Multiple Planet Takeover: Ovise I, Thonner, Murk, and Annaj



Cerea


It may never be known if there was a world more perfectly pristine and beautiful than Cerea. The world was situated on the western side of the Galaxy, near the main portion of the Coalition's Western Province.

The planet was ruled by a president, who ran and oversaw the Council of Elders. This governing body was responsible for the keeping of law and order, formulating treaties and alliances, and managing and beginning trade.

The Cereans were and had always had been naturally mistrustful of offworlders and the advanced technology that they brought. They greatly valued their world's natural beauty and had instituted tight restrictions to control pollution and overpopulation. Several cities were maintained by offworlders, where such things were rampant.

But by the arrival of the Coalition, things were different. Now, Coalition officials, with permission from the Cerean government, had created a large complex for Coalition operations and for the control of outside traffic onto Cerea. Working with Cerean officials, they had closed down these outsider cities and regulated all traffic coming in drastically reducing contamination and pollution.

Now, the beautiful world stands as the capital of the Western Coalition.



***


"This is Cerea Sector Patrol, please state your vessel's name, registry number, and business."

Caleb Logan crossed his arms and stared down at the young ensign that turned to look up at him,"Go ahead, Ensign."

The young officer leaned forward, "Cerea Sector Patrol, this is the Onyxian Commonwealth Star Destroyer Keerow, and accompanying support ships. Registry number 8945478, on business in response to General Order 45973..."

There was a slight pause.

"Confirmed, Keerow. You are cleared for orbit."

"Thanks CSP."

Caleb nodded to the young ensign and turned back to the center of the bridge. The Keerow was the newest ship in the Onyxian Commonwealth fleet. An older ship that was destroyed in a battle, but repaired and completely upgraded, the ship featured the latest in starship designs.

Which included bridge designs.

Captain Joffre, an old officer from the Old Republic era, sat uncomfortably in the command chair at the center of the bridge. Caleb suppressed a smile and moved over to him, "Having trouble, Captain?" He asked with a smirk.

Joffre glared up at him, "I'm too fat for this chair. It's designed with this memory-foam shit thats supposed to make you more comfortable. Saves the imprint of your ass in the seat or some damn thing. My back is killing me!"

Caleb nodded and said nothing, still hiding his smirk.

"Wipe that damn smile off your face!" Joffre growled.

Caleb did as ordered but a small laugh slipped.

Joffre gave him a warning look, and Caleb held his hands up in surrender.

Joffre waited a minute before looking at his console, "Why the hell are we here? Travelled across the damn galaxy to this..." he looked at the viewport and at Cerea, "... place."

"Come on, Captain, I hear this is a tourists dream." Caleb said, following Joffre's gaze.

"Yeah except the tourists aren't allowed to come here, not with all these restrictions those Azguard things put on the place." Joffre said with a scowl.

Caleb knew of Joffre's feelings toward the Azguards. It mirrored the views of most of the Onyxian Commonwealth. Caleb's own father, Joren Logan, was reported to hold a severe dislike for the race of beings that had helped to power the most potent 'light side' government since the New Republic. The Galaxy owed the Azguardians much, at least according to Caleb.

But nevertheless, he also held his own reservations. There was sharp debate among the Ruling Council of the Commonwealth as to how much control the Azguardians had over the Coalition. Some within the OC saw Prime Minister Regrad as a puppet leader, which gave the Azguardians control over almost the entire Coalition. Which is why, in a subtle way, the Commonwealth Military was reportedly the toughest organization for an Azguard to get into. Very few were members of the Defense Force.

After speaking to Joffre, he made his way to the turbolift and headed down to his private office for a much needed break from the monotony of the bridge. He entered the darkened room and collapsed onto the small couch just to the right of the door.

"You're late." Came a voice from the darkness.

Caleb suddenly found himself holding his blaster pistol, pointing it straight at the figure sitting at his desk, in his chair. He didn't quite remember how he had gotten here, he just knew that he had reacted as trained, "Neychev."

