Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

[Ethertank]

Hey freefaller just wondering is luke skywalker still traveling across the galaxy to see Minda?

Click to shrink...

Well it's now 1ABY now so a New hope already happened so Luke is too busy with the rebellion to do anything

 

[Yacov]

Omake: The Guild Walker Division

POV: Texa Rang
RIII: Guardian, member of the RIII: Syndicate The Order of the Brass Riders
Certifications: Walker IV, Rescuer II
Minda-2

Texa gave one last check over of her freshly installed rotary laser cannon before hopping back into the seat of her Gladiator Walker. Hopefully it will stop her from getting swarmed again like last mission. Adjusting the plasteel slab of a shield on her left mount before speaking into her commlink.

"This is Ranger, Walker is fully online and ready. Sound off before we begin the job."

Ever since Minda-2 was opened fully for business, the Brass Riders have been flooded with work. The dense jungles made navigating with tracked and even repulsor vehicles a difficult challenge. Especially when it came to engaging attackers that struck from the trees off of what passed for roads on this backwater.

Still, corporations and private individuals needed to move convoys between facilities and cities, which often meant land travel. Since a lot of people couldn't wait to trail behind a military patrol, this made small and agile walker squads like hers invaluable as escorts.

"Cheapskate, you finished resetting your "pile bunker"and clearing out all the ration bar wrappers off your pillow?"

Sure a civilian walker like Cheapskate's Rufescent-class cargo hauler might not hold a candle to a proper military LECA. However, when all you're facing is angry wildlife and the occasional low tech bandit, one doesn't need that much in terms of weapon and armor to do a convoy run. Even his excavator arm was more than enough to deal with most of Minda-2's wildlife.

Even without access to military grade tech, the Minda system was quickly become a haven for independent walker pilots. The parts Texa got access to as a civilian here still allowed her Gladiator to run smoother than at any point during her career in the arena.

"Ha ha. Just you wait. I'll pay off these loans in no time and then I'll be tuning up my Rufescent into a monster that will make an AT-ST look like a drunk featherless bird. For now my walker is as good as it is going to get."

Cheapskate might just pull that off given he'd managed to convert a large industrial piston into a melee weapon without tearing his walker apart when using it. The Sullustan had taken a cheap star port hauler and made it able to tank and dish out more damage than Texa thought was possible. The tune up he gave her Gladiator certainly showed he learned something from Engineering School.

Speaking of damage…

"Yo Corporate. Your Espo up and running on your end, or do you need more time for your hair and skin routine?

Texa could see the Heptooinian flinch behind his Espo Walker 91's canopy. Corporate's 91 might be considered outdated since the 101 came out, but it could still do some good work. Texa couldn't count the times Corporate's stun cannon and grenades have fended off the more aggressive megafauna.

"Mock me all you want you brute. A proper walker pilot must look good for the trembling peons when strutting about. Maybe all that time you spent in the pits knocked that common sense out of you Ranger. Also yes, my mount is in peak form."

Corporate might be an insufferable fop, but his piloting was top notch. He never talked about where he was trained or how he got his Espo 91, but the Guild cleared him and said he had no criminal record. Texa could deal with him off the job because he was a consummate professional while on the clock.

"Right looks like the client has finished loading up their convoy. Route's been patrolled less than a week ago. This turns out to be a Lum Run and the drinks are on me!"

Not that the drinks were ever not on her. Her two squad mates were always credit pinchers when it came time to unwind. What's the point in coming out of the latest brush with death if you can't pour away your winnings to blow some steam off afterwards?

That's why she left the arena despite being a Rattataki. Things were getting to stale and regimented with the fights. They even started forbidding pilots from disengaging their emergency shut down feature, took the chance of crashing and exploding right out of the fight. They had even were talking about switching over to droid only fights, the cowards. Bloodshed is what the crowd came to see, not oil spills.

"Don't worry guys, there is absolutely no chance of things going wrong."

Texa ignored the groans of her team from that declaration. Now what dangerous gribbly are they going to run into this time? Oh she hopes it is the big one with the serrated claws Corporate scared off last month. Maybe they'll even bring friends.

——
Yeah so it turns out Civilian Combat Walkers are a thing in Star Wars and Minda-2 opening up gives them the perfect chance to show their stuff. I have little doubt they would become very popular among certain parts of the Guild. The ones who want LECAs, but settle for the equivalent of LECAs at home.

This would encouraged by the LECA's prominence in the Mindan military, especially on Minda-2, and a good base of adjacent knowledge on walkers among Mindan engineers due to Las' research into the combat armors early on. A robust "civilian" market would also train up the engineering sector for further military projects and production.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-74

Abraxas Thorne
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia

Six months, 12 days, 5 hours, 22 minutes, 43 seconds and counting.

That's how long Abraxas Thorne had been in Minda.

Much of that time had been spent walking the streets in disguise. He found that getting into the lower levels of a city told one just as much, if not more, that what they could gleam from up above.

It was in this way that he discovered the city's quiet efficiency.

Many streets were on the narrower side, meant more for foot traffic than speeders and cargo. Sky bridges and lengthy monorails removed some congestion, but it should've still been a problem.

If not for the tunnels. Beneath the city sat a series of tunnels meant to ferry cargo back and forth. Distribution centers across the city paid a fee to the government to use these tunnels themselves, with the system complete with checkpoints, guards, tolls and more.

This kept the streets flowing, things moving. An efficiency Thorne could appreciate.

It was a thing that he seemed to find all over Minda. Not just the streets, but the government itself followed this trend. The meritocracy encouraged proper skill, and avoided promoting people beyond their area of expertise. With a growing population of people shunned elsewhere in the Empire for factors outside their control, members of the bureaucracy were motivated to do well and prove themselves.

This was especially reflected in the local PDF and security forces. They accepted members from any species, required strict training facilitated by clone veterans, and even necessitated yearly re-tests to ensure all are up to code.

Police were incentivized away from bribes with a living wage and generous pension. Promotions were given based not off of arrest numbers, but community trust scores, peer reviews, and more.

