Governor's Gambit - Star Wars SI into Imperial Governor

[Freefaller]

OFFICIAL SECTOR ADVISORY | MSD-R&D-DENIED-9914

DOCUMENT SUMMARY | Internal Review of Unfunded Research Proposals | Month #19
DISTRIBUTION | Office of the Moff, Myto Sector Economic Council
AUTHORIZATION | Ministry of Internal Development | Research and Development Division
AUTHOR | Director Yop Calio, Chief of Extraordinary Initiatives Research and Development
CLASSIFICATION | Restricted Technical Data

Project 1 Open-Cycle Hypermatter Scorcher

• Concept
  • This proposal outlines a high-speed atmospheric drone that runs on an open-cycle hypermatter reactor. By intentionally omitting the standard thermal containment shielding, the drone would vent raw, unchanneled solar-ionization plasma directly out of its sublight thrusters to instantly incinerate ground targets while flying at supersonic speeds.
• Reason for Denial
  • The proposal ignores basic strategic logic. Without total containment of the hypermatter reactor, the heat would melt the drone within seconds of activation.

Project 2 Sub-Crustal Tectonic Borer

Concept

• This initiative introduces a heavy boring vehicle utilizing high-output industrial repulsor-coils to project hyper-gravity downward, effectively crushing planetary rock into dust to tunnel underneath defensive energy shields. Once beneath an enemy command bunker, the vehicle would detonate a massive proton-torpedo payload.
• Reason for Denial
  • The design fails due to fundamental material constraints. The immense thermal energy generated by compressing planetary crust at tactical speeds would melt the internal repulsor-coils within minutes, welding the machine and its crew into a static block of slag kilometers beneath the surface.

Project 3 Orbital Hyperlane Interdiction Net

• Concept
  • This project involves deploying a dense orbital matrix consisting of thousands of high-tensile, automated tractor-beam minelets. The linked beams would form an invisible net across low orbit to snare and physically rip apart incoming enemy starfighters attempting to drop from hyperspace.
• Reason for Denial
  • The engineering division overlooked a glaring common-sense flaw. The inevitable tractor-beam resonance cascade would cause the net to snap outward, dragging local communication satellites and our own Imperial supply convoys into the meat grinder.

Project 4 Tectonic Rail-Cannon

• Concept
  • This concept details a massive planetary artillery installation that uses a sequence of decommissioned capital-ship hyperdrive rings to accelerate durasteel-jacketed kinetic slugs through a micro-hyperspace window. This weapon would allow the Minda system to strike stationary targets on worlds in neighboring systems.
• Reason for Denial
  • The proposal was rejected due to structural engineering realities. The immense kinetic recoil generated by forcing a multi-ton physical object through a localized hyperspace field inside a gravity well would instantly fracture the host planet's tectonic plate and cause a localized cataclysm.
• Directors Note The researchers who proposed this seemed to specify the weapons capabilities for striking other Imperial worlds from Minda. They have been flagged for psychological review.

Project 5 Unshielded Coaxium Boosters

• Concept
  • This design involves mounting volatile, unshielded raw coaxium liquid booster pods directly onto the exterior wing-joints of standard TIE interceptors. This modification would theoretically double their sublight acceleration and allow tactical wings to intercept enemy bombers before they can deploy payloads.
• Reason for Denial
  • Safety parameters make this concept entirely unviable. Liquid coaxium is notoriously sensitive to kinetic shock, meaning a single stray blaster bolt hitting a hangar bay or a landing rack would trigger a chain reaction capable of vaporizing an entire orbital station.
• Directors Note Honestly don't know what they were thinking, given coaxium is primarily used for hyperdrives.

