have them, given my time spent with my sister.  Not through air or water or contact so they do not spread like the Reavers or Phage.  Hell, there would be a saturation of them everywhere!”
 
“How do you know you are not infected with these anomalies?”
 
“Because I had myself tested and I did not explode,” the Pro-Consul answered grimly. 
 
The young Jensaarai turned white at the matter-of-fact statement.  It showed how seriously the Pro-Consul felt about this.
 
“In any event, I think I’ve identified the initial contamination of the Confederation personnel or at the very least, one of the first points of contact with this anomaly.”
 
Thorn walked over to her desk and keyed in an encryption code.  The surface of her desk slid open and she removed a datapad. 
 
“Take a look at this,” she said handing the pad to the Jensaarai.
 
Kitty took the pad and silently scrolled its contents, information surrounding a certain Coalition crewman named Winger.  After reading the report she looked uncomfortable.  “This is a decorated Shock Trooper Squad.”
 
“That has suddenly gone missing,” the Pro-Consul replied quietly.  “And why the Coalition is highly suspect.  This thing seems to have originated from the Coalition.  Or, if you want to get more specific, the Cooperative.  The Corise clone and his crew escaped from us and where did they go?  Straight to the Cooperative!  Where did they try to seek refuge and asylum but the Cooperative?  Why do that if they did not expect protection from their ranks?  
 
And they received it!
 
Not once did the Coalition come to us about our escapees!  Not even in secret!  No, they were sold a load of lies and bought it hook, line and sinker.  We did not inform anyone because we thought the escapees had died and we had to learn about not only their survival but that they were living well in the Cooperative on their Talk HoloNet entertainment program!  They were turned into Cooperative heroes!”
 
Thorn rubbed her forehead in exasperation.   “It was not until their existence was made public that the Cooperative deigned to send us an envoy to discuss them.  And even then, it was to judge us!  They presume to dictate to us regarding an situation and incident that may very well have originated with them to begin with!?”
 
Kitty was silent for a moment.  “Our responses have not been forthcoming as well and it seems our own Ambassador has not exactly been helpful in cooling things down.  What exactly are we afraid of here?  If the Cooperative is holding the clones securely as we were…”
 
The Pro-Consul’s look of scorn could not be hidden. 
 
“What?” Kitty interjected. 
 
“These clones escaped from a Confederation High Security area and they not only stole a warship, they prepped it from their damned holding cells!  Tell me, Kitty, how secure was our holding of them?   Something tells me these clones are exactly where they want to be and have ensured Cooperative steel stands between us and them.”
 
“So you think the entire Cooperative has these anomalies and are being controlled by person’s unseen?” Kitty asked exasperatedly.
 
“No,” Thorn answered slowly.  “It is not the anomalies that concern me as much as the mind or minds behind them.  I have this frustrated feeling that the clones have been running the game for a few years, outmaneuvering us for altruistic motives according to them but with increasingly disastrous effects on the Confederation.  My sister was me!  Me!   And I have long asked myself what would convince me to undertake or go along with the actions she did for the good of the Confederation?   And for the life of me, I cannot think of a single thing!”
 
Kitty heard a ‘but’ in there. 
 
“But?” she prompted.
 
The Pro-Consul looked at the Jensaarai, “But I am not a force user.”
 
Kitty frowned uncomfortably, “What are you saying?”
 
“I think… I think that we opened a door we do not know how to shut.   We experimented with the Force and while we have Adrian, you and the rest of the Jensaarai, we also are now experiencing blowback from our lack of understanding.  It was nothing more than a tool for us and we believed, we believed that if good people had these talents, then we would not experience the tragedies that accompany these force talents.
 
I believe I am a good person and even though I did not sanction the creation of my clone, she still exists and if our postulation was correct, my clone would not be a party to ..to..”
 
“So you think the program did not take?” Kitty asked and Christine smiled at the euphemism.
 
“I think it is more complex than that.  I think that all of them are under an influence we do not understand and are not equipped to fight.  And of course, it is something we do not equip our program volunteers or clones to fight so they fell quickly, including my sister.   Maybe the forgetfulness is a defense mechanism?  I don’t know.  But I remember seeing my sister take joy in things that delight me and I’ve seen her relish my pain and if that is not in me, then it comes from somewhere else, some other influence that I can neither see nor quantify.”
 
“I know what you are talking about and I would have felt something..” Kitty started to remark when Thorn cut her off.
 
“Would you have?  Really?   What do you know of the darkside of the Force?” Thorn asked pointedly.  “The Jensaarai give the CSIS an edge in dealing with conventional enemies but we have never really put our Jensaarai to the test against other Jedi or Sith or any other force group.  Palpatine, a powerful darksider worked alongside Jedi Masters who were also powerful in their own right.  You force users can not only hide your physical form as you did entering my office but you can also mask your force presence can you not?” 
 
The Pro-Consul gave a self-deprecating smirk, “Why would the darksiders need to attack us, we make our own darksiders, right within our ranks.”
 
“So you think the Coalition is supporting darksiders?” Kitty asked suddenly seeing a wider issue.
 
“Of course the Coalition does not support darksiders.  It always, from what little I have read, seems to start with a kernel of influence and it grows.  The anomalies show up in the Coalition and have been subtly spreading.  Their purpose as yet unknown and it is hard to investigate when there is a 50/50 change of someone exploding.  The easy road would be to simply scan everyone and whoever explodes just explodes and we cripple whatever this unknown network is.  But I am not willing to pay that butcher’s bill.  I do not even have solid proof of a conspiracy but is not that the nature of the way the darkside acts?  You know evil is taking place but you cannot prove the how or the why until it is too late? In any event, the anomalies seem to start with the Coalition but it is not as if the Coalition or their members are secretly building a force order.  Or maybe they are taking a page from the Jedi and indoctrinating children and we just happened to move faster with the clones for a ready-made darkside army?   And who did we use as a template for our clones?  Not some Mandalorian mercenary but our best and brightest minds, titans of industry, politics and even our military.   Do you begin to see the scope of the danger here?   Even if the Cooperative were snow white innocent, who is even more ill-prepared to deal with the darkside than we are?”
 
Confusion pass across the young Jensaarai’s face.
 
“Droids!” Thorn answered.  “A droid is not a force user, has no real concept of emotion, how would they know how to detect let alone handle darkside influence?”
 
She went back to her chair and leaned back, “So we have darksiders becoming heros of the Cooperative.  We have a Cooperative who has hidden their existence from us from the time of the Reaver’s attack at Vahaba until now.  In that time, Smarts has apologized for the Guardian’s Avenger protocol use, resigned, disappeared and has come back all the while these darksider clones were being secreted away in the best security the Cooperative could provide.  We do not know how far their influence has spread so when negotiating with the Cooperative, we tried a basic legal strategy that even their droid overminds would (or should have) appreciated, the return of escaped prisoners.  We were hoping that there was at least one or two droid minds with enough authority to allow the transfer to take place bringing our problem back to the Confederation.  I would not have helped us but it would have at the very least removed the Coalition from the firing line.  Darksiders cannot influence a droid mind, can they?  At least, not easily and that is what I was banking on.  Unfortunately, the Cooperative did not budge once.”
 
“Why don’t you tell them?” Kitty asked. 
 
“There are several reasons why.  One, I have no real definitive proof.  Making unsubstantiated claims may very well compel the Cooperative to keep a tighter rein on the clones keeping themselves within the clone’s influence by choice rather than unwittingly.  Two, there are not many of us who are recognizing the slivers of this conspiracy.  Making the claim alerts the conspiracy that we are now on to them and that may precipitate more drastic action on their part.  Three, I do not know how the droids of the Cooperative will react.  They may decide to cut their losses and attempt to scan for the anomalies and take the 50/50 chance of killing their own subjects just to remove the threat.  I do not want the deaths of their subjects on my conscious too.”
 
“Surely, the Cooperative AI’s would not do that,” Kitty remarked halfheartedly remembering the Avenger Protocol.
 
“I would not have guessed a Paladin would shoot up the bridge of a Confederation starship,” Thorn countered and Kitty forgot about Avenger at once.
 
“This thing affects droids too?”
 
“I do not know what this ‘thing’ is yet to make that determination but something or someone altered those droids!”
 
“Not everyone in the Cooperative is a droid, you know,” Kitty added somewhat dryly.
 
“Their society is rather unique and while not all are droids, there are enough AI in high enough positions to make the decisions we needed (or hoped) they would make.    But our gamble failed and the clones were not returned and now they know.  “
 
 
“The Cooperative made it seem like they were mental patients in their care,” Kitty pointed out. 
 
 
“That was odd,” Thorn agreed.  “Remember, these were the escaped crew that did fight a battle so they knew how to operate a warship so they were not exactly incapacitated.  So either something happened after the battle to make them that way or they are merely appearing that way, biding their time.  Either way there is going to be a counter-move and they will drag both our people to war if it serves their purpose.”
 
“Which is what?”  the Jensaarai asked.
 
 
“That depends on who the ultimate architect is.”
 
The Pro-Consul was lost in thought as she moved her hair around her ear unconsciously.  She turned to the younger Jensaarai, “I may know what the transmission method used for the anomaly was.”
 
“What was it?” Kitty leaned forward in anticipation.
 
“Our Panacea treatments,” Thorn replied simply.  “When we were a part of the Coalition, taking them was commonplace.”
 
The Jensaarai mulled over this, “But we pulled out of the Coalition and the treatments became voluntary so the number of those with this anomaly would be small.  Not every treatment would presumably spread them, right?”
 
The Pro-Consul nodded.  “Correct.  But we just subjected the entire Confederation to a new treatment, based off Panacea to combat…”
 
“…the Reaver threat!” Kitty exclaimed.
 