Police uniforms were also more complex, sporting brighter colors, and more complex designs to denote rank. Certain embellishments denoting achievements occasionally showing up. Even the names of the ranks were embellished, with street level officers called Watchmen, their superiors called Lancers, then Sentinels, and so on.

Initially, Thorne had been annoyed by this. It was pointless, took time and resources, especially for the ceremonies that marked the promotions. Ranks were seen as a literal badge of honor, along with the prestige that came with it.

Now, he understood. Rank was tied to metrics involved in the community and the upholding of justice. The prestige that comes with those ranks incentivizes behavior befitting said rank. By framing the position not as a job but a position of honor that would elevate the holder. Then, tying said honor and prestige to the core values of the job.

For all intents and purposes, the Governor has created a culture within his forces that fights corruption without the need for investigators. Not that there weren't investigators, but they seemed to be rarely needed.

It was incredibly effective, a marvel if Thorne was being honest.

However, there were times where even efficiency could not stop the souring of his mood.

As of late, he had been catching glimpses of something. Someone. It was small, but there.

A shipping manifest that listed just one more crate than it actually had.

Workers' manifests that said 15 people worked the job, yet only 13 were paid.

There was more, and they all seemed inconsequential. Clerical errors, typos, the kind of thing that happened in any organization of any size.

Yet, there was one thing that kept him looking. The tip.

The one that led to the Scarred Hand being found and destroyed. He'd followed the lead, but it got lost in the crowds, the people, the endless cacophony of the city itself.

It irked him. Especially since the numbers failed to add up. That last failed attack of the Hand, those terrorists had not been among those captured and killed in the final confrontation. A number of droids had been missing as well.

He had kept on high alert for months, but no signs. It led him to a new conclusion.

Someone took care of them, and then leaked the info to Grant somehow. He didn't suspect Grant directly, no. He'd done his investigation into her and her soldiers already, and she was as clean as someone that bloodthirsty can be.

No, it was someone else.

So here he was, sniffing at the cracks in the pavement. As he read over reports from his own agents in the field, each another tiny puzzle piece, he thought to the beginnings of a report that sat abandoned in his desk. One he meant to send to the ISB.

He had stopped himself. The greater ISB was not friendly to him. His effectiveness had undermined more politically connected agents, and he knew whatever reports of value he sent upwards would be scrubbed of his influence and attributed to another.

So no, he would not be reporting these suspicions. Not yet, and certainly not to the ISB. Even the Governor would be a better choice.

He stopped for a second, considering the thought, before he filed it away and refocusing on the reports before him.

Someone was playing games that they did not fully comprehend, and Thorne would be there to catch them.

-

Today, for the first time in a long time, I was walking the streets of Accordia. It wasn't to be a long trip, partially for security reasons and partially because I had far too much work to do.

Also because I spend far too much time sitting down, and my legs are becoming weak. I used to train with Commander Grant, but our schedules are too busy now, even for a different instructor.

Regardless, I made my way down the streets of the bustling Kailin district. A hood and ventilation mask covered my face, disguising me. It was a common enough fashion trend, having been brought over from Augir.

Apparently, the filter/gas mask culture over there became fashionable? I wouldn't pretend to understand it, but it helped me hide myself well enough. I also kinda liked the new patterns and designs people came up with. They weren't practical, but a filter mask that looks like it's made of a bunch of swords is pretty sweet. Kinda like that throne from that one show, but less ugly.

My security trailed me, hiding within the crowd well enough that if I hadn't memorized their faces (in case one gets replaced by an assassin) I wouldn't be able to see them at all.

They hadn't been happy about the whole thing (save for Myr'thos, who seemed bored if anything), but I had insisted I go out myself. Mostly because I have only ever walked the streets of Accordia a grand total of 3 times. The first time was when I told that mob off. The second when I opened the museum. And the third when I opened the expanded spaceport.

Even then, I barely got to explore the city proper, which was a real waste. I'd never realized how nice the whole place was. Not in the clean city mall way, but in the Los Angeles Grand Central Market kind of way. Where you're immersed in a cacophony of noises and smells and people and it's somehow great.

I stop at a side stall selling some sort of kebab. The vendor is an alien I don't recognize, and they speak in a language of clicks, their mandibles moving far too quickly to see. Still, hand symbols are easy enough, so I point at the food and show two fingers.

They reply with 5 twice, and I take out ten credits in Imperial coins. And isn't that a new thing? Physical currency. All my money goes straight into an account, so getting my hands on coins was a pain in the ass.

I like the jingle though, so I can't complain. A little port in my mask lets me eat as I walk, my other kebab waved over my shoulder.

From within my oversized backpack Mugwuffin's claw whips out before retreating into the darkness with her prize like a rat.

Indignation!

I ignore her whining, knowing full well she means none of it. After all, I just fed her, which bought me maybe 10 or so minutes of peace.

With that time, I reach my actual destination.

A little automated beep chimes as the door slides open. Stepping inside, I am greeted by shelves upon shelves of…servers.

A part of me was hoping for books, to be honest. Even if it would've made looking for things a pain, books are pretty neat.

Unfortunately, there weren't many places that dealt in physical media, much less books as I knew them.

Instead of a romp through a bookstore, I spent all of 20 minutes waiting for my stuff to download while browsing a catalog of other things.

In total, I spent 120 credits on 3 textbooks, 2 history books and a few financial dissertations. Alongside a few novellas, if I ever got the time to read them.

It was honestly a mood killer of sorts. I had hoped, on some deep level, for some kind of connection to Earth. Not a way to go back, I doubt such a thing exists, but something similar. Something that could remind me of home. Like a bookstore.

Instead, it was as if Kindle had a physical storefront.

Still, I'd gotten what I needed. Study material. Even now, I took what time I could to study the textbooks and watch what lectures I could find. Reading through an analysis of some systems' economic collapse is boring as all hell, but useful in what it teaches me.

For example, as industry here on Minda grew and grew, merchants came asking for subsidies on imported food, arguing that Minda could grow more by focusing on industry and importing from agriworlds. The thing is, my studies taught me that over-dependence is deadly. If those worlds experience problems, or pirates prey on the lanes, prices skyrocket and suddenly people are starving.

