Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

[Freefaller]

Chp-43: Minda Hawk Down

Kel Loyu
RV: Champion
Certifications: Tracker I, Demolition IV, Adviser III
Edin System, Highreach

All it took was one last shot.

A blue ring fired out of her pistol, stunning the trandoshan, forcing him to the ground.

From there, it was easy to toss him in a containment cell. From there, she surveyed the battlefield. It was a small smuggling cave that had been home to a pirate band. She and her family had picked out the bounty for them.

Around her lay the corpses of many, many pirates. Some simply shot, others brutalized by Kay's latest maniacal melee weapon.

This one used sparkles. There was no reason why.

"Kay" she called over the comms. "Target has been secured. You done over there?"

The sound of harsh clanks, the breaking of bones, and many screams echoed over the comms before her sister answered.

"Yup! All finished!"

Kel muted her comms before sighing. She truly loved her sister, but the bloodlust was always unnerving.

Dragging the target out of the cave, she swept her gaze across the horizon. Wide, flat plains stretched into infinity, broken up by large plateaus dotting the landscape.

Turning back to the ship, she brought the containment unit onboard. After securing it, she made her way to the cockpit.

In the pilots seat sat Kai, fiddling with sensors and the like. Connected to his chair was an extending arm, holding up a PDA like screen. It was an easily configurable ship interface, and had been the first upgrade Kai had begged for once they reached RIII, and even now he was glued to it, fingers dancing across the screen.

"Still in love with that, ey?" she ribbed, plopping down in the co-pilot seat.

He didn't deign to look at her as he responded. "It lets me tune the entire ship from my seat. If the Force is real, then it's blessed me today."

She snorted. "I'm not sure that's how the Force works."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter, still cool."

"Just…don't get used to upgrades like these all the time. It took 3 weeks for the crew at Forged in Orbit to rewire the ship so you could do this. You're lucky the Governor likes us, or we wouldn't have the credits to pull this off."

Just as he was about to respond, something started beeping on his console.

"Kriff… its a distress call. 1.2k from here." He looked up at her, the question in his eyes clear.

"Play it." She said, a message already sent to Kay to return to the ship.

…this is the Mindan Str…e are going d…wn, I repeat, thi… the Mi… tream and w… are under atta…

Kai was looking intently at his monitor, before he nearly gasped. "The IFF signature reads as…the Mindan Stream!"

Kel cursed under her breath, already buckling in and comming Kay.

The Mindan Stream is the Governors ship. She wouldn't let their biggest employer die.

Not until they were rich, or dead.
—----------------------------------—----------------------------------—----------------------------------—-------------
Today wasn't going super well.

And I mean sure, the deals with both CEC and Rendili StarDrive had gone well. CEC would get a few berths to pump out their much beloved gunships light freighters for the many mercenaries and entrepreneurs the Guild employed.

Rendili, on the other hand, got a few of the larger berths. See, business had been booming, especially in Minda, and some companies were getting big enough to expand out of the Guilds systems. And sure, they could go out and buy larger ships, pay the extra fee's and get them shipped all the way out here.

Or…they could join the Guild. Mercenary, Trading and Mining Companies of a high enough rank could order ships from the shipyards, with a discount! Not only that, but there would be a reduction in tariffs for the goods they shipped with any freighters bought in Guild territory for a whole year! Sure, it wasn't a massive reduction, but any good capitalist knows that the little things add up.

And of course, Rendili was the only company building any ships large enough for the companies to consider using for out-of-system trade and convoy protection in Guild territory.

Overall, it was a good deal. Certainly more attention grabbing than I would've liked, but at this point I have just around 2 weeks before 0BBY, so any extra bits and bobs that made me look more accomplished would be for the best.

So why isn't my day going well?

"GOVERNOR! GET DOWN!"

That. That's why my day is going badly.

I duck down behind the cockpit of the Mindan Stream, as one of my bodyguards throws a grenade over the ship. Through the glass, I can vaguely make out the shapes of the veritable swarm of Wretches that had attacked me mid-flight.

Somewhere in that swarm was the creature that shot us down. You'd think it was some AA gun, but nope. The stupidly large spear of what looked to be bone of some kind that was sticking out of my ships left wing didn't seem like the work of a turret.

With me were the 6 bodyguards that were on the ship with me, along with Oioro and both the pilot and co-pilot. It was a small crew, but we were just flying over to the newly redesigned city of Goltri to officially open their first secondary school. Not a big deal to most, but it was the first place of education higher than elementary school there so it mattered to them, and it would make me look good on the holos.

Again my guards raised up and took aim, slinging bolts of green death down range at the advancing horde. Only generous amounts of grenades, and the two heavy security LECA's that were obligated to follow me everywhere kept the creatures from turning us into unflattering pulps of flesh.

Honestly, it's a miracle that those thing both fit in the limited storage aboard the ship and survived the crash.

DangerFightUp!!!!

I don't question Mugwuffin's magical assistance, I just turn in the vaguely upwards direction I can feel through our connection, my pistol raised.

Just as I do, a Wretch launches themselves with such force that their legs shatter under the strain of their enhanced muscles. Flinging themselves over the ship and right at me.

My blaster roars, and only my clear vision of the creature combined with the fact that it was literally falling at me ensured I hit all my shots. Six heavy looking bolts of green plasma slam into the creature, turning its face into mush.

I roll to the side as its corpse splatters on the ground. Only the fact that the Commander insist that I and my forces use higher quality blaster gas combined with my upgraded and expensive pistol allowed me to 6 shot a Wretch. It would take a dozen regular bolts to kill one of these on a good day.

As this happens, an earth-shaking roar is heard, and through the horde comes a beast of a Wretch. Standing at twice the height, it seems to be four or so people stitched into one creature. Still bipedal, and standing at about the height of the LECA's, its many eyes stare in pained hatred and its mouths scream in wrathful agony.

The LECA's immediately focus fire on it, their shoulder mounted projectile launchers covering it in fire and death.

It keeps barreling through.

Just as it's about to reach the ship, an explosion rings out, and I instinctively duck down.

When I look up again, I see heavy laser fire saturating the area from a nearby ship. A ship I recognize. It fires off a bevy of what are normally anti-ship torpedoes, turning the entire horde into dust. A few go flying off in the distance, impacting what I assume to be whatever shot us down.

As the ship lands, I see the helmeted heads of the Loyu family walking out.

They are getting a fat fucking paycheck, of that I'm certain. And permanent jobs. Hopefully.

If you find talent, you never let go, right?
—----------------------—----------------------—----------------------—----------------------—----------------------
Hi there folks! Sorry that this took longer than I wanted. These chapters are really fighting me. Cause I want to finish the arc before putting the story on hiatus, but I also want to just throw myself into writing that other fic. I have spent far too much time messing around with like 7 different magic systems.

Also, I spent like 5 hours playing DnD with some friends I don't see in-person very often. My character was a Cleric who was a scavenger that picked up a divine artifact from a forgotten goddess of life/healing, and now said goddess is forcing him to become her acolyte and spread her good word. Only problem? She has been weakened so much, she can only communicate through emotions. Like Mugwuffin. Except my character and her don't get along, so the prayer for casting Cure Wounds is more like "Bitch please heal me so your faith doesn't die" and shit like that. Really fun.

Anyways, feedback and comments appreciated.

Thanks for reading!
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-44: A Million Souls

Sitting in my office, my foot tapping against the floor, I was…nervous. Really nervous. We were close to a week into 0BBY. Otherwise known as 7977 in the Coruscant Reckoning Calendar.

