“Representatives of The Caprician Regency…”

[font=Verdana]




The Outmarches[/font]





[font=Verdana]The Caprician name for the hostile spacial environment surrounding the system of the Homeworld and it's colonies. There is not much known regarding the creation of the space that for centuries served as a major hazard to interstellar travel for early colonists and explorers. Hundreds of Capricians died traversing this area of space and it was not until a thousand years ago that a concerted effort to map the Outmarches took place.[/font]


[font=Verdana]Almost nebulous in appearance in some areas and in others, so black one could swear they were staring into a hole in the fabric of space itself, Capricians soon stopped worrying about the reasons for the existence of the Outmarches and simply settled on dealing with it as a simple reality of life.[/font]

[font=Verdana]Radioactive particles of various sizes speak of fearsome weapons once used whereas the existence of an asteriod field hinted at a planet outside of the orbit of Minos, the farthest and last planet within the system, but so far out of reach that a determination could not be made. Robot probes failed and manned missions died after crossing an unknown line.[/font]


[font=Verdana]Hyperspace travel became so hazardous that explosions could be seen from the powerful stellar telescopes pointed outward of ships attempting to cross with no knowledge of what lay before them.[/font]


[font=Verdana]Some ships simply disappeared which led to the rise of legends of ghost ships or novel plots involving the lost crew and passengers of such vessels.[/font]


[font=Verdana]There were theories abounding about micro-blackholes sitting, like the myths of krakens in the ocean of old, simply waiting for unsuspecting vessels to hazard nearby. There were theories about rips in space/time mathematics of spacial definition that left unquantifiable structures that resulted in death to anyone and anything that would go near, let alone through.[/font]


[font=Verdana]And rather than change it, the Outmarches became the mote... the wall... and the reason for Capricia's late entry onto the galactic scene. An entry sparked by two invasions of conquest by the Yuuzhan Vong and an entry motivated by the clear fact that Capricia could no longer afford to shut itself off.[/font]


[font=Verdana]It is not exactly known how many Yuuzhan Vong warriors and ships were lost in finding the 'paths' through the Outmarches but that they willingly paid the price to get to the Capricians left many with the impression that simply remaining difficult to access was no longer enough. Eventually, there would be others willing to pay the price and what would Capricians do then?[/font]


[font=Verdana]And so, beyond the hazard of these spacial dangers, beyond the mote that encompassed the Caprician system arose stations like the Outmarch Drift, or the Outmarch Anchor.. colonies of traders and merchants, supported officially by Caprician (and Commonwealth) soldiers to be the entry points near the bridgeheads, the 'paths' through the gravitational hazards and from these points, to the merchant navigation beacons to organized points within the system so both the homeworld and it's colonies could benefit from the trade.[/font]


[font=Verdana]But such paths were a two way street for not only did trade and visitors come into the system, Capricians found themselves looking outward, setting their eyes to the wonders of the galaxy. For the first time, Capricians were living outside the homeworld system and enjoying every minute of it and, while they first spread to the safe areas of the Corporate Sector and worlds of the Commonwealth, they were also on the frontier of Caprician and Commonwealth boundaries, their fortunes made or lost by the actions of their own hands.[/font]


[font=Verdana]Caprician self determinism was strongest in those of the latter class. They were thousands of years behind on the times and so hurled themselves forward with almost reckless abandon to catch up. They were the thirsting man suddenly finding himself in an oasis of crystal water and finding that they could not drink fast enough.[/font]



[font=Verdana]It was during this time that a signal was discovered by one of the scientific monitoring stations of the Outmarches and as some time progressed, they found that this signal was not mere background cosmic noise or radiation but that it had a specific and organized structure.[/font]


[font=Verdana]The first hint that intelligence was behind the signal that the scientific team had not the equipment to break down and translate.[/font]


[font=Verdana]The old Caprician Watch Stations which were designed to try and intercept intelligent signals (before they'd known about the Outmarches) were utilized and when the holonet interface (for Capricians did not set their interstellar communications for general reception...the Commonwealth was designing something special for that) was applied, it was determined rather quickly that the transmission intercepted was one out of several different transmissions, each presumed the same message, each in a different format.[/font]


[font=Verdana]The transmission intercept was in a gutteral language that the Caprician Linguists were so excited about they would have given their left nipple to work on. To have something other than ancient Caprician to disseminate, correlate and translate was something that every linguist jumped at.[/font]


[font=Verdana]The Commonwealth had their own linguists, taken from the old Negotiations Department of the Vinda Corporation. The Vinda Corporation held contracts with more than a dozen races, each with their own native language and culture bias. Vinda Corporation took their contracts very seriously and so did not simply rely on the quick and easy translations into Basic, the general language of trade that most knew.[/font]


[font=Verdana]Any linguist worth their weight could tell you that, quite simply, not every native word of a specific species directly translated into Basic. And so, most of what people read or heard were merely approximations. But approximation was not a good foundation to lay a contract upon and so, the perfectionist Seth Vinda created the Negotiations Department to convey not simply language word for word translations but convey the correct concept for an accurate measure of both parties transactions so each knew just where they stood and what to expect. It was a brilliant decision that would pay off in great returns and now, the linguists of both Capricia proper and of the Commonwealth pooled their resources together to come to arrive at an understanding of the message.[/font]

[font=Verdana]In fact, the only word that seemed to have no direct translation in any of the languages of the transmission, which made it easily recognizable, was 'Caprician Regency'.[/font]


[font=Verdana]That alone was a cause of elation and dismay. Elation on the part of the homeworld scientists and linguists that Capricia was specifically addressed. Dismay on the part of the Commowealth linguists and scientists as this was turning into a First Contact. And what scientist in his or her right mind would not fight like mad for a chance to be on a First Contact mission?[/font]



[font=Verdana]The general concensus of the leadership from both homeworld World Council and the Intersystem Congress was to integrate the scientific communities for the mission. With Congress' blessing, the Regency began to look to the mission with growing anticipation and excitement.[/font]


[font=Verdana]And as the message was analyzed, they found it to be both a request and promise of progress. [/font]



[font=Verdana]But in what?[/font]


[font=Verdana]One transmission was finally found to be in Basic but beyond the simple [/font][font=Verdana]questions of 'what', there was very little informative content and this made the military nervous.[/font]










[font=Verdana]"Typcially, one would think that if no one has heard of the one sending the transmission, what would accompany it would be a list of their greatest hits."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Excuse me?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Well, something that would let us know more about them, get a feel for them... something to convey to us that there is no danger in communicating, much less meeting with them. Something along the lines of: Greetings, people of Capricia! Here is a sample of our greatest musci!"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Assuming there is no danger."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"We know that they want to meet. Something about assistance but we've never had dealings with them so how do they know what our capabilities even are?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Or even if our efforts are compatible?"[/font]

Someone interjectected, "Perhaps they are desperate?"


