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Vorhi sighed. "All Sentients should strive to avoid suffering at the hands of tyrants. Humans included," he said, still maintaining his relaxed tone. He smiled warmly. "You'd be surprised what I can understand. I was student of history long before I was an ambassador," he said with a weak grin. "But if we're done trading quips, I'd like to make the following offer." He nodded, adjusting his blindfold absentmindedly as he began to announce his thoughts.
"To maintain the Combine's stance of delegation to avoid under-representation or marginalized species, the combine's council shall continue to exist as secondary house," he said calmly. "You can maintain the council, which shall be renamed the Council of Delegates. The said council will maintain a position where it can write and propose legislature in committee before the Leadership Council," he said calmly. "I know it's not the best concession, but it's the most productive way to combine our resources without getting anyone hurt. Are there other concessions that can be made to make this deal easier on our affiliated constituents and worlds?"
Goggled eyes scanned a lone structure for entry points. He'd been through this so many times, Oron had a sense of transcendence in the field of breaking and entering. He could see multiple crawl-points above the 3rd floor, but more important than that were the patrols which surrounded the building in a continuous search for intruders. Oron understood why though, the Rogue Cells were being exterminated around the planet, and burdened with glorious assassination was Oron, tasked with eliminating the opposing leader. This being Oron's first mission as a Templar, he planned to do all but fail. At any cost.
As an Infiltrator, Oron doubted he would see any other Templars during this mission. He appreciated the quiet of his space however, and even moreso appreciated the fact that he could control it. Partners offered issues similar to noise, talking, and the possibility of splitting judgement. All of these were capable of sabotaging stealth or more often, had the potential of making situations a lot worse than what they should be. Aside from the obvious, split judgement is often the difference between targets utilizing the extra time to escape or call in back up. Alone, Oron was able to gamble with his life, and his life only, while also keeping a pace that was sure to be maintained throughout the length of his missions. His own. With these requirements met, Oron tends to stab first and pull information from dying targets, rather than conversating before the blow is dealt. This keeps his fast track mind from slowing down, and having to deal with degrading showcases of begging and crying, which sometimes draw hesitation from Oron.
The fortress tall and wide, stood alone within a stronghold of camps, tents, and temporary shelters. Oron drew the Force to his body, using it to bend the light around his person as he stood behind the corner of a building. He waved his hand across face, barely seeing the outline of his limb through his goggled vision. Walking around the opposite side of the wall, out of the route of the patrolling cells, he moved at a moderate pace in a crouched position. Unlike most people, Oron found crouching to be very natural, although it's mostly attributed to a lifetime of practice. His booted feet moved one after another as he approached the fortress, only stopping once he neared the wall of the structure. He momentarily glared at a ledge as he leapt 3 stories up with aid of the Force. His hands slapped onto the ledge, and with his own natural strength, Oron pulled himself up after giving the open room a cursory glance. After deciding there were no immediate threats, he climbed inside and rolled on the floor, stopping once his back lightly hit the wall next to the door. Relaxing, his Force Camouflage dissipated as he deactivated his comm link. The only person programmed into his channels was @[member="Genesis Rostu"], which saved Oron the time of manually selecting one when he needed to reach his superior. The seconds he'd saved by doing so could be detrimental at a later point, where commands could be issued at a moment where Oron couldn't afford the distraction. To remedy the possibility that the Assassin might actually need orders in the near future, he decided to open and reopen his link on timed intervals, deciding that if the message was urgent enough a message would slip into his station whilst he was checking for it. Oron was counting to himself now, but not the time. He was counting how many men belonged to the footsteps patrolling the hall outside of his room.
"Four..." Mentally, rang through his mind.
Oron's baritone voice vibrated in his throat as a close-mouthed growl slowly manifested out of anticipation, one that also doubled as a signature of cold calculation. Moving away from the door, the Infiltrator stepped back into the darkness of the room's furthermost corner from the door. Raising his hands, he lifted the black leather goggles from his face and let his ultraviolet vision settle on the door, awaiting his first line-up of casualties to enter the room.
