:: Garm sat at his desk, pouring over datacards with the latest ship specs, fleet movements, and production reports. Space had been blissfully quiet during this critical building phase of the New Republic's plans, but he still fought that nagging feeling that it was too quiet.

:: The comlink signalled that Captain Tilgraze was here to see him. The Admiral opened the door from his desk, looking up as the young Intel officer entered.

:: Tilgraze placed yet another datapad on the desk. "Good news, sir. Tieb's team believes they have solved the power management issues with the C-Wing."

:: Garm relaxed at the fact that this was more than just another mundane report. This was, in fact, good news. "Excellent," he said. "Recall Storm Fleet to shipyard Epsilon. We'll want her fighters refitted as soon as testing is complete. Relay my congratulations to the Sullustans."

:: Yun nodded. "Have you had a chance to review the other designs, sir?"

:: Garm picked up a datacard from the stack. "Yes I have. And it's no suprise, I like what I see. I've already sent orders for this one -- the Republic Class -- to be put at the top of the list. I want to see how they perform before we go ahead with the others."

:: Yun nodded again, keeping his almost too-perfect military composure. "I'll let Dr. Tieb and his team know." And with that, he left.

:: Garm dropped the datacard back on his desk and stood up. He paused at the viewport, then walked around slowly toward the wall. He sighed, stopping at a static holo mounted on the wall. The scene was of three people at one of those "official" parties, Mon Mothma, Bail Organna, and a rather strapping young Corellian Senator with rich, full black hair.

:: The old man's eyes softened. "What happened, Bail?" he asked the hologram. "We won. We sent them running. How did it come to this?"

:: The dead man smiling back at him did not answer.