(OOC note: this thread is concurrent with The Cooperative: Reapers of What They Have Sown)


This was not a normal meeting of the Cooperative's political councils. In fact, in some governments, such a meeting might be labeled as a conspiracy against the current regime.

Here, however, it was the truest vision of Cooperative come to life.

“Hwat iz the ztatuz of the linguiztic team? I grow tired ovv theze unwieldy wordz.” Din Tok despised Basic. Were he more familiar with human culture, he would say it left a “bad taste” in his mouth. As A Colicoid, however, he had a more simplified concept of taste: either it was food, and you ate it, or it was not, and you didn't.

After several seconds of buzzing and clicking amongst themselves, one of the dozen X'Ting present turned her attention to the large Coliciod, out of habit her leathery face contorting into a passable approximation of a grimace. “The team has identified key physiological bases upon which to develop the language system, but is meeting with difficulty in reconciling differing learning processes and pattern recognition capabilities of the involved species.”

A long chain of clicks sounded from the Xi Charrrian group, and then a rather unhappy sounding droid said, “Speak plainly. Our translator is pathetic.”

“We zhould revert to the old vorm,” Din responded sharply.

“We cannot,” the room's only humanoid said. The Twi'lek was sitting amongst a group of almost fifty Killiks of the Yoggoy nest. When the gathering turned its attention to him, he continued for his hive brethren. “We have recently negotiated a trade agreement with the Squibs. Their representative shared information with us that we believe would best be presented by him. If you would allow.”

“I'll not have some f-f-f-urrball dizrupting our meeting!” Din exclaimed, scratching his upper claws together in a show of aggression and dislike.

A lone Squib walked cautiously into the midst of the gathered insects, his discomfort and fear evident as he tried not to look at any of them.

Din's mood lightened immediately, and an exaggerated, humanoid grin spread across his face as he clicked loudly to get the Squib's attention. Snapping his teeth together menacingly, he opened and closed his clawed hands, tongue flicking out as if tasting the air. “Tazty,” he said quietly.

The poor Squib dropped his datapad, turning away quickly, his whole body shaking.

“You will treat our guest with respect,” The Twi'lek said harshly, barring his own sharpened teeth as the Killiks around him rumbled their assent. “Now,” he continued, more neutrally, “please tell the assembly what you told us.”

Nodding nervously, the Squib leaned over, fumbling a little to collect his datapad. “I am Juri, Procurator of the Squib Merchandising Consortium. In my role, I hear a lot of stories, meet a lot of salvage ship captains.” He looked around nervously, and Din snapped at him as his gaze passed by, causing the little rodent to shrink back in fear.

“Enough,” One of the X'ting said, scowling.

“Get on with it, then,” Din said, not at all interested in what the Squib had to say.

“There's this group, you see, looking for waste disposal services. They're calling themselves 'industrialists', but . . . a Squib knows a stinker when he smells one. They're close enough to Skor that the Ugor won't take the job, what with the territorial agreement . . .” The Squib trailed off, realizing that he was only making the bugs look like they wanted to eat him more than before.

“We're in hard times. When a job comes along, you take it, even if its dangerous, even if it smells. So anyway, these industrialists, they've got this whole world on lockdown, using the indigenous as slave labor, having them run their factories and make their products.”

The Xi Charrian group burst into chatter once more, their droid asking, “Why hasn't the Squib government stepped in?”

“Why do we care?” Din shot back, barring razor-sharp teeth.

Finally Juri wheeled on the Colicoid, staring him down and managing to say in a firm voice. “Because the world they're running, the people they're using, they're bugs. Because with the Reaver war there's barely enough Defense Force stationed at Skor II to keep the traffic lines straight. Because it's not our place to play galactic police. Because . . . because this is the Cooperative, and we're supposed to help each other.

“I thought you'd want to know. I thought you'd care. Maybe I was wrong.” The Squib tossed the datapad at Din Tok and stormed out of the room.

“What does it say?” The X'ting asked as Din Tok studied the pad.

It was the Killik who spoke up. “It says the planet is called Karideph, it's people the Kari. It says they are a true social insectoid species, with limited individual intelligence, driven chiefly by the need to feed their starving population. It says that every day millions die in the factories, their corpses eaten by those who survive. It says that their own farmlands have been burned to ensure their dependence on outside masters. It says that two dozen Squib needle ships now service the world's waste processing demands, their captains mortally afraid of crossing these men.