Ever vigilant, the Templar continued to defend the position so that the Bounty Hunter could work his magic. Josiah had little idea as to what successfully completing the man's objective would mean for the battle at hand; however, the Knight trusted that it was worth sticking his neck in the line of fire for. As the moments rolled by, the Templar's blade continued to reflect blaster bolts and occassionally would lower to its wielder's side so that he may utilize the Force in order to further the defensive effort.
As the portion of the operation dedicated to the crippling of the anti-air walkers continued, a transmission rang in the ear of the Grand Marshal. It was the Droid Commander, informing the clone of the fact that he and his subordinates were engaged in combat. There was a small part of the man who felt pity for those unfortunate enough to come into contact with Nocturno; for his orders were ruthless and there was zero chance of surviving the encounter. However, this was the cost of treason, and it was the blood price that had to be paid in order to secure peace for the Southern Systems.
"Excellent Commander." came the response of the Grand Marshal as he and his units moved towards the next anti-air walker as swiftly as their feet could carry them. "You know what to do." From that point, the line of communication ceased, as the clone slid into cover whilst his personnel focused upon eliminating the initial resistance about the walker's feet. Genesis took this opportunity to reach into his utility belt and produce a pair of chargers; both of which were hurled one after the other.
The first landed near one of the walker's legs, and upon detonation caused the hulking mass of metal to crash to the floor. The second landed atop its gun and spelled an instant end to those operating it; in addition to any and all complications this particular gun may cause. At this point, the sum of anti-air resistance was lowered enough so that additional shuttles may come down without as much peril; but there was still quite a bit of work to do in order to clear the skies.
Daxton ducked as a withering hail of blaster fire headed his way. True, he could deflect most of them away but he had a heavy blaster carbine slung over his shoulder. Leading the charge, he dived beneath some cover before checking to see if his weapon was still operational.
Cocking back the lock bolt, he shouted at the enemy, "Is that the best you can do? Jedi shoot better than that!"
Bringing the weapon to bear, he put his eye to the scope and began unloading on the enemy position. The sharp kick of the stock bit into his shoulder and the weapon vibrated from the sheer rate of fire.
As soon as the magazine was empty, he slammed in a fresh mag with practiced ease, and declared, "Gods! There is nothing better than the smell of fresh ozone in the morning!"
Doing as he had been instructed Seth moved to where he had been told. Moving quickly and quietly as he did, moving to the right side of the ship. crouching done once he was there he looked around for any rogues making sure none where near by.
This is something like the room I'm in. It has a lot more light than my actual scene, but it's the makeup lol
Patience was always a virtue when lying in wait. This case failed to differ as Oron slowed his breathing, whereas with aid of the Force he also readied himself for the upcoming exchange of physical tactics. The four soldiers walked into the room in a typical two-two formation. Their comfortableness betrayed the rebels into thinking that their back needn't to be watched in their own quarters. The two in front slowly ventured into the large room, peering into the darkness searching for anything out of the ordinary. "No flashlights? Four rookies..." Oron noticed that the alien's weapons weren't raised either, he took advantage of their underestimation and flicked his hand towards the soldier in the back-left of the formation. Emerging from the shadows came an object of silver steel that embedded itself within the rebel's neck. The alien sharing his formation stumbled as his now-dead partner fell onto him, lifeless.
Panic hit the three soldiers, unsure of the threat that held the light of impending doom over their heads, they fired in various directions wildly. Oron utilized Force Camouflage as he raced from his corner in a low, crouched position. Sliding a jagged dagger from a sheath on the right side of his hip, he abruptly stopped in front of the remaining soldier in the back of their formation and made a quick left to right slash as he grabbed the tail of his cape with his left hand and held it in front of him covering everything from his nose to his legs. Blood spewed from the alien's open throat gash, spraying Oron's cloak with an accompanying sound of liquid on cloth. Oron never was a fan of bathing in other people's blood, and most certainly wouldn't make any exceptions today. He released his cape and allowed it to sway in a returning motion to his backside. The remaining duo of soldiers looked on in awe as the firing stopped and they watched as their partner flailed aimlessly at Oron with his hands before smacking the floor. Quickly looking up from their fallen comrade, they raised their weapons once more preparing to fire at Oron but he spun off his left foot and disappeared into Stealth once more.