Others pushed for Minda to specifically focus on mining, to fully commit to a specialization. Of course, if the markets for the ore we export fluctuate too much, the economy starts crashing.

Suffice to say, as much as I loathe studying, it's saved my ass more than once.

Eventually, I make the march back to the train station, where I rest my feet and watch the city skyline pass me by.

A part of me was proud of what I had helped build here. But it was a distant feeling, like the kind you get in a 4x game.

It didn't truly distract from the pit in my chest, that ever present fear that gnawed away at me. I hated thinking about it, denial was one of my primary coping mechanisms after all.

But every day I was forced to confront the reality I had woken up in, and the very real potential of death. Be it from the rebels, any number of Imperial threats, or even the ever present potential threat of my own citizens rebelling against me if things ever got bad enough.

If nothing else, I could try to distract myself in small ways. Like how I was using public transportation.

LA had a pretty sparse Metro line, so cars were always the go to. And once I got here, a personal shuttle was the way to go. But riding a public monorail was fun, like being a tourist.

For some reason, that thought tasted sour. A tourist in my own capital. Even if I didn't plan to stick around, I had something approaching a responsibility to these people. I might as well get to know the city a little better.

This is definitely not an excuse to dodge work!

This and other thoughts occupied my brain until I was back in my office, walking out of the elevator and into my office's lobby.

Myr'thos was already there by the receptionist's desk, having moved far ahead of me. They only needed to be within a mile or so anyways, so I'm not surprised they got here way ahead.

"The dark and brooding colors look good on you, yes, but your insistence on spikes hurts the outfit as a whole! They aren't needed, they look bad, and they overshadow the Governor's own outfit, which is counterproductive!"

And there was Gary. Well, Garp, apparently that's what the office calls him. Better than Gary I suppose, One Piece reference or not.

"The spikes add elegance, poise, power! They would be a statement of my strength, and the people would cower before the mighty prongs of fear that would erupt from my pauldrons and scrape the skies! If the Governor cannot overcome that, he does not deserve to."

"Look, the spikes are not negotiable. Especially at that size! How will you fit through doors? It'll look ridiculous. The pauldrons, on the other hand, aren't half bad. Have you considered some vambraces to go along with them? To really complete the armored look?"
I ignored their banter as I moved towards my office. Surprisingly, the two got along pretty well, always critiquing fashion and building outfits together. A Sith and a Muun, who would've thought.

I pause for a second. Didn't that already…

Shaking my head, I keep moving. Not worth my brain energy.

As I pass by Garps desk, he stops me for a moment.

"Sir, a message came through today about a visitor. They've insisted on seeing you soon."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do they not know my schedule's packed all week? I have Rendili tomorrow for their cruiser design, then a Guild meeting, then a meeting with that new Union rep from the station. Not to mention the interviews, the police academy graduation, and an arbitration to attend. I don't really have time."

He nodded. "I told them, sir. However, they insisted I give you their contact information, and assured me you'd want to speak to them. The information is on your terminal."

I nodded as I moved into my office, whilst the two got to bickering about Stormtrooper armor design.

Setting my bag down and letting Mugwuffin out, I plopped into my chair and booted up my terminal. In the meanwhile, Mugwuffin gets up on her oversized cat tower, playing with a ball of some kind.

Examining recent messages, I fill out a few forms, send my stamp of approval and generally do my duties as Governor for a little while until I get down to the info Garp sent me. Before I can do so, I deftly dodge Mugwuffins rubber ball as she bats it in my direction.

Giving her a glare with no heat, I open the file as the ball bounces around the room.

It's some basic contact info attributed to a line in some hotel in the city.

I looked at the name.

Dornun Mola

I look into the ceiling, doing my best to will the Force to watch me.

"Fuck off."

No response. Of course.

"What a cunt. Omnipotent head ass can't even say sorry?" I snark, leaning as far back into my chair as possible, hoping it'll somehow absorb my problems.

The rubber ball smacks me right in the forehead, sending me falling backwards and out of my chair.

The ball comes to a stop on my chest. One half is white, the other black.

I look up at the ceiling again.

"Very funny."

-

Thorne on that glazing arc, fr fr.

-Freefaller

 

[vtkun]

thank you for the chapter

 

[Dsin]

Is Dornun the Mother or the father? Because I believe it's the mother from the way he talked about that Mola. Plus it is around that time.
Edit: just checked the previous chapter and it was the father not the mother.

 

[AldariSiradla]

Looks like the Agent is slowly going native.
Like really slowly.
But going native all the same.

Ah, nice.
A Sith and a Muun talk about fashion.
That is the making of a funny joke or a great story.

Oh?
Dornun Mola?
Right, time to see if this one is a self-entitled prick that needs a humbling or not.

 

[unlawfulwaffle362]

Someone was playing games that they did not fully comprehend, and Thorne would be there to catch them.

-

Today, for the first time in a long time, I was walking the streets of Accordia. It wasn't to be a long trip, partially for security reasons and partially because I had far too much work to do.

Click to shrink...

Please tell us whose pov we are seeing when you swap characters like this. It took my dumb ass re-reading thrice to understand that the pov was switched to Mugwuffin.

 

[piledriven]

So here he was, sniffing at the cracks in the pavement. As he read over reports from his own agents in the field, each another tiny puzzle piece, he thought to the beginnings of a report that sat abandoned in his desk. One he meant to send to the ISB.

He had stopped himself. The greater ISB was not friendly to him. His effectiveness had undermined more politically connected agents, and he knew whatever reports of value he sent upwards would be scrubbed of his influence and attributed to another.

So no, he would not be reporting these suspicions. Not yet, and certainly not to the ISB. Even the Governor would be a better choice.

Click to shrink...

I see. They sent him out here to rot. Except this is Minda, where efficiency and detail tracking to the degree he goes is PRIZED. Waiting for him to accidentally discover the secret police and send that report to Las.

Giving her a glare with no heat, I open the file as the ball bounces around the room.

