Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

[Freefaller]

Chp-90
1.9 ABY
Zyx Mola
Minda System

The city of Accordia had grown significantly since the last time Zyx had visited. She could spot the newer districts easily, prefab homes making obvious patterns. It would've seemed the start of a slum district, if not for the construction sites building new homes and infrastructure that dotted the area.

Some finished homes seemed almost sullustan in nature, which confirmed the reports of large sullustan immigration to the system.

She sighed, leaning against the window of her hotel room. It was a decent place, though the amenities given weren't enough to distract her.

Kriffing ISB. They were the only reason she was even on vacation, and even then she couldn't bring herself to feel thankful.

Even since Yavin, the Emperor had been cracking down on things. The ISB had been taking a more prominent role in the Empire as a whole.

And where did that leave Military Intelligence? Where did that leave her?

Nowhere, that's what. The ISB had recently been granted expanded privileges, courtesy of the Emperor himself. What had once been some competing institutional overlap between MI and the ISB now no longer existed.

Now, the ISB essentially did MI's job. They were granted more funding for expansion, taken straight from MI's budget. The organization was for all intents and purposes being gutted, and so leadership had issued a freezing of all assets, herself included.

But Zyx was no fool. She was aware that the future of the organization was dire at best. And that meant her next paycheck might not show up. So, she went to the Myto sector.

Her little brother is many things, but wasteful isn't one of them. And an experienced operative like her was quite useful, so she was sure she could find employment under him if nothing else.

It was then that a ding resounded on her room's intercom, signaling that her room service was ready and on the way.

If nothing else, Zyx was excited to try some of the city's food. As an agent, she often went long periods of time simply eating ration packs. Nutritious, but bland.

And if she was being honest, she couldn't resist the urge to try Alderaanian-Sullustan fusion cuisine.

–

Zyx spent the next few days generally enjoying the city. Even if she was on the verge of losing her job, it had been a well paying position. Suffice to say that financially she was set for a while to come.

So she took to the streets. Visiting cafe's, markets, and even museums. They were quite nice, though they weren't particularly large.

Then again, compared to the museum she'd seen on Coruscant, the entire city was small.

On the third day, she decided to stop putting it off and simply contact her brother. The thought of sneaking in as she had the first time had crossed her mine, but that Commander still scared her somewhat.

So, she had to consider alternative options. The first was to get arrested, give the authorities her real name, and have them bring that to Las. It would be time consuming, but very funny.

But she didn't feel like wasting that much time. Instead, she made a formal request to the office of the Moff. Boring, but it was quick. Just a day later she'd been given an appointment.

Which is how she found herself in a waiting room. Before her, behind a desk, sat a tall Muun.

He was impeccably dressed. The standard Imperial uniform, modified for his body type, was clearly of different make. The stark black that marked him as a lower level official was not the common threads used by the Empire, but instead a much finer quality material, the color of which was comparable to black holes. It was so dark, in fact, it made him look almost two dimensional, like a shadow.

To contrast the sheer light absorption of the cloth was the lining. There were no visible stitches, and instead the edges of the uniform were lined with what looked to be chromium. It created the image as though small lines of light were moving instead of a person.

"Miss Zyx Mola, yes?" He asked, no accent discernible in his voice. Atypical for most Muuns, who often spoke basic with a higher, more nasally tone of voice.

"That's me. Here to see brother dearest!"

He hummed, eyes scanning her, and she detected a hint of distaste before he sighed.

"Go on through then."

She considered for a bit, but that look wouldn't leave her head.

"No. Not yet. You gave me a look just a second ago. What is it?"

His eyes met hers, and clearly spotted her determination before relenting.

"Well, to be honest. It's your outfit. It's dreadfully boring."

Indignation flooded her veins.

"Boring! My outfit is functional, and that's a beauty unto itself!"

"Honey, please. You have five pockets on either side of your jacket. And who knows how many on your pants. Plus, the colors don't match at all, and there's far too much bagginess going on with the outfit. It leaves the core, you, sticking out. And not in a good way."

Zyx was momentarily stunned before immediately throwing herself into the fray.

"Then it's clear you simply don't have any vision! The pockets create a functional pattern on the outfit that serves both to assist me and to draw attention. The bagginess keeps it comfortable, and more importantly leaves me, the best part and core, open and visible! This masterclass serves only to accentuate my own beauty!"

The Muun scoffs. "Accentuate? Please, it does nothing but make it seem as though the clothes are two sizes too big for you! Bagginess can work, but it must be constrained. Your jacket looks like it might fall off of you at any second! And the utility is purely performative, as none would have the need of so many pockets. Anyone who requires more storage would simply carry a bag of sorts. Pointless! Not to mention the coloring."

"First off, the pockets paint me as someone who is prepared for life in all its forms. And the bagginess doesn't restrict my movement, and is comfortable! Not to mention, the coloring is mismatched on purpose, because it brings asymmetry into the mix, and makes the entire outfit pop!"

"Hah! Your sense of asymmetry doesn't make you pop, it creates clutter. As do the pockets and the bagginess. A good outfit doesn't have to avoid the core, instead it guides the watchers eyes, shows intention and tells them what matters. With you, all I can see is a visual vomit of things that, individually, could almost work if not for them all being slapped together. Not to mention, comfort is in the tailoring, so if you need clothes that nearly fall off with every step to feel comfortable, then you need a better tailor."

A retort about how her clothes are honest to her character is on the tip of Zyx's tongue before the Muuns intercom beeps, and her brother's voice rings out.

"Garp, wasn't there an appointment scheduled a few minutes ago? Are they late?"

"No sir, we were just having a…spirited discussion. She's on the way."

With that finished, he waved her through, though the glance they shared told her everything.

This conversation wasn't finished. Not by a long shot.

Entering Las's office, the first thing she noted was the size.

It was smaller, despite not having been changed since. More amenities had been added to the space, with a couch, table, and small kitchen. It made the place feel cramped considering he also kept rows of filing cabinets around as well. His insistence on keeping physical reports was something to behold.

The second thing she noticed was the inhabitants of the room.

Las was seated behind his desk, a mug in hand, fingers rubbing his temple in annoyance. His pet, Mugwuffin if she remembered correctly, was lounging on a tall, fluffy structure behind him, stretched out across a platform and audibly snoring.

Before him were three people. Her other two sisters, and her father.

Unlike the others, Zyx never really hated her father. Not truly. Shal had known him the best, considering he raised her, and Alvi had always insisted on seeing Las as a child and so met him as well. But Zyx had never really interacted with him. To her, he barely existed, and how could she hate a stranger?

"Look, Las, stop putting this off. Just tell me why you don't want to go!" Yelled Shal, slamming her hands on the desk, clearly angry. Shal was notorious for her temper around friends and family. With anyone else, she was as cold as ice. But with those close to her, her rage was plain to see.

"First of all." Las said. "If I were a crueler man, I could shoot you where you stand."

The room paused, even Zyx. Las? Shoot someone? It sounded ridiculous.

But he was Moff.

"And if I cared enough, I would go on this family vacation. Thankfully for you, I am not a cruel man. And even if I did care enough to go, I'm so absolutely swamped with the job of running the sector that I can't exactly spare the time, now can I?"

"Then delegate! That's half the job anyways, isn't it?" Retorted Shal, clearly shaken from his threat but pushing on anyway.

"And trust the corrupt idiots out there to do their jobs properly? Like hell. And I do delegate! I have Dornun here, even if his wording is vague and his tone too smug for how much I pay him."

"You don't actually pay me at all." Retorted the man, face serene in the midst of the ongoing drama.

"...Really? Shit. Talk to Garp about it and have your payroll figured out. I refuse to break my own labor laws."

It's then that he notices her.

"Hey! It's nice to see the entire family! What's the reunion for?"

Shal makes that face she always does, where she can't decide if she's happy to see Zyx or annoyed at her general existence before answering.

"We're trying to get this shut in to come on vacation with us. He never leaves his tower for anything other than work, he never calls. At this point, I'm afraid he'll die of exhaustion and only be found a week later because everyone assumes its normal."

"Hey! I don't do that!"

Shal simply points towards the blankets on the couch.

All the while, Zyx notices Alvi's quiet demeanor. Alvi was always a fairly fiery person, at least around her friends and in her leadership. But around the family, she was a shy individual. It didn't help that Las and her had grown apart, what with Las's constant disobedience of Mother, leaving Alvi as the sole real recipient of her full judgement. With Shal and Zyx away from Eriadu, and Dornun concerned with literally anything else, it left her alone.

Zyx had always regretted that, if she was being honest. But MI had been the only way to escape, to get away from her Mother. A position she earned on her own, with no possible connections to the Mola family. It just so happened to give her no breaks anywhere near Eriadu.

It was as Las and Shal continued to bicker that the intercom on Las's desk dinged.

"Sir. You have an unscheduled appointment here to meet you. One Jir Mola?"

The room stopped. Even Dornun gave pause, eyes widening slightly. Zyx would've been proud of catching that detail, given that on average the old man was more perceptive than her by a mile, but the current situation made her forget all about that.

With shaking hands, Las pressed the intercom. "Let her through." He said, in a voice that sounded far steadier than he seemed.

The doors slid open, and in walked the Mola family Matriarch in all her glory.

She was not tall, standing at some 5 '6 (around 1.7 meters) and wearing the dark beige uniform of an Imperial commandant. Her hair was coiled into a regulation bun, streaks of white marring the sea of black.

Her face was a stern thing, seemingly always set in what seemed to be an impassive, almost neutral face. But that was not the truth, and Zyx could see it. The slightest curve of the lips, the most minor crinkling of the eyes. Mother never made large gestures, never raised her voice, and rarely changed her facial expression. It left her face with far fewer wrinkles than someone her age, like Dornun, would normally have.

Yet, those little details belied all the emotions she hid from the world.

Jir Mola was, for what seemed like the first time Zyx had ever seen, satisfied. Or at least as close as she could ever get.

"You're all here. Good. Is this room secure?"

A shock of instinctive fear seemed to run through Las, and he nodded.

"Good." Her imperious gaze swept over the group, stopping only on Dornun.

"Dornun." She said in monotone.

"Jir." He replied with just as much emotion.

"Why are you here."

"I've found employment under Las."

At that, her gaze snapped towards the youngest, eyes softening an imperceptible amount.

"Las. You've done well for yourself. Far better than expected. Good."

Zyx had to restrain her emotions. That was, bar none, the most praise she'd ever heard Mother give to anyone. Period. It simply never happened.

Before Las could respond in any way, Jir continued.

"This sector is the perfect staging ground for our families future. It seems most of you have already found employment here, which is perfect. Zyx."

Hearing her name from Mother brought back a deluge of emotions that she tamped down on, choosing instead to look at her.

"Why are you here? MI gives few vacations."

"...The ISB made a power move. MI is dying."

"Hmm…This is an advantage. Join the ISB. The jump should be easy to cover. If you can be assigned to this sector, even better."

Zyx wanted to protest. Join the ISB? Why would she ever want to join those sniveling, propaganda obsessed, paranoid bastards? They were stumbling fools, rancors in a porcelain shop, jumping at every shadow. MI had its issues, its internal rivalries, but at least they were professional about it. But she stayed her tongue. Even years apart hadn't washed away the conditioning.

Mother turned back to Las. "You are to give your sisters better assignments. More power. This family must sit at the top of this sector. And from what I hear, you have already begun a purge of the administration. Good. Also, you have pushed for more non-human integration in the sector, correct?"

It seemed to be at that point that Las's voice found him. "...Yes. Though it's slow and subtle."

"Good. Keep it that way. I want this sector to have as little xenophobia as possible, but not so little as to alert the Empire."

They all look at her a little oddly. While Mother had never been a xenophobe, she'd spoken the right words and said the right slurs to the right people, always aiming to get in the good graces of those above her.

Noticing the looks, she scoffed. "Can't you see? The Empire is doomed to failure. After that debacle with Alderaan, it's plain for most. The Empire won't last the next decade, if that. Our families best bet of staying in power is ensuring this sector is as prepared for transition into Rebel hands when that happens. It'll secure us positions in the future galactic government."

It sounded insane. It sounded like treason. Yet, despite the fact that Mother had always been an Imperial hardliner, despite the fact that she ran an Imperial Academy, despite the fact that she'd personally been a friend of Wilhuff Tarkin…it made sense. It clicked.

Jir Mola only cared about her legacy. Nothing else.

"You will accept my transfer request to the sector. I heard that you are opening new academies. I will be Commandant of the largest one. It will position me to influence the next generation of troopers and help ensure we have a better military grasp when the time comes."

That was another thing that clicked. Commandant. Jir Mola, with her connections, could've held a higher office. But she chose not to. Instead, she chose to stay a Commandant. Why? Because of the sheer influence over the next generation of cadets she would have. The ability to use promising cadets as a bargaining chip. The ability to negotiate directly with the parents of wealthy or connected cadets.

The ability to ensure her own children got into the best tracks, and therefore better, more powerful careers.

Mother continues on, giving each of them assignments to be completed. Alvi was to be made into a propaganda hero, to be sent out in her TIE to slaughter pirates and spread the Mola name sector wide.

Shal was to be promoted within the Navy, and make close ties with the new Sector Admiral.

Zyx was to join the ISB, get assigned to the sector, and make connections and monitor the ISB's actions from there.

And Las was to continue to make the sector more prosperous, while also building up the sector's military presence in order to ensure it was safe from the inevitable warlordism that the Empire's fall would bring.

And through all of it, Las was silent. He seemed to stare into the middle distance, as if there was something there calling to him. Eventually, he said one word.

"...commandant."

Mother turned to him, eyes narrowing just the slightest amount.

"What? Have you something to add?" Her tone clearly telling him to either speak productively or not speak at all.

"Your rank is Commandant." He continued, the slightest giggle escaping his mouth.

Before Jir could respond, Las burst out into a full blown laugh. Hands on his stomach, keeled over his desk, laughing until he cried.

This went on and on, Mother trying and failing to stop him. Only when she seemed on the verge of slapping him did he calm down just enough to explain.

"Heh…your rank is-heheheh-its just Commandant! HAHAHAH!!!" He burst out laughing again. "You have absolutely NO power over me!"

As he said this, he started typing something into his terminal, giggles still escaping him.

"Las Mola. I am your Mother. You will silence this foolishness and listen to me." Mother didn't raise her voice, she never did, but at this moment she seemed poised to scream at the man.

Instead, Las simply turned to her. "I've accepted your transfer request."

"Good, now-"

"And immediately discharged you."

The room freezes for the third time. The only difference?

Jir Mola is frozen as well.

"...What?" Jir seems to grind out, her face slowly contorting into the angriest Zyx had ever seen her.

"Now, the military pension program here in the Minda system is pretty nice, but considering you were just a Commandant, it likely won't be that much since it's based on the Mindan payscale instead of the Eriadu one. So, I recommend you find yourself a job."

Jir just stared at him as though he had sprouted new limbs.

"The local administrative offices have job assistance programs that can get you started if you need to. I recommend you check them out, since you'll need to go there anyway to get your new civilian ID issued to you."

"Wha-you can't-"

"I can. And I have. See this?" He says, pointed towards his rank pips with an insufferably smug look on his face. "I'm a Moff. You are a Commandant. While I understand that some things do get mixed out here in the Outer Rim, I'm pretty sure I know how the chain of command works."

Jir couldn't respond. Her eyes were wide open, mouth agape, posture rigid with shock.

Las simply pressed the intercom. "Garp, please send in security to escort Mrs Jir Mola out of my office please. She has some dischargement papers to work through."

As two Stormtroopers walked in and started to bodily drag Jir away, her eyes never left Las's smiling, almost giddy face.

Only after the doors had closed did Las let out a sigh of relief.

"Wow. I spent years dreading her. And she was just a Commandant! I don't really know what I was scared of, honestly. Whew, that's one worry tossed away."

It was then that Las noticed the rest of them. "Alright, shows over. Get out of my office."

"But-how-"

"Did you really-?"

"HAHAHAHAH!"
Alvi, Shal and Dornun reacted in synch, while Zyx simply stood there. Staring at the doors where Jir Mola had been dragged away. Out of the office. Out of her rank. Out of Zyx's life.

"Let me work for you."

Las looked at her, an eyebrow raised, before shrugging. "Sure, whatever. You seem competent enough." He typed something into his terminal. "Talk with Garp on the way out, he'll help get the paperwork sorted and introduce you to your new boss. I'm sure Thorne will love you."