And things were going…well? Suspiciously so. Sure, I got shot down and almost killed, but Grant and the Inquisitor were at that moment attacking the Cult. For all the power of the Wretches, I very much doubted that they could survive the combined bloodlust of those two maniacs.

Aside from that, things were looking well. A new Imperial Mining Company was brought together to start mining the other planets in the Edin system, and I approved some more scouting of Minda 2 to see if that green deathtrap had anything worthwhile.

Hell, I had even hired the Loyu Family as full time employees! They got jobs as teachers at the Guild, and were paid extra to take on high-priority bounties and missions that I didn't trust other mercs to carry out.

No, the thing that was bothering me was the fact that my mother had yet to arrive. She said 2 years, and given what I knew about her from the og Las's memories, she was not one for being late.

But she wasn't here yet.

Maybe she was on the Death Star? But I had no guarantee, since I don't know when in 0BBY the DS1 goes boom. Mugwuffin hasn't woken up screaming, so I'm pretty sure Alderaan is still in one piece.

It was annoying. There were three empty mugs of hot chocolate on my desk, and only Oioro's judgemental look stopped me from pouring another one.

I sighed. My mission here was almost finished. If I succeed? Well then, mother dearest will clap a little, call me a success, and then I can tell her I want to stay and make it better. It'll sound convincing.

After that? I fake my death. I can grab a few bombs, and last I heard thermal detonators make quick work of any remains if they're close enough.

From there I can jump in my ship and head off into the world. With some better bacta to fix my scars, a fake mustache and an accent change back to good old 'Merican, I could hide reasonably well.

Wait a year or two, then use my hidden funds to start a small shipping company, get even more money(but not too much), and retire well. I'll be comfortable, happy, and not bored because of the company I would be running. Plus Mugwuffin would be there.

Maybe I could even settle down, get married. The whole nine yards.

But first, I had to convince my mummy dearest not to kill me.

I sighed again, which considering how much I was doing that, there was no way it was healthy.

Hopefully Grant's little murder spree was going well.
—---------------------------—---------------------------—---------------------------—---------------------------—----
Seventh Brother
Edin System, Highreach

As he commanded his LECA to swing its blade, he felt elated. The ease with which he cut through the hordes of Wretches was practically euphoric.

As one of the recently named Grave Titan's swung a meaty arm made of arms, he simply jumped back, the wings of his newly named Dread Unit flaring, the repulsorlifts flinging him upwards.

The blaster on his arm roared as he landed, peppering the creature and weakening a limb.

It swung again, its many mouths screaming in agony. He could feel the rage, the anger, the pain of each of those trapped in it. Their minds and bodies twisted to this extent.

Regardless, his hands twitched around the controls, the LECA dodging the swing easily. His sword flashed upwards, and the arm fell to the ground, writhing. As the creature wailed once more, he swung once more, the oversized vibro-blade cutting through the flesh with ease.

The Force screamed at him in a different tone than usual, and he instinctively dodged as another of the creatures attacked from behind.

Before he could retaliate, a barrage of green laser fire turned the creature into ash. Turning, he saw the Commanders much larger, bulkier Imperial Shield. It lumbered forward, its many weapons annihilating the creatures in droves.

They were at one of the cults larger hideouts, clearing it out with less backup to allow more forces to be directed against the other hideouts. This combined with a near constant amount of orbital bombardment kept the cultists stuck inside their hidey-holes.

With the Edin System's Vindicator in orbit, throwing the occasional turbo laser shot in the known locations of cult bases, they weren't leaving anytime soon.

Looking around the large cave, Seventh could sense life no longer.

"That seems to be all, Commander. Let us proceed."

She gave her affirmative, and the two made their way to the transport.

Mere minutes later, they arrived at the main base. Already, their forces were entrenched in the canyon, flinging copious amounts of fire down at the wretches. There were large craters where the Vindicator had provided covering fire, but the canyons weren't stable enough to sustain such a thing, and if the entrance to the cave system collapsed it would delay their efforts and allow the enemy to potentially escape.

Still, as the transport dropped them off, a trio of LA-AG's swooped by, their wing mounted beam weapons cleaving through the hordes.

As more fire rained down, Seventh made a choice.

Gathering up the remaining LECA's, he ordered a full frontal assault on the compound. They would cut their way through the cave system.

He could hear the Commander's laughter through the comms and she obliterated the creatures, and he couldn't help but agree.

As the Dark Side flowed through him, enhancing every swing, pushing the servos to the max, guiding his movements, he never felt more free.

Cutting through the myriad of forces, little was left behind. As they advanced deeper into the caverns, the Dark Side only grew stronger.

And stranger.

The Force felt…odd, here. Like it was chained. Not unlike how he visualized it within himself, but here it was more…real.

As they entered the center room, it opened up before them. A massive cavern, easily four times taller than the Commanders , and very open. In the center was a raised podium, upon which stood a robed figure.

Immediately, the soldiers opened fire, only for their blaster bolts to ping harmlessly on a shield.

A shield of the Force.

In front of the figure was a dagger that reeked of the Dark Side, of an ancient power that raised every hair on Seventh's arms. It was shattered, the dagger, but its metal fragments were arranged in its original shape. It floated above what seemed to be a large stone box of sorts.

Around the podium were other robed figures, cloaked like the central one.

It spoke.

"Hello, pitiful creatures." it's voice rasping and cruel.

He activated his loudspeaker. "What manner of creature are you?"

It laughed, a rasping, dry sound. "I…I am one of the chosen!" it exclaims, throwing off its hood.

Beneath is what once might have been a recognizable sentient creature, but is now a twisted mound of flesh. Many eye's sprout out of its face, its cracked lips and jagged teeth twisted into a smile.

"Chosen…by the will of our Eternal Master to raise a grand army, and await His return!"

It turned towards the knife once more, the Force practically screaming. In agony, in ecstasy, in a million things. He shut it out, and ordered a full frontal barrage on the enemy.

It was too late.

The creature slammed the knife into the box, cracking the stone. Simultaneously, the bowed supplicants around it started to bleed, from every orifice.

The creature retracted the knife, and watched the box. From it rose…

Power

A humanoid figure, clad in pitch black armor, chains of ethereal energy linking it to the knife. It twitched, the anger, rage and fear evident through the Force. Whoever this was, they were trapped.

Unfortunately for them, Seventh didn't really care all that much.

Already his blaster was raised, a stream of death flying towards the figure. Their head jerked towards it, and up went their hand. The bolts diverted course slightly, just barely missing the figure as they kicked off of the podium with incredible force.

Seventh knew he couldn't win head on. Thankfully, he had the Dread Unit.

Engine roaring, he zipped around the air, dodging the figures' wild swings. Eventually, they grew tired of the chase, and with a pained roar, swung their saber sharpley. The Force itself seemed to coalesce, becoming an invisible blade. He just barely dodged, his senses screaming at him to movemovemovemove!

Behind him, the swing impacted the cavern wall, creating a multiple foot deep gash in the stone.

This game of deadly cat and mouse continued while the Commander poured her power into trying to take down the energy shield created by the cults leader.

"Commander! I can't hold this one back much longer!"

"The shield won't fall!" she yelled back, before noticing something. As the figure slashed the cavern's walls, the floor trembled, and the cult leader with it.

Her eyes widening, she commed the inquisitor again.

"Get that thing to slash the shield!" she yelled, aiming some of the smaller blasters towards the figure and firing. Predictably, the figure dodged with ease, deflecting the rest, but it gave the Inquisitor enough time to move into position.

Dodging and weaving, he traded blows with the figure, and yet was unable to hold out for long. While the Dread Unit's vibro-blade was powerful, its material was not dense or strong enough to resist lightsabers for long. And even then, the figure was stronger than the LECA itself.