It's some basic contact info attributed to a line in some hotel in the city.

I looked at the name.

Dornun Mola

I look into the ceiling, doing my best to will the Force to watch me.

"Fuck off."

No response. Of course.

"What a cunt. Omnipotent head ass can't even say sorry?" I snark, leaning as far back into my chair as possible, hoping it'll somehow absorb my problems.

The rubber ball smacks me right in the forehead, sending me falling backwards and out of my chair.

The ball comes to a stop on my chest. One half is white, the other black.

I look up at the ceiling again.

"Very funny."

Click to shrink...

THE BALL HAS SPOKEN!
Translated it comes out as "Deal with your own bullshit!"
ALL HAIL THE BALL!

50/50 chance it'll work out. But you have to go and reach out and deal with it. Or force the fucker to use simple and direct language to answer the question. Flowery BS and avoiding the questions are not valid responses. Smack him with a ball until he behaves.

 

[OSRfanatic1]

With How long to it took for the Father to show up. I bet we wont see mc's Mother till past chapter 90+ at the soonest.

 

[TerribleReadingProblem]

I see. They sent him out here to rot. Except this is Minda, where efficiency and detail tracking to the degree he goes is PRIZED. Waiting for him to accidentally discover the secret police and send that report to Las.

Click to shrink...

nah more like think Las is running the secret police and with the efficiency meritocracy and a hidden secret police he'll think of Minda as the holy land for an ISB agent

 

[TRm]

I really liked how the interactions and world building are shown

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter Great story as always

 

[Arrowthorne]

THE RUBBERBALL HAS RETURNED

and all is right in the world.

 

[Mistroz]

excellent chapter.

 

[Watching]

Mugwuffin gets up on her oversized cat tower, playing with a ball of some kind.

Click to shrink...

The rubber ball smacks me right in the forehead, sending me falling backwards and out of my chair.

Click to shrink...

PRAISE BE! THE SACRED BOUCY BALLS HAVE RETURNED!

Where have they been all this time?

 

[Yacov]

Police were incentivized away from bribes with a living wage and generous pension. Promotions were given based not off of arrest numbers, but community trust scores, peer reviews, and more.

Click to shrink...

Meanwhile on Coruscant: "We haven't met quota for our prisons, go arrest an entire city block on the lower levels."

Was this during the Republic or the Empire? The answer is yes.

It irked him. Especially since the numbers failed to add up. That last failed attack of the Hand, those terrorists had not been among those captured and killed in the final confrontation. A number of droids had been missing as well.

He had kept on high alert for months, but no signs. It led him to a new conclusion.

Someone took care of them, and then leaked the info to Grant somehow. He didn't suspect Grant directly, no. He'd done his investigation into her and her soldiers already, and she was as clean as someone that bloodthirsty can be.

No, it was someone else.

Click to shrink...

This is probably what got Thorne sent to Minda. In the Empire, when a group of dissidents gets mysteriously vanished, stop looking. That usually ends with someone with a lightsaber knocking down your door.

So here he was, sniffing at the cracks in the pavement. As he read over reports from his own agents in the field, each another tiny puzzle piece, he thought to the beginnings of a report that sat abandoned in his desk. One he meant to send to the ISB.

He had stopped himself. The greater ISB was not friendly to him. His effectiveness had undermined more politically connected agents, and he knew whatever reports of value he sent upwards would be scrubbed of his influence and attributed to another.

Click to shrink...

Classic Imperial self-interest. "I won't report this potential problem to the higher ups because I won't get credit. Surely I can handle things myself."

Regardless, I made my way down the streets of the bustling Kailin district. A hood and ventilation mask covered my face, disguising me. It was a common enough fashion trend, having been brought over from Augir.

Apparently, the filter/gas mask culture over there became fashionable? I wouldn't pretend to understand it, but it helped me hide myself well enough. I also kinda liked the new patterns and designs people came up with. They weren't practical, but a filter mask that looks like it's made of a bunch of swords is pretty sweet. Kinda like that throne from that one show, but less ugly.

Click to shrink...

Ugea: most scrubbed air on an inhabited planet in the Sector.

Also Ugea: but that gas mask aesthetic though.

I stop at a side stall selling some sort of kebab. The vendor is an alien I don't recognize, and they speak in a language of clicks, their mandibles moving far too quickly to see. Still, hand symbols are easy enough, so I point at the food and show two fingers.

They reply with 5 twice, and I take out ten credits in Imperial coins. And isn't that a new thing? Physical currency. All my money goes straight into an account, so getting my hands on coins was a pain in the ass.

Click to shrink...

5 credits for a cooked meal on the street? That's pretty good for food prices. I am guessing the cost of cooking at home is even cheaper.

Also it is probably a smart move to get the citizens using coins. Physical coins means Minda probably has a mint. When the Imperial Credit collapses, Las can just mint Credits with valuable minerals or just mint a new currency, also with valuable minerals or gems.

In total, I spent 120 credits on 3 textbooks, 2 history books and a few financial dissertations. Alongside a few novellas, if I ever got the time to read them.

It was honestly a mood killer of sorts. I had hoped, on some deep level, for some kind of connection to Earth. Not a way to go back, I doubt such a thing exists, but something similar. Something that could remind me of home. Like a bookstore.

Click to shrink...

So about a week or two of surplus income for a laborer can buy you a college course's worth of books and some extras on Minda. That's pretty amazing by Outer Rim standards. That ubiquity and cheapness of knowledge distribution is really going to help the system's education level.

Still, I'd gotten what I needed. Study material. Even now, I took what time I could to study the textbooks and watch what lectures I could find. Reading through an analysis of some systems' economic collapse is boring as all hell, but useful in what it teaches me.

For example, as industry here on Minda grew and grew, merchants came asking for subsidies on imported food, arguing that Minda could grow more by focusing on industry and importing from agriworlds. The thing is, my studies taught me that over-dependence is deadly. If those worlds experience problems, or pirates prey on the lanes, prices skyrocket and suddenly people are starving.

Others pushed for Minda to specifically focus on mining, to fully commit to a specialization. Of course, if the markets for the ore we export fluctuate too much, the economy starts crashing.