"Now!" He said, standing up. "I've got an R&D ship showcase in twenty minutes and a meeting with banking clan representatives after that, so all of you need to shoo! Get! Scram!"

And scram they did. Alvi and Shal still in a haze, Dornun still laughing his ass off, and Zyx reveling in this newfound feeling.

The feeling of freedom.

-

Yo. I never knew the Eruptor in Helldivers 2 was so goated against the Bots. Now I know.

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Economic Migrants

POV: Willis, Borneck freighter tramper, Vio's Economical Spacer's Lounge, next door subsidiary location of Vio's Cantina and Roughhouse, Edin system, Highreach, Edinspire

"Hey Willis! Pull up a seat! How did your busting go today?"

Willis glanced up at the Pho Ph'eahian as he entered the Spacer's Lounge. Darshev was the leader of their little band of freighter trampers. Mainly due to the fact the Captain couldn't replace his mechanical skill easily. He always made it a point to check on each of them after a shift.

"Not too bad Darshev. Had a bit of a run in with the Roustabout. Accidentally spilled a drop of oil on her outfit while she was walking past. Got away with just a few bruises and a warning. Little chance of it spreading. Nothing to worry about."

The look on Darshev's face said he was definitely worrying about it. He gave a contemplative hum with wiping each of his hands with a separate napkin. That hum was usually only reserved for when he was struggling with a particularly difficult fix.

"Sounds about right for the one in your section. That woman thinks more with her snap baton than her brain. Never held a crate hook in her life. Probably why the Captain likes using the brute.

Why don't you go get some dinner and a drink from the MixRMastR. On me. I have an announcement to make when everyone gets here and I would prefer everyone have their food in front of them first."

Willis gave a thankful nod and made his way over to the counter. This little eatery had an interesting set up. Apparently it was an expansion of a nearby Cantina. The owner next door bought the place, knocked down part of the wall, and connected the two buildings.

The purpose was to build a dedicated space for starship crews to put up their feet after a flight. Also to keep any violent altercations between offworlders by reserving the main Cantina for locals or those that could afford it. This place was often filled with freighter trampers like them looking for cheap alcohol and non-processed food close to expiration.

"Welcome [CUSTOMER]. Your Lounge Credit is [SUFFICIENT]. What is your order?"

The customer service could be better. Not that Willis is complaining. The bartender droid was liberal with the drinks even if it was not much for conversation. More an automatic drink and food dispenser bolted to the bar counter if anything.

"Speaking of drinks let's see here… Ain't really in the mood for Rum, I could get that in most ports. Sullustan Gin is a bit light for the aches I earned today. Oooh, Gamorrean Grog, makes sense with all of them wandering the streets. Haven't had that since we last swung by Hutt Space.

Alright. I'll take one mug of Gamorrean Grog and the Weekly Meal please."

There wasn't much choice in terms of the food. The only item on the menu in The Spacer's Lounge was its "Weekly Meal". The leftover rotating main course from the Cantina which was then put in the bulk vending dispenser for the Lounge. Still it was cheap, fairly fresh, filling, and frequently far healthier than what a tramper usually subsists on.

This week's meal was a Chokeroot mash with Vormfruit jelly and extra Shaak Lard. Some would argue that pairing Vormfruit with Chokeroot was heresy. However, Willis liked a bit of sweetness combined with the creaminess of the mash. Reminded him of the Candy Pinwheels filled with Honeyfruit he used to enjoy as kid before heading out in the black. He just managed to set his plate and mug down when Darshev called for everyone's attention.

"Alright everyone listen up, I got something important to say. I have been keeping an eye on what the Captain was loading our Brayl with. I am sorry to say with the amount of supplies he is loading, he is likely planning to cut our rations again."

"WHAT!?""THAT'S POODOO!""HE ALREADY DID THAT A COUPLE OF MONTHS AGO!""DOES HE WANT US TO STARVE!?"

Willis' mouth was too full of mash to join the chorus of outrage, but he banged his cutlery in agreement. The Captain has begun gradually raising quotas while decreasing ration quality. "A necessary cost saving measure" was his favorite excuse. Their last meal on the ship before docking consisted of spoiled nutritive milk with a broken up ration pack mixed in. Anyone who had complaints was directed to address them to the Roustabout.

"Settle down. Settle down. Obviously we are not going to just take this. It is why I have been wringing my brains around for the past while. If things continue as they are, I think the Captain intends to Indenture us."

A collective wince spread throughout the Lounge. Things must be real bad if Darshev is using the I-word. Tramper work is often rough, dangerous, and exploitative. Many are reduced to live in slave like conditions when they are robbed and "Indentured" by the dishonest captains they relied on for transport. Not even allowed to go out for shore leave for fear of the crew escaping their ship's clutches.

"Now before I begin, does everyone have their tramper gear with them? Show of hands if anyone forget."

The absence of raised hands was more a formality. Any tramper worth their scrap keeps their gear on hand always. A tramper's gear was what they scrounged, bartered, and jury rigged to get their particular profession done. A drill with housing that was kludged from a piece taken from a speeder frame, filters for polluted air made from unwoven and rewoven crate netting, a helmet fashioned from hull scrap, and a welder configured from the thruster a busted droid. A tramper's most prized possession was their set of gear personalized over years of labor.

"Right, if everyone has what they need then I propose we leave the Captain's employment effective immediately and walk. Not in a week. Not with some more preparation. Now. Let's not give that sleemo of a Gossam any chance to try to put us in chains."

Willis blenched at what Darshev was proposing. It was true that a tramper traveled light, but to leave on a moment's notice was still a tall order. Then again, if the Captain was planning to Indenture them, leaving without warning may be the smart move. Still there were obstacles.

"So what? We are just supposed to settle down on this planet and everything will turn out fine? Most of us don't even have an identichip we have been out in the black for so long. Trying to contact our homeworld to send us the documents needed to properly immigrate would be a fool's errand. If we still remember the name of our homeworld or even have one at all."

Those were solid objections. Most trampers had lost everything prior to wandering the black. Your average tramper had a snowball's chance in Mustafar of having anything resembling current flimsiwork on their person. Any documentation they brought with them from their old lives was likely to have been lost due to time, lack of secure storage, and poor living conditions. From how stringent the workers at the starport were, Willis could tell this planet was serious about enforcing immigration laws.

"You are correct. Without the proper documents we won't be able to go through the official channels. That's why I propose we find the dankest, darkest corner of this city and go to ground. We don't need to stay there long term. With the Captain so concerned about his bottom line, it won't take long for him to give up on us and just buy some droids to replace us.

I just got back from chatting with the Cantina owner, told him we loved his cooking so much we wanted to take some with us on the road, and he was willing to sell us a big batch of takeout for us to subsist on. Order should be enough a last a couple of weeks if we stretch it. Any longer and we send out folks to bulk buy Buscuit Baron like we did during that one time we ran the Triton Trade Route.

After the Captain is confirmed gone, we surrender ourselves to the Imperial authorities."

"WHAT!?""ARE YOU CRAZY!?""DO YOU WANT US TO DIE!?"

The exclamations were warranted. The Imperial Bureau of Punitive Correction proved far harsher than its Republic counterpart. Tales had quickly been spread of trampers being arrested for minor offenses that only should have resulted in a light fine, only to not be seen again come lift off. These days it was generally seen to be safer being caught in Hutt Space without a bribe than be arrested by the Imps.

"Now I know it sounds bad, but hear me out. I had a word with some of the ex-cons around the city. Apparently the Imps here are actually more concerned with rehabilitation than filling their quota for the work camps. People are actually leaving the prisons when their sentences are up and there is support for them once they're out.

Why some of the ex-cons I spoke to were pirates. Pirates! If those scum of the hyperlanes can find work on this world, then it should be a cinch for some poor folks only guilty of sneaking in trying to find a better life. We ain't going to get a better chance than this.

The plan is we get caught, stick together like we always do once we're on the inside, then take advantage of the ex-con programs to start a new life here. This planet is going through a years long infrastructure build up. We will be able to find work no problem and the new immigrants are going to be looking for repairs on the cheap once the boom ends. This will be just one more rough patch to endure, then we are ultrachrome. Are you with me?"

Everyone glanced around to gauge the temperature of the room. The building outrage had mellowed out into cautious optimism. However nerves had left everybody hoping someone else would make the first move. Aw frak it.

"I am with you Darshev. You have steered us through some hard times and I'll trust you now. Not like the Captain won't chain us on the spot if we split up now."

Nods became firmer as they spread throughout the crowd. Eventually culminating in everyone agreeing to give Darshev's plan a shot. Willis just hopes the Imps here are as kind as the rumors are hinting at.

——
Ah freighter trampers. One part train hobo and one part menial deckhand. The underclass of Star Wars' space population barely above slaves in status that keeps a good chunk of interstellar shipping running. There are holds crewed by them in civilian starships all across the galaxy.

Fun fact: did you know that freighter trampers number in the millions even before the Galactic Civil War? Yeah once Las' personal territory gets a reputation as a "safe haven" with things like functional social services and non-abusive law enforcement, the galaxy's space underclass are going to start pouring in. Immigration barriers be darned. Hard to stop starship crews from "wandering off" planetside if they are determined enough.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-91-Interlude

1.9 ABY
Lieutenant Mud Vord
Ixum System, Myto Sector

Mud Vord was a simple man. He'd made Lieutenant by following orders and keeping his head down. He was Lieutenant of Cargo Station 12 in the Zereth System, and it was a job that suited him. Because nothing ever happened.

Merchants, traders and more came through day by day. Their cargo was scanned, checked, and let through. Vord himself hardly had to do anything, being in charge and all. The process was essentially automated from his perspective.

The most work he really had to do was paperwork, and that was so standardized it was easy as pie. The forms for restocking supplies, for detaining merchants, and so on. On occasion, merchants would fill out the wrong compensation forms, which was annoying. A night in the brig was enough to teach them a lesson though, and then they filled even more compensation forms later on.

Aside from that, Vord occasionally made the rounds, keeping people in check and giving him things to put in his reports. Maybe order some ships to be more thoroughly scanned, or give an officer a demerit for not shining their boots enough.

The most exciting thing to happen to him was that once a week he took a shuttle down to Zereth-1 to spend his money. There was an entire sub-district in the capital city dedicated to letting Imperial personnel enjoy themselves, and Vord took full advantage.

He even bought bottles of the more expensive local swill for the top officers on the station. A little gift of sorts.

In fact, he'd been saving up for some time with one locale's top girl, a voluptuous Torgruta. He just had to wait for the next big shipment. The kinds that meet with him personally, that don't fill out forms, and don't get their ships scanned for life signs. The kind that left him with heavier pockets.

Well, as heavy as they could be with the Governor's administrative tax. But Vord didn't mind.

After all, Mud Vord was a simple man who followed orders.

-

1.9 ABY
Jir Mola
Accordia

Rage. Shock. Shame. A million and one emotions had run roughshod through Jir's mind as she'd been escorted out of the Moffs office.

They'd been there as she was given some civilian clothes, a bank account, and her severance by a clerk.

And they were there as she went through the near automatic motions of renting a cheap apartment in one of the city's newest megabuildings.

Discharged. Removed from the family. The only real connection left being her legal marriage to Dornun.

For the first time in decades, Jir Mola wanted to cry. She'd done everything she could, fighting tooth and nail to remove herself from the underbelly of Coruscant to a military office, gotten married to a member of a dying aristocratic family, and made it into the circle of contacts of one of the most powerful men in the Empire.

Jir, in her mind, had done everything right. She'd built a foundation from nothing. It was her children who were supposed to raise a mighty dynasty from that foundation.

And in a sense, they still were. Jir doubted any of them would give up their positions of power now. Except, she would no longer be involved.

A part of Jir didn't care. She'd accomplished her goal. Her family's legacy would be secure. Her daughters had each proven themselves exceptionally capable in their respective fields of work, and her son had surprised her with his supposed talent at administrating and ruling. Working together they would raise a dynasty.

For all intents and purposes, Jir should be content. Happy, even. But she wasn't.

As she looked around her new apartment. It was nearly empty, devoid of most amenities. She could've chosen a larger place, even had it furnished. She was discharged honorably, despite everything, and as such the Mindan government afforded her more perks. She qualified for a variety of loans, housing options opened up before her, and more.

Yet, she had defaulted. All the way back to the survivalist mindset she'd sworn to leave behind in the darkness of Coruscant's lower levels.

It had taken her years to unlearn countless habits. Learning to walk down the center of a hallway instead of hugging the edges and checking every corner. Learning not to flinch at the groan of metal, fearing that the ceiling above or the floor below would give way. Eating every meal like it was her last.

But here she was. Treating every credit she had as though she would run out the next day. Finding the cheapest apartment she could in a short time. Even her food was cheap. Some imitation Nabooan noodles that were clearly made with no real Nabooan ingredients, sold by a vendor who seemed to only barely pass sanitation inspections.

It disgusted her. Looking down at the empty take out box, she resisted the urge to throw it across the room. But that rage remained. And from it grew indignation.

Jir, before she had gotten the name of Mola, had dragged herself from hell into the heavens. And she would do it again. But this time, quicker. Better. With decades of experience, she knew the game. Knew people.

And one day, she would stand face to face with her family once more. Prove to them that her methods do work.

-

I would've done more. In fact, I really wanted to add like one or two more POV's to this interlude. An Oioro one, one with Kaela, maybe even another with Ife. I thought of Thorne and Darna but they get their own dedicated Interlude a ways down the line since I have plans for them.

Regardless, I've got a test to take in a few hours so I figure it's better if I study for that instead of writing more fanfiction, so I've cut the chapter short.

Also, the next chapter will have some R&D stuff, and the long awaited Harrower-Class that some have been clamoring for. It won't really be the Harrower class, not truly, but as close as one can get realistically. It's not going to be built yet, just a concept and all, but its set up and all that for later down the line.

Stay cool, brochacos.
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Echo Chamber in the Dark

POV: Initiate Qworo, Noocratic Philosophic Front base, Fogoru, Myto sector

"Tell me my student, how go our preparations?"

Initiate Qworo remained bowed to his Pedagogue, Grand Tutor Flintriso. A glimpse of the turquoise cloth of an Initiate still a source of pride. Months of searching had brought him to this now elusive breed of Fogorun. The once revered class of scholar-rulers on the planet driven to near extinction after the Empire declared the Teachings a threat to security and order. Pedagogues were cast out from their Hallowed Halls of Wisdom with the coming of the Empire.

Yet enlightenment cannot be so easily snuffed out. While the purges ravaged the cities as the Offworld Devils sought to impose their will, the Empire's destructiveness worked against them. In the their rush to smother the flame of wisdom, they failed to learn of a series of hidden retreats in the mountains for the Pedagogues' contemplation. Physical copies of the Teachings and even the rare Pedagogue were obscured from the Empire ever dim eye by those that remained faithful. These compounds were cut off from the world and its modern luxuries like the HoloNet and the planetary power grid. Their households of dedicated and pious servants served as the fertile soil from which the NPF has sprouted.

"They progress greatly my Pedagogue. The unenlightened Imperials grow ever more distracted by the pirate menace. We have been able to secure a shipment of detonite for our school under their lax customs officials."

Truly the Great Work favors our cause. The schools of the NPF had managed to secure stockpiles of chepatite in the past. Perfect to deliver correction to the Imperials' foot soldiers via explosive micro-rockets. However their walkers and repulsorcraft remained frustratingly out of reach. Now with detonite we may seed the roads and fortifications with explosive devices which will blossom into their destruction.

"Good, good. The time of the Grand Lesson draws ever closer. For too long have the Empire and their collaborators have taken Fogoru down an unwise path. It pains the world and us to see the stewardship we Pedagogues were entrusted with be conducted so poorly. Yet for the sake of the Grand Lesson, we have stayed our hands."

Qworo still remembers the day the Philosopher Elder Council was disbanded. The once masters of Fogoru dragged out in chains as dusty scrolls and ancient datapads were burned in great bonfires littering the capital's plazas. His mother stared at the fires from the rooftop and wept throughout the whole night.

Any hope of the Imperials possessing wisdom died in their first decree. That their sacred world of learning and wisdom dedicate itself to the base practice of pulling resources from the earth as a mining world. Not only were the Offworld Devils seeking to suppress the enlightenment of the Teachings, they sought to defile and plunder our sacred lands for the sake of building more of their demonic void vessels. His Pedagogue had taught all in his school that nothing good ever descended from the inky blackness above. No matter how much the Imperials claimed we were one species.

