“You are Senator Singh?” I ask the ornately dressed man.

  “Yes, Fleet Admiral.” The stately man replies, only a small hint of his nervousness showing through the face of a proud politician. The man had the interesting situation of being both the Senator representing the Tion Hegemony and being the Exarch of Raxus. It was an interesting combination of metaphorical hats for the man, certainly helped by the exquisite hat perched upon the man’s head.

  “You have already surrendered to Lieutenant General Krugwolt, why do you and many of your colleagues find this additional surrender necessary? It is quite the drain on my precious time.” I ask.

  “Out of respect for the mastermind and leader of this operation.” Singh answers.

  I sigh, so it was for pandering. I pinch the bridge of my nose for a moment before nodding: “Very well. You’ve surrendered the moment you believed you could do so without being killed for cowardice?”

  “Yes, Fleet Admiral.” The Senator admits, “I did not wish further suffering to befall my people. Too much blood has been spilled and the Republic doesn’t plunder its own member worlds to enrich the Supreme Chancellor.”

  I raise an eyebrow at that: “Dooku was doing that?”

  “There were plenty of rumors. The Techno Union plundering Ryloth, The Corporate Alliance extorting member worlds for protection. Never mind the threats Grievous gave us when he heard of your advance towards Raxus. Tion herself was pressured to hand over her limited nuclear stockpile to us here on Raxus over threats of violence from one of Grievous’ underlings, though at least it was somewhat limited thanks to General Taok and Admiral Farstar. I feared for my people if I surrendered before our forces in orbit and in the capitol were defeated or routed.”

  I nod in relative acceptance. I’ll put a military governor in charge of the recently secured territory, probably Vice Admrial Sykes, but keep Senator Singh as a figurehead if nothing else: “Very well. I accept your surrender formally and permit you to continue to hold your current posts of Senator and Exarch of Raxus, though with limited authority and a permanent Republic security detail until a time where the local Republic military Governor decides it is no longer needed. You may see yourself out.”

  The Senator gives a small bow of respect before leaving the room, his shadow, a Protocol droid, giving an additional bow before leaving the room. I let out a sigh before nodding towards the loaned Staff Sergeant from Krugwolt’s Corps to send the next Senator in. This would be a long day.

  Finally something, finally news and yet … the anxiety about what was coming had turned my shoulders into knots. I knew that things weren’t going well, especially with the chaos occurring throughout various commands after the deaths of too many Jedi. General Koth too had died to his own men after all and if the highest ranking Jedi in my command could be assassinated, put down like a sick mudpup, then what chance did the few knights and padawans have? It was tragic to have lost the man, and I was already all but mourning the other Jedi I had yet to confirm dead, but I could do little more than wait.

  Until now.

  “Sir, incoming transmission from Coruscant.” The comms chief of the Fondor’s Star reports.

  I frown slightly. We hadn’t heard a single word from Coruscant in multiple days, neither the expected congratulations or new orders. Not even the confirmation of my accepted surrenders had been bounced back. It was comms silent and I had gone so far as breaking our current protocols of the taskforce to try and contact Coruscant through the Greater Halla Sector Command and the Kashyyyk Command. Neither had been helpful, the disappearance of Jedi High Generals Yoda and Allie, both likely dead by now, had thrown them into chaos, though at least Meade and McClellan were apologetic and equally confused as I.

  “Put it up.” I order quietly.

  It was the Senate feed. The text below was saying something about an imminent proclamation from the Supreme Chancellor. I had a really bad feeling about this. Soon enough the transmission’s depiction switches to that of the Senate, the camera droid racing towards the ascending Chancellor’s pod. Oh I did not like this at all.

  The Supreme Chancellor begins to speak, his voice far more gravely than I remember and his hood covering most of his face: “Citizens of the civilized galaxy, on this day we mark a transition. For a thousand years, the Republic stood as the crowning achievement of civilized beings. But there were those who would set us against one another, and we took up arms to defend our way of life against the Separatists. In so doing, we never suspected that the greatest threat came from within.

  The Jedi , and some within our own Senate , had conspired to create the shadow of Separatism using one of their own as the enemy’s leader . They had hoped to grind the Republic into ruin. But the hatred in their hearts could not be hidden forever. At last, there came a day when our enemies showed their true natures.”