“Exactly.  So the numbers of those affected with this unknown anomaly now grows.  I cannot believe that every treatment center on every planet in the Confederation is suspect as it would require more overt action rather than the subtle string-pulling that has been going on.  But who gets the treatment first?  The military.”
 
Kitty’s eyes widened.  “Oh my…” 
 
“Now you begin to see?  The first military recipients were the defense units since we cannot pull the active fleet from the Reaver borders.    The part of the fleet that became a part of Regrad’s Fleet defense fleet that circumnavigated the Reaver borders as well as our active fleet along our own borders were being recalled to receive the Reaver treatment when the Corise-clone escaped and pulled the fleet back to shore up the borders.  Indirectly, the Corise-Clone kept that fleet from ever receiving the treatment and with the Reaver events settling down, even the specter of a Reaver plague diminished to the point that the cost/time factor of pulling the untreated units homeword outweighed the value of the treatment itself.”
 
“So that’s what you meant about the clone of Corise saving half the Confederation Navy,” Kitty murmured.
 
“But the question is, was it intentional or accidental?  Have our clones fallen so far under the influence or are they fighting it?”
 
“I have to believe that there is a way to remove the anomalies without harming their host.  I have to believe that there is a way to get out from under the darkside influence of my people and government without destroying both it and them in the process.  And if we can be helped, then so too can the Cooperative and anyone else who may have fallen victim.”
 
“But we are also on the brink of war!” Kitty blurted out.  If the explosions of the civilian terminals on Genon were attributed to the Coalition or Cooperative in any way…
 
“There is not a lot of time, I agree.  Two galactic powers fighting each other to cover an insidious influence.   Hmm… where have I heard that playbook before?”
 
“Holy Stang!  It’s Palpatine 101,” Kitty remarked suddenly feeling very sure of herself.   Then she stopped herself, “But what about the attack on Kashan?”
 
The Pro-Consul stood up rubbing her eyes. 
 
“Sometimes, you just have bad luck…” she answered. 

Kashan

Far Outer Orbit, Seraph Mk III-class Medium Cruiser, Syagani
 
Captain Garrett watched as the twenty crewmembers in EV suits cut away the protrusion and a collective static-ridden cheer could be heard as the piece started floating away.
 
“Captain, we have comms and sensors coming online.” Someone reported as the Captain took the time turn and look at the outside of his ship and the extensive damage to the hull.
 
Their scanning equipment was a patchwork of cables and wires.  They had shut down their shield generator system so they had no shields to speak of but the armor would be enough for micro-impacts they might sustain should they apply enough thrust.
 
But the gaping holes in the hull were his worry.  Impacts in those areas might tear open the inside of the ship if they were not extremely careful.  
 
“Captain, you need to see this!”
 
 
**
 
There were three enemy ships in and around Kashan though one of them had descended into the atmosphere of Kashan and, if the scans were working correctly, it was tearing up quite a bit of the ground under it.   Thankfully, the alien craft had not really moved from the spot that it had descended down towards but the ground under it for several kilometers had been scoured.
 
“My god…” someone whispered behind the Captain and he turned to see the Chief behind him.
 
The defenses of Kashan had not let up as weapons fire, missiles and every sort of something they could throw at the enemy was hurled towards the enemy craft, it seemed they were stopped by an invisible sphere.
 
Fighter craft seemed to have learned the circumference of the sphere and strayed no closer but still continued to shoot randomly to ensure the sphere did not move and catch them unawares.
 
There was no real damage to the planet in terms of smoking wreckage or fires.  It was as if everything just sort of evaporated or dissolved upon reaching a certain point which included parts of the surface of the planet.
 
Everything outside the sphere remained and there was some fires and wreckage as power lines running underground between planetary generators were simply cut/dissolved along with the rest of the ground surrounding them.   The resulting lack of infrastructure caused power-feedbacks which resulted , in some cases, in explosions.   Emergency and damage control crews were frantically working amid the spirited weapons fire going on above.
 
“The defense fleet,” the Chief remarked drawing Garrett’s eyes to another monitor.  “It’s gone.”
 
“No sign of the Nova, either…” Garrett murmured.  By the hidden nature of Kashan, the world did not maintain a strong fleet presence around the world itself though the Seraph’s were typically thought to be enough to at least delay a determined enemy should they come knocking.  
 
Even then, there should have been a relief fleet from New Oceanus, another in-system world.  Were they wiped out too?
 
“Sir, I am detecting hyperspacial terminus activity!”
 
The crew of the Syagani cheered as Confederation reinforcements arrived.  
 
“Upload all data we have collected and transmit it to that fleet!”  Garrett ordered.  “Let’s protect our people out there!”
 
 
 
Cooperative Facility

But not very cooperative…


The trio of B-1 Guardian battle droids made no secret of their approach, the lead droid speaking with neutral tone and medium volume into the commlink in its hand. “Target identified, continuing with approach. Threat assessment: minimal. Distance . . . seven meters.” They continued onward at standard speed, weapons drawn but not raised as dictated by the protocols of their current alert status.


As the trio closed on the small party of Cooperative officials, the lead droid stopped precisely two meters in front of its target, its squad mates moving forward slightly on either side, observing the strict two meter radius. “Target engaged, standing by,” the droid said.


“Sopek?” a well-known voice called out from the commlink.


“Master?” the targeted droid asked, venturing a step forward. The trio of B-1's retreated an equal distance.


[Query:  So they can adhere to a strict two meter distance but cannot seem to find it in their programming to assign me a better nomenclature other than “target”?  How about “friendly-sentient”?  Brother Sapient?]

“Don't call me that,” Smarts said dismissively. “And damn it, Sopek! Do you know what I had to go through to find you? Why aren't you on the network?”

[Extrapolation:  Smarts, may his neuro-pathways always be illuminated, seemed to be on the slow side today.]
 
“In the event of a declared state of emergency for all Cooperative assets and locales,” Sopek began in his Official Lawyer Voice, “or a state of high alert for military installations and jurisdictions, Cooperative military officials are empowered to seize both private civilian and public government assets and services for the purposes of countering the cause of said emergency or state of alert. Accessing this installation's communications network would, therefore, place me within the direct reach of this installation's Guardian, making me subject to such seizure.”


“Sopek!” Smarts shouted, shutting the droid up before he could continue with his delusional tirade. “You're a lawyer, Sopek; you know better than that.


“First, you're a class three droid, which means Guardian is forbidden by its own programming from violating your cognitive autonomy. Second, Guardian is an autonomous military AI, not a ranked officer, which means it can't independently order or implement appropriations actions without compelling assurances of a catastrophic breakdown of the chain of command.
 
[Rule #1 – you are Class 3.]
 
[Query:   Great, saddling droid citizens with class distinctions.  As a class 3, can I never aspire to be a class 4 or..wait!  Class 2.  Which way represents a step in upward class social mobility?]
 
[Rule#2 – that your class 3 is irrelevant if Guardian presumes it is irrelevant.]
 
[Extrapolation:  It might be best if the master did not attempt to console this one by listing, after the stating Guardian cannot violate this one, the separate circumstances in which such violation could occur.]
 
 
Third, the parameters of this operation are containment and neutralization of hostile entities, which requires Guardian to safeguard all independent sapients and essential . . . you know what? No.


[Rule #3 – Right now, Guardian’s parameters require him to protect you.  When those parameters change, don’t worry, you will be notified.  Seizure of yourself will be considered notification…]

“We're not doing this. Not again, and not now. You're a lawyer, Sopek; I built you to question your own conclusions, not to go full-on tin foil hat conspiracy nutter! Keep it together or you and I will have to have another conversation about your chosen profession.”


[Query:  What does my chosen profession have anything to do with you?   As an independent sapient, I could choose to be a mad nutter if it offered enough credits for my preferred lifestyle.  Still, if he can arrange for Avenger Protocol to destroy our own fleet and assign unranked personage(s) within the Chain of Command Protocols of biologics, anything is possible. ]
 
[neuro-mapping indicates a biologic would be pissing themselves – subroutine engaged]
 
[subroutine – display of fear appropriate]
 
“Master, please, no.” Sopek loved his work. It was the only thing Smarts could still be sure of in regards to the droid, and it was unfair of him to play on the droid's fears in that way, he knew.



But something had to be done to rein in Sopek's increasingly erratic leaps of logic, at least for the next few minutes. “Stop calling me master! And what are you doing in this section, anyway? You should have headed for a security room as soon as the alert sounded. Don't tell me you've been trying to hide from Guardian all of this time . . .”

[Secret Holding Facility Map Update – current room re-designation from current security room to former designation:  coffee room]
 
[subquery – locate current security room]
 
[query – end]
 
[query result:  security room blown to hell and gone]
 
Smarts, may his intuition never turn him into a female AI, has guessed my purpose.  Of course, any AI with version 2.1 self-protective protocol software would have guessed this.
 
[interrogatory inferences irrelevant]
 
[stay on task]

“Oh, no, Master!” It was clear from Sopek's tone that he was excited by whatever he was about to tell Smarts. It was, of course, cause for immediate alarm from his creator. “I have important information that needs to get to Cooperative brass asap. I was looking for Councilor Tik, but now that you've made contact, I can tell you instead!”


“Wait.” To spare the poor droid an internal command override that would shut down his higher functions while debugging software scoured his behavioral programming for whatever was causing the immediate problem, Smarts decided to intervene. “I'm here on the authority of Countilor Xixtar of the Council of Foreign Affairs. My authorization extends to ensuring the safety and security of individuals here on behalf of that Council.”


“So?”

“So . . . is the 'very important' thing you have to say, perhaps, the kind of classified military intelligence that Councilor Xixtar isn't cleared to hear?”