“It says we are their only hope.”







In a traditional government, even a totalitarian system such as that of the Galactic Empire, there are certain decision-making processes which much be adhered to in order to stave off anarchy. There is a chain of command, so to speak, a system of relays and checks to ensure that the course of action eventually decided upon is appropriate to the situation. It is at times a laborious and inefficient system, altogether unsuited to the “group minds” of species such as the Killik and Xi Charrians.

But the Killiks and Xi Charrians are distinct species, unique and quantifiably differentiable. Though the Killik could “Join” the Xi Charrians, merging into a single, coherent entity, the resultant consciousness would be decidedly Killik in function. The biology of the Xi Charrian species would be preserved, but the hive consciousness which guided it would be lost to the clamorous roar of a billion-billion Killik drones.

This is not the way of Cooperative. This is not the natural conclusion reached by the simple revelation embraced by the Yoggoy Hive: “Life is sacred. Preserve. Defend.”

And herein lies the great dilemma. For though the Killik, the Xi Charrians, the Colicoid, the X'ting are so very similar in physiology and psychology, it is their differences which make them of value to one another. It is thorough the diversification of resources and ideas that resilience, innovation, and growth are made possible.

The purest realization resultant from this simple truth has led these species to their current endeavor, to produce a system of organization and governance which optimizes their similarities, while preserving their differences. And the thread of commonality which binds these beings together now strains under the weight of new knowledge. How shall the collective group minds of the Cooperative conduct themselves in the face of such blatant evil?

The answer came quickly. “We and the Killik will prepare for battle.” Din Tok used the Old Form now that the Squib was away. He spoke in his own language, each member of his three-Colicoid entourage assigned to a different species, relaying the message in the form most easily understood by that species. “The X'ting and Xi Charrians will travel immediately to Skor II and gather all available information. We will reassemble there with utmost haste.”

There was an uncomfortable pause in the flow of conversation, the undesirable yet necessary delay inherent in the Old Form. But finally, the "mirrors" in the other species answered in the manner best understood by the Colicoid.

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

So it would be. So it began.

When the Killik prepare for battle, it is a terrifying sight indeed. The Guardian-orchestrated, Ryn-assisted industrialization of Yoggoy had been underway since its inclusion into the Cooperative, but the Killik were not content to sit by and wait for the infrastructure necessary to standardize their military capacity. And so, in the wake of their fight for survival and with foodstuffs ensured by the Cooperative, the Yoggoy hive turned their attentions to the system's asteroid belt. The first step was to select the most favorable of the larger asteroids, drill into their centers, and set explosive charges. When the detonation split them, the larger shards were harvested for use, tunneled into as though they were host to a mining operation. But unlike a mining operation, it was what remained that was of value, not what had been removed.

Into the living rock and metal of the asteroid shards, the Yoggoy nest installed starship systems. Internal areas were pressurized, the asteroids were compartmentalized, engines were added, navigation systems, energy generators. Habitation zones and feeding areas were carved out and supplied. The exterior of the asteroid shards were lined with weapons, equipped with targeting systems, selective areas shielded.

These were the Shard-class Capital Ships, weaponized, mobilized asteroids. And two of them were finished.

A thousand Killik dartships now poured into their excavated holds, ready to be disgorged upon their enemies.

Needless to say, Guardian was not pleased. “I insist you turn away from this course of action,” it warned, its fear for Yoggoy's future evident. “I cannot allow such a gross loss of life.”

The collective will of Yoggoy answered. “You have taught us the value of life . . . and of free will. We are of the Kind, and we know our duty. You cannot dissuade us from what we know is right. Life is sacred, and if we must give of our own in order to save another, then that is our choice. You cannot stop us. You do not have the right.”

“If you would but wait until the Cooperative―”

“Crisis demands urgency,” Yoggoy responded. “We will do as we must.”

Guardian was forced to concede the point.

But before Yoggoy closed the communications line, it added, “There is one more thing we must ask of you.”