  I could hardly believe it. The Jedi forming some kind of conspiracy? Was that what happened with the Chips? But … why would they kill Dooku then? If he was their pawn wouldn’t they want him alive and kicking? And even the most confrontational of Jedi weren’t hateful. Where was the Chancellor pulling this from?

  The Supreme Chancellor continues despite my racing thoughts: “ The Jedi hoped to unleash their destructive power against the Republic by assassinating the head of government and usurping control of the clone army. But the aims of would-be tyrants were valiantly opposed by those without elitist, dangerous powers. Our loyal clone troopers contained the insurrection within the Jedi Temple and  uelled uprisings on a thousand worlds.

  The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated! Any collaborators will suffer the same fate. These have been trying times, but we have passed the test. The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, their leadership destroyed, Raxus seized, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. We stand on the threshold of a new beginning. In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last for ten thousand years. An Empire that will continue to be ruled by this august body and a sovereign ruler chosen for life. An Empire ruled by the majority, ruled by a new constitution!”

  I can’t help myself: “Maker keep us, it’s a dictatorship.”

  Chain slaps a hand over my mouth before I can utter anything that might be considered newly treasonous, the speech continuing on anyway. This … this was the true conspiracy Solomahal had seen the inklings of . It hadn’t been the Jedi, or Isard, o r Tarkin and his Clique, but Palpatine . I felt betrayed, I felt sick to my stomach, I felt angry . I remove the Captain’s hand gently and quickly as my starts racing. Thoughts passing by in a flurry as i try to make sense of the situation and decide on what I had to do.

  Action. I needed to do something, I couldn’t wait and pray for someone else to act. But what do I do ? Solomahal would … he would contact me through my network of Marshal’s Agents. Do I … do I hail Fleet Admiral Honor? She was the highest ranking ally I had on Coruscant. What about Senator Dededod? He was rather cold on the Supreme Ch- on the Emperor, I should start getting used to that, better avoid slip-ups.

  Could I mutiny here? I glance around the bridge, varying reactions from the Fondorian crewed ship. A few looked disgusted, I should try and keep contact with them, many looked curious, some fearful, but most simply looked elated at the announcement of the end of the war that came from the continued speech. Maker keep me, if this was what it looked like from a mostly Fondorian crewed ship I dread to think what the reactions would be from a Kuati, Eriaduan, Humbarine, Caridan or Anax si crewed ship.

  So no mutiny here. No attempt at revolution now, instead I would have to wait. I would have to consolidate my power base, ensure my current position and rank. Keep the Separatists under control, but active. Build up strength and gather allies. Maybe even circumvent Fleet Admiral Honor for some of my acquaintances within the HONO Clique. After all, Honor was more loyal to her career, the military and her eventual legacy, than the Republic itself.

  “Sir?” Captain Hills asks, his face curious. That could be good or bad.

  I force a smile: “I was going to wait until we’d secured Raxus more firmly, but I think this occasion justifies breaking out one of my nicer bottles of Whiskey and a double ration of grog for all ships not on patrol or logistical duty this rotation, then a double ration tomorrow for those conducting such duties today.”

  “Very good, sir.” Captain Hills says, any semblance of suspicion gone from his face.

  I turn back towards the holoprojected image. The Senate was having a standing ovation. My eyes widen slightly. Maker keep us, it’s going to be war.

  Senator Dededod is rushing through the rotunda, trying to gather support. Organa had been cowed into compliance, what else was to be expected of a pampered Alderaanian consort. They didn ’ t need the feared cowering of young whelps, they needed action! They needed to gather support, not submit ! Over a millennia of democracy was hanging in the balance!

  “Senator!” Someone shouts and the Gados turns around to see a nervous looking man in the garb of a lesser Core world, a Tapani colony, though not one near Fondor or the Tapani heartland .

  “What is it?” The Gados asks.

  “I’m sorry.” The man pleads before placing a piece of flimsy into the Gados’ hand and continuing their speedy walk.

  The Senator of Abregado-rae shakes his head and continues his quickmarch in the other direction, reading the message quickly. That wasn’t good. Senator Mothma was attempting something similar to him, but more quietly. She had made the calculation , they didn’t have enough votes to block this , not with the increased arrests of their fellow members of the Delegation.