Rearing them from the right, after making a loop around their path of fire, Oron violently force pushed the alien rebel to his left into the wall and with an dagger still gripped in his right hand swung at the remaining alien's head. Oron could tell that his opponent, unlike the aforementioned, was in perfect condition yet as fast as he was, Oron's attack that slashed at his head still grazed him. Pain, terror, and bad light conspired to impair the rebel's vision, leading him to fire his rifle wildly, and repeatedly. A combination of pain and adrenaline pumped into the rebel's body by the overwhelming threat presented by the Templar Infiltrator and in kind the rebel snatched a pistol from his hip once he realized he diminished the ammunition in his rifle. Oron ignored the weapon and released a second force push that had a force behind it similar to the one that broke the aforementioned alien's neck once he crashed into the wall. Though the impact didn't kill him, he was indeed dazed and couldn't stand to his feet.
Even from halfway across the room, Oron could see the surprise in his face, insofar as he was still capable of being surprised. Apos was bald like most Umbarans, with a strong visage and reflective eyes that had the stare of a starving pitiless jaguar. The rebel would be able to sense, if not see, the musculature rippling beneath the Oron's leather infiltration gear.
Ambling unconcernedly forward, as if the rebel no longer held the pistol, Oron crouched down to stare at the alien who would participate in an organization that presented such treason against Utapau. Oron's posture, as much as his indifferent attitude, suggested either lingering brain damage, supreme stupidity, or ultimate confidence. The rebel did not have to debate long over which was the most likely. He found that he could see his own scarred, battle-worn face reflected back at him in those shiny lenses that were as inscrutable as their owner. Oron brought one hand forward. The rebel flinched slightly. Opening his fingers, the man revealed the contents of his hand. It was a green alien ear, raw and bleeding at the base.
"Yours?"
Though deceptively soft, his voice pierced cleanly through the overwhelming sound of war outside. There was a pause. Then the rebel clamped a hand to one side of his head. His bare fingers came away bloody. Speed that yielded blurred attacks by Oron and surging adrenaline supplied by the situation, had combined to numb him to a point where he hadn’t felt the appendage being torn away. With the pain fully registered, the infuriated alien moved to fire his pistol upon the assassin, but Oron's hilt was pointed at him during the brief exchange of words with his free hand. A purple lightsaber blade quickly escaped the hilt, slid through the rebel's chest, and retracted back into the hilt once more. Taking his finger off the emmiter button, Oron took the time to search their bodies for clues leading to the position of the leader. He found a datapad on the body of the second rebel's throat he slashed, and after scrolling through a few slides of recent entries discovered that his target was at the very top floor of the fortress. "Typical." Tossing the datapad onto the body he retrieved it from, he peered out of the door of the room and made his way to the elevator.
Utapau was not a good thing for Dharma. Her visit was one of torture and death. There was a yummy red head that time with paid off. She liked what happen but she could have trouble if identified. The good thing was her Jensaarai armor was made with a helmet. It was in the large metal case behind her. That was going to be put on after she finds out that CIS was actually there too.
Before Dharma got to open the case, it was already whining to her. “Why empty me, it feels so good full. This is what I was made for.”
“Really?!?” Dharma reacted with reaching up to rub her temples. “I swear… if you complain again, I’m to turn you into a toilet for a hutt. Zip it, Betty.” She rubbed her head a little longer.
“Hey now, I’m not Betty.” Replied the case, “My name is Phillip de’Turk”
“Whatever, you all look the same.” She popped back a replied to it.
“Oh no you didn’t… that’s so objectist. I’m going to report you to the NAAO.” The case whined at Dharma.