It terrified him.

Another dodge, but a second too slow, and his sword was shorn in two. Cursing he dropped the handle and reoriented, firing an inciendiary fromt he projectile launcher. As he did, he fired his blaster. The figure dodged the projectile, and deflected the blasters, but failed to realize his plan.

The bolts landed, detonating the incendiary behind the figure, pushing them forwards towards him. It was the perfect opening for them, and they used it, bring down their saber. Again, the Force screamed at him, and he listened.

Putting every ounce of power the Dread Unit had towards the flight systems, he dodged in the last second, rocketing to the right as the saber came down.

The sheer force of the attack ripped the Dread Unit's left arm off without even touching it, as the attack careened towards the shield.

Then, it impacted.

The force was immense, the two powers raging at each other. An unstoppable force versus an immovable object.

However, the ground below the shield was not so immovable. It shattered, breaking the podium and unbalancing the cult leader. It dropped the dagger, shattering into pieces on contact with the floor.

As soon as that happened, the shield fell, and the Commander turned the creature into paste.

All the while, the figure which had almost killed him, which had near effortlessly outdone him, fell to the ground unconscious.

Dread Unit slammed into the other side of the cavern, repulsorlifts barely keeping it from being flattened.

Seventh just…sat there. Breathing. Being alive. For a few seconds there was nothing. No Force. No obligations. No imminent danger.

Just him, his cockpit, and his breathing.

Then it all came back, and he hit the emergency release, popping the door off the cockpit and stepping out, nursing his wounded ribs.

A few minutes later, they were securing the area. The shards of the dagger were being put in separate containment units, to be transported with him back to Coruscant once properly secured in a dozen layers of confinement. He would have preferred a quicker process, but the Governor, upon hearing about this daggers seeming ability to create Wretches, insisted on the extra layers of security.

Seventh was too tired to truly argue against a measure he agreed with, no matter how inconvenient.

The figure, on the other hand, was different. They were a key component of all of this, and would undoubtedly help raise his standing in the Inquisition back to its previous place if he brought them back alive. Their lightsaber was taken and put in containment, and the currently they were working on removing the armor, which was somehow stuck to its wearer.

So there he sat, on a piece of rubble outside the cavern, a bacta patch healing his ribs. Contemplating his next moves. The other Inquisitors would be less than pleased by his success, but would refrain from moving against him so soon after a victory. Especially with their order having few members left.

As he contemplated this, something happened.

He felt it through the Force. Unimaginable death.

A million souls crying out in terror.

A million souls silenced.
—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------
Hi there folks! Sorry for posting this chapter at an odd hour, I spent most of the day goofing off and planning the first chapter of that PJO fic I talked about. This is the second to last chapter of the Arc before Governor's Gambit goes on hiatus. The next chapter will take a little longer to be posted because I'll be posting it in tandem with the first chapter of the new fic, so I can link it at the end.

The PJO fic will follow an OC-SI dropped into a much expanded version of the PJO world. I'm talking about different magic systems, factions, and much more. I always thought that the magical underground felt small in those stories, like there was so much just out of sight. It came to me that maybe that could be intentional in-universe. Demi-gods, especially those in the Camps, are known for getting quests, getting into trouble, and generally having more Divine attention on them. Any magical underground of people with the Sight, like mercenaries, mages, and even governmental organizations dedicated to regulating magic would steer clear, cause no-one fucks with the Gods and gets away with it easily.

To me, that says that so much could be just out of sight. And I want to make something that follows that. I probably could just make it into a standalone low-fantasy story, but the PJO name means more attention which means more feedback which I really need. It also helps fill in worldbuilding gaps, and gives me more overarching plot points to hold onto, like how the fall of the Empire is super important to Las even though he's in such an isolated area of the world.

As always feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-45: Employment! Unbelievable

It wasn't long after the reported destruction of the cult's main base, that I was meeting with the Seventh Brother at the spaceport.

He was leaving. Thank god.

"You will be sorely missed, Inquisitor. Your services have been exceptional." I said, keeping my tone professional in the presence of the wonder Force user.

We stood before his shuttle as the wreck of his Dread Unit was loaded onboard. He seemed out of it, which could be good or bad. Good as in he was distracted and not paying me mind, or bad as in he was about to snap.

It took an uncomfortably long amount of time before he responded.

"...It has been…an interesting time, Governor." He turned to me, the crack in his helmet showing me his bright blue eye, tinged with yellow. His brow furrowed in confusion, but I didn't comment on it.

"Of course, Inquisitor. The Obsidian Talon is being loaded onto your long term transport as we speak. In regards to the…leftovers from the cult base. Those will take a little longer to transport."

He nodded his head lightly, eyes turning off into the distance. A light feeling came through my bond with Mugwuffin. The feeling of peace.

He must be full of it if he couldn't sense the bond being used, but that's neither here nor there.

"The knife will come with me. The prisoner…will require far tighter restraints. Do what you can here, and I will have a proper containment unit sent when possible."

Shit. I saw the footage from the Commander's cameras. How the hell was I supposed to contain a fucking Sith!

Before I could voice this complaint in a more professional manner, he spoke again.

"Worry not. The second the dagger was destroyed…they grew weakened. Very weakened. I doubt they will be able to achieve the levels of power they showcased earlier. But that does not mean they should be underestimated, and I doubt you have the facilities to contain them for long once they awaken."

With that, he made his way towards his shuttle.

"I bid you…a good day, Governor." His voice sounded…odd. I couldn't quite place the emotion in his voice, so I didn't try.

"Godspeed, Inquisitor. Godspeed." Was all I said. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?

A minute later, he was gone. The light of his shuttles engines growing smaller by the second.

And for a second, just looking up into the sky, I felt fine. Just fine.

Then Oioro had to go and open her stupid mouth.

"Sir. Commander Grant wishes to speak to you. She has a proposal she wishes to present to you in person."

I sighed, and gestured for the PDA. Muttering some vague thanks as I looked through the message, I could just barely resist the urge to facepalm as I read the title of the presentation.

*The Effectiveness of Melee Weapons in LECA Combat*

It sounded ridiculous. It sounded bloodthirsty. It sounded more interesting than the pile of paperwork awaiting me at the office.

"Oioro, approve the meeting, and have some snacks ready in the meeting room please."

AnnoyanceBegging accompanied by a pathetic little whine.

"And some BBQ snacks as well."

"Of course, sir." I pretended not to hear her snicker.

HappinessSmugness

I flicked her snout.

—--------------------------------

It was a few days later that I got the news. Alderaan had been destroyed.

Fuck.

I mean, I knew it was due sometime this year, but still. Fuck.

Not only that, but I got the news late. That means that the DS1's destruction is closing in. Fast. Really fucking fast.

That was bad. Really bad. I mean, sure, big fascist death ball gets blown up, whoopie.

But for me, an Imperial? It was bad news. Rebel cells across the galaxy would be arming up, and the Galactic Civil War would be in full swing soon enough.

That meant problems. I was really hoping that the Commandant would have checked in by now, given me the go ahead to leave. Cause then I could more easily fake my death and escape without anyone trying to track me down.

Now? If I suddenly 'died' the place would get investigated to hell and back for rebel activity, and the traces that might normally go unnoticed would be more likely to be found.

But right now, I had more immediate problems. Those being the condition of Commander Grant, cause I had absolutely 0 clue as to how she was reacting to the news. The reaction of the populous, cause they would not be happy if I started spreading the word that the destruction was justified. And, of course, the Sith.

The Sith who had woken up from their coma and was now demanding to see the hospital staff's leader. Apparently, they had broken the containment unit they were bound in quite easily.

