Chp-91-Interlude
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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
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