Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

[Freefaller]

Chp-89

1.9 ABY
Myto Sector
Draxons Forge
RII Enforcer
Junsrhe Galtil

Junsrhe sipped on the drink in his hand and grimaced. It was a bitter thing, nothing compared to the sweet wines of his homeland.

"What, Gal, you don't like it? This is the best swill around town!" laughed a companion, a muscled Togruta with skin orange like the dawn named Stax.

"If this is the best this place has to offer, then I understand why it is so poor."

The table erupted in laughter at that, and Junsrhe smirked a little. It was nice to once again have friends and comrades to share in the spoils of war and bonds of companionship once more.

Far better than his fate in the Ash-Mark Confederacy.

Back on Minda-2, or Vylos as they called it now, Junshre had been in exile. He had dishonored the tenets of the Confederacy and cast away with it. After all, once one takes an Ash-Mark, as the nation is named after, one must follow its tenets no matter the cost.

Junsrhe had followed his family, and taken an Ash-Mark of peace, to eschew violence of any kind, for any reason.

And then he saved a child by killing a beast. And he was exiled, surviving day by day on the outskirts of tribal territory, never plunging into the deep forest of the tribes, but unable to return to the safety of civilization.

Now? Now that the Empire had taken the planet, he was free. It was ironic. His people had thrown off the chains of an ancient empire, and yet here he was, freer under another.

Not that he liked the Empire, to be sure. He saw the looks some humans gave him, how he got searched twice at checkpoints. He'd once been to the Obsidian Wardenship with some merchants, and recognized tyrants. But with the Guild by his side, he had protection, a job, and friends.

"Now, my friends, I believe we should consider our next moves, yes?" He said. "Our jobs have given us a suitable sum of money. We should consider purchasing a proper vessel of war."

"What, my freighter not good enough for ya?" Barked out Kes, their resident pilot. Rodian was clearly drunk off her ass, but it was rarer for her to be sober.

"Nah, we just need something with more guns!" Replied Stax, downing another glass.

"Correct. I have perused the Guild catalogues, and we have recently been made eligible for a YV-929."

Kes stopped, though slipping out to clean her teeth. "A 929 you say… the light version or armed version?"

Junsrhe blinked. "Is there a difference?"
"Of course there's a difference!" She roared, slamming her hands on the table, eyeing everyone at the table.

"One is a light freighter with some decent guns and a missile or two, and the other has enough TURBOLASERS!"

"Oh, well…" He took a look at his PDA, a variant made far larger for beings such as himself. "It seems to be the latter."

She shrieked in excitement, the noise seeming to damage everyone's ears.

It took another ten minutes of her ranting loudly before she passed out from the excitement, and their entire group was kicked out of the bar.

Still, as Junsrhe looked up into the night sky, filled with stars he'd never seen, he couldn't help but smile. Out here, he was free. A galaxy of opportunity awaited.

And then Stax barfed on his shoes.

–

The MARD was a marvel of engineering. A massive series of connected platforms built to churn out ships at speeds that would make even the largest yards on Earth look lazy.

And I got to witness the final backlog ship leave its berth, finally freeing me of that burden. Oh, I knew the Governor-General would ask for more given time, but not at that scale again.

Unfortunately I couldn't enjoy this victory. Instead, I was in an observation room overlooking one of the berths.

It was filled with Guild ships. Specifically, Guild patrol vessels, a force that since my ascension to Moff had been upgraded to act as a secondary police force on Guild lanes.

CR-90's, Marauders, even Dreadnought-Class Heavy Cruiser or two. All sporting various amounts of damage.

I'd ordered the MARD to take them in and fix them without cost, but that didn't change the facts.

Piracy was on the rise.

"Sir." Said Garp, simply handing me a datapad. On it were the numbers.

Over the last month, piracy had increased tremendously. It was comparable to previous surges, but this time there was no obvious reason. There were no major cartel movements, no new pirate kings, and the rebellion hadn't been making a stir.

Worst of all, the pirates were mostly focused on attacking Guild transports, forcing the patrol groups to run themselves ragged. It kept casualties down and trade flowing, but it also meant that vessels ended up in a yard sooner than needed.

It wasn't sustainable.

Garp took a call to the side while I contemplated this. It was clear what was happening. The Slaver Coalition was making their moves. While I didn't have a full picture, I imagined they were already sending envoys to various Guild systems, trying to paint the Guild as weak and ineffective.

It helped their argument that slavery tended to make Governors very, very rich.

And it was likely them that were funding the pirates as well. Or, at least their benefactor, whoever it is.

Garp turned back to me as my gaze swept across the scarred ships.

"Sir, Admiral Veers called. She's just finished reorganizing the sector's naval assets."

I blink, turning towards him. "Really? I expected that to take at least twice as long!"

He repeated the question into the line, then turned back. "Her and the General worked together, sir. Apparently they were able to coordinate their assets. But now they've both gotten a full scope of their assets."

Nodding, I turned back to the datapad. "Good. Have them reassign assets according to current piracy levels. Coordinate with the Guild to space out patrols."

"Sir, both the Admiral and General have also requested a modernization program for the sector's military assets. Much of their gear seems outdated, and underpowered for a sector group."

I stop myself from sighing as I pull out my PDA. Checking the sector's ledger, the urge only grows stronger.

Last year, the Myto Sector made 15 Billion credits. Seems like quite a lot, but it's not. Estimates put that at only around 60% of the sector's total potential revenue.

Not to mention, that's not what the sector keeps. A third goes straight to Coruscant as tithe, and then 20% goes to the military and another 10% goes to general maintenance and you're left with 7 billion credits.

And then, one must consider corruption. On the system level corruption is commonplace. If I want to implement a new program, unless I send in soldiers to ensure everyone plays along, there's going to be people making quotes twice the market price, there's going to be embezzlement, and far more. So that 7 billion doesn't stretch nearly as far as I'd like it to.

"Unfortunately, we can't really afford that right now. Have a list prepared of the highest priority items, those that are too old or broken to safely continue to use. The rest will have to do for now."

Looking at the piracy charts again, an idea came to me.

"Garp, I'd like you to get in contact with the Loyu family for me."

"Who?"

"Some Mandalorians that did some jobs for me a while ago. They should still be in the Minda system. See if they don't have any other Mando contracts. I'm willing to offer good pay, and sector-wide exemptions for their beskar if they help deal with the pirates."

"Mercenaries, sir?" He asked, disdain hidden in his voice. "To be frank sir, my family has hired many, and most aren't what I'd call…quality people."

"True. But these are Mandalorians. They value their beskar above most else. A sector where it won't be taken from them is a dream come true. Not to mention, they'll have better opportunities here anyways. Also, if your family hired mercs, then there must've been some reputable companies, yes? See if you can get into contact with them as well."

"Of course, sir. I know a few groups that can at least act professional. Shall I have the Guild put out an open escort mission as well?"

I nod. "Please. The more people patrolling the hyperlanes, the less likely pirates are to attack."

Yet I knew it would'nt be enough. These pirates were well funded, and the strikes were sloppy but clearly had some planning to them. This wasn't a blind surge. The only question was who was funding the Slavers? They were rich, but in personal wealth, not industrial wealth. They lacked the economies to fund a piracy surge this big without me noticing…

"And the Auditor program?"

"Negotiations are progressing, sir. Ms. Oioro is making progress. However, inter-agency conflicts are causing a great deal of slowdowns."

Damn. I knew Oioro would get it done, but I needed it done sooner.

The Auditor program was something I was banking on. The Imperial Taxation Bureau and the Imperial Collection Agency were rivals of a sort. The former collected taxes and set tax rates for the Emperor, and the latter collected taxes and fines for the Treasury.

They existed to fight each other, as the Emperor loved seeing, and they were the reason quotas and taxes could be so high. Overlapping jurisdiction sometimes meant the taxmen came knocking twice, or that they demanded more to one-up the others.

And it meant trying to create a proper program with both of them was a nightmare. I just wanted good Auditors. Ones with crack teams of specialists, loyalty, and large amounts of knowledge and experience to help sort things out. A quality over quantity training program. But it would be months before Oioro sorted things out, so I was on my own.

A ping arrived on my PDA. Checking it, I saw a message from Dornun. Always an annoying thing to see, but he'd proven his usefulness despite his apparent detachment from reality.

Opening it, my blood ran cold. My heartrate spiked. Mugwuffin, who'd just been staring out the window, jumped up onto my shoulders to comfort me.

Mother was coming to Minda.

–

Yo. I'm back at it again. Got inspired after logging onto Star Citizen for the first time in over a year, asking in general what the best all-rounder ship was for under 3 mil, and then was given 100 mil by some random and invited to a party on the condition that I pinky promised to buy a Carrack and fly around with him because he loved the ship that much. People are wonderful, and I fucking love living life man. Shits great.

Also, once again, I'm out here properly setting shit up, making chapters, doing drafts, feeling like a goddamn writer. It's great. Was wondering about which ship Junsrhe's team would buy, thought about making it an Abyssal Industries ship, but their new ship is a medium hauler. So I just went with the classic YV-929.

Thanks for reading!
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-90
1.9 ABY
Zyx Mola
Minda System

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go on through then."

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

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

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

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

Indignation flooded her veins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he was Moff.

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

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

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

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

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

It's then that he notices her.

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

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

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

"Hey! I don't do that!"

Shal simply points towards the blankets on the couch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dornun." She said in monotone.

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

"Why are you here."

"I've found employment under Las."

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

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

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

Before Las could respond in any way, Jir continued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jir Mola only cared about her legacy. Nothing else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...commandant."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good, now-"

"And immediately discharged you."

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

Jir Mola is frozen as well.

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

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

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

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

"Wha-you can't-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-how-"

"Did you really-?"

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

"Let me work for you."

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

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

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

The feeling of freedom.

-

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

-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Economic Migrants

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-91-Interlude

1.9 ABY
Lieutenant Mud Vord
Ixum System, Myto Sector

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

1.9 ABY
Jir Mola
Accordia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Stay cool, brochacos.
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Echo Chamber in the Dark

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-92

1.9 ABY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

1.9 ABY
Mandalore Sector

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

May you get hella bread, fellow earthlings.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-93

1.10 ABY
Ord Mantel
Ord Mantel City

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

Formal events are one of those things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Grand Moff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

Ardus Kaine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh? Is she promising?"

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

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

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

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

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

And what is that if not a threat.

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

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

That had to be repaid.

–

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

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

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

Homemade banana bread is baller
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: The Petty Debt Crisis

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

Introduction

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

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

Aspects of Petty Debt Governorships

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

Over specialized economies

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

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

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

Lack of Economic Investment

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

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

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

Poor Debt Management

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

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

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

Asset Seizing

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

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

Loyalty Purchasing

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

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

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

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

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

Sector Wide Reactions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-94

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there was something to be gained by this.

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

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

They failed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From pirates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

Now, an Agent just had to make contact.

–

1.10 ABY
Jelbrak Murr
Revik System

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, as he did, he spotted something odd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Agent will be in contact within 48 hours.

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

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

So much for underestimating the new Moff.

–

Yo. Made cinnamon sugar cookies. Pretty baller.

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

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

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

Keep being real ones.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

OFFICIAL SECTOR ADVISORY | IGCPP-OPERATIONAL-STATUS

SUBJECT Internal Security and Naval Logistics of the Imperial Guild

DISTRIBUTION Myto Sector Command / Naval Logistics Division

AUTHORIZATION Office of the Moff, Myto Sector

CLASSIFICATION Restricted Asset Overview

---

I. ORGANIZATIONAL OVERVIEW

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

---

II. ASSET CLASSIFICATION

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

Primary Command Anchors

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

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

Escort and Carrier Elements

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

Starfighter Complement

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

---

III. PATROL GROUP ARCHITECTURE

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

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

---

IV. OPERATIONAL CONSTRAINTS AND JURISDICTION

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

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

---

V. LOGISTICAL SUMMARY

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

--

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

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-95

1.11 ABY
Zyx Mola
Arkia System
Arkia Prime

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

Bofi Sake
Mindan Imperial Shipyard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chaos was the only way to describe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They would not win.

–

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

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

Stay swagalicious
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-96

1.11 ABY
Aren Hiral
Ord Mantell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

1.11 ABY
Zyx Mola
Arkia Prime

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, of course, until she heard this.

"Is the line secure, Governor?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things were getting interesting.

–

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

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

Surprisingly? Not really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jackpot.

–

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

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

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

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

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Meat Lockers and Microfilm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

"Tri! How goes the set up?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-97-Interlude

1.11
Governor Trice
Arkia System
Arkia Prime

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So you confirm yourself to be Governor Trice?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hands in the dark, eyes on the dawn.

–

1.11 ABY
Lieutenant Trilo Bree
Dubrillion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Long live the Empire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that boded well for the Lieutenant's future.

–

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

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

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

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

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

Go get them fat stacks, amigo.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU | PERSONNEL SUMMARY

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

---

BIOGRAPHICAL OVERVIEW

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

---

FAMILY ASSET DISTRIBUTION

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

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

---

ECONOMIC AND SECTOR ACHIEVEMENTS

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

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

---

LOYALTY AND POLITICAL ALIGNMENT

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

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

---

PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS

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

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

---

SECURITY CLASSIFICATIONS

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

–
BFE stands for Before the Formation of the Empire.

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

Keep it real.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

ALLIANCE INTELLIGENCE | OPERATIONAL DOSSIER

TARGET DESIGNATION Subject-Myto

SUBJECT IDENTITY Moff Las Mola

---

VITAL STATISTICS

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

---

PHYTOCELL ASSETS AND THE RUSTY REFIT

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

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

---

SECURITY THREATS AND ANOMALIES

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

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

---

RECRUITMENT AND DEFECTION ASSESSMENT

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

Points of Alignment

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

Risk Assessment

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

---

SUMMARY ANALYSIS

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

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-98

1.11 ABY
Aren Hiral
Ord Mantell

Fortune truly favored him. That could be the only possible explanation for his predicament.

From a minor son of a minor industrial dynasty on a backwater world to Governor-General of an entire oversector, propelled upwards by all the right connections, plans and luck.

And when the greatest threat to his position reared its head? Luck struck once more.

This time, in the form of one Las Mola.

Now, with the information provided from the raid conducted on a Governor in the Myto Sector, Hiral had all he needed to take down Surrde. He'd never suspected the man, always saw him as a hardliner with more bark than bite.

Apparently, he knew how to bite.

"Do we have any idea of the forces he might sway to his side?" He asked, eyes locked with the projection.

"We estimate that he's likely to at best hold one or two star destroyers in loyalty to himself. The rest of the fleet are unlikely to side with him." Replied Fleet Admiral Heeter.

"Good. Bring him in cold. I want him dead as soon as possible". He paused, considering something.

"And if the ISB tries to get in on the operation, let them. So long as you ensure that one of our own makes the killing shot."

With that finished, Hiral turned to other concerns. Mainly, getting back into the good graces of the Grand Moff.

While executing the one behind the assassination attempt helped, it only lessened the blow. The security had still let assassins slip through, a failure attributed to Hiral.

However, Hiral feared that this incident might stain his ties to the Grand Moff for a long time. So it was best to focus his efforts elsewhere.

Specifically, Coreward. Some of the sectors of the Bright Jewel Oversector were situated in the Mid-Rim.

Richer sectors, which meant richer contacts and potential allies. If Hiral couldn't upgrade into the position of Grand Moff of Oversector Outer, which was unlikely given the incident and how difficult it was to get such a position regardless, he might be able to side-grade.

After all, a Governor-General in the Outer Rim was a Grand Moff elsewhere. It was just that Kaine had an unusually sized territory and so Governor-General was made to replace the Grand Moffs that preceded him.

If Hiral could make the right connections, he could find himself in control of a better Oversector. Hell, he might settle for being Moff of a very rich core sector if he could get it.

And that meant that his attention needed to be more focused on the Mid-Rim sectors under his control.

As for the Outer-Rim sectors? They were of no real worth, aside from Myto. Its production capabilities gave him great leverage, and would be needed to gain more influence Coreward.

–

After the raid on the Arkia system, the information "discovered" there naturally led to the arrests of the other slaver Governors, and many of their closest friends, families, and stooges.

Honestly, it was a mess, made messier by the fact that I refused to simply have the all executed. Sure, it would be cleaner, but death isn't the scariest thing to people like this, and I wanted to deter others from following in their footsteps.

So instead, they got life in prison. Which admittedly isn't the worst fate of all, considering that at least on Minda, prisons are much nicer than most of the empire. Of course, that didn't change the fact that they were there for life and that many there were not going to take kindly to their presence.

I expected at least a few to get shanked to death.

Regardless, it left over a dozen systems without Governors. Perfect.

"This system lacks all that much vital infrastructure. Candidate 3-B would be best considering their background" Darna stated, musing over the list before her.

"They also come from a planet with suspected Rebel ties. They pose a potential security risk. 3-A would be better, their loyalty is far more secure." Replied Thorne, tapping a different name on the list.

"And they have none of the experience needed! A bank is not a solar system, nor does the experience from one translate to the other. Not to mention, 3-A has ties to many of the richer worlds in the sector. Such connections invite corruption."

I forced myself not to sigh in exasperation, my fingers itching to massage my temple.

When I'd made them work together, I knew their personalities would clash. While both were competent at what they did, Darna was a headstrong passionate overachiever, while Thorne was a cautious paranoid Imperial zealot.

Again, both are great at what they do. But their arguments were something I predicted miles away. I figured it would be good for them, if nothing else. Something to temper one another, help them grow as people.

"The best choice here would be factories. More lines of production means the sector can produce more TIE's and ships. The local environment comes second to the security of the sector." Thorne debated, pitch black eyes somehow easily conveying annoyance at the situation.

"And ruin the planet for all who live on it? People will live and die on this world, they should be able to see clear skies when they do! Not to mention, there's always more factories, why not focus on more agriculture? Food exports are amongst the most stable out there, and gaining self-sufficiency in that region would be a natural boon for the sector" replied Darna, the holo before her moving to her commands and displaying sector export charts.

It wasn't as though they were always fighting. If that was the case, I'd never stick them together. As it stands, their disagreements tend to lead to more balanced conclusions. Of course, that usually takes a while longer, and this meeting was only scheduled to be 3 hours long, not 8. So, I decided to intervene and speed along the process.