Suffice to say, as much as I loathe studying, it's saved my ass more than once.

Click to shrink...

Other Imperial Warlords: "We must institute a raiding based economy to stay alive. Raid everyone."

Las: "Do none of you realize that raiding is one of the most unpredictable industries for consistent resource streams? Did none of you read Professor Komkuat's dissertation last year? Come on!"

I have Rendili tomorrow for their cruiser design

Click to shrink...

I wonder, is that a Dreadnought I see, something new, or a bulk cruiser for shipping?

 

[The Kijs]

Please tell us whose pov we are seeing when you swap characters like this. It took my dumb ass re-reading thrice to understand that the pov was switched to Mugwuffin.

Click to shrink...

Las Mola, our dear Governor, is the only one who gets a first person perspective, which is how I figured it out before the text got to context clues with Las referring to himself in his internal monologue, but yeah. That took me a second too, since Thorne had a whole segment introducing his POV and then just a scene break and no intro for our SI

 

[sperance]

Three weeks later, Dornun is still waiting in that hotel room.

"I'm starting to think Las won't call."

 

[klip04]

I see. They sent him out here to rot. Except this is Minda, where efficiency and detail tracking to the degree he goes is PRIZED. Waiting for him to accidentally discover the secret police and send that report to Las.

THE BALL HAS SPOKEN!
Translated it comes out as "Deal with your own bullshit!"
ALL HAIL THE BALL!

50/50 chance it'll work out. But you have to go and reach out and deal with it. Or force the fucker to use simple and direct language to answer the question. Flowery BS and avoiding the questions are not valid responses. Smack him with a ball until he behaves.

Click to shrink...

All hail the ball
May the ball guide us to a greater plot in story that makes life with living
Praise the ball ️️

 

[Yacov]

Omake: Meanwhile, at the Rebellion

Commander Flotz, Rebel Forward Operating Base, Battle of Ord Tiddell, 1ABY

"Status Report Commander!"

Commander Foltz rubbed the bridge of his nose as another report chimed on his comlink. What he wouldn't give to be back in the air with a blaster in his hands. Regardless of the promotion Command had given him.

"What have you got for me, Sergeant Potts?"

But noooo. Sane commanders had to hide in the command post away from the frontlines. The Jedi back in the War were able to prance around the battlefield all they like. Unfortunately Foltz didn't have whatever space magic they used to get away with doing that and still being able to coordinate an entire offensive operation.

So here he was, stuck in a requisitioned cantina pushing figures on a modified Dejarik board and giving orders that might not even reflect the situation on the ground by the time they were received. Foltz had spread out his forces both to maximize their individual abilities and to limit the damage from their lack of coordination by minimizing the chance of any friendly fire incidents in the chaos of battle. Not like they had any standardized uniform or codewords.

"The Gigoran Fighters are refusing to advance per your orders. They claim their contracts don't include charging straight into Imperial lines and say we need to increase their pay before they'll move."

Frak it all. He warned Alliance High Command this offensive was too rushed. Not enough time was taken to integrate the various Rebel cells into a single command structure. Taking this logistics hub was going to be hard enough without his troops from this cobbled together invasion force gainsaying every order he issues.

A decentralized command was fine for guerrilla tactics, but a sustained military effort needed a proper hierarchy. A few more months would have allowed them to iron out the kinks and build up the stockpiles necessary to sustain an offensive. However Command wanted the victory on Yavin to immediately translate into some tangible gains that they could use to further rally the galaxy to their cause.

"Tell them they'll get double rations for two weeks if they seize that position. Should they suddenly act like they can't understand Basic, tell them to take it up with the Imperial Army formation heading their way."

Their larders should be able to handle how much those white Wookiees eat. Sadly assistance from the civilian population was less enthusiastic than they'd hoped. Most fled the battlefield rather than stick around to support the cause. There wasn't much left to scavenge as the residents took anything that wasn't bolted down with them. Which left his forces mostly working with what they brought with them.

That shipment of extra parts from the Mindan Shipyard let them keep their stock of Stocks in good repair and keeping the supply lines open. It was the only thing keeping the their supply vessels voidborne when they got clipped by A-7s. His T-wings could only do so much to stop the harassment.

Some of the other Rebel leaders may complain about the Mindans not putting Credits in the pot, but Foltz understood the importance of logistics. That was what got him promoted after all. He just wishes that appreciation didn't lead to so many youngsters running up to him panicking like Adjutant Panner was doing right now.

"Sir! Dynamo Company is under fire from AT-DTs! They were powered down and camouflaged as trees in a nearby forest!"

Frak! Dynamo was one of his less well equipped units, and that was saying something considering his army was made up primarily of the Alliance's second and third line forces. Some of Dynamo only had their original SE-14s as their sole firearm. Still, Foltz couldn't risk that company routing. They were positioned in the center of his army and one of the few with experience in open warfare.

The Imperial Army was putting up a fierce resistance. Arranging counters to his formation with unnerving precision. They knew if we took this position we would be in the perfect location to rain fire down on their base of operations. He'd compliment the commander on the opposite side if he could before burning a hole through their forehead to stop them from pulling this nonsense again.

"Signal our MLC-3 light tanks to pin those DTs down. Then order our ULAVs to flank them once they are held down."

Foltz tried not to think about how he may have just spent years worth of a cell's vehicle build up in a single order. It felt cold and impersonal to order so much metal burned and not be able to see the results for hours if not days. They didn't have the stockpiles to continue waging war like this. Command was expecting to take a large portion of the Mid Rim with this offensive.

Foltz would be happy holding what they already had without overstretching. Although that was a fool's errand with the projections and orders coming from up top. It's like they were expecting every Imperial citizen to start charging Imperial repeating blasters the moment a Rebel sets foot planetside. Another chime from his comlink brought Foltz back to the battle.

"Commander, the Ithorian Infiltrators have knocked out the shield generators on their section of Imperial lines. We could knock out the Imperial plasmic artillery on the hill if we hit them now."

