Captain's Quarters, Styria-class Galleon Pondichéry, Indrexu Sector


“They're coming for me soon, they'll have figured it out all out. I'm going to attempt to head out and try to escape. But they get me before you do, I'll probably-”


Reglia tapped a button and set the remote down, “I'm satisfied now.”


Reygrl nodded and stared at the frozen image of the Confederate informant. Her almond-shaped brown eyes stared placidly at him, yet he couldn't help but notice a certain tenseness in her body language. Doubtless she is under a lot of stress, maybe she's trying to put on a brave front...but something doesn't look quite right here. Reygrl turned his eyes to the rest of the woman, noting carefully applied makeup and her simple but elegant red dress. Her hair was cut short, as was in chic for the sector. All of this confirmed her position as a more wealthy merchant to the man. That would match what her CSIS handlers had stated of her. Pierre Reygrl turned on his stool to face the other man.


“What do you think?” questioned the man from Thomork.


Reg'lia shrugged, “This isn't my expertise, it isn't our job either. Why are they putting this up to us? Though you're a bit more of a military one, or so I hear.”


Pierre's pine tree green eyes bore into those of the other man, “When your people have been murdered by stormtroopers, well...it changes things. I look at how things can be threats, try to see people for who they really are.”


“Yes well...I suppose it would,” muttered the older man.


“In any case, once we get to the world, I'll have you lead the trading expedition,” stated Reygrl, “your ships have the goods anyways.”


“I could try to make contact with her...”


“You could, probably should in fact. I just don't expect to see her around then. Not if her CSIS handlers on the ground haven't been able to find her.”


Reg'lia frowned, “But somehow we are?”


“Different connections,” murmured the man, “I hope so. If not, we're going to have a hell of time...”
 

Styria-class Galleon Pondichéry, in orbit via Estaria


“And?”


Captain Reygrl stared deeply into the eyes of the decrepit-looking man. Thousands of kilometers away on the storm-wracked world of Estaria, the older man shifted the camera around, displaying only the faintest hints of modernity in the room. Yet despite the handler's age and lack of resources, Reygrl felt as if the man had more of a hold on Reygrl than the CMF officer would ever get on the operative.


“Well,” mused the man, “it's just there's almost nothing to go on. Her store running as if nothing happened to her, albeit no-one has claimed to see in her a while. When I asked one of her workers, she just replied that Mrs. Putri was on a business trip and wouldn't be back for a bit. She said it honestly enough.”


Reygrl frowned, “She has taken such trips before according to my records, and I'm sure you already know more about them than I.”


“Yes, of course,” muttered the CSIS agent, “but never one to Intan Island. That's where all her finiancial activity on a personal note has been taking place.”


“So you do have a solid lead.”


“No,” replied the man, “not a useful one. Intan island is the most lawless places on this world. It's home to dozens of spice dens, bootlegger distilleries, brothels, any kind of vice you can think of, it lives there. There's no law there. I think it more likely that her identity got stolen or given away to someone who's visiting there. There's obviously too much for her to lose by going there. She'd never fit in among those outcasts and criminals.”


“How lawless are we talking about?”


The man snorted, “The law of the blaster, and of Boss Christopherson. He sort of keeps the miscreants there in check, lest they absolutely piss off the more powerful bosses on the world.”


“But not the other countries?”


“...who are all run by one way or another by boss. Some of leaders of state are simply corrupted by avarice, some are held hostage by their vices, some held hostage by blackmail. There is only one country on this world that I found to be legitimate, or most legitimate: the Estarian Energy company.”


Reygrl frowned, “Not so much of a country as it is a company controlling vast areas of uninhabitanted land for their energy collectors.”


The CSIS agent sagely nodded, “But they bring in the most offworld credits and goods which nearly all of the other countries covet.”


“So that's the angle then,” mused the captain, “at least Reg'lia already has business with them. Thank you for your time, we'll be entering orbit soon. I expect we have some welcoming committees to deal with.”


“Good luck Captain,” replied the elder man, cutting his communication's link with the galleon.


Pierre strode away from his console to the nearing orb of Estaria. Water covered much of the world, yet there still a dozen sizeable continents of varying colors scattered among the seas. His ginger-colored eyes settled on one of white windswept sands, Dwamyn, the home of the Estarian Energy company.


“We're being scanned from the surface,” reported an officer.


“Set a course to place us in geosynchrous orbit over central Dwamyn,” decided Reygrl, “now what's this nonsense about us being actively scanned...”