"We can simply do both, you know? The world may not have much industry but it's about to have a great deal of people with no jobs. People who won't want to work in the factories anymore. Farms would be better in that regard. Meanwhile, with the richer systems sending over their lower class citizens, new factories can be built for them to work in. All you need to do is ensure that the factories are using purification tech to keep the air clean. We have the money for that, I can give the new Governor a grant for it after all."

As the two muttered to themselves, checking the numbers, I brought up the candidate list once more. Candidates 3-A and 3-C both were solid choices for different reasons, but neither fit perfectly. That was fine, perfection is a lie anyways, but there was a better choice.

"As for the new Governor, I think 3-F might be the best choice. They aren't all that experienced nor do they have particularly overt signs of loyalty. However, their file has notes that they've made a habit of donating to orphanages in the area. This indicates a level of empathy I think will be sorely needed, given the number of people being freed from slavery in the system. As for experience, that'll come with time. So long as we get them a decent advisor and access to educational resources they should be able to handle the slower beginning stages."

Of course, that wasn't the end of the discussion, merely me sort of shoving the conversation along to the next stage that they would've reached regardless. It still took another 20 minutes of discussing the particulars before we were all satisfied.

This meeting had been scheduled within only hours of the arrests of the slaver Governors. I wanted them replaced ASAP, to ensure the power vacuum wasn't taken advantage of by any other factions.

Of course, I was also taking this opportunity to essentially purge each system of its current bureaucracy. It was crude, I admit. It was also likely that people who'd never done anything wrong were going to lose their jobs.

I had little choice. The Auditor program wasn't even halfway through training the first batch, and for all that HAVEN was a widespread organization, it wasn't omniscient. So, I'd have to resort to more widespread purges instead of the more methodical ones I'd done beforehand.

If I'd had more time, perhaps it could've gone better. But the discovery of that holo-call between Trice and Surrde was too good an opportunity to pass up. Now, I had to deal with the fallout.

But, if there was one thing I was doing more methodically, it was the freeing of slaves. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just let them all go. It would attract the wrong kind of attention.

After all, slavery is only permitted for non-sentient aliens, and prisoners. And these worlds all had prison-slaves.

That meant that if I let them all go, it might well be seen as letting prisoners go. So, I had teams going over the records of each and every one of the slaves. Seeing if the charges that got them there were legal at all.

The problem was that there were a lot of slaves. 9.6 million to be exact. Of course, not all of them were prisoners. Many were simply bought from the Hutts or other slavers, meaning they would be quicker to process.

But as it stood, it would be the work of months if not years to process all of them. A complete mess, and the reason I needed empathetic Governors in charge. I needed people who wouldn't simply see it as another chore or job, but as a duty they had to the people. I needed those who looked at the datasheets and knew that each number was a person.

Only then would I be sure they would do their duty properly.

A few hours later, the meeting ended. It was one of my longer ones, but one that worked out pretty well, a great deal being done.

Not just the Governors, but with the eradication of criminal elements in the sector as well. The deal with Governor Murr was going well, the information he's been sending HAVEN has allowed them to secretly sabotage criminal actions sector wide.

Some smugglers found a new route? Would you look at that, an Imperial patrol found it too. A new pirate base cropped up? Wow, some mercs saw it and decided someone would pay for its destruction!

Not every single pirate or smuggler went through this. Just the worst of it. If it was all of it, word would get around that Murr might be the common denominator, and we'd lose a major underworld connection.

Still, it lets us get some control over things. Just because Surrde was on his way out, and Trice and co were done for, didn't mean the pirate surge was simply over and done with. Not to mention, the stats indicated that piracy had increased not just sector wide, but galaxy wide over the past few years.

Brazen attacks like the one I experienced early on into my career were becoming more common. The syndicates were getting more brazen as time went on.

And if I'm being honest, I think it's because they can tell. They can tell the Empire isn't long for this galaxy. The Death Star was, bar none, the ultimate weapon. Something none could ever hope to contend with.

And it was destroyed by a measly force of Rebels. The facade of the Empire's control was cracking, bit by bit, and the criminal elements of the galaxy saw this. Weakness to them is like blood to sharks.

Which meant I had to showcase that the Myto sector wasn't weak. Which meant a heavier armament program. Which would bring upon me attention from the higher ups I didn't want. Of course, I had a good reason for more warships, but that wouldn't matter to the paranoid, power seeking wackjobs that made up the Empire.

This time, in the silence of my office, I sighed. Mugwuffin, napping on her cat tree, opened a single eye.

WorryStress

"I'm fine, just…tired, I guess."

Getting up, her lithe form pounced from the tree to my chair, settingly around my neck like a scaly scarf. Despite easily being the size of a golden retriever, or other similarly sized dog, she was incredibly light.

Rest

I looked at the clock on my terminal. It had been at least 6 hours since the meeting ended. My work day was nearly finished.

"In a bit. Got a few more things to do." I said, scratching her neck.

Those few things were, thankfully, simple.

Confirmation for the order of new holonet relays and hyperspace beacons, which meant that communication would be easier sector wide, and the hyperlanes would be updated more consistently. It wasn't cheap, to the tune of 500 million credits for the thousands needed to populate the entire sector, but it was worth it.

The second thing was a quote for the dozen or so space stations I wanted. They were part of a plan I'd been concocting in my head to help administrate the sector. The quote itself wasn't horrible, but I simply wasn't in the position to enact the plan, so I put it to the side for now. In a few months when things were more stable, I'd go back to it.

And finally, I went over two reports, one from Ife and one from Zulitra, the Sector General.

Ife was no longer in the hospital, having recovered, though she was still barred from physical exercise. Ife, instead of taking this time to rest and enjoy life, decided to get back to work.

The reports were both on the progress the two had made in scouring their respective organizations, the local Sector Army and Navy for corruption. It was a longer process than my administrative purges, mostly because that was focused on a smaller group of higher level administrators.

This was covering a great deal more people, and current estimations put a full scan at nearly a year out from completion. Once the Auditor Program is ready, that might well drop, but it'll still be a while.

It was odd, I suppose to now be looking at things in a much longer viewpoint. When I was Governor, things were always happening. Every week, a new challenge, new laws, new industries and developments. Minda had grown at an incredible rate, and I'd done all I could to keep up with it.

And now I was looking at an entire sector and realizing that things at this scale move slowly. It left me almost anxious, just waiting for the shoe to drop, for something to happen.

Rest

"Yeah, alright. I guess it's time, huh?" I said, shutting off my terminal. If there was one perk of the job, it was shorter workdays.

Still, despite the workload and stress, things seemed to be getting better. If I could hold out long enough, maybe I could really escape. Make my own life.

That night, I slept more soundly than I had in a long time.

I dreamt of the stars.

–

Yo. Sorry for not having uploaded in a little while. I had a burst of inspiration and made a whole lot once the Winter semester ended, then a few days later Spring started up.

But more than that, I got addicted to StarSector. Holy shit its such a good game, beat it in a single 10 hour session, then modded the shit out of it. There are so many anime girls, it's ridiculous and I love it,10/10 I love getting the snot beaten out of me by [REDACTED] cause I didn't see the warning beacon.

Other than that, life's been not great in general, drowning in shallow water type of mental fuckery so while this story will keep going, I can make no promises in regards to the frequency or quality of chapters.

Which, tbh, that's not exactly new so I guess things are the same as always? Eh, I'll figure it out.

Keep on slaying, brochachos
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: C2W Blaster Pistol

Production information

Manufacturer: Guild of Commerce, Production and Protection

Type: Light blaster pistol

Cost: 700 Credits new, 450 Credits used

——

Physical and technical specifications

Size: Small

Weight: 0.8 Kg

Capacity: 50 shots

Range: 20 meters optimum, 65 meters maximum

——

Usage

Availability: Licensed

Roles:

• Personal Defense Weapon

Affiliation:

• Concerned urban civilians
• Private Investigators
• Law enforcement agencies with small budgets

——

Description

"Looking for a bit of protection in these trying times? Apply for a civilian level blaster license for a renewed sense of safety!"
Applicationsmaytakeuptotwotofourweekstoprocess.Approvalwillbedependentonavarietyoffactorsincludingbutnotlimitedtolegibilitycriminalhistoryandpatriotismindexscore.
- Ad by the Imperial Blaster Owners Association.

The C2W (or Concerned Citizen's Weapon) is a recent production from the Guild of Commerce, Production, and Protection in the Myto sector. Marketed as a personal defense weapon for the loyal Imperial urbanite, this blaster never found much success outside this niche. This underwhelming pistol nevertheless garnered a modest following in Imperial civilians in cities across the sector.

Design

"When someone pulls out a C2W it is a threat. A threat to bring in every seccer in a five block radius down on our heads." - Smuggler on the detriments of using a C2W for criminal activity.

The C2W is considered a midway point between a hold-out blaster and a blaster pistol. This middle ground came at the cost of lower range, power, and fewer shots compared to a standard blaster pistol. The urban and confined environments the blaster was designed for was hoped to mitigate the range issue. This blaster was mainly intended to defend the user from low level criminals or packs of stray animals.

Light and decently compact. Its size and weight can make it easier to carry and not get caught on clothes or other obstructions when hastily drawn from a holster or a hand bag. Although definitely not to the degree of say a blaster modified for a gunslinger. The worst one is going to get is something caught on the partial trigger guard, but it is fairly easy to shake loose.

The C2W is fairly stable with a grip that is well-fitted and comfortable for the average sentient. A smooth trigger and the low power of each shot allow for low recoil despite the short barrel of the blaster. These decisions did little to improve the range of the blaster which remained below the standard for a blaster pistol.

The C2W's shape was designed to intimidate the ignorant and the inexperienced. It is also purposely designed to make significant noise when fired to frighten the user's attackers be they sentient or non-sentient. This makes the C2W unsuitable for more subtle occupations that would want to avoid drawing attention. However if one actually wants to notify all local law enforcement in several blocks that a blaster has been fired and they should head in that direction, then the C2W is certainly going to do a good job of informing them.

Sales

"Great. Another Cry To Win rookie thinking their hot stuff." - Veteran Guild Member mocking a rookie trying to register with a C2W.

Once the first batch of C2Ws hit the market, it made a small, but noticeable splash. Citizens worried about the rising pirate activity resulted in a minor surge of orders in the first few weeks after release. The low power of the blaster made it easier to obtain a license than most other blaster pistols while also not being as restricted as hold-out blasters. Initial reports were rosy and there were talks of expanding production.

Despite a strong showing in the beginning, orders began to drop off after the first few months of good news. While the C2W did well enough among civilians inside of cities, it often faltered in other areas. Rural populations preferred applying for longer range hunting blasters or just bought blasters without a license. The Imperial Military and PDFs considered the blaster a silly toy for ignorant civilians. The same held true among private mercenaries such as the Guild who had access to far better options and would often mock rookies who showed up with one. Criminals and Rebels thought the C2W was a death sentence if they ever had to fire it, so the Underworld never made much effort to acquire them.

Talks of expanding production lines stalled and the C2W was designated a low priority product by the Guild. However sales of the blaster never truly stopped and the weapon retains a following among the civilian blaster community. These days the C2W remains on the shelves of weapon stores as an option for frightened civilians seeking something to make them feel safe. The C2W will never win much glory on a battlefield, but it does its job of being a reassurance to civilians and giving them a bit of protection against muggers and feral animals.

——

Meet the C2W, a blaster interesting due to its circumstances as much as its design. A civilian handgun made in the during the Galactic Civil War for Imperial civilian populations that are trusted enough to be armed. The Empire as a general rule does not want to arm a civilian population. Just one more example of why the Minda system and the Myto sector as a whole is a strange place.

For an image I was going to use something like a standard Glock, but then I saw the S333 Thunderstruck double barrel magnum and fell in the love with the goofy design. So just imagine that, but a bit larger, with one barrel instead of two, a pistol instead of a revolver, and the chamber being a power pack. A funny situation where the Star Wars version is saner than the real life inspiration.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-99

Moff Surrde
Braxant Sector
ISD-II Ironhand

Surrde stared out into the black of the void. Its immeasurable darkness was kept separate from him only by the glass of the bridge.

Officers rushed around him on the bridge, tension palpable in the air. Orders spoken in rushed whispers, dials and knobs twisted and turned with sweaty fingers, and displays watched with eyes that darted around the room.

But Surrde only stared, silent, a wall of stillness in a sea of barely controlled chaos. Eyes rarely blinking, hands steady behind his back. Even his mind lay free of the chaos.

For in his mind, it was already over. All he'd done, all he'd sacrificed. Lost in sheer foolishness.

A spark of anger threatened to flair up, but he quashed it. This was no longer the time to rage at his mistakes. No, soon it would be the time to do what he was born to do one last time.

"Sir! Multiple hyperspace signatures detected!"

It was time to do battle.

Before him, he saw an Imperial taskforce jump into hyperspace. The gleaming hulls of half a dozen star destroyers, complemented by dozens of support ships.

To his side, a junior officer approached him cautiously.

"Sir, we're outnumbered. Maybe it would be best if we su-"

He fell to the ground dead, a large plasma burn marrying his head. Surrde holstered his pistol, eyes having never left the fleet approaching him.

"Deploy the TIE's, and engage the forward deflector shields. I want all turbolasers focused on the lead ship."

The bridge's pace redoubled in fear, and Surrde stayed still even as the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air.

–

Aren Hiral

"Sir, Surrde has been confirmed dead. His flagship has been destroyed."

With that single sentence, Hiral felt relief unknown to him until that point. Surrde's entire debacle had threatened everything he'd worked towards. All those late nights smooth talking magnates and bribing officials would be gone.

"And why was no attempt at an arrest made?" he asked. It didn't matter to him, but the ISB wanted him alive and if they didn't even get a chance, it might cause problems.

"He refused to surrender, sir. The taskforce leader decided it was easier to simply destroy the ship."

Aren nodded. A simple but plausible explanation, and one that actually had nothing to do with him! That would do wonders to keep the ISB from sniffing around.

Regardless, as the holo call cut and Aren returned to planning, his mind turned towards piracy. A growing problem across the oversector.

He would have to see about assigning more of the oversectors forces to the Mid-Rim worlds. He was making inroads with incredibly wealthy magnates there that had connections to the Core Worlds. If he played his cards right, he could get himself in the room with some Core World elite.

Oh, he could just smell the power!

–

Surrde was dead, and yet I felt no real relief.

You'd think I would, but his death was all but guaranteed. I'd already won, the punishment for him losing was simply delayed.

Therefore, I felt no relief for the inevitable. Instead, I only felt stress at the problems before me.

Piracy had been increasing across not just the sector but the oversector. This was a known problem, something I'd been working towards solving. The future hulls the R&D team was working on would be an efficient solution once ready, but they weren't ready. The team hadn't even finished a full blueprint of the prototype, much less anything ready for production.

In the meantime, forces across the sector were spread thin as is. Especially with the 9.6 million slaves that were in the process of being freed, suffice it to say that the sector was in no way prepared to handle another piracy wave.

Thankfully, the previous wave seemed to have been artificially caused by the slavers. Which meant another spike likely wouldn't happen any time soon.

But piracy was still rampant and slowly but surely on the uptick. That was a problem. Even with the underworld connection through Governor Murr we couldn't keep control of the flow.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a sigh. If I could count how many times I'd sighed that deeply since I found myself here, I wouldn't. The sheer amount would probably indicate bad things for my health.

A ring from my terminal brought me back, the blinking light indicating a call was being transferred from my secretary to me.

Checking the caller ID, it was Darna. I wondered idly if she needed help settling into her new role as head of the Guild, given that she'd given up her Vice-Governorship of Edin for it. Edin had exhausted its immediate usefulness to her while the Guild just kept growing, so it was an obvious jump for her.

But then I remembered I was thinking about Darna, and quickly banished any thought of her asking for help. She was incredibly stubborn about some things and would only ever ask for help if she felt it was truly dire.

"Hey Darna. What's up?"

"Sir, I've got news. The Guild has come into contact with multiple Mandalorian clans that wish to sign up wholesale with the Guild. I've taken the liberty of getting into contact with the heads of each clan in order to see if longer term contracts could be gained. They could be incredibly effective in our anti-piracy efforts."

I hummed. She was right. The Loyu family I'd hired a couple years back had been incredibly useful throughout their time, and they had only been three mandos in a single armed freighter. If I could get these clans to stick around, provided they behave, the utility would be very welcome.

"Alright. I'll authorize the beskar permits for as much as they have with them. Also, give them special Guild status if they take on the contracts. No sense in leaving them with substandard gear-"

"-that would be wasted on worse mercenaries. Makes sense. I'll see what we can dig up. Should I give them any authority over local Guild patrols to enhance their capabilities? I'm of the belief that it would be useful-"

"-but they haven't exactly proven themselves trustworthy. Fair enough. Hold off on that for now, but get them the gear if they accept the contracts. Even if they don't, give them the beskar permits anyways. Best to keep them in the sector."

"Of course."

From there, we chatted some more. Mostly about the goings on in the sector, though we tacitly avoided anything remotely related to HAVEN just in case the line was tapped. Those sorts of talks were reserved for encrypted messages and in person meetings.

It was nice talking to Darna. She'd been my first secretary and knew me sometimes better than I knew myself. Not to mention we were both so busy we rarely got to speak outside of work anyways.

When all that was finished, I got back to work, reading over the meticulously written reports my new secretary had prepared for me.

My new secretary, Roius, was an interesting man. Older than me by at least a few decades, he was quite competent. He kept schedules nice and tidy, dealt with superfluous problems before they reached my office, and was overall just good at his job.

The problem that some found with him was his status as a cyborg. The cybernetics were obvious. Not just an arm and a leg, but the neural implant running around his bald head were plain as day.

Honestly, to many he would be considered more controversial than having an alien secretary, because even his status as full blooded human didn't save him from the derision thrown against cyborgs.

Thankfully, I'm the Moff of this sector, meaning unless someone above me has some sort of serious problem with it, they won't bother me, and those below me can't do anything about it, and I get to enjoy the benefits of a cyborg secretary.

Which mostly includes the myriad of fun facts he just happens to have stored about any and everything.