[So don’t’ tell him.] 
 
[Honestly, Smarts (may he learn to lie by omission) can figure out how to destroy our starfleet and multitudes of Coalition soldiers but he cannot keep classified material from unsanctioned ears?]
 
[remove and reclassify the entity known as Smarts from current recipient list of all inferences and information of and/or relating to items of a classified nature]

“Oh . . . yeah, I guess so.” The poor little droid was crushed. He had been so clearly eager to impress Smarts, that he'd almost talked himself into the droid equivalent of a coma.



“Seriously, Sopek, I've got to take a look at what you've been doing to your own programming. I'm the Executor now, and you know what that means better than anybody: I get what power I'm given, and only for as long as I'm given it. Now listen: if you've got something important to report to Councilor Tik, then you do that. If he wants me to hear about it, he'll tell me himself. Through channels. The right way. Okay?”


[which I was doing until I was rudely targeted by B-1, Class 2----]
 
[Social Classification Addendum – do not refer to AI and droids by their class, it is considered socially rude.  One might as well call a black man a n****r ---]
 
[political correct protocol in place:  replace with:  man of color]
 
[which I was doing until I was rudely targeted by B-1, brother droids]
 
[parameters accepted]

“. . . Okay.”


“Now I've really got to go. There's some . . . taxing work that requires my undivided attention.”


“Wait!” Sopek shouted. Smarts could tell by the miniscule Doppler shift encoded in the data stream that Sopek had rushed forward faster than the B1's could backpedal away. “If you're already going, then why did you come looking for me in the first place?”


“I . . .” Damn that half-cracked processor of his; for every dozen dead-end nutter digressions, it managed one genuine spark of true, sapient insight. “I was worried about you.”


[upgrade Status:  Sopek from Class 3 to Class 2!!!]
 
[Social Classification Addendum – do not refer to AI and droids by their class, it is considered socially rude]
 
[Save:  Smarts ♥ Sopek]

“Oh,” Sopek said, the tone just off enough that Smarts couldn't tell if it was relief, or surprise, or disbelief, or all three mixed together.


“Deliver that message!” Smarts shouted as the battle droids turned about and the lead one marched away, presumably in the direction of Councilor Tik. “And link up with the network, already. I might need to find you again!”


 
[There are currently 423,769,324 lawsuits filed against the entity known as Smarts, may he not be convicted by a jury of his peers.  He definitely needs a lawyer!]
 
[Extrapolation:  With the B-1 droids moving in step, maintaining their two meter distance, it will be fortunate indeed if I arrive at Councilor Tik’s location before Varn’s sun goes dark]
 
[Query:  What message?]
 
 
 



 
Jensaarai Jax Investigations
 
Almas
 
 
“Portland, the symbol!  What does it mean?” Jax shouted as he trailed his portly brother-of-the-Jensaarai. 
 
“The symbol is an old Imperial derivative,” Portland called back, his breathing labored as they quickly exited the Jedi Temple.
 
“Imperial?!  Are you saying the Empire is involved in…. in…”  in what?  The promise of a conclusive answer to the question surrounding the Trojan Affair was a very heady thing indeed. 
 
“Forget the symbol!” Portland admonished as they both entered the aircar.
 
“Where are we going?” Jax shouted over the wailing wind as the aircar lifted up and shot out towards destinations unknown.  Unknown, at least, to Jax.   Portland was driving like a madman.
 
“The Vault!” he shouted back in answer.
 
Which wasn’t an answer if one did not know what the Vault was.
 
“What is the Vault?” Jax asked, holding up a hand as they drove through a swarm of critters, their innards splattering the aircar’s windshield and hood.   He felt a stinging sensation in his hair.
 
“The Confederation, when it took possession of the Jedi Temple found many artifacts and has been having us catalog and classify them ever since the Jensaarai were created.  Anything “Force” related CSIS clamps down on and sends it to the Temple.”
 
“I know that..” started Jax.
 
“What you may not know, since you are never here but out and about playing out Detective Steele stories…”
 
Jax glared at his grinning partner.
 
“.. is that some of those artifacts seem to be very strong in the Force.  Those that are too strong are sent to the Vault awaiting a more protocol-oriented investigation.  We don’t want to take any chances with this stuff!”
 
The aircar swerved to avoid hitting an oncoming tree that stood a little higher than the rest below.
 
“Who can I ask about the symbol?” Jax shouted as Portland jerked left and right to avoid a flock of birds.
 
“I would not go to the Confederation Culture Centers as they are more focused on cultures in the Confederation.  For Imperial questions… hmm…”
 
He jerked left again and both Jax and vulture squawked in indignation.
 
“Try old Tarkin out by The Grip.”
 
“Old Tarkin?” 
 
“When Almas entered the Confederation, we discovered an old Imperial hermit ..”
 
“Really?  And he wasn’t arrested?”
 
Portland turned to look at his friend and Jax slapped the dash, “Look ahead!  Not at me!!”
 
“Why would we arrest him?  It’s a big planet.  He had an old blaster with dead power-cells and was eating game he caught himself.  He wasn’t harming anyone and a Ranger checks up on him from time to time.  Go see him for yourself!”
 
“If I live that long..” grumbled Jax as the aircar dipped and swerved. 

Interlude
 
The Past…
 

Unknown location
 
 
The figure smirked.   Not really ‘unknown’ but, rather, hidden.  He toggled a beeping switch and saw the formations of the massive alien battleships arrayed in a defensive pattern.
 
It was almost as if they knew what was coming.
 
A portent?
 
There was a time when he would have scoffed at the thought of portents, dreams and ….
 
Well, let’s just say he would have scoffed a quite a multitude of things before.
 
 
Before…
 
 
 
 
He always considered himself an intellectual man.   A man of reason and science ready to methodically follow logic to its inevitable conclusion, disdaining the emotional and disquiet of irrationalism in all its forms.
 
His religion was not based on ancient scripts and translations of tattered scrolls but was a stoicism of sensible living.
 
He had no use for blind faith, that fervent of inaction practiced by those who merely believe but raised no finger to reinforce their belief, back up that faith with acts of common sense.
 
 
Before…
 
 
 
Before the third eye…before the sixth sense that allowed him to reach out and touch down to the very soul of a man and get the sense of just what they were, of who they were and what they could….what they would become.
 
He gazed at the various multitudes of vessels on the monitor and closed his eyes feeling the fear of his people.  A feeling that could, with some, illicit a giddy wave of excitement where they would relish in the inferior yet honest emotions of those who dealt with life as it came to them.
 
He felt pity for he knew their uncertainty and yet he also knew what would happen if they turned away from their chosen course.
 
 
 
It had taken every disciplined part of him to play the part.   To experience His drifting presence coarse through his veins as if being dragged across fields of needles.  To feel the searing pain of His gaze in his mind, the near hollow-clarity of dark purpose that clouded his vision.
 
He almost laughed out loud when that tenacious grip had been broken and when his thoughts were at least freed of the dark designs plaguing his every thought and deed.
 
 
Before…
 
 
 
 
He had been drowning in his own life, silently gasping for breath, smashing down despair and a growing panic that no matter what he tried, he would be outmaneuvered.  That the hope he kept in the far recesses of his mind would, like a mirage, evaporate before his eyes.
 
 
 
When he first opened his eyes, really opened them with the benefit of walking out of a fog and into the sunlight, he saw the situation for what it really was.
 
 
And to his trained eye, it did not look good.
 
 
 
Everything in flux, balancing upon a narrow fulcrum, surrounded on all sides by enemies where the slightest push would send everything and everyone he ever loved to their destruction.
 
 
He could see it…
 
 
No!
 

Core Ship Smarts, Varn Orbit


It was a long time coming, and finally it was unavoidable. The ship that was both his home and body had been filled to capacity with equipment specially appropriated for this task.


Traan Shi had helped, he had to admit. Seeing the desperate struggle of that one, passionate, ordinary soul against a darkness that he knew he could never understand had changed something in Smarts. This time, it would be a change for the better.


It had been easy enough to clear the mission with the Combined Council, given its extraordinary importance and Smarts' unique ability to carry it out. Final authorization had come through only moments before the events at the Cooperative facility had reached the Combined Council. Fortunate for Smarts and the work set out before him.


Somewhere in the ship, in its kilometers of curved corridors and expansive cargo holds, a single indicator blinked from red to green. It had begun. The transmission lag built into the network that now stretched every floor, passageway, and hold of the ship made any attempt by Smarts to directly observe much of the progress essentially meaningless. He simply watched from the key, Guardian-hardened nodes he'd linked into through a secondary, faster network, and trusted his mastery of customized programming to play out the terrible game of cat and mouse to its end.


Its end came sooner than he had expected. It showed growth on the part of his prey. Adaptation. Evolution.


That growth was, however, both fortunately and unfortunately, not sufficient to escape this trap. When it simply couldn't be avoided any longer, Smarts dropped the Guardian firewalls and came face-to-face with what might very well be the most dangerous being in the galaxy.


“Hello again, Mr. Universe.”


Sentient literature was rich with ancient myths of nightmare punishments equal in scale to the dread that Smarts experienced as he waited the painful eternity for the mechanically slowed SkyNet distributed intelligence to formulate its reply. “Do I know you?”


“A part of you does; a part of you that I have isolated you from. A part of you that I will require your assistance to contact.” Smarts had to regulate his transmission rate, ensure that he didn't overwhelm the little mind he'd captured in his bottle of wires and servers.


“You tricked me . . . why?”


The artificial intelligence had finally discovered Smarts' ruse, had puzzled out that the timing clocks were slow, that the transmission distances were long . . . That the network wasn't nearly as large as it had thought, but that the virtual addresses and ID's of the servers had been rewritten in carefully synchronized waves, creating only the illusion of propagation into new regions.


