It doesn't matter that you don't want a fight if someone else does. That's the biggest problem with a war. It goes on until everyone stops, not just one or two people. - Thoughts Upon Peace, Treana'ad Philosophical Textbook

If you have it, someone will want to take it from you. Not because they want it, but just because you have it. - Vare'remo'o, 18 PPW

"... and in time, one sees their offspring and loved ones achieve their dreams and in turn their happiness completes us in ways we never knew that we needed. More whole than whole, more loved than we ever knew was possible. In that moment, not in the grand clash of armies and the bravery of troops, was victory finally achieved - peace, both within and without." - Pondrmo'o, lanaktallan philosopher, 89 post-TXE

Shrevastii went through the college applications, looking them over with a critical eye. Most of the applications were bare bones. Primary then secondary education, acceptable grades, maybe a letter of reference. The essays were usually the same, just stating that they wished to attend the Vellany University of Applied Knowledge.

In the six years that Shrevastii had been in charge of the admission applications for Vellany, she had noticed that many Lanaktallan were still very much following the 'conform to get along' mindset. They also had a tendency to be very literal. The applications all followed the exact formula that could be found on the Vellany University website.

She clicked the next one and started going through it. Female. Lanaktallan. Early 20's. High marks in classes. High marks in tests, including her mental hygiene tests. Planning on pursuing a degree in mental health. Work study with a Treana'ad spirit healer for a year. Mother deceased. Father unemployed. The last was not that big of a deal. Many of the older Lanaktallans who were adults when Darth Harmonus invaded Lanaktallan space were technically unemployed as they underwent therapy and life skills training.

She moved to the essay and sighed, ready to read another bland bit about wanting to attend school because that was what they were told.

Shrevastii's eyebrows raised (a carefully cultivated reaction that took her years to master) as she read the essay.

The potential student began talking about growing up in a creche, separated from her parents after her mother was taken as a concubine by a wealthy industrialist and her father was brutally assaulted in front of her. Then how her mother was murdered.

Even more, how Corporate Security had taken her and several dozen other children from the creche to chain them to air defense systems. How she had seen one of her classmates executed by a Corporate Security officer because the other filly would not stop weeping and calling out for her parents.

Then the terrifying description of Darth Harmonus's Storm Troopers assaulting the position. How infantry ran forward to pop the chains with a fusion torch and rush away, carrying the children and shielding them with their own bodies.

For the first time in a while Shrevastii hurriedly scrolled to the next page.

The applicant went on to describe how her father had ignored the shelter in place order, journeying out into the streets of the city as it was being attacked to search for her. How her father had carried her to a transport and then home.

Then how she had grown up, raised by her father who devoted his entire life to her.

Shrevastii expected the essay to end there, instead it continued.

How the applicant knew her father, and many Lanaktallan of his generation, suffered from a myriad of mental illnesses, long term complex trauma, and emotional difficulties. How she struggled, alongside her father, to establish familial bonds and emotional attachments. How the safety the Lanaktallan people finally felt under Darth Harmonus's protection was still a tentative and ephemeral thing that many of the Lanaktallan were terrified of having taken away.

The essay then went into how it was estimated it would be the work of decades to heal the Lanaktallan people, if it was even possible to heal them.

And how the applicant keenly felt a duty to at least try to assist.

At the end of the essay, the applicant thanked Shrevastii for her time and finished with simply: "Long Live the Empire."

Shrevastii sat for a moment, then reread the essay. She did a quick InfoNet search and found details of the event the applicant had described. Startlingly enough, the young filly was shown in video and photography being cared by Imperial Army medics.

She stared for a long moment at the still image, then tabbed over to the application and made a few keystrokes.

Alma'ana - 22891783 - APPROVED

Moving to the next applicant, Shrevastii hit the essay and sighed. It was exactly like the InfoNet informed prospective applicants to write it.

Just like all the others.

-----

"Daddy! Daddy daddy daddy!" Alma'ana cried out happily, running into the frontroom.

La'amo'o set down his fine tipped airbrush and spun around in his seat, smiling at his daughter, who held a datapad close to her chest.

"Guess what! Guess what!" Alma'ana said, moving forward.

La'amo'o gathered her up in a big hug, squeezing with all four arms. "What, my heart?"

"I got in! Vellany University of Applied Knowledge! A full scholarship!" she said.

La'amo'o hugged her again, then held her out at arm's length. "I'm so proud of you."

"I start in a month! I'll be living in the dorms! A four year scholarship!" Alma'ana smiled.

"You worked hard for it," La'amo'o said. Part of him did not want to be separated from his daughter. She had filled his life with love and wonder and he wanted to hold onto it as long as possible.

But part of being a good parent was knowing when to let the child leave the nest, spread their wings, and try to fly.

Alma'ana smiled shyly, then held out the datapad. "I was worried about you, and then I thought: Since my dream came true, maybe yours should to!"

La'amo'o frowned. "My dream?" he took the datapad and flipped it over.

Imperial Recruiting Services topped the page he was looking at.

He looked up at his daughter, back at the dataslate, then up at his daughter again, anxiety slowly starting to fill him.

Who would watch out for her?

"Daddy. I know that you want to be a pilot. I'm an adult now. I'll be in university. You can apply," Alma'ana said gently. She took his hand and pressed his finger against the login.

The dataslate beeped.

"You can do it, daddy," she said with the unshakable faith of a child. "I know you can."

His fingers shaking slightly, La'amo'o began filling out the recruitment application as his daughter watched with bright, confident eyes.