[font=Verdana]"What I am saying.. all I am saying language and structure is very important in this. For all we know, assistance could be the Basic approximation of their word and cultural concept for enslavement. How can we tell?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"First off, where in all the Clannus Primes of the past is Ithor? I've never heard of the world, let alone know it's location."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Se'T'ap'a'r'odar. That name, of itself, leads me to believe we will have quite a bit of problems with their language. And without cultural references..."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Do we even know who they are?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Both Commonwealth and Vinda Corp sources are quiet so I am guessing this is a new species. There was found.." the man looked through some notes hastily put together for the meeting, "..an identifying tag roughly translated Kree Are Association."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Kree Are Association?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Well, 'Kree Are' for sure. The last word could be anything from association to empire and everything in between. I would go with Association for now."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"The Basic version rendered it dominion." the man shrugged, "Of course that might have been simply the closest Basic interpretation of their word."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Well, if that does not convey militaristic society, I don't know what does. While no information on these Kree Are have been found, there is information in the databanks about Ithor and Ithorians. Old Republic information graciously provided by New Republic during our brief association with them. There is no mention of Kree Air."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"So we are not even sure if they are native to this Ithor?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Perhaps it is merely serving as a neutral ground? I can understand a hesitation, if offering First Contact, to hide away your homeworld. The signal was directed in our area but we did not pick it up immediately."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"So where did these Kree Are hear about us?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Good question."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"So the Kree Are.."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"..are what?" interupted someone walking into the meeting.[/font]


[font=Verdana]"No.. Kree Are is their name."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Ahh... Forgive my lateness but I think I may have figured out the Ithor location."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Really? How did you pull that off?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]The newcomer's lips spread into a grin. "Because the jibberish at the end of the message wasn't jibberish after all. This morning we found that it was coordinates."[/font]



[font=Verdana]"This morning? Why did you wait so long to..."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Because not every species and alien society uses the same coordinate system. We are talking about a system that is influenced by cultural references, perception and psychology. We know the Old Republic and the Empire puts Coruscant as 0.0.0 but then again, Coruscant was their capital and it was a system that stuck. However, this was not always the case. The Coruscant Focus Method was adopted by traders and merchants of various species to help come to exact understandings in business agreements. But independent alien species usually, at first, develope their own method of calculating coordinates, perhaps using their own world as a starting point. We found when we identified the jibberish as coordinates, we found that each language transmission was slightly different."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Why?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"As I said, different starting point. Different point of origin."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"So, are they on the other side of the galaxy?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Ithor is not far but there is no hyperlane from homeworld system to it. I think, and I believe our navigation departments, galactic topography and interstellar cartographers will agree that we use the Hydian Way to move our First Contact team to Junction. [/font][font=Verdana]From there. We have a straight shot at Ithor." he paused. "Presumably."[/font]



[font=Verdana]"Alright gentlemen and ladies," a female voice called out, "we are going to do this by the book. An unarmed VSD refitted with our latest scanning and sensor devices as well as communications package will leave at the end of the week. All scientific departments should be represented aboard."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"A Victory Star Destroyer?" someone asked in clear disgust.[/font]


[font=Verdana]The woman smiled grimly. "I know you'd like the new Stellar Explorer Class ships with their hardlight tech but the fact of the matter is, we do not know what we are walking into here. For all we know, we may jeopardize the natural developement of a technologically naive species. Perhaps we are the technologically naive species."[/font]


[font=Verdana]Several chuckled at that.[/font]


[font=Verdana]"In any event, we need more information. Communication and Linguistic Departments will be given top priority. The other departments will not be able to act if we cannot establish a clear dialogue that is understandable with these Kree Are."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Military presence?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"We will have our soldiers on the ship and a fighter compliment but for defending purposes only. I do not think we will need them but prudence is wise at this point. The ship will maintain constant contact with several Commonwealth posts. If more scientific resources are required, we shall be ready to assist."[/font]


[font=Verdana]"Who will head the contact?"[/font]


[font=Verdana]"I will want a support group from Vinda's old Negotiating Department but for this.. we'll need an ambassador on the spot."[/font]



[font=Verdana]She turned to an aide. "Inform Ms. Scipio Arien that I request the honor of her presence as soon as she is humanly available."[/font]

The older woman sat behind a table watching with silent amusement as the younger woman before her ignored her tea reading up on the reports.


"As you can see, these Kree Are are intent on meeting..."


"Matriarch, please excuse me," Scipio interupted as her eyes continued reading the report, "the mere fact that they sent the message to us and not the Commonwealth in general indicates they may have little information about us at all."


The older woman chided gently, "Or they merely do not wish us to know how much they know."


"Now that is a truly frightening thought." Scipio quipped dryly as she frowned at the reports on the intended craft.

"A Victory Class Star Destroyer?" she asked in dismay. So much so that the Matriarch laughed.

"I truly do not see what is so wrong with the damned ship. Everyone that comes upon that little bit of information acts like Mr. Vinda has just eaten their baby."

"It's just..." Scipio started to explain when her mind went blank. "It's a Victory Star Destroyer!" In her mind that was justification enough.

"Well," the old woman continued, ignoring Scipio's outburst, "As you can see, the entire ship has been gutted and refitted as a true vessel of science. We've got sections in there that are department specific. If you'll look at the layout, it's no longer a warship but an engineering marvel. From.."

"Yes.. I see. The Advanced Sensor and Communications Array... " an eyebrow went up, "detachable, I see. Anyway, you've got so many things on the bloody ship that it's a flying science project. But I don't see any hardlight.."

"You want a Stellar Explorer Ship don't you?" the Matriarch asked knowingly.

Scipio's eyes lit up. "Now THAT would be an appropriate First Contact mission ship. A quick call to the Elrood Sector and.."

"We've wasted too much time already, Scipio. In fact, I held the mission back to make sure I could present it to you."

"Matriarch, I am honored and not a little surprised. Surely, a scientist or military captain would make much better sense to send..."

