Inferno Base, Inferno

“Those conversions bring us up to the strength of twenty warships,” noted Sei’lar.

“But it’s really less than that,” replied Dha’tey sadly, “if we assume that two Torch gunships equal a normal corvette, and that the Death’s Jaw is now really nothing more than a mobile hangar bay. I estimate that it brings us to twelve capital ships; of a normal fleet. Heck, that’s maybe a light capital ship squadron in the New Republic’s order of battle. We’re not strong enough yet to knock off the Supreme General from his throne.”

“True, but those people we rescued,” added Sei’lar, “they’ve had to at least triple the base’s population.”

“Which does add some more resources, but also gives us more headaches, such as feeding them.”

“Not true,” countered Sei’lar, “several of them were engineers, and they’ve devised a plan which utilizes Inferno’s ample geothermic energy to power up artificial lights with which to grow crops underneath the surface.”

“True, but that will take a month before its operational.”

“And the supplies we captured from Fossk don’t cover it?”

Dha’tey sighed. “They do, but well, that leaves us with little in reserves.”

“You have included the ship’s inherent consumables?”

“Well, no…”

“Then there is nothing to worry about,” added Sei’lar, “you’re a soldier, not a logistician. Let Frank deal with the Quartermaster’s issues and you with the commander’s issues. What’s our next move?”

“If we’re going to overthrow the Supreme General? We’ll have to set up a forward base in the area. You know that.”

“Well,” muttered the other Bothan, “sometimes the things obvious to a military commander aren’t obvious to a spy or bodyguard.”

Dha’tey smiled. “But apparently too obvious to you. I noticed that you already contacted the Bothan Spy Network about possible locations for a base in the area. That was a week ago.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Yesterday, you received a response back, with a desolate moon called Qutix IV at the top of the list.”

Sei’lar frowned. “How did you know all this?”

Dha’tey’s smile grew larger. “I monitor all the comm. traffic from the higher ups in our fleet.”

“So you already know that it had a clandestine Alliance starfighter base during the Galactic Civil War.”

Dha’tey nodded. “I do. Now we just have two problems with the site.”

Sei’lar frowned, his dark fur rippling in surprise. “And what are they?”

“Rumours that a band of brigands have occupied the base. And secondly, that the rest of the Dresscol system is no longer uninhabitated. My own sources in the Sector have informed me that a mining colony has been started on Dresscol III.”

“So we won’t be able to stage any capital ships without acquiring undue attention from the colony.”

“Not unless we take the colony first,” mused Dha’tey, “Tell me, what do you know about the Dresscol System?”

“Only the most basics from the Bothan Spy Network Report. The star is a white-dwarf, and Imperial scouts deemed that all of the planets were uninhabitable. That’s why it’s been left alone for decades.”

Kolir nodded. “Indeed. Most of the planets are literally giant balls of frozen rocks. No-one in their right mind would want to work there, let alone live there. The temperatures are colder than even those of Hoth. And that’s just it, the people on Dresscol III didn’t want to be there.”

“What do you mean? That the rewards weren’t lucrative enough for them?”

“They aren’t,” replied the Bothan commander, “because they aren’t paid. Slave labour from the Eddel race. When the Empire was at its height, the Emperor removed almost all of the Eddel’s high-technology and had them imprisoned on their homeworld. Fossk has taken it one step further, relegalizing slavery and having them put to use in hard labour. He’s even sold some of them as slaves to private concerns, such as the Dresscol Mining Corp which has set up operations on Dresscol. Apparently Fossk even has a holding in the company.”

“That just screws up everything.”

“It makes it more complicated,” stated Kolir exasperatedly, “but I think we’re best off quietly taking control of the colony. Clandestinely mind you; make it appear to the General that everything is going according to normal.”

“That’s a tough one to pull off. Especially if we actually planning on keeping the Eddel there to keep up with the ploy.”

“Of course not,” replied the officer, “we’ll have them replaced by droids taken off the freighter Kohl during our little raid.”

“So we’ll go as far as to provide ores to our own enemy?”

Dha’tey nodded. “It won’t actually be that much, at least from the reports that I’ve seen. It appears that the Eddel are intentionally being unproductive. With droids, we’ll be able to get better production rates so we can supply not only Fossk’s limited amount of ore, but have some left over for our own use.”

“Why didn’t Fossk use droids in the first place?”