  “Damn.” Senator Dededod mutters before getting into his speeder, his driver, a human from their shared homeworld raising an eyebrow, “Get me to my apartment. I need to contact some friends from home and speak with some of my advisers.”

  “On it, sir.” His driver responds before kicking the speeder into gear. The speeder begins its quick drive to his apartments, all going well. The exhausted Senator places an arm over his eyes. He needed sleep, he was running on empty. The last time he was this exhausted must have been the beginning of the Separatist crisis. Maybe he should consult with Senator Zar again. See if they could convince their neighbors from the various Tapani worlds and the Separatist inclined worlds to their south into attempting … something, anything .

  He almost laughs, guess this is what loyalty to the Republic got oneself. He was considering colluding with still openly separatist worlds. The Separatists had been karking right! It was outrageous, it was cruel, it was unfair.

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  “FUCK!” His driver shouts, the Senator lifting his arm only to see a light freighter about to slam into his speeder. A head on collision. It’s over before the Senator can react, his driver manages to only loose half of the speeder, but it begins to plummet to the ground. Dededod braces himself before blacking out.

  He awakes to the smell of singed fur, fire, smoke and blood. He manages to get out of the wreckage, he feels pain all over his left side and begins walking, stumbling, limping, towards the driver’s section, the whirring of LAATs still perceptible through the Gados’ ringing ears. He gets down to check his driver’s pulse. Dead. He would need to send his family an appropriate gift for the excellent service his driver had done. The man had deserved better than this.

  “Sir, are you Senator Bic Dededod Hod?” The voice of a Clone asks.

  The Gados straightens himself to his full height, despite his injuries, before turning to look at the Clone before him. He had seen the fires engulfing the Temple and only one thing comes to mind. He is about to die. He will die well.

  “I am Senator Bic of Abregado-rae. Take a few steps closer soldier, it will make this crime easier.”

  The Clone shoots him in the chest and the Gados collapses onto the floor below. It hurt, Maker it hurt, but the bastard hadn’t hit him anywhere vital. They were toying with him. His instincts were screaming at him to either play dead or make a run for it. He might make it … no, he wouldn’t. He would stand his ground.

  He isn’t fast enough.

  “Better make sure.” One of the red painted Coruscant Guard mutters before firing his blaster into the Gados’ head. The corpse collapses back into a heap. The executioner turns to his comrades before speaking, “Alright, which one was next?”

  “That chucklefuck Malé-Dee, then that nudist Grebleips .” One of the men answers into the deserted street. Two different Clone s start dragging the dead Senator and driver into the LAAT, just some more casualt ies of the change in government.

  “Alright, set up a perimeter for the usual crash and make sure its our boys who do this investigation so the records are right. Blasted 501st doesn’t know how to do their paperwork properly.”

  “On it, sir.” One of the men respond before the group disperses to do their duties. It would be a long couple of days for the Coruscant Guard. Senators to accident away. Runaway Jedi to find and get rid of. Drunks to throw into the tank. Senators to placate. Always so much work.

  A Lutrillian General looks over his fellow intelligence officers. He’d vetted each and every one of them for loyalty to the Republic’s ideals above all else. They might not be the brightest or patriotic or most cunning , but that didn’t matter. They were loyal.

  “Contact our friends in the GAR and Navy . We have a coup to organize.” Solomahal orders.

  “Yessir.” Multiple soldiers reply.

  Major Green steps forward, eyebrow raised confidently despite the man’s usual nerves. Solomahal turns to the greenette: “You know who to seek out in the HONO Clique. See if we can get the coup done within a year. The less time Palpatine has to dig his claws into the corpse of our Republic the better. Dericote remains P lan D orn . I may trust his competence, but I don’t like the possible optics of him going rogue. I’d rather he throw his support behind P lan B esh .”

  “Understood, sir. I’ll get to it immediately once I’ve returned to Toong’l. Oh, and a friend of mine in the Senate Bureau of Intelligence handed me the recording of Senator Bic’s crash site. Took a while, but I’ve managed to restore the audio.” Comes Green’s response.

  “ Pass the recording on to Dericote, he was an acquaintance and ally of Senator Bic’s.”

  “With pleasure, sir.” The Major replies before snapping a quick salute. There was no time to lose. Regime change was such a busy time of year after all.