Project 6 V-19 Void-Stalker Deep-Atmosphere Penetrator

• Concept
  • This high-altitude stealth bomber design is engineered to drop heavy proton payloads from the extreme upper layers of a planet's atmosphere. It utilizes a radical thermal-diffusing hull skin designed to compress atmospheric friction heat and convert it directly into forward deflector shield power during high-speed insertion maneuvers.
• Reason for Denial
  • The concept fails under basic aerodynamic and material constraints. The thermal-conversion matrix relies on a perfectly smooth, uninterrupted laminar airflow. The moment the bomber encounters standard atmospheric turbulence or alters its banking angle, the compressed heat vents inward instead of outward, instantly vaporizing the internal payload bay and the crew cabin.
• Directors Note The ship design has promise outside of its special hull, and is being reviewed for possible redesign and deployment pending Naval approval.

Project 7 AT V1 Specter Low Observability Walker

• Concept
  • This heavy armored walker utilizes experimental under-chassis repulsor dampeners to mask the seismic footprint of its footsteps. The hull features specialized cold-plasma plating designed to absorb all outward thermal signatures, allowing a heavy assault vehicle to sneak past enemy scout networks entirely undetected.
• Reason for Denial
  • The cold-plasma plating completely traps all internal heat generated by the walker's massive power core. Without active cooling vents, the internal cockpit temperature spikes to lethal levels within three minutes of activation, effectively cooking the pilot crew alive.
• Directors Note Some of the walker design team got their hands on one of the new AT-SW's and went a little wild.

Project 8 Spinal Fracture Siege Corvette

• Concept
  • This light capital ship is built entirely around a single massive forward-facing plasma lance cannon running the entire length of the vessel. The design strips away all traditional shield generators and point-defense turrets to funnel the entire output of the main hypermatter reactor into a single armor-penetrating blast.
• Reason for Denial
  • The ship's internal structural framework cannot handle the immense kinetic and thermal feedback of the primary weapon. Firing the cannon generates a violent energy cascade that would instantly collapse the hull forward onto itself, turning the entire corvette into a mass of crushed scrap metal.

Project 9 XR-9 Shatterpoint Sonic Siege Tank

• Concept
  • This tracked heavy armor vehicle mounts a localized seismic resonance emitter designed to neutralize fortified planetary energy shields. The tank would park directly outside an enemy outpost and tune its acoustic frequency to match the shield's thermal modulation, shattering the projector array from a safe distance without a prolonged orbital bombardment.
• Reason for Denial
  • The proposal defies common sense engineering realities. To project a sound wave dense enough to fracture a military-grade deflector shield through open air, the acoustic amplifier requires a power load that completely liquefies the ground directly beneath its own heavy treads, causing the tank to sink and swallow itself in solid rock before completing a single broadcast cycle.
• Directors Note Someone got their hands on some vintage Geonosian sonic weapons and someone else saw them and went into a fugue state for a week.

Project 10 Leech-Pattern Vector Boarding Pod

• Concept
  • This specialized armored boarding vessel is designed to bypass enemy point-defense grids by hitching a ride on our own capital ship salvos. The pod attaches to the exterior hull of an Imperial cruiser and crawls directly into a heavy turbolaser barrel, utilizing the weapon's native magnetic containment fields to launch itself forward at extreme velocity alongside the plasma blast.
• Reason for Denial
  • Severe structural and safety constraints make this concept completely unviable. The raw thermal energy of a heavy turbolaser discharge completely overwhelms the pod's heat shielding. Computer modeling shows the vessel instantly melts into a solid lump of slag inside the barrel, permanently welding the Star Destroyer's primary turret shut and destroying the boarding team before they can clear the ship's framework.
• Directors Note I don't know what to say, it's a miracle of stupidity that this escaped the confines of someone's mind.

Report Summary

While the preceding log highlights an undeniable pattern of structural overreach and logistical absurdity, it remains an essential diagnostic of our sector's primary design apparatus. The engineering divisions stationed across the Minda system represent the absolute pinnacle of Imperial technical innovation. However, this level of creative genius inherently carries a unique administrative burden.

