(I knew I forgot something: This is a takeover of of the planet "True" Drackmar)


The Overseer of the Cooperative retained his rightful place in orbit around Varn, passing just below the incomplete space station that many still hoped would one day become the beating heart of a Coalition trade hub. From his perch high above the Cooperative capital, he continued to direct the fate of this artificial nation, his presence and will stretching as far away as the Cooperative-supported construction efforts on Chadra, reaching as specifically as the unnamed droid hidden deep within a converted bunker on the planet of Cestus.

He had truly become the heart and soul of the Cooperative of Systems. His thousands of avatars―both mechanical and holographic―carried out and coordinated his will . . . the Cooperative's will.

The countless souls of the Cooperative looked to such iconic figures as Traan Shi, Kerrick Arkanus, and Athan Sahalan; but deep within their heart of hearts they knew that those very figures had fixed their eyes on the gleaming sphere that was: Smarts.

And so he had come to be the embodiment of all that the Cooperative stands for . . . he had become the single mouthpiece of those countless and varied voices. He had given the Cestians peace, the Onyxians shelter, the Ryn a nation, the castaway sons of Dac a home. He had ended strife and birthed peace, and through his relentless pursuit of the ideal that is “Cooperative,” he had become the symbol of that very ideal.

He had transcended.

As Mologg of Drackmar watched the droid ship's peaceful orbit from her hidden perch, she understood beyond any doubt the order she had been given. The Overseer would once again leave the kind embrace of Varn, and once again he would return at the head of new allies and with a directive to forge a new evolution of the Cooperative―and in so doing would remake himself yet again.




Five days later, somewhere


This was the most anticipated reversion of Smarts' existence. Finally it came, and immediately the droids standing by detached the alien device from the hyperdrive engine's core. The slave circuit was broken, and he was completely himself again. He immediately added “blind jump” to his list of undesirable experiences.

The blue-hued image of General Codru appeared immediately in his mind. The Drackmarian warrior's words and tone burst into Smarts' mind as nothing more than lines of data. As the blue form faded from the machine's mind, the image of his main docking bay swelled to replace it, showing the small shuttle and its single occupant departing from its safe harbor.

Beta stirred nervously as the craft broke away from its parent ship and the image of an unknown world came into view, but the weight of Smarts' mind was there to reassure him. Carried into the depths by the unassuming form of his most essential droid, Smarts moved closer to his destination. Once more he shed the physical constraints of the vessel which served his most basic needs, and through an avatar of his own he beheld new wonders and treaded new soil.

The shuttle came to rest on a solitary landing pad anchored to a cliff face, perched high above an expansive city. Beta emerged from the shuttle at Smarts' prompting, ignoring the ranks of Drackmarian warriors to either side. And then his mind shrank away as the Overseer inhabited the mechanical form, expanding his consciousness to consume the humble droid.

Smarts walked boldly forward, following the gray stone path laid out before him. His artificial eyes peered through the darkness, analyzing everything, overlooking nothing. The pair of ancient doors―easily five meters tall―swung open at the forceful touch of their keepers. Upon the massive black forms were etched in ages-old Drackmarian writing tales of Emperor Drackmar, and as Smarts was drawn through them by the slow, forward march of the Drackmarian escort which had gathered around the droid, he marveled at the longevity of the ancient scripts.

But it did not end there. As he crossed the threshold, the dull metal of the landing bay gave way to the living rock of the mountain's heart, and the chamber beyond opened up into a veritable hall of legends, either side of the long corridor lined with suits of armor, statues of long-dead heroes, and the silent shells of ancient and alien droids.

The Drackmarian escort continued steadily onward, walking the hundred meters to the end of the path with a sense of quiet homage. But the insatiable Smarts studied every item intently, admiring the evolution of Drackmarian technology and the adaptation suggested by subtle changes seen in the sets of armor and ranks of deactivated droids.

But the statues called to him. The machines and technology of Drackmar were interesting, intellectually stimulating. The statues of fallen heroes and timeless memories were alive with the soul of the Drackmarian people, a record―carved from the very earth―which gave testament to the eternal will of a people who would not yield. These faces were the likenesses of the greatest sons of the Empire, and though Smarts did not know there names and had not read the tales of their triumphs, he could see the shadows cast by their legendary feats of greatness. To hold a place in this hall was surely among the greatest honors in all of the Drackmarian Empire.