For example, did you know that swoop gangs are statistically the least likely type of criminal organization in the galaxy to commit violent crimes? Yeah, apparently they tend to mostly be full of teens and err more on the side of illegal racing and vandalism with the occasional robbery. Very interesting.

The rest of the day was not of any particular interest. While the piracy problem was always there in the background, I had few options arrayed before me to solve the problem that would not cause significant problems elsewhere. So for now, I could only keep things working while I tried to come up with a solution.

I busied myself with reports from the former slaver worlds instead. While freeing the slaves was a slow and arduous process that took up much time, there was some good news.

The new Governors of these systems had all of course immediately joined the Guild, and given their current situation were given special status by the Guild and myself. In light of the significant stress they were currently under they got to pay fewer taxes, got priority shipping in many industries, and grants galore to kickstart proper business.

It wasn't a perfect fit, but it worked well enough. It would take some 4 or so months for the systems to be back on their feet with all the slaves processed, though it would likely take months after that for the systems to be properly growing economically in any real way.

Ironically enough, the Auditor Program which I had created to specifically counter this sort of thing had yet to finish training its first class before the entire problem was over and done with. Still, the Auditors would be useful. The former slaver systems still had plenty of corruption and crime, even with a clean uppermost management. The Auditors would be invaluable in helping purge the rot and let the systems flourish.

–

Jir Mola
Accordia

Looking at herself in the mirror, Jir smoothed out the final wrinkle in her new uniform.

The light grey was slightly different from the uniform she used to wear as Commandant, which itself tended to be on the beige side. It was also distinctly different from the more formal dark black or white uniforms she wore to more special occasions.

The uniform itself, despite the grey, was remarkably different from standard Imperial faire. Jir had been given a choice between different styles, with distinct variants for colder and warmer weather.

Carefully, she checked herself over for any imperfection. First impressions were important after all, and she refused to show up on her first day at this job with anything less than a perfect, spotless uniform.

She'd had students lose points for less. It was a signifier of sloppiness, after all.

Finally, she adjusted the pin on her breast pocket, ensuring its golden shine wasn't marred in the slightest. She found it ostentatious, especially compared to the uniform, but such things were irrelevant in the long run.

Below it sat her name tag. Jir Coru. Coru being the last name given to Coruscanti orphans from her sector of the Galactic City underbelly. She could've kept using the Mola name. She was still technically married to Dornun, and she was normally one to use every advantage she had.

But Mola was a name now best associated with her son. And her pride refused to let her use her connection to him to make her way up the ladder. Thankfully, it was easy enough to change the name on her paperwork considering Imperial (technically Republic) records from back before her marriage still existed, making the process easy.

Before leaving her apartment, she made one last quick sweep of the area. It was as spartan as always. The camera she'd bought for cheap was hidden in a discrete corner, disguised as part of an electrical panel, surveying the room.

Another sweep, this time checking her hidey holes where money and other potential valuable items were kept hidden. All good.

Once outside, she swiftly turned around. As the automatic door slid closed behind her, she held out a tiny strand of string, letting it fall into the gap betwee the door and wall. As the door closed shut, it caught the string mid-fall, keeping it trapped an inch above the ground.

Now if someone entered her apartment, the door would open and the string would fall. And upon returning home, by checking she would know.

From her apartment, she made her way through the crowded halls of the megabuilding. She instinctively dodged through the crowds, never allowing her pristine uniform to come into contact.

Around her shoulder was a matte black bag. It was sleek, professional, and carried all she needed for the day.

Within it there were four ration bars, two of which would satiate her from the start of the workday to lunch, and from there until she left for home. Both her PDA's sat there, one given by her employers for work purposes and the other her personal PDA, one of the few items of significant value she bought due to the sheer utility.

Finally, within a side pocket of the purse the opening of which was accessible without opening the purse itself was a hidden holdout blaster. Registered, of course.

The unregistered one stayed at home, just in case she ever needed a blaster that couldn't be tracked.

Eventually she made it to the skyway platform nestled in the center of the megabuilding. The trains were near silent and already elevated, and as such allowed megabuilding residents to easily access public transportation. It also made her choice of locale more efficient considering both the cheap price of the apartment and her access to transport.

As some children rushed by, giggling to themselves about some inane topic and swinging around a large plushy of that lizard creature her son kept around, she instinctively tightened her grip on her purse. She knew full well how sly pickpocketers could be, and she would not fall prey to one.

Mentally shaking off the paranoia of her underworld upbringing, she stepped onto the skyway train, subconsciously finding her way to an advantageous position. There were no real winning spots on a train car, but from her quick mental judgements she determined that the spot she had chosen was filled mostly with children and the elderly, far easier to deal with in case things went badly.

Soon enough, the train deposited her in the center of the city. Gleaming towers of metal sat next to veritable castles of stone. A million styles of architecture went hand in hand with the myriad of styles of clothing and creatures that roamed the streets.

Once again, Jir dodged through the crowds, deftly ignoring merchants crying out about their cheap wares and parents scolding their children for running around. The noise faded into the background, her ears filtering out anything that didn't immediately seem important.

Eventually, she found her way to the entrance to her new workplace. The building itself was stout, wider than it was tall. Its brutalist design and grey duracrete walls, combined with its location in the city marked it as one of the first buildings built during the city's expansion.

Staring up at the banners flowing from its walls, adorned with the same insignia on her pin, Jir allowed herself a slight smirk.

She would rise the ranks and prove herself, of that there was no doubt.

But first, she had to make it.

As Junior Member Success Liaison Jir Coru of the Imperial Guild.

–

Aight, so I messed around with some image editors before realizing that I could just use an AI for the Guild insignia, since it's a relatively unimportant thing. No worries, any art used for anything like characters, ships and more will be real art, either something I commission, find online or make myself if I ever get there.

As for the chapter, I think it's aight. I'm not super good at ending arcs, but frankly speaking I could think of no other way for the slaver arc to end. Surrde is an absurd blustering man but he also is someone who, despite his failings, does what he does for battle. I can't see him accepting his fate or ever letting the enemy board his ship.

As for Jir, yeah I decided to have her become a Guild employee. After all, what better way to prove to Las she was right than to rise to the top of the organization he built himself? Her success of course will be dependent on her actions, so who knows. Maybe Darna finally has some real competition for her position as Guildmaster.

Lateral raises are painful, but my disdain for my chub is stronger! Keep lifting, fellow brochachos.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

1.11 ABY
Myto Sector

The flames rose high into the night sky, silhouetting the crumbling buildings from which they rose.

Above the flames and smoke, gliding through the night sky like a phantom, a Kom'rk-Class fighter/transport hovered, moving in lazy circles around the area.

Gor Tralis checked his surroundings, his helmet's filter protecting him from the smoke and ash as his eyes scanned the area.

Movement in the corner of his vision prompted him to turn, spotting a pirate crawling from the wrecked buildings. A quick pull of the trigger ensured the movement stopped.

Returning his attention to the fire, he couldn't help but wince. Dria would be on his ass about this, of that he was certain.

As the Kom'rk made to land, he turned around. On the ground lay his captive, some pirate captain whose name he couldn't remember. Grabbing the unconscious Quarren by jacket, he started dragging him towards the transport.

As its door opened up, Dria Tralis stepped out. Her head turned towards the fire, its orange glow reflected in her helmet. It was the only unpainted part of her armor, the pure beskar shining in contrast to the blue and green their clan often wore.

Some grumbled about it, but ultimately none actually cared. It was their mothers final gift, after all.

"Really, Gor? Did you have to burn it down?" She said, turning to him with arms crossed.

"Well…I got excited?" He said sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. It was the truth, if nothing else. He'd gotten too carried away during the fight and used a rocket. How was he supposed to know the room he shot it into was the armory!

"Your 'excitement' cost us the entire base! Thats at least 3000 credits from the Guild, if not more!" She exclaimed, helping him drag the captured pirate into the ship.

"Look, I'm sorry! But they had one of those scrap-made LECAs and it startled me!" It had come out of nowhere, all sharp metal and blazing guns and he'd panicked. And missed. Thankfully, the thing had collapsed on its own, faulty wiring and rusted limbs making for a poor combat vehicle.

Dria didn't respond, but he could feel the disappointment from behind her helmet clear as day. And it was understandable, all things considered.

When the Tralis clan had migrated to the Myto sector, they'd quickly been given long term contracts by the local Guild. The entire clan got 50,000 credits every quarter for expenses, plus individual salaries for each warrior. And, on top of that, extra payouts for things like capturing or destroying pirate vessels, capturing pirate leaders, bases, salvage and more.

That pirate base alone would've been at least 3k, which wasn't much but the base itself was really small and shoddily built. They only would've gotten 3k because that's the minimum payout the contract allows for. Thankfully, they'd gotten the leader, who was worth hopefully around double.

The problem lay in that Clan Tralis, or as they were known in the Guild, the Tralis Security Company, wasn't the only Mando clan in the sector anymore.

Two others, Clans Ridra and Wulvo followed suit soon after, bringing far more members with them. Now, the three clans totaled some 500 Mandalorians total, and Clan Tralis only made up 100 of them.

That meant that the Tralis Security Company had to work twice as hard to make as much money as the others. Alor Tralis, leader of the Tralis Clan, had been painfully honest in his assessment of the Imperial system. It was a cutthroat place, and Clan Tralis could not be left behind.

Personally, Gor thought the Alor was overreacting. The sector wasn't exactly small, and there were mercenary companies with over twice the number of members as all the Clans in the sector combined.

Instead of voicing his opinion out to Dria, he instead focused on his PDA. It was a nice contraption, and the system they were in had recently had one of those new comm beacons installed, meaning easy access to the holonet.

With practiced ease, he navigated to a new forum, one created not long after the Clans had moved to the sector.

The Mando-Myto forum was a place where the Mandalorians, especially the younger warriors, posted about their experiences. Some asked questions about the sector, others posted interesting things they discovered, and more.

One warrior from Clan Wulvo had bragged about getting down and dirty with one of native species of the sector, a Verndari. Unsurprisingly, they were human compatible, but many species were.

The fact the warrior was out of commission for three weeks because he couldn't walk straight was the funniest follow up post he'd ever seen.

But the thing the forum was used for above all else was bragging. Showing off their kills, bragging about rank advancement in the Guild, flexing their new ships and guns. To be honest, it made Gor envious.

The top post of the day was a picture from a member of Clan Wulvo. It showed a brand new starfighter, the Shallows-Class interceptor design recently released by Abyssal Industries. It was fresh off the production lines, equipped with all the bits and bobs needed to protect convoys and hunt pirate freighters. On its side, the Wulvo Tactical Solutions name was plastered next to the Clan Wulvo symbol.

Meanwhile, Clan Tralis was still making do with the ships they brought from Mandalore and some armed freighters they were buying. They simply lacked the manpower to take on more pirates, and the Alor was being conservative with the funds in case of emergency.

At least the dividends from this job meant he would finally be able to afford his own landspeeder. A new one, with blasters on it.

–

1.11 ABY
Myto Sector
Arkia Prime

Juna Briardi was scared. She'd been scared for much of her life, however, so it was odd for this fear to be any different.

But it was.

Ever since she was 11 years old, she'd been a slave on Arkia Prime. Her parents had been killed in a pirate boarding action on their freighter, and she'd been sold to the Hutts, who sold her to the Empire.

And ever since then, she'd known fear. A constant, low, settled dread. For some time she'd thought it to be apathy at her situation. But eventually, she called it what it was. Fear, hidden behind a layer of apathy.

Even a 'good' day was simply a day in which she waited for the other shoe to drop. And recently, there had been a string of 'good' days.

For the past month, things had been different. All the slaves had been taken from the work yard. Instead of building machines or mining, they'd been relocated to new quarters and given new, clean clothes. Bunks of some sort. Better than sleeping on the floor, if nothing else.

But the dread was still there, slowly mounting. Other slaves were being taken out of the bunks, in small groups. They weren't seen again.

Juna didn't know what was happening, didn't know why they were being taken, didn't know why they had new bunks and clothes and better food, but she didn't trust it. She feared it.

And she did nothing. What else could she do? She hadn't been able to do anything for years now. So, she did nothing.

And one day, it was her turn.

The intercom buzzed, calling out a series of names, hers included. Moving with the group, she exited the bunks and made her way down the hall.

A faceless monolith of white plasteel, a Stormtrooper, met them at the end. Without a word, they gestured for the group to follow them.

Soon, they were standing in a line. Once she reached the end, she found herself in front of a booth, behind which was a man in an Imperial uniform.

"Juna Briardi, yes?"

She nodded.

"Ok. Please place both hands, palm down, in the scanners please."

Doing as she was told, the scanners whirred for a second while the man kept talking.

"So, the charges of conspiracy against the Empire you were imprisoned for were found to be false. As such, you are being freed. In order to assist in your transition back to free life, the sector government has placed a new program in order. This program will provide you housing, education, work, pay, and more. You are also entitled to anywhere between 5-40 acres of farmstead land, assuming you go through the proper processes and certifications."

He paused to take a breath, during which Juna decided to ask a question.

"W-what about mercenary work?" Her voice was meek from years of abuse, but the fire in her soul was anything but.

The man looked slightly annoyed at being interrupted, but answered regardless. "Mercenary work requires certification with the Guild. It is not part of the reintegration program. The fastest way there would be through an already existing mercenary company or by joining the Imperial Auxiliaries, serving for a few years, then leaving to go solo."

In her mind, Juna was already making plans. The reintegration program would keep her stable, get her the education she needed. Then, she'd go to the Guild. Take the classes. And make the pirates pay.

After a long day of being walked through paperwork, and a shuttle ride off of the cursed planet that was Arkia Prime, Juna Briardi felt something new that she hadn't in a long time. Something that peeked from behind the curtain of fear that had dominated her life.

Hope.

–

Hope was the only thing that kept me going.

Specifically, I was really hoping the asshole across from me would drop dead. But unfortunately that wasn't going to happen.

"-and you see, such disruptions in the security of supply chains means it will be more costly to ship our hyperdrives, thus requiring an increase in the cost." The man across the table from me smiled, his greasy demeanor pissing me off even more.

He was a representative from KDY, from whom we bought hyperdrives and other advanced parts to build our KDY derivative ships. He was here to renegotiate prices on hyperdrives and other parts due to the galaxy wide increase in piracy.

The problem? Not only did he refuse to speak directly with Oioro because she's an alien, he had the fucking balls to demand a meeting with me, face to face, on the spot. While I was in a meeting with some Muun bankers.

Then, he walks in, plops down, and starts talking with the most sleazy voice I've ever heard and it takes every ounce of will power not to wring his greasy little neck. Instead, I compose myself and respond.

"Well, such a thing is understandable. Piracy is a rising problem across the galaxy."

The representative's smile widens a fraction. Prick.

"As such, it would be cheaper for us to simply start procuring our hyperdrives and navigational computers from elsewhere. We've had a good relationship with CEC for a while now, anyways."

His eyes widened a fraction, and I could understand why. This deal wasn't particularly important, but the rivalry between KDY and CEC was. After all, they were, bar none, the two largest ship manufacturers in the galaxy, and losing a deal to CEC was not a good look for this loser's career.

"Well, now, let's not be too hasty! I'm sure CEC is experiencing the very same problems! Why, as a long time customer, I'm sure the company would be willing to cut a deal!"

Before I can respond, the timer I'd set on my PDA rings. 10 minutes. "Good", I responded to him, silencing the timer with a swipe of my finger. "Now, the details of such a deal can be finalized with the head of the Office of Sector Acquisitions. I have a meeting to return too."

From there, I leave the meeting room and return to my office, leaving him behind for Oioro to properly take care of. This whole human centrist thing was really getting on my nerves.

Regardless, I eventually made my way back to my office.

"Apologies," I said to my guests. "A representative from KDY was causing a great fuss and refused to work with my head negotiator just because she isn't human."

"Ah, we are well aware of the intricacies of dealing with certain core world attitudes" one said.

"Of course. Now, to get back on topic, the reason I called you here today is for the stability of the Imperial credit."

Muun's don't have eyebrows, but if they did they would be raised quite far. Despite their shock I continued.

"The populace is losing trust in the Empire, and with that trust in the Credit. Especially in the Outer Rim. While the Guild and other systems have ensured that the credit remains stable within the Myto sector, I can't do so for the rest of the Oversector and beyond."

"Ahh" replied one Muun, a man by the name of Jucax Kreq "I see. You wish to use the reputation of the Banking Clans to help stabilize the credit in this region."

"Correct" I said, tapping some buttons on my terminal to activate the holo projector in my desk. From it appeared graphs and bars, detailing the Credits strength. Much of the data was pulled from the stock exchange on Clok, the economic center revealing plenty of information about the credit's power.

"As it stands, people are losing trust in the credit, and while the effects are manageable for now, there's a good chance it won't stay like that. I want to work with the Banking Clans to preemptively mitigate that risk."

Jucax nodded, eyes scanning the data. "While I cannot accept on the behalf of the Banking Clans, I can bring the full plan to those who could."

From there, we hashed out a rudimentary scheme. It was simple. The Banking Clans would be allowed to open branch institutions across the sector, operate their own private security forces with loosened restrictions on armaments and size, and would be given stakes in Imperial extraction sites of vital resources like Tibanna gas. They wouldn't be given control of those resources, only a decent amount of the profits.

I wasn't a fan of the deal, to be completely honest, but I knew I didn't have that much of a choice. As the Empire fell closer and closer to destruction, the Imperial Credit became more and more unreliable. In the Core it was fine, but the Rim was a different matter altogether.

Now, to be fair, this wasn't the final version of the deal, far from it. It would go back and forth, with Oioro and her team doing much of the work in order to more properly hash things out and ensure both sides were getting what they wanted.

I was only directly involved in the negotiations at all because I was fully aware that , as it stood, this was a big deal. I needed to show up myself to show I was serious about this.

When the meeting finally ended and the bankers were escorted out, I got straight back to work. The comms beacon project had been going well, implemented in phases as the sector's finances were sorted out. Already there was visible economic improvement.

Where before companies had to make stockpiles of inventory due to uncertainty. Unless their system had a relay (and most didn't) they relied on much slower comms travel or courier ships. That meant they didn't know who wanted what, and in what amount. So they stockpiled inventory so as to never be caught with nothing to sell.

