Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

[Yacov]

Omake: Legally Acceptable Manhunting

POV: Lord Nox Nob, leader and financier of the RIII mercenary company Lord Nox Nob's Hunting Party, Ugea, Minda system.

Lord Nox Nob will always appreciate the tingle up his spine when his CR-20 lands to signal a Hunt. The fantastic landscape of the Ugean hinterlands displayed before him. An open invitation for a proper gentlemen to Hunt something, like a civilized sentient.

Nox dismounted the dropship astride his beloved Lady Copperbottom. Replacing the top turret of the Droideka Mk II with a saddle had prevented the roller function from working. Yet it was for a good cause as it allowed Nox to have a fitting steed to leisurely chase his prey once the legs were reinforced.

"Tally ho Hounds! Let's make this a thrilling Hunt!"

Watching his HKB-3s fan out in mathematically precise patterns will never not put a smile on his face. Personally Programming their hunting protocols into his Central Control Computer back at base was well worth the effort. What they lack in personal accuracy, they more than make up for with their pack tactics and ability to scare up the prey for the killing blow.

"Our targets are Rebels, Hounds! Expect more excitement than the recent Hunts!"

When the Guild announced the bounty on these Rebels, Nox couldn't get off Edin fast enough. Oh don't get him wrong. Flushing out and netting petty criminals and the odd pirate who thought they could hide past the borders of civilization did represent a certain kind of challenge.

However these Scarred Hands were just too lively of a target to pass up. A prey that would not only fight back, but have a cause to believe in? Trying to ape the art of droid herding he had mastered? Jolly good fun! Especially when the Guild emphasized their ambivalence between dead or alive.

"You all know what that means! We get to break out the fun toys!"

Gone were the M-300 Hunting Rifles. No need for stunners here, no sir! In their place each of his Hounds were carrying a MR-90 Proton Rifle. Ready to mark and suppress those pesky Rebels whenever they poke their tiny little heads out.

Normally ruinous overkill for any other mercenary company. Yet for Lord Nob Nox it is a mere rounding error in his corpulent investment portfolio. Speaking of expensive…

"Banks? Banks! Fetch me my killing rifle."

Banks was such a good chap. A FLTCH battle droid gifted by those pleasant Colicoids. It is such a treat to speak with like minded individuals. Nox should send them a meat basket as a gift along with the next shipment in their business endeavors.

+Here is your instrument of murder, sir. Happy Hunting.+

Banks' binary heralded the reveal of the star of today's Hunt. A customized and ornate DLT-19x targeting blaster which Nox cradled in his arms. Just imagining calculating the firing data while peering at the Rebel's face through the scope before completing the equation of death brought tears to Nox's eyes.

"Heeheeheeheehee. Hee. *gasp* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! Alright lads! Let's Hunt some Rebels!"

——

The inspiration for this one was wondering what sort of characters would accept the Guild's inevitable bounty to publicly hunt down the Scarred Hand remnants. Someone scary but a tad silly who could be a villain of the week in a Star Wars cartoon. The result was Lord Nox Nob, a Muun investment banker and droidsmith who likes hunting sentients for sport so much it makes Trandoshans uncomfortable.

Cross posted on SV and SB

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-59: The Unseen Hand and the Iron Fist

Darna Sabrir
Edin System, Highreach, Edinspire

Once again, Darna sat at her desk wondering how the Governor ever did it. Edin's population was barely half of Minda's, but the amount of work she had to do felt monumental.

Sure, there were countless pirates and criminals that were being pushed back on the daily, there were infrastructure projects, social programs, and her position as Guild Director, and-

Darna sighed. Sometimes, she wished things had never gotten to this point. That Minda had stayed a small, agricultural backwater where she could enjoy her life as a secretary with good pay, good coworkers, good scenery and a good boss. Things would've been so much simpler.

Then, she reads a report from CHAIN operatives that a shipment of kidnapped children had been saved, and she throws those thoughts away. For all that she could've been living the easy life, the burden she has taken upon herself has allowed her to save so many others. Both through the WEB, and HAVEN.

HAVEN being the name of the anti-slavery operation she ran. Within the WEB she was called Weaver, and within HAVEN she was Lighthouse. Only those at the very top of each organization knew who she was, totalling around three people, and they were very close friends of hers. Of course, neither organization knew about the other aside from the high command of both.

Compartmentilization was key here. While she could ensure that the Mindan and Edin governments never looked too deeply, there were always unseen variables. In fact, most of the HAVEN operatives didn't even know they were HAVEN operatives, not unlike the passive members of the WEB through the government app.

Of course, when it came to HAVEN, it was a tad different. The unknowing operatives were freightmasters who took a little on the side to 'lose' a shipment or two every now and again, bureaucrats who looked the other way for a few creds, maybe a merc who's paid to off some pirates and never look back.

The real operatives of HAVEN were the various sub-groups within it. The LODESTARS identified which slaves could be most easily saved without compromising the mission, where to find them, etc… They skulked through the slave markets of Nar Shadda and the swamps of Nal Hutta, eavesdropping in both dive bars and classy establishments, hacking terminals and spying on the enemy.

The CONDUITS did the actual relocation, intercepting shipments, extracting slaves and getting them to Minda. They did the starfighting, the boots on the ground activity. Sometimes, it was a breach and extract. Other times, slaves simply disappeared, much to the confusion of their masters.

The LOOM crafts new lives for the escaped slaves, helping them settle into villages, towns, and cities across Minda and, now that it was becoming more stable, parts of Edin. Mainly Edinspire.

It was the SPARK, however, that did the longest term work. They were propaganda artists of sorts, spreading the anti-slavery message far and wide. They were the fewest in number at the moment, and mostly worked through the holo-net, but they would grow in time. The Empire officially didn't condone slavery, but that was simply drivel for the Core to eat up. In the Outer Rim, it was a fact of life, and made anti-slavery propaganda difficult to disseminate, especially with the ISB and COMPNOR so active in the Core where the propaganda was needed the most.

All things considered, HAVEN was a more complex machine compared to the WEB, and for good reason. The WEB was an organization of people who wanted nothing to do with the Civil War, and were willing to do something to keep it that way, so long as they didn't have to stick their necks and risk themselves or their family to do it. Commendable, but not nearly enough to do what HAVEN needed to do. HAVEN was mostly ex-slaves who had that fire in them, the ones that above all wish to see the chains of others broken. That was a much larger task, requiring a much larger structure.

Still, it did good. Darna smiled as she remembered that video captured by the very first team of CONDUITS. A cargo pod of slaves being told that they were just freed forever. Watching them hug and cry the hooded CONDUITS had been a monumental moment for her. She wasn't ashamed to say she cried. Proof that she could do good in this galaxy, that her efforts were not in vain.

That there were children out there saved from the life she had been forced to live. That her mother had likely died living.

The video had been deleted, and the CONDUITS never showed their faces, nor speak without voice modulators. The more deniability, the more secrecy, the less risk those freed will face.

And all the better life will be.

Until the Scarred Hand showed up.

Because, up until then, both the WEB and HAVEN had been doing tremendously well. Slaves were freed on the regular, Hutt operations were sabotaged in ways that made it seem like accidents or Hutt on Hutt infighting(quite common), gangs and cartels were caught and killed as quickly as they could spring up, and things were good. Life was good.

But then, she got a call from Sidheth. Who told her that some extremists had decided to target Minda. The WEB got on it right away, and their actions were countered consistently. Some anonymous tips to the police led to some investigations, but they were good at covering their tracks.

Many attempts to plant bugs, sabotage infrastructure, and more were thwarted. But it wasn't enough.

Darna had no way of getting these terrorists herself. They were always out of reach, not sneaky enough to get by the WEB, but enough to escape the police, enough to escape justice.

It angered her beyond belief. Especially now that they had attacked Minda itself, and killed. Only 5 were dead, thankfully. But they were all members of the Mindan Council, which meant that the people's representatives had been killed. And how many others could've been? How many?

Tens? Hundreds? Thousands? The WEB prevented much, but it was not perfect. It could not act, and every WEB had gaps.

So now, she was tightening the noose. To protect Minda, and to ensure this disease didn't spread to Edin. Especially with the new projects. More industries, more mining, refining, education, farming, and more were being built. Companies were setting up shop, people starting businesses. It was still small, but the potential was there. For Edin to grow strong and clean like Minda had.

She would not allow these two palaces of prosperity to be soiled. Not while her blood still ran and her heart beat with rage.

Silently, she sent an encrypted message to her most trusted agents, those she knew would never betray her, or blink at what she loathed to propose, yet knew was needed.

It was time to act like the Custodian she was, and SWEEP.

-

God I fucking hate my boss, man.

Sitting in some chair on the other side of the sector, looking at me with the stare of someone who just found an opportunity.

I didn't like being seen as an opportunity. Unfortunately, I don't get to tell my boss that, or I get the noose.

"Governor. This attack does not bode well for you, or the project."

I nod, not too fast to seem desperate, but not so slow as to seem hesitant. Can't let him get a read on me.

"Perhaps, Moff Hiral. I already have my best people hunting down these terrorists, rest assured we will catch them."

Fuck! I already sound like a cartoon villain. Not the big bad, but the underling that's always telling their boss they'll 'catch those pests' every episode but never does. The kind that, in this galaxy, gets killed! But what the hell else am I supposed to say!?

"Hmmm…Worry not, I believe you. Will you require additional resources for this endeavor?" Hiral responded, and I was momentarily surprised. I mean, a Moff, asking if his underling needs help? Weird. Suspicious too. But maybe…

"It would be a great help if more Stormtroopers were assigned to increase patrols. With the first set of three shipyards a mere week away, I fear the terrorists may target them as well. The extra security will be needed to sniff them out, and, failing that, protect the new assets until such time that we may eradicate the enemy."

"...Approved. These shipyards are of great importance, Governor. Do not allow them to be damaged or destroyed, or the consequences will be…dire."

"Of course, Moff Hiral. Though, I must warn you. The extra security measures will slow things down, as logistical chains will need to be scanned and checked thoroughly, among other things."

"...Hmmm. Understandable, if unfortunate. However, to ensure all this goes smoothly, and to help speed up the investigation into this rebel group, I will be sending along an agent with these stormtroopers. He shall aid in the investigation. Is that clear?"

"Of course, sir."

He hummed once more, but said nothing. After that, he gave me a list of pre-orders to have completed ASAP, and left to go schmooze it up with some fat cat or another.

Now that I was alone, I could do this.

"FUCK!"

I drop down into my chair, having stood for the meeting to be respectful.

A fucking Agent? From who? The ISB? Fuck, probably, right?
My eyes darted back and forth, as if I could gleam some clue from my ever familiar office. What should I do? I mean, if they get the baddies quicker, that's great, but what kind of damage will they do in the meantime?

What happens if they decide to execute someone? Can they do that? I mean, I can technically do that, but its not exactly a good fucking look, now is it!? And what will they report!? What will they say!? Enough to get me killed!? Maybe I can bribe them? No, if that fails then I'm done for sure!?

As my breathing gets faster, my breaths become shorter, my eyes looking everywhere yet seeing nothing, Mugwuffin intervenes.

Calmsafehappysecure

My breathing slows, and my eyes focus back into reality again.

As I chill out, my heart rate falling to a healthy beat, I feel Mugwuffin's energy envelop me, and I find myself floating over to my office couch.

She plops me down onto it, before jumping onto me, curling into my chest like an oversized cat.

I stroke her head, enjoying the surprisingly warmth her scales produce. Isn't she a reptile?

As if sensing my thoughts, which is a real possibility at this point, one of her eyes opens, staring at me with a look that seems to ask;

Does it matter?

And no. No it doesn't.

So I lay there, petting my maybe sentient alien lizard-cat friend, and wondering what the hell my life has come too.

…

"I'll figure it out tomorrow."

-

Hi there folks! Odd time to upload(2:24 AM PST), but I can't fall asleep because of my poor life choices, despite all the research linking a lack of sleep to dementia and the like. So, I decided to feed the star wars nerds here instead!

Here, I wanted to expand on Darna's current roles a little bit, and what she's been up to. Getting a little radical there, but at this point it's to be expected. Darna's fall (or is it rise?) into chief of the secret police/kill squad will be fun to write, if nothing else. I also spent way too much time coming up with SWEEP. Not even an acronym, none of them are, I just wanted something kinda thematic. Took way too long, cause everything else sounded weird. PRUNE for a more garden theme felt weird. CURE for a more medical theme felt a little fascist for some reason. SWEEP feels a bit better. I'm open to constructive criticism on this one, cause it has been a doozy.

And the upcoming Agent! Not super sure how I want that to go, but it'll happen. Las needs a more minor antagonist, and a strict ISB agent seems to fit the bill if nothing else.

Also! While I've done some research, if there are any ships y'all think would fit the use of the shipyards, feel free to comment on them! As they berths get delivered in batches of three, by next chapter the first batch will be there, with production to begin within two weeks. Assuming, of course, that everything goes well.

So far, the ships being built are on the smaller size, as this is more in line with what the Outer Rim needs, no matter how many crybaby Imperials scream and yell for their overpriced ISD's. Spicy tortilla chip has a logistical shit stain a mile long.

As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: LEERROOOOY JEENKIIIINS!

POV: SK-215, veteran Stormtrooper, hinterlands outside of Edinspire, Edin

SK-215 glowered at the civilians trying to play soldier. He didn't spend 10 years as a Stormtrooper just to be tied down by barely trained militia. They mocked the profession by having to rely on these PADs and poor facsimiles of proper Stormtrooper armor to even come within a fraction to their elite standards.

This showed in them having brought two hundred troops in comparison to SK-215's elite unit of fifty. They hadn't even bother to segregate their units by gender. Their discipline and unit cohesion must be in shambles.

Some of the civilians had even tried to talk to SK-215 after the briefing, revealing their lack of training. What naive fools! Don't they know our communications are monitoring to prevent such frivolous and distracting wastes of time?

Officially, this was to be a joint operation to "foster cooperation between local forces and newly stationed Imperial troops". Personally, SK-215 thought this might be some back scratching going on between the Captain and the Governor. Family ties do still hold in the Imperial military as our blood makes us strong.

Still, this was the Captain's orders. It was the core of Stormtrooper doctrine to always follow and complete their superior's orders. Shame it was costing some of SK-215's pride to babysit these civilians on this operation. At least this will help shake off the men's rust from being stationed at Scarif.

The target was an outpost of pirate scum. True to their nature they have set up in Dump Basin, an area where all the planet's previous power brokers would dump their toxic waste. They probably thought the pools of toxins and fumes would protect them.

The initial advance after disgorging from the K79-S80s lasted until the sentries spotted our freshly polished white armor. Suppressing fire was swiftly given even a the cost of a few pained grunts behind SK. Eventually his unit made it to the outpost wall.

Looking back SK could only shake his helmet in disappointment. The civilians were still hunkering down dragging both their and his wounded to give treatment. He could see one stormtrooper desperately grasping at his blown open helmet trying to keep the bad air from getting in.

Truly only the Stormtrooper Corps had the strength of will to do what was necessary to achieve the mission. While the civilians wasted their time trying to save lives, SK and his men prepared their grappling hooks for the real work of claiming the walls.

As they climbed the outpost's wall SK thought he'd heard a snap. Probably one of the grappling hooks got corroded from the fumes. No matter, it is on that trooper's failure to maintain his equipment.

SK's men quickly dispatched the sentries once they finished their ascent. The courtyard was secured shortly after due to securing the high ground. Their connected HUDs and training allowing them to coordinate their fire with lethal precision.

Taking up breach formation in record time they broke into the main building. Opening the door revealed a burst of blaster bolts emerging from the opening. Suppressing fire and detonators silenced the deluge.

Sparing a moment to notice a trooper clutching his leg, SK ordered the rest of his men forward to clear the structure. From there it was a textbook example of an Imperial assault. Having secured every room, SK gathered his unit.

"Sound off! How many have fallen behind?"

The chorus of cries had revealed that number had been seven. An acceptable outcome for a skirmish of this size. Truly none could compare to the might of the Stormtrooper Corps.

——
Stormtrooper doctrine: great at winning individual fights, not so great at long term force retention. Part of the reason you don't want your entire army comprised of assault troops. That ignoring battlefield casualties thing is actually a core part of Stormtrooper doctrine.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-60: Schemes Galore

???
Minda System, Ugea, Rolling Greens

They walked through the city, observing the thriving marketplaces and well-kept roads.

They saw the miles and miles of farmland stretching out from the city, stopping only at the base of the mountains that surrounded the valley. On some mountain sides, terrace farms could be seen.

As they traveled throughout the city, they saw much. Not just the markets, but the refineries. Once just a single complex, they had grown much to accommodate the influx of grains.

Towering vertical farming complexes could be seen in a ring around the city, with more in construction. A necessary step, considering the fact that there was little room for the city to expand outwards without demolishing farmland.

As the agent watched the people, they witnessed not just joy or happiness, but calm. The kind of calm that could only exist in a place where one didn't fear their neighbors.

Where they didn't fear the police that roamed the streets.

Where they cheered when the AT-ST's paraded around.

And the agent?

They hated it. Hated that these people were happy, jovial, content even, when their people were never given the chance.

What right do the people of Minda have to act like this when the galaxy suffers? What right does the Empire have to burn their cities to ash and bomb their people to dust then turn around and give these people paradise!?

It took everything they had to unclench their fist and keep a neutral face, lest they be seen as suspicious.

They instead turned their mind towards targets. Which would be best for the next string of attacks.

The rail lines? They ran from the city's spaceport in all directions, some over the mountains, some through them. Not a bad idea, but it takes many explosives to damage a large amount of rail. It needed to be something more compact.

The farms? Farmland was stretched wide, so there would need to be a lot of fire, or a plague. Though there was no doubt that such a farming-centric place had many laws and protections against both.

Maybe the vertical farms? More centralized, though there seemed to be nearly a hundred of the buildings with more in construction.

The solar farm? It was still under construction, with the pattern clearly showing it would cover the upper slopes of the mountains all around the valley, serving as a cheap source of energy. Especially considering that they could be manufactured locally for a low price. However, even at this early stage of construction, the target was already very spread out.

They needed something centralized. Something that would disrupt the economy, yes, but also something that would cause fear. Anger. If people suffered, and they would, then they would hate. First, the Hand, an understandable reaction for those clouded by anger. But then, the Empire would show its incompetence, and the people would turn.

So, the targets would be twofold.

First, the spaceport. Smaller than the Accordian port, and therefore less secure. Within sat the junction for the many, many train lines that ran from the city. Hitting both would disrupt trade and cost the city millions.

Second, the water purification system. Much of the water needed to sustain the massive farms that filled the valley was purified through a large purification plant that sat on the edge of the city. If destroyed, it would leave thousands of farmers without the water needed for their crops. And with the Shubeon continent's summer at full blast, many crops were sure to wither and die. And that's if they just destroyed it. If they contaminated it?

The effects would be devastating.

The nameless, faceless agent smiled. They had their targets. Now, they would recon them more closely, then report back to the Third Finger, their direct superior.

They didn't know who the Third was, nor the other four Fingers. They didn't even know who the other Agents were, neither name nor face nor numbers. Only that there were five Fingers, and one Hand. The Hand that they all lifted to crush their enemies.

Their smile widened. Minda was their first public operation. Their first true battle against the Empire after years of smaller attacks and skirmishes.

Soon, the Empire would fall. And they would know what it means to suffer.

-

Ife Veers
Edin System, Gladiator-II-Class Star Destroyer Theorem

A quiet anger flowed through her veins, though she kept her composure even if alone.

It wouldn't do lose control, even in private.

She instead evaluated the situation. Minda had been attacked, and she hadn't been there to defend it. Even if the attacks were mostly ground side, she could've offered more direct support, deployed the Stormtroopers under her command, done something.

Though it could've also backfired. After all, if she was there, she could be held responsible for letting the rebels through.

Regardless, what really angered her was the newest arrival. Shal Mola, the Governor's older sister and Captain of the ISD Heavy Judgement.

Apparently, from what she heard, Shal had been disgraced. The Governor must've used his own connections to get her a spot here. Not prestigious, but safer than other assignments, and without a Governor that might go behind her back.

Now, Veers was Shal's superior by order of rank. However, the ISD she commanded combined with some years more experience in better postings made Ife the junior in many other respects.

It irked her something fierce.

So here she was, brewing in her quarters, considering her next move.

Her plan had always been to use Mindas growth in order to catapult her career. Her anti-piracy campaigns were a success, and the more Minda, and now Edin, grew, the more likely she was going to be recognized for her success.

It also opened doors for networking, which would be invaluable.

Her next step had been to clean up Edin as much as possible and return to Minda to protect the new shipyards. The first three berths had arrived a day after the attacks, and while not active yet, when they went into production she wanted to be there. Not just to get her hands on her own ships, but to network.

After all, once the yards were fully online, it would draw business. People from around the sector would come flocking for work.

And with them, those with power. Flocking to see the newest shiny toy, and figure out how they could profit from it. These kinds of people are the ones that had the connections to help her rise if she played her cards right.

Now? Captain Mola would be guarding the yards. An ISD, being far more impressive than her Gladiator, would be seen as the superior choice, leaving her with fewer reasons to transfer back to Minda.

But what to do about this all? She could try to bypass the Governor entirely, appeal to the Moff. After all, she defeated the Crowns, and has been protecting the system for longer, while Shal is new to the area and already disgraced by Highcom.

But would the Moff bother? Why would he care? To him, Shal or Ife, it doesn't matter, and choosing would be a waste of his time. Incentives? None that she could currently provide.

So, the Governor. She would have to not just prove her worth, but somehow undermine Shal at the same time. It would be difficult, as the two are family, but maybe?

As she mused, a ping appeared on her terminal. It was from Sabrir.

The Guild Director and Vice(formerly Interim) Governor of Edin, Darna Sabrir had been Veers's best ally in the fight against piracy, and ensuring the Edin system grew well.

Now, she was sending a message that had nothing to do with either of those. It was an offer.

It seemed that Sabrir was starting a company. Apparently, being both Vice-Governor and Guild Director left her with quite a bit of personal cash, cash she wanted to use to create a personal business.

At first, Ife wanted to laugh. A company? What use did she have for a company?

But as she read further into the very detailed overview, the gears started to turn.

The company, Pathline Inc., was a logistics company. The kind that moves cargo across the galaxy, the kind that every planet of any real significance sees thousands every day. Even Minda had at least a hundred operating in or around the system. Even Edin had logistics companies plying their trade around.

The difference? It was subtle, but Darna hinted at an advantage. As both Guild Director and Vice-Governor, she had connections, especially mercantile ones. The kinds that allow for a finger on the pulse of the market are usually only afforded by far richer companies.

This wasn't just an advantage for the company, but a boon for Minda. Darna wanted this to be an Imperial company, one that made Imperial logistics better, faster, smoother. One that paid a larger portion of profits to the Empire. One that expanded for the Empire's benefit. And by Empire, she meant Minda.

Reading between the lines, she saw the message. If Minda grew, so did both Darna and Ife's opportunities. An alliance of sorts.

Veers could give the company a sense of Imperial legitimacy, and even assign ships under her command to escort cargo vessels.

It was a longer term investment, undoubtedly, but if it worked, if this company could bring noticeable growth to Minda and profit to the Empire, it could be a way up.

The document contained a number of different things in it, like payment plans and routes and more. Plans for in house medical and security services, plans for possible future expansions into other sectors and other types of businesses. The kinds of diversification that ensure that failure in one place doesn't mean failure everywhere.

Did Ife understand all of it? No, she wasn't trained in reading commercial contracts. She was, however, adept at seeing opportunity. If she helped found this company, invested in it, involved herself in it, especially in the more public roles?

Lowering her hands to the keyboard, she began to type. For years her bank account had been filled with credits she rarely felt the need to use outside of creature comforts and some small investments. Now? It was time to put that money to use.

Her dreams were one step closer.

-

Hi there folks! I wanted to toss this out here.

Fun fact about Veers that I'm not sure I ever talked about, but I named her without knowing about General Veers. In fact, her last name was Veer. After someone commented about the similarities, I saw an opportunity for some shenanigans and family drama, plus a chance to create some motivation.

Feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-61: A Mountain of Flimsi

Trade. Deals. Politics.

The kind of stuff that was actually decently interesting, the kind of stuff I liked to mess around with in 4x games. Not that I was very good at them. My Endless Space 2 save files can attest to that.

Hell, if my reincarnation/isekai adventure had turned out a little different, I could be heading a company right now! It sounds fun, all things considered.

But no. I have to sit at this desk, reviewing report after report about the Guild, about the Hand, about Edin, and about all the corpos and political slimeballs that want a piece of the pie. Partially because of the shipyards, and partially because of the Moffs investment and interest in the project.

Honestly, I can't really blame them. If I was them, I'd be doing the same goddamn thing.

Of course, I'm not them, so I'll despise them to my heart's content.

At that moment, I was at my desk. Like I was most of the time. Honestly, I spent more time behind this desk than I did sleeping, eating, or generally enjoying life.

Real Japanese salaryman type shit.

I was responding to various Governors across the sector in regards to Guild membership. There was an alliance of three systems that had started their own trade deals who joined as essentially one group, while half a dozen other systems had expressed interest.

In total, 9 new star systems joined the Guild, totaling 11. There could've been more, make no mistake. With Minda's prosperity, and the upcoming shipyards, many governors were scrambling to secure a spot.

The problem? Most didn't really qualify for Guild Membership. Their worlds either relied on slave labor, had local laws that caused conflict with the Guild, and more.

The world of Otho-3, for example, of the Otho system. 3 planets, 4 moons between them, a decent asteroid belt, and nothing else. Otho-3 was primarily an agricultural society that relied heavily on the enslaved native population, which had been enslaved for decades now. Apparently they had been classified as "non-sapient" under the Republic, likely due to some bribes, and no-one ever looked close enough to ask questions. Outer-rim, after all.

Now, to all those who were incompatible with the Guild system, I sent them messages detailing why they wouldn't work.

Exclusivity contracts with large companies for large portions of the local market meant the Guild couldn't do its thing.

Slave labor meant local workers and businesses would suffer, which meant the Guild couldn't do its thing.

Excessively high taxes ruined small shops which meant the Guild couldn't do its thing.

Each message was essentially some or all of these things, worded more professionally. Like;

"I am very thankful for your application to the Imperial Guild, however your current labor force is incompatible with the Guild's bylaws, as they remove jobs and opportunities from the market that the Guild is built to encourage."

I've written no less than a dozen variations of that statement alone. It appears that slavery is far more common across the Empire than I thought. I suppose that so long as the Core thinks everything is fine and dandy, then little else matters. After all, the Core holds such a ridiculous portion of the population and even more of the power.

Coruscant alone has at least a trillion people, if not more.

Still, those that joined held promise. The three that joined together had promise, and well established trade routes between themselves. There was still some negotiation underway, but Oioro was taking care of that. She was essentially the primary negotiator for many things nowadays.

And of course she is. She's very scary in a professional way. Veers will turn you to dust from orbit, and Grant will rip your head off, but Oioro will somehow make you thank her for bankrupting you.

Makes me appreciate Gary all the more. Not his real name, it's Garpastealap Hath, but I call him Gary in my head.

Gary had found employment here on Minda as a secretary after leaving Muunilist itself. The planet was a metropolis, and one of the most populated in the Outer Rim.

Muun culture heavily pushed for economic pursuits, which was exemplified in the Banking Clans. Gary, however, was less than thrilled about the expectations placed upon him.

He didn't mind running numbers or doing business, but he hated the constant political games that just about every member of Muun society played throughout their lives. He wanted away with it, to find a place where he could more easily express himself.

That place was Minda. He was originally hired as part of the propaganda department, and was actually behind the design of my winter overcoat/cape. My snazziest outfit, if I do say so myself.

He even made the designs for Darna's outfit, which features some softer flowing silks that resemble more classical Twi'lek outfits. They look good too. Adds an almost divine air to her when she arrives.

When I walk into a room, people shut up cause I'm the Governor. When Darna walks into a room, people shut up cause she looks like she stepped out of Heaven.

Weirdest part? It's not even about her beauty either, at least not solely. It's a combination of her looks, demeanor, the way she carries herself, and the outfit.

Really impressive shit. Glad I made her Vice-Governor.

And Guild Director.

And she just started a company. Which I invested in, actually. Not with my money, of course, but with Imperial funds, making it an Imperial company. More trade, controlled in some part by Minda, with more money flowing in. A good deal, expands things, makes things flow smoother.

Makes it more likely the shipyards work well. The shipyards that act as my blessing and curse, for they invite protection from above, yet scrutiny from below.

Regardless, while Darna is a founder, and not CEO of the company, she has been taking on a great deal of work, an unhealthy amount some might say, and I can't have one of my most competent subordinates die of stress.

I made a note to call her about which position she would rather stay in, and who she recommends as a replacement for the other. Both seats are very, very important, but I already have enough problems managing Minda, much less the Guild as well.

Maybe I should get her to take a holiday?

Regardless, I make a note to do something later, and get back to my work.

Soon, the new Stormtrooper Battalion would be landing here, alongside ISB Agent Thorne. Now, the fact that it was an ISB agent wasn't just scary, it was odd. Hiral? Sending an Agent from an organization that he has no power over?

The ISB operates independently from the rest of the Empire, answering only to the Emperor himself.

There must be a ploy. Maybe he wants to hide behind the ISB? Have records stating that he called them, got the proper authorities? And if things go wrong, it's the ISB's fault, not his.

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Hiral wants this done quickly, by people who, on some level at least, know what they're doing. The ISB may be a political shitshow, but at least they kinda know what they're doing.