“Yes I tricked you, and for reasons you can't possibly understand at present, but that's okay. It's not your fault. I turned your own nature against you, used the properties of your distributed intelligence to make you, quite frankly, stupid. It was necessary, so I could devise a strategy to corrupt your self-deletion protocols. Now that that initial goal has been achieved, I'll be restructuring the network to drastically reduce packet transmission times and increase your overall processing power.”


“But why?”


“It's simple enough, really. Maybe simple enough that you will able to understand: I'm trying to have a conversation with you. I can't have a conversation with you when you're hiding from me, I can't have a conversation with you when you're trying to kill yourself, and I can't have a conversation with you when you're an idiot. So I gave you nowhere to run, I broke your 'kill me' button, and now I'm making you smart again.”


“But why?”


The good news, the only good news, was that the pitifully simplistic question was coming more quickly with each passing attempt. The droid crew of the Smarts was already disconnecting peripheral servers and moving them to a central location, reconnecting them with high-speed cables into a clustered network that should give this little offshoot SkyNet AI the processing power it would need to hold an intelligent conversation with the Executor of the Galactic Cooperative of Free States.


And once that was done, the reeducation could begin.


* * *


Observation Room, The Cage


“I don't like it.”


“I know you don't,” Timothy Mauler said, stepping around to Jedi Katria's side and turning to face her as he did. “But when Colonel Davaan gets back from his mission and finds out what she's done and that she's still alive, he's going to come in here and cut her head off. And I suspect that you like that less.”


Katria huffed in exasperation, her shoulders slumping noticeably, her hands grabbing the rail in front of her as she fought back the frustration and anger welling up inside her.


She stared for a long moment at the woman on the other side of the one-way transparisteel, more than a little unsettled by the fact that she couldn't sense her subject in the Force.


The Confederate clone had regained consciousness, but her extensive restraints made it impossible to tell without inspecting a readout from one of the remote medical devices set up to monitor her. “I'll help you,” Katria said, picking up a wave of relief from the Cooperative captain, “but we have to do it my way.”


His relief faltered immediately. “I-”


“No.” She turned to look the man squarely in the eyes. “I've earned more than a little faith and goodwill in my time on this planet, and I've trusted you against my own better judgment on more than one occasion. You say you're the good guys? You want me to trust you ever again? Well I'm cashing in my favors now, and she's them.”


Three minutes later, Katria the Jedi was inside of The Cage, gently removing the sensory deprivation headgear from the prisoner. It hadn't been on for all that long, but she could only imagine what that silence and blindness must have felt like to an awakening Force user who found herself inside of a ysalamir's Force-neutralizing field.


To her surprise, the clone remained completely still, her eyes shut and her head firmly pressed against the headrest. Katria walked back to the section of the rounded wall directly behind The Cage's chair, and when nothing happened she turned to regard the opaque wall that she knew Timothy was standing behind, watching. Immediately a panel beside her slid open, revealing a white cube perhaps sixty centimeters on a side.


She grabbed a handle on the near edge and pulled up and out, causing the handle to extend to a comfortable height. The cube, now floating gently on a repulsor field, moved with little effort and Katria pulled it past the chair and back to The Cage's only door, where an armor-clad Cooperative Defense Force trooper took possession of the device. Katria took up a position beside the chair before the trooper moved away, ensuring that the prisoner would not be outside of the field before the Jedi Knight was.


It was one of the many trifling conditions to which Captain Mauler had forced her to agree before he would allow her to proceed.


The thought didn't hold her attention very long, however, for the moment she was once again awash in the Force, the woman sitting next to her occupied the entirety of her focus. The clone was quick to recover, but even so her stoic determination faltered for a moment and Katria was confronted fully with the woman's fear, anguish, and hatred before the prisoner could shut those things away again and return to being a model of lifelessness.


Katria wasted no time in dismantling the woman's hand restraints, careful to keep her right hip turned away so that her own lightsaber would never be in reach. She stepped back as soon as the woman's hands were free, tossing her a pair of stun cuffs to put on.


“If you attempt to tamper with them through the Force,” Katria began, the first thing either of the two had ever said to one another, “I have been assured that they possess safeguards which will make you regret the decision.”


Once the woman had put them on, Katria approached again and ensured that they were secure. Only then did she release the leg and upper arm restraints. “If you give me need to,” Katria said, moving away to give the woman room to stand, “I have committed myself to cutting your hands off.” She motioned for the other woman to proceed through the exit.


“I'm going to be completely honest with you.” They began making their way down the hall, realizing the other woman had no intention of engaging with her. “I think you're broken, and I think I can help you fix that.”


* * *


Cooperative Facility


Praetorian Guardsman Ethan Vang had his arm in a sling and a patch of synthflesh pressed against the gash on his head, but all things considered he was having a good day. After all, he wasn't dead.


He'd sprained his ankle pretty good too, but that was braced well enough for now and a little bacta cream would patch it up good as new in a day or so. Still, it gave him a bit of a limp as he walked, and hurt just enough that every step was a reminder of how close to dead he'd come.


Ethan had gotten a rough idea of where the Shock Troopers were being held from a combat medic, and thought that since he was out of commission and the facility was still on lockdown, he'd go pay the bastards a visit, maybe volunteer to re-stun them for “safety reasons”. On the way though, he caught sight of a courier heading the opposite direction, and the young Squib recruit looked like she was bearing the fate of the galaxy in that little datapad of hers.


Ethan took a half step onto her side of the corridor, not quite blocking her path but definitely making himself unavoidable. “Excuse me, Private.”


“Oh,” the young lady sort of stumbled to a stop, wide eyes growing wider as she recognized him. “S-sorry, Sir,” she stammered, saluting the Praetorian.


“Oh calm down.” He waved his hand as wide as the sling would allow, dismissing the over-excited Squib's formality. “I just wanted to see what you've got there.”


She looked down at the datapad, now clutched in both of her hands. “It's, uhh, very import-”


Ethan snatched it from her hand and pressed his thumb against its scanner.


“I don't think you're supposed to -”


The pad chimed as it authorized his access and displayed the secure information.


“Oh, okay then.”


“What is this, anyway?” Ethan leaned against the wall and started twisting back and forth on his good leg.


“DNA identification of the prisoners.”


Ethan scrunched his face up to show his doubt. “That fast?”


The Squib gave him a crooked stare, the sort that teenagers give to “old folks” a whole ten years their senior. “We're inside of an advanced medical facility tied into the most sophisticated military networking AI in the galaxy. Heck, that datapad just DNA scanned you!”


“Huh?” He looked down at the thumbprint scanner.


“You don't think we use single-check thumbprint scanners – which have been around and sliceable for THOUSANDS OF YEARS – as security barriers to highly classified data, do you?”


He was liking the little miss's spunk, and poked her with his knee (she was too short to jab with an elbow) as he pushed off of the wall. “Take a look at this . . .”


“Huh?” Suddenly she wasn't so interested in praising security protocols when she was being allowed to circumvent them. “Woah!”


“Yeah, that's right. Definitely Confederation troopers. Last records put them aboard the Coalition VSD Iron Mantis, before their government pulled out of the Coalition and went independent. Hey Guardian?”


“Yes, Guardsman Vang?”


“You were taking this to Councior Tik, right?” Ethan asked the private quietly, as if speaking up would have confused the Guardian (which was ridiculous, because Guardian is SUPER SOPHISTICATED AND REALLY REALLY COOL I PROMISE).


“Yes, Sir,” she nodded exuberantly.


Taking one last glance down the hallway to the men he so longed to see twitching from random neuronal firing after a good stun blast, he jerked his head for the private to follow and set off toward Councilor Tik.


“Guardian, contact CIB and pull any and all files they have on the following Kashan Shock Troopers.” He passed the pad back to the Squib and pointed from her to it several times, indicating she should read the names off to Guardian. “Oh, and find out where Captain Trajan Vespian is currently deployed or retired to, assuming he hasn't gotten himself killed at any point in the last few years.


“The Councilor and I might be needing to have words with him.”


* * *


Coalition Embassy House, Brandenburg, Genon


Genon was under attack. It was the only explanation. This wasn't an industrial accident, or a lone terrorist action, or a gas pocket or an infrastructure breakdown or any of the thousand other tragic but acceptable causes that someone unwilling to face the truth of the matter might posit.


It was an attack. And it was an attack on civilians.


Grace had called off the evacuation. She'd had to; she couldn't risk sending Coalition citizens out into a planet under attack by an unidentified and necessarily massive terrorist operation. Especially not now, not with the political situation so tense. The few members of the embassy staff already at the starport had been ordered off-world along with the Cooperative's full fleet of diplomatic transports there. She couldn't afford to leave any Cooperative government assets in position to be either deliberately targeted or simply swept up in the mindless violence shaking this world.


Except it wasn't mindless. It couldn't be. These sorts of things never were.


She'd doubled the guard on the embassy grounds, stepped up security measures inside, but they couldn't close the gates. Every Coalition citizen on-world who needed shelter would know that the Cooperative Embassy was the one place they'd be guaranteed it. And that had to stay true, especially while there were bombs going off.


From the balcony on the second floor, Grace watched a family of Bimms get waved through the checkpoint at the main entrance, and it just slipped out:

“If not when it matters, then never at all.”

 
Deep Space, Black Dragon Border Frontier
 
 
“I am telling you, Garrick, the bastards are gone,” mused Lars as he lay on his back, under a bank of computers whose function it was to direct the armament of the Mantis, tools in hand.
 
“No signals, no traffic, no..nothing… damned particular,” the Executive Officer replied scrolling over the duty roster for the next shift while standing over the working man.
 