So I was now enroute to where the Sith had holed up. Flanked by my heavy LECA guards, I soon arrived on the scene, Mugwuffin at my side.

Upon entering the room, I noticed a few things. The first was the Sith themselves. Pure red skin, with elongated eyebrows and frilled cheeks. Something I hadn't seen since playing SWTOR.

Pure Blooded Sith.

Their features were like that of an elf, for I couldn't tell their gender. Yet the yellowed eyes were a clear sign that I was dealing with a darksider.

"Are you the leader of these…cretins?" they asked, voice smooth, with little sign of the exhaustion they had to be feeling.

"That would be me." I replied, as an odd sensation was sent across the bond. A sense of deterioration that was foreign combined with a sense of confidence from the bond. If Mugwuffin, Force cat extraordinaire, thought we were safe, I would trust her.

A quick, discreet tap on my belt signalled my security guards to evacuate the area.

After all, even Mugwuffin could make mistakes. Which she usually did to my annoyance.

"I have been freed, after all these millenia. From those bumbling fools that stumbled upon my prison, I have been freed. Tell me, where are we." They spoke, and I could feel the Force roll over me, trying to compel me. Mugwuffin put a stop to that, spines raised.

As the Sith started to notice my little space cat, I made a gamble. This wasn't going to go well, and I couldn't have Mugwuffin exposed.

Angling my head slightly, I made eye contact with the camera of one of my security LECA's.

"Evacuate the area, and leave us be. I have…business with our guest."

"But sir-!"

"Now" I stated, already turning back to the Sith. "I'll deal with this. Evacuate the building, and keep it surrounded. If I'm not out in the next 20 minutes, bring the building down, and turn the ruins to ash."

The Sith's eyebrow raised, but I could see it in their eyes. The fear. They were in a vulnerable position, and I had just placed down an ultimatum. They could've maybe gotten away before, but now?

We were both trapped.

Once my people were out, a quick nudge to Mugwuffin turned the camera's in the room into slag that looked like it went three rounds with a hydraulic press.

"That creature…it's intelligent. And a Force user." They stated, keeping a wary eye on Mugwuffin as she jumped up onto the bed I had seated myself on.

"Irrelevant. We're here for negotiations." I stated plainly. "Your powerful, but not as you are."

I gambled again.

"And, your dying."

Their eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before turning to Mugwuffin.

"It sensed that, did it not?"

"Irrelevant. What does matter, is that you won't make it far. Even if you survive killing me and the destruction of the building, whatever condition you have won't let you get far. Correct?"

They didn't answer, and that was answer enough for me.

"So, again, let us negotiate. What do you want?"

They stilled for a moment, before speaking once more. "I want to know how long it has been since I was trapped in that tomb."

"Given your race, I'd say quite some time. The Pure Blood Sith died out a long time ago. It's been 4000 years since the fall of the Eternal Empire, give or take."

Surprise seemed to grace their face for a second, before being erased. Silence reigned for a bit longer, before they spoke once more.

"Then I will do as all Sith do. I will seek power."

"Not here." I responded. "You can go pillaging across the galaxy for all I care, but I can't have you causing problems here. And it's not like you'd make it far anyways."

Silence once more. Then, a tug from the bond. Mugwuffin had a solution.

"Mugwuffin here claims to be able to fix your problem, though I don't know how."

Again they stared, but this time was different. Through the bond, I could sense Mugwuffin reaching out through the Force. The Sith reached back, and the difference was palpable.

While Mugwuffin's metaphysical handshake was like a cheery office email, nice but professional, the Siths was snake-like. Smooth, but roiling with power just waiting to be unleashed.

Their presences receded, and they spoke once more.

"The…creature. Offers a solution. My body, after feeding on the power of the Force for so long cannot exist without it. Yet, I am unable to draw on any more and survive. This…Mugwuffin offers to connect to me, feed me."

"And?"

They seemed to seethe. "In exchange, I would be bound to its will until such time that my body can function without the Force."

Through the bond, I could sense Mugwuffin's intentions. I certainly didn't like it

I regarded Mugwuffin with a we'll be speaking about this later kinda look, then turned back towards the angry Sith. A combo I'd like to avoid.

"This doesn't seem satisfactory to you, for obvious reasons."

"No. I would rather die tearing this place and as many people as I can apart then be trapped once more."

I nearly paused out of fear, but pushed forwards regardless of the thumping of my heart. Another gamble. Risky, but maybe…

"But you don't want to die."

There was no response because none was needed. We both wanted to make it out of this alive.

"Then I propose a solution. A deal. The Galaxy is about to get a whole lot more dangerous. Mugwuffin isn't powerful so much as she is precise. It's that incredible control that gives her an advantage over those like you. But precision isn't everything."

"What are you suggesting? That I be your slave?" They growled, teeth visibly grinding, the smooth facade over now.

"No. That you be my bodyguard instead. That way, I get the protection I need, you can defend your only chance at survival, and if I end up reneging on my deal, you can just kill me, since you'll be close enough. Mugwuffin would end you right after, but you could probably succeed if you tried. After you're freed, you can leave, and go about your business across the galaxy. I'll even pay you a salary, get you employee benefits. The whole package."

They lifted an eyebrow. "You're offering me…a job?"

I nodded, happy they had picked up on it. This wouldn't last long, only until the Inquisitor came back to pick them up, but this kept them happy for now. "Yup. Sure, there aren't many other options available, but I figured making you uncomfortable and broke while tied to Mugwuffin would be a bad idea. An angry Sith is a stabby Sith, after all."

They cracked the barest hint of a smile at that. "You are not incorrect…very well. While it is beneath me, my current situation gives me little recourse. I will accept your terms, Governor Mola."

"Good." I say, reaching out my hand, and shaking theirs. Their grip is unnecessarily strong, but I don't care. I just averted death with the power of steady employment and adequate medical care.

Truly, a capitalistic miracle.

"And what might your name be?" I asked, knowing that knowing an employee's name is step 0 of effective interpersonal management.

"You may call me Myr'thos, cretin."

Cretin? Been called worse, so I'll deal with it. "Just don't go calling me cretin in public, and we're good."

They snorted. "We'll see"

Minutes later, after I instructed the soldiers surrounding the building to stand down and allow Myr'thos to pass, I'm in my office once more. The Sith is lounging on the couch fiddling with a brand new PDA, absorbing knowledge about the time that had passed them by.

A quick few clicks and their PDA dings with a new message.

As they struggled their way through the menus, I explained.

"Those are the requisition forms for new armor and weapons. Your previous look won't cut it, and neither will a lightsaber. They raise too many questions. Aside from that, go wild. R&D will decide what's viable." This should help cement that this is a long term arrangement in their minds. If the Inquisitor is quick about it, it shouldn't be.

They hissed. "Why should some worthless techies decide what is best for me?"

Without looking up, I continued. "You'll get to test all the stuff before it's finalized anyways, so you can give feedback and the like. Just don't kill them, or generally be super rude. I've tried to create a culture of trust in management here."

"Weakness, that is all I see. Shame that you hold my new chains."

"It's productivity, first of all. Second, it's a contract. And a damn good one too. You'd be hard pres-"

Before I can finish, a call comes through on my comm. It's Oioro.

"Yes?"

She sounds somewhat panicked. Considering she's for sure a spy, that's bad. Real bad.
"Sir! It's the battlestation that destroyed Alderaan!"

Myr'thos perks their head up at that, a sadistic gleam in their eyes. Fuckin sociopath.

"It's been destroyed!"

