The Rebel Faction

There was no interrogation room. There was a force field, and eight armed Drackmarians, but the room had no windows, and it had no table or chairs. It was much narrower, allowing Nitin and Mologg to stand side-by-side, just close enough to one another to be uncomfortable.

The guards's weapons were at their sides, but their hands were grasped firmly on the handles, their fingers hovering millimeters from the triggers. There was no lack of menace in their stance.

“Speak,” The Drackmarian with the artificial hand demanded.

“I am Niti―”

“You are of no consequence. Speak the truth or die where you stand.”

Nitin threw a sideways glance at Mologg, who she expected would have some bold display at the ready to counter the other Drackmarian's cruel disposition. Mologg, however, remained silent. She ventured one look at Nitin, a look that conveyed her thoughts quite clearly, and then turned away from the Iridonian and resumed her frozen pose.

I'm totally alone on this one.

“I am―”

The strange Drackmarian lifted its mechanical hand, both a sign for silence and a signal to her guards, who brought their weapons into a firing position.

Nitin balled her fists, stepping within centimeters of the force field, barring her gritted teeth. “I am Nitin Cass of Iridonia,” She began forcefully, her jaw still clenched. “I am the daughter of a fallen world. When all my hopes were at an end, when all my joys had faded into the abyss, they came for me.” She relaxed slightly, but she didn't step back and she didn't unball her fists.

“Do you truly wish to test the 'justice and might' of the Cooperative? Then cut me down now and see the millions who rise up to cast you down. You can be our friends, you can be our enemies, or you can pass once more into the shadows which so cleverly conceal you, but you will hear me.” She stretched out her hand, her palm open, pressing it against the barrier in front of her. The sound of electric discharge and the smell of burning fiber permeated the tiny corridor, and then a plume of fire erupted as her suit breached an the oxygen mixed with the nitrogen, sparked by the discharge of the force field. Nitin found herself gritting her teeth once more, this time in an attempt to keep from crying out in agony. She held her hand in place, the suit having sealed itself at the wrist and her exposed palm now burning against the force field.

“I am servant of the Cooperative of Systems,” she began again, her voice cracking as she shouted through the pain. “I do not fear you. Whatever your twisted, backwards 'Way' demands, I will have no more of it!”

A tremendous force hurled her backwards. “Enough!” An enraged Mologg yelled, releasing Nitin from her grip and allowing the Iridonian to fall onto the ground. The force field vanished and the other Drackmarian stepped calmly forward, stopping only to lean over Nitin's nearly motionless body. The Iridonian was laying flat on her back, focusing all of her energy on making her eyes blink as rhythmically as possible, defying the scorching pain in her hand.

She refused to cradle the wound, though her fingers began to curl uncontrollably as the charred flesh contracted. She left her moderately burnt fingertips touching the ground, concealing the wound from the piercing eyes of the still-unidentified Drackmarian. “Had enough yet?” She asked the scrutinizing creature, laughing bitterly.

“What are you,” The Drackmarian asked.

“Vapor and dust. That is why I serve something more.”

The Drackmarian lifted Nitin bodily from the floor, throwing her over its shoulder. “Medical kit,” The Drackmarian ordered, and a dizzy, disoriented Nitin noticed one of the guards―he and his companions' weapons still trained on her―turn and rush from the room.

“I will learn what you are, Iridonian. This wound of yours has only served to delay that inevitable fact.”

“Refusing to see is not the same as failing to understand,” Nitin said in reply, her voice fading in and out as she bounced with each of the Drackmarian's steps. “Whoever or whatever you are, you seem to have scared the hell out of Mologg; but I'm playing for the win, not the thrill of the game. I don't care what you say: anything that hurts this bad better come with a reward.”

The Drackmarian laid Nitin out on a table in a nearby room, detaching the now-useless glove and throwing it aside. “You will not pass this test,” The Drackmarian said flatly, pulling a mask over its face and then pressing a button that activated an overhead magcon field. The alien opened the newly arrived medpack, injecting Nitin with something and then turning its attention to the burnt hand. “The will to believe is sometimes not enough.”