"Arien, be quiet." the older woman ordered and Scipio fell silent. "I know it is not your usual assignment. You are an ambassador of the Commonwealth and that bit of business on Elom as well as Almania in the face of the Empire is making it's way onto holodrama. But there is another quality about you that would be essential to this mission."

Embarrassed but clearly curious, Scipio bit, "And what's that?"

"Your sense of wonder." the old woman simply stated.

"I'm not sure..?"

"Arien, I read the reports of your mistreatment at the hands of the Invaders during the First Invasion."

Scipio's eyes grew serious at the memory. It was not a time she liked to think about.

"It is a wonder that Capricia did not go into an extreme xenophobic mindset after two invasions. Vinda Corp helped with that but also, there was a national refusal to admit to the tired cynicism that so many others succumb too.

After all those Yuuzhan Vong creatures did to you, you still wanted to represent us to others outside Caprician and now the Commonwealth. You brokered an understanding with the Elom and Elomin. You are on the forefront of every new venture and you've not become despondent or depressed about the lack of truly non-hostile cultures."

Scipio smiled wryly at the comment.

"Capricia is torn between it's isolationist mentality and it's newfound freedom and curiosity to find out what is over the next hill. And no matter how this First Contact turns out, your gift will motivate our people to continue looking."

The old woman picked up a cup and began to sip the tea. "I think you'd be a great asset to the mission, Arien. Please accept."


Scipio forced out a smile considering this would be her first mission after the debacle on Almania. She did not like going toe to toe with people that could (and with little pressure would) blow her bits.

She knew intellectually she'd have to go out again and she also knew she was taking advantage of the safety net Achinta provided. With her family moving to Bonadan she'd found herself busy in personal matters.

I've got to stop this hiding.

But what do I know about First Contact? I could shake a hand and find out that is where their brains are and start an interstellar war?

Oh, Clannus Prime, Scip! You can't die! Where is Achinta going to get another woman like you?


"Matriarch. I would love to go."


When you lay it on, lay it on thick!

The Matriarch smiled at the response. "Excellent! You will depart tomorrow for the orbital dock to take you to the ship."


eeep!

Hyperspacial Velocity


In practical terms, it's strapping a mother of an engine to the back of an object capable of holding out vacuum and lighting it. With no friction and with enough power an object could conceivably be brought to the speed of light and beyond. And so, as long as one didn't run into anything, you are considered in hyperspace.

As the object moves forward to acheive speeds faster than light, the images of mass begin to breakdown. As the distance between two points are crossed faster than light can travel between the same two points, objects are no longer defined by visual characteristics but by the effectual relationship between matter and energy, namely gravity.

In fact, without the massive computer systems available to decipher these effects, hyperspacial travel would be impossible.

Or rather, improbable. For hyperspace theory proved, at least from mathematics, that such travel was possible.

But it was such an inelegant way to travel. Or so thought Theorist Lyrian.

Man was not made to have an engine strapped to his back and lit just to see how fast he could be pushed.

And so he looked for alternatives.

Studying the mathematical structure of the galaxy usually took up his time and he would have remained content in his planetarium measuring the distance between the unseen eddies of spacial radiation rifts if he'd not been unceremoniously ordered to the First Contact mission.

What did he care for new species?

What did he care about their language structures?

Mathematics was the universal language anyway.

No chance of mistranslations and cultural bias.

Only the pure logic of numbers.


"So, Matriarch? Come to see me get blown out of Caprician space by this aging contraption of a ship?"

"Why, Theorist. I would think that you'd relish this mission. To see new technologies and alternatives of transport."

The Theorist harumphed loudly indicating what he thought of that. "They probably use propellers in space.." he grumbled.

He was a cantankerous old man who called Leantre 'boy' and was probably around when the first Caprician put feathers on his arms and flapped while jumping off a cliff to see if he could fly.

Which, according to him, was not different from what they were doing now.

"A Victory Class Star Destroyer?!" he nearly shouted as an aide came running up and had given the Theorist that bit of information.

The Matriarch closed her eyes and cursed the designer of the ship. She truly did not know what the problem with the vessel was or where the bias came from. From her engineering perspective, the ship was sound and though unarmed, they had increased it's capacity to take damage and it's capacity to get the hell out of a dangerous area quickly.

"I swear, Matriarch. I think you are scheming to have me die so you could take credit for my theories."

"You're a theorist, Lyrian. All you have are theories!" the Matriarch snapped, regretting that the man had gotten under her skin in only a few short moments.

"Ha!" and the man actually smiled as if he could not be happy unless there was someone else unhappy around him. "Just make sure our navigator doesn't veer off course in the Outmarches.." he grumbled. "He's probably some young pup from the Commonwealth Academy."

The Matriarch rolled her eyes as the old man boarded finding something new to gripe at, namely the lighting on the ship.

"Clannus Prime help them!" she prayed fervently.

For Gue...




Trouble in the Space/Time Continium...


The Victory Class Star Destroyer, internally redesigned to allow the vessel to serve it's primary duty as a science vessel, was named after a fallen battleship in the Second Invasion. Called the Scion, it would have been the template for more similar ships if the Design Board of the new Commonwealth hadn't sunk down more credits to redesign the ship from the keel up adding a bit more versatility. The VSD design was years old and antiquated anyway, or so the justification went.

Still, the ship was one of a kind. Almost a microcosm of a world as departmental corridors became borders separating hypothesis, theories, and intellectual conceits that rivaled any cultural differences between two species. And while no deaths resulted in the inevitable conflicts the battles were, if reports are to be believed, very heated.

Enough so that Scipio Arien asked herself if it would not be better if she simply initiated the self destruct aboard the Scion and ship out to meet the Kree Are in an escape pod. Already, she'd separated two old scientists from their threats of carrying out honor duels for their professional differences.

Wading in a sea of arrogance she tried the timely value of lines designed to instigate cooperation. Words that were properly defferential yet hopefully motivational.

Yet for every: "From Interaction comes triumph. Genius cannot survive in a vacuum" there was "but we are out in a vacuum. Does Capricia not have any appreciation for our genius?"

And Scipio ground her teeth a bit more and resolved with certain clarity of thought on the many things she would inflict up on the Matriarch for this experience and cursed her fracking, 'sense of wonder'!

And so she'd banished each group to their respective parts of the ship in hopes that in preventing interaction, the inflamatory natures of the aloof women and grumpy older men and just plain arrogant gaze of the younger would die down.

And as the ship got under way, she felt a glimmer of hope ...