Dharma actually did it. Her hand met her face, shaking slowing side to side her face in her palm. This stuff was getting old and growing to become a pain in the bum. She added a sigh before moving on and opened the case to gather her armor. Then the time was spent suiting herself up and have another argument; however, it was with the table in the room that had blood stains from what she did before today in the room. The wall and chairs had to get their two cents in too. The room was a noisy, chatty place for Dharma but in the normal world there were no other voices expect for Dharma. The argument went from being a racist towards objects to the door interrupting.
“Excuse me… think you need to know something, little one.” Door said as it butted into Dharma and the others argument.
“What is it?” Dharma questioned.
“The new government you aligned with is here.” Stated the door.
“Son of a monkey sea lover!” Dharma exclaimed. This was not good for her. Sliding her helmet on, it was clear the comms were active as she took a moment to listen. A lovely moment since it was actual people and not the things around her speaking. She still could hear them talk but the comm-system was louder at the moment. Also she kept quiet so knowledge of her being there already would remain secretive.
Her right hand went to her left wrist to use the keypad. The command to kill her mic was needed. There were things that needed to be dealt with. She could not let the chairs win the argument. For the next few minutes, she laid out how the chairs were wrong and she was right. That said and done, leaving was all there was left for the party. The door opened and closed for her. Back out among the natives, their clothes sang about the person that wore them. They were also confirming what she found out from “asking” some Pau’un “nicely” what the Combine was doing and radicals.
Looks were the last thing Dharma was concerned about, it was the voices in her head that were more important. Really it was not the crazy ‘I hear voices in my head’ but more the radio with people smarting off as they kill or orders were given. Also noted that the writer is hearing voices like a crazy person and just wants to get this post down so Guy can stop asking about… ugh Grand Marshmallow the post is there. So Dharma decided to stop and talk to a wall. The two were chatting up a storm about different things. Some were about what people were doing but it mostly centered around the new model ships that Kuat were releasing.
Once the chat shifted back to CIS being on Utapau, the wall told Dharma where she might want to go. She told she was going to do something else. An easier thing had popped up in Dharma’s pretty little head. Reactivating her mic and adjusting her comm to ring over the air waves for Genesis to hear and anyone else on the same channel. Dharma cheerful announced, “Ohhh Grand Marshmallow the Boss Dude… where does the tea party need to happen?” Dharma was actually asking what needed to be done, but like all crazy people in the universe one cannot simply ask a normal question. It has to be all dressed and made pretty with sparkles and candy.
The commanding voice was silenced by a burning bolt of plasma to the back of his head. The helmet he wore sparked with flames and the entirety of the back of his skull exploded with scorching fire and pieces of shrapnel. The flanking droids had made it around the enemy with nearly no resistance and were now littering their positions with blaster fire. Nocturno watched as sparks of fire and debris shot through the air with each impact of the blaster rounds, those rebels were definitely feeling the heat now.
"Push forward, do not let them escape!" Nocturno barked to his droid, who were in front of him and behind cover. Without question the droids stood from their cover and slowly pushed forward in a firing line, sending waves of blue blaster beams at the fleeing rebels. There was no mercy to be shown here and neither Nocturno nor his droids felt any pity as the retreating solider fell to the ground in smoking heaps. The Droid Commander had yet to fire more than a few shots, he was letting his soldiers take care of most of the work. He just marched behind them, his DC-17 at low ready position as he followed behind them.
As soon as Nocturno and his men passed the cover, in which the rebels were previously posted, a straggler of the rebel army emerged from a hidden position behind a few rocks. He tried to take aim at the cyborg commander, but Nocturno was much faster than the foolish Combine Rouge was. Noctuno no sooner raised his rifle than he began firing. His weapon was set to semi-automatic, but his rapid trigger squeezes made it seem as if the weapon were set to its usual automatic mode. The soldier shook slightly as each round impacted into his center mass and before long he collapsed backwards onto the ground. Nocturno quickly ran over and put an extra round into his head, just in case the flurry of rounds hadn't done the job right.
The droid commander coolly turned away from the corpse, his robotic eyes meeting the sights of his droids firing into the last few fleeing Combine. Perfect, things were going exactly as he planned and he had yet to sustain any casualties. "Move up and execute any survivors" Nocturno commanded and the droids obeyed. The Confederacy was a faction of morals, but in war the only moral was victory.
