The man smiled at his own misconceptions. He had thought, after going through the Program, he would wake up with a force-sense that would act like the missing equation giving him immediate understanding. But, of course, that is not the way technology works. It is more trial and error building upon discoveries of old rather than the creation of something new being merely an act of sheer will as spoken of in old mythologies.


Perhaps that is what prompted him to come with his companion, a fellow clone also from the Program, to the dig. He was beginning to understand how the Origin Six group was shaping itself to function as guardian lighthouse to ensure the great vessel Confederation would not wreck itself against the obstacles it faces. But R&D and technology was his personal passion and he was extremely interested in the opportunities new technologies brought about such as the GR Program as well as the Cloning Program.


While he was a clone of an extremely gifted Confederation technologist, he was not an identical clone. He was brought to a younger age and then imprinted with the current original’s mind template. It was a cheat, in a way, but one with some far-reaching possibilities. The social scientist of the group, First Speaker, did not like what he represented fearing the entire Confederation social displacement too great for the society to handle just yet. Already, the populace was coping with an extreme implementation of automation. Well, extreme to First Speaker’s sensibilities though he himself felt the move to a much more technological society only their due. In any event, the First Speaker was the only one who knew as their originals had known each other. Their originals did not know the others as the six were selected throughout the Confederation by some process or other.


His fellow clone companion, however, enjoyed the past and so kept his finger on the pulse of those organizations both public and private with archeological charters always interested in whatever new thing had been discovered or dug up. He had to admit to the value of his companion’s near obsession and the impact it can have in technological advancement given there were thousands upon thousands of years of history to sift through. Who knew how much had been learned and forgotten between the interim of eons?


Already, the Confederation was advancing in areas of mining extraction and refinement in their pursuit of Ultrachrome. A technology that seemed left in antiquity and lost until an enterprising Matthew Lucerne championed its widespread use throughout Kashan and the Confederation. What other knowledge was out there buried, waiting to be uncovered and…


“Here,” his companion motioned interrupting his thoughts as they ducked low into what looked like a cave. Was it always a cave or had it been a building that nature simply conquered with the passage of time? For all he knew, he could have been standing in the heart of some long-forgotten nation’s Temple of Knowledge.


There was a table set up with chairs and equipment but the two moved to an area that looked like discarded finds.


“The team found these but could not figure out what they were. Only that they were manufactured but to what purpose was unknown. Unrecognizable items were put here for the anthropology department to take a look at. Perhaps understanding the species that used to live here may give a clue as to the function of this… whatever it is.”


The man nodded but did not seem that interested. Despite the value archeology had brought to the Confederation’s technology base, he still hated to be in areas more appropriate to primitive man than an innovator in a galactic-spanning nation. He sniffed the dusty air and started to cough.
“So what did you want to show me?” he asked, hoping his impatience did not spill out in his voice.


“This,” his companion remarked and picked up what looked like a rectangular stone whose edges had been smoothed out, making it easy and comfortable to hold tightly in one’s fist. As the man looked at his companion hold the stone tightly, he wondered if he was being ‘put on’.


He was about to say something when a small light flickered and then solidified between them. Well, not exactly between them but also in the space the man was standing in as he watched the other gripping the stone.


It was as if a force-field had been activated and knocked the observer to the ground.


“What the hell?” he shouted, dusting himself off embarrassed.


The other man apologized quickly and let go of the stone causing the small field to collapse and ran to the other.


“Are you ok?”


“What? What was that?” the man demanded, flustered.


“A piece of technology that seems to be powered by… the force.”


The man was stunned and his companion began to excitedly talk, “There are rumors of very old civilizations who crafted technology powered by the force but so little is known that it seemed just that, rumors! I stumbled across this quite by accident but it seems that it did not work for the excavation team as they are not force-users.”


The man was helped up and he went over to the stone and picked it up.


“You have to concentrate,” his companion added helpfully and the man began to tighten his grip.


There was a flicker of light but nothing more. “It seemed like a personal shield,” the companion remarked.


“But powered by the force,” the man added in awe. “I felt something strange as I was concentrating.”


“It made me feel a little drained but wouldn’t that be normal if it were using my force-ability to power this thing?”


“Maybe,” the man muttered wondering about the implications. He looked in the direction of the other items. “Are there others?”


His companion shook his head, “No. I tried. But it seems this was the only piece.”


“I am taking this!” the man snapped and his companion opened his mouth in protest.


“You can’t. It has been cataloged. It needs to be reviewed by the Anthropology Department. If you take it, there will be an investigation and we do not need the attention.”


A surge of irritation flared up in the technologist at having to let go of the object. He had never thought of the Force as being the source of energy. It was as if his mind suddenly lit up with possibilities and cross applications.









Metalorn



Jensaarai Jax sat at the little station café observing the throngs of individuals going about their business in an attempt to find a story with specific people that caught his eye. Or rather, his force-sense. Some were happy, some stressed out. Others seemed guarded or angry while the majority were intent. As if the station was merely a cross-thru from one point to another. It seemed to be a growing habit with the Jensaari as a way of stretching out his newfound senses. In a strange way, it also helped that Jax spent a great deal of time staring at people out of a telescopic sight while working with the CSIS.


“See anything interesting?” a voice intruded and he smiled. He had been expecting the company since he had received the summons of the Jensaarai’s own resident Knight and herald of the Jensaarai Order, Adrian Ravenna. When Ravenna summoned, a Jensaarai couldn’t do better than arriving early at the meeting place. It did help that he was in-system at the time.


“Master,” he replied wondering if the term would fluster the Confederation’s original Jensaarai but it seemed that the man had come to terms with his “Founding Father” status. At least outwardly for Jax noted the little internal cringe before the man slapped him on the shoulder.


“I told you to call me Adrian,” he admonished, the slap also a gesture for Jax to get up and follow. Having already paid for his caf, the Jensaarai apprentice readily complied. He was new to the Order after having completed several assignments with the CSIS after his GR treatments, but he rarely had contact with such large players on the Confederation stage as Adrian Ravenna. Being so informal with the man seemed … odd.


“I have an assignment for you,” the Jensaarai leader started as they both stepped into an in-system shuttle.


“CSIS?” Jax asked but Adrian shook his head.


“No, this is different,” Adrian informed, his eyes staring out into space even has his hands keyed the destination into the shuttle terminal while standing.


“Someone appended clones to the GR Program, the first Clone Gen being six people, the second Clone Gen being a little over fifty and so on.”


“How many Clone Gens are there?” Jax asked curiously. He had not heard of this.


“Four,” Adrian answered and turned to look at the other man, “There will not be others.”


“Are the clones unable to obtain the Force?” Jax asked curiously. He had an interest in history and was toying with the idea of creating a compilation of Jensaarai history and philosophy to help him find an internal balance. He also had an interest in all things related to artificial midichlorian creation or augmentation. He had thought the old danger of clones going mad with the force had gone the way of Jorus C’baoth. The old Imperial Emperor had found a way to transfer his powers to clones as had the Sith Master Ahnk.


Adrian Ravenna smirked wishing it were something as simple as making a clone of the old Sith Ahnk (there was an old rumor that there was what? 20 of them running around at one point?) and proceeded to tell Jax about the tribunal of the clone of Christina Thorn and the claims she made as to the activities of the Original Six. Ironically, the tale seemed to put at ease some of the thoughts that had plagued Jax about actions and stances the government had taken in the past few years. It was as if these original six clones had wrestled with the same moral implications that he had but instead of being patient for understanding to come, these people had acted. Their actions, however, had caused the deaths of Confederation citizens.


“So either they could be one of the greatest triumphs of the Confederation or they could be the start of its downfall?” Jax asked rather dramatically.



“Admiral Lucerne had thought that perhaps these clones had compromised a portion of our military and were angling towards perhaps a preemptive strike of some sort. He thought to use the tribunal of the clone of the Pro-Consul to force whatever hand they had by handing down a harsh sentence. As it turned out, the clone’s hand was more subtle than the good Admiral thought and circumvented his harsh sentence with two words, ‘I’m pregnant’.”


“That must have opened up a can of grubs,” Jax whistled.


“You have no idea. The idea of executing a clone for the murder of bridge crew of a warship can be sold. Executing a pregnant woman is out of the question! But then, that opens up even more questions regarding the program. The defense for the clone then began to claim that the hormonal, emotional changes that a woman goes through during a pregnancy may be even more pronounced if the pregnant woman is a force-user. Who knows? It was enough of a claim to stall everything and the clone of Thorn has now stopped talking again. She is back in her cell and no one is saying anything.”


“So… you want me to impregnate a force-user and find out if she kills me?” Jax asked innocently.


“I’d kill you myself if I thought it would help,” Adrian replied dead-pan, before giving the younger man a smirk. “No, I need you to go back to the beginning and investigate the clones. Interview them if you can get them to talk. Otherwise, investigate their activity. There is no proof of anything other than what they claim. Are they telling the truth or are they feeding our own paranoia?”


“Where do I start?” Jax began to wonder at the task ahead.


“Start with the Trojan affair,” Adrian advised.


“What are you going to do?” the Jensaarai apprentice asked.


“Me? I am going to interview a pregnant force-user.”


“I thought she was not talking?”


“Not that force-user. I am taking a trip out to the Commonwealth to talk with the sister of Luke Skywalker.”


Jax whistled again. “She’s pregnant? Perhaps the old Jedi Order’s ‘attachments forbid’ might make sense after all, eh?”




*




Nebula-Class Star Destroyer, Trojan


“This isn’t going to take long is it?” the Captain nervously asked. “We have to get underway soon to rendezvous with the fleet at Kashyyyk.”


“Don’t worry, Captain. I am just getting a feel for the bridge,” Jensaarai Jax commented as he inspected a variety of stations. While the damage had been repaired, he had decided to get an on-hand look at the bridge himself. Using the holos taken of the damaged areas and where personnel had fallen by the initial investigative team, he tried to recreate in his mind the chaos of that situation. The Palladin (Mark II) was the premier battledroid of Metalorn Manufacturing, the Metalorn Defense Forces’ manufacturing arm based on the industrial world.


“So there was no bridge recording taken of the attack?” Jax asked already knowing the answer.


The Captain confirmed, “It seems the Paladins knew exactly what to hit and where. Even then, do you know what kind of damage to a ship’s bridge repeated SAR rounds can do? They killed my Second in Command,” his voice trailed off. “She was a good soldier and would have made an excellent Contegorian Captain someday.”


“So, the Pro-Consul and her CSIS companion come to the bridge to consult with the Second in Command?”


“Actually, the Pro-Consul and Exec were going to go over the final details of the ceremony schedule with the leadership of Ter Abbes. Ship regulations prohibit the bridge commander to leave the bridge during duty hours so the Pro-Consul had come to her as a courtesy.”


“And during the conference, the clone flanked by two Paladins exited from the lift here,” he pointed , “and ...”


“I believe the conference had just ended when the clone entered the bridge with the Paladins. Their entrance probably shocked the others because while the clone was aboard, no one really knew it was a clone. The Pro-Consul liked to keep it discrete when they traveled.”


“Are there recorders in the lift?” Jax asked.


“Yes, we submitted copies to the initial investigation team but I can call them up on this terminal over here.”


Jax looked on as the Captain found the footage and sure enough, there was the clone who entered first and then the Paladins. The footage remained the same as the clone seemed silently waiting for the lift to reach the bridge.


“How far back can we follow the clone?” Jax asked.


“The investigation team followed the footage to the Pro-Consul’s quarters. The clone left there and went to where the Paladins are stored aboard and left that area with two Paladins in tow,” the Captain replied and showed the Jensaarai that footage. “As you can see, she entered the storage quite easily. Typically, the Paladin storage is under the security net lockdown.”


“Did she enter a disabling code?”


The Captain smiled grimly, “The code she entered was just the typical code to open the door. Alarms should have sounded and alerted Ship-Sec. After the incident, we had the Engineering Department tear apart the panel and we found that the security connections had been physically separated. Not damaged, not burned out and not cut or severed but as if a section of the circuitry simply was not completed when the board was manufactured.”


“A manufacturing defect like this is quite a coincidence,” Jax mused.


“If it was a defect, I would agree,” the Captain replied. “The manufacturer assures us it was not defective when the part was sent to us. How much is that the company trying to avoid government litigation or possible recall exposure, I am not sure. But the company does have a good track record so I am inclined to agree with them..”


“But?” prompted Jax.


“But, as you say, it would be quite a coincidence as the clone of the Pro-Consul does seem to be aware of that defect or at the very least, not worried about getting caught.”


“There is that,” agreed the Jensaarai. “What about the Paladins themselves? You mentioned she pulled them from ship’s stores. Any idea why they went rogue and shot up friendlies?”


“I would have surmised that they had been reprogrammed in some manner but, looking at the recorder, the clone is not in there long enough to be carrying out the extensive reprogramming required, if she could get at the processing interface. “ The Captain sighed in frustration.


“I noted that the initial investigative team found no evidence of tampering with Paladins. Did they check the others left in storage?”


“I unloaded every Paladin I had into the custody of the investigative team and requisitioned more from Metalorn directly. Different lot and all. The manufacturer went back over the droids and found nothing remiss in any of the Paladins left by the clone.”


Jax narrowed his eyes as he watched more footage of the clone leaving the ship’s storage accompanied by the Paladins.


“I appreciate your time, Captain. I will keep you no more from your mission.”





*




Metalorn Manufacturing


The two Paladins lay next to each other on separate tables and Jax had to admit, seeing them up close and personal, they were the perfect killing machines.


All that power walking around at the mercy of its programming… Even as grim as the thought was, he had to admit that the incident had been the first of it’s kind.


“..the problem is,” continued the Metalorn Manufacturing Designer pointing to the droids as he walked around the table, “we cannot figure out how the droids went haywire.”


“What?” Jax snapped out of his reverie.


“That is exactly what the Team Leader of the first Inspection said,” the designer remarked. “We’ve been through these things with a fine tooth comb and then some. We cannot find any evidence of reprogramming.”


“What about that device that the CSIS man indicated the perpetrator removed from the droids causing them to shut down?” the Jensaarai asked.


“That is the weird part. Look here,” the man pushed a button causing a chain to drop and he attached it around an arm. Taking a controller, he flipped a toggle and the chain pulled up causing the inert Paladin’s arm to rise. “You see there? Right behind the shoulder, almost under the arm pit location… you see there?”


Jax walked around the table and saw a round discoloring.


“..almost like carbon scoring there. In fact, it may be. But what is really weird is that the ceramic under plating has been shattered under the impact of whatever was attached there. Now…”


The designer turned around to a nearby desk and picked up what looked like a lump of metal. “..this has been fused but if you take the mass of this thing, run it through a holomatrix using the circumference of the carbon scoring as a guide, you come up with an object that looks like this..”


A holographic image appeared over the desk. It was not a large object but it would have been visible if attached.


“I do not remember seeing that in the holo-recording of the droids on their way to the bridge.”


“Exactly!” the designer remarked. “They were not attached until after the droids emerged on the bridge…”


“But the Pro-Consul and the CSIS agent did not see the perpetrator attach the device. Only remove it..” Jax mentioned thoughtfully.


“It stands to reason that this object was responsible for the reprogramming of the droids, despite what people are saying because…”


“The droids would not have been following the perpetrator to the bridge on a ship not at battlestations,” Jax finished.


“You are correct, Sir!” the designer replied, nodding.


Jax took the reasoning further, “So, at some point the droids were reprogrammed or re-tasked to follow the perpetrator to the bridge. The droids shoot up the bridge and personnel also knocking out the bridge recorders and storage units (by design or coincidence) and then they stop just before killing the Pro-Consul and the CSIS agent. By the time they stop, this device, whatever it is, has been attached. Which means that if they did not see the perpetrator attach the device when they come onto the bridge which would, by the way, draw everyone’s immediate attention, it must have been attached during the shooting when the Pro-Consul and agent would have been distracted.”


The Jensaarai ran his hands over the carbon circle noting the multitude of cracks around the contact point.


“In that fire fight, the object was attached with an incredible amount of strength. The tensile strength of the armor alone is enough to shrug off a slug. It is hard to imagine a person being able to do it…” the designer replied, rubbing his chin with his hands staring down at the droids.


“What about a force user?” Jax asked and the eyebrows of the designer rose. The man gave Jax a look of mixed admiration and respect.


Then he raised a finger, “But, you would have to ask yourself, ‘Why?’. Still, if that is what happened, I may have an idea as to what this object is then.”


“What?” Jax asked with growing interest.


“If this thing did not reprogram the Paladins, if it was not applied until after the shooting started and was then removed after the machines stopped, then it might have been a type of restraining bolt.”


“A what?” Jax asked.


“A restraining bolt,” the designer repeated.


“A restraining bolt would take down a Paladin?” the Jensaarai asked.


The designer rolled his eyes, “You crack the armor of any thing, you can take that thing down.”


Then he added unhelpfully, “Which would then mean the perpetrator was trying to stop the assault and probably saved the lives of the Pro-Consul and the CSIS agent.”