“Multiple stations ground side,” reported the sensor operator, “I suppose it's not too unusual with Reavers about, but there's one on an island that seems to be running multiple scans.”


Reygrl paused, “Is it labelled Intan Island on the automap?”


After a brief glance at his console, the officer nodded, “How did you know?”


“Call it hunch. Are there any other starships in the area?”


“None that seem like obvious threats. A couple of bulk freighters over Dwamyn, doubtless coming or going after getting their energy crystals. There are some smaller freighters, shuttles, and the like popping up from the other continents every once and while, but they all seem to be taking pain to avoid us.”


“Sir, I am receiving a transmission from groundside, from Intan Island.”


“Patch it through to my console,” ordered Reygrl, striding back to his command chair.


After sitting down, he tapped a button on his armrest. The holo-projector hummed to life to produce a video feed, as typically taken by an old two-dimensional flatscreen. The narrow, tanned face dominated the feed before retreating back to reveal a second individual, Mrs. Putri. The man beside her stared at him with hard blue eyes.


“I assume I'm talking to a Confederation commander or something of the like,” spat out the man.


“Captain Reygrl,” stated Pierre, “who am I speaking to?”


“They me Cops, because of my nicely tanned skin. Do you know who this lady next to me is?”


“Can't say that I do,” lied the Confederate, “your wife, perhaps?”


“Very funny. Mrs. Putri is a friend of your Confederation, to her speak, but maybe you'll have to talk to someone a bit higher up to confirm that, I get that. We all have to start out somewhere on the ladder.”


“Indeed,” mused Pierre, “is this an extortion attempt or something, or perhaps you just want an autograph for your lady friend? I could sure I can find time to send a junior cadet down if you both wanted to see a real life Confederate from the developed galaxy.”


“Very funny. Look here sport, this is what's going to happen,” said Cops, looming in closer to the camera, “you're going to talk to someone higher up than yourself and confirm that Mrs. Putri is someone who's important to you. Then, you're going to negotiate her release with me, for say, no less than a five million credits.”


Pierre blinked, “Do you have any concept of how much that is? I can't see her being worth that much...what exactly does she do for a living?”


“You're a funny guy, Captain,” snickered Cops, “but it's time to talk business now. It's what she does, and I here you merchant fleet types can be good businessmen. Maybe you'll actually have to send someone skilled for this part.”


“Fine, I'll ask my superiors,” replied Pierre, “this may take a bit though for me to get a response though. Probably won't get one for a week, and it'll probably take another week after that to get the cash for her, assuming they do agree to exchange her for it.”


Cops nodded and cut the connection. Reygrl let out a sigh. Well, that's one thing done. At least we know where she's at, roughly. Saving her is going to be a big mess though. There's no way CSIS would ever give five million credits for her though...
 

Minutes later, Pierre found himself leaning forward on a padded chair in the ship's tiny security office. The alien across from him, a near-human Wroonian from Saleucami, continued to scroll through the gathered intelligence on the world about which they orbited. Glancing away from the gray-suited security chief, Reygrl let out a sigh. The Wroonian stroked her long black hair and smiled.


“And somehow, the rest of them don't know who you really are.”


Rey'grl snorted, “Why should they? It's not as if I've given them a clue about the true nature of the Pondichéry...not that I'm sure that we'll be able to keep up that charade. Things are more complicated already.”


She nodded, “I give it a fifty fifty chance that our cover will be blown. There's too much that's going to happen here that will just happen to coincide with our arrival in system.”


“I'll bet that Mrs. Putri doesn't even realize the importance of her work.”


Indigo nodded, “Maybe not, but it'll ensure Estarian Energy will fall in with us. You think Reglia can do his part?”


Pierre nodded, “He already is, he just doesn't know it. He's meeting with them right now to finalize the crystal contracts and get concessions to have our ships serviced on Dwamyn.  Have the rest of the operatives got on the ground yet?”


“Most of them, Examinator,” replied the other CSIS agent, “we've only got your personal team besides the back-up agents left now. I take it you still haven't figured out an angle on your target.”


“Social engineering has never been my strong point,” replied the man, running a hand through his light golden brown hair, “but I'll probably let Rhys take the lead on this one. It's more of her kind of territory. I'll probably advise her once she get's a plan formalized, and let her run the whole thing.  And I'll just stay up here.”


“Doing what exactly, twiddling your thumbs?”


