The Prosperitan Starfighters were the pride of the fleet and of the fighter squadrons. Blue Squadron were one of the most renowned and finest of them all. Well, at least, that was what they were told in training and they were happy to continue believing it. It gave them a sense of pride and unity amongst them. Like a family. A band of brothers. They were usually despatched to escort cargo ships on their journeys from the vital terkinum mining on planets in the Sector 5 of the galactic terrory. It was always a risky business, but it paid well, and the prestige of these pilots in the media and the Prosperitan primary world was something that enduring fear and risk was well worth! At least, in the eyes of these people. These men and women were considered as almost celebrities. Veritable heroes of the state and of freedom, itself.

Blue Squadron was commanded by a decorated war hero called Squadron Chief Dorlend Bersch Norloni. Bersch was a proud military man from a proud military family. The name Bersch was now famous since his uncle devastated the Peace Federation forces in the Long War, which claimed so many lives over its twelve-year period. General Herrato Bersch Njulang was a formidable commander, known for his tactical brilliance and for his ruthlessness and attention to detail on tactics and military protocol. The family name had gained fame from him and many others in the family took this very seriously. It became a matter of honour, so service in Prosperity's military and it's numerous galactic regional divisions was something to aspire to.

Dorlend Bersch Norloni was out on a routine patrol in the region of Skjir's World. It was a grim, depressing planet, he always thought, and the people living on it were, in his eyes, rough, violent, uncouth and savage. Little had ever been recieved from them other than attacks, ambushes and robberies. Even when they seemed like they were being nice, he never trusted them. He always found it wise not to. Of the various tribes on that horrible little colony, they all seemed savage to him. The worst of them would often plant bombs onto their ships and good servicepeople had been lost to these terrorist murders. The Bersch family, had lost several of its sons to them, and there was no love lost! These bog-dwelling or sand-crawling scum could whine all they wanted about being colonised or abused by Prosperity, but they knew nothing! Always the victim but never acknowledging their own violence. At least Proserity stood for stability, and yes, for prosperity, too. It wasn't given that name for nothing. Squadron Chief Bersch knew well, from both military school and from experience of these people and how they needed to be watched and controlled. They'd tried civilising them and giving them a good quality of life, but they spat it back in your face. Nothing but lice, the lot of them! Fuck them all!
Bersch flew past the various satellites orbiting Skjir's World, and tried to distract himself from those ugly thoughts. This mission was so boring that he just kept drifting off in this way, remembering bad times and sad losses to these fucking animals. He'd never been one for drifting off. He was always a professional to the end, but these experiences he was trying to forget had taken their toll on him. He tried not to hate, but it was almost impossible. Still... they were here to do a job, so he tried to think of the job in hand, however boring it happened to be this time. He'd be due to go on leave soon, so all of this pressure would be off, and it was much needed!

These security satellites seemed like nothing unusual was going on, so he and his two other colleagues flew their Starfighters around them, double-checking all the time, and carried on past. No sign of any disruption from radicals like the Nargolites or these Hruk-NaGaa thugs. They joked about it over their communicators while they passed.
'No fucking scranks' in the area, chief', said Yunaz, Bersch's second in command.
'Confirm, Blue Two' replied Bersch.
'No scranks on my scanner either, chief', reported Frohn the third pilot.
'Confirm, Blue Three', replied Bersch.
Bersch grinned at the use of the word 'scrank' for people here. It was a term of derision for poor people or ethnic groups who no-one had the guts to insult openly. Bersch, Yunaz and Frohn had no such pretensions. They all despised the dispossessed and not least the inhabitants of Skjir's World and those 'greenskins', as they were often called, who often came here from old Sakaari space colonies. They'd started to come here more frequently now, since their home worlds had become protectorates of Prosperity after the defeat of the Sakaari Republic all those years ago. Nargolism should have been smashed then, totally as far as they were concerned. But, no, those fucking liberals in parliament had to be all diplomatic and 'politically correct!' Fucking pricks! Bersch scowled again as he thought of them. So easy to be tolerant when you're not getting shot at by these scum! But what could he do but do his job and keep those faggots safe while they whine about cultural rights of peasants and migrants. He carried on and tried not to think about them. They were coming to the end of the patrol and were glad it was nearly over. They were all bored by now.
'You still buying the drinks tonight, chief?' asked Frohn more informally than was standard over communicators, but they could get away with it more in times of less tension, being the elite squadron that they were.
Yes, yes, of course. I haven't forgotten, Frohn, and less shit-chat over the communicators, thank you!' replied Bersch in less than serious reproach.
'Sorry, chief', said Frohn in equally mock-serious manner.
As they approached the final part of their mission, they passed the last satellite. It was fine, so they began their way back to the carrier ship where they were stationed for the next three months while the mining operations were in progress. It had been another uneventful patrol so they could unwind at the end of the day at the bar. They would be declared off duty as soon as they landed, so they'd make the most of the evening!

As they came in to dock with the carrier ship, they were blissfully unaware of the countless eyes which had been watching them. The tiny bots attached to space debris which had been left in space by the remains of the old Sakaari Republic after its shattering defeat. All of that hardware and software which had been forgotten by the Prosperitan and Peace Fed. forces. And most of which had been seized and comandeered by the very people Bersch and his colleagues hated and despised so much. Those 'Scranks', as they loved to call them. Those 'scum' whom they loved to deride and demean. The people whom they'd launched a a thousand bombs, projectiles and plasma bolts onto and who they'd laughed at as they'd scurried away like insects... those of them who were fast enough! These people never forgot! As the saying used to go, 'Hruk Na-magh Djariog!' (roughly translated as 'Abused folk never forget!') And this was something they made sure they stuck to. Most of the ones who'd been imprisoned had read the writings of people such as Nargol, with his radical theories on national liberation and lower-class emancipation. They read this and they organised themselves. They remembered everything and they studied their Prosperitan colonisers with attention to every detail. They watched with vengeance and hatred in their eyes, and they always remembered. Always! And they waited....