Kolir sighed. “Using the Eddel as slave labour is clearly uneconomical compared to using droids or just regular production workers, but it does keep the race busy and separated. That means it lessens their chance of doing anything cohesive or rebellious. So really, slavery is just a tool to keep them from threatening his rule.”

“So when do we make our move?”

“Soon.”

CEC Auxiliary Carrier Captor’s Fist, in orbit via of Dresscol III

Lieutenant Kai Kamalas stared out of the viewport at the icy ball that was Dresscol III. The silver strands of light from the dwarf star cast the system’s third planet in a glittery, ethereal light. From space, it seemed like a beautiful crystal ball or the walls of heaven. But he knew better. It has to be a living hell down there, with temperatures of negative 60 degrees Celsius…I don’t envy the Eddel that are forced to work in the caverns down there. Though here really can’t be much better, but at least I get paid. And hell, I really could use the creds for Lisa back home. The man fastened his white jacket shut.

The Captor’s Fist was one of the second-hand CEC Auxiliary Carriers bought off from Fossk’s Navy several years ago by investors for Dresscol Mining Corp. To the outside observer, it seemed like one of the countless Action VI transports, or any of its knockoffs, that plied the space lanes. But in reality, the ship’s cargo space had been fully replaced by an internal hangar for twelve, compact fighters. It boasted increased armor, and even a quartet of twin laser cannons. It was a common upgrade for companies to discretely protect their commerce and goods. And while it seemed good on paper, it seemed like a deathtrap to those who crewed it. Thus, when an unidentified shuttle approached it, the crew jumped to full alert, readying weapons, prepping starfighters, and plotting escape routes. Kamalas stared intensely at the approaching Lambda-class Shuttle. It bore the Sapphire and Crimson logo of the Dresscol Mining Corp, but Kai had never seen a vessel like it before. The only thing he was accustomed to seeing were the drone barges which transported food into the mining facility and took bulk ores out. The man frowned.

“Challenge that shuttle,” demanded the Lieutenant.

“Yes sir.”

The converted freighter’s comm. hummed. “This is Shuttle Dresscol Express, with personnel and parts for the DMCS Captor’s Fist.”

Kai frowned at his XO. “I wasn’t informed about any transfer. Were you?”

“No sir.”

“Shuttle Express,” demanded the Mining Corp officer, “stand down immediately and prepare for boarding.”

“Complying,” replied the disembodied voice through the comm.

“Odd,” reported the sensor’s officer, “the shuttle is powering down for boarding.”

“Target it with the lasers, but don’t fire…yet. See if that does anything.”

“They’re…not doing anything.”

Kai’s XO bit his lip. “Must be the real deal. Any smuggler would be running by now. And a shuttle like that can’t be carrying enough men for a serious boarding operation.”

Kamalas ignored the other officer and stared at the sensor’s operator. “Run a detailed scan on the shuttle. What do we have?”

“Sir, 14 lifeforms and 50 tons of cargo; most of which appears to be foodstuffs. A few mechanical parts too, perhaps.”

“Sounds like the real deal.”

“I’m not sure yet,” stated Kai dryly, “let’s try something.”

“Comm, challenge the shuttle for the DMC password.”

“Sir?”

“Do it.”

“Yes sir….Shuttle responded Deco Morono. Is that correct?”

“It is,” replied the man, surprise punctuating throughout his voice, “tell them they can power back up and dock.”

“Aye sir.”



“Welcome aboard the Captor’s Fist,” stated Kamalas, extending a hand to one of the newcomers.

The other man accepted and bowed. “Ensign Khaf Darkstar, sir.”

“Lieutenant Kai Kamalas,” replied the other man dryly, “I must admit, I was not expecting a crew transfer so soon.”

“Neither was I, sir.”

“Oh?”

“I just finished my training, sir.”

“Ah,” replied Kamalas smugly, “they want to get you use to the real world without putting you in any real danger. That makes a little more sense, though I’m not sure how I’m going to fit you all in.”

“Sir, I was supposed to give you this,” replied the Ensign, handing over a datapad.

“Ah ha,” nodded the Kai, “Instructions to send some of my security complement groundside in order to supplement Security. Very well then. You and your men will be taking their bunks.”

“Thank you sir.”

“I have your first job here onboard the ship.”

“Sir, what is that?”

“Take this datapad and relay these orders to my executive officer and the shuttle pilot who brought you here.”

“Aye sir.”