“Why, putting together the backup plans and resources when everything else goes to hell. Besides, I don't think I could come up with a good explanation for the rest of the ship's crew about why their commander turned up someplace he shouldn't have been in the first place.”


She smiled, “You're making Intan Island sound worse than it really is.”
***
Estaria Energy Co Headquarters, Dwamyn, Estaria


“Captain Reglia at your service,” said Vor'en, adding a curt half-bow.


Timur Terentiy, CEO of the Estaria Energy Co, stared into the Confederate's eyes and swiveled around on his chair to face the sandy dunes of Dwamyn. Well that's a cold reception for a place like this. Reglia glanced around, saw a chair by the door to his the man's office, and took a seat. He looked around, noting that the office seemed almost devoid of personal effects. Aside from the very basic furniature, the only other object he could see in the office were a pair of fake ferns and an expensive datapad laying on the desk. Silence permeated throughout the room.


“You don't spend much time here, do you, Mr. Terentiy,” offered Reglia.


“Do you know why I'm not talking to you, Captain?”


“No, but I'd like to.”


Timur spun his chair about to face the man, “All right, let's get this over real quickly. I'm not a huge fan of Confederate investors staging a hostile takeover of a company my father built over two decades ago brick by brick, collector by collector. I know we have contracts to fulfill with you for energy crystals to ship off to Reaper's World, and that you have some empty crystals to return to us to put back into the energy collectors. The deals are already signed as per last time, and I have nothing left to negotiate with you.”


“Nothing?” questioned Reglia, “nothing at all? You're just going to accept the offers?”


“Oh, they're close enough to a competitive market standard, I'd like to get more, but realistically, I know I won't. Because if I press too hard, the very Confederate investors that now control my company will come back to scalp me alive for making their businesses too hard to run on Reaper's World.”


“So a bunch of Reaper's World businessmen control your company? That I didn't know. I'm sorry.”


“It's not blatant,” admitted Timur, “they've used enough holding companies and the like that even your own government may not know about their involvement. It took me a lot of credits and digging to find out myself, and that was after I was nearly voted out by them.”


“What prevented them from doing it then?”


“They didn't have enough shares, which is something they've probably managed to change since our last negotiations.”


Reglia shook his head, “That's not entirely true.  I know that we, the CMF, just bought a bunch of your company's shares.  Now, if I could get the CMF chairman to sell those shares back to you, by Confederate law...”


“Estaria isn't a Confederate world.”


“No, it's not,” admitted Reglia, “but what if Dwamyn was to become a signatory nation to the council? It wouldn't grant you voting membership in the council, I'm afraid, but it would bring Confederate law onto your side.”


“And the other investors would be protected by it too,” added Timur, hesitating, "though it would give me majority control back then.  Not enough for me to be entirely comfortable though.”


“True.  But it would if we worked together,” insisted Vor'en, “and if the timing is just right, I bet we could get the other investors to sell more of their shares on the open market, where the CMF and yourself could buy them back up.  Giving to two of us complete control of Estaria Energy back to your hands.  At least eventually, when you've acquired enough capital again to buy back our shares...”


“And just what exactly are you expecting in return for this favor?”
 

Autumn Falls, off of Intan Island, Estaria


The repulsor yacht glided over the waves of the cerulean waves of the sea, almost without leaving a wake behind her. Only the brief directional change of the waves themselves suggested that her crisp white lines had ever skated over them. Orange light beat down from the setting sun, bathing the yacht in golden hues and plainly outlining the dark shores of Intan Island in the distance. On the Falls' deck, a quartet of men sat hunched over a circular table, eying each other's cars while waited upon by old serving droids passing out drinks and appetizers as if they were as numerous as the water in the sea. A narrow-faced man glanced at his cards, took a sip of his drink, and stared across the table at man swatting an insect away from his plate.


“Look Boss, I don't know what to tell you,” said Cops, setting down his glass, “the Confederate said he'd need time to confirm it with his bosses, and then more time get the money.”


Christopherson frowned and bellowed in his deep voice, “Perhaps we need to contact them again. Tell him we'll take whatever they've got, but obviously, make'em work for it. Otherwise the lady disappears forever.”


“You're worried Boss. You don't think they're behind all the other happenings, do you?”


