Brandenburg, Genon, de facto Confederation High Command Headquarters

Golden light from the setting sun streamed through the window, suffusing the wood-paneled room in brilliant ambient light. On a greel wood desk, a trio of crystal glasses with an accompanying tumbler of Churbian brandy stood ready. In the center of the room, a young woman, clad in black, stared out of the transparisteel viewport. The elevation of the tower presented a panorama of the sun beginning to set amidst the already dark jungles around Brandenberg. The doors silently slipped open, admitting a gentleman with a marked military gait.

“Colonel Gallen.”

The blonde-haired woman turned around and coldly smiled.

“Will it ever just be Skye to you?”

“Probably not,” stated the man, striding over to the tumbler to fill a crystal glass.

“Well,” sighed the woman, taking a chair across from the desk, “we have more holo footage. This time from the Abhean Times; a pretty reliable source according to my informants.”

“Excellent,” replied the blue-eyed man, handing a glass of brandy to the woman,”I suppose it’s rather poor to be receiving intelligence updates from the holo-news.”

Skye lightly laughed, her blond ponytail sinuously swaying. “It confirms our intelligence that we’ve received from our Abhean Intelligence Liaisons.”

The Commodore ruefully shook his head. Abhean Intelligence basically forwards its press release to us. In the past month the neighboring planet of Abhean had been beset by a plague of piratical attacks. Abhean was a neutral planet located slightly below the Permenian Trade Route, near the eastern border of Confederation space, and on the Western Borders of the Coalition’s Eastern Province; right in the middle of Coalition space. It had maintained a reasonably sized navy, consisting mostly of upgraded Old Republic ships and early Imperial ships. While the navy appeared competent enough, the intelligence service seemed either less than co-operative or less than inept; as in next to nonexistent. Nonetheless, the Contegorian Confederation had militarily allied itself with the said planet against Black Flags in an effort to stop the piratical menace before it spread onto either side of New Galactic Coalition space. As a result, Confederation warships had been dispatched around Abhean, with their fighter complements engulfing the surrounding space to not only find the pirates, but rescue any victims of the criminals. Part of that effort was being spearheaded by the Seraph Queen of the Colonies, which had previously left its station at the Gestalt Colonies to be refitted into the Mark III version. Now, the warship and its fighter complement was retracing the steps of the Gallidor Industries convoy that had vanished mere days ago.

The man sat down on an ornate hardwood chair next to the woman, who handed him a datapad. Corise, slouching back into the chair, took a sip of Fallix water and lightly pressed the play button.

A middle-aged women, dressed in a red business suit dominated the projection.

“Today, the notorious pirate gang Black Flags raided a Gallidor Industry convoy. The location of the attack and the convoy is remains a mystery, as the only known documentation comes from the pirates themselves, who clandestinely dropped the copies of the recording at the Capital Hall and Gallidor’s office on Abhean. While not commented on by either Gallidor Industries or the Abhean Government, it is speculated that the pirates are holding the crews from ransom…”

“Sad, isn’t it?”

The younger Lucerne turned his head around to face the newcomer. Christina continued through the dark wood doorway, watching the continuing coverage as she made her way to the greel wood desk. She picked up the remaining glass and headed to the duo of officers.

“Well Pro-Consul,” stated Lucerne, taking a brief glance at his chrono,”I w-”

The brunette just raised a hand, palm facing the Commodore. “Something you aren’t good at is being inconspicuous. Yes, sorry I’m late. Something came up at the comm. center.”

The other two nodded, with Skye grabbing the tumbler of Brandy.

“No brandy, I’ll take some of that Fallix water though.”

The officers just stared at her.

“Well, being drunk doesn’t exactly make a good public image,” explained the politician, as Corise handed the mineral water over to her,” and rather than watching this footage, I got something more interesting, from our search & rescue teams.”

Tapping a button, a still holo of a several starships among a seemingly endless field of asteroids materialized over the datapad.
------------------------------
Three hours earlier…

Obsidian Three, Deathsaber Search & Rescue Mission

The stars slightly rippled as the Deathsabers passed through the celestial void.

“Frak these search-and-rescue missions.”

“Do you have a problem, Flight Officer?”

“No Lieutenant.”

“Good. Freighters might not mean a whole lot to you, especially civilian ones,” stated Obsidian Four,” but if a friendly corporation loses one by our own space, then it can potentially be a problem for us in the future.”