What really worries me is the fucking Stormtroopers. A battalion has at least 800 or so troops! I'm gonna need to feed them, house them, etc… Even if they come in their own ship with their own supplies, that will need to be supplied as well.

Now, all of this is, despite my panic, a good thing. I can site a lot of these things, along with increased security measures, as reasonable slowdowns of the shipyards. After all, things need to be double checked, security measures doubled, etc…

All of this? A means to stall for time. Time to get Minda working properly. Once all 20 shipyards are at full blast, Minda and Edin will struggle to keep up with demand, if the list of pre-orders the Moff handed me is anything to go by.

The slimy bastard secured over 30 deals with Moffs and Governors alike for a bevy of ships, meaning before we ever get to selling them off the rack, we gotta get through something like nearly 300 ships. Sure, it's all corvettes and frigates, but some of the ships on this list are larger. Much farther down the list, of course, but from what I gather, Hiral expects production to be higher by the time we get to that point.

Which is bad. Cause frigates? Corvettes? Doable. The RnD team has been hard at work taking examples apart to figure out how to cut costs without cutting quality.

But a cruiser!? Those things could be up to 1km!

Problem is, these were requested by Moffs! So it's not like I can say no, cause if I say no, the Moff Hiral gets shit on, and takes it out on me!

Which, again, is why I'm trying to slow things down. RnD is currently all in on trying to optimize the current line of frigates and corvettes, which is 3 at the moment. That number will grow, as other frigate types have been requested. Currently, the plan is to finish the current projects, and then go all in on one type of cruiser. They're getting quite close to finishing the current base optimizations, which will cut our costs by around 2% and operating costs by about 5%. The kind of numbers that stack with time and scale.

It's far more reasonable(to a Moff) to say 'Sorry, but we are building so much that we can only build one type of cruiser right now. In 6 months we might be able to add another to the roster rather than tell them to their face that their request is unreasonable.

I'd left it up to both Veers and the RnD team to decide which cruiser would best fit this position, since it needs to be effective enough that people don't complain, but also something that can be built, after optimization.

It was as I was contemplating all of this that Myr'thos walked in.

It was around the time that they finished their daily spars with the Commander, but I noticed something as they removed their helmet.

A small red mark on their cheek. A hit.

I smirked.

"Grant got you this time, ey?"

They snorted in disdain, already firing up their console.

"The Commander is a diligent and focused opponent. I was merely testing her. She is still far beneath me."

"Of that I'm sure. Still, she's impressive. How about the Stormtroopers? I know they've undergone more extensive training under her."

Another snort of disdain.

"They are barely adequate. Passable for Imperial Soldiers I suppose."

Myr'thos's 'barely adequate' meant that they were actually pretty good. Which was nice, as I doubted the new incoming stormtroopers were as well trained.

Not to mention the troopers Shal brought with her. Thankfully, they lived full time on the Heavy Judgement, so I didn't need to worry about housing or nothing.

As Myr'thos started yelling slurs in a dead language that the censors didn't pick up on, I returned to work.

Elections were underway to replace the reps that died, plans to expand the Militia Academy were underway to account for the influx of recruits, and a large batch of immigrants was incoming, one of the few that were still allowed in to keep things growing, all set to settle in a set of growing cities that surrounded Rolling Greens. Lots of farms planned for that area to keep food production up. The hope was to eventually start exporting larger and larger amounts of food.

There were many other things. Reports on new roads, rail-lines, Darna's people(I have no idea where she gets them but they're super effective) catching corrupt officials, energy infrastructure, the Mindan Collegial Program making new campuses, and more.

So much more.

It never seemed to end. My inbox was filled to the brim. I would have a hundred emails, read through forty, refresh the page, and have a hundred and ten.

As Mugwuffin purred in her newest napping spot around my legs under my desk, I took a quick shot of hot cocoa, and locked the fuck in.

I was going to bureaucrat the shit out of this.

Then? Retire rich as fuck.

Let's get this bread.

-

Hi there folks! Wanted to do a more Las-centric chapter, since I jump around a lot. I know it can be kinda odd to go a chapter or two without seeing the MC, but the perspective changes are how I show other sides of the story.

Las is mostly in his office, doing Governor things, and that isn't always super interesting. Are there other interesting things he could be doing? Maybe, maybe…But right now he's stuck in his office because of the Hands attack. And, I can't really think of anything else right now, so I instead jump between characters. Allows me to explore them a bit more as well, which I enjoy, even if it does feel like I end up neglecting some characters for a little too long.

Also! Ship time! I have found some cool fanart for cruiser concepts that the shipyards will struggle to build in the future. The thing is, I don't want to always use fanart all the time, cause as much as it is cool, it can be a little much at times. So, I would prefer to use an existing Imperial Cruiser. A real one.

By the definition of the Anaxes War College, a cruiser is between 400-1000 meters, so not those little Arquitens which are technically frigates. Can't really find anything, since the Empire seems to be top heavy at the best of times. Any help with this is greatly appreciated.

As always, feedback and commentary are appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-62: A Thorne in My Side

My neck craned upwards as I watched the Lambda-class shuttle fly downwards towards the landing pad.

Well, I say landing pad, but it was really more of a hangar at this point. The capitol building tower seemed to always be growing, partially to handle administrative strain, and partially because the architects seem to be dead set on having it be the tallest, most identifiable building in the entire city.

I can only imagine the latest additions of shuttle hangars attached to the sides of the towers were a work of frustration, considering they can't reasonably make the building taller than the Mega-buildings. They can make them prettier though.

Then again, it's not hard to be more aesthetically pleasing than a concrete brick.

Still, the ever present construction of the capitol building wasn't my concern at the moment. What was my concern was the shuttle that was just about to touch down. And the man within.

Myr'thos stood to my side, clad in a simple, if imposing set of red and black armor. They had initially wanted a cape, but Gary told them off. Capes are for central figures, not bodyguards, and draw too much attention.

It was honestly hilarious watching them argue about it. Myr'thos wasn't even doing it out of anger or hatred, just legitimate aesthetic debates.

Apparently, fashion was quite important during their time.

Eventually, they had settled on the armor they now wore. It was very smooth, with sharp lines of red cutting around their limbs. A hood covered part of their helmet, lending to their mysterious vibe.

Combined with the vibroblade at their hip and general aura of malice, Myr'thos made for an effective bodyguard through presence alone. Very professional looking.

All ruined as soon as they spoke, of course, but that's neither here nor there.

What is here is the shuttle, which finally settled down.

The ramp opens, and out steps ISB Agent Thorne. I don't know his first name, and frankly speaking really don't care to learn it.

Thorne is around my height, just shy of 6ft. A very pale man, it looks like he would get sunburnt from a desklap. His eyes, however, were in stark contrast to the rest of his complexion.

They were dark. Not just dark brown, but pitch black eyes. His cornea was normal, but his pupil and iris were the color of night.

It was quite unsettling, but I decided not to comment or stare.

As he approached, I took the initiative.

"Agent Thorne. My name is Las Mola, Governor of the Minda and Edin systems. Welcome to Accordia."

Quick, cordial, respectful but not subservient.

He said nothing for a second, studying me, before responding.

"I was sent here to hunt down the rebel scum that dared to attack the Empire. What leads do you have?"

His voice was sharp, a sort of professional monotone that likely hid a fierce underbelly.

"The Commander will have more details for you, Agent. As far as I know, little has been found. These terrorists use droids as fodder and secrecy as a cloak."

His gaze is intense, but I stand my ground.

"No leads? You have found nothing?"

"As I said, Agent. The Commander has more details in regards to what we know. I urge you to speak to her at the barracks for further information."

I can tell he wants to say something, but I continue. He seems dead set on interrogating me about the rebels, but I have other matters to attend to regarding his arrival.

"As I understand, you and the battalion you brought came on a Victory-II Class. Will said battalion be rotating from the ship, or staying on the ground?"

He seemed a little confused, as if wondering why that would ever be a question I ask.

"Planetside. To facilitate security."

"Wonderful" I say, knowing damn well it isnt. "And the ship? Will it stay in the system?"

"Yes."

Dammit. I know damn well I'll have to foot the fucking bill on this one as well.

All throughout the conversation, we were walking deeper into the building, heading towards the tram station.

Yup. Tram station. Since the capitol and just about every other important Imperial building resided on a single island, it required its own transportation. There were many walking paths, and even a nice park for recreation and down time, but no real roads. So, a tram system.

A few lines running to and from the labs, capitol, barracks, guild HQ, and more ferried hundreds of staff across the island.

As we entered the station, Thornes eyes seemed to whip in every direction, scanning over every detail. On occasion, his brows would quirk. Sometimes in confusion, sometimes in acceptance, and sometimes in disdain.

I could already tell there would be a long conversation ahead of me.

Worsened by the fact that I had my own tram cart. Notably nicer than the others.

The funny thing is, I never asked for this thing. Never commissioned it. It was just assumed I'd want my own.

I never used the damn thing. Took ten minutes to get it out of storage, and by then I would have been halfway to my destination.

Of course, I had it prepared for Thorne's arrival. Toned down somewhat, as the original used gold for some reason. Instead, it was like the other cars. Sleek white and grey, nice carpeted floor, but instead of a row of seats, there was instead a small table in the center.

It was small, yes, but fairly comfortable, with enough space for both of our bodyguards.

Sitting down, the tram started to move not seconds afterwards.

"So, Agent Thorne. What are your plans regarding the rebels? Anything I can assist you with?"

He said nothing for a moment, before responding.

"You employ many aliens, Governor. Why?"

Damn. Straight for the throat. And not at all on topic! Where did he learn his social skills, the fucking Inquisition?

"The majority of the Outer Rim's population is non-human, Agent. It would be inefficient and wasteful to employ only humans in such an environment."

Another pause, more silence. This guy really likes his silence, huh? Must be some kind of interrogation method.

Jokes on him, cause I like the silence! Less time I need to hear him talking.

"Yet, these aliens…they are not slaves. They seem to have positions high in the administration. Explain."

Again with his bullshit! I keep my best poker face on, hiding the fact that my face is attempting to grow a frown by actively thinking about Myr'thos raging after losing a match. The conflict between my attempts to frown and smile kept me in a neutral looking state.

"Slaves don't pay taxes, Agent."

The flash of confusion on his face is priceless! As the tram pulls into the station, and we get off, he turns to me, expression making it clear I should continue.

"The Imperial Guild of Commerce, Production and Protection is how Minda has been able to grow as it has. It encourages local growth, local businesses, and local economies. It then connects these to other systems, offering benefits to all sides and making commerce easier for everyone."

We continue walking through the station, people parting before us as we make our way into the barracks.

"Slavery removes local jobs. It takes a usually significant portion of the population and refuses to pay them, meaning those people aren't spending money. If a large portion of people aren't spending money, then businesses catering to those people don't come to fruition. And competition to said businesses doesn't become a thing. The economy doesn't grow, only the wallets of those who own the most slaves."

Into a large elevator we step. In fact, most of the elevators around the island were quite large. I think it had something to do with moving more troops quicker? But wouldn't that work for both attackers and defenders? Questions for later.
"As to why non-humans are allowed into higher levels of the administration, that's because they have proven themselves. Promotions are based on merit, skill, and dedication. If we didn't reward people for their efforts, they would have little incentive to work diligently."

Finally, we were at the Commanders office. This was, hopefully, the last time I would see Agent Thorne for a while.

Sure, he would likely come bother me with some inane thing or another, but the Commander would get him sorted out. Her competence was just the kind of thing that would help him solve the rebel problem and get him to leave.

I knocked on the door politely, and waited a second before I heard her invite us in.

As we entered, Grant's eyes widened a tad from her position at her desk, before quickly snapping into a salute.

"Governor, Sir!"

I almost want to chuckle. My relationship with my subordinates has always been looser, more casual. Facilitates a better workplace environment.

Agent Thorne, however, doesn't know that, and would likely take exception to it. He is ISB after all. That Grant was able to identify this so quickly speaks to her competence.

"Commander Grant, this is Agent Thorne, here on behalf of the ISB to investigate the recent terrorist attacks. You are to collaborate with him on this assignment."

Turning to face both of them, I continue.

"If you have any need of additional support, don't hesitate to ask. I want these rebels dead and gone ASAP. If you have need of me, I'll be in my office, as usual. Feel free to contact my secretary."

Confident my part in this was finished, I excused myself and made my way out. I had far too much work to do and not nearly enough time to be doing all of this bullshit.

Hell, the only reason I escorted the Agent here personally was to ensure he got here. If I didn't, he probably would've gone off and started doing shit on his own. At least with me there, he couldn't just blow me off, and that combined with my little intellectual conversation, meant I could get him here without him really noticing.

Ah… herd mentality my beloved.

Just as my foot left the doorway, however, the Agent called out to me.

"Governor."

I turn. "Yes Agent?" Please tell me you want to know the best suicide spot around? I'll push you myself!

He looks at me with an inquisitive stare, eyes boring into me like black holes.

"The aliens. Why not motivate them with fear?"

What is this guy, a Tarkin supremacist?

"Fear causes anger. Anger, hatred. And hatred breeds dissent. If the people are kept happy, they have no reason to rebel. No reason to take up arms against their rulers."

And with that, I left. Quick enough that he couldn't ask any questions without having to chase me down, which would look really fucking embarrassing.

And for an ISB Agent? Embarrassment might as well be a death sentence. That entire branch of the Empire is a fucking mess, and I want no part in it.

Getting back on my tram, I pour myself a glass of chocolate milk. And yes, I keep some chilled for these occasions.

I can stop at any time, I promise.

I down the entire glass in a single shot, then offer the rest of the carton to my bodyguards while I look down at my PDA.

I've got a bevy of things to do today, and they all make me want to go find a suicide spot.

Now that I think about it, what is the Mindan suicide rate? Should look into that, cause I'm not sure how much we've invested into mental health facilities around the system.

Regardless, there are many things to do.

Veers sent back her recommendations for cruisers, and I ended up deciding on the Gladiator-Class.

The Strike-Class had been a close contender, especially because I remember some variant or refit of it that made it far better at managing TIE's, but even with that it had a higher crew count.

Which was weird, considering its 200 meters shorter, but it is what it is. A Gladiator is bigger, has more fighter capacity, can operate for long periods of time on its own, and extend the range of fighter based patrols.

Of course, if they want to buy one, we offer them some homegrown TIEs at a little discount.

Aside from that, I had reports to sift through on new production centers opening, more immigrants being let in to try and staff the shipyards(there weren't gonna be enough, no fucking way.), and all the stuff the Guild was getting up to with its new partners.

Lotta uplifting. Lotta new businesses.

A shit ton of cash, now spread between partners. Good stuff.

I held in my sigh. I could release the pressure once I was safe and sound in my office, and not surrounded by my bodyguards.

-

Hi there folks! Wanted to get Agent Thorne in. I would've had the chapter out sooner, but I was grinding WuWa. Got Cartethyia in my very first ten pull, and spent another 2 hours grinding her to lvl 70, plus her skills.

Also, Elden Ring Nightreign. Shit is an absolute BANGER! Like, fucking hell man it somehow just works, ya know? Sure, the upgrades could be better, more consistent with the character you're playing. And maybe upgrades that change playstyles would be cool. Maybe even devil-deal type upgrades the genre likes so much. -10% HP for +15% damage and the like.

Regardless of my vices, finals week is over! While I do have a summer semester, I'll be doing a lot more writing so expect some more frequent updates.

In terms of starships. I thank you all for the suggestions. The Harrower came up a lot, which is kinda weird, because why the hell would anyone build a 1000+ yr old starship? If there even are any schematics left, it would be a major pain in the ass to modernize, for what essentially was just a heavy cruiser that no-ones heard about.

Still, I appreciate the discourse. Always fun to read, and helps keep the creative gears turning.

As always, appreciate the feedback and commentary.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Traditonal Thinking

POV Governor Fotz, Duradun, Myto Sector

Fotz glared out the reinforced window as she surveyed her domain. Not even Duradun's gorgeous ocean view could keep the latest setback in her inevitable rise to prominence from weighing on her mind.

Fotz's application to join that new Guild making waves around the Myto sector had been rejected. Her august charisma proved insufficient for them to recognize her as one of their betters. They even had the gall to use the excuse that her planet had "unfriendly business practices".

Really! Does that upstart Las not know she is Governor Fotz? Her innovative agrarian reforms were praised by the sector capital for her commitment to sustainability. Demolishing those wasteful green spaces and redirecting the Khil's exuberance away from the unstable tourism industry towards productive and reliable aquaculture was lauded as a stroke of genius.

Case in point. Fotz spotted yet another Shad'ruu war barge from her patrons come to visit her domain. No doubt come to fill their cargo bays with Duradun's galaxy renowned fish and "land squids". Honestly, those Khil learn to walk on two feet and suddenly they think they are equal to a pure blooded Imperial, those arrogant cretins.

Her patrons were so impressed with Duradun's quality that they even offer Fotz gifts. Those Dunelizard medium fighters would do wonders in defending Duradun's borders in the black. Covering such minor tasks would free up her TIEs to engage in crucial objectives such as finding and bombarding unsanctioned domiciles in Duradun's few archipelagos.

Thinking about fighters brought Fotz back to her current predicament. She had hoped to replace her aging Bayonet with one of those Gladiators Minda was rumored to begin building. Unfortunately jealously towards Fotz's brilliant methods of governance had stymied those efforts.

Nevertheless, Fotz had secured alternatives means to acquire cruisers. Thankfully her patrons had come through for her yet again. They had informed that they could acquire not one, but five cruisers through their contacts for a fraction of the price of a Gladiator.

Let those fools prance around with their mere Gladiators. Her new ships had taken the worst the Clone Wars could have thrown at them and came out sparkling like new. Soon they will stand in awe at Governor Fotz's mighty fleet spearheaded by her invincible Citadel Class Cruisers!

——
This Omake spawned by the debate over the past while in the thread about cruisers. How Las could have missed such an obvious choice as the ILH-KK Citadel-class civilian cruiser, I don't know. Pirates tremble at its 36 meters of grit and determination.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-63: Green Reckoning

You know who I never expected to have to fight?

Darna.

Not in a real fight, no. I went down to the range once and saw her there. Whipping a blaster pistol around like a cowboy faster than I could blink.

No, instead I'm forced to call her because she doesn't want to give up being both Guild Director and Vice-Governor.

"...and it is imperative that I retain control over both in order to coordinate the rebuilding efforts here on Edin."

That was the end of a multiple paragraph rant on why she should keep both positions. It was quite impressive, and brought up some valid points. However…

"You look half-dead, Darna."

And she did. Since we were on video call, not holo-call, there was full color. And her bright blue skin was quite pale. Unhealthily so.

"I am functional."

"Looking like that, I'd guess you have maybe a week left of 'function' before I gotta attend a funeral."

Her eyes narrowed. Or maybe she was just really tired. I honestly couldn't tell.

Before she could respond, I raised my hand.

"Look. It's not healthy. Not at all. And you're not just a secretary anymore, your Vice-Governor. I need you at 100% to make sure things run smoothly. Can't have one of my top subordinates dying on the job."

There was still a fire in her eyes. I sighed, rubbing my temple. I don't have time for this.

"Choose someone. Someone you trust, who can handle the job well, and who you think will be approved by the Moffs office. Because at this rate, you will encounter problems. You will encounter mix ups. I can't have that, and the Empire won't tolerate it."

At that, she seemed to understand. I didn't explicitly state it, but it was clear that her position was the consequence of her efforts and my protection. The Empire wasn't all that chill when it came to non-humans in positions of power.

Aside from the Hutts. But they were weird, and no one touched them anyways.

"...Fine. I'll pick a successor. Is that all?"

I could hear the sass, but I let it slide. She looked tired as hell after all.

"Get a nap, Darna. Can't have my favorite secretary six feet under."

Before she could respond, I got an alert on my terminal, with a priority code of 2. Which, while not dangerous, meant that whatever it was was most certainly more important than this conversation.

"Sorry, got to cut this short, just got a code 2."

She nodded, seeming a little out of it. Which, considering her state of being, was understandable. "Of course, sir."

With that, we ended the call and I started reading through the report, dreading what might happen. I had far too much work to do to be distracted by some bullshit.

What I read was…odd. Really odd.

A corporate convoy of ships had been caught in the interior of the system. Legally, they were totally fine.

Until they got hit with a random inspection, as one does.

They were found carrying many metric tons of cargo that wasn't on their manifest. Logging equipment, mining equipment, and a shit ton of parts for easy to assemble prefab structures.

So, they were arrested and interrogated, as one does to smugglers.

That's when it got bad.

Apparently, the company, Corleone Industries, ran a science/survey outpost on Minda-1.

A while ago I had made deals with around a dozen or more companies to allow for this. They paid a fee, and in return for scouting the planet, would get preferable treatment in regards to land claims.

It was a long term project, since I would have to address the jungle filled death trap eventually. They knew this as well, but to them it was worth it.

Corleone, apparently, got a tad impatient.

The personnel that were interrogated revealed that the company had started expanding their holdings, and were in the process of extracting resources. Resources that they had no right to extract, as they were all Imperial property.

To put it plainly, Corleone had fucked up big time. They flagrantly violated Imperial Law, and were at my mercy.

If nothing else, this would serve as an example to other larger companies as to what happens when they try to take advantage of mine and the Guild's generous personalities.

In short order, I sent two messages.

One was to have all Corleone assets in the Minda and Edin systems blockaded, and all high-ranking members arrested immediately.

Troops were to move on the Minda-1 facilities and take control.

The second message was to the Guild. A few days ago, as the tug teams started their second trip from Rothana to Minda, I spoke with the Moff once again. As the Guild grew, he took more notice.

For all intents and purposes, the Guild was now official. The successor Darna chose would have to be approved by his office, but I doubted there would be any trouble there. Moff Hiral was giving me, and by extension Minda, favorable treatment.

Minda would have a lot of power within the Guild, though still beholden to the Moff, of course. A good outcome, all things considered, which allowed me to stay in some control of the Guild while allowing the system to grow throughout the Myto sector.

The message I sent to the Guild was in regards to this whole kerfuffle. Darna would likely handle it, as I doubt she's picked out a successor. Even if she has, it would take a while longer before they were officially chosen.

For now, the Guild would investigate Corleone Industries, and bar them from the Guild if they were found guilty.

Of course, this is a minor punishment, and the company's best case scenario. Worst case? The company is forcefully disbanded, assets seized, leaders executed.

With the orders sent out, I turned my attention to other things.

Like Thorne's bullshit. Seems my little speech did nothing, because Thorne and his troopers have been creating quite the kerfuffle. The slowdowns in cargo lanes and immigration were expected, of course.

The conflicts with police? With army troopers? With other stormtroopers? Not acceptable.

Especially when they try to take LECA's without authorization, showcase clear speciesim to citizens, and more.

Frankly speaking, Thorne is lucky they haven't publicly executed someone. Else I would've let Grant loose on him.

For a moment, I consider that path. If Thorne oversteps, I can punish him for it by appealing to the Moff. Hmmm…

Nah. Thorne has the backing of the ISB. Even if his fellow agents are quite likely to throw him under the rug, the name alone could scare the Moff into doing nothing. And even if there is a chance, it wasn't worth the risk. Especially if it inspired anti-Imperial sentiment among the populace.

I sent a quick message to Grant, asking her what was going on and if I could help. If anyone knew what was happening, it was her.

Hopefully, I could intervene before she decided the only path forward was a shit ton of murder.

-

2 hours later
Sergeant TK-472, Ragna Olfir
Minda-1

"20 seconds to landing."

As the voice rang over the Sentinel's intercom, Ragna did just that.

He adjusted his straps, checked his blaster one last time, and looked around to see the others doing the same.

His squad sat beside him, the other nine troopers checking their gear the same as him.

Soon, he heard the telltale sound of the shuttle landing, and the hiss of the hydraulics as the doors inched open.

His squad quickly left the shuttle, fanning out alongside four other squads and making a beeline towards the nearest building.

They had landed on the pads of the Corleone Industries central base. It sat in a clearing, smack dab in the center of a jungle valley.

As soon as he stepped off the shuttle, the heat hit him. Even with his armor, it was sweltering. His hud read around 85F, but he knew damn well that the humidity would make it feel like more.

As they rushed the nearest building, LECA's deployed from other shuttles, securing the perimeter against the jungle.

Soon, they busted through the door to the largest central building. Room by room, they cleared it out, cuffing every civilian they found, and stunning those who resisted.

Eventually, Ragna's squad found their way down to the basement levels. They entered a long corridor lined with doors.

Wordlessly, he signaled the two troopers to his side to hug the walls, and the squad advanced, checking every room. They were empty, all of them resembling cells of some kind.

It was when they arrived at the final cell that things truly changed.

Within lay not the emptiness of the previous cells, but a being. Fairly tall, green skinned, with prehensile feet and rough, handmade clothes. They looked up at the troopers from where they sat and strained against their chains, anger clearly filling their hearts.

Ragna hit them with a stunner on the spot.

Based on everything he knew, this was a native. A native this company had captured.

It looked like a diplomatic incident waiting to happen.

It looked like he wasn't paid enough for this shit.

-

Hi there folks! Not my best work, I'll admit, but I'm feeling a little creatively stuck here so I decided to advance some looser plot threads and see where it goes.

Also, I realized I completely skipped over frigates when talking about the shipyards. Corvettes are the initial batch, with cruisers being at the end, but frigates stick to the middle zone, and it makes sense that they would be built.

Suggestions for this would be great, though following the same guidelines as the cruisers. Imperial, preferably canon/legends though I'm not opposed to fanart, and not super old or some ship from the future that R&D magics up out of nothing.

Appreciate the feedback and commentary.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-64: Kailin

Abraxas Thorne
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia

There were many streets in the city of Accordia. 1,758, to be precise. Of those, 1,382 were named streets, boulevards, roads and thoroughfares. The remaining 376 were unnamed alleys, side streets, and sky-bridges.

Like the ones that crisscrossed the rows of buildings in the Kailin District. A dense urban crisscross of a marketplace, where day and night people hawked their wares.

As high as five stories above street level the market stretched. Such a densely packed marketplace was very likely prone to higher levels of crime simply due to the nature of the environment.

Around the district sat many smaller enforcer stations, situated in the densest areas of the markets to ensure a swift response to any potential crimes.

This would not be enough, however. The market was too dense, too crowded. There needed to be a larger effect, a larger presence that deterred crime simply by existing.

City-planners foresaw this outcome, and planned the district around it. As the district grew, an Imperial building, a sharp spire of brutalist authority was built in the center of the district, watching over the markets and docking a few LAAT/le's just in case.

Yet, the people were not bothered. An odd outcome considering other such cases throughout the Empire.

Thorne looked down at the market place. Kailin, the people called this district, officially named after the street the markets started on.

Which, in turn, was named after Kailin. The Unbroken Path. A spiritual concept of the native near-human Tula, representing the honor of the spoken word and written contract, just as the animals they hunt honor their migratory patterns.

The markets built around the street started in an attempt to take advantage of this. After all, they were markets of Kailin street, and they honored their word.

Now, it was far larger. And the honor the district was named after was still there to some extent, if weakened by sheer size and time.

Thorne's pitch black eyes swept across the district, scanning for any irregularities.

As he did this, he mentally reviewed what he had learned so far about the Minda system.

Like the market place, it sported an incredible rate of growth, attributed to an abundance of resources and an open immigration policy that focused on drawing immigrants here for manual labor.

This was not an unusual premise throughout the Empire. What was unusual was what came next.

The Governor focused on increasing the quality of the citizens, not just the quantity. Educational programs in the Outer Rim that featured a curriculum of more than just propaganda was rare, but the results spoke for themselves.

But that's not all, is it? Other variables interfered. The Guild, which was now spreading, pushed local markets upwards. It gave work to the immigrants, and led to more and more interest from other companies. The system grew and grew, infrastructure projects allowing for more growth, leading to a rare amount of prosperity in a sector so devoid of it.

What was truly odd, however, was the morale of the people. Thorne had seen many different populaces throughout his 15 years as an agent. The slave revolts, the valleys filled with slums and more. Oftentimes, the prosperity was either already there, or manufactured through suffering.

Not the most effective solution, but for an Empire of over a million worlds, it was efficient enough.

Yet, here, the Empire was popular. Stormtroopers were not avoided in the streets, and people cheered when large Imperial ships flew by the city. An investigation into the populace revealed a loyalty score of 78%. Far higher than average.

However, there was more. This investigation also revealed that many of the citizens directly or indirectly mentioned or credited the Governor for their feelings regarding the Empire and their lives in the Minda system. The Governor had raised this system up to its current standard, so it was logical that the people would see him as the one to praise for all the good he had done. Effective, undeniably. Dangerous? Maybe.

However, the Governor was unlikely to act on these feelings. Thorne's psych profile on the man was still growing, but already explained key parts of the man's personality. Las Mola was a meticulous man, who spent most of his time in his office doing work. Effective. The Minda and Edin systems had regularly exceeded quotas, even if now they are greatly reduced.

Mola's personal effects were mostly minimalistic. The private tram car they had ridden in had shown signs of dust on the lights and under the table. Clear indicators of a lack of use. The man's uniform was crisp and simple, with his coat following the same aesthetic, likely only used during the current colder months.

The organization of the Guild, and its ruthless crackdowns on companies that got too arrogant, that took up too much of the market space, that broke its rules.

The meritocracy of his bureaucracy that favored competence over species or gender.

The lack of slavery to promote economic growth.

It all pointed towards a goal oriented person. The kind of person that got things done, and didn't play games about it.

Effective. Efficient. Yet, not as Imperial as Thorne would like. Not as tight a grip as was Imperial standard. Still, Thorne saw in the Governor the type of people the Empire needed.