The very traits that allow these minds to solve seemingly insurmountable structural challenges also render them highly prone to dramatic flights of fancy and erratic conceptual designs. They are an exceptionally brilliant group of innovators who require constant oversight to prevent them from accidentally fracturing a planetary crust or vaporizing a hangar bay in the pursuit of a breakthrough. It is the official stance of this office that vetting these highly eccentric proposals is a small price to pay for maintaining our regional technological superiority. We will continue to filter out the impossible and the dangerous while harvesting the genuine breakthroughs that keep the Myto Sector at the absolute forefront of military development.

Directors Note This is the shortest of the 19 reports of this kind I've had to write. I also suspect the next few will be quite short as well, given major projects have been recently greenlit. However, it is in my professional opinion that this office requires more advanced facilities. While a great deal has been accomplished using outdated and subpar equipment, it won't be enough going forward.

 

[Freefaller]

OFFICIAL SECTOR ADVISORY | MSD-R&D-ACTIVE-0412

DOCUMENT SUMMARY | Active R&D Project Status and Priority Briefing
DISTRIBUTION | Office of the Moff | Myto Sector Economic Council
AUTHORIZATION | Ministry of Internal Development | Research and Development Division
AUTHOR | Director Yop Calio, Chief of Extraordinary Initiatives
CLASSIFICATION | Restricted Strategic Technical Data

SECTION I REPORT OVERVIEW

The following dossier outlines the primary active engineering initiatives currently under development by the Minda system research division. In contrast to our conceptual exploratory logs, the projects detailed below have received full administrative authorization and funding. These initiatives are ranked strictly by their projected completion timeline, moving from immediate manufacturing readiness to long term structural design phases.

SECTION II ACTIVE PROJECT PIPELINE


Project IRONCLAD

• Current Status High Priority Production Transition
• Estimated Completion One to two months
• Project Overview
  • This initiative delivers the newest generation of the LECA combat platform by synthesizing extensive operational data gathered in the field over the last few years. The development team integrated fresh engineering personnel alongside technical innovations originally discovered by independent contractors working on civilian iterations of the core technology.
  • While the core design philosophy remains strictly unchanged, focusing on an efficient, modular, and cost effective asset, this update comprehensively addresses original engineering flaws. It successfully expands operational tolerances and rectifies numerous chassis stability problems that occurred as a direct consequence of the rushed nature of the platform's initial development cycle.
  • Alongside the optimization of the baseline chassis, the engineering team is concurrently working to create entirely new LECA variants. These specialized configurations are being developed directly alongside the main project to serve as the very first operational models of this new generation, significantly expanding the platform's tactical roles.

Project SWARMLORD

• Current Status Secondary Development Phase
• Estimated Completion Two to four months
• Project Overview
  • This project focuses on adapting the versatile ID10 seeker droid framework originally manufactured by Arakyd Industries and utilized by Imperial special forces units. Development initiated immediately following prolonged delays regarding the acquisition of corporate licensing rights from the parent manufacturer.
  • The objective centers on using the ID10 chassis as a standard baseline for a diverse suite of specialized companion droids tailored for soldiers, pilots, and field specialists. A preliminary variant is already fully operational as a dedicated spotter unit attached to the LECA A5 model. Upcoming variants currently in development aim to provide specialized flight assistance for ace pilots and real time tactical information integration for infantry squads.

Project GHOSTSHIP

• Current Status Mid Stage Optimization
• Estimated Completion Four to five months
• Project Overview
  • This long standing engineering initiative focuses on a comprehensive redesign and internal refit program for existing Star Destroyer class vessels. The primary objective is to drastically reduce the baseline crew complement required for standard deployment cycles.
  • Although the core goal is conceptually straightforward, execution has proven highly demanding due to the sheer scale and systemic complexity of a capital ship. The team is currently finalizing automated network subsystems to safely bridge legacy mechanical control interfaces without compromising ship security.

Project THUNDER

• Current Status Early Developmental Phase
• Estimated Completion Six to eight months to prototyping, one year to final production
• Project Overview
  • Inspired by recent advanced walker designs introduced by MynockArms, this project involves an entirely new and currently unnamed four legged mobile artillery asset. The weapon system is engineered to provide sustained indirect fire support across the theater of operations.
  • This unit aims to fill a critical tactical gap by avoiding the massive logistical footprint of an SPHA walker while bypassing the direct line of sight requirements that limit the AT AP platform. Because the project is in its infancy, current engineering efforts are focused on auditing preexisting Imperial supply lines to maximize components compatibility, which remains a core requirement for the success of all Mytoan military assets.