Now? They knew exactly what customers wanted and in what quantities. Countless credits in goods simply sitting in warehouses doing nothing. Now? All that capital was becoming liquid again, surging throughout the economy. Warehouse districts were slowly being repurposed for other things as less space was needed for long term storage.

Not to mention prices were down across the board as the previously stored goods were sold at cheaper prices to get rid of needless inventory. Prices would rise again to more stable levels, but right now to many it felt nice to pay less for the same thing.

Regardless, I could see the writing on the wall. As the liquid capital started to flow, it would lead to factory expansions, new products and more. An economic boom that would last a least a year or so before reaching a new level of stability. Unemployment would drop as companies look for more skilled workers.

Of course, that would leave those who worked the low skill warehouse jobs without a job. Not a massive problem, as the Guild could step in with training for the trades and other certifications, and shuttle tickets to more frontier worlds in need of workers.

Not unlike what was being done with the former slaves. The process was still slow, as despite a month having passed only a tenth of the slaves had been fully processed. Sure, the process itself was getting more efficient as people figured it out, but it would still take quite some time. And, if nothing else, it meant that the new influx of people would happen over time, instead of me having to deal with ten million new citizens all at once.

Finally, as the last task of the day, I took a gander at the reports from HAVEN. Overall, nothing important to note.

The Mando Clans, sorry, 'Security Companies', were being given bounties for slaver and pirate bases that HAVEN had previously identified but lacked the resources or reach to deal with. Honestly, the Mando's were perfect for HAVEN. They were effective, efficient, always held up their end of the bargain, and rarely said no to a contract.

More than that, they worked in small teams meaning they were harder to track and could be in more than one place. It was perfect.

While I doubted it would be enough to rid the sector of pirates, it would help stem the tide. Especially as reports of rising piracy across the oversector made their way to me. The Governor-General was pulling more resources towards the Coreward sectors and it was sure to cause chaos.

But, if nothing else, the Myto sector would be prepared to weather the storm.

–

Yo. Made chocolate/cinnamon cookies. Didn't burn em this time.

Other than that, I'm decently proud of this chapter. Is it my best work? Prolly not. But I think it's better than plenty of other chapters.

Keep it real, mi amigos.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-101

1.12 ABY
Myto Sector
Alvi Mola

Alvi's TIE whipped through the void, engines screaming silently into the black as she accelerated forward.

Ahead, a pirate frigate loomed. A Kaloth Battlecruiser which had seen better days, and wasn't really a battlecruiser, the species that built it had simply named it so.

Laser cannon fire erupted towards her, beams of red promising an easy death. Nimbly she dodged, her Whirlwinds engines twisting and turning, forcing the turrets to constantly rotate angles.

Soon, she spotted a gap in the fire. A single button press had an ion torpedo launch outwards, slamming into the frigate's side as she dove beneath it.

Following close behind, her squadmates launched their own torpedoes, each subsequent blast damaging the target more until something inside gave way and the entire ship was ripped apart in an explosion.

Shoddy construction, Alvi guessed. Common enough amongst pirate warships.

"Overseer, this is Tide Lead. Target is splashed. Requesting tasking."

"Copy, Tide Lead. Playtimes over. RTB."

"Wilco, Overseer. En route."

"Oh, and just so you know, you've got new orders from Command."

"Thanks, Riko." She responded, already having a good guess at what the message would contain. A quick flick of a switch has her on her squads frequency.

"Allright people. Jobs done. Form up on me for the return. I want everything nice and steady, no accidents."

"It was one time!" Cried out Tide 11. He was one of the newer recruits, and while his starfighting was exceptional he for some reason had a spot of trouble with landing.

"No way, I've counted at least five times you've half-botched a landing. Remember when you almost squashed a technician?" Replied Tide 5, voice almost laughing.

"Keep the channels clear of mischief, Squadron. None of us want another lecture from the Comms Officer on radio chatter."

A bevy of affirmatives rang out before she continued.

"Also, I just got word we've got new orders, fresh from Command."

Now a bevy of groans sounded out, and Alvi stopped herself from laughing at them. Sure, she didn't like getting new orders either, it usually meant they had to relocate again, but it was fun listening to her get annoyed.

Not five minutes later, and all of Tide Squadron was docked in the bowels of the Mytoan Pride, an Eidolon-Class that served as part of a patrol team.

The ship had been Tide Squadron's home base for the two months as it dragged them across the sector, from conflict to conflict.

They'd spent the last week in the Bresov system, fighting an increasingly annoying number of pirates while the local Governor scrounged up their PDF forces for an all out assault on the pirates in-system base. Tide Squadron was just there to provide the time they needed.

Now new orders were coming in, and the entire ship was annoyed. New orders meant they'd have to relocate, which meant all the nice restaurants and spas Bresov had were going to be out of reach.

After all, how many times can a pilot in the Outer Rim say they have the chance to take shore leave on a planet with a proper luxury relaxation industry. Sure, Bresov isn't exactly rich but its natural hot springs and amazing scenery, combined with a rich local brewing culture turned it into a soldier's wet dream.

Well, close to one. Plenty had complained about the lack of nightclubs.

Entering the bridge, Alvi made her way to the holo table. Around it stood the command staff, including Captain Brid, her current commanding officer. After all the needed salutes were made, they got down to business.

"Alright people. Words just in from Command. We're moving over to the Jornudgir system. A recent piracy surge there necessitates our intervention."

The holotable springs to life, showing a map of the system. Lines appear, showing the Mytoan Prides trajectory into said system.

"Approximatley 2 hours after we enter the system, we will be meeting with elements of Wulvo Tactical Solutions. They will be operating a Crusader-Class Corvette and assisting us in the approach on the main pirate stronghold in the system."

Projections of the corvette appeared, before minimizing to show the combined forces moving in on a structure on a moon.

"Scans indicate the stronghold is decently fortified, likely due to leftover resources from the Consortium's previous push into the sector. Intel has confirmed at least two squadrons worth of assorted fighters, and an unknown number of larger craft. None larger than a frigate."

It was here Alvi spoke.

"Why are we bringing along the Mandos? Our patrol group has an Eidolon, a Raider and a Nebulon-B. We should have more than enough firepower."

The Captain sighed. "As it stands, orders from up on high are to play extra nice with these mercs. Apparently their ground ops have been doing really well lately, and the higher ups want to keep them around longer. That means we can't just brush them off of a target they were already honing in on."

That ended Alvi's questions, but it still rankled her a tad. She understood full well that the mercenary economy was helpful to the sector, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Especially when she was forced to shack up with mercs to finish a job that likely didn't need more than Tide Squadron an the Pride to finish.

But it was good for the sector, so she supposed that was all that mattered to the higher ups in the end.

–

Las

I watched with a sense of mirth as Muguffin sniffed around the new office.

BlandBoringBoredHome

"You only say that because your catbed isn't here yet. Once the place gets spruced up, it'll be good as new."

She turned to look at me, eyes narrowing a tad.

Doubt

"Yeah yeah, doubt all you want. I, for one, am perfectly happy with this change."

And I was. The office was around the same size, sure but it was far better defended this time! Hidden behind who knows how many layers of durasteel and turbolasers.

The Golan-II I was now inside of was truly a marvel of protective engineering. Sure, my office had a transparasteel window staring out into space, which annoyed me because I hadn't thought to ask for my office to be dead center in the station, but it wasn't that big of a deal.

See, my office wasn't in the Golans central tower! It was located in a much lower deck, in one of those bulbs that bulged out of the structure. Suffice it to say, it was hidden, it had a great view, and it was well protected.

And the best part? I didn't even pay full price for the thing! No, this was a used station I bought off a Moff from the neighboring Oversector. It cost less to buy and refurbish the thing than it would've been brand new, so I was pretty happy with it.

Now my center of power wasn't literally the capital of the Minda system, but instead a platform meant to defend the Mindan Shipyards. A defender of economic interests.

And what an economic interest it is! After the damaged berths were fixed, production kicked into full gear and hadn't slowed down since. Guild patrol vessels were being replaced, orders were being pumped out, and the money was flowing in.

Combined with the improving state of the sectors bureaucracy, and the fact that my stunt with the slaver Governors had scared a lot of others into properly paying taxes, meant that economically the sector was starting to rise!

As the worker relocation program continued, people were finding their way to places were work was more abundant. Already fleets of shuttles and large transports were carting people off by the hundreds if not thousands to more frontier worlds where farms and mines were missing people.

Of course, this came with its own problem. A lot of people in transit meant a lot of targets for slavers. Thankfully, my stunt with the slavers previously had soured the state of the slave trade in the sector, making it a far rarer occurrence. But it wasn't perfect.

Just a few days ago, a transport carrying 250 new settlers from Dubrillion to Jornudgir had been attacked and many of its inhabitants captured. Thankfully, the slavers weren't careful enough in covering their tracks so forces were already on their tail.

But the entire debacle only exemplified the true problem in the sector. Despite a booming economy, despite a slowly but surely rising standard of living and lowering corruption levels, piracy plagued it all.

Holonet beacons had to always be guarded lest they be attacked and destroyed to cut off quick cries for help or be salvaged. Every single merchant convoy bigger than a smattering of light freighters needed mercenary escorts. And more and more systems were requesting help from rapid response units because pirates kept setting up bases fucking everywhere!

What was with those guys and setting up strongholds? I thought pirates loved moving about and staying nimble!

Sure, Darna, Thorne and HAVEN did what they could, and we used what info we got from Murr to the best effect, taking out the most dangerous and fastest growing gangs. But the problem wasn't any single gang, but that piracy as a whole was getting more common.

And the cause was, in some ways, obvious. More and more resources were being dragged to the Core from the Rim by the Governor-General. This meant that already exploitative sectors got worse, driving more people to desperate means. Not to mention that the galaxy as a whole was less stable.

Trust in the empire had been shaken, and the Mid-Rim Offensive had caused chaos that various syndicates were quick to capitalize on.

Make no mistake, the Empire was still the undisputed top dog of the galaxy. None could truly stand up to them. But that's the funny part, they didn't need to.

They just needed to hit the planets the Empire didn't defend as much. They just needed to waltz around the Empire while it focused on the Rebellion and important worlds. So long as they didn't hit Imperial cargo ships but civilian ones, they were less likely to be personally hunted down.

Suffice it to say, the criminal element had gotten bolder. And it was causing me headaches.

At least the Mando integration was going well. What had started as 3 clans and 500 or so Mando's total had grown to over double that, at around 8 clans and some 1100 total Mandos. Some of the clans were quite small, but they were all highly trained and deadly in their own right.

The initial special Guild contract had been simple. The clans register as a company and get a year long contract. An alright monthly stipend alongside generous bonuses for captured pirates, destroyed bases, etc… The stipend scaled with Clan size, but the bonuses stayed the same.

Now, the contract had evolved a bit as their numbers started to swell. The Clans were allowed some better weapons and ships, and were privy to purchasing those from the Guild at discounted prices. Essentially, they got the perks of being decently ranked merc companies without having to take many months to get anywhere near that.

Of course, they more than proved themselves in combat and their eagerness to take missions was a massive boon.

Sure, some other mercs complained they were taking away jobs, but honestly the merc market was the kind where you made your own fortune. The Mandos were just skilled enough to kick the merc market awake again while being small enough that they weren't going to take the entire market on their own.

Eventually, I settled into my new chair. Well, temporary chair. I was having my old chair brought up, alongside plenty of my old furniture. Sue me, I like it.

Turning around to stare out the window, my eyes raked over the shipyards. Each and every berth lit up, filled with half made hulls and workers buzzing around them.

I spotted plenty of ship types. From Dreadnoughts to Raiders and more. Shal's ISD was currently sitting in a berth, panels being removed so internal inefficiencies could be corrected. Nothing major, just some small streamlining some of the eggheads in R&D had come up with in their never ending chase to make a ship to rival the ISD. In one berth I could even see the skeleton of the very first prototype Arbiter-Class.

I doubted the prototype would be much more than an expensive way for the R&D people to figure out what works and what doesn't, but it was a price I was willing to pay.

If nothing else, the bridge wasn't something we had to produce. The ship was some 800 meters long, meaning we could just buy the bridge for a Victory Class instead and slap it on there. Standardization, baby!

After a prolonged period of 5 whole minutes spent looking out my window, I turned back to my desk. I'd only placed the things I needed there, like my terminal, hot coco machine, etc… But when I checked the time on my terminal, I realized my work day was over.

It was still an odd feeling to finish my work in a day and not have to immediately go to my bed because I had so little free time. Now I had multiple entire hours before I had to catch some z's.

So I booted up my PDA, flicked over to the app store, and started scrolling to see what I could play.

I then found a factory sim game. Suffice it to say, I got little sleep that night.

–

Yo. Not nearly as proud of this chapter as the last one. Feels more like an excuse to just yap. But I'm tired, and felt like if I didn't do something remotely productive today I would just go to bed feeling like I was wasting my life. Is this actually a productive way to use my time? No, I could be exercising or learning how to draw.

But, I got accepted into a decent college and can finally leave my community college after far too long a stay, so I guess I can excuse myself this once.

Oh, and no baking/cooking note today. Ran out of flour with those last cookies and subsisted off of protein bars and pre-made chicken tikka-masala today (technically yesterday, its 3 AM or so) so no luck this time. Next time I'll make something, promise. Maybe zucchini bread. That shit slaps.

Sonder, fellow strugglers.
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

celebrate this fic hitting triple digits, have the sixth Omake about of the Tak & Garik adventures.

Omake: Battle of Bandit Mine

POV: Lolwin Doolt, indebted Duros mine owner, Bandit Lair/semi-abandoned mine, Minda-4, Minda system, 2ABY

"Lolwin Doolt, this is your final warning! We have you surrounded! Surrender now and this can all end peacefully!"

A feminine voice resounded throughout the abandoned mine as Lolwin Doolt paced back and forth in what was once his office. The days of wrangling workshy miners to find the seams to pay off his debts were long gone. Now there was only compromises, desperation, and a loudhailer signaling his doom.

"Pulgrun what are we going to do? You said this would be a way to clear my debts, not bring the local garrison down on our heads!"

All the Huralok did was drum his fingers behind what was once Lolwin's desk. After the veins in his mine tapped out far too soon, Pulgrun and his crew offered to pay his interest in exchange for use of his mine. They promised him that none of their activities would be traced back to him. A month in and that was proven to be a load of poodoo.

"Now, now Mr. Doolt. Don't go pinning this all on me. They said they were here for you, didn't they? My lieutenant's… exuberance only exasperated a problem you brought on us."

Exuberance was certainly an understatement. Early this morning a sentry caught sight of the Mynock Pailers' BR-23 courier making a combat landing just half a kilometer from his mine. Pulgrun's lieutenant took most of the crew in an idiotic attack against them hoping to catch them mid-deployment.

First sign of things going wrong was when a couple of bandits went down from shots coming from atop a hill. That scavenged droid armor the crew insisted on wearing to adhere to some sort of unspoken theme proved insufficient. The Pailers kept taking pot shots with their Sporting Blasters causing the rest of the crew to hide behind cover.

Then an Advozse in frakking power armor did a one man assault charge while the scattered fire from the crew's outland rifles just plinked off the shield he was wielding. By the time he got close the bandits were already routing and a few more were gunned down or brought down by the mad Advozse. Now what remained of his new allies huddled in his old office looking to Pulgrun for guidance.

"Bah! We can assign blame later! What matters is how we are going to deal with the Pailers knocking at our door before they finished preparing."

After the disastrous battle outside, the Pailers had begun setting up a cordon around his mine. They had brought in 2 Arrow-23 landspeeders armed with laser cannons, a cargo speeder full on infantry, and even blurrgs. For now they contented themselves with watching us from macrobinoculars and making an hourly pass with that starfighter of theirs to see if we escaped through some side passage that didn't exist. However judging by the thinsuits spotted underneath their uniforms, the Pailers wouldn't be going away anytime soon.

"Relax Mr. Doolt. We have time. The Pailers will not assault us so hastily. They most likely worry we have rigged the mine's stores of blaststicks to collapse the tunnels on them, but we can't do that, can we, Mr. Doolt?"

Lolwin blenched at the possibility. Luckily the stores of explosives were the first thing he sold to hold off the mountain of debt. Pulgrun seemed the right type of desperate to consider the option. Lolwin knew enough about cave ins to know they tended not to stop where you planned them to.

"So are we just going to wait around until we starve? We don't have the supplies built up to withstand a siege! Or worse they could be calling in the Imperial Military!"

The former was definitely more merciful than the latter. He remembers reading about how trigger happy the military around here was in the Edin campaign. Base Delta Zeros got a lot more terrifying if there was a chance of you being on the receiving end.

"It will not come to that Mr. Doolt. What I need you to do is get any mining equipment you have left to arm my men. We will need something stronger than our rifles to get through their boss' power armor. As for the rest of the infantry? That is what our "little surprises" are for. Once the Pailers are trapped in melee, we will attempt to breakthrough the cordon and secure our freedom."

It wasn't the best sounding plan to a novice like Lolwin, but he was willing to follow along. Anything was better than being forced to break his species' lending traditions. That would make him a pariah among his own kind as well as in the business world. Nothing was too much to avoid that type of stigma.

——

POV: Garik Malo
RIV: Protector,
Head of Personnel of the Mynock Pailers, a RII: Alliance Mercenary Company
Certifications: Tracker III, Rescuer I

"Right I want this perimeter airtight. Let's not give Tak anything to give a lecture about alright?"

A chorus of chuckles resounded from the Pailers around Garik. They had all been on a receiving end of one of the Head of Administration's lectures. Usually after doing something boneheaded. Just one more thing to unify the Pailers from the ragtag group they started out as.

"Get those Arrows behind those rocks. I want as much of the body behind stone as you can manage. We only need those laser cannons since the blurrgs can handle chasing down any runners."

It was the first time the Pailers were conducting a siege this large. That had surrounded a building before, but nothing of this magnitude. Hopefully these bandits don't have much reserves of food and water. They might be able to ship in supplies with control of the air, but that still won't do much for morale.

"Boss! Sky Pail's RMD-20 spotted a group heading our way! They got some big wooden box being carried by a repuslorlift!"