..until it came to dinner.

The mess hall!

She could hear the shouting matches of the crowds as she stepped out onto the deck containing the crew and compliment's mess. She couldn't tell if the vibrating below her boots were from the engines or the sounds coming from the main hall.

As she entered she saw a circle of younger 'geniuses' surrounding an indomitable Theorist Lyrian and a few of his elder cronies. Lyrian was dressed in simple gray garb of the old Leantre Clan and wore an antiquated pair of eyeglasses. He was balancing his weight on a black cane and even though slightly bent, it still seemed he was at eye level with everyone and was not afraid to look his opponents in the eye.

"All I am stating, Theorist.." the title said like an obscenity, "..is that your explanation on hyperspacial velocities was wrong!"

"Oh? A hyperspacial expert are you?" came the older man's glib reply and the younger one's flushed with anger.

"I know Spacial Relativity just like everyone else.." the younger responded hotly. "And your explanation leaves many to be confused.."

"Obviously not a hard thing to accomplish.." was the critical shot back from a woman older than dirt, a linguistical expert by trade, behind Lyrian.

The man flushed at being interrupted. "I demand the satisfaction.."

"Oh stuff it!" Lyrian interrupted secretly enjoying the agitation they were causing the young man by the interuptions. He had a devious fondness for taking the advantages brought on by age.. namely, interrupting the young pups on emotional crusades. "Tell me young man, where was I in error?"

This tactic, naturally, made the younger crowd draw back. For the Theorist had demanded the support behind the statement of the young man. And if no support was to be had, his position would crumble and those standing behind the younger would have to live down the shame during the rest of the mission. Or if pride crowded out the shame, they'd have to live with the twitting of the old cronies aboard. And that was worse. Much worse.


But the young man had an answer and, drawing himself up, he let loose. "Your whole analagy of light speed travel was in error! Engine on the back of a craft, indeed!" The contempt was very discernable from the young man's lips. He nearly shouted, "You don't build up speed to enter hyperspace! That's impossible! The faster you try to go the more energy it takes and the more mass you gain... before you ever reached hyperspace, on that route you'd have entered infinite mass and infinite energy!"


An old cronie on Lyrian's left raised his hand before speaking.

Truly old school. Polite. Not the rude puppy farms they have now, thought Lyrian. The old man was an engineer of sorts and was called, Viper. No one knew why but at some early point in the man's life he changed his real name to Viper and now no one could remember what his real name was.

"A... Actually. We are making great strides in engine development. We end up getting more speed from half the size of an earlier design which enables more thrust per..."

The younger man interrupted which was a social faux paus of incredible significance on so many levels. He paused after he did it realizing his blunder but narrowed his eyebrows taking the leap to plunge ahead since the damage had been done.

"No... no... no! What your saying is how to get more speed, not how to go faster than the speed of light. The Speed of light is relative, meaning you can go 299,792,458 m/s and light speed will always remain 299,792,458 m/s faster than that. Whatever you do, you build up to defy that.

By saying better engines at half the mass gets you closer to lightspeed is wrong on so many levels. You will always push yourself faster with this, but your mass increases with speed at a relative rate, meaning your mass increases to the same point the faster you go in a smaller ship as it does in a bigger one, having the same effects to the same degrees!!"


Lyrian had to close his eyes chanting the old children's Song of Synergy in his mind..














He opened his eyes and cleared his throat, those making up his opposition waiting with baited breath for the old man to drop down dead from such awesome logic.

"First of all, pup," he quipped feeling no need to sugar coat his words to force the medicine of genius down the other's throat. The young man bristled but his supporters hesitated. "Mass does not increase the faster to the speed of light a craft gets! And another thing.." Lyrian was getting ready for a good shout. "The speed of light is not relative! It's constant, twit!"

"He's using the old Terran Province Theorem.." the old woman's voice behind Lyrian was full of scorn and as delicate as toilet paper made of sandpaper.

"Throughout the ages there have been theories about this and that and the old Terran Province was the same way. Imagine a piece of fruit falling on some idiot's head and suddenly they discover gravity!" he spat out, not caring if some of his spittle landed on the young man. "Imagine a province that arrived at all these theories of light speed travel and only managed to get their kriffin asses in orbit! ORBIT! Oh, they had lots of numbers but their mathematics went all over the place! The numbers were unsupported by what? Can anyone tell me? Anyone?"

A young woman behind the man spoke up, "Because there was no hard data to support the theory of numbers."

"What the kriff and you doing on that side, young lady?" Lyrian asked without shame. "There was nobody to go up and actually see if the numbers applied. The math wasn't graded!"

"And NOW. After we have superluminus travel you are going to bring their faulty numbers as support and say to me.. TO ME that I am wrong?"

"Let me put this as simply as I can for you newbies. First of all, you all know what an atomic weapon is yes? I bring this up as an example that mass need not be large to release a great amount of energy. You all know fusion, correct? At least you've heard of it..

What? You haven't?" Lyrian's eyes narrowed at the person shaking their head, "What do you study?"

"The natural formations of indigenous rock formations within caverns." came the timid reply.

"Then you are correct. You wouldn't know that much about fusion. Or what a woman is for that matter."

Lyrian turned his attention back to his explanation. "In fusion, atoms come together to form a new atom. In fission, atoms split to form more atoms. However, what is intersting is that in both fusion and fission, the mass of the new atoms is less than the original atoms. So where is this missing mass? It is in the form of energy; heat or kinetic energy to be precise."

He tapped his cane.

"Now, you nitwits... let's apply this to our engine strapped to a craft. Through the synergy of relativity, in order for the craft's speed to increase, energy must be added to the system. But most of that energy is going into increasing the system's resistance to acceleration, which is the measurement between the system's energy and momentum, and less energy goes into actually increasing the speed. So, if left unchecked, and if we followed the Terran Theorem to it's original conclusion, then, young pup, you would be correct. That the needed energy to reach the speed of light would become infinite, but not due to increased mass but to increased resistance to acceleration!"

"But there is nothing.." one started to say when Lyrian cut them off.

"Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there. But if we continued with the Terran Theorem, by definition, faster than light travel would be impossible due to the infinite energy demands."

"But we can travel faster than light.." someone else pointed out.

"Figured that one out all by yourself did you?" came the old woman's sarcastic retort. Her name was Kryn. "Lyrian, are we sure the Matriarch brought scientists or raided a school of retarted kids?"