“I ain't got no proof,” muttered the man, “but tell me who else could have persuaded that nimwit President to arrest the Colazo family, and then somehow actually get the charges to stick and defeat the cartel's attempt to rescue them. It's like they somehow have actual fighters and expertise. It's unreal. The amount of drama popping up all over this world...it ain't right. They've gots to be doing something about here, and I don't want to be next.”


“Maybe we just oughts to get rid of her,” suggested Cops, “throw'er in the sea, or just let wander out. Then there ain't going to be a reason for'em to come here after-”


A pair of blue bolts slammed into the other two card players; they're bodies went limp, their cards fluttered down to litter the oiled teak decks. Cops slowly turned his head to see the air shimmer around the door to the vessel's cabin. A pair of humanoids seemed to walk out of thin air. One was rarely seen on the world, but Cops couldn't think of a person who hadn't seen a Wookiee in a holo-film before. The other appeared to be a middle-aged woman wearing her gray-streaked hair in a tight bun. Both carried a pair of compact blaster carbines, unusual in a world where slugthrowers were the norm. Cops' eyes met those of the female.


“You ain't from around here.”


Shaking her head, Rhys turned her eyes to the swarthy man behind Cops, “Mr. Christopherson, we are going to have a little talk.”


“You're from the Confederation,” ventured the boss.


“Perhaps.”


“She ain't here,” said Christopherson, “but if anything happens to us, she's a goner.”


“You're bluffing. Because I doubt your people are going to be listening to you once they find out that you're a goner. And by that, I mean you're in our custody,” said Rhys, making air quotes with her free hand, “you need to at least appear strong to stay in charge. Otherwise you're going to have people like Cops here thinking he can simply do whatever he wants. Isn't that right Cops? I only have to broadcast that we have you in our custody, and your empire will crumble into a dozen rebel factions.”


“So what's stopping you from doing it, if you're so confident?”


“Like I said,” smiled the woman, “we're going to have a little talk. Two, grab Cops here and put him somewhere safe while I have a little discussion with Mister Christopherson here.”
 

*
Styria-class Galleon Pondichéry, in orbit via Estaria


“So they've almost have all fallen,” noted Indingo, twisting a strand of her black hair, “and yet you're still here.”


The two stared at the holo of the world below them. CSIS teams from the Pondichéry had managed to upset some of the traditional norms for the world by superior intelligence and equipment. The agents along with a dozen battle droids had stormed the Collazo Crime family's mansion on the second largest continent of Aesner. Blackmailed by the Confederates about his involvement with the said crime family, Aesner's president had instituted a large number reforms making the government more transparent. They had managed to even stage a public trial for the Collazos and thwarted an attempt by their criminal allies to rescue them. With both Aesner and Dwamyn joining the Confederation, the other nations on the world found themselves struggling to deal with the political upheaval and the associating ramifications which it brought. Several of the more corrupt nations had banded together to form a counter alliance to oppose what they claimed was a new Confederate hegemony on the world. The uneasy peace only became more strained when Christopherson's organization disappeared seemingly overnight on Intan Island. Instead of the thugs, Confederate battle droids and marines had taken to the streets while Reglia and Mrs. Putri struggled to organize a self-government on the island. Yet Reygrl knew that the Confederation's hand was becoming too apparent likely too many on Estaria, and even to many within the Confederation itself. Word that the Confederation was becoming an expansionist government bent on conquering peaceful worlds would not settle well within the other peoples of the Confederation, nor among the Contegorian Council.


“I just don't see it,” mused Rey'grl, “Estaria and its people are now more allied to us with the criminal scum removed from the equation, yet we can't proceed any further without disaster striking at us.”


“We need a war.”


“That we obviously didn't start,” added Rey'grl, “but that sort of black flag operation required to pull that off...doesn't that make us below them? Don't get me wrong, deception and misdirection has always been what we do. It's kept our people safe, but to do so, and not to necessarily make our people directly safe...Do you ever feel like we skirt close to becoming the Empire?”


She shrugged, “I think some actions are simply common to galactic powers. They're needed for continual survival and growth. So what exactly are you going to do? Howe's not going to be terribly happy if we don't have the entire world join us...”


Rey'grl pursed his lips, “Maybe I, no, he, will just have to settle with us talking with them.”
 

Troseer City, Troseeria, Estaria


“Captain Rey'grl, I presume.”


A gust of wind nearly buffeted the captain towards his host, a man with age-spotted face below a plain of snow white hair wearing a neatly pressed gray-green tunic. Catching his step among the walkway, Rey'grl grasped the handrail on the catway from the landing pad situated far above the rest of the city and offered a counciliatory smile.