A box? Why would the bandits haul out a box into an engagement. Was it filled with explosives or a turret they intended to deploy. Either way once they closer he would direct fire to take it…

Brrrrrr!

"Removing impediments. Wooden or otherwise."

Oh frak. Oh Frak! Garik knows the voice that just sawed its way out of that wooden box. The voice of metal monsters from a state long dead and a war long ended. He still has nightmares from that time Tak showed him a documentary on Separatist occupation protocols to explain why they are not going to use battle droids. No way is he is charging into sawing distance of those things even with power armor on. Frak he can't let his Pailers see him tremble. Give them something else to focus on!

"Arrows! Weapons free! I want all laser cannon fire directed at those droids now! Make sure those melee B2s are hobbled before they reach our lines! Infantry! Hold fire until you can get a good shot on those bandits, then open fire! Everyone else, maintain position and get ready to chase down any runners!"

There! Solid enough plan. Everyone can focus on what they need to do instead of looking at him. Garik just hopes he instilled enough trust and discipline into the Pailers to keep their cool. They had the firepower advantage still, and if they could bring that to bear things should turn out fine. He just needs to project confidence and have it stiffen his Pailers' backbone. Just like back at the ring, Garik. Showboat and strut.

These bandits just signed their death warrants. Using battle droids, Clone Wars era at that, was a big no-no in the Minda system. Once word of a stunt like this spread, they were liable to get hanged by the locals before the government could get ahold of them. Before he would be willing to take prisoners. Now there was no need to capture the already dead. No one is walking out of that mine except their target.

——

"Do they always cry like that when you bring them in?"

Garik stared as the Duros was led away sobbing and blubbering. A skip tracer, a specialist bounty hunter primarily hunting debt dodgers, had come to the Pailers to subcontract. The owner of this mine had been behind on his payments to his fellow Duros and was caught doing some economic sorcery Tak called "using supernumerary posts to inflate the worth of his company for his creditors". The Draag sent to bring him in had noticed armed individuals patrolling when she reconned the place and asked them to ensure the capture went smoothly.

Tak and him had agreed in exchange for a part of the owner's bounty and any bounties these bandits might have had. The Old Vet had decided not renew the Pailers' contract after it ran out. Dewback Diggers had gotten big and sophisticated enough that the council had decided to raise a local police force rather than rely on mercenaries. Side gigs like this were good for building up reserves while we decided our next move.

"Sometimes. Usually the ones who haven't realized how deep a hole they dug themselves in. Thanks for the assistance by the way. Wasn't expecting so many of them."

Neither had Garik to be honest. That defense was hastily slapped together once a Sky Pail spotted the bandits heading their way. The M.P. Hurt Wagon was still mostly in its demilitarized configuration, which meant it lacked the internals needed to quickly deploy their speeders and mounts in a potential combat situation. Still, the infantry had been able to stick to their training. They had suppressed the bandits and kept their heads down long enough for Garik to get among them.

"I am just glad we managed to get reinforcements and the cordon up before they unleashed those droids. Did you see the chainsaws on those things? Separatists must have been taking Spice when they came up with that."

Thankfully they were poorly maintained which meant sustained fire from the laser cannon on an Arrow was enough to take it down. The bandits probably dug them out of the desert near where the old Munificent wrecks were and reprogrammed them. Garik would have to tell Tak back at Dewback Diggers to send a report to the Imperial government. Make sure they didn't miss any other hardware in the last sweep.

"Quite. Speaking of leftovers, this mine seems pretty well dug. The owner might have been lying about how much it was worth, but it is clear he didn't try and cut corners on the actual mining. Shame the veins tapped out early given how well this operation was done."

Yeah this place does look nice doesn't it? Main entrance is large enough to convert into a hanger. The barracks were relatively untouched despite this place being home to bandits for a bit. Even the utilities were large enough to accommodate the whole company.

Space had getting tight and expensive back at Dewback Diggers. Offers were rolling in for the Pailers' piece of the plateau. A new base out of town would allow for a much easier time expanding facilities, even with the extra shipping. A proper garage for their speeders and a larger stable for their blurrgs would be way cheaper than in town.

"Trying to make sure the owner's creditors get as much of their Credits back as possible? Guessing you get a commission for going above and beyond? Well I'll talk with Tak back in town about it."

Maybe those same creditors would be willing to buy their base back in town? Tak had taught him those kind of additions gave wiggle room to tip a deal in their favor. Not like there was much else of value to extract out of this gig given the bandits only had slugthrowers and scavenged armor. Either way that was for the next company meeting to hash out.

Although Garik had a feeling the town's mood would turn against them if they kept their old place and only used it for storage and training. Space was getting to be something to fight over on the plateau, and the Pailers wanted no part of that fight once the security contract ended. Not like either of them wanted to get into the messy politics of the rental market long term. Better to cash out while the price and goodwill were still favorable.

——

Who here remembers the 2 Munificent wrecks that were found on Minda-4 alllll the way back in Chapter 4? My guess is the government probably didn't find every single piece of battle droid that was scattered during and after the crash. Separatist battle droids don't seem so scary in the movies and cartoons when they are fighting magic monks and super soldiers. Right until you realize their occupation protocols involve fielding legions of killer robots armed with radiation weaponry in addition to the standard blasters. Occupations that are usually conducted against civilian populations. Not to mention the recent reminder from the Scarred Hand's little terror campaign.

Also that "one man assault charge" thing wasn't just a metaphor. The Mynock Pailers' group tactics take inspiration from 18th-19th century infantry tactics, just scaled down to a small unit and using sci-fi tech. Mass rifle fire to kill some of the enemy and suppress the rest as cover for the assault unit to go into CQC to break the morale of the enemy position to end the fight quickly. The melee charge was crucial because neither side in the initial battle had powerful enough guns to achieve decisive firepower i.e. the ability to kill a lot of people fast enough to shatter the other side's morale. In the second engagement the bandit force was small enough and the Pailers had brought enough heavy weapons to just mow them down.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[SwaffleWaffle]

A Young Girl's Quest for Rain:

Mandalore was a dry, hot, and dusty place. It wasn't always like this, according to historical records, but it's been that way for decades - longer than Mab Fryze has been alive. And it hasn't gotten any better because of stupid, hardheaded Mandalorians doing stupid things and making stupid amounts of collateral damage. Honestly, sometimes she thinks some of her people don't need helmets to protect themselves, but rather to protect everyone else from their bad ideas leaking out.

What Mab was doing wasn't a bad idea. It would be a bad idea if she hadn't done unholy things to an astromech until it could do the right weather simulations, or if she didn't have scanners pointed at her target to make sure that there wasn't anything too fragile near her target, or if she didn't have explosives rigged to blow the comet apart before it goes into the atmosphere. But she did have those things, and so she would make it fucking rain. And not rain shrapnel, ash, nuclear fallout, or plasma, but water.

Her father, Victor Fryze, might have objected, but he had taken her comatose mother out of the sector to try and get her medical attention from the kind of facilities which no longer exist on Mandalore. The Myto Sector, or something like that. Mab wasn't paying much attention, because she was at the time too busy making plans for the ship her father was leaving in system: the old Republic Tugboat which the family once used to salvage and tow ships around the system. Which the family hadn't used in a while.

Once she flew it up the gravity well and scoped out a good target, she had to find and then acquire the package she would drop on Mandalore, a big ol' comet which was totally fine for her to take, as nobody else was using it. It looked a bit bigger than the virtual comet she used in her simulations, and took her just a bit longer to tow over to orbit over Mandalore, but a bit of extra water wouldn't hurt, right? If the people on Mandalore couldn't handle a bit of rain, they didn't deserve to be called Mandalorians, and thus were undeserving of human rights - at least that's something some of her uncles would say. She didn't quite agree with their bigotry, but the people on Mandalore were tough these days - surviving their collective idiocy was an impressive feat.

She had a bit of a problem getting the comet to slow down and get into the right orbit, but she was smart and left a bit of leeway in her plan for exactly such a thing like that. She didn't think she'd use so much of it, but clearly her unconscious self was even smarter than she was. Her astromech, Ice Cube, beeped at her in a disapproving tone , somehow sensing her smugness, and her eye twitched. Oh, she had been talking to herself again.

"Okay, fine, you also get some credit, but I made you into what you are today, and thus your credit is my credit. And if you disagree, you are free to challenge me to a duel later, or something", she retorted. Take that, you smug snarl of circuits! That would get him to back down. Right?

"Anyways, shut up, we're in the final stretch - be a good droid and help me with this"

Ice Cube beeped in amusement, and declined to help. Leaving her to do the final drop of the comet on her own. This was fine, she was a smart mandalorian, one who was good at math which didn't involve weapons or ammunition, and this was almost the same as the simulation anyways. So, as she orbited around towards the target, she began using her ship's big strong tractor beams to push the comet down. Not too fast, and not too slow, as overshooting or undershooting might annoy some Mandalorians. And an annoyed Mandalorian is a potentially lethal threat - especially to her, as she wasn't really that much of a fighter, at least compared to her fellow Mandalorians.

Then, as the comet was heading down towards the target in a beautiful arc, it broke apart far sooner than planned, and spread out. Apparently she wasn't just going to overshoot or undershoot, but do both at the same time. She might still be ok though.

She watched the icy fragments further break apart and boil as they fell, and she realized that she may have chosen a comet that was a bit too big. The explosives she had earlier placed on the comet then went off, making an even more beautiful picture.

As the deed was done, and then some, she decided to head home as fast as she could, and set her course for Concordia. The flight back was silent - she would say too silent, but space was supposed to be silent, right? Rather than lingering in her guikt and anxiety, she pulled out her PDA to see what she had missed on her long water-hauling trip. She had received messages from one of her friends, asking where she was, as there was apparently a massive storm happening in the patch of desert she said she was going on a trip to as a cover for her research for the mission. At least, the messages started with concern for her. They progressively became accusations, and demands to know what she had done, which was just hurtful. Tita-nia had no proof she was involved! The fact that she was correct in this case was irrelevant.

Back home, Mab stretched her limbs and yawned.

"Alright, Ice Cube, time to go to bed. Well, I get to go to bed, you have the recharge port in the closet."

Not hearing any response from Ice Cube, she looked back to see that he has somehow attached a robotic arm to himself, which was wielding a Beskad.

"What the fuck!?", she very reasonably and calmly stated. There was no squealing going on at all, and she resented the accusation! From who? The force or something. Whatever that voice in her head was called. Ice Cube beeped at her again, slowly, insistently, before slowly rolling towards her. While holding a Beskad.

"Oh hell no! Nope. Nope-nope-NOPE," she noped verbally before noping out physically, walking briskly towards her house, which didn't seem quite close enough all of a sudden. She heard the whir of Ice Cube's wheels raise in pitch and come closer. She tactically retreated into the house - she might have technically run away but that was just semantics.

She did not escape, and in a matter of moments she was repeatedly bonked on the head with the flat of her own Beskad by her astromech while in the foetal position in front of her garage door. Ice Cube beeped again, demandingly, patiently, maliciously, and for a moment she considered trying to run away again until she resigned herself to doing what Ice Cube said. A tear ran across her face - no, it was a rain drop! Or so she tried to tell herself. She wasn't very convincing.

"… I am an idiot. I am an idiot. I am an idiot. I am an idiot…"

This continued on for a while before Ice Cube let her go. Mab's head hurt for days afterwards. … she really shouldn't have upgraded Ice Cube so much.

 

[SwaffleWaffle]

"Legally, It's A Light Freighter"

SS-54 Light Assault Gunship Light Freighter

Production Information

Model: SS-54 light assault gunship

Manufacturer: Botajef Shipyards

Type: Gunship

• Due to a quirk of imperial bureaucracy, it's actually legally classified as a Light Freighter, allowing many to purchase it even if they would not normally be allowed to purchase a Gunship

Cost: 110,000 Credits

——

Technical Specifications

Length: 24.19 meters

Maximum atmospheric speed: 800 kph

Engine unit(s): Incom HA-980a H/O ion engines (2)

Hyperdrive rating: Class 2.0

• Backup Class 12 Hyperdrive

Armament:

• Forward twin ZX7 laser cannons (2)
• Aft dual laser cannons (1)

Complement: Varies, based on modular configuration

Crew: 2-3

Passengers: 6-10

Cargo Capacity: 30 tons

Consumables: 2 weeks

——

Usage

Availability:

• Widely available across the Rim, most common near Botajef, as it is produced at Botajef Shipyards
• If Eriadu is the Coruscant of the Rim, Botajef is the Kuat of the Rim, and has a fitting amount of production,

Role:

• Military Gunship
• "Light Freighter"

Affiliation:

• Mercenaries
• Bounty Hunters

——

Description

"Sure, it's a light freighter, if you count body bags for bounties as freight"

"By the motive force! This is surely a miracle from the omnissiah, a sign of his favor of the Mard, the Moff, and the Myto Sector. Oh, uh, anyways, I think we should buy a lot of these. These could help meet demand. And cut that first part out of the record." - Guild sourcing specialist suspected to be a former member of a mod gang

The discovery of the legal status of the SS-54 assault ship as that of a Light Freighter was met with extreme enthusiasm by many guild members, especially newer ones who are not yet licensed to purchase ships which are legally gunships.

Design

"It's definitely a gunship. I know it, you know it, Bill knows it, Mola knows it. Let's call it a light freighter anyways. After all, who are we to go against imperial law?" - Lead analyst for the SS-54 "light freighter"

It's important to note that, due to the modularity of the design, it actually can work as a light freighter, albeit a well armed one. Given these trying times, better armed light freighters would likely boon to the security and prosperity of the sector

The SS-54 light freighter has been tried and tested by mercenaries and bounty hunters, who hold it in high regard due to its perceived simplicity, reliability, and versatility.

The primary weapons of an SS-54 are its two twin ZX7 laser cannons, mounted below the prow of the ship on one turret each, which can be independently aimed and fired. This may not seem like much, but a relatively high rate of fire and level of power can be sustained for a long period without issue, one of the reasons for its reputation for reliability.

Conclusion

"I love it. I love it so much, I wish we had another shipyard just to make more of these" - Guild worker sharing a common view on the SS-54

The SS-54 is not only a good and reliable ship, but its modularity, versatility, and legal status take make it a superb choice for many guild-registered mercenaries.

——

Recommendation

Comments about acquiring more shipyards to construct SS-54 "light freighters" quickly went from idle speculation to serious evaluation when it was discovered that Botajef Shipyards, the designer and manufacturer of the SS-54, have a currently abandoned auxiliary facility in the Mako-Ta system called the Mako-Ta Space Docks. Further investigation into the Mako-Ta Space Docks is suggested, along with the viability of acquiring them in a similar manner to how Moff Mola acquired the Rothana Heavy Engineering assets which now comprise the Mard. In addition, it is plausible that pirates have taken up residence there to make their Ambuscader Class Corvettes. Thus, the securing and acquisition of the Mako-Ta Space Docks would accomplish a number of goals.

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-102

1.12 ABY
Marv Delninian
Braxant

Marv's mind spun as his eyes scanned up and down the page before him, numbers and figures making little sense. At best he could tell that the sector wasn't doing well. Production numbers were down, and he was certain that even those were being fudged. He simply wasn't proficient enough to figure out who was fudging the numbers and how.

Taking a step back, he rubbed his eyes and sighed. He really didn't like his current position.

When the Governor-General had taken his position, he'd started making connections and inroads with all the various conglomerates and upper class families closer to the Mid-Rim. He'd seemed to outright ignore the Muuns, but given the Core generally didn't like them, it was somewhat understandable.

Eventually, the Governor-General had made friends with Marv's parents. The Delninian family were the primary industrial magnates of Ord Tessebok, right next door to Ord Mantel. While Tessebok wasn't as rich as Mantel, it had less of a crime problem, and the Delninians industries were nothing to scoff at.

Marv's parents had been some of the first to make moves on the new Governor-General. They'd entered a political alliance of sorts, being one of Hiral's primary supporters in the region. And for their loyalty, they were given the Braxant sector.

Or, more specifically, Marv was "gifted" the pleasure of running the Braxant sector. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded normally. A position of decent power, the ability to laze around and indulge for the rest of his life, it was perfect! And, it would get his family off his ass for never doing anything.

Of course, he wasn't a fool. He knew he was chosen because his siblings were all in important positions, and his parents didn't trust his extended family one bit. He was literally the last viable option.

And the Braxant sector was a mess. The military was the strongest thing around, and it was also a constant drain. He'd downsize if he could, but pirates were everywhere. Systems were either underproductive or simply too small to be of any use. And he was certain the various Governors were undereporting yields.

But Marv, for all that he would readily admit to being something of a lazy, spoiled brat, was no fool. His best bet for fixing this mess was finding competent people he could trust. But there were none he could trust, so instead he turned to those who he could trust not on a personal basis, but on the basis of knowing what it was they valued.

Moff Mola. The story of the Myto sector's economic boom had been all the rage recently. More than that, it had been made clear that the Moff was not one to care for politics. He seemed to care only for economic success. He'd achieved that through his Guild.

And that was the opportunity. Marv quickly took a seat as his desk, his hands flying over his terminal as a message was typed out. A request for a meeting with his fellow Moff for discussion over the expansion of the Guild into the Braxant sector.

Marv, as he always told himself, was no fool. The Guild would essentially have major control within the Braxant sector, limiting his own power. But Mola was a major ally of the Governor-General. Meaning combined with his focus on economics and disdain for politics, he wouldn't abuse his power, at least not in any way Marv would care about. So long as he wasn't ousted from his position and got to keep lazing around in luxury, he couldn't care less.

The Guild had dragged the Myto sector into prosperity. If it could work even a fraction of its magic on the Braxant sector, Marv's parents wouldn't annoy him about it, and he could keep living his life as he pleased.

–

Las

The holo projector bathed my new office in its stark blue glow, the blue light ensuring I would stay awake despite the day having been tiring enough.

"As it stands, the sector is making more than enough money to fund expansions to the Navy and Army. Especially since the Office of Sector Acquisition is looking into more shipyards."

"But we simply lack the trained personnel." Continued Ife, her hologram nodding. "Most local troops come from PDF training centers and aren't exactly up to snuff."