-----

Alma'ana sat with her friends from university as they watched the ceremony from the stands. The cadets were lined up, their dress uniforms immaculate, what little decorations they had sparkling in the sunlight.

Her heart soared to see her father in the ranks.

When the cadets cheered and threw their hats in the air, Alma'ana stood up and clapped fiercely, uncaring of the tears running down her face, her friends standing and clapping wildly with her.

-----

Alma'ana turned from accepting her diploma, her reward after eight years of hard work, and faced the crowd. She smiled widely as her eyes automatically sought out and found the one person she wanted to see most in the world.

Her father sat in the front row in his Imperial Pilot's Service dress uniform, his sash awards for eight years of faithful service glittering in the sunlight. His pilot's wings shone brightly in the sun.

His proud smile was even better than the diploma in that perfect moment that Alma'ana knew she'd remember forever as she threw her cap in the air and cheered.

-----

The restaurant was a smaller one, barely above a hole in the wall diner, but the food was good even if it was inexpensive and the decor was pleasing if aging. The restaurant was not too busy that afternoon, just the usual crowd from the botanical gardens across the street. It was full of Tukna'rn, ordering their favorite foods, which were usually simple fare, who talked quietly or not at all as they sat and ate.

The sight of a Lanaktallan in the restaurant was rare, although the Lanaktallan that came through the door was recognizable to all of the Tukna'rn within the diner.

One of the few Lanaktallan acceptable to the Tukna'rn who worked the botanical gardens.

The Lanaktallan was elderly, his hide patched heavily with silver, white, and gray. He moved slowly, carefully, resting heavily against a cane as he waited for the waitress to guide him to his seat.

A few, not many for they were not a curious people, Tukna'rn wondered why their overseer had left the comfort of his office at the botanical gardens to sit at the diner. It was not time for the restaurant to be inspected for cleanliness and food quality.

Soon, the conversations went back to what few topics the Tukna'rn wished to discuss, quietly, in public.

After a bit the door opened and a new Tukna'rn walked in wearing a Confederate Army dress uniform. The rank on his sleeves was high, a Command Sergeant Major. His ribbon rack only held six awards, but they were high awards. Three for bravery and valor in the face of the enemy, three for high skill with particularly difficult equipment. The Tukna'rn had its barcode sewn on the upper part of the forearms with gold patches, matching the pattern on his skin.

The Tukna'rn saw the Overseer and moved slowly to the table.

"May I sit?" the Tukna'rn asked.

The Overseer stood up, slowly and stiffly, and gestured at the table. "Of course, loyal one. Nothing would please me more."

The Tukna'rn sat down as the Overseer stiffly sat back down. By the time both were seated the other Tukna'rn in the restaurant had gone back to their own meals or discussions.

"It is good to see you, Overseer," the Tukna'rn said.

"It is good to see you, loyal one," the Lanaktallan said. "I cherished each of your letters that you wrote over a period of sixty-two years, that I received over a time period of eight years."

"Have I made you and my family proud, Overseer?" the Tukna'rn asked. "My time of service is over and I wish to know if I have achieved what believed I was capable of."

The Overseer nodded. "Indeed you have, Undrat."

-----

The huge battle-wagon streaked into existence with the roar of DIE IN A FIRE! shaking the very fabric of spacetime. The heavy combat ship showed evidence of recent fighting, the paint scuffed and blackened, rents in the armor, a few places where atmosphere would be outgassing if the ship had been pressurized.

It came into existence only a few thousand miles from a supermassive gas giant, its shields bleeding off the transfer of energy from hyperspace to realspace. Its beacon proclaimed it to be the Hamaroosa Naval Vessel Harvester of Sorrow, Flagship of the Two Pinches Combat Fleet, Task Force Delicate Orchid.

Around the supermassive gas giant were huge cephalopods, their head measuring hundreds of miles around and over a thousand miles in length. Their tentacles were thousands of miles long, draped down into the swirling gasses of the gas giant so that they could feed on the hydrocarbons and other gasses.

The ship moved forward and stopped a respectful distance.

The largest of the cephalopods slowly turned to face the ship, blinking eyes as large as a city.

**I greet you** it stated.

On the bridge Captain Delminta stood in front of her command cradle, her command stick held tightly in her hands. The bridge was still under vacuum, the ship having only been in combat a few hours before. The damage control officers and the ship's engineers were still working to repair the combat damage to allow the ship to be pressurized.

One the screen on the far wall stood a Terran done in silver and crimson on the right of the screen, the cephalopod on the left.

The right was how the massive creature viewed itself. On the left, reality.

"I greet you, fearsome one," Delminta said.

**How went your battle** the cephalopod asked.

"Victory was pried from the grasp of the vile Atrekna," Delminta said. She took a deep breath, ignoring the fact that her faceshield was scuffed. "I bring grave tidings and fearsome joy."

Long seconds passed.

**In what way** the cephalopod asked.

There was a twinkle and a smaller cephalopod appeared. It was iridescent, brightly lit with bioluminescence.

"Your daughter has returned," Delminta said.

"DADDY!" Sandy cried out, moving forward and holding out her tentacles. "The sugar glider kitties said you were here!"

With wordless cries of joy that made the gasses of the supermassive gas giant ripple, the two larger ones moved toward the smaller one, extending out their tentacles.

Captain Delminta stood on the bridge, watching the reunion. Delminta reached out and punched her right hand sister in the back of the head, uncaring that she wept without shame at the reunion of the strange family who had thought one of their own was gone forever.