“Yes sir,” replied the muffled voice.

“Four, do you have a reading at point-oh-four-two?”

“Yeah, I have a couple tracks, maybe; very faint signatures,” replied the pilot, his voice slightly garbled by the communication equipment.

Both starfighters banked portside, maintaining their flight pair formation. Up ahead, tiny gray specks appeared. Could be anything from space junk to asteroids. But as they approached, the specks became larger, tumbling and rolling aimlessly in space. Both pilots silently zoomed their Electrophoto receptors in, magnifying the visual feed on their monitors.

“Looks metallic.”

“Space junk?”

“This deep in space? That would have to be some war fleet to produce that amount of junk.”

“Aye.”

“That’s not space junk.”

The Deathsabers silently drifted over the charred hulls of the freighters. One of the Corellian bulk freighters was split in two, its mid-section vaporized by any number of the countless energy weapons found across the galaxy. The other freighters of the group appeared similarly derelict, with gaping holes and molten metal flash frozen across their hull. Four zoomed his electrophoto receptor on the bow of the merchant craft. In pristine white letters it read: Gallidor Industries. Four broke the comm. silence.

“Frak. These are the freighters we’re looking for.”

“Any survivors?”

“Let’s take a look.”

“Ah, sir, my LST is picking up a half-dozen lifeforms within the Gallidor Galvinator.”

“Four, I have readings on the other ships with the similar amounts of life.”

“But how? These ships have been missing for nearly a week. I don’t see any life support or major power coming from those ships.”

Four’s eyes squinted, toggling to the power readings from the vessels. “The power readings are all separated.”

“Meaning?”

“An Action VI doesn’t have any generators there. That’s the dry cargo hold of the ship. Meaning that it’s an ambush.”

“Well,” sneered the junior pilot, “They’ve certainly have done a good job of ambushing us then.”

“Cut out the snide remarks. They just haven’t seen us.”

“You’re bluffing…sir.”

Three oriented his craft’s nose to face one of the holes in the freighter that corresponded to the energy fluctuations. Lining up the passive targeting brackets, he selected a missile and set it to dumbfire. He tapped a button; a concussion missile surged forth from the craft, its fiery exhaust disappearing into the depths of a freighter. A small explosion engulfed a dark silhouette within the cargo ship’s otherwise empty hold. The silhouette became fuzzy and faded into the light; it’s pilot no longer among the living. Other fighters streamed out of the freighters’ holds.
----------------------------------
Seraph Mk III Queen of the Colonies

The bridge was suffused in a continual low din. In the dim crew pits below, junior naval officers exchanged reports and reviewed data taken by the ship’s Deathsaber complements, all of which had been systematically dispatched in a search grid to find the missing cargo ships. Holo-projectors flared on and off every few minutes as analysts rescanned the data, looking for any clues of the freighters’ fate. So far, none had any luck; it was a monotonous duty; Thus far, the most interesting find had been a broken communication’s satellite that dated from the Clone Wars era.

“Sector Eight checks out. All clear sir,” reported an ensign.

Newly-promoted Captain Nyala grunted and nodded, returning his attention back to the commander’s holograph projector. Although Nyala had just replaced the vessel’s former commanding officer, who had assumed command of the Pegasus-class Star Destroyer Gallant, the dark-skinned Audacian had already gained a reputation aboard the vessel as being a strict disciplinarian. Built like a drill sergeant from the Academy, Nyala looked and acted as if the position was made exactly for him, rather than the other way around. To the crew around him, the uniform and the man who wore it could not be separated; it was joked by some members of the crew that Nyala had actually been born in the uniform, and it had just grown up with him. Nyala had heard the comment, and had done nothing to stop it from propagating amongst his crew.

“We’ll move Obsidian Seven and Eight, have them look over here, between nav point Beta Two and Beta Three,” instructed Nyala, pointing at the nav points.

The ship’s executive officer, Lieutenant-Commander Soflya, cocked his head from the opposite side of the projector. Soflya was abnormally pale-skinned, from his sheltered life on Genarius and then in the service of the Contegorian fleet. While less experienced and capable then Nyala, he was fairly easy going, and fairly popular with the crew; an attribute that had helped smooth the relations between the ship’s CO and the men who ran the ship.

“Didn’t a flight from Royalist Squadron look over both points?” questioned the man from Genarius.