  Fleet Admiral Benoni, master of the Sith Cordon Fleet, looks out onto Korriban below, the bridge of the Glassmaker quiet and busy as their scanners sweep for any foes or interlopers. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. For over a millennium they and their forefathers had watched and waited. Once they had hounded and raided the Sith homeworlds. During the New Sith Wars this fleet had never seen rest, never giving those enemies of freedom and democracy a moment of peace as the bought time for the Republic to build its strength, allowing the petty warlords and lesser Sith Lords to run rampant throughout the rest of the galaxy.

  While the countless deteriorating Fleets, battlegroups and squadrons fought off Sith incursions into the Core, Mid Rim and those few vital outposts in the Outer Rim, the Sith Cordon had been the sole aggressive force, their starcharts of the Sith Homeworlds giving them vital intelligence on how and where to strike their foes’ heartland.

  It had been an ancestor of Benoni’s who had been tasked with recapturing the Sith worlds after the Seventh Battle of Ruusan a thousand years ago, leading the then five battlegroup strong Cordon Fleet in a punitive expedition to reestablish the Fleet’s original purpose over the traditional Sith Worlds and purging their farflung outposts.

  The moon of Yavin IV had been burned to ash, the temples scorched and burned until all that remained was their stone exteriors, its jungles reduced into nothing but a few paltry seeds that seemed to have rebuilt the world’s forests in the last century or three.

  The world of Almas, where the Sith had established a fortress yet been turned back by the Jedi of old had been subjected to months of orbital fire. The fortress may yet still stand, nothing short of cracking the planet likely being able to destroy it fully, yet its markings had been burnt off, the lesser stone and metals turned to gas.

  And Ziost? The capitol of the New Sith and the final bastion after Ruusan? The world where hundreds of millions of cultists and fanatics had been left behind to supply and replenish the Sith armies after their allegedly inevitable victory over Ruusan?

  Exterminated to the last. The Mantle cracked and surface turned to ash and magma.

  And so, for almost a thousand years , all that remained within Benoni’s command were tombs and temptations for those who wielded the Force. Something to lure in whatever Sith may have possibly survived Ruusan or escaped the purges that followed. Something which would tempt the Jedi who had fallen. To lure those foolish enough to try and imitate the Sith of old to their inevitable deaths as their escorting droids died to overly ambitious fools, whatever foolish temptation causing their actions being the only comfort before Benoni or his predecessors threw a targeted orbital bombardment on their heads, their ships and everything in a twenty kilometer radius.

  Benoni smirks. He had had the distinct pleasure of doing so a few times. Foolish Jedi, be they Dooku’s or the Order’s dying the deaths of cowards and traitors. It had been outright pleasurable to inform Dooku of this happening, while slightly tedious to do the same for the Order.

  And now both were gone.

  Dooku dead and whatever acolytes he may have had scattered to the winds or dead themselves, the Order purged and their members hunted alongside whatever Separatists still fought on. Pitiful, yet not overly surprising.

  His orders would remain the same, even if Palpatine stripped his command of some of the newer ships. They would endure all the same. After all, they had survived the demilitarization of the Republic. They would survive the Empire too. And if Palpatine’s pet Force wielder Vader so much as dared look at the Sith Worlds, Benoni would have the distinct pleasure of reminding the former Chancellor just why he had been appointed to lead these men and women and the rules and regulations he must follow no matter what.

  Benoni scratches at the skin just below the half-circle of metal that ran from ear to ear behind his head, into his head.

  No matter what.

  Naomi reads the report in silent horror. Dropping the datapad and rushing through the administrative offices of Fondor’s governance like a madwoman possessed. She had to stop a riot. Outside she could see a landing shuttle approach the public site, probably filled with the new Imperial Governor. She bursts into her husbands room where there’s already a crowd gathering.

  The Minister of labor is shouting about Fondorian autonomy while various officers who participated in the coup were exchanging looks. Her husband was quietly sitting at his desk as the chaos unfurls, for once wearing his full rank plaque of five gold stars and his dress uniform, his officer’s cap with its blue and white stripe along the rim perched atop his head and his black, knuckle reinforced, officer’s gloves for once not tucked into his belt. She moves beside him and they clasp hands, leather and bronze rubbing against skin, to try and steady their nerves. It was all going so well too, the war was supposed to be over, their son returning home and now? Now their homeworld would be returning to its state under Separatist occupation.