Joren Logan's old New Alliance comrade smiled back at him, "Put that thing away, you'll poke your eye out."

Caleb holstered his sidearm, "How'd you get in here?"

"Please. I am a member of the Praetorian Guard. I go where I want. Especially on my ship." Neychev said flatly, as if he were speaking to a small child who had spoken out of turn.

"I try to forget that you and I are in the same organization. And this isn't your ship anymore."

Neychev had been the Captain of the Keerow, which had once served as the flagship of the New Alliance fleet. The ship had been harvested by the Commonwealth, and restored.

"It will always be my ship. Your father wasn't stupid. he made sure he would always have access to his ships. There are algorithms running over algorithms in the bowels of this ship's computer. I happen to know the codes to it." Neychev leaned back in the oversize plush chair and regarded Caleb with a blank stare.

"But this ship was destroyed at Bakura by the Black Dragons."

"And who do you think ordered it recovered, restored, and repaired?"

Caleb thought for a moment then released a long heavy sigh, "My father."

"Correct again." Neychev said, grinning.

Caleb sank into the small couch, "What do you want?"

"Oh nothing. Just reminding you that we are always watching."



Always.

Pro Moon picked the loose threads from his Prime Ministerial robes. "How do I look?" he said, while examining himself in the mirror.

"Just fine," replied Captain Ion - a Tynnian dressed in full regalia. "Will you stop worrying? We have to be ready for when the delegates arrive."

"It's just... there are some big names coming today, I don't want to look shabby."

Ion arched his eyebrows. "You're wearing more sequins and sashes than a tailor's supply closet. Trust me, nothing'll go wrong."

"I hope you're right..." Pro Moon sighed. "Let's get going."

The Prime Minister of Cerea and the chief military officer of the Western Coalition departed the Cerean parliament, meeting place of the Council of Elders, and made for a private speeder waiting just outside. Ion opened the door for the Prime Minister, adding "I've heard the Azguards are sending someone big, might even be... well, you know."

"What?" said Pro Moon, pausing halfway into the speeder. "I thought he was out East, fighting the Dragons?"

"It's just a rumour." Ion pushed Pro Moon into the speeder and followed him. "They have sent someone, though, and he's supposed to be pretty important."

Pro Moon sighed. "Who else is confirmed?"

"Well..." Ion examined his datapad. "Looks like Mr. Logan's just pulled in overhead."

"Joren Logan?" said Pro Moon with a start.

"...No, looks like his son."

"Joren had a son?" said Pro Moon, who furrowed his considerable Cerean brow. "I never knew he had the time."

"We all have to do something with our spare time, sir," said Ion. "Speaking of which, how's your wife?"

Pro Moon groaned, and rolled his eyes. "Don't even talk to me about her. Do you have any idea how mad she was when I explained she wasn't invited to the Council meeting? I tried explaining to her it was high-level national affairs, but she wouldn't listen. She's still steamed over the travel restrictions the Coalition imposed due to the Black Dragon War out East. I just think she's mad because she's not going to rub elbows with the Coalition elite, just so she can brag to-"

"Uh... sir?" said Ion, waving at the Prime Minister. "Can we get back to the meeting? The Coalition Complex is prepared for the delegates' arrival, but we should arrive about twenty minutes early."

"Good," said Pro Moon. "That should give us enough time to get settled in. That place is cavernous, I don't want to show up second to a meeting we're hosting."

The speeder passed out of the silvery spires of Cerea's capital, between mountains and ice-sheets, towards the more blocky and solid Coalition Complex in the distance. Built into the side of a mountain, the place had landing pads, breathtaking vistas of Cerea's terrain, and facilities for top-level Coalition meetings and handling Coalition business in the West. From there, officials, bureaucrats, and other staff from the Coalition operated across the entire sector - naturally, the facility was built large, and easy to get lost in.

The speeder whipped up the mountain roads towards the base of the structure, Pro Moon falling silent as they approached. "It's a scar on the landscape," he muttered. "Still, I guess we all have to pay a price for progress. Why they couldn't have used traditional Cerean design, I don't know."