Being given the same classification as the lesser worlds around Fogoru caused many of his peers to tear their cloaks and protest in the streets. Only for the Empire to send these enlightened souls as the first wave to the mines. Their only crime rightfully expressing offense at being equated to the unenlightened savages that lived in ignorance around them. Qworo could only hope to emulate a tenth of the courage they had demonstrated in their martyrdom.

"Your words are the Great Work's message my Pedagogue. Even the uneducated masses driven far from the cities see the wisdom of NPF's cause. Overseers in the mines are blinded by met quotas and a lack of disorder. The unwise collaborators attempting to impose Imperial control only care for sating their indulgences like the fools they are. Never suspecting that there might be extra mined ore that now fills our coffers."

It pained Qworo how the Grand Lesson would be funded by the oppression of the enlightened. Yet do not the Teachings say suffering is a teacher of its own? It was one aspect of Imperial ideology that the Teachings could consider wise. For how would the unenlightened be brought out of their comfortable ignorance without pain? And should those unenlightened still resist or seek to betray us to the unwise? The Imperials were quite tolerant of workplace accidents in the mines.

For as his Pedagogue has preached, the Grand Lesson will not be for the Offworld Devils alone, but to all who reside on Fogoru. Correction is to be delivered upon Devil and unwise, treacherous collaborator and faithless bystander, from elder to babe, until all learn the wisdom of the Grand Lesson. Those that endure will flock back to the Teachings' embrace as the NPF demonstrates the power and righteousness of its cause.

"Yes the other Pedagogues have sent me messages of similar sentiments. Those that wish to join our school may be given the traditional flensing of the finger and be initiated. Our stores of arms are plentiful enough that they may yet play an active role in the Grand Lesson."

A smile crossed Qworo's lips at the fortune of their school. While they did not have the Tibanna gas to outfit their initiates with blasters, the more traditional slugthrower was easier to source. An Offworld Devil from Czerka Arms showed a twinkling of enlightenment by granting us to access to many 6-2Aug2 hunting rifles. Where the retreat's craftsmen once spent days crafting exquisite metal tea bowls for ceremonies, now they just as zealously dedicate their minds and bodies to produce bullets and spare parts in preparation for the Grand Lesson.

"The day the Grand Lesson can commence grows ever closer. I would gladly give my life to ensure the future where you and the other Pedagogues sit on the restored Philosopher Elder Council to dispense enlightened rule to Fogoru once more! Please use me body and soul my Pedagogue!"

A ghost of a smile finally passed his Pedagogue's lips. These decades of hiding and planning must have been so hard on him. This retreat in the mountains must pale in comparison of the Halls of Wisdom he once resided in. The thought of everything finally coming together must bring joy a thousandfold compared to what Qworo feels.

"You truly are enlightened Initiate Qworo. Once the local Imperial garrison falls, the unenlightened collaborators will crumble as their weak wills will be unable to keep their regime alive unsupported. From there we will have time to reeducate the people of Fogoru and reinforce the world while the Empire's navy is still distracted.

Picture it Qworo. My school shall be ascendant in the Philosopher Elder Council as the Noocracy is reinstated. Enlightenment will spread as the wisest will determine what course Forogu will take. The throngs shall be submerged back into the enlightenment of the Teachings as Fogoru's proper stewards reclaim their mantle once more.

Our world shall be safeguarded forevermore. An Initiate with a slugthrower behind every tree and at every street corner to protect our society from its enemies. Those the Council deem unwise being bound with the Fetters of Fatuity and driven to the darkest corners of society. Mayhaps we may find a use for those mines once all those Offworld Devils are driven back into the inky blackness. No longer will they taint our sacred planet with their demonic void vessels as landing areas will be lined with detonite before a single Devil can set foot on our blessed soil."

Qworo could see it. The vision his Pedagogue wished to instill into this humble initiate. A utopia based on the Teachings with no Republic or Empire to degrade their people. Encasing their world against the forces who wish to pollute it and purging it of the rot within. Truly this what the schools strived for in pursing the Great Work.

"I understand my Pedagogue. I eagerly await the day this vision becomes a reality. The Empire cannot be driven off Fogoru soon enough."

——
This Omake was an attempt to make a minor local antagonist group that could escalate to the point that the new Moff might have to step in. The hardest part was coming up with a kind of group that hasn't rebelled against the Empire a dozen times already. There are bound to be groups within the sector who hate the Empire and see the current destabilization as a chance to stage an uprising while their back is turned even if the Rebel Alliance is not involving itself.

The NPF are meant to demonstrate what can happen when there is no outside voice, like the Rebel Alliance advocating a Hearts and Minds strategy, to moderate discussion. Views can spiral into extremism when everything is being discussed in an Echo Chamber, hence the name of the Omake. Qworo exemplifies this by showing how being locked in an isolated compound filled with fanatics for over a decade with minimized outside contact can shift your view of the world and your place in it.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-92

1.9 ABY

Relief. That was the primary emotion flowing through my veins at the moment. Sheer and utter relief.

And a degree of satisfaction as well, if I was being honest.

For years, Jir Mola had been a distant terror. A silent obstacle that guided my choices from the start. And for just as long, I'd be terrified of her.

After all, all of the real Las Mola's memories told me nothing but horror stories. Of a gaze that could freeze people in place. Of expectations so overwhelming they seemed to drive the air from my lungs. An all consuming pressure that made one feel as though there was no escape.

And I'd believed those memories. While they weren't mine, they were more than enough to deduce that her threat was very real. And for years I'd stayed scared.

Eventually, that fear became the standard for my life. Even after Tarkin died, even after my role as Governor granted me enough influence that she could never touch me, it remained. Because in my mind, Jir Mola and the Empire were one and the same.

A beast overhead, more than willing to bite my head off as soon as I made a mistake.

But looking her in the eyes? Seeing the rank emblazoned on her uniform? It put everything into perspective.

I was living in someone else's fear. I fear the Empire, yes, but Jir Mola? She is nothing, least of all my mother.

Realistically, this changed nothing for me. I still had to keep up appearances. My escape plan still had to be prepared for when the Empire went down.

But there was a weight off my chest. As though a part of my burden had been lifted. As though I could breathe a little easier.

And so, it was with this lighter attitude that I walked into the R&D lab.

Director Yop led the way, the Lepi excited to show off the advances they'd been making. The Minda system was more profitable than ever, what with an increasing population and more trade meaning more taxes.

The Verndari on Vylos would likely start producing profit given some time. Of course, considering the entire species numbered around 300 million or so planet wide, it would be quite alot.

Although, to be honest, the entire situation on Vylos was quite unbalanced. The places the Empire initially landed on got the best deals. But on other continents, with much larger nations? Suffice it to say it took some Imperial warships time to demonstrate the military difference by turning a few mountains into rubble. And as such, the population was far more fearful, making integration difficult.

Still, progress remained slow but steady. My insistence on doing things peacefully instead of just killing everyone in sight and extracting the resources was not beneficial in the short term, but in the long term meant everyone got to get out both alive and wealthier.

"And here, sir, is our ship redesign lab, where we redesign the vessels so they use fewer proprietary parts to fit with the supply chain." Said the Director as we passed the lab.

Through the window I saw the projection of what seemed to be a dissected Arquitens-class, with multiple parts being highlighted as 'logistically abundant'. Considering how common the ship type was, I could see why the team was taking parts from the design.


"Through here, we have the TIE team. They're on break right now, but last I checked they were working on a new standard TIE variant with inbuilt shields and missiles. An upgrade from the normal TIE, and slightly better than those that have been retrofitted."

Inside this lab, they don't have a projection, they simply have an entire TIE fighter sitting in there. I don't know how the hell they got one in there, but I don't really care to find out.

"And finally, we have the newest ship design team." Yop said as we found our way to the newest lab.

"Sector Admiral Veers has commissioned us to design a new variant of the Gladiator better suited to deal with the conditions of the Outer Rim without being as big of a drain as an ISD while also maintaining versatility."

As we enter the lab, I can see the hologram of the proposed ship shining above. It seemed to stretch around 200 meters longer than the Gladiator, and sported a larger amount of weapons.
At the same time, the projected statistics put its total potential starfighter count at 92. In regards to this, I'd actually had a conversation with Ife some days ago about this very matter. After all, I'd been the one to greenlight her request and connection to the R&D labs.

In Ife's opinion, there were no real threats in the sector that would require the firepower or intimidation factor of walkers like the AT-AT and AT-ST, and that by instead using smaller armored vehicles like repulsorlift tanks and a few of the cheaper AT-DP's for walker versatility, one could increase the amount of fighters and gunships on board and increase the ships effective range of power projection.

"Wonderful work, Director. I presume you are working closely with logistics personnel to make this new design variant as easy on the supply chains as possible?"

He nodded. "Correct, sir. The Logistics Office sent specialists out to the labs to get deep into the details. As it stands, the design is on track to be made mostly of common Imperial ship parts, with only the frame and shell being of anything near a custom design. With our experience in using common parts, alongside working with preexisting blueprints from the Victory-Class and Gladiator-Class, we're on schedule to have a production ready design in 9 months at a minimum, but most likely around 12 to 14."

My eyebrows shot up. "Just a year? For an entire warship? I knew the labs were capable of great speed, considering the LECA's and the TIE variants, but this is a warship. Are you certain that this timeline won't create potential safety problems?"

The Director shook his head, large ears flopping around. "I thank you for the concern, sir, but this isn't anything particularly new to us. It's simply a larger scale version of what our teams have done previously."

I nod, eyes roving back to the design. It was a ship that would be perfect for the sector's future needs. Big enough to fight any pirates, small enough that it wasn't a huge logistical burden. Capable of projecting power through hyperspace capable fighters while also being more armed and armored than the base Gladiator. These things would be vital to patrolling the sector's hyperlanes in the future. And the quicker they were finished, while keeping up safety standards, the better.

"Is there anything that can be done to quicken the process while keeping within safety standards? These ships will be vital to replace the aging sector defense fleets patrol groups, and the faster they are finished the better. If there is anything you need, just ask."

Now it was Yops turn to raise his eyebrows, but soon enough he fell deep into thought.

"Hmmm…as it stands, more personnel wouldn't help. It would take far too long to train them, so it would only help if they had been hired months before the project started. However, better simulators would be invaluable, as they would allow us to stress test the design quicker and easier without having to make multiple prototypes. It would likely cut down the time by around a month, I'd say."

I nod. "You'll have it then. Send a message to acquisitions, I'll have my approval sent as well. As for new hires, that'll likely be handled by the new Governor when they come into office."

The Director perked up at that, looking at me as we walked back to the elevator out of the lab.

"I'd almost forgotten about that. Say, sir, who have you chosen? Just about everyone is curious."

"Well, I've yet to choose, though I've narrowed it down to just a few candidates. The choice will be finalized in the coming weeks."

Eventually, I left the labs. Taking a look at the time, I noticed the R&D meeting had ended early, and I had a solid hour before any other commitments took up my time.

So, I returned to my office, made a cup of hot chocolate, and got back to researching for my little pet project, that paper on the workings and failings of the Empire. Treason, sure, but treason none would ever see but me.

It helped that it worked as practice for research. Always useful.

–

1.9 ABY
Mandalore Sector

The leader of Clan Tralis looked upon the datapad, expression unreadable behind his mask. This was a thing he was glad for, because he doubted his clan would be pleased to see the turmoil marring his features.

Turning to the clan itself, its 100 or so members gathered in their hall's main room, he spoke.

"Mandalore is lost." He stated simply, watching the crowd. Most nodded in silence, as this was a known fact to the Clan Tralis had avoided the worst of the Imperial occupation by the simple virtue of being too small for the Empire to truly care.

"Our Clan lives, for now. The Empire will one day turn its hungry eyes on even us." That got more of a reaction. Their size had been their safety, and none enjoyed knowing it was not to last.

"However, an opportunity has arisen before us. A Sector, in the New Territories of the galactic north has sent word. The Moff of the sector is issuing large scale mercenary contracts to Mandalorian clans to assist in combating piracy."

That was when the reactions really erupted. Murmurs of discontent, members looking sideways at each other, all of them wondering, questioning. His next words froze them.

"The Moff is offering immunity to seizure of personal beskar in his sector as part of the payment. And long term, legal contracts."

Here, he finally took off his helmet, staring each and every member in the eyes.

"Mandalore is dead. But Clan Tralis need not follow. This is the one opportunity we have to find any semblance of peace amongst the stars. Not just for us, but for those who follow. So that we may one day be able to pass on our armor."

At that, he sat down in his chair once more. This wasn't a choice he could make alone, not truly.

"I ask all of those in favor of this plan to please raise your hands. I wish to put this choice to a vote. I would not ask you all to follow me into the unknown without asking if you wished it at all."

At first, there was nothing. Silent looks and whispered conversations. But slowly, hands went up. By the end, none kept their hand down.

And he felt relieved. Because no matter what happened to Clan Tralis, no matter the fate that awaited them, they rode onwards together.

–

Yo. For those wondering about the link to the Harrower-Class redesign, its because of a reader on Spacebattles who loves the ship so much he wrote a three part thesis on it, and so I decided to include it in the story. I don't know what to call it though, nor what its armaments or complement will truly look like, though I think a more starfighter heavy complement makes sense because, realistically, you don't need heavy walkers and ground forces to fight pirates in the Outer Rim.

Also, the 92 starfighter thing was taken from the Harrower-Class statistics.

As for that bit at the end, that's the follow up to Las's choice to send word to the Mandalore sector to get more Mandalorian mercs in the sector to help with the pirate problem. Clan Tralis is not the only clan that will be migrating, of that you can be sure.

May you get hella bread, fellow earthlings.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-93

1.10 ABY
Ord Mantel
Ord Mantel City

There are few things I hate in life. Many things I dislike, sure. But hate? Few.

Formal events are one of those things.

Stuffy atmosphere, the laughs of people with more money than sense. The fact that I have to keep this super fake plastic smile on for the most part. My jaw hurts, man.

But I had to do it, so I was going to do it.

Looking around, I take a slow sip of my drink, letting my eyes scan the party.

It was hosted in the capital of Ord Mantel, which was both the capital of the Bright Jewel Sector, and the Oversector of the same name. A decently prosperous world, with some deep docks in orbit.

Honestly, in some ways it was a downgrade from Dubrillion, but I understand Hiral's logic. Ord Mantel has a lot of older influence and power, given that it's situated in the Mid-Rim portion of the Oversector. And Hiral was nothing if not a ladder climber.

Throughout the room, I caught sight of many important figures. Well, important by local standards. The magnates and corporatists and royals here were nothing in the core.

Some, however, stood out to me. Moff's Moew, Surrde and Ecressys of the Obtrexta, Braxant and Velcar sectors. These were more known quantities, since at least I was fairly sure Ecressys had nothing to do with the slavers coalition.

Moew and Surrde were unlikely as well, but I simply didn't have enough info and both seemed more internally focused.

But the others were all suspicious. There were nearly 30 Moffs present, myself included. All there not just to meet with Governor-General Hiral, but someone worse.

The Grand Moff.

Ardus Kaine had finally decided to show up to the northern edge of Oversector Outer, and so Hiral had organized this party.

A full blown gala. Every Moff in the oversector, on top of all the top military commanders and business magnates.

Both Ife, as Sector Admiral alongside Sector General Zantara were here with me, as they were the highest military commanders in the Myto Sector.

The gala itself was held in Ord Mantell City, within the old Republic capital building. Instead of tearing it down, the Empire had just slapped some imperial flags on it and called it a day. The inside had also mostly kept its more local aesthetic and such, though the Imperial computers, flags and stormtroopers certainly stood out.

Scanning the room, I didn't spot Hiral at all. He was likely greeting the Grand Moff separately, hoping to later show up with him in tow and look all connected and such. It was realistically the only reason he was throwing this party anyways, as a direct way of showing off to the Moffs and VIPs of the Oversector that he had big boy connections. After all, he'd risen to power surprisingly quickly and needed to make connections fast.

I took another sip of my drink, some fruity concoction that at least wasn't alcoholic, though it did taste awful. There is such a thing as too much sugar, and this is certainly it.

"Ah! Moff Mola!" Exclaims a loud voice, prompting me to turn around. Before me stands a tall, muscled man with broad shoulders, an impressive beard, and a large blaster pistol at his hip. The pale skin of his hands are riddled with small scars.