  “- What’s to stop the new garrison from doing the very same thing that the droids did?” Minister Miller finishes, the man’s simple worker’s garb almost out of place in comparison to the others in the room .

  “We have no guarantee other than our previous successes.” Counter Admiral Dyss assures, his winglizard hide swordsman’s cape agitated by his arms’ gesticulation, “The Empire will know not to press us from that alone.”

  “We don’t know that!” Miller spits, “They’re already demanding we stop the production of the Hammerhead cruisers and switch our full production over to their new Imperial class battleships.”

  “Star Destroyers.” Counter Admiral Dyss corrects.

  “Don’t you parrot Kuati marketing at me.” the labor Minister growls, his finger dangerously close to the Counter Admiral’s face .

  “It’s also rather concernin’ that they’ve demanded we’ll be changing our khaki uniforms for some new standardization that’s bein’ rolled out across the Empire. We’re not part of the national military!” Lieutenant General Graff spits, the gator hide around his shoulders making the both tall and barrel chested man seem even more imposing.

  “How long until we are? They’re stripping our autonomy bit by bit.” The Vice Minister of Commerce sighs.

  “Maybe … we should stay the course.” Owen finally speaks, Naomi’s head snapping towards her husband.

  “What!?” Minister Miller squawks.

  “What are our options right now? Revolt? Sure it worked when we were near the front line of a far off Separatist exclave, with reinforcements and allies hours away, but we’re in the Core, in the Empire’s new power-base. How long would it take for them to chuck the Open Circle at us? We’d be outproduced, outnumbered and outgunned. Sure, we might hold out for a couple years under the city shields, but what’s stopping anyone from landing in the sands? And what happens if they destroy our shipyards?” Her husbands asks.

  “Then we’d be worthless except for our ten billion souls.” Minister Miller concedes.

  “We need to be careful.” Owen decides and Naomi remembers all over why she fell for this man, that brain could go a lightyear a minute, “Coordinate with our contacts outside of Fondor. I’ll speak with my son and Fleet Admiral Zsinj, see if there’s anything that can be done from their end to secure our rights and privileges. The Ghormans are twice as uppity about their autonomy as we are, someone should see if there’s any chance of support from them and our other traditional allies in the Senate.”

  “Yag’Dhul won’t side with us, they surrendered before the battle of Coruscant was even over. Their maths and calculations won’t allow them to try for another rebellion, not this soon. Though we should be able to convince them of adjusting the calculations in our favor with … time and proof of possible victory.” The Vice Minister of Commerce offers, “Thyferra’s become to self absorbed. They made bank covertly selling to both sides and’ll be too busy self congratulating and stabbing one another in the back to get a larger slice of the new government contracts for us to make anything out of them. Though we should be able to convince some of our merchant contacts to begin buying up bacta on the down low.”

  “Mechis has lost a lot of influence. They might be approachable.” The usually quiet Vice Minister of the Shipyards suggests, “Bestine is in a similar boat. Those two could supply an entire warfleet by themselves and Bestine doesn’t even specialize in warships.”

  “The Herglic won’t let their status change either. They’ve long been wary of Republic overreach on their homeworld and various colonies.” The Lieutenant General of the Fondorian Military Police offers.

  “We need to keep this quiet.” Owen repeats, “Last thing we need is a bunch of Republic Security types to crash our offices and throw us out of some windows in apparent suicides.”

  “I’d prefer not to be defenestrated myself.” Counter Admiral Dyss concedes.

  “Then we’re mostly agreed.” Noami decides to interject, “We keep quiet and watch how the sands blow. Each of us contacts our friends in the unions and syndicates to press the same, but to keep the blasters and slugthrowers close, though they should definitely sharpen up the knives again too.”

  “For Fondor.” Lieutenant General Graff mutters.

  “For the Republic.” Owen corrects.

  Naomi hopes this won’t tear her family apart again.

