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Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

Chp-61: A Mountain of Flimsi
Chp-61: A Mountain of Flimsi

Trade. Deals. Politics.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Real Japanese salaryman type shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Guild Director.

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

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

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

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

Maybe I should get her to take a holiday?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small red mark on their cheek. A hit.

I smirked.

"Grant got you this time, ey?"

They snorted in disdain, already firing up their console.

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

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

Another snort of disdain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much more.

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

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

I was going to bureaucrat the shit out of this.

Then? Retire rich as fuck.

Let's get this bread.

-

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

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

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

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

As always, feedback and commentary are appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Chp-62: A Thorne in My Side
Chp-62: A Thorne in My Side

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently, fashion was quite important during their time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As he approached, I took the initiative.

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

Quick, cordial, respectful but not subservient.

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

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

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

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

His gaze is intense, but I stand my ground.

"No leads? You have found nothing?"

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

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

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

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

"Planetside. To facilitate security."

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said nothing for a moment, before responding.

"You employ many aliens, Governor. Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Slaves don't pay taxes, Agent."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Governor, Sir!"

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

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

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

Turning to face both of them, I continue.

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

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

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

Ah… herd mentality my beloved.

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

"Governor."

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

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

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

What is this guy, a Tarkin supremacist?

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

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

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

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

I can stop at any time, I promise.

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

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

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

Regardless, there are many things to do.

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

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

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

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

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

Lotta uplifting. Lotta new businesses.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

As always, appreciate the feedback and commentary.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Chp-63: Green Reckoning
Chp-63: Green Reckoning

You know who I never expected to have to fight?

Darna.

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

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

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

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

"You look half-dead, Darna."

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

"I am functional."

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

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

Before she could respond, I raised my hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I read was…odd. Really odd.

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

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

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

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

That's when it got bad.

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

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

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

Corleone, apparently, got a tad impatient.

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

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

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

In short order, I sent two messages.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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


"20 seconds to landing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ragna hit them with a stunner on the spot.

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

It looked like a diplomatic incident waiting to happen.

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

-

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

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

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

Appreciate the feedback and commentary.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Chp-64: Kailin
Chp-64: Kailin

Abraxas Thorne
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of slavery to promote economic growth.

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

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

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

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

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

"Major."

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

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

"Report."

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

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

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

Predictable.

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

-

TK-472 Ragna Olfir
Minda-2, Imperial Stronghold


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A real holodrama if he'd ever heard one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Chp-65: Negotiations(Threats) New
Chp-65: Negotiations(Threats)

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heatbadstuffypleaseplease

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

Exhausting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honestly? Paperwork sounds better.

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

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

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

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

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

It then began introductions.

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

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

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

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

Then came the city-folk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And finally, the Prime Cartographer Elwere."

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

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

"They are ready for your address, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You DARE claim dominion over us!?"

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

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

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

Honestly? Well played.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the first time, the Archduchess spoke.

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

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

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

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

At this point, I lean forward ever so slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And fired.

And fired.

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

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

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

They seemed to nod, bravado gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They all seemed a tad worried about that.

Honestly? Mood.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Feedback and commentary appreciated!

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Chp-66 New
Chp-66

Garpastealap Hath
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia, Imperial Island


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

Very busy.

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

And wasn't that a promotion!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something his family didn't agree with.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, a message came through.

From Major Koran. Thornes Major.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So long as he didn't wear a helmet.

Garp liked helmets.

The Governor made him hate them.

-

Diplomacy sucks major ass.

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

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

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

Made it easier to conquer, to be frank.

Honestly though? They got a fairly good deal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And…Nox. Fucking Nox.

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

Because of that, some worlds were given to Vader.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A message beeped onto the screen.

I checked it.

"Thorne did WHAT!?"

-

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

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

As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Chp-67 New
Chp-67

Kaela Grant
Minda System, Ugea, Accordia, Imperial Island


Kaela's office used to be quite spartan.

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

Recently, that had started to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, the cage seemed primed to open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So how to be rid of him?

That's when it dawned on her.

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

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

What was that word the Governor liked? Ah yes…

"Fuck…"

-

1
Minda System, Ugea, Augir


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

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

Everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

Some people still wore filter masks as a habit.