"Agreed. Even the Auxiliary units are outperforming other locally recruited, if only because their more motivated." Sector General Zulitra looked tired, even through the hologram, but that was a common enough state of being for people on our level. At least, those who actually did their work.

"Then we have only one real option. Setting up our own academies. We can't exactly rely on an influx of troops from outside the sector." I replied, numbers scrolling across my terminal screen. "From what I can tell, I can have a dozen smaller academies set up within 4-5 months. Around 6 more for fully trained personnel from what I'm seeing."

Zulitra shook her head. "No, that's too long. We need more bodies now. Cutting the curriculum down to just basic training and a few others can get it down to 4 months, maybe 5 max. They can learn on the job afterwards."

"I'm not against it, but is that dip in quality really worth it?"

Ife snorted at that. "It would be an improvement, actually. Aside from a few PDF academies like the ones on Minda and Edin, most PDF troopers turned military are so bad that barely any ever make it to any officer position. Like the General said, even the Auxiliary units are better, and they get the worst gear and training available."

I hummed to myself, running the numbers. The budget had stabilized, but despite having literal billions of credits at my disposal, they were quickly being drained. My time as Moff had made it plainly clear that the only reason the sector made this much money was because they didn't spend any on infrastructure for frontier worlds, or any place without any immediate benefits for investment.

Now, I was organizing the spending of billions for supply deliveries, infrastructure subsidies and more. Well, to be accurate, I was reserving that much money. I still had to ensure the Governors would actually use the subsidy money correctly and not just launder it into whatever vice gripped their heart. Regardless, it meant that the sector wasn't as flush with cash as it had once seemed to be.

"Considering the average Academy output, size and more. I can allocate some funds for the creation of some two dozen academies. Though they won't offer the full range of training a normal one would have, I'm sure they could meet demand. But it'll take time to set them up. Not to mention getting instructors."

Here Zulitra looked pensive. "What about those Mandalorians? While I don't exactly trust a bunch of mercenaries, they are highly skilled and could fill some instructor positions until we get more."

"Makes sense." I reply, looking through average Imperial Academy output numbers. 24 new academies would, if they were full academies with all the bits and bobs, output somewhere around 200-300,000 troops annually. I could, at best, get half of that with these new ones, considering they would be training as they expand. If only we could get the training times lower…

"What if we change the curriculum?" I ask, interrupting the conversation the two were having about the ratio of Navy to Army academies needed.

Taking their silent looks as an invitation, I continued. "When I was in the Officer course in the Eriadu Academy, a large chunk of the curriculum focused not on strategy, tactics or logistics, but on loyalty to the Empire. If we cut down on those sections, we could increase output."

At this, I could see both their faces scrunch up a tad. It was understandable. On one hand, I was pretty sure all three of us weren't die hard Imperial zealots. Zulitra seemed more loyal to stability, Ife to whatever ladder she could climb, and I didn't care for it myself. But talking out loud about this kind of stuff was cutting it a little close. Thankfully, I had a solution.

"Of course, loyalty has to be ensured. Soldiers can be rotated out for extra lessons when time permits. But as it stands, we need soldiers and sailors now, and if we can cut down the academy time, it means we get more bodies sooner rather than later."

At this, I could see them both start to nod. They just needed a decent justification.

"However, the ISB and COMPNOR won't be particularly happy with this, you know. That Lieutenant Bree is a shifty one, he's stayed in his position for quite a while. If he sees this and decides it's not loyal enough, it could spell trouble for us all." Said Zulitra.

I rubbed my chin, feeling the slight itchiness of stubble. I'd been swamped with work lately and hadn't gotten around to shaving. Maybe I should grow out a beard, it might make me look older and more respectable.

"Right, that's a potential problem. With the galaxy seemingly up in flames and the Civil War in full swing, the ISB is looking for wins wherever they can find them. So how do we spin it?"

Its here that Ife spoke up. "We let them in."

Both of us stared at her, confusion evident. Let them in? The whole point was to keep the crazies out!

"We let ISB agents supervise. And each agent will want their academy to be the one that works, because of them, of course. So we have our own people do the actual work, make good numbers, and then let the agents take the credit. And once numbers are acceptable, we instate the full, longer curriculum that makes them happy and they leave."

Mulling it over, it was a sound plan. The ISB was a den of snakes, all trying to climb over the corpses of their fellows. Playing into that would work great, though likely only in the short term. The longer the ploy goes on, the more likely an agent is to decide they actually want to exercise their supreme authority and change things around instead of just accepting the credit.

"Seems sound. We'll have to plan it out more thoroughly, but I trust you two to get your preparations done. I'll see about setting aside the needed funds."

The rest of the meeting was mostly focused on the Auditor Program. It was kept small, highly trained, and the first class had finished. Now, they had been set loose upon the Sector, sent to worlds with high amounts of wealth, entrenched families, and the kinds of people who consider bribes to be the status quo. It would take time, months and months for even a single Auditor and their team to be ready to make an arrest, but that was the point.

A slow, creeping fear where you don't know if the new hire is there to spy on you or not. Combined with the fact that every arrest would be very purposefully public, suffice it to say news would spread.

Eventually, the meeting ended, and as the blue glow of the holograms faded into the more varied colors that made up the many markers and stat sheets on my sector map, I was left alone in my office once more.

Annoyance

Rats don't count.

Indignation!

–

Wanted to toss a quick one out there. I got only 2 classes this semester (other two I needed were full before I was even eligible to apply!) so I'm only in class twice a week. And today was 5 hours straight of classes with no break, and both teachers are the no screen kinds of luddites, so I spent quite some time just writing up plans for future chapters, so y'all can expect some more of that.

Well, not that much. Crimson Desert drops on the morrow and I'm going to sink my entire youth into the game. So we'll see how long it takes me before I remember I write at all.

Burn bright, Starfarer
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-103-Interlude

Thorne
1.12 ABY
Minda

Thorne sat in his office, a few hours before the workday ended, eyes taking in the various data points spread before him. They were travel logs from the hyperspace beacon, indicating ships entering and exiting systems. Hidden within, he could see the discrepancies.

These indicated that someone, somewhere in subsector 3, wasn't properly logging every entry. Or, more accurately, deleting entries before the automatic system sends them. Considering the rise in piracy in that subsector, it seemed to point to the pirates having an inside man. Unacceptable.

Opening up his personal PDA, an unmarked one, he checked HAVEN operative numbers in that subsector. They had a few, and he quickly assigned one to investigate. He didn't trust the normal Imperial investigators.

After that, he continued his work. Through Governor Murr, he was able to feed pirates faulty information. But only partially false information.

For example, a tip that a convoy would be moving from system A to system B at this time, making a rest stop in between. A pirate group would take the tip and attack, not realizing that the tip had never specified exactly how defended the convoy was, only that it was carrying valuable tech.

Such was the nature of much of what he did. He would've also liked to be in control of the HAVEN kill squads, as he didn't trust Darna with them. However, per the Moffs orders, the kill squads were only to be used when all three of them agreed on it. A check on individual power that he could understand.

It was then that his thoughts did turn to Darna. She vexed him in a myriad of ways.

On one hand, she was stubborn. Prone to overworking. Dead set on her goals. And filled with obvious disdain for the Empire.

Yet, she was also overwhelmingly competent. She was willing to make the hard choices. And most importantly, she truly seemed to care.

Thorne had been an ISB agent for nearly a decade, and he'd never had a colleague who truly cared about, well, anything that wasn't advancement. They'd capture rebels and smile at the prospect of advancement. But not at the capture of terrorists.

But when Thorne and Darna saw the recordings of recently freed slaves, she smiled. It was a small thing, but it had been more genuine than any expression he'd ever seen on a colleague's face.

And that scared him. Because Thorne liked to think he cared. He was entirely devoted to the Empire and its Emperor, of course. It was simply that many within the system were ineffective, bumbling fools, corrupting the vision of the New Order!

But did he care? Has he ever truly cared? He didn't know, and that scared him. How could he call himself a true Imperial if he'd never cared for its people?

Was he a true Imperial? What did it mean to be a true Imperial? Did it mean being loyal to the Empire, or its ideal?

What was the Empire's ideal? Was it order? Was it control? Was it peace? He thought so, but was it true?

What did the creation of the Death Star say about that ideal? What did that say about him?

What did it say about his parents-

A ring from his intercom interrupts his spiral, Thorne quickly latching onto the distraction.

"Sir, just wanted to inform you that the workday is over. Do you need anything more, or am I free to go?" His secretary says through the intercom.

"Ah…y-yes, you're free to go." He responds, throat all of the sudden feeling quite dry. Eyes returning to his terminal, he realized how much time he'd truly wasted.

A hand reached into a desk drawer, taking hold of a small bottle. From it, he takes two caffeine pills, popping them in and swallowing in one go.

As the energy rushes through his body, his mind doubles down on its focus. He still has work to do.

Primarily, further organization of recruitment to HAVEN through Pathline Inc. The company had retained its status as a trusted, Imperial backed, mid-size shipping conglomerate in the sector. Neither the largest nor the smallest, its nature as an easily forgettable background detail made it perfect for his uses.

–

Jos Yiiwn
1.12 ABY
Minda

Jos stepped out from his balcony door and took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. From where he was standing, he had a view of most of the neighborhood. Thousands of prefab apartment buildings stood tall, with construction visible on the edges of the neighborhood replacing the prefabs with proper buildings.

It was slow going, he knew, but it was worth it.

The sullustan made his way downstairs, taking the building's central turbolift, greeting neighbors all the way down. Many siblings from his warren-clan.

Of those, many were wearing a shipyard or other industrial uniform, which made sense given the reason many sullustans moved to Minda was for the industry.

From the apartment building, he made his way to the nearest train station. Walking down the steps to the underground station, he first made a quick stop at what was quickly becoming one of his favorite breakfast spots.

"Ah, Jos, nice to see ya! I thought you had today off?"

Standing at the counter was, of all people, a clone. BB, people called him, presumably because it was his nickname back during the Clone Wars. He had a proper name for legal documents, but never let any customers know it.

"Hey there BB. Yeah, today's an off day for me. I'm just going to the city center to cast my council vote."

"Makes sense. Honestly, I think Mandria is going to win. I mean, did you see that speech she gave last night?" Replied BB, already cooking up Jos's usual meal.

"Yeah, I caught it. Pretty good stuff, though I'm not sure about her stance on zoning laws. I get that the megabuildings have businesses inside them, it works there. But doing the same for normal neighborhoods? I'd rather keep them on the ground floor instead."

"Fair enough. I wouldn't mind, but then again I live in a megabuilding so it's the norm for me. Here you go, your usual." BB says, placing a platter before Jos.

The bowl of steaming hot noodles and meat, with a side of dipping bread was the most heavenly smell to him. He still wasn't entirely sure what the meal was made of, only that it was a style native to the Tula of Minda, using ingredients from Vylos.

Eventually, the meal was finished and Los was satisfied. Not long after, he got on the train, shooting off through underground tunnels to the voting center.

While on the train, he noticed multiple people watching the candidate videos from the night before. It helped that candidates only got to campaign on Imperial holo-sites, being given a set amount of equal time. No posters, advertisements or more. Just videos on individual topics, weekly debates, that kind of thing. If nothing else, it made choosing a candidate easier.

Finally, he made it to the voting center, and groaned in frustration. The place was packed, with lines stretching out the door. He knew the governor insisted on voting being done in person, to avoid slicers manipulating things, but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying.

Especially considering that normally, few people voted at all. It wasn't something most considered super important, since the Councilors usually didn't do much. Of course, the recent debates for the Councilor of Accordia brought up zoning laws and a lot else that people were concerned about.

And now it was packed. Joy.

Costs of living good, he supposed.

–

Arven Bulbados
1.12 ABY
Jornudgir System

The muted roar of the Sentinels engines provided a steady hum throughout the landing craft. Arven focused on it, the sound keeping his mind steady.

A message flashed across his helmet's HUD, a final weapons check alert. Arven complied, despite having checked his weapon over two dozen times. He did it anyways, on reflex.

In his hands was a standard issue E-11M blaster rifle. Unlike a normal E-11, it had a few modifications. A larger power cell to hold more shots, a modified barrel for enhanced cooling, and a proper telescopic stock instead of that flimsy metal sheet the standard variant had.

Overall, it was a good weapon. One that he'd taken apart and put back together hundreds of times. One that he's checked thousands of times. He did it anyways.

Arven was, in a distant sense, proud of himself. He'd gone from PDF trooper from nowhere to Stormtrooper. If that wasn't something to celebrate, he didn't know what was.

But that didn't stop him from fearing. From doubting. The Stormtrooper program had been easier than expected, after all. Not easy, no, but easier. A step up from the PDF program, and certainly more difficult than what his buddies in the standard Army went through.

Yet, in the back of his skull he knew something was wrong. He'd heard that the number of Stormtroopers was increasing galaxy wide. The propaganda said it was an 'influx of patriots!' but was it? Or were standards dropping?

Did he deserve to wear the armor?

Another message on his HUD. They were landing. In sync with the other troopers, he stood, blaster at the ready.

His HUD was already connected to that of his squad, and his squad leader's callsign lit up as he spoke through the comm.

"Beta Squad, sound off!"

As they sounded off, Arven's eyes stared into the middle distance. Mind thinking to the battlefield ahead of him. He didn't hate the battlefield, not really. Though he certainly didn't like it either.

If he was to put a single word to it, it would be…overwhelming? Yet at the same time, boring. It wasn't something he could properly describe.

Then, the craft had landed. His feet were moving. He was outside.

The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the hillside. Ahead he could see the objective, a bastion of scrap metal and prefab buildings. Ramshackle walls surrounded the place, while slapped together turrets fired at them.

Arven tracked the gaze of each turret, anticipating each firing arc, dodging accordingly, ensuring there was always a LECA between him and the gun emplacements.

The LECA's themselves advanced like a wall of death. Each equipped with a large, heavy durasteel shield that defended the troopers behind them, forcing the turrets focus on them.

Above them, TIE fighters and Mando strikecraft ripped apart pirate junkers, wreckage falling to the ground in flames. Thankfully far away enough that he didn't have to worry about shrapnel.

Eventually, the turrets were brought down, having killed none and only injuring a single trooper. The Arven and the others poured into the breached walls, LECA's already ahead of them, shoulder mounted blasters tearing apart all they could see.

As Arven took cover, he spotted the pirates shoring up their defenses, gathering in the central building. One whipped out an AT rocket, the explosion tearing the limb of a LECA. It seemed almost as though they were holding up for reinforcements.

It was then that the Mando's arrived. From another side of the complex, a dozen Mandalorians jetpacked over the walls, blasters firing every which way.

A part of Arven was entranced by their fighting. It was chaotic, messy, almost instinctive. They didn't fight as a single unit, but as a dozen masters who happened to be in the same place.

But the trance didn't last long as he snapped back into reality. His blaster fired one, twice, thrice, each shot finding its mark. With the pirates now facing two fronts, they'd gotten distracted, creating openings.

As the enemy retreated further into the building, Arven's squad gave chase. Here, his mind truly entered autopilot. His eyes scanned every crevice and corner, blaster quickly and methodically killing all he came across.

One pirate turned the corner swinging an axe of some kind. A primitive weapon. Arven tilted his head back, the weapon missing by half an inch as his blaster fired. Dead. Behind the pirate, two more tried to run.

Two more bolts were fired before he turned away from the room.

The Mandos had gotten into the building by then, their gleaming beskar protecting them from much harm. He watched as one refused to use any blaster, instead choosing to slaughter his way through the building with a sword nearly as tall as he was.

From there, the killing continued. The standard E-11 could hold 100 shots. The E-11M could hold 175. By the time the raid was concluded, Arven's shot counter read him in at 23 shots left.

This was unusual. Normally there weren't that many pirates.

By then, Arven was simply doing the rounds as instructed by his squad lead. Scanning individual rooms to ensure no stragglers were left alive.

It was then he came across another Mando. She stood in the center of what was once a bar of sorts, half a dozen corpses lying around her.

As she turned, he noticed her helmet was off, revealing her face. A pantoran woman, bright pink hair cut short to fit in her helmet.

"Ah, hey there! Sorry about the mess, they were just so rude, you see." She said, a small smirk spreading across her face.

"I'm Ritrati Wulvo, warrior of Clan Wulvo and RII Enforcer for Wulvo Tactical Solutions!"

A distant, quiet part of Arven's mind noted that she was fairly attractive. A much louder part of his mind pointed him at the moving shape in the corner.

In less than half a second, his body had turned, blaster up and blazing. A single shot was all it took. The pirate, who had played dead, was now truly dead, a blaster pistol falling to the floor.

Ritrati took one look at the pirate, then at Arven, and did something that he'd never seen anyone do before.

She squealed.

"That was an amazing shot! And you were so quick! How did you do it? Is Mytoan stormtrooper training just that good?"

She was up in his face now, a radiant smile gracing her features.

Arvens brain suddenly snapped forward, his logical mind reasserting himself after the chaos of battle. And the first thing that logical mind did was speak intelligently.

"H-huh?"

"I asked how you made that shot? Are you a Storm Commando?"

"N-no? I'm just a normal stormtrooper…"

She laughed at that. "No way! I've seen normal stormtroopers, and most are mediocre at best. The older ones are pretty good, but not very common."

"W-well, I…I'm pretty a-average, I think." He replied, suddenly very glad he was wearing a helmet. The blush on his face was atomic.

"You know what? I heard your ships getting a small break at the nearest port. How about you show me how you shoot then, huh?" She said, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

His posture went rigid, mind racing a million miles an hour despite not being able to conjure up a single coherent thought.

"...o-okay?"

"Great! Give me your contact info, and I'll message you!"

After some awkward fumbling, he did so.

And as Ritrati dragged him out of the compound, badgering him with questions, he couldn't help but feel as though his squadmates were laughing at him from behind their helmets.

–

Yo. Decided to do an Interlude chapter. Just wanted to spit out some alt-POVs. Not as substantial as I would've liked, I was planning on having a 4th Jir POV but its late and I'm tired.

I thought I wouldn't have time for this, what with Crimson Desert and all. But for all that the game is incredible, suffers from JRPG-itus, meaning its got ten million mechanics and it takes the first 8 hours before the game actually finishes introducing them and actually opens up.