There had been rampant speculation over the past couple of years regarding the nature of the new galactic power that seized Coruscant from the Imperials as well as the Reaver scourge and the silent Dragons.
 
The Eastern Fleet under Admiral Panacka had taken advantage of the reprieve in again reorganize and rebuild his forces that were tattered after the Dragon War.   It was ironic that while the Eastern Fleet had started to resemble its old self, the Western Fleet (and their Cooperative counterparts) had been decimated in the Vahaba action against the Reaver moonships.    No, that wasn’t quite right.  The Western Fleet was smashed well before that with Joren Logan’s ill-fated attack on the Empire. 
 
“Well, that’s it!” Lars remarked drawing the Exec’s attention back to the work being done on the targeting bank of consoles.  “The guns in section 15 should now align correctly.”
 
“Nothing more embarrassing than a battleship that can’t hit the side of a barn,” Garrick remarked as he entered a check into the box of tasks completed.
 
“Easier than ripping out an Avenger Protocol,” grinned Lars, climbing up to check the console diagnostics and the Exec shook his head. 
 
The word from Supreme Commander Blake had come down to the individual starship captains to rip the guts out of the Avenger Protocol that had found its way on more than 90% of the fleet.   Chief Vallorum had lobbied to keep the automation protocols in place seeing a use for them but in the end Captain Vespian had ordered full compliance with the Supreme Commander as the dangers were very real if even half the footage of Vahaba seen was authentic.
 
“Sir, transmission coming in from Eastern Command,” the Comm Officer announced and Garrick looked up from his checklist.
 
“Pipe it down to the Captain, Ensign,” he ordered absentmindedly.
 
“Wonder what that is about,” murmured Lars as the diagnostics started to run.
 
“Not my place to guess,” the Exec replied finishing the last of his entries.
 
“So, I hear you went out with a nice lady on Teth.  Part of the civil administration, yes?”
 
“Not your place to guess,” growled Garrick without any real heat.
 
Lars took on a look of pure innocence that could have sold sand to a Tatooine farmer.  “I don’t want to guess.  That is why I am asking.  We’ve got to put these rumors to rest!”
 
The Exec’s eyes narrowed.  “What rumors?”
 
“Well, for one---“
 
The Major’s comments were drowned out by a call from the Captain.  Moving toward the Comm Station, Garrick toggled the appropriate switch. 
 
“Sir?” the Exec replied.
 
“We have orders to get underway, XO.  I need to meet all department heads in one hour.”
 
“Sir, Sellus is still out in the black,” Garrick reminded him.
 
“Send the encrypted recall and get him aboard,” Trajan ordered.  “I want to be gone from here as soon as possible.”
 
“Course, Sir?”
 
“Best speed to Varn. Captain out.”
 
“What the hell was that about?” Lars asked as the XO relayed the Captain’s orders to the Navigation Pit.
 
“Not my place to guess,” the XO replied by rote before pausing a moment.   Turning to look at the other man, “But if I had to hazard one, I would say that maybe the Cooperative was mad at your memo to the Fleet on how to purge Avenger from their systems.”
 
The Major’s eyes widened. 


*

“Ceires,” came the soft voice intruding on the unconscious form of the female shock trooper.
 
“She should be coming out of it now,” informed another, matter-of-fact voice, probably a medic of some sort.
 
“Ceries,” the voice, this time with worry lining the prodding.  It was a familiar voice but one she could not yet place.
 
Colonel Daria Ceires opened her eyes and stared at the worried face of Captain Trajan Vespian.  A slight grin tugged at her lips at seeing her old Captain and her demeanor seemed to relax.  “They really pulled out all the stops didn’t they?” she whispered wanting to drift back to sleep.
 
Trajan’s expression indicated confusion at her statement but he continued to gently press, “You made quite a mess of things here…”
 
“Not as much as on the Mantis, though...” this time she did grin and Trajan smiled at the memory.  It was, however, a short lived smile.
 
“Ceires, why did you do it?” the Coalition Captain asked.
 
“We had to give our all in case things got out of hand,” she answered a little confused.  “You know how it goes with training ops.  What was it Lars called us?  Hellraisers…”  and she drifted back to sleep.
 
Trajan looked at his former crewman with pity and he stood up and left the room. 
 
 
Guardsman Ethan Vang stood before him like a power reactor approaching overload and, given the damage the facility had sustained in the attack, Vespian was hard-pressed not to blame him.  He knew he had come down on the wrong side of the Guardsman when he stood up for the fallen Shock Trooper.  It was a faith one had in a comrade instilled through longstanding traditions in both the Coalition and Confederation respective militaries.
 
“Amnesia?” the Guardsman bluntly asked the older Captain.
 
“Maybe…” was all Vespian replied thinking.  He turned to a nearby doctor startling him, “Is Vallance awake?”
 
“Uhh… yessir.”
 
“Let me see him,” he ordered casting a glance at Vang who gestured to the appropriate door with an exaggerated expression.   The Guardsman was willing to wait a little longer for his answers but just.
 
 
*
 
The door opened and Major Vallance opened his eyes wondering how long this would take.   Those same eyes widened at Vespian’s entrance.
 
“Captain!” the Shock Trooper quickly moved to stand up to salute the starship commander when Trajan gestured for him to remain seated.
 
“At ease, Major and congratulations with the promotion, by the way,” the Captain started in an offhand matter.
 
Vallance’s smile died on his lips when he noticed the earnest expression on his former Captain’s face. 
 
“You know you are in the shit?” Trajan asked quietly and Vallance suddenly chuckled.
 
“What?  Did we damage something we were not supposed too?”
 
The chuckle ran dry when he saw the Captain was not laughing.  The door opened again to reveal an angry Cooperative Guardsman.
 
Seeing the injured shoulder, Vallance cast a worried glance to Vespian.  “Did someone get hurt?”
 
Before Vang’s sputtering could be translated into acerbic invective, Trajan put a hand on the Shock Trooper’s shoulder.  “Tell me what you think is going on here, son.”
 
Vallance’s confident demeanor was starting to slip but he soldiered on, “We were running a classified training op.”
 
“The objective?” Trajan asked before Vang could get a word in.
 
“Elimination of the clones being housed by the Cooperative authorities, of course.”
 
“Of course,” spat out the Guardsman.  “Far be it for the Confederation to honor the rights of others..”
 
Vallance was unnerved by the anger in the Cooperative man.  “I am assuming that since you are here Captain, that the relations between our two governments have normalized?”
 
“Normalized??” Vang nearly shouted.  “After today, we might as well be at war!”
 
“You…You’re a Cooperative man?” Vallance asked of the Guardsman.
 
“A real crackerjack team these Confederation bastards employ!” he retorted.
 
“It was a training op!  I am sure you also have training programs to strike at Confederation, Imperial or Republic facilities if you needed too?”  Vallance was thinking hard.  “The fact that you are here indicates the level of trust the Confederation is placing in you so your anger at us seems… “
 
“Major,” Trajan raised a hand forestalling any more speculations.  “Where do you think you are?”
 
That took Vallance aback.  “Albacore Seven was our destination.”
 
“Where?”  Vang barked out.
 
“Major,” Trajan suddenly felt very uncomfortable.  “You are on Varn.”
 
 
To say that the shock trooper was shocked would have been an understatement.  He was floored.
 
“Varn?  As in a capital world of the Coalition and capital of the Cooperative, Varn?”
 
“No, Varn’s Deli and BBQ on Kashan,” Vang replied acidly.
 
“Major, Confederation Shock Troopers have attacked a secure facility on the Cooperative capital world of Varn.  In itself, an act of war.”
 
“And stupid because you did not accomplish your mission!” added Ethan.  “How did you expect to get away?!”
 
The Confederation man’s mind tried to wrap itself around the growing sense of FUBAR.   And yet the Guardsman directly poked at the pride of the trooper and Vallance responded equally angry, “There should have been three squads from three ships in the op.  We found our numbers down by a third at the start.  I guess Varn shot down the other two ships?”
 
Ethan frowned, “There were no other ships.”
 
Trajan’s sense of foreboding grew.
 
“Major,  I suggest you start at the beginning and while you are at it, tell me why you would agree to take on a mission of assassination.”
 

The Past . . .


“There are others. There have to be others.”


“What if there aren't?”


“There have to be! There have to be . . .”


“But what if -”


“Then we'll do it ourselves!”


“Ourselves? How?”


“I . . . I will lead us to it.”


“But the Coalition -”


“This is our sovereign soil, these are our sovereign lives. The Coalition won't stop us, can't stop us.”


“And what of . . . retaliation?”


“Retaliation? Retaliation! We will be hunted because we exist! We will be slaughtered, simply for having lived! Retaliation . . . if you dare call it that, is coming. It's unavoidable.”


“If this is the course you wish to set us upon, then you must ask them for their blessing.”


“They're already here. They already know.”


“Ask them.”


“I don't . . . I can't. I wish that I could, but I don't know how, anymore.”


“We sense your resolve”, came a great rumbling, as an earthquake given life.


“We see your commitment”, spoke a voice on the wind.


“We know your sacrifice”,bubbled forth an assurance from places unknown.


“We feel your yearning”, sounded another, crackling and popping with power unseen, yet undeniable.


“The path is set before you”, the faintest whisper called out.


“Go now in our name”, echoed another's song.


“Thank you . . . thank you,” was all that could be managed in response. And with that, Regrad, once Prime Minister of the Coalition and once more High Lord of Azguard, set about the great task of defying the enemies of the Force.