Nyala nodded. “Yes, yes they did. That was at 17:00 hours. I’m wondering if they were jumped in between them. It’s a short jump, just large enough to make it into an economic hyperspace jump, but no-one would think of being jumped there because of that.”

Soflya nodded and turned to look down into the crew pit. “Flight Control, see if you can get a flight pair to check out the space between nav points Beta Two and Beta Three.”

“Yes sir; I’m on it.”

Soflya looked at Nyala, who continued to scrutinize the map.

“What’s next, sir?”

“Captain, we have the visual feed from Obsidian Three and Four. They’ve found the wrecks of the freighters, and they’ve encountered hostiles.”

Nyala coldly stared at the messenger. “Make the jump to the wrecks.”
--------------------
Piratical Dreadnaught Diablo

“I can’t do a freak’in thing about the generator on Deck C! We ain’t got no parts for it.”

“That ain’t no good; the Capt’n will have you the vacuum for that.”

“I’ll do the best with what I’ve got,” stammered the mechanic, whom scampered away as a rat into a hole.

The first mate grunted and turned his attention back to keeping the watch. The Diablo had once been part of the Rendili Defence Force back in the Clone Wars. With Palpatine’s rise to power, it had been annexed into the Imperial Sector Fleet, where it remained for the duration of the Emperor’s first reign. The original crew of the ship aged and retired, and in the untouched backwater sector in which it had been based, the best that could be gathered as replacements was slightly over a skeleton crew of adolescents and droids. Needless to say, the Black Flags had had little difficulty hi-jacking the vessel. Thus, the dreadnaught began its pirate career, stopping and interdicting scores of small, independent ships. And while they were successful at that, it was not enough; not enough to keep their old ship in decent repair or feed and pay the thousands of crewman needed to man her. Then a mysterious offer had come to the ship’s captain, providing payment and information for the old battle axe and her fighter complement to pillage the space around Abhean. Oddly enough, the patronizer was even capable of providing information concerning the composition and locations of the planet’s navy, leading the pirate to believe that man had regular access to the government. The captain never enquired to whom the man was, but criminal jobs were rarely this good for a freebooter like himself.

“What the frak?! Scar sir!”

The first mate ran over the deck to his fellow pirate’s station.

“Bloodtorch squadron has been ambushed? Aren’t we suppose to be doing the ambushing around here?” demanded Scar.

“Um…yes sir Scar sir.”

Scar turned to the gathering crowd of pirates and barked. “Someone rouse the captain. Scottie, start calculating the jump we’ll need to pick up our birds.”

“Aye Scar.”

Scar looked at the feed. “Where and the hell are our birds’ ambushers?”
-------------------
Laureion, Abhean

“Absolutely not. Not under any circumstance,” quietly repelled the President Rearden, tapping a few keys on his desk console.

Abhean Intelligence Director Ayn Rand squinted her eyes. “My agency can’t do its job with those restrictions in place. The public is in outrage because of these attacks. Does your office or oath to protect the Abhean people matter to you at all? Let me find and capture their elements here.”

The aging president closed his console and without expression stared at the woman. Rand’s family was one of the more distinguished on Abhean, not by force of arms or right to rule, but because of the aristocracy that came from wealth. The same wealth that had helped the President successfully win his election. And the power of the Rand family was such, that it could tear him down and what he had accomplished; Ayn was not someone to be trifled with. Rearden clasped his hands.

“My dear, it is not that I find your patriotism and dedication to your work, no our planet, admirable. I wish it could be instilled into all our citizens, from our youth to those in retirement. If it was up to me, you would have many of those restrictions removed; you must realize that is no one man’s decision or our solely his ideas. It is a collection of ideas and decisions from many people; there have been compromises and debates that have taken many weeks to finish. On top of this, neither I or the congress people have automatic power; our power is from our constituents. Any politician must take them into account if he or she wishes to remain in power.”

Ayn’s brown eyes flashed dangerously. “I got the innuendo; you mean my power as well. You think people will protest more careful security procedures? Sure, it may be more of a hassle to go through increased custom’s procedures, but at least they’ll be safer.”

The President shook his head. “They’ll look at it as an infringement on their civil rights. Once we start sacrificing freedom for security, tyranny begins. Then we’ll end up like the Old Republic turning into the Galactic Empire.”

The woman began to pace around the man like a predator circling its wounded prey.