Well at least something is going to plan. Now all he needs is to get his armored elements and… he just sent them to plug the hole punched in his line by the Imperial ambush. Frak. Backup plan it is then.

"Dispatch the CK-6 swoop bikes as a rapid assault force to take out that artillery! I want that hill Imp free yesterday!"

Those bikes were going to get shredded, but they should get the job done. What he wouldn't give to be flying with his old rocket-jumper buddies clutching two thermal detonators in his hands again. They'd make that hill a crater in no time, but his bad hip dashed any hopes of that happening.

Fantasizing about his glory days helped Foltz cope with the reality of the situation. He can't keep spending metal and men like this. Eventually the Alliance is going to get ground down across the Rim. That would leave them vulnerable to an Imperial counterattack. He can only hope the worlds they take will have enough industry and stores to replace what they are spending, or this will be a short offensive.

——
The Battle of Ord Tiddell was the closest battle of the Mid Rim Offensive to the Myto Sector I could find. Figured it would be a good place to showcase the state the Rebellion is in at the moment. Which is being stretched thin by an over enthusiastic Alliance High Command that is still high off of Yavin.

The Rebels do end up taking Ord Tiddell in canon. When you throw the everything including the kitchen sink at an operation, you do tend to at least make some progress initially. Unfortunately the Rebels only manage to hold the planet for less than nine months before the Empire comes back and boots them off the world when the Mid Rim Offensive turns into the Mid Rim Retreat.

Crossposted on SB and SV

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-75

It wasn't actually called the Union, to be precise. It was technically called the Shipyard Workers Assembly. People (myself included) called it the Union informally, because actual Unions are seen less than favorably in the Empire.

I think it might have something to do with the facism. Who knows.

In the past few months, problems have started to crop up with the shipyard. Even with the recent addition of droid auxiliary workers to ease the load and increase production, things have started to go wrong.

Safety incidents, inefficiency, mismanagement, etc… And because this is a Mindan project and not a Guild project, that means I can't offload the work.

It also means I have twenty voices all trying to tell me their problems. Which itself has become a problem.

So I ordered, told, strongly encouraged them to create some sort of organization to file their complaints properly. So that way I could get a comprehensive review of what was actually going wrong, not just from the managers but from the workers on the floor as well.

After all, if all you do is sit on the mountain top, you never truly see the valley floor.

I expected some sort of basic HR, or something equivalent. Instead, they took it as a legal order to unionize. Not at all what I expected, but to be honest, my order was pretty vague.

I was quite sleep deprived that night, you see. I was reading a paper on the economic rise of the corporate sector. Very interesting stuff, truly.

Regardless, my actions mean my consequences to deal with, so here I am. Speaking with the Union Rep on the holo.

"Better safety and management are the workers' primary concerns, Sir." The man spoke in a subdued voice, as if he was afraid I would bite off his head at any moment.

It was quite the contrast. Despite its subdued quality, his voice was quite gruff. And the man himself was built like a brick shithouse. He looked like the most stereotypical union worker of all time. Except for the fact that he was a Duros, but that's besides the point.

"Fair concerns, Representative Kabbas. We can have some teams up there in a day or two to inspect the safety of the yards and do the needed upgrades. Management, however, is a different concern."

He seemed to almost flinch at that. I swear, people keep thinking I'm going to kill them. Though it's gone down significantly since I got here. Maybe he wasn't a local?

Before he could go and take back his statement, then start grovelling or whatever other Governors expect people to do, I kept talking. Don't feel like dealing with all of that today.

"I'll be sending some of my own people up to analyze the management situation and ensure all higher level staff are performing their duties carefully. Any problems will be dealt with, of that I can assure you. However, it should be noted that the team will not be informing you of their presence, as to ensure that the management staff don't fake it until the team is gone. I expect you to keep this quiet."

He gave a quick, clumsy bow. "Of course, Governor." God, this guy was really playing it up, wasn't he.

"Representative, do away with this bowing and submissive facade. The workers chose you because they trust you to represent them best, not so you would grovel at my feet. It's getting annoying, to be frank with you."

His eyes widened again, which I wasn't sure they could do much more of considering Duros had very wide eyes. Then, his back straightened, and the glint of what I think is fear that seemed to inhabit his eyes shrank. It was hard to tell in a hologram.

"Understood, Governor. I'll make sure the analysis teams are covered. If anything comes up, I'll be sure to inform you. Is there anything else, Governor?"

I made sure to school my expression of shock, because goddamn was that a switch up. His voice somehow got deeper. Considering his bulk, I'm quite glad he wasn't physically present, else I would've been a damn sight more intimidated.

Amusement

I flick Mugwuffin on the head as she lays in my lap, out of sight, and continue.

"No, Representative. Unless you know any affordable and reliable construction companies you are dismissed."

And dammit if I didn't need one. Or two. Or ten. Most of the official Imperial construction companies were either building infrastructure on Edin, which was only barely becoming profitable, or they were off expanding mining and refinery operations across both systems. And I needed housing yesterday.

He looked pensive for a moment before responding. "I may have some connections, Governor. I'll speak with the rest of the workers to see what they know. Good day, Governor."

"Good day." And with that, the call ended. I was fairly surprised that he actually responded to my little joke, but I doubted anything would really come of it.

With all that over, I slumped back in my chair, letting out a much awaited sigh. The day had been packed with meeting after meeting. I had barely left my chair with the sheer amount of holo calls I had to take back to back.

At least some good came out of it. I was able to negotiate with Rendili for a license to build Dreadnought-Class cruisers. Not the prettiest ship, by any means, but I needed a cruiser design for the backlog. I have no doubt some assholes are going to complain they didn't get something more Imperial in design, but they can go shove it.

The Dorito's are expensive, okay!?

Sure, Rendili had some more tortilla chip shaped designs they were working on, but I didn't buy into that shit. I refused to be the test bed for their designs. Cause if one of their experimental ships blows up after a client buys it, I get the blame.

I took a quick look at my schedule, and grimaced. The last meeting of the day was with someone I'd hoped to never speak to.

Dornun Mola.

And he was set to arrive in minutes.