Ion, who found traditional Cerean architecture nauseating and vertigo-inducing, kept quiet.

"Well, we're here," said Pro Moon as they pulled up to the entranceway. "Let's get going."



The Claymore battlecruiser Ishon's Shadow came out of hyperspace around the planet Cerea, its' Azguardian crew looking out at the distant planet.

On the bridge, the ship's captain - a grizzled and scarred veteran of the Two Krakken Wars - turned to one of his ensigns. "Inform the commander that we've arrived at Cerea. ETA twenty minutes."

The ensign saluted, and quick-stepped from the bridge. Down the dim passages of the ship he went, before stopping in front of a large wooden door. The door was an oddity, even on an Azguard ship, but the ensign went ahead and knocked a bronze knocking fixture. After a moment, he called out "Commander, we're in orbit around Cerea. The captain says we'll be there in twenty minutes."

The door opened. The inside was lit by candles, but dimly visible was the outline of an armoured figure. "Excellent," the figure replied in a deep, gravelly voice. "Tell the captain I'll be ready to depart the moment we arrive."

The ensign nodded and dashed quickly back to the bridge. Commander Yolem put down his book of prayers and blew out the candles in the ship's shrine. Stepping once more into the dim light, he affixed his helmet firmly on his head. Diplomacy was not his favourite arena, but after warring in the East, it sounded like a pleasant break.

Admiral Dawara and Governor Sawara of the Cren Alliance took the shuttle <i>Cren's Diplomat</i> down to the surface. Above them was the Dominator - class Heavy Battlecruiser, <i>Cren's Might</i>, flagship of the Cren Alliance military. 2 MC-90 Star Cruisers and a group of Haven Light Cruisers and Defender Gunships flanked the flagship.

Admiral Dawara turned around to look at the 2 humans in the shuttle. These two were not representatives of the Cren Alliance and had instead arrived onboard the Haven Light Cruiser <i>Justice II</i>, with a small escort of 2 Defender Gunships.

"How are you two doing with this turbulence?" asked Admiral Dawara.

"Just fine, Admiral," replied Minister Dondana.

"Beats being shot at by Imperials, sir," replied Captain Kit Galden.

The shuttle continued downward to the meeting place...

The bridge of the Pegasus-class Star Destroyer Audacieuse bathed in the light from the swirling, unfamiliar stars. Officers on the command walkway silently viewed the stars with reverence derived from the combination of beauty and danger. Below them in the crewpits, the rest of the bridge crew paced and operated consoles diligently and quietly. It was exceptionally rare that any Confederation warship operated outside of the Confederation&#8217;s own space or within the Gestalt-Kashan Hyperlane. No-one within the crew had ever even been to Cerea, save one.

&#8220;Atten-hut! Commodore&#8217;s on the deck.&#8221;

&#8220;At ease gentlemen,&#8221; saluted the younger Lucerne, walking through the bridge foyer.

&#8220;Looking forward to seeing Cerea again, sir?&#8221; questioned the Captain quietly.

Corise shrugged. &#8220;I suppose it&#8217;s a wonderful planet; very serene and such.&#8221;

&#8220;I imagine it will be nicer arriving on something larger than a Skipray Blastboat as well,&#8221; stated a new voice.

The Commodore quickly swiveled about to face the newcomer: Pro-Consul Christina Thorn. She was dressed in an elegantly simple white evening gown; the sort of which would have been acceptable at any number of aristocratic proms. Being raised in the House of Thorn, the brunette had the feminine grace and bearing to match the dress as well.

&#8220;Good evening Pro-Consul,&#8221; bowed the Commodore.

&#8220;Any more of your formal antics and I will slap you.&#8221;

Corise mockingly grinned. &#8220;It would be my pleasure to be slapped by you.&#8221;

She stared at him and shook her head. &#8220;One of these days...&#8221;

&#8220;I&#8217;m sure. What&#8217;s our ETA?&#8221; questioned the Kashan man seriously, turning to the ship&#8217;s captain.