The Colicoid are a most peculiar species. Aggressive and territorial, they seem to many humanoid species never to have escaped their baser animal origins. But there is something in them, a guiding principle which other species would be hard-pressed to understand, to even take note of. They do not possess a hive consciousness or even the inbuilt division of labor commonly associated with insectoid species. They are, however, host to a very powerful and unique form of speciesism. While the individual Colicoid is selfish, arrogant, and at times dangerously shortsighted, caring little of familial bonds or even their similarities with other individual Colicoids, the survival and progress of the whole species is of vital importance.

There is no greater cause than service to the whole. And the future of the whole is now bound to the fate of the Cooperative.

Din Tok didn't even bother presenting the requisition to the Colicoid Sovereign Nest, the world's technical governing body. He simply carried the order to the Queen of the Colicoid Creation Nest, the controlling force for the planet's industrial production capacity. She understood immediately.

“All new production is designated for Cooperative military use, implanted with Guardian hardware and software on the assembly lines. You will not be able to seize them without proper authorization.” Before Din Tok could protest, she pressed on. “We have, however, recently contracted with the Squib for the sale of decommissioned military hardware from the Clone Wars. They intend to refurbish the battle droids and starfighters for use with the Guardian military coordination system. I will give you access to what I can from the unprocessed stores.”

“Thank you,” Din Tok said roughly, turning to leave.

But the Queen was not finished yet. “You will require a Central Control Computer.”

Din Tok stopped in place. Droids totally reliant on Central Control Computers had not been produced since before the start of the Clone Wars. Even the vast majority of Control-dependent droids had been refit with independent operating systems as the Separatists militarized. That the Colicoid possessed access to droids of such specifications . . “They are ancient! They are useless!”

“They are all that we have,” the Queen replied. “You will need a Central Control Computer.”







“We want on-board one of the ships,” the X'ting spokesperson said sternly, his meaning not lost on Juri.

The Squib official shook his head furiously, pointing at the nearby dock where the needleship rested. “There's no room for all of you. You won't fit, never mind how conspicuous it'll look when a dozen bugs pile out of the ship for garbage collection duty. The same goes for you,” he added, pointing at the larger group of Killik.

“We will go,” the Twi'lek Joiner said, touching his chest to express his singular intentions.

Juri looked rather uncomfortable as he considered how to respond, fidgeting slightly as he looked between the groups of bugs present. “Yeah, okay,” he said finally, walking toward the ship and waiving the Twi'lek to follow. “Just let me do all of the talking,” he added as the Joiner drew near.

As they neared the ship, Juri saw the captain supervising the unloading procedures and shouted to get his attention, waiving hello as the Squib turned to see him. “Captain Thaddeus, I've got someone you need to meet.”

Warily, the Squib captain made his way over to the duo, studying the Twi'lek from head to toe. “What's this about, Procurator?” he asked in Squibbian.

“We will accompany you to Karideph,” the Twi'lek responded in the same language.

The statement caught the captain by surprise. He looked to Juri, maybe just out of habit.

“Oh, no. He's going with you. I'm staying here.” Then, as if just catching on, he turned to the Twi'lek, staring at him curiously. “You know Squibbian?”

“We all do,” the Twi'lek answered.

“Oh . . .” Juri murmured, looking back to the captain, who was now staring well beyond either of them. Juri turned around and saw the groups of insectoids just standing in the middle of the adjacent docking bay. “Oh, yes, captain. Right, so I need you to take our Twi'lek friend here with you on your next run. He needs to see what you've told me about the world.”

“I . . . don't understand,” the captain said, his attention returning to Juri. “What's he got to do with this?”

“We,” he tapped his chest, “are Yoggoy. Yoggoy,” he stretched out his arms, “are us. What . . . this one knows . . . we all know. What this one sees, we all see.”

“Oh, okay,” the captain said at length, looking to Juri for confirmation.

“We have to make this right,” was all the Squib Procurator said. “We have to find a way to make this right.”

Colla IV orbit

In the Colicoid hierarchy, the position of Representative to the Greater Hive was of extraordinary importance, bestowed with substantial powers and wide-sweeping jurisdictions. Din Tok could count on one clawed appendage the number of Colicoids with the superseding authority to give him orders. The Queen of the Colicoid Creation Nest was one of those privileged few, and her determinations amounted to just that: orders.

She no doubt considered her offer to be more than generous. After all, she was a creature of business, of costs and benefits. Her function within their society was to weigh risk and reward. To her, the value of a few tens of thousands of stock B1 battle droids was determined solely by their worth in hard currency, and from such a perspective she had just handed Din Tok a small fortune to dispense with as he saw fit.