  Luis is very careful around his friend after the … celebration on the Fondor’s Star. Thraken was faking it and barely drinking anything while plying those around him, Captains, Commodores and Sykes for … something. It was rather frustrating to Luis that he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  And so, as he had always done when his friend got cagey about something big, he went with a frontal assault. Once he had finished the relief mission to Keldrath he was back over Tion, ensuring his firend didn’t do anything foolish. A quick call to R4 securing an hour of Thraken’s time without the man knowing, followed by a quick call to Adjutant Captain Mi-Kus about his planned arrival for said appointment and to preferably not tell Thraken for security reasons. So, perfectly timed, Luis found himself on his friend’s usual ship, still hovering kilometers upon kilometers over the former Separatist capitol, Coruscant still hadn’t sent out new orders or even disbanded the taskforce after all.

  Luis barges through the door, his friend jumping up from his desk and skillfully placing the datapad he was perusing into his desk while unlatching the slugthrower’s holster. He sighs in relief before sitting back down, leaving his holster unlatched. Luis’ eyes narrow at that, but be presses on sitting across from his friend, without and invitation, and glaring at him.

  “What are you planning?”

  Thraken’s eyes jump around the room, cagey, before pressing a button, locking the door from his desk. Luis finally places the emotions behind his friend’s eyes, he was scared.

  “This doesn’t leave this room.” Thraken begs.

  “Promised.” Luis agrees easily.

  “This Empire will be the death of us.” Thraken admits quietly.

  A series of questions whir through Luis’ head before he settles on one: “How?”

  “What happened to the Pius Dea?” Thraken asks.

  “They were defeated by a mutinous Navy and the Jedi.” Luis answers easily. His friend’s favorite historical time period an often discussed subject if you could get him drunk or relaxed enough.

  “So what do you think will happen to the more idealistic and traditionalist Navy officers this time? The Jedi are already gone and I don’t think we’ll be alive by the time we could do what the Navy of old needed hundreds of years to do.” His friend responds.

  Luis considers it a moment before speaking: “You’re assuming the new order will be as violently xenophobic and barbaric as the Pius Dea?”

  “I’ve had some … associates look around the COMPOR rallies. One of them even managed to transcribe a lot of it. Some of their speakers were awfully xenophobic. So I’m preparing.” Thraken says, “Just in case.”

  “In case of what?” Luis presses.

  “In case they go too far.” Thraken whispers, as if afraid someone could hear him, “In case they do something unforgivable.”

  Luis’ eyes widen in terror: “You’re planning treason.”

  “The Republic’s already abandoned democracy. With the increased powers given to military governors and the expansion of their number, it’ll only be a matter of time until Palpatine can control the entire galaxy from Coruscant, no matter what the gutted Senate has to say about it. I was blinded by the war to see if before, enraptured by logistics and budgets and battles. But the powers I already have are too great. By simply reinterpreting the nationalization decrees I could impress hundreds of ships with the flick of my wrist and a signature on a datapad! On top of that the handful of, I … hate to say it, but genuinely motivated Senators are far too outnumbered by Palpatine’s lackeys. We already subconsciously knew that, but we just assumed he would give up power when the war was over. Foolish in hindsight-”

  “Thraken, your point?” Luis interjects.

  He sighs then speaks once more in a whisper: “I’d give it a couple years, starting from the Mid Rim and less prestigious Outer Rim Worlds going outwards. Slowly at first, making sure the water doesn’t boil too quickly, then, slowly, everything we fought for will evaporate and all we’ll have left is the burning pot.”

  “A few years then, until the new Empire abandons freedom, liberty and justice.” Luis translates, his mind whirring at the possibilities.

  “We can’t allow almost twenty five thousand years of democracy to go out like this.” Thraken prods, his eyes holding a fire, then shame, “Even if we already have.”

  “You want to mutiny.” Luis concludes, his eyes widening “Full on rebel.”

  This was so much worse than he had feared. This was treason! His best friend was planning treason, had probably already committed it. Oh Maker.

  “Who … who’s involved?” Luis asks, concerned.

  Thraken suddenly looks very ashamed: “So far, I’ve got a couple similarly minded associates. Don’t know how long that’ll last. I’m waiting for people to start falling from windows.”

  “You trust them?” Luis asks, concerned.

  “One of them for sure and that’s too shaky of a base. It’s why I’ve been trying to get a good read on so many of our comrades a week or so ago.” Thraken admits.

  “Alright, then.” Luis says, a grin growing on his face while his eyes are filled with fear and determination, “You’ve got me too now. Let’s start making some lists.”