The young man rallied as his support began to fade, "But you said, and I quote: With no friction and with enough power an object could conceivably be brought to the speed of light and beyond. THAT is wrong. You just said at sublight speeds, more energy would.."

"Not energy, pup. Power! With no friction, meaning with less resistance to acceleration, and with enough power... power to run that part of the engine that allows us to make the leap, to make the jump past the lightspeed barrier to superluminal travel."

He turned old Viper, "I can safely say that the hyperdrive is part of a craft's engine right? I mean, I am not engine design engineer extraordinaire like you, but for a layman, a hyperdrive is part of the engine, yes?"

Viper shrugged as if Lyrian was asking if caff was hot.

Lyrian turned to everybody and offered a rhetorical question. "It is the hyperdrive that allows for superluminal travel yes?"

"Accelerating a craft at sublights becomes harder the faster it goes because high speed is accompanied by a relativistic increase, not in mass, but in resistance to acceleration! It is not the speed that is important for FTL so much as it is the acceleration! Acceleration is the key!"

"Why?" the young man asked, suddenly clearly interested, having given up his case.

Lyrian glared at him, "How the kriff should I know? I am not a hyperdrive designer! I am not Grandmother Spacewarp with all the knowledge of the universe! All I know is that acceleration seems to be involved in the hyperdrive's jump mechanism but in what capacity, you'll need to talk to old Viper here. Trigger? A prerequisite or maybe even a side-effect... ask him."

As people began to talk among themselves he tapped his cane, "So if anyone wants to take apart my analogies in explaining complex systems to pre-academy students, remember this moment and think again!"

Theorist Lyrian hobbled out of the way as some people went up to old Viper asking about Hyperdrive function and it's relationship with dark matter concepts. Scipio didn't stick around for that one but moved over to the retreating Lyrian.

"You sure put him in his place.." she offered coming up to him and the Theorist sat down, content to let an aide get him a refreshment. She sat down with him so as to not seem to be talking down to him. The old folks (especially in the scientific community) were sensitive about such things. Especially so when they felt such privilege resided exclusively with themselves.

"At my age, you take any entertainment you can get."

"Might there be other forms of entertainment that might keep you in your quarters?" she managed to get out inwardly wincing knowing that trying to get the old man from starting fights was like asking space not to be a vacuum.

"Well," Lyrian started as he cupped his newfound beverage that was pushed before him, "I am a scientific theorist which means I am still a virgin." His eyes shot to Scipio in a calculating manner and sneered, "Rumor has it that droids get more play than I... but you would know more about that than I."

Scipio's face heated up and she shot up, ramrod straight. "I hope you choke on your drink and die!" she spat out and stalked off in clear anger and quite undiplomatically.

Watching her leave, Lyrian mused, "..definitely more play than I. Oh, the lonely life of a brilliant man."

The Cree’Ar do not have artisans.

Their primarily lauded creative minds are all of a scientific bent.

They have no architects; their buildings are designed by machines to calculate for maximum occupancy and utilization while considering size and area of development.

They have no painters; no museums or art galleries full of expensive creations that no one would have the available time to enjoy.

They have no writers; save for the gods.

No decorators. No musicians. No sculptors magicians or comedians. Only those who fight the battles and those who order they be fought. Those who do not exist to better the Cree’Ar survival are not considered to truly exist.

The Cree’Ar do no know whether the mer’a’kora have artists. And they know the Parrow Lin do not possess the intellectual capacity to even perceive the concept.

There is one species within the Dominion who possess an understanding of creativity and its practical application for no relevant purpose.

And so Kal Shora turned over the bowels of the Artanis to the tek’a’tara. Using the assembled knowledge of millions of converted individuals all focused on the same purpose, the cybernetic nexus was utilized for perhaps its most irrelevant usage in the history of its existence.

White walls.

Flowers.

Floors with fabric stapled to it to make one more… comfortable.

Chairs! Cree’Ar vessels had one chair! The captain of a vessel allowed to rest and command from the center of the bridge. Now the entire deck was littered with them, for minor functionaries of an infidel government that…

…that Kal Shora had invited to his Domain, as guests.

A diplomatic envoy was a foreign concept to the Dominion. In galaxies past diplomatic envoys had been sent in the way of hurtling balls of plasma towards the capital cities of the enemy. If they fought to their death, they were revered for their sacrifice for their ideals and held up as heroes. If they surrendered, they were turned over to the nexus to live forever as menial laborers for a god they dared not oppose.

But things were different here. Politics… complicated. There was one clear enemy here, and millions of potential enemies plotting silently in collusion. There were no heroes. There were no principals and no moral ideals. This was a galaxy based on maneuver, on capitulation, on mutually beneficial non-aggression deliberation and of similar applicable practices coalition. There was no honor here; those who gained in power were those who were able to extract the most value from indigent populations at the least expense to themselves.

What the Cree’Ar did to soil… they did to people.

Societies… picked clean. Reconstituted across the galaxy. The rich getting richer.

There was no honor here.

No one clean.

No innocence.

With, perhaps, a singular exception.

Kal Shora had high hopes for the Caprician Regency.

He was not even sure why, exactly. Only that within him he felt they had the capacity for more then the commoners of this galaxy. The potential for greatness. The bricks had been laid by their society to step out of the shadows and into the light.

If this galaxy had a salvation, it was within the Caprician Regency.

So if it required that the Nexus create organic matter essential to a Caprician existence, for the Nexus to cover the lower holds of the ship with fabrics and paints, if the Capricians were an aquatic people and wished the lower holds filled with water, Kal Shora would unflinchingly fill the holds with water and drown his crew.

This would be perhaps the most important action of his in this galaxy to the date.

If rediculous tapestries would help forward this occasion, then rediculous tapestries would be hung from the ceilings with care.

There would be no expense too excessive. No detail too irrelevant.

Everything must be perfect.

A hard task when one knew so little of the guests...

"Stop.." came the voice's attempt to intrude his thoughts.


The man paid it no heed as the complete maneuver lay before him like invisible words on a blank page.

The only thing left was to put print to page... to act.

Even at action's doorstep, he did not draw.


"Stop." the voice became more of a command.


He jumped and from his vantage point he saw the ocean below.


"STOP!!" came the frantic yell but he was already committed.


In the spare moment of a second, his mind came to crystal clarity that he was at death's door.

The descent gathered momentum and the force of gravity struggled to break his mind free from his serene disposition. And as this invisible force of nature grabbed hold, he spun in midflight suddenly casting his arm back towards the point he had jumped from.