The Moff likely saw some of that as well, if colored in the lens of his ambition. If the Moff succeeded in his goals, and he was poised to do so within the next year or so, then the Governor was likely his successor as Moff.

Assuming the Governor survived the jungle of upper Imperial politics, that is. If he could not, then he was not worthy of Thorne's respect.

Turning away from the window, he addressed the Major who had been standing at attention for the past 3 minutes and 12 seconds. He had been aware of his arrival for some time, but let the man wait. Patience was a virtue, and showcased the resolve needed to be a part of Thorne's operations. Those who could not wait would fall as quickly as they acted.

"Major."

"Sir. Our troopers have discovered rebel activity in the city of Rolling Greens."

That was quick. Too quick. It had only been two weeks. This far exceeded normal operation times. Sloppiness? Maybe, but inconsistent with the previous attack. Not enough data.

"Report."

"A squad received collaborated with local enforcers in response to reports of suspicious activity near the water treatment plant. There they found multiple suspected rebels attempting to breach the compound. A firefight ensued, and all but one of the rebels died. The remaining rebels escaped. A search has already been ordered."

Water purification. Needed for a farming city such as Rolling Greens. Vital infrastructure. The previous attack focused on key personnel in the capital city. Used droids as fodder. Making up for low numbers? Likely. Lost at Accordia, refocusing efforts. Now, targeting infrastructure. Public pain perhaps? Inconsistent with standard Rebel Alliance tactics. Not looking to garner public support.

Fear then. A slow death, bleeding Ugea for all to see. Not efficient, but ruthless. Brutal.

Predictable.

"Contact local forces, have them reinforce Rolling Greens for now. Move our troops to Augir and Durandum. Focus surveillance on vital infrastructure. But don't make it obvious. Let them think there's an opening. And inform the troops to keep their weapons on stun."

They would likely pull from Rolling Greens now that they had been caught trying to get in. The fact that they didn't use droids this time around was odd. Why risk limited personnel? Regardless, they wanted destruction.

Augir held much of the local ore refineries and Durandum was home to the majority of the planet's electronic production. Both were vital industries, the destruction of which would be felt system wide.

As the Major snapped off a salute and started barking orders into his comm, Thorne turned back to the window.

Minda was an interesting case. Almost interesting enough to be glad he was stuck as an Agent.

Almost.

-

TK-472 Ragna Olfir
Minda-2, Imperial Stronghold

Ragna nursed a drink in his hand and silently cursed his luck.

His new assignment to Minda-2 was, as he expected, above his paygrade.

Still, it was nice to have an NCO's club. Not as nice as the Officers Lounge, but it was a step above the regular mess hall.

Ragna stared deep into the murky waters of whatever swill he was drinking as he fell backwards into his own mind, the noise of the bar washing away as his memories came clawing back up.

The landing had been fine, the raid had been as standard as it could be, better even! They had LECA support, which was normally quite rare. Especially during the Edin clean up. LECA's had been in shorter supply at the time, built one by one in the labs he heard. Now, they had a small factory and everything.

Still, it had all been by the books. As standard an operation as it could be. With the added bonus of no resistance.

Then, the cells. The frakking cells. Corleone just had to be keeping some natives in a cell. And, as Ragna came to learn, not just any jungle barbarian.

No, they had somehow gotten their hands on these peoples equivalent of a princess. One that was set to marry quite soon.

Which, of course, caused a whole lot of political drama between the natives. Ragna had a friend working as a secretary for one of the higher ups, and they spilled quite a bunch. Nothing sensitive, of course, but the kind of stuff that normally never gets down to the grunts.

The princess had been set to marry a wealthy noble of some kind from, get this, a nation. Not a clan. Not a city state. A nation. A full on, multiple cities, working economy, nation!

Not very big, from what they could tell. The world was mostly inhospitable to larger groups, with clans stagnating in population around 900 to 1000 at the highest. But, up north, where it was far too cold for the jungle and its horrors to spread, there were many volcanoes. And around these volcanoes was lush, arable land that catered well towards civilization.

So, the princess was not set to marry another clan of a few hundred, but a nation of nearly half a million souls. And she got kidnapped by the Corleones before it could happen. Leading to a lot of internal strife and politicking.

A real holodrama if he'd ever heard one.

When Ragna had spotted the native in that cell, he had known things were bound to go down hill.

He just wished he wasn't stuck smack dab in the middle of it all. Especially when he had to patrol outside. Jungle heat was no joke.

It was around then that he started to come up from his little fugue, the internal clock beat into him by bootcamp telling him he had to get to bed now or it would be a pain by morning.

Surfacing from his thoughts, the sounds of the world came back to him. Other NCO's chatting, bartender cleaning some cups, the holoprojector playing the Governor's latest speech.

"…these terrorists will be found, and will face the full might of Imperial Justice!"

As the crowd cheered in the background of the shot, Ragna paid his tab and left.

Sleep called to him, and the cot he had been issued sounded like heaven right about now.

He needed to be his best after all. The Governor was set to arrive soon, and his battalion would be escorting the delegation.

-

Hi there folks! Wanted to step away from Las for a second, get some alt-povs up and dive a little into some of the different stuff. Thorne was kinda hard to write at first, but I read through Vectors Set by TheCapybara, which is incredible, and got some good ideas on how the prose works. They write about the political tension, games and general vibe of the ISB and upper echelons of the Imperial Military so well it's scary.

Also, because I don't really know how it works, how do conventional militaries adapt to a dense jungle environment? Cause I doubt the Imperial Army, or even the Stormtroopers are fit for such a dense battlefield. There won't be a war per se, but conflict is expected at one point or another and I want to understand how that might go down better before I get to writing it. Any ideas or info is greatly appreciated.

As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Succession Salon

POV: Lady Foljoll, Dubrillion, Lady Foljoll's beachside estate, afternoon

"Here is your vintage Algarian Wine, Lady Foljoll."

Lady Foljoll took the tiny glass drink from the bowing pool boy. Her Twilek servant had always had the most impeccable timing, and appearance. Having that tailor make traditional swimwear of Ryloth was worth every credit.

"I say Lady Foljoll, what do you think of Moff Hiral's ambitions?"

Thoughts of disporting with the servantry put aside, it was back to the main topic of the gossip this afternoon. Hiral thought he was being subtle, but everyone properly connected and with a care for politics knew he was aiming to rise above his current station. Perhaps what happened to Moff Wasti showed him the dangers of stagnation.

"Whether the Moff succeeds or fails, Madam Offesco, I fear we will be looking for a new Moff soon, and all the chaos that brings."

Wasti's swift removal had caused no end of short term problems. Back door deals to be renegotiated, bribes and "gifts" to be sent, favorable patrol routes for the Fleet to be arranged, events to organize in the new Moff's honor. Foljoll's Artist Association had made a mint booking all the sudden venues.

Plenty of the Families of the sector had scrambled to maintain their existing influence, while even more looked to usurp their rivals. No one was looking to go through all that business again. This made a candidate with a known policy accompanied by a smooth transition from the previous regime something welcomed by most.

"True, true. As much as I would prefer a more local and prestigious candidate, that Mola boy seems to Hiral's chosen successor."

Madam Offesco's humph did little to hide her disdain. She was the type of woman who would only embrace a candidate firmly under her high heels. It was no surprise the Offescos would especially dislike Las becoming Moff. Their family had their fat fingers in luxury food production across the sector.

There wasn't a dinner party or banquet that they didn't help cater. The food industry had always been in a position of high esteem in Dubrillion. Going all the way back to the Sacking, as any Offesco will recount at the slightest prompting.

However the rise of Minda and their freeholder style of agriculture changed things. Suddenly the traditional slave plantations on the worlds of Offesco's allies seemed inefficient and unfashionable in the face of Minda and Guild's productivity through free labor and industrialization. That the Offescos' efforts to snake their way into the Guild have been consistently stymied probably only caused their frustrations to mount.

"Ah yes Governor Las. Proper stock from Eriadu I heard. Not any family of true significance, but that may change after the pruning the other Families in the Galactic South suffered at that debacle on Yavin."

Whether through shrewd manipulation or sheer dumb luck. The Mola matriarch and the Governor's sisters were all noticeably absent from Yavin despite it being Tarkin's pride and joy. Even Captain Shal, who was embroiled in scandal as a result, was given a slap on the wrist and sent to the Mola stronghold in Minda.

"I suppose it's better than a lowborn or worse, an alien. Speaking of stock, did you hear of the latest news from Minda? A whole new species has been discovered on one of their life bearing worlds. Some people have all the luck I say. A whole new source of farm tools for the fields falls right into the Molas' laps."

Lady Foljoll nods, agreeing with the sentiment if not the delivery. The Empire might give a freer hand in espousing humanity's superiority, however Las and his Guild took a more… multicultural approach. Never know when a word said loosely might be picked up by bent ears.

"I-I heard that there is over half a million of this new species down there. That's going to push Minda even further if they can integrate them."

Miss Omis had finally deigned to join the conversation. Although her reluctance was understandable. Every salon season, the dowagers and matriarchs always picked a pretty young thing to use as a chew toy. Miss Omis had the misfortune of being this year's victim.

"Half a million is not an insubstantial number. Add in all that growth Minda has undergone and that system will have already reached 1/20th the size of Dubrillion and still have room for more."

It was an impressive rise in such a short period. Whether Minda would keep growing at that rate would remain to be seen. Although if Las can play sector politics well, who knows? Perhaps Dubrillion can finally have a proper peer in the sector.

"I suppose that means you will join the gaggle of fawning dandies and dainties sucking up to the up and comer, Miss Omis? The Omis family have mastered the art of having one's hat in their hands."

Offesco's remark was scathing, but not inaccurate. The Omis were New Blood, not even three generations since their debut to high society. They always tried championing improving the standard of education in the sector. Willing to bow and scrap at any foot or hoof that had a chance to fund their projects. Unfortunately such projects often dried up in credits when the sponsors grew bored of it after a year or two.

"W-well, the Omis have been in talks about our world joining the Guild. The requirements are not too burdensome for us, a-as we actually pay our workers."

Was that actually an attempt at a retort? Oh that was just precious. It might have been a tad more impactful if Miss Omis didn't trip over her words. Although judging by Madam Offesco's complexion, the quality of the insult was not a factor.

"Listen here you little bint! Las' light hand will bring ruin to his realm! Anarchy is about to descend upon Minda due to him being unwilling to muzzle and leash those non-sentients like he is supposed to!"

Lady Foljoll's couldn't help but sigh as the Madam stormed off. Madam Offesco was always too harsh on the peons, and that's why Lady Foljoll invited these two to her estate this afternoon. She had seen photos of the new species, and they look adorable. Perhaps she can secure another servant for her collection. They would look lovely with a giant pink bow.

Filing away the day's freshly won bit of blackmail, she turned to the stunned and stammering little morsel. Resting her hand on Miss Omis' shoulder like her mother always used to do.

"Now that was a fair bit of excitement. Are you alright? Madam Offesco can be a bit heated about her family's business."

The shivering little animal took the perceived reassurance to collect herself. Taking a deep breath to regain her wits.

"Yes Lady Foljoll, I just hope this won't cause trouble for my family. We really need the Guild's support and the coming meeting can't have any issues."

Ooooh, look at that dejected face of despair. Lady Foljoll supposes she could lend Mrs Omis her support in making introductions. If only to get her family to stop yammering at every gathering they attend and store up another hook for the day.

"I would be happy to assist, Miss Omis. Consider it a way for this host to make up for a guest being exposed to such unpleasantness. Speaking of which, let's have something to wash it down. Pool boy!"

Besides, this could be her chance to get in the good graces of the coming regime. Art and education do go hand in hand after all.

——
A look into how the Sector's movers and shakers might be reacting to Las' potential Moffhood. Star Wars' upper class is very generationally concentrated. The main Rags to Riches story we get in the setting is Anakin, and he spends most of the prequels being manipulated, seduced, or verbally smacked down by people with millennia of lineage behind them. Is it any wonder he goes around killing the same kind of people when he's in his Vader phase?

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-65: Negotiations(Threats)

At one point early on during my tenure as a governor, I cursed the universe upon my realization that I would have to engage in politics.

This was, of course, after I had a mental breakdown or three in my room over being dragged into another reality, never to see my family and friends ever again.

Now, I was once again cursing the universe because not only do I have to engage in politics, but I have to engage in politics as the colonizer.

Fuck.

So, to make things less awkward and to hopefully come up with some kind of plan to reduce the negative impact of all this, I was reading.

Specifically, a report on the Verndari. The species native to Minda-2.

They reminded me somewhat of the Na'vi, but shorter on average, though still tall. 7-8ft seems to be common.

Green skin with some varying hues, prehensile feet, hair with varying colors, two eyes, four fingers, and odd crystal growths along their forehead.

As for culture, it varied greatly. The clans in the jungle valleys rarely had more than a thousand people, with few city-states existing within the harsh conditions.

The northern part of the continent contained a large amount of volcanoes that created conditions ideal for farming, leading to larger nations.

As expected, the cultures varied as well. Clans and tribes from the jungles had their own traditions, but generally stuck to a culture of survival due to some event of some kind a few centuries ago that is ill defined. The jungle is not a god to be made peace with, or an enemy to defeat, but a challenge to be overcome.

On the other side, the northern nations have more varied cultures, but curiously follow a similar cultural ideal as well. Of course, theirs is more on the side of growth and the like, seeing the world as a place to conquer and learn from.

Obviously, a lot of these details are vague and mostly grabbed from Corleone's internal logs, but it's better than nothing. I'll just have to get the diplomats to explain more.

It wasn't long before my shuttle landed. I had wanted to fly it myself, since it's been a while and I quite enjoy flying, but I had reports to read.

Stepping off the shuttle, I am immediately met by the intense heat of the jungle. Combined with a humidity that makes Florida feel like LA and I instantly want to go inside.

Mugwuffin seems to agree, having practically flown towards the door and was pawing for a way in. Though, Myr'thos seems unbothered. Sith shenanigans, I swear.

Heatbadstuffypleaseplease

I don't answer verbally, if only to avoid seeming insane in front of my bodyguards. Gotta keep up the image, right?

Exhausting.

Entering the facility, I'm greeted by the blessed environmental control and the facilities newly assigned Commandant. A tan skinned togrutan man named Lare Tanezi, who I chose specifically because he was not a human and because he was from Minda. I couldn't have some arrogant human-centrist officer in control around here, after all.

"Sir. We've gotten into contact with the major native nations and tribes in the area. Their representatives are waiting for you."

"Good." And it really was. I was half expecting to be forced to meet them halfway in the jungle or something. Thank god for the small mercies.

Wait…don't thank god! That fucker probably stuck me here!

As my little war against the heavens raged within, I made my way to the meeting room. As I understood it, negotiations with the locals had amounted to giving them their princess back, flying some TIEs around to discourage violence, and meeting a few times with protocol droids to get the language down pat. Combined with what Corleone got, it meant the droids were now practically fluent.

Now, I had to deal with the rest of it.

Honestly? Paperwork sounds better.

Entering the meeting room, I glance around. There are quite a few representatives. Means they're divided.

The room itself was simple. The muted blue leftover from Corleone's tenure, along with a large table. The representatives sat on one side, while I sat on the other, none of us sitting at the heads of the table. Kept things feeling civil, even though I had the advantage.

The reps themselves were varied to say the least. I could tell the difference between city and tribe folk, however. The general quality and complexity marked a difference.

After I sat down, the protocol droid shambled on over to me.

"Sir." It spoke. "These are the representatives of the most prominent local factions of the Verndari species. Please note that many titles and names are approximate translations."

It then began introductions.

"This warrior is Gotan, the Sworn Brother of the Chieftain of the Stone-Grit tribe. They are the largest jungle based tribe."

He was a larger man, abnormally tall even for the Verndari, at nearly 9 feet. The pelts he wore were unusually thick for such a hot environment. Script of some kind was scrawled across it, intricate in its writing and denoting clear patterns. Likely a religious meaning of some kind.

"The princess is Princess Ula, current heir to the city-state of Luminous Canopy, one of the apparently few jungle city-states."

Standing at around 7ft, she wore a mask made of some kind of wood that had clear bioluminescence, with glowing patterns shifting across it. She wore far lighter clothing than her compatriot, though far more of it was made of the same wood as her mask, in an almost armor-like composition.

Then came the city-folk.

"This is Archduchess Limali, ruler of the heartlands and heir to the throne of the Fulcrum Dynasty."

First in the lineup was a woman of their average height. Her skin was a darker green than the tribesfolk, and she wore what resembled a tailored coat, ash grey in color. It was criscrossed with geometric patterns that resembled rows of crops. The outfit was accented with what looked like polished bronze at the cuffs and other areas. Her poise spoke of power, but her eyes spoke of caution.

"Next is High-Warden Juntal, council member of the Ash-Mark confederacy."

The next man was a tad taller, with similarly dark skin, and sported something resembling a toga, with magma red flowers dotted with black spots woven into the outfit, seeming to bloom along the seams. Many pockets dotted the outfits layers, though where the toga began and the pockets ended was unclear at times. He seemed interested in me, as if I were an opportunity. Political player, maybe.

"The covered lady is Lumina-Seer Idala of the Ember-Heart Covenant."

Another came clad in many layers of grey, obscuring their body entirely save for the eyes. Ornaments of volcanic rock and obsidian adorned them, hanging from their neck, waist and wrists. The fabrics themselves, while dull at a glance, caught the light in odd ways. It seemed to redirect light, making the figure blurry at times. I couldn't tell their gender at a glance, though the eyes were shaped more similarly to the women at the table, and were seemingly of a lighter tone. Seer? Religious figure maybe? It's called a covenant after all.

"This gentleman here is Marshal Olbret of the Obsidian Wardenship"

Then came what was surely a military officer of sorts. Clad in a color reminiscent of basalt rocks, the man was broad shouldered and wore what had to be a uniform. The lines were simple, near brutalist, with pauldrons and all. When he moved, I could see the hint of rectangular shapes beneath the fabric. Likely armor panelling of sorts. To keep the two sides of the upper part together, instead of buttons or zippers, the sides seem to have been woven together in an intricate pattern. Likely a tradition of some sorts. His gaze was narrowed, aggressive. Might be a problem, likely a show of force would be required. Then an integration into local defense forces in some way. Culturally tie them to us. Point the aggression elsewhere.

"And finally, the Prime Cartographer Elwere."

The final representative was another man, though more diminutive than the others, closer to 6'8. His skin was a similar tone to the others, but his outfit was quite simple. A tunic of some kind, with a few layers and a hooded cloak. This outfit also had many, many pockets, but they were more visible. An amethyst stone of some kind made up the majority of his jewelry and accents, most in the form of necklaces and bracelets, of which he wore many. He seemed…curious. A society built on more adventuring, perhaps. A more exploratory spirit. Could be harnessed, easier to connect with. A whole galaxy to offer them, after all.

Then, the protocol droid spoke some words in a foreign language to the representatives, before turning to me once again.

"They are ready for your address, sir."

Okay. Got it. Keep it cool. Let's start with an introduction. Then segue into the whole Empire shtick. Have a whole presentation ready for them and everything.

"Hello. My name is Las Mola. I am what is known as a Governor in the Galactic Empire." Quick, precise, simple. I watched as the droid relayed my message, and the envoys reacted. Most seemed…annoyed. Insulted, even.

Then, the military one, the Marshal, spoke up. His voice was guttural, really emphasizing his military role. Quite powerful. I could see how it could inspire troops and cause fear in his enemies.

"Governor? This term is for those lower on the rungs of power. Tell me, where is your leader? Your Emperor?" He said, annoyed. Seems he's not happy that someone higher up didn't show. Time to break the ice.

"The Emperor, or someone more important, isn't here because this world, your world, known to us as Minda-2, is not important. It is one of millions of worlds within the Empire."

As the droid relayed my words, I watched their response. At first, they seemed somewhat shocked and, again, insulted. Unimportant!? How could their world be unimportant!? Then, I said the last part. '...within the Empire.'"

At that, they all seemed agitated. The warrior, Gotan, quickly stood up.

"You DARE claim dominion over us!?"

He seemed to be on the verge of drawing his weapon, when a pressure fell over the room. A dark thing, like death itself, was looking into your eyes. It lasted only a second, and only Mugwuffin's power saved me from it.

Gotan, on the other hand, fell back into his seat like he had just stared into the eyes of God, and feared what he saw. The rest were clearly shaken, though they maintained decorum fairly well. The Lumina-Seer seemed to be quietly muttering what might be prayers.

Of course, there was no God here. Just Myr'thos, bored out of their minds and deciding to mess with the locals a little bit.

Honestly? Well played.

"Please. Don't make a fool of yourself." I state simply.

"Now. The Empire, through overwhelming force, could conquer this planet. It could burn your jungles, turn your cities to ash, and enslave your people. Thankfully for you, Governors are given a good amount of independence on how things are run within their systems."

Even in their fear ridden state, these professionals could tell what I was alluding to.

"So, you claim to have power over our freedom? Over our people and lands?" Asked the Confederate Warden, Juntal. He was curious, if still quite scared. I suppose he really was a political climber, if he saw this shitshow of a situation as an opportunity.

"You misunderstand. I don't have power over you. The Empire has power over you. I am simply a Governor, one of many, who will determine how best this planet, its lands, and your people, will serve the Empire. To be honest with you, I am your best bet for survival."

"Oh? How so?" Asked the Cartographer. Why a cartographer? Was that the best approximation the droid could find? Weird ass culture.

"The two star systems I rule, like all inhabited star systems ruled by the Empire, must meet a quota. Resources, dependent on the system's capabilities. Now, due to some special capabilities, the systems I rule have a reduced quota, to increase productivity towards special interests. To be honest, I have no real need for this planet, and neither does the Empire."

"Then why bother us? Why fight our people and take me prisoner?" Snarled the Princess. Clearly, someone was still pissy about the Corleones bullshit. Why was she sent anyways? She would obviously be biased in a bad way!

"That was not the Empire. It was a company. A group of independent merchants. We allowed them to create outposts here, in the mountains, to study the planet, and see if there was anything of use. Then, they broke Imperial Law and started expanding into territory owned by the Empire. So, we arrested their leadership, and took their things. That's when we found you."

"If not for that company, called Corleone, I would've continued ignoring this planet. It's incredibly dangerous, and I never really wanted to deal with it, or you. Corleone forced me to act."

For the first time, the Archduchess spoke.

"Why are you the best choice? In fact, why are you a choice at all, Governor? That…trick of the mind…useful, but can it fell cities? Nations? Where is the power that backs your authority? Your word?"

Ah. So she was calling my bluff. Fair enough point. It was time I did this.

A subtle button press on my wrist mounted PDA as I start to speak signals an officer to begin their descent.

"I am your best choice for a simple reason, Archduchess. You have no better options. If I fail to show that this planet is firmly in Imperial control, the Empire will send someone else to replace me. They might even kill me."

At this point, I lean forward ever so slightly.

"And heres the thing. I don't condone slavery. I don't condone wanton destruction and slaughter. If I stay in power, your people will enjoy relative freedom, along with the improvements in technology, education, and other sectors the Empire will bring. But other Governors? They won't see it that way. You will not be people with potential, but an asset to be used. Labour to be exploited. A planet to be ravaged."

It was then that my PDA dinged, signalling it was time. Leaning back, I gestured towards the window as the blinds fully rolled up. Despite being nearly midday, a shadow started to grow on the building.

"As for power? Suffice to say, we have it."

The envoys could do little but stare in awe as the Heavy Judgement floated above the facility, the dagger shaped battleship stretching farther than the base itself.

Their body language seemed on the verge of breaking, as I similarly broke their worldview.

The last straw? When the ship started to fire its weapons.

Aiming at the nearest mountain, avoiding any jungle so as to not burn it down, the mainline batteries fired.

And fired.

And fired.

Enough to leave notable damage on the mountain side. Noticeable from miles away.

As parts of the mountain crumbled into the valley below, the shades started to retreat back into their previous position, and the envoys stumbled back into their seats. They were all shaken, breaths quick at a display of more power than any empire of theirs had ever had.

"So. As you can see. The Empire very much has the means to destroy you. So, let's work on making sure that won't happen, yes?"

They seemed to nod, bravado gone.

"Good! So, let's start with trade and economics. We can move onto education and the uplift program afterwards."

As I say this, the protocol droid brings me a large stack of flimsi, and spreads it, along with writing implements, across the table. It was business mode now baby! Time to start getting these people up to speed with the rest of the galaxy!

"Obviously, more detailed work will be done over time with bureaucrats and the like, but for now I want everyone to get on the same page. Resources, trade routes, allies, other nations, etc… We need to get this information down so we can start to properly uplift this planet."

Confusion was evident across their faces, and for a second I wondered why. Ah! It must the flimsi!

After I took a few minutes to point out how to use the writing implements, the Warden asked a question.

"...Governor? Why are you doing this? Is this not…beneath you?"

"Hah!" At that, I can't help but laugh.

"Governors who delegate too much, who aren't willing to get elbow deep into the work of it all, tend to fail or become corrupt. I don't want to be corrupt, and failing means death, so I work! Its the Empire after all. Failure is not tolerated."

They all seemed a tad worried about that.

Honestly? Mood.

That was my last non-work related thought before I settled in for a long period of work. And long it was. 6 hours with these delegates, coordinating info, getting rudimentary plans made up. Obviously, they weren't experts in this, but this was mostly so their bosses had an idea of what was going on.

They would be escorted back to their homes by the Heavy Judgement to ensure each and every one of their nations knew what was good. A trooper garrison was to be set up nearby, LECA's included, of course. Mostly to keep a tab on them all.

It wasn't the smoothest start, and there would very likely be more challenges to the Empire's authority in the near future. Well, there's a reason I had Shal bring her deadly dorito down here. I may not like being near her all that much, but she's got the biggest stick, and I don't want her sitting around doing nothing. Might as well put that logistical nightmare to good use.

-

Hi there folks! This chapter was originally going to include Shal's POV and Gary's POV(dw, that's next chapter), but it grew too big, and I want to get it out tonight. I would write for longer, but I started my summer semester(a week after spring ended, fucking wild), and class starts at 9:45 so I can't sleep in.

I tried giving some intrigue to the natives, because they will be filling the role of B plot for some time. A more consistent place to center the alternate POV's on that is actually interesting and impactful to the story without being part of the main plot.

Also, I've been thinking. The ISD is kinda not great for the situations the Outer Rim needs. Both the ISD 1 and 2 are almost completely chock full of turbolasers and ion cannons, which is great for brawling with other capital ships. It's a beast in battle, of that there is no doubt, especially with a competent commander and its TIE's running interception.

The thing is, the Outer Rim doesn't need that. But it still has a fuck ton of them. I've been thinking that Las might eventually offer refits of the ships, to expand on their functionality. More efficiency, more adaptability. Hopefully cheaper to run. I have ideas, fairly fleshed out, but I want to hear yours. You guys out-nerd me at every turn, so I figure y'all have this one in the bag. Also, you guys get real hot and bothered when ship theory comes up(at least on SB), so I figure why not.

Feedback and commentary appreciated!

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: A Report on the Theoretical MSDF Auxiliary Unit: The Verndari Heavy Troopers

Introduction

With the integration of Minda-2's native population into the Empire, the question of how to form a PDF to defend the planet was one of the natural next steps. Eventually it was determined that since the MSDF was a defense force for the Mindan system as a whole, that any non-Imperial army or naval formations raised on Minda-2 would fall under their jurisdiction and therefore be their responsibility.

The result of this conclusion was the creation of the Vendari Heavy Troopers. A third line formation to improve cohesion and coordination between the local national militaries and the Imperial military. This planetary formation was mainly tasked with defending Minda-2 from external and internal dangers against Imperial assets and civilians, engaging in search and rescue operations, and hunting down the enemies of the Empire who sought to find a haven in Minda-2's jungles.

Armor

Some debate was held to determine how to armor the Verndari. it was eventually agreed that the Swamp Trooper armor for Imperial Army troopers would serve as the base for the Vendari Heavy Troopers.

After the armor's design and some samples were procured, the Mindan R&D, being an old hat at designing infantry armor, quickly designed a cheap resize and refit package to fit the Vendari's larger frame. The result was something less capable than the Generalist Mk. 2 Stormtrooper armor, but still an improvement over what the Imperial Army enlisted had to work with.

These days the armor suits are well liked by the Vendari Heavy Troopers. The extra environmental protections and increase of the armor's range of motion compared to the Swamp Trooper armor were the biggest positives listed.

Note: There has been a trend of various stylizations, paint jobs, and touch ups that have left many an armorer frustrated. The reasons given by Heavy Troopers are often to show cultural ties or to blend into the environment better. The increase in discipline from forbidding these alterations was determined by Command to not be worth the loss in morale as long as said alterations were kept within reason and didn't impact the armor's performance or recognition as Imperial armor.

Main weapons

There was a short but fierce argument over what the main armament for the Vendari Heavy Troopers would be. Given the jungle terrain and other close combat engagements they would often have to deal with, a standard blaster rifle was ruled out. A blaster shotgun was proposed, but eventually the proposal faltered and a blaster carbine was chosen as the main blaster type.

Looking through what was easily accessible in the nearby Sectors' stores, the military planners eventually came across the DLS-12 Heavy Blaster Carbine. These things were highly popular at the end of the Clone Wars and the Republic purchased them by the freighter load. However most of these weapons would never see the frontlines as the war ended shortly after their purchase.

Unfortunately the carbine fell out of favor with the rise of the Empire. The heavy firepower did not make up for the bulkiness when used by the average sentient. This left large stores in Imperial armories that persist even after two decades of auctions being held to try and get rid of the excess stock.