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

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

Of course, 1 never saw any of that.

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

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

A checkpoint.

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

Then, a click. The container was being opened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was functional.

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

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

Regardless, he had a job to do.

They scanned the door. No traps, no bombs.

Lifeform scanner went next. 10 people.

1 counted down.

3

2

1

Breach.

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

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

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

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

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

1 nails a few, while 2 covers his flank.

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

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

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

And they needed those rebels alive.

Dead men tell no tales, after all.

-

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

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

As always, feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Chp-68 New
Chp-68

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

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

And now, my fears have been confirmed!

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

Still, locking down Augir?

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

Makes sense.

The bad part is political.

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

Or when they're playing their little political games.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes 120 taps before the Commander picks up.

"Governor, Sir!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How long will this investigation take, Commander?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For the Empire."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regardless, there was more to cover.

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

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

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

Manpower.

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

Suffice to say, the structure is fucking massive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if I floated the need for workers?

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

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

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

-

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

As you can see, things are going down.

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

As always, feedback/commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Last edited:
Chp-69(nice) New
Chp-69

TK-582, Okto Perker
Minda System, Ugea, Vrectin City


The first time Okto had fought beside the Commander had been years ago now. Much had changed since then.

The armor he wore was better. The weapon he wielded was stronger. Training exercises and experience hunting criminals on Edin had sharpened his mind and body.

Most importantly of all? He could actually see out of the helmet he was wearing.

A helmet he feared would be filled with vomit by the end of the mission.

Because for all the experience he now had, watching the Commander crush that pirate's skull way back when still made his stomach churn.

And now she was here again.

Joy.

Still, he pushed it out of his mind as the shuttle landed.

As he rose, a mental mask fell over his mind.

From that seat, TK-582 stood, falling in place with the rest of his squad.

They exited the shuttle into the Vrectin City Spaceport. An open air port with ships lined up in different pads, becoming muddled in the night the further one looked.

As his squad marched on the large freighter ahead, he spied the other squad to the left, Commander Grant leading them.

Her armor was a darker grey than normal trooper armor, her visor a deep blood red.

Soon, they reached the freighter. For all their marching, it was the dead of night, and none knew they were there.

The city's garrison, however, was aware. Their TIE's were ready to deploy in an instant if things went awry.

582 lined up along the, his sergeant across from, the breaching charged armed on the airlock between them.

The charge exploded with no sound as 582's helmet filtered out dangerously loud noises. A second later, the sound returned and he was already turning the corner.

The Commander walked out ahead of them through the smoke as his squad fanned out around her.

A rebel turned the closest hallway corner, pistol raised. He pulled the trigger, and a controlled burst of red death cracked from his E-11.

All around him, the same scene played out. Stormtroopers sighting enemies and firing less than a second later. Crimson bolts ripped through the air as the rebels tried and failed to stop them.

"Squad Aurek, with me." Came the Commander's voice, and 582 complied. He spotted squad Besh moving towards the cargo bay.

The fighting continued through the hallways, his squad ripping through enemies wherever they appeared.

The Commander did little, simply walking ever forward as rebels fell dead around her.

As they turned a corner, another rebel, a large man with a vibro knife in hand, aimed directly at the Commander.

Before his squad could get a shot off, the Commander was on him. Knife thrown aside, she swept his legs, but caught him by the scruff of his neck in her grey plated fingers.

Then, she slammed his head into the floor with a loud, wet crunch. Letting go, he tried to get up.

Unfortunately for him, the Commander's boot soon bound the back of his neck, and a far more grotesque snap resounded before the man went still.

Without a word, she turned back around and continued walking,

Eventually, they made it to the freighters bridge. Once again, they breached, and once again, they slaughtered every living being within the area.

And the Commander simply stood there, in the middle of the firefight. Anytime a rebel aimed at her, her scatterblaster roared. But she never took cover, never needed too.

Within half a minute, the dozen or so rebels had all died. Over the commlink, 582 heard squad Besh completing their objectives.

Soon after, they were back on the shuttle as other troopers took over.

It was only when he made it all the way back home did the mask of 582 slip off, and Okto come back in.

He took a deep breath.

And immediately barfed into his helmet.

Why couldn't the Commander fight normally!?