Two weeks later…

Dresscol III

The Dresscol Mining Corp conference room on Dresscol III seemed to be like an artist’s impression of the planet, but inside out. It was a tiered, circular amphitheater as tall as eight Wookiees, and nearly as wide. And all of it was a stark, eye-burning white. Various Dresscol Mining Corp personnel filtered into the room to occupy the cushioned benches. Lieutenant Kamalas noted that unlike most of his meetings in the room, there were not only DMC security personnel, but also most of the office and support staff for the facility itself. He idly lounged back on the bench. The man snorted. Must be something important. A burly man plopped down next to him and offered a hand.

“Ah, Adam,” remarked Kai, “Good to see you again. How have you and the Thunderspike been?”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” gruffly replied the other Lieutenant, “we have been well; aside from the new transfers. It looks like they’re not even as quality as our first batch of men.”

“Really? Mine have been fine…”

“Gentlemen, ladies,” announced a man standing alongside a holo-projector, “the meeting will get started in three minutes. Kindly take your seats. I want to thank you all for coming here. Private, could you kindly close the door...”

Kai stared closely at the speaker. There was nothing particularly startling about the businessman save that he appeared almost overly innocuous. His hair was styled in the latest of fashion from Lexrol, where both the headquarters of Supreme General Fossk and the Dresscol Mining Corp resided. His business suit seemed like could easily have fit in at DMC headquarters too. But one thing that Kai slowly realized was the man’s crisp posture, which was not the same as most of the DMC executives that he had seen.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” reiterated the man, “I am Roy Strommen, and I will be your new boss as the manager of Dresscol III mining operations. Many of you have received new personnel under your command over the past few weeks. I have heard mixed results about these new workers as well; some of you have praised them, others of you sound like you’d like to put them in the trash compactor.”

The last comment drew a few chuckles from the assembled employees. Roy broadly smiled back at them. The businessman looked around the room, eying certain members of the audience as well as the stationed guards. Strommen continued.

“Which is why I am here to inform you that this is one of the many changes that I will be implementing here during my tenure. Most of you can expect to see more new subordinates shortly. The second, perhaps more important change regards the Eddel. They are going to be freed. Transports will-”

An office manager stood up. “You mean to tell me that Supreme General Fossk has ordered the assets released?”

The man politely smiled and shook his head. “No, but-”

“But then the company has ordered them free?”

“No,” replied Roy, “neither of them have but as-”

“Then,” continued the office worker, “whose authority do release them on?”

“The authority granted to me by Commodore Dha’tey and by force of arms,” stated Roy, drawing a blaster pistol from his coat pocket.

A pair of soldiers in the uniforms of the DMC rushed to Strommen’s side, each wielding a blaster rifle. A chorus of clicks surrounded the assemblage. The guards all drew their rifles, uneasily tracking them across the crowd. Kai belatedly noticed that all of them had a red scarf tied around their left arm; a deviance from official DMC uniform regulations. Casually smiling, Roy set his own pistol on the nearby holo-projector pistol.

“As I was saying, things will be run much differently here on Dresscol III during my tenure. Those new personnel that you received are actually my loyal followers. It is regrettable that not all of them were fully trained for the positions they have been forced to occupy. But I imagine that will soon change, with your help. In fact, your priority will be to make them the best employees DMC has ever had factually and otherwise. Why? Because it will benefit you. DMC has not been paying you galactic standards, and I intend to give you a raise. I am here to liberate both you and the Eddel from economic and social oppression. But I will need your help to do so.

Let me assure, gentlemen and ladies. I am a fair businessman, and I will do you no harm if you try not to harm me. Do your jobs as you normally would. DMC, in fact, will be getting its allotted ore on time as usual. There are mining droids here to take the Eddel’s place. They are significantly more efficient, and will bring a much greater profit than ever possible. And this profit will benefit you. I intend to give you all unofficial, but increased pay, because of this efficiency upgrade. Any of you that attempt to betray us will be severely punished, if not dead.

Most of your new subordinates are actually capable soldiers and security experts who have been monitoring your official and private conversations. If you try to get word out about this little switchover, you will be shot and spaced. For those of you who do not know what spacing is, it means we will toss you into the vacuum of space and watch you simultaneously suffocate and freeze to death. There will be no survivors of this execution method, I can guarantee you of that…”

The Mines, Dresscol III

“I see,” stated Sei’lar plainly.

“Clearly,” replied the other alien gruffly, “you do not...”