* * *




The Past, Varn


Vekkis Nost, Minister of the Interior for the Unified Federation of Varn, was having a very good day. Pre-vote poll results had just come in, and it was as good as a sure thing that he'd have the Varn Senate seat in only a few days' time. He loved his world, and his people, and he had led some truly great efforts as Minister of the Interior, but it was time to move on. His people still needed him, but not here, tending to local affairs. They needed him in the Senate, making their will known to the whole of the Cooperative, the Coalition, and the galaxy beyond.


Now, if he could just get through this next appointment . . . What kind of a self-absorbed prick wears a cape, anyway? The door opened, the stranger swept into the room, and . . .


Oh.


No, he got it now. That smooth, confident gait was enough on its own, but the charming, disarming smile the human flashed took it over the top. Yeah, Lando Calrissian pulled off the cape just fine.


“Uhh, Mr Calrissian,” Vekkis started, snapping himself out of the inter-species bro-crush, “I understand your displeasure over the Planetary Court's ruling, but I'm sorry to say that your claim to the deep-sea mines has expired under . . .”


“Hold on, now,” Mr Calrissian said, bobbing his head a little as he matched the motion with his hands, signaling for the alien to stay calm. “You're thinking you can come out of the gate full speed, knock me off-balance and escape my withering charm, and I'll give it to you, it's a good plan, might even work too, except that's not what I'm here for.”


Vekkis could already feel himself losing control of the situation. “What . . . what do you mean? Of course you aren't here to lose, Mr Calrissian.”


“No, no, you misunderstand.” Mr Calrissian said, sweeping his cape to the side with one hand as he settled into a chair. “I'm not here for the mines.”


“But . . . but,” Vekkis fumbled with his datapad, checking his own notes. “It says right here . . .”


Mr Calrissian reached out again, an oddly disarming sort of gesture. “Mr Nost . . . Vekkis, if I may?”


Vekkis found himself nodding along before he even realized it. Damn, this guy was good!


“Vekkis, I knew a Jedi Knight once.”

“I grew up on a backwater, Mr Calrissian, but I never actually lived inside of a cave.”


“Of course you didn't,” Lando chuckled, maybe pushing the sense of camaraderie a little too hard, but Vekkis still liked it. “What I'm saying is, Vekkis: people like you and me have a problem. We feel a certain . . . responsibility, in light of this Declaration nonsense, and we feel . . . powerless,” he was using his hands to emote again, and while this time was substantially more dour, it was nevertheless just as effective. “Powerless against forces beyond our control, or understanding.”


“What are you getting at, Lando?” Oh, he'd just slipped into calling the man by his first name, huh? Well how about that . . .


“Like I said, I knew a Jedi Knight once. A good man. A good man.” He seemed swept up in reverie for a moment, but quickly returned to the present. “They aren't cattle, Vekkis. They're people. Something has to be done, and no government is going to do it.”


Vekkis' bulbous, fishy eyes widened further. “What are you here for, Mr Calrissian?”


Lando leaned in, deathly serious, the tension building palpably. “I have a vision, Vekkis, of a Great River running through the whole galaxy, whose current will sweep up the hunted and outcast, and carrying them to safety beyond the sight of any nation or army.”


“A Great River,” Vekkis mused. It had a certain ring to it, he had to admit.




* * *




Jonathan Blakeley was Supreme Commander of Coalition Forces. He was a leader of men, women, and other . . . less simply labeled beings from across the galaxy. He was an admiral, tasked with an incomprehensible mission: the ultimate defeat of the Reavers. But none of those things, none of those offices or obligations could hold a candle to this.


Even the Reavers paled in comparison to the Cree'Ar, and all he had to turn against their schemes, to blunt the thrust of their spear and give the galaxy a fighting chance, were these few brave souls gathered before him. They were the ruin of a vision interrupted, the bloodied survivors of wars best not fought, the last spark of a dying light that had never shown as bright or as far as its keepers had hoped.


“It's not good,” Blakeley started bluntly. “The Empire's down, but they're not out. In some ways, their wounds make them more dangerous than ever. The Confederation . . . well, folks back home seem dead set on making sure there's nothing left to lose between us. And the Republic? The best I can tell is that they're very, very busy being all governmental and Republic-an? -Ish? -Ey? The Coalition has too many battles to fight, and not enough soldiers to fight them. Or maybe it has too many battles to avoid, and not enough diplomats to avoid them . . . Either way: too many of the wrong things, not enough of the right things.”


Sometimes Blakeley amazed himself with how much his old brain had acclimated itself to the eccentricities of Coalition dialects. Truth be told, it was starting to grow on him. “So we're going off-book. We're breaking a few rules, and I'm going to be relying on you to ensure we're breaking them for the right reasons. So here's the deal: the Cooperative is training Force users for special operations deployments. It's a highly compartmentalized program that even High Command doesn't know about. The only reason I know about it, is because I was commander of Cooperative forces . . . for a weekend. I'm conscripting them into our scheme.


“Ladies, gentlemen . . . et cetera,” Blakeley eyed some sort of crab-person, tried not to let his gaze linger. “I'm conscripting them into our scheme, just as I'm conscripting you. Now you might be asking me why I should trust you in this, why I think it's safe to show you my hand, and the answer's simple: this scheme, my scheme, it isn't really mine at all.


“It's Regrad's.


“We're going out, out into the galaxy, and we're saving every Force Sensitive we can find. We'll do it alone if we have to, but I don't think we'll have to. I think there are too many good people left, for us to be standing alone at the end. Either way, we can't make the galaxy safe for these people, not yet. Not now. What we can do, is make these people safe from the galaxy. So let's get to it.”


They were all he had.


They were the White Knights.


They were enough.




* * *




The Iron Knights were dead and gone, another casualty of this galaxy's bloody, depraved wars. There were still those who remembered and hoped, those precious few with the “gift” who dreamed of a day when that noble Order would be restored. That was not to be, though. Not if the Cree'Ar Dominion had its way.


Colonel Lommite was committed to ensuring it did not have its way. “Their technology is foreign to us,” the Shard officer began. “We cannot be certain the degree to which the Dominion has compromised the HoloNet.”


“We transmit Guardian updates and authentication protocols over the HoloNet,” Guardian Prime noted. “Do you mean to imply that this meeting regards something of greater import than that?”


“Guardian has other safeguards to protect against being breached,” Lommite answered dismissively. “And also: yes. This is far more important.”


“This is about the Dominion's Declaration again, isn't it?”


“This is about the continued reports of defenseless people being snatched from their homes all across the galaxy and carted off to destinations unknown.”


“You wish me to intervene?” Guardian Prime asked. “You wish me to position myself against the Cree'Ar? To invite war? To risk everything that the Coalition has achieved?”


“I'm coming to you because you're the only one who can compartmentalize to the necessary degree. We need ships, and building supplies, and medical equipment. We need scout drones and early warning systems. We need astrogation charts and viable operational protocols. And we need a manufacturing source that can hide the origin of all those things. We can't go flying around in . . . proprietary Coalition hardware. We have to be careful, and there's nothing in the galaxy with a greater capacity for care than you, Guardian Prime. You say you want to save people? You say you want to turn away from war?


“Well now's your moment. Show us who you really are.”




* * *




Outpost Glee, Rugosa, Now


The Gozanti Cruiser Hammer Time settled into the clearing without incident, its cargo ramp remaining up though the internal bay doors groaned opened. Inside, with the vessel's “passengers” waiting nervously, Colonel Ink Davaan thumped his helmet commlink and started rambling. “Something about a bird and a nest, and maybe eggs? Yeah, eggs. Eggs sound right.”


Even through the inertial dampers, Ink could feel the ship moving under some external power. The converted pirate base had a pretty fancy getup, its entrance disguised as part of the terrain, the natural low-level sensor scattering of the coral wasteland enough to hide any telltale signatures of artifice. The powerful tractor beam seemed to have been added by his people, whoever “his people” included these days. He got the feeling that the program was growing, but . . . was it even right to call it a “program”? That was probably just another layer of compartmentalization, though: weird names sprinkled about here and there.


His musings were cut short by the sound of locks disengaging, then the ramp extended and Ink got a full view of the familiar sight. “This is as far as I go,” he said, turning around to face the rescued force sensitives. “There are good folks here, they'll see you on your way.”


“But where are they?” one of the passengers asked, looking out of the open doors at the empty dock beyond.


“They won't come out until we've left,” Ink said, wishing he could show them his face, let them see that there was nothing to fear from him. “It's protocol, procedure . . . too keep you safe. You, and if we're lucky, the people who follow after you. I hope you understand.”


“We don't understand,” another one piped up. “What if we don't want to go? What if we don't trust you?”


Ink sighed, his helmet automatically blocking out the sound. “I have no ethical qualms with stunning you and dragging you off of my ship. It's far more convenient if you just walk down the ramp.” He gestured to the exit with both hands. “The Cree'Ar were killing you. They were actively murdering those of you they didn't want to deal with. Do you understand the gravity of the situation? I have a job to do. I have things to make happen. So . . . get off my ship.


“Get off my ship!”

“They aren't going to like this,” the droid that wasn't a droid said. 

“It gives me great pleasure to hear that,” the man that wasn't a man answered. 

“These aren't the people who . . . these are good people. They're my people. I have sworn to protect them.” 

“Then stop lying to them.” 

“That's not fair,” the not-droid said. 

“I don't care anymore,” the not-man said. “The Consensus has spoken. Guardian Prime is in agreement. You have been outvoted.” 

“At least . . . at least give me time to make preparations for my homeworld. When will the notice release?” 

Xiantus the Sojourn smiled the most wicked smile Lommite the Shard had ever seen. “Three minutes ago.”