Fuck.
—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—-------------------------—------------
Hi there folks! This is the final chapter of this arc, and where I'm going to put this story on hiatus. I love it, I really do, but a step back from Governor's Gambit and some time spent working on other stuff will help me reorient my view of it all. Of course, I'm not abandoning it. I've already said multiple times that I will finish this story, even if the ending ends up being some rushed garbage. I can always go back and rewrite it anyway. Also, in the last chapter I said 'a million souls' cause that's what Obi-wan said. On top of that, while the instant annihilation of billions of people will undoubtedly be felt throughout the galaxy by those attuned to the Force, I really doubt they'd be getting exact numbers. The Force is more feelings than math, after all.

Now, my next story, Mercenaries Guide to the Magical is another OC-SI set in the Percy Jackson world. It will introduce around 7 magic systems to the wider magical world, though I won't be tossing all of it in your faces at once, don't worry. The general structure will be episodic, in that every 3-5 chapters will cover a mission taken on through the magical equivalent of the Mindan Guild or Mercenary Review Board from Battletech(know there's a lot of you guys here). Between these missions will be a few chapters that cover the down time, facilitate time skips, and jump to alternate POV's. I'm excited to get into it, and like this story it will probably go into hiatus a good way in so I can jump back over here. I refuse to leave a story unfinished, like a personal life goal of sorts. Left too many things unfinished, won't let that happen here.

Link to Mercenaries Guide is in my signature.

Feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Have an Omake to celebrate the end of an arc.

——

Omake: Three Square Meals to a Counter Revolution

POV: In a blood splattered Imperial Communications Room, 4 ABY

Brrriii!

"Chobb's knob! There's nothing in here!"

This is an Emergency Holonet Communication to all Imperial Holdings!

"You said there'd be food, Movlek! The only reason we joined this lightfight is because you said the Imps were hoarding the food to replace us with mechanicals!"

Earlier this year the Emperor and several high ranking Imperials were killed by the Rebel Alliance in the Endor system earlier this year. I repeat, the Emperor is dead!

"And what do end up with from this "lum run"? A sand mine full of dead Imps and some flimsi saying food shipments and resupply haven't arrived for two months!"

Disruptions to regular Imperial shipments, bureaucracy, and communication are expected continue for the foreseeable future.

"Your reb friend fed us a flam, koochoo! Three days since you sent out that encrypted commo and nothing. We were always chopped convor liver for the Alliance!"

Communication with Dubrillion is currently unavailable due to ongoing civil unrest. As a result recovery efforts have relocated to the Mindan Recovery Committee.

"No we are not eating the Imps! It has been less than a force-forsaken week since the riots and things have gone poodoo. Don't you go calling me a tailhead! May spice salt your wounds!"

Please contact the given holonet frequencies for the relevant recovery requests such as: food assistance, resource shortages, peacekeeper dispatches…

"Eat it with that "I have spoken" nonsense you neurowashed old bat! Rebels ain't coming and the number-squinter says anymore futzing around will get us all kriffed! We don't have a farthier in this race! At least the Seccers fed us!"

…dearth of administrators, cargo ship appeals, military fleet reallocations, or military garrison requests.

"Gutkurr got your tongue, Movlek? Wouldn't have had to gut you like a Ghest if you weren't such a Blurrg in the mud. Three weeks and you were damaged goods over being a doggy for the rebs."

Remember, our duty as Imperials is to protect the lives of the Imperial citizens, and ensure the order of their daily lives continue.

"Right, scale-brain! Get a blaster and start blasting around, but don't hit anything important. Pirates raided us and the Imps died defending this piece of druk mining complex. That's the story, and if we are all flying the same vector they might just believe it."

The Empire is more than the Emperor. It is a duty, and a responsibility. Let us prove to the galaxy that we are worthy of being called an Imperial.

"Alright let's get that comm call up and running. Hope these Mindan folk keep to their promises, and let sleeping rancors lie."

Brrriii! This is an Emergency Holonet…

——

Cross posted to SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-46: The Aftermath

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

These are the only thoughts that run through my mind as I sit in my office, staring off into the middle distance.

The Galactic Civil War was now officially on, in full force.

That's bad. Like, really bad. I was hoping to have disappeared by now, but here I am. Still on Minda. Still a Governor.

Fuck.

Myr'thos is sitting on the couch, chuckling to themselves as they no doubt feed off my misery. I'd respond with some snarky commentary, but I'm far too panicked to do that.

Mugwuffin nudges my cheek with her paw, and I snap out of my trance.

I immediately started organizing my orders. The first? Sneakily un-smudge the size of that Zersium vein, make it look like the original scans were glitched or something. I had the size smudged to keep attention off of me, but sooner or later the Second Death Star project would be started up, and durasteel would be in massive demand. Any source of the stuff needed to make it would be watched like a hawk.

Well, not really, but there would be far more attention, and getting caught defrauding the Empire would be really bad news.

The second order? Immediately slow down the rate of immigration. It had been going strong for a while to increase population, and therefore production. Now? I would have a bevy of problems, and bringing in more immigrants will give rebel agents more opportunities to infiltrate. Combined with the increased attention, that would be horribly bad for me.

On top of that, I called Oioro back on the line.

Before she could speak, I gave my order.

"Contact the CEC and Rendili reps, tell them that we'll pay them extra to finish all their current ship jobs in our berths no matter what. Get me a report on the Kuat subsidiary Rothana Heavy Engineering, especially any financial data. Have the main plaza in Accordia ready for a speech by tomorrow at midday, and my ship ready soon to leave, then find out where Grant is hiding and tell her to meet me back on Minda. Understood?"

I barely let her finish her assent before turning the line off, a million half-baked plans running through my mind.

CEC and Rendili were going to start feeling the hurt as the Empire starts to tighten its belt. Their yards will be pushed more to Imperial products, leaving little for Minda. I doubt they'll want to keep this contract since it'll end up costing them more.

Rothana is a future prospect. A subsidiary of Kuat, they produced the Acclamator so they have experience in shipbuilding. As the Empire starts ramping up, Kuat will be hard pressed to keep Rothana pumping, especially since I remember that by 4 ABY, the Empire had abandoned Rothana, and gave them no contracts. It would be a good way of getting skilled workers, technicians, and pre-existing designs in my pockets if I can acquire them later.

We might even be able to tow their shipyards in, piece by piece. Regardless, its acquisition would be a net positive if timed right. An outright purchase wasn't feasible at the moment, but as things got worse for them? KDY would likely be looking for the opportunity to drop some dead weight.

My hands start typing quickly, as I draft up a speech. Shit has gone down the drain, and the people will want me to say something.

I can't call it unjustified, cause that makes it look like I'm shitting on the Emperor. Can't say it was justified, cause then I'm shitting on everyone else.

Call it a mistake? A mistake that costs billions of lives is practically malice at that point.

Tarkin's mistake? He is dead, so he can't talk shit. Mommy dearest might take some offence but if she hasn't shown up now, she never will. It's not like Tarkin would've survived if Ol'Palpy got his hands on him.

As I frantically typed out this speech, writing and rewriting bits and pieces constantly, Myr'thos seemed somewhat amused.

"You rush so much, cretin. Does this battlestation worry you so? How…foolish." They chuckled as they said this.

"The Empire just lost. Big time. Like, major embarrassment. This means the Rebel Alliance is now public enemy number 1. That means more resources towards the military, stricter rules, etc…and all of that is bad. So I'm covering my bases, and hoping that when it all comes crashing down, I don't get crushed with it."

They snort. "Panicking. So weak."

"Isn't fear one of the emotions that drive Sith?"

Their amusement turns to anger. "Do you mean to call me a coward?"