&#8220;We should be reverting within a minute.&#8221;

&#8220;Thank you Captain.&#8221;

The couple walked forward to the bridge viewport and briefly lost themselves to the stars before the warship flashed into realspace. Cerea occupied most of the viewport; the Confederation ships had come in close, nearly in orbit. Corise thought he could faintly see one of the planet&#8217;s glimmering cities with its below. The Audacieuse was not alone, being accompanied by a trio of the Styria Galleons; one of which was a hundred kilometers in front of the warship while the other two flanked the star destroyer on either side. Corise scanned the rest of the orbit, noting a myriad of warships from the various sub-factions that made up the Coalition. He noted with some pleasure, that he could identify some of the distant warships with the naked eye, such as a Claymore Battlecruiser, a symbol of the Azgard influence within the Coalition, and the Dominator-class Battlecruiser, a staple warship within some Coalition war fleets. More interesting to the officer was the presence of another star destroyer, which was identified as belonging to the Onyxian Commonwealth. Another group within the Coaltion with some human representatives, thank the Maker. Corise was not Xenophobic, but it was reassuring to be able to talk to others of a similar nature; at least in appearance.

A lone voice suffused the bridge. &#8220;This is Cerea Sector Patrol, please state your vessel's name, registry number, and business."

&#8220;This is star destroyer Audacieuse with Styria Galleons Providence, Hope, and Fortune. Registry number 1028937 for the Audacieuse. Galleons are transmitting their own to you. We are responding to General Order 45973.&#8221;

&#8220;Confederation vessels, you are clear.&#8221;

&#8220;Thank you Control.&#8221;

Corise turned to his consort. &#8220;I suppose we should get to the shuttle.&#8221;

&#8220;Really? I thought we were going to land with our star destroyer.&#8221;

&#8220;You know that is possible, since the Audacieuse is atmospherically capable&#8230;&#8221;

&#8220;Do you have to be so technically correct?&#8221; questioned the woman.

Corise looked at the ceiling for a second. &#8220;Um, yes?&#8221;

&#8220;No,&#8221; stated the woman adamantly.

&#8220;No,&#8221; repeated the officer.

"Sir, please strap in, we're coming in for a landing."

Caleb silently acknowledged the request, pulling the various straps across his chestto secure his body against the soft padded seat of the shuttle Liberty, "How long till we land at the complex?" He asked the pilot.

Busy with toggling various controls and pressing buttons in preparation for landing, the pilot turned to look back at him, "About three minutes."

Caleb nodded and glanced out the window, admiring the beautiful landscape of the planet. The Cereans, he was told, were very guarded towards foreigners trespassing on their worlds. Much like the Ithorians had been.

Non-Cereans were restricted to the cities and some surrounding terrain. It had been hundreds of years since the last off-worlder had been granted access to the outside lands.

No matter. thought Caleb I'm not here for a tour. I'm here for business.


***


"Greetings, Captain Logan. Welcome to Cerea."

Logan returned the salute from the young human Lieutenant that greeted him at the bottom of the Liberty's landing ramp, "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"This way sir."

Caleb followed the Leiutenant away from the landing ramp and into the halls of the Coalition's complex, "Have the other representatives arrived?" He asked politely.

"No sir. You are the first. The Cereans actually just arrived themselves. We are expecting members from the Confederation, Azguard, and the Cren Alliance." The Lieutenant said as they moved through the various corridors.

The complex was painted a pristine, even blinding white, probably to blend in more easily with the Cerean buildings. Caleb had to shield his eyes at first, which were used to the dull gray paneling of the Keerow, which was still in orbit. Most Onyxian ships werepainted in the same way. He had never been in a building so... white before.


"How long until the others arrive?"

"Hard to say. The Confederation ships, the last of the expected representatives, just arrived in orbit."

"I saw that the Azguard fleet came in right after I did." Caleb said.