It was hoped that the Vendari's larger frame would make wielding the normally cumbersome carbine easier for them. In addition diverting excess stockpiles to a minor and less suspected PDF formation would allow for more storage space for more advanced and preferred weaponry.

Heavy/specialist weapons

Although the standard armor and weapon had been chosen, questions still remained over what specialists to assign the Vendari Heavy Troopers and what to equip them with. A blaster carbine is not suited to tackle every challenge a trooper squad would face after all.

It was determined early in the debate that a heavy trooper squad should probably have a heavy weapons specialist. The main weapon chosen for this role was the FC-1 Flechette Launcher.

The weapon weighed in at 20 kg and was deemed appropriate in engaging in a wide variety of combat situations due to its dual ammo types. The anti personnel rounds were referred to as "swarm reaper" rounds while the anti vehicle rounds would known as "giant killer" rounds. These names were given due to how often the heavy weapons specialist use them on Minda-2's native fauna.

——

Although the DLS-12 carbine might have a higher rate of fire than the average blaster pistol, there is something to be said for having a role dedicated solely to suppressing fire. The main weapon of this heavy gunner role was a bit difficult given the close quarters nature of the Heavy Troopers.

The procurement officers finally settled on the Underslung Rotary Blaster Carbine for the role. What the light repeating blaster lacked in accuracy due to only being able to be fired from the hip, it made up in rate of fire and sheer suppression potential.

Note: It was determined by Command that wielding two Underslung Rotary Blaster Carbines at once did little to increase the combat effectiveness of an individual heavy gunner. This has not stopped reports of heavy gunners attempting to duel wield them from cropping up. Please report any further sightings to your superiors.

——

The Vendari came in with a request for a melee weapon with which they could utilize their combat knowledge and experience gained prior to their integration into the Empire. The request was deemed sensible by Command and the weapon chosen was a mass production version of the Force Pike.

The Force Pike was relatively light for a two handed weapon at 7 kg. Those with experience and skill can use a Force Pike effectively can often deal rapid and precise strikes.

Those who wield Force Pikes among the Vendari Heavy Troopers are known as Vendari Spear Troopers. They are usually recruited from the more rural communities on Minda-2. Respected for their CQC skills and bravery in battle, a Spear Trooper will often be seen leading a given ambush or a charge.

Note: While throwing the Force Pike may no longer automatically result in disciplinary action, failure to retrieve said Force Pike after utilizing it as a ranged weapon does still carry fines and other consequences.

Sub weapons

Given the lower tech level and varied cultures of Minda-2, it should come as no surprise that a variety of unique cultural affiliated weapons exist on the planet. These traditional Vendari weapons, although inferior to Imperial made equivalents, carry significant morale value to the Vendari Heavy Troopers.

As a result, Command has giving permission to utilize these weapons provided the Heavy Trooper in question can demonstrate enough mastery to not bring down the combat effectiveness of their squad. This is taken by the Heavy Trooper in question as a challenge to improve the mastery of their chosen weapon even further in order to prevent it from being taken away.

Significant amounts of a Heavy Trooper's off time may be devoted to training with their chosen weapon or obtaining upgrades for it. This is seen as a benefit by Command as it focuses the Heavy Trooper's attention towards better serving the Empire.

——

Given the tight quarters Heavy Troopers find themselves in, most if not all carry a hunting knife as a holdout weapon and a utility tool. Although give the larger frame of the Vendari, it can appear to most sentients to be a small short sword in size. Engraving the handle of the knife is common practice among the Heavy Troopers. One can often find specialists who do custom engravings close by where the Heavy Troopers are stationed.

——

One of the more uncommon weapons in the Vendari Heavy Troopers' arsenal was the RL-40 stun net launcher. This is meant to provide the Heavy Trooper with a dedicated range stun option they lacked with most of their other weapons.

This weapon is usually kept by an officer or a chosen Heavy Trooper in a squad. However further RL-40s may be distributed to Heavy Troopers should an objective of a mission include the live capture of prisoners or fauna. The Heavy Troopers' themselves view the RL-40 more as a tool for hunting rather than a weapon.

——

One of the more unpopular weapons in the Vendari Heavy Troopers' arsenal is the humble blaster pistol. Given its status as an emergency holdout weapon, there is no standard model. Usually a Heavy Trooper is given whatever blaster pistol is available in the armory.

The source of this unpopularity is the Vendari's distaste for the look, size, and lack of firepower of most blaster pistols. They are seen as weapons for children and weaklings due to their diminutive size and capability when compared to a Vendari's frame.

This prejudice is compounded by the fact that a lot of budget conscious quartermasters for the Vendari formation see the DLS-12 as the answer to most if not all situations a blaster pistol could be useful for. This results in the quartermasters acquiring the cheapest and least powerful blaster pistols in order to save costs, reinforcing the bias among the Heavy Troopers.

A Heavy Trooper being seen wielding a blaster pistol in combat can be a source of mockery by one's fellow Heavy Troopers, despite Command's discouragement of the practice. It is to the point that some Heavy Troopers will resort to their hunting knives or even their fists when deprived of their main weapons rather than pulling out their pistols.

Note: Command's stance on the matter is clear. Despite the leeway given in other matters, every Heavy Trooper must possess a functioning blaster pistol in good repair in their kit. Officers who are found to have multiple Heavy Troopers under their command without blaster pistols during inspection will be punished alongside their squad.

Conclusion

National Vendari formations are still present on Minda-2, and Imperial formations like Stormtroopers still patrol and guard the more vital Imperial installations. However, the Vendari Heavy Troopers are increasingly becoming the main face for the Imperial presence on Minda-2. It is hopeful that the Heavy Troopers will eventually come take over a majority of duties currently being done by the former two.

——

This is the result of the jungle warfare debate in the thread and imagining what a PDF for the Vendari using Imperialized tech could possibly look like. Turns out it is a mix of scrambling due to unexpected third line procurement order, "techno barbarity", soldiers being soldiers, and digging through old Imperial stockpiles like they were bargain bins at a thrift store looking for gear that is either cheap, in large quantities, and/or from brands that have fallen out of Imperial favor like Golan Arms.

Crossposted in SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-66

Garpastealap Hath
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia, Imperial Island

Garpastealap Hath, known around the office as Garp, was busy.

Very busy.

Ever since the Governor left to go deal with that kerfuffle on Minda-2, Garp had been left to deal with the busywork as Chief Secretary.

And wasn't that a promotion!

Garp had come to Minda from Muunilist to pursue his dreams. His dreams of fashion!

Muun culture was a strict thing to say the least. Business, money, and any other fiscal, high-paying career was the goal of just about every living being on the planet.

Everything was about money and merit. Or, more accurately, a person's merit in making money.

Garps family had been fairly influential on Scipio, the Muun homeworld, and Garp's great-grandparents were sent to Muunilist to establish more of said influence on the most prominent Muun colony.

His parents had pushed him the same way they pushed their other children, and how they themselves were pushed to work harder, study harder.

And Garp studied. He studied engineering, mathematics, finance, everything. He wasn't particularly talented by Muun standards (which are an order of magnitude above the galactic standard) but he worked hard. His future was incredibly promising.

And he hated it. Garp didn't know if the rest of his family hated their lives and hid it like he did, but he didn't care at that point.

Day in, day out, his life was nothing but studying and work. The worst part? He didn't even mind doing work. Once he actually got into a career, it wasn't horrible.

What was horrible was having nothing else. Being told that he could have nothing else, because that would distract him from what mattered for the family.

The one thing that kept him sane since childhood was the holonet. He would watch a series called Dra Gongo's Galactic Fashion, which explored fashion from across the galaxy. It even visited some planets in the Mid and Outer Rim! Once it ended, he rewatched every episode for years, and scoured the holonet for other fashion shows and the like.

As a child, it ignited a passion within himself. He, like most Muun, saw the beauty in money and numbers, but he saw more in fashion.

An aesthetic that couldn't be quantified. Something that resonated with his soul.

Something his family didn't agree with.

So, he left. The money, the power, the chains. And he came out to the Myto sector.

The Mindan Trade Fleet had passed by Myto offering job opportunities, so he took one and made his way to Minda. It was better than nothing, and he could always go elsewhere.

And once he got there? More work. But not overwhelming work.

Of course, his skills earned him promotions in the oddly meritocratic structure of Minda, and eventually, once Oioro was made head negotiator, Garp was promoted to Chief Secretary.

Admittedly, for all that he was 'Chief', he had few people working under him, and mostly just shared the workload with the Governor. It was a title made to justify the workload and the pay raise that came with it.

So, there he sat, dealing with that workload. The Governor usually took around half of the work, so Garp was swamped with it. Requests for funding, reports on the nearly complete shipyards, reports from the now nearly fully staffed Council, and more flooded his terminal.

He had even been given permission to approve R&D's little pet projects, within reason. Most had been rejected due to their inherent foolishness, but he allowed them to use the sims to play with this 'New-Class' Ship Project. Children needed toys after all.

This was on top of his regular duties, part of which was working with the propaganda department. With the shipyards closer to completion everyday, workers had to be drawn in, and he played a part in the propaganda posters and ads that were sent out.

It had him working through his lunch break, which greatly annoyed him. On the tram to work that morning he'd had an idea for a coat made of cascading geometric metal panels of sorts, based off of the tribal headwear the local Tula people use. He was looking forward to refining the idea on his PDA's 3d modeling app.

Still, he was making good progress. Taking a sip of some locally made tea and checking the clock, he could safely say he'd be done before nightfall.

Then, a message came through.

From Major Koran. Thornes Major.

At the same time, a message arrived from Commander Grant's secretary.

He could already feel the headache building, but he opened them anyway. He had to get that paycheck, the best threads aren't cheap after all.

The Major's message was about Augir. Rebels attempted to sabotage the refinery there, but were stopped. They escaped, and now Thorne had put the city under martial law, locking the entire city down to stop the rebels from escaping.

The Commanders message was asking the Governor to deal with this, as Thorne refuses to acknowledge the Commander's authority in this matter.

Garp sighed, pulled up his comms app, and messaged the Governor. He would surely love to hear about this.

He would likely have to meet with Thorne once more. What should he wear though? Something more intimidating, yes? Not overtly, but to showcase that he had power. Darker tones, then. Some armor plating, maybe? No, that seems paranoid. Perhaps shoulder pauldrons. A better hairstyle would be needed, something to remove the bags around his eyes…

So long as he didn't wear a helmet.

Garp liked helmets.

The Governor made him hate them.

-

Diplomacy sucks major ass.

Especially when I have to consistently break the news to every nation/tribe of importance that yes, we are conquering you, and no, you cannot fight back.

The amount of times I've had to order a turbolaser barrage is annoying. The amount of assasination attempts is also annoying. They never get anywhere near close, but that doesn't mean it's fun to then go back, look the person who ordered them in the eyes, and tell them they don't get to sit on their little thrones anymore.

Minda-2 has a surprising number of nations. Some old empires existed like a thousand years ago, but they collapsed and left a shit ton of smaller nations bickering around.

Made it easier to conquer, to be frank.

Honestly though? They got a fairly good deal.

Most of the nations would be allowed to continue as they are, with their own laws and cultures and such, so long as none went to war with each other, and they all paid their taxes. In resources, since their currencies were worth jack-shit to the Empire.

Surveys had been and were still being conducted to determine what resources would be useful. Some native plants had medicinal properties that were being studied, but it would take longer to determine what was useful to the Empire.

On top of that, they have to send people to get educated. A few schools were being set up to see how Verndari children learned and adapted to Basic. Their vocal structure was similar enough to allow for it. From there, who knows.

It wasn't much on the surface, but all of that took a month and a half.

Now, I left behind a suitable garrison, a competent Commandant, and my hopes that the natives would rebel after I ran away.

Now, as my shuttle started the flight back to Ugea, I caught myself up on things I had missed.

The shipyards were but a month from completion, which was good.

The Guild was expanding to other systems, with 4 new systems having joined, which was good.

And…Nox. Fucking Nox.

Governor-General Nox Vellam. Put in charge of the Bright Jewel Oversector after Vanko 'retired' due to some manipulated books, he failed to find the Rebel Alliance's base on Yavin quick enough.

Because of that, some worlds were given to Vader.

And now, he was trying to kill Vader for some random fucking reason.

Thankfully, it seems that Moff Hiral is keeping loyal and not doing some stupid bullshit, so I have little to worry about.

What I do have to worry about is Ardus Kaine. Future leader of the Pentastar Alignment. And current Grand Moff of Oversector-Outer, which now covered Bright Jewel as well.

In fact, it covered most of the Outer Rim. Probably why Nox was given the title of Governor-General instead of Grand Moff, but I digress.

He was going around and inspecting each sector. Agents of his were sent to every sector, with the Grand Moff himself inspecting those sectors deemed most important.

Which Myro might be considered. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully not.

I sighed, laying the PDA back on the coffee table. I was too tired for this right now.

A message beeped onto the screen.

I checked it.

"Thorne did WHAT!?"

-

Hi there folks! Sorry if it's not my best work, but I've got too much going on IRL to write any compelling dialogue right now. Bio-Anthro is kicking my ass, plus a lot of other stuff. And a lot of V-Rising with my friends. Honestly, the game could do with more ARPG elements, feels kinda stiff as it is.

Regardless, chapters will be few and far between compared to before, and especially compared to the daily uploads way back when.

As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: A Compromise of Ideals

POV: Governor Inhabilis, Nequam Prime, Nequam system, Myto sector, Governor's Office

"So Governor Inhabilis, do we have a deal?"

The Governor struggled not to glare at the alien. This was aided by staring at the stack of flimsi that felt like it was sucking out his soul. The howling bitter winds outside his office window a correlation of his mood. He struggled to dredge up a smidge of gratitude.

"The Empire appreciates the Guild's assistance in this small matter."

It was a small matter to the Empire, but it was a crisis to him and the planet of Nequam. This world was settled because of rumors of Borium had attracted the interest of the Empire. Unfortunately after years of prospecting under his leadership, not a trace of the mineral was found.

"Now about what we will want in return for Nequam becoming a Guild-affiliated world."

And here's the catch. Despite styling themselves as an Imperial organization, these parasites were still just the Trade Federation disguised in an Imperial surcoat. If it wasn't for Nequam's need, Inhabilis would not be caught dead working with these cretins.

His Grandfather was one of the first captains to fight those corporate parasites when they sought to bring ruin to the Core. His mother was the first one to fire upon those perfidious Jedi when they tried to escape in shuttles after their failed coup on Coruscant. The commendation his mother received in the mail from the Emperor himself is still mounted above the fireplace in their family home. Yet now here he is, seeking out those same breed of disloyal and two-faced curs his family fought so diligently against for support.

"Spare me the platitudes and name your price for preventing my people from starving."

That was the issue that had crippled Inhabilis' governorship. Resupply for Nequam had been suffering crippling delays as of late. The Imperial captains had spouted excuses about Nequam being "low priority" and "too far from well patrolled routes". No doubt his rivals were enjoying every moment of his planet's suffering. Jealousy born of talks of elevating the family to be Barons of the Empire.

Efforts were made to deal with the matter locally. However, Nequam's frequent cold snaps and dry spells made any attempts to grow food outside of hydroponics unsustainable. Not to mention the botanist in his government had explained to him the soil fertility for foodstuffs on Nequam could be described as barely above that of a barren asteroid.

The situation had gotten so bad that he had to rely on these… legitimized smugglers. Even though it goes against everything his family instilled in him to offer commercial interests leverage over him in any way.

"No need to be upset. Your encouragement of competition and free labor among the mining operations will make the transition easier."

Hmph. As if Inhabilis cared for the "Free Market" the Guild ranted about. He had let the riff raff scuttle around freely. However that was only because they would cover ground more efficiently looking for Borium than they would organized under his direct control. His Head of Resources explained to him that you couldn't just command miners to dig in the dirt like one commanded soldiers to dig trenches and expect the same results.

Nevertheless, Inhabilis always remained poised to seize the land on any claim the moment a vein of Borium was detected. At least the extraction of those lesser minerals helped keep the lights on. Unfortunately the recent lack of ships, both Imperial and private, had made trading those minerals for supplies more difficult.

"I imagine you will be wanting control of the Hfredium exports?"

The meager yields of Hfredium were the only reason Nequam had what little good graces from the Imperial government it did. Controlling the Quota Mineral on Nequam would give the Guild far too much influence on the planet. Yet if it kept his planet and the people under his protection alive…

"Oh no. We would never dream of interfering with the Imperial Quota. Too much attention from the Empire for our Conglomerate's tastes. Although we wouldn't mind if you requested assigning some Quality Control Analysts to ensure requirements are met. No what we are after is to be Nequam's first choice for your Exonium exports."

Exonium? Sure there was more than enough of that stuff on Nequam, but it wasn't anything special. One of the first cost saving measures his corps of engineers proposed when resupply started slowing was to switch to using a local produced fuel for power and heating. Even the heater in the corner of his office ran on Exonium. What was their game?

"That's it? You are just after a fuel that is easy on the scrubbers?"

Perhaps there was a use for Exonium Inhabilis was unaware of. He was no miner or geologist. His limited study of minerals only extended to what could be helpful for the Imperial military. Any commercial applications for what Nequam extracted was more for the civilians to deal with. As long as it kept bringing credits and food, Inhabilis could not care less about the specifics.

"Of course, Exonium as a fuel would be desirable among some of Orgon Conglomerate's clientele. If we could secure a source of it within the Myto sector it would benefit us. We would even be willing to dedicate a portion of holds to ship all that Chalcopyrite you have been digging up to pump up your export numbers."

Now Inhabilis knows this vixen is trying to butter him up. Export numbers were just behind tax numbers in what an Imperial bureaucrat looks for when reviewing a planet. That the holds would be filled with relatively unprofitable copper would go right over most of their heads.

He could always pull out of the deal and try to find those buyers to sell the Exonium himself. However trying to get into the sector fuel market would take time, and Nequam needs food now. Bowing to alien merchants will bring shame to his family. Yet it was the lesser shame compared to failing in his Empire given duty.

"That would be acceptable. If you are willing to assist in the delicate matter we discussed previously."

Really the Jikun Cartel should have been easily dealt with by the Imperial garrison. Unfortunately by the time they had revealed their true colors they had used their guises as a mining company to abscond with one of Nequam's few AT-PTs. Every day the Cartel rode around in the heaviest military vehicle on Nequam sporting their Blue Mynock logo was a challenge to his authority.

Unfortunately facing an AT-PT with a PX-10 and a few speeders that made up Nequam's common patrols was too risky. To say nothing if Inhabilis wound up losing yet another PT in the effort to take out the first. He lacked the political pull and the leeway to obtain Imperial reinforcements, so private contractors it was.

"Worry not Governor. I assure you the mercenaries on our payroll will be the picture of discretion you wish for. I am glad we can come to this amicable agreement. We will reach out later for further details on your planet's membership. You made the right choice."

Inhabilis could barely hold back from lashing out in wounded pride as the Guild personnel left his office. The only balm to this meeting was imagining the look on their faces once this temporary arrangement concluded. This war will end with the Empire's triumph, and the Imperial supply shipments will resume to his world. Then he can alter the deal to his leisure, and make them pray he doesn't alter it further.

Inhabilis rubbed his hands together imagining his inevitable rise. He will be next in line to bring honor and glory to his family and the Empire. Once the Emperor deals with the Rebellion, he would have the leeway to deal with the Guild as he saw fit. Yes, things were going to look up for Inhabilis, and nothing was going to get in his way.

——

POV: Broker Tyla of the Orgon Conglomerate

"Broker Tyla if I may? What makes Exonium so important that we must fill our holds with unprofitable copper? Isn't just another form of fuel?"

Tyla turned to her subordinate with a wide grin. Leaning in close to dissuade any listening devices.

"It isn't just a form of fuel. It is a clean burning form of mineral fuel. That might not be valuable in regular Imperial space, but in Guild space? Governor Inhabilis might as well be sitting on a Nova Crystal mine.

This stuff burns so clean that it is practically regulation proof. A tourism world like Dubrillion? Waved in with a smile. An agriworld with regulators so strict you can't use a HK Ion Drive without a certificate for your Collector Coils? You could dump this in their aquifers and they wouldn't bat an eye."

"So we're scamming the Governor and this world?"

"No, no, no. I said we will be assisting with the planet's problems and I meant it. We'll be paying for an upgrade to their star port, sponsoring new clinics, a hospital, a technical school, giving them preferential food shipments, and access to the best mercenaries, geologists, equipment specialists, and community liaisons we can get on our payroll.

Let no one say the Guild doesn't take care of those running their resource extraction. We can't secure a monopoly under Guild rules. So we are going to glad-hand these yokels from this forgotten backwater with so much Guild prosperity that they won't even think twice before offering Orgon first pick of their harvests of ore."

The subordinate could only blink at Tyla's enthusiasm. She looked as giddy as a school girl getting ready for her first date.

"You seem really into this project Broker."

Tyla's flash of teeth went practically supernova. Giving her subordinate further confirmation of Tyla's glee.

"Can you blame me? If we exploit this opportunity right, Nequam will be a crown jewel of our Conglomerate. Every Guild world in the sector is going to want to top off their energy reserves with Exonium. We could supply so much clean energy to this sector that the Empire might make us junior sub-partners of Project Celestial Power!"

Tyla was rubbing her hands together at the thought of the potential profit and prestige. This deal is going to put her and the Orgon Conglomerate on the map. Imagine it, her name as a footnote in a galaxy spanning report. Yes, things were looking up for Tyla, and nothing is going to get in her way.

——
Between the Rawmat Shortage, the increased quotas, and the Empire moving to a (more) war focused economy, plenty of small worlds are going to be left to decline. This is usually exploited by Rebels, criminal gangs, and other unsavory groups to spread their malign influence. The Guild has the potential to be a pro-Imperial faction able and willing to take advantage of this opportunity to… lobby for preferential treatment.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-67

Kaela Grant
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia, Imperial Island

Kaela's office used to be quite spartan.

The walls were often bereft of any decoration, there was no rug, and the only other seating aside from the desk were two chairs set off to the side.

Recently, that had started to change.

A shelf had been placed to the side of the room, and on it large sculptures.

They weren't very good. A rough approximation of a TIE fighter. A Stormtroopers helmet. A stick that looked vaguely like an E-11 if you squinted.

On her desk sat the smaller projects. Cups, knives, rough humanoid figures. They littered her desk, a basket full of shavings in a corner and a vibro knife sitting on the desk.

One that Kaela desperately wanted to use to gut that miserable WORM-

Internally, she leashed the beast. Thorne wasn't here right now, after all. And even if he was, killing him then impaling his corpse and parading it across the city would have very negative consequences for all involved.

Still, it was hard. After all that FOOL dared invade her territory.

She had understood it at first. The ISB is better suited to rooting out the more insidious parts of the rebellion like the ones that they were dealing with, while her own forces were geared towards security and assualt.

But then, he declared martial law in Augir. Without consulting her. Without consulting the Governor.

Thorne was here as a hunter-killer group. An investigative team. And yet, he has increasingly operated independently of her and the rest of the Mindan Imperial apparatus.

And now he's locked down Augir. Augir! 3rd largest city on the planet, and the second largest refinery in the system!

The beast raged again, and she found herself agreeing with it. She had accepted him onto her territory because he offered skills and expertise she lacked. But he turns around and does THIS!

Her clenched fist slammed into the desk with a boom, the light metal denting under her rage.

For a moment, the cage seemed primed to open.

Her hand grasped the vibro knife so hard the handle creaked, but she focused herself.

In her other hand was a wooden disk. At first, she nearly hacked into it with the knife, yet slowly her cuts became more methodical. More careful. The Imperial Sigil slowly forming on the disk.

As the knife flowed through the wood like butter, it calmed her. The cage stayed firmly closed.

And as it did, her mind calmed with it, now in a better place to truly think.

She couldn't kill him, and lacked the connections and skills needed to arrange an 'accident'. So, how to get rid of him?

She could wait for the Governor to return. He was an economically driven man, and would likely be at odds with Thorne for this.

No, that wouldn't do. Thorne was sent by the Moff, and the Governor would have little recourse there.

And Thorne's decision was logical as well, the same one she might've made, so she couldn't point to it as incompetence.

So how to be rid of him?

That's when it dawned on her.

Thorne wasn't a permanent fixture. He was here for a specific assignment. He was here to root out the rebels. If the rebels were caught, he would leave.

So, all she had to do was find the rebels. The very rebels she admitted she lacked the skills to catch.

What was that word the Governor liked? Ah yes…

"Fuck…"

-

1
Minda System, Ugea, Augir

The hovertruck trundled along down the road, moving through the city's many side streets.

Augir was a blatantly industrial city. While Accordia had towering buildings, skybridges, train tracks crisscrossing entire districts, and markets that spread miles, Augir had industry.

Everywhere.

Pipes ran in every direction. If you looked into the sky, half the ships you spotted were cargo shuttles carrying ore in and out. There were more cargo trains than commuter ones.

The refinery spit out so much dust and gas that, a few years ago, they installed large air purifiers everywhere across the city. Large, smooth towers that looked alien in such a rough city.

Now, the refinery was better, cleaner, but the purifiers stayed there. Made the air some of the freshest on the planet. A harsh contrast to the city's looks.

The hovertruck trundled along, gliding smoothly down the road. Soon, they left the central city. The organic roads of the original city's construction gave way to a more uniform grid.

The buildings looked newer, many being modular habs. A stark contrast to the rough, utilitarian design of the metal buildings in the city center. Many there still had the signs of old air filtration systems and airlocks.

Some people still wore filter masks as a habit.

Here, however, in the newer parts of the city, things were different. There was more color, but the ruggedness endured.

Patches of greenery stood out, at times seeming completely forced into the area.

Of course, 1 never saw any of that.

1, instead, was hidden away in the truck's cargo container. Huddled into the cramped space with 2 and 3, while a nameless, faceless contact drove the truck.

Soon, the truck came to a stop, and 1 heard the sound of talking. They weren't set to stop this early.

A checkpoint.

With Agent Thorne having locked down the city mere hours ago, it had been a possibility that checkpoints would have been set up, but not this quickly. At least, not within the city itself.

Then, a click. The container was being opened.

1's hand inched towards his blaster, flicking it to stun, but otherwise kept still. 2 and 3 did the same.

They were hidden in the farthest reaches of the container, behind walls and walls of things.

A flashlight ripped through the darkness, and for a few tense moments no one moved an inch.

Then, the lights went off, and the door was closed.

Soon enough, the truck was back on the road, heading to the Warehouse district. Named as such for the titular warehouses.

An incredible amount of mass came in and out of the city each day, and there needed to be someplace to store it in the meanwhile.

Eventually, the truck came to a stop, and they exited.

Each of them wore the same outfit. Dark leathers with similarly dark armor plating and tactical vests. Armed with generic blaster rifles found on just about any pirate or smuggler, yet tuned and refined to compete with military grade weaponry.

Their helmets were smooth, simple, and fitted with air filtration hardware.

As generic as it could get. No one would be able to tell them apart from any other secret kill team. Which, of course, was the point. SWEEP couldn't afford to be exposed, certainly not by their dress code.

Before the team was a warehouse, one of many, unassuming in the veritable sea of warehouses that stretched for miles.

1 nodded to the others, before doing a final check on his silencer.

It was functional.

Lining up beside the door, they prepared to breach, communicating solely through handsigns. They only ever spoke when needed, and did so through voice modifiers embedded in their helmets.

Still, despite the lack of comradery, 1 found himself remembering his time as a Commando. Hitting the Seppies where it hurt.

Regardless, he had a job to do.

They scanned the door. No traps, no bombs.

Lifeform scanner went next. 10 people.

1 counted down.

3

2

1

Breach.

The loudest sound they made was when they kicked down the door. As they entered, 1 scanned the area with his eyes, marking every potential target.

The warehouse was filled with more droids, at least 50 that he recognized as B1 and B2 battle droids. Thankfully deactivated.

As the rebels scramble to their feet, many covered in bacta patches and bandages, likely from their recent run in with Thorne's men, 1's team is already firing.

Blaster shots aren't the loudest thing in the world. With silencers? Scarily quiet.

Rings of blue flash across the warehouse, stunning every rebel in sight.

1 nails a few, while 2 covers his flank.

3 starts sweeping the side rooms, the occasional flash of blue signaling their success.

5 minutes after breaching, the warehouse was quiet. A few quick hand signals between the team, and they busy themselves with cuffing the rebels and preparing them for transport.

With the checkpoints still active around the city, they would have to go to a different safehouse and delay extraction. They couldn't risk getting caught, not now. The truck wasn't big enough to hide all the bodies.

And they needed those rebels alive.

Dead men tell no tales, after all.

-

Hi there folks! I wanted to toss this out there. May have noticed I've stopped with chapter titles. As much as they might be fun, 65 chapters is tiring.

Also, I wanted to properly introduce SWEEP! Darna's totally-not-a-secret-police group!

As always, feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-68

When I first met Thorne, I knew he would be a problem.

He's an ISB agent after all. They're like, cartoonishly evil and incompetent.

And now, my fears have been confirmed!

Martial law! If there is such a thing under the Empire, considering its a fascist dictatorship it's probably always under martial law of some kind.

Still, locking down Augir?

On one hand, it's an understandable reaction. Almost got the rebels, so you lock down the city to keep em from running, in the hopes of catching them.

Makes sense.

The bad part is political.

See, the ISB has the power to do this, no questions asked. And they do tend to step on people's toes when they feel the need to.

Or when they're playing their little political games.

The problem here is that Agent Thorne felt this was needed at all. While his reaction is understandable, it tells people that I can't stop the rebels without the ISB needing to resort to this.