Project IMPERIAL REBIRTH

• Current Status Conceptual Architecture Phase
• Estimated Completion Minimum of one year to first prototype, final deployment timeline undetermined
• Project Overview
  • Following several years of persistent advocacy from the primary ship design team, the Ministry has officially greenlit this foundational naval architecture project. Unlike the parallel Star Destroyer refit initiative which focuses strictly on modifying existing hulls for manpower efficiency, Project Imperial Rebirth represents the ground up creation of an entirely new unnamed capital ship within the Star Destroyer size classification.
  • The design group is currently drafting core structural layouts and hypermatter reactor integration schematics to establish a completely modernized framework for next generation sector power projection.

Directors Note I'm not sure how they got permission for this one, but from what I can tell it was 'authorized' by the Moff in that he was busy muttering something about Akahista and said 'sure do whatever' when asked.

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-119

Admiral Gerel Dionhar
Akahista Orbit
3.1 ABY

Admiral Dionhar stared at the vessel through the shuttle viewport. The Vigil of Starless Night hung before him, the second ever Arbiter-Class vessel.

A cowards ship, meant only to stay behind the vessels of true warriors. Fitting that the Moff had chosen it as their meeting place.

Oh, he was aware that calling a Moff a coward would be career suicide. At least, for most Admirals. Dionhar wasn't under the command of the local Moff, after all, and reported instead to the Grand Moff directly.

A prestigious position, if only it didn't also leave him in the ass end of nowhere without a chance at glory or prestige in combat.

Upon the shuttles docking, he disembarked into the hangar. It was vast, holding countless TIE's of various types, many of those being the newfangled Mytoan variants he'd seen in the Akahistan's governors forces.

Above him claws held individual fighters along a rail system, while on the ground sat larger vessels.

Before him stood an aide who nervously guided him towards the meeting room.

The halls of the vessel were lively with personnel rushing to and fro. At the same time, those hallways disgusted him.

On one wall, there was a poster for a Walker-Ball match in the hanger! If this had been his ship, he would've personally executed anyone who dared to suggest such a blatant waste of time and effort!

It was clear to him how the Moff liked to run things, and it felt distinctly anti-imperial. Still, Dionhar held his tongue. This would all be in a report to the Grand Moff anyways, and if Kaine had any sense Mola would be demoted.

Soon he found himself inside the meeting room, a utilitarian place with not a decoration in sight, simply two chairs and a table, sitting across from the Moff himself. A large, lizard-like creature wound itself around his shoulders, eyes seeming to bore into his soul.

"Glad to meet you, Admiral Dionhar." Said the Moff, reaching a hand out to shake. He accepted, if only to keep up the veneer of politeness.

"The pleasure is mine, Moff Mola. Now, what brings you to my post? Its rare for my position to get visitors."

The Moff before him straightened in his chair, eyes tightening. He removed from his pocket a small disk, a holo projector, placing it on the table.

Upon activation, it showcased a map of the galaxy. Markings showcased fleet movements, policing actions, and more.

"Can you see the pattern, Admiral Dionhar?"

He stared at the map for a little while longer, trying as he might to find it. "No, I'm afraid not, Moff Mola. What is the meaning of this?"

"The pattern, Admiral, is the Crimson Dawn. In every known sighting in the past months, the Dawn has gotten away. In fact, overall sightings of Dawn ships have dropped dramatically. Almost as if they knew where Imperial ships were going to be."

In a flash, Dionhar was at his feet, hands slamming into the table. "Are you accusing me of treason!? How dare you! I was personally chosen by the Grand Moff himself!"

Mola stayed infuriatingly calm, his posture unchanging even as his eyes scanned the Admiral. The lizard let out a low, almost threatening rumble. Dionhar avoided looking at it.