“Are you suggest we start loosening and restraining our security measures further? Sure, let’s do that. For starters, let’s get rid of the Customs and Immigration office. Then there is more freedom for everybody, right? Those spies and scouts of our enemies sure won’t have a problem getting in now, will they? Let’s get rid of all of the security in a government right now. I’m sure it’ll make it easier for the mole.”

Rearden blinked in surprise. “A mole?”

Rand gave a predatory smile. “Yes, a mole. Have you read Agent Dreyfuss’ report? It seems highly likely that there is a mole within our own government, providing information to the Black Flags. Whether that’s directly or indirectly, we don’t know. That’s why we need those restrictions lifted; to ferret out the spy in our midst.”

Rearden muttered. “I’ll think about it.”

She nodded politely with a fake smile and abruptly walked out of the office, leaving the president alone to his thoughts.

Seraph Mk III Queen of the Colonies

The silver cruiser surged among the elongated stars, their light silently illuminating the warship in hues of blue. On the bridge, Captain Nyala stood at ease, looking at the celestial wonder as a general inspects his troops. Near silence permeated the ship, as men took their stations and double-checked their equipment; the lull before the storm. Only a single voice dared to break the silence.

“Reverting…now.”

The Queen flashed into realspace amid streams of laser fire and the tiny blossoms of fire, her large hull bearing down on the wrecks of the Gallidor freighters. Among the wrecks, Confederation Deathsabers and piratical fighters looped and twisted around the hulls in an elegantly lethal dance. Elements of Obsidian and Royalist squadrons had arrived ahead the Queen simply by jumping from their nearby scouting operations. The Queen, nearly impervious to the antiquated piratical starfighters, joined the battle, as her dual defence railguns began to shear their way through the slower piratical fighters. Nyala’s ship plowed ahead as an indomitable beast, swatting away Z-95s and Cloakshapes like pestering bugs. Those pirates that had the common sense to stay away from the menacing Seraph were beset on all sides by the beast’s minions: the wraith-like cavalry that were the Deathsabers. The piratical ranks broke under the torrent of fire, desperately fleeing away from the Confederation starships. For once, the Confederation had beat down its opponents by sheer force of arms. With the piratical force shattered, Contegorian starfighters merely picked off the damaged and straggling piratical fighters as they fled from the hulls of their victims.

Opposite of the Queen, another gray mass surged into battle from hyperspace: the Diablo. The dreadnaught immediately unleashed its own, sporadic torrent of fire against the Confederation forces. Ruby darts from the criminal vessel pierced through the darkness in a bewildered attempt to swat away the wraiths pursuing its compatriots.

Captain Nyala looked at his foe emotionlessly. “Redirect all weapons on the Diablo. Execute.”

Soflya nodded. “All batteries open fire.”

A hail of emerald and sapphire bolts sprung forth from the Coalition warship, mercilessly pelting the Diablo. The piratical warship returned fire, hurtling crimson bolts against its Confederation counterpart. Energy splashed against the shields, in a shift that would slowly turn the normally invisible shields from dark red to a blazing white. It was in naval parlance, a slugging match; not a test of skill or tactics but rather of strength and force of will. The Queen held a significant advantage over her adversary: ion cannons.
Increasing, fewer ruby bolts answered their emerald counterparts; the result of the Seraph’s quad ion cannons tracking and disabling the weapon blisters that dotted the Diablo’s hull. Azure lightning sprawled across the criminal warship, frying circuits and other electrical components, forcing the Diablo’s crew in a futile rush to repair their damaged warship; for even before the battle, there were not enough parts to keep the dreadnaught in full repair. The Queen of the Colonies floated forward to exchange broadsides with the dreadnaught, in its last spasms of pain. Both ships fired, the emerald bolts of the Kashan cruiser and the red of the dreadnaught suffusing their opponents shields. The Diablo’s shields glowed white and dissipated into oblivion under the combined ion and turbolaser fire of the Confederation warship. The Queen’s turbolasers fell silent, while the quad ion cannons earnestly continued to pound their foe into complete electronical failure.

“Standby for boarding operations,” ordered Nyala, viewing the opposing warship, “we will play it like Thrawn.”

The Lieutenant-Commander grasped the notion. “All marines to the docking tubes. Prepare the tanks onto the Raptors.”

“Aye sir.”
------------------
Present Time…

Audacieuse, Interim Confederation Flagship

“The Queen has the Diablo disabled, and we’ve dispatched several other cruisers as weel as the Redemption to assist in taking over the Diablo.”