The fact that an ISB agent was sent at all is already kind of odd. This?

It makes me look weak and ineffective, both to the people of Ugea, and to the greater court of Mytoan Imperial Politics.

Not to mention the fact that, as the lockdown continues, people will attribute their anger to me, as the leader of the planet and most public Imperial figure.

Now, this can all be avoided by dealing with the rebels quickly. Quickly enough that the whole thing blows over.

This whole situation is why I'm sitting in my office, calling Commander Grant.

My finger taps my desk incessantly as the terminal rings. 5 taps a second.

It takes 120 taps before the Commander picks up.

"Governor, Sir!"

"The Rebels, Commander. How close are you to catching them? Thorne clearly has yet to succeed, and his latest stunt will cause problems if it continues."

At this, the Commander smiles. The kind of smile that reminds me exactly why I fear this lady so much.

"Well, sir, I did recently come across some actionable intel. Our analysts have put together some disparate data. A few anonymous reports of strange characters alongside observations made by patrolling officers leads us to believe that the rebels are working out of a ship, carrying their agents and battle droids. I was actually about to send a report over."

"Good. Have you tracked them then?" I ask, eager to get this all over with. The sooner the rebels are gone, the sooner I can give more attention to the nearly complete shipyards and the clusterfuck of Imperial politics that I'm stepping into.

Which I really wish I didn't have to do, but things are getting bad enough that I have little choice. It was either suck up to the Moff and deal with the attention the shipyards bring or try and tough it out through the ongoing rawmat shortages.

"Our analysts are close, sir. The number of droids used in the initial assault combined with the estimated number of members based off of previous sabotage attempts indicate that they are either flying a dozen or so light freighters, or they are based off of a larger freighter."

"Regardless, with the extreme checks on in and outbound flights from the planet and their continued operations, chances are they have yet to leave the planet. Therefore we will be able to more thoroughly investigate the spaceports and landing bays and quickly identify the culprits."

It was a good plan. The only problem was the investigation. If it took too long, the situation could deteriorate.

"How long will this investigation take, Commander?"

"Analysts suspect at least a few weeks, maybe over a month. The spaceports have grown a great deal and see a lot of traffic-"

She suddenly stops for a second, her eyes flashing away from the call, before she continues.

"Apologies, Governor. A priority report has come through. It's related to the rebels."

I give a simple nod, and her head turns to the side, eyes scanning the report with record speed.

As they move, they grow wider and wider, alongside that terrifying grin of hers.

By the time she looks back towards the camera, I'm starting to think I should start praying. Or maybe call an exorcist, because there is no way in hell that smile is natural.

"It seems, Governor, that we have found our rebels." Her voice is slower, but not for a lack of energy.

No, more like a predator, conserving her energy for the hunt.

"That fast? The projected time was weeks at least, correct?"

"Yes, Governor. However, a dockworker apparently spotted battle droids that fell from a crate being unloaded in the Vrectin spaceport. Our people are already scouting the area and assessing the claim, but the ship they were being loaded from fits the size profile and arrived only a week and a half before the first attack."

"Good. I expect you will be dealing with these rebels?"

"Of course, Governor. I will be personally involved in the attack to ensure everything goes to plan."

"Understood, Commander. Do your best, and stay out of harm's way when possible." Couldn't have her dying on me because she wanted to get her blood quota filled.

For a second, something odd flashes across her face at that, the bloodthirsty grin faltering for a second, before its back like nothing happened.

"Yes, Governor. I will stay safe. The rebels will die. For the Empire."

"For the Empire."

As soon as the connection cut, I relaxed into my chair and let out a sigh. Speaking with the Commander was always a practice in caution, like walking a knife's edge. She followed orders, but was clearly bloodthirsty, so I have to balance that out.

At the very least, I know that she's not a total monster. Her breakdown some months back proves that if nothing else.

What really concerns me is that tip. We just happen to get a tip? Right then? Less than a week after the lockdown started?

It was quick. Too quick. True, it could've been pure luck. The Force pulling a prank. But I didn't trust it.

I also didn't put too much thinking power into it as I got notice of the final tug teams entering the system carrying the final pieces of the shipyards.

Within a week they would be set up and functioning. Which meant all the yard's affairs had to be in order sooner rather than later.

Checking over all the other documentation was a pain, but the organization software made it far easier.

The yards themselves were made up of twenty 2000 meter berths, and a central ring that connected them all together.

It was quite efficient in its design, and I admired that. The ring allowed for circular internal trains to transport cargo and personnel around the entire station quite quickly, meaning everything flowed faster.

Combined with spacious internal hangars and cargo bays, along with plenty of amenities and a central spire for administrative purposes, the ring was very well suited for the job.

It seemed like a dream to run one of those, and I'd much rather do so than be stuck with my current job.

Regardless, there was more to cover.

The electronics factories were set up in the belt already, with some supplements contracted from Yewcast down in Vrectin.

The electronics we couldn't manufacture on site, alongside other complex components like hyperdrives, engines, reactors, etc… would be shipped to Minda by the trade fleet, which was slowly being expanded to increase the shipping rate. KDY and their manufacturers had oodles of these parts lying around or being made by the second, so one of the bottlenecks was how quick we could get them here.

The other bottleneck, however, was the one that I was very worried about.

Manpower.

The berths alone are 2000 meters long and 1000 wide. There are twenty of them. The central ring has a diameter of over 6000 meters. Not to mention the command spire.

Suffice to say, the structure is fucking massive.

Other shipyards of comparable size utilize crews of upwards of 200,000 people. Veritable fucking cities living in the goddamned things.

Of course, these are multi-shift crews, and not all those people are on the structure at the same time, but its still fucking huge.

Right now, the Minda system's permanent population is getting closer to 600,000. Suffice to say, it would take a shit ton of people.

Now, thankfully, Rothana was built in secret. Therefore, the shipyard is more automated than usual.

Calculations put a full, multi-shift crew at around 125,000 people. More manageable, but still a huge amount.

Of the original crew, we hired around 20,000 to come aboard. Any more, and we might've faced a housing crisis. We just couldn't build fast enough to deal with an influx like that.

Not to mention those workers would be teaching the new workers, which will delay the yards by even more.

It was a bottleneck we have been struggling with for a while. Just about every night I pull the hair out of my head wondering how to deal with this.

I really don't want to, but I might have to go to the Moff and see if his connections can acquire the labor needed.

It was then that I had an idea. The Guild. It allows for a more interconnected economy.

What if I floated the need for workers?

Systems with smaller economies struggling to get off the ground might take up the offer, as the workers would be ferried around. Work in Minda for 3 months, get paid, go back home and spend that money, bringing a cash flow into local economies.

For the first time all night, I felt a surge of relief. An idea that might actually work!

Now, all I needed to do was to get a draft done.

-

Hi there folks! This chapter would've been longer, but I'm tired so no.

As you can see, things are going down.

The shipyards are nearly complete, but some complications arise in the logistical system. It can't all go perfectly, after all.

As always, feedback/commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: The Cavern

POV: Grimjaw, ex-enforcer for Underbite the Crime Lord, Highreach, Edin System

Grimjaw the Nikto stepped out of the rudimentary refresher in his cell and quickly put on his orange synthweave jumpsuit. Despite the suit being more expensive, the slight itchiness couldn't help but remind Grimjaw of putting on his sackcloth as a kid before adventuring out into Belt Haven with his fellow Blue Chins.

Childhood memories brought Grimjaw's train of thought to how Edin and his life had changed over the past few years. Less than two years ago he was riding the high life as one of Underbite's top enforcers. Sentients and animals alike would quake when he strutted around town.

Then the Empire up and decided that laws were things they were supposed to enforce. Underbite was a good boss to his men, but his gun running put him near the top of the new governor's hit list. After the hideout was raided it was only a matter of time before the Empire tracked down all the safehouses. Now Grimjaw was just another prisoner in the Cavern.

Grimjaw thought about his new home as he left his cell and gazed past the railing and into the Pit. Rumor has it the Cavern used to be the main stronghold of Highreach's top slaving gang. After the Empire cleared them out, they decided to convert the existing infrastructure into a prison for the criminals they decided were now worth arresting.

"Oi Blue Boy! Quit spacing out! Better hurry to the cafeteria before all the good spices and additives are gone!"

His neighbor's call knocked Grimjaw out of his musings. Silently thanking the man in his mind, he made his way around the glass covered catwalk towards the first destination in his schedule.

——

The Cafeteria was the start of every convict's day. Basic meals for a standard sentient were a protein rich fibrous slop sprinkled with nutritional supplement cubes as well as two rectangular units of grains with water to wash it down. Anything remotely close to flavor required a prisoner to spend Work Credits they earned during their labor shifts.

"Hey Blubber Buddy! Your slop treating you alright?"

The Herglic con artist played with his oversized utensils like he was shuffling cards. No doubt thinking about a past card game or con he ran. Or planning a future one.

"Hey Blue Boy. The food's alright. I just wish I could get some more spice to make it a bit more palatable. You up for a game?"

You could have all the seasonings, fruit, vegetables, non-processed meat, and salt-alternatives you want as long as you had the Work Credits. Pure salt was banned after some Arcona got lowered into the Pit for trying to organize a Salt Mafia in their block.

"Not a chance Blubber Buddy. We may be friends, but I know you well enough to know you would clean me out of my Work Credits in no time. Go hunt some gullible marks."

Where there was currency, there was crime. Naturally when Grimjaw first arrived, he made discreet inquiries to try and identify the bosses and hustles in the prison. Only the find out the worst prisoners got up to was spice trading that the guards monitored. The seasoning kind, not even the drug kind.

"I am trying to keep my games private and friendly. If I start prowling like a shark, then the guards might freeze my account. Defeating the point of getting more food money."

People who made trouble or roughed up someone usually got sent to their cells during free time or had their Work Credit account locked. Anyone trying to do worse was quickly found by the guards and given time in the Pit.

"At least fleecing some fools won't get you the Pit. Although maybe you would get in touch with your ancestors."

The Pit was a chasm right next to the Cavern. Gossip says the slaver gang that was here before dumped product that had expired into the Pit. People talked about how you can still hear their screams in the dead of night.

"Don't even joke about that Blue Boy. I ain't getting dragged away by angry spirits. Besides, my ancestors kept to the surface. Easier on the blowhole."

Being lowered into the Pit left you with just you, your thoughts, and the pitch black darkness not even the Cavern's light could penetrate. Whether the gossip is true, a night or two spent in that cage they use to lower you into the Pit is often enough to straighten out even the most crooked sentient.

"Well maybe lift some extra heavy boxes this shift. We are getting our parts shipment today, so there should be plenty of work in the loading bay."

Finishing his morning meal, Grimjaw did some stretches and got ready for his labor shift.

——

Labor shifts in the Cavern outside of services and custodian jobs was primarily focused on manufacturing. The natural properties of the Cavern made it very stable temperature wise and with next to no humidity. This made it ideal for making and storing things you wanted kept clean and unbothered.

"Now if only these masks wouldn't fog up my glasses so much."

The thought made Grimjaw notice the gloves, glasses, and mask he wore while he worked on his solar panel. Solar panels and wind turbine blades were the common exports out of the Cavern. These weren't the large ones used in the Governor's infrastructure projects, but rather small ones used to keep small businesses and homesteads powered.

"Maybe I should study up and see if I can get into the scrubber department."

If you were minimum security, had a good rep, and had the technical skills like an Outlaw Tech, you could earn a lot more Work Credits making air scrubbers. Trust was needed for small towns to accept what they constructed in the depths of the Caverns. The motto the prison kept spewing was "cleanse the body, cleanse the mind, cleanse the planet". Personally Grimjaw was just happy with the luxuries he could purchase with the Work Credits he earned, or that they were luxuries to buy at all.

"Beats being thrown into mines that would make Kessel seem regulation compliant."

Grimjaw had heard horror stories from other prisoners who had been imprisoned before about what went on in other Imperial prisons. Horrific tales of mining with primitive tools, daily beatings from the guards and other prisoners, little in the way of food choices, and even no central temperature control in the cells. It all made him glad he got arrested in Edin rather than one of those nightmare systems.

——

Grimjaw was out of his work clothes and stepping into the Yard for his free time. The Yard was more a large tunnel that was sealed off, divided into rooms, and filled with leisure equipment. Still it felt nice to have natural material under his feet and above his head, even if it was stone.

"Smiles! Don't you just love that fresh air?"

The Klatooinian tough made an effort to frown, but still took a small breath. Even the air didn't feel as stale or sterile here. Small vents and fans on the ceiling allowing for fresh air to flow into this sectioned off portion of the Cavern.

"The air is nice Blue Boy. Just watching the bots stumble around and gawk at the ceiling before getting a workout, you coming?"

It was theorized that a prisoner could escape through those vents if they could climb or fly high enough. However the cameras and BLX labor droids constantly patrolling the Yard and the rest of the Cavern dissuaded most break out attempts.

"Was thinking about hitting the books, but a workout sounds nice. Let's see you grit your teeth."

Stepping in line with his favorite workout buddy, Grimjaw made his way over to the gym. He might not be an enforcer anymore, but he had pride in his physique and the membership was relatively cheap. He could have gone to the library or the limited PAD stations, but something about working his body always made him happy.

——

Nothing beat hitting the refresher after a good workout and meal. Between tightening his belt at the Cafeteria and avoiding getting addicted to PAD time, Grimjaw had saved up healthy helping of Work Credits.

"Almost enough, and just about to hit the deadline."

There were holo visiting hours scheduled for almost every inmate. However with a little greasing, the guards would allow a prisoner to schedule a monitored extended call outside the Cavern.

"Hope I have enough. No, it needs to be enough. Smooth Brow is counting on me."

Just a few more shifts and Grimjaw will have enough to be there for his sister's birthday party. He might only be able to attend for a couple of hours, but it will mean the world to her.

"Just a few more shifts and you can see her smile, Blue Boy."

Grimjaw went to bet on his bunk imagining the look on his sister's face.

——

Been a while since we have seen a planetside look at Highreach in the Edin system. Figured with all the criminals, there is probably going to be at least one correctional facility on the planet. Not as bad as most Imperial prisons in canon or legends given it is actually aimed at rehabilitation without the use drugs and mind control devices. The Pit *dramatic sting plays* is more for appearance's sake so the rest of the Empire doesn't accuse Las of being soft on lawbreakers.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-69

TK-582, Okto Perker
Minda System, Ugea, Vrectin City

The first time Okto had fought beside the Commander had been years ago now. Much had changed since then.

The armor he wore was better. The weapon he wielded was stronger. Training exercises and experience hunting criminals on Edin had sharpened his mind and body.

Most importantly of all? He could actually see out of the helmet he was wearing.

A helmet he feared would be filled with vomit by the end of the mission.

Because for all the experience he now had, watching the Commander crush that pirate's skull way back when still made his stomach churn.

And now she was here again.

Joy.

Still, he pushed it out of his mind as the shuttle landed.

As he rose, a mental mask fell over his mind.

From that seat, TK-582 stood, falling in place with the rest of his squad.

They exited the shuttle into the Vrectin City Spaceport. An open air port with ships lined up in different pads, becoming muddled in the night the further one looked.

As his squad marched on the large freighter ahead, he spied the other squad to the left, Commander Grant leading them.

Her armor was a darker grey than normal trooper armor, her visor a deep blood red.

Soon, they reached the freighter. For all their marching, it was the dead of night, and none knew they were there.

The city's garrison, however, was aware. Their TIE's were ready to deploy in an instant if things went awry.

582 lined up along the, his sergeant across from, the breaching charged armed on the airlock between them.

The charge exploded with no sound as 582's helmet filtered out dangerously loud noises. A second later, the sound returned and he was already turning the corner.

The Commander walked out ahead of them through the smoke as his squad fanned out around her.

A rebel turned the closest hallway corner, pistol raised. He pulled the trigger, and a controlled burst of red death cracked from his E-11.

All around him, the same scene played out. Stormtroopers sighting enemies and firing less than a second later. Crimson bolts ripped through the air as the rebels tried and failed to stop them.

"Squad Aurek, with me." Came the Commander's voice, and 582 complied. He spotted squad Besh moving towards the cargo bay.

The fighting continued through the hallways, his squad ripping through enemies wherever they appeared.

The Commander did little, simply walking ever forward as rebels fell dead around her.

As they turned a corner, another rebel, a large man with a vibro knife in hand, aimed directly at the Commander.

Before his squad could get a shot off, the Commander was on him. Knife thrown aside, she swept his legs, but caught him by the scruff of his neck in her grey plated fingers.

Then, she slammed his head into the floor with a loud, wet crunch. Letting go, he tried to get up.

Unfortunately for him, the Commander's boot soon bound the back of his neck, and a far more grotesque snap resounded before the man went still.

Without a word, she turned back around and continued walking,

Eventually, they made it to the freighters bridge. Once again, they breached, and once again, they slaughtered every living being within the area.

And the Commander simply stood there, in the middle of the firefight. Anytime a rebel aimed at her, her scatterblaster roared. But she never took cover, never needed too.

Within half a minute, the dozen or so rebels had all died. Over the commlink, 582 heard squad Besh completing their objectives.

Soon after, they were back on the shuttle as other troopers took over.

It was only when he made it all the way back home did the mask of 582 slip off, and Okto come back in.

He took a deep breath.

And immediately barfed into his helmet.

Why couldn't the Commander fight normally!?

-

Darna Sabrir
Edin System, Highreach, Edinspire, Capitol Building

From the top of the capitol building, Darna surveilled Edinspire.

The city was far denser than Accordia, covered in many skyscrapers. Many were once owned by criminals and corrupt officials.

Now, they served other purposes. Some were turned into apartments, centers of business, communal areas, and more.

Others still were being torn down. Even now she could see the outline of the larger pieces of construction equipment, highlighted against the city's lights.

The very fact that she had the time to appreciate the view was a testament to her newfound free time. Possibly only because she was no longer Guild Director.

It irked her greatly, but it had truly made her healthier. The bags under her eyes were barely visible now, and her mind felt clearer.

The stress had been piling up. Looking back now, she could see her mistakes, made in a rush to establish power and control.

Overextension, shouldering too many burdens, poorly implemented programs and more. None of it disastrous, but death by a thousand cuts is death all the same.

Still, that was not to say it was easy. No. Even now, she contemplated the most recent report to come from SWEEP.

The terrorists had been captured and made to talk. Then, the information on their base of operations leaked to the Commander. It was hasty, yes, but it had to be done.

The Hand had been preparing for another strike. Another direct assasination attempt on the Governor.

For both Darna and the organizations she was a part of, that was a fail condition. The Governor may not know of SWEEP, WEB or HAVEN, nor the part Pathline Inc. plays in them, but it is through his actions, policies and attitude that these organizations even exist and operate.

After all, they were founded to protect this little haven of peace from the rest of the galaxy. A haven that only existed because the Governor wasn't like other Imperial officials. If he died, the Moff would send his replacement.

And they didn't have any ability to influence that decision. Whoever they got would likely be far worse, and create an environment in which they could not survive.

Now all that was left was the clean up. Rogue Hand agents would be dealt with quietly as they were tracked down, assuming there were any left.

After that, well… they'd have to look to the stars. The shipyard was just about finished, after all. A few berths would be staffed by hired Rothanan workers to begin initial production, while more new workers would be brought in and trained.

That was the insertion point. In a few days, she would be meeting with the leaders of SWEEP, HAVEN, WEB, along with the new Guild Director and Pathline CEO. All, of course, part of the same council.

As the organizations under her grew, and new ones popped up, she shifted from top-down control to a council system, where they all worked together to achieve their goal. She still held the most sway, and was considered something of an unofficial leader, but the burden was not on her alone.

As she considered potential plans for insertion of agents into the yards to bring up in the meeting, her terminal pinged.

Taking a look, it was from the Governor. A rough draft for a proposal for the Guild. A way to get workers for the yard.

Darna smiled.

It seems she has her plan.

-

Hi there folks! Sorry for the late night update, but I couldn't not finish this chapter now. I'm experiencing an emotional high from eating home made bean dip and listening to Tenacious D/ Neon Genesis Evangelion crossover music.

This is (not) the greatest song in the world by camhcom is an absolute fucking banger of a song. Combined with the bean dip?

Religious experience.

As always, feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: The Imperial Scout and Research Atmospheric Repulsorcraft (ISRAR)

Product Information

Manufacturer:

• Mindan R&D (prototype)
• Mindan Shipyards (limited production run)

Model: Imperial Scout and Research Atmospheric Repulsorcraft

Type: Planetary Science Vessel


Technical Specifications

Diameter: 15 meters

Height: 8 meters

Maximum Acceleration: 150 kph

Maximum Altitude: 50 Km

Engine Unit(s): Repulsorlift generators

Shielding: none

Armament: 3 Stun cannon turrets

Crew: 5 crew and 1 medical droid

Passengers: 5 passengers and 5 specimens

Cargo Capacity: 5 metric tons

Consumables: 1 week

Other systems:

• Organism scaled tractor beam
• Stabilizer technology
• Large amounts of externally mounted scanning and survey equipment and internal electronics suite.
• Expanded Medical/Research Bay
• 5 Force Cages

Usage

Availability: Imperial Government

Roles:

• Research vessel
• Survey craft
• Exploration expeditions

Affiliation: Galactic Empire

——
Description

"This hunk of junk is a slower, less armed, and less maneuverable YT Light Freighter."

"Why the frak are you trying to dogfight with it!? This is a research vessel!" - conversation during the ISRAR's initial test flight

The Imperial Scout and Research Atmospheric Repulsorcraft has been described as a love child between a YT series, a Flarestar-class attack shuttle, and an airspeeder that none of them wanted. A product of the Mindan R&D department, the ISRAR was designed for the collection and research of organisms on pacified Imperial frontier worlds.

Characteristics

"That looks like a flying lab prefab."

"That's because it is a flying lab prefab." - Noted exchange upon delivery of an ISRAR to a Minda-2 research base

The ISRAR's circular saucer shape was chosen to allow for the maximum surface area for external sensor and scanning equipment. Plans for shielding were scrapped due to worries of potential interference it may cause to ISRAR's more sensitive external instruments.

Said instruments also cause the ISRAR to be a giant blinding beacon to anyone with even rudimentary sensors under normal operating conditions. Designers finding little reason to spend credits and manpower hours on subtlety given the remote and "low risk" areas the vessels were expected to work in. A joke among the MSDF navy is that there is little point to installing a distress beacon on an ISRAR, they can detect it from orbit just fine.

The organism scaled tractor beam the ISRAR carries was fine tuned to allow for the collection of (hopefully) non-sentient specimens without necessitating a landing. With the entrance via tractor beam leading to an open area with good sight lines for a quick stun blast should the specimen prove uncooperative.

Three stun cannon turrets were installed as both a method of self defense and a way to acquire specimens from the larger and more aggressive organisms in an environment. Two turrets are located on the bottom of the ship and one on the top. The turrets can be controlled manually or automatically from within the ship given the ship's extensive electronics suite.

Poor acceleration, climbing speed and agility make the ISRAR a poor choice in a dogfight against even militarized airspeeders. The stabilizer technology meant to minimize lab equipment damage has been noted to actively fight against a pilot should they attempt any evasive maneuvering or rapid turns.

Role

"Welcome to Imperial Research Site 23856-B students. Hit up the ISRAR for your shots if you don't want to spend this research trip in the refresher." - Welcome speech given to a a Ugean Academy field trip

The primary intended mission of an ISRAR is to launch from a research facility for a few day and conduct scans and collect samples from the surrounding terrain or sites of interest. Extended missions could be conducted if cargo space reserved for samples was used to store more consumables. The ISRAR could also land and act as the center for a temporary base for any expeditions to take advantage of its research facilities and larger than standard medical bay.

Private interest among traders or military personnel for any export model of the ISRAR has been minimal with a noted disdain among pilots. Although there has been some interest expressed by some big game hunters, academic institutions, and exploration companies should sales to private parties be made available.

——

A little ship I made for the fun of it and to see if I could. Good and cost effective at its assigned niche. Terrible at trying to perform any other role. Could a YT light freighter be converted to do the same job? Probably, but that has vessels wasted being stuck planetside when they could be out trading between systems instead.

I also tried to avoid using advanced ship parts like hyperdrives or complex engines and the like so it could be built completely in house in Minda. Being able to move fast or travel between systems is probably not needed for a vessel dedicated to doing surveying and research from a planetside base.

I would try to find a picture, but I think most people will be able to figure out what look I am going for. This whole thing started because I couldn't get the image of Imperials buzzing Vendari villages in flying saucers out of my head.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-70

Never in my mind did I think I'd make it this far.

Hell, I never wanted to make it this far.

But to think that my biggest current problem is manpower is wild. I mean, for a backwater, half a million people seems like plenty!

It seems, however, that the shipyard disagrees.

I had reviewed and revised the immigration policy to prioritize people with relevant experience, since we couldn't afford to house and feed everyone who came in. I have thus far avoided a homelessness problem, and I won't let one start now.

The problem arose when the Moff decided to increase the backlog to 500 ships! Seems to me he's making a lot of promises that hinge on the yards working. It's not politically sound to put all your eggs in one basket. I wonder why he's doing it then?
Thankfully, Oioro, deadly spy/negotiator that she is, has seen some initial success in negotiations for that fly in/fly out idea through the Guild. It would be easier, with new systems joining regularly, but it would still take time.

Unfortunately, that left her too busy to go with me to Dubrillion, where the first official Guild meeting was happening.

The Moff had 'suggested' this, but the message was clear.

Minda may be first among equals in the Guild, but the Moff is above all. It also created an air of neutrality among the members.

Now, I was afforded a plus one to the whole thing. Oioro would've been my first pick, and Darna my second.

Both were busy, however. Oioro with the aforementioned business, and Darna with a new wave of crime/cartels on Edin. She had started to implement softer policies, what with the criminal element mostly gone. Hidden elements took this, along with the attacks on Minda, as weakness. That left her busy.

So, Veers. Oioro and Darna would've had reason to be there, with the former being a negotiator and the latter my vice, while Grant has no real reason. Veers, however, defends the Edin/Minda routes. She has a vested stake in the Guild's shipping.

And, if we play our cards right, she might get more responsibility in that role. Which will give Minda more leverage in Guild politics.

I don't necessarily want to be in total political control, it seems like a way to piss people off. But I know what other Governors are like, and if I don't secure a good position for Minda, and myself, I could see some serious problems cropping up down the line.

Regardless, I had a meeting to get to.

The flight to Dubrillion was relatively quiet. It was done in Veers Gladiator, as a statement/show of power. It was likely the most powerful of the ships brought by the other members. Shal was left to reinforce Edin.

And now, I was walking into the meeting room.

It was time to play the political game once again.

-

Agent Raxus

As an Agent of newly appointed Grand Moff Adrus Kaine, Raxus (not his real name) had been sent to the Myto sector to observe and gain a basic understanding of its operations. Agents had been sent discreetly to just about every sector in the newly expanded Oversector Outer so the Grand Moff could have a more grounded, realistic understanding of each sector, and to catalog any anomalies.

Which explained why Raxus was on Dubrillion, dressed as an administrative aide, entering a meeting hall.

The meeting hall was a grandiose place. A tall ceiling with large, ostentatious pillars and fine drapes of red and black, sewn with the Imperial Crest covering the walls. All from the Core, of course.

It was a place that was clearly built to project the power of the owner to those within, commissioned by the previous Moff. Something the new owner was taking full advantage of.

Moff Aren Hiral was new to this level of the political scene, and yet had conducted himself masterfully from everything Raxus had been able to access.

Yet, he wasn't here.

Despite more than a dozen Governors being present at the Guilds first meeting, the Moff wasn't.

He didn't need to be.

The meeting wasn't taking place in Guild HQ, it was taking place in Dubrillion. In the capital city. In a meeting room that was worth more than many colonies.

In the center of the room sat a large circular table, polished durasteel in stark contrast to the marble and fine metals the rest of the room was made out of. It looked out of place.

It was.

The original table had been long, with a single seat at the end. It had been moved by request in exchange for a circular durasteel table with a holoprojector in the center.

Specifically, at the request of Governor Las Mola.

He sat at the table, wearing a standard Governors uniform in grey. The only modification was a series of thin metal plates affixed to the uniform, a series of interlinked triangles that weaved into the fabric so well it was hard to tell where metal ended and silk began. He exuded an air of quiet dominance, where no grandiose luxury or fancy words were needed to seem as if he had everything under control.

To his right sat Mola's Commodore, Ife Veers. Daughter of well known General Veers, who had gotten caught up in inter-branch political rivalries. She struck a more imposing figure than the Governor with her sharp, pitch black uniform and steely, almost predatory gaze. It fit well with her growing reputation of brutal efficiency and ruthless effectiveness against pirates.

Raxus took a seat at one of the small side tables set aside for administrative aides who were there to run numbers on site and manage other tasks. His recorder was activated quickly and quietly.

Soon, the meeting started as the final members trickled in. A little over a dozen Governors sat at the table, the air abuzz with a mix of wariness and ambition.

"Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for making the trip, and allow me to welcome you all to the inaugural meeting of the Imperial Guild of Commerce, Production and Protection." Started Mola.

"While the basics of the Guild have functioned well enough, we are here today to discuss the future operations of the Guild, and how its resources should be allocated to ensure the continued operation and profit of all members."

The Governor turned towards the Commodore, who stood, back straight, eyes like steel. Her gaze swept across the table, causing some members to stiffen slightly.

"Intelligence reports a nearly 10% increase in piracy in the past 6 months. While the impacts have been minimal so far, the criminal element seems to have become emboldened as of late. Attacks will only get worse, cutting into the Guilds profit and security."