Finally the Drackmarian honor guard came to a stop before a solid wall of stone. They had reached the end of this Hall, and the way forward was shut.

Shut by the stone-wrought wall upon which were carved images of Drackmar's greatness.

One of him standing, triumphant, over the fallen king of some nameless enemy.

Another of him stretching a mighty spear into the heavens, calling down fire from the sky.

Images of the great Warrior Emperor leading his brothers into battle, smashing themselves against the arrogant lines of a doomed foe.

But among these picure-tales of war, valor, and greatness; one stood out. Emperor Drackmar the Merciful, sitting upon his throne, sword sheathed, helm in hand, all the fallen enemies of the Empire praising his greatness.

Then the entire image changes, dragged to the right and thrown upon their sides. The massive door rolled into the side wall, revealing another rolling in the opposite direction. Into the ceiling and floor great blast doors rose and fell, and finally the way was opened. The honor guard broke their ranks and fell to their knees, pointing the lone droid forward.

Smarts crossed this second threshold alone, the gray paving stones turning to a black, reflective glass. This new chamber was massive, great pillars rising on either side to support the ceiling that vanished into shadows. Far to the left and right, the walls glowed dimly under the gaze of their dim torches, casting lines of light here and there that revealed still more statues and suits of armor, lines of ancient Drackmarian writing and images of once-waged wars. The words spilled onto the floor, carving lines across metal and stone alike, wrapping around the nearby columbs and disappearing into the distant darkness.

But none of that mattered anymore. Smarts stepped slowly forward, all of his attentions now focused on the largest and most impressive sight of them all. Upon an ancient, immense throne of black glass sat a dragon of undeniable presence. Its bladed hands rested on the time-warn arms of the great throne, the black glass rubbed smooth by untold centuries of wear.

The colorful scales seemed laid in a perfect pattern, appearing to have been forged from the most precious materials of each respective color. The eyes were a hungry black, consuming all of the light that fell upon them. It was like staring into a singularity, from which there is no return.

A lesser being would probably have approached the massive construct after a moment of awe, feeling the contours of the creation's form and marveling at its perfection. A lesser being would have done a very foolish thing indeed.

“Allow me the attempt,” Smarts said into the emptiness around him, studying the terminus of the path for another long moment. “Emperor Draconis the Redeemer, Son of Drackmar, Keeper of the Inner Sanctum.”

The dragon stood. “EMPEROR DRACONIS THE RESTORRER, HEIR OF DRACKMAR, KEEPER OF THE CHOSEN REALM.”

Over four meters tall and with a tail long enough to wrap around his legs before disappearing back behind him again―which it did―the being was barely recognizable as a Drackmarian.

Smarts tilted his head to the right in an attempt to express his amusement at the Emperor who had sought to pass as a statue.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?”

“Only an emperor has worlds named after him,” Smarts replied, moving forward slowly, reverently. “I have been fairly confident that the Drackmarian Empire still has an emperor for some time now,” He continued, the droid meeting the intimidating figure's consuming stare in a manner Smarts' doubted most organics would be able to. “Of course, I obviously didn't expect this . . .”

“I, like the Avatar of Drackmar, am the last of my kind,” The Emperor explained. Though still louder than any Drackmarian Smarts had yet encountered, the Emperor's voice carried the tone of a whisper, as if he was straining to dilute the earth-shaking voice he had greeted Smarts with. “From inception I was destined to be a god among ants, though never was I meant to sit upon this throne.”

“Then you were alive all those years ago, when Emperor Drackmar made his decree?” The Emperor nodded, considering the gesture sufficient. “Then are you . . . immortal?”

The chamber shook as the Emperor laughed―really laughed―and Smarts adjusted his audio receptors to bring the Emperor's voice to a more manageable level. “I prefer to consider myself . . . tenacious . . . though we Drackmarians are a naturally long-lived species. How old do you think Mologg is, for example?” The question immediately made Smarts reevaluate his perceptions of the Drackmarian ambassador, and it was only then that he realized just how sage and experienced she must be. “I served under the Emperor himself in the last days of his reign,” Draconis continued, “when the last great wars of his lifetime were waged. I was among those who convinced him of the necessity of his prohibitive decrees, though at the time I did not understand the solitude which those decrees would bring upon me . . .”