"Commander, we have two prisoners." Prisoners? Why were his droids taking prisoners?
Nocturno turned to see two men on their knees, both dressed in standard military officer fatigues and surrounded by the droids of the flanking team. So that was why they had been taken alive, officers were of great strategic use. One of the men was a Pau'an and had a long gash across his head that was pouring blood, the other was a Duros who seemed unharmed. Nocturno marched over to the prisoners, not speaking a word until he had crouched down to their level
"Hello gentlemen." Nocturno spoke in his cold voice, his emotionless, inhuman and icy blue eyes starring at them "I congratulate you on your survival, my men are very thorough I assure you."
"Go die in a hole, human sympathizer!" the Duros growled before spitting in the face of the cybornetic warrior, who calmly wiped the saliva away
"You will take me to your leader, alien slime." Nocturno commanded
"You will get nothing from us." The Pau'an answered, to which Nocturno only nodded
The commander looked up to the droid that stood behind the two prisoners and spoke "How many men does it take to show point us in a direction? I think we may have one too many." Nocturno said coldly and then pointed his index finger at the Duros. It was only a millisecond later that the droid slightly lifted the barrel of his weapon and fired a blaster bolt into the top of the Duros's head. The alien's eyes burst into short sparks of flame and his mouth began pooling with blood as he slumped over sideways to the ground. The Pau'an officer gasped in horror and tried to back-up, but only hit the legs of one of the wardroids.
Nocturno leaned in and starred deep into the eyes of the Pau'an "Now, do not make me ask again."
Medon listened to the diplomat and thought over the words carefully "This may be an acceptable solution, however, other things must be taken into account. First, let me pose this question, well this system be of checks and balances? Will the non-human delegates have the power of Veto?"
Lucious kept working, his fingers dancing across the datapad in his hands. These damn Combine types had a much stronger firewall than he had initially thought, he was already on his third attempt to get passed it and he still had a few minutes to go until he was through.
Vorhi nodded and considered his request. "I don't believe that creating provisional veto power for a new house is within our constitution's parameters. However, it could definitely be feasible to create a secondary drafting through the judiciary process. In addition, each planet in the new District formed from Combine space will gain an elected representative to form its own District Council, one of whom may be elected to the current leadership council. Given your political respect amongst the Combine, I sincerely doubt anyone would contest your appointment until a proper election can be called for in a few months," he said dryly, nodding to Medon.
"Furthermore, I will speak before the leadership council on your behalf to amend the CIS constitution to expressly forbid discriminatory and speciesist policy, and allow the Delegate Council to sit in on reviews for such legal proceedings," he said calmly. "In exchange, the delegate council will represent species throughout Confederate Space, and be expanded thusly after the next census of CIS space has been made." It was a compromise, but definitely a push in both directions. The Pau'an got to save face, keep the title of Senator, and push for policy advocacy for lasting time in CIS space. Not the most meaningful distinction, but it would at least allow him to remain some of the status quo as both factions learned to work together.
Medon nodded thoughtfully "I do appreciate such an act on your part, however I still have concerns. Though the idea of a council that represents all species is a sound idea, I fear that the delegates must have some power to scare the leadership council into giving equal treatment. When I created the Combine, I had to work with what little the galaxy was giving me and that meant making some exceptions when it came to freedoms of minority species. However, now that I have a chance to insure all sentient species get an equal say i have to be thorough. While I am unsure of the ethnic origins of your current councilmen, it represents a very scary reality. The species on this council have the very real opportunity to dismiss attempts by the delegate council to better the lives of certain species. If the leadership council has the power to turn down anything we pass up, we can never expect true freedom. You could not put a Huk under a Kaleesh's rule and expect the Huk to have faith in the Kaleesh, unless there was a system in place to ensure that the Kaleesh was afraid to anger the Huk. When the people are afraid of the government, the Sith Empire is the result...but when the government fears the people then we have democracy."