"Moff Surrde. A pleasure to meet you." I say in return, holding out a hand. He grabs it, shaking boisterously even as his hand unwittingly crushes my own. I stop myself from wincing, however. He seems almost genuine, but at the same time this could be an act, in which case showing pain would be a bad thing.

"To you too, my compatriot. I just wanted to thank you personally. Back when he was Moff, Governor-General Hiral promised me an order of ships that, if I've heard correctly, were only possible because of the shipyards you run. Impeccable work, if I may say so. The logistics on these variants are easier than ever!"

"Thank you for the praise, friend. The logistics aspect was one of the largest concerns going in, as the Outer Rim rarely leaves room for easy replacement parts. It's also reduced production costs by some amount, so the yards can make more for less." My response is friendly, controlled. He seems happy, loud, and overall not very Imperial.

On one hand, it could be his real personality. There are over a thousand Moffs, so it's not impossible. On the other hand, it could also be a calculated act.

"Of course! An army marches on its stomach after all. If only the Imperial logistics chain was better out here. It's truly a mess, and is a constant interference. I can only hope the new Governor-General sees fit to rectify this."

"I feel the same." I replied. "The logistics have gotten bad enough in some spots that I've had to spend great amounts of capital setting up new factories in the sector just to keep things going. However, with the rebel conflict heating up, it's no surprise things are slowing down."

"Truly, the rebels are the bane of the empire. No good scum who I just wish I could clash with, but alas. The rebels I fight are nowhere near what I've heard of the larger Rebellion. No, the ones I fight are often disappointing. They brandish primitive slug throwers and armored farming equipment and yell at me about taxes and treatment. None of them have the same fire in them that would be so thrilling to face off against. They end up simply being targets to demolish from orbit. Sad, truly."

Ah. There's the Imperial I was missing. Before I could formulate some kind of response, he seems to catch someone's eye.

"Ah! Moff Callron!" He says, waving another man over. This man is far older, dark skin wrinkled like a prune. What few tufts of hair remain are so white they seem to have died before the man himself.

"Moff Surrde? Why, what a pleasure my friend." His voice seems, well, I wouldn't call it weak by any means. He has a surety in him, if nothing else. The kind of iron only found in those who've lived long enough to harden. The voice is still very raspy, as though the air rushing out is tearing his throat out as well.

Turning to me, he extends a wrinkled hand. "Moff Mola, if I'm not mistaken? Very nice to meet you."

"And you, Moff Callron." I return, shaking his hand in return. My mind races for information about the man before me.

Garret Callron ruled the Clacis sector, home of Gwori Revolutionary Industries. It was a former CIS manufacturer that had been nationalized like all others. I'd considered buying the yards, since they were small and not very profitable at the time. Unfortunately, they had no plans of selling any time soon, nor did I wish to work out how much it would cost to ship them, considering they were all ground based installations.

Some small talk ensues, though nothing super serious. I get the feeling that Callron is testing the waters, minor probes at best. I'm a relative unknown, and the old timer wants to see if I'll rock the boat or not. I try to make the best impression that I won't, if only to keep people off me. Surrde doesn't seem to pick up on any of it, barreling through the conversation like a bull, another story of razing farms or killing pirates to tell.

He had a story for every single scar on his hand. I'm pretty sure most of them were fake, because no way that tiny one was anything more than a papercut. Flimsi-cut? Doesn't matter, his bravado was obvious.

It was around then that Governor General Hiral and the Grand Moff appeared, walking down the steps of the fourth floor to greet the guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Bright Jewel Oversector. Thank you so much for making the time to come out here. Our main guest of the evening, Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, has some words he would like to say."

That was when Ardus Kaine stepped onto the podium. He was an older man, likely somewhere in his mid to late 40's, perhaps even his early 50's. He had a strong jaw, slicked back hair, and a face marred with frown lines. But most importantly, he stood with the presence and authority of Grand Moff.

The speech he gave was boring and unimportant. He spoke of basic things, of ensuring the Empire's greatness, doing our duty, and so on. During that time, I reviewed what I knew of the man.

From info I could get my hands on, he was actually born in the Braxant Sector, the one controlled by Surrde. He had been an ally of Palpatine during the Republic era, and that had continued on into the Imperial era. After Tarkin's death, he was given Oversector Outer to administrate.

As for what I know of him through my metaknowledge, it's quite interesting. Ardus Kaine didn't want to be a politician, and only does what he does out of some insecure need to please his dead father, if I remember correctly. He's not a human supremacist, and more importantly for my situation he sees his assignment as an insult, as he'd prefer to be in the Core with Palpatine.

He sees the Outer Rim as a dead end assignment, which for me is great. If he doesn't like his position, he will work to leave it, to gain favor, etc… which means he will focus on whatever is most likely to gain him favor and power, which coincidentally has nothing to do with this part of the galaxy.

Rebel activity will be his bread and butter, what with his Scourge Squadron, and he will likely spend his time trying to hunt them down. Sure, some attention will be paid towards administration and such, but to Kaine? He doesn't want to be here, and has the means and will to leave.

So, as I'm not paying attention to the Grand Moff, my eyes catch sight of Hiral. A stormtrooper is whispering in his ear, and I can see as his expression tightens. Something's happened.

He seems to give an order and reasserts his facial expression, back to happily neutral.

Then, the speech is over. I, like everyone else, gave some applause. A polite amount, as expected. The Empire only liked an uproar of cheers when it was the masses, not the upper echelons.

The Grand Moff starts making his way through the crowd, meeting with Moffs and their tagalongs. I give my fair share of side-looks and stares, essentially blending in with most others without being overbearing or annoying about it. Blend in with the mediocrity of everyone else's ambitions.

During this time, Ife makes her way over to me, and we exchange glances, knowing both of us had gathered info to be shared later on. Instead of talking about that, we instead speak about more casual topics. In my mind, I kept a mental mapping of where the Grand Moff was. By now, he was behind us, where most of the guests were.

Or, at least as casual as someone like Ife can conceive of. It was almost entirely the logistics of the Sector Group she now commanded. The stuff she could talk about in public at least. The set up for the future cleanup of corruption throughout the army and navy were things best spoken of in private.

As this happened, her eyes roamed the room. I knew Ife was ambitious, and likely scouting potential contacts. I wasn't worried, however. Ife was ambitious but also a head smarter than most other Imperials. Betrayal wasn't something she would come to easily, as latching onto me was a surefire way of climbing the ranks and staying higher up.

But then she stopped, her eyes narrowing. I followed her gaze up to the galleries above, railing lined walkways that held art pieces and long, flowing curtains emblazoned with the Imperial Crest. On one of the walkways, behind one of the curtains stood a figure. Not a Stormtrooper, but someone in far darker clothes, almost blending in with the shadows. Their hands were raised…

My mind caught on just as Ife started moving. Her blaster ripped out of its hidden holster, her mouth already open, screaming-

"Assassin!" She yelled, pistol firing the first shot. I moved back, hand going towards my pistol. The Grand Moff, standing not far behind me, is doing the same as his guards move to shield him.

My body was moving automatically, following the training Kaela had given me. My torso turning to a 45 degree angle, meant to create a smaller profile while allowing me to shoot and move. My feet were already taking me backwards.

Then a shot rings out. Not a blaster weapon, but the loud bang of a slugthrower.

A millisecond after the shot rings out, I feel what's almost like a punch, a heavy sensation. It seems to drag along my chest, a flash of heat following in its wake as the breath is knocked out of my lungs.

I stumble back, just barely catching myself, the world reorienting itself before I notice the waves of blaster bolts inundating the gallery. The figure is hit dozens of times, going down in seconds.

The world returns to normal as I feel the fading heat. Looking down at my uniform, I notice a scar across the metal. It was the triangular metal mesh, integrated with the standard Imperial uniform. The same one I'd worn to the Guild meetings, made custom by Garp. The metal itself seemed to have been gouged as though something had cut a shallow canyon into it.

The bullet. It must've grazed me. But if it didn't hit head on, then…

Looking around, I spot the Grand Moff, perfectly fine. But then, on the ground.

Ife.

I rush to her side, hands moving to steady the flow of blood pouring from her side. Ripping my gloves off, I shove them into the gap the wound created before continuing. The slug had torn a jagged furrow into her side as it tumbled widely after ricocheting. It wasn't just a gash, but a large laceration ripped down the side of her torso, visible through the jagged canyon in her uniform. Blood was everywhere, no matter how much I applied pressure

"Medic!" I cry out, focused entirely on keeping her wound closed. I applied pressure, using both hands to try and keep the wound as closed as possible, putting all my body weight into it. Her eyes are closed shut, tightened out of pain. Her breath has slowed down, deep measured breaths likely meant to shut out the pain.

As I work to hold the wound closed, hot blood soaking my hands, I feel and hear a crack beneath me. A louder grunt of pain leaves her mouth, and belatedly I realize the slug must've glanced one of her ribs, and my weight just broke it.

Before I can react or try and relieve the pressure, her own hands come up to reinforce my own, keeping the bleeding localized. Her training must be instinctive, choosing to conserve blood over her ribs.

As the situation settles into a tense sort of monotony, I can't think of anything to say. Even basic comforts refuse to leave my tongue.

Because even in this scenario, among the chaos, a part of me can't keep the politics out of this.

Does this make me look weak in front of the other Moffs? Caring for others in the Empire can be a death sentence, even a friend. At my current level, assassinations are practically expected, and companions are just alternative targets. Yet, I can't afford to lose Ife, who is both competent and trustworthy. Shit.

In under a minute, a medic has arrived, taking over with bacta patches and proper medical equipment. Not long after, a repulsorlift stretcher is brought, and Ife is carted away to the medical bay.

I stand as soon as they take her, as staying might be seen as something worse by the other Moffs. Weakness of some kind or another, who knows.

My mind has a million thoughts running though it, but as I look around the room, seeing the other Moffs in the area as Stormtroopers sweep the room, I focus on only one thing.

I need to seem strong to these people, or they're going to eat me alive.

–

Ardus Kaine

Kaine's heart was still pounding, but he kept his back straight and his face imperious. It wouldn't do for the Grand Moff to look scared, after all.

As stormtroopers swarmed the building, he stayed in the central room where the attempt had happened. A show of confidence the other Moffs and many magnates followed, if only to try and impress him.

These troopers that now entered he recognized as his own, after all, not the clearly incompetent ones that the Governor-General employed. If they were competent, they wouldn't have let an assassin get so close.

Scanning the faces of those around him, he saw the hints of fear in their faces. Though Moff Surrde, ruler of Kaine's own home sector of Braxant, seemed almost disappointed. His blaster was still hanging from his hands. Given the man's reputation of bloodthirstiness and overall enjoyment of combat, he was likely sad there weren't more enemies to kill.

Yet, to the side, he caught sight of the Moff who'd been grazed by the assassin. He had stopped to help the woman who'd taken the brunt of the damage, helping pack her wounds with his own gloves. Valiant, but it could also be taken as a sign of weakness, almost. Her pips had shown her to be a Sector Admiral and nothing more.

Despite this, as the man stood, gash running through the metal of his clearly altered uniform, his face was stoic. The effect was only pronounced by the coating of blood on his hands.

Walking up to him was Moff Surrde once more, blaster now back in his holster.

"That's quite the gash there, comrade! That slug must've just grazed you, Moff Mola. Quite lucky!" The large man exclaimed, large hand patting the smaller Moff on the back. It barely made him budge.

"Yes, well, it's the price I pay for survival." The now named Moff Mola said simply, wiping his blood soaked hands on his uniform. "I do hope the price my Admiral paid was not too low. I'd hate to have to replace her this early in her career."

"Oh? Is she promising?"

"Decently. If nothing else she follows orders. Good help is so hard to get these days."

"Tell me about it!" And that set off Surrde, who started to tell a story about incompetent officers and extrajudicial executions.

And through it all, Moff Mola remained as steady as before, calmly wiping his hands, not a hint of pain or fear.

In a sense, Kaine saw a kindred spirit. A pragmatist. Yet at the same time, a small bud of fear welled within him. One that was always there, whispering to him.

This wasn't just a fellow spirit. This was a fellow spirit with either incredible control over his emotions, or few at all. A man with no fear.

And what is that if not a threat.

Thankfully, he was just a single Moff in the ass-end of the galaxy. And once Kaine and his new Scourge Squadron destroyed the Rebellion, he would be back in the Core, where he'd always belonged.

Turning away, he started to listen to a stormtroopers report on the security situation, mind already jumping back to potential perpetrators. After all, someone had just tried to kill him.

That had to be repaid.

–

Yo. Slaver arc is ramping up. As for Kaine's POV, from what I can tell he's not actually a character. As in, there are no books or novels or games or shows or anything in which he is an active character with speaking lines.

So, I read through his wookiepedia article to get clues on his character, and it's decently comprehensive but with only a few quotes from Essential Guides and old sourcebooks, I could only approximate what he might sound like.

As for the fear thing, the articles state he has a deep seated insecurity, a fear of the power he chases in a sense. It's why he created the alignment, because he'd rather rule a small stable kingdom instead of chasing a more unstable power. So I figure this comes out internally as fear that he masks. Of situations, of people. He sees a little in Las what he fears, someone like him who, unlike him, lacks the fear that fuels/is created by his own insecurities. Now, we know that ain't true at all, but he doesn't. Not that he'll think about it much, given he's a busy man. Hope I got it right.

Homemade banana bread is baller
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: The Petty Debt Crisis

The History of The Petty Debt Crisis in the Myto Sector By Jiro Namagidir

Introduction

The Myto Sector took the Post-Yavin era by storm. Increased military patrols, economic development, and the rise of institutions like the Guild led to great wealth being attracted to the Sector. One would be forgiven that these rising tides were lifting all boats.

Unfortunately as history has shown, not every government makes decisions in line with their long term interests. A small category of worlds across the sector were led more in line with the exploitative economic policies common to other sectors at the time. These policies eventually culminated in the Petty Debt Crisis.

Aspects of Petty Debt Governorships

So what were these policies that led to the Petty Debt Crisis and why did Governors enact them? The main source can be attributed to a mindset cultivated among some Imperial circles. The belief that planetary governorships existed for Imperial taxes first, the Governor's personal enrichment second, and anything else a distant third. Treating their assigned postings more as a fiefdom than a position of stewardship as many other Myto sector Governors did. When viewed from that perspective, the following policy decisions in to make a twisted sort of sense.

Over specialized economies

Governors of what would later be called Petty Debts Worlds (or PD Worlds for short) tended to follow a similar economic model. They would be assigned a world, identify the most profitable or most influential good on that world, then dedicate most of the economy to producing that good to the detriment of all other industries. These specialized goods were often raw resources like a particular mineral or farmed plant so that the Governor could more easily direct as many sentients to work as possible in order to maximize output.

This method did have some benefits. It allowed these worlds to use their often minimal resources on their most profitable industries. Unemployment on PD Worlds was often low due to the favored industry always looking to expand and hire more workers. Bureaucracy was able to be kept small as there was just one main industry to keep track off. Taxation was also simplified as when almost everyone is working in the same sector in similar jobs, tax rates could be imposed more or less uniformly. If one were only to consider the positives, one could be mistaken for thinking this was a sound economic model.

Unfortunately there were also severe downsides to the level of overspecialization PD Worlds engaged in. While specializing in one good allowed for worlds to export a lot of that good, it also drastically increased import needs as other domestic industries suffered. The PD Worlds' economies were also rendered incredibly brittle. Prone to boom or crash with the fluctuating prices of their chosen good. All these factors capped the growth of PD Worlds while leaving them vulnerable to financial instability.

Lack of Economic Investment

As PD Worlds were focused on producing a singular good, other aspects of their economy suffered. Governors spent minimal budget on things like social services and utilities not directly involved in the world's main industry. In their minds, it appears any part of their planet not dedicated towards their favored industry was a waste of funds.

This left both the private and public sector anemic outside the extremely bloated exception. Utilities like water and power suffered chronic stoppages. Independent businesses received next to no government support or were even suppressed under the justification of "stealing workers". Environmental damage also spiked as any regulations were quickly removed in the name of increasing profits. These factors led to a rise of food shortages and health crises breaking out across PD Worlds.