“You presume correctly. I take it you are Governor Wynere.”


The man quietly eyed him and spared a glance at the pair of C1 droids striding behind the man.


“There is no need for body guards here,” noted the governor, “I assure you, Troseer is quite safe, unsay, like Intan Island use to be.”


Rey'grl nodded, “You'll forgive me if I still request their presence. Since I seem to have made a few enemies on this world, I like to take precautions.”


Governor Wynere slowly smiled and shook his head, “The legendary Confederation paranoia.”


“Preparedness is not a vice, Governor.”


“If I thought so, you wouldn't be here,” replied the other man, turning his back to the officer, “follow me. If you insist, your droids can come with. I doubt they'll be better the dozens of guards stationed here though.”


Nodding, Rey'grl strode away from the landed Centaur transport to follow the Governor into the skyscraper. Swiveling his head around, he could see that there few skyscrapers nearby enough that could potentially provide a sniper's hide, which made him feel slightly better, yet as he passed through the glass doors into the rest of the building, his focus changed to the dozens of people around him. Most of them seemed like the institutional types who kept governments and companies quietly working, almost invisible to politicians. Yet he noticed slight bulges in some of their clothing, suggesting that either some of them needed to lose a few kilograms, or more likely, that they were carrying concealed weaponry. He felt their stares as the Governor led him past the various guests at the party. I suppose if I didn't wear a uniform, or I didn't have a pair of battle droids behind me, this would be a little less awkward, but I didn't exactly plan on being paraded around a bunch of Troseerians. Five minutes passed before they neared a pair of polished wooden doors about which a half dozen guests apparently hung about. The governor nodded, and pair of the guests swung open the doors. Pierre eyed one, who calmly met his gaze. Security again. And he's saying that I'm the paranoid one...The confederate thanked the guard for opening the door for him and entered the room. The doors swung shut behind him. The Governor spared a glance at the droids.


“Would you mind leaving them outside, next to my own guards?”


“Absolutely,” assented the Confederate, motioning for the pair of droids to remain outside.


“Take a seat,” suggested the Governor, “and let's get down to business.”


“Thank you,” replied the man, plopping down on a padded chair across from the governor, “I didn't expect to see quite so many people.”


“I wasn't exactly planning on receiving you now. It's my wife's birthday party, but I can't really chose to ignore your Confederation...”


“My apologies...”


“It's unnecessary,” said the older man, waving a hand, “if nothing else, it was interesting to see all the reactions going about, between you and them, and vice versa.”


“Anything that could affect you?”


“I hope not. But that will depend on what happens here. I'm assuming you didn't come to small chat, and you're being far too polite for someone about to intimidate me into joining their government. Hell, with your guards, it seems like you think the tables are flipped.”


“Aren't they though?” suggested Rey'grl, leaning forward, “some of your press are making the Confederation to be the bad guys...”


He smiled, “The blessings of the press isn't something I even get completely. Some, even here, are welcoming the change. The rise of two democratic governments in our world, and the Estarian Energy Company finally turning its eyes to the worlds beyond back to those around it are good news. I am still debating about the bill one of their lobbyists got to introduce to the Senate, if that's what you're here for...”


“No, grander schemes I'm afraid.”


“I'm listening.”


“The Confederate nations on Estaria will not stay like they have been, like the rest of this world,” mused Rey'grl, “they will grow more technologically advanced. The droids behind those doors are common in the rest of the Confederation, and they are but a small portion of the technology that will soon come to the rest of the nations on the backs of my starships. Automated combines and harvesters, computers, defenses, whatever you can think of. They will soon be on a different league than the rest of your world. Troseeria and the rest of the alliance that you have formed risks coming behind the curve if something was to happen between us.”


Governor Wynere eyed the man cautiously, “And joining the Confederation would keep us on the same playing level as they are.”


“Yes.”


“What do you want?” said the Troseerian, “doubtless our membership into your galactic government. But what else? I know that the other...nations have undergone some changes...”


“Nothing.”


“Nothing? Absolutely nothing?”

“This is my reasoning,” explained Rey'grl, “if Troseeria joins, the rest of the nations in the alliance which you built will also join.”


“Quite possible. So you want our influence. Tell me Confederate, what happens when we lead the rest of the nations into the Confederation. What does that change? Aside us all being on the same technological and economical playing field, or maybe more level, would be a better way to put it...”