"Yes sir, you are correct. They should be arriving soon." The Leiutenant stopped at a door, "This is your quarters sir. Please notify anyone if you need anything. The meeting is scheduled for a private conference room, away from the media. Here is the location." She handed him a datacard and left quietly.

Caleb entered the room and looked around. Fairly spacious, with a large bed, desk with a console, and a breathtaking view of the Cerean landscape. Caleb fell on the bed, falling asleep before he knew it.

The Audacieuse slowly circled over Cerea, its silver hull gleaming in the rays of Cerea&#8217;s sun. A pair of the dark Deathsabers dropped out of the star destroyer&#8217;s hangar bay, followed by a Lambda-class Shuttle and a second pair of the Kashan starfighters. Slowly descending towards the planet, the Confederation delegation soared towards the complex below.

&#8220;Beautiful planet,&#8221; remarked the woman softly, gazing at the holographic projection in the Courage&#8217;s cabin.

Lucerne shrugged. &#8220;It&#8217;s fairly pristine because no-one goes there. How is one suppose to enjoy it if you can not be there?&#8221;

Christina gave the man a knowing smile. &#8220;Some of us do not have to be there ourselves to enjoy nature.&#8221;

Corise ruefully shook his head. &#8220;Holos are one thing. Being there is another.&#8221;

&#8220;I&#8217;ll agree with you on that.&#8221;

The Pro-Consul reclined on the seat, her eyes staring at the shuttle&#8217;s ceiling. &#8220;Are you ready for another round of talks with other Coalition delegates?&#8221;

Corise blinked. &#8220;Well, the talks on the station were not that bad.&#8221;

She lightly laughed. &#8220;You were only there a fourth of the time. The rest of the time was you and Lance galvinating across space hunting down pirates.&#8221;

&#8220;Well,&#8221; shrugged the Commodore, &#8220;perhaps I can gather more appreciation that I don&#8217;t have your job today.&#8221;

&#8220;Perhaps.&#8221;

The shuttle slowed, its engines slowly whining to a halt. A few seconds later, the cabin slightly shuddered as the landing skids touched the ground. With Contegorian Courage landed, the two delegates made their way down to the ramp and descended to the pad below. A breeze washed upon the couple, rippling the woman&#8217;s hair. They both stood motionless, viewing the serene landscape about them. Taking a deep breath, the Commodore coyly smiled at the sight, which was refreshing for a man who had been cooped up in starship for several days. The Pro-Consul, less use to space travel than her companion, seemed to be lost to the galaxy, enthralled to nature&#8217;s majesty. Corise slightly tugged her arm, and the pair made their way into the complex for the meeting.

Yolem descended the spiral stairs towards the ship's hangar. In the heat of battle, it was a luxury he could rarely afford himself, but the stairs were built for an Azguard while the turbolifts were cramped and uncomfortable. As this was a purely Azguardian vessel, simulated torches burned along the walls to provide light - a reminder of their mountain homes far below the ground.

With the clank of armoured boots hitting durasteel, he reached the bottom floor - the hangar. Inside, the Azguardian commander was surprised to see the ship's whole company had turned out and stood to attention.

"An honourable sending off, sir," said the ship's captain, who approached Yolem in his full regalia. "Sandwich?"

Yolem stared at the captain through his sealed, fully concealing battle helmet until the officer wisely put the sandwich back on the snack tray. "Er... yes, right."

It's worth noting here that purely Azguardian honours differ from those commonly practiced by the Coalition and the galaxy in general, but the refusal of a pre-launch sandwich clearly indicated the seriousness of the issue at hand.

The hangar was quite a sight, decorated with the huge red and black banners of the Azguards. Soldiers stood in full battle gear, armoured figures a head above their unarmoured counterparts, swords raised in salute. Yolem paused for a few seconds, to let them work out on their own why that made it so difficult for him to cross the hangar to his ship, and after a few awkward moments the troops standing around the path to his ship lowered their swords so that he could actually get by without suffering decapitation.