It was a point that was no longer unoccupied for a white 'battledroid' crouched moving it's weapons arms tracking the flight of his body.

Whatever was thrown fly by the droid so fast it did not register and as the targeting sensors tracked the unaided freefall, the body twisted suddenly. At the same time the droid's weapons opened up littering the sky with potential death.

The midair twist caught the droid's advance targeting predictions by surprise but the machine quickly adjusted, ready to blanket the rest of the air with more death dealing projectiles.

And that was when the explosions ripped through the outcropping the droid was positioned on, the thrown explosives finally igniting.

The hard ground crumpled and rock, dirt, droid and vegetation suddenly were similiarly prisoners of gravity's hold.

The explosion, however, was more powerful than expected and the shockwave interrupted whatever the man falling was contemplating. In fact, it caught him wresting him momentarily from gravity's grip and flung him farther out and he crashed into the sea.


"TYSCIO!!"


He was unconscious and never heard the last shout.






"I don't know whether it's a good idea to train you or not! You're always looking for more ways to kill yourself!" were the angry words that broke through his muddled mind and Tyscio awoke on a hospital bed with Commonwealth medical droids looking him over.

He'd never been so glad to see an angry Leia before than now.

"Just trying a version of Artaru. The emphasis on pushing physical limits.."

"Does not mean trying to kill yourself. Artaru is an attacking style, not a defending style. You left yourself vulnerable and open and the droid would have..."

".. it didn't.." he interrupted adding to the woman's frustration.

"Because you had a Jedi Master behind you. If you hadn't.."

Tyscio leaned back and mouthed, "ahh..." feeling suddenly tired amid the revelation.

"What's the matter with you?" she finally asked unable to keep quiet. "You've been distracted this entire week! Is there something?.."


"You've seen the holovids of this First Contact mission that left a few days ago?"

When Leia nodded, Korban continued, "Ever since I've heard of it, I've been getting this strange.... weird..." he tried to put to words what he could not. "It's like my mind is looking through a fog and not being able clear it. Like you know something should be there but all you see is a hazy outline and you can't even tell what it is.."

"The force is trying to convey something," Leia interpreted.

"Shouldn't it be clear then? So I could understand?"

"Understanding does not necessarily happen at the same time. Understanding comes from the receiver and when their state of mind is of such that allows for it come forth."

"This is bugging me, Leia. It doesn't feel like something I need to understand.. more like.. something I need to see."

Leia suddenly felt uncomfortable remembering Luke describing something similiar. "Almost like a premonition?"

"But I can't see anything?"

"My brother once mentioned something called blank premonitions. Where you know 'something' of significance is coming but 'something' that even the force cannot foresee yet."

"Why not?" Tyscio seemed annoyed to hear that.

"Because the future is in motion and that the nature of the future changes with actions from the present."

"So then this First Contact will have far reaching consequences.."

"Well, it does not necessarily have to be far reaching. But if you cannot see this future.. what do you feel?"

Tyscio frowned as if trying to remember. "I feel... " he looked over at her and said, "I feel..wary."

Leia nodded. "A cusp time then. A fulcrum event."

"We should tell.."

"Who? What?" Leia interrupted. "That a madman who threw himself off a cliff is seeing visions of doom on one of the few of Capricia's First Contact missions?"

The man in the bed moaned at the headache that seemed to intrude. "I did shoot my credibility up pretty badly didn't I?" His body seemed to give into the exhaustion.

Leia smiled at the lesson learned and whispered that age old Jedi Master mantra spoken in exasperation at impetuous students: "Control, control! You must learn control!"

Once known as Feriae Junction, the planet was a trade world that experienced a brief period of economic expansion when nearby Yavin became the galaxy's prime source for corusca gems. Over time, however, Junction was bypassed for other locations, and the planet became a run-down world controlled by unscrupulous leaders. In the wake of the Battle of Yavin, the Alliance began using Junction as a resupply center for ships that tried to break the Imperial blockade and reach the survivors at Massassi Base...





Junction...


The step before First Contact.


Scipio had finished her tour of the amazing ship, holding more surprises of science than she had thought. She was encouraged to find that they were as prepared scientifically as they could be for this historic occassion.

Already there was holofootage for many documentaries to come and they had yet to arrive in the system designated by these Kree Are.

Scipio turned to the Captain of the Scion, a veteran of the First and Second Invasions and she felt glad to have him.

"Navigation, enter the beacon information for Ithor into our data banks and transmit to homeworld." He turned to the young Caprician woman and grinned, "If this goes well, I expect we will be coming back."

"Defense, drop navigation buoy and beacon."

At Scipio's questioning glance the Captain explained. Somewhat. "Insurance."

Her eyes narrowed, "Am I supposed to know?"

"No."

Scipio's eyes narrowed further but did not press.


They were outside the system known as Junction and the Captain was reluctant to take time to investigate the system. It was a reluctance that Scipio agreed with. They were not here for Junction but for the Kree Are.
And so, the cartographers would have to settle for data gathered by probe.


"Probe away." confirmed a station and the Captain punched the intraship comm channel.

"All Departments. This is the Captain. All sections have reported in and we are ready to begin the last leg of our journey. From the coordinates provided, it looks like a relatively short trip. We expect no emergencies but should one happen, I encourage all to review your station and departmental procedures.

Gentlemen and women, good luck to us all and good hunting."


He switched off the comm and turned to the navigation and helm stations.

"Plot us a course and prepare for a jump. Comm, send to Homeworld that we are ready. Let's go find Ithor, people."


The Scion repositioned itself as the calculations were entered and the hyperdrive engaged.


Next stop, Se'T'ap'a'r'odar!

Ithor!

"Hyperspacial Terminus!"


The Scion glided out of hyperspace inside the Ithorian System crossing the threshold without incident. It's broadcast of non-hostile intent blanketing the spectrum of different languages and frequencies as the ship came to a stop.

The little headway they had made with the Cree 'Ar language rendered their own origin point as "The 'Association' (or Dominion) of Capricia" in the welcome message.

Sensors and scans of all types eminated from the Victory Class Star Destroyer in hopes of giving the Caprician crew an idea of what was ahead.

What they saw was...

...something that gave them a loss for words.


...

Ithor.

It had once been a glorious land.

Cities sprawling through the trees, winding around branches and darting beneath bushes. The world had been a global biosphere with globally inclusive biospheres within, integrated and separated, inclusive and insular, it spun, and spun, and spun.