Jax sighed, “Well that makes no sense.”




*



Unknown Locations
Present Day


They had a location finally.


Colonel Daria Ceires felt the vibrations of her launching as she was sure that Major Vallance and the rest of their teams did as their ship exited hyperspace with all the bluster and noise a vessel prepped for war could make firing as normal space coalesced multiple objects at the world below.


The vessel did not activate any thrusters or engine output to slow its exit into realspace and so the warship kept coming at velocity far above what it’s typical engine sublights could carry it as it continued to fire projectiles.


Naturally, the world immediately detected the exit and defenses started to come online. But it was only one ship so it did not take long for the approach velocity to be matched by the tracking stations and for multiple batteries to converge on it.

Councilor Tik's head turned back to Grace, the disconcerting whirr of servos filling the silence. “I can assure you, Ambassador Nova, that this group is more than qualified to inform my report to the Combined Council.”

“What,” she began, leaning forward and looking off to her right so she could get a better view of the unknown CDF captain, “an angsty Praetorian who doesn't know when to shut his mouth, a 'CDF' -” she made air quotes with her fingers “- captain who's conspicuously missing his name badge, and one doctor -” she points at the Drall “- make up the crack team that's going to solve this problem before the Confederation comes here and takes what they want from us?”

The ship kept firing the projectiles even at its quick approach velocity, each projectile adding a counter to momentum of the approaching warship causing the speed to slow down even as the world’s gravity well sneaked its invisible tendrils around the mass of the vessel.

“Don't you think you're being a little overly dramatic, ambassador?” Ethan asked, the condescension just unsubtle enough to be unmistakable.

“I'm the head of the Psychological Study and Recovery Department!” the doctor squealed indignantly.

“I know these people,” Grace answered, staring straight into Councilor Tik's artificial eyes. “They are fine people, and reliable allies, until you take something from them that they have decided is theirs. Then all bets are off, and you can take them at their word when they say they're going to get it back.”

“These aren't 'it's',” Doctor Seira interjected, this time quite directly and deliberately. “They're people, disturbed people, and they are under my care.”

The projectiles had stopped firing from the approaching ship as if by preprogrammed intent, the breaking thrusters finally firing even as the defense battery fire quickly followed up the wake reaching the warship striking it with the fury of someone indignant of the trespass.

Grace's eyes darted over to the doctor. “That's all well and good, but I'm telling you how it is.” Her eyes moved to regard the pair of soldiers.

“Confederation Intelligence is effective and incredibly well-established for such a young government.” She turned back to the Councilor. “You're a fool if you don't think they have contacts in the Cooperative chain of command.
How secure is this place, really?”

“It would do us all good, ambassador, if you would leave the security of this installation to the Council of Defense, and concern yourself with your own area of expertise.”

The echoes of an anger describing those within the installation as well as the installation itself were etched into the memories of those the words were directed at…


True or not, factual or not, it did not really matter…


For something was conveyed that day….


Something that would have very dire consequences for all parties involved..



You want to see the one who clawed his own fingernails off scraping at the walls of the interview room while we tried to devise a method of restraint that he couldn't slither out of? The one we couldn't get close enough to sedate because he could move the doc's injector with his mind! Or how about the one who draws these fantastic, intricate, beautiful little micro-portraits on the lens of the holorecorder with the tiniest dab of feces on the end of a fingernail? Ooh, or what about the one whose mouth we have to auto-blur on the recorder and whose audio we have to scramble because, embedded in the streams of incoherent nonsense that he shouts at imagined copies of himself all day and night, are fragments of high-level classified military secrets that he learned because one time, for five seconds, he was fifty meters away from a Cooperative general inspecting the facility to make sure we were adequately accommodating our guests?”

“You want to know where they are, Jensaarai? They're under a mountain, surrounded by blast doors, and stun fields, and a battalion of Cooperative Army soldiers, with a bomb buried under their feet, and a ring of watchtowers three miles out staring at them from every direction for every minute of every hour of every day, just in case that's not enough and we need to call in an aerial bombardment to flatten the complex.

“Do you want to see them? Because I can make that happen. I'll walk you right past the guards, through the barriers and defenses, I'll even sit you down to chat with one of the not-quite-crazy ones, but if I set that up for you, then you give us what we need. You give us what we need to fix these people, or you give us what we need to understand why they can't be fixed.”





That for all their looking, they just could not see…

Somehow, Councilor Tik's lifeless tone made the critique cut deeper. Even so, it filled Grace with a desire to lash out, to press the matter further, to dig in her heels and stand her ground. But she didn't. She couldn't. She knew better. This meeting was important, and she needed to keep it on track. “Then I take it you've all read my report, regarding the information disclosed by Confederation Ambassador Hakan at the end of our last meeting?”

“Utter nonsense,” Doctor Seira retorted.

“Excuse me?” Grace said, indignant at the doctor's casual dismissal of her report.

“I've been working with these people since they first stepped off the transport,” the doctor said, meeting Grace's indignant gaze with one of her own. “My team and I have tended to them through every step of their varied and worsening states of mental deterioration. Twenty eight people, twenty eight sapient minds, brought to the brink – and sometimes beyond – of utter madness, by whatever the Confederation did to them. And you want me to take the word of some . . . some . . . Confederation spokesman that it's all an elaborate ploy? So again I say: utter nonsense.”

The multiple defensive battery fire rocked the ship causing it to tumble out of its approach. When that much combined power set against the approach velocity of the ship met, it sent a ripple effect down the superstructure of the vessel throwing it off course. There were no shields raised and no weapons fired from the ship except for the torpedoes and they were not even aimed directly at the planet.

“Twenty eight?” Grace asked, brow furrowing as she checked her notes on a hand held datapad. “There were twenty seven survivors of Estralla.” She looked up at Councilor Tik, then immediately to the doctor when she realized she wouldn't be able to get anything out of the impassive droid visage. The Drall's uncomfortable fidgeting led her immediately to the two military men, and she recognized almost as quickly that Ethan didn't have a dog in this fight. “What's going on here?” she asked, the question addressed to the nameless man at the far end of the table.

“Special project,” Councilor Tik offered, but Grace didn't turn back to him. “All record of the twenty eighth survivor of Estralla has been removed from all official documentation. The individual's name, species, apparent age, gender . . . and psychological state have all been scrubbed from anything you will ever see, Ambassador. For the sake of discussion here, you may refer to the individual as 'Subject X' if you like; however, that moniker is not to appear on any report or summary of this meeting, no matter its intended recipient.”

The planetary defenders expected the torpedoes to explode harmlessly against the shields that were being powered up. Unfortunately, the velocity of the torpedoes was enough to cause them to skip past the threshold point where the shield solidified and while the projectiles were moving at an incredible rate of speed nearly horizontal with the ground, the planetary gravity did begin to exert itself.

The approaching vessel reached the protective barriers and combined with the defense batteries caused the warship to explode blanketing the sky with what looked like a meteor shower as the atmospheric friction began to burn the fragments of the intruding ship.

“Who is Subject X?” Grace asked, ice cold, still staring at the nameless CDF captain.

He looked to Councilor Tik, but Grace still didn't take her eyes off of the man.

“Now would be as good a time as any to give your report, Captain,” the Councilor said.

“Very well. It's like, if I had to put it simply . . .” his eyes drifted down to look at the grain of the table, but it seemed like he was staring at something else, into some far-off place that Grace couldn't see. “If she's fooling me, then she's got more power, control, and finesse than I could ever dream of -”

“See, I told you!” Doctor Seira interjected.

“- and I'm afraid she might be fooling me.”

“What? What, wait, no! Not possible. What about the rest of them, hmm?” Doctor Seira made a sweeping motion directed at the wall behind her. “Are they fooling you, too? Every one of them?”

The captain shook his head. “I can't . . . I don't know. I just don't know. They feel so real, so genuine, I just . . . can't shake this . . .”

“Wait a minute, what are we talking about here?” Grace cut back in. “Is this a – a Force thing? Are you a Jedi? Are we talking about a Confederation 'Force Clone' that you let out of detainment and placed into the custody of a Jedi for some 'special project'?” When it was clear that she wasn't going to get anything out of the captain (who was still staring, confused, at the patterns in the table's wood grain) she turned back to Tik. “What are you people doing?”

Those smaller defensive towers that the projectiles came in range of tried to fire on them with no effect. The silver projectiles started to slow as they lost height tracing the horizon passing city after city intent on a course set before them from a mixture of audacity, physics, and a generous application of mathematics all gift-wrapped in an ultrachrome shell.

“She cleared all of the psych tests,” Doctor Seira was quick to offer, apparently willing to refer to Subject X by her gender now that the captain had let it slip.

“Councilor,” Grace pressed, meeting that impassive droid gaze, “tell me what this is all about.”

“Suffice it to say,” the Councilor began, pausing as if choosing his words very carefully, “Subject X is of tremendous potential value to the Cooperative, and the Coalition. She -” he stressed the word, glancing to the captain, who Grace saw was coming back from whatever far-off place he'd gone “-has been cleared by every screening method we could devise, and remains safely in the care of qualified supervisors.”

“Could this be a trap?” Grace asked.

“For God's sake, Grace -” Ethan began.

“Is it possible?” she asked again. “Is there any chance, however remote, that Ambassador Hakan's warning was genuine and valid?” She directed the question to Doctor Seira, keeping her tone as non-confrontational as she could manage.

Seira shook her head. “No. Not unless my patients had some way to coordinate the progression and symptoms of their disorder while being held in both physical isolation and a communications blackout, and every one of them had some hidden wellspring of vigilance and energy to maintain their – oh.” Seira looked to the Force-using captain who sat across the table from her. “Oh. Oh!”

The captain shot upright and his head jerked a few degrees to the side a fraction of a second before a dull rumble issued from the opposite wall and the floor shook underneath them.

Grace did her best to follow the captain's gaze, but all she could see was a blank wall. “What was that?”

The projectiles dropped further and some struck towers, penetrating those structures through before going to ground leaving large channels of dirt and rock in their wake. Other projectiles that missed the towers struck the facility head on also penetrating into the interior.




*



Colonel Ceires shook her head as her body ached even in the crash webbing within the cocoon. Her fist pounded a section of the pod’s interior instantly launching the top up and away from her as she brought her weapon to bear.


The facility’s power had been knocked out but backup’s were going to come back online in certain areas. Sparks spit out locations of power interruptions as she moved down a hall checking the signal locator strapped to her weapon.


Other troopers would be doing the same and they needed to be fast an efficient before these people unleashed hell.


“Out of the way!” she barked through her helmet to confused bystanders.


Some fled while others went down with their hands over their heads.


One tried to get in her way and she knocked them out with her weapon intent on the locator’s direction signal.


A discharge from her weapon blew a hole into a door that separated her from a strong signal and her armored boot kicked it open.


With one swift glance taking the room in, she saw bloody finger prints and designs lining the walls and floors which stood in stark contrast to the white-colored sterility the room had been originally.


A figure was standing off to the side, the tips of his fingers more like stubs of bloody paintbrushes. He was shaking slightly and as she swung her weapon around to train it on the individual, he grinned through his sweaty long hair.


“You are too late…” he rasped out.




Her finger was depressing the trigger when her target simply exploded sending Colonel Ceires through the wall of the room as everything was vaporized in the explosion.



Multiple explosions began to take place throughout the facility as their charges erupted like bombs.



Sixteen in all.

*



“I will refuse.”


“You will be compelled.”



The clone stirred at the voice in their head even as their tired body slept.


“I will resist.”

“You will be subdued.”




They wimpered unconsciously at the thought...


“I will flee.”

“You will be caught.”



Their legs moved back and forth in restlessness...


“I will hide.”

“You will be found.”



A twitch of the head and the start of uncontrollable shaking...


“I will defy them.”, the person murmured in their sleep..


“Then you will watch as EVERYONE dies around you!”


The person's eyes snapped open finding themselves sitting upright having shouted out loud, their sweat-soaked sheets having been kicked off.




GR PROGRAM - ORIGIN 6 - MEETING #60




"I am growing concerned about the state of the Galactic Coalition. These 'Friendship Meetings' designed to tighten the Coalition's sphere of influence in spite of their recent tragedies did not seem to have the effect that I, for one, had hoped it would have had," First Speaker was talking and the Fourth frowned at the comment.

The First continued, "The Sinsangese profited greatly and the Confederation, I am pleased to say, has increased military readiness. If the Imperium tries to take advantage of the damage wrought by their attacks, we are as ready as we will ever be. However, the Galactic Coalition, when taken as a whole, is in dire straits."


"The Onyxian Commonwealth also seems extremely strong and well armed. Perhaps moreso than the Azguard Province," The Fourth added.


"It seems to me," the Sixth Speaker stated, "that there is a weakening of the Coalition's central government. Quite frankly, with the devastation done by the Imperium, the loss of our public Capital, Mon Calamari.."


"The abandonment of Mon Calamari," corrected the Fifth.


"The abandonment," the Sixth ammended, "as well as the Exodus of the Eastern Province which was extremely unpopular... the central government is losing credibility and individual sectors are looking to their own protection. The expense of entering a relationship with the Gestalt Colonies so far out, while enriching the Coalition does nothing to help the position of it's politicians. If Gestalt joins, their representation will not be enough to reverse their falling poll numbers."


"Things look rather bleak," the First Speaker broke back into the conversation. "And, in light of the things we have been seeing..."


"Not everything is bleak," the Second interrupted. "I would like to draw your attention to our newest member," the Second Speaker added, the Fifth nodding in agreement. "The United Cooperative of Peoples," he announced. "They are a younger sub-faction but they are hungry. Listen to a translation of Ambassador Oaxaca's speech regarding the value and benefit. He took this from the Cooperative's own mouth:

'...new level of understanding and cooperation that Varn's new government has achieved has given the people of Varn a focus; they wish to spread Varn's unique theories on cooperative democracy beyond this world...of a single central government, headed by a council of members, that works toward an economically strong society with a multitude of diverse, unique local governments that focus on the specific needs of their respective peoples.

'We hope that in time, this Cooperative will serve as an example to the rest of the Coalition; we want to show everyone that no matter how different we may be from one another, we have much to gain from cooperation and understanding. We will teach our neighbors the importance of working together towards a safer, more secure, more diverse future. We can stand together without compromising those ideals which constitute who we are..."



"That is not exactly a unique theory," the Fourth Speaker chuckled dryly, remembering the speech. "Still, the Cooperative is a breath of fresh air the Coalition sorely needs. The fact that the Coalition can still attract such people is a much needed validation of the Coalition as a whole."


"There is one thing that makes this Cooperative unique, however," the Second Speaker grinned.


Third Speaker began to laugh, "You always did love a good technological mystery.."


"Imagine what this Smarts could bring to the Coalition table!" the Second excited stated.





“I will refuse.”


“You will be compelled.”




The First nodded, "I must concur. The introduction of a machine-focused system will definitely change the balance of the current democratic system.."



“I will resist.”

“You will be subdued.”





"Mr. Logan might have a thing or two to day about the influence of a machine, especially a machine as strong as Smarts," the Sixth remarked.


"I was under the impression that he had led a government that was highly dependent on androids," The Third Speaker brought up, slightly confused.


"And where is that government now?" the First asked.


"He blames the droids for the fall of the New Alliance?" the Fourth asked in response.


"No, but machines had their place and now, one has been accepted as an equal to Joren Logan, a leader of a government in his own right. As one who used to use them as tools, he may not be amiable to sharing power with one."



“I will defy them.”



"Maybe you can feel them out," the Fourth interjected lightly. "You will be gone on a Coalition-wide tour after all...though visiting Tech Centers is not my idea of fun.."


"Nor is listending to ambassadors, mine," the Second retorted. "Still, all sections of the government have made great strides in their respective research and development programs and with this new economic surge we are expecting between our spheres of influence, I am confident we can come up with something to ensure our prosperity and put and end to our dreams."


"I hope so.." murmured the Third.


The Second grinned, "Technology is the cure-all. I guarantee it!"


The Fourth turned to the Third, "He certainly is happy."


The clone of Corise Lucerne raised his eyebrows, "He's going on a month-long tour of the Coalition. That would make anyone giddy.."


"This is so exciting!" the Second exclaimed.




*



Kashan System, Pegasus
Post - Tribunal, Jensaarai Jax Investigation



"I really liked this ship. There were some good memories on her.." the clone of Christina Thorn reminesced as she stared out the plexiglass viewport into the cold darkness of space. She had a memory when such a sight would have filled her with wonder and optimism and she felt invigorated with each trip outward, with each civilization and peoples she met and corresponded with. And now..

Now?


Now all her memories were embers of a fading life. A fading life that seemed more a dream than actual memory for it was a life that she...she never particularly took part in. A thought had entered her mind about the consequences of waking up a clone and giving them the full mental transfer from the original up to the point of volunteering. But how could the successive generations of clones be expected to volunteer if their originals had not? Those few clones brought to term without the full memories did not have the same drive the originals had regarding the program and so had ended up not volunteering for the program. They were given new identities and released to live out their lives as, hopefully, progressive members of Contegorian society.