Composing myself, I ran a quick plan of action through my mind. Scouring the original Mola's memories, I tried to compile what I could of the man.

Dornun and Jir seemed to have separated, at least somewhat. They were still married, likely for legal and/or political reasons, but considering they lived on opposite sides of the planet, I doubted there was all that much love left between them.

Though I could find no memories of Dornun bringing any lovers home. Then again, I could find few memories of him being at home in the first place. He seemed to be a socialite of some kind, traveling the galaxy to attend parties and events, making connections, etc…

The kind of man who "manages his estate" for a living.

It seems to have led to the original Mola's more rebellious and snooty nature, which saw him booted from the academy.

Aside from that, Dornun seems to be a fairly nice guy. At least, from what I could tell. Considering his propensity for parties, he's either a drunk, a druggie, both, or neither. The last one scares me most, because it means he properly knows how to play the political game.

So, plan? Be polite, curt, answer some questions but not too many, find out what he's here for, then get him to leave. Soon. Preferably before I go to bed, but before I wake up is fine as well.

Suffice to say, I want him gone. And the OG Mola had more than enough abandonment issues regarding the guy for me to avoid being all that friendly with him.

Not that I hate the man, or anything. I just don't like interacting with a dead man's family. Especially when they look at me as if I'm the dead man. It's weird as all hell, and a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.

Regardless, when he finally arrived, I was prepared.

As Dornun Mola walked into the room, I noticed a few things in a particular sequence.

The first thing was his clothing. He wore a long, flowing duster jacket, with sparse, decorative metal plating peppering the fabric. The coat looked like a heavy, utilitarian piece, but flowed like a designer fabric, the etchings into the leather elaborate and useless. The metal plating was thin, gilded. Wouldn't stop a blaster bolt. Wouldn't ever get hit by one either, considering they covered no actual vital spots.

Underneath he wore what seemed to be a workers jumpsuit, but was actually a two piece pretending to be a jumpsuit. The buckles and straps led nowhere and served no purpose other than to look cool. Like those anime designs that have random belts on the arms and legs for no reason.

Speaking of belts, clipped to his was a half-mask, the kind that was trending in fashion these days. It was a ceramic piece that I doubted would properly seal over his face. In fact, I doubted it even had a respirator function. Even mine did that!

Over all, everything he wore was trendy in Accordian upper society. The few events I'd been to in the last few months had people wearing similar outfits. An extension of the mask trend that I had indulged in myself during my few outings into the city.

The fact that he wore this now meant he was trying to fit into the local upper class. Either for vanity purposes, or for political purposes. God I hoped it was the former.

The second thing I noticed about him was his demeanor. He was relaxed, yes, but there was a tension in his eyes that I couldn't ignore. I also couldn't tell what he was tense about. The meeting, likely, but I had no indication or idea of what specifically he was expecting.

The last thing I noticed was that this motherfucker was really handsome. Like, the Colonel from that KFC dating sim handsome. Grey fox vibes, mustache and all! It was fucking insulting, because he didn't pass on any of that shit to Las, and therefore me! It was something me and past Las actually agreed on, if his memories were anything to go by.

"Las, my boy! Or shall I call you Governor now?" He starts, voice loud and boisterous. Dornun plopped himself down onto the chair across from me, his eyes scanning me with a precision that defied his introduction.

"Hello father. It's quite nice to see you." I said, lying out of my ass. Just cause I don't want him here doesn't mean I'm going to be an asshole about it. What if he's secretly super powerful or something?

"And the same to you, Las." He responded jovially, his gaze sliding towards the window behind me. "It's quite the view you've got there. A horizon like that makes a man feel important."

"Work keeps me too busy to really appreciate it." I say tersely, analyzing his words as I spoke. His boisterous entrance didn't fit him. It seemed almost forced.

"Ah, what a shame. You should enjoy the city you've built, I think. After all, you've worked quite hard to get here." Dornun continued.

"Just as you must've worked hard to make it all the way out here, father." I see your game, old man. You're probing for information! It's subtle, and I could honestly be completely wrong, but it doesn't hurt to respond in kind.

His eyebrow twitches upwards for a half second before smoothing out once more. "It wasn't all that difficult, truly. That Guild of yours made things quite smooth, you know. An exemplary organization, if I may say so. How did you come up with such a thing?"

"I saw a need, and helped fill it. Truly, it is a group effort, not to mention the Moff's help has truly pushed the Guild sector wide." Keep it humble, push effort onto others. Not entirely wrong either, the Moffs seal of approval has made membership numbers rise quicker. A quarter of the sector is now part of the Guild.

Lotta growing pains though, going to have to deal with those. Disputes between member systems for power and influence are growing, and the Guild administrative staff are starting to get outpaced. Not to mention the growing interest of higher Imperial powers.

"Still, you started the Guild yourself. And you control two systems! At just 24, you've gotten farther than most in your position. An impressive feat, to be certain. At least, more impressive than half the Governors I know." Dornun's voice drags me from my thoughts about work. What now, he's bragging about his contacts?

Another piece of the puzzle. Regardless, it's getting late, and I have studying to do before I get to bed. I had a paper written on the competition between the Commerce Guild and Corporate Alliance from the Clone Wars. It was difficult to get my hands on considering the Empire really doesn't like seppies and all that, but it's good to know in case larger corps start fighting.

It also meant I wanted this to end.

"Thank you, Father. Still, I must ask. Why have you come here? Surely there are nicer parts of the galaxy for you to visit?" I keep my tone polite, measured.

"Oh? Can't I come see my son?" His voice is light and airy, as if this is the most casual conversation he's ever had. His eyes tell a different story.

Oh fuck this.

"Why are you here?" I ask. My posture stiffens, my eyes harden, and my voice loses any polite tone. I'm done. I want to read my economic history in bed with my hot chocolate and my space cat, then go to bed.

For a fraction of a second his eyes seem to widen, and what might faintly be described as pain lances through his expression before he schools himself.

"Ah. I see. Alright then, we'll play it this way." He adjusts the collar of his fake jumpsuit.