The Bothan quickly sized up the creature. The Eddel was a tall, thin humanoid with a scraggly fur coat (which Sei’lar believed would have been fuller if he had been given a good diet). His ears tapered to diminutive, wispy points. The race as a whole was not a very martial race, preferring instead to travel and trade with other species. Sei’lar blinked. But that was before the Empire came to power. Before the Empire enslaved them and attempted to reduce their culture to the stone age. No, this one has the eyes of a fighter, and this is his element, these mines. I will have to tread carefully, if I don’t want to start a fight. Sei’lar raised his palms up to the alien.

“What am I to do then?” asked the Bothan spy, “I can understand that you do not want to bring Fossk’s wrath on your family, and you want to be with your family. And I bet your friends all have similar thoughts. But what would you have me do?”

“Provide us transport back to Fehern.”

The Bothan slowly shook his head. “I wish I could. I wish I could one day.”

“Why can’t do it now?” demanded the creature, “You have their security ships.”

“We do,” admitted Sei’lar empathetically, “but it is too big of a risk for everyone involved. You know that Fossk has gathered up a blockade fleet over your homeworld. The security ships aren’t fast enough to outrun any modern warship; they’re just converted bulk freighters. Fossk would almost certainly identify those ships too, bringing all of his forces back here. The colony would be ruined. All of my people, and DMC’s people would be dead. Even if we were to find a way to get you back to your homeworld, word could leak out about your escape from the planet, thus bringing Fossk back here to investigate it. It’s out of the option, for now.”

“For now?” questioned the Eddel.

Sei’lar nodded. “I am one of the first who wants to liberate your homeworld and kick off the Imperial scum who occupy it. In fact, I daresay that I am only second to Commodore Dha’ety himself in that zeal. But we lack the forces currently to do that. We must build weapons, we must recruit warriors, we must obtain food, we must have more ships.”

The alien stood silently for a second. “And this is why you want the mines? To have materials to make weapons to kill the Imperials?”

“That is one reason,” acknowledged Sei’lar, “the another is that we disdain slavery in all forms. It is too great of an evil to endure under even the kindest of masters. It is an evil that the peoples of the galaxy did away with in the Galactic Republic. But now, the resurgence of the Empire means that it will continue to spread and ruin the lives of many people. We must do everything we can to stop it from spreading. We must do everything we can to stop the Empire and restore the Republic!”

“We will mine for you,” stated the Eddel adamantly.

Frak. That’s not where I want to go. We really could use a fleet-attached diplomat. Remind me to give Kre’fey that idea. Heck, he knows better than anyone else those difficulties after Arkanis. The Bothan weakly smiled at the Eddel.

“We admire the sacrifice that you are willing to make,” replied the Bothan, “that you and your fellow Eddel would be willing to continue to toil in this hell-hole. But we must decline your offer. No being should have ever had to work here.”

The other alien’s eyes narrowed. “But we must do what we can to help restore the Republic. We will do what is necessary to throw down this Empire. You said you needed these mines.”

“And we do,” replied Sei’lar quietly, “and we have these workers for the mines already; droids. Droids stolen from the evil Fossk’s own ships. We will use his machines to do the work. And besides, you Eddel are much more valuable to us elsewhere than in these hell-holes of tunnels.”

The creature frowned. “Like where?”

“I remember talking to Commdore Dha’tey yesterday. Do you remember a time when your people’s ships plied these spaceways? Peacefully trading with those you met? Exchanging jokes and stories?”

The alien abruptly stepped back and blinked. “I have but heard of them. My father use to travel on one our ships, fixing things when they went bad. But when the Empire came, he had to start fixing our ships secretly.”

Sei’lar’s lip curled. “You still have ships?”

The alien nodded, “Hidden in underground caverns. We were in the process of converting them to warships when the Imperials came. We never had a chance to use them though. My father took me along, showed me how to do things.”

The Bothan smiled. “Then the Commodore was right. You and your people still have technical skills. This is invaluable. We need people who can fix ships. We need people like you.”

The Effel smiled back. “Where at?”