That being said, it is not like the entire budget could be dedicated to the world's main industry. The second largest item on the budget on most PD Worlds was often listed as "discretionary spending" in some form or another. As one can imagine this item did little to promote economic development on PD Worlds beyond luxury import businesses.

Poor Debt Management

With PD Worlds entirely beholden to the wider commodity market, it comes to little surprise that they suffered from chronic debt issues. What tended to happen was that the price of the specialized product would fall, causing an increase in the World's debt. Then prices would inevitably rise, but the Governors would use the profits to double down on investing in the main industry rather than paying off the previous debt. This led to a vicious cycle of consistently growing debt and deficits that would ultimately culminate in the Petty Debt Crisis.

Who owned the debt also resulted in problems. Governors of PD Worlds would often force their citizens to purchase "Patriot Bonds". Failure to purchase these bonds would often result in consequences varying from loss of employment, losing access to public services, to outright imprisonment for "suspicion of disloyalty". A citizen could not even hope to cash in their bond as they would often have them "annulled" as punishment for a minor crime.

What credit Governors couldn't acquire from their citizens would come from increasingly suspicious sources at increasingly rising interest rates. These deals often involved certain remote tracts of land on the PDs Worlds put up as collateral. This final part of the loan agreements would be what ended up dooming a majority of PD Govenors once these transactions came to light.

Asset Seizing

Citizens of PD Worlds had difficult lives. Forced to work in an industry with a singular company that paid little and was also the government. Food prices were often high even on Agriworlds as farmland was being used to produce cash crops for export. Most were kept in a state of poverty teetering on outright destitution and a social safety net was nothing more than a fantasy.

Yet somehow Governors of PD Worlds managed to make things worse. Personal debt was a fact of life for sentients on PD Worlds as they struggled to make ends meet. Governors would use this debt as a justification to seize both person and property at blasterpoint. Entire neighborhoods were cleared out to make way for yet another personal project for the Governor. This constant upheaval heavily discouraged private saving and investment as most saw little reason to put Credits toward a future that could be taken away so easily.

Loyalty Purchasing

With policies such as these, how did Governors of PD Worlds keep ahold of their positions? How did they avoid some staging an uprising against their rule? This was mainly accomplished through a practice referred to as Loyalty Purchasing.

Political power was kept in the hands of a small group of elites which used the Imperial Military to suppress any hint of dissent. These elites were not necessarily chosen by merit or lineage, but rather those elevated were sentients the Governor could charm or intimidate into complete obedience. In fact most cultural and traditional interest groups that existed prior to the Governor's appointment were ruthlessly oppressed to prevent a potential rival power bloc.

These elites were kept in line through a stream of selective benefits and gifts. Housing in separate and comparatively opulent communities, large quantities of luxuries unavailable to the rest of the population, and exemptions from the toil and taxation the rest of the world was saddled with. Everything the unfavored were deprived of, the favored got heaped upon them.

Governors of PD Worlds formed a collection of sycophants completely reliant on them and invested to suppressing the rest of the world. This patronage was dependent on keeping the Governor's favor and enacting his will, lest they be cast into the destitute masses below them eager to tear them to shreds. This fear of the lower classes resulted in most governments and elites on PD Worlds collaborated fully with the Governor's policies that led to the Petty Debt Crisis in order to maintain their precarious status.

This did not mean said upper classes were unified. Factions beneath the Governors formed using the same methods of patronage to spread their influence. Power struggles would often take place that would see departments and institutions undergo frequent quiet purges that left them beholden to the ascendant faction but weakened over the long term. Faith in your faction was always greater than faith in the overall government on PD Worlds.

Sector Wide Reactions

Naturally this rapid accumulation of debt and sliding decline did not go unnoticed by the wider sector. Despite efforts to suppress their financial situation, eventually news of these worlds' potential bankruptcy had spread. Other worlds and players in the sector began to take notice, and action.

The most immediate outside group to interact with the Crisis was the Constellation of Power. A cooperative of neighboring systems that banded together focused on producing power cores at below out of sector import rates. The CoS made cores for buildings, appliances, and industrial equipment to support the economic boom throughout the sector. This industrial concern took the Petty Debt Crisis as a chance to expand their markets.

The CoS adopted a strategy of selling cheap, quality power cores and their accompanying machines to all sections of society in nearby PD Worlds in exchange for significant quantities raw resources being produced there. The elites wanting to maintain their lifestyles and producers wanting to improve their output, accepted. This led to a further focus on raw resource production and away from domestic industrialization as they became new markets reliant on the CoS.

The sector government also did not sit idly by while these worlds slid into financial ruin once it noticed the direness of the situation. However the sector government's awareness of the severity of the Crisis was delayed by the actions of the previous Moffs. The negligence of Moff Tarry, and the focus on ladder climbing of Moff Hiral, meant the building Petty Debt Crisis progressed went relatively unnoticed by the Myto's institutions until Moff Las assumed the office.

Once reports finally reached the Moff's desk, Myto's government was left with an uncomfortable choice. While some of the debt was owned by illegal or otherwise fraudulent lenders, a large portion was owned either by local companies, offworld companies, or through bonds held by the planet's population. Allowing the debt to remain as is would cripple the planetary governments' budget for decades to come. However canceling the debt too recklessly would ruin lender confidence on the local level at minimum and could even damage the reputation of financial credibility Moff Las had been painstakingly cultivating.

After removing the Governors for gross incompetence in their duties, an order was issued for an emergency audit of the afflicted worlds to get proper estimates of the damage. While the debts were substantial for the small planets, it was comparatively minor to a sector. As such a restructuring of the Petty Debts was declared with the sector government acting as a guarantor. This not only reassured creditors that they would eventually get their Credits back and reduces interest rates, but also gave the sector government immense leverage over the PD worlds in the coming years.

In order to help PD Worlds recover, Guild resources were dispatched to begin development programs on those worlds in order to stabilize them at minimum. However upon arrival Guild personnel found they had little to work with as both the private and public sector had been gutted by the Petty Debt Crisis and the decisions that led to it. Unfortunately the legacy of overspecialization has resulted in estimates of former PD Worlds lagging behind their neighboring contemporaries for decades to come.

——

A lot of people would assume a time of sector wide prosperity would encourage smart financial decisions. A lot of people also underestimate how short sighted political leaders can be. Plenty of governments in history being given a chance for long term prosperity decide to immediately kneecap themselves in exchange for some benefit for those in power.

That fact the political culture the Empire encourages this kind of short term prioritization among its elite only increases the likelihood. Figured I would give Las some nearby examples to reference for that book on the Empire's shortcomings he is writing.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-94

The days after the gala were tense. Not in a visible way, people weren't running around screaming nor were there any obvious problems.

Things were actually going quite well. Negotiations had progressed with the major Imperial tax agencies, so we'd gotten approval to begin the local Mytoan Auditor Program, though training would still take time. At the same time, some purchases were being made in order to enhance the sector's holonet and other communications networks.

Overall, everything seems fine. But the office doesn't feel that way.

An attempt had been made on the life of a Grand Moff. Now, I was fairly certain that I was the target, but Kaine was behind me. It was a reasonable assumption that I was just hit by accident. But the Rebellion would've bombed the entire gala, and no syndicate would ever do something so foolish.

I'm working under the assumption it was the slavers. But everyone else is working under the assumption that some idiot tried to kill a Grand Moff. Kaine would most certainly be cracking down on this oversector, likely attaching more forces to the oversector as a whole in order to hunt down the perpetrators while he went out rebel hunting.

But I knew. Whoever was backing the slavers put Ife in the hospital and almost got me killed. That was unacceptable.

At the same time, this was an opportunity. The Grand Moffs visit was a surprise to quite literally everyone. Hiral hosted that Gala in a rushed manner. People didn't have time to make complex plans for an event that had been created two days beforehand.

So, the only people who realistically could've gotten an assassin inside the building was someone who had been invited or already on the premises.

Hiral is the first suspect. However, this is a big blow to his credibility as a newcomer. If this had ended in Kaine's death, he likely would've been executed for such incompetence.

So it narrows it down to a Moff. Once more. And every Moff in the oversector had been in attendance.

But there was something to be gained by this.

The enemy fucked up. This assassination attempt was hastily planned and executed. After all, if they'd known it was happening, say, weeks ahead of time they would've done better.

But they saw an opportunity and jumped on it. If they'd succeeded, great. But they didn't.

They failed.

To the culprit, the investigations that have already begun are the largest threat. If the ISB decides to do their job, it's over for them. Their only bet is to cause a larger distraction. Something local that'll upheave the entire system.

Like I said before, this is a blow to Hiral's credibility, and as a newcomer his head is closer to the chopping block than ever. Another major blow would likely topple his position, and get him removed or even killed.

And it just so happens that the Myto sector is the largest source of Hiral's credibility. Its growing economy, ship production and more are what boosted him upwards. And until he gains more time in office and more connections across the Oversector, the Myto sector will stay his center of political and economic power, even if he stays put over on Ord Mantell.

So, if I die, it breaks his credibility. And whoever kills me will likely have puppets or other candidates in place to take my seat. And their policies and decisions will most likely lead the sector down the spiral once more. Therefore destabilizing his powerbase and causing political chaos.

As it stands, my death would be a big enough distraction. Enough to slow the investigations, and for the culprit to cover their tracks.

This paranoia was my excuse for holding myself up in the office. I hadn't even gone to visit Ife in the hospital, as much as I'd wanted to. I did send her a small box of my favorite coco blend. My wallet cried, but it was worth it.

So, my best bet for foiling my enemies plans was to simply stay alive and out of trouble. Once the Auditor Program was properly up and running and the first Auditors finished training, I could more properly scour the rest of the sector. But until then, staying alive and keeping up the economic pressure was my plan.

The reports I got from Darna and Thorne told me little about the attempt, as neither had contacts that far out. Most of their sources were in the sector and surrounding space.

But the other parts of their reports did yield some interesting information.

Governor Jelbrak Murr ran the Revik system. I remembered him from the Guild meetings. A cunning man, always finding a way to profit. It was fitting, given the Revik system was a known center of smuggling.

I'd always intended to get around to dealing with the system in one way or another, it was simply never the right time. But now this report was telling me that Governor Murr was getting visits.

From pirates.

Not unusual, normally. Not for him, anyways. Whats unusual is the details.

See, HAVEN had managed to get some operatives into Murrs personal and professional quarters, planting bugs and the like. The man was careful and quite good at what he did, having done it for so long. But he was used to the sloppy work of pirates and cartels.

With Thorne on board, and now Zyx as well, HAVEN had access to techniques not known to the common smuggler.

Suffice it to say, we were quite deep in his operations. And his meetings were a potential goldmine.

Murr had always maintained a policy of laying low. Smuggling made its way through, sure. But he kept away from the harder stuff, and ensured that pirates either laid low themselves or left. Revik was not the place to go to pawn off hot goods.

However, the recent surge in piracy has some of the new pirate gangs going to him in the hopes of selling hot goods anyways. And with the sector and Guild patrols overworked, he's actually considering it.

Perfect.

It's clear that the surge in piracy is driven by the slavers and their backers. All we have to do is get Murr to cooperate.

I get started on the return orders. Murr is a potential asset, a pressure release valve for the more illegal side of things. You can't eradicate crime completely, but you can ensure what does happen, happens on your terms.

A way to get my fingers on the pulse of the underworld was a welcome thing.

Now, an Agent just had to make contact.

–

1.10 ABY
Jelbrak Murr
Revik System

Jelbrak Murr was many things. Smart, cunning, rich, handsome. Maybe even happy.

Paranoid was fairly low on the list. At this point, he'd had it all figured out.

All the right officers bribed. Cartel members dealt with. Smugglers spoken to. As it stood, his position was secure. The Empire didn't look closely because he paid the right people, and the criminal side of things didn't care because he let enough through.

At this point there were more problems in the prosperous entertainment side of things than the illicit side of things.

The only real problem? The new wave of piracy. It was ramping up, and while Murr knew it wouldn't last, he was considering whether or not he would profit off of it.

And as it stood? He would likely take a piece of the pie. It was right there, after all, and with so many pirates around if he vetted them properly he would be fine.

But that morning, none of these thoughts were running through his head.

As he dragged himself out of bed, sadly leaving behind the clinging arms of his lover, he dressed himself and made his way to the office.

The day was overall fairly bog standard. Reports on increasing this and that. Tax revenue was growing as the Guilds systems worked their magic.

Once he got bored of playing Governor, Murr made his way back home. His lover was likely waiting, and the reports said that new restaurants were among one of the most popular new businesses. Maybe one of them was a worthy new date spot.

Entering his room, Murr made it to his closet to change into something more comfortable.

But, as he did, he spotted something odd.

In the closet, he kept a safe. It was a bulky thing, equipped with complex locks and plenty of metal between it and its contents. It was as good a safe of this size that he could buy without needing it installed, and therefore creating loose ends. It was always in the exact same corner, every day.

Today, it wasn't. Today, it was in the middle of the closet.

At first, Murr simply thought his lover had moved it around. They seemed thin, but were packed with lean muscle and enjoyed lifting weights. Maybe this had just been some sort of self imposed challenge.

But it still didn't feel quite right. Despite the overwhelming urge to just leave it be and go on about his day, the back of his mind wouldn't give it up.

Slowly but surely, he inputted the combination for the safe. As the door swung open, he checked the shelves.

Piles of credits, multiple fake ID's, map and coordinates to an off the books escape ship, some extra blasters.

It was all there. Looking towards the bottom shelf, however, caused his heartrate to spike.

There, sitting neatly on top of anniversary pictures, was a pristine, perfectly centered datapad.

Slowly, he picked it up, his heart pounding in his ears. Activating it, the dread pooling within him just got worse.

The text scrolling across the screen was the culmination of so many of his nightmares. Lists of his crimes, evidence, it was all there. Not all of it, no, but enough. More than enough. Then, the text changed. Addressing him directly.

You have been allowed to continue because you are useful. Tolerable. The situation, however, has changed, and your usefulness with it.

Take the pirate deal. Record the meeting. Speak of this to no one.

This datapad will self-destruct in 60 seconds. Dispose of the evidence.

An Agent will be in contact within 48 hours.

The final thing Murr saw on the screen was the Imperial sigil, almost like a stamped seal at the end of the message. Then, the datapad fried itself, the screen cutting out as the electronics within were rendered useless scrap.

And Murr just stood there, looking at his reflection in the darkened screen.

So much for underestimating the new Moff.

–

Yo. Made cinnamon sugar cookies. Pretty baller.

I wasn't super sure about this chapter, but I figured it worked anyway. Murr was always someone I planned to come back to, as I'd initially set him up for that purpose. Well, he was supposed to be a political rival in the Guild but that got scrapped.

This chapter really was just to show the real power Las has. HAVEN isn't anything compared to, say, MI or the ISB, its also a few steps above what the local corrupt governor has going on in terms of security and counter-intelligence.

This was also partially inspired by the reels I keep getting on instagram about that CIA whistleblower telling stories from his time in the agency. It just keeps getting crazier, but it also really shows the depth of power these people can hold, and I tried to get that across here.

Keep being real ones.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

OFFICIAL SECTOR ADVISORY | IGCPP-OPERATIONAL-STATUS

SUBJECT Internal Security and Naval Logistics of the Imperial Guild

DISTRIBUTION Myto Sector Command / Naval Logistics Division

AUTHORIZATION Office of the Moff, Myto Sector

CLASSIFICATION Restricted Asset Overview

---

I. ORGANIZATIONAL OVERVIEW

The Imperial Guild of Commerce, Protection and Production (IGCPP) maintains a decentralized naval presence to secure member-world trade routes. Rapid expansion of the Guild has resulted in a non-standardized fleet profile. While integration with the Imperial Navy is a long-term strategic goal, current operations rely on a variegated inventory of third-party and decommissioned vessels. This logistical complexity is noted but deemed acceptable for localized defense.

---

II. ASSET CLASSIFICATION

The Guild fleet is comprised of three primary categories of vessels, ranging from light interceptors to heavy sector anchors.

Primary Command Anchors

The Guild maintains a limited heavy-hull inventory, capped at 24 total vessels to remain within Imperial naval quotas.

• Dreadnought-Class Heavy Cruiser Standard heavy engagement platform.
• Neutron Star-Class Bulk Cruiser Utilized for high-durability patrol loops.