"Clearly, our relationship as father and son has been rocky, to say the least. So, I come to you not as your father, but as a partner of sorts. One with a proposal." And now I truly see Dornun Mola. His face holds itself in a light smirk, but he seems completely serious, as if passively jovial is his face's default setting. His eyes ripple with intelligence.

"Elaborate." I keep one with the short sentences. Give him less time to think. Won't work, but it gives me more time for my own thoughts.

"As you must've figured out by now, I'm an information broker for the more affluent people of the galaxy. So far, my clientele has been focused in the Core. However, recent events have me looking to relocate."

An info broker? It adds up, if nothing else. I thought he was a politician. Not sure if this is all that better.

"With the mess at Yavin, and then the dissolution of the Senate, alongside some worrying trends I've noticed have led me to believe that the Core will not be as safe as it normally is. So, I've decided to relocate myself Rimward. And where better than my own son's system? It comes pre-settled with high up connections, after all."

"You said this was an offer." I don't say anymore. If he's half as good as I fear him to be, then the more I say the more I might give away. Doubt he's ISB level good, but one can never be too careful. Though, the ISB isn't really all that good, is it? Thorne seems more like an exception.

"I did. And I have much to offer. To start, my core world clients are also seeing how the wind is blowing. Many wish to have backup plans hidden in places the Empire won't look at too hard. Places to hide assets and credits. Not to mention those who are willing to pay for a discreet foothold in the rim will go through me, ensuring you get the best deals."

Not the worst. Funding is quite low, and so long as I ensure these rich bozos aren't trying to start any trouble I could probably run with it. Still, I doubt that's all.

"And?"

He gives a low chuckle. "Of course. There is more, don't worry. See, just because I'm going to be here, doesn't mean I don't have people in the Core. Big movements, new legislation, military action, corporate secrets. I've got contacts in every major company, KDY included. You'll know what's happening before half the galaxy even thinks about it."

"Not to mention the kinds of people I can attract for you. The people with enough money to get buildings named after them. I'll host parties, events, galas, get you and yours the connections that let you benefit the most. If the rich and powerful attach their names to Guild projects, others will start to take it more seriously. And by taking the reins of the young, barely formed high society of this sector, I can create a culture that sees the Minda system as the place to be, and you as the person to suck up to. Lots of opportunities there."

"You're being quite open about this." I state. By now, I figure being direct is the best approach here.

Dornun laughs. "If I tried the usual tricks, you would've sent me packing. From what I've learned, you've turned into quite the serious bureaucrat who dislikes the normal political games. Honesty pays, on occasion."

Makes sense. I still don't trust him, but it makes sense. Regardless, there's an opportunity here.

"I'll give your proposal some thought. For now, it's getting late." I say, though I make no moves to escort him out.

"Yes, I understand. You want me gone. Well, you know where I'm staying, Las. Feel free to call!" He replies, making his way from the room. I give it a few minutes before I stand up myself. Making my way out of my office, Mugwuffin in tow, I stop by Garps desk.

"Have every room he passed through sweeped for bugs please."

"Of course, Sir."

"Thank you Garp. Any last minute work pop up?"

"Some problems arose on Minda 2, but it's being handled. I recommend leaving it for tomorrow, sir. You rarely get enough sleep as it is."

I sigh. "Fair enough. By the way, before I go. When's that fashion competition you're part of?"

He looks a bit surprised, but answers anyway. "A week from now."

"Ah, good. I'll make sure to attend. Anyways, good night!" I end the conversation there, not wanting to deal with any stuttering and what not. Garps gotten way better at that recently. Not as quick as Darna, and certainly not like Oioro, but the first generally thought I was insane or something for the first few months of working together, and the second thinks I'm amusing or something. And she's a spy.

I keep almost forgetting about that. Really should do something.

Before that train of thought continues, I reach my room, open my door, and see the economic paper.

I instantly forget about Oioro, because goddamn economics is fun as shit.

Amusement

Yes, I am a nerd. Shut up.

-

Wrote this while eating home made peach cobbler. Really good until the mounds of cinnamon I poured over it made me cough. Still worth it tho

-Freefaller

 

[GrimmKenway8646]

Well, things are happening and Las' father is trying to "reconnect". Tho now I hate the fact that now in my head he looks like the hot Colonel from that mother's day commercial. Curse you Freefaller!!!

*shakes fist Imperially*

Also, I hope that Las keeps affecting the fashion world. Its hilarious.

 

[Yeetboi]

Come on Dornun, you're an experienced shyster. You ought to have already ran into individuals like your son. You know, abandoned by his family and wants to do nothing with them anymore. You should already know form the get go that the "Dear old Dad" act won't do shit.

 

[Ethertank]

Las's dad is really jiggling the keys in-front of las's face like "hey look son at all this cool and neat stuff I can get you" as a way to reconnect.

 

[ArcanaVitae]

That moment when you're basically a dictator in your own right and you have to order people to form Unions in order to get actual ground floor information on how things are going.

Pops is out here trying to reconnect with his son by being an intelligence asset for him instead of saying hey son I'm sorry I was a shit father, man this family is messy as hell.

 

[Billiskner]

I know that theoretically the stuff the guy offers is worth much. But. Does Lass really wants stronger entelanglement with imperial politics? For disgraced or defeated officials to start looking for refugee in his corner of space?
People being sidelined for being too reasonable? Of course.
People who like the cloak and dagger , playing political games for influence? I don't think so.

 

[Blackenedthorn]

At least we now know the name of Mother Mola dearest, Jir Mola

 

[Profilozof]

Las' family continues to think that Las lost any goodwill towards them

 

[ZzzSlothzzZ]

His face holds itself in a light smirk, but he seems completely serious, as if passively jovial is his face's default setting.

Click to shrink...

"If you pull a face, It'll get stuck like that"

Muscle memory will give you resting cunt face

 

[readsalot]

I instantly forget about Oioro, because goddamn economics is fun as shit.

Amusement

Yes, I am a nerd. Shut up.

Click to shrink...

Nerding put about economics is good, no need to worry about spies and whatnot.