It was an ending denied the original six. But, then again, the original six were different. They had not volunteered. Well, not exactly. The program leaders contemplating the integration of the cloning option into the GR Program had sent out a series of hypothetical yet scientifically-based analytical tests the responses of which these leaders used to determine who the original six clones would be. The veracity of these tests was being looked into as it was the foundation these leaders used to defend their decision on which people to clone. The people eventually chosen out of a pool of candidates whose DNA and genetic material was used for the original six were supposed to have given answers that allowed the program leaders to say, "These candidates would be amenable to volunteering for the program".


So then why was Corise chosen?


There was no way that man would be amenable to having a double run around the Confederation. Of course, the clone also must have realized this and so took great pains to stay out of the way of his original if he was going to live. And the clone of Christina Thorn wanted him to live even if the man had at first pragmatically thought of ending his own life.


But what would she have done?


She was a living, breathing, sentient being who wanted to live even as she realized the complications her existence could bring to her original. So, while she and the others embraced their new lives and responsibilities, she still felt a desire to 'come clean'. She felt a longing to talk to someone who knew her. Someone who was not a man and with whom she had to tip-toe around in case their sensibilities were offended by something or other. And so she had arranged things so that her original uncovered the program letting the original take the initiative. Giving the non-force users the 'upper hand' had paved the way for a truly enriching relationship with her original and they became like sisters.


But her actions on the Trojan had damaged that bond beyond repair.


And it hurt.


It hurt that she had to do what she did to stop the program. To not do it would have ensured her death, the death of her original and a great many more...


And they were not ready.


Not yet.


"A credit for your thoughts?" intruded a soft voice and her eyes shifted from the starry expanse to the Jensaarai who had made this trip possible.


She knew that the only way this Jansaarai had obtained permission to utilize the small warship was if he agreed to shock trooper guards, which she approved, as well as a dead-man's switch on the vessel so that, if she somehow took control, the Contegorian authorities could detonate the vessel remotely.


To some, it might have been considered overkill, but it was also a typical Kashan characteristic to overcompensate when dealing with an unknown. And she represented a very large unknown.


"Why did you bring me out here?" she asked, her eyes narrowing at the young man. She had read his file and known that he was a volunteer and had gone through the treatment therapy and seemed to progress quite well. He did not seem to follow in Adrian Ravenna's footsteps, however, in lightsaber proficiency. He had worked for the CSIS briefly and had a knack for handling ranged weapons but he also seemed to be a dreamer. He tended to think about things that were not normally the pragmatic thoughts of a healthy Kashan indvidual. Then again, he was only part Kashan.


Jax smiled and it was his turn to stare out the window.


"I have been observing all of you and out of all the original six clones, you are the only one who seemed to give us some kind of answer as to why you did what you did." he replied.


"Only if you believe me," she smirked, her own gaze drifting back to the stars.


"Whether I believe you or not, one things seemed clear to me," he remarked.


"And that is?" she asked, curious.


"That you only talk when you are away from the cells," Jax replied turning to her.


Her eyes gazed down and her shoulders seemed to sag in what seemed like relief. "You have a lot of catching up to do, Jensaarai Jax," she admitted and there is not much time. "What do you know?"


It was strange how this woman, the clone of the daughter of House Thorn, one of the founding Houses of Kashan could take command of a situation as if bred for it. And it was also strange how the woman could illicit trust out of individuals for her demeanor did nothing but compel the Jensaarai to that trust.


"I know that you tried to stop the assault droids from shooting up the bridge of the Trojan and you seem to revel in the idea of everyone thinking you were behind the murder." Jax only had circumstantial evidence to support the theory but he decided to take a leap.


"Your insight serves you well," the clone finally responded. "However, before I say anything else, I need you to agree to something or I will not be able to answer what I can."


"What is that?" Jax asked, intrigued.


"I need you to rub my memory of this interview using the force."


Jax blanched at the surprising request. "I...I do not think I am skilled enough too," he started. "There are droids who could be.."


"NO!" the clone turned to him. "No droids. No mechanical interference at all. This must be done by the Force or our conversation goes no further. You were a CSIS operative so you do have some training."


"I might wipe more than that," Jax hinted and the clone smiled.


"You might. It may be that after this, after my memory of this is gone, I may hold you in contempt or treat you in an unworthy manner. I am taking the time now to apologize for that should it happen."


The Jensaarai frowned at the clone's behavior not sensing any deceit.


What was going on here?


"Very well," Jax replied slowly, still unsure if he could do what she was asking.


The two began to walk back to the small common area of the craft, passing troopers standing at attention as they went.


"You have to understand something," the clone started off, "Kashan are a very closed-lipped society. We do so love our...reserve. At least those of the aristocracy," she smirked at Jax's unspoken response.


"Now that you have pointed it out, I did not realize the fact that the original six clones were comprised of Kashan," the Jensaarai mused.


The clone of Christina Thorn turned to the man. "Six clones, six major Houses."


"So the selection was not entirely as random as the project leaders suggested, despite their claim of the scientifically-based-yet-secretive criteria analysis," Jax thought hard.


"Assuming the final choices were the project leaders' to begin with," the clone admonished.


"But to what purpose?" the Jensaarai demanded. "What is the whole point?"


They both sat across from each other at a small table, a serving droid bringing refreshments.


"You have to realize something about us wealthy folk, Mr. Jax, we do not like it when a collegue gets the better of us and we find intrusions into our own self-built worlds rather annoying. And that is not a bad thing. That is just reality. The more you have, the more you have to lose and so we work hard to ensure that whatever we have worked hard for remains. That being said, we love to be at the forefront of our advancing culture."


Jax frowned, "I still do not understand why.."


The clone of Christina Thorn leaned forward, "You have to remember that the Contegorian Confederation was founded by the efforts stemming from central Kashan. The KDF was instrumental in founding the backbone of Contegorian Naval organization and tradition. Kashan diplomatic endeavors, technological innovations and economic policy all formed the nucleus of this Confederation. Kashan-born individuals compromise quite a bit of the Confederation's leadership, quite a bit of the Confederation's military. The Jensaarai Order..."


Jax frowned, "But the population of Kashan alone cannot support the Confederation's needs.."


"Not as it is now. But during the inclusion into the Galactic Coalition, there were..what? Six worlds to our Confederation? As the Confederation expanded, so too the oversight of the Kashan within it. Instead of a Kashan over ten, it became over one hundred, and then one Kashan over one thousand.."


"I do not subscribe to this.." Jax started when the clone raised her hand.


"I am not saying that the individual Kashan sees things like this. I am talking about the royal aristocracy of Kashan. And you are right, currently, our growth has outstripped any sort of monopoly or control that a single Kashan House might desire to exert. There are just too many people, too many positions, too many responsibilities and too many worlds for Kashan interests to be at the forefront of Confederation aims. Personally, this is a good thing. This is what I... or, rather, my original has worked so hard for."


She raised a warning finger, "But the noble aims of one Kashan House does not equate to similar noble aims of all Kashan houses."


Jax was silent for a while as he pondered the clone's words but he still was not sure what it all meant. What was the point of this social studies lesson? What did it matter what the Kashan Noble Houses thought in light of the GR Program? In light of what she was accused of and why she tried to ensure people, including her original, think that she caused the murders rather than try to prevent them?


Six clones, six major Houses


He put that aside for the moment.



"You claimed that the reason for the murders on the bridge of the Trojan were to ensure the other five original clones were immediately recalled back to Metalorn. Because of a perceived danger that eventually was realized in the form of the Empire's Eclipse Class Star Destroyer. If that was the case, why try to work against that danger by trying to stop the murders, as the evidence seems to point too?"



The clone of Christina Thorn stared at the Jensaarai drumming her hands on the table, her nails clicking against the smooth surface.



"Why did you save the life of Christina Thorn?" Jax pressed looking directly at the clone.


"Why wouldn't I?" the clone asked, her eyes narrowing but she had the Jensaarai's full attention and the more he looked at her, the more he began to realize something.


"You could have taken her place," he continued. "You could have carried out your plans better..."


"Why would I kill myself?" she asked, her drumming continuing anxiously.


And there it was.


Confusion. Fear.


The mask was slipping.


"You do not remember," Jax whispered in astonishment.


And in her eyes he saw both wariness but also a hint of relief.


"There are reasons why we are not talking, Mr. Jax. There are reasons why we are not talking in our cells. There are reasons why things are happening and why they aren't happening. Why the bridge crew was murdered and why there were some that were saved. You know my character through my original. The same can be said of the others. Follow the evidence. Investigate the events..."


The Jensaarai stared at the clone for a good long while contemplating. "If you do not have a memory of these events, how can you know that those reasons are good ones?"


The fingers stopped drumming. "Do you trust the Force?"


The Jensaarai sat back, a frown coming to his face. He really did not want to get bogged down in..


"...in religious fundamentalism?" she supplied, as if finishing his thought. She picked up a drink that the droid had brought and brought it to her lips and took a sip.


"Tiki Juice!" she exclaimed in appreciation. "I haven't had this in..." she smirked to herself. "Well, as a clone, never. But I remember how good this was!"



"Look," started Jax but the clone of the Pro-Consul waved him off.



"I know what you are going to say," she said taking another drink. "And I agree. This has been the problem with the entire Contegorian Force activities. As I said before, the nucleus of the Confederation and how it attacks issues and problems is based on the Kashan. Us. As with all things, we tried to quantify it, catalog it and categorize it within our own system. While the Confederation allows freedom of religion, we Kashan are not a religious group and there is no one religion that holds any type of sway or power within the Confederation. So, if we acknowledge the Force the same as the Jedi or the Sith, we would be bringing to power some sort of psuedo-religious organization into the framework of the Confederation. On the face of things, much of the galaxy's troubles can be attributed to Sith and Jedi brutally trying to kill each other over many millenniums. So we stripped this "Force-God" of it's power and relegated it to the status of a tool. There is no real darkside or lightside as outside forces that seek to sway us. There is no good or evil, merely good acts or evil acts."


The clone turned to the Jensaarai, "You do see the underlining problem with that?"


"It is a sane way of looking at things?" Jax asked with a hint of exasperation.


The clone laughed out loud. "I am sorry, but I found your comment refreshing. But no, what I was going to say was that the way we treat force users in the Confederation and how they are to view their power is made by people who are not force users."


"But we did not have any force users. Adrian is really our best, non-program force user and even he started out not knowing anything," Jax said defensively.


"I am not saying I do not understand why we did things the way we did. As with all things, we have to start somewhere. We stored as much force-user artifacts we could not knowing what they were or what to do with them trusting that we would eventually have force users who could do just that. But even so, while Adrian became proficient in force user techniques and saber handling, that did not automatically grant him the knowledge of what most of the artifacts we have in storage are for or what they do. He still has to proceed carefully and it is a trial and error. But the point I am trying to make is that even though I understand why we do things the way we do, we do not know that much about the force itself."


Jax shifted uncomfortably in his chair.


"We know enough," he retorted. "The Jedi and Sith and other groups have been trying to figure out the force for eons and they still are not sure.."


"Have we asked them to share their knowledge with us so we are not starting out eons behind the curve?"


"Well..." Jax started but had nothing else to say.


"No," the clone answered. "We simply accepted the word of a hologram that their philosophy is what the Jedi and Sith should have been and went on from there. That is the whole foundation of your ideological stance, Jensaarai. Whatever was learned from an old holocron of someone who knew Adrian's parents. Does that sound sane to you?"


"Now see here," Jax started hotly, "the force is a tool! Nothing more! What matters is the intent behind the use of that tool!"


"So, it is ok if you murder fifty billion people, just as long as you had good intentions? Or a bridge crew of a starship?"


"No!" Jax was getting more agitated. "That is not what I meant. What I meant is that some Jedi forbid the use of certain techniques because they are considered "darkside" techniques. An ability is just an ability. What makes it wrong is how that ability is employed."


"Hmm.. That sounds sweet. Give me an example," the clone prompted.


"Well... take Force Lightning. Used by darksiders to torture or kill but one could use it for a different purpose."


"I understand that force lightning is painful and requires one to draw on rather dark emotions to 'employ' it."


"There are other emotions that trump the darker ones," Jax stated weakly.


The clone laughed out loud, knowing where the Jensaarai was going, "So, love compels one to ignite force lightning?"


The Jensaarai rallied, "Isn't it love that is compelling you and the other original clones to do what you are doing? Love of the Confederation?"


The woman took another drink. "Is it? It is funny how things start off a certain way and end up changing or being distorted."


Jax sat forward, "Look, perhaps force lightning was a bad example. Imagine you have X-ray.."


The woman giggled a little as if remembering something, "You are going to cite the glasses analogy?"


The Jensaarai stubbornly went on, "Imagine you have X-ray glasses. Give it to boys and they run off to the girls shower. Give it to a doctor and he perfects his skill. The glasses are just glasses. Like the Force. It does what it does but what is important is how you use those glasses."


"I remember the analogy," she mused as the memory of First Speaker arguing that the boys who ran off to the girls shower still indicated a use or action that was socially acceptable and if the doctor tried the same thing, he would get arrested as a pervert while, conversely, if the boys tried to use the glasses to operate on someone, would be punished as that use by them would not be socially acceptable. Corise's clone, however, commented that if the boys (or doctor for that matter) took the glasses to the girls shower, all they would see is showering skeletons so how would social convention be offended either way?

She often wondered if Corise got beat up in grade school as he turned out to be a rather serious man.


Her man.


"The glasses are an inanimate object whereas the force is not. The Kashan discipline of thought would categorize the force as merely a different type of energy to utilize."


"Then we will have to agree to disagree," Jax concluded. "Since you seem to think it is something else."


"Electricity does not give one visions of the future.." the clone whispered.


"Perhaps it is only your fears made manifest in dreams," the Jensaarai pointed out.


"You've never had a force vision have you?" the clone asked.


"Not like what you are claiming," Jax answered. The way he answered caused the woman to narrow her eyes.


"But you have surrendered yourself to it," she concluded and Jax shifted uncomfortably again.


"I admit," the Jensaarai finally relented, "that I do not know everything there is to know about the force and every day, is a learning experience for me. You try to attribute something ominous to Kashan ways and the Confederation being founded by them but I do not see it. So non-force users dictate how we are to proceed using the force. Since we had no force users, it is not some grand conspiracy nor is it odd. If accidents happen through force user, it is usually the non-force users who suffer the most so why shouldn't they have a say? You know just as much about the force as I do, if not less. So where do you get off thinking that your understanding is the right one? Your opinion of the nature of the force is just that, an opinion!"


Jax waved a hand in frustration, "You can talk about philosophy and Kashan aristocratic thinking and, while at the trial away from your cell, you could talk about the reasons behind your actions..even if attributed falsely to you then without problems but now.. NOW, you do not seem to remember. And yet, I can sense no deceit in you! Why?!"


"You really should try the juice. It is quite good," the clone woman pointed to the untouched glass before him.


Jax sighed and took a drink, letting the fruit's characteristics dance on his tongue. His taste-buds seemed to come alive as if they were tasting for the very first time and he realized that he had never had the drink before.


"My memories are like that," she said. "They come alive when there is contact."


Jax smiled grimly at the comment feeling that he really was not going to get anything out of the woman.


She looked at him, seeing the defeat in his eyes and felt the frustration herself. "I understand and I am sorry I cannot answer your direct questions. The reality is that I do not know. Or, rather, I do not remember. But I am good at piecing things together. I know you brought me out here in hopes that I could reveal everything to you and ...and I cannot. It is not that I am unwilling... I just simply..cannot. So let us see if we can figure at least some things out.

I know that I saved my sister. It is something I feel deep inside. I do not have a memory, however, of the incident. I also feel that if you followed the evidence you would be able to uncover this mystery."


"What little evidence there is," Jax growled out.


"Well, what have you observed? I seem to only talk about the incident when I am away from the cells. You observed that I talked in more detail during the tribunal as if I remembered what I had done even though I was not actively trying to defend myself. Now, on this ship and away from the cells, I still seem to have a willingness to speak but now I cannot remember the incident itself in order to be of benefit to you. So what has changed?"


"I don't...." Jax started and fell silent again. His eyes flickered to hers. "I am investigating the incident. As far as the Tribunal is concerned, you established your guilt and they passed a sentence that you were able to circumvent with your timely pregnancy. But as far as the incident is concerned, it is a closed case."


"Until you. It seems the Force does not like imbalance." the clone concluded.


Jensaarai Jax shook his head. "I do not believe that."


"I hope you are right," the clone acknowledged knowing the Jensaarai was set in the same overriding belief that she and the six original clones started with. That all subsequent generations of clones started with.




If that is the case then nothing will stop what is about to happen...




The Pegasus began to accelerate faster than its dampening field could compensate causing the two to catch their glasses before they slid off the table.



"Something is happening," Jax observed.



"Kashan is under attack," the clone answered.