Escort and Carrier Elements

• CR-90 Corellian Corvette Standard configuration for rapid response.
• CR-90 Farstar Refit Modified light carrier variant capable of supporting one starfighter squadron.
• Marauder-Class Assault Corvette Specialized for anti-piracy and heavy ordnance delivery.
• Sphyrna-Class Hammerhead Corvette Utilized for picket duty and interdiction.
• Tartan-Class Patrol Cruiser Primary anti-starfighter screen for Guild convoys.

Starfighter Complement

The Guild utilizes a broad array of older models including the R-41 Starchaser, Z-95 Headhunter, and Toscan 8-Q. However, the CloakShape Fighter remains the preferred platform due to modular customizability and simplified maintenance cycles.

---

III. PATROL GROUP ARCHITECTURE

While standardization is ongoing, the Guild generally deploys in mixed-tonnage "Security Taskings" organized around a central carrier or heavy hull.

• Heavy Security Tasking
  • 01 Command Anchor (Dreadnought or Neutron Star)
  • 02 CR-90 Farstar Carriers
  • 03 Tartan or Marauder Escorts
• Light Patrol Element
  • 01 CR-90 Farstar Carrier
  • 02 Sphyrna-Class Corvettes
  • 02 Mixed CloakShape Squadrons

---

IV. OPERATIONAL CONSTRAINTS AND JURISDICTION

Guild forces operate under strict geographic and legal limitations to prevent encroachment upon Imperial Navy prerogatives.

• Jurisdictional Boundary Guild patrols are strictly prohibited from exiting the space of authorizing member systems. Under no circumstances are Guild ships to initiate hyperspace transits into unaligned or deep-space sectors without Imperial escort.
• Imperial Command Override All Guild assets are subject to immediate commandeering by Imperial Navy officers. Commandeered Guild ships remain tethered to Guild-member space and cannot be utilized for out-of-sector campaigns.
• Emergency Mercenary Procurement In high-threat scenarios, Guild commanders are authorized to issue impromptu mercenary contracts.
  • Credit Ceiling 15,000 Credits maximum per engagement.
  • Payment Protocol Compensation is handled via centralized Guild offices. No liquid currency is stored on Guild vessels to mitigate the risk of crew corruption.
  • Audit Requirement Proof of tactical necessity and detailed after-action reports must be filed within 24 hours of contract issuance.

---

V. LOGISTICAL SUMMARY

The current fleet composition presents significant strain on the supply chain due to the variety of required parts for non-Imperial hulls. Sector Command acknowledges that while these forces are effective for low-intensity piracy suppression, they are to be viewed as supplementary to the professional might of the Myto Sector Fleet.

--

Just a little something I decided to throw together. In my mine, the Guild has grown very quickly and there would obviously be growing pains with that. Since the MARD was busy, they decided to simply buy what ships they could on the open market and deal with it later, leading to an eclectic group of ship types. Now that Las is Moff, things will start to change but it will take time, as most tasks of this scale often do.

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-95

1.11 ABY
Zyx Mola
Arkia System
Arkia Prime

Zyx Mola was happy. It wasn't an uncommon sentiment for her, she was a fairly cheerful person. But that didn't mean she wouldn't celebrate her happiness, even if it was just in her head.

Why was she happy? Because she got to go back on the job! Sure, working for her brothers shady, almost certainly not Empire approved shadow organization was different, but it was still spy work.

And to be honest, she liked the challenge. Oh, sure, infiltrating Hutt complexes and high-sec Coruscanti apartments had been difficult, but she'd had the peak of Imperial spyware on her side.

Here, she didn't. She got some basic gadgets for sure. Bugs, poison, etc… But nothing fancy. Every challenge was a joy to overcome, a million paths open to her, so long as she was clever about it.

The door before her opened with a soft click, clearly well maintained. As expected of the door to the Governors office.

Slipping inside, she made her way to the terminal at the desk. A datastick was connected to the port, the software inside automatically activating and drawing out the useful data from the terminal.

In the meantime, Zyx searched the office, checking every corner. The safe hidden behind a painting was a classic trick, but it held nothing of particular importance. She did find some places to put bugs, as the other operatives in the system hadn't been able to make it this far in without risking their cover.

That was another part of the job she loved. Not having to pretend to be someone else for the job. She was a covert infil exfil operative. Zyx's entire job revolved around entering a place sneakily, achieving her objective and getting out without being spotted or anyone ever finding out she was there.

Arkia Prime was a decent warmup, helping her accommodate to her new circumstances.

And wasn't that annoying. Zyx had never liked the ISB, always too preachy, too arrogant. Didn't they know that it didn't matter where the blaster bolt came from? Fools, the lot of them.

But they were competent enough, and more importantly totally loyal to the Empire. MI was supposed to be that way as well, especially with that crazy bitch in charge. However, much of MI was former-Republic infrastructure, command structures and people.

It was a relic of the Republic that had lasted longer than even the Venator because of how entrenched and useful it was. And now, with the rebellion ramping up in many ways, the Emperor was prioritizing the ISB.

Now MI was mostly on the backburner. Cutting back on operatives, budget and overall scope. Torture and Interrogation was likely still working, if nothing else, but they were never getting shut down. Too good at their jobs, their prisons well hidden and efficiently organized.

A glance at the terminal told her it was done. Her investigations of the room had yielded few results. Just a PDA that, upon slicing, gave her some basic information. Enough to fill out the report.

The path to extraction was easy, easier than getting in given she was more confident in the route now.

While the place had been decently challenging, it wasn't really interesting. Better than the Governors mansion in the Revik system, but that place had been kind of pathetic really so it wasn't a high bar to clear.

As Zyx finally reached the hidden safehouse she'd established some days prior, hidden in the capital city's slums, she slumped on the couch.

Honestly, all she could hope was that the next slaver system was more of a challenge. She had at least a dozen of these to do.

–

The last month since the Gala had been quiet. Too quiet.

I'd kept my head down, stayed in my office, never leaving Ugea. One might assume that with so much time passing, maybe I wasn't the target of the assassin at all.

But that could also be the assassins plan. Wait until I'm nice and comfortable, walk outside my defenses, and get turned to paste by a hidden IED.

It wouldn't be hard. Hell, it's what I would do in that scenario.

But just because I was stuck on Ugea didn't mean I didn't get work done. The Auditor Program was coming along nicely.

It was my ultimate anti-corruption tool. An Auditor would work with a team of operatives to infiltrate systems in the Myto sector. They would gather financial information, find corruption, weaknesses and more.

And when they had enough evidence, they would make a very public arrest, backed by my authority.

By not announcing themselves before the investigation, they kept Governors from hiding evidence. By making a public arrest, they made an obvious showing of what happens when Governors don't pay their taxes properly.

It would create a sense of paranoia in Governors. If they commit some minor financial crime, well, what if an Auditor is in their system? What if they're being watched?

The only way to not get caught, is to never play at all.

It's not a perfect system, but the relative secrecy in regards to Auditor identities, the teams, and more means that it'll be hard for Governors to tell how many Auditors exist or what they look like.

Because there aren't meant to be more than maybe 20 of these people. The larger the organization, the more prone to corruption it is after all. Their effect will be more psychological than anything really.

I would later implement a subsidy program that helps economic development for systems that pay properly, on time, etc… the carrot to the stick. But, as much as it would help worse off systems now, it would make me look weak, like I'm giving things out. So it'll have to wait until the Auditor Program was up and running.

But of course, I can't just rule by fear. That never ends well. So I have to show that I'm not just a tyrant. How do you do that? Infrastructure!

Holo-net relays were being spread across the sector to help facilitate communications sector wide. It wasn't as though what was already there was super bad, it was simply inconsistent. Not enough proper coverage at a solid quality level.

Better relays hadn't been the cheapest thing in the world, but they weren't impossible on a sector budget. It would simply take time for them to be spread, especially with piracy up, meaning they could only be put where they would reasonably not get destroyed.

And finally, of course, I'd found a Governor for Minda. A young woman named Raina. She'd been a street rat from Edin of all places when growing up. She was smart enough to cheat her way into an Imperial academy and excel there as an administrator. Sure, there were other options, but she was by far the safest. Competent, adverse to risks, and loyal. After all, Darna's cleanup of Edin had helped a lot of her family and friends that she lacked the capital to help.

A boring option, all things considered. Which was, in my opinion, for the best. Boring means predictable and safe.

It was as I was working through various possible paths of sector development that an alarm started sounding. Not the intruder alarm, but the general attack alarm. The same alarm that had rung years ago when pirates attacked Accordia.

Mugwuffin was instantly off her perch as I vaulted my desk, giving only a quick glance behind me.

Through my office window I could see up into the night sky where the distant shape of the shipyard sat, a large lattice in the sky.

The structure, normally visible due to its size and medium earth orbit, was lighting up with flashes of explosions.

–

Bofi Sake
Mindan Imperial Shipyard

Bofi Sake was a pilot. A damn good pilot, though certainly not the best of the best.

He consistently ranked around 20th place in the sims, which was pretty good. Nothing close to the top hitters, like Alvi from Edin that was always in one of the top three spots.

Regardless, he was pretty good. He'd seen a large number of incidents across the sector, ranging from dueling with fighters to hunting down freighters, and even engaging frigates, when a pirate happened to have one.

But never in his time as a pilot had he expected to fight suicide pilots.

"Thranta 5, three bogeys enroute to berth 10! Intercept!" screamed Sake's flight leader as he engaged another enemy group.

"Copy, engaging!" he replied, his TIE Interceptor turning to scream towards his target. All around him, fighters engaged one another, frantically chasing down enemy fighters as they careened towards the yards.

They'd come out of hyperspace like bats out of hell. They ignored all warnings, barely fired a shot, and made a beeline for the yards.

Sake lined up the first bogey, a Cloakshape. It tried to dodge, twisting and turning but he was faster, streaks of red ripping through it in seconds. One of the other fighters made a turn from its target, aiming itself towards him.

Bofi sent himself into a spin, causing most of the enemy's shots to go wide. One glanced at the side, but the shields held. He'd never been more grateful for the refits.

Again, he held down the trigger, and again the fighter went up in flames. The wreckage flew out into the void, carried by momentum.

He oriented himself towards the last target, locking a missile. But it was too close, a missile at this range might hit the yards.

Instead, Bofi punched it, zooming faster than most starfighters out there to catch up with the Scyk interceptor.

He fires a controlled burst, which punches through the ship's back engine. The ship spins uncontrollably, veering off course and smashing into the thick outer walls of the berth. Better than hitting the delicate equipment within.

Pulling away from the yards, Bofi got a view of the battlefield.

Chaos was the only way to describe it.

Over a hundred enemy fighters had dropped into the system. They came in all shapes, from the most common hunks of junk to mismatched parts slapped together. But they all shared one thing in common.

They seemed hell bent on smashing into the shipyards. Sure, they engaged other fighters, but only to get them off their tails. Other than that, they simply focused on dodging AA.

The ISD Heavy Judgement had just started disgorging its own TIE complement while other system defense ships got into range, laser cannons sending bolts of red screaming into the void.

Already, the shipyard had taken several hits, damaging sensitive equipment and killing who knows how many.

In the distance, Bofi saw a Vigil-Class Corvette go down, slammed into by two fighters while three more made a beeline for the yards. Thankfully, they were turned to slag by one of the Guilds Dreadnoughts, the ship still stuck in the yard but with fully functioning weaponry.

Over the comms, Bofi heard his next set of orders, and set off. Interceptor screaming silently into the black.

Before the Edin Academy, Bofi had been nobody. Now, he was good enough to defend the sector's most prized asset.

They would not win.

–

Yo. Not super duper happy with the fight scene, but that's because I dunno how to write them and its late.

For the attentive among you, Bofi Sake is indeed a recurring character. I don't normally bring back characters from previous throwaway POV interludes, but I figured this guy was in a prime position for this anyways, might as well.

Stay swagalicious
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-96

1.11 ABY
Aren Hiral
Ord Mantell

Aren stared at the screen of his terminal, its light illuminating his face.

In his gut, worry pooled. In his mind, thoughts raced.

Because the report before him bore nothing but ill tidings. An attack on the Mindan shipyard. A vital piece of infrastructure that had been instrumental in boosting his career as quickly as possible.

Thankfully, the report cited that only two berths took any serious damage, and the repairs would take only a few months.

But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that someone tried in the first place. And he didn't know who.

Oh, he had a hunch it was the same person who tried to kill the Grand Moff at his gala, twice! The first assassin had been caught, with Hiral only being alerted during the Grand Moffs speech. But the guards weren't able to catch the second one before they opened fire.

And now they had targeted important assets under the command of his largest supporter base.

Certainly, he had no real doubt that Las Mola would figure out any problems within the Myto sector. The young man had proven himself competent and unambitious, with his Guild project already seeing rising revenues across the sector.

But this attack made him and Hiral look bad by association. That wasn't acceptable. And more than that it proved that this was an issue that was larger than any one sector.

The worst part was that the Mindan Shipyard was a vital piece of local infrastructure and one of the few shipyards in the oversector with such a high level of production in both size and speed. Other yards, like the Gwori yards, were limited in size and came with the stain of being former separatists.

He got up from his desk and started to pace the room, mind racing.

What contacts did he have that could help with this…he had few criminal contacts, and with the debacle at the gala getting caught with one of them would be disastrous. But it might be his only option.

Of the Moffs of the Oversector, he was friendly with about half of them, the richest of the lot, especially those in the mid-rim portion of the oversector. He'd given them ships on the cheap from the shipyards in exchange for their support or neutrality in his bid for his current position.

But friendly did not mean friends. They were predators, stalking him. They helped him up because to them, an upjumped newcomer in the seat was a failure waiting to happen. One they could benefit from.

If he showed weakness now, failed to solve this problem, relied on them for help, he was done for.

Especially with the ISB investigating. They had far too much power for him to be comfortable, especially with his lack of connections in the ISB itself.

Lieutenant Bree was a competent man who likely faced fierce competition in the Core to gain the position he held today. It would only be a matter of time before the investigations dug too deep.

Aren Hiral did not want that. He had secrets, dirty dealings and more buried that deep, after all. He couldn't afford the ISB getting a hold of any of that.

–

1.11 ABY
Zyx Mola
Arkia Prime

In the week that she'd been sitting around on Arkia Prime, Zyx had been bored. Incredibly so.

Normally, she wouldn't still be here. She'd planted the bugs, she'd done her part of the job. At this point, analysts would take over, monitoring the bugs and such, while she flew off to her next target.

But no, her dear brother's operation wasn't just defunct in the gadget department, but in the manpower department as well!

Apparently their other on-planet operatives were tied up in difficult to leave positions, and the rest of the organization was spread thin as-is.

So she had to sit here day-in, day-out, listening and recording every noise made in the Governor's office.

Honestly, it was a complete bore! It was mostly just the Governor laughing snobily with some pompous friends, or crying silently over how his parents never loved him, or having the most pathetic sounding sex with his mistress, who was most certainly cheating on him.

It sucked. More than that, she had to do this for at least another week, because that's how long it would take for someone to be sent to take her place.

At least she had games on her PDA. All offline, of course, but she was getting quite good at this Requiem of Vengeance game. Las was apparently quite good at it, so as his older sister she was compelled to surpass him just to brag. If only the parry windows weren't so damn tight!

And the new ship she got was pretty nice as well. A basic freighter with none of the bits and bobs of her old ship, but it didn't have any listening devices and she was free to decorate!

Eventually, a few days into her second week waiting out in the middle of nowhere while listening for anything of use, something did come up.

Putting on the headpiece, Zyx listened in, hand already reaching for her PDA so she could play something while whatever nonsense the governor did went on in the background.

That is, of course, until she heard this.

"Is the line secure, Governor?"

Zyx sat up straight, eyes locking onto the receiver, checking if the recording light was on. It was.

"Of course it is. I presume you're calling about the shipyard?"

"Why else would I be calling! You promised results, Governor Trice. A shipyard in ruins! That rat Hiral embarrassed! You said those slaves were pilots! What was the point in threatening their families if they can't even finish the job!"

"First of all, I said they were pilots, not good pilots. If they'd been good pilots, the Hutts never would've captured them. Secondly, Hiral has been embarrassed, though not as much as planned. A few more incidents and he won't be in his seat much longer."

"I don't have time for a few more incidents! The investigators are tracking the slugthrower from the gala, and it's only a matter of time before they find out it came from my sector! When can the next attack happen?"