He nodded thoughtfully. "The simplest proposal is allow a vote of Recall to be held. The Council can put such a motion forward, but the final vote should be a public referendum," he said with a nod. "If the district being represented sincerely believes that the acting senator on the leadership council fails to act in the best interest of the people, then he or she will be recalled and replaced with someone more willing to serve all the people's need. Droid, dug, human Pau'an, Bothan, if it thinks, it can vote out an oppressive man."
He smiled. "As you say, historical grudges can and will produce mistrust. However, mistrust can be dispelled with an open, transparent government that takes measure to accurately reflect the people's will. Even history, powerful as it is, does not define people. We can all defy our past, and build a better future, as you have worked for on behalf of the Utai and Pau'ans whom you serve," he said, smiling again. Medon may ave been untrusting a little ruthless, but in all honesty, one more strong personality in the leadership council would be handy. Besides, his being raised to an equal power with the other Councillors would keep everything in balance. "After all, it's not zero-sum. We can better the fate of the confederacy without treading upon those who would be under-represented in older models of governance. Contary to popular belief, my success does not need to come at another's expense." He smirked at the Senator. He wondered what kind of man he'd be when sitting on the council, and what his goals in such a duty would be.
"History is not something to take for granted. History tends to repeat itself over and over and over again. However, I do find that this plan is of adequate protection for the species of the Confederacy. Still, now the concern of the military comes into play. It is my understanding that much of the military is made up of humans, mainly in leadership roles. If there is clarification to be made, do share."
All in all, the operation seemed to be going about quite smoothly. From the transmissions that sounded across the various theatres of battle; success was being found all around. However, the clone had concern about the ground battle slowly growing out of hand at the position of Josiah Denko, Lucious Montross, and the other Confederate personnel who had landed there. In order to alleviate them of their relentless attackers through the commitment of assistance, the Grand Marshal ordered his forces forward to address one of the remaining anti-aircraft walkers. As they rushed forward, he heard the first transmission of the Infiltrator, Oron, which was met with a low: "Carry on."
Though the clone did not know the explicit details of the Infiltrator's operation, he made his voice as quiet as possible so that it did not potentially give away his subordinate's position. After all, the last thing that Genesis would want was to blow the Infiltrator's cover. Shortly thereafter, a rather bubbly voice sounded across the open channel...and Genesis was appalled by the nickname that he was addressed by. It was so ridiculous, yet so humorous, that he could not exactly be offended. That, and there was a time and place to address such matters; and the middle of a warzone was not one of them. So, Genesis let the comment slide and prayed that it would not become habitual.
As he pondered how to answer the inquiry of the Infiltrator, a transmission sounded that gave the perfect intel for her skills. He then, with information in hand, relayed the data to the Templar as quickly as possible. "Lady Inquisitor," he began, "the tea party is scheduled to begin at a Prison Camp not too far from your location. The guests you need to host are of the Combine Rogues; and in particular, I'd like you to entertain their commanding officer with your utmost attention. Release the prisoners after you have played the role of gracious host and detain any and all...surviving...members of the Rogues. Be certain not to harm any of the prisoners; and feel free to 'interview' any Rogues you capture at your leisure. We need information regarding any additional leaders, plans, sleeper agents, etc. Anything that can be used...now then, enjoy your Tea Party."
His response was worded in a way that he knew the Infiltrator would appreciate; and with that said he continued his push forward. The third anti-aircraft walker was situated alongside a cadre of personnel; all of whom met a swift end at the hand of the Confederate soldiers at Genesis' command. One of them, by his orders, utilized heavy ordnance in order to blow apart the walker; thereby clearing the skies even more. Once this confirmation was received, he sent our a transmission to those who this development would mean something vital.
"The skies are clearing up, feel free to send more reinforcements down."