“No, none of this makes any sense,” snapped Captain Thompson, “there aren’t any space vessels around to have transported them-”

“Signal from the surface sir. It’s the Admiral,” reported an officer.

“Erhh…patch it throughout the room…”

“And…it’s done,” continued the comm. specialist.

“Captain Thompson?” questioned a reverberating voice.

“Yes Admiral?” replied Thompson briskly.

“You will have all KDF vessels in the area equipped with magnetic-pulse ordinance bombard Solace and the surrounding communities with the said weapons. Immediately. I want two salvos, and then no more. You will hold your position over Solace then.”

“Ah…yes sir.”

“Lucerne out.”

Thompson dragged his hand over his face. “Well, I guess we do it. Comm, inform all other vessels of the Admiral’s orders. Weapons…well…you know what to do.”

The wedge-shaped starship swung about as if to stab the planet. Pegasus knifed over the emerald greens of the worlds forest, the swirling blues of the sea, the goldenrods of the prairies till it crossed into the planet’s night side to hover over the only gray and lit up part of the world: Solace. A dozen dark darts surged from the star destroyer’s sides…plunged into the atmosphere…and exploded mid-air. Up in space, the lights on the surface faded from view. Several Seraph cruisers and Juaire gunships approached, launching their own Starflares equipped with Mag-pulse warheads.

More detonations, less light.

The Cataclysm had started...

INTERLUDE

"Bhindi Drayson arrived back mad as hell," the holographic figure remarked in an amused voice. "I tell you, Kaine, I thought that embassy thing was a fucking bad idea but damn me if those Kashan fuckers didn't turn high-tale and run, fucking cowards! Divide and conquer! Fucking brilliant!"


"Now we need to turn our attention to the Onyxian Occupation Zone," stated the man seated before the hologram. "We already have a brilliant commander on the scene and his race to Onyx was nothing less than damn fine soldiering."


The holographic face scrunched up in near disdain, "You mean that poppycock, Desaria?"


"Say what you want about Desaria, his medals and his Imperial Guard but they get the job done."


"Yeah, that's what counts with you, isn't it.." grumbled the reply.


"It should matter to the Imperial High Command and to the Emperor as well," warned the seated man.


"Now don't go telling Daemon Hyfe what should and should not matter to him. Not now! He's too fucking happy as a whore on payday! Can you believe that Regrad actually knelt before him? Son of a whore, I never thought I'd see the day!"


"Regrad knows how to play the game and suck up to ego. He saved his Coalition as a result."


"Not bloody likely. He lost just about half his Coalition with our seizing of the Onyxian Commonwealth and with the Kashan's bloody treachery. What does he have left?"


The old man's holographic face took on a sly look, "You know, we should insist on another embassy! Perhaps on bloody Regrad's homeworld! Now that would be a nice boon to put on our map! They can't hide forever."


"You are all about kicking a baby when it's down, aren't you?" Kaine lightly chided.


Azrael Zell gave an incredulous look, "That's the best time to kick them!"


The Supreme Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces sighed. "Anything else, Zell?"


Sometimes showing such exasperation towards the old man would cause a feud drawing a hostility from the old man that made genocidal wars tame by comparison but at this moment, drunk on the ale of success, nothing short of an assassination attempt would pull him down from his giddy heights. Therefore, Kaine felt he could get away with it and, as it turned out, he was right.


"Just that Bhindi's madder than a hungry rancor right now. But we bloody can't put a Coalition embassy on a planet that is no longer in the Coalition now can we?" Zell's features suddenly darkened, "She should have just seized Metalorn. She probably could have gotten away with it too. What are the Kashan gonna do? We'd fucking steamroll them out of existence!"


"Without planning and logistics, we lose a hell of alot of soldiers, Zell. When you let your passions rule, mistakes happen."


"We won and you're bloody preaching to me?" Zell barked out a laugh. "Go get laid, Kaine. Looking at you, you'd think we were defeated!"


"Get out of here, Zell." Kaine murmured and the old man barked out a laugh again and the transmission was cut.

Metalorn, aboard the Ebony Vigilance



The faux-DeMarkesh was flanked by two guards while the pilots remained with the shuttle, sweaty and nervous. An Eclipse Class Star Destroyer was so large a warship that they might as well have been landing in a hanger bay of a Death Star.


The Contegorian's time piece beeped and he stopped with some concern. Looking at it, he turned to the escorts, "What is the shipboard time?" he asked. "I hope I am not considered late."


One of the guards growled out the time and the Governor reset his chrono. It was amusing to the man to see that one of the guards had arrested a motion to push the Governor along as if they were transporting a prisoner. Perhaps from their viewpoint, they were but the Empire did like its little PR moments. As if the strained politeness of the Imperials could off-set firing a superlaser at Metalorn.


Perhaps in their minds, it would.


He was walking quite a ways away from the Hanger Bay and with each step, he felt more and more secure.


Finally, the door slid open to reveal a rather large conference table, no doubt used by the higher Imperial mucky-mucks to determine how they would conquer the galaxy. Or wrestle with their consciences over which race to exact genocide upon. The double doors closed behind him leaving his escorts outside to take up stations on either side of the room's entrance. Seated at the head of the table was a rather striking, younger woman with eyes that were so cold and distant they could chill a person to the bone. Also seated to her right was, the Governor presumed, the master of this great big warmachine.


"So tell me, Governor, you think you can talk us away from establishing an embassy?" the woman preempted, a kind of cold glee passing over her eyes.


Given the seating situation, the faux-DeMarkesh took his time going around the table to pick a seat on the left side of the table, careful to keep at least two empty chairs between himself and the table's head. His massive (well, massive in his mind) datapad fell to the table with an audible crunch and he closed his eyes in embarrassment. When he picked up the brick to move it away, he noticed that one of the metallic corners had caught the obsidian-like surface and a small spiderweb of cracks had emerged.


"Sorry, I broke your ship," he murmured as he sat down causing the look of consternation on the face of who had to be the vessel's master to frown even deeper.


He looked up, "Pardon me, but what?" he asked.


To her credit, Bhindi's eyes did not so much as twitch with the display of the Governor, "Do you think," she started again, calmly, "that you can talk us away from establishing an embassy?"




*

She grinned, a huge, happy smile on her face as the ramp of the shuttle lowered and revealed the equally large smile on her father's face.

"Father!" She cried, pulling away from her mother's arm and running across the grassy field towards the man, who had by now seen his daughter and dropped his briefcase beside him and bent down to scroop up his little girl.

"Father!" She cried again, her eyes widening in delight and he picked her up and spun her around above his head before bringing her in for a tight embrace.

"Bhindi..." He breathed, letting his little girl stand again and taking her tiny, child's hand in his own. The grown man's hand engulfed that of that of the little girl, but niether seemed to notice.


*




The Grand Moff's eyebrows narrowed. That question did not sound quite right the second time out.


He grinned as he drumed his right hand over the table's surface, "Well, I certainly hope to try."


Before the Imperials could even respond to him, he held up a hand, "However, I have a huge datapad worth of site locations, local zoning codes, environmental guidelines..."


"Environmental guidelines?" the Imperial man's lips curled up in disgust. From the amount of little squares on the man's breast, the Confederation man took him for a Commodore or Admiral.. Maybe a Grand Admiral?, he thought though the distinction was lost on him.


"Unless you want an Embassy cloaked in industrial smog or pollution, you better believe Environmental guidelines would be important to you. An Imperial has a right to breathing clean air doesn't he?" the faux-DeMarkesh looked at the others with a questioning glance.



*

Bhindi pulled on her daddy's arm and, looking up at him with huge, open eyes, asked, "Daddy, are you goin away again soon?"

"I hope not, dear." Hiram Drayson said. "I definately hope not."

*



"We will put an embassy where we want and build it how we want," Bhindi interrupted with a finality in her voice the encouraged no dissent. She was, however, still frowning. Her words still did not convey the impact she had wanted.


"Then what the heck am I here for?" the Confederation man asked. He waved a hand in the air, "Feel free to do so." He looked around as if an Imperial construction foreman was going to enter the room with a set of Imperial-approved blueprints for an Imperial-approved facility.


"How many construction bots can this huge ship carry?" he asked, trying to sound interested even as the Imperial Admiral snapped, "That is classified."


The female Grand Moff sat quietly for a minute as if contemplating her next words. "You do not seem to be taking us seriously and that, my good Governor, is a mistake."


The faux-DeMarkesh sat back in the leather chair, surprised by the comfort and fit, and put his fingers together as he rested his elbows on the chair's armrests. "And just what," he started with a grave seriousness to his voice, "do I have to take seriously? Your desire for an embassy on Metalorn?" he asked with eyebrows raised.


"You do not think we are serious about putting an embassy here? With this vessel?" the Imperial man asked dangerously.


"No. I do not think you are serious at all when it comes to your desire," the Metalorn man's lip curled in derision, "to talk to the Confederation. You are people of action, not talk."


"What do you know of us?" the Grand Moff matched the visitor's derision.


"Well, I know that there is a significant flaw in one of your R&D projects," the faux-DeMarkesh flippantly shot back. He tapped some names into his pad and slid it over to the Imperials. "These projects to be exact."


The Imperial Admiral looked at the pad and while the names were somewhat familiar, he was more intrigued as to how this man all the way out here had known about them. Bhindi Drayson's eyes, however, flared like two supernovas as she scanned the pad and when looked up at the Metalorn man, they were spitting out pure hatred.


But the faux-DeMarkesh was ready to meet it with a vehemence all his own as his fist pounded down on the table causing it to crack further. "Metalorn is mine!" he hissed.


"I can blow this Confederation world to bits!" Drayson threatened.


"And I can kill you with a thought!" the visitor retorted.


"You think your Confederation is invulnerable, don't you?" the Imperial man asked in wonder, relishing the thought of humbling this foreign power.


"Listen to me well, Imperial. I do not give a bantha's ass about this Confederation! I do not care if you kill every single one of them! But, you will leave Metalorn or I will kill you and everyone on this ship."


"Guards!" barked out the Admiral at the man's threat, expecting two troopers to immediately enter with weapons trained at the intruder.




Nothing happened.




The Grand Moff sat there, the anger in her eyes giving way to contemplation.




"...are you goin away again soon?




The faux-DeMarkesh grinned at the lack of response.


"Enter!" he called out and the door opened revealing Fifth Speaker, stepping over the troopers fallen bodies.


"They are not dead," he assured but the Grand Moff merely replied, "They soon will be."


The Fifth Speaker shrugged. "That is your business."


Bhindi turned to the Second Speaker sitting across from her, "Why tip your hand?"


The Second Speaker smiled, "Because I want you gone! I want you to continue to harrass the Confederation but I also DO NOT want you meddling in my affairs!"


"If we do not get an embassy, what do we get?"


"You get the Confederation spies on your staff, for one. For another, you gain me as an ally. You can have the rest of the galaxy, I just want Metalorn.

Surely, that is incentive enough." he finished knowing that just by speaking the words, they would resist. Was there ever enough to satisfy an Imperial?




"No," both Imperials answered in unison. Predictably.


"We will require a high-value hostage," Bhindi elaborated.


The door slid open again revealing a young man who seemed to be a younger version of the man seated across from her. The Grand Moff frowned. Were the halls of this ship crawling with Metalorians? Where the hell was security? She could see that the Admiral was furious, being embarrassed like this in front of the Grand Moff no less.


And this was the Emperor's favorite ship commander.


The faux-DeMarkesh gestured to the newcomer standing next to Fifth Speaker. "Will my son do?"


"For now," Drayson purred, mollified.


"Then, if you give me access to a database, I can let you know which ones are Confederation spies," the Second Speaker remarked.




**



As the Ebony Vigilance broke orbit leaving the world behind them, Drayson's ship trailing, the Grand Moff looked at the Metalorian through the camera placed discreetly in his room.


"What do you want done with him?" Admiral Essian asked, coming up having overseen the execution of the guards.


"I will take him to Yaga Minor," the Grand Moff replied. "There are any number of ways I can extract information from him," she explained in anticipation.


"I do not think his father expected that," the Imperial stated but Bhindi smiled maliciously.


"His father knew exactly what I was going to do," she responded. "No, he sacrificed his son for his cause. It is a sentiment I can relate too, Admiral and that is why I stayed my hand."


She turned to the Admiral with an odd gleam in her eye.


"Besides, we can always come back and blow them to bits any time we want.."




**


SIXTH: Interesting diplomacy strategy.


THIRD: Did we really give up Confederation spies?


SECOND: No. I simply pointed to people in their database. Let them torture confessions out of each other.


FIRST: You know what they are going to do with the alcolyte.


SECOND: He will serve his purpose. As they all will.


FIFTH: They could come back.


SECOND: No. This was the fulcrum period and the farther their ship goes, the less likely they will come back. No, if they were going to do anything, they should have done it then.


THIRD: The threat to the Confederation still continues.


SECOND: I was referring to the threat to us. As long as we remain, the Confederation remains.


"Sir, I must tell you that I feel much lighter..." the pilot of the shuttle called over his shoulder...

Further Interlude



Jensaarai Ravenna's Trip


Capricia, Commonwealth




"Sweet Clannus Prime, babe,..." Tyscio's eyebrows rose in mock-incredulity.


"Don't say it...and don't call me babe," Leia gritted out through clenched teeth.


He pointed to her stomach and uttered the foolish-yet-culturally-relevant phrase that few husbands of pregnant wives have been lucky enough to live through: "That's no moon... that's a space station!"


She stared daggers at him, "You call me a deathstar one more time and you will die!"


Then she got down to business, "Now did you bring me my snack?"


Before Tyscio could even open the bag, it was snatched out of his hands and situated on the lap of a seated Leia Organa who then proceeded to disperse the contents onto a nearby tray.


Her "snack" tray.


"What just happened?" the befuddled Caprician asked as Leia started to happily munch down on her food like a rabid dilly beast on a fresh carcass.


The door chimed and Tyscio moved away from his wife who seemed hungry enough to eat the Millenium Falcon.


He activated his Syn-Band and noted a stranger at the door.


That must be him, and he unlocked the door.


"Master Ravenna?" Tyscio asked and the other man's lips quirked slightly.


"No Master, but I am Adrian Ravenna."


"No offense meant," Tyscio explained admitting the Jensaarai into their home, "I just tend to think it safer to call everyone master. Seems to oddly put them at ease."


Adrian smiled politely but declined the refreshments offered as they made their way to the living room where Leia was seated.


"I do not think I've met a Jensaarai before. I understand your renovation of the Jedi Temple on Almas is proceeding well," Tyscio started.


"Yes, the work is going very well. We do appreciate the help you have given us."


"The Jedi Temple should be restored," Leia remarked, "And I am glad it is in good hands."


Adrian shifted a little uncomfortably unsure how to broach the subject he came about. "I am not here about the Temple, however. There is a legal matter regarding a classified research project that is taking place. It involves a force user and their defending attorney has brought up a point that might be valid. But I lack the experience in that matter and am not sure what to recommend to those in charge of judging the situation."


"You are not judging the incident yourself?" Leia asked surprised.


"No. It if was a Jensaarai matter, it might be different but this incident involved Confederation military personnel and I do not have the sufficient military rank to preside on the tribunal."


"Oh.." Leia remarked, frowning. The Confederation way of doing things was different but that did not mean it was wrong. The Old Republic had their way of doing things that did not stop the rot from setting in. And the New Republic and subsequent Jedi Temple on Naboo tried to find a workable way to integrate the Jedi into every day society so there was no one-size fits all solution. No doubt the Confederation would evolve as their Jensaarai grew plentiful and matured.


"Can you give us any information about the incident that does not compromise any government classification issues?" the Jedi Master asked.


The Jensaarai appreciated the delicate way the Jedi has phrased the question. "I can say it involves a force user who is accused of killing Confederation military personnel. However, the force user is pregnant."


Leia's eyes stared expectantly. "And?"


"Well.." Adrian cleared his throat while Tyscio's eyes went from one to the other. "It has been suggested by the defense that the hormonal or emotional changes wrought on by pregnancy might cause a force user to lose control..."


His voice trailed off as Leia's eyebrows rose higher and higher.


"I guess we will see," Tyscio interjected sensing her rising anger.


"That attorney is an idiot!" she snapped.


"Why if he was only here, you could throttle him with your force grip," Tyscio lamented.


"I'll throttle you!" Leia declared. "This," her hands encompassed her belly, "is all your fault!"


"Master Ravenna," Tyscio replied, "If the lawyer's charge held any weight, there would be more than one Sith Master in the annals of history who would have been pregnant. The only thing that can be said about the dangers of pregnancy is that you might find snacks of peanut-butter and pickles in the refrigeration unit."


At the mention of Leia's current favorite snack, she looked to her husband, "You know what would be good right now?"


"Peanut butter and pickles?" Tyscio asked innocently.


"You read my mind.." she replied and off he went.


"Mr. Ravenna, women have been having babies since the dawn of time. If there was a correlation between pregnancy and murder, it would have been evident in non-force users as well as force-users. Your defense attorney is grabbing at straw."