"Calm yourself. I'm not making any accusations here. If I suspected you to be a traitor, we wouldn't be having a conversation in the first place."

Dionhar huffed, dropping back down into his chair. "So, what? Am I to believe that somehow spies have infiltrated the Hub? It's one of the most tightly secured facilities in the galaxy, of that I've made sure."

"And yet, like all facilities, it's connected to the holonet."

The Admiral frowned. "At best a slicer could listen in on encrypted comms, and we change the encryption every other week, as well as the techs making the codes, and the five teams of people adding more complexity to the encryption. Safe to say, the Dawn would need to compromise nearly a hundred people."

"Thats not what I mean, though it is something that should be checked. No, what I mean is, last year, someone took down the holonet relays. In the panic, ships were pulled from Akahista."

Dionhar leaned forward. "You mean to tell me that somehow, Crimson Dawn caused the relay blackout to infiltrate the Hub?"

"It seems the only explanation" was Mola's response, gesturing towards the projector. "The data lines up. And the Dawn is specialized in infiltration. If anyone could do it, it would be them."

Dionhar felt a thin bead of sweat start to form despite the room's chill. This was…bad. Very bad. He didn't quite believe it, but that didn't matter. What mattered is that it was believable enough, and as such if this information was revealed to his superiors…

Well, Naval HIGHCOM had a habit of scapegoating whenever possible. He'd be lucky to be demoted.

Before he could continue to deny the accusations, the Moff spoke.

"I come to you with this so that we may coordinate. By investigating this issue with the help of the Governor-General and ISB, we may yet find the spies."

"You want to bring the ISB in on this?" Dionhar was in shock. To purposefully bring in the ISB, or any of their superiors, was a death sentence!

"Of course. They will eventually, inevitably, discover the same information I have. Better we report it ourselves and work with them to fix this."

"It'll see us both demoted at best!"

Here the Moff seemed to grow angry, his voice rising just a tad. "Admiral. We are servants of the Emperor. If demotion is the punishment for our failure, then so be it. I will be sending the message in 24 hours. Full cooperation will be expected."

Dionhar studied the Moffs face. A patriot? A real Imperial patriot? Damnation, why did he have to get stuck in a room with the rarest species in the galaxy!?

"...I understand. For the Empire, Moff Mola."

"For the Empire."

They saluted one another, and Dionhar left the room at a quicker pace than he'd entered with. He had no time to waste, after all. And that lizard scared him.

It was imperative he get to the Hub, and change the outgoing logs! His master override should work, and so if he could just change the logs, erase evidence he changed them, he could buy himself time.

After all, the ISB would arrive, see completely normal looking logs, and then leave to focus on the Moff wasting their time! It would give him the time he needed to track down these spies, if they existed.

And if they didn't, the logs would be perfectly fine, and he'd be perfectly fine. But the sweat upon his brown betrayed the truth.

If there was even the slightest chance the Moff was right, he had to check!

–

Akahista, Pyramid One
3.1 ABY

Three shadows crept down the side of the building, silent limbs using magnets to avoid the treacherous fall.

They had inserted themselves in the dead of the planet's night cycle, and now poised themselves before the gaps between the pyramids layers. A small maintenance shaft stood there, and quickly they entered, sleek black ID-10 making quick work of the electronic lock.

No noise was made as they swiftly passed through the hall, their armor covered head to toe in noise and signal dampening material.

Through the maintenance section they went, arriving swiftly into the main cooling bay of the pyramid. Here liquid was pumped in and out of the supercomputer above, then moved to sites further away in the city to cool off before being cycled back in.

From their hidden location, the shadows once again dispatched their droids, the red glow of their eyes removed to maintain their stealth. The metal creatures found their way to the cameras in the room, setting them to loop footage one by one until the room was blind to the security forces.

Then, they made their way to the engineering consoles. The shadows above fired small darts into some farther off machinery, small electrical discharges causing a commotion and bringing the engineers away from their consoles.