Din Tok, however, was being forced to think in terms of military effectiveness, and without a Central Control Computer, these droids were of no use at all. These were base model, pre-Clone Wars droids with no hardware upgrades or supplementary software. It had been nearly half a century since they had been activated, and there was no guarantee that they would be in working order even if Din Tok could get his hands on a Control Computer.

At his request, Din's counterparts at Skor II were searching the inventory lists of the Squib orbital scrapyards for a working computer, but at the moment it seemed entirely plausible that Din Tok would arrive at the combat rendezvous with nothing more than thirty thousand blaster rifles inconveniently encased in folded piles of scrap metal.

The Queen would offer him no more assistance and the Sovereign Nest would not be receptive enough to grant him emergency access to planetary defense resources while the Cooperative's military was spread so thin, but Din Tok could not leave Colla IV until he was certain he had usable assets in hand. He would not allow the Colicoid to be the first species of the Greater Hive to fail in its obligations to its hive-mates.

That left the Colicoid representative with only one course of action.

Din Tok rushed into the central control chamber of the Colla IV Planetary Defense Sub-Garrison Five in a frenzy of vulgar hand gestures and menacing shrieks. “Commander! I am the representative of the Colicoid Sovereign Nest to the Greater Hive of the United Cooperative, and I demand the honor guard which my station warrants and requires.”

The garrison commander, initially stunned by Din's unexpected and violent arrival, recovered quickly and did not take kindly to the diplomat's demands. He pulled back his shoulders to more clearly show the rank patterns painted on his chest. His words were as coarse and biting as Din Tok's. “My duty is to the Sovereign Nest, and I do not―”

I don't have time for this. Din Tok lunged at the commander, cleaving the officer's right arm off with a lightning strike of his clawed hand. Din drove himself into the commander, the strike carefully delivered to overwhelm the Colicoid's naturally sturdy posture. Din drove the commander to the ground and stood atop him, the sharp points of his feet positioned precisely to dig into the vulnerable joints of the commander's exoskeleton.

Realizing he had scarce seconds to establish his superiority, Din shifted his stance to apply greater pressure to a particular vulnerability, then lifted the dismembered arm to his mouth, taking a bite from the jagged stump. As he ground the mouthful of meat and broken chitin in his mouth, she swiveled his head to look down at the incapacitated commander.

Din didn't much care for cannibalism. He preferred more mammalian meats, personally. But it was important that the creature pinned beneath him understood the gravity and urgency of the situation. This crisis demanded action, and so Din Tok had taken action.

“You fool! You have assaulted a member of the Nest Guard. My arm―”

“Will grow back in a few month's time,” Din said through his mouthful of raw flesh. He pressed harder with the preferred leg, eliciting a faint scraping noise as his pointed foot slipped through the commander's carapace and pressed directly against soft flesh. “Use that time to consider how a pathetic jelly-eater such as myself managed to take it from you. Now . . .”

Hissing vehemently beneath the weight of what amounted in his society to a diplomat, the commander at last relented. “Take what you require.”

As Din climbed off of his victim and stalked away, he swallowed the mouthful of flesh with an unsettling gulp. He threw the arm back at its owner as he left the control chamber.







The Squib Needleship Rusted Ruin was nothing special to look at, wasn't even the on-sight command ship for the Squib salvage squadron assigned to Karideph. But this ship was Thaddeus' pride and joy, and today he felt the weight of responsibility that his position entailed.

And now that his fine ship was parked safely in orbit of Karideph, awaiting rendezvous with a local transport to pick up an industrial waste shipment, he had all the time he needed to stare at the world below and consider his mission.

Thaddeus had expected to find a vibrant world absolutely enveloped in green, even had a fanciful notion that he might be able to spot the patterns in the meticulously maintained farmlands with his naked eyes. Instead, he was met by a brown-black ball with too-dark oceans, a sickly green clinging to its shores. Massive gray smudges covered huge sections of the surface; he recognized smog from mass-industrialization immediately.

The Kari were somewhat well-known regionally for producing smaller electronics and mechanical parts, things that could be easily manufactured in their sprawling, underground habitats from cheap, on-world resources. But the scale of the environmental poisoning that Thaddeus saw just from looking at the planet told him much had changed in only a few short years.