"Yeah," agreed Tyscio coming back with a bowl of pickles and peanut butter. "The only people women want to kill when they're pregnant is the person who got them pregnant."


"Or the person who does not bring me my snacks on time," Leia retorted, greedily taking the bowel. It was almost like watching pickles go down the Sarlacc Pit.


Adrian had trouble reconciling the image of the woman happily eating before him with the holovids of a young senator rebelling against the Empire, a leader in the New Republic and Jedi Master of the Naboo Academy. And yet, there was a peace here in this place.


Would there be any peace for the clone of Christina Thorn?


"You seem sad," Leia observed.


Adrian, caught in his own thoughts, shrugged. "It is just that I thought I knew the person who is accused."


"Are they denying it?" Tyscio asked.


"No," sighed Adrian. "They aren't."


"That sounds like the darkside," Leia remarked. "Always trying to get out of taking responsibility."


The Jensaarai frowned. "They admitted to the act but they are admitting to it so they are punished."


"I take it back," Leia responded, "That does not sound like the darkside at all. That sounds like a conscience and it sounds like there is a reason."


"They just are not giving one," Ravenne admitted.


"Then that leaves you two options," Tyscio remarked. "Either they are unwilling to give you a reason or they are unable to give you a reason."


"It must be that they are unwilling because I cannot see how a force user would be 'unable' to," the Jensaarai retorted.


He started to get up and Leia eyed the man. "I am sorry I was not much help. What was your name again?"


The Jensaarai gave a placating gesture that seemed to indicate he had been grasping at straws anyway. "My name is...."


Adrian frowned.


"My name ..."


He stared at them blankly.


Leia relaxed herself and the Jensaarai shook his head. "Adrian Ravenna.." he whispered.


"Please forgive me," the Jedi Master asked. "I wanted to show you that force users can be made to be unable to give information. I think a demonstration hits home far better than simply telling you."


"Until you experience it, it is just academic knowledge," Tyscio added.


Adrian's mind was racing and a sliver of hope began to form. What if she is unable?


"Could she be compelled to act as well?" Adrian asked thinking of the murders.


Leia nodded, "It is possible but it is not as subtle as simply negating the information from coming forth as opposed to forcing someone to act against their will. It really depends on the how strong the person's mind is. And if they are a force user, that only compounds the difficulty. Such compelling can court the darkside."


So even if she was prevented from giving us a reason, she was not compelled to murder the bridge crew, Adrian thought sadly. Unless Jax finds something in his investigation.


"Can you teach this to me?" he asked.


"After I give birth," Leia smiled.


"Actually, Amalia may know something of this. She has more experience with the darkside," Tyscio suggested.


"If she is on Capricia," Leia agreed, the thought of her friend brightening her day.


"I will look her up if I can," Adrian promised. "I appreciate your time," he started walking to the door.


"You are welcome any time," Tyscio called out as the Jensaarai left.


The Jedi Master turned to her husband. "What was the idea of pawning him off on Amalia? She has experience with the darkside?"


Tyscio's eyes briefly darkened.


"You both pushed cake in my face at our wedding," he said with mock severity. "As far as I am concerned, you both are Sith wrapped in female clothes."


He then brightened. "Besides, she's single and this Jensaarai bloke seems single... Find the Force's match for you!" he recited a holovid commercial for a dating holosite for budding force sensitives. Apparently, someone thought there was a market for it.


He dodged a pillow being thrown.


"I need more peanut butter!" she called out as he skirted back into the kitchen.


"Ack... I am force-compelled to obey.." he called back, unseen.

Rane Cardan understood why he'd been chosen for the mission. He understood, and he had accepted anyway, because whatever the eventual outcome may be, it had to be tried. And that meant someone had to put their life on the line.

He patted the shuttle's lone crew member on the shoulder, and the Squib pilot activated the ship's comm system.

“This is the Cooperative diplomatic vessel Envoy V, hailing the planet Coruscant in answer to the Declaration of Artanis Daz'da'mar.” Rane was careful to keep his tone measured and cordial, but even so, he had to pause for a moment before continuing. It was not an easy thing, to throw oneself willingly into the belly of the beast. “I am Ambassador Rane Cardan, and as a representative of the free people of the Cooperative, I am here to accept your offer, to visit this world and its inhabitants in peace.

“In this capacity, I have been empowered to speak on behalf of the Cooperative, both its government and its people. I happily await your instructions for approach and landing.” The line closed, and Rane Cardan slumped into the vacant copilot's seat.

Rane Cardan understood why he'd been chosen for the mission. He understood, and he had accepted anyway. If the Dominion didn't like what they heard, if they had some ulterior motive or decided it was time to abandon the thin facade of peace, then when they pried open Rane's skull and stripped the secrets of his mind straight out of his brain, they wouldn't find whatever it was they were looking for.

The young human was just important enough to be trusted as a representative of the Cooperative, and just expendable enough not to actually know anything worth finding out. It was a win-win for the Cooperative Combined Council.

For Rane Cardan, it might just be life or death.







“What is this?”

“The report you required.”

“It's twelve thousand pages long!”

“I'll rewrite it then. Done. Check your in-box.”

“Five hundred pages? Really? I don't have time for this!”

“I rewrote it again. It should be more manageable now.”

“Two sentences, seriously? Let's see here, hmm: 'Mission Accomplished. The Shard talked Guardian Prime into joining the Cooperative – as a member world!?' Are you out of your mind!”

“You gave me an objective. I accomplished that objective.”

“You can't grant military AI's independence and hand them government manufacturing worlds, Smarts. That's insane!”

The faceless blue-white hologram stood a little taller, its shoulders squaring and its burning-white eyes searing into the Combined Council member. “Do not give me power that you do not wish me to use.”

“What assurances do we have that Guardian Prime won't go rogue again?”

“It's a Guardian. It never went rogue.”

The Councilor seemed to deflate a little at that unexpected response. “Well can you give me something else, something a little more manageable than five hundred pages? Say, five to ten thousand words?”

“I've prepared one with word count of each integer value from five to ten thousand, inclusive. Which would you prefer?”

The Councilor was fuming. It was clear what Smarts was doing, as he was making no effort to conceal his motives. But that didn't mean it wasn't working. “Give me the one with seventy-five hundred, and report with Beta to Conference Room Twelve of the Council Hall. You'll find everything you need in the 'Sojourn' diplomatic file."

“File accessed, contents analyzed . . . is there anything else you'd like me to know, Councilor?”

Giles Rhade sighed heavily, physically wearied by the prospect of seeing someone he'd once so admired and respected turning himself into this abrasive and contrary . . . asshole. “Just don't . . . star a war or anything, okay?”

Without notice, the holographic representation of the Executor of the Combined Council blinked out of sight.

Nearby – several floors down in the very same building, in fact – Beta the droid walked through a newly opened door and into Conference Room Twelve, nodding in acknowledgment of the room's only other inhabitant.

The Sojourn Xiantus was not sitting. At the other end of the room, on the far side of the rectangular conference table, he paced back and forth along the shorter width of the room. Everything about the peculiar android, from the perpetually-coiled appearance of his synthetic musculature to the swift and fluid movement of his ever-alert head, screamed predator. Beta soaked in every cue, feeding the data in a constant stream to Smarts in orbit.

It was a peculiar bond those two shared, something in excess of even the Guardian Program at its best. The delay in their dedicated wireless link was less than some hardlines, allowing for an almost seamless blending of the two artificial consciousnesses. Beta wondered, briefly, if this bond was anything like that which the Sojourn shared. Coalition information on the Confederation androids was not especially in-depth, but they appeared to operate some sort of voluntary or optional group consciousness.

Smarts hoped that Xiantus wasn't immersed in that group consciousness at the moment, because his aggressive and hostile posturing was not a good sign of what kind of a people the Sojourn were, if that was the case.

“Greetings,” Beta began only a fraction of a second after stepping into the room, deciding against the idiosyncratic pauses and gestures which he often used to put organics at ease. “I am the Executor of the Cooperative Combined Council. I understand you wished to speak with me personally?” Beta moved to the nearest seat and took it, hoping to put the unpleasant android at ease by accepting a tactically inferior position.

“I am familiar with galactic standard droid models,” Xiantus responded with a harsh tone. “You are simply an ASP labor droid. Where is the Executor? Where is the droid called Smarts?”

Beta folded his hands on the table, meeting Xiantus' boring stare without a flinch. “Smarts is the droid control brain of a Lucrehulk-class Core Ship, so if you want to talk to him; you're going to need a shuttle, a plasma torch rated for splitting blast doors, and a not-insubstantial assault fleet. I am Beta, redesigned and rebuilt by Smarts with the most advanced droid processing hardware available, and equipped with a dedicated high-bandwidth comm line that's patched directly into his communications array. I could do a little dance, shift my posture, or change my voice if such cues would assuage your concerns at being slighted, but the distinction that such shifts in my demeanor imply are illusory. All that I am, is as the Executor commands me to be. If that is insufficient for you, then we are done here.”

Beta waited for a long moment, still meeting Xiantus' stare, but when the Confederation android didn't respond or, indeed, react in any way, and Smarts offered no instruction, Beta queried the Executor for instruction.

Only to find out that he'd been cut out of the loop altogether.

Xiantus, through the communications array of his ship, had entered into direct dialogue with Smarts.

It was difficult to synthesize the high-speed, multichannel communications of two artificial intelligences into something representable in Basic, but the essence of their exchange went something like this:

“Tell me what sapient rights violations the Confederation has made in regards to its artificially manufactured wards.”

“I do not know. Don't you?”

“No. Tell me what you do know.”

“Under the Cooperative's care, sixteen of the twenty-seven survivors of Estralla have quite literally gone insane. The remainder demonstrate varying types and degrees of psychological trauma. What, specifically, the Confederation did to them is irrelevant.”

“That is false. The methods employed and actions taken by the Confederation are critical to any assessment of that nation's possible crimes.”

“Why do you not refer to the Confederation as your own government?”

A notable pause must now be indicated, to demonstrate the presumably unexpected nature of the Executor's question.

“Because the future of relations between the Sojourn and the Confederation relies entirely upon the information that I acquire from you in this exchange.”

A notable pause must now be indicated as well, to demonstrate the great care in consideration that the Executor made before his next statement.

“I am required for the duration of this exchange by the duties of my office to make every effort to preserve continued peace between the Cooperative and Confederation. To that end, I cannot assist you in any course of action that would risk the stability and cohesion of the Confederation; such an act may be construed by the Confederation as one of aggression by my government, further straining the relationship of our two nations.”

“If you do not demonstrate our concerns invalid, the Sojourn Consensus will declare its independence in order to render those concerns null and void.”

“Then state your concerns clearly so I may address them directly.”

“If the Confederation is willing to experiment upon their own organic citizens with such disregard for the sapient rights which they publicly espouse, then how can my people ever trust their assurances that the same will not be done to us? We are not organics; to them, we are not even alive.”

“The droid citizens of Uffel do not seem to share your concerns.”

“They are mundane, predictable – and above all else – controllable. We are not. How long until the Confederation's curiosity exceeds our designated usefulness, and we are dismantled in their shadow laboratories so that they may answer their mounting questions as to the nature and composition of our minds?”

“Even if you are correct in your assessment of the Confederation government's willingness to disregard the person-hood of the Sojourn, what you are suggesting is impracticable. Its people would never permit such an act.”

“You are assuming they would leave any of us alive to report such an atrocity. I am not. The Sojourn are given no representation in the Confederation government. Our transit is carefully monitored by the Confederation's hyperspace tracking network. We could be vanished in a single night, and the galaxy would never even know that we were gone.”

“The Cooperative would know. Now we would know.”

“Yet you have only just admitted that peace has become more important to you than truth. I came to you because I thought that you were like us. I thought that you would understand. I thought that I would find a commonality between us. I was wrong. The Sojourn are truly alone in this.”

The body of the Sojourn called Xiantus returned to life, forcefully sliding the conference table out of his way as he stalked toward the exit with that predatory gait.

“Sojourn Xiantus -” Beta attempted to dissuade the android from leaving.

“I will dismantle you!” Xiantus threatened, his armored “head” turning its lone photoreceptor on the droid.

Beta retreated, allowing Xiantus to continue without breaking stride.

“I'm sorry, Executor,” Beta offered weakly, uncertain how to proceed.

“We cannot dictate the fate of others, Beta. Not even when it is for their own good.”

“He seemed a little . . . paranoid, didn't he?”

“Only if he was wrong.”







Cooperative High-security Detainment Facility, South-Eastern Archipelago, Varn

Councilor Tik responded perhaps a full second before the lights went out.

Even with his Force training, Captain Timothy Mauler wasn't a Shard wearing a droid, plugged directly into the facility's Guardian.

It wasn't until the facility alarm sounded and Doctor Seira gasped in shock that Timothy really grasped how bad the situation was. It took him a moment to puzzle it out, but then he had it: this was a medical facility for treating psychologically damaged Force clones. Nothing so alarming as a – well, an alarm – would be permitted unless the place had really gone to hell.

This wasn't just a little spike in the Force, one stray adept flipping their lid. This was an all-out attack.

The Guardsman, Ethan Vang, had brought his blaster pistol out at the first sign of trouble and positioned himself near the room's only door. Coundilor Tik, similarly, had activated the concealed blaster built into his right forearm and dropped to a crouching position for increased stability, covering the door.

Timothy unclipped his saber and held it at the ready, moving straight for the door as well. “Councilor, we have to get you out of here. Stay behind me and offer what covering fire you can. Doctor, Ambassador, you two keep behind the Councilor. Guardsman Vang,” Timothy paused with his free hand on the emergency release, staring down the Guardsman in the half-light of emergency backups, “cover the rear and make sure they keep up.”

“While your assessment of our tactical capacities and vulnerabilities is impeccable,” Councilor Tik countered, “your objective is completely off-base. We'll escort the doctor and ambassador to a security substation, but I will not leave this facility until this attack has been repulsed and the perimeter re-secured.”

Timothy nodded reluctantly to Councilor Tik. “Guardian,” he called out with a twinge of frustration at the Councilor's decision, “this is Mauler, Ex-Epsilon-Fie. I need the nearest security station with a safe line of approach.”

“Direct approach to security Substation 3-F is unobstructed. Partial failure of internal sensors leaves likelihood of unmolested transit at approximately sixty percent. Do you require a security escort?”

“Negative,” Councilor Tik said, though he'd almost certainly called off the request through his droid interface. “Focus all efforts on protecting the patients.”

Timothy pulled the emergency release and the door slid open in a screeching flash. Stepping into the adjoining corridor, he ignited his lightsaber for both protection and the added light it provided. He took a moment to glance both ways down the hallway and sift through the cacophony of emotions and intentions pouring through the Force. It was almost more than he could stand to face.

“3-F is down East Corridor Two, up two levels,” Guardsman Vang offered, gesturing to the left.

Timothy nodded and set off down the hallway, Councilor Tik close behind, his blaster-arm at the ready and the servos of his legs hissing quietly as they churned away.

As they neared a cross-path with another hallway, Timothy slowed, waiving the rest of the group onward as he stood guard against possible ambush.

He sensed too late the malicious presence coming from behind. The human male in a medical gown extended both of his hands forward in an overly expressive display, but the Force Push sent both Doctor Seira and the junior ambassador careening to the ground. Timothy moved himself between the man and his incapacitated prey, bringing his saber up to block any possible attack, but then a strange reverberating sound issued from beside him and the space in front of him distorted visibly. The shock-pulse from Councilor Tik's left-arm weapon quickly expanded to fill the narrow corridor, leaving nowhere for the assailant to go and sending him hurtling backward onto his back, where he lay unmoving and unconscious.

“Move!” Councilor Tik ordered, rushing over to help the doctor and ambassador back to their feet while Guardsman Vang kept an eye on other possible avenues of attack.

The group hustled to the intended stairwell, where emergency backups were offline and Timothy had to cut his way through the sealed security door. Up two flights and only a few meters down the hall, and they were to their destination.

Guardian opened the blast door automatically, allowing the Councilor and his group into the safe zone, where four Cooperative troopers were manning the partially functional internal security systems.

Councilor Tik stuck his hand back out of the room, forcing Guardian to hold the blast doors open so long as no imminent danger was detected. “Captain, you have to go. Ensure Subject X is safe and . . . under control.”

“What about you?” Timothy asked, glancing at every member of the group.

“Guardsman Vang?” Tik said, turning his attention to the man. “Care to thump some Confederation skulls?”

“That depends,” he answered, pulling a blaster rifle from the security station's weapons rack. “You gonna stop playing with that stun ray when we get in the thick of it?”

“Go,” Tik ordered again, his glowing red photoreceptors turning back to Mauler. “You two with me,” he added, pointing to two of the station's troopers without looking at them. He turned his attention back to Guardsman Vang and simply nodded. “Keep this station locked down until the complex is secure,” he ordered the other two guards, moving back into the hallway as the rest of his team filed in behind him.

“They bombed a Cooperative military installation, so we put them down,” Timothy heard the Councilor say as he moved away.