-

Darna Sabrir
Edin System, Highreach, Edinspire, Capitol Building


From the top of the capitol building, Darna surveilled Edinspire.

The city was far denser than Accordia, covered in many skyscrapers. Many were once owned by criminals and corrupt officials.

Now, they served other purposes. Some were turned into apartments, centers of business, communal areas, and more.

Others still were being torn down. Even now she could see the outline of the larger pieces of construction equipment, highlighted against the city's lights.

The very fact that she had the time to appreciate the view was a testament to her newfound free time. Possibly only because she was no longer Guild Director.

It irked her greatly, but it had truly made her healthier. The bags under her eyes were barely visible now, and her mind felt clearer.

The stress had been piling up. Looking back now, she could see her mistakes, made in a rush to establish power and control.

Overextension, shouldering too many burdens, poorly implemented programs and more. None of it disastrous, but death by a thousand cuts is death all the same.

Still, that was not to say it was easy. No. Even now, she contemplated the most recent report to come from SWEEP.

The terrorists had been captured and made to talk. Then, the information on their base of operations leaked to the Commander. It was hasty, yes, but it had to be done.

The Hand had been preparing for another strike. Another direct assasination attempt on the Governor.

For both Darna and the organizations she was a part of, that was a fail condition. The Governor may not know of SWEEP, WEB or HAVEN, nor the part Pathline Inc. plays in them, but it is through his actions, policies and attitude that these organizations even exist and operate.

After all, they were founded to protect this little haven of peace from the rest of the galaxy. A haven that only existed because the Governor wasn't like other Imperial officials. If he died, the Moff would send his replacement.

And they didn't have any ability to influence that decision. Whoever they got would likely be far worse, and create an environment in which they could not survive.

Now all that was left was the clean up. Rogue Hand agents would be dealt with quietly as they were tracked down, assuming there were any left.

After that, well… they'd have to look to the stars. The shipyard was just about finished, after all. A few berths would be staffed by hired Rothanan workers to begin initial production, while more new workers would be brought in and trained.

That was the insertion point. In a few days, she would be meeting with the leaders of SWEEP, HAVEN, WEB, along with the new Guild Director and Pathline CEO. All, of course, part of the same council.

As the organizations under her grew, and new ones popped up, she shifted from top-down control to a council system, where they all worked together to achieve their goal. She still held the most sway, and was considered something of an unofficial leader, but the burden was not on her alone.

As she considered potential plans for insertion of agents into the yards to bring up in the meeting, her terminal pinged.

Taking a look, it was from the Governor. A rough draft for a proposal for the Guild. A way to get workers for the yard.

Darna smiled.

It seems she has her plan.

-

Hi there folks! Sorry for the late night update, but I couldn't not finish this chapter now. I'm experiencing an emotional high from eating home made bean dip and listening to Tenacious D/ Neon Genesis Evangelion crossover music.

This is (not) the greatest song in the world by camhcom is an absolute fucking banger of a song. Combined with the bean dip?

Religious experience.

As always, feedback and commentary appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
Chp-70 New
Chp-70

Never in my mind did I think I'd make it this far.

Hell, I never wanted to make it this far.

But to think that my biggest current problem is manpower is wild. I mean, for a backwater, half a million people seems like plenty!

It seems, however, that the shipyard disagrees.

I had reviewed and revised the immigration policy to prioritize people with relevant experience, since we couldn't afford to house and feed everyone who came in. I have thus far avoided a homelessness problem, and I won't let one start now.

The problem arose when the Moff decided to increase the backlog to 500 ships! Seems to me he's making a lot of promises that hinge on the yards working. It's not politically sound to put all your eggs in one basket. I wonder why he's doing it then?
Thankfully, Oioro, deadly spy/negotiator that she is, has seen some initial success in negotiations for that fly in/fly out idea through the Guild. It would be easier, with new systems joining regularly, but it would still take time.

Unfortunately, that left her too busy to go with me to Dubrillion, where the first official Guild meeting was happening.

The Moff had 'suggested' this, but the message was clear.

Minda may be first among equals in the Guild, but the Moff is above all. It also created an air of neutrality among the members.

Now, I was afforded a plus one to the whole thing. Oioro would've been my first pick, and Darna my second.