This world was dying, and its own people were being forced to kill it.

A minor alarm sounded, pulling Thaddeus back into his captainly duties, checking his instrumentation for the source. “What's this all about?”

“Sorry, Captain,” his first officer said. “We're picking up high-level radiation from the approaching ship, probably our cargo. Nothing to worry about, ray shields are powering up to ten percent and the cargo bay can contain it once its loaded on-board. We'll be fine.”

Thaddeus studied the sensor information for a moment, something catching his attention. “These energy readings from that tug look too low for it to have its shields up.”

The systems operations officer answered immediately. “Yes, sir, the ship looks to be unshielded.”

“Run a full sensor scan. Tell me if the pressurized sections are shielded from radiation.”

“Will do, Captain.”

The seconds ticked by and Thaddeus' fears grew more intense.

“No . . . sir. No environmental shields, no radiation resistant materials . . . the crew is completely unprotected from their cargo.”

Thaddeus waited for his officer to finish his report because he appreciated thoroughness and respected the Squib enough not to cut him off in mid-sentence, but the captain had made up his mind with the first word. He spoke his newest order the second the report ended. “Hail them.”

The communications officer didn't even acknowledge, just started flipping switches.

A delay, and then: “No response, Captain.”

“Multiple frequencies,” the captain ordered without delay.

“Still nothing, sir.”

Thaddeus allowed himself the slightest pause before deciding to break any serious protocol. “Use the local traffic control channels.”

“I'm sorry, captain, there's still no response.”

The captain ground his teeth, his anger building. “Try the emergency and distress channels, then.”

Finally, a response came. But it was audio only, an unintelligible string of clicks and buzzes.

“Can you translate?”

A beep sounded from the communications station as the main viewport switched to display an approaching local security ship: a Strike-class cruiser.

“Open the channel,” the captain said grimly, not needing to be explained the situation by his crew.

A particularly ugly human male appeared on the screen, his own expression just as angry as Thaddeus'. “You have no business contacting our employees! All communications are to be routed through security and patrol craft, do you understand?”

Thaddeus did his best to keep his voice level and his anger suppressed, aware that this was the moment he had been waiting for. “I have concerns, captain, that local safety measures do not adhere to the standards for health and safety established by the Squib Merchandising Consortium, which would therefore render our contract void. If I am not allowed to ensure the safe working environment of my associates, then I am sorry to inform you that I must remove myself and my ship from this work.”

The human sneered at Thaddeus, giving a short hand gesture to his own crew. “We have a contract with the Squib Merchandising Consortium for waste removal services.”

Thaddeus' first mate cut in urgently. “Sir, they're charging weapons . . . we're being targeted!”

“I won't let you leave until a replacement ship arrives to take over your assignments.”

Thaddeus did his best to stand taller and stare the burly human down. “I'll have you know that I am a registered member of the Cooperative Workers' Party and a confirmed citizen of the Galactic Coalition, and I do not take your threat against my person and property lightly.”

The man laughed menacingly, waiving at his crewmen again and nodding in affirmation of something unseen. “I know all about your 'coalition law' and 'Workers' Party duties'. Our contract is with the Squib, and that means our little disagreement here ends with the Squib. This is a business arrangement, and you have no legal standing with which to bring the Coalition military into this. Your own king made sure of that when he signed your world into the Cooperative.”

So this wasn't just some big dumb brute after all. These people had known what they were getting in to all along, knew how much the Consortium valued its independence from outside influence. And they obviously thought they'd be able to push the Squib around easily enough if any trouble ever arose. But there was one fatal flaw in their planning.

The Squib had friends, and those friends had laws of their own.

The Twi'lek Joiner, YoggoyStin, stepped into the imager's field of view, his posture stiff and unnatural, his voice flat and neutral. “We are of the Kind. We are Yoggoy; we are Killik. We will not suffer your crimes.”

The human wore his confusion and frustration clearly on his face. “What the hell . . .”

The small cluster of starships reverting to realspace answered his hanging question.

“Life is sacred, and we shall defend it. Surrender, or perish.” As he said the words, the slightest smile grew for the shortest moment on YoggoyStin's face.

And then the battle was on and Thaddeus had more important things to take note of. “Shields to full, and run!”