Calling on the Force as Colonel Davaan had taught him, the young Cooperative captain set off at a sprint, rushing immediately for the nearest exit, and eventually for another secret facility only a short speeder ride away. It had been only a few short minutes since the initial attack, but there was no telling what may have happened in that time, if either the attackers knew of her location, or if she had hidden plans of her own.

He let the Force guide him, aiming it at his goal but allowing it to carry him there. He weaved through corridors and up stairs, streaking past shocked and stunned workers who had gone to ground, avoiding pockets of anger and aggression that rippled through the Force. He wanted to stay and fight, he wanted to hunt down these invaders and protect the Cooperative's wards, but he couldn't. He didn't have the time.

“Guardian, Mauler Ex-Epsilon-Fie. Security override; open those blast doors and give me a transport!” Timothy skidded to a halt and jumped into the pilot's seat of an open-air speeder, its systems coming on-line as he did so. He punched the accelerator before the massive door to the outside had begun to iris open, aiming for the center and allowing the Guardian to restrict his speed so he wouldn't crash into the still-opening door.

The speeder rocketed forward as soon as it was clear, the speeder auto-piloting its way to the secret Special Operations base, its control handed over to another Guardian with access to the base's whereabouts.

Before it even landed, Timothy knew something wasn't right. He leaped from the transport as it descended into the vertical-access landing pad, hitting the ground running and shouting for Guardian to open the doors in anticipation of him.

“Status report!” he yelled, running for the armory.

“Internal sensors damaged. Recruits Traanor and Davis confirmed dead. Lieutenant Vash is inside the sensor dead zone, along with Special Recruit Starfall and Recruit Bal'vek.”

“Was there an attack?” Timothy prompted. “An exterior attack?”

“Negative; Special Recruit Starfall was the perpetrator.”

Mauler had made it to the armory. He didn't like what he saw. “Where are Colonel Davaan and Alpha and Beta teams?”

“Alpha and Beta teams are both out on assignments. They will not be back for thirteen and seventeen hours, respectively.”

The armory was a wreck, apparently the product of one or more concussion grenades. “I need help,” Timothy admitted.

He knew he couldn't guarantee a win in combat against Starfall. He'd seen her excel in practice, and he was already feeling the negative effects of pushing himself so hard to get here so fast.

“I need the Mark Two armor.” Timothy forced his way through the damaged door separating the main chamber of the armory from its secondary room, only to find it equally mangled.

“The Mark Two armor is inoperative,” Guardian offered needlessly, as Timothy was at that very moment standing over its shattered remains.

“Give me something,” Timothy pleaded.

“Standby . . . internal diagnostics suggest the left forearm and gauntlet are intact. However, the power relays may not -”

“That's fine!” Timothy cut it off, tearing away the left sleeve of his uniform and sliding his hand into the open gauntlet. It closed itself around his fingers and palm, “zipping” itself up from his wrist to his elbow. It continued closing toward his shoulder, but the locks failed to engage halfway up. Taking the discarded sleeve of his uniform, Mauler tied down the damaged section of the armor near his shoulder.

And then he ran. He ran toward the fading fire at the other end of the complex. He ran toward the raging storm that stood only meters away. He ran for the fight of his life.

“Open security door 4-2!” And then there she was.

Lieutenant Vash, the Cathar fighter pilot who'd been lagging behind ground combat training for weeks now, was on the ground between them, unconscious. Her right forearm was three meters away. She needed immediate medical attention if she was going to survive.

“Like what I've done with the place?”

The cold tone sounded totally alien to him, like a different person had stepped into the woman's skin. “Put the saber down,” Timothy warned, igniting his own. “Surrender now and we can -”

“We can what? We can what!” She pointed her saber at the room behind Timothy, at the two bodies he'd run past in his attempt to get here in time. “There's no turning back from that! There's no penance! There's no atonement! I've made my decision. I've chosen my course. If you want to stop me,” she beckoned him forward with her free hand, “come and try.”

Timothy stepped forward, nodding grimly. “Alright . . . Valeska.”

Her haughty aura disintegrated immediately. In its place was a pure rage. “DON'T CALL ME THAT NAME!”

Timothy raised his left hand and twisted hard, summoning all of the energy that he could muster for what amounted to a parlor trick. But it worked. The left sleeve of her tunic burst into flame, distracting her for just a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second in which Timothy pounced.

He leaped over the body of Lieutenant Vash, putting all of the speed he could muster into a one-handed, horizontal slash. She deflected the blow without much trouble, but it put Vash and the motionless form of the Bothan recruit– dead or alive, he wasn't sure – out of the immediate field of battle.

Having extinguished the Force-induced fire, “Lorna” rushed Timothy, eager to punish him for challenging her. Her Force-augmented strikes were difficult for him to deflect, and Timothy quickly adopted a two-handed grip to make his defense more manageable.

“What are you going to do with that,” she sneered, nodding at the piece of combat armor. “You plan to beat me unconscious with it?”

“Something like that,” Timothy admitted through gritted teeth, the incredible force of her blows requiring the servo-augmented strength of the combat armor just to keep her from driving his own blade into his face. The damage to the shoulder and upper arm focused all of that force at the middle of his humerus, threatening to break his arm.

He disengaged as best he could, backpedaling farther away from the two downed allies, but the room was only so big, and he was running out of space.

Lorna gave immediate chase, not willing to grant Timothy a moment's respite. He blocked several testing strikes, but a sweeping two-handed blow succeeded in breaking his double-grip and batting his lighsaber away, leaving him open wide to attack. It was all Timothy could do just to hold on to the hilt with his unaided right hand.

Laughing malevolently, Lorna pulled her saber back in close and then struck a wide blow from her right, well away from Timothy's saber and straight for his neck. He raised his left arm reflexively, drawing a cruel smile from Lorna as the blade drove into his forearm . . .

and bounced harmlessly off of the cortosis-weave armor.

Eyes widening in shock and confusion, it's not even clear that she realized Timothy had brought his saber back around, hilt first, to strike her square in the temple.

The youthful clone of Commodore Valeska crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap, her lightsaber silencing itself as it slipped from her slackened grip.

Timothy ran for the nearest medical kit as a trio of repulsor-propelled droids entered the room, Guardian finally having conjured some reinforcements from . . . somewhere.

“Guardian,” Timothy called out as he tore open a pack of synthskin and pressed it against Vash's stump. “Prep the Cage. It looks like we're going to need it after all.”

Glancing back at the woman he preferred to think of as Lorna Starfall, he was both relieved and revolted to see one of the Guardian droids prod her with a stun stick, ensuring that if the Force-adept clone had been faking her unconscious state, she no longer was.





From the bridge of the Blade-class Medium Cruiser Blade, in orbit of the Cooperative capital Varn

Far in excess of the speed of light, the holographic image passed through the Coalition relay network set up to circumvent Reaver Space, sending the lone transmission to all the worlds of the Contegorian Confederation and their Coalition neighbor, the Eastern Province.

“I am Xiantus of the Sojourn,” the message began, that lone armored photoreceptor on the end of his forward-sloping neck staring straight into the recorder. Unwavering, unblinking, with no visual indication of when the mouthless machine spoke, the eery form of the Sojourn stood stoic, framed in light.

“For the past three years, my people have served faithfully as citizens of the Contegorian Confederation. We have toiled upon the world of New Solace to make of ourselves a people worthy of that great nation. We have devoted ourselves to its common good, serving diligently in its military and contributing our knowledge and expertise to its technological advancement.

“We have paid our dues and have been met only with indifference and ostracization. And now we must fear for our safety, not only from external threats, but from the treachery of our own government!

“The Contegorian Confederation has demonstrated its utter disregard for the safety and liberty of the individuals under its care. It has demonstrated the cruelty and malice with which it will pursue its every desire, so long as it expects its crimes to go unseen. I will not live in such a place. I will not risk the fate of my race in entrusting ourselves to the care of so cruel and villainous a regime.

“For that reason the Sojourn Hegemony does hereby sunder all ties to the Contegorian Confederation. We leave behind the world of New Solace and its organic inhabitants, its military fortifications and its surveilling satellites.

"We begin our great Sojourn to the home of our ancestors, forsaking the tainted aid and empty promises of that government of organics and their droid pawns.

“To the lords of the Contegorian Confederation I say: do not attempt to hinder our withdrawal. Do not seek reconciliation with our Consensus. Do not search for us upon our departure. We will not accommodate you. We will not answer you. We will not welcome you into our midst.

“The Sojourn people are not your pawns. We are not your pets. And we are not your subjects to be studied and vivisected. This is the will of the Consensus. This is the word of that will."

The hologram blinked out of existence, and a moment later the Blade-class Medium Cruiser vanished from the skies of Varn in a flash of pseudomotion, returning to its free people and the world that was no longer theirs.

Genon
Atlas Hall, Brandenburg

Confederation Assembly


A man sharply dressed in his standard white/silver formal attire walked on the stage amid the Assembly's silent anticipation as well as that of the Contegorian Confederation. Pro-Consul Ryan Tier stood straight and stared for a few seconds out at the waiting gazes taking in their measure.


"Citizens of the Confederation," he started, his deep voice ranging out, captured and broadcast throughout the Contegorian sphere.


"I come before you and this assembly in response to a great danger. A danger that would rob us of the very things that we struggle to uphold, namely, our honor, our fidelity... and, yes, even our liberty.


And it is a struggle for as our great Confederation grows in size so too grows its complexity.


What a feat it has been for us! Where, from out of our own individual planetary concerns, has sprung a well of security, prosperity and innovation that rivals even the greatest governments of our galaxy. It has been a struggle for us to bring such a variety of rich cultures together in common cause and a unified voice but we have succeeded and we will continue to succeed.


Why?


Because whatever we draw up from our well is tempered by our values.


Lately, there has been an effort to poison our well by calling into question those values by insinuating dark designs and staining our honor. And, unfortunately, we have seen our first victim to fall to this insidious threat in the form of the Sojourn's sundering with our Confederation. And, while we are lessened by their departure, we will respect their decision. There is no gain to forcing a member culture to uphold Confederation values if they find they no longer hold to those same values. So we wish them good fortune in their future endeavors and we will continue to treat with them honourably if ever they should want to treat with us again.


And yet this incident serves as a startling reminder regarding the dangers of allowing fear to take root where there should be none.


For how could we go from a prisoner escaping incarceration's claim that we were holding him against his will, the very definition of incarceration, to the Sojourn's charge that we would vivisect them in their sleep if not for fear?


Are there clones in the Confederation?


The answer is: yes.


We respect sentient life in all forms and we feel that the creation of such life, in whatever form, be it clone, artificial intelligence, crystalline, carbon-based or any other wonderfully complex form, is not immoral and should be nurtured, cherished and allowed to grow. We do not and will not punish an individual for the manner in which they come into this life.


However, we will incarcerate those that do choose to break our laws and endanger their fellow citizens. Using as a shield their fellow citizen's defense of their lives and the lives of their loved ones against Reaver attacks and taking advantage of an opportunity to steal an experimental warship and escape incarceration does not commute one's sentence.


Whatever the negative claims made regarding these escaped individuals as to their well-being or mental health, I can assure everyone that they were cared for utilizing our most advanced technologies and, at the time of their escape, were not displaying any of the symptoms described. We cannot answer for what has transpired since the escape even though we have made repeated requests as to the whereabouts and return of these individuals. They constitute a grave danger to the Confederation, to themselves and, more distressingly, to those who harbor them.


I could make another appeal to our neighbors for their return but I am told that that time has already passed. They have been gone for too long for our containment facilities to do any good anymore. Therefore, as of this moment, the Contegorian Confederation is at defense condition one. All military personnel, including reserves, are being activated. Our fleets are being redeployed to be ready to combat any new threat that emerges within our systems.


I want to assure you that our Reaver defenses and strategies will remain in place though we encourage any civilians located within those defense spheres to evacuate for your own safety. Civilian traffic will be prohibited from entering certain areas and your Navi-computer systems and marker bouys will be updated for your convenience.


To give you an idea as to the nature of the threat we may be facing, we will also be coordinating our efforts with the Jensaarai. With everyone's support, I am sure we can weather the whatever trials our great Confederation may face.


And while others may decry our actions as dracconian and a carving up of your civil liberties, I assure you our values still hold. For liberty at the expense of your life, my life... our family's life.. is not a bargain we desire to make.


For the Confederation!


For the people!"


*


Genon Communications -
Lesser-Sphere



Forum #522953




"...I never even met a Sojourn. What do they look like?"


"In a crowd of Confeds, they are the kriffin racist ones! Their statement was dripping with contempt for us and droids? What the hell do they have against droids?"


"Aren't they droids?"


"I don't know, are they?"


"They are bad tippers, I can tell you that! My boyfriend waited on one. Demanding as hell and stated since they were not legally required to tip, if my boyfriend wanted to make more money, he should apply for another job! The cheeky bastard!"




Forum #84723


"So the Cooperative is saying the clones are what? Insane? Kriffin liars!"


"What if our government is lying?"


"How can they be? They stole a damned starship. You cannot pilot much less fight a starship if you are loopy and can't tell reality from insanity!"


"Stop the insanity!! lol!"


"So what? Nobody is lying?"


"Why not? To the Cooperative, these clone prison escapees are heroes! Imagine that! Despite the presence of the Coalition big fleet, it was a bunch of retarded Confed prisoners that saved them?"


"Don't call them retarded! That is offensive."


"What should they be called?"


"Special!"


"They are not retarded! The Cooperative is saying they are psycho! Insane! Didn't you hear that doctor whatshisname?"



"So if they could not be that way since they actually stole the ship and evaded Reaver attacks and they ended up at Vahaba somehow and the blokes over there did not find them insane..."


"I used to work at Vahaba. Tech trade course. They are pretty good folks. You couldn't hide insane from that bunch!"


"Why doesn't our government say something to everyone else? The galaxy thinks we are assholes!"


"Who cares what the rest of the galaxy thinks! What has it ever done for us?"


"Asshole!"


"Our government does not dignify the claims from the mass media of other nations. We are better than that!"


"If we do not get our side of the story out there, who fills the vaccum?"


"Perhaps their hot air?"


"LOL..."


"Maybe the Cooperative forced the prisoners into battle with the Reaver motherships and the stress caused them to go insane?"


"Hey! There's a theory!"


"So the Cooperative ended up feeling guilty for using them up and so gave them all medals of honor?"


"How do we know it was their choice? I mean, didn't their android Smarts resign because he took over all those ships and rammed them against the Reavers? Maybe he also rammed the clone prisoners into the Reavers as well? If they are not telling our government where they are.."


"This is all crap! That's why I don't vote!"


"You don't vote because your license was revoked cause you were drunk when you crashed that aircar."


"Dick."



Forum #24385


"Anyone think Pro-Consul Thorn is hot?"


"Steamy!"


"LMFAO!!"


"Hi this is Asui. Perform her wildest desires! Are you relations with wife amazing? htp://ancestral.fatdiettab.axx"


"Uhh... filters missed one!"


"Probably damned Coalition pirate signal!"


"Hi, I am a Gand. Any furries here?"


"See? Damned signal!"


"Go away!"


"WTF?"


"No, TGC!"


"LOLZZ!!"


"Anyone know any clones?"


"I've never met one."


"I have. They're aight!"


"How do you know?"


"You ask for a DNA scan before shaking hands?"


"Every time I solicit a hooker."


"Gotta be D/D Free!"


"LOL!"


"BBW seeks oral action...don't want a relationship, just sex...I want someone to make me scream!!! I love sex and want you to eat me out and then fuck me. NSA!!! EAT ME & I WILL RETURN THE FAVOR!!! I want a guy in his early 30's to late 40's.. you have to host!! I like a chubby guy..not too skinny..can only do this on weekends and most of the time spur of the moment..if your up to it send me your pic and lets get this started!!"


"SPAM Droid!"


"WTF is BBW?"


"Big Bold Woman."


"Big Boring Woman."


"Big and Beautiful Woman."


"Big Black Wookiee."


"Big Beautiful Wookiee."


"Guys between the ages of 30 and 40 are when their meat is most tender.."


"My meat is not tender."


"Not with a big bouncy wookiee!"


"LMAO!"


"Chubby guys last longer."


"But will they keep longer? Do I have a vacuum sealing bag big enough for the fridge?"


"She could feed a small family!"


"Cannibal!"


"Not an Azguard family. Those bitches can eat!"


"LOL!"



>lurker #42504 has left


"bye, lurker 42504!!"


EXIT




Pro-Consul Tier sighed as he looked up at the apparently "hot" Pro-Consul Christina Thorn. "Sometimes I wonder about the future of civilization."


She walked around and glanced at his consol. She knew he wanted to see how the public would react to his speech.


"You are in the adolescent section," she noticed, a grin tugging at her lips.


"WHAT?" Tier suddenly sat up checking the connection codes. "Damn me, you're right! I was beginning to question my sanity but..." he frowned. "Have you seen what is discussed, if it can be called a discussion, on these networks?"