Administrator’s Office, Inferno

Commodore Dha’tey idly smoothed out his tunic, and stood up from his desks. On either side of him, massive ceraglass viewports presented vistas of colony life. On his left, he could see the main computer control of the colony room with all its workers. Workers controlling everything from the colony’s environmental controls to the mining droids and mole miners which continued to drill deeper into Inferno’s crust everyday. It most respects, it differed very little in its day-to-day operation compared to its older days with the Mining Guild. On his right, Kolir could make out the shanty town, christened New Bundim, that stretched across the cavern of worn-out quarry. Prisoners rescued off of the Death’s Jaws inhabitated that area of the cave. Many of the able-bodied members of the community had joined Inferno Fleet, completely unaware of its true nature as an arm of the Alliance. They would likely remain so, as the founding soldiers of the group were under strict orders not to reveal its true affiliation. New Bundim’s other inhabitants kept away from the facility, instead trying to improve their own infrastructure. Some residents had gathered loose volcanic rocks to build partially stone buildings to partially replace the decrepit pup tents acquired off of one of Fossk’s freighters.

Others, with the aid of Inferno Fleet’s Engineering Corps, began their first attempts at making the colony self-sustaining. Mining and labor droids had been used to break apart the stony floors of played out mines and turned them into ashy, mineral rich soil. Artificial lights were strung down the corridors and powered by Inferno’s immense geothermal power. Seeds had been planted in the former shafts, making vast subterranean agricultural fields. Fields which would not only supply New Bundim, but also supplement the foodstuffs stocked up by Inferno Fleet. The citizens of New Bundim pulled their own weight in the fight for freedom, and the Commodore expected every other freed being to continue to do his own good share of work in the efforts against tyranny. The office’s intercom beeped.

“Commodore sir, the Effel have arrived from Dresscol III. According to Sei’lar, most of them have technical skills like you remember. Sei’lar is planning of them becoming mostly mechanics and engineers depending on their occupation before well, the Imperial Occupation of Fehern.”

The Bothan nodded to no-one in particular, “And those that do not have technical skills?”

“Still at Dresscol II sir. They are remaining behind in case any DMC personnel come down and want to inspect the facilities. In day-to-day operations, they’ll be overseeing the mining droids work.”

“That works for me,” replied the Commodore, “I’ll be over there shortly.”

Three Days Later…

Roy Strommen, clad in a white jumpsuit, idly paced about the docking pad, glancing at the various vessels and vehicles stored within; from cargo load lifters to a pair of shuttles to the A-9 Vigiliance starfighters charged with protecting the base. The hangar itself was a semi-subterranean affair which converted a sinkhole into a multilayer facility with several hangars on each level. The very bottom of the layer, the cargo landing pad, could easily accommodate two bulk freighters and several starfighter escorts. But the craft slowly lowering themselves into the hole were not nearly that size; an unescorted pair of aging CEC light freighters. Within a minute, the duo had touched down on the Dresscol III mining facility’s semi-subterranean landing pad. Each YT-1300 bore the faded commercial markings of Dresscol Mining Corps and matching transponders; marking one as the Dresscol Venture and the other as the Dresscol Errant. The struts had barely extended from each ship when their central ramps lowered down. Several members of the base’s Inferno faction quickly scrambled to the craft, dragging out duraplast crates on repulsorlift sleds.

“I told you they would get here on time.”

Roy spun about on his heels. “Sei’lar, you really must stop sneaking up on me like that. One day, I might be doing something sensitive and shoot you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” replied the Bothan, “Dha’tey would have your head for that.”

Strommen smiled back. “Not if I made it look like someone else did it, like those droids down there. I could just use one of their plasma jets to incinerate your body.”

“Really? I thought you would have had one of those buzz saws cut me up and then have been fried.”

“Nope, the blood would be on the droids then, which would be a giveaway to your demise.”

“Perhaps,” mused the Bothan, “you have more experience with these droids then I do.”

“Too much,” replied the man, “before the Empire ‘accidentally’ razed my business. I never thought I would say this, but I really am looking forward to entering the mining field again. I haven’t used Roche droids in years.”

“How are they?”

“Good,” replied the man, “I should have the droids up and running within two hours.”



One week later…

CEC Auxiliary Carrier Captor’s Fist, in orbit via Dresscol III

Kai Kamalas picked up his cup of hot tea and took a sip, letting the aroma of crushed chamobrila petals and cinnamon waft up to his nose. He deeply inhaled the scent, relishing every second it. Hot tea was one of the few luxuries the Captor’s Fist had. The ship was too small for a normal recreation lounge or even a dining room. DMC’s drive to make money was the other reason: Kamalas almost wondered if Dresscol Mining Corps’ investors only regretfully added proper refreshers to the converted freighter. One of the younger crewmembers gasped.