Nitin's vision blurred into a sheet of gray, then darkness overtook her as her eyelids refused to remain open.

“Do not continue in this path,” Mologg pleaded to the other Drackmarian, confident that Nitin had passed from consciousness.

“The will of the Empire cannot be defied.” The Drackmarian removed Nitin's helmet, allowing her to breath the now oxygen-rich atmosphere more easily.

“Even the greatest will has no choice but to bend before the determination of the unyielding. This is foolishness.”

“The will of the Empire cannot be defied,” The Drackmarian repeated, wrapping Nitin's hand carefully. “I have my orders.”

“I have not come so far to be dismissed out of hand,” Mologg warned.

“The will of the Empire―”

“HAS NOT BEEN DETERMINED!” Mologg roared, slamming her fists against a nearby table and drawing four of the guards into the room, their blasters at the ready. “You must not do this. Not you. Not now. Not to these people.” Mologg's voice had shifted from rage to the deepest, trembling fear.

What if we have come so close, only to fail?

Maridun system, on approach to Maridun

The shuttle passed slowly through the wreckage of the Brotherhood fleet. Transports were everywhere, ferrying away thousands of prisoners. Ugor salvage ships were buzzing around, soaking up the loose debris of shattered hulls and crushed starfighters. The Cooperative task force was still barely visible, the distant hulk of the Mon Calamari Star Cruiser catching the light of the system's primary.

As they descended, a massive blemish appeared beneath them, where the world's life had been burned away from thorough bombardment. “That was the Rognok Tribe,” Nitin said solemnly. “They perished a week before we arrived. The tribe's warriors wear a unique talisman. It was found on the body of an Amanin who had participated in a raid on a Brotherhood scouting party. That was their punishment.”

The shuttle passed into night, and it was only when they began descending again that Nitin realized just how massive the “spot” they had just seen must have been. They landed in a clearing next to the seized Brotherhood stronghold, where a mixed group of natives and Cooperative personnel were standing.

None of them said anything. No one offered a name or made a gesture of goodwill. Finally, after the longest moment, Ethan Vang stepped away from the rest of the group and pointed out beyond the transport. Nitin and her Drackmarian companions turned as one, curious to see what had so enraptured everyone else.

Thousands of funeral pyres burned in the night. The wails of the Amanin were heard from all around. It was the first peaceful action the species had taken as a single, collective body, and it was an act of despair and boundless sorrow.

An eerie howl began to rise from all around, and after several seconds, Ethan joined Nitin with an explanation. “They're singing. My translator is still getting medical care, but what I gather from the few who know some Basic is that its words are something like a paradox. The whole thing has a dual meaning. Life and death. Victory and defeat. Hope and despair. Which one's it supposed to be: good or bad? Or is it both?

“There's been so much death today, but maybe this world is finally ready to heal. Then again, maybe fate just wants to torcher the survivors a little longer. I've got a feeling they're going to make it at least as long as the Cooperative does, though.”

Ethan turned to the “Avatar,” eying it suspiciously. “Oh yeah: your shuttle's in the way. Some of us are mourning the lost.” Ethan walked off, wishing to rejoin those he had shared the grim victory with.

“Take me away from this place,” It said angrily. Nitin didn't know if this visit was a point for or against the Cooperative, but she knew that the people of Maridun were yet another society that owed their continued existence to the mercy of the Cooperative of Systems.



Gall

The trip from Maridun hadn't shed any more light on this rather odd Drackmarian's perception of what had happened there. Nitin was beginning to fear that this was a battle she couldn't win, no matter how well she fought it.

They spent about ten minutes wandering around, finally bumping into Athan, who was quickly becoming the most-recognizable Ryn in the galaxy. Athan was kind enough to point them toward Kerrick Arkanus, who he said Nitin should introduce the Drackmarians to.

They had to wait for almost half an hour while he was in a meeting, an inconvenience which Nitin was glad to see annoyed Drackmarian “avatar.”

She ran him down as he bolted from the door. “Kerrick? Kerrick Arkanus?”