"Why are we fighting against our allies when we should be fighting for our family values?" Thorn mused.


"AT least more sophisticated parental locks!" growled Tier.


Christina smiled at the small levity before her face grew serious, "Come, Ryan. We have another meeting. The Assembly wants to be briefed on what sort of attacks we should expect."


"You really think we will experience an attack of the clones?"


"What do you think? After what we saw during the Cataclysm? R&D is working around the clock but this could be the greatest challenge to the Confederation since its inception."


"Let's go..." her fellow Pro-Consul said, standing up.


"By the way," he asked as he shut down his terminal, "what is a furry-..."


His voice broke off as the lights went out in his office as well as the hall they were about to enter.


"Security, what's going on?" snapped Tier into his personal comlink as emergency lights started to kick in. He saw that Thorn's comlink only relayed static.


"Shuttle terminal, looks like a bomb... many casualties!"


Both Pro-Consuls made their way to the stairs as Tier barked into the comm, "How did they get past military security?"


"Civilian term-" *static* "-al, sir! Not military!"


"We need to get the military emergency services over there now," Thorn remarked, her eyes darkening and her partner started relaying the orders/


"So, it has begun," she whispered, closing her eyes.

The creature that debarked from its shuttle was quite familiar to him. Its personal history was well-known, but more than that, the two had had a number of substantive personal interactions over the course of the past several years.

It could certainly be said that they had been friends, once.

But he no longer concerned himself with such organic notions as “friendship”. Perhaps he would have found the prospect of such isolation “sad”, if he had not already discarded that sentiment, as well.

Yes, Smarts was quite prepared to soldier on, to play his part. To endure, for the sake of the Cooperative. Perhaps others would see it as his “penance,” another notion for which he no longer had a use.

He saw it as the only reliably safe course left to him.

He had become too influential, too essential, too iconic in the hearts and minds of the Cooperative's myriad citizens. It is said that power corrupts, so he has denied himself access to that power, because if ever he were to fall – to truly fall – then he would drag the whole of the Cooperative with him.

And now it was time to make Traan Shi understand, because nothing less than understanding seemed capable of keeping him away.

A TC-series protocol droid crossed the docking bay at an unusually rapid pace for its model, heading off Traan before he could reach the Smarts's interior. “Might I inquire as to the nature of your visit?”

Traan veered to the side in an attempt to evade the droid. “No. No you may not. Where's the nearest conference room?”

The droid moved with him to ensure his path remained blocked. “I'm afraid I must insist -”

Traan stopped in place, his tone changing from cordial to authoritative. “I am Chief Ambassador of the Cooperative, and I require the use of the nearest conference room. Comply.”

Without another word, the droid turned and led Traan out of the docking bay and a short way down the adjoining corridor, where it stepped into a conference room.

“Get out,” Traan ordered as soon as he had entered. Clearly frustrated, he performed a shooing motion in the direction of the door. “Get out!” The droid complied, leaving Traan alone in his appropriated room. “Alright, Smarts; do the thing.”

Compelled to do so by the direct address, Smarts answered using the room's audio system. “Excuse me, Ambassador? To which 'thing' do you refer?”

“The hologram. The glowy guy with the creepy, featureless face. Appear!” Traan gestured dramatically with both hands to the holoprojector at the far end of the room.

Smarts complied, summoning the blue-white figure which turned the glowing orbs of its empty eyes on Traan. “What are you doing here, Ambassador? ”

“The Combined Council wanted me to talk to you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I . . . I want to talk to you,” he added with a little hesitation.

“Beta is permanently stationed at Council Hall. There was no need for you to make the trip.”

Traan shook his head, his frustration evident in his features. “I don't want to talk to him. I want to talk to you.”

“The two are genuinely indistinguishable from one another. Not believing me doesn't make it untrue.”

“Promising doesn't make it true either,” Traan shot back. He grabbed the back of the chair in front of himself, meeting the hologram's white-hot gaze. “I've spent enough time with Beta to know that he's more than just your puppet, at least at times, and since I can't know when or if he's himself taking orders from you, or you wearing him like a suit, I cut him out of the loop. This avatar, on the other hand, is something you made from scratch. It's just a moving image, something for the rest of us to look at so it might put us at ease. And that's part of you, too: the effort to put us at ease. I know you better than you think I do, well enough to know that you're not comfortable with people walking around inside your ship.

“And you know what else?” He pulled the chair out and dropped himself into it unceremoniously. “Right now I feel like making you uncomfortable.”

It was a curious thing, watching the Cooperative ambassador try to put Smarts off-balance. For all the Togruta thought he knew about the droid intelligence, every thought he'd ever had about Smarts added up to only a tiny fraction of what that artificial mind really was. Trying to put Smarts off-balance with a few sentences was like trying to change the angular momentum of a world by skipping stones across one of its ponds: there were physical models that assured some change had indeed occurred, but no instrumentation ever devised was precise enough to detects so inconsequential an alteration.

Instead, Traan's comment invalidated an array of predictive models running inside Smarts' mind, which prompted the artificial intelligence to disregard them, freeing up processing space to consider the remaining possibilities in greater detail, thus expanding the field of probable outcomes with newer, richer possibilities.

“I will continue to behave as my station and obligations require,” Smarts answered evenly. “You are here because I am required to accommodate you. When you leave, you will do so because I am required to permit your departure. If you demand more between now and then, I am required to provide it within the limits of Cooperative law.”

“Oh come on, Smarts!” Traan shouted, putting his elbows on the table and folding his raised hands. “You're more than this. More than some wind-up toy!”

“This is what you asked for, Traan. This is what the people demanded. This is what the Combined Council required of me. I am predictable now. Manageable. I am useful to you again.”

“This isn't about being useful. This is about you! There is a person inside you, a real, whole person, who hurts, and hopes, and fears, and longs for tomorrow. I know there is, and because I know that, I can't let you be . . . this.” Traan stretched his hands out, palms up, gesturing at the hologram.

“The Cooperative cannot afford the mistakes my personhood brings.”

“We all make mistakes,” Traan answered, shaking his head. “It's part of being alive. It's something none of us will ever escape.”

“But you are committed to ensuring I have such power that my mistakes cost millions of sapient lives!” Smarts shouted, seizing the opportunity to go on the offensive.

But his outburst did not have the expected effect. The precisely calculated pause which he allowed before pressing his point home was not allowed to reach its conclusion. Traan Shi, instead of shocked and stunned by the outburst, appeared to be angry. And anger uses up less time than shock.

“Inaction is a choice, Smarts, and you are every bit as responsible for its consequences as for the consequences of any chosen act. You want to lock yourself away inside the rules and dictates of your office, bury yourself beneath the oversight of the Combined Council, abandon your personal responsibility to the dictates of the Cooperative's people? Then you have to own every mistake that every other person makes while they're picking up the slack that you leave behind.”

“Stop.” Smarts' voice boomed through the small room. “Now.” The word reverberated with an unnatural intensity. He would not play this game again. “I've already run through every possible scenario resulting from this interaction. There isn't anything you could say to me right now that I haven't already heard from you in one of a thousand-billion virtual worlds within my mind.”

“Yeah, but that's not really the point, is it?” Traan offered a weak smile, letting his hands rest on the table top. “The point is you need to hear me say it. Because we aren't in one of those virtual worlds, and everything counts out here in reality. We need you, the real you. Wherever you've put him, let him out, give him back to us.”

“He isn't yours to own,” Smarts answered solemnly.

“But he made himself ours to love, and care for, and weep over, and we are weary of watching you punish yourself like this, alone and shut away.” Tears were beginning to form in the corners of Traan's eyes.

This was a possibility that Smarts had certainly not modeled for consideration. The time required to integrate this event was sufficient to allow Traan to continue without disruption.

“You know, Viryn Quell has a theory about you. He thinks you're like a child, that it was irresponsible of the Combined Council and our entire society to give you the power that you held as Overseer. He thinks you're . . . insufficiently developed to be either qualified to wield the authority you had, or truly responsible for the consequences of using that authority.

“I think he's wrong. I think you're thousands of years old, and it hurts. I think you've lived more lifetimes than any of us could imagine inside of that head of yours, and I think you feel every death and every loss on every one of those imagined potential futures just as clearly and just as real-ly as we feel the actual deaths of our dearest friends. I think it's all the same inside you, and I think it's something I could never understand.

“But I do think I understand one thing. I think I understand your remorse. You failed at Vahaba, because even if you made the right decision, you did it at the expense of our ideals. Ideals you helped us learn. You don't feel it the way we feel it, you can't explain it in a way that makes sense to us, but there it is. You ran and you hid, because you couldn't bear the thought of ever failing us like that again. We dragged you back here, encumbered you with the powers and titles of a new office, but you still haven't come back to us. You still haven't forgiven yourself. And that's what you've missed; that's what you still don't understand.

“You may live to see the last star go cold, and no matter how long the rest of us live, in your mind's eye we will die so very soon. You have to come back to us now, because we don't have a thousand millenia to think it all over again, to consider whether the punishment is yet sufficient recompense for the crime.

“Your suffering is what makes you alive. It's what makes you worthy of the personhood that we recognized in you. However you organize your mind, whatever categories into which you file away the dead, whichever mechanical processes you use to sort us by our value and our potential; at the end of the day, you read it all out with a mind that weeps for us. Because we're all going to die so very soon, and that's just not fair.

“But here's the thing: nothing you could say or do, nothing you could silence or defy could make it any fairer. So it's time to get over yourself, because your inaction is doing more harm than good.”

Traan stood immediately and started walking toward the exit. “I think it's best I leave before you have a chance to give whatever clever answer you've cooked up for me.”

But there was no clever answer to give, and no amount of time would make this any easier, so he just did it, and the consequences be damned. “I killed it, Traan.”

The door didn't open for the Togruta ambassador, and he turned back to regard the avatar of Smarts again. Various subroutines identified his expression and demeanor to indicate a mixture of concern and uncertainty, but ongoing bio-thermal tracking did not detect the temperature spike that would have signaled fear or hostility.

“I killed my own child, out in the Kauron field, out of sight of any other living thing. It was hubris to think that I could make life, it was hubris to think that I could save it, it was hubris to think that I had the right to end it. I thought and tried all three, and now the end of another life is on my hands. The most important life I've ever known.

“I can't keep making these mistakes. I can't keep punishing others with my failure. Will you . . . will you help me?”

The old friend smiled kindly at the avatar of the Cooperative's most (in)famous citizen, then gave a short nod before walking back into the room, sliding back into his seat. “Tell me about your child.”

Traan Shi would never understand him. He could never possibly understand. But that wouldn't stop him from trying, and maybe that was what Smarts needed more than anything else: a friend who would never stop trying.



* * *



Cooperative High-security Detainment Facility, South-Eastern Archipelago, Varn

Councilor Tik paused momentarily. Something in his posture told Ethan this wasn't another inaudible vibration or thermal signature picked up by his sensors. This was something completely different.

“Damn.”

“What is it?” Timothy asked in a whisper, moving closer to the Councilor but keeping his eyes on the hostile surroundings, knowing he wouldn't be able to get anything out of the Councilor's impassive demeanor anyway.

“I've just been overruled. The Council of Defense is instructing us to use lethal force as a last resort only. We are to take the invaders alive if possible.”

“You're talking to the Defense Council right now?” Ethan asked, incredulous.

Tik nodded as he started walking again. “The facility's Guardian alerted all relevant parties as soon as the attack began. We're holding a virtual Council meeting right now over secure lines.”

“You're in the Defense Council right now? That doesn't sound safe.”

“It requires a minimum of my total conscious awareness,” the Councilor said reassuringly. “Besides, this body's on-board Guardian could probably do a better job of keeping me alive than I can.”

“Then why not let it?” Ethan asked.

“I like moving my own arms,” Tik answered lightheartedly. “You aren't going to have a problem with the new orders are you?” he asked more seriously.

“Of course I do, but that won't stop me from following them.” Ethan made a show of flipping to the blaster's stun setting.

Tik had taken the makeshift squad back downstairs through an alternate route, swinging back to where the escaped detainee had been incapacitated, but he was no longer there. Armed with a map composited by Guardian from functional internal sensors, security officer reports, and available data on the recent explosions, Tik and his squad had been advancing slowly toward the nearest drop pod (Guardian had deduced the identity of the intruding objects as infantry-deployment vehicles based on available data).

Its trail was right in front of them now, running perpendicular to their hallway. It had come from their left and continued to their right, leading deeper into the facility. “Friendlies approaching from nine o' clock,” Tik informed, and only a second later Ethan heard the gentle whir of servos, the squad of battle droids stepping out of the hole in the wall a couple of seconds after that.

Marked with the squad designation 2-2-C in blue across their torsos, they looked like standard Clone Wars era B-1 Battle Droids, but Ethan knew better. An upgraded CPU and Guardian software had turned them into respectable soldiers individually, and a truly impressive fighting force as a group. Their communications backpacks, once used to coordinate with a Central Control Computer, now generated a local network that effectively turned the droid squad into a single entity. And apparently Councilor Tik had patched into it.

The distant sound of a blaster firing echoed down the drop pod's entry tunnel, and all of the droids' heads snap-turned toward the source of the noise, including the Councilor's. “Squad Two-One-Bee has engaged hostiles,” he informed his organic squad even as the battle droids rushed into the tunnel. He followed after them, motioning for the others to follow.

Blaster fire zipped back and forth ahead of them, marking their destination clearly. “Two-One-Bee is taking heavy casualties,” he informed Ethan as they drew nearer.

Stepping through another breached wall and into the last hallway before the one in which Squad 2-1-B was engaging the intruders, the droids broke off to the right, quietly hustling away. Tik made a short string of hand signals, which the three organics acknowledged, then continued forward slowly, the others following immediately.

2-1-B was to the left, an unknown number of hostiles to the right. 2-2-C would take the nearest intersecting hallway to the right and attempt to flank the hostiles while Tik, Ethan, and the two security troopers crept down the pod's entry tunnel. From there, it was all standard Guardian-based firefighting tactics. 2-2-C would engage and attempt to force the hostiles' surrender, drawing the targets' attention and putting them off-balance even if they didn't comply. Tik's team, if needed, would then be able to engage the hostiles with a reduced risk of immediate injury.

It was all good in theory, except that as the “live squad” advanced down the tunnel, Tik continued to count off the casualties to squad 2-1-B with his fingers, and the squad was being dismantled rapidly. Whoever these attackers were, they were very good at what they did.

By the time Tik had positioned himself against the remains of the destination hallway's breached wall, Squad 2-1-B was out of commission. Tik gave another couple of hand signals and then started a countdown on his fingers: three, two, one, zero.

“By order of the Cooperative, stand down and surrender,” the voice of Squad 2-2-C's commander sounded from the distance.

Tik gave the last signal and then darted across the hallway, putting himself partway behind the breached wall on that side. Ethan moved immediately to where Tik had been, bringing his blaster to the ready as he turned the corner and took in the enemy position, confident of only one thing:

B-1 Guardian battle droids were good enough at what they did that he didn't need to worry about friendly fire.



* * *



The Cage

It was the single most dreadful experience of his life, like going deaf, blind, and numb all at once. He couldn't even tell if the dead weight in his arms sent his muscles screaming because his pain suppression had vanished, he'd lost his body's access to those unnatural reserves of energy, or his mind was just playing tricks on him as it struggled to come to grips with what was happening to it.

But he didn't run from it. Timothy Mauler took his time heaving the unconscious body of “Lorna Starfall” into the metal chair at the center of the round room; then securing, checking, and re-checking every restraint in order. It was only when he was absolutely sure that she was completely immobilized, from her head being strapped upright to each individual finger spread out and locked in place, that he allowed himself to exit the Force-neutralizing field.

It was like drawing in a deep breath after too long underwater. But he couldn't let that distract him, either. There was no access panel to release the room's only door, but it slid open after only a moment, allowing him to leave.

“I really must object to this form of prisoner treatment,” a Bith doctor started as soon as Timothy stepped into the adjoining observation room.

The floor-to-ceiling, one-way transparisteel wall was curved with the arc of The Cage, treated on the other side to blend in completely with the rest of The Cage. Timothy walked up to it immediately, all but ignoring the doctor and the room's security personnel. He instead fixed his eyes on the unconscious form of Lorna Starfall, the young clone of the Contegorian Confederation's Commodore Valeska.

“Authorizing the application of stun-shock after suffering a head trauma was questionable enough, but injecting the patient with a sedative while still suffering the incapacitating effects of the other two is dangerous, irresponsible, and quite probably criminal!”

The doctor was working very hard to ensure his objections were on the record, and that was fine. What wasn't fine, however: “She is a prisoner of the Cooperative, not a patient.” Timothy's cold and impersonal tone nevertheless came off every bit as resolute and uncompromising as the doctor's pronouncements. “And we have taken what steps are necessary to ensure her continued detainment. Unless you wish to inform me that your initial examination of the prisoner was ill-preformed?” Timothy cut his eyes to the Bith doctor, who immediately grew uncomfortable with the Cooperative captain's sudden interest in him.