"True leaders are those who give beyond what they demand,” Smarts commented, sensing clearly the Emperor's sorrow, and appreciating how meaningful such openness was―especially from a Drackmarian Emperor.

“I have demanded much of those who would follow me,” The Emperor clarified, sliding back into his throne. “As have you.”

“I ask no one to follow me,” Smarts countered defensively.

“And yet they do.” The simple statement hung in the air for a moment, and then the Emperor continued. “Those who choose to follow must be led. You understand that, and so you have devoted yourself to traveling a path that does not belong to you: a path that belongs to those who follow you. You understand what it means to lead―to rule―and like me, you will live . . . too long. You will see the consequences of your rule on a scale so very few leaders have had the longevity to witness. Are you prepared for the consequences of your actions, Overseer?”

Smarts pondered the question for a while, considering the implications carefully. Finally, inevitably, he twisted Beta's head in response. “No, no I am not.”

“But still you still you lead.”

“Still they must follow.”

“Why have I called you here?” The Emperor asked out of nowhere, shifting the course of the conversation without warning.

“It is time for another test.”

The Emperor's lips pealed back in a terrifying smile. “Where we're going, we won't need tests.”

Smarts tilted his head up in an attempt to express his curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“You have bested me Overseer, and you have done it with my own people. You have won the allegiance of Representative Mologg, General Codru, Regent Nabra and First Governor Cryus, and―impossibly―the Avatar of Drackmar itself. You have shown the unclouded truth of this Cooperative's future, and have compelled the service of the Drackmarian Empire.

“The Iron Fist of Drackmar is yours to command.”

Varn, Cooperative Council Hall

The Senate didn't know what to do with itself. The Drackmarian Empire had petitioned to join their democratic Cooperative of Systems. The only thing that saved the endeavor was the fact that the Drackmarians considered the matter closed, meaning finally they were prepared to peel back the layers of secrecy and misdirection and show their true selves to the leaders of the Cooperative.

With the support of Smarts and influence already acquired by the seats belonging to Drackmar, Draconis Prime, Morseer, and First Morseer, Emperor Draconis had authorized the droid to enlighten the Senate concerning matters of Drackmarian politics and government. Never mind the fact that Smarts had only become aware of how the Drackmarian Empire actually worked mere hours before.

And so now the familiar form of Beta stood in the center of the Senate Chamber, ready to make history by divulging the long-kept secrets of the Drackmarian Empire to the galaxy at large.

Before he even began, he knew how things would eventually play out. The X'ting insects of Ord Cestus would support the Empire's inclusion, because―regardless of their near-worship of Smarts and reflexive consent to any proposal he made―their hive-like society would understand the species-centric views which allowed the Drackmarian system to work. The Xi Charrians would side with their fellow insects for similar hive-oriented reasons, as well as their insatiable curiosity toward Drackmarian technology.

Halmad would welcome the Drackmarians wholeheartedly simply because of the military and industrial might they represented, and the Vahaba miners would vote with their key trading partners, as always. The Vahaba and Halmad seats had come to be so integrally entangled, and the Vahaba population was so small, that there were talks of redefining Vahaba as a dependency of Halmad, merging their seats and making their internal alliance official.

The Onyxian-dominated Amorris and Selcaron would likely vote “for” without even listening, simply because Nitin Cass and Ethan Vang had apparently expressed a degree of admiration for the mysterious and fabled “Drackmarian Way.”

The Ugor weren't expected to vote at all, which was a rather common occurrence. They didn't seem to have much interest in Cooperative politics, but so far they were sticking to their treaty and leaving the Squibs well enough alone, so nobody pressed the issue. The Amani would probably do the same, though that was simply because they were still wary about involving themselves in interstellar politics.

The Squibs. The Squibs would probably vote against, just because the Drackmarians look “scary.” The humanoid population of Cestus would probably take a similar course. They were still recovering socially from decades of corporate manipulation by the former heads of Cestus Cybernetics, and the fact that the Drackmarians called themselves an “empire” was probably enough to stop them from even listening to Smarts' report.

Then there was the joint TransGalMeg/Narg delegation, made up entirely of humans. There would be some internal squabbling, but eventually they would vote against, just because they could.