With ranks of soldiers, sailors, attendants, officers, and even the ship's cooks standing either side of him, their heads held high, Yolem walked towards the shuttle doors. The clink of his armour was the only sound in the otherwise still room, until he reached his ship and entered. Silence continued to dominate until he poked his armoured head back out the airlock.

"Excuse me," he said. "But I don't think my pilots should have to stand at attention and salute too, if we want to go anywhere today."

"Oh, of course!" exclaimed the ship's captain, who quickly grabbed two of the saluting Azguards from the ranks on the deck. Pushing his way through the crowd (which had yet to catch on what he was doing), he deposited both pilots before Yolem, where they quickly figured out what they were supposed to do.

"Much better," mumbled Yolem. Sometimes, the commander reflected, he doubted the wisdom of the gods to grant each Azguardian two brains - he would have settled for one that works.

Finally under way, the shuttle left the Azguardian hangar behind and made its' way towards the surface of Cerea.



Pro Moon hastily unpacked his things in the meeting room - datapads, graphs, notes, comm-units, everything he'd need to conduct the event. "Make sure everyone has water when they arrive! It's a long trip from orbit, they might be thirsty."

"I don't think they'll have come all that way just for a glass of water, Pro Moon, relax," said Ion, who gently span himself in his own chair. "You're not hosting a party or board meeting. Some of these guys are some of the deadliest fighters and smartest strategists in the Coalition - you don't need to butter them up."

"Sir," the speaker was a Cerean soldier in a high-sloped helmet and colourful uniform. "The Confederacy and Commonwealth representatives have arrived."

"Already?" said Pro Moon. "Dispatch honour guards immediately to guide them here! We can't let their arrival be entirely without fanfare. Tell me the moment the Cren and Azguardian delegates have arrived!"

With that, the soldier swiftly left, and Pro Moon drained his glass. He pulled a face, and called after the retreating soldier "And tell someone to bring something a little stronger than water, will you?"

Ion rolled his eyes, as well as his chair.

Calming down, Pro Moon pulled the agenda he'd received towards him. "This comes from the highest levels of the Coalition..." he muttered. "Do you know the West is up for full Subfaction status? They might make me Prime Minister of the West, you know."

"Now I see why you're so nervous!" said Ion, with a laugh. "You think this is a job interview!"

"What?" Pro Moon looked genuinely shocked. "Of course not! This is serious business, Ion. The Coalition's never just made a member-state before, you know - we've gained them, and they've formed naturally, but this is a precedent-setting case. An artificially produced nation within the Coalition? What will our official language be? Which planets will be a part of it? How will the government be structured? What will other Coalition nations be able to do to help us? These are all serious questions, not an opportunity for personal advancement."

"That was really convincing," said Ion, grinning. "You must have had your better speech writer help you with that one - the guy with the horns?"

"Hm? Oh, no, it's the new fellow, the Rodian. Terrible dry skin condition, don't you know." An attendant arrived, a bottle of chilled wine in hand. "Oh, thank the Force - pour us a glass, will you?"

Caleb smiled and nodded as he was expected as he was led through the various corridors of the Coalition complex. He absolutely hated being an ambassador of sorts, it simple wasn't his thing.

Recently, he had been placed in charge of all expansion operations for the Northern Commonwealth. It was a very prestigious position, but he had been recognized for his actions at Ord Mantell, Glee Anselm, and other worlds. he was also in charge of overseeing the upstart Section 8 intelligence group.

The ever shadow and mysterious Xen Oso was a challenging one. He had already used up all of his funding, as well as the grants Caleb has been able to secure for him, and even now he was asking for more money...


Pushing those thoughts aside, Caleb refocused his attentions back to the matter at hand...



***


Ovise I


"I really hate this world...."

"Yes, sir."

"It smells, the air is barely breathable..."

"Yes sir."

"It just disgusts me with even the briefest of looks."

"Yes sir."

The man turned to the artificial lifebeing behind him and stared for a moment, "Drago, is that all you ever say?"

The droid looked at him with a look that was almost...anguished, "Yes sir."