"Fine, fine! Take your time! Seth, stay close by him, you understand?!" came the semi-exasperated response of the Templar. In his mind, the defensive effort was going nowhere, and with each passing second, the resistance grew larger. As such, he decided that it was time to take the fight to them. Hard. Otherwise he'd run the risk of being overwhelmed by the literal storm of blaster bolts. Utilizing the Force in order to augment his strength and speed, the Knight surged forth and breached the front line in a deadly blur. His blade sang ruthlessly through the opposition, and with skill and precision, he began to mow through the Rogues as swiftly as he possibly could.
Vorhi considered the implications of the question. Medon really did have a thing against humans. Still, this question had a simple and a complex answer. "We don't segregate our troops. Basically, the military has been largely consisting of humans an near-humans because they sign up for it. Although many Rodians have been known to volunteer for our armies, as well. Geonosians tend to prefer crafting droids to sending in their own people, and the Bothans and Kaminoans, for their part, have mostly avoided front-line military roles. Although, as Wiklea can attest, many who findd themselves less inclined to combat eagerly work in the service of the CIS's interests, either through our intelligence or diplomatic corps." He nodded calmly. "Although, for reasons of discretion, it would be poor form to say exactly how many people, and of what species, work in JSI. Wouldn't want to endanger key personnel," he continued, nodding to the taller, thinner man questioning him calmly.
"I can assure you, however, species has never been an issue with promotions for either The Templars or CIS military. Officer Shorurra, Operative Jaybird, and even the Council of Masters for the Templars, prove our policies of maintainiing no criteria other than performance record," he said calmly. "Officer Shorurra is actually a great example. He's not even from CIS space--he is a Wookie, native to Kashyyk," he said calmly. "His race never stopped him from excelling as a soldier for us, and he has gladly worked with us in that capacity. In fact, he helped lead the charge on Melida," Vorhi said, beaming with pride, happy that so many had been saved on Melida, even though he wished they could have contained the problem sooner.
"If you don't believe me, then you are welcome to attend any military training facility within CIS space and see for yourself. We accept all recruits willingly, and officer advancement is determined by service record and training, nothing else," he said with a confident nod. Hell, even the Dark Templar of the Bounty hunter's guild--A man paid very good money not to trust people--was not prone to racism. Lechery and wanton recklessness, but not racism.
Medon took a glance at the quiet Bothan next to Vorhi. These Confederate types were much easier to deal with than Medon had first thought they would be, perhaps the Combine would live on after all "You make very good point, you obviously have the gift of a silver tongue...I only hope that the CIS lives up to its end. I can already tell, by the rebellion that now haunts us, that a more troublesome group of individuals is arising." Medon, satisfied with the current state of negotiations, slid a datapad to the CIS diplomat "On this device are details I have received about the resurgence of a well known anti-human cell from my time. They share my skepticism of human morality, but they seek to accomplish their goals through violence."
Vorhi nodded as he "looked" at the datapad, focusing his force sight to make out the details of the materials brought to him. "The..Diversity Alliance? Someone resurrected the Diversity Alliance?" He hated to admit it, but of all the crazy factions out there, they picked one of the more wild ones. "And they're attacking the CIS? Really, now. There's been two separate humanocentric empires trying to rise in the northern galaxy in the last few months, and these radicals think that we are a symptom of that. Brilliant," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I thank you for this information, and accept it as a gesture of goodwill. That being said, this organization has been known for terrorism, and this manifest clearly states lethal intent. CIS authorities will have to hold a hearing to classify the Diversity Alliance a terrorist organization. Will you testify, Senator?" He didn't like this.
No, take that back. He loathed this. He didn't like the Imperial speciescide, and he wasn't going to tolerate it's reversal in the name of justice. This had become serious enough tat more than a few lives were on the line. He nodded somberly. The last time the Diversity alliance pushed, they became a threat to the stability of the New Republic. This organization could easily do the same for the CIS. That would...be bad. He nodded and handed the datapad to Wiklea, after quickly saving a copy to a small crystal. "Wiklea, as diplomatic liaison, and standing Templar, I would like your office to look into this. If this organization is similar to its predecessors in methodology, then it could very well be a cell designed to kill innocent people. We can't stand by while terrorists run rampant through Confederate Space," he said calmly.