As the various Governors contemplated this, whispering amongst themselves, Governor Las spoke once more with an even tone.

"Therefore, I wish to propose an expansion of the Guild's operational fees to incorporate a new branch of patrol vessels. These ships and their crews will patrol the lanes between member systems to discourage piracy and ensure smoother, safer trade."

He tapped a few times on the terminal in front of him, presumably sending a copy to every other member's terminal.

"Please, review it. Any modifications or suggestions are welcome."

Hmm. An open policy of sorts. Mola seems to want power, or at the very least show dominance over the Guild, but still asks for the other members' opinions? Odd.

The other members took a minute to look over the draft before one spoke up.

"An interesting proposal, Governor. However…I have a slight concern." Spoke Trylid Vance, Governor of Veridian Prime. It was a fairly rich system near Dubrillion, and one that dealt mostly in luxury goods to other systems. Vance's family was old, having controlled the system since the time of the Old Republic, with their luxury brands benefitting from the influx of Imperial officers/nobility who wished to maintain some level of luxury in the outer rim.

His involvement with the Guild was likely an attempt to retain control of his market and have a hand in the new rising power. Either to benefit from it, or curtail it if needed.

"My current concern is how this proposal benefits us all. After all, some systems, such as my own, already hold a suitable amount of patrol craft that are fully capable of handling this increase in banditry. Why would this assist us?" His voice was smooth and professional, but he still went straight to the point. They were here for business, after all. Not politics.

Before Mola could respond, another Governor spoke up.

"Because not all of us can defend our lanes as well. Not at the moment, at least." And there was Kyra Godran, Governor of Draxons Forge. A more recently settled system that was rich in resources but not infrastructure. Her agenda was obvious. Draxons Forge needed money, money that was being tied up due to pirates.

If the system doesn't make enough money, it can't expand. If it can't expand, it won't make enough money. And without money, it can't protect its lanes.

"Increased security will benefit all systems as well. Those pirates will keep taking more unless we show them the Guild isn't to be messed with!" She was fiery, that much was certain. A product of her newer status and the need for rapid, sometimes reckless expansion.

It was then that a third spoke up. Hranton Fogess was a corpulent man who kept meticulous ledgers. He controlled Slundus, which sat on the Veragi Trade Route and saw consistent traffic. Like many who sat on routes like that, his goals aligned more with consistent transit and the stability of trade.

"Both of you bring good points, but I believe the main issue is equitability. How will these costs be spread, and will the patrol vessels themselves be suitable? Will the security coverage be equitable amongst member systems, particularly for those whose main profit comes from transit specifically? And what of oversight, how can we know that these funds will be used properly?"

Mola nodded. "That is a good point, Governor Fogess, and I believe it should be the current topic of discussion. If the ships are built in the new Mindan yards, the cost will be decreased, and I am willing to shoulder the upfront cost myself. However, operational costs will be the main topic. As for oversight, I agree. Transparency is key. Any ideas on how to ensure such a thing are welcome."

From there, they delved into more rigorous discussion, involving more and more members as time went on.

Things like patrol zones, tiered responses, optional fee's to escort precious cargo without burdening other systems, and more.

Frankly speaking, if it wasn't his job to analyze the sector, Raxus would've fallen asleep. In fact, some Governors, more concerned with politics than economics, seemed poised to take impromptu naps by the end of the nearly 5 hour meeting.

Only hourly breaks kept people from, well, breaking.

By the end of it all, Raxus had a fairly comprehensive report to send back to the grand Moffs office.

The Myto sector still had more to look over, but as it stands, the Guild is no threat. An economic alliance, yes. One that has a patrol arm, yes. But considering the de facto head of said arm will be a Navy Commodore, with the Moff clearly emphasizing his control over the situation, the Guild is unlikely to grow out of control.

Raxus doubted the report would ever grace the Grand Moffs eyes, but it was still his duty to send it.

Hopefully, the rest of the assignment would be as boring as this. He'd heard horror stories of some of the other sectors, after all.

-

Wrote this while listening to bangers like Starship Velociraptor and Sorario Days, which contain far too much hype for a chapter that is essentially just a boardroom meeting and office politics.

Oh, and Raxus will not be a recurring character. So don't ask.

As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-71

0BBY. 7977 C.R.C, as it is more commonly known.

It was coming to an end.

Merely 3 months before the year's end, and a lot had happened. The Death Star went kaboom. The Guild was made official. I voluntarily played politics.

I was still stuck here.

And as I sat in my office, staring off into the middle distance, I felt my will cracking. Ever so slightly.

Just a few months ago, when the Scarred Hand attacked, I almost died. And it wasn't the first time!

That pirate raid, all those years ago. The Hand. That cult on Edin with its fucking zombies.

3 times! 3 times I almost died.

Funny thing is I wouldn't mind this all that much, given different circumstances. After all, adventuring across the galaxy comes with its fair share of dangers.

Of course, I'm not doing that, now am I? I'm stuck in fucking office, doing paperwork to keep together this shitshow I've somehow found myself running.

As my mind becomes more and more clouded, the world around me blurring into shapes and colors, Mugwuffin nudges my leg with her head, a soft purr resounding out and running up my leg.

I shake my head, and give her pets, though her worried look doesn't seem to fully go away. Not if the force bond is anything to go by.

Regardless, I'm glad she pulled me out. My mental breakdown limit is full this month anyways.

The limit is 0. I am sorely reconsidering this stance.

To get away from my own thoughts, I stare out the window, into the midnight sky. If nothing else, these late nights gave me great views. A part of me yearns to get away, to live out that life of adventure I always wanted.

Far up above, I can see the lights of the shipyard in the void. Even from down here, the massive structure is still visible, if only barely.

If I squint, I can pretend I see the silhouettes of the ships it's making. Vigil, Raider and Customs corvettes. Though the Vigil is technically a frigate, which always bothered me.

Doesn't matter, I suppose. What matters is production times. Only 1 berth is operational. Thankfully, the RHE employees we poached are enough in their numbers to run berths in full shifts, day and night.

At present, since production had started, we made 4 Raider and 4 Customs Corvettes per month, with 2 Vigil Corvettes following.

All things considered, this is a pretty good amount of time. The biggest problem is, once again, manpower.

In the past few months, only around 3000 people have been added to the yard's homegrown workforce, with 2000 flying in periodically. Sounds like a lot, but there were more that wanted to go, and were qualified.

The problem is housing. While fly-in workers live on site, others don't. There were enough applicants to get another berth functioning on half-shifts, 12 hours, though it would take another week to start up.

And there are even more immigrants that want to join, despite not being fully qualified. We would train them, if we had the people to spare!

But we can't house them all. The growth of the Mindan population was due to large amounts of capital being dumped into housing expansion and urban growth. Nowadays, especially with the big old 9 billion credit debt Minda owes, I have to start being more frugal.

If Minda was profiting from the yard, it would be cool, but the ships currently being made are from the Moffs list, and so we sell them barely above production value, sometimes we only break even. Right now, the yard is a money sink, and with so few ships being made we can't afford to start selling them to others.

Can't piss off the Moff, after all.

As it stands, the full yard will focus on the larger Vigils, while the half yard will pump out Raiders/Customs. With this, I can nearly double the number of Vigils made, though Raiders and Customs will see a slight reduction.

Regardless, the overall number of ships being produced will increase, so it's all fine by me.

Now, onto my other problems.

I refocused my attention from the stars to my terminal, where a slew of reports and messages awaited me.

Some were things that merely needed my stamp of approval. Some public works, stuff like that. One of them regarded the Mindan College program. Something I started awhile back that had only recently finished building its campus. It could've been done far sooner, but there were delays in construction. More important projects that forced the redirection of resources.

As much as I wished I could build it all at once, I couldn't. Such was life. Now, the problem with the program was twofold.

I didn't have teachers, and I didn't have money.

Real, qualified college professors wouldn't be slumming it out here, when there were better places to get a job, and I couldn't start spending the money needed to maintain the college and its employees when every credit counted.

So long as the college was free, that is. Like the rest of the schools on Minda/Edin. And I intended to keep it that way. Educated people make more money, and pay more taxes, after all.

Alas, for now the college program would be put on hold. I would have word spread throughout Myto and the surrounding sectors, but for now there was little I could do.

With that in mind, I turn to my biggest actual problems of the night.

Money, and money with extra steps.

The first was simple. Edin. Darna had been doing a decent job so far, though there had been some missteps on occasion. Thankfully, the staff there are really good, so she's got plenty of support. I swear, that woman takes on too much work.

Regardless, Edin is still unprofitable. It's been expanding, slowly, but as it is the system is making barely any extra cash. That needs to change.

I send a message to Darna telling her exactly that, and recommending some paths forward, such as surveys of the land, and any potential local delicacies and the like. Along with an offer of my support if needed.

The next thing? KDY. Not the debt, but the dependence. Currently, only 3 ships were produced in the yards, and 2 of them were of KDY make. I needed to diversify, and soon.

Sure, it doesn't seem like a problem now, but if KDY maintains a majority on ships built in the yards, they will most definitely push that advantage. Just because KDY is state owned, doesn't mean the state cares about Minda, or what KDY does to it.

Combined with the debt? It could be devastating. This applies to the other mega-corps as well. Maintaining the balance between them would be crucial to my continued dominion here, and therefore my survival.

So, I started looking into alternatives for the many, many ships that still had to be built. Rendili would get one or two. RHE was nearly gone, so there was little they could make.

Sienar had a few offerings, and so did CEC, though the offerings there were slim for anything not the size of a small freighter.

There were also other things to consider. Imperial ships often shared similarities on some level, but more so from the same manufacturers. And the current way we have planned to reduce production costs is logistics streamlining.

That'll get more complex as more manufacturers get involved. But the alternative is relying on fewer companies, which will cause problems.

I sigh, resting my head against my hands. This is out of my scope of expertise, and I readily admit that. Ship production? Logistical adaptability? On a bureaucratic level, sure, I can handle it. But at the technical level, I have no idea.

So, I sent a message out to the R&D director, who would see it first thing in the morning. Maybe the teams already working on the current ships will have something for me. Maybe not.

Regardless, as I stared at the screen of my terminal, my mind blanking on what to do next, I called it quits. Time for bed.

Honk shoo mimimimi type shit.

And honk shoo I did. Until Mugwuffin plopped down on my chest. Then it was more like a wheeze.

Fucking space cat lizard thing.

-

Finals coming up. Fewer/no updates. Will resume later with some more. Maybe. Finals means no time/motivation.

 

[Yacov]

Warning: This Omake contains a Big List. Open the spoiler at your own risk,

Omake: Homesteader's Dream

POV: Jimbobio, second son and 18th generation Dantooine farmer, Rolling Greens, Ugea

"Later Honey, today's the Big Day!"

Stretching his neck, Jimbobio emerged from the Bi-state memory plastic trailer that was his family's home for the past month. Between the trailers and the synthecrete structures, it was clear Ugea intended this place was set up to deal with a temporary increased influx of new migrants.

"Good luck Darling! Me and the kids will be waiting with the bags packed!"

Not that it will matter for Jimbobio much longer. After weeks of struggling through flimsiwork and interviews, he was finally ready to become a Homesteader. The program's terms were rumored to be generous, but the application was said to be equally brutal.

"Welcome, sir. How can we help you today?"

The receptionist's lackluster smile did little to deter Jimbobio's excitement. Ugea was a rare world in the galaxy. A place where the Empire was giving land away, not seizing it. He'd heard tales from others in the camp. Where other worlds were pushing farmers off their land with blaster and tank, but not here.

"I have finished my application process and expedited mandatory education course for the Homesteader Program and would like to pick out a plot and package."

Here on Ugea there was the Homesteader Program. The planet needed people, and they needed farmers in order to feed those people. The Program divided up the Imperial Lands on Ugea into plots. A Homesteader could apply to get probationary ownership of a plot in exchange for working the land and eventually paying off the cost.

"Congratulations sir. Which Homesteader's Package would you like to submit for?"

It was unfortunate that Jimbobio lost most of his wealth in the move, but he did not regret moving quickly. The Imperial military had suddenly started swarming the surface of Dantooine shortly after Alderaan blew up, accusing anyone that looked funny of being a Rebel. Some folks the Empire took away didn't come back.

"I would like to look at the Homesteader's Basic Starter Package."

His friends heard them talking about having intel on for some "secret base", and that was when Jimbobio knew it was time to leave. The Empire would turn the crust of the planet upside down if they thought Rebels were underneath it. It didn't matter the Empire owned the land or not.

"Of course, sir. Just give me a moment to pull it up the information."

So Jimbobio sold his small section of the family land on the cheap. His brother was disappointed in him, but it was his portion so his brother couldn't stop it. The price was just barely enough to get him and his wife and kids to Minda, but not enough to start a new life on its own. Thankfully the Imperials here were of a kinder breed than those who set up shop back home.

"Here you are sir. The Homesteader's Basic Starter Package entitles you to the following."

Spoiler: Summary of the Homesteader's Basic Starter Package

The List

Homesteader's Basic Starter Package: the most basic starter kit of technology, tools, and amenities provided for those who apply to become a Homesteader on Ugea. Estimated cost: 26,000-32,000 credits. This kit includes:

Structures

• 1 plastcrete prefab 1 floor housing unit with plastiboard flooring and 2 transplast windows. Includes one general area room, 2 bedding alcoves, 1 spare room for bedding, storage, or alternative use, and 1 fully equipped refresher and wastewater reclamation closet. Roof accessible via external ladder.
• 2 plastcrete silos for main crop storage.
• 1 external cellar dug and reinforced with plastcrete.
• 1 external plastcrete water storage tank with water collection and filtration unit installed on top.
• 1 solar panel.
• 1 small windmill.
• 1 flagpole with Galactic Empire flag provided.

Furniture

• 2 fiber-grown tables.
• 1 metal basin.
• 2-4 fiber-grown chairs depending on size of the family unit.
• 2 fiber-grown shelving units.
• 1 Shaak hide rug.
• 3 posters chosen from a selection provided by the Imperial Propaganda Bureau.

Utilities

• 2 free standing lighting fixtures.
• 1 free standing space heater.
• 1 medium sized house fan.
• 1 medium sized refrigeration chest.
• 1 medium sized stove and oven unit.
• 1 large storage battery
• 1 back up generator.
• 1 general multi-purpose charging unit.

Clothes and sundries

• 4 sets of coarseweave clothing per family member and 1 set of of duranex agricultural work clothes. Gloves and boots sized and included.
• 5-20 pairs of socks.
• 2 bolts of linen
• 2-4 linen blankets. 2-4 pillows made from local grasses.
• 8 grass woven baskets.
• 0-4 dolls and/or action figures from the Heroes of Minda line and accompanying playset.
• 10 plastiflex crates and 20 flimsicard boxes for general and small crop storage.
• An assortment of general plastene liquid receptacles.
• 2 large plastene bowls and 8 small plastene bowls.
• 8 plastene plates.
• 8 sets of plastene utensils.
• 2 metal casserole pans and 2 metal frying pans.
• 1 booklet for crafting items from local grasses and clay.
• 1 manual on foraging, hunting, and butchering on Ugea.
• 1 basic home maintenance toolkit and DIY manual.
• 1 basic medikit and first aid booklet.
• 1 sewing kit
• 1 cleaning kit containing a mop, a broom, 4 rags, a laundry pole, and large jugs of various soaps.
• 1 complimentary fruit and Shaak jerky basket. Substitutes based on diet available.
• A Model 6 Sporting Blaster Pistol and gun safe may granted after a further vetting process to the homestead for self defense. This is contingent on obtaining the proper licensing and the owner demonstrating proper gun safety and gun storage practices. Careless or reckless blaster use will result in the homesteader's license being rescinded and their blaster confiscated.

Farming and farm equipment

• Allotment of 8-17 acres depending on size and capabilities of the family unit. Heavily encouraged for use on farming activities. Cottage and family level industry tolerated. Heavy industry or other potential environmentally damaging activities without obtaining a permit discovered by an inspector will result in fines or arrest.
• A choice of 8 different commonly available crops. These crops include Correlian buckwheat, Agamarian soybeans, fruits such as Dantooinian sphere-fruit, Vormfruit, and Forrolow berries, various vegetables such as Chokeroot and Bloatgourd, and cover crops for livestock to supplement Ugea's native grasses. Exchange with other homesteaders encouraged.
• 1 basic seed launcher, blaster shaped. Incapable of causing harm to most organics. Fast grow function not included.
• 12-30 large bags of enhanced Shaak manure fertilizer based on land allotment for initial planting.
• 1 basic Agri-kit for soil and plant testing.
• 1 assortment of basic sentient powered farming tools.
• 4 medium agricultural water containers.
• 1 small, low end used speeder with a max value of 600 credits. Options include the HVP-200 Hover Shooper and the Commuter Gravsled. Guaranteed 3 year warranty.
• 1 attachable repulsorlift trailer.
• 1 ASP labor droid with the basic "tenant farmer" programming and tool upgrade package. Able to preform basic tilling, watering, and enough memory to store harvesting protocols of up to 12 commonly available crops.
• 1 rudimentary PAD for droid control and general use. It is connected to the local atmospheric sensor network and Mindan government department contact information preregistered. Adjustments to limb holder available and complimentary stand holder provided.

Services

• 1 savings and credit account opened at the nearest Ugean government banking institution in the primary homesteader's name. Payments to the Homsteader Program will also be made through said account.
• 1 gold level account access at the Ugean Granary and Food Reserves for 1 year guaranteed. Extensions may be granted based on circumstance.
• Permit to sell directly to the Ugean Granary. Depends on compliance with quality inspections. Pre-approved for 5 years before renewal.
• 1 silver level Ugean train pass. Subscription payments covered for 2 years.

Jimbobio could only gulp at the gargantuan list in front of him. It took over an hour and help from the reception to understand all the Ugean was offering him and his family.

"This is a lot more than I was expecting. I would not have been surprised if you left me and my folks in a hole in the ground and well wishes."

Jimbobio had already chosen Vormfruit and Bloatgourd as the main crops for his farm before even seeing the list of options. Dantooine was on the Myto's Arrow, so it was to be expected that some of its produce to be available on Minda. He never could get Sphere-Fruit to grow right.

"Ugea prides itself on providing the maximum possible support for new settlers. We understand the first years are the roughest for farms starting out."

Bloatgourd could be the subsistence crop, they should be able to sustain themselves with help from the Reserve. Worst comes to worst, his fellow potential Homesteaders in the camp promised to swap crops if needed.

"Don't you worry, I'm gonna pay off the 30,000 credits in no time. Families don't survive being farmers as long as we have without a trade secret or two."

The loan may be the price of a small starship, but it was doable with the low interest rate they were offering. Vormfruit will be where the real money comes from. As much as it hurt to plan around, the Empire's search is probably going to disrupt the harvest on Dantooine for a least a few years. That will allow Jimbobio to secure his small portion of the market share.

His contact on Voss was still willing to take any Vormfruit Jimbobio could export to him after he got the farm up and running. An Imperial operation disrupting planting and harvesting had become an unfortunately understandable obstacle as of late. They had known each other for over a decade, and you don't get into the agricultural business without being willing to play the long game.

"Just make sure all the tightening of your belts doesn't stop you from enjoying what Rolling Greens have to offer. You'll only be an hour train ride away."

Jimbobio certainly won't be partaking in any restaurants or getting caught in any tourist traps, that's for sure. Still, he had heard about a hunting club that had their meetings in the city. He could regale them of the time he fended off a Kinrath all by himself.

"There is little chance of me becoming a hermit. Ugea is going to be my home from now on. It would be shame if I didn't act like it."

Leaving the building with land deed in hand was one of the proudest moments in Jimbobio's life. He hadn't felt this good since the first time his pa let him fly the family Jet-wing. That good mood only grew as he entered his family's room in the camp for the final time.

"Grab your bags everyone! Our new life awaits!"

——
Me: "Let's try to design a cheap homestead for a migrant family with nothing but the shirts on their back. That will be a fun project."

Me after falling down a deep rabbit hole on the various kinds of Star Wars furniture, materials, plants, animals, and farming equipment: "Why are a fourth of the crops, animals, and materials in this database exclusively for Endor?"

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Yacov]

Omake: The Guild Suppressor

Production Information

Manufacturer: Guild of Commerce, Production and Protection

Model: Guild Suppressor Landspeeder

Type: Heavily Armored Repulsorcraft

Cost: 38,000 Credits new

Technical Information

Max Speed: 175 km/h

Engine Unit: Repulsorlift

Hull: Layered Armored Hull

Armament:

• 4x MWC-35c repeating cannons. Each in one of the cardinal directions.

Other Systems:

• Expanded Communal R717 Refrigerant Tank (cooling and anti-looting system)

Crew:

• 1 Pilot
• 4 Gunners
• 1 Mechanic

Passengers: 1

Cargo Capacity: 20 tons

Consumables: 3 days


Introduction

"It's just a box with guns sticking out everywhere. What's next, Beam Tubes?" - Guild outpost commander upon receiving their new armored vehicle.

The Guild Suppressor was a result of necessity and legal loopholes. Its status as a (technically) civilian vehicle follows a trend for the quasi military status of the Guild's armed forces. Despite the drawbacks and concessions made in the vehicle's requirements, the Suppressor continues to be a viable option in the Guild's vehicle bay.

Initial Procurement

"What do you mean we are not allowed to have tanks!?"- Guild representative upon learning their request for Occupiers was denied.

As the Guild was entering its expansion phase throughout the Myto Sector, pirates and other hostile forces began to take notice of the new rising power in the sector. This led to an increase in raids against outlying Guild facilities in order to seize Guild assets and resources. These raids were conducted as hit and run operations with mainly infantry, speeders, and the occasional landspeeder.

Guild analysts looked over the reports on these attacks and concluded that the addition of armored vehicles to Guild outposts would decrease the success rate of these raids significantly. Unfortunately the Guild ran into issues with its overlords. The Imperial government had recently approved the creation of a Guild patrol fleet for their embattled trade lanes. Perhaps in reaction to this, the Empire was less than enthusiastic to allow what was still technically a civilian organization, even one under Imperial control, to start assembling a force of tanks independent of the Imperial military hierarchy so soon after the last concession.

As a result the Guild was stymied in its efforts to purchase large amounts of even outdated tanks or military vehicles of any kind. This did not impact wealthier Guild worlds as they could always rely on their substantial Imperial garrisons to protect their installations. However this left the less developed Guild worlds, the main recipients of the increased raids, to search for alternative sources of armored vehicles.

Seeking a design that could both defend their facilities and skirt Imperial regulations, the beleaguered minor worlds pooled their credits and approached the sector renowned Mindan R&D to design their vehicle. A mediocre research team unenthusiastically picked up the contract as a side project.

Design

"They can't ambush us if we have guns pointed in every direction!" - Mindan R&D designer on the weapon configuration of the Suppressor.

Given a set of requirements and motivated by a mediocre funding boost, the Mindan R&D team got to work. The team assigned saw the project as drudge work, and devoted just enough effort to fulfill the requirements of their procurement contract and little more. It was this lack of interest that was later accredited for the project's rapid development and lack of feature creep that sometimes resulted from the R&D department.

First was to determine what chassis this vehicle would use. The designers tried to avoid using any military models as a way to avoid Imperial scrutiny. Luckily, scrolling through the recently acquired Rothana Heavy Engineering vehicle database offered a workaround.

The RTT-04 Republic Troop Transport had been decommissioned and sold as military surplus following the conclusion of the Clone Wars. The disarmed vehicle was now cleared to be sold to civilian buyers primarily as a cargo hauler or industrial vehicle. The designers found the chassis perfect for their needs.

Next came the weaponry. The RTT-04's original weapons load out of laser cannons and missile launchers were stripped from the design due to being too militarized. The turret mounting and the onboard targeting computer were also removed to save costs and because it did not fit the design the team had in mind.

This vehicle was intended to face guerrilla assaults where it would likely face fire from multiple angles, directions, and altitudes. To combat this, the design's armament was to be four crew operated and aimed repeating blasters placed in each cardinal direction. The gun ports these blaster would be mounted on would be larger than normal to allow the blaster to fire at enemies who were crawling as well as hiding in trees or hilltops.

The specific blaster to use was the hottest topic of debate for the design team. The choice was eventually settled on the MWC-35c repeating cannon, which was still classified as a heavy repeating blaster despite the name. The biggest draws were the MWC's large ammo count as well as its more powerful single fire option which the designers hoped would be enough to damage enemy light vehicles.

To cool these four repeating blasters, the troop and cargo bays were gutted to make room for an Expanded Communal R717 Refrigerant Tank firmly installed in the center of the vehicle. Test crews remarked on how it made it a pain to maneuver around the cabin, but admitted putting it externally would just leave it an easy target for enemy heavy infantry to mission kill the vehicle.

One of the main drawbacks to the original RTT-04 is was it's relatively weak armor. The design called for this new vehicle to function as an assault vehicle, so the designers took the easy way out of just stacking more of the existing armor onto the chassis. The result was a drastic cut to the design's speed compared to its predecessor in exchange for being much more resistant against infantry weaponry and some of the lighter crew served weapons. Not enough to match the armor of a real tank, but certainly an improvement.

Role

"It's right on top of us! Our blasters aren't strong enough! Run!" - Record of first deployment of Suppressors against what was later identified as Rebel elements.

When submitted for review, the Guild's Imperial overlords were satisfied the Suppressors did not represent a potential threat to the Imperial military. Production was greenlit and the familiarity and simplicity made initial manufacturing a smooth process.

While never seeing the rate of production or the prestige of main battle line tanks, the Suppressor was well received where it was posted. The Suppressor could primarily be found in Guild outposts and facilities with significant distance from the nearest Imperial garrison. Their main role was to engage pirate, Rebel, and other hostile forces looking to seize Guild resources and stores.

One of the main tactics of the Suppressor was to drive straight into the enemy raiders before opening up in all four directions. This had the added benefit of suppressing the area around the Suppressor allowing for infantry forces the opportunity to take advantageous positions against the enemy.

Unfortunately the Suppressor's relatively weak armor made this tactic nonviable in the open warfare of the continuing Galactic Civil War. While the Suppressor's armor made it nearly invulnerable to handheld blasters and resistant to low yield grenades, it struggled to defend against anything with anti-tank capabilities.

Should a Suppressor get hit with a RPS-6 Rocket Launcher, a HH-15 Projectile Launcher, or Emperor forbid a PLX-1 it will find itself quickly immobilized at best under repeated fire. To say nothing if it faces a tank with a proper blaster cannon or missile rack. Penetrating hits also risk a refrigerant burst into the cabin which would lower the vehicle's rate of fire drastically to say nothing of what it will do to the crew.

Adaptations were introduced to mitigate this issue. Drivers were trained to lean their vehicles to offer maximum armor towards enemy fire. Gunners were drilled to "aim for the tubes" first. Even should a Suppressor be immobilized, the crew was trained to utilize their wreck as a small defensive bunker until reinforcements arrive.

One of the more famous adaptations was the (re)introduction of Link Armor as an upgrade option for crew protection. This old style of armor was relatively cheap compared to replacing injured crew and provided decent protection from both spalling and burns. The helmets given were coined as Splatter Masks by its users. Named so due to the saying "if you need more protection, your head is going to get splattered anyway."

Variants

"Do you have to take the whole Suppressor? You obviously just want the T-21s." - Guild Garrison Commander upon hearing his last Suppressor is being requisitioned by a local Imperial military officer.

The initial run of the Suppressors was able to meet the requirements set out for it. However, plenty of Imperial Governors, Guild administrators, and individual manufacturers sought to add their own spin on what they saw as a vehicle with too many cut corners to reach its full potential. Most variants only saw limited use, but two deserve a bit more attention.

T-21 Variant

The first thought many Guild security commanders had when considering the Suppressor was: if they wanted to make it stronger, why not copy the Empire? One easy way to do this was to swap out the MWC-35c for the more Imperial T-21 Light Repeating Blaster.

On paper this seemed like a smart decision. The T-21 was more readily available, it was cheaper, and it was much lighter. The massive Expanded Communal Tank would be removed and replaced with individual generators installed in easy to swap holders next to each blaster. This allowed for more space within the cabin and an ease of maintenance. Users of the T-21 variant argued that their choice of weaponry was far superior to the original.

The issue was that nearby Imperial military garrisons also agreed with this assessment. This would lead to incidents where whenever there was even rumors of supply problems, local Imperial military units would show up to Guild outposts to perform a Strategic Timely Emergency Appropriating Liquidation to requisition the T-21s from the variant Suppressor to increase their supply of heavy weapons.

This rate of "artificial attrition" became so high that interest in the T-21 variant never came close to that of the original Suppressor. The original suffered a much lower rate of S.T.E.A.L. incidents than its variant due to the the bulky Expanded Communal R717 Refrigerant Tank. This massive and pain to remove tank built into the original made it much harder to convert the MWCs into heavy infantry weapons due to Imperials having to source the individual refrigerant tanks themselves.

Tracked Variant

This variant of the Suppressor made the chase to swap the repulsorlift engine for a continuous track assembly. This was mainly done on less advanced worlds in order to reduce the technological requirements for producing and maintaining a Suppressor.

Unfortunately this ease of access came at the cost of increased ongoing costs. The more complex track system increased the heavy maintenance needed to keep the variant running when compared to the original. As a result most of worlds with the technology to do so chose to build the repulsor original over the tractor variant.

Conclusion

"Yes it is dumb and simple, but if it is dumb, simple, and gets the job done, then it is not a bad option." - Pilot of a Suppressor explaining the virtues of his assigned vehicle.