And finally there was Varn. Capital and centerpiece of the Cooperative of Systems. They alone would see through to the truth of the matter and vote according to the heart and soul of the Drackmarian people. They would welcome the Empire with open arms, because it represented something other than totalitarian rule: it represented the free and willful cooperation of a people who had learned to set aside their differences and embrace one another as equals and brothers.





Nitin and Traan had followed the Emperor's orders precisely, sitting down on the overly large steps in front of the throne and turning sideways to see the massive figure sitting at the head of the Drackmarian nation. The one called Kerrick had opted to sit on the floor, folding his hands in his lap and staring at the stairs, not bothering to strain his neck by looking up to meet the Emperor's gaze. Athan had followed Kerrick's example, but was staring intently at the Emperor and his throne, marveling at the dragon-like ruler. Ethan had apparently declined the invitation altogether, maintaining his stiff stance, hands held behind his back.

These were the true leaders of the Cooperative, the hands and feet who carried out the will of the machine-made nation.

“The Drackmarian Empire was established when Drackmar the Mighty united the warring nations of this world under his sole and absolute rule. He brought us unity, peace, and strength; but always according to some abstract and unseen code of conduct which none of his subjects could understand. It was Drackmar who instilled in us an abiding and fierce loyalty―not to the nations of the past, the races of our kind, or even the families into which we were born; but to the Empire, to Justice and Might. In so doing, he happened to instill in us a measure of the same mercy and acceptance which had allowed him to rule benevolently over such an otherwise militant and fragmentary species. It was by His hand that―”

“Let me get this straight.” Draconis' eyes snapped to Kerrick, who was lifting himself off of the floor. “You called us to the other side of the galaxy for a history lesson?”

The Emperor snarled in what he considered a laugh, but Kerrick's eyes narrowed and his posture shifted in response to the perceived threat. “To tell the tale of the Empire of Drackmar would require more lifetime than you have to give, human. I have brought you here to teach you the Drackmarian Way, and to instill in you a respect for my father's accomplishments.”

Kerrick had crossed his arms over his chest, heavily favoring one leg and staring defiantly at the towering Drackmarian. “Pick up the pace, will ya'?”

“Barely had the ash and cinder of our own wars settled before the first of the great Star Wars began, and all the broken nations of our people rallied around Drackmar the August One, who led the first of our armies into the great expanse of space and repelled the invading hoards.

“Time would pass. We would make brothers, allies, subjects, and sworn enemies; but through it all, Drackmar would guide us. He forged a mighty Empire, but always he remembered that his strength was only the strength of those who chose to follow him; always he remembered that the Empire was its subjects, not its Emperor. When he fell in battle, the casualty of his own mercy, the undying way of Drackmar lived on in all of us. It is that same Drackmarian Way that gives this Empire its life, that binds us all―Drackmarian, Morseerian, and the races beyond―into a body whose members cannot be lost.

“Much of the Empire's power is gone now, given over to its subjects and those whom they choose to follow, but always is the will of Drackmar in our hearts, and always does it guide us. When the heads of your governments are killed, your nations die. When the worlds of your nations are seized, your governments collapse. So long as there are those who call themselves 'Drackmarian,' the Empire will live on; for the Empire is nothing but a tribute to the one who made peace from war, cities from ash, and hope from our darkest despair.

“I sit upon Drackmar's throne, and all of his subjects call me 'Lord,' but it is to him that we swear our allegiance, and it is for that reason that we cannot be struck down. Though his body was destroyed and his throne overturned, still his spirit guides us, and still we follow in his Way. In the sons of Drackmar you have found an ally who cannot abandon you; seated in the throne of Drackmar you have found an Emperor who will not rule. We are not who we appear to be.”

“If I may ask, Emperor . . .”

“You are here to receive answers, Ambassador.”

Traan nodded kindly, fixing his eyes on Draconis. “What is the meaning of the 'Test of Strength.' How does this fit into your Drackmarian Way?”

The Emperor let out an earth-shaking laugh, leaning forward on his gargantuan throne. “The Cooperative came to us as equals, seeking our strength and depending on our generosity. The Empire learned long ago that those who cannot defend themselves will fall to those who can; it is only a matter of time. Those incapable of standing alongside us in battle, of braving fire and challenging the very stars, can offer us nothing of certainty. It is the unfortunate truth of this galaxy that the Mighty lead, and the rest . . . the rest are made irrelevant by the passage of time.