"My apologies, but neither I nor my compatriots are particularly flush with funds these days. That detestably Moff has increased patrols sector wide, making it harder to engage in our preferred commerce. And please, I doubt they could track you down from a single measly slugthrower. Those are the weapons of primitives and the exceptionally poor. Why you decided to arm that poor excuse of an assassin with one is beyond me, really"

"Slugthrowers are so outdated they bypass most scanners. More importantly, NO OTHER SECTOR HAS THEM!!! Mines the only one where slugthrowers are used in any capacity, if only by the rebels! It's only a matter of time!"

"Relax yourself man. Do you not have contacts for this kind of thing? It's easy, I tell you, to hide your indiscretions. I've been doing it for years! All you'd have to do is lay low for a while, let your enemies think they've won, then strike once more!"

"You will address me by my title, Governor. I have earned the rank of Moff and I will not be disrespected. Nor will I lay low like a coward. I've already had to resort to such dishonor as assassins. No, I will do what must be done to dethrone these soft hearted civilian fools and return this side of the Empire to its glory days, those of unparalleled military might, conquest and more! The Outer Rim Sieges were the best of the Empire's glory days!"

"Of course, if you say so, Moff Surrde. I will endeavor to create new plans to the best of my ability."

"You'd better. Or I'll throw you into one of your slave pens and see what they do to you."

At that, the communication seemed to end. On the other end, she heard the governor sit down, loudly given his mass.

"What a fool…I'd better see to cutting ties before he drags us all down. What did that mercenary fellow say his name was again? Cad?

Zyx listened with rapt attention until he left the office to go 'enjoy' his merchandise before she plugged the recorder into a secure data unit.

This was information that was too important to be transmitted. She would hand this over herself.

As she started the ships preflight checklist, a smile spread across her face.

Things were getting interesting.

–

Things were getting boring around here, and that was saying something.

You'd think, given I'm Moff now, that I'd have a shit ton of work to do all the time. That I would be swamped with paperwork and meetings and more.

Surprisingly? Not really.

When I was Governor, it was work all day every day. New contracts, new expansions, new rail lines, new factories, and whatever bullshit R&D was pulling out of their ass on that particular day.

Part of it was because I was actually doing my duties properly, and part of it was because I was a paranoid micromanager.

But as Moff, it's not the same. Instead of reading a mountain of reports, I get like two dozen 3 page reports at best. Each an executive summary of various situations sector-wide. I then sign off on them, demand more information, or change directions.

I also get to interview Governors. Not the usual process, others tend to do that part, but since I purged some 500 people a while ago I had a few Governors to replace.

The interviews were easy enough. Find someone with experience at higher management, a career not built off of corruption, slap a HAVEN spy close by and toss them to a system with a plan of action and general direction. Not perfect, but far simpler than I thought.

And of course, there was economic policy and all the stuff with the Guild and slavers, but its become almost monotonous, like background noise. I still do the work, of course, it's what I'm paid for.

At this level, there was far more delegation. As a Governor, I worked around 100 or so hours each week, weekends included of course. A tiny pinch of stims in the coco helped a great deal. As Moff? Closer to 56 a week. Insane amounts of time cut off. Not to mention the pay bump is pretty nice, makes it easier to funnel money to my work-in-progress escape plan.

I mean, 8 hours of work a day? I have so much free time I've actually started playing games with Mugwuffin, though the little rat cheats at Dejarik. I've also taken a lot of the economic and political analyses I wrote during my time as Governor and started sending them to the University of Coruscant, while starting to write more, of course.

I know it's a long shot and all, but I figure maybe it could get me admitted as a student over the Holonet and all. Even with time zone differences, I imagine there must be some equivalent of online classes that I can take. At least, I hope so.

If not, I at least want to see if I can get access to the libraries there. With all this free time I want to see if I can schedule a trip in a few months and just peruse, find some new sources and see if I can get copies to bring back. The stores I found on Dubrillion didn't have much.

That night, my workday had already come to an end. I was still in the office, however. It was a place of mental discipline for myself, making it easier for me to concentrate on my newest paper, The Droid-Reliance Paradox: Capital Expenditure vs. Labor Adaptability. It was about how droid labor, while seemingly great has a great deal of hidden problems and vulnerabilities that aren't present in sentient labor.

It was based on what I learned through the droid-buddy system in the MARD. A useful system that was now being phased out as more sentient workers were hired.

Still, as I sat in my office, Mugwuffin curled at my feet, I got an alert. Someone had requested permission to take the elevator up to my office.

Normally, I don't get these. Garp, and soon whoever replaces him, is in charge of these. But it's late, and the second shift crew is due soon. Just like when running a system, you always need people awake at all times to deal with things. 3 shifts a day is the set-up. Though I do plan to eventually get a space station as my headquarters to declutter the Imperial Island and allow for artificial day/night cycles for easier transitions.

Looking at the camera, I see its Zyx. The facial recognition blinks green, as does her ID card so I let her through.

A minute later, she's standing before me. Silently, she hands me a datastick, her mouth slowly spreading into a grin.

Creepy, but I comply, plugging it into a useless datapad, one set up unconnected to any systems in case something has a virus.

As the audio plays out, I look Zyx in the eye as the same smile spreads across my face.

Jackpot.

–

I almost made the 4th part of this chapter the POV of some Umbaran corporate delegate getting invited by Abyssal Industries to the Myto sector. But Umbaran tech was kind of OP, and I figure the Empire stole it all and wouldn't allow any real power to be left in Umbaran hands after that.

Also, it's been almost a year now since I started this story. It's kind of crazy. Thought there would be more chapters, to be honest. At least the quality and continuity has kind of increased, though, again, not by as much as I'd hoped it would've.

Eh, I'll just keep going. Bound to get good at some point.

Remember to always have that shit on, dawg.
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Meat Lockers and Microfilm

POV: Kerr Kelen, in front of a newly franchised Shaak Strips and Races, Globobia, Myto Sector

"Welp, that's the last of the equipment. You good setting it up on your own?"

Manager Kelen gave a firm nod to the Jarell. This moving company was known for dumb labor. He didn't trust them to do more than move loads. Even if the moving company had a suspiciously glowing recommendation from an Imperial Governor. The fact they hired primarily Guineo affirmed Kelen's lack of trust. Poor fellas never got the chance to get a good education before having to make their way in the galaxy. It always saddened him when people were dealt a bad hand in life.

"My employees will be more than enough. Some of them are from another location, so they know their way around the equipment. Now here, a reward for being so efficient with the unloading. No word getting around to our competitors and Varanus' Busters may have more work from Shaak Strips and Races in the future."

What Kelen did trust them to do is be dumb labor, not look inside the crates they were moving, and not ask too many inconvenient questions. Breaking that part of the contract would hurt them far more than him, but it would still be an embarrassment. The boss finagled his tentacles in a way that suggested a warm smile, or a vicious grin. Hard to tell. Nevertheless the moving company loaded up and sped off with professional haste.

"Alright, I want everything from the kitchen to the Meat Locker in working condition by 1700 sharp for opening day tomorrow! Let's get moving!"

Kelen's employees unleashed a groan that could be heard across the lower rungs of society. Something all middle managers fed on as parasites to the working class. Perfect. He was going to be the bestest manager ever.

——

"Tri! How goes the set up?"

The once resting Twi'lek snapped to attention with an uncomfortable quickness. A speed born of the constant threat of displeasing the shouter. Kelen tried not to think about it. Appearances had to be maintained in public and he didn't want anyone outside to see him wince.

"All the kitchen appliances just got installed. Condenser units ready to cook when we open tomorrow. Really wished you could have let the Busters take care of some of the heavier stuff."

Kelen knew he was running his employees rather hard. That his employees had undergone the training necessary to move and install everything didn't stop the guilt. It was just he hated standing here "supervising" when he should be on his knees helping them. Someone who treats their subordinates as disposable has no defense when their boss treats them the same way.

However it was all for a good cause and they all knew it when they took this job. Middle managers could be lax, they could be incompetent, but no one ever expected them to be kind. Start being too nice and it might start spawning the wrong rumors. If he was to maintain his cover, some light poor treatment of his employees in public was needed to keep up the mask.

"And what of the Meat Locker? Ready to accept tomorrow's shipment?"

Tri nodded before leading Kelen into the back. The storage room was freezing and looked like any other back of a restaurant. At least those that didn't deal solely in "processed" ingredients. Logically he knew it was cheaper and people couldn't afford better, but the thought of someone paying their hard earned Credits just to get served that slop disgusted the service provider in him. Only proper food for proper Credits for his customers!

"Brrr. Really wished the we could and gone for thicker uniforms. Definitely don't keep warm enough when the temps drop."

Now that they were out of potential sight Kelen offered Tri his manager's coat on instinct, but she refused. Tri moved a lightweight box and tapped a code in a keypad that wasn't installed in the building until recently. A hidden staircase opened up leading to a room that wouldn't look out of place in a military base. The S2R safehouse and monitoring station was the true heart of the restaurant.

"We needed to keep the uniforms light Agent Tri. We needed them unobtrusive enough so it would be easy to put armor over them when required. Now Agent Duo, status update."

Agent Duo stood up from her chair to give Kelen a salute. Agents Tri and Duo were in the same training batch, and it showed in the warm smiles they gave one another. In private of course. They barely acknowledged each other when on the job.

"Sir! Just finished setting up the monitoring equipment. Venting some of cold storage's cooling into the server room is really helping. Credentials let us have discrete access to the satellite network without issue. Should have a decent infiltration of the system's HoloNet by the end of the week!"

Always good when things are progressing ahead of schedule. Agent Duo was a fantastic slicer even before we got our hands on her. Now with the resources at our disposal no one in this system is going to be out of her reach. Agent Tri ruffled the head of the Lepi woman.

"That eager to finish up and serve drinks to our clientele? I didn't know you had that side of you."

Hissing came from Agent Duo's lips. Perhaps it would be better to remind them to be professional. However it had been a long day, and Kelen was going to be enough of a no good boss during store hours. The reason for this sports bar business model was to cover up potential suspicions by keeping people distracted with the alcohols and a focus on mounted sports entertainment. He never had an alcohol before, but he knew how popular and muddling they were from his fellow sentients in arms.

"It is supposed to be just a sports bar. The customers are going too busy gawking at Swoopdueling to leer at me. You're lucky you will be mostly in the kitchen, Tri. Besides at least you got a nice cover name for this operation. With a cover name like Dyadia everyone here is going to assume me parents named be for my big ears, or my front teeth."

Alrighty then, this is starting to get out of hand. Any further and these two will continue long into the night. They'll be spending enough long nights here if they ever get a priority search order or need to use the detainment room in the back of the safehouse. Clapping his hands, Kelen drew their attention back to the status report.

"Okay enough banter. How is Agent Quad setting up the servers?"

The Kler'terrian was supposed to be handling the "supplemental" electronics being installed in the building. Kelen's Agents would keep an ear out as well, but being able to listen and store information digitally would prevent mistakes if someone misremembers something in their post-shift report.

"Both the main and backup storage server are set up and isolated. A slicer won't be able to access either unless they infiltrate the safehouse itself, and at that point we have bigger problems. She also got the bugs set up ahead of time while placing traps for the fleshy ones."

Excellent! Kelen has to remember to praise Agent Quad for her work ethic when he gets the chance. Keeping employee morale high is an integral part of being a manager. Not in public of course, he has to keep reminding himself of that. However that doesn't mean he can't share his real feelings in private.

Ooooo, maybe Kelen could scold Agent Quad for placing the bug traps too visibly while they are in the kitchen. Loudly enough that a conveniently open door can let some of it slip into the customer's ears. He'd have to check if that is okay with her first. Kelen didn't want to hurt her feelings after all.

"And I assume Agent Sept is finished unloading and checking over the weapons?"

The sheepish grin told Kelen that no, Agent Sept hadn't made as much progress as Agent Duo. Their Askajian weapons expert always did have a love for blasters bordering on the unhealthy. At least that meant their DD6s would be ready should they ever be activated.

Realistically they would likely stick to low level monitoring and occasionally providing infrastructure for outside agents to utilize. The whole point of Project S2R was quietly keep track of the mood and rumors in city districts containing populations with a history of civil unrest. The day-to-day would be gathering data to compile into weekly reports to be sent up the chain to be put in graph or database somewhere.

At most they would head off a planned riot or two, maybe pass along info from loose lipped criminals to the authorities. Little chance of them bagging something like an elusive Recruitment Agent, but that was what more elite teams are for. Not like their work wasn't just as important to safeguarding the Empire, as he keeps reminding his Agents during his weekly pep talks.

"Right, tell Agent Sept to be out by closing time. She has to report to her apartment and establish her identity on this world. Then you all can report five minutes before opening so I can yell at you in public for not being ten minutes early like we planned during our last Bad Boss Treatment Planning Session.

Let's make this place unremarkable Agents. T wants our operation seeded and rooted by the end of the year. I expect the S2R Division to be the least talked about division ever. Dismissed. Have a great rest of your evening everyone."

With the Guild's access combined with the Security Bureau's expertise, Shaak Strips and Races should be in the process of opening all across the sector by now. The flimsiwork trail depicting it as an inconsequential franchise with just the right combination of permits and Imperial benign inattentiveness to spread quickly. Serving customers, drawing eyes, and ready to answer the Empire's call at a moment's notice.

——

One of the culminations of HAVEN and ISB collaboration. Nobody expects your favorite restaurant to be an Imperial front! Or a cartel front. Or a mafia front. Or a Rebel fron… you get the idea. To be fair, if everyone is doing it, then the idea must have some merit. The Moff's intelligence network has to expand somehow and why not go with a classic?

Writing Manager Kelen was an interesting experiment. For this job they wanted someone who can act like an insufferable manager without being an insufferable manager. Someone who can yell at their "employees" with zero malicious intentions conveyed. The result was Kerr Kelen, quite possibly the nicest person currently working for the ISB. To an almost unsettling degree.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-97-Interlude

1.11
Governor Trice
Arkia System
Arkia Prime

Governor Trice was an annoyed man. His plans regarding that upstart Moff Mola had failed so far, and now his backer was getting scared.

Honestly, for all his supposed war scars, that man was a coward through and through. He simply refused to admit it.

Regardless, now Trice was looking to snip the loose ends of this whole debacle and get it all over with. It had been a few days since his last call with his backer, and he'd been trying to get in contact with Cad Bane, renowned mercenary.

Bane was a notorious fellow. Known for turning on his employers if offered more, and even threatening the entire operation if not paid more than agreed upon. Still, he was considered the best of the best, and Trice had more than enough to pay him with.

Sure, the tax statements for the Arkia system spoke of a measly 12 million credits a year in total revenue, but it was really closer to 30 million. Of course, all that money was laundered through a complex network of fronts and criminals, and therefore perfect for paying for an assassin.

He just needed Bane to kill that fool from the Braxant sector, since Surrde was continuing to fail and might be tracked back to him. The other slaver Governors would be working towards dealing with Moff Mola, though whatever plan they used was a longer term thing. Recent debacles had clearly showcased they needed better plans.

Honestly, the other slavers were all fools, but they were useful fools if nothing else.

Trice walked out onto his room's balcony, taking a deep breath. Arkia Prime was an arid world, hot and dry. Trice had paid quite the extra fee for the upper districts of the capital city to have atmospheric regulation towers, bringing a more moderate temperature and humidity.

As he admired the view of the city stretching below him, vivid proof of his wealth, he noticed something odd.

Off in the distance sat the city's space port. From it, what looked to be Lambda shuttles flew in the direction of his palace.

I have no appointments at this hour. Thought Trice, as the shuttles approached. It may well be a gift of some sort.

Imperials in his system, often those in charge of space stations or commandants of slave pens, sent him gifts. Bejeweled blasters, fine robes, and more. All to curry favor with him.

He took them, of course. It was only right. This gift, however, seemed a tad larger than the others.

Back in his office, he pressed a button, prompting an attendant to enter.

"Bring me my uniform." He said, not looking at the man as Trice instead plucked a fruit from his desk tray, popping it into his mouth. Soon, the attendant returned, Trice's uniform, belt, boots and blaster on a cart.

Trice said nothing as he turned around and held out his arms. The attendant understood immediately, moving to dress the Governor.

See, now this is a good slave. Well trained, obedient and quiet. This one doesn't even need a slave collar, though the marks on its neck are not the best sight. Perhaps I should issue a higher collar uniform, wouldn't do for my best products to show signs of wear and tear.

Within just two minutes, the Governor was fully dressed, and he began his journey to the landing pads.