“A unified world government,” replied the alleged CMF officer, holding up a hand, “I don't mean this in a way that reduces anyone's particular power. But a council or some other body where decisions could hammered out by all the nations. A body that could select a councilor to represent Estaria on the Contegorian Council, giving your peoples a voice to be heard in worlds that have never heard of Estaria.”


Wynere's gaze pierced through the Confederate's bronze brown eyes.


“Power to a world that provides power to Confederate worlds,”quipped the Troseerian, “that's almost amusing. And how can you guarantee that Troseeria will have its voice heard among the six nations among on our world.”


“You will have the political support of your allies, I'd assume,” replied Rey'grl, “giving you half the votes needed to select a councilor, assuming that every nation gets one vote, which is what I'd suggest. I'm not sure if the nations currently signatories of the Confederation could agree on one, but I think I could talk to Governor Putri and have her lend her vote to your own, giving you the majority needed to select the councilor.”


“And what about Dwamyn? Will not Estarian Energy want their own voice to be heard?”


“Quite possibly,” said Rey'grl, “in which case, they'll have to go through your candidate to be heard at the Contegorian council. It might even help improve relations and economic flow between Dwamyn and Troseeria. They won't have much of choice to be nice with you.”


“Fair enough. I cannot guarantee anything yet, but I will need to speak to my fellow alliance members and see what I can arrange. But I think you can likely count on us joining your Confederation.”
 

Epilogue...


Captain's Quarters, Styria-class Galleon Pondichéry, somewhere in the Indrexu Sector


“Thank you sirs,” said Rey'grl, adding a brief bow to two holo-graphic figures.


His eyes glanced up first to Director Howe, who briefly nodded and cut his transmission. The other figure, an average-sized human with piercing blue eyes kept his gaze steadily on the man. Finally, Admiral Lucerne cleared his throat.


“Do you prefer the title of Captain, or Controller?” questioned the Rear-Admiral.


Rey'grl hesitated, “Controller would be more accurate.”


“Well Controller Rey'grl, I'll get to the point. As much as I have trusted Director Howe, I was hesitant about this experiment of letting CSIS take over Confederate vessels and using them as mobile bases. But your success here in bringing Estaria into the Confederation is undeniable, as much as it pains me to say so. Due to your actions, I likely will be having several more vessels become CSIS base ships, like the Pondichéry. If you keep on track, I can see you eventually taking over the joint naval-intelligence unit that Howe has been trying to get me to make. Keep up your good work, but let me tell you one other thing, Controller.”


“Sir?”


“Mrs. Putri, or shall I say, Governor Putri, was not terribly happy letting Governor Wynere pick the councilor for Estaria.”


Rey'grl hesitated. Rear-Admiral Lucerne's penchant for using understatements was well-known even to the public, nevermind those who served in the Confederation's military. Yet looking at kashan man's face, he could not tell how serious the man was about the magnitude of the woman's displeasure.


“How unhappy, sir?”


“Unhappy enough that Pro-Consul Thorn ended up talking to her,” sighed Lucerne, “it took some work, including a little economic development project on Intan Island, to make her more happy. Shall we say, content. Controller Rey'grl, always remember that those you count on to support you aren't obligated to simply because they've been loyal to us in the past. Now, I'm not sure if Director Howe is aware of this yet, but I doubt he will miss it if he does find out. But I suppose there's not much either of us can do about that now, this is just your forewarning.”


“Yes sir. Sir, can I ask why you're telling me this?”


Corise hesitated, “Sometimes success is easy to measure. It's easy to see the newly formed Estarian World Council governing the world and joining the Confederation. It's not easy to see the full measure of success behind your actions, or their lasting duration. Will Governors Wynere and Putri want to continue to stay in the Confederation? Will their people? Your orders were to bring them in, and you did that, but there other people's jobs who are to keep them in and solidify their long-lasting support. How you set up the foundation is important in that. That is all. You did well. When your ship next recieves supplies, there should be a few extra crates that you should take a look at. Some of it is mission essential, but some of it is also nonessential, to be spread out and given to your operatives as a reward for a job well done.”


“Thank you sir.”


“Good night, Controller.”


“Good night Admiral.”


The holo-projector blinked out, leaving his cabin in only the dim lighting of the room's auxiliary lights. A voice called out to him from his bunk.


“Aren't you coming back in bed?”


“Give me a second,” replied Rey'grl, fiddling with his datapad, “and I'll be right there.”