Still great. Wish they didn't charge $70 for the base game tho. Wild.

Let's see you grit those teeth.
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Elicitor Class System Transport

Production Information

Manufacturer:

• Primitech Solutions (Subsidiary of the Guild of Commerce, Production and Protection)
• Guild affiliated primitive civilizations

Model: Elicitor Class System Transport

Type: Transport

Cost: 70,000 Credits

——

Technical Specifications

Megalight per hour: 40 MGLT

Engine unit(s):

• 4 reusable and refillable rocket boosters
• retrorockets

Hyperdrive: none

Shielding: none

Power:

• Nuclear fission reactor
• 2 deployable solar collectors

Hull: Titanium Hull

Armament: 3 light flak guns

Crew: 8

Passengers: 3

Cargo Capacity: 500 tons

Life Support: equipped

Consumables: 4 months

Other systems:

• Landing claws
• Magnetically sealed beds and seats

——

Usage

Availability:

• Licensed

Role:

• intrasystem transport
• Initial commercial and logistical space fleet for newly space capable civilizations

Affiliation:

• Atomic and Information level civilizations
• Museums

——

Description

"Why did you build this museum piece?" - Myrthos upon seeing an Elicitor.

The Elicitor is an odd sight when exiting the hyperlanes. An archaic design stripped of commonplace comforts such as antigravity and nuclear fusion. It has nonetheless become an increasingly common sight as the workhorse for many mid-uplift worlds across the Myto sector.

Development

"Look we already have our hands full just with Vylos. It is going to take ages to uplift every single civilization we come across enough to fully integrate and utilize repulsorlift and ion engine technology. To say nothing of getting them to work on hyperdrives without outside assistance. Let's just design something the Atomics and Infos can use to get around their home system themselves in the meantime to lessen the load on the Empire and the Guild." - Myto Sector Committee on Civilization Integration discussing the logistical concerns of fulfilling their mandate.

The Myto sector, like most Outer Rim sectors, contains a wide variety of civilizations of every technology level. In the early ABYs the new sector government began a series of programs designed to standardize and bring these worlds closer in line with Imperial standards.

Unfortunately these efforts quickly ran into difficulties. Some worlds contained Fringers and colonists who while uneducated, descended from societies that contained a galactic level knowledge base. The foundation was there and enough certain terms and theories allowed those worlds to be brought up to speed quickly enough.

The real problem came with civilizations in the sector that had never even seen so much as a repulsorlift prior to the Empire's arrival. Efforts to educate these primitive populations have been slow going even with information level civilizations. Projections estimated it would take at minimum years to decades before these civilizations as a whole reached a space technology level in matters such as heavy engineering and power generation.

This has led to an increased logistical load on the sector's naval resources. Ever more Imperial Navy and Guild personnel were being dedicated to accomplish minor tasks such as flying a cargo shuttle to deliver development aid to a remote town. Attempting to raise a nascent logistics fleet for every pre-space level civilization in the sector solely composed and serviced by non-native personnel was deemed too costly by the sector government.

Faced with a problem of trying to crew ships on worlds with an undereducated population, a proposal was put forth to design a ship out of entirely atomic level technology. Such a vessel would be built using principles the native civilization could understand while utilizing millennia of incremental advancements by the wider galaxy. As a bonus, native space programs and infrastructure could be more easily converted into servicing such a vessel rather than more advanced ships. This would do nothing to help civilizations below the atomic level, but the estimated savings in ship and maintenance personnel was deemed sufficient to give the project the go ahead.

Design

"Worry not my citizens! We will no longer be completely dependent on offworlders to maintain our interplanetary empire! I give you… the Elicitor! - King Fergulon of Orzwar II addressing his citizens' complaints by presenting a new "locally built" starship.

Designing what would become the Elicitor started more as an archival study than a procurement process. Libraries, museums, and historical societies were scoured for how to build an efficient and easy to maintain pre-space level starship. People from professors and forum design theorists were called upon for information relatively freely for a ship design project, given the archaic nature of the project.

The Elicitor was constructed out of simple alloys able to be manufactured in low tech industry. Parts and components were kept as simplistic as possible for even the electronics and computers. The lack of advanced technologies left the Elicitor without otherwise standard safety features such as a shield generator and artificial gravity. To ensure the capability of reliable atmospheric entry and exit, the hull was strengthened as best as the design specifications could allow. All these choices resulted in a vessel that could be maintained and even manufactured entirely in primitive planetside facilities with some instruction and supervision. Although it is significantly easier and faster to build an Elicitor in modern space shipyards, it was hard to secure priority in those places for such an archaic design.

The Hardcell-class interstellar transport proved invaluable for providing a modern example of how to use rocket thrusters as the main propulsion system. The Elicitor's thrusters were made to be as easily reused and refilled as possible so that even primitive starport facilities should be able to do it. The chemical makeup of the fuel mixture was kept to what could be commonly sourced or easily synthesized from most planets. High capacity collector coils were installed to keep the hazardous emissions to a minimum.

A lack of artificially generated gravity led to some additions to compensate. The Elicitor was advised to maintain a constant thrust to simulate a gravitational pull. Should that not be possible the crew's beds and seats came with heavy duty straps and could be made magnetic to secure their forms should the speed of the ship fluctuate. Ensuring a capability of rest, if not comfort. Sentients who have slept aboard an Elicitor described the experience as "trying to fall asleep with a heavy weighted blanket after a full sprint".

Power generation utilized similarly outdated methods in the form of a nuclear fission reactor. Emphasis was placed on reliability and ruggedness given the nature of the component. The reactor is contained in a separate room that contains an ejection system in case of an emergency. Two solar collectors can be deployed to provide minimal power until rescue in case of reactor ejection. Maintenance is heavily encouraged to be conducted only at a planetside facility and with properly licensed personnel present.

For armaments an Elicitor had three simplistic light flak guns manually controlled individually from its respective weapons station. These weapons were simpler to produce and their ammunition was made of common metal alloys and chemical propellants. They were mostly intended for destroying minor obstacles like small asteroids and mynocks. Magazine size and ammo storage were kept intentionally small to reduce incentive to use Elicitors as combat vessels. If forced into an engagement, a standard Elicitor could last one, maybe two quick fights before running out of ammo.

Reception

"Please note, attaching missile launchers of any kind will invalidate the warranty on your Elicitor. The ship is not designed to fire intercontinental ballistic missiles meant for planetside use." - Line in the official Elicitor owner's manual.

A majority of the Elicitor's sales were predictably among "developing" planetary governments around the Myto sector with rudimentary spaceflight capabilities. Most would frustratingly admit the Elicitor was better than their native designs in both refinement and capability. Adoption became more enthusiastic once the Empire announced development aid would be put towards the creation of "Atavist Logistics Fleets" that replaced their native designs with the Elicitor. Once registered, these local logistics fleets and their maintenance facilities were subsidized by the sector government as long as they took contracts supporting the interplanetary logistics of local governments and passed periodic inspections.

Users of the Elicitor found it to be about as agile as a rock. The lack of antigravity was a detriment to crew comfort to say the least. Constant thrust mitigated the stresses on the crew, but also tended to force travel routes to go in straight lines and be difficult to alter. Trips were often kept to neighboring planets and their moons. Cargo capacity was sufficient for supplying outposts and small colonies, which tended to be the limit most Information level civilizations were capable of.

Combat wise the Elicitor could fight in a battle and theoretically have a chance of scoring a kill against a more modern civilian ship. It certainly won't be standing up to proper capital ships, but expand the ammo stores, add a rack of dumb fire missiles, and it could frighten off a few starfighters or a civilian freighter with some luck. However any combat focused modifications were heavily discouraged by Imperial authorities who encouraged reliance on Imperial and Guild protection while keeping the Elicitor's focus on the development of the owner's civilization. This only discouraged the practice, it did not halt it completely.

Conclusion

"That was the least comfortable flight I have ever had, and you guys do this on the regular?" - Guild observer sent evaluate the performance of an Elicitor's native crew.

Some would deride the Elicitor as an outdated design built to pander to primitives unworthy of the wider galaxy's time. Yet for those civilizations not caught up with the rest of the galaxy, the Elicitor is often their first real foray into reliable space travel. Not a nail biting attempt with flimsy cabins, tape, and a prayer, but something that can turn the fantastical miracle into mundane routine. The ability to travel between world under their own power and not as a passenger or cargo. A crucial step to breaking these sentients out of their shells and on the way to becoming true galactic citizens.

——

The Elicitor was a challenge for myself to design something a "primitive" civilization could produce and field in Star Wars. Before they figure out the more fantastical technologies like on demand artificial gravity, blasters, and shield generators. I wanted to make something you could give to space programs on Earth in the 1980s and generally have them understand how it works. The result was not too terrible by my standards in terms of performance.

It is mostly assumed that civilizations either know or can purchase these highly complex technologies ready to use. However I imagine actually attempting to fully bring your civilization into the Space tech level and implementing those technologies into your society could get a bit more complicated. So the Elicitor is a stopgap that they didn't have to rely on offworld specialists every time a screw needed to be tightened, which would be useful while the civilization plays catchup on the tech tree.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-104

Marv Delinian
Myto Sector
Ugea Orbit

When the shuttle had flown into the hangar of a Golan-II battlestation, Marv had felt quite good about his decision.

Golans weren't the cheapest battlestation around, and if Moff Mola could afford one, it spoke well of his economic situation.

That feeling slowly morphed into confusion as he was led to the Moffs office. Instead of being led upwards into the main command spire of the station, he was led downwards. Through bland white hallways and multiple checkpoints.

Eventually, he was shown to the Moffs office. What awaited him was surprising, to say the least.

The first observation he made was the size. It was at best a third the size of his own office.

The second observation was its decoration. Or lack thereof. While his office had some of his favorite artwork adorning its walls, a nice plush rug, and various other amenities he'd brought from home, this office was stark in its lack of, well, anything. Behind the desk sat a strange fluffy contraption, clearly a toy for the large lizard pet that lay on it, and on the desk was a machine not unlike the one he used to make caf in the morning, but that was it.

All in all, it was a stark place. Brutal in its efficiency. And the feeling of pride returned once more, as Marv was now certain he had made the right choice.

What Moff would ever stoop so low as to work out of an undecorated office? Certainly none he'd ever heard off, unless they were constantly on the move. No, this was indicative of Moff Mola's sheer dedication to his work!

"Ah, Moff Marv. Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss." Said the fellow Moff, gesturing to the seat before him.

Marv quickly sat, understanding implicitly from years of political intrigue that despite technically being of the same rank, Moff Mola was leagues above him in the political and economic sense.

"So, your message spoke about wishing to expand the Guild into your sector?" Spoke Mola, his eyes seeming to bore into his soul.

Marv stopped himself from gulping in anxiety, knowing this was his chance! His one shot at ensuring he could live his lazy life!

"Correct, Moff Mola. The Braxant sector which I have been so graciously given command of is wracked by poverty and economic insecurity. The only problem it doesn't seem to have is an overt piracy problem, a consequence of my predecessor's obsession with ensuring he commanded as much military might as possible."

Here, Marv paused to take a small breath, examining the Moffs expression. Nothing. Not a twitch. A perfect sabacc face.

"The Guild has shown itself to be an incredible organization that could do great things. My sector is in dire need of economic reform, and I believe the Guild could be just the thing to bring that reform. Of course, details would need to be ironed out over time, but I am of the belief that it would be beneficial to both our sectors for the Guild to expand."

With his speech over, he waited anxiously for the response.

"An expansion of the Guild was never something I had ever planned on doing."

Anxiety spiked in his heart, he could already feel the cold sweat forming on his brow.

"However, I cannot deny the potential such an expansion would bring."

And the anxiety was gone. Over the course of the next hour, it was replaced by sheer boredom.

Because the next hour was spent going over details. With the initial plea successful, now he had to actually hammer out an agreement. Marv had known this, had even steeled himself for it, but it didn't make it a good situation either,

Especially since he still had to work! The Moff had insisted that instead of just expanding, Braxant made its own Guild with Myto's support. That way, it would seem like an alliance instead of one sector gaining power over another.

Except, that's not what he wanted! But he wasn't about to refute the decidedly logical plan put before him, even though it was clear he would have to do a great deal of work regardless of his wishes.

When Marv finally walked out of that office, he did so swearing that he would find a way to offload his work without consequence, no matter what!

–

Las

As Moff Delinian left my office, I leaned back in my chair, stared at the ceiling, and cursed Governor-General Hiral's name.

That absolute wanker had given me a call and told me to 'take care' of the new Moff, because he was the son of one of his biggest Mid-Rim supporters. What was I to say, no? As much as I hate it, the Governor-Generals patronship is a shield that has kept me and the Myto Sector safe from the usual oversector politicking. Not entirely, of course, but it meant more overt or obvious ploys weren't used as often.

And I wasn't going to risk that just to avoid helping a new Moff, even if it led to the expansion of the Guild, and therefore the amount of attention on me.

Thankfully, I was able to steer the conversation towards the Braxant sector instead founding its own local Guild and allying with my Guild. Then, through trade and information/personnel sharing, this new, legally distinct Guild would be brought up to par.

More importantly, since it's not my Guild or my sector, any fuckups would be entirely on Moff Delinian and not me. There was no way this could possibly backfire!

Disbelief

"Don't give me that, when have I ever been wrong about anything?"

As a deluge of memories start pouring in through the force bond, I refuse to bend.

"First of all, none of those ever happened, you're just crazy. Second of all, I am a paragon of truth, a monolith of objective reality. As such, I am always right!"

Exasperation

Eh, the space lizard-cat just doesn't get it. She lacks the groove.

Like the pirates. They lack a groove. They have so little groove, its getting on my fucking nerves.

Because they keep coming. Admittedly, it's not like I expected them to stop, given the academies are still in the process of being built. But that didn't make it less annoying.

Thankfully, some new information had been learned. Many, and by many I mean most of the pirates seem to be from out of sector. Not just the neighboring sectors, but beyond that as well. On one hand, that's not super surprising, given the speed of hyperdrives and how common space travel was.

On the other hand, people tended towards settling down in a relatively small region of space. Sure, some immigrated for work, but most worked either on their home planet, or within their home sector.

Pirates tended to stay local, where they knew the region, had connections at shadowports and more, these weren't. Something or someone was driving them out.

More than that, something was getting them to try and set up bases. Unacceptable.

Thankfully, Darna and Thorne were already sending WEB agents out into neighboring sectors to find these other shadow ports and infiltrate them. Governor Murr was useful for in-sector info, and not much else.

At least that info was being put to good use. The Mandalorian clans kept growing as more and more showed up in the sector with each passing day, and they all had plenty of work.

So, I'd started offering better contracts. Not with the Guild, but directly with the local Imperial Government.

These contracts were much longer term, to the tune of 5 years, but with triple if not quadruple the amount of quarterly pay for the clan at large. Not to mention, positions as trainers at the new academies that came with generous paychecks.

Of course, that wasn't all. Those who signed on got fairly sized land grants on multiple planets across the sector, usually right next to capital cities, such as Accordia. The idea was that such land would allow them to store their supplies, set up camp and settle in for a long contract.

The sneakier idea was that by settling them so close to cities, they would intermingle with the locals and come to call the sector home.

Did I want the crazy warrior culture in my sector? Not really, no. But so long as they didn't start more crusades, and only hunted pirates, I was willing to integrate them

Of course, that meant dealing with their bloodthirsty requests.

No, you cannot have melee-only LECA's! Or battleships! Or battleships that drop melee-only LECA's from orbit!

Just the idea makes me reach for another cup of coco.

Excess

"Oh I dare you to call me fat to my face!"

ExcessGluttony

"Ok COME HERE-"

–

Yo. Writing then with what I'm 70% certain is a sprained finger. Cause I kept spam clicking my mouse in Crimson desert before finding out you can just hold the attack button for the full attack chain.

Also, bashed my hand into my desk a few times. Games great but some of these bosses make me want to call the Emperor a wrinkly anus to his face and see what happens.

Eh, its mostly a skill issue tho, so what can you do.

Regardless, decided to toss another one out there because I miss seeing comments, they give me dopamine. And a part of me is worried that I only write for attention and not because it's my passion, and its why I don't ever apply myself to anything.

I don't listen to that part of me, its depressing. I listen to the part of me that tells me to shove an entire apple fritter into my pie hole on the drive home.

I like that part of me.

Eat apple fritters, they also keep doctors away.
-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-105

Jir Coru
Minda, Ugea, Accordia
1.12 ABY

Jir's eyes swept over the armed freighter before her. A YV-929 Armed Freighter. It was an ugly ship, but aesthetics were irrelevant in most cases.

It belonged to a small mercenary band who was in for their yearly inspection. All Guild affiliated mercenaries, companies and more had to submit to yearly inspections of their operations in order to ensure they were staying up to the code of the Guilds bylaws.

And as it stood, this band was not meeting said bylaws.

As she stalked through the ship, she took note of every imperfection. Undusted tables, slightly rusted metal. Small things that to her spoke of a lack of discipline. Unacceptable.

Deeper into the ship she went, noting how blasters were of various makes and models. Taking a second to identify each one using her Yewcast AR glasses, she noted that the weaponry failed to sufficiently cover weaknesses, with a distinct lack of longer range weaponry denoting a lack of preparedness.

Moreover, the weapons lacked any cross compatibility in terms of parts and manufacturers, creating a larger logistical strain that once more spoke of a lack of preparedness.

Another mark on her PDA.

It was then that she went to the second floor, where the cargo was stored. She checked to ensure each and every cargo unit was safely secured, which they were. A point in their favor, she supposed.

But the rest of the cargo hold reversed that. Within sat speeder bikes, all older models that her AR glasses noted as being older models, and therefore more prone to malfunctions.

Finally, she entered the cockpit, immediately marking down the frivolous contraptions hanging from individual seats. A sabacc card hung from the hyperdrive lever above the pilots seat.

Pathetic. Such distractions were not acceptable of mercenaries whose work is representative of the Guild.

Eventually, she left the ship. Outside, she walked past the mercenary band itself and to her superior.

Currently, she was a Junior Member Success Liaison. Because despite her years of previous experience as a Commandant, all Guild Members had to undergo some sort of evaluation/training period to ensure they were right for the job.