The pads were staged behind the palace, on a stepped terrace. It was a way for Trice to subtly tell his guests how important they were. The further down the terrace they were told to land, the lower they were to him.

Trice's own personal ships had their own indoor hangars, of course. Situated on one of his palace spires, so he would always land above others. These subtle power plays were part and parcel with the position of Governor.

Yet, as he arrived at the landing pads, content that he would lounge in a shaded seat, sipping on wine while he watched the guests slowly approach from below him, he noticed something off.

The shuttles were landing on the top landing pads, those reserved only for Trices closest friends and allies.

Who dares!? All new guests are given instructions to land on the lowest terrace!

Before he can start berating the nearest attendant for the failures of those in the traffic tower, the shuttle ramps open.

And out steps an Imperial officer, the most average looking Imperial officer Trice had ever seen. Ever so slightly tanned skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and a face that could be lost in a crowd as easily as Trice was lost in the bottle.

"You! I demand to know who you are! Do you have no respect for your Governor!" He yelled angrily. No matter the gift presented now, he would have this man's head.

"So you confirm yourself to be Governor Trice?"

Now he was fuming. "Of course I am! This is my palace! Who else would I be?!"

"Governor, you are under arrest for tax evasion, bribery, and collusion with criminal elements."

Behind the man, Stormtroopers swarmed from the shuttles, two surrounding the Governors in seconds. Around him, the troopers put all his attendants in cuffs while more spread across the yard and into the palace.

"What?! No, you can't-" Before another word could be said, a stun blast knocked him unconscious.

The officer sighed, massaging his temples. This entire operation was going to require so much paperwork, he could just feel it.

The investigation itself was not a particularly long one. You'd think it would've been longer, considering they'd only arrested the Governor on suspicion of working with criminal elements.

But Governor Trice seemed to be a selectively careful individual. His outwards communications and dealings were fairly airtight for the most part, and only his slip ups alerted the Sector government that he was potentially working with criminal organizations to traffic illegal slaves.

And that was no good. After all, slavery is only permitted for non-sentients and prisoners. And plenty of the slaves at the palace seemed quite human.

The officer himself didn't really see why this operation was that important, nor why it mattered if the alien slaves were criminals or not. Regardless, he was ordered to do this, so he would.

It was as the investigation was wrapping up that one of his analysts came to him. A newcomer to the team, still bright eyed.

"Sir, I was looking through the recent comm logs… and I found this…" the young man, boy really he could only be 18 at the maximum, handed him a datapad with information downloaded from the Governor's terminal. It contained a recorded call to an obscure number out of sector.

The officer pressed play. A minute later, his eyes were wide as saucers. Treason of this level…

It smelled of promotion. Turning to the newcomer, he spoke. "This is highly sensitive data. Keep quiet about this while I get it up to high command. There might be a promotion in your future."

The analyst smiled and nodded before being dismissed. The officer almost snorted in amusement. The only one getting a promotion would be him, as clearly he was the one who discovered the information. He could just smell the pay raise.

The analyst, on the other hand, walked away with a genuine smile on his face. He knew there was no promotion in his future, but that was fine. After all, he'd done his duty as a HAVEN operative.

In his mind's eye, he could imagine the unbridled joy the slaves would feel upon their release. No matter his dreams before HAVEN, he knew with utmost certainty that this was a cause he could live in service of. A dream to fight for.

Hands in the dark, eyes on the dawn.

–

1.11 ABY
Lieutenant Trilo Bree
Dubrillion

The Lieutenant stared at the report before him. His emerald eyes scanned it head to toe, leaving no detail uncovered.

It was a report on a raid conducted by an Imperial officer and three squads of stormtroopers. They had raided the Governatorial palace of Governor Trice of Arkia.

From what ISB agents had collected, the officer had claimed to be doing so on the orders of the Moff.

If true, and these weren't imposters, then the Moff could be making a move. The Lieutenant had been keeping a decently close eye on the new Moff, wary of him. The Moff himself was not the danger necessarily, no. For all intents and purposes he seemed a competent and highly motivated individual.

The problem was he seemed to not take to the COMPNOR edicts quite so well. Records pulled from the Imperial Academy on Eriadu show that he was a willful student, talking back to teachers and only escaping punishment because of his mothers position as head of the academy itself.

Not to mention, throughout his reign as Governor of the Minda system he's been seen working closely with aliens of all kinds, and allowing aliens into the local governmental systems.

Admittedly, from what his agents told him, said the system was highly and strictly meritocratic, hiring agents screening prospective employees without knowing their species, gender, or really any information about them save their prior experience. Even the interview was conducted through voice only, and with voice modulators active.

Extensive systems meant to ensure that only those who truly had what it took were allowed in while attempting to curb bias as much as possible.

The Lieutenant would've been impressed if the system did not allow non-humans higher up into the government. The chance the now Moff repeated the process on the sector level was not to be ignored.

Perhaps the Lieutenant would finally make use of Agent Thorne. He'd relegated the man to Minda because despite his exceptional zeal, it would not be conducive to the ISB's image to be seen in relation to a near-human with such an obvious feature as Thorne's pitch black eyes.

It was a shame of sorts, the man was a true believer in every respect. He'd turned in his own parents when they rebelled and watched the execution himself. Still, he wasn't human, at least not fully, and the stain of rebellion in his family would never watch away. Best to keep him in a place where he might be of use later.

Of course, now would be the perfect time to make use of him. The Moff had bypassed the ISB in this matter, despite Governors colluding with criminals being the exact sort of thing the ISB existed for, internal failure. A mistake the Lieutenant intended to punish, if only to keep this Moff in line.

Before he could begin drafting any sort of order, his terminal pinged with another message. Another report on the same raid.

The only difference? It came from the Moffs office. An official report for the ISB.

It detailed the reason for the raid, the evidence used as justification and more. Sent mere minutes after he received his own agent's report. Was the Moff trying to appease him by having it sent? Insult him by sending it after the raid was done?

As he skimmed the report, seeing as it contained much the same information, he got to the end. A section marked urgent.

It contained an audio file, taken from the Governor's office, alongside other data sets taken from the same place.

Listening to it, the Lieutenant's eyes narrowed. This was a serious problem. His office had been working around the clock to catch the attempted assassin. He refused to be shown up in the next meeting at the Coruscanti headquarters.

Then, he spotted the note at the end of the urgent section.

Note: This information and evidence has been deemed by the Moff to be sensitive, and therefore has been sent only to the ISB branch of the Myto Sector and the Governor-General's office in order to maintain operational security.

Long live the Empire.

If the Lieutenants' eyes narrowed anymore they would be closed. If the Governor-General had this same information, he would act quickly in order to make up for the utter bungling that had been the gala. Hiral was ambitious and would not see this opportunity go to waste.

It also complicated things on the Lieutenants end. He'd made sure that the Governor-General's investigations had been hampered, to ensure his own succeeded first. But with this evidence, even accounting for time spent fact checking, would lead to swift action.

Was this some sort of scheme by Moff Mola? Was he pitting them against each other? Opening the man's file on his terminal, he scanned through it. Under the psychological section, one line stood out to him.

Political Ambition: Appears low. His maneuvers are consistently aimed at fiscal health rather than personal power.

That was the one hiccup in his theory. Las Mola had consistently shown himself to be aligned not with personal wealth and power but economic policy and health. His political ambitions and rises through power have all been the result of actions taken with economics in mind.

It was a puzzling thing, to be sure. But it also made the actual truth of the report clearer.

Moff Mola had sent the report directly after the raid to showcase that this was his sector but that he also respected the ISB. If he didn't, the official report would've come days or weeks after the event itself, almost as an afterthought.

But the damning evidence was sent to both his and the Governor-General's office because he doesn't wish to choose a political side. If his profile is correct, he only plays political games to ensure his sector's economic stability, which also explains his actions against those governors who rely on slave labor, as he likely has economic reservations against it.

The Lieutenant allowed the slightest hint of a smile to grace his stone cold features before it vanished.

All this meant that Las Mola was an interesting character, but more importantly one that could be very easily worked around.

And that boded well for the Lieutenant's future.

–

Yo. I tried to make fried chicken bites and pasta today. Fucked up the chicken though, the egg coating wasn't enough and the flour didn't stick well enough, so it came out more lightly toasted than anything else. Or maybe it's because I coated them all, piled them up, then fried them en masse? Maybe some flour fell off or the egg dried up or something. It was fine enough anyways, I'll just use breadcrumbs later.

As for the chapter, yes the evidence the officer was given by the HAVEN agent was evidence the agent planted. Yes, I will be releasing Las's ISB profile on the informational tab sometime tomorrow/later today since it's close to midnight over here.

And no, Las did not intend the political games with the reports that the Lieutenant thinks he did, he didn't send the report before hand because he wasn't under the impression that the ISB would care about a raid on a single Governor over criminal connections. Of course, the ISB doesn't care, but the Lieutenant would've used it as an excuse to punish Las. Political games and all that.

I wanted to get across how convoluted and competitive the Empire is internally even when it really doesn't need to be. This would've been a pointless thing to do, but the Lieutenant would've done so anyway for the power trip and the potential chance for some benefits to arise.

Fascists will do what they do, which is usually be really fucking stupid for no reason.

Go get them fat stacks, amigo.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU | PERSONNEL SUMMARY

Moff Las Mola (Formerly Governor of Minda and Edin systems)

---

BIOGRAPHICAL OVERVIEW

• Birth: 5 BFE, Coruscant.
• Residency: Relocated to Eriadu during childhood, now resides on Ugea.
• Physical Description: 5'10" with a pale complexion and brown hair.
• Distinguishing Marks: Heavy scarring on the right side of the face resulting from an assassination attempt by the Crowns syndicate (Check Medical File 77B).
• Education: Expelled from the Imperial Academy of Eriadu for impertinence.
• Combat Training: Private self-defense instruction under Commander Kaela Grant (Check File Grant-K).

---

FAMILY ASSET DISTRIBUTION

The subject has consolidated his immediate family into critical sector roles to ensure absolute loyalty.

• Dornun Mola (Father): Serves as an informal information gatherer and local intelligence asset.
• Jir Mola (Mother): Former Academy Commandant who was discharged by the subject immediately upon her arrival in the Myto Sector.
• Shal Mola (Sister): Commander of the ISD Heavy Judgement tasked with guarding the Minda shipyards.
• Zyx Mola (Sister): Former Military Intelligence agent now serving as a direct administrative aide.
• Alvi Mola (Sister): High-ranking TIE pilot currently patrolling the Edin system.

---

ECONOMIC AND SECTOR ACHIEVEMENTS

The subject maintains a philosophy of economic stability that prioritizes long-term yields over immediate Imperial quotas.

• Imperial Guild: An expansive economic infrastructure providing loans and managing market competition through a strict ranking and trust system. It utilizes tiered rewards to incentivize productivity, such as granting high-ranked mercenaries exclusive equipment rights. The system even incorporates "Sourcing Specialists" to hunt rival smugglers and repurpose or dispose of illicit cargo (Check File Guild-PROD).
• Rothana Assets: Acquired RHE's orbital shipyard and specialized factory components for 9 billion credits to negotiate more lenient quotas for the system with the then-Moff (Check Financial Report RHE99).
• Negotiation History: The transaction was successfully brokered by the former secretary Oioro.
• Technological Push: Developed and mandated Personal Digital Assistants to replace standard datapads for more efficient data processing and administration.

---

LOYALTY AND POLITICAL ALIGNMENT

Mola's methods have drawn significant scrutiny from COMPNOR regarding his adherence to New Order orthodoxy.

• Ideological Deviance: COMPNOR has logged formal concerns regarding the subject's strict meritocratic systems and his willingness to allow aliens into high-level government roles.
• Auxiliary Forces: Under his tenure, non-human auxiliaries have become increasingly common within sector security forces.
• Imperial Benefits: Despite these deviations, the Myto Sector has experienced a dramatic rise in tax revenue and logistical efficiency.
• Civilian Stability: His policies have fostered a growing middle class that expresses vocal loyalty to the Empire, creating a counter culture to potential local revolutionary sentiment.

---

PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS

Mola presents as a high-functioning workaholic with an extreme focus on logistical optimization. He lacks a traditional social circle and avoids the standard political posturing common among his peers.

• Work Ethic: Historically logged 14-hour days as Governor and currently maintains a strict 56-hour work week.
• Interpersonal Relations: Social interactions are limited to his pet lizard and a red-skinned bodyguard of unknown origin.
• Staffing Preference: Shows a consistent pattern of hiring non-human secretaries who are eventually promoted to positions of significant influence.
• Political Ambition: Appears low. His maneuvers are consistently aimed at fiscal health rather than personal power.

---

SECURITY CLASSIFICATIONS

The subject's connection to the Inquisitorius is currently obfuscated. The Seventh Brother was present during an incident on Edin, but all related documentation is inaccessible to this branch following the restructuring of the Inquisition (Check Restricted Archive SEC-00). The identity and background of his primary bodyguard remain unverified, but are suspected to be related to this incident.

–
BFE stands for Before the Formation of the Empire.

Said I'd drop this, so here it is. Also, they call Zyx an aide cause thats her official title, they have no clue of her more secretive activities.

Keep it real.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

ALLIANCE INTELLIGENCE | OPERATIONAL DOSSIER

TARGET DESIGNATION Subject-Myto

SUBJECT IDENTITY Moff Las Mola

---

VITAL STATISTICS

• Birth: 5 BFE, Coruscant.
• Residency: Ugea (Minda-3).
• Physical Profile: 5'10" height with a pale complexion, brown eyes and hair.
• Distinguishing Features: Severe facial scarring on the right side from an explosion.
• Origin: Moved to Eriadu as a child before beginning his career in the Imperial bureaucracy.

---

PHYTOCELL ASSETS AND THE RUSTY REFIT

The Phyto Cell currently maintains a high-value presence within the Minda system through the Rusty Refit Orbital Yard. This facility was established early in the subject's governorship through a deal involving Alliance-aligned entrepreneurs.

• Operational Terms: The yard allocates one third of its capacity to Imperial system defense while the remaining two thirds operate under private control.
• Strategic Value: The facility serves as a vital conduit for refurbished hyperdrives, thruster assemblies, and light freighters distributed to cells across the galaxy.
• Guild Benefit: The yard has significantly expanded its influence and procurement capabilities through membership in the Imperial Guild.
• Liaison Status: Initial access was secured via Darna Sabrir who was a former Phyto Cell agent. However, Sabrir has since ceased all communication with the Alliance and appears fully committed to the subject's administration (Check File Sabrir-D).

---

SECURITY THREATS AND ANOMALIES

While our intelligence on the subject's inner circle is less comprehensive than Imperial records, certain events have impacted regional operations.

• The Scarred Hand: An unaffiliated extremist group launched a series of terror attacks that nearly compromised the security of the Rusty Refit.
• The WEB: During a covert rest stop by the Specters (Phoenix Cell), unidentified actors calling themselves the WEB warned the group that they were not welcome on Ugea. Alliance Command has no further data on this organization (Check File WEB-INTEL).
• Governance Transition: Following his promotion to Moff, the subject appointed Governor Raina to oversee the Minda system.
• Defensive Capability: The subject is protected by a formidable security detail and rarely leaves his capitol building, which itself is heavily guarded.

---

RECRUITMENT AND DEFECTION ASSESSMENT

The Phyto Cell has conducted a feasibility study regarding the potential to turn the subject to the Rebel cause.

Points of Alignment

• The subject demonstrates a clear lack of human-centric bias and actively promotes non-humans.
• His administrative policies have curtailed the use of slave labor in favor of paid vocational training.
• He shows no adherence to COMPNOR's radical New Order ideology.

Risk Assessment

• Conclusion: Recruitment is strictly prohibited at this time.
• Reasoning: While the subject possesses the growth potential and administrative genius to severely destabilize regional Imperial control, he shows zero indicators of pro-Rebellion sentiment. Any attempt to approach him carries an extreme risk of failure. Such a failure would lead to the potential discovery of the true nature of the Rusty Refit Orbital Yard, the loss of which outweighs the slim chance of his defection.

---

SUMMARY ANALYSIS

Subject-Myto is a rare example of an Imperial official who builds loyalty through economic prosperity rather than fear. While he is not an ally, his meritocratic approach creates a stable environment for our covert operations to thrive. We recommend maintaining the status quo as long as the Rusty Refit remains undetected.