And then, it burned.

The tides of change sailed in accompanied by the stench of progress. It was a metallic smell, mingled with the slight stench of burnt plastic electrical cable and the omnipresent odor of dead flesh. At first, the flesh was so overwhelming one could smell nothing else. Eventually, the smell became so common place that it dissipated from olfactory sensation almost entirely, and as the other senses of the horrible mechanized machine that had infested the planet began to take root, one wished it were not easily dismissed.

Those had been people.

Friends, perhaps. Maybe family.

Now, only the Nexus. Never anything else. To be anything else. All that existed was the Nexus; for the Dominion. Nothing else had ever mattered. Would ever matter.

Only the Nexus.

For the Nexus the planet of Ithor had burned to the ground. Every tree destroyed, every molecule of carbon extraction, every single electron sucked dry. No bonds existed to join the world together. There was no separation and yet there was; the organic and intelligent growth which had shaped the planet before was now non-evident, replaced by the cold will of efficiency of purpose and duty of function. Nothing else existed. Would ever exist.

Ithor was no longer a world.

It was a factory.

Nothing more.

Forever more.





Kal Shora watched intently as the rocks fell. He had arranged for his men to scour their territories for celestial bodies that would not drastically affect interplanetary gravity wells; moons, mostly, but some asteroids as well. Those found to have minimal impact on the complex gravitational situations beyond were shipped to this world; and once in orbit, were sent more directly onto the surface.

The Cree’Ar’s Nexus was a machine capable of many functions.

At its core, the Nexus contained a hyperping generator. This device contained a volume of anti-matter kept distinctly separate from all of the real, positively charged material of the vessel itself, by a complex shield system. Upon need, however, those fields could be manipulated to allow for the release of that material.

Upon meeting normal matter, anti-matter would react with it in an incredibly violent way. The hyperping generator, thus, was able to use its graviton based field manipulators to channel the negative energy for various purposes. Power generation was one; the explosive nature of reaction between matter and anti-matter generated massive amounts of energy, which could be channeled by the same fields and put to various uses.

Travel was the primary function of the generator, of course; with a sufficient quantity of anti-matter, and a uniquely created focused bends of space, one could create an aperture through the fabric of space itself; if managed and extracted correctly, that aperture could be widened, strengthened… everything but permanently maintained.

Of course, doing so was not as simple as have anti-matter, create wormhole. Space was… like a thick pane of tempered glass. You could hit it for hours with a sledgehammer and receive only a sore shoulder, but put the pressure in the right place, with a focused blow, and you could break the window open with a ballpoint pen.

Knowing how to bend space was something complex; but easily calculated by the combined computing power the Nexus had at its disposal.

The Nexus, though, was primarily a computer. If the hyperping generator were the heart of The Nexus, then the computing systems were its brain. Able to process input gleaned from the gravitational field emitters and relay that information to the network with no delay allowed for real time spatial mathematics and tactical analysis as a routine, rather than in the event of a situation. The ability to use gravitic pulses to transfer information meant that they had a method of communication that most species would not register, and almost none would be capable of negating. The ability to use wormholes to communicate over longer distances made their network branch galaxies, as opposed to mere star systems.

But the one thing The Nexus could not do was create something from nothing. The laws of science still applied. Matter and energy had to have an origin. Nothing could come from nothing. The Cree’Ar were, after all, not divine themselves.

Thus, Kal Shora collected rocks. On the surface of Ithor, the rocks became slag first. Once slag, the Nexus broke down the matter of the rocks at the subatomic level. There, the material was recombined to become various different atomic components, the base materials for which later construction would formulate. Ithor did not manufacture anything but the most basic of components; once created, those raw materials were sent to other worlds to be properly utilized.

Here, though, was where the process began. Without Ithor, the Dominion’s warfleet in this galaxy would slowly dwindle. Repair would be impractical; replacement would be impossible. If war were to come, and Ithor were to be lost, this galaxy would not be a sustainable enterprise for the Cree’Ar.

So Kal Shora stayed close to Ithor.

Even as his warfleets surged to other worlds… he allowed his Judicators leave to do his bidding.

He watched the metal melt.

It was not interesting work; but it was important work. Kal Shora kept himself interested with reading; both reports, and the past. He was an avid fan of history.

He had been reading the history of Sriluur, and the war that had taken hold there.

The Cree’Ar history told of a schism; a great event in their history that led to a fracturing of their society. There were actually a pair of great exoduses from the Ariguan arm where the Cree’Ar first developed, but history generally remembers the second as being the more grave of the two.

The Cree’Ar and the Skey’g’aar originated from the same world, as the same people. But they felt the burden of the differences between them tearing the framework of their conjoined societies apart. Eventually, the decision was made by the Skey’g’aar to leave their home world and settle on Ador, a nearby world.

Not all wanted this to be. Those who rejected the decision and preferred to live together knew that, to do so, living beyond the arm of Ariguan was necessary. So the conjoined worldships of the First Cree’Ar Society, led by Templar Trawell, departed from the Ariguan arm. This exodus, known as the Trawell exodus, was mostly buried in the ongoing tomes of Cree’Ar history. They were, also, never heard from again.

The second schism came as war fell upon Ador. The Cree’Ar had been expanding their terrestrial empire, but within their galaxy, a large corporate empire sought to do the same. They brought vessels to Ador, and announced that they had seized the world and would begin to terraform it to suit their purposes.

The Cree’Ar were then faced with a difficult decision. They had made a point to leave the Skey’g’aar to their own devices, but now, an aggressive, outside force had threatened the sanctity of the world. The Cree’Ar could allow the Skey’g’aar to fight the battle themselves, but such would likely assure the destruction of their society. On the other hand, to intervene would violate the agreement they had made to leave the Skey’g’aar on the world, unmolested. Ultimately, the Cree’Ar chose to intervene. This decision was met with resistance, and a second great exodus occurred.

This exodus became notable because of the backlash against it within the Cree’Ar government. Particularly, the matriarch of the Cree’Ar, Davranian Daz’da’mar, stood up and rallied his people with a speech from the surface of Ador as the exodus left.

“Let not today be remembered for the victories of the liberals and intellectuals, for their escaping the chains of the government that would force them to war. Let today be remembered as the day that we did what we had to do to save our brothers under the Red Sun. This action was not easy; it was not a decision taken without great consideration for the consequences of both action and inaction. Let it be said, today, that if we did not step in, Ador would burn.