“You lost a military simulation, but you passed the Test of Strength, for it is strength of will which separates the mighty from all else, and that strength of will was testified to by one Ethan Vang.” The emperor turned his head toward Ethan, nodding at the human and allowing the act to conclude his answer.

“I have a question.” Attention turned to the Ryn sitting on the floor, and Athan met the imposing figure's gaze with some degree of discomfort. “Umm, why didn't you retake the Quelii Sector after the fall of Zsinj?”

Draconis sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Simply put: our expansion into the Quelii Sector was an experiment, one that eventually failed. We offered the worlds of the Quelii Sector protection, peace, prosperity; but we did not offer them true admittance into the Empire. We resisted Imperial expansion into the sector, but its people were not as . . . committed to defiance as we. It would seem that there are many within the greater galaxy to whom the Way of Drackmar demands too much. We are not suited to rule over those so attuned to the ways of galactic Republics and Empires.”

Athan smiled. “And you see something different in the Cooperative.”

“I see an undying will to better the galaxy. I see a passion to guide, not lead. I see a potential to restore peace and order without the necessity of instilling fear or asserting dominance. I see within the Cooperative an opportunity for the truest essence of Drackmar's Way to spread across the stars under a banner of freedom instead of a condition of servitude.”

Ethan was obviously pondering something, and finally he spoke up as the Emperor fell silent once more. “What about the other worlds of the Empire?”

The question was simple, but its meaning was clear. “I rule this world,” Draconis began. “My decree here is law. The other worlds of the Empire look to me for guidance, but it is a mark of my rule that I do not truly rule them. The other worlds of the Empire must join the Cooperative of their own free will and volition; this is the law of Drackmar.”

“Couldn't you just . . . change the law, Emperor?”

Draconis smiled viciously. “I am not your Palpatine.”

“He's not my Palpatine,” Kerrick countered quickly.

Athan's shoulders lifted slightly, and he stretched one hand in the air, index finger pointing up. “I'll second that.”

Draconis nodded, chuckling. “I have made my decision; my followers are free to make theirs.”

The informal meeting continued for quite some time, the Cooperative delegates asking questions and the Emperor Draconis answering in utmost truthfulness. In the following hours, these leaders of the Cooperative would learn much about the Empire and its emperors, and would come into a new understanding of the Drackmarians and their Way. Slowly but undeniably, these emissaries of democracy began to realize just how un-Imperial this particular empire was.

Smarts had spent the past few days on his perch in orbit over Varn, watching and directing the various elements of the Cooperative as they prepared to incorporate the core of the Drackmarian Empire into the fold. Though many aspects of the Empire remained veiled in secrecy―as the Drackmarians wished―the majority of the Cooperative and the Coalition beyond had come to respect the Drackmarian people's wishes and took their various promises of aide as proof of their intentions.

For those such as Smarts and his companions, those who had met with Emperor Draconis personally and had been given a greater understanding of the Empire's secrets, there was no question as to the Drackmarian people's intentions or promises.

This much was certain: the Cooperative would never be the same again. The official treaty had not yet been signed, and already elements of the Drackmarian military had been dispatched to assist with the Cooperative's broader militarization programs. The other worlds of the Empire that had already signed individual treaties with the Cooperative were preparing new charters, using the newly acquired freedom given by Emperor Draconis to incorporate themselves more fully into the Cooperative government, economy, and society.

Soon the power of the Drackmarian people would be refocused onto the worlds and peoples of the Galactic Coalition, and yet another set of hands and feet would be put to the task of securing freedom and defending innocence.

The loss of the Onyxian Commonwealth and Contegorian Confederation were still fresh in the minds of the Coalition's citizens, compounded by the fall of Mon Calamari and the increasingly isolationist Cren and Gestalt governments; and now word was arriving that the Serendivus had shifted allegiance to the Confederation, taking Kashyyyk and Trandosha with it. It would only be through the newfound strength of such nations as the Drackmarians and the continued attempts to revive the bonds of friendship with such newly independent nations as the Contegorians that the Coalition could not only survive, but finally prosper once more.

