Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

[Yacov]

Omake: Winner Winner Mynock Dinner

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

Pew Pew! Bzzzt!

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

The question echoed in the recently silenced perforated structure.

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

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

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

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

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

Garik playfully ignited his shockmitts.

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

Tak returned the grin before dramatically swooning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garik already had a counter argument at the ready.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

Crossposted and SV and SB

 

[Honoa51]

The only way this man is getting a retirement as some kind of rogue trader is if his planet is destroyed.

Nobody wants him out of his position. He's a responsible governor, charismatic, pragmatic, politically intelligent, anti-discrimination, brave, noble, and actually gets his work done.

He's improved the lives of his citizens immensely, stretched their influence to surrounding star systems, and is just generally well-liked both by his subjects and superiors.

 

[Birbman]

I think he should have a full on super freighter, but that's just because I'm a logistics nerd and I think that would be cool

 

[vtkun]

thank you for the chapter

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Visions of the Saint

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

*Klong! Klong! Klong!*

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

"Hear me Brothers! Woe be unto us!"

"Woe, woe, and seven times woe!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

Crossposted to SV and SB

 

[Fearless444]

Thanks for the chapter