How our society works with the Skey’g’aar has been a topic of disagreement for many years, and it will continue to be a debated subject beyond the decision we have made today. But regardless of how you feel of the Skey’g’aar, know that the alternative to the decision to intervene in their development would have meant that they would have been annihilated.

Is that the path that the liberals would have us take?

Is that the predicted evolution that the intellectuals had forecasted?

A smoldering husk of a world devoid of life? Is that the better future they wanted for the Skey’g’aar?

We stepped in not because we wanted to, not to subjugate a people beneath us. We stepped in to save our brothers. We stepped in to reunite our societies because if we made no action, then there would be, at the end of the day, one society regardless. I find that if you ask the majority of our people, they would agree; it is better they live under us, then die apart from us.

May the Red Sun guide us all in the dark days of war.”

The history of Sriluur had a schism too. The Houk had come to the world, and the natives had initially tolerated them begrudgingly. But in time, the Houk pressed too much, and a war broke out; one which ran for decades. It, too, created an exodus. The exodus of the Weequay.

“My Lord,” one of the priests spoke, as the doorway to the bridge closed behind him. “May I present; Jhoram Bey, of the Weequay.”

Kal Shora turned to him and bowed as deeply as his physiology would allow him to. “It is an honor, Jhoram Bey. I am Kal Shora, High Elder and High Judicator within the Cree’Ar Dominion.”

Bey nodded. “What purpose doth serve your dual titles?”

“I am a High Elder amongst the Writers of Scripture and Law; a political title, which allows me to make decisions based on the best interest of the evolution of our society and the advancement of our people,” Kal Shora spoke. Bey was wearing an earpiece, which converted his words in Cree’Ar to words he would understand in Basic. “I am also a High Judicator amongst the Bringers Of Fire, the Cree’Ar military; this title allows me to make decisions based on what is best for the safety and security of our people.”

Bey folded his arms across his chest. “And which of these titles do you use when we meet here today?”

That was an excellent question; Kal Shora did not hesitate to answer. “I have been told you are an accomplished and skilled warrior; I speak to you then, one warrior to another, with the respect that your history brings.”

Bey seemed impressed. “You have studied me?”

“I have learned what little I can of your career,” Kal Shora responded. “You are the son of Khalem Bey, a noted mercenary who worked his way free of slavery to the Hutts to become a bounty hunter. You yourself worked as a bounty hunter, taking contracts during the rise of the Bastian Conclave and their war with The New Republic. Notably, there was a report that you were the one who killed Hiram Drayson. What else is true is that you took back an entire city, the city your father was born in, from The Houk. Reportedly, you did it solely so that he may be buried there.”

Bey nodded deeply. “Of what use is a city to a man with no home?”

“Perhaps,” Kal Shora said. “Have you had a chance to read the proposal I made to you?”

Bey indicated he had. “It will not be easy, convincing others to follow such ideals. For a long time, we have accepted a transient existence. The idea of going home again…”

“Many have abandoned the value of the city,” Kal Shora said. Bey agreed. “When I was younger, I wanted nothing more than to fly. I joined the war effort at the earliest opportunity; learned to be a soldier, to travel from the glow of the Red Sun to worlds far beyond. I fought, and killed, enemies I’d only heard of in official propaganda pieces. And I fought the Vong. And one day, while fighting the Vong, the world I learned to move beyond… it was destroyed by one of their devices.”

Bey leaned back, slightly. “How is this relevant?”

Kal Shora turned, his hand sweeping across the visage in front of him. “Your people can go home again. You haven’t lost your home; all you lost was a war. War is brutal, and the cost is high, but the benefits of victory ensure that the cost is worth paying. You live as transients because you run from that cost, but the cost you place on yourselves is a life removed from the golden sands and the pale moon of your home. And look upon you, Jhoram Bey; do you not fight?” Kal Shora ran a talon along a scar across the man’s neck as proof of his point. “Would not it be better to fight for something more valuable than money? Would not it be better to bring back what once was lost? Wouldn’t it be better to go home again?”

Bey smiled slightly. “You speak as an accomplished politician.”

Kal Shora opened his hands, a gesture that a Cree’Ar would recognize as a symbol of hurt feelings. “I speak, Jhoram, as a warrior, a man who fought long enough, and fought hard enough, to be able to choose that which I fight for. I fight for a world I can never return to and as such, I will fight forever. You can have your world back, Jhoram. You can bring your people home. This is a fight that you can win.”

Bey turned to the world below. Ithor. What Kal Shora had turned it into. “Would that be our world’s fate?”

Kal Shora shook his head, a gesture he knew the humanoid would know. “This is for our war. I am not telling you that we will win your war, and in exchange, you can help us win ours. You will win your own war, Jhoram Bey. Your world is sacred to us, and will remain your divine right. All I offer is a purpose beyond; the Red Sun calls you, Jhoram. You know that what I have told you is true. I cannot tell your people this, because they would not understand. Too many have lost the faith of the pale moon and the golden sun, but not you, Jhoram. You know where you come from. You know where you belong. The fight ahead will be yours, and yours alone. Your people will unite on the golden shores, or remain transients across the dimming stars. That decision outweighs any offer I make to you. That will be your purpose as the new leader of the Weequay.”

Bey considered his words. “Rallying my people will not be easy. Many have been enslaved; by the Hutts, or the Imperials.”

“You can free your people from the Hutts with enough simple bluster,” Kal Shore noted. “As for the Empire; their time of enslaving the galaxy will soon come to an end.”

Bey’s eyes flashed at the boldness of his proclamation. “If nothing else, I admire your faith. You have no fear.”

“We all have fear, Jhoram Bey. The best of us overcome that fear,” he said, “and use it to drive us forward. But there are moments for us all, where fear becomes too much.” He turned back to Jhoram and offered his hand. “In those moments, it is useful to have friends.”

Jhoram seized his hand after a moment of hesitation. “We will speak again, Warrior Lord. Until then, may Quay watch over you, and your Dominion.”

Kal Shora nodded his head in respect. “And may you find your place under the watchful gaze of Borleas Quayver… once again.”

“Entaro,” the Weequay offered, and then he was gone.

Beyond the surface of Ithor, Kal Shora watched the vessels appear. As if drawn from lines of pure light, they came; hyperspacial reversion, it was called. He knew the purpose of the vessels arrival, and turned back to the Cree’Ar in the doorway.

“Welcome our guests from The Caprician Regency.”