It's my turn to snort. "I mean to call you a member of an order of Force users who built multiple empires that had its ruling class constantly killing each other to avoid being overthrown and was incapable of chilling out? Only a culture of fear creates something like that."

Their eyes narrow. "That is quite the impudent way to speak to a lord of the Sith. I am perfectly capable of 'chilling out', as you call it."

"Hah!" I can't help but laugh as my frantic typing continues. "You? A Sith Lord? Please. A Sith Lord would have enough esoteric knowledge to recover from your condition on your own."

"Cretin, you dare assume my position!?"

"Yup." I say, ignoring their growls. A ding appears on my terminal. "Looks like our shuttle is ready." Transferring all my data to my PDA, and initiating the factory reset on my terminal, I stand up. It was a security measure, to ensure nothing got leaked because whoever works next in that office doesn't get my data.

Minutes later, we're on our way to Minda. I'd missed my own room, so I would be happy to return.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Han Solo
Home One

Sitting in the mess hall, slurping up some heated rations, Han was feeling odd. He was a hero, for all intents and purposes.

So why did he feel so bad?

The cause was clear as he looked over to his side. Luke, the kid, sat there with that PDA of his in his hands. He always had it on him, raved about its utility so much Chewie had ended up buying one.

Now the both of them raved about it. Lunatics.

Still, Luke was uncharacteristically quiet. His face cast with a solemn shadow, his fingers lethargically tapping away at the controls, his food untouched and cooling. Not the upbeat farmboy on an adventure that he had gotten to know those past few days.

"Hey kid…" He started, not sure how to start a conversation like this. Comforting someone? That's way outside his field of expertise. Instead, he decided on a more familiar one.

"…wanna learn how to play sabacc?" He said as he pulled out his deck. Always good to keep one on you. It was even his good deck, not the one he used to cheat!

"Already know." Mumbled Luke, clearly out of it.

"Betcha don't know how to play Corellian Spike though, right? The difference is it ain't got those trick cards like the Idiot so-"

"I'm fine, Han, thank you." Luke shut it down quickly, and Han sighed. Chewie groaned out in concern, and Han translated.

"Chewie wants to know what's wrong, kid."

Luke sighed, a bone deep sound that should never come from someone this young.

"I felt them." He said simply.

"What?"

"The Death Star. I felt them. After I destroyed it, I could feel their screams. Millions of people were there, Han, and I killed them…" He didn't raise his voice, but the pain was evident.

"And the worst part?" Luke looked him in the eyes, and Han had to fight the urge to look away, cause those eyes looked haunted.

"I don't regret it. It was a military target. Akbar explained it to me. In war, it's a fair shot. A shot I took. A shot only I could take."

He looked so vulnerable, a stark reminder that no matter the Force powers, or the deadly glow sticks, or the stellar piloting, this is a kid. A barely 19 year old kid who's biggest dream was to go be an engineer on Minda, design spaceships and build wonders. A kid who worked at a spaceport, a kid who he taught how to play Dejarik.

Han sighed. This was not his kind of moment. Vulnerability? Emotional maturity? Foreign concepts. Still, he had to do something.

So, he reached over, and gave Luke an awkward pat on the back.

"Life's tough kid. And sometimes…sometimes you gotta make the tough choices. You won't always like it, boy do I know that. But…if you don't do it, someone else will for you. It's a testament to our freedom that we can make these choices at all."

Vaguely positive life advice administered, he stood up, shaking the lethargy from his bones.

"Now, the good admiral wanted to see me, so I've got to be going now. Chewie? Take care of the kid, would ya?"

Chewie yowled his assent, and Han started the trek to the bridge.

Whatever job he had lined up, it was a sight better than that mess.

He could only hope the kid figured it out.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi there folks! Yup, I'm back. After a dozen or so chapters of Mercenaries Guide, I realized I didn't particularly like being restrained to one story. So, from now on, I'll be running a more on-off schedule of updates. They may not be as regular as they used to be, but it'll let me write what I want to write without burning myself out on any one story.

As always, feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Have an Omake to celebrate the new chapter.

——

Omake: Guild-A-Gear

POV: Garik Malo
RII: Enforcer, recently promoted
Certifications: Tracker I pending
Edin System, Edinspire, Guild's Guild-A-Gear Emporium, Mercenary section

"C'mon Garik, it's not going to eat you."

Garik looked discerning at the material before him. Trying to find some flaw in its design.

"I don't know Tak, this pattern of armorweave just isn't speaking to me."

Tak gave a look at the disorganized pile behind them, and how it's grown since the last time she looked.

"Sure, like the last five bolts we looked at. Garik you're rank two now. You got to find something better than that discounted Espo Armor you got at the end of the registration course."

Garik responded with an indignant humph. Attempting to sound personally offended.

"I am just grateful they were willing to do the fitting for the helmet around the horn. Headwear fit for an Advozse is hard to get this far from Riflor.

Besides, I'll have you know this armor works just fine. Remember how it saved me when we were chasing that dangerous criminal on Minda?"

The unimpressed look Tak gave informed Garik just how convincing that statement was.

"You mean that serial pickpocket who tried smacking you with a pot? If it wasn't for those old shockmitts of yours, that Kubaz might have scampered away from you.

This isn't Rolling Green's, Garik. Edin has a different breed of criminal. Far more likely to carry blasters instead of cooking ware."

The window looked inviting as Tak's words struck home.

"Uhh…I just want to look my best for our first convoy escort. You get to do all the talking as the Negotiator, while I am stuck in the back looking intimidating. Is it wrong if I want to look the part? "

"Just as long as you aren't expecting to show up in beskar. At our budget even some good Flexi-mesh for Blast Armor is out of the picture."

A display catches Tak's eye and a plan begins to form.

"Tell you what, word has it the Guild just came into a shipment of Smasher Armor. It should allow those punches of yours to hit even harder. That stuff over there is what they use to make Catch Vests. Let's see if they can't fashion you a surcoat so a lucky blaster bolt doesn't lay you out."

Garik takes his time looking at the price tags before giving a huff.

"Fine. Let's just make sure the color matches my style. We could also see about getting me a blaster. A used CDEF model since those are a cred stick a dozen. I might not be able to hit a shaak in an open field, but more bolts down range always helps."

Tak gave a playful elbow before guiding Garik to the counter.

"Now you're thinking like a professional."

——

Yes the entire Omake was so I could make that pun at the beginning.

Crossposted on SV, and SB

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-47: New Course

As the Mindan Stream, which now that I think about it sounds like a euphemism for piss, speeds through hyperspace, I send out other messages, giving orders across both systems.

One is a general information lockdown. Any news or communications mentioning the Death Star that aren't Imperial are cut, news channels told to shutter their windows on these topics. I want the narrative under wraps for now.

The other thing I'm doing is monitoring official(and unofficial) Imperial channels. I don't know how the greater Empire is handling this, and I want my story to line up at least somewhat with the greater narrative.

As much as I'd rather grab my hidden ship and skedaddle on out of here, never to be seen again, I can't. Not with how things are going.

I don't show it outwardly, but I am freaking the fuck out. My plans are in goddamn shambles, and its all because mother dearest apparently has fucking scheduling problems.

Per her own instructions, and based off of every memory I can drag from the remnants left behind by the previous inhabitant of this body, Commandant Mola is a precise being that is always on time. Always punctual.

A punctuality I was relying on. Once she shows up, I show off my shit, get her to leave, fake my death in an industrial accident, run for the hills. With my job done, she will have less attention on Minda, letting me cover my tracks better.