The heavily modified mining barge Rak'ka was designed for long-term operation in high-volatility areas. Her heavy hull armor and extensive shielding should prove a formidable opponent to the hostile lasers and missiles. Her expansive cargo bay had already proven to be an ideal residence for the Squib-salvaged Central Control Computer.

Din Tok watched with anticipation from the observation deck-turned-command center as the wave of dropships and landing craft dispersed across the surface of the planet, each one escorted by a small swarm of Killik dartships. The Killik motherships, a pair of Shard-class vessels carved out of asteroids from the other side of the galaxy, were wholly incapable of escorting Din to his destination, and so they were moving to harass the bulk of the enemy space force, a small cluster of Strike Cruisers and corvettes supporting an Assault Frigate.

“They must be making some serious profit to be able to support such a substantial fleet,” Procurator Juri mused from his seat beside Din Tok. He hesitated a moment, risking an uncomfortable glance at the Colicoid mission leader. “Do you think the Killik will be alright against them?”

Din hissed in nervous apprehension, though he knew the Squib would misinterpret it as dangerous annoyance. “It's not our concern. Focus on the task at hand.”

“Right!” the Squib exclaimed, jumping to his feet and checking the settings on the tensor rifle strapped to his side. “We're ready at your command!” he added excitedly.

The little rodent had abandoned all fear after Din's reluctant request for assistance, and though Din had to admit that the Procurator had shown incredible ingenuity and dedication in assisting the Hive in this endeavor, he rather missed the power of fear he had once held over the ratty scavenger. “You know, you don't have to come along personally.”

“Nonsense!” Juri waived the comment away. “We've got a planet to save, and where my boys go, I go.”

As the ship shook beneath them with the telltale signs of atmospheric entry, Din Tok clambered out of his special-made seat and made for the exit. “It's almost time, then.”

Juri rushed after, the quick steps of his short legs contrasting sharply with the skittering, four-legged gait of the Colicoid.

The unlikely pair arrived at the modified cargo bay to a far more unlikely sight: several dozen Squib commandos manning Old Republic gunships, surrounded by B2 Battle Droids, Droidekas, and over in the corner, barely short enough to keep from scraping across the ceiling, a carrier variant of the gunship had been rigged to carry a Scorpenek annihilator droid.

“We're gonna bring some pain,” the Squib said quietly, awestruck by all of the gleaming metal.

“Just stay close to me,” Din replied. “The droids are programmed to protect me, not fight a war. And the Scorpenek's shield only covers a small area around it. You stay close to me, I'll stay under it, and we'll both stay safe. Tell your air support to stay out of the droids' way and let them handle the assault, just focus on any fighters or air speeders that come running home.”

“Will do, you're in charge here.” Juri checked his tensor rifle again. And then again.

He was getting nervous, and it was completely understandable. This plan was utterly insane. But it had to be done.

The cargo bay doors opened, the magcon field only partially succeeding in protecting the bay from the tremendous wind forces outside, the barge coming in at full speed.

“Strap in,” Juri shouted, jumping into the back seat of a droid-piloted open-top speeder. “We've got a battle to win!”

Din climbed uncomfortably into the humanoid-fitting passenger's seat, then nodded his head as a personal attempt at motivation. The droids had all loaded into their own transports, the gunships systems primed. They were passing over the drop zone now: Din could tell by the ground-based defensive fire streaking by the open bay door. “Launch!”

The small force of gunships and repulsorlift transports surged forward, adopting a downward spiral flight maneuver as soon as they had cleared the barge. Almost immediately, the Squib gunships had to break off to intercept incoming enemy aerial craft, but the droid ground troops continued their evasive descent, refusing to shy away in the face of increasingly intense ground fire.

They dove straight for the source of the ground fire, the expansive central garrison of the planet's occupiers, an extensive complex housing tens of thousands of mercenaries and privately contracted “security” personnel.

The force pulled up at the last possible moment, skidding across the barren plain that had once been a massive Kari farmland, then powering forward into the city structure at more manageable speeds.

As soon as they had gained the cover of the buildings, the battle droids debarked from their transports and split into mission-specific squads. At the head of the main assault force, Din Tok and Juri stood beneath the towering Skorpenek annihilator droid, flanked on all sides by droidekas, backed up by columns of B2's. Din Tok walked boldly down the city's Main Street, the entire droid force marching forward in response. Far ahead, callously and artificially forced into the organic structure of the insect city, the massive durasteel walls of the enemy garrison loomed.