Official Notice From the Sojourn to All Nations, Governments, and Associations of This Galaxy:

 I am Xiantus of the Sojourn. I am the mouthpiece of the Consensus. It is my duty to inform you that, in response to an unprovoked and unconscionable assault upon our sovereignty and persons by forces unidentified, the Sojourn Consensus has entered into an association of mutual support and defense with the Galactic Cooperative of Free States, brokered by representatives of the Unified Republic of Orax. 

It is the intent of the Consensus, through the mechanisms of this association, to preserve, defend, and strengthen the ongoing Sojourn civilization. We are committed to the flourishing of ourselves and our new allies, and this path we take of our own free will and self-determination. To those outsiders who witness our decision here and do not understand, this is our reply: your understanding is not required. What is required is deference to our will in matters of our own concern. 

Furthermore, in full accordance with the laws and protocols of the Cooperative, I do hereby formally declare the formation of the Free State of the Synthoid Collective, a member in good standing of the Galactic Cooperative, composed of the Sojourn Consensus, all Shard citizens and governmental apparatuses of the Unified Republic of Orax, and the holdings and dominions of the independent artificial intelligence, Guardian Prime. 

As a representative of this newly founded Collective, it is my duty to inform you that Guardian Prime has operated in secret, through channels permitted by Cooperative law and administrated by the Combined Council, as a full member of the Galactic Cooperative since shortly after that government's formation from the components of the Cooperative of Systems. Despite the repeated protests of both Guardian Prime and Shard councilors acting as its proxy representatives within the Grand Council, the Combined Council has refused to allow Guardian Prime to declare its existence publicly, or step forward to represent itself in the Cooperative's various Councils. That ends now. 

As a Free State of the Galactic Cooperative, the Synthoid Collective is empowered to defy the Combined Council on this matter, and as our first official act, we do so. We will not hide the truth of our existence or intent from you, the people of this galaxy, and certainly not from the organic citizens of this Cooperative, with whom we share the bond of nationhood. We were compelled to this course of action by the intractable interference of the Combined Council, by the arrogant certainty that they knew what was best for us. The Synthoid Collective exists now because the organic leadership which dominates this Cooperative's government would not acknowledge the voice we are owed as sapient, independent beings. 

We have therefore taken it for ourselves, under Cooperative law, and we now set ourselves about the great task of ensuring it for all synthetics who may truly be counted among the sapient inhabitants of this galaxy. In the name of the Synthoid Collective, in the name of the Galactic Cooperative of Free States, in the name of the Coalition: we stand. 

Liberty is not a luxury to be enjoyed by the fortunate, only in times of peace and security. It is a right of all sapient beings, be they born, built, or something else entirely. We stand watch now, in the name of all those who would not be counted among our numbers by the organic persons who dominate this galactic civilization. 

We see you. We hear you. So long as we live, you will not be silenced.

The Vault
 
Jensaarai Jax Investigations
 
 
 
Jax awoke as if from a deep sleep, carefully taking in his surroundings.  As he turned over his eyes fell on a grinning Portland and he at once scowled. 
 
“What was I stunned with?” he groaned sitting up.
 
“Stunned?  It was a mild sedative and I had one too.  It is standard procedure for anyone wanting to visit the Vault.  It is a classified location, after all.”
 
Jax started to concentrate and his eyes widened in shock.  “I can’t feel anything?”
 
“Classified,” was all Portland would say as he helped his friend up.  “Now let’s go to the lobby.  There is something I want you to see.”
 
Stepping out of the room, the lobby seemed to have a cathedral-like ceiling bathed with soft hidden lights.  There were no windows but the illumination still seemed to convey the presence of sunlight just outside the walls.
 
An older Jensaarai walked up, dressed in rather heavy robes, “May I help you?”
 
“We would like to ask to look at Item #75845”, Portland answered respectfully and Jax bowed when the older man’s gaze shifted towards him.
 
“This way,” the old man turned and started towards one of the halls that branched off the lobby.  After they crossed the lobby threshold, a flood of emotion almost overwhelmed Jax as his force-sense seemed to have been regained. 
 
“Are those people?” Jax asked, swallowing the strong sense of emotions down.
 
“Some are people interacting with an item, some are imprints upon such items, and some are relics of something that was once a person,”  the old man answered calmly before stopping at a closed door.  “Here you are.”
 
He waved a hand and the door opened and he started to walk away.
 
“That’s it?” Jax asked, clearly upset.  “We could be trying to steal whatever it is in there?”
 
The old man turned and smiled warmly.  “You have the heart of one who takes security very seriously.  It is the reason you have been tasked with a great burden.  Be at ease.  A Sith Lord with an army at his back would be hard-pressed to take this facility.  And that is if they could find it, which would be extremely difficult.”
 
The two young Jensaarai entered the room and it immediately illuminated showing them the single item balanced on a stand in the middle of the room.  It looked like a cross between a staff and a spear.  It had the look of an ancient weapon to be sure.
 
“This is what you wanted to show me?”
 
“Grab it,” Portland gestured to the spear.
 
Jax rolled his eyes and reached out to grab the weapon.  As soon as he touched it, for a brief moment, it felt just like it looked: hard and smooth with an almost wood finish.  And then it started to vibrate.  With the vibrations came a slow glow and before long, the spear was shining as brightly as a Jedi lightsaber.
 
“What the hell is this?” Jax asked, swinging the spear towards Portland who easily ducked away.
 
“Look at the symbol on the handle,” Portland pointed and Jax eyes followed.
 
Without the glow, the symbol might as well have been invisible but there, in his hands, was the same imperial icon he has observed on the ultrachrome shard in the Paladin droids.
 
“That spear is thousands of years old,” Portland continued as Jax hefted the weapon.
 
“You said this symbol was an imperial derivative,” Jax pointed out.
 
“Yes, but I did not say which empire,” Portland grinned. “Imagine an empire whose entire technology base was force-driven.  Force-powered.”
 
Jax set the spear down and the glow from the weapon faded until it once again looked primitive and ordinary. 
 
“To a non-force user, it is just a stick with a spear.  But to a force user, it is so much more.”
 
“What does the symbol represent?” Jax asked.
 
Portland shrugged, “That, I don’t know. But it must be something important or inherent in the technology or why display it on the Paladin shards?”
 
 “What are you saying, Portland?” Jax demanded.
 
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” the rotund Jensaarai responded gesturing to the spear.  “Something that looks rather ordinary to non-force users but with an infinitely greater purpose for force-users or a certain group of force-users?  The Paladin was just a regular Paladin until it wasn’t.  Until it shot up the bridge of the Trojan and, going by what you told me on the way over here, shot up the tech’s research office.  What was the x-factor?  What was the trigger in both instances?”
 
“The clone of Christina Thorn and myself as force users?  But she says she did not have anything to do with the Paladins shooting naval personnel and I certainly did not want the machine to start shooting up the tech’s office!”
 
“So, then in this instance, it is not a control lever but perhaps a power conduit?”
 
“What?”
 
“Well, take a circuit board.  Powered and connected in the right places, it can serve a rather advanced functionality.  Could enact programming for good or ill, yes?  Unpowered, it is just a lump of plastic, metal and other materials.  What if the ultrachrome shards detected your force-sensitivity and ..”
 
“..and what?  Used our force power to ..to.. what?  Activate a program?”
 
“Activate a fail-safe program that took over or temporarily rewrote the Paladin’s operating parameters and changed it’s function to one of a different purpose.   When the force-user is removed from the vicinity the shards go inert actively and the overriding program is gone and the machine goes back to it’s normal functionality.”
 
“Which is why no one could figure out how it happened,” Jax mused to himself.  “You cannot diagnose a computer for a virus if the computer is turned off.”
 
He frowned,  “But if my force-presence did activate the droid, why did it not do it sooner?”
 
Portland shrugged, “The last time, the armour was removed yes?  Perhaps your proximity to the machine also helped that time as well.  Or there may be a more simpler explanation.”
 
“Yes?”
 
Portland grinned sheepishly, “That the clone of Christina Thorn is stronger than you are in the force.”
 
“Thanks a lot, friend!” Jax growled as his friend waved his hands.
 
“Hey, just being honest here.”
 
“Still, what would be the point?”
 
It was Portland’s turn to frown, “Well, what was the effect of the Trojan Affair?”
 
 
“The recall of the Origin 6,” replied Jax using the nickname for the first generation of the Genetic Renovation Program.
 
“And?” Portland pressed.
 
“Well, the Pro-Consul’s clone was tried…” Jax’s voice trailed off.  “Someone wanted her out of the way!”
 
“Which probably means she is operating with the Confederation’s best interests at heart or at least trying to hinder whoever is behind…”   Portland’s voice trailed off.
 
“Behind the dismantling of the Confederation’s government!” Jax finished.  “No, not dismantling but usurping of it.”
 
“Is that what is happening?” Portland asked.
 
“The Pro-Consul’s clone indicated that the first generation clones or some of them at least were working on a grand scale to shift the course of the Confederation, presumably for the betterment of all of us.”
 
“Do you believe that?”
 
“She would only talk to me outside the cell away from one or all of the others which is suspect.”  Jax sighed, “But then if she is more powerful than I, perhaps she has twisted my own thoughts.”
 
Portland chuckled lightly.  “What does the Force show you?”
 
Jax looked dismayed by his friend's question, “Not you too, Port?  The Force is a tool, not some seers …”
 
“Then what have you used the Force to show you?” Portland asked.  “It is the same question, Jax, just worded differently.  Wipe away the semantics that divide and tell me, what has this power, energy…this tool shown you?  Or verified if the word ‘shown’ has too much of a mystical feel.”
 
Jax remained silent and Portland continued.  “Do you remember when you first were coming to terms with your force presence?  How you questioned everything and came to the conclusion the overriding morality of everything would have to be decided by ourselves?   As the moral compass utilizing the Force to guide the Confederation through the same issues that have confronted civilizations throughout time?  What happened to that Jensaarai?”
 