The Drackmarian people had extended to the Cooperative a bond of brotherhood, and Smarts was just coming to understand how unbreakable that bond was, at least for the Drackmarians. He only hoped that the greater Coalition would soon be imparted such binding concepts of loyalty and friendship.





Three Drackmarian Destroyers exited hyperspace on the edge of Varn's traffic control sphere, the Drackmarian Cruiser Iron Fist appearing between them a second later. The four alien vessels approached in silence, their path to the watery world open.

The trio of escorts began to slow, holding position and allowing the larger Cruiser to proceed in solitude. As the mighty Drackmarian warship drew closer to the blue-white world, a quartet of very different vessels approached the larger Cruiser, falling into escort position around the Drackmarian vessel. The Venator-class Star Destroyer Redemption from Halmad, Mon Calamari Star Cruiser Heroic Defender from Chadra, the Claymore-class Battleship High Guardian of the Praetorian Guard, and the Bulwark-class Battlecruiser TransGal Voyager of Narg replaced their Drackmarian counterparts; each one carrying the markings and broadcasting the transponder codes of their homes, of the Cooperative, and of the greater Coalition to which they all pledged allegiance.

It was an honor guard which spoke clearly to all who were watching and listening: the Might of the Coalition is found in the declaration of its diversity.

As the Drackmarian warship and its escorts penetrated Varn's high orbit and continued forward, the aberrant orbit of a lone vessel became clear: crossing into the path of the ships of war was a rather common inhabitant of the planet's skies. The Lucrehulk-class Core Ship Smarts broke from its long-held orbit, falling into position at the front of the formation and leading it onward.

The honor guard shifted slowly, spreading out along a single plane, holding position relative to the larger Drackmarian ship as it altered course and slid into low orbit. As the minutes ticked by and transports drifted between the assembled craft, carrying delegates and exchanging representatives, more vessels fell into place alongside the Drackmarian flagship. They came with the colors of the Western and Eastern Provinces, flying the flags of the Azguard and bearing the banners of the Cren. Large and small, ships fell into position to welcome this new nation into the fold.

The Drackmarian Empire had joined the Galactic Coalition of Planets, and it was to the Cooperative of Systems that this new ally looked for guidance, friendship, and acceptance.





This time they have gone too far.

The sky was burning; the stars had paled next to this unholy inferno. One of Drackmar's mighty warships dispersed into vapor, the strain of reversion too much for its shattered hull to bear. And at the head of this dying fleet was the immense form of the Dragonfire, flag ship of the Inner Sanctum Defense Fleet and symbol of Draconis' will for centuries. Fires still burned within its hull, great scars had been gouged into the hardened armor, the tip of its port prong was gone. Something was terribly wrong.

On the world below, Emperor Draconis thundered down the massive corridor, the hovering holoimager barely keeping pace. “We were ambushed, Sire,” The image stated flatly. “Our enemies have either acquired new allies or subdued some new source of warships.”

The Emperor snarled in frustration, the massive blast doors finally opening and Draconis stepping into his command center. It was only then that he saw on the displays the official reports of critical damage and lost ships, of dead crews and fallen captains. He waved his arm and the hovering holo obediently moved away. Picking a communications officer out of the sea of Drackmarian soldiers, he leveled a clawed finger at her. “Send word to General Codru. He is to assemble the Outer Worlds Defense Fleet and make all haste to the Inner Sanctum immediately.”

The hologram floated back into view. “Emperor, the Outer Fleet cannot be called here; Drackmarian Law requires the Outer Worlds to receive the same―”

Draconis clenched his fist, and the admiral fell silent. “You have lost the privileg of consulting me on matters of Drackmarian Law and military tactics, admiral.” He grabbed the hovering holo-emitter and hurled it away, turning his attention to his military commanders as the device spiraled wildly and finally righted itself.

“We are members of the Coalition now; our fight is their concern. Our laws are their oaths. They will fulfill the Law of Drackmar; the Outer Worlds will not be left defenseless. Now: summon General Codru. We will end this threat here and now.”

Looking one final time at the incoming reports, Draconis hissed in militant glee, barring his fangs and thrashing his tail. “It is time to show our enemies the Unbound Might of Drackmar's Way.”