Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

[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

 

[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

 

[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]

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

 

[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