They were already receiving fire from the buildings along the street, but Din Tok just kept marching, without concern for the battle droids falling left and right, protected by the enveloping shield of the Scorpenek. The large annihilator droid itself was constantly pivoting at the torso, bringing its pair of dual blaster cannons to bear at whatever the tactical analysis of its droid brain determined to be the next-greatest immediate threat. It sprayed waves of destructive energy into the alien architecture, on more than one occasion setting off a cascading collapse of several structurally-interconnected buildings.

But the line of droid assailants marched on, and the looming walls grew nearer.

Finally, Din stopped, the droids reacting immediately by fanning out to secure the area. Din's droideka escorts stepped out of the protective field of their larger Skorpenek cousin, seeking positions from which their rapid-fire blasters could do the most harm.

Din simply pointed at the sealed blast doors ahead and said, “Open it.”

The Skorpenek immediately turned its heavy weapons on the armored structure, unleashing a stream of energy. These blasters were designed to cut through the toughest Republic tank and walker armor; they would make short work of the hodge-podge mercenary construction.

As the layers of the blast door began to fall off in glowing, molten chunks, Din Tok resumed his walk, and the droidekas came rolling back to their escort stations as the remaining battle droids returned their attention to him, though they remained in their new vantage points among the blasted-out native buildings.

When the final layer of the blast door fell away and a spray of enemy fire poured out of the hole, Din just said, “Keep firing.” Then he raised a commlink to his mouth and emitted a short string of clicking, insectoid noises.

A few seconds later Juri looked up in surprise as the muffled sound of a sonic boom penetrated the Skorpenek's shield perimeter. Overhead he saw an expanding cloud of vapor, the droid bomber which had dispensed it already out of sight. It was spreading in a circular pattern, fading indistinctly into the atmosphere, drifting rapidly toward the ground. It must have been dispersed by some sort of explosive to be spreading so quickly . . .

“What the hell is going on here?” Juri finally asked, growing concerned as he realized how soon the cloud would reach him, visible or not.

“Don't worry, the shield will protect us until it dissipates harmlessly.”

“What is it?” Juri demanded, pulling violently on the Colicoid's arm, an act he wouldn't have dared consider even a few days ago.

Din Tok turned to his Squib ally with a predatory grin unnaturally pasted across his already-menacing features. “It's a Joiner Bomb”.

Karideph

To be quite honest, Colonel Shrall of the Orax Integrated Defense Forces wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here. He had no experience with these sorts of matters, and his qualifications were purely military in nature. He held no personal opinions about the Cooperative or his world's involvement in that government, and was the sort of military man who believed that it was his duty to stay out of politics as long as he remained in the service of the government.

But here he was, on the surface of this scarred and war-torn planet, surrounded by insects, of all the forms of organic life, and charged with . . . what, exactly?

He knew what, though. And for all of his efforts at professional distance, the implications set his crystalline body shaking with outrage.

The Colicoid responsible, the Coalition citizen responsible for this blatant and egregious war crime stepped into the Shard colonel's temporary office alone, looking―as far as the colonel could tell―completely unconcerned.

“Is there something I can do for you, Colonel Shrall?”

The photoreceptors of Shrall's droid body fixed intently upon the insect, studying his every mannerism and vocal inflection, running it through complex programs downloaded before Shrall left Orax. “I have been commissioned by King Ebareevabeedee of Skor II and ordered by the Unified Republic of Orax to determine the legality of the Greater Hive's confirmation of the planet Karideph into the Cooperative.”

Din Tok hissed what, for his people, seemed to be a fairly sincere laugh. “And what right do you have to make that determination?”

“I have been empowered by two separate member states of the Cooperative to judge the conduct of the Greater Hive in this matter ―”

“Again, I ask: by what right do those governments empower you so?”

Shrall leaned forward, his synthesized voice dropping lower. “You have invaded a world, coerced its population into submission through the use of biological weaponry, destroyed its infrastructure and engaged in unauthorized warfare against an organization with which the Cooperative held no legal conflict.”