The Commodore slightly jerked his head back. “That seems like overkill. The Redemption alone should be sufficient for the job.”

Commander Fyre, in a rare mood of seriousness, glanced at his superior. “For the job of simply boarding it, yes. I was more concerned if there were more pirates working with the Diablo.”

Corise nodded, staring at the projection. “Fair enough. I suggest rediverting the cruisers to look for the pirates’ base and sending in a quartet of Styrias instead to look after the Diablo.”

“Styria Galleons, sir?”

“Yes. Styrias to take any prisoners onboard. If more pirates arrive at the scene, the galleons should last long enough for reinforcements to arrive, besides being able to deal a fair amount of damage on their own.”

“Yes sir.”
------------------
Valourous, Abhean Flagship, in orbit around Abhean

The modified Imperator Star Destroyer Valourous, accompanied by the homebuilt Countess-class Escort Cruisers, hovered over the crystal ball that was Abhean. It was the largest starship that the Abhean’s venerable navy, started hundreds of years ago, possessed. Captured from an Imperial warlord, the damaged destroyer had been completely refitted at Abhean’s vast orbital yards; the same that had built the Jedi Cruiser Chu’unthor centuries ago. The Valourous was highly unique in that it had been outfitted with weapons taken off of Victory Mk Is, carrying over 140 concussion missile tubes beside an array of quad turbolasers and double turbolaser cannons; more firepower than typically necessary for a planetary defence fleet. It was the pride of Abhean, and the heart of its military.

“Welcome aboard, Director.”

“Thank you Commodore Nimitz,” replied Rand, walking through the bridge’s foyer, “I trust you received my message.”

Nimitz nodded. “I have. Let’s retire to my quarters. Lieutenant Bradiss, you have the bridge.”

“Aye sir.”

The two walked out the massive ship’s bridge to the nearby captain’s quarters. Nimitz’s quarters were typical for a career officer in a defence fleet; there were more personal mementos and furnishings within it than would be allowed in any mainstream navy. It had been his home for over a decade. Nimitz quietly closed the door and turned towards the woman.

“This could be hell.”

Rand nodded. “I suppose it could. Which is why we need as much evidence as possible.”

“You think that the evidence you’ve shown me isn’t enough? Coupled with the man’s public denunciation of the bill that could expose him?”

“There will be some people that will say that the evidence is inconclusive or that he was framed. It’s not that hard for them to believe considering my family; they think that it is I that wants to ascend to power and innocent Rearden was in my way to it.”

Nimitz let out an exasperated sigh. “Which isn’t too hard to believe since if the president is removed from power, interim power between elections falls to the leader of an agency or branch of military; decided by the Congress. And in the mind of the people, with your family’s financial power, they could probably buy enough votes to get you elected. The start of your rise to power.”

“Except that I don’t want the position; and last time I checked, you were the one with the political connections.”

“That’s very informed of you,” stated Nimitz, walking over to the wet bar, “Care for a drink?”

“No thanks. I believe it is my job to be very informed.”

“That it is. So what’s the next step?”

“We look for more evidence.”
----------------------
Piratical Dreadnaught Diablo

“You there, get’em more guns from the armory.”

“Right.”

The men, usually with glowrods, ran through the darkness that suffused the ancient ship. Lighting, along with all of the ship’s other electrical systems and wiring, had been knocked out by the Confederation ion cannons. Boarding by the governmental ships that had surrounded the disabled cruiser seemed imminent. Crewmen talked in hushed tones, glancing from time to time at their compatriots, as if waiting for them to forever disappear into the shadows. Rumors flooded the ship, from the captain negotiating with their enemies to their officers drinking all of the liquor stores, thinking it would be either their last, or their last for quite some time. The ship violently rocked and shuddered, beating down those men who had been walking or standing still. The men looked for reassurance; but there was none to be given.

A blastdoor door slammed open, sending a jolt through the men. But their eyes saw no-one; only the omnipresent darkness. A scream from several rooms over pierced the eerie silence. The men looked at each other. Out of the void, a cylindrical object clattered onto the floor. Two pirates looked at each other.

“Oh f-”

The grenade burst; it was not a fiery explosion, but rather a cloud of translucent, light gray: Bothan Stun Spores. The microscopic spores infiltrated their targets, causing disorientation and unconsciousness within the pirates. Seconds after it had exploded, the last pirate dropped to floor, unconscious, paving the way for the entrance of the dark gray suited shock troopers, who had been at the blast door the entire time.