Both were busy, however. Oioro with the aforementioned business, and Darna with a new wave of crime/cartels on Edin. She had started to implement softer policies, what with the criminal element mostly gone. Hidden elements took this, along with the attacks on Minda, as weakness. That left her busy.

So, Veers. Oioro and Darna would've had reason to be there, with the former being a negotiator and the latter my vice, while Grant has no real reason. Veers, however, defends the Edin/Minda routes. She has a vested stake in the Guild's shipping.

And, if we play our cards right, she might get more responsibility in that role. Which will give Minda more leverage in Guild politics.

I don't necessarily want to be in total political control, it seems like a way to piss people off. But I know what other Governors are like, and if I don't secure a good position for Minda, and myself, I could see some serious problems cropping up down the line.

Regardless, I had a meeting to get to.

The flight to Dubrillion was relatively quiet. It was done in Veers Gladiator, as a statement/show of power. It was likely the most powerful of the ships brought by the other members. Shal was left to reinforce Edin.

And now, I was walking into the meeting room.

It was time to play the political game once again.

-

Agent Raxus

As an Agent of newly appointed Grand Moff Adrus Kaine, Raxus (not his real name) had been sent to the Myto sector to observe and gain a basic understanding of its operations. Agents had been sent discreetly to just about every sector in the newly expanded Oversector Outer so the Grand Moff could have a more grounded, realistic understanding of each sector, and to catalog any anomalies.

Which explained why Raxus was on Dubrillion, dressed as an administrative aide, entering a meeting hall.

The meeting hall was a grandiose place. A tall ceiling with large, ostentatious pillars and fine drapes of red and black, sewn with the Imperial Crest covering the walls. All from the Core, of course.

It was a place that was clearly built to project the power of the owner to those within, commissioned by the previous Moff. Something the new owner was taking full advantage of.

Moff Aren Hiral was new to this level of the political scene, and yet had conducted himself masterfully from everything Raxus had been able to access.

Yet, he wasn't here.

Despite more than a dozen Governors being present at the Guilds first meeting, the Moff wasn't.

He didn't need to be.

The meeting wasn't taking place in Guild HQ, it was taking place in Dubrillion. In the capital city. In a meeting room that was worth more than many colonies.

In the center of the room sat a large circular table, polished durasteel in stark contrast to the marble and fine metals the rest of the room was made out of. It looked out of place.

It was.

The original table had been long, with a single seat at the end. It had been moved by request in exchange for a circular durasteel table with a holoprojector in the center.

Specifically, at the request of Governor Las Mola.

He sat at the table, wearing a standard Governors uniform in grey. The only modification was a series of thin metal plates affixed to the uniform, a series of interlinked triangles that weaved into the fabric so well it was hard to tell where metal ended and silk began. He exuded an air of quiet dominance, where no grandiose luxury or fancy words were needed to seem as if he had everything under control.

To his right sat Mola's Commodore, Ife Veers. Daughter of well known General Veers, who had gotten caught up in inter-branch political rivalries. She struck a more imposing figure than the Governor with her sharp, pitch black uniform and steely, almost predatory gaze. It fit well with her growing reputation of brutal efficiency and ruthless effectiveness against pirates.

Raxus took a seat at one of the small side tables set aside for administrative aides who were there to run numbers on site and manage other tasks. His recorder was activated quickly and quietly.

Soon, the meeting started as the final members trickled in. A little over a dozen Governors sat at the table, the air abuzz with a mix of wariness and ambition.

"Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for making the trip, and allow me to welcome you all to the inaugural meeting of the Imperial Guild of Commerce, Production and Protection." Started Mola.

"While the basics of the Guild have functioned well enough, we are here today to discuss the future operations of the Guild, and how its resources should be allocated to ensure the continued operation and profit of all members."

The Governor turned towards the Commodore, who stood, back straight, eyes like steel. Her gaze swept across the table, causing some members to stiffen slightly.

"Intelligence reports a nearly 10% increase in piracy in the past 6 months. While the impacts have been minimal so far, the criminal element seems to have become emboldened as of late. Attacks will only get worse, cutting into the Guilds profit and security."

As the various Governors contemplated this, whispering amongst themselves, Governor Las spoke once more with an even tone.