“You are not like us, Shard, and so I will not waste breath trying to explain our ways to you. You were not here in the aftermath of the battle, Shard, and so I will not try to convince you of who was in the right, and who was in the wrong. You did not see the Kari rise up as one against their oppressors when the Will of the Kind overwhelmed their fear, Shard, nor did you see them pitching the Joiners of their species―alive―into furnaces and smelters at the battle's end to purge themselves of the influence of that very will, so I will not discuss with you the morality of our decision or the nature of the Kari's admission into the Greater Hive. You didn't see them, Shard, falling over dead from exhaustion and hunger, refusing to be anything other than what they were, even unto death.

“You don't know what it is that binds us, what it is that drives us, what sacrifices we are willing to make for the betterment of the whole, what it means to abandon self and accept the reality of something grander.

“You are not of us, and you are not of them, though they are now we, and together you are refused.”

Commander Shrall waited a moment, trying his best to make sense of Din Tok's final statement. “I have been ordered to acquire a copy of the petition of the Kari for membership and the resulting treaty of acceptance which integrated them into the Cooperative, as well as a sworn statement from you on behalf of the Greater Hive that the weaponized, Killik Joiner pheromone compound be destroyed and never again used.”

Din Tok stared at Shrall with his black, bottomless eyes for a long time, totally still, not even the humanoid in-and-out of breathing to disrupt his eery stoicism. “No. There is no petition, there is no treaty. You still do not understand. We are the Greater Hive.” Din Tok dropped one of his hands on the table, clawed fingers spread out flat. “I cannot write with this hand. It is not physiologically possible for me to do so in the manner of a humanoid. For the Kari, there isn't even a concept to which you are referring. For them, a thing either is, or is not, and that is all. There is no such thing as obligation, deception, good faith . . . not as you perceive them. We have decided, together, to be one thing: a Greater Hive. If that is insufficient for your requirements, then so be it. It is of no concern to me, for you are not among us.

“As for the other issue: we will do what we must for the preservation of the Hive, for our commitment to the Cooperative, and for our place in the Coalition. That is and has always been our only oath to you and your kind. You don't belong here; this is the Hive.

“And that is all.” Din Tok rose with some little difficulty from the humanoid chair and left the room.

Commander Shrall was at a complete loss. The Colicoid―the Kari themselves, for that matter―were being completely uncooperative. He personally had no authority to countermand the Hive's claims, or resources with which to determine their veracity. He had no experience to illuminate the situation, or legal knowledge that would allow him to even enter into debate on the subject.

But beneath it all, beneath his professional distance and even his personal outrage, he wasn't sure he disagreed with them.







The Kari didn't even bother assembling any sort of delegation to the Hive Council. They just started rebuilding, had mindless workers on-station to accept the Hive's food shipments when they arrived, and marched on in their odd sort of silent, diligent work. They didn't seem particularly put off by the toxic sludge that coated so much of their world, now that they had reliable sources of food, but they didn't seem at all interested in leaving their world anymore, either. They had obviously seen one too many of the horrors that the galaxy beyond could be.

But anything that didn't go to reconstruction was sent to the Hive, and the Hive Council was developing more reliable means of expressing what they required to the Kari. The Kari were a creature implicitly accommodating to the principle of a Greater Hive.

Din Tok wondered absently if one day the whole of the Hive might take on such a form, such a purity of purpose. Looking around the gathering, he found it hard to imagine. The rest of them were all too . . . personal.

“The Question, now,” one of the X'Ting began, using the New Form, which had been quite heavily informed by study of the Kari, “is how do we preserve the purity of purpose for this Hive? How do we choose for the Kari how best they may serve the whole? Is such power on our part . . . safe?”

A beeping alarm disrupted further discussion on the matter. One of the Xi Charrians checked the comm message and then spattered something in its native tongue―they hadn't all picked up the intricacies of the New Form yet.

And Din Tok was terrible with Xi Charrian. “What waz t'at?” Din asked, reverting to Basic out of habit.

“Command level comm signal,” a X'Ting replied, now fiddling with some controls along with a few other members of the meeting. “Heavily distorted, probably transmitted while in hyperspace . . . almost got it . . .” The X'Ting stopped working, pressing a networked commlink up to his ear. “Oh no . . .”

“What?” Din demanded.

“It's a petition for assistance, from the Overseer.” The X'Ting lowered his commlink and turned toward the rest of the Hive Council. “The Quelii Sector is being invaded by the Reavers.”