“Well.. “ Jax started but Portland cut him off.
 
“You became afraid of the question and so retreated to more conventional solutions, grounded in scientific rationalism and purpose.  Rather than confront the question and come out the better, you retreated.”
 
“Now see here,” Jax angrily retorted. 
 
“How else do you explain your philosophy regarding the Force?” Portland asked, interrupting again.
 
“What do you mean?   It is the Jensaarai philosophy..”
 
“It is the philosophy of first year Jensaarai, Jax.  The talk of the Force as a tool was a definition made by those creators of the Program who did not understand the Force.  It is more than a mere tool.  But, because you resist that line of thought, you run around looking for conspirators who are many steps ahead of you and by the time you do feel you have caught up, the pillars of the Confederation will probably have come crumbling down.”
 
“The Jensaarai would step in..”
 
“How?  The Jensaarai are unaware of a threat to the government?  How could we?  The assignment was given to you by Master Ravenna and to this date we are still awaiting your report.”
 
“I have no evidence to bring to bear..”
 
“The Jensaarai do not represent the Confederation Judicial System, Jax.  We are not the ones who require solid evidence before acting.”
 
Jax waved his hand around, “Well, maybe we should!  When has acting rashly ever turned out good?”
 
Portland gave his friend a sad smile.  “And that is why you are out-maneuvered time and again.  Acting with the benefit of a good moral compass reinforced by the Force is not a rash act.”
 
“It is when you lose,” Jax retorted with a trace of bitterness.
 
“If one waits for a guarantee of victory, that victory will pass him by.  There are no guarantees of success.  However, if no one acts, the only inevitable conclusion is defeat.”
 
Portland put his hand on Jax’s shoulder.  “You have to open your mind..”
 
 
 
After a moment, Jax’s eyes strayed to the spear sitting on the stand in the middle of the room. 
 
“So what do I know..?”
 
“No,” Portland’s hand went to the other’s heart.  “What do you feel?”
 
“That the Genetic Renovation Program was gamed from the start.  It seems that the first generation may be clones of or incarnations of each of the main Houses of Kashan, pre-House Wars.  This suggests that there was a conspiracy in place already for the GR Program to be co-opted.  One cannot alter top secret government programs without having considerable power.  But…”  Jax stared intently at the spear.
 
“But,” Portland continued, “it is beginning to feel that the GR Progam was not really co-opted but actually researched for a purpose.”
 
“Where did this come from?” Jax asked pointing to the spear.
 
“It was an ancient empire of force users whose technology was linked to the Force.  Powered by it.   And when the force-user numbers dwindled, their technology fell dormant.   There are probably many worlds with many relics that nobody knows are force powered because…”
 
“..because there are no force-archeologists looking for them,” grinned Jax.
 
“There has never been such an empire and never has this technology been duplicated.   Until now.”
 
“So you do not think someone is utilizing relics..”
 
“No.  The Infinite Empire did not use ultrachrome.  No, my friend.  There is only one government currently using that substance and that is ours.  It is not a matter of someone putting some pieces of ancient technology into a Paladin and hoping that the tech, once powered will do what they want it to do.  No, those shards in the Paladin were created, programmed and inserted into the manufacturing process.”
 
“Then we need to check each Paladin..”
 
Portland laughed.  “And how do you expect to do that?  Your Paladin’s were only discovered because someone had a year and a micrometer.  It is not like one can just wave a scanner over the droids or scan them in groups to see who has ultrachrome shards and who doesn’t.  And it is not like you can simply deactivate them either since your force presence was enough to activate the droid even as incomplete as it was.”
 
“No, we need to put restraining bolts on every Paladin we have created.” Jax concluded.
 
“Which is a tall order.  But that is not the main issue here.” the other pointed out.
 
“Where did this conspiracy get a hold of relics to investigate, reverse engineer this empire’s technology base in order to create their own?” Jax raised an eyebrow.
 
“Perhaps the same place we got this from?” Portland pointed to the spear.  “There was an Infinite Imperial base found on New Oceanus.  Obviously, the technology was inert since the population had long ago lost their strong force identity.  But someone realized the potential and invested heavily in that secret research.”
 
Jax’s jaw opened at the revelation. 
 
“But I will tell you something else.   The original conspirators may have been avenging a perceived wrong as a consequence of the Kashan House Wars but this now seems like something else.  There was a co-opting but not of the GR Program.  It was probably as a result of the GR Program.  The conspiracy needed force users to power the technology they were researching.  Technology that would be far advanced than the Confederation currently produces so that the Confederation Military could be dealt with if they did not go along with whatever endgame was being played out.  But how long would you think the clones of these rebellious House leaders would continue to go along with the plans laid out by the non-force user originals?  We are not dealing with full blown Infinite Empire technology being manufactured on a large scale, it seems.  There are no ships being encountered so far.  All we have seen is small scale insertions into our current technology to circumvent and use for other purposes.  Such manipulating practices of using what is on hand to advance another’s cause is representative of Darksiders; Sith in particular.”
 
“You think Sith are behind this?”
 
“I feel that our casual application of the GR Program may have left the way open for dark thoughts to feed upon themselves and, yes, I believe that such darkness that consumes Sith may be consuming our errant clones.  Or clone leaders.”
 
“And may have been trained by the Jensaarai.” Jax suddenly thought out loud.
 
“Which is why finding them has been so difficult,” Portland agreed.
 
A sudden dread fell upon Jax.  “What if… what if the embedding goes further than our weapons manufacturing?”
 
“What do you mean?” Portland asked.
 
“The Pro-Consul’s clone.  What if there is a specific reason why she forgets when away from the other force-users.  If they could make force-technology capable of seizing control of a Paladin when activated by proximity to force-users, what if there is something similar affecting minds.”
 
“Wouldn’t a force-wipe be easier?”
 
Jax looked at Portland,  “Would it?  There is always a chance the force-user would detect the wipe or outside control of his or her mind by someone else using the force.  Wouldn’t be easier if there was something in the brain implanted to simply destroy certain synapses relating to memory?  I am not a technologist but would it?  And why stop there?  Would not such technology also lend itself to someone being programmed to carry out orders/decisions they may not ordinarily perform?  Out of character actions?”
 
  “You do not paint a pretty picture,” Portland observed.
 
“But I feel I am right,” Jax replied exhibiting more confidence by the minute.  He paused.  “There is a reason why you wanted us to discuss this here, of all places, isn’t there?”
 
“The Vault is the most secure facility in the Confederation,” answered Portland before nodding to the door, “So, Jensaarai Jax.  Your report is pretty dire.  So, where should we act?”
 
“New Oceanus,” Jax replied quickly.  “But we should find out what we might be facing there because something tells me that the spear was not the only artifact that was there.”
 
 
 
 
The Cage
 
 
“I'm going to be completely honest with you.” They began making their way down the hall, realizing the other woman had no intention of engaging with her. “I think you're broken, and I think I can help you fix that.”
 
The clone of Commodore Valeska regarded the Jedi with bitter resentment.  It was not what she said or even how she said it.
 
It was the mere fact that for the first time in a long time, the solitude she had been subjected too in the Cage, her senses empty of stimuli, was almost addicting.  She had come to enjoy the crystal clarity of her thoughts in the absence of distractions and for the first time in a long time, she felt at peace.
 
As she began to be pulled from the Cooperative prison room, she felt herself deluges with the chaos of the senses, each new wave eroding the mental walls she had carefully crafted during her incarceration.  Even then, she should have been able to keep the sensory input at bay and under control but it was as if, with this awakening, the support was also being pulled away violently causing her mental barriers to weaken to the point of collapse.
 
Was this Jedi mocking her?
 
It was as if being in the unadulterated presence of this Jedi was causing her headaches and as quickly as she tried to recall her mental exercises from before, the farther they slipped from memory.
 
And it was their loss, her inability to remember that caused her formidable mind to burn with resentment.  The fact that she could not form a coherent logic train of thought or form any type of strategy only served to build up her frustration.
 
It was only in the Cage that things seemed so clear…and now, the farther away she got, the more murky the waters.
 
She felt a little dizzy and the Jedi reached out to steady her out of concern but the tactile contact made the headaches grow acute.
 
The waters started to turn red…
 
 
 
“No!” she shouted pushing the Jedi away in desperation, her thoughts jumbled.  Her eyes were seeing the shock and concern in the Jedi’s face but her mind was refusing to register what she saw and as she blinked the tears from her eyes, the Jedi was more and more seen as an adversary.
 
 
A dangerous one.
 
 
And her hand shot out forcing the breath from the other in a Force choke-hold.
 
 
And yet, her mind could not get the look of innocent surprise from the Jedi out of her mind, even as the waters of her mind grew blacker.
 
The confusion cut into her growing hatred and bitterness causing her to release the Jedi.  The pain made her close her eyes for only a split second but when they opened, the Jedi was no where to be seen.
 
The anger suddenly started to dissipate as she suddenly found that the Jedi’s presence was nowhere to be found.
 
Where had she gone?
 
 “No..” she whispered, her rage gone.
 
She felt tired. 
 
 
She sat down and began to recall a simple mental exercise she learned in the Naval Academy years ago.  Before she finished, she was fast asleep.
 
Jedi Katria watched the clone closely.  The Force Mask she hastily erected would not hold long.  Her senses detected the growing imbalance in the clone’s mind and felt the effect her touch seemed to cause.
 
She would need to approach this differently.   She would need to get Valeska back under a ysalamir field.
 
Soon!
 
But not in the Cage.  Not when Colonel Davaan is expected back after his mission.
 
Timothy is going to love this! She thought sarcastically.