"Therefore, I wish to propose an expansion of the Guild's operational fees to incorporate a new branch of patrol vessels. These ships and their crews will patrol the lanes between member systems to discourage piracy and ensure smoother, safer trade."

He tapped a few times on the terminal in front of him, presumably sending a copy to every other member's terminal.

"Please, review it. Any modifications or suggestions are welcome."

Hmm. An open policy of sorts. Mola seems to want power, or at the very least show dominance over the Guild, but still asks for the other members' opinions? Odd.

The other members took a minute to look over the draft before one spoke up.

"An interesting proposal, Governor. However…I have a slight concern." Spoke Trylid Vance, Governor of Veridian Prime. It was a fairly rich system near Dubrillion, and one that dealt mostly in luxury goods to other systems. Vance's family was old, having controlled the system since the time of the Old Republic, with their luxury brands benefitting from the influx of Imperial officers/nobility who wished to maintain some level of luxury in the outer rim.

His involvement with the Guild was likely an attempt to retain control of his market and have a hand in the new rising power. Either to benefit from it, or curtail it if needed.

"My current concern is how this proposal benefits us all. After all, some systems, such as my own, already hold a suitable amount of patrol craft that are fully capable of handling this increase in banditry. Why would this assist us?" His voice was smooth and professional, but he still went straight to the point. They were here for business, after all. Not politics.

Before Mola could respond, another Governor spoke up.

"Because not all of us can defend our lanes as well. Not at the moment, at least." And there was Kyra Godran, Governor of Draxons Forge. A more recently settled system that was rich in resources but not infrastructure. Her agenda was obvious. Draxons Forge needed money, money that was being tied up due to pirates.

If the system doesn't make enough money, it can't expand. If it can't expand, it won't make enough money. And without money, it can't protect its lanes.

"Increased security will benefit all systems as well. Those pirates will keep taking more unless we show them the Guild isn't to be messed with!" She was fiery, that much was certain. A product of her newer status and the need for rapid, sometimes reckless expansion.

It was then that a third spoke up. Hranton Fogess was a corpulent man who kept meticulous ledgers. He controlled Slundus, which sat on the Veragi Trade Route and saw consistent traffic. Like many who sat on routes like that, his goals aligned more with consistent transit and the stability of trade.

"Both of you bring good points, but I believe the main issue is equitability. How will these costs be spread, and will the patrol vessels themselves be suitable? Will the security coverage be equitable amongst member systems, particularly for those whose main profit comes from transit specifically? And what of oversight, how can we know that these funds will be used properly?"

Mola nodded. "That is a good point, Governor Fogess, and I believe it should be the current topic of discussion. If the ships are built in the new Mindan yards, the cost will be decreased, and I am willing to shoulder the upfront cost myself. However, operational costs will be the main topic. As for oversight, I agree. Transparency is key. Any ideas on how to ensure such a thing are welcome."

From there, they delved into more rigorous discussion, involving more and more members as time went on.

Things like patrol zones, tiered responses, optional fee's to escort precious cargo without burdening other systems, and more.

Frankly speaking, if it wasn't his job to analyze the sector, Raxus would've fallen asleep. In fact, some Governors, more concerned with politics than economics, seemed poised to take impromptu naps by the end of the nearly 5 hour meeting.

Only hourly breaks kept people from, well, breaking.

By the end of it all, Raxus had a fairly comprehensive report to send back to the grand Moffs office.

The Myto sector still had more to look over, but as it stands, the Guild is no threat. An economic alliance, yes. One that has a patrol arm, yes. But considering the de facto head of said arm will be a Navy Commodore, with the Moff clearly emphasizing his control over the situation, the Guild is unlikely to grow out of control.

Raxus doubted the report would ever grace the Grand Moffs eyes, but it was still his duty to send it.

Hopefully, the rest of the assignment would be as boring as this. He'd heard horror stories of some of the other sectors, after all.

-

Wrote this while listening to bangers like Starship Velociraptor and Sorario Days, which contain far too much hype for a chapter that is essentially just a boardroom meeting and office politics.

Oh, and Raxus will not be a recurring character. So don't ask.

As always, feedback and commentary is appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

-Freefaller
 
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