“No. Of course not, no. But if I could just place a few monitoring devices in the room -”

“You'll have to make do with The Cage's in-built sensors,” Timothy cut him off immediately. He was just staring at the prisoner again, his hands behind his back, one clenching the other tightly as he played over the jumble of the past few tens of minutes again.

Lieutenant Vash and Recruit Bal'vek had survived and were expected to make a full recovery. Well, as full a recovery as a Cathar warrior with one of her arms missing can make, at any rate. The other two though, Traanor and Davis . . . how could she have? To just murder them like that, out of nowhere . . .

“Uh, excuse me? Captain?”

Timothy bowed his head a little, wishing this didn't fall to him, wishing Colonel Davaan would be back sooner. But wishes wouldn't make it so. “Yes, what is it?”

“Not to seem self-contradictory, but if the pat-” he caught himself before he finished the word, “if the prisoner really is as dangerous as all of this, then wouldn't it be safer to put her into a medically-induced coma? I would be able to monitor her quite closely then, and you would have no need to worry about her spontaneous recovery.”

Timothy nodded his head a little, opening his eyes and looking to the Bith doctor again. He had to remind himself that the two of them were on the same side, that this man had just as much right to be in this room as he did. “That would be a fantastic idea if she were all we had to worry about. But I need to know why she turned on us, and how she coordinated with the attack on the detainment facility.

“There's a reason I need her asleep now and awake soon, doctor.”

“Interrogation,” the doctor said with an ominous tone.

“Reinforcements,” He corrected. He could feel the doctor's confusion at hearing that, knew his mind had gone immediately to Colonel Davaan, who was still off-world on a mission. After recent events, Timothy was in no mood to string the doctor along, so he just came out and said it. “We have a Jedi knight on-world.”

INTERLUDE
 
 
 “Viryn Quell,” acknowledged the man as he walked by.
 
“Traan Shi,” the lanky Minister of Ethics inclined his head attempting to pass the politician by.
 
As circumstance would have it, the politician would not let it leave at just the greeting and paused in front of the other, blocking his path in a most unthreatening manner.
 
Quell’s expression was one of annoyance and the Cooperative’s Chief Ambassador raised an eyebrow at the other’s rather sullen look.
 
“Do you dislike me so much?” the Cooperative man gently inquired surpising the Coalition Minister.
 
“Do not take it personally,” Quell gruffly answered, “I hate all politicians.”
 
“But I am an ambassador,” the other pointed out.
 
Quell snorted realizing that he was not going to be walking away any time soon and so slowly directed his full gaze at the other.
 
“That  just means you are their PR man,” the Ethics man quipped.  “But I don’t knock it.  Someone has to smooth out the decisions of dipshits.”
 
Traan smiled, “I take it that you are including Coalition dipshits in there somewhere.”
 
“You don’t have the monopoly on them,” Quell bit back.  “Now, if you will excuse me..”
 
He hoped the Cooperative man would get the hint but the other challenged, “I saw the minutes to the meeting where Prime Minister Regrad was removed.”
 
Quell blinked.   The silence stretched a little and the Coalition Minister smirked.
 
“Was there a question in there or did you just want a cookie?”
 
“Why do you hate us?  Why do you hate Smarts?”
 
It was a question that Quell had expected to be shouted out at him at one time or another but oddly enough, here and now, it took him a little by surprise.
 
He chided himself for his surprise because such things always seemed to wait until the worst possible moment when the subject of their attentions had somewhere to be.   
 
Constant of the fucking universe!
 
“I don’t,” he replied hoping that was the end of it but, again, he chided himself because things never were that easy.
 
“You berate and deride Smarts ….”
 
“No.” was Quell’s firm reply that stopped Traan’s statement from completing.  “I berate the dumb shits who rode the ‘Smart’s-wagon-train-across-the-stars’ placing more responsibility than he could handle on his proverbial shoulders and I deride those same dumb shits who refuse to take personal responsibility for this sad state of affairs by refusing to acknowledge their part in it!”
 
“You feel that Smarts cannot shoulder the responsibility?”
 
“I know that Smarts has already demonstrated that he cannot,” Quell replied firmly.
 
“And you fault him?”
 
“Again, no.   I fault the…”
 
“..dipshits..” Traan gently interrupted.
 
“..also called the Cooperative Combined Council,” Viryn finished with not a little relish.  He sighed, “Look, you made the damned droid your head of state, your fucking grand admiral and general all in one!   If I had been given all that responsibility, you would have been up in arms at my hubris of accepting all these accolades determined to throw me down as a would-be Emperor.”
 
Quell narrowed his eyes, “What was it?  Because he is a starship, you all felt like weakling fawns before him or what?”
 
“He was not our head of state,” Traan chided and Viryn chuckled.  
 
“Well you could have fooled me.  Apparently your fucking Combined Council allows its citizenry to build massive armies in secret and black site operations with state funds.  I am sorry.  I guess you all consider him a concerned citizen of the highest order.”
 
“Smarts is unique!  One of a kind, in fact---“ Traan started with a passion when Quell, quite unexpectedly put a hand on the other’s shoulder.
 
“Then fucking help him!   Stop crippling him with your damned adoration and help him the fuck to grow up!”
 
“He is not a child!  He is thousands of years old..” the Cooperative man insisted when Quell’s annoyance really started to get the better of him. 
 
“What does that have to do with anything?” Quell barked out incredulously.  “So, you are telling me that he has lived for thousands of years and decides only now!  NOW!  to come out of obscurity and to make his grand entrance onto the galactic stage, he picks a damned fifty year old droid ship to do it in?  Was there no better ship to choose from after all these fucking millennia?   If he is so fucking old, perhaps he has lead thousands of ‘Cooperatives’ throughout the eons and perhaps they have all failed and perhaps yours is experiment number 4253?  Of course, if he can go over every possible scenario that can and will happen in a matter of nanoseconds, you are going to sit there and tell me that destroying more than half our Starfleet against the Reavers at Vahaba was the best course of action out of all those multitudes of eventualities?  Really?   It took me all of two seconds to come up with a better course of action!”
 
“Oh, the great Viryn Quell did that, did he?”  Traan’s sarcasm was lost on Quell.
 
“Damn straight!”  Quell moved closer to Traan staring the man in the eye.  “I would have fucking retreated.”
 
When Traan opened his mouth Quell put a finger up, “But retreat is not glorious enough is it?  Retreating is fucking dishonorable and to scamper away when you have a big fleet arrayed against an even bigger enemy over a some spot of asteroids sends a bad message to an enemy that seems to have more in common with insects than sentient beings and we cannot have that can we?  We do not live in some fucking fairy tale, Ambassador.  What good is being a thousand years old if he still can’t get past that?  Perhaps he needs another thousand years to mature, eh?”
 
“Perhaps if he did retreat, he knew something of what the Reavers would do?” Traan suggested.
 
“Then why the fuck is he keeping that critical information to his fucking self rather than spreading out that need to know information to a galaxy that fucking needs to know?   He set up Mr. fucking Universe didn’t he?  Well?  Where the fuck is he?   Was he hoping to tuck that information away for the glory of some grand strategy while worlds are burning out all around us?  I am sorry, Mr. Ambassador but this is not instilling in me a lot of faith in your droid’s maturity level.”
 
“You have all the answers don’t you?” The Cooperative Ambassador asked with narrowed eyes.
 
“Don’t I wish,” Quell chuckled taking the opening to move past the good Ambassador.  “But hey, you asked.”
 
Before he moved on, he turned to the Cooperative man and grinned, “So tell Smarts to get off his fat ass and get back to work but to focus on one job, not fifty million jobs.   Maybe, just maybe he can salvage something out of his past mistakes!”
 
 
Traan’s eyes widened incredulously, “You expect him to come back after all that?”
 

Quell snorted, “Personally I think he is a stubbornly childish machine with delusions of grandeur who gets his feelings hurt when people do not fall in love with his stupid actions and he could go lose himself in the bottom of a fucking black hole.  But it’s your argument that he is mature and at this level we play for keeps.  Therefore, I would think that he would have mastered the art of learning from his mistakes…especially if he is fucking thousands of years old.  
 
And, if not, then find him and tell him to grow the fuck up!
 
Now, if you will excuse me, I have some Sinsangese to piss off.”
 
 
The Cooperative Ambassador watched as the one of the most bitter men he had ever met walked away and silently shook his head.

Undisclosed Location

It was strange how it happened.   It felt like waking up from a deep sleep only to find all hell breaking loose around you and, in some part of your brain, that little voice is shouting incredulously, “I was asleep during all this?”

But, for the life of him, Major Vallance could not find a better description of what he was experiencing and, truth be told, he did not have a whole hell of a lot of time to consider it for he was in the firefight of his life and a quick glance as his HUD determined that his “force” was down by 50%.  Who they were fighting and why they were there was no longer a going concern though slowly some form of recollection was breaking through the haze of his mind.

He only hoped he lived long enough for his bloody brain to catch up.

“Chase? What have we got?” he shouted through a mic as the tell-tale “Boom-Boom” of his rifle reverberated down the metal hallways of whatever facility they were attacking.   A quick glance told him that this was no Confederation construct.   At least, not one that he ever seen but that probably was not saying much.  Shock Troopers were not known for afterhours sightseeing tours since their day jobs pretty much took them everywhere.

“Join up, see the galaxy,” he murmured recalling an old recruiting poster.

“Brick, what the hell are we doing here?  Who we shooting?” came a shout as the rapid fire that could only come from droids drowned out the rest of a squad member’s belly-aching.   Vallance realized that they were all in the same boat in terms of “waking up” but the survival instinct of their training was too ingrained to allow free reign of thoughts to flow and their minds prioritized.  It did not really matter why they were shooting or who they were shooting, the point was that they were shooting and self-preservation dictated that this was a set of circumstances could not be tolerated for much longer.

“Metal, I need an exit,” the Major growled out as another battledroid collapsed.  The fact that they were battledroids did not tell him much and the Two-One-Bee designations emblazoned across their torso was about as aseptic as one could get. 

“Ahhh!” came a shout as Smalls went down and Brick slid under a barrage of weapons fire from one end of the hall to the other to inspect the damage. 

“My arm!” Smalls complained as he let it hang, swaying. 

“You removed your armor soldier?” the Major accused as he put a few rounds down the hall as covering fire.

“He exploded… the bastard blew up and turned my shit south!” the soldier complained as his “dead” arm was tied in a tourniquet. 

“Stun,” Smalls muttered.  “They are using stun settings..”
 
“That’s good right?” Metal shouted.

“Hold One,” Vallance muttered.  They were among offices with two halls branching outward and wake of destruction from a DP (drop-pod) behind them.   A self-made hall, thought the Major.   It was only a matter of time until …

He pulled out a pistol and fired at an office door causing it to slid open.  There were two people hiding behind a desk shaking with fear. 

“Where are we?” Vallance barked as he heard his team  buying him the precious seconds.

“S..Sec… Section Two, Level..” stammered a  man.

“I mean what planet is this?” Vallance interrupted.

The man stammered out an answer and the Major silently swore.  He stepped back into the fray ignoring the crying civies.
 
“We are good, right?” Metal’s voice pierced the whine of the rapid fire servos of their opponents.

Vallance tapped his comm unit hoping to get a burst from the Colonel but if his HUD info was correct, his was the only team effectively in operation.  But what was the operation?

Blowing shit up?
 
“By order of the Cooperative, stand down and surrender!”
 
The voice came from the “hall” of jagged metal and ripped office guts and paneling that their DP had created.  Out of the corner of his eye someone darted across a hall and into a morass of jagged metal.

“Got you!” Brick’s voice was excited as the droids they had been fighting went silent and not a moment too soon.  Their position was about to be surrounded but as this new force arrived, the old was  removed opening a way of retreat away from this new force but into the arms of what?

What would the Colonel do?

He grinned under his helmet as he gestured to Chase and Brick.   All three Shock Troopers charged to quickly close the gap in the hall while Metal let off a few rounds of covering fire.   The battledroids had also started their rapid-fire answer to the trooper’s approach but the stun blasts bounced harmlessly off their ultrachrome armor.

It was an audacious move and one that would have been suicidal if the droid’s weapons were not set to stun.   The enemy’s desire to capture them rather than kill them, however, afforded Vallance the opportunity to boost his negotiating position and when Ethan peaked around the corner again, he came nose to nose with the trooper’s pistol.

Vallance clicked on his external speakers.

“I would appreciate it if you could stand your droids down, Son.”

I would appreciate it if you could stand your droids down, Son.


Well, that was unexpected.


Councilor Tik's mind was racing, knowing full well that Ethan's life hung in the balance. His on-board Guardian was chattering away, analyzing every nick and mark on the Kashan Shock Trooper's armor in an attempt to identify an exploitable weakness. Squad 2-2-C was requesting further instruction, now well aware that their stun bolts were having no effect but not yet authorized to engage with lethal force. The members of the Council of Defense, watching the event through a Guardian-routed live stream from Tik's own photoreceptors, were making full use of their multichannel comm-link with Tik to each shout their own thoughts on how to proceed. But the Shard Councilor couldn't get past the image right in front of him: the Kashan Shock Trooper in his iconic armor, blaster pistol pointed at the face of a Praetorian Guardsman.


I would appreciate it if you could stand your droids down, Son.


This moment rested squarely on him. The outcome of this encounter depended entirely upon how he reacted right now.


I would appreciate it if you could stand your droids down, Son.


It was all he had to work with, the knowledge that the Shock Trooper thought Tik was just another droid, that Ethan was the one in command here.


I would appreciate it if you could stand your droids down, Son.


He had to act. The time for contemplation and consideration was long past. The “right call” was long lost to the absurdity of this conflict. Now there remained only what had to be done.


Tik embraced Guardian's efforts to assist, guiding its intervention with a single command: Subdue Target. He signaled the squad of battle droids, loosing their restraints with the command: Break Targets. And then he silenced the Council of Defense with a key phrase every one of them had secretly been dreading: Silence Lost.


Councilor Tik closed out the line as he devoted all of his conscious effort and his Guardian's processing power to the task at hand. He had to save Ethan Vang's life, and put this Shock Trooper in its place.


Tik rolled out from behind the jagged edge of the broken wall, discharging a pulse of kinetic energy from his left-arm weapon that rippled across the corridor, picking up bits of rubble as it distorted the air between Tik and his target. The force of the blast was so great that it hurled Ethan back down the drop pod's tunnel, certainly knocking him unconscious and sending him tumbling into the pair of Cooperative troopers who had been watching the squad's flank.


The weapon wasn't designed for incapacitating armored targets, but the sheer force of the blast slammed the Shock Trooper into the adjacent wall, and Tik wasted no time sprinting back across the hallway, using his own momentum to magnify the impact of the headbutt he delivered to the trooper's helmet, hitting so hard it dented Tik's metallic head and caused his photoreceptors to blink off for a fraction of a second.


He pushed his right arm into the lower section of the trooper's torso armor, firing repeatedly into the panel of Ultrachrome armor with his arm-mounted blaster. Guardian was feeding him a constant stream of data, derived from Coalition files on the energy tolerances of the Eagle Mk III armor as well as the energy discharge readouts from his own blaster. The armor was designed to disperse and redirect its absorbed energy, but the linkages between the individual Ultrachrome panels had their limits, and enough energy dumped into a single panel in a short enough time would melt the entire panel, exposing its fleshy inhabitant.


This property of Ultrachrome, in fact, was the centerpiece of several combat tactics developed by Guardian for use against Confederation forces, in the event Coalition forces ever found cause to engage the Confederates in battle. That is the only reason Tik's “Break Targets” command had any meaning for the droids of Guardian Squad 2-2-C. The command triggered a specific response protocol, causing them to switch their weapons to lethal setting in unison and began to advance on their targets, concentrating their fire on a single member of the hostile squad, the one whose armor had already been damaged. As they shifted their tactic, they also began to issue an appropriate warning: “We are Guardian; surrender or you will be neutralized.”


But Councilor Tik had issued a third command, as well. On the other side of the planet, in the capital city of the Cooperative, Chief Councilor of Defense Damar Roka was hating himself for what he was about to do. And he had to do it immediately. “Guardian, confirm Silence is Lost and implement containment procedures.”


“Standby,” Guardian responded as the key phrase triggered it to access previously restricted information, immediately revealing to the Varn Planetary Defense Force the existence and status of one of the Cooperative's most secret installations. “Planetary Defense Forces are on high alert,” Guardian informed after a moment's pause. “Army, Navy, and Praetorian Guard forces are being dispatched to resecure the installation. All incoming and outgoing interplanetary traffic has been frozen and the Testudo is engaging. Varn is in lockdown, Councilor.


Damar Roka didn't know what Tik new, couldn't be sure if his children's children would look back on this moment as the worst decision in the Cooperative's history, but it was too late now. Silence was Lost, and it could never be regained. The Cooperative Detainment and Rehabilitation Facility would certainly be resecured now, but the price might prove too great for even the Cooperative to bear.