The man laughed at the droid, and the laughter carried long into the cavern in which he stood. He had lived on this world for three standard Coruscant months, and he despised every minute of it. The people who had sent him here, his bosses, were very pleased when they discovered the world.

The Ovise system fell directly in the path of one of the few hyperlanes that traversed the Moddell Sector, making it one of the only places to drop out of hyperspace to recalculate the jump and reenter.

Dozens of ships passed by every day, and all of them gave no thought to the tiny planet orbiting the sun Ovise. There were several planets, but this was the most livable. And the secret organization that he worked for, had invested alot of money in it's construction. The cavern in which he stood was only the tip of the iceberg. The underground complex ran deep into the surface of the world...

Drago remained motionless as his master continued his observation of the planet surface. Due to the proximity to the sun, the world was almost always searing hot, dead, and empty. There was no vegitation to speak of, and all their foodstuffs had to be grown underground. Small hot springs had been located, and the complex's small staff could live comfortably.

"Sir..." Drago began.

"What is it, droid?"

"Why must we continue to do this every day? This is an extremely dead world... why do you insist upon looking out at it all the time?"

"You will never understand, Drago..."

If any word was to describe how the Kashan couple felt, it was awkward.

They would have fit better within the upper crusts of Imperial society better than this gathering of the sentient beings of the Coalition. The Pro-Consul, well tastefully dressed by upper class Confederation standards, appeared to be come across as more Imperially patrician in her gown. Corise's own appearance did not help the matter. Standard Confederation naval uniforms appeared to be remarkably like those of the hated Empire because of the Confederation's origin in secluded remnants of the Old Republic military. The main difference which seem to make it more acceptable was the addition of silver piping to the rest of the uniform, as more likely the crests of the Kashan Defence Fleet and the Contegorian Confederation on either shoulder sleave.

The pair walked arm-in-arm, smiling and bowing to the various delegates. Occasionally, the Pro-Consul would speak in some foreign language, doubtless native to the other delegates. And so they moved on, cordially meeting other delegates like an aristocratic tea party on Kashan. Some greeted them with suspicion based on their appearance. Others were more warm, remembering the recent Confederation repulse of Imperial aggression at Metalorn. While Thorn seemed to thrive on the social interaction, Corise did not, acting more or less as a show piece for the woman while his mind wandered occasionally elsewhere. While his consort dominated the speaking,
occasionally he politely answered a delegate's question before returning to his aloof stature. So when will the meeting actually start...
--------------
Brandenburg, Genon

The officers and intelligence analysts congregated in one of the western wing of the building, overlooking Grappa&#8217;s fortress. Most quietly murmured their results and hypothesis to their close colleagues. Occasionally, one of them would rise, and grab a glass of water or caf from a small table in the side. It was a meeting of some of the Confederation&#8217;s intellectual military elites, but the feeling that pervaded the room would have been appropriate at any number of scholastic meetings throughout the galaxy. Finally, the leader of the Think Tank stood, rubbing a wet finger across the rim of his glass, making an odd whining noise; an ancient parlor trick. But the effect was the same, attracting the gaze of the rest of the room&#8217;s occupants.

&#8220;Gentlemen and Ladies, we believe that we have discovered a base of Nirama&#8217;s outside of the Cularin system. As many of you have been analyzing the last past week, a raid led by the Seraph Warrior took over his original base. However, he left evidence that seems to point to the asteroid Murk. It is a conclusion that many of you have drawn based on different evidence and coming from different angles. Obviously, there are other leads to be explored as well and I assure that they are being investigated as well. We are gathered to here to find out why Nirama would choose Murk, which is exceptionally far away from his typical stomping grounds. Commander Agthos?&#8221;

A naval officer rose. &#8220;It is the belief of my group that Murk would be ideal because of its location far away from any Confederation naval presence. He could lie low for a while there without attracting any suspicion for us. As well, there are no nearby major powers at the moment that would interested in forming a task force to hunt this little known crime lord, especially since few of his acts were violent, and his expulsion from power by our forces.&#8221;

The group leader nodded. &#8220;An interesting thought. Two?&#8221;

A dark-haired woman rose. &#8220;Intelligence believes Murk seems likely based on the evidence that Nirama had connections with the Shell Hutts, which seem to have occupied the transfer station for several decades though. Obviously, trade is a major factor here, and Nirama seems to have given them something that they&#8217;ve wanted, otherwise the presence of Hutt goods onboard the asteroid bases makes little sense. What is interesting is that the Hutts would do with him, if he is there. He has few material goods to other them, since the storehouses were stormed in the attack.&#8221;

&#8220;You&#8217;re assuming that those were his only warehouses,&#8221; object a voice.