“Yeah?” He said uncertainly, skidding to a stop.

“I am Nitin Cass―”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah: Iridonian delegation? Right. What are you doing here?”

Nitin waited for a moment, glancing around. "Are you in the middle of something?"

He shook his head, frowning. "No, no. Just got done selling my soul to another one of the Cooperative's pet projects, but other than that: no."

Nitin stepped out of the way and pointed at the Drackmarians, whose species Kerrick seemed familiar with. “You are aware of our efforts to forge more substantial ties with the Drackmarian people?”

“You mean you're trying to bum more supplies off of them?” Seeing Nitin's expression, Kerrick grew a little confused. “No, I don't guess I am . . . familiar with . . . whatever it is you're doing here.”

Nitin returned to the Drackmarians, waving for Kerrick to follow. “This is . . .” She turned to Mologg (who was still bound) for assistance.

“Our highest official, whose name is not to be known by outsiders.” Mologg's tone was painfully false to Nitin, but Kerrick didn't seem to notice.

He extended his hand, which the Drackmarian eyed skeptically and then turned and walked away.

“Alright, then,” Kerrick mumbled, withdrawing the hand. “What's this guy's problem?”

“That's not a guy,” Nitin corrected.

“Oh, sorry, lady,” He said a little louder.

“It's not a she,” Mologg responded.

“Oh, right, then,” He managed, wiping his hand on his shirt as if it had something undesirable on it. “You could have mentioned this to me beforehand,” Kerrick said to Nitin out of the corner of his mouth.

“I wasn't entirely sure myself,” Nitin countered.

“Care to explain?” Kerrick asked, turning to Mologg.

“No. You're losing it, Nitin.”

The Iridonian's eyes snapped immediately to the receding Drackmarian, who apparently had entangled itself in a conversation with a Squib. She rushed toward the two, making just enough of a ruckus as she came to a stop to disrupt the Squib momentarily.

“Forgive Mister Arkanus,” Nitin said apologetically. “He's not the most . . . refined . . . being you'll meet.”

“The misconceptions of outsiders do not concern me.”

“Right,” Nitin said, nodding. “But isn't the goal here to stop us from being outsiders?”

“No.”

“Still a 'no' on that one, huh?” She glanced back and saw Kerrick walking away as well. This was not going according to plan. By the time she turned back, the Drackmarian was on the move again, heading straight for its shuttle.

“If I could have your attention please,” Kerrick's amplified voice called throughout the Enclave. “If all available personnel could gather in the central courtyard . . . well, just gather in the central courtyard. I've got something to say.”

Nitin rushed after the Drackmarian, ignoring Kerrick's nonsense. “Please, if you would just give me a moment . . .”

“I have seen and heard all that I need to,” The Drackmarian replied.

“Mologg?” Nitin pleaded, turning to the other Drackmarian, who had just arrived.

Mologg raised her hands. “I've done all that I can, Nitin. My life is forfeit; I have nothing left to give.”

“This is the legacy of the Rims!” Kerrick's voice burst out, and for some reason, the Drackmarian turned and saw Kerrick standing in the center of the courtyard, pouring out a handful of sand that he had scooped up from the dirt-covered paving stones. Nitin didn't know why, and she didn't really care, but the Drackmarian moved forward, its eyes set on Kerrick.

“Spires of power built by long-dead empires,” He continued, pointing to one of the larger buildings in the immediate area, “―be they 'republics' or no―and left to be swarmed by the wretches of the galaxy! This is what we fight for? The power to build temples of war and monuments to destruction, only to turn them over―through the passage of time―to the vile, corrupt refuse of the Galaxy!?

“I will have no more of it! This day―this hour―we say 'enough'! I wash my hands of 'star empires' and Galactic Republics. This is their legacy; before it is too late, choose differently, or it will be yours as well. I will not rest until the temples of hate that blanket this galaxy are purified by fire and toppled by the meek. The galaxy is burning, and it is in these dark forges that those flames are fueled. It ends now. It ends today.