Across the ship, teams of Confederation Shock Troopers and Paladin II droids systematically secured the ship, deck by deck. Most often, the Confederation forces used special munitions like Bothan Stun Spores and the more common glop grenade. Troopers only used their blasters set on stun while the Paladin IIs, not armed with any stun weapon, literally beat down those who resisted with their fists. Ranks of shock troopers escorted the prisoners to holding areas within the captured Diablo or to waiting Styria-class Galleons, which had docked with the Dreadnaught after it had been taken by the Coalition Troops. On the Diablo’s bridge, Confederation technicians and intelligence officers activated the ship’s logs via a portable power generator and a computer hacker.

“There are a lot of comm. packets from this sender…” noted an analyst, looking at one of the consoles.

“Which one?”

“AGE-8345-234-124.”

“Are you sure the prefix is AGE?”

“Yes. Why?”

“AGE is a prefix we’ve used in governmental communications with our liaisons in Abhean. It stands for Abhean Government, Execuative branch.”

The first intelligence man shook his head. “Well, whoever it sure had access to military files. We have all of the pre-planned patrols, maneuvers, and convoys for the Abhean Republic’s fleet.”

“That’s not so good,” stated the intelligence officer, who turned to an accompanying marine, “see if you can patch me through to Abhean Intelligence via the Queen.”

“Aye sir.”
---------------------
Laureion, Abhean

President Rearden glanced over the newer bills from Congress. The Majority leader, Representative Gartis, was proposing a budget expanse for the navy in order to eradicate the recent piratical raids which were beginning to worry the citizens. Representative Kurskow, the minority leader, had proposed a program that would begin arming of civilian ships operating out of Abhean to deter pirate attacks. Both had passed overwhelmingly, much to the surprise of many observers. Rearden only had to sign the bills for them to become law. Something he would do if he wished to remain power.

“Something you didn’t expect, Mr. President?” questioned Director Rand, walking into his office and motioning at the various datapads scattered across the man’s desk.

Rearden smiled. “It was nice for once to not have to deal with the bickerings of both parties.”

“Oh?”

“Why yes,” stated the President rising from the chair, “how much time of mine is wasted by both parties trying to convince me one way or the other when I’ve already made up my mind. Co-operation between them is rarer than I would like.”

She smiled. “Or co-operation between you and Congress?”

“That too.”

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that they’ve made another headway together. Something of an alliance or team effort.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” nodded the Director, noticing a pair of secret service agents walking in.

Rearden frowned. “Agent Foray, I wasn’t expecting your presence to quarter after.”

“I’m sorry sir. You’re under arrest under statute AS-231,” stated the agent.

“What?!”

Rand stepped forward. “You’re under arrest for aiding and abetting enemies of the people of Abhean. Congress and the military don’t tend to be very pleased when their every effort to solve a problem is thwarted by a traitor; especially when it’s their leader.”

“This is preposterous.”

“Well,” stated Rand, “this is the first time in some hundreds of years a President in office has been arrested. It is a definite first time ever that we’ve arrested one for espionage.”

“So what proof has your family arranged to be manufactured this time?” spat the old man.

“Well fortunately for me; none, so I should have a little retirement money left over,” smiled the woman, “Remember that bill that I wanted you to get passed for less intelligence gathering restrictions?”

“Is this how you repay friends?”

“Typically not; but that bill enabled the agency to gather some circumstantial evidence on you that might suggest you were giving away intelligence because you’ve accessed our intelligence and military files more than any other president. In fact, we noticed that you had also been sending out information off-planet shortly after you had viewed those files. Now, we couldn’t exactly pry open to see those files because of executive privilege, but that bill you passed, let us see what you were sending. But even then, you could have gotten away by saying that you were forwarding it to an agent undercover. It wouldn’t have been the first time that a president has involved himself with one of Abhean’s Intelligence work.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was doing just that.”

She smiled. “You might have gotten away for it except for one thing: we have your recipients of your communications. We know who you were sending it to. You see, the Confederation just captured the Diablo several hours ago. They’ve had a chance to run through the ship’s computer logs and interrogate their command crew. They’ve confirmed the sender’s address, even if they don’t know that it was you.”

“This is absurd. And why would I do this?”