&#8220;True,&#8221; frostily smiled the woman, &#8220;because one of his logs mention the need to set up an additional warehouse besides the, and I quote, the sole warehouse facility on the Cularin Belt. There is the possibility that he set up secret warehouses elsewhere, but there is no trace of them on the base or in his logs. And given the large volume of goods captured, we believe that it was likely that the Cularin&#8217;s one was the only one.&#8221;

&#8220;So you&#8217;re suggesting that the Shell Hutts have a use for him?&#8221;

&#8220;That or they owe him a favor or he still has something that they want. We really don&#8217;t know.&#8221;

The think tank&#8217;s leader raised a hand. &#8220;Before I forget, I should mention that we have a flight of Deathsabers making a recon run on the asteroid that should be completed within a couple of days. So, we&#8217;ll get more information then. Two, please continue.&#8221;

&#8220;Yes sir&#8230;&#8221;

The small corvette lurched as it came out of hyperspace. The CRV Fang, a modified corellian corvette that was confiscated from a businessman for tax dodging, was a recent addition to the Sinsangese fleet. Unlike so much of the Coaltion, which bore their own trademarks and signatures, Sinsang held nothing of the sort. Maybe it was the throw-together nature of their fleet which was their mark.

“Please identify yourselves.” Came a voice as a couple of the Cerean fighters from the patrol came to check out the newest arrival of the long line of guests.

“This is the Corvette Fang of the Peoples Navy of Sinsang, commanding officer Chang Wu.” Came the chill voice of the crisp naval man as he pressed a button on the comm. unit beside him. “Transmitting registration and ID info.”

So many came here to make a show of force. What would many think of this group who came with a small, out of date, corvette? But then again, it could always be worse. The original plan was to send a Lambda-Class Shuttle simply with the ambassadors.

“Your IDs check out Fang. Welcome to Cerea and enjoy your stay.” Came the same voice over the comm.

“Confirmed.” Wu said simply as he throttled up and brought the corvette to their destination. The best part about the modifications made to the corvette by the previous owners was the forward hangar they installed instead of the cargo hold. Once acquired by the Sinsangese, they modified it to act as their diplomatic vessel. As it stood, they had two E-wing fighters and a Lambda-Class shuttle on board.

Once they had a safely established orbit, the shuttle and its honour guard were cleared to launch and proceed to the hangar dedicated to the diplomatic gathering. They were already on the verge of being late.

----------------------------------------------

The small band of officials made their way quickly from the shuttle to the awaiting speeder they had called for the eve. Chao and his pages made their way promptly with their necessary things for the eve. Holodiscs for presentations and their datapads with their speeches.

Chao looked nervously at the time as the three speeders the party was spread about in whirred up and shot off down the road. The man pulled at the collar of his shirt as he began to think of what horrible things could go wrong. But then again, they couldn’t do nearly as poorly as the Onyxians had begun to with the political pit they had dug themselves. At least Simon Kaine and his cronies at the ISN couldn’t care less about the minor threat the Sinsangese were.

For better or worse.

Hung Chao had one hell of a time bringing himself away from his duties on Sinsang. With the destruction of the Wi-Jiang over Gravlex Med, one of their more powerful vessels that helped the merchant fleets had been removed. Unfortunately no commission could be granted to them due to the war with the Dragons and the now brewing conflict with the Empire.

“Force help us….” The large Sinsangese man muttered as he ran over his points for the evening.