“For the Republic? Gloria Imperium? There is no chaos, there is harmony? These are words―and lies beyond that! They mean nothing, and cannot be attained! For freedom! For justice! For the hope we once held! For the countless souls who now suffer for the failures of those they once believed in!

“We aren't here to ensnare the galaxy with freedom! We're here to free the galaxy from the snares of the cruel and the manipulation of the unjust. If you want to build another galactic time bomb, then go ahead, but the Cooperative will fight you all the way.

“Peace? Always. Friendship? Sure. Hope? Can't live without it. Justice? We're still going for 'civilization.' But Republic? No; never. The Empire's right about one thing: the Galactic Republic fell. They don't seem to recall that so did the Galactic Empire, though . . .

“I'm letting the Galactic Coalition slide for now, because they let the Confederation go when it wanted to. I choose to believe in the Cooperative, because it offers friendship without requiring submission. A friend who owns your soul is a master, no matter what title he gives himself.

“Why am I saying this? Not because of the scary dragon-monster staring at me,” He pointed at the Drackmarian. “Nice robot-arm, by the way. It really does add to the creepy factor. Back on topic, though.

“No, I'm saying all of this because I'm going pirate-hunting. I'm going to go save people, because that's why I signed up for this. I've got a funny feeling, that if you all dig down real deep, you'll find that that's why you signed up for this too.

“No man was ever saved by being made into a slave. Why should galaxies be any different?"

Kerrick looked around sheepishly at the people who had gathered in the large opening. "That's . . . that's all I got. Just thought you should know."

“Take me away from this place,” The Drackmarian said, this time considerably less angry.

They filed back on the shuttle, Nitin donned her environmental suit, the shuttle flooded with methane atmosphere, and everything started to change.

“Release her.”

Sarris complied without hesitation, removing Mologg's restraints.

“Return us to Draconis Prime.”

Nitin's eyes widened in shock, but Mologg nodded reassuringly. “We have come very far.”



Draconis Prime, surface

The speeder was taking them in a grand tour of the world's massive capital city. Though there was really very little of interest that could be seen, the act of showing was apparently very important to the Drackmarians.

“Draconis Prime is very important to us,” The avatar said, beginning slowly. “Even more so now that Drackmar's location is known. This world represents something . . . pure. Something unblemished. It has become the soul of our people. Untouched by war, unseen by the galaxy around it. Its existence makes us safe. Of course, it is still a fortress; that is the Drackmarian way. But it is our . . . safety net.”

“Is that why you live here?” Nitin asked.

“I do not live here.”

“Then the Drackmarian Empire spreads to more worlds?”

The Drackmarian smiled. “It is safe to say that there is another world within the Empire, but I do not live there, either.”

“I don't understand,” Nitin admitted.

“I wander the worlds of the Empire, listening to the people, observing the changes to our worlds, weighing the threats of outsiders. This is my duty to the Empire, and I have done it for . . . a very long time.”

“It sounds . . . lonely,” Nitin said sadly.

“I don't get lonely.”

“Oh, so now Drackmarians don't get lonely?” She asked jokingly, glancing back to Mologg.

“It does not get lonely,” Mologg corrected.

Nitin's brow furrowed. “What are you, really?”

“Wouldn't you like to know.” The avatar replied immediately. “This much I can tell you, and only this much: we value our secrecy more than you have been led to believe.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“That would be telling you more.”

Nitin laughed lightly, nodding and looking down at the planet below. “So what will become of Draconis Prime?”

“I suspect it will be admitted into your Cooperative under terms much more strictly outlined than those of Drackmar.”

“You suppose?”

The avatar nodded. “I don't know if your Cooperative will admit a world that refuses to make its location known.”

“I'm pretty sure the Cooperative will take whatever it can get,” Mologg interjected. “Consider its dignitaries, who try to burn their hands off in order to make a point.”

“Yes, what was that all about―if you don't mind my asking?”

Nitin smiled bitterly. “I'm an Iridonian. You were making me mad, and there was a force field in the way.”

The avatar nodded. “Yes, I believe we will make good friends, your nation and mine.”