“Power. If the pirates got out of hand and continued on their spree, the people would do anything to get rid them. You know this; that’s why both bills passed in this week in Congress. It isn’t hard to imagine you following in Palpatine’s legacy, assuming emergency powers and evolving into a dictatorship. Did I mention that Congress likes their own power as it is? They might not have that under you.”

“So this is what the parties have co-operated on, framing and arresting me?”

She shook her head. “No, this was a joint effort between the Abhean Intelligence and the Military. Congress has done something else. Something that will be more impacting in the long term.”

Rearden blinked. “What is that?”

“They’ve voted to join the Confederation.”

One week later…

Valourous, Abhean Flagship

“Welcome aboard sir.”

“Thank you Captain Tirol,” bowed Commodore Lucerne, his eyes sweeping around the ship’s bridge, “this is very impressive.”

“Why thank you; this was Nimitz’s pride. I think it still would be, if he had the time to think about it.”

“The Presidency is keeping him busy I take it?” questioned the Kashan man.

Tirol nodded. “It is. I’ve only heard from him once since he was sworn in a week ago. But you’re not here to discuss politics now, are you?”

Corise smiled. “Not quite. I was in politics long enough.”

“So I’ve heard. Right this way please,” motioned Captain Tirol, leading him up to the bridge viewport, “this will be quite the test. You know the whole planet is watching.”

“I imagine a fair amount of the Confederation is watching, at least those within the military. This could well be the future of our commerce.”

“Of course.”

They started out of the viewport. Among the assembled Abhean Defence Fleet, four vessels of the Kashan fleet drifted in a tight, diamond formation, with the last ship being aft and higher than rest of the vessels while the lead ship, the Providence, being forward and below the rest of the ships. It was the standard formation assumed by all Styria Galleons while in a convoy; it was not a unique formation, instead being the naval adaptation of the Geonosis square formation used by Old Republic Troopers during the Clone Wars. Opposite several hundred kilometers away, stood the Dreadnaught Diablo, now manned by a skeleton crew consisting of an odd assortment of droids with Confederation and Abhean volunteers drawn from the military. It was a demonstration of the Confederation way of ending raids on convoys: using the Styria-class Galleon, a hybrid between a warship and a merchant vessel. Corise glanced at the chrono he wore on his wrist. The countdown ended; the demonstration began.

The Dreadnaught lurched into motion, letting loose a frenzied furry of low-powered bolts at the convoy of Styria-class Galleons. Rather than attempt to flee, the Galleons instead slowly moved forward, their considerable shields and partially laser reflective armor repelling the Diablo’s assault. The galleons opened fire, using their ion encumbrance weapons to systematically disable the weapons being used against the Confederation vessels. While most of the vessels were carrying cargo, one had been set aside as an escort carrier. The said ship opened its cargo bay to release several squadrons of Deathsabers, which promptly joined the starfighters carried on the galleons’ external racks. As the double cannons strangled the Diablo’s ability to fight, the stealth starfighters began to make runs on the ancient vessel, dealing precise heavy blows that would have begun to physically damage the ship if it wasn’t a simulation; something that the Styria couldn’t do with any of its guns. The frigate-sized galleons slowly prodded forward, as if to dare the enemy warship to test their thick hides and powerful shields. And at point-blank range, the Confederation hybrids encircled the Diablo, focusing on systems which the Dreadnaught would need to survive in space; the rounds from the cannons pierced into the delicate sensor systems and began to emit their ionic pulse, rendering the sensors inoperable until the rounds would be removed and the equipment repaired from the ionic and physical effects of the weapon. Other target included the newly captured ship’s engines, maneuvering systems, and shield generators. With the Diablo inable to effectively move or attack the galleons, the Styrias were safe. To effectively finish off the larger warship would require the convoy to call in a Confederation warships armed with more typical weapons and with enough troops to effectively conduct boarding operations. With the threat ended, the convoy’s starfighters began to redock with their motherships. With the Diablo effectively out of the fight due to the combined strike, the Styria’s plowed onward to actually deliver cargo to the planet’s surface below. The simulation ended. Captain Tirol approached the Kashan man.

“Is this what our yards will soon be turning out?”

Corise shrugged. “I would guess that some portion of your yards will be producing them to supply the needs of your planet and several other members of the Confederation. Of course, there will still be a fair amount of freedom to make whatever your Congress decides.”

Tirol smiled. “I imagine so. Among other things…”