All of this was supposed to occur before Luke became a war criminal. Now, farmboy did a Hiroshima and I'm stuck dealing with an Empire that would investigate my death with a fine toothed comb. I can't hide from that.

As I spiral into my own mind, hunched over the desk in my shuttle, Mugwuffin takes notice.

She lays at my feet, curled around my legs, and purs. The sound and vibration calm me, and I center myself.

Shit is bad, but it's not critical. I'm not dead yet, and if I'm not dead I haven't lost. Fate? Destiny? The Will of the Force? Horseshit. Wack-ass metaphysical concepts ain't got shit on my indomitable human spirit!

Is that xenophobic? But how else should I say it? Sentient spirit? Just call it the indomitable spirit? But that sounds like the name of a ship. A good name too, I should see if I can get one of the next MSDF ships named that. But-

Amusementcalmcontent

You sly dog! You had me monologuing! I scratch her in that one spot on her back she likes and get a happy pur in return.

I'm fine. Things could be better, but, like I said, I'm not dead yet. I'll crawl until I'm free or dead, no inbetween!

The fire in my soul relit, I continued my preparations in a more calm manner.

With the start of the Galactic Civil War, rebel cells around the galaxy would start rising up for real. That means that the rebel free life I've lived may very well come to an end.

Bad times.

So, I need to ensure that people like living here. That means keeping the populace happy.

I could probably explain the high alien population thing away pretty easily, but production is another matter. I was originally going to introduce new, harsher schedules to increase production enough to meet any new quotas without too much overworking, but that would still cause a low level simmer.

Which would compound over the 4 years before the Empire falls. I would much rather take on a set 50% to 70% percent risk now then live with a 10-20% risk for the next four years. I haven't really done the math, but it seems the worse deal.

Therefore, to increase production, I'm going to have to have new resource extraction lines opened, which is going to suck major balls. Cause with the DS2 slated to start construction sooner rather than later, resources and the means to produce them will be dried up.

So, I have to act fast.

"Oioro, when were the last resource surveys for Minda and Edin?"

She checks her PDA quickly, her speed and efficiency still kind of annoying. Like, come on! Just fuck up once! I need a reason to fire you!

But no, the totally-not-a-spy is quick, efficient, professional, and learned how to brew a mean cup of hot cocoa whenever I forget to do it myself. Always on my desk in the morning. The professionalism would be really cool if it wasn't bad for me.

Why do the competent ones always gotta be spies! Except for Darna. She's the GOAT. I should get her a present of some kind. What does she even like? Shit, I don't know jack about her, does that make me a bad boss?

As I spiral into this odd rabbit hole of professionalism and my lack of it, Oioro finds the data.

"The last survey for Edin was two months ago, and the last survey for Minda was five. There are multiple locations that hold promise for new mines but weren't looked into."
"Well, look into them. I want surveyors scanning both systems from top to bottom. Then, contact the Moff's office, tell them about the new resources found, and get mining equipment out here. Hire locally as much as possible. Buy out some of the smaller mining companies if you can, but keep it on the downlow. The sooner more production centers are set up, the better."

As she nodded in assent, notes being taken at practically superhuman speeds, I continued.

"Slow down immigration rates, and prioritize those with actual work experience and skills first. Especially those with higher education. Offer incentives and benefits, we want them all. I also want a reassessment of all of Minda and Edin's key resources. What do we need, how much do we produce and how much is imported. Also, slow down production of the TIE variants in the system. Start stockpiling 50% excess resources, and contact any corps we have resource contracts with and get them to renegotiate into a smaller contract. We won't be hauling as much with the trade fleet."

She kept taking notes, but stopped at the end. "Sir…many of those resource contracts are with incredibly large mega-corps, and those contracts are ironclad. How can we get them to the table?"

----------------------------
Oioro

As she asked that question, there was genuine confusion within her. Oioro had grown used to the governor's antics. His style of leadership was different from the usual imperial format, but clearly functioned. He could be an odd character at times, talking to his pet like it was a person, or taking on a former enemy as a bodyguard.

Who was in the corner watching them like a predator, eyes narrowed and permanently judging. She wouldn't admit it, but the red skinned warrior scared her.

But right now, Las Mola was different. Right now, she saw not the statesman, or the young man trying his best, or the bright eyed child that shone through his eyes when in space.

No, right now, she saw the same man who executed that Rodian through the painting in one fell swoop. The man who walked into a room alone with a being who could've easily slaughtered them all.

The man who looked her in the eyes, and said;

"You have connections. Get it done."

The cold, hard eyes of someone who knew. Knew who she was, who she worked for. She had never thought to guess that he suspected her, his distance seeming perfectly professional. Her cover as perfect as can be, her mannerisms carefully crafted to hide her true intentions.

But in that moment, he saw through her. Past the secretary, the university student, the Imperial employee. An agent. A spy. If he knew now, then he must've known before they took off. Before they stepped onto the shuttle. She could end him, but that was too hasty, especially with Myr'thos here. He was already turning away, stepping over to the shuttle door as it set down on the capitol building of Accordia.

He knew. And he did nothing. No, that's not wrong.

He knew, and he trusted her. She allowed the slightest of smiles to cross her face. This one would certainly be of interest to the Ascendancy. Regardless.

She had work to do.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi there folks! Little late of an update, but I wanted to get it out. Las has his freak out(dare I say, freak session~?) but has reaffirmed his goals and is on the right track. Hopefully. We'll see how it goes. I would've made this one earlier in the day, but I was busy debating whether or not to refund the Oblivion remaster. I eventually did, cause while it certainly looks very nice, and plays decent, I thought it was a proper remake. In one of the trailers it even says it has dark souls inspired combat, so I thought this was Bethesda remaking one of their older games with a more modern style, closed to Avowed than Skyrim, with some better elements to the combat, world, etc…

But I still have to go through a loading screen to enter a house. The AI is mid, and the combat feels clunky. Make no mistake, that Oblivion charm is clearly still there, but I have no nostalgia for it. I was born just a little over a year before the original release. So, I decided to refund. Not bad, but not my cup of tea.

Clair Obscure Expedition 33, on the other hand, looks fucking fantastic. So that's where I'll be for the next few weeks. I might pop up. Hopefully. We'll see.

Feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Fleeing to a Backwater

POV Git Emol, frustrated immigrant

"This is an outrage! Do you know who I am!?"

The glassy eyed receptionist did not even give the satisfaction of glancing up at him. Him! He was Git Emol!

"I am sorry sir, but these documents justifying an expedited immigration process use identification which has expired."

Expired? Expired! A month after that atrocious stay in Arrth-Eno and suddenly the whole galaxy is upside down!

"Read it again. It says Senator, Sen-a-tor! That means I am one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy!"

Sure the Senate was dissolved. And maybe he slept with the wives of the governor now in charge of the planet he was representing, but the title still had power by the Void! Traditions and their influence just don't evaporate overnight!

"Sir under the new regulations, only immigrants with up to date documentation can apply for an expedited immigration process. Both your identification and academic diploma have been rescinded by order of an Imperial Court."

What!? He'd paid good donations for that diploma! Oh this stinks of meddling. Who was it?

Was it Gekit Furot after he covertly published that article questioning their family's breeding? Or did my Kiffar maid decide to take revenge after forcing her to clean up after a Senatorial party one too many times? Maybe Senator Jink is finally paying him back for that "buglover" tattoo he tricked him into getting back when we were Apprentice Legislators. Oh the Kubaz had never forgiven him for that, but everyone hazes the new species.

"This is unacceptable! I demand to speak to your manager at once!"

Bribing this peon is a waste of good credits. Better save for a bigger fish with what little funds he had access to. He was down to his last dozen million credits. The Empire might have his official accounts still frozen, but they hadn't found out about his secret accounts.