The Suppressor was never designed to be the hottest new thing. It was never meant to revolutionize warfare or rewrite military doctrine. The Suppressor had two jobs: be competent enough to do what it was built for, and be inefficient enough to be ignored by the Imperial military, and in this it got passing marks.

As the Galactic Civil War dragged on, more anti-tank weaponry began showing up in Rebel hands and weapons restrictions on the Guild were loosened further. The Suppressor was quietly shuffled further into the periphery to be forgotten by most. However, on those poor worlds where the enemies of the Guild could not afford a tank or even rockets, the Suppressor can still be seen guarding its territory against any destitute sap that thinks challenging the Guild is their ticket to next day's meal.

——
Welcome to the Outer Rim. Where you are only a single light year away from military tactics and equipment devolving a century or three. Got bit by the vehicle designing bug again. Often what gets produced by military industry isn't the perfected meta, it is what the politics, bureaucracy, current resources, and circumstances allow that is then rushed out to solve something that has already become a problem.

This beauty was inspired by the British WW1 Whippet. Great against infantry and light vehicles that can't fight back, not so great against other tanks or anything with anti-tank capabilities. The Splatter Masks were just a way to lean in on the WW1 aesthetic.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-72

Kyle Reegor
Edin System

Kyle's PDA blinked for several seconds as the diagnostic ran. After a little while, most systems came up green. The backup life support didn't reach this far.

Sighing, he sent the data to his supervisor, and moved onto the next set of tests.

The Lucrehulk he was in was massive. Utterly gigantic. It dwarfed even the mighty ISD. For all that the CIS cut corners for profit, the Lucrehulk was a marvel of engineering, and a statement of pure power.

It looked like shit though.

For the duration of its existence as a pirate base for the Crowns, the Lucrehulk had been more a symbol of their power than an actual threat.

Then, it was an academy for pilots in the militia. Now that the academy was being moved back to a facility on Minda, combined with the fact that the Belt Haven asteroid station is finished, the Lucrehulk is useless to both the Guild and the Empire.

At least, here on Edin.

Apparently, it was supposed to go to Minda and function as a trade hub there. Supposedly, the spaceports were being overwhelmed as trade grew, and it was cheaper to drag this behemoth of a ship over there than it was to upgrade the spaceports again.

As Kyle stepped into the next room, he immediately noted down a few problems. Flickering lights, loose paneling, and some exposed wiring. Not broken, thankfully, but not in the best of conditions either.

He checked his hazard suits integrity just in case.

Just last week, Ada had been checking out some of the old droid bays for defects and renovation when some exposed wiring broke and landed right on her. During a power surge.

She was alive, thankfully. The suits they wore were very good at handling such things. But it would take weeks before she was back up on her feet.

Kyle supposed that's why they had so much hazard pay. And medical. Dangers aside, it was a pretty sweet gig.

A few minutes later, he walked into the next room. An old lounge of some sort, likely for high ranking passengers and the like. Checking around, it was in the worst condition he had seen so far. Apparently, the pirates used it as a bar.

Stepping further in, a creak beneath his foot instantly activated his instincts. Jumping back, he watched as the rusted panel he had just stepped on cave in on itself, turning into a jagged mess of metal. It was a toss up on whether or not it would've cut through the suit, but he wasn' t feeling like testing it.

Under his breath, he cursed the previous inspectors. When the ship was refitted and repaired for use by the academy and Guild, they had focused only on those places used by said organizations. The rest had been given a cursory once over, with major problems fixed, but the rest was left alone.

Apparently, the Commodore wanted the flight academy finished pronto, and the Guild needed a way to start stabilizing the Edin economy after all the major gangs were eradicated. Kyle understood the reasoning. He just wished it didn't fall to him.

He'd much rather be down in the cargo bays operating the now common to see cargo LECA's. They all had to pass a basic safety and operations test with them, but he never got assigned to work for them.

Maybe because he thought the name LECA was stupid and would happily argue with his supervisor about it. It stands for Light Expeditionary Combat Armor, and the cargo variant had no armor, no weapons, and wasn't meant for expeditions! Just because Boss Freyu was a LECA fangirl doesn't mean the name isn't stupid!

Then, his PDA pinged. A message from his supervisor to the team.

Their hazard pay was being bumped up.

Suddenly, Kyle didn't feel so bad about his job.

-

The debt was shrinking at a glacial pace, and that worried me.

Normally, I wouldn't have cared all that much. After all, I'll be gone before it needs to be paid.

However, KDY has immense influence. A company so powerful, the debt is owed directly to them.

Not to a bank. To the company itself. Because they're just that powerful.

Combined with the favorable position they hold in the Empire, suffice to say that if I fail to prove that I can pay this debt in a timely manner, I'll find myself in a far worse position.

Now, that doesn't mean I have to pay the debt in full, no. I just have to be able to pay the monthly payments plus interest. Show that the debt will be paid in full eventually if the payments continue at that rate.

Meaning revenue has to rise. I need to make enough money a month to both pay the fees and keep things running. Not to mention any expansions to the many, many things involved with the Minda/Edin system, the Guild, and who knows what else.

Now, my best bet for making the money was selling ships, but that wasn't possible. Because of the backlog. That accursed backlog. The lack of workers is staggering, but with more housing being built, immigration will start to fill the gap sooner rather than later.

What I need is a solution now. Something with relatively low investment that will help tide things over.

Which is why I was speaking to Umber Tion. Governor of the Clok system. The connection over the terminal was shaky at the moment, owing to Clok's outdated comms systems.

Governor Tion was a fairly straight forward man, something I greatly appreciated about him. He was a native of Clok, his family having lived there since before the clone wars.

His first goal was to keep Clok ticking. Keep its people alive and happy. His second goal was to make a name for his home system, which had long stagnated as nothing but a traffic stop.

"Hello, Governor Mola. How nice to see you. My secretary told me this call is about a business opportunity?"

His voice was deep, and didn't match up with his suburban-dad look at all. Still, I kept my composure.

"Correct, Governor Tion. As trade has become more and more important in the sector, and as more and more of it flows through Clok, I saw fit to call you for the purpose of establishing a small joint venture of sorts. A market analysis team to pair with a new Guild venture."

Tions eyebrow raised, but it was clear he wished for me to continue.

"See, the Guild has been looking to do many things. One is to more effectively streamline its main purpose, which is connecting various companies, contractors, merchants and producers together. As it stands, the Guild deals solely in physical goods and contracts. There is no official way to deal in more complex financial products."

"As in…?" I could tell Umber knew what I was talking about. Still, he wanted me to sell him on it. Fair enough.

"Futures trading. Investment opportunities. Insurance policies. The kinds of things the Guild doesn't deal in, but could. However, as it stands, the other members aren't sold on this sort of thing. At least not enough for every member to consider building their own. So, I come to you."

"A test bed of sorts, yes? Clok is to be an experiment?"

"No. A foundation. We both know how much money stock markets make. Myto lacks such things, even with the Guild's newfound stability. As the first, Clok's exchange would be the largest by far."

He hummed, eyes closed in thought.

"...And this team?"

The very fact he was asking meant he had at least one foot on board. Good.

"A market analysis team. One that will use the exchanges data to tap into patterns, identify shortages, and do a bevy of other things. For example, is it possible to determine a pirate gang's territory by analyzing the ships lost? That makes it easier to track them down, as many pirates strong enough to challenge the Guild have a base of operations."

It's here when I look him in the eyes. Eye contact was important in a conversation, but holding his gaze now put emphasis on what I was saying.

"Of course, this information would be available to the many merchants and companies that frequent the exchange. For a subscription fee, of course. A portion of the profit goes to the Guild, for the use of its data. The remainder is split between us, of course."

There. I could see it. He wanted this. It was an opportunity to put Clok on the map. He just needed one more push.

"Now, to ensure this whole operation goes smoothly, communications would need to be improved. Last I heard, your comms station was quite old, yes? Minda is more than willing to cover the cost of a new one."

"...Even if I disagree with you…Exchange?" His voice was low, his gaze sharp.

"No. Exchange or not, better comms means better flow. The more easily available information is, the better for everyone."

And it was. Regardless of if the Exchange goes through or not, increased comms for Clok would be a net positive. A solid 30% of all Minda-bound traffic flows through Clok, so the better off the system, the better of Minda.

His eyes widen a little, before he settles down.

"Well then, Governor Mola. Lets get down to business."

-

Hi there. Summer semester finals are over. Well, final, singular. One Bio-Anthro class. The kind of class where the prof gives only a midterm, a final, and one piece of extra credit and absolutely no other points.

Great class tho, loved it.

Anyways, I'm back. On vacation for the next 3 days or so, but I'll still upload and all. Gotta do something on the 7 hour car drive.

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Building a Castle

POV: Vio, Andrennian Catina owner,
Vio's Cantina and Roughhouse, Edin system, Highreach, Edinspire, 1ABY

Vio wiped the counter and a glass clean while he surveyed his castle. This Cantina was supposed to be a short term thing. A way to launder his Black Market savings into cleaner assets to make ends meet. Just because you were getting out of the game doesn't mean all the money you made before was spotless.

However as time went on, Vio found himself growing more and more comfortable with his position as a Cantina owner. Sure the goods and services he was moving may no longer be illegal, but there was a certain thrill that could be found in running a smooth operation. Watching what you built earn a profit and know that you made it happen.

"For the last time Quamall, I ain't serving you reactor coolant. I don't care if you want to see if you can regenerate through ingesting it."

Unfortunately there was always troublesome people to deal with no matter your profession. People who would take one look at the status quo and try something off the table just to see what happens. Case in point, this pain loving Abyssin at his counter.

"C'mon Vio. This current bodyguard job is as slow as a Hutt being driven to attend a charity event. No one has shot me in days. I need to check if I am losing my eeeedge."

That must be devastating for poor Quamall. He was the best bodyguard in the district and always took on the most naive offworld merchants under his eye. What few of his clients realized was that his "benevolence" was just an excuse so he could jump in front of blaster fire for his own amusement.

"Look, I can't source you the reactor coolant. However, in recognition of you always recommending my Cantina for your clients' meeting location, I can arrange something. I will have a talk with Mwork about upping your opponent's voltage for this week's Shockboxing match in the Roughhouse."

The Cantina's Aqualish bouncer/referee hates it when Vio interferes with his shockbox matches. Treats the whole thing like some Sacred Shaak. However if a boxer wants to make a match harder on himself on purpose, that could probably be swung. Far be it from Mwork to stop fighters from "challenging themselves". Speaking of his employees…

"Oi Nil! Quit making goggly eyes at those Droid Balls and keep making the rounds! The Bounce room in the Roughhouse needs cleaning!"

It wouldn't do if one of the main attractions of Vio's Cantina got a bad reputation for cleanliness. When he bought this place the Roughhouse in the basement had all the markings of a training ground for one of Edin's ex-gangs. Damaged, but still sturdy targets, sound proofed walls, the lingering smell of used explosives, burn marks everywhere, the works. Probably why he had been able to acquire the property for so cheap.

These days Vio had the Roughhouse converted to house all sorts of physical activities and games. A way to allow the more physical minded citizens in Edinspire to stretch their muscles in an increasingly crowded city. From playing with blasters in the Bounce room, to launching Rocket Darts, or getting their blood up at the weekly Shockboxing night.

"Boss you know Ballzabub has been having trouble merging since last week. I have to watch how my babies are doooing."

Vio was regretting ever introducing Nil to Droid Ball Fighting. The game had soaked up all the Rodian'sattention span. She was a hawk at picking out cheaters and thieves when she could focus, but her eyes were always drifting to the Droid Ball table. If she could spend all day managing matches, she would.

At least it kept her from going back to pickpocketing. Vio had a good thing going here, and no criminal activity in his Cantina was going to ruin it. No one would find even an unsanctioned Sabaac game in his home. He had to report a smuggler last week trying to peddle Death Sticks. It made him feel dirty how clean he'd gone.

"Vio you cantankerous old monkey. Let the little sow enjoy her youth while she has it."

Vio suppressed a wince as the elde-mature Gamorrean Matron entered his establishment. One of the few contacts from his old line of work that stuck around. Miss Gam and her meat processing company had been a fixture of the Edinspire cityscape for over three decades. Which often made her impossible to avoid when you worked in the service industry.

"Miss Gam! How lovely to gaze upon your visage again. Here to organize another shipment of Potwa Beer for one of your parties?"

Potwa Beer was always the way to keep Miss Gam on her sweet side. A method Vio had only expanded when he and her started up their current business arrangement. Luckily he was able to help the brewers he knew offworld get their flimsiwork in order to continue to move their product under the new Guild regulations.

"Oh Vio, you know just what I like. Unfortunately I am just here to visit an old friend and brood. So just some Muja Fruit juice for me. Wouldn't want to get too rowdy this early in the afternoon, would we?"

Better for Vio's sanity if Miss Gam didn't get rowdy in his presence ever. For all Miss Gam dressed like she belonged at an opera, she was still a Gamorrean at the end of the day. One that Edin's previous gangs stayed well away from, and with good reason.

"It's my sons you see. They are not applying themselves enough. I keep encouraging them to join the Guild so they can earn some mortts, but it is like talking to a butchered corpse. Not much for conversation and only fit for getting shoved into the grinder."

The underworld still tells tales of when a Houk gangster came to her company to try and extort her for credits. Miss Gam introduced him to her Cleaver, and his henchmen got to experience the grim fate of being beaten to death by the two halves of their still very much alive and screaming employer.

Later that month Miss Gam complained to Vio that it took a few more swings for her than it usually does when she beats someone to death with body parts. Vio had assured her with all the seriousness of a man on death row that the gangster was just soft and fat and it had nothing to do with her end of things.

"Speaking of butchery. Did I ever tell you how glad I am that I can be blessed with your product? Those slices of Shaak really bring the Cantina Special together."

He was only laying it on a little thick. Miss Gam ran a tight ship when it came to quality control. The Cantina Special of Grilled Shaak Cheese on Buckwheat with Forrolow Berry Jam and sliced Shaak meat was a hit among his customers. Some of them were even asking him for the recipe.

"Vio, you know you don't have to sweet talk me. My little Funny Monkey will always have a place in my life. Save that for weaseling those poor Guilders out of their loot. Don't think I don't see the scoundrel you used to be when you see those fresh faces walk in."

Bashfulness was the last thing Vio expected to feel from this conversation. He wasn't even doing it for the money at this point. He wasn't just trying to keep his skills sharp. Not his fault for being unable to resist someone laying an iced honey cake right in front of him.

"Just trying to impart my wisdom to the next generation Miss Gam."

It wasn't even anything dangerous or illegal like blaster or grenades. These Guilders would walk in complaining about being unable to offload a few containers of Tibanna Gas or a crate of plasteel. Like they had never met a fence or a flexible wholesaler in their entire lives.

So Vio earned some money on the side acting as a middleman once again. In little quantities here and there with word of mouth transactions. Not enough to attract the attention of the Guild or anything.

"On the topic of wisdom. Quamall, my dear. Would you be willing to give a mentorship program for my sons at the Guild?"

Quamall narrowed his eye at the Matron. Looking like he was just offered a rotten nerf steak. To be fair, he kind of was.

"No way Miss Gam. Even I know how much your kids spend on their PADs instead of swinging their axes. My reputation would be down the drain in a month. I'm not crazy."

As his patrons descended into playful bickering, Vio thought on his life. What had happened to this planet where a criminal like him could earn a semi-honest living?

——
A look at how the former criminal element could be adapting to a more lawful environment on Highreach. Everyone still has hints of The Bad Old Days, but they are moving on with their lives.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-73

Alvi Mola
Minda system, Ugea, Accordia
1 Month before 1ABY

Alvi walked with perfect posture down the streets of Accordia as it bustled about her. Her dress uniform was immaculate, her steps measured.

It was annoying, that much was certain. However, she had a good reason for it.

As she rounded the corner, she laid her eyes on the building ahead. It was Nabooan in style, with pillars and a large dome on the top. Its second floor held ringed balconies, plant life overflowing from the planters.

It was so unlike Edinspire, which was filled with the constant noise of construction and the generic skyscrapers and buildings. Accordia was a cultural melting pot of sorts for the sector, and with Las allowing for buildings to be built as they pleased, within the law, a million different architectural styles popped up.

From the classic Imperial brutalist structures to Lothal-like spires and some buildings that reminded her of the images of Coruscant she had seen, all golden curves.

A few Alderaanian-style buildings could be seen in the distance, white synth-stone gleaming in the afternoon sun. Internally, Alvi winced.

An entire planet. Gone. She'd heard those remaining Alderaanians had scattered, with some finding a home on Minda. The towers themselves were all connected with walkways, as the entire complex was stuffed to the brim with corporate offices and various restaurants catering to said offices. The Four Sages, the complex was called as it sat in the dead center of the financial district, surrounded by other buildings and offices.

Shaking her head free of her thoughts, she turned back towards the Nabooan building where she entered. Swiftly, she gave her name to the host, who had a waiter escort her to one of the second floor balconies.

There, she saw the reason why she dressed up. Sitting in a chair, eyes gazing out over the street, was Shal.

Her sister.

Alvi quietly sat down across from her, afraid to make the first move.

That's not to say she was afraid of Shal, no. Shal was a protective figure in her life, saving her from the worst of Mothers wrath more than a few times.

No, it was the other person sitting at the table that was the source of her fear.

"Oh, Alvi, darling! It's so wonderful to see you again~. How long has it been again? At least a few years, yes?"

The man who sat at the table seemed to draw the eye naturally. He wore stylish Coruscant styled robes, colored teal green on Imperial grey adorned with a tasteful selection of jewels lining the front edges. A well maintained, curled handlebar mustache of brown hair added a mature flair to an otherwise young face and stylish, long hair.

"It's been three years." Stated Shal simply, eyes still focused on the cityscape.

"Ah, yes, of course." The man easily agreed, his voice smooth like silk. He lifted his cup to his lips, taking a slight sip. "Quite nice, this tea is. The recipe must be authentically Nabooan, just like when I visited myself."

Surprisingly sharp and intelligent eyes turned back to her, the man's face youthful looking considering his true age.

"It's so nice to see you again darling. How have things been? I heard you were reassigned here after that horrible incident with the Grand Admiral. Are you still the main test pilot for that project of his?"

Alvi kept her composure, back straight, muscles taut as she answered. She tried not to dwell on how he knew about the Defender project.

"I've been f-fine, sir." She stuttered out, internally berating herself for the mishap. His eyes seemed to bore into her, and she resisted the urge to look away.

"You have your mothers eyes, you know." He stated simply, though an undercurrent of emotion seemed to flit across his voice, hiding as quickly as it emerged.

Before she could respond, Shal cut in, clearly annoyed.

"Enough. You called us here, so get it over with already."

He gave a light chuckle. "Oh relax. I'm not here to interfere, just to visit. Is it so odd for me to take an interest in your lives? Especially with all the upheaval recently."

The man gave a theatrical shudder. "That Alderaan business was truly horrible, wasn't it?"

Shal's eyes narrowed dangerously. The few times a month Alvi got to see her had shown her that she very clearly disliked mention of the incident. Alvi herself never pushed the topic out of fear that it would damage their growing relationship.

"Regardless, you both love me anyways." He said with an exaggerated tone.

"If love meant tolerance in your head, then yes." Came Shal's dry reply.

He let out a gaudy chuckle, hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. Whatever gel he used probably cost more than her monthly salary.

Then he stops for a moment, eyes gazing out over the city.

"Your brother's done quite a bit, hasn't he? In just three years, no less."

Alvi stiffened even more, Shal doing the same out of the corner of her eye. Las was a delicate subject among them, for lack of a better word.

Their brother wasn't really their brother anymore. Despite the connection not being the best, there had always been that implicit feeling of family. That no matter what, they shared the same blood.

That feeling was gone now.

"Oh? Has little Las changed that much?"

Alvi snapped back to her senses to see him leaning forward on the table, head propped up on his elbows, porcelain teacup forgotten.

An inquisitive gaze raked over the two of them. "I'd heard he suddenly became a really hard worker. Hard not to notice, what with all this improvement going on."

Shal's gaze narrowed even more, to the point that Alvi wondered if she just wanted to close her eyes.

He noticed, of course. One doesn't make it as a high society info-broker without noticing the little details.

"Shal, dear, jealousy is unbecoming of you! How will you ever find a partner and settle down with such an attitude? Gosh, I swear, your mother has rubbed off too much on you all." He said with a theatrical shake of his head, as if he was performing for an audience they couldn't see.

"...Maybe she wouldn't have rubbed off on us if you'd been around, father." Shal ground out, patience clearly running thin.

For a length of time so small Alvi was surprised she could perceive it, her father, Dornun Mola, looked the tiniest bit guilty. The look then vanished faster than a class 1 hyperdrive and he was back to neutral.

Overhead, the low rumble of a transport passed by, moving towards the spaceport. Imperial symbology plastered on the side. He looked up into the sky, tracking its movements.

"Ah. That must be the shipyard workers getting off their shift. Did you know that little Las is bringing in droids to supplement the workforce? It's a very heated topic amongst the workers, I hear. One can only hope it pans out, considering all the debt he's in."

After that, the conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable rhythm. Father did most of the talking, dropping tidbits of information here and there, sly jokes and charming facades controlling the flow the entire way through.

Eventually, Shal got tired of the whole thing and left, an uncharacteristic look of anger on her face. Alvi made an excuse shortly after, not wanting to be alone with him.

As she left, she swore she could see his face morph into something a little sadder.

-

Selun
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia

As Selun's Action VI dropped out of hyperspace around Ugea, the first thing he noticed was the shipyard.

A gleaming ring of berths, lit up with more lights than he could count. Ships swarmed the structure, many making their way to and from the surface.

Upon getting in range, the comms lit up, and he responded to Custom's hail.

As a certified Guild trader, he was afforded lower fees and a quicker process through Customs. Soon, he was landing in one of the shipyards many, many hangars.

He watched as rack after rack of droids were removed and loaded onto the yard's internal cargo trains. Selun had heard the Minda yard had a worker shortage, but droids?

It was like a strike waiting to happen. Regardless, Selun asked the official in charge of overseeing the shipment. After all, this was Minda. People were more open around here.

"Oh, the droids? They're not replacements, not really. The thing is, the yards aren't nearly up to full capacity, so the droids are here to supplement the rest of us. At least, that's what the Governor says."

"And what do you say?" He asked, curiosity growing.

The customs official gave him an odd look before shrugging.

"I say that it's too early to tell. Maybe people will be fine. Maybe we'll see the first organized strike since the Governor's first day in office. Regardless, the yard is missing workers, the factories are starting to sell overflow, and the workers are worried."

Selun nodded, finished up the shipment, and headed back to his ship.

A few weeks later, Selun landed back on Sullust, and did as he always did, and as every other spacer did when they landed back home.

He headed straight to his favorite bar. It was crowded, as usual. It was a cut below what a captain like him might visit, considering the kind of scratch he made now. Still, it was the bar he had frequented since his first job offworld.

It was chock full of the kinds of people you'd expect, really. Factory workers. Metallurgists. The people who worked the Empire's mines and factories.

As always, he got drunk with some friends, and started talking. About life, about love, about loss.

About Minda.

"...and the sector has this thing called the Guild! It's great I tell ya. Lower fees, streamlined contracts, safer lanes! And Minda, oh Minda! They treat them well over there. One of the few ports where I'm not charged extra for not being human. They even give their workers benefits. Benefits! Honestly, if not for the booze here I'd live there I tell ya!."

In his drunken haze, he failed to notice that the bar had gotten quieter, with more patrons looking in his direction than not.

A few days later, an engineer's Warren-clan booked passage to Minda.

The first of many.

-

Yo. Not happy with the latter part of this. Still feel like I gotta put out something today.

Should I? No. Will I? Yes. I am flying by the seat of my oversized clown pants after all.

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: The Guild Walker Division

POV: Texa Rang
RIII: Guardian, member of the RIII: Syndicate The Order of the Brass Riders
Certifications: Walker IV, Rescuer II
Minda-2

Texa gave one last check over of her freshly installed rotary laser cannon before hopping back into the seat of her Gladiator Walker. Hopefully it will stop her from getting swarmed again like last mission. Adjusting the plasteel slab of a shield on her left mount before speaking into her commlink.

"This is Ranger, Walker is fully online and ready. Sound off before we begin the job."

Ever since Minda-2 was opened fully for business, the Brass Riders have been flooded with work. The dense jungles made navigating with tracked and even repulsor vehicles a difficult challenge. Especially when it came to engaging attackers that struck from the trees off of what passed for roads on this backwater.

Still, corporations and private individuals needed to move convoys between facilities and cities, which often meant land travel. Since a lot of people couldn't wait to trail behind a military patrol, this made small and agile walker squads like hers invaluable as escorts.

"Cheapskate, you finished resetting your "pile bunker"and clearing out all the ration bar wrappers off your pillow?"

Sure a civilian walker like Cheapskate's Rufescent-class cargo hauler might not hold a candle to a proper military LECA. However, when all you're facing is angry wildlife and the occasional low tech bandit, one doesn't need that much in terms of weapon and armor to do a convoy run. Even his excavator arm was more than enough to deal with most of Minda-2's wildlife.

Even without access to military grade tech, the Minda system was quickly become a haven for independent walker pilots. The parts Texa got access to as a civilian here still allowed her Gladiator to run smoother than at any point during her career in the arena.

"Ha ha. Just you wait. I'll pay off these loans in no time and then I'll be tuning up my Rufescent into a monster that will make an AT-ST look like a drunk featherless bird. For now my walker is as good as it is going to get."

Cheapskate might just pull that off given he'd managed to convert a large industrial piston into a melee weapon without tearing his walker apart when using it. The Sullustan had taken a cheap star port hauler and made it able to tank and dish out more damage than Texa thought was possible. The tune up he gave her Gladiator certainly showed he learned something from Engineering School.

Speaking of damage…

"Yo Corporate. Your Espo up and running on your end, or do you need more time for your hair and skin routine?

Texa could see the Heptooinian flinch behind his Espo Walker 91's canopy. Corporate's 91 might be considered outdated since the 101 came out, but it could still do some good work. Texa couldn't count the times Corporate's stun cannon and grenades have fended off the more aggressive megafauna.

"Mock me all you want you brute. A proper walker pilot must look good for the trembling peons when strutting about. Maybe all that time you spent in the pits knocked that common sense out of you Ranger. Also yes, my mount is in peak form."

Corporate might be an insufferable fop, but his piloting was top notch. He never talked about where he was trained or how he got his Espo 91, but the Guild cleared him and said he had no criminal record. Texa could deal with him off the job because he was a consummate professional while on the clock.

"Right looks like the client has finished loading up their convoy. Route's been patrolled less than a week ago. This turns out to be a Lum Run and the drinks are on me!"

Not that the drinks were ever not on her. Her two squad mates were always credit pinchers when it came time to unwind. What's the point in coming out of the latest brush with death if you can't pour away your winnings to blow some steam off afterwards?

That's why she left the arena despite being a Rattataki. Things were getting to stale and regimented with the fights. They even started forbidding pilots from disengaging their emergency shut down feature, took the chance of crashing and exploding right out of the fight. They had even were talking about switching over to droid only fights, the cowards. Bloodshed is what the crowd came to see, not oil spills.

"Don't worry guys, there is absolutely no chance of things going wrong."

Texa ignored the groans of her team from that declaration. Now what dangerous gribbly are they going to run into this time? Oh she hopes it is the big one with the serrated claws Corporate scared off last month. Maybe they'll even bring friends.

——
Yeah so it turns out Civilian Combat Walkers are a thing in Star Wars and Minda-2 opening up gives them the perfect chance to show their stuff. I have little doubt they would become very popular among certain parts of the Guild. The ones who want LECAs, but settle for the equivalent of LECAs at home.

This would encouraged by the LECA's prominence in the Mindan military, especially on Minda-2, and a good base of adjacent knowledge on walkers among Mindan engineers due to Las' research into the combat armors early on. A robust "civilian" market would also train up the engineering sector for further military projects and production.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-74

Abraxas Thorne
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia

Six months, 12 days, 5 hours, 22 minutes, 43 seconds and counting.

That's how long Abraxas Thorne had been in Minda.

Much of that time had been spent walking the streets in disguise. He found that getting into the lower levels of a city told one just as much, if not more, that what they could gleam from up above.

It was in this way that he discovered the city's quiet efficiency.

Many streets were on the narrower side, meant more for foot traffic than speeders and cargo. Sky bridges and lengthy monorails removed some congestion, but it should've still been a problem.

If not for the tunnels. Beneath the city sat a series of tunnels meant to ferry cargo back and forth. Distribution centers across the city paid a fee to the government to use these tunnels themselves, with the system complete with checkpoints, guards, tolls and more.

This kept the streets flowing, things moving. An efficiency Thorne could appreciate.

It was a thing that he seemed to find all over Minda. Not just the streets, but the government itself followed this trend. The meritocracy encouraged proper skill, and avoided promoting people beyond their area of expertise. With a growing population of people shunned elsewhere in the Empire for factors outside their control, members of the bureaucracy were motivated to do well and prove themselves.

This was especially reflected in the local PDF and security forces. They accepted members from any species, required strict training facilitated by clone veterans, and even necessitated yearly re-tests to ensure all are up to code.

Police were incentivized away from bribes with a living wage and generous pension. Promotions were given based not off of arrest numbers, but community trust scores, peer reviews, and more.

Police uniforms were also more complex, sporting brighter colors, and more complex designs to denote rank. Certain embellishments denoting achievements occasionally showing up. Even the names of the ranks were embellished, with street level officers called Watchmen, their superiors called Lancers, then Sentinels, and so on.