As such, she was assigned to a Senior Member Success Liaison. One Gretam Yun. Gretam was a bulky man, a heavyset Gamorrean. His skin was a dark green, his tusks polished to a gleaming white. His uniform was well pressed and clean.

To Jir, he was the spitting image of professionalism. Sure, her old comrades at the Academy would've sneered at an alien, but she was no fool.

One did not survive Coruscant by judging through species alone.

"I've finished the inspection, sir." She said simply. The Guild in many ways was a more casual organization, with members often simply calling each other by name. Nor was there a salute of any kind.

Still, she straightened her back and instinctively entered a salute stance, the only thing missing being the actual salute. Instead, she handed her PDA over to her superior for him to check.

He took hold of it, the machine looking smaller in his large hands. He synced it to his own before handing it back and reading through her commentaries.

For a minute they stood in silence, all the while the mercenary band they were checking stood in the background, Jir ignoring their nervous gazes all the while.

"Alright." Rumbled out Gartem. "This is an opportunity for growth, so keep that in mind while we go over this."

Jir nodded sharply, wondering where she had gone wrong. She was certain she'd marked everything of note and more.

"To start with, you seem to be marking based on a significantly stricter criteria than necessary. You note over a dozen instances of dusty surfaces as a marker of lacking discipline amongst crew. This is not a metric by which the Guild marks things."

"This extends to multiple other marks made. Rusting hinges and personal items hanging from the console are not metrics we measure. They are irrelevant. While I can understand the logic behind your reasoning, it seems to me your past experience is coloring your criteria."

He lowers his PDA, making eye contact with her. In the back of her mind, she suppresses any reaction. Eye contact with superior officers in the Empire had been rare, as most didn't bother to look at those below them. Their gaze had to be earned. A tactic she had employed on her students and children as well.

"This isn't the Academy. These are not soldiers. They are mercenaries. While we do expect a level of professionalism and competence from them, these nitpicks are pointless because, again, they are mercenaries. Their ship works well, and more importantly their records so far showcase a high level of competence in their contracts."

A part of Jir wants to lash out at this point. Irrelevant!? She was not holding them to the standards of her students! This was, at best, half as strict! She had come in expecting to be lenient to a small degree given that mercenaries were not expected to be soldiers, but this was unacceptable. But speaking against a superior wasn't something she was willing to do, and so she kept quiet.

"But that's not to say you didn't make any good observations. Your notes on their weapons and speeders are valid, though not as marks against them but points for them to rectify. By giving them pointers to improve on, you help boost their progress. Not to mention, it creates an opportunity for you to sell them newer speeders and weapons."

Something in her face must've shown something, because the Gamorrean sighed. "Your strengths clearly lie in an incredible eye for detail, administrative work and more. But your criteria is mismatched with the industry. The best chance for you to grow is to apply that eye for detail to helping our members succeed. It's in the job title after all. When I first joined, I would've never thought to check and see if their weaponry was varied enough to cover different situations, nor would I have checked the age of their speeders. If you can align your criteria with the Guilds, I'm sure you can go far."

To Jir, it was clear that the Guild's criteria was foolish, lacking in discipline, and many other descriptive words she didn't care to say or think. So she only had one response.

"Of course, sir." She would simply have to find ways around this. To drag herself upwards on her own merits, using the strategies she had employed for decades. If that meant acquiescing to some smaller rules now, it was worth it.

"Good, good. Now, it's around time for our lunch break. I was going to order something for the office. What are you feeling?"

"I appreciate it, sir, but I couldn't possibly-"

"It's on me."

"...Alderaanian noodles, please."

–

Tria Bontera
Braxant Sector, Braxant
1.12 ABY

"And again, remember, never say yes to a bribe. Internal audits will find out, and you will be put in prison. If you just do your job well, you make good money. And as the BGES (Braxant Guild of Economic Stability) improves, so will your paycheck!"

And with that, the class ended. Tria resisted the urge to sigh heavily into her hands until she was out of the classroom and in the safety of a restroom.

A week ago she'd taken on a job from the Guild. On occasion the Guild posted optional programs for employees. Usually a temp transfer to a frontier world to help train up new personnel or whatnot, with a decent bonus attached. Of course, if no one took it, someone would be transferred anyways, so the bonus just helped speed things up.

When the notice went out that another Guild was being built in the sector next door, it caused some concern. Would a competitor mean the IGCPP lose value? Would their salaries drop?

Then, another notice went out about how employees could take a hefty bonus to temporarily transfer to the new Braxant Guild in order to train up their own employees from scratch. Apparently because the Braxant Guild was going to facilitate smoother trade between the two sectors.

Tria had been a Guild employee since it was first formed. She had plenty of experience, and had decided that this bonus would be a great way to bolster her stock portfolio with a new cash infusion. She'd been eying that new Abyssal industries stock for a while.

What she hadn't anticipated was how painful this would be. Every class she had to make it painfully clear that you weren't supposed to take bribes. That, yes, you would be paid a living wage. It was in the BGES charter!

Logically, she understood that this was because people didn't trust the Empire, and the locals hadn't trusted the Empire in a long, long time.

But emotionally, it was getting really annoying to have students in each and every class ask about "side hustles" and "supplementary income". Just do your job!

And from what she heard from other trainers, it was much the same. People were so used to a state of corruption and inefficiency that the idea of a system that worked, that did was it was meant to honestly, was a myth. A legend. The bribes you paid to get a work registration weren't bribes anymore, it was just the cost of paperwork.

Still, it wasn't for nothing. Moff Delninian had apparently started a plethora of reforms, with Governors and more who protested being shown the full effect of the Braxant sector's oversized patrol forces. He was essentially brute forcing the slower destruction of corruption that had been taking place in the Myto sector.

It wouldn't work as well, but the Moff seemed insistent on doing something, so she couldn't blame him.

Now, she had to work out how to explain "standardized procedure" to her next class without it somehow involving a shady stack of credits.

–

Las

Trade. Commerce. Business. Call it what you want, but no matter what people said about life, philosophy, politics or more, trade was the lifeblood of the galaxy.

And I was looking to do more of that.

Piracy had been on the rise constantly, to the point that it was commonplace. Trade had stayed stable enough because of the sheer amount of mercenaries patrolling the sector, but that wasn't something that would last. Because the pirates kept showing up, and mercenaries could only do so much.

The largest mercenary companies were allowed a single frigate-sized vessel. Some pirate bands had multiple. It just wasn't sustainable, and I wasn't going to let mercs run around in cruisers.

But all the solutions to my problems cost either time or money. The former I had no control over, but the latter was something I could earn more of. Which was why I turned to trade.

The Guild existed mostly to allow merchants and companies to trade within the sector. It was a self contained system.

But that didn't mean merchants didn't come and go from the sector. They brought in goods simply not available within the sector, and left with raw materials or finished industrial goods that had become the staple of the sector's export economy.

So, I sent out messages to the offices of the Raibollo and Veragi sectors Moffs. They weren't part of the Bright Jewel Oversector, but they had access to other trade routes that would make all of us very rich if exploited correctly.

The idea was simple. Reduction on tariffs and border crossing fees on either side of the border for merchants coming and going if they were buying or selling on either side. This would incentivize merchants to trade between the sectors and buy/sell between those markets more often. Therefore, despite the reduction in tariffs and fees, traffic would increase significantly, therefore increasing revenue.

Of course, I expected both Moffs to have more questions, make demands, etc… but I was hoping to appeal to their greed more than anything else. Especially since I wasn't asking to expand the Guild to either sector at all. That would be a huge no-no.

Other than that, I had been looking deep into subsidies. The recent economic boom had been shoving more and more people into industrial jobs on frontier planets, meaning faster growth. With the right amount in subsidies, given to systems that have proven a lack of corruption, said subsidies could bring great boosts in the infrastructure needed to support more industries.

Some planets even had the right industries needed to one day host shipyards of varying sizes, though that would be for the farther future once more industry had been built up and their economies could handle the strain.

I wrote a few recommendations and sent them off to my secretary, who would send them to various analysts to check the validity. While I'm quite good at what I do, I'm not so arrogant as to believe that I'm always right 100% of the time. Having teams of economic and industrial analysts on hand to help check me and otherwise advise me was pretty useful.

As I scrolled through my terminal, checking on the progress reports from everything from the holo-net relays to the Academies and more, I came across a message from the University of Coruscant.

"Dear Moff Las Mola

We here at the University of Coruscant are impressed by your paper on the Imperial Guild of Commerce, Production and Protection, and the economic points made within. We cordially invite you to present yourself before a committee of academic experts to engage in a thesis defense, the success of which would grant you a Doctorate by Portfolio.

We sincerely await your arrival
-University of Coruscant
Office of the Dean

Huh.

I'd forgotten I'd sent that.

–

Yo. A quickie of sorts. Played more Crimson Desert, the game is growing on me, in a good way. It opened up significantly. Also, you can adopt pets? And give them armor? And theres a research tree? And a house customization? And a mercenary system? They really just tossed the kitchen sink in there and its fucking incredible.

Rage against the machine, but buy my product!
-Freefaller

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Branching Out into New Markets with Subsidiaries

POV: Mining Boss Xosana, Owner of Xosana Concern a RIII Corporation Mining Company with a Safety Officer specialty in the IGCCP, also Owner of Xosana Enterprise a RI Cooperative Mining Company with a Safety Officer specialty in the BGES, Guilder District, Borantha City, Velecose IV, Braxant Sector.

Stepping off his used Star Seeder-class Colony Ship, Xosana took his first breath on the second visit to his new District. Well a lot of it was officially owned by the Braxant Subsidiary of Xosana Concern, Xosana Enterprise, but given he was Xosana and he owned both companies it was basically semantics. Point is, no sentient was going get in the way of his appreciating this growing District before him if he could help it.

"All right lads! Fan out! Take in the sights a bit before your designated appointments. First Wave has set up the foundations. Head to the central office in time for your appointment and get your housing situated."

The Dowutin's heavy duty prosthetic leg gave a creak as it helped hold up his ton of weight. He took a quick stroll through the Guilder District. Most of the folks he saw were from the First Wave, but there were a couple of natives. Makes sense with Xosana Enterprise owning most of the land and being the main employer of the folks in the District. Guilder Districts were what happened when the Guild found something worth investing in on a planet, but the population wasn't ready or able to take advantage of the opportunity. Could be mining, farming, or some other particularly profitable resource. A company or companies wanting to get the first bite of that opportunity ships in their workers to set up the initial operation.

In exchange for being allowed to set up a District, the companies give a pledge to train and employ local workers to handle most of any expansions. In addition the companies must allow other competing companies to get a slice of the action or set up their own businesses inside the District if they wanted. Also they agree to make their best effort not to "disrupt any local communities". This basically means a Guilder District tends to be built just outside a settlement's limits on unincorporated land rather than buying out the locals's homes and infrastructure.

The practice had been getting more popular now that the "legally distinct and separate" Braxant Guild of Economic Stability had been founded. "Transferred personnel" from Myto companies would set up subsidiaries of their parent companies back home in order to use their institutional knowledge in this new market. A lot of worlds in the Braxant sector were too poor to do the initial development, so they saw a Guilder District being built as an economic opportunity for their planet. Some of these subsidiaries acted like de facto branches of the original company, but for legal purposes they were registered as subsidiaries with their own separate legal and financial identity. Bigger companies like CEC, BlasTech, and KDY use the same kind of loopholes to move into sectors at times, so the galactic Imperial government would have difficulty preventing the practice.

"Steady with those crates fellas! Can't risk those thinsuits and breath masks getting damaged. Mess up here and it's the miners that will suffer up top!"

To give an example, Velecose IV was a world littered with mountains and minimal vegetation. What drew the Concern to this place was the signs of rich mineral veins on the higher elevations. While the atmosphere was breathable enough up there, most of the natives refused to go up even when the Concern promised generous incentives and funding for founding up their own mining company. The mountain they would be mining wasn't a cultural icon or religious ground or anything, Xosana had checked per Guild regulations. Locals just didn't like to work in the thin and frigid air.

In response to these difficulties, Xosana had sunk a significant portion of the Concern's funds and his own savings into a new subsidiary, Xosana Enterprise, to set up a mining community just outside of Borantha City to extract resources from the planet. Valuable minerals would be exported to keep the Enterprise in the black while more practical minerals will be stored for future expansion of both the District and the rest of the planet. So far the foundation phase has gone well, and now it was time to get down to the mining.

"Everything progressing well, Mining Boss Xosana? I would hope my assistance would be sufficient lubrication for things to run smoothly."

Xosana hoped he wouldn't hear that nasally voice so sound after landing. Velecose IV's Imperial Liaison Krump was more than happy to assist in getting the land both near the city and up the mountains sold to Xosana Enterprise. Personally Xosana found the lanky human a bit of a wallflower, but he is absolutely loyal to the Empire. Probably how he was sent this posting in the first place after he transferred over from the Diplomatic Corps. Xosana could handle Krump buzzing around occasionally like an annoying fly if it means securing the Concern's first major venture outside the Myto sector.

"Yes we are on schedule, Krump. Once Xosana Enterprise is done building we'll lend our Z7 Series droids and make a voluntary contribution to help construct the ground facilities for those communication satellites. A deal's a deal. Just make sure to keep helping ensure things between the locals and the Guilders stay calm."

It was a win-win in Xosana's book. Velecose IV was close to a hyperlane route and Krump hoped connecting to the wider Imperial Network would raise the planet's standing and his own with it. Xosana Enterprise gets some good PR with the locals and the government by contributing to some public infrastructure, and Xosana and his subsidiary's workers get access to the ability to send quicker messages back home. He'd be able to get in touch with the Myto office way quicker once those satellites get set up.

Speaking of his subsidiary's workers, from the locals' perspective the settlers from Myto may have looked like one cohesive group. However, the Concern wasn't a big enough company for the personnel they transferred to be entirely internal. Instead they had hired from the myriad of communities around the Minda system to scrounge up the numbers they needed to populate the District. Everything from Alderaanians interested in Velecose IV's mountains, a few Muun looking for office jobs, a Sullustan Warren-clan hoping to get in on the ground floor, to a smattering of kids from the original Ugean settlers looking to emulate their parents by going offworld.

Despite their differences, the other Guilders had mostly circled the speeders with the Concern's more veteran employees when it came to interacting with the locals. Preferring to focus on their shared ties to the Myto sector and each other rather than try to integrate. It caused some tensions in the beginning. Nothing violent. Just some heckling and insults being exchanged and local institutions dragging their feet for things like licenses, permits, and correspondence.

However Krump was able to flit between any lines drawn and settle any issues that popped up. Some community events, a few dinners, and participation in a local festival and things calmed down a bit. For all his flaws, the man can be inoffensive and play the role of the neutral mediator when he tried. Why there were already some locals heading to the local Guild office in the District to apply to become Guilders themselves.

"Of that you can certainly trust me. Now I believe one of your employees wants a word with you. Talk to you again soon."

Hopefully not too soon. Something about Krump always put Xosana on edge. Maybe it was his instincts from when he was a Sector Ranger. Two centuries of service in the institution gave plenty of time to hone his ability to smell a pest. Still, Xosana wasn't in a position to arrest anyone anymore. Best he could do is keep a passive eye on the Krump and send act as a "concerned citizen" if anything turned up.

"Flibron! How are things? Noticed the prefab homes are up. With this wave of folks we are set to hit well over one thousand settlers. Spotted a few cantinas for recreation, and a general store for supplies."

When Xosana had promoted Filbron to senior manager in charge of setting up Xosana Enterprise, this place was just some empty fields. Now things were beginning to look like proper place to visit off the clock. The Guilder District was mainly designed for a place the miners to get some R&R. Course that meant hiring some mercs to keep order given talks about establishing a branch of local law enforcement in the District were still ongoing. It was needed with how rowdy his folks could get in the cantina.

"About as well as could be expected Boss. Hangars permits just came in for housing ore haulers. Landing pads are fully staffed with operators in the control towers to avoid accidents. The droid maintenance facilities just got the final adjustments on their tooling. Fusion smelter foundries might take some time yet, but they are at the end of our production line.

Up top we are just about ready to do the initial boring with 11-17-series mining droids. Afterwards organic miners will do the mineral extraction with beamdrills, primarily the GP-G9 Pulse Drills, in addition to blaststicks and repulsorcarts. Maybe we can ship in a few utility arms in the future to boost productivity. Specialists are also fully certified to use the Mechanized Autominer Mk IVs for extraction and collection."

It was a sound enough plan when they drew it up back on Ugea. Well within the restrictions they would be operating under. Due to this planet containing a native population, energy mining was forbidden in line with galactic Imperial law. Guild regulations meant thinsuits and breath masks are required both up the mountains and inside the shafts during exploratory mining in case of gas pockets and cave ins. Especially when using any amount of explosives like blaststicks. Might cost a bit more, but it was worth it to stay on the right side of the law and keep his folks safe.

"Right I am gonna head over to the central office and make sure things run smoothly. Finish up whatever offloading documents need approval. Maybe catch some shut eye before my real first day begins."

Yep this is exactly what Xosana wanted when he used his pension to found the Concern. A way to spend his retirement productively while heading new and interesting projects. Maybe after about five decades he could leave running the Concern to a successor and spend his later years wandering the remote wilderness regions of Velecose IV. Either way that was for future Xosana to deal with. For now current Xosana has to prepare to get his hands dirty assisting the build up of this community of folks under his watch.

——

A look at how the Guild is spreading out across the new sector. Companies are going to take advantage of new markets, even if they have to put on a new coat of paint to do so. Apparently making separate businesses is pretty common for business owners, especially in the rental property industry.

Mining and trade operations tend to end up attracting other industries and further immigration. Even without government encouragement, I can see the these new "Guilders" migrating to new worlds and gradually becoming a distinct cultural group popping up on a bunch of worlds. Guilders are not quite Imperial High Human, but not in line with the local culture either. Think more an ancient Mediterranean colony with Minda as the first Mother City rather than a Colonial era colony with a Mother Country. This expanding cultural and economic network is probably going to be the bedrock of support for Las on a lot of worlds both in and out of his home sector.

Crossposted on SB and SV