He was able to smuggle out the codes the same way he always does. Foolish customs officers. They always fall for the datachip in the oiled up head fold routine!

"And what should I say is the nature of your request?"

Registering a trade company in this new-fangled Guild would be his next step. It should allow him to transfer his money into business accounts and keep it out of the Imperial Auditors grubby mitts. Cousin Woz was doing well with a weapons company in a nearby sector. Perhaps he would be interested in opening a branch on Minda?

"Tell them an affluent businessman wants to discuss investments into Minda's growing economy."

With what's left of his capital, he'll have to play things smart. Minda received a B+ from the Sentate's Council of Labor Abuses. The highest rating a planet can get without bribing the Council. He may have to give more slack to the help than he's used to, but let it not be said that Git isn't an adaptive Bargawin.

Watch out galaxy! He may have taken a tumble, but Ex-Senator Git Emol still going to come out on top yet again!

——

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-48: Navigating the Fallout

Seventh Brother
Yavin System, 10 minutes after the destruction of the Death Star

He floated. And floated. And floated.

The Obsidian Talon floated with him, systems still active, if a little beat up.

He didn't care. He just floated.

And as he floated, he contemplated the recent past.

After leaving Minda, he had been ordered to report to various different systems, the place changing nearly every day as the battlestation moved.

Eventually, he was ordered to rendezvous in the Yavin system, supposedly to bear witness to the destruction of the rebels and report to Darth Vader.

Except, when he arrived, the battle was already in full swing.

He had joined in, downing multiple rebel pilots in the conflict when it happened.

The Death Star exploded.

When Alderaan had been destroyed, he had felt the aftershocks across the galaxy. And while the Death Star had far fewer on board, he was far closer.

It was overwhelming. Like drowning, he could scarcely tell himself apart from the millions of voices screaming out into the Force.

So he shut himself out. Locked and barred the doors to his mind. Shuttered the windows to his soul.

And floated.

So here he sat, floating in the void, a million thoughts crossing his mind. By separating himself from the Force for the first time in his life, a clarity settled upon his mind.

He was an Inquisitor. He served the Emperor in hunting Jedi and other Force related leads. But he was not respected. He had to fight for a position, constantly dealing with the internal politics and rivalries of the Inquisitorius. And only now, after having lived his entire life there, did he have the clarity to ask a question he had never before considered.

Is this what I want?

It was an odd question. A scary question. But one he had to answer. He could feel it, in the back of his mind, his soul. He needed to know.

No. I don't want this.

It was freeing, in a way. He didn't know what it was he really wanted, not truly. But this? The Inquisition? No longer.

The institution would likely not survive the following years, considering its waning numbers.

The Obsidian Talon didn't have a tracker on it, as it was made by people with no intention or need to track him. It had a hyperdrive. It had life support. It had enough supplies.

It was his key to freedom.

The Empire likely thought him dead. A boon. Few bother tracking a corpse, after all.

Pulling himself together, Seventh considered his options. The Talon had enough fuel for a few jumps at best, but not enough to get him anywhere safe. It was also an obviously Imperial ship. Made more obvious by its unique design, making him easier to track.

So, he needed a ship to cover for him.

The Empire was sure to start besieging Yavin as soon as they rallied, so there was no chance of recovering any ships from the Rebels until they evacuated. And any Imperial ships would arouse suspicion.

But pirates?

There were bound to be pirates in neighboring systems, especially this far out in the Outer Rim. Pirates who might very well try and capture his ship.

Fools, who would allow him onto their vessel.

Turning the engines on, he started to align himself with the closest hyperspace routes. The Mandalore sector wasn't far from here, and last he had heard, they were still piecing their people together after having thrown off the Empire's shackles a few years ago.

While the Empire would doubtlessly crush them eventually, for now the Mandalore system was the only place with any concentrated military force of any kind. There were bound to be pirates galore in the surrounding systems preying off of the colonies in the area.

Pirates with ships.

As he jumped to hyperspace, he thought about where he might go afterwards. Who knows.

Maybe he'll just wander the galaxy. See the sights, engage in some low-risk commerce to pay the bills.

It sounds…peaceful. He thought to himself.

He didn't hate the idea.

Not at all.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zyx Mola
Kuat System, two days after the Death Star's destruction.

Zyx was tired. And bored. And there wasn't even a satisfying way to combine the two words for a witty inner monologue! Tir-ed and Bor-ed both end the same way, so she couldn't mix the two words for a ridiculous mashup that described her current state of being!

A true tragedy.

Currently, she was stationed on an outgoing ISDI, fresh off the Kuati yards. This ship, assigned to MI's small personal fleet, would be shuttling her and a bevy of analysts around the galaxy for investigative purposes.

It was a long term mission, brewed up and assigned to her just a few days after the Death Star's destruction. She and the analysts were going to essentially be combing over trouble systems, showing up as 'reinforcements' to the various sector defense fleets, then shuttling her down when targets were identified.

It was a boring assignment, and she knew this because she was already bored, and they hadn't even left the Core yet.

Doubtlessly she would be either stuck on the ship for the majority of the assignment, which could very well last over a year, or she would be sent down on half-assed leads and find kriff-all. A waste of her time, but who was she to argue with Highcom?

Still, there were worse assignments to be had. Like those suckers in deep-cover in Hutt space. Last she'd heard, some were posing as dancers. In Hutt space.

She shuddered. One could only hope the office rumours were false.

Zyx tilted her head, thinking. Considering it's MI, the rumours were probably planted.

Regardless, this was boring, and she hated it.

So, to pass the time, she was checking up on her family, making sure they all survived.

Mother dearest stayed on Eriadu, as she wasn't one of Tarkin's right hand people. A top subordinate, sure, but not necessary to bring with him when she already runs one of the galaxy's top academies.

Las was still in that backwater, doing…whatever it is he does out there. Paperwork? Probably paperwork.

She shuddered.

Alvi had been transferred over there by Grand Admiral Thrawn last she heard, for the continuation of a TIE program. It had been canceled once he disappeared, but Alvi stayed.

MI had kept their eyes on the Minda system for a while after that, but aside from the more economical TIE variants that were produced there, nothing much came of it. Oh, and those small walkers. Interesting stuff, apparently some people from Highcom had their eyes on the things. Las would certainly love that, if the bags under his eyes were any evidence.

Shal, her dear older sister, was stuck in a pile of political garbage. Admiral Gorin was under a great deal of political stress for his failure at Scarif, and he was attempting to use Shal as a scapegoat.

While this might normally work, these circumstances are far too serious. Admiral Gorin doesn't have nearly enough political capital to escape punishment. He does, however, have enough to drag Shal down with him.

Now, far be it for Zyx to leave her sister in the dust! She could maybe get Shal off of any charges…but that would be a waste of her own political capital.

It was, however, easier to get her assigned to a backwater station. After all, what worse punishment for a captain exists than an assignment with no chance for promotion?

Of course, if the backwater happened to be the Myto sector, it was just fate, right?

Zyx giggled. Next time she visited it would almost be like a family reunion!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi there folks! Not too much to say this time, other than the fact that I've started playing Expedition 33, and this shit is PEAK!!! Like, holy peak batman it can't stop cooking. The story, characters combat, and all feel fucking incredible. Only game this year that can top it will be the new Doom game. But it's Doom, so that's not really saying anything new.

Also, the whole Luke being a war criminal thing? It was a joke made in the heat of a breakdown. Las could care less about how many heads the farm boys popped, or the kill streak he must've gotten from the DS1, he just cares that he's not on the list.

Feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller