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

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-49: Public Words, Private Ledger

The stage was set. The podium raised.

The crowd angry.

As they should be. After all, it's been less than a week since Alderaan went kaboom, and only a few days after the DS1 went the same way.

They aren't yelling, screaming or protesting, thankfully. But there's a definite energy in the crowd. Through my connection to Mugwuffin, I can sense it.

A tension.

Even the reporters were quiet. The atmosphere kept their spirits down, their fire quenched. They knew it was far from the time for excitement.

While across the galaxy, people rise up with dreams of freedom and liberty in their hearts, here on Minda people wait.

Poised.

It's there, make no mistake. Many of the people here are those who have suffered under Imperial rule. They found peace here, where the Empire's symbols don't mean oppression.

But they know all too well what those symbols really mean.

As I walk up to the podium, I don't do so in my classic Imperial wear.

The black overcoat I love to wear is gone. The thin strips of armor plating I had taken to wearing for protective purposes is gone.

I stand before the crowd in a simple grey Imperial uniform. My helmet is nowhere to be seen.

My security stays to the side, out of sight. The Heavy LECA models hidden in a transport nearby, just in case.

Even Mugwuffin is absent from my shoulders, staying back near Myr'thos, who stands with their arms crossed, absolutely bored. It helps that their bored stance makes them look like a professional bodyguard, not that the crowd could see them. Perks of a Sith upbringing, I guess. Ignore the trauma.

The people before me want an explanation. Why did billions die? Why was a weapon made to kill billions in the first place?

Why should they not overthrow me?

I decided to start with the basics.

"We all know why we're here. I won't play mind games with you people, not now."

I take a deep breath.

"Alderaan was destroyed by the battlestation known as the Death Star, a planet killer weapon."

The sea of eyes still judged. There was more to say. I would survive this. No matter what.

"Said Death Star was commanded by Grand Moff Willuf Tarkin. Alderaan was confirmed to have rebel elements integrated into its higher command structure. This does not justify the actions of the Grand Moff."

I make sure to throw my gaze around the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as I can. From the children with their naive eyes to the clone veterans and their scars of wars long past.

I continue.

"Furthermore, it has been confirmed by my own superiors that the Grand Moff disobeyed a direct order from the Emperor when destroying Alderaan. This makes Ex-Grand Moff Willuf Tarkin a traitor. If he lives, he will be found. He will pay."

"Any further questions or concerns should be forwarded to the office of the Myto Sectors Moff, Moff Hiral, as this is all the information I have been given."

It's at this point that I want to leave, cause I've said everything I needed to say. But this was an emotional game as much as a political one.

"The Mindan Galactic Museum will be hosting a competition for the design of an Alderaanian Memorial. Good day, and godspeed."

It was then that I left. No questions, no comments, nothing. Just the somber tones that signalled the death of billions.

Getting back into the shuttle, I sighed. That was scary. Not in the way that many things had been during my time in this universe, but still.

The threat of being overthrown had always been this far off, looming thing. Like climate change. You know it's a threat, and you work to combat it, but it never feels close.

But standing there? Looking into the eyes of people who I know damn well would mob my tower and kill me if given enough cause?

It scared me. And I couldn't even blame them! If I was in their position, I'd do the same goddamn thing.

Better to die standing than live kneeling, after all.

Frankly speaking, I was just glad that Moff Hiral's office got back to me and the hundred other governors pinging his office for the official stance as fast as they did. Apparently, while the Emperor is still making his choice in regards to Alderaan, Tarkin pissed him off enough with the whole debacle to get himself posthumously fired and considered a traitor.

So, I ran with that. My statement was meant more for Minda and Edin, and won't really make it far from here.

Regardless, as the shuttle took off, I started reading through reports.

Oioro had gotten back to me with that report on Rothana Heavy Engineering.

As I suspected, they weren't getting jack shit in contracts from the Empire. They bred some animals for use as mounts in hazardous environments and produced a few ground vehicles, but are otherwise destitute.

KDY was probably losing money keeping those facilities operating. And even if they weren't, it wouldn't be long before they did.

This is especially true when you consider the fact that the planet Rothana is at the very edge of the galaxy, placed in a spot where only knowledge of specific hyperspace routes would allow you to access it. This was to distance it from the corporate politics of the Core.

Now, it was another cash drain. Though routes weren't easy to navigate, requiring better ships, hyperdrives and pilots.

Rothana was a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding, which is great for me.

See, things are just going to get worse. And by worse, I mean big time worse.

I uplifted Minda because I needed proof for mommy Mola that I was being a good boy and all that, so she would take her eyes off of me and let me fake my death in peace.

Thing is, now that she hasn't shown, and my window of opportunity has passed, Minda is…*gulp*...valuable.

Based on the most recent rankings, Minda is the 2nd largest economy in the Sector, with Dubrillion leading that front in tropical retreats for the wealthy.

If I recall correctly, it was also the site of a prototype laser for the DS2. Bad stuff.

Regardless, Minda, and by extension Edin are certain to be made to expand production. By which I mean the Moff is going to tell me to do it then be surprised when I fail whatever insane standards he sets.

Well, I say that but I've yet to meet the new Moff, so I can't really say that for certain. But it's a safe bet, all things considered.

However, if I manage to acquire RHE? Well, shipyards are of massive import to the Empire, no? Wouldn't it be better to have these shipyards in the Myto sector?

Wouldn't it make you look better to your boss if these shipyards are successful?

You get the gist of it. I let the Moff take all the credit for the shipyards, and in return the quota's stay reasonable. I'm not even bribing him! If Minda operates shipyards, then suddenly the morale of the workers is more important than ever.

If a mining operation goes kaboom, it sucks and is costly, but the veins of ore will still be there.

A shipyard? That's the kind of thing that goes kaboom and never returns. Not without serious investment.

At least, that's how I'll spin it. It also opens up a bunch of new jobs, since I'll only really be taking the shipyards, hiring the core employee's, and selling most of the factories and such. I'm not even going to be buying the rights to the designs. Sure, RHE makes the Acclamator, but KDY knows that.

And if their negotiators are any good, which they should be considering the company's age, they'll know the real deal is in the designs.

So, I'll buy up the shipyards, have them towed piecemeal over here, and boom! New jobs, protection from shitty quotas, the whole works.

It'll be costly, billions of credits. Negotiations can whittle that down, but I'll still be looking at a price tag of at least 10 billion. Possible given time and the right investments, but at least a year.

And that's not to mention the huge logistical challenge of shipping the multiple kilometer long structures and needed equipment all the way from Rothana to Minda. It's quite a distance.

Even if you consider that the Rothana yards are comparatively small to the KDY or Fondor yards, they are still massive(you know what else is massive?).

However, considering how much the Moff could benefit from this, I have no doubt he would be willing to lend a hand. After all, what are some credits in comparison to political clout?

And even if he donates little, this whole thing would be an undeniably money sink. An excusable money sink. After all, I'm not spending the budget on frivolous things, I'm spending it on shipyards that will serve the Empire. It's just so expensive that I can't afford to reasonably produce more for the quota without diverting time and money from this incredibly important project! What a shame

A perfect, if longer term plan. I could probably embezzle a shit ton of money through it as well. Gotta have that nest egg for later, right? Literally zero flaws imaginable in this plan.

Save for the rebels. Fuckin rebels.

See, I realized that at this point, I'm going to need to start making some sacrifices. The rebels are just smart enough to realize how bad new shipyards could be, and might attack me. For all their righteous fury, they're spread thin in regards to real military power, and have far larger targets.

The Empire, on the other hand, can make my life worse in a million more ways, recent death knell or not.

So, I'm forced to compromise. The shipyards aren't the largest, not by a long shot, but they will expand the current shipbuilding capabilities on Minda by an order of magnitude at least.

That's a target. Not great. But I'll have to deal. Again, not great. But, as the wise man always says.

It is what it is.

This is the motto I chant to myself as the shuttle lands, and I start the trek to my office to get more work done, and start planning my spiel to the Moff. Sipping on the hot chocolate Oioro made for me.

Fuckin spy and her fuckin killer hot coco.

I sigh.

It is what it is. It is what it is. It is what it is. It is what it is. It is what it is. It is what it is…
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi there folks! It is what it is!

Feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Copycat Governor

POV Governor Gedes, planet Kabo, Myto Sector, 1 ABY

"Lord Governor, are you sure this is a wise course of action?"

Secretary Tis sniveled in that same grating tone he always does. Honestly if he wasn't so good at filing out forms Gedes would have left him overseeing the Outlands Bantha farms.

"Absolutely my dear Tis. The Mindan Model states all military buildups are precipitated by seizure of assets from the enemies of the Empire."

Ah the Mindan Model. That little planet had become a rising star in the sector. Studying their form of government while Gedes was taking his well earned vacation on Dubrillion had given him so many ideas.

"But the director of the local SoroSuub branch had no evidence of dissidence. Won't arresting him and seizing these warehouses cause problems?"

Another reason Gedes kept Tis around. His small headedness let Gede's brilliance shine all the more.

"Of course not Tis. I recently received a report from the ISB that director Fleb's niece has joined the Rebels in the Galactic South. A grievous sin for any self respecting Imperial family."

Gedes couldn't help but grin as further crates were brought out of the warehouse. He gazed at them like a Jawa at a scrap pile.

"This is obviously evidence that the director has rebel sympathies and planned to distribute these supplies to Rebel cells. Now we will be using them for a far more noble purpose."

Deny Gedes' requests for reinforcements will they? Pfah, nothing had changed in Dubrillion, even after the Moff was replaced. Well wait until they see what he can do with this. A new army to enforce the Empire's will. His will.

——

"Loyal Imperials of Kabo! Hear me!"

Rows of Mk 45 Protective Vests turned their attention towards Gedes. It was much easier procuring them when he only had to worry about one body type. They glistened almost like new to his eyes.

"The Rebels have grown bold since Yavin! They see in the destruction of one station as the death of the Empire! Now they circle like vermin upon a corpse! Will you allow that!?"

"NO!"

Rows of blasters raised in defiance. The front rows of modern OK-98s and QuickSnap 36Ts did well to hide the motley collection of E-5s and a few M-300s further back. Gedes could swear there was a Blaster Spear in the mix.

"This new phase of the New Order demands a new citizen. One willing to chase these Rebels into the holes and caves they haunch in! Are you those citizens!?"

"YES MY LORD GOVERNOR!"

The gathered fists raised into the air. Soft hands of the cities molded into fists to crush Gedes' enemies. On each forearm a band displaying an armband with the Imperial Cog painted brown.

Governor Las had the right idea. Some issues needed to be solved at the local level with local forces. However, that doesn't mean his private army of Guild mercenaries was perfect.

"That's right! You are greater than Minda's Lucre Force, scrambling for gold and fame! You are the beating of the Empire! The purist of blood that shall wash clean this world of rebels and dissidents!"

"YEAH!""HAAA!""Death to the Alien!"

Even the engines in the back roared to his words. X-34 landspeeders with Z-6 Rotary Blaster bolted on accompanied by packs of Starhawks to run down routing Rebels.

"On this day I see the heralds of a new age on Kabo! I name you the People's Purity Guard! May we never be stained!"

"MAY WE NEVER BE STAINED!"

——

"But Lord Governor how will you pay for this?"

Gedes grinned as he now could further show off his genius.

"Simple Tis. You know how we have struggled with collecting those new taxes in the Outlands?"

Tis cocked his head as if this wasn't a simple math problem.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with paying for this force?"

"Well one other thing I have learned from studying the Mindan Model is the power of delegation."

Not that Gedes would give power to the common sentient. That would be madness. How Governor Las expects his realm to remain stable with such placation is beyond him.

"The issue is the Imperial government in Kabo currently lacks the administrative capacity to enforce these taxes. So why don't we just get someone else to do it?

We will divide the PPG based on strongmen leaders, and have them auction for the right to enforce taxes on a province for the year. Paying up front if they win the bid of course."

Tis nodded as if following along. Like he could understand Gedes' brilliant innovation to the Mindan Model.

"Okay but why would these leaders pay for the right to collect taxes?"

"That's the best part. When they collect enough to pay off their bid, these leaders can keep the excess for themselves. This will inevitably be used to maintain their power bases and Bam! Self paying armies while the Empire gets guaranteed income."

The Mindan Model is truly a work of genius, and with the addition of Gede's Tax Farming innovation, it shall allow Gede and Kabo to reach and even surpass Minda's rise to prominence! Perhaps they will even start calling it the Kabone Model instead!

——

The prompt for this was asking myself how an Imperial Governor would try to follow Las' example, but poorly with zero build up and a more "corrupt Imperial" mindset.

Also I wanted to try my hand at designing a pro-Imperial Paramilitary Force made up of civilian arms, nationalized stockpiles, and old army surplus.

Cross posted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-50: The Governor's Pitch

Moff Aren Hiral
Myto Sector, Dubrillion system, Dubrillion

As Aren sat in his office chair, he couldn't help but sigh.

He had just returned from a meeting with Grand Moff Vanko, attended by all the other Moff's of the Bright Jewel oversector, and things were bad.

The Empire as a whole was in full alert, and the Grand Moff had insisted on upping production in every sector possible.

The old coot was surely looking to gain more political clout.

Now, how do I go about doing the same?

It was a question that had plagued him since his placement in this position. Having been raised from being a high ranking bureaucrat to a Moff was a great jump, and one he reveled in. But, being the Moff of such a backwater sector meant he was politically stumped.

It was then that he got a ring on his terminal.

"Sir, there's an incoming call from the Minda systems Governor, Las Mola, on the line. He says he has an opportunity for the Empire he'd like to speak with you about. Should I patch him through?"

Hiral considered this. Mola was a name he remembered as being part of that whole pirate gang fiasco that had raised him to his current position. A fairly successful planetary governor.

He had turned Minda from nothing into something half-way decent, so Aren had dumped Edin on him as well.

If he succeeded? More taxes. If he failed? Aren could replace him with a more personally loyal peon.

Might as well hear the man out. He did say it was an opportunity, and Aren was nothing if not adept at taking advantage of those.

"Let the call through."

"Yes sir."

A few seconds later, a hologram materialized itself above his desk. A shimmering project of Governor Las Mola.

He wore the standard Imperial uniform, a simple thing. Over the left side of his face was a scar that curled into a thin cut above his ear.

No colors could be sent through a holo, but Aren could safely assume Mola lacked any particularly bright hair colors.

"You said you had an opportunity, Governor?" He cut straight to the chase. It had been a long day, and frankly speaking he had no patience for fools or sycophants at the moment.

The Governor nodded.

"Yes sir. And opportunity for the Empire in the chaotic aftermath of that mess at Yavin."

Aren gave the barest of nods to continue.

"With the Death Star destroyed, a bevy of planets are in revolt across the galaxy, with many more rebel elements gaining traction and boldness. Attacks will increase in frequency and severity, and with them the Empires need for ships. There may be a way the Myto sector can contribute."

He had been about to rebuke the Governor for simply repeating information he already knew, before that last part.

"...Continue." He stated simply. He bored his eyes into those of the Governor, but could find no deceit. He would've done a better job had he been here in person, but alas…

"When this came to my attention, I worked to see what I and the Myto sector could do to help the greater Empire. That's when a company by the name of Rothana Heavy Engineering came to mind. A lesser known, and up until the Empires rise, hidden subsidiary of Kuat Drive Yards on Rothana."

"And the purpose of all this is too…?" Aren had an idea of where this was going, but didn't wish to give that away. What someone more eagerly reveals when they believe you are ignorant is more telling than that which they do not.

"Start production of ships for the Empire here in the Myto sector, sir. It would normally be incredibly expensive and time consuming to begin homegrown production. Even the one shipyard in orbit above Minda has laughably few berths, and even fewer that can produce anything above the size of a light freighter. Rothana, however, has a bevy of shipyards and the employee's who know how to use them are just sitting there. They haven't received any contracts of real substance in years, and by now are a drain on KDY's finances."

"...And you propose we drag those yards all the way to the other side of the galaxy? That too would incur incredible expenses, not to mention the initial cost of purchasing the structures." He countered. And he was right. The yards would have to be towed by specialized ships, likely multiple slaved together. Not to mention the security detail to protect such a convoy, and the many, many tolls that would be paid along the way.

"That is correct, sir. In contrast, it would take years if not decades to build shipyards even somewhat comparable with the resources available in the Myto Sector. Funding or other forms of assistance from the wider Empire would be scarce, as resources are rarely dedicated to Outer Rim sectors unless it is for anti-rebel military forces. The Rothanan yards may be expensive, but they could be up and running in as few as two years, and for a much smaller cost in the long run."

Aren considered this. While he didn't have the numbers, the Governor was most likely correct. Shipyards of any real import were long term projects that took a number of years and countless resources to build, not to mention staff. Still, he had to show resistance, and not allow himself to look desperate.

"What about staffing? Designs? Are there no shipyards closer?" He shot out a series of rapid fire questions, hoping to destabilize the man's argument. To be confronted with the unexpected is what most often trips people up.

Yet, the Governor responded with calmness, not a hint of stress or worry upon his brow.

"In regards to staffing, we would be looking into hiring the core staff from Rothana itself. From there, as the shipyards are towed, they would train new staff in the smaller shipyards here on Minda as preparation. In terms of designs, once the shipyards are operational it would be easy enough to secure a license to build Imperial warships. The kind would depend on resource availability in the area, but frigates and some larger ships are far from impossible. As for alternate yards, there are some closer to Myto. Just one sector over are the Galentro Heavy Works shipyards, however they are very unlikely to sell their yards as things stand. KDY, on the other hand, is soon to feel the pressure of Imperial demand, and will be unable to keep RHE functioning, much less tow the yards."

It made sense, that much he had to admit. What went unspoken, of course, was the true gain of this endeavor. Myto, operating its own shipyards, would be a boon to his career. Not the largest one, not by a long shot, but every victory counts.

And the Governor was right. The Empire was tightening its iron fist. Resource quotas were going up, and his contacts in the Core told him that demand for ships and troopers had also risen. Many companies were feeling the squeeze.

He could spin it as a patriotic endeavor. Of course, that just left the Governor himself. And the cost.

"Assuming I agree to this, how would the cost be paid? KDY is unlikely to part with their equipment for cheap, yes?"

"That is correct. However, the plan is to negotiate for a staggered payment plan. As production of ships ramps up, Myto will see an unexpected economic resurgence, allowing for more capital to pay the fees quicker. While we have yet to enter negotiations, we estimate that the price will likely start at around 30 billion credits, though we could realistically reduce that by half through negotiation. Of course, this does not consider the cost of towing the structures."

Aren hadn't even thought of that. Of course towing multiple kilometer long structures would be difficult.

"Do you have a plan for this, Governor? I assume you do, considering you've come straight to me."

The man nodded, his eyes as professional as ever. The composure was something to be admired, if nothing else.

"Yes sir. Initially, the idea was to utilize the Sector defense fleet's ISD's for tugging. However, that would leave the Myto sector with fewer defenses, which is unacceptable. Therefore we identified a ship type, a variant of the CR-90 that replaces many of its armaments with heavy tractor beams. A team of these can deploy hyperspace field boosters onto the structures to tug the berths individually through hyperspace. Current estimates assume 1 team of 3 ships sits at around a month for each round trip, totalling 20 months for all berths. The cost for the hiring of these ships and crew, along with escorts, comes up to around 3 million per trip."

That was fast, all things considered. Just under two years. However…

"It could be done faster, correct?"

"Yes sir. It was calculated that we could hire 3 teams of 3 for around 5 months to tow the berths, and then only two teams would be needed for the remaining two berths. A total cost of around 55,000,000 credits in total. Of course, the MSDF can provide the escorts as well."

"And in regards to all the many, many moving parts of a ship building industry? There is a great deal more than just the yards, correct?" At this point, Aren was mostly sold. It was a good idea. It would give him a higher reputation, and push him forward. If the Myto sector becomes important, he becomes important.

"The Minda system has a bevy of factories that can produce a number of ores needed for many of the parts required for starship manufacturing. Not to mention that there are many systems in the Myto sector that haven't been properly scanned for ore deposits. Aside from that, more complicated systems can be shipped here under a licensing agreement with the parent company of whichever ships are built. It might also be possible to receive a further discount on the yards by entering a licensing agreement with KDY."

He had truly thought of just about everything. While there was doubtlessly a bevy of details that went unmentioned, the plan was solid. And the Governor's scheme was clear. He wanted the yards to be in the Minda system. A good plan, and one that Aren was unbothered by. So long as the yards were in the Myto sector, the credit was his. He might even mention Mola here and there. Competent subordinates require rewards, no?

"You have clearly considered this plan thoroughly. I approve. I will supplement the payments for the initial purchasing cost, so you may focus on the logistical elements. This will certainly be a great boon for the Empire."

"Of course, Sir. However, I have one last thing to ask of you."

Oh? There's more?

"The upcoming resource quota will be too strenuous for Mindan workers, and will strain the resources available to complete the project. I request that the quota for Minda and Edin be reduced to avoid this. We can still increase production, but not to the levels being asked."

Aren considered this. It seemed to be the other side of the Governors scheme, though to what end he couldn't imagine. He had seen the numbers. The Minda system, even with all the resources it used to supplement Edin, was quite profitable and stayed consistently ahead of the current quota. The new quota might result in more work for the menials, but what did that matter? Just hire new workers.

Regardless, this deal was quite good. Mola seemed a competent Governor, and Aren knows full well the foolishness of alienating competent subordinates.

"Hmmm…fine. Those terms are agreeable. I approve of this endeavor." He leaned forward, resting his chin on the platform of his interlaced fingers, propped up by his elbows.

"Do not fail, Governor. Understood?"

"Of course, Sir. For the Empire."

"For the Empire."

And for himself, of course.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hi there folks! This chapter was a doozy. Far too much research went into a dozen different ways the shipyards could be tugged. The conclusion I had originally come to was that it would take ISD sized ships to tug berths meant to construct capital ships. That's when I came across the CR-90 "Tug-Vette" fan variant. Its stat sheet can be found on The Rancor Pit. Just search up the ship's name. While I have no idea how hull sizes work with the system of measurement over there, I figure if a Hammerhead Corvette can push an ISD on its own (Rogue One), teams of specially made tug variants larger than a Hammerhead working together can for sure drag those berths, despite the size difference.

Aside from that, the cost and negotiations and all that will come in the next chapter. Oioro's going to be heading negotiations with KDY, so her full spy shtick is going to come into play. Haven't really had a chance to show her off yet, even though she's a pretty cool character to me.

As always, feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Blood in the Void

POV Orrbck the Trash Pontiff, unnamed system near Kaddak, 0ABY

"Your eminence! Message came through."

Orrbck directed a stalk away from their Mitochondria Crunchy Surprise. This distraction better be worth it, or they'd descale this lesser with their own appendages.

"Well, whad are you waiding for? Gib ib here!"

Orrbck snatched the data pad from the lesser's hands. Really, only having 4 appendages at all times was such a burden for them. They'd be pitiable if Orrbck bothered to consider them.

"Now dis is inderesding. Seems mudual friends broughd a gifd!"

This "mutual friends" person had come out of the junk heap once the Empire began snubbing everyone pseudopods. They were a great blessing to Orrbck's holy work. Guiding their forces to many sacred sites left over from before the Empire. They even had the wisdom to leave the more Sanctified vessels under Orrbck's care.

Working with this "mutual friends" was much better than ArrMuck's plan. Following the Empire's wake like a lesser rummaging for scraps in that one system. What was it called? Tavin or something.

"Dose Mynocks in Rothana habe emerged from their holes!"

The data pad noted the KDY corporate-security fleet's continuing departure from the system. Not even the Clone Wars had been able to get them out of that bolt hole of theirs. This could only mean one thing: a divine sign that they are leaving behind junk!

"Errsk! Brrrepare da fleed! Der is holy work do be done!"

The instruments of Orrbck's crusade must be immaculate. The Pelta had to be slimed down and ready to receive all the blessed detritus waiting for them. They couldn't help but jiggle at the thought of all that sweet trash.

If any less pious scavengers tries to take Orrbck's claim, that is what their squad of beatified DP20 Gunships was for. Modified to their tastes with four Beauties bolted on for extra fighter support. They should be more than enough to handle any competition or sentimental hoarders Kuat leaves behind.

"Dis is our momend! Blessings and boundy awaids us! Granded by the Angel of Taxations and Imports!"

This could be Orrbck's chance to get back in the good graces of the Holy Ugor Taxation Collection Agency! They might even realize their error and have Orrbck's excommunication revoked!

Really, calling Orrbck a sinner just because of their Preemptive Garbage Collection techniques. These ships and cargo would have wound up in disposal eventually. Not like the lessers aboard mattered.

"Dey mighd even led me indo the sysdem of Baradise without charging the Ceremonial Donation! Onward! Salvation Awaids!"

——

"Hey Errsk, why do let the slime ball talk to you like that? You're their second in command, they should respect you more."

The Trandoshan looked at his fellow pirate like he was crazy.

"Are you kidding? Boss Orrbck might talk a big game and the workplace is covered in slime more often than not. However when it comes time to divide the booty, Orrbck is a a blessing from the Scorekeeper. Always takes the worst stuff as "relics" and leaves the valuable stuff for the crew.

I've put my clutchmate through technician academy in under a year working for them. Stick with us kid, and you'll see how many of boss Orrbck's "miracles" turn out to be genuine."

The new recruit looked intrigued, but unconvinced.

"Just don't put me in one of those Uglies strapped to the DP20s. Looks liable to fly off in Hyperspace."

——

This Omake is brought to you by the fact in canon these theocratic garbage worshipping Oozes called Ugors managed to steal the DS1's Gravity Well Tether post-Yavin and make it their Holy of Holies in their "System of Paradise" i.e. system wide junkyard.

Crossposted on SB and SV.

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-51: The Alderaanian Scar

In the very top of the Imperial Tower on Accordia, I sat at my desk utterly fucking tired.

To be fair, I had been tired throughout my entire tenure as Governor, and will likely continue to be so until I can make my grand escape.

4 years from now.

Fuck me.

Regardless, I sat in a chair I had made just uncomfortable enough to keep me awake, but not so uncomfortable that I couldn't sit in it for a long time. On my desk sat my terminal, on which was a series of reports detailing the failings of some Governor a couple sectors over, but still in the Bright Jewel Oversector.

This Governor had been caught embezzling money from his planet's defense fleet, and was deemed unfit for his duty. He was tossed in prison, and his secretary was given the position.

Now, why am I reading these reports? Well, it's because I'm trying to learn to read between the lines. I've focused so heavily on the economic and industrial factors, that I've become essentially politically stunted. I had some ability, but it mostly stemmed from my self preservation instinct rather than any real political skill.

So, I sat here, trying to discern the truth behind the incident. There were many factors to consider, after all.

The Governor had run his system well, meeting quota consistently and missing little. It was a small agricultural world after all, so little was expected in the first place.

Not only that, but the defense fleet was small. Two Arquitens and a few Gozantis made up the entire fleet.

Suffice to say, a backwater. Then, out of the blue, evidence of corruption just springs up? And the sector Moff takes it seriously?

Now that is suspicious. Apparently it took little time before the Governor was in prison. Like, a week tops.

From what I can tell by the limited information, the secretary had some sort of connection to the Moff, and used it to get himself the position. But why take up the position of secretary in the first place? Seems odd. He could've just been Governor from the start.

Unless he got the secretary job then found out the Moff didn't like this Governor. Used his position to frame the Governor, and got rewarded.

I lean back and sigh. The info is limited, as is my capacity to care about the plights of others. So, I swipe the reports away and pull up the deluge of daily reports from around both Minda and Edin.

Sale of TIE variants had increased a surprising amount, to the point that I was almost considering expanding operations. Almost being the key word here. With the whole Rothana business coming up, it would cause undue strain.

And oh boy, the Rothana situation is weighing heavily on my mind. It's the big catch of the season, and I gotta get it. If I don't, I have a very stressful few years ahead of me.

But, since I'd rather avoid having to deal with the negotiations, I sent Oioro to do it for me. This gets a spy out of my midst for a little while, and gives me leverage in the negotiations. Oioro, after all, is the one that did the majority of the negotiating for the Rendili and CEC contracts. She is a beast in the boardroom.

Is it weird that I find that strangely attractive? No? Moving on.

Grant was found. She was just sorta vibing in the Mindan training center. And by vibing, I mean absolutely demolishing the training droids we've got set up over there. Some old, highly advanced Commando droids from that first Seppie wreck we found. Can't use em as soldiers, optics are bad, but as training material?

First class.

Honestly, it was only their armor that ensured they weren't scrapped completely. Never knew human hands could dent fucking cortosis plating. Yeah, the super-rare near blaster proof cortosis.

Dented.

Made me question if she was using steroids, but she's much too prideful for that kind of thing. That, and the fact that every cadet she caught using them got the shit beaten out of them on the training mat…while they were on the roids.

So, my reasons for fearing her are plain to see. Thing is, Alderaan just went kaboom. I wasn't planning to do anything with her originally, cause I was planning to just fake my death.

However, as is clear, I am still here. On Minda. Working.

I think God hates me. Or is it the Force?

Regardless, I now have to address her clear mental issues regarding this. So, I had her summoned up to my office.

I also have Myr'thos stand outside, for now. Powerful as they are, I don't want her feeling like this is a really intense situation. Might set her off.

As she walks into the room, I immediately notice some small details about her, a skill picked up from the past two years of paranoia.

She has fairly well hidden bags under her eyes, and her hands are twitching.

She salutes. "Governor, Sir!"
"At ease, Commander." I state plainly, thinking about how I might approach this. I can't just charge head first, right? That seems like suicide.

"The droids will require some…repair, Commander." She winces, but I continue.

"Still, it is impressive what you did. A shining example of your efforts, if nothing else." Shit, I better get on topic, or I'll never get this done.

"Regardless, the fact that you were so absorbed that you failed to respond to multiple calls is…worrying, to say the least."

"I sincerely apologise, Governor!" She blurts out, eyes seeming a little wilder than before, her breathing becoming a tad more erratic.

I raise my hand, eyes closed. Partially because it's, like, really cool to be able to silence people with a hand raise, and partially because I need to think and I can't look at her and not be on the verge of shitting my pants in fear. Like FUCK she's scary. The muscles bulging on her arms could kill me really fast.

Also kinda attractive. What is up with me today?

"Look, Commander…I understand that recent news from the…Core…has impacted all of us in…different ways…" I continue, my speech halting slightly. How do you even start talking about a planetary genocide? Shoulda paid attention in those shitty speech classes in college.

Grant's breath hitches, eyes seeming to vibrate. Have I stepped on a landmine? Should I backpedal!? Fuck, am I about to die!?!?

Her breathing speeds up, her hands clenching and unclenching at a rapid pace. Shit, is this a panic attack? What do I do!? Run!?

No, if she snaps she'll get tossed in a ward. I'd need a new commander!

I pause for a second. A new commander would work, right? The thought immediately runs from my mind. Nah, a new commander might be a spy! Or a political plant! Or just a complete asshole! She may be crazy, but she's competent!

Standing up from my desk, I raise my voice a smidgen, and change my tone into the one I use when giving speeches to soldiers. A little more timber to sound a little more commanding.

"Commander, can you hear me?" I ask, but her eyes are unfocused, her breathing erratic. Odd grunts escape her mouth on occasion, like her mind wants to speak but her body won't respond.

"Grant, are you with me?" Again, no response. Fuckin hell, how do I manage this!? I'll try at least one more time.

"Kaela! Look at me!" I'm louder this time, almost shouting, but it works. Her gaze snaps up to me. In the back of my mind, I realize this is the first time I've called her by her first name. Weird.

"Breathe. Slowly. Just like me, alright?" This time, I keep my voice and tone softer, leading her through the basic yoga exercises I tried once. The strangest things stick with you, huh?
Regardless, she does follow, her eyes seeming to see reality again, her breathing becoming deeper.

"You're here. In the office. On Minda. You're safe, yeah?"

She nods, a shaky thing but it's confirmation that she's alright.

I gesture over to the couch. "Here, take a seat. Do you want anything? Water, a snack, some coco?"

She nods her head slightly at the last one as she sits down, blankly staring down at her own hands.

I quickly make a new cup at my machine, and silently lament the loss of some coco. Alas, it is for a greater cause.

Handing her the cup, I sit down next to her, but give her some space. Partially because she probably needs it, and partially out of fear. Which is something I've been feeling a lot of recently.

That can't be healthy.

She now stares down blankly into the mug, before taking a small sip. Then another. This continues for a good couple minutes until the mug is empty, and her breathing is back to normal.

It's at this point that she realizes that she's just had a major panic attack in front of her superior officer, which is probably the worst place to have one in the Empire.

Immediately, she darts up on shaky legs, mug still in hand.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir! I d-don't know what c-came over me, I-I-I-I ju-just shut down and-"

"Kaela."

She stops talking, looking at me with fear filled eyes. The very first time I've ever seen her feel that.

"You had a panic attack. That is fine. Your home planet was just destroyed. It is a perfectly understandable reaction to such an event. I'm not blaming you for this, alright?"

Kaela seems frozen for a second, before nodding shakily. I continue.

"This is actually what I was calling you up here for. As it stands, you have just undergone a very tumultuous experience, to say the least. As such, I wanted to know how you were feeling."

She seems shocked. I mean, an Imperial officer caring about their subordinates' feelings? Absurd!

Unfortunately for me, it's kind of my job to keep her functional.

"Clearly, you're not fine."

She starts to speak again, but I cut her off.

"Don't worry, I'm not getting rid of you, or transferring you, or anything else. You are, by far, the most competent military commander I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. No, I'm instead telling you to go to therapy."

She quirks her head at me in obvious confusion. I would be confused if I were her as well.

Thing is, among the variety of bonuses that are afforded to the soldiers in my employ is therapy. Not even by Imperial therapists, but actual licensed therapeutic doctors who, through my own checking, aren't hyper nationalistic. No rebel connections, thankfully, just good at their jobs. Darna was the one who found them. Literally the best secretary I could ask for. Oioro ain't got shit on her.

"On top of that, you are to take the next month off as paid vacation."

Here, she tries to protest again. "But, sir! I need to-"

"The only thing you need to do is figure yourself out, Kaela. But, until you've done that, you are at risk of further attacks. That can't happen in the middle of a fight, or a critical moment, and you know that."

By the look on her face, I'm right. Good. Cause I am bullshitting the entire goddamn time.

"Look. I'm not telling you to retire, alright. Just…take some time off. Go to therapy. Get the help you need. And when you're ready, you can come right back. Can't have you at anything less than 100%, alright?"

"...Alright, Governor."

"Good. Now, you'd best get going, as I have a meeting to get to, and you have some therapy sessions to schedule."

Grant simply nodded, and walked off to the doorway as I sat back down at my desk.

Before she leaves, she realizes she's still holding one of my mugs. My custom made, sleek as hell, practically thermos level mugs made of a deep black stone with flecks of purple within. The real nice ones. Cost me like 30 grand for a dozen, but it was so worth it.

"Ah! I-I apologize, I almost-"

"Don't worry, just keep it." I say, waving my hand like it doesn't matter to me. Which it does. A lot. I make very little personal money, so it took like four months to save up for that fucking mug set.

She looked at me strangely, before bowing her head slightly.

"Thank you, sir."

I quirk an eyebrow at her, slightly confused. The fuck?

"What for?"

Now she's looking at me all confused. Which is an odd expression to see on her face.

"F-for the help. And the m-mug."

"It's my job, commander. No need to thank me." Now, thankfully, in order to escape this awkwardness, I have a little button that can simulate the noise of my terminal receiving a call. Which I press.

She gets it, and leaves, leaving me in my office. Alone. Tired.

Out of hot cocoa.

FUCK!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hi there folks! Here with a different chapter, because I wanted to write something but didn't know what it was gonna be. That, and the fact that I wanted to address this loose end. Kaela's shenanigans ain't over yet. But she's on the path of mental stability, one shaky step at a time.

Commentary and feedback appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Have another Omake. Wrote it around the same time as the last one, but didn't want to post both at once.

——

Omake: Blood on the Mud

POV Sergeant Neca Bil of the Children of Atraken, Atraken, outside Labor Camp 214-B, 0 ABY

Ksssshhh…

The stormtrooper grasped at his helmet as Neca pinned him with her boot. If the hole in his visor and face dug by her climbing pick didn't do him in, then the biochemical agents in the world's atmosphere will finish the job. Good, let the dog choke on his master's failure.

"Alpha squad report."

Phase I Clone Armor emerged from the shadows carrying the helmets from the rest of the Enemy patrol. The sickly liquids still bubbling on the aged suits from the Death Typhoon raging outside. However you would be hard pressed to tell their origin at a glance.

Once pristine white plastoid had taken on the greenish brown only obtained from decades of mud and poison. What plates were no longer usable were exchanged for makeshift plates made from diehard shells. Their blaster resistant nature working for their hunters instead of against them.

…ssshhhhh…

The sleek helmets had been jury rigged with heavy rebreathers harvested from the Enemy. Care taken with the modification not to allow any outside air to seep in.

Anything to maintain the body glove's atmospheric protection. What had once been an uncomfortable fit had turned into a second skin for them. Their coffins against the toxic atmosphere of their homeworld.

"What should we do with the corpses ma'am?"

…ssshhhhh…

The glare from Private Grum was the newest addition to her squad's kit. Some new computer you could wear on your arm. A gift from their "mutual friends". Shame the luminescence made us have to keep it covered most of the time.

The brightness was annoying and potentially lethal, but Grum's comlink gave out a month ago and they hadn't been able to get back to headquarters to fix it. So this "PDA's" text to speech function it was.

…ssshhhhh…

"Standard procedure. Harvest the filters and dump the bodies in a nearby crater. Bugs and sludge will take care of the rest."

This was the closest patrol they had hit from the target. We wanted the enemy off our world and our "mutual friends" wanted these camps shut down. As long as they kept sending supplies she couldn't care less what their game was.

"Right, we keep reconning this area to keep it clear of the enemy. If no call has gone out Beta Squad has a few hours to get Dome Popper in position."

The old AT-AP might not have its legs anymore, but the cannon had been lovingly cared for. The main weapon of the Children of Atraken against the Enemy's repeated attempts to take the world from them since the Disaster.

…sshhh.

"Listen up! The Enemy has set up a mining camp just to the south. They invaded our home, poisoned our world, and now dump the dregs of their society on it to steal the resources from us, its rightful owners. Are you going to allow that?"

"NO MA'AM!"

"Right! When Dome Popper gets here, we'll send hypersonic shells into their habitation units, their starport, and their mine entrance. Let the toxin the Enemy brought to our house cleanse them from this world, dregs and all! Death to the Republic!"

"DEATH TO THE REPUBLIC!"

——

This Omake brought to you by the fact that I realized that Atraken would make an excellent spot for a cartoonishly evil labor camp. Just prime real estate for an evil dictatorship to work the malcontents to death in.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-52: Three Kinds of Battle

Commodore Ife Veers
Edin System, Gladiator-II-Class Star Destroyer Theorem
One Month Post-Yavin

Pirates. The bane of her career.

When Governor Mola had been given control of the Edin system, she had been initially thrilled. A new system, full of criminals. Being the highest ranking naval officer in the MSDF, she was bound to be put in charge of cleaning up the system. Success here would be a boon to her resume.

If only said boon wasn't the most infuriating thing.

Every time they crushed a pirate base, or quelled attacks, more popped up. Less and less overtime, true, but it wasn't nearly as fast as she wished.

It had been something of an embarrassing moment for her, but she had gotten into contact with Darna Sabrir for some help.

Previously the Governor's secretary, she now ran the Guild and governed Edin as its Administrator. Meaning she acted with the Governor's authority to a certain degree, though some decisions still had to go through him.

Ife herself never quite cared for the human-centrism that pervaded the Empire as much as it did, but her upbringing had still created a subconscious expectation for aliens within the Imperial Machine.

So, to see how much Sabrir was able to do was something of a shock. Especially with the Guild. It wasn't there at first glance, but if you took a closer look, there were patterns.

When certain corporations got too large, mercenary companies hogged too many contracts, mining conglomerates took too many claims, they failed. It wasn't a precise thing, mind you. It never quite felt like a pattern, at least not at first. The reasons for the companies either falling apart or downsizing were usually valid.

Evidence of corruption. Overdue fees. Key employee's leaving without the company being able to replace them.

Yet, it always happened when they got too big. It fit, if you think about it.

The Guild was not the place for monopolies.

Still, it was a necessary piece of the plan. The Guild brought with it a bevy of mercenaries. And Imperial contracts got priority, after all.

Mercs could often be unreliable, but as scouts they worked just fine, their ships less conspicuous than any of the Patroller's or Enforcer's that flew about the area. Good ships, undoubtedly, but the clear Imperial design language and classic TIE engines made them far to easy to spot.

Still, multiple smuggling rings had recently been caught, and piracy was slowly but surely on the fall. It would never truly be gone, as a star system is simply too large, and the flotilla too small.

As she pondered this from the bridge of the Theorem, her PDA pinged with a message. Not a priority message, but it was directly from the Governor's office.

The Governor was, in her eyes, a quite competent administrator. He was good at managing people, infrastructure, economy and more. Not only that, but he was also well versed in proper delegation, as seen by the message he had sent.

He wanted her opinion on the ships the upcoming shipyards should produce. While the CEC and Rendili contracts continued, they were slowed by the Empire's tightening grip. The new yards were apparently the Governor's attempt to contribute to the growing war effort.

Admirable, and an opportunity. After all, to be in command of whichever force defends said yards would be a more prestigious position, especially if the yards become more important to the Sector. It would not be the kind of posting that advances a career, due to the lack of glory, but one that could get her in contact with the more political side of the navy. An aspect she had been sorely lacking in.

Regardless of her own ambitions, the ships produced and sold would be important. There were a bevy of things to consider, especially on the logistical side. Sure, these would likely be considered by the Governor and his team separately, but she'd like to get ahead by a bit.

Impressing your superiors, even if their only temporary, is important.

So, she made her list. The major factors to consider could be put into 2 categories. Cost and Consumer.

For cost, it came down to how much it would cost to build a ship. How long would it take, how many parts could be produced locally, how many need to be shipped in, how much space in the limited berths available will it take up.

For consumers, it comes down to who's willing to buy these, and why. The main clientele around these parts are other Governors and Moffs who need to protect their territories from pirates and rebels. Smaller, more reliable ships with lower crew counts that can still pack a punch without costing too much or requiring constant maintenance were the jackpot.

That narrowed the list significantly. While there were still some larger ships, like the Gladiator or Pursuit that could function decently well, it was a consideration for a more stable and prosperous future.

For now, her list was contained the following ships:

1. Raider-class corvette. Small, agile, good anti-fighter power along with some turbo-lasers and missiles. Small crew size works wonders for the outer rim.
2. Vigil-class corvette. The heavier uppercut to the Raider's sharp jabs, this ship is larger, with the firepower to boot, boasting a solid array of turbo-lasers without overdoing it. These would serve well patrolling more important trade routes, and work as the flagship of smaller fleets if needed.
3. Imperial Customs Corvette. It was a lesser known, oddly enough never properly named customs ship. A classic among just about any planet with a need for customs. Fairly small, cheap, and perfect for boarding actions against smaller ships like the light freighters loved by pirates and smugglers. There was even a light carrier variant that would be plenty useful to many.

There were a plethora of other ships she also wished to include in this list, for no other reason than the fact that she would like some for her flotilla, but this was not the time.

As she sent the message back, half a dozen new pings appeared on her PDA. Reports from various mercenaries and scouts on their findings, detailing a multitude of small pirate bases and smuggling rings.

She sighed, before accepting the cup of caf from her aide. Hrax Fik had been a promising young graduate of the Mindan Milita Academy, and Ife had taken her under her wing. Hrax was an incredibly dedicated young woman who had consistently placed either near or at the top of her classes.

Her sheer dedication to working hard meant that things ran multiple times smoother than Ife was used to.

"Thank you, Aide."

Hrax gave a small bow of the head. "Of course, Ma'am."

Without looking up from her PDA, Ife gave her orders.

"Have kill-groups 2 and 8 move on these bases. Have kill-group 3 on backup duty for both."

"Of course ma'am." Said Hrax, already relaying the orders to the various officers aboard the bridge.

As this routine continued, Ife couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. It may not be the best posting, not by a long shot, but it was hers. Her first taste of true command.

A taste of what was to come.
--------------------------
Sidheth T'vor
Minda System, Ugean Orbit, Forged in Orbit

Sidheth was worried.

Make no mistake, the destruction of the Death Star was a huge boon for the rebellion. It was proof that they were serious, that the Empire had a real, present enemy that could and would hurt them.

The fact that it took the destruction of Alderaan and the Death Star to make people wake up was a sad thing, but she took it in stride.

What she was really worried about was what rebel Highcom had told her.

Minda was still off the list of targets, given the necessity of her station here, and the local Governor's distinctly un-Imperial style of governance.

Frankly speaking, there was no real reason to attack Minda. Unfortunately, some of the more radical elements didn't seem to understand that.

"For the last time, Minda is not a proper target. Your insistence on this topic is dangerous to the Alliance, Commander."

Before her was the hologram of a person. Their gender or even species was unidentifiable beneath the mess of rags, ramshackle armor plating and clothes they wore, their face covered by a heavy looking helmet.

Of course, they weren't the only ones hiding their identity here. Sidheth herself was wearing what passed for a uniform in the Rebel Alliance, along with a helmet and voice modulator. None of the individual pieces of the outfit were strange, but put together it hid her well.

"...You fail to understand something. The Scarred Hand is not a part of the Alliance. While you play at freedom fighter, offering such weak things as mercy to the Enemy, we do not. We shall burn the Empire to the ground, annihilate the very foundation upon which it stands. Minda is but the first."

Then the call cut, and Sidheth sighed. This assignment had come with its fair share of problems, sure. Especially The Web making it near impossible to get any agents planet side. But so far, it had been on the easier side of things.

Now? Now the Scarred Hand had decided to attack Minda. She didn't know how, or even why. They were a secretive and highly isolationist group. No one even knew their numbers, only that they had at least one Commander, the only person to ever speak to others for the group at large.

In seconds, her encrypted terminal was up and running, a message hidden in a message to be sent along a seemingly random series of addresses, eventually falling into the hands of Phyto Cell Command.

As she leaned back in her chair, the fatigue of the day catching up to her, she could only sigh.

Things were just gonna get worse.
---------------------------------
Myr'thos
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia

Myr'thos was bored. And angry. And full of hate

The last two were something of a constant, and could therefore be ignored in favor of the first one.

Ever since they found themselves under the employment of Las and his little pet, Myr'thos had found very little to do.

Las himself sat in his office most of the time, typing away at his terminal.

It had left Myr'thos utterly bored.

After the tenth or so time whining about it(because annoying the Governor was a fun pastime), Las finally said something interesting.

"Look, if you're so absurdly bored, why not just play some games? PDA's can support a shit ton of them, and you make enough to afford a game center. Just get one of those."

"I am not some snotling child that plays games." They snarled.

The insolent whelp continued regardless. "Look, a ton of the games on the market are for adults anyways. Just try it out. Not like you have anything better to do."

The worst part? He was right.

So, begrudgingly, Myr'thos had gone out and bought themselves a game center in the city. They had actually had to pay for something.

Oh, how they missed the good old days, where just showing up as a Sith was enough to make people give them whatever they wished.

Still, they refrained from obliterating the shop keep when asked to pay, and made it back to the Tower without murdering anyone. Though they came quite close a number of times.

Children are quite annoying, after all.

Now, they sat on the couch in the Governor's office, learning how to set up the game center. After a few tries, they finally started playing.

The game? For Glory. A melee styled fighting game that took three different fictional factions and pitted them against each other.

Myr'thos scoffed at the actual fighting style used by the characters. They found it to be inaccurate to say the least.

However, they were exceptional at the game.

A few hours later, and, while they'd never admit it, they were having fun.

"Pitiful creature, your skills are so lackluster your family should disown you!" They yelled into the mic.

As the child on the other end cried, they spotted Las in the corner of their eye, rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

Good.

Perhaps these 'games' were worth something after all.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hi there folks! Needed an in between chapter, and wanted to visit some characters I haven't touched on in a while.

Feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: The Bouncing Wastrels of Rolling Greens'

POV: Baronet Wes Telen, on the Telen Villa, an hour ride with Wes' JG-8 speeder from the farthest train station from the Rolling Greens' Nexus City, Minda, 0ABY

Wes lounged on his Shaak shaped bean bag with his friends. The Butter-Basted Land Shrimp having long cooled. Importing it from Kashyyyk was costly, but nothing the help filing a request to the Guild couldn't fix. The lull of the mid-afternoon sun affecting them all as they couldn't finish the dish.

"Oku my dear, tell the kitchen to fetch the Bespin Cloud Drops in case our guests get peckish."

"As you wish, Young Master."

The Klatooinian in an impeccable suit gave a bow. Having served multiple generations of the Telen family and Wes in particular long enough to know to take his time.

Really Oku was a dear. Knew his place in the household and managed the things beneath Wes' notice. Why if Oku weren't around, Wes might have to eat those vile dessert cubes he saw when touring an Imperial base last season on the family Patriotism Tour.

"Now where were we? I believe we were discussing the progress in your latest gallery Dolmo?"

The Snivvian perked up and her nostrils flared, as they always do when she's excited. A bit endearing back in her youth.

"Oh it went wonderfully. The guests at Accordia were lovely folk. A Major Councilor even discussed doing a family portrait for his family."

She must have shown her early work then. Poor Dolmo has been in a rut since her breakout on Coruscant all those years ago. The fact the Mindan elite appreciated it meant we were far enough away from the Core for those museum pieces to still be novel.

Really they should have stopped patronizing Dolmo. However, the Telen Family needed to maintain appearances with displays of largesse. Besides, Dolmo's habits were neither expensive nor excessive, so little harm done. Perhaps this wonderful scenery will reignite that spark she had in her younger years.

"And how about you Raza? That homegrown Shaak stable of yours doing well?"

Raza's gold eyes shifted a bit too quickly for decorum. Belying the base greed that drives the Arcona. The merchant had been letting the Welle Coporation's promotion to Consortium rank get to his head. Raza even began thinking he could participate in the august activity of owning a stable for Shaak racing, the fool.

"Quite well, quite well. The stable is coming together. Even came in third in the last race it partook in."

Third? I suppose that is adequate for minor races this far in the Outer Rim. Nothing compared to proper Telen stock. The Telen family had been breeding racing Shaaks for centuries.

Still this world was adequate for raising Shaak stock. Minimal industrialization unlike the Core kept the local feed nutritious. A passably competent Governor ensuring the riff raff stay out of business that is above their station in life.

Probably why Father had decided to build a ranch villa here and entrust its vital operation to Wes. That and there weren't any "requests" for additional funding. Why the dreadful stories he heard from some of his peers when they chose a poor location to purchase another estate.

"Speaking of Shaak racing, how is that adorable jockey Dratho doing Wes? He looked rather dashing taking the podium in the Mid Rim Derby last month."

Yes Dolmo, make your infatuation for the Anzellan more apparent why don't you? Really if it weren't for the biological differences, Wes would have kept him far away from Dolmo to keep anything scandalous from happening. Perhaps it would finally give the Telens a reason to cut the dead weight loose if something were to occur.

"Young Master dessert is served."

There is Oku with the save! He could kiss that canine faced mug for his impeccable timing.

"There isn't any salt in these, right Wes? Not looking for another trip to rehab any time soon."

"Why Raza I am insulted. What kind of host would I be if I didn't accommodate my guests' needs?"

It was even the truth. There were no salt in the treats. Yet. Father had no instructed Wes to make nice with the rising industrial class in this sector. That doesn't mean he couldn't keep a nice hook handy should the situation require.

"Also Young Master, it is time for your daily check in at the stables."

I could punch that ugly dog faced mutt! Bringing up work while I was entertaining my guests. Still one must attend to their duties even at the most inconvenient times.

"Fine, fine. Bring over the comlink."

It took no time at all for Oku to bring the ornate device to Wes' bean bag.

"Hello Bettie, how is the Ranch holding up?"

"Completely satisfactory, young master. The Shaaks are happy and Spacious Grin is in the third stage of her pregnancy."

"Splendid! Keep up the good work. Call you tomorrow."

Bettie is such a blessing. Wes couldn't imagine the mountains of extra work he would have to do without his BD-3000 droid. No one on this dirtball can fathom the arduousness of having to make a check in call every. single. day. Truly Wes Telen is the hardest working Zeltron in all of Minda!

——

This Omake brought to you by asking myself kind of minor nobility and upper class Minda would attract and what unproductive nonsense they would get up to. If Dubrillion is a resort town and capital of the sector, Minda is that quaint little up and coming mountain town that suddenly attracted a bunch of rich people to build their mansions there.

Cross posted on SV and SB

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-53: Wood and Work

Commander Kaela Grant
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia

For the first time in a while, Kaela walked around the Mindan capital on foot. Without her armor or uniform.

Only her holdout pistol remained in her boot.

It was…strange.

It had been a week since her…breakdown…in the Governor's office, and her life had taken a turn for the strange.

The beast was still there. It still raged. But it was quieter now. Not by too much, but noticeable.

After the incident, she had started attending therapy sessions twice a week. They were strange.

She had expected a more medical setting. Or maybe something closer to the interrogation chambers she had herself used on more than one occasion.

Instead, the office had been warm in its color scheme, as had Dr. Botonski. He was an older, near elderly Pantoran, and his warm, calm demeanor had been odd.

Shaking her head, Kaela focused on the task at hand. At her last session a few days ago, the doctor had recommended she find something to do outside of her work, and that she tour the city she was in charge of protecting in a more casual setting for once.

So, here she was, in the city in freshly bought casual clothing wondering what in the name of the Empire she was going to do.

And so, she walked through the city from the early hours of the morning to the mid afternoon.

Kaela saw many things. Tried many shops, activities and the like, but none appealed to her. When she had been told this was a good idea, she had initially thought to approach it like a mission.

Identify the parameters. Scout the area. Find a suitable target. Engage.

Apparently, that was in violation of the idea of 'rest'. The beast grumbled.

She was almost in agreement with it.

Now, as she continued to walk throughout the lesser known parts of the city, she came across something more interesting than before.

See, Accordia was, for all intents and purposes, a fairly new city. It had existed for a while now, some 35 years or so, but the vast majority of its new buildings, roads, parks, institutions and more were built in the last two years.

Yet, the building she found herself in was different.

While Accordia was a varied city that held dozens if not hundreds of architectural styles, this one was clearly dated. A building quite clearly made of wood, and likely the oldest thing for miles.

It was squished between a few rotund, bright white stone buildings, made in the Lothal style.

Jutting out from the wall was a signpost that read 'Javier's Woodworking Emporium'.

Woodworking? It didn't sound particularly appealing, but neither had half of the other things she had tried today, so she decided to give it a go.

Walking inside, she was greeted by the scent of wood and dust. All around her sat wood carvings of various shapes and sizes. They depicted a million different things, from animals to full sized people to even ships!

Kaela was admirings the incredibly detailed Venator model when a voice reached her.

"You gonna buy something?"

Turning, she found herself face to face with an old, bearded man. His chocolate skin was covered in wrinkles, and his beard had what seemed to be wood shavings in it. This must be Javier.

"Apologies. I just noticed your store and wished to see what was in it." She responded, deciding to keep things polite. While his tone was not acceptable to an officer of the Empire, she wasn't here as an officer and he had no way of knowing.

"Hmph. If ya say so. Just don't keep window shopping if ya don't plan on buyin nothing." He responded, sending her a light glare but otherwise turning his attention to the front desk, where a small, unfinished statue stood. He took out a small knife and began to carve.

For the next few minutes, she continued to peruse the various carvings, noting the many, many details. From beasts of every kind to even a recreation of the building she was currently in, the man had very obviously put in an absurd amount of work into honing his craft over the years.

However, above all the things in his store, the one that caught her eye the most was the statue he was currently carving. While she couldn't tell what it was just yet, as he was still in an early stage, the process was mesmerizing.

Even as he cut away chunks of wood, it was not an act of destruction. It was ultimately an act of creation. Something she knew little about.

Eventually, he noticed.

"I repeat myself, young lady. You gonna buy something, or you just gonna stand there like a Rancor on a beach."

She coughed into her hand to hide her surprise, then fully turned to him.

"I just couldn't help but notice your carving. How long have you been doing this?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, but spoke regardless. "...Twenty years now, give or take."

Kaela nodded. "That explains the incredible amount of detail found on your models. Though, on this model of an E-11, there is a mistake here. The safety is on the wrong side, and a tad too large. Aside from that, it is a superb recreation."

The man was silent for a few seconds, before finally speaking. "...That's quite the attention to detail you got there."

She nodded, before a sudden hesitancy overcame her.

"...How does one go about…learning this craft?"

Now both his eyebrows were raised. "This ain't a learning center, girlie. I can teach ya, but it won't be easy, or cheap."

Kaela considered the offer for a moment. Woodworking intrigued her, undeniably.

"I have a strict schedule, but I could make time at least once a week for a few hours, if possible. And I have no doubt in my ability to pay you." The beast seemed to whine, the possibility of a hobby that didn't involve violence contradictory to its nature.

She shushed the insolent thing.

He contemplated this, before nodding in acceptance.

"Fine. Once a week, two hours, 700 credits per session. Got it?"

A nod.

"Good. First session is now. You got time and money?"

Another nod.

This time, he didn't respond, simply genturing to follow with his head, and heading into the back room.

As she followed, Kaela felt something rare. The kind of emotion that only ever reared its head when she got to fight.

Excitement.

--------------------------------------

Jok Shiden
Kuat System, Kuat, Kuat City
One Month Post-Yavin

As Jok walked down the corridor towards his office, he considered his upcoming meeting.

He was the chief executive of Rothana Heavy Engineering, though he spent most of his time on Kuat.

After all, RHE was in the middle of nowhere, with no opportunities to rise up the ladder. Especially since RHE was bleeding KDY dry. No contracts of any worth, but a bevy of assets collecting dust.

A sinkhole where credits went to die.

Still, if he wanted to get into any position of prominence within the main company, he had to make some sort of profit from RHE. His superiors were already ordering him to either make it profitable or sell the assets.

The problem with that? All of RHE's assets are on Rothana, a planet in the middle of Wild Space. All the hyperspace lanes there are long and complicated, making travel to a from the planet a full week longer than normal.

Most companies that have the capital to purchase RHE assets make so much money that they would be losing it in the time it takes to make the deal itself.

So, it was quite the surprise to hear that someone wanted to purchase RHE assets. His secretary had sent him the details, some outer rim Governor of sorts.

He almost scoffed out loud. A Governor? And one from the Outer Rim as well? It made him want to laugh.

Still, there had been no other offers, so he had a meeting scheduled. On Kuat, of course, he wasn't going to spend three weeks on a ship for a useless meeting he would forget in a few hours.

Eventually, he reached the conference room, and stepped inside.

It was a spacious room, a long central table made of marble sat in the middle, overlooking a large window that spanned the length of the room. Outside, one could see the city sprawled out beneath them.

In one chair sat a woman with blue skin. He would've mistaken her for a Pantoran if not for the deep red eyes. Some lesser known rim species then. They didn't even have the respect to send a human representative!

Still, business was business, so he sat down.

"So, you're this Governor's representative, yes?"

She nodded slightly. "Correct. You may call me Oioro. I am here on behalf of Moff Hiral and Governor Mola."

A Moff? Now that was interesting. Could explain why they had the courage to approach this deal. Though whether they could make this worth his while was a different story indeed.

"I am Jok Shiden, Chief Executive of Rothana Heavy Engineering. Now, I have a bevy of better things to do with my time, so cut to the chase. What do you want from RHE?:

He was being blunt. This side of his personality was usually reserved for what few true friends he had and for when he was drunk off his rocker. However, considering the relative unimportance of the woman infront of him and her employers, he could comfortably act this way as a test of sorts.

After all, no one goes into a business meeting expecting the other side to be so rude, do they? It's quite often they get caught off guard.

Oioro didn't flinch at his attitude, however.

"My employers wish to purchase Rothana's shipyards."

That statement alone was enough for Jok to truly start paying attention.

"Those are incredibly expensive assets. You mean to tell me you can afford them?"

"That would depend on the price, sir."

He didn't hesitate.

"At least 30 billion credits, if not more."

Instead of replying, she slid a datapad over the table. On it was a list of individual assets, thousands of them, from individual items to the factories themselves. Each building or compound was organized into its own sublist of items and assets, with the value of each one listed next to the name.

It was detailed to the extreme, and around 200 pages long.

"From our own investigations, the total worth of all physical RHE assets comes to around 28 billion credits."

He leaned back slightly, partially from surprise, and partially to plan his next move. He came in here expecting an arrogant fool, but found a conniving snake instead.

"This will need to be checked, you understand?" He responded.

"Of course."

As he handed the pad over to one of his assistants, he revaluated his strategy. If these people were willing to put that much work into asset detailing (assuming they weren't lying), then they came here intending to win.

Unfortunately for them, he hated losing.

"Even if your assessment is accurate, there are still other factors to consider. The designs for example? Those alone are worth billions."

The alien simply nodded her head. "Perhaps. Though, given RHE's current state, most of those designs must be aging, correct?"

"Some, certainly. However, the Empire still maintains contracts for multiple types of ground vehicles and atmospheric ships. The LAAT/ie, for example, is a premier purchase for the Empire. Seen across Coruscant and many other worlds."

Once again, she nodded. "That is certainly true. However, is RHE truly profitable? These designs, for all their worth, don't seem to be keeping the company afloat, correct?"

He almost grimaced at that. The blue menace was right. RHE was bleeding credits, and the contracts only slowed down the flow.

"Be that as it may, the value of the designs is still valid, is it not? Failure in one place does not necessitate failure in another."

"Correct. However, my employers plan on selling to worlds in the Outer Rim. How likely are many outer rim planets to purchase many of these designs? It will be quite difficult to convince them, so purchasing them at full price seems unfair, no?"

Before he could respond, his assistant came back, and whispered into his ear. Without letting a drop of emotion show on his face, he dismissed them.

The data pad was right. They had cross-examined it with RHE's current records, and the information was near perfect.

RHE's physical assets were worth around 28 billion credits.

"The information was correct, yes?" The alien said, an infuriatingly calm smile on her face.

"...Yes." He hated to admit it, but lying to someone with that kind of investigative ability seemed a foolish endeavor.

Jok Shiden may be a man with many faults, that he will admit, but his sense of danger and self-preservation was among the best! And right now, they were telling him that this woman was most certainly more than meets the eye!

She pulls out a larger datapad of sorts, the kind he remembers having seen some office workers use sometimes.

Tapping at it, she turns the screen towards him.

"Now, we can confirm these credit values as true, correct?"

Jok gestured to his assistant, who connected his own datapad to the Chiss's own. After a few seconds, he confirmed the lists were identical, and the values true.

"So, with that in mind, we can start downsizing the purchase."

And downsize it she did. The factories, ships, blueprints, and so much more were left behind. The only things she left highlighted were the shipyards themselves, and one of the factories made for more sensitive electronic components.

"These are the only assets my employers are looking to purchase. As you can see here, the total value comes up to around 9.7 billion credits."

Again, she gave that infuriating smile, and again Jok suppressed the urge to snarl. After all, this was just the first meeting. There would be more chances to turn this around, and get more from this deal, or entice other buyers.

At least, that's what he hoped.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi there folks! Just some housekeeping chapters, really.

Feedback and commentary is appreciated.

-Thanks for reading!

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Scrapping the Barrel

POV: Vio, Andrennian petty crime lord,
above Zeek's Holochess Parlor, Edin, Edinspire
0ABY.

"Alright Mwork. Your earnings have been down from last month, what's going on?"

Vio did his best to glare at the Aqualish, but it had less of an impact after moving out of his old hideout. The Purge had hit all the gangs hard and Vio had to downsize his operations in response to the downturn.

"There just ain't any work for muscle anymore boss. Arms and Spice dealers are an endangered species these days, so that market has dried up. Those Vigos that are still around have their own sources. B&E is getting riskier with the holonet hotline the new governor has set up. There just ain't any other work besides being a flareboy or stalking alleys, which is above your risk profile."

Vio didn't even have it in him to fake being mad at Mwork. Times were hard all around. The governor's new infrastructure program and crackdown had made life difficult for a common thug like Mwork.

Taking in the Aqualish had been a bit of risk. His former gang had been one the first to get hit when the Purge started. However Mwork proved able to keep his head down and had a sense for trouble. Which is more than most thugs are capable of.

"What about on your end Little Nii? Find some chumps to nip?"

The adolescent Rodian was not the biggest earner in Vio's network. However she was a skilled enough finger-smith to keep a consistent flow of money by fencing her hauls.

"Still holding strong boss. There might be more police around than before, however the streets are as packed with marks as ever."

At least something is going Vio's way. Little Nii should be able to be a consistent earner for a few years yet. The new crop of Imps seem to go easier on kids than the last.

"Right! Now where's that slimeball Ovil? He was supposed to report in yesterday."

Little Nii shuffled her feet. A tell that she would have to break if she was going to survive this new environment. Maybe Vio should clean her out of her earnings in Sabacc a few times to teach her.

"Ovil ran afoul of a used 501-Z the precinct has patrolling the main streets. Their nonlethal protocols aren't so comforting when those 2 meter slabs of durasteel are jamming their stun sticks up your spine. Sounds like he isn't seeing the outside of a cell for a decade at minimum."

"What!? He was dealing in roasted Thyssel bark! That's barely above F tier! You could get a harder drug from a pharmacist after breaking a finger! How did that happen?"

"A new school was built nearby the route Ovil was using that he probably didn't know about. The Zed smelled the roasted Thyssel bark on him, and since the raw stuff is a much harder drug…"

"They assumed the slythmonger was using the roasted stuff as a gateway drug for harder substances. Being a slythmonger is one thing, but being a slythmonger who deals to kids gets stormtroopers kicking in your door."

One rule every criminal on Edin learned real quick when the new governor started cracking down: don't touch kids. Even trying doesn't just get the PSF on you, it brings in the military. The Mynock Maws were made a very graphic example of when crikking LECAs showed up to shut down their operation.

Who would even use Thyssel Bark as a sampler? As if some brats could afford something that high end. That stuff doesn't just grow on trees!

Acquiring the Thyssel bark from the Adriardo stash when they got busted was supposed to cover this quarter's expenses. The few high end clients that still talked to Vio were expecting him to make those deliveries.

Kriff! Vio couldn't afford to be losing employees like this. A black marketeer like him lived and died on his ability to move product. If he ghosted any more clients and suppliers, he'd lose what little street cred he had left.

Alright Vio, calm down and breathe. Steeple every one of your hands and think. Being able to plan, react, and adapt was how you got through the Purge so far, it is what will keep you alive now.

The Black Market was looking more barren by the day. The shortages were reaching levels that under normal circumstances was the prelude to a syndicate announcing they had a monopoly. Only difference was it was occurring across all levels.

X-rated goods were constantly out of supply even for those with the most desperate of appetites. Drugs were at an all time low. A hold full of Spice could sell enough to buy a small corvette if it was sold to the highest bidder, but even then no one was willing to take the chance.

Meanwhile the new stormtrooper armor was at a premium, but the garrison kept their supply close to their chest. Slaves were so star hot that most criminals would sooner shoot a slaver than risk Imps kicking in their door. Outlaw techs were taking advantage of the chaos to go straight, taking jobs in preparation of those shipyards coming in instead of installing smuggling compartments.

The R market wasn't doing much better. Flesh Camouflage kits were bought up as soon as they hit the market by every con artist and thief trying to fool Imperial scanners. Blasters past civilian grade were getting harder and harder to acquire, let alone explosives.

Guilders could acquire such things easily enough, but you would have to pry it out of their cold dead hands to get it from them. The heat and the automatic RIII contract from the Guild put out on their murderer was as good as a Death Mark on Edin.

Even the F market were taking a hit, which was about as criminal as lying about your taxes. It was getting to the point where people were willing to pay the subscription fees to corps rather than paying a visit to a friendly data-courier for a bootleg-holo.

"This used to be a nice planet. Where a crew of hard working criminals could earn a dishonest living. What happened?"

——

A look into the other side of Veers' war on crime. Keep in mind this is Edin, the Scarred Hands are heading to Minda. If Edin's underworld is a once lush forest of illegality that has been clear cut, I imagine Minda's is a desolate wasteland where even the most resilient lichen struggles to grow for long.

Crossposted on SV and SB.

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-54: Spy's and Tie's

Darna Sabrir
Edin System, Edinspire

A few taps of her terminal, and a mercenary company was doomed to financial failure.

They had reached too far. Gobbling up contracts, then completing them half-assed. Rude to Guild Staff, and there were some among them that were suspected ex-pirates who might've seen more money to be made in the legitimate scene.

Now, rumors would begin to spread. Nothing concrete, but still enough to make people second guess the company. Over the next few weeks/months, they would find fewer and fewer groups willing to hire them.

Of course, she would be subtly sponsoring a few smaller merc companies to start gobbling up those contracts and push them out of the market.

Once that was finished, she turned to the truly important work of the day. The Web.

While she had started it as a simple information network, it had grown since her promotion to Administrator of the Edin system.

It still remained an information network, and didn't engage in any combat or assasination. However, it had expanded significantly. Now there were hundreds of agents across both systems.

Of course, most weren't proper agents.

Instead, they were Watchers. People who signed up to an app that she had made for PDA's. It was, essentially, a civilian spy app. People were encouraged to report suspicious behavior. While the app got a lot of traffic and false positives, her real agents scouted out the reports that seemed most plausible.

Watchers served as the first layer of defense, and it was a certain Watchers report from Minda that had gotten her attention.

After Sidheth had warned her about the Scarred Hand, her agents had been on overdrive. A hyper-aggressive, violently radical rebel group, the Scarred Hand let little information leak about their operations.

That likely meant that they were on the smaller side, likely no more than a freighter's worth of members.

Still, they were likely to engage in incredible violence towards their cause. Darna had no real way of warning the Governor normally, as much as she wished to. Instead, she had to more passively observe.

That was why she was giving orders to Mindan agents regarding a recent Watchers report that had caught her eye.

See, a Watcher had reported suspicious individuals loitering around one of the newer construction sites in Accordia. It was the site of a future mega-building, one of 4 currently planned for the city. Even with immigration down, Minda was reaching the capacity its relatively few cities could handle.

And of them, mega-building M-1 was already nearly finished, with only the upper floors and finishing polish needed. It would house nearly 20,000 apartments when finished, clearly in anticipation of future immigration. It would be nearly 200 floors tall once finished, and the only reason it wasn't was because no building in the capital could be taller than the Imperial Tower. An unofficial rule amongst every architect and construction company.

The building would serve as the center of the community of freed slaves as it grew. Of course, they would look like perfectly legal residents.

And suspicious individuals were seen around the site. Nothing huge, but the Scarred Hand was an unknown variable, so every lead had to be followed.

So here she was, sending an agent to investigate. Hopefully it was nothing, but you never knew. The other Mindan agents were already on high alert, so she knew the Hand would be caught, eventually.

After she did that, a ping emerged from her terminal. Another siting of gang violence. It was far from the practically constant warfare that Edin used to deal with, but it still happened enough for her to be annoyed by it.

Not to mention the slow downs to development in the region. To no one's surprise, construction workers don't like working while blaster bolts fly over their heads.

She looked over the report, and assigned the usual suppression squad to take care of it. Sure, it would've been faster to deploy the Loyu's, but the Mandolorian bounty hunter family didn't come cheap, and was best reserved for when the real threats decided to emerge.

Though it wasn't like they were sitting around doing nothing. The Loyu's had transferred over to Edin on the Governor's request, and had been hosting extended lessons with the newer Guild branch. They were one of the more elite assets the Governor had given her control over in her clean up of the Edin system.

Aside from working closely with Commodore Veers, (an ambitious young career climber who very clearly sought to rise higher, yet for all her skill seemed unaware that her current superior was incredibly lax by Imperial standards) she was given command over the Governor's sister, Alvi Mola.

An incredible ace pilot who Darna regularly deployed to deal with Hutt mercenaries that enter the Edin/Minda systems looking for escaped slaves. Or she just hands them over to Veers and lets the more naval minded Commodore use Alvi's recently named Tide Squadron as a surgical tool to cut out pirate infestations.

Darna took a long sip of her hot chocolate. It was maddening, how good this stuff was.

No wonder the Governor was addicted.

-

Aren Hiral
Dubrillion system, Dubrillion

"And the pricing?" Moff Dukon asked.

He had him.

"While some details are subject to change, the Raider-Class goes for around 3,000,000 brand new. Of course, that's for a regular sale. For a fellow Moff? 2,400,000, easy."

Dukon looked somewhat skeptical, but Aren knew he would bite. After all, the old Moff was in command of the Prefsbelt sector, which held a significant portion of the nearest hyperspace lane. Because of this, Prefsbelt experienced more piracy than any of its neighboring sectors, and yet received relatively little defense funding. The vast majority of its sector defense fleet was kept on the lane, and was unable to go and hunt down any other pirate bases.

So, for Dukon, the soon to be Myto shipyards were an opportunity to expand his forces with ships made for hunting down smaller, faster enemies like pirates.

"...I'll consider it. They yards are set to be ready in five months, yes?"

Aren nodded. They could be ready in four, but Governor Mola had requested an extra month of leeway time. Apparently, negotiations with RHE were going better than expected, and some extra assets could be acquired that would take more time to set up.

"That is correct, my friend. Of course, I could see about getting you a reserved spot, if you so wish."

They chatted a little longer before the call ended, with Aren quite happy. This was the third Bright Jewel Oversector Moff that he had spoken with, and all three seemed quite interested in the upcoming shipyards. Not to mention the reserved spots he was selling. The favors this would net him weren't huge by any means, but every advantage was needed if he wished to climb ever higher.

After all, eventually he would sit amongst the Grand Moff's.

-

Hi there folks! Sorry for the shorter chapter and long delay, my brain sorta jumped out the back seat for a little while.

That and Doom: The Dark Ages has consumed me. Shits peak fiction frfr.

Feedback and commentary appreciated.

-Thanks for reading!

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Bloaties on Deck

POV: Corporal Jed Bredge, Smuggler's End FarStar CR90f Mess Hall, Minda System, 0ABY.

"So I look at the smuggler lying on the ground and ask: "how's your ventilation system doing?""

Jed always liked being able to hang around with other Bloaties. The rest of the ATR—6 boarding crew were nice, but his profession always felt like it created a fence between them. Maybe it was the smell. They wouldn't last a day shoveling Shaak manure.

"Course he couldn't respond due to coughing on the gas and blinking tears. So I said: "apparently it could use some work. Better get that checked next time." Then I jammed my stun baton into him."

It was obvious the others felt the same way. So whenever a larger ship gathered the smaller patrol vessels for a supply distribution, all of us would get together in the mess hall and swap stories. Jed liked all the whistle work songs everyone came up with.

"Alright, who scared the most crew members on the way to the mess hall by whistling?"

Still, Jed wouldn't trade this job for 200 acres. He had been nervous when he made the decision to go to the recruiter and defend his home. However Brother Dak was the one who was going to inherit the family farm, so Jed had to find his own way.

"Hey get off! That's my dessert cube! Want me to stick a nozzle down your throat?"

Jed still recalls his surprise when they put him on the "experimental soldier track". He didn't even that PDFs had experimental soldiers. Pretty soon they were shooting him into space and putting him through his paces.

"What? I am a big eater. We all got to kept our strength up lugging our sprayers around."

The trainers gave him this fancy and shiny backpack fogger sprayer. It was little less heavy than that time Violet was with child and Jed had to carry her to the Shaak doctor several miles into town. Then they gave him a suit of power and carrying it around got even easier.

"Please. We all know it is the power armor doing most of the heavy lifting for you."

The sprayer worked like the old 3WF-3 Field Queen back at the farm. Then they told Jed it was a Field Queen underneath the shiny metal. They just added a more powerful motor and put a bigger tank with a new liquid. Made learning to do the fixings on it and mixing the chems a breeze. Apparently the gas spray was meant to for herding sentients and making them "com-pliant".

"My favorite part is watching them running around in a panic once they see the gas. It's not fire, but it works."

At least Jed wasn't part of the group that tried to use agricultural flamers. Those guys never even got deployed due to a lack of nonlethal options from sucking out all the air. Plus the fuel tanks would explode when hit with blaster fire. He'll stick to his non-exploding herding spray thank you every much.

"So who won the Smallest Ship You Had to Cram Into Award this month? Mine was a Rigger."

Jed's job these days was to help clear out bad ships after the bigger ships in the fleet make them stop moving. Most of the ships his team boarded were smaller than the family barn. He tended to not even use half his tank before the crew either gave up or he filled the whole ship.

"That's nothing. Who won in the Ship You Thought Was Going to Explode on You category? I swear that Stock Freighter I breached worked more as a museum piece than a smuggling ship with the amount of rust it had."

It was rare for someone to shoot at Jed, given he could just stay behind cover while doing his job. There were times when he didn't even have to set foot on the disabled ship. He could sit back at the insertion point and pump gas. Most of the life support in small ships around these parts were either too weak or too poorly maintained to filter it out once it started spreading.

"Shame we don't actually get to swing with those suits of ours, but I guess that's what the rest of the breach time is for."

Course there were times where Jed had to go aboard. Like when the "non-com-pliants" seal themselves off in a compartment and they brought Jed to fill it up. He always made sure to take out the fancy cattle prod they gave him, not that he had to use it in anger yet.

"Our herd does sacred horticultural work. Choking out the weeds and vermin that would despoil the Mother Minda's lush fields."

Heck, plenty of folk just drop their weapons when they see Jed round the corner whistling and prepping to spray. Guess they were really scared of coughing and crying. Still wasn't as good at that stuff as Traal. Maybe the Ithorian was just better with words than Jed.

"Hey Jed, you haven't spoken up. Got any stories to share with us?"

Still, Jed was happy with how things were going. He got fed big meals three times a day. The pay was enough for his whittling hobby and extra to send back to the farm. There was even a cute girl at the station cantina that Jed had his eye on impressing.

"Yeah big guy. We all want to hear what you got up to since we all last got together."

Let the big ships and elite forces handle the bigger stuff. Jed will be here, keeping the little Shaak Rustlers and Trandoshan Oil Salespeople of the galaxy out of Minda's fields of black.

——

So the prompt for this one was wondering how Mindan fleet deals with all those small vessels filled with hostile smugglers, pirates, and noncompliant civilians once the system patrol ships disable them. The result was the least favorite Imperial troop among the Myto Sector Spacer Community: the MSDF Gas Marine. Turns out Palpatine lifted a lot of weapons restrictions when turning the Imperial Military into an army of terror.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-55: The Blueprint of Tomorrow

I stared at Oioro.

She stared back.

Neither one of us spoke for a few seconds.

"...How much?"

"9 billion."

"How."

She smiled this smug little smile that tore me between wanting to pinch her cheeks or punch her in the face.

Honestly leaning towards the latter.

"I used my 'contacts', as you suggested."

I sighed, plopping my head in my hands. This fucking spy. I don't know what fucking blackmail or corporate secrets she was able to drag from the depths of RHE or, god forbid, KDY itself. And frankly speaking? I don't want to know.

"Ok…Ok, I'm not going to question that. Your report mentioned extra assets. What do you mean?"

As I ask my questions, I get a ping alerting me to Commander Grant's presence outside my office. Odd, considering she still has like a week left of vacation.

I let her in, silently motioning for her to wait on the couch. She nodded, setting down a small box on the coffee table before her. I also noticed she was in casual wear. Baggy pants that flowed up into a tighter shirt, with a trench coat covering the rest, all in Imperial white and grey.

Suffice to say, in this drip or drown world, she was undeniably dripping.

If Oioro noticed my actions, she didn't respond, instead answering my earlier question.

"During negotiations, I was able to leverage certain…informational assets to reduce the acquisition cost. While the yards could be purchased for less than the current price, I saw fit to gain access to certain manufacturing centers that are currently unused."

Factories. She tanked the price and got us fucking factories. I would be in awe of this competence if it didn't scare the shit outta me.

She continued, seemingly unaware of my little internal freak out. "These factories contain specialized machines made for creating more complex internal parts for ships, which RHE will no longer need. This will allow us to reduce the amount of external shipping needed."

I resist the urge to sigh. "Good work. When will you be back?"

"Another week at best."

"Alright. Once you're back, take a few days off. You've earned it." Finishing the call, I turn to the Commander.

"I was under the impression you were still on leave, Kaela." I decided to go with her name here, since she seemed to be here for more personal reasons.

She nodded, eyes darting around as if they didn't quite know where to look, before hoisting the bag she was holding. From within, she retrieved a wooden mug.

It was smooth and simple, roughly the same size as my own mugs.

"This…is for the mug you gave me." She said, almost…bashful!?!? The fuck? Her eyes were shifting to the side, her body language seemed actually fucking shy!?

I force myself not to react to the hyper-deadly war machine acting like she's never given a gift before. Which, to be fair, I don't think she ever has.

Running my hand over the mug, it felt smooth, simple. Honestly, the best(and only) gift I've been given since I found myself in this universe.

"It's quite nice. Where did you buy it?"

"I made it."

Huh?

I blink a few times in confusion. I told her to take a chill pill, and she listened? She got a fucking hobby?

My head turns towards the nearest window, looking for flying pigs, just in case.

Nothing. Fuck.

Still, I have to respond.

"Thank you, Commander. Your gift is greatly appreciated." I respond, not knowing what else to say. Is there something I should say? Considering the fact that she was just standing there, trying to stay professional but clearly somewhat nervous, I feel like something needs to be said.

"...Governor, may I return to duty-"

"You still have a week off, Commander."

She pouted. Pouted! She only ever pouted when I told her she couldn't massacre civvies! Where the hell did the murderous beast I was used to tiptoeing around go!?

"Go enjoy your life, Commander. I'll see you in a week."

She saluted, annoyance clear in her eyes, and made her way out. Fuck me, that was stressful.

I lean back into my chair, letting out the breath I was holding. Even if she was relaxing somewhat, she was still a dangerous monster of a woman.

Mugwuffin laid her head on my lap, and I scratched that space behind her spines that she liked so much. Her purrs calmed me.

Treatbarbequefood

I flick her on the nose. "You got a treat not 30 minutes ago."

Annoyancehungertreattreattreattreat

As I bantered with the Force cat, I considered my plans.

4 years. I had to survive for the next 4 years. Once the Empire went down the drain, shit would get freaky.

I wasn't entirely sure which timeline I was in, though Thrawn's actions pointed towards canon. Regardless of which timeline I was in, things were going to get bad post-endor.

Canon wise, the Empire fractures, and any Imperial Remnants are small. The New Republic goes the way of the Old Republic, and the rest of the galaxy is left holding the bag. Now, this would present me with ample opportunities to hide away, and the lack of proper organization would let me stealthily steal a couple million credits and start a small business on a planet big enough to survive, but small enough to hide in.

Until the First Order happens, but they don't last particularly long, and only blow up a few planets. Easy enough to dodge.

Legends is the real problem here. Cause the Empire doesn't die, it just breaks into a million warlords vying for a useless throne. The Pentastar Alignment, and who knows how many other statelets and the like will emerge, desperate to cling onto useless power.

Don't they know the sheer weight of paperwork that such power produces!? Of course not, those fools would just delegate it all, or ignore it, and then be surprised when their populace rebels or the economy collapses!

Regardless, both continuities promised naught but problems. Which is why my escape plan has to be foolproof.

I needed to fake my death, steal a shit ton of money, and run away to some place I could hide quite easily.

My first thought was of Coruscant. Sure, the center of the galaxy seems like the worst place to hide, but it's also the most populated planet ever. If I get the right paperwork and disguise, I could disappear there, one amongst trillions.

The First Order never managed to land on Coruscant, even after attacking it twice, meaning I'd be safe. The Yuuzhan Vong, on the other hand, do manage to attack the ecumenopolis. Far worse, and immediately crossed the city-planet off my list.

Naboo? I don't remember it being particularly important post-endor. Part of the NR, sure, but so were half the planets in the galaxy. Pretty peaceful as well, so it's a solid option.

Sullust? Nah, Sorosub controls everything. Muun? Also nah, I'd get tricked into a life debt in an hour.

I mused over my options. There were plenty, but none seemed particularly appealing to me.

"I could just go full on merchant, couldn't I?" I look down at Muwuffin, meeting her gaze.

"How does that sound? Travelling the galaxy, seeing the sights?" She purrs.

Contentmenthappinessjoy

"Welp. That settles it." And honestly, it did. I'd always wanted an adventure of sorts, and the ability to travel the galaxy, meeting interesting people, exploring new cultures, seeing new sights, and making fat stacks of cash all the while seems perfect!

Before I can continue my musings, one of my many preset alarms goes off. I set a bevy of these each day to remind myself to get to work. Contrary to popular belief, I am a procrastinator and hate doing work. I only do so much because I fear for my life.

And so, I return to my terminal. Reading reports on Darna's expansions on Edin, Commodore Veer's pirate clean up, and more. Hell, it seems Alvi is teaching a class for elite students over there on occasion. Neat. Maybe that'll keep her away. I don't want to deal with a dead guy's family drama.

There was a lot to go over. For example, because the Moff had already started decreasing quotas as they came in, we were free to sell more of the materials we mined and refined, increasing revenue by a fair amount. This let me essentially toss money at different problems.

For example, the city of Rolling Green's was expanding its farmlands by a shit ton. The problem? They were reaching the limit of easily accessible suitable farmland in the valley the city was located in. Other areas are difficult to access. The companies there were thinking about vertical farming, but the power draw for such facilities is quite high. Therefore, I just threw money at them for the construction of some new solar farms and a generator. Should keep up for a decent while, if nothing else.

There were other problems as well, of course. New mining installations need expansion to deal with the abundance of resources. Rise in local demand for our TIE variants exceeding local production. Reports about some weird resources on that jungle death world that I didnt want to touch with a ten foot pole. Some people asking around about the LECA's(I just told them to come by in a few days so Oioro could handle them).

Suffice to say, I remained busy for many hours more.

Still, in the back of my head, that little dream of a ship and the open sky remained.

Freedom.

-

Hi there folks! Sorry for the delay, but as those who read my other fic know, it's the final weeks of my semester, and I gotta lock tf in. That, and I have recently come to realize that this fic has grown farther than I ever imagined, or even planned for. Not that there was much of a plan to begin with.

That is to say I came into this with no fucking clue what I was doing, and am now dealing with at least 4000 of you on Spacebattles alone. This means more planning will be going into full arcs, characters will be expanded on to the best of my ability so they feel like characters instead of names that occasionally talk, and I'll try to both tie up loose plot holes and avoid creating any new ones.

Also, since this has been on my mind recently. Las does plan on eventually exploring the galaxy as some sort of merchant/trader. What ship should he do it in? Light freighter type beat, or a proper crew sorta thing? I'm curious to see y'alls responses, cause you guys do way more analysis than I ever think to do.

As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Winner Winner Mynock Dinner

POV: Garik Malo
RIII: Guardian
Certifications: Tracker II
Lepassooit, Myto Sector

Pew Pew! Bzzzt!

"Remind me again why we are on this junk heap of a world?"

The question echoed in the recently silenced perforated structure.

"We're here because if we are ever going to do more than guard Shaak caravans and catch petty criminals, we need jobs all around the sector in our portfolio. Lepassooit was the closest world with a job recommended for our rank."

Garik wandered over to the spoils their prey were guarding. Tearing open the crate with ease thanks to his smasher armor.

"So that's why we are chasing down poorly armed scavengers over a crate full of… let's see here… Winner Winner Mynock Dinners? Are these things still edible?"

"If they were brought in shortly before the Sieges, probably. Those ration pails have a shelf life of decades.

Oooh! That's the Pirate Occupation flavor! Those come with a good spice blend. Grab a couple. It will make a great meal if the food convoy for the planet gets hit again."

Garik playfully ignited his shockmitts.

"Careful Tak. You need one of the Governor Moneld's fancy new permits to take that salvage. I have been hired to bring scum like you as an unlicensed salvager."

Tak returned the grin before dramatically swooning.

"Oh what will I do? My credits are too low. I can't afford to go to one of Governor Moneld's prison workshops sorting salvage indoors instead of outdoors."

Sadly the teasing did not have the intended effect on Garik.

"And all that money lining the Governor's pockets. Feels like we're the bad guys here."

The comment shattered the good mood like a bombing run. Tak's grin curdled into a frown as she gazed out at the bombardment crater. The yawning chasm having grown to swallow the city in the years since. Leaving only suburban areas on the edge like this one were relatively intact.

"You don't get it Garik. Things aren't nice outside of where you grew up. That's how things work normally out here in the Rim. The rulers line their pockets and the rest of us struggle to make ends meet."

A haunting gust of dusty wind passed between them. The holes in what was once a home playing an almost musical tune.

"But won't the people rise up and try to replace the Governor if things get bad enough, or at least try to improve things on their planet?"

Tak began taking a deep breath, and Garik knew what that meant. He'd seen it a couple on the crowded passenger ship they took to this desolate planet. The reason why they probably wouldn't book that ship on the way back. A rant was coming.

"They already tried that with the CIS. Now? With what money? With what infrastructure? With what cities?

Garik, the Sieges destroyed anything worth having here with artillery barrages and orbital bombardments. What little the people can eke out goes to either the smugglers or the Empire, both of whom only pay bottom credit.

Any chance of this world recovering went out the window when the Republic won the war. A new world like Minda might be able to get help starting out, a cesspool like Edin might to attract sleazy investors, but a hardline Separatist World like Lepassooit? These people would have better luck jumping into a Sarlacc Pit for looking for aid.

This permit program might be paying for that slimeball Moneld's new palace. However, that is still money going to workers and the suppliers. The official processing stations may pay poodoo for salvage, but Moneld's connections still keep the trading ships coming back on a regular schedule.

The planet sucks, but it would suck even harder without what little the Empire gives it. At least they're reliable with what they do. Them leaving would only be a dinner bell for further scavengers to descend and tear into this corpse of a world."

Garik's hands were up halfway through. What he was going to say formed a quarter of the way.

"Look I think this place is getting to you, and having to listen to that slimeball of a Governor's speeches clearly isn't helping. Our contract on this world is almost over. Let's refuse to renew and get back to Minda for some R&R."

The embers of a smile began, but were extinguished too quickly.

"And if the Governor doesn't take no for an answer? If he decides merc services are too valuable to let go and puts the restraining bolts on us all?"

Garik already had a counter argument at the ready.

"Then the Guild's legal department gets involved. They might not be able to tell an Imperial governor what they can and can't do, but they still have lots of soft power with their ratings and recommendations.

Moneld wouldn't risk access to such an easy pool of muscle from a bad rating over a couple of mercs. What stops the Empire from sending aid to this world also stops it from sending more troops to garrison it. Which you would know if you weren't so steaming right now."

After a long pause the teasing tone seemed to finally kindle a small smile back to Tak's face.

*Sigh* "You're right big guy. When did you get so smart?"

Garik knocked his mitts on his customized helmet around his horn.

"All those lectures and explanations you gave had to make something get through my thick skull. It has to if we are going to climb up the Guild rankings, right?"

A much welcomed chuckle was dragged out of Tak, signaling Garik had succeeded in his mission.

"Come on, let's go load up the speeder and dump these perps off at the processing center. Oh, and grab some of those ration pails. We'll be the king and queen of the passenger compartment when we break these out on the way back!"

——

This Omake is meant to showcase how the Guild is expanding operations out of Las' domain and into nearby systems. This was originally intended to be lighthearted and comedic dig at battle royales and extraction shooters. Then Tak had to be all outgoing and empathetic, and the tone went downhill from there.

Crossposted and SV and SB

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Visions of the Saint

POV: High Hermit Degent Chynn of the Ancient Order of Pessimists
Prakith, Deep Core

*Klong! Klong! Klong!*

At the sounding of a dull bell the robed figures gathering. This was most inauspicious as it was already past the time for the morning portents.

"Hear me Brothers! Woe be unto us!"

"Woe, woe, and seven times woe!"

"In a fit of unfortunate pique I have cast the ritual bones a second time in one day. An ill omen to be sure!"

This came as no surprise to other brothers. The omens were always ill for a follower of the Ancient Order of Pessimists.

"Yet what I beheld was dire indeed. A result of such dire predictions that has not been seen since the Bounty Hunter Boba Fett and Lord Vader destroyed our brothers and their monastery in their duel on Maryx Minor!"

The mention of the deaths of their deceased predecessors always brought the anticipation of tragedies to the Hermits. Truly any form of optimism in the Order was thoroughly squashed after learning of such a misfortunate occurrence.

"What visions of doom have you witnessed, High Hermit?"

"The bones foretell a convergence of pessimism in the Northern Outer Rim. A saint who despite not knowing our faith adheres to our tenants most faithfully. No matter what illusions of fleeting good fortune the galaxy may tempt the saint with, they will maintain the conviction that things will inevitably go horribly wrong."

The Head Hermit's words brought murmuring among the Order. Many were thinking of what great lessons in calibrating their expectations by learning from such a wise sentient.

"I have decided that a number of our Order will partake in a most likely doomed pilgrimage to the saint. Once we reach the world where they reside, we shall found a chapter and build a hermitage so others may learn through our example that we live amidst the worst possible outcome. Thus robbing others of their comforting ignorance.

Perhaps we shall build it near a volcano. That way when the worst fears of our brothers come to past, we may consign their bodies to a fiery pit as is our Order's tradition."

It was at this point the Order's weekly appointed Party Pooper undertook their holy duty to point out flaws in everyone's plans. Such was his burden to bear.

"But Head Hermit. How will these pilgrims get past the Deep Cores's Hyperspace Security Net? Those Gravity Mines and Jammers will make this a futile effort."

The Hermits nodded along at the Party Pooper's wisdom. The assurance the various ways the galaxy could ruin their days.

"Worry slightly less my brothers. The journey will not be as arduous as it first appears."

This statement brought a scandalized gasp amongst the Order's numbers. Was the High Hermit indulging in the heretical practice of optimism? Such a thing was anathema to those following the teachings of the Order. Especially after participating in such a sin brought doom upon their predecessors via orbital bombardment as revealed by the ritual bones.

"Our brother in faith and patron, Moff Foga Brill has seen what pitiful worth there is in our mission. He has offered to guide us past the Hyperspace Security Net even if he cannot partake in the pilgrimage. However take heed, for these seemingly concrete plans are but dust in the wind compared to the galaxy's will."

The brothers took heart in the Head Hermit's words. Knowing full well that any expected outcomes are only there so that the galaxy can laugh when it disappoints us.

"We shall begin selecting volunteering by the end of the week. Those who think they have least chance of success will be chosen. For they best understand the ways of the galaxy. Then we journey, to the Minda system!"

——

I wasn't intending to post a second Omake today. However I looked into religions in Star Wars, found these loonies, and it just fit too perfectly.

I don't know what I find funnier: the fact that both this Order both exists and managed to posthumously convert a Moff of all people for a time in canon, or that I can see the Force 100% sending a genuine prophetic message to these guys to further screw with Las.

Crossposted to SV and SB