“Sir, we have multiple hyperspace reversions, all about two hundred kilometers away, sir.”

Kai felt his stomach wrench itself into a knot. “Types and transponders?”

“Dresscol Mining Corporation…um…looks like a Corellian Corvette and three Escort Shuttles.”

“What type of shuttles?”

“Ah, the computer says they’re Delta-class JV-7 Escort Shuttle.”

“Let me guess, the Corvette is calling itself the Queen of Dresscol.”

“Errr…yes sir. Odd name.”

Kamalas sighed. “It is. You can bet though that the top brass named her that though. And to hell, they’re probably on her now…”

“Sir,” announced another voice, “we are being hailed.”

Kamalas sighed. “Right, patch it through.”

The second-hand holo projector sputtered to life, painting a chiseled man dressed in a business suit; all of it in a hazy shade of Ivy. The business man glanced away from the captain, as if talking to several other people. Kai leaned back in his seat, his heart racing. He tugged at his collar, feeling appreciating hot. The businessman turned back to face and stare at the Lieutenant.

“This is Director Mikhailov, Lieutenant,” stated the executive dryly, “we are here on a surprise inspection of the facility.”

“Errr…of course you are,” stuttered back Kai.

“The General’s men are with me,” stated the man, ignoring Kai’s last comment, “I need to know now if there is anything down there that I should be aware of.”

“Ah…I don’t think so sir. Everything is just chipper last I checked.”

The man frowned. “Chipper? Whatever. Give the facility a quick warning that we’re coming and to make preparations. You understand?”

“Sir yes sir.”

“Good. Queen out.”

Kamalas shuddered. “You heard the man. Inform groundside that the brass are here.”

“Yes sir.”

“Hey Captain, we’re getting a message from the Thunderspike. They’re signaling us to go to yellow alert. We’re also suppose to get ready for a possible initiation of Code Orange. What the hell does that mean?”

“Contingency plans,” muttered Kai, “Nothing you need to be worried about. I can’t tell you any more about it; company policy.”

“Yes sir.”

“Get me Thanos, Darkstar, and Octavian. Tell them to meet me in my cabin. We have contingency plans to implement.”

“Aye sir.”

Three Hours later…

CEC Auxiliary Carrier Captor’s Fist, in orbit via Dresscol III

“Sir, the Queen and her escorts are lifting off from Base,” reported the young sensor operator.

“Their ETA?” questioned Kai uneasily.

“Roughly fifteen minutes until they reach orbit. They don’t appear to be in a hurry.”

“Good,” remarked the Lieutenant, “let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Sir, Darkstar’s security teams are in the shuttle and standing by, as is Captor squadron.”

“Captain, we’re getting a report from groundside. It says that it’s for your eyes only…and orders from the Queen. They want an extra starfighter escort back to the nav point. Something about rumors of bandits in this part of space.”

Kai frowned. “Very well. Launch Captor Squadron. Notify me if anything happens. I’ll be in my quarters.”

“Yes sir.”

Kamalas slowly rose from his command chair eying the distant specks of the Queen and her escort. A series of bright blue orbs passed by the viewport, surging to the Corellian Corvette: the exhaust trails of the auxiliary carrier’s complement of A9 Vigilance Interceptors. Kai waited several seconds, half expecting a dazzling display of laser fire to break out between the two. Shrugging, the man exited through the bridge foyer and walked down the corridor, past two doors. At the third on the left, he inserted his ID card into a reader; the door opened with a snap-click. Shutting the door, the Lexrol native idly paced over to his personal workstation, crammed at the foot of his bunk. He tapped several switches; the machine noisily hummed to life. Within several seconds, the command and security prompts hovered on his holo terminal. He entered the codes assigned to him by DMC and the facility codes entrusted to him by Strommen. His inbox had three new messages. One from Ensign Dardly, the ship’s custodian, he promptly ignored, instead focusing on the two other letters: one from DMC, one from Strommen himself. He clicked on the latter.

Dear Fellow Compatriot

I am pleased to announce that the visit from the DMC executive board was a resounding success. All personnel did their assigned duties as well as feasibly possible. Director Mikhailov was particularly pleased with the hard work of our Effels have managed to do in the last few days, which in part, he believes, to the office’s management and the superior might of our security forces. He has informed me that we will soon have new assets shipped to us…