Initially, Thorne had been annoyed by this. It was pointless, took time and resources, especially for the ceremonies that marked the promotions. Ranks were seen as a literal badge of honor, along with the prestige that came with it.

Now, he understood. Rank was tied to metrics involved in the community and the upholding of justice. The prestige that comes with those ranks incentivizes behavior befitting said rank. By framing the position not as a job but a position of honor that would elevate the holder. Then, tying said honor and prestige to the core values of the job.

For all intents and purposes, the Governor has created a culture within his forces that fights corruption without the need for investigators. Not that there weren't investigators, but they seemed to be rarely needed.

It was incredibly effective, a marvel if Thorne was being honest.

However, there were times where even efficiency could not stop the souring of his mood.

As of late, he had been catching glimpses of something. Someone. It was small, but there.

A shipping manifest that listed just one more crate than it actually had.

Workers' manifests that said 15 people worked the job, yet only 13 were paid.

There was more, and they all seemed inconsequential. Clerical errors, typos, the kind of thing that happened in any organization of any size.

Yet, there was one thing that kept him looking. The tip.

The one that led to the Scarred Hand being found and destroyed. He'd followed the lead, but it got lost in the crowds, the people, the endless cacophony of the city itself.

It irked him. Especially since the numbers failed to add up. That last failed attack of the Hand, those terrorists had not been among those captured and killed in the final confrontation. A number of droids had been missing as well.

He had kept on high alert for months, but no signs. It led him to a new conclusion.

Someone took care of them, and then leaked the info to Grant somehow. He didn't suspect Grant directly, no. He'd done his investigation into her and her soldiers already, and she was as clean as someone that bloodthirsty can be.

No, it was someone else.

So here he was, sniffing at the cracks in the pavement. As he read over reports from his own agents in the field, each another tiny puzzle piece, he thought to the beginnings of a report that sat abandoned in his desk. One he meant to send to the ISB.

He had stopped himself. The greater ISB was not friendly to him. His effectiveness had undermined more politically connected agents, and he knew whatever reports of value he sent upwards would be scrubbed of his influence and attributed to another.

So no, he would not be reporting these suspicions. Not yet, and certainly not to the ISB. Even the Governor would be a better choice.

He stopped for a second, considering the thought, before he filed it away and refocusing on the reports before him.

Someone was playing games that they did not fully comprehend, and Thorne would be there to catch them.

-

Today, for the first time in a long time, I was walking the streets of Accordia. It wasn't to be a long trip, partially for security reasons and partially because I had far too much work to do.

Also because I spend far too much time sitting down, and my legs are becoming weak. I used to train with Commander Grant, but our schedules are too busy now, even for a different instructor.

Regardless, I made my way down the streets of the bustling Kailin district. A hood and ventilation mask covered my face, disguising me. It was a common enough fashion trend, having been brought over from Augir.

Apparently, the filter/gas mask culture over there became fashionable? I wouldn't pretend to understand it, but it helped me hide myself well enough. I also kinda liked the new patterns and designs people came up with. They weren't practical, but a filter mask that looks like it's made of a bunch of swords is pretty sweet. Kinda like that throne from that one show, but less ugly.

My security trailed me, hiding within the crowd well enough that if I hadn't memorized their faces (in case one gets replaced by an assassin) I wouldn't be able to see them at all.

They hadn't been happy about the whole thing (save for Myr'thos, who seemed bored if anything), but I had insisted I go out myself. Mostly because I have only ever walked the streets of Accordia a grand total of 3 times. The first time was when I told that mob off. The second when I opened the museum. And the third when I opened the expanded spaceport.

Even then, I barely got to explore the city proper, which was a real waste. I'd never realized how nice the whole place was. Not in the clean city mall way, but in the Los Angeles Grand Central Market kind of way. Where you're immersed in a cacophony of noises and smells and people and it's somehow great.

I stop at a side stall selling some sort of kebab. The vendor is an alien I don't recognize, and they speak in a language of clicks, their mandibles moving far too quickly to see. Still, hand symbols are easy enough, so I point at the food and show two fingers.

They reply with 5 twice, and I take out ten credits in Imperial coins. And isn't that a new thing? Physical currency. All my money goes straight into an account, so getting my hands on coins was a pain in the ass.

I like the jingle though, so I can't complain. A little port in my mask lets me eat as I walk, my other kebab waved over my shoulder.

From within my oversized backpack Mugwuffin's claw whips out before retreating into the darkness with her prize like a rat.

Indignation!

I ignore her whining, knowing full well she means none of it. After all, I just fed her, which bought me maybe 10 or so minutes of peace.

With that time, I reach my actual destination.

A little automated beep chimes as the door slides open. Stepping inside, I am greeted by shelves upon shelves of…servers.

A part of me was hoping for books, to be honest. Even if it would've made looking for things a pain, books are pretty neat.

Unfortunately, there weren't many places that dealt in physical media, much less books as I knew them.

Instead of a romp through a bookstore, I spent all of 20 minutes waiting for my stuff to download while browsing a catalog of other things.

In total, I spent 120 credits on 3 textbooks, 2 history books and a few financial dissertations. Alongside a few novellas, if I ever got the time to read them.

It was honestly a mood killer of sorts. I had hoped, on some deep level, for some kind of connection to Earth. Not a way to go back, I doubt such a thing exists, but something similar. Something that could remind me of home. Like a bookstore.

Instead, it was as if Kindle had a physical storefront.

Still, I'd gotten what I needed. Study material. Even now, I took what time I could to study the textbooks and watch what lectures I could find. Reading through an analysis of some systems' economic collapse is boring as all hell, but useful in what it teaches me.

For example, as industry here on Minda grew and grew, merchants came asking for subsidies on imported food, arguing that Minda could grow more by focusing on industry and importing from agriworlds. The thing is, my studies taught me that over-dependence is deadly. If those worlds experience problems, or pirates prey on the lanes, prices skyrocket and suddenly people are starving.

Others pushed for Minda to specifically focus on mining, to fully commit to a specialization. Of course, if the markets for the ore we export fluctuate too much, the economy starts crashing.

Suffice to say, as much as I loathe studying, it's saved my ass more than once.

Eventually, I make the march back to the train station, where I rest my feet and watch the city skyline pass me by.

A part of me was proud of what I had helped build here. But it was a distant feeling, like the kind you get in a 4x game.

It didn't truly distract from the pit in my chest, that ever present fear that gnawed away at me. I hated thinking about it, denial was one of my primary coping mechanisms after all.

But every day I was forced to confront the reality I had woken up in, and the very real potential of death. Be it from the rebels, any number of Imperial threats, or even the ever present potential threat of my own citizens rebelling against me if things ever got bad enough.

If nothing else, I could try to distract myself in small ways. Like how I was using public transportation.

LA had a pretty sparse Metro line, so cars were always the go to. And once I got here, a personal shuttle was the way to go. But riding a public monorail was fun, like being a tourist.

For some reason, that thought tasted sour. A tourist in my own capital. Even if I didn't plan to stick around, I had something approaching a responsibility to these people. I might as well get to know the city a little better.

This is definitely not an excuse to dodge work!

This and other thoughts occupied my brain until I was back in my office, walking out of the elevator and into my office's lobby.

Myr'thos was already there by the receptionist's desk, having moved far ahead of me. They only needed to be within a mile or so anyways, so I'm not surprised they got here way ahead.

"The dark and brooding colors look good on you, yes, but your insistence on spikes hurts the outfit as a whole! They aren't needed, they look bad, and they overshadow the Governor's own outfit, which is counterproductive!"

And there was Gary. Well, Garp, apparently that's what the office calls him. Better than Gary I suppose, One Piece reference or not.

"The spikes add elegance, poise, power! They would be a statement of my strength, and the people would cower before the mighty prongs of fear that would erupt from my pauldrons and scrape the skies! If the Governor cannot overcome that, he does not deserve to."

"Look, the spikes are not negotiable. Especially at that size! How will you fit through doors? It'll look ridiculous. The pauldrons, on the other hand, aren't half bad. Have you considered some vambraces to go along with them? To really complete the armored look?"
I ignored their banter as I moved towards my office. Surprisingly, the two got along pretty well, always critiquing fashion and building outfits together. A Sith and a Muun, who would've thought.

I pause for a second. Didn't that already…

Shaking my head, I keep moving. Not worth my brain energy.

As I pass by Garps desk, he stops me for a moment.

"Sir, a message came through today about a visitor. They've insisted on seeing you soon."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do they not know my schedule's packed all week? I have Rendili tomorrow for their cruiser design, then a Guild meeting, then a meeting with that new Union rep from the station. Not to mention the interviews, the police academy graduation, and an arbitration to attend. I don't really have time."

He nodded. "I told them, sir. However, they insisted I give you their contact information, and assured me you'd want to speak to them. The information is on your terminal."

I nodded as I moved into my office, whilst the two got to bickering about Stormtrooper armor design.

Setting my bag down and letting Mugwuffin out, I plopped into my chair and booted up my terminal. In the meanwhile, Mugwuffin gets up on her oversized cat tower, playing with a ball of some kind.

Examining recent messages, I fill out a few forms, send my stamp of approval and generally do my duties as Governor for a little while until I get down to the info Garp sent me. Before I can do so, I deftly dodge Mugwuffins rubber ball as she bats it in my direction.

Giving her a glare with no heat, I open the file as the ball bounces around the room.

It's some basic contact info attributed to a line in some hotel in the city.

I looked at the name.

Dornun Mola

I look into the ceiling, doing my best to will the Force to watch me.

"Fuck off."

No response. Of course.

"What a cunt. Omnipotent head ass can't even say sorry?" I snark, leaning as far back into my chair as possible, hoping it'll somehow absorb my problems.

The rubber ball smacks me right in the forehead, sending me falling backwards and out of my chair.

The ball comes to a stop on my chest. One half is white, the other black.

I look up at the ceiling again.

"Very funny."

-

Thorne on that glazing arc, fr fr.

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Meanwhile, at the Rebellion

Commander Flotz, Rebel Forward Operating Base, Battle of Ord Tiddell, 1ABY

"Status Report Commander!"

Commander Foltz rubbed the bridge of his nose as another report chimed on his comlink. What he wouldn't give to be back in the air with a blaster in his hands. Regardless of the promotion Command had given him.

"What have you got for me, Sergeant Potts?"

But noooo. Sane commanders had to hide in the command post away from the frontlines. The Jedi back in the War were able to prance around the battlefield all they like. Unfortunately Foltz didn't have whatever space magic they used to get away with doing that and still being able to coordinate an entire offensive operation.

So here he was, stuck in a requisitioned cantina pushing figures on a modified Dejarik board and giving orders that might not even reflect the situation on the ground by the time they were received. Foltz had spread out his forces both to maximize their individual abilities and to limit the damage from their lack of coordination by minimizing the chance of any friendly fire incidents in the chaos of battle. Not like they had any standardized uniform or codewords.

"The Gigoran Fighters are refusing to advance per your orders. They claim their contracts don't include charging straight into Imperial lines and say we need to increase their pay before they'll move."

Frak it all. He warned Alliance High Command this offensive was too rushed. Not enough time was taken to integrate the various Rebel cells into a single command structure. Taking this logistics hub was going to be hard enough without his troops from this cobbled together invasion force gainsaying every order he issues.

A decentralized command was fine for guerrilla tactics, but a sustained military effort needed a proper hierarchy. A few more months would have allowed them to iron out the kinks and build up the stockpiles necessary to sustain an offensive. However Command wanted the victory on Yavin to immediately translate into some tangible gains that they could use to further rally the galaxy to their cause.

"Tell them they'll get double rations for two weeks if they seize that position. Should they suddenly act like they can't understand Basic, tell them to take it up with the Imperial Army formation heading their way."

Their larders should be able to handle how much those white Wookiees eat. Sadly assistance from the civilian population was less enthusiastic than they'd hoped. Most fled the battlefield rather than stick around to support the cause. There wasn't much left to scavenge as the residents took anything that wasn't bolted down with them. Which left his forces mostly working with what they brought with them.

That shipment of extra parts from the Mindan Shipyard let them keep their stock of Stocks in good repair and keeping the supply lines open. It was the only thing keeping the their supply vessels voidborne when they got clipped by A-7s. His T-wings could only do so much to stop the harassment.

Some of the other Rebel leaders may complain about the Mindans not putting Credits in the pot, but Foltz understood the importance of logistics. That was what got him promoted after all. He just wishes that appreciation didn't lead to so many youngsters running up to him panicking like Adjutant Panner was doing right now.

"Sir! Dynamo Company is under fire from AT-DTs! They were powered down and camouflaged as trees in a nearby forest!"

Frak! Dynamo was one of his less well equipped units, and that was saying something considering his army was made up primarily of the Alliance's second and third line forces. Some of Dynamo only had their original SE-14s as their sole firearm. Still, Foltz couldn't risk that company routing. They were positioned in the center of his army and one of the few with experience in open warfare.

The Imperial Army was putting up a fierce resistance. Arranging counters to his formation with unnerving precision. They knew if we took this position we would be in the perfect location to rain fire down on their base of operations. He'd compliment the commander on the opposite side if he could before burning a hole through their forehead to stop them from pulling this nonsense again.

"Signal our MLC-3 light tanks to pin those DTs down. Then order our ULAVs to flank them once they are held down."

Foltz tried not to think about how he may have just spent years worth of a cell's vehicle build up in a single order. It felt cold and impersonal to order so much metal burned and not be able to see the results for hours if not days. They didn't have the stockpiles to continue waging war like this. Command was expecting to take a large portion of the Mid Rim with this offensive.

Foltz would be happy holding what they already had without overstretching. Although that was a fool's errand with the projections and orders coming from up top. It's like they were expecting every Imperial citizen to start charging Imperial repeating blasters the moment a Rebel sets foot planetside. Another chime from his comlink brought Foltz back to the battle.

"Commander, the Ithorian Infiltrators have knocked out the shield generators on their section of Imperial lines. We could knock out the Imperial plasmic artillery on the hill if we hit them now."

Well at least something is going to plan. Now all he needs is to get his armored elements and… he just sent them to plug the hole punched in his line by the Imperial ambush. Frak. Backup plan it is then.

"Dispatch the CK-6 swoop bikes as a rapid assault force to take out that artillery! I want that hill Imp free yesterday!"

Those bikes were going to get shredded, but they should get the job done. What he wouldn't give to be flying with his old rocket-jumper buddies clutching two thermal detonators in his hands again. They'd make that hill a crater in no time, but his bad hip dashed any hopes of that happening.

Fantasizing about his glory days helped Foltz cope with the reality of the situation. He can't keep spending metal and men like this. Eventually the Alliance is going to get ground down across the Rim. That would leave them vulnerable to an Imperial counterattack. He can only hope the worlds they take will have enough industry and stores to replace what they are spending, or this will be a short offensive.

——
The Battle of Ord Tiddell was the closest battle of the Mid Rim Offensive to the Myto Sector I could find. Figured it would be a good place to showcase the state the Rebellion is in at the moment. Which is being stretched thin by an over enthusiastic Alliance High Command that is still high off of Yavin.

The Rebels do end up taking Ord Tiddell in canon. When you throw the everything including the kitchen sink at an operation, you do tend to at least make some progress initially. Unfortunately the Rebels only manage to hold the planet for less than nine months before the Empire comes back and boots them off the world when the Mid Rim Offensive turns into the Mid Rim Retreat.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-75

It wasn't actually called the Union, to be precise. It was technically called the Shipyard Workers Assembly. People (myself included) called it the Union informally, because actual Unions are seen less than favorably in the Empire.

I think it might have something to do with the facism. Who knows.

In the past few months, problems have started to crop up with the shipyard. Even with the recent addition of droid auxiliary workers to ease the load and increase production, things have started to go wrong.

Safety incidents, inefficiency, mismanagement, etc… And because this is a Mindan project and not a Guild project, that means I can't offload the work.

It also means I have twenty voices all trying to tell me their problems. Which itself has become a problem.

So I ordered, told, strongly encouraged them to create some sort of organization to file their complaints properly. So that way I could get a comprehensive review of what was actually going wrong, not just from the managers but from the workers on the floor as well.

After all, if all you do is sit on the mountain top, you never truly see the valley floor.

I expected some sort of basic HR, or something equivalent. Instead, they took it as a legal order to unionize. Not at all what I expected, but to be honest, my order was pretty vague.

I was quite sleep deprived that night, you see. I was reading a paper on the economic rise of the corporate sector. Very interesting stuff, truly.

Regardless, my actions mean my consequences to deal with, so here I am. Speaking with the Union Rep on the holo.

"Better safety and management are the workers' primary concerns, Sir." The man spoke in a subdued voice, as if he was afraid I would bite off his head at any moment.

It was quite the contrast. Despite its subdued quality, his voice was quite gruff. And the man himself was built like a brick shithouse. He looked like the most stereotypical union worker of all time. Except for the fact that he was a Duros, but that's besides the point.

"Fair concerns, Representative Kabbas. We can have some teams up there in a day or two to inspect the safety of the yards and do the needed upgrades. Management, however, is a different concern."

He seemed to almost flinch at that. I swear, people keep thinking I'm going to kill them. Though it's gone down significantly since I got here. Maybe he wasn't a local?

Before he could go and take back his statement, then start grovelling or whatever other Governors expect people to do, I kept talking. Don't feel like dealing with all of that today.

"I'll be sending some of my own people up to analyze the management situation and ensure all higher level staff are performing their duties carefully. Any problems will be dealt with, of that I can assure you. However, it should be noted that the team will not be informing you of their presence, as to ensure that the management staff don't fake it until the team is gone. I expect you to keep this quiet."

He gave a quick, clumsy bow. "Of course, Governor." God, this guy was really playing it up, wasn't he.

"Representative, do away with this bowing and submissive facade. The workers chose you because they trust you to represent them best, not so you would grovel at my feet. It's getting annoying, to be frank with you."

His eyes widened again, which I wasn't sure they could do much more of considering Duros had very wide eyes. Then, his back straightened, and the glint of what I think is fear that seemed to inhabit his eyes shrank. It was hard to tell in a hologram.

"Understood, Governor. I'll make sure the analysis teams are covered. If anything comes up, I'll be sure to inform you. Is there anything else, Governor?"

I made sure to school my expression of shock, because goddamn was that a switch up. His voice somehow got deeper. Considering his bulk, I'm quite glad he wasn't physically present, else I would've been a damn sight more intimidated.

Amusement

I flick Mugwuffin on the head as she lays in my lap, out of sight, and continue.

"No, Representative. Unless you know any affordable and reliable construction companies you are dismissed."

And dammit if I didn't need one. Or two. Or ten. Most of the official Imperial construction companies were either building infrastructure on Edin, which was only barely becoming profitable, or they were off expanding mining and refinery operations across both systems. And I needed housing yesterday.

He looked pensive for a moment before responding. "I may have some connections, Governor. I'll speak with the rest of the workers to see what they know. Good day, Governor."

"Good day." And with that, the call ended. I was fairly surprised that he actually responded to my little joke, but I doubted anything would really come of it.

With all that over, I slumped back in my chair, letting out a much awaited sigh. The day had been packed with meeting after meeting. I had barely left my chair with the sheer amount of holo calls I had to take back to back.

At least some good came out of it. I was able to negotiate with Rendili for a license to build Dreadnought-Class cruisers. Not the prettiest ship, by any means, but I needed a cruiser design for the backlog. I have no doubt some assholes are going to complain they didn't get something more Imperial in design, but they can go shove it.

The Dorito's are expensive, okay!?

Sure, Rendili had some more tortilla chip shaped designs they were working on, but I didn't buy into that shit. I refused to be the test bed for their designs. Cause if one of their experimental ships blows up after a client buys it, I get the blame.

I took a quick look at my schedule, and grimaced. The last meeting of the day was with someone I'd hoped to never speak to.

Dornun Mola.

And he was set to arrive in minutes.

Composing myself, I ran a quick plan of action through my mind. Scouring the original Mola's memories, I tried to compile what I could of the man.

Dornun and Jir seemed to have separated, at least somewhat. They were still married, likely for legal and/or political reasons, but considering they lived on opposite sides of the planet, I doubted there was all that much love left between them.

Though I could find no memories of Dornun bringing any lovers home. Then again, I could find few memories of him being at home in the first place. He seemed to be a socialite of some kind, traveling the galaxy to attend parties and events, making connections, etc…

The kind of man who "manages his estate" for a living.

It seems to have led to the original Mola's more rebellious and snooty nature, which saw him booted from the academy.

Aside from that, Dornun seems to be a fairly nice guy. At least, from what I could tell. Considering his propensity for parties, he's either a drunk, a druggie, both, or neither. The last one scares me most, because it means he properly knows how to play the political game.

So, plan? Be polite, curt, answer some questions but not too many, find out what he's here for, then get him to leave. Soon. Preferably before I go to bed, but before I wake up is fine as well.

Suffice to say, I want him gone. And the OG Mola had more than enough abandonment issues regarding the guy for me to avoid being all that friendly with him.

Not that I hate the man, or anything. I just don't like interacting with a dead man's family. Especially when they look at me as if I'm the dead man. It's weird as all hell, and a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.

Regardless, when he finally arrived, I was prepared.

As Dornun Mola walked into the room, I noticed a few things in a particular sequence.

The first thing was his clothing. He wore a long, flowing duster jacket, with sparse, decorative metal plating peppering the fabric. The coat looked like a heavy, utilitarian piece, but flowed like a designer fabric, the etchings into the leather elaborate and useless. The metal plating was thin, gilded. Wouldn't stop a blaster bolt. Wouldn't ever get hit by one either, considering they covered no actual vital spots.

Underneath he wore what seemed to be a workers jumpsuit, but was actually a two piece pretending to be a jumpsuit. The buckles and straps led nowhere and served no purpose other than to look cool. Like those anime designs that have random belts on the arms and legs for no reason.

Speaking of belts, clipped to his was a half-mask, the kind that was trending in fashion these days. It was a ceramic piece that I doubted would properly seal over his face. In fact, I doubted it even had a respirator function. Even mine did that!

Over all, everything he wore was trendy in Accordian upper society. The few events I'd been to in the last few months had people wearing similar outfits. An extension of the mask trend that I had indulged in myself during my few outings into the city.

The fact that he wore this now meant he was trying to fit into the local upper class. Either for vanity purposes, or for political purposes. God I hoped it was the former.

The second thing I noticed about him was his demeanor. He was relaxed, yes, but there was a tension in his eyes that I couldn't ignore. I also couldn't tell what he was tense about. The meeting, likely, but I had no indication or idea of what specifically he was expecting.

The last thing I noticed was that this motherfucker was really handsome. Like, the Colonel from that KFC dating sim handsome. Grey fox vibes, mustache and all! It was fucking insulting, because he didn't pass on any of that shit to Las, and therefore me! It was something me and past Las actually agreed on, if his memories were anything to go by.

"Las, my boy! Or shall I call you Governor now?" He starts, voice loud and boisterous. Dornun plopped himself down onto the chair across from me, his eyes scanning me with a precision that defied his introduction.

"Hello father. It's quite nice to see you." I said, lying out of my ass. Just cause I don't want him here doesn't mean I'm going to be an asshole about it. What if he's secretly super powerful or something?

"And the same to you, Las." He responded jovially, his gaze sliding towards the window behind me. "It's quite the view you've got there. A horizon like that makes a man feel important."

"Work keeps me too busy to really appreciate it." I say tersely, analyzing his words as I spoke. His boisterous entrance didn't fit him. It seemed almost forced.

"Ah, what a shame. You should enjoy the city you've built, I think. After all, you've worked quite hard to get here." Dornun continued.

"Just as you must've worked hard to make it all the way out here, father." I see your game, old man. You're probing for information! It's subtle, and I could honestly be completely wrong, but it doesn't hurt to respond in kind.

His eyebrow twitches upwards for a half second before smoothing out once more. "It wasn't all that difficult, truly. That Guild of yours made things quite smooth, you know. An exemplary organization, if I may say so. How did you come up with such a thing?"

"I saw a need, and helped fill it. Truly, it is a group effort, not to mention the Moff's help has truly pushed the Guild sector wide." Keep it humble, push effort onto others. Not entirely wrong either, the Moffs seal of approval has made membership numbers rise quicker. A quarter of the sector is now part of the Guild.

Lotta growing pains though, going to have to deal with those. Disputes between member systems for power and influence are growing, and the Guild administrative staff are starting to get outpaced. Not to mention the growing interest of higher Imperial powers.

"Still, you started the Guild yourself. And you control two systems! At just 24, you've gotten farther than most in your position. An impressive feat, to be certain. At least, more impressive than half the Governors I know." Dornun's voice drags me from my thoughts about work. What now, he's bragging about his contacts?

Another piece of the puzzle. Regardless, it's getting late, and I have studying to do before I get to bed. I had a paper written on the competition between the Commerce Guild and Corporate Alliance from the Clone Wars. It was difficult to get my hands on considering the Empire really doesn't like seppies and all that, but it's good to know in case larger corps start fighting.

It also meant I wanted this to end.

"Thank you, Father. Still, I must ask. Why have you come here? Surely there are nicer parts of the galaxy for you to visit?" I keep my tone polite, measured.

"Oh? Can't I come see my son?" His voice is light and airy, as if this is the most casual conversation he's ever had. His eyes tell a different story.

Oh fuck this.

"Why are you here?" I ask. My posture stiffens, my eyes harden, and my voice loses any polite tone. I'm done. I want to read my economic history in bed with my hot chocolate and my space cat, then go to bed.

For a fraction of a second his eyes seem to widen, and what might faintly be described as pain lances through his expression before he schools himself.

"Ah. I see. Alright then, we'll play it this way." He adjusts the collar of his fake jumpsuit.

"Clearly, our relationship as father and son has been rocky, to say the least. So, I come to you not as your father, but as a partner of sorts. One with a proposal." And now I truly see Dornun Mola. His face holds itself in a light smirk, but he seems completely serious, as if passively jovial is his face's default setting. His eyes ripple with intelligence.

"Elaborate." I keep one with the short sentences. Give him less time to think. Won't work, but it gives me more time for my own thoughts.

"As you must've figured out by now, I'm an information broker for the more affluent people of the galaxy. So far, my clientele has been focused in the Core. However, recent events have me looking to relocate."

An info broker? It adds up, if nothing else. I thought he was a politician. Not sure if this is all that better.

"With the mess at Yavin, and then the dissolution of the Senate, alongside some worrying trends I've noticed have led me to believe that the Core will not be as safe as it normally is. So, I've decided to relocate myself Rimward. And where better than my own son's system? It comes pre-settled with high up connections, after all."

"You said this was an offer." I don't say anymore. If he's half as good as I fear him to be, then the more I say the more I might give away. Doubt he's ISB level good, but one can never be too careful. Though, the ISB isn't really all that good, is it? Thorne seems more like an exception.

"I did. And I have much to offer. To start, my core world clients are also seeing how the wind is blowing. Many wish to have backup plans hidden in places the Empire won't look at too hard. Places to hide assets and credits. Not to mention those who are willing to pay for a discreet foothold in the rim will go through me, ensuring you get the best deals."

Not the worst. Funding is quite low, and so long as I ensure these rich bozos aren't trying to start any trouble I could probably run with it. Still, I doubt that's all.

"And?"

He gives a low chuckle. "Of course. There is more, don't worry. See, just because I'm going to be here, doesn't mean I don't have people in the Core. Big movements, new legislation, military action, corporate secrets. I've got contacts in every major company, KDY included. You'll know what's happening before half the galaxy even thinks about it."

"Not to mention the kinds of people I can attract for you. The people with enough money to get buildings named after them. I'll host parties, events, galas, get you and yours the connections that let you benefit the most. If the rich and powerful attach their names to Guild projects, others will start to take it more seriously. And by taking the reins of the young, barely formed high society of this sector, I can create a culture that sees the Minda system as the place to be, and you as the person to suck up to. Lots of opportunities there."

"You're being quite open about this." I state. By now, I figure being direct is the best approach here.

Dornun laughs. "If I tried the usual tricks, you would've sent me packing. From what I've learned, you've turned into quite the serious bureaucrat who dislikes the normal political games. Honesty pays, on occasion."

Makes sense. I still don't trust him, but it makes sense. Regardless, there's an opportunity here.

"I'll give your proposal some thought. For now, it's getting late." I say, though I make no moves to escort him out.

"Yes, I understand. You want me gone. Well, you know where I'm staying, Las. Feel free to call!" He replies, making his way from the room. I give it a few minutes before I stand up myself. Making my way out of my office, Mugwuffin in tow, I stop by Garps desk.

"Have every room he passed through sweeped for bugs please."

"Of course, Sir."

"Thank you Garp. Any last minute work pop up?"

"Some problems arose on Minda 2, but it's being handled. I recommend leaving it for tomorrow, sir. You rarely get enough sleep as it is."

I sigh. "Fair enough. By the way, before I go. When's that fashion competition you're part of?"

He looks a bit surprised, but answers anyway. "A week from now."

"Ah, good. I'll make sure to attend. Anyways, good night!" I end the conversation there, not wanting to deal with any stuttering and what not. Garps gotten way better at that recently. Not as quick as Darna, and certainly not like Oioro, but the first generally thought I was insane or something for the first few months of working together, and the second thinks I'm amusing or something. And she's a spy.

I keep almost forgetting about that. Really should do something.

Before that train of thought continues, I reach my room, open my door, and see the economic paper.

I instantly forget about Oioro, because goddamn economics is fun as shit.

Amusement

Yes, I am a nerd. Shut up.

-

Wrote this while eating home made peach cobbler. Really good until the mounds of cinnamon I poured over it made me cough. Still worth it tho

-Freefaller