With unrestricted access, the droids hacked their way in, one droid accessing the panel and the other two plugging into the first droid in order to combine their processing power.

In seconds, pumps started to stutter. Liquid was sent out in short bursts rather than a continuous stream. A common enough glitch in coolant systems galaxy wide that the only eyebrows raised would be those of engineers wondering how such an advanced location would allow such failures.

Of course, such concerns would never be raised. After all, failures were things to be hidden in the Empire.

The shadows left their hiding space in short order, slipping into an open hatch in the coolant pipes. The stuttering pumps meant they weren't swimming in coolant, yet the pipes were far below a survivable temperature regardless.

Each of them activated simple heating packs stitched into their armor and checked their environmental seals before moving onwards. They held onto their droids, using the machine's propulsion to speed up through the waist high coolant.

Within a single harrowing minute, they were able to exit the cooling pipe and enter the colossal supercomputer, the Hub itself. Machinery lay all around them, piling high up above with crisscrossing wires and perilous gantries abound.

Not a single guardrail either, though workplace safety wasn't an Imperial concern.

Again, their droids went first, finding each and every camera along their path. The shadows climbed silently, grappling hooks pulling them upwards with ease.

Finally, they found themselves at the central access computer. The heart and soul of the compound.

Expert hands installed the device easily enough, hidden eyes scanning for threats where there were none. The second team across the facility had done well in drawing attention away from the computers center.

Soon, the second illegal modification to the computer was installed. They could've removed the first, it was right there. But its discovery was key. So, for now, they did as ordered.

Their path out was much the same, and within the hour three shadows slunk back into the darkness of the surrounding city.

–

Yo. For some reason writing just hasn't been coming to me as easily. Maybe i'm just not as excited to write this story, maybe i just don't like writing as much as I used to, who knows. I'll finish this story, as I promised, but it'll take more time. Its gotten almost out of control, this one, growing far beyond my intended premise. Did you know that in the beginning, I had intended the story to stop at Endor, with Las as a Governor? He was never supposed to become Moff, but I liked the idea so much I had to throw it in. Same with so many other aspects. And now I have a dozen characters I can barely remember and a rough draft of a plan for post-endor so rough it could be used as sandpaper.\

But, I said I'd finish the story, so I will. Planning will be refined and the chapters will be continuing. I expect that once this more stressful chapter of my life has passed this will come easier to me.

As for the cooking update, I actually did a few new things. Tried a new chocolate cake recipe, it was aight, honestly very moist even after a couple days but kinda bland. Great with ice cream tho. Also made some cucumber and zucchini bread, the former because I bought cucumbers by accident. Didn't like it, zucchini bread is better for sure.

Gonna go for braided danishes next, because normal danishes i buy from Costco piss me off. Too much of the cheese is left in the center in an island and you either toss it and waste food or eat it and get too much cheese taste which is gross.

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-120

Admiral Gerel Dionhar
Akahista Orbit
3.1 ABY

Two days after meeting the Moff, Dionhar found himself back aboard the Vigil, and once again within a meeting room.

The smaller room he'd been in previously had been replaced with a near-standard Imperial meeting room. Near standard because instead of being a stark grey box, it was circular, holding warm lighting and comfortable seats.

He might've brushed it off as the Moffs personal meeting room but given how he passed three other rooms of the same kind on the way in it was clear these were standard on Arbiters. Another flagrantly anti-imperial modification that would encourage laziness among sailors.

Still, he put those thoughts in his mind. After all, he was supposed to be feeling great! After all, he successfully covered his tracks. Once things blew over he could quietly find and deal with the Crimson Dawn spies and be rid of this debacle. Or perhaps extract a concession or two from the Dawn, if possible.

All he had to do was wait for the Grand Moffs representative to arrive. The report he sent to his superior clearly indicated the Moff in the whole debacle, so he should be fine.

Of course, the reality was that he wasn't feeling great, mostly because of the "fool I see before me who dares to question the integrity of my character!?"

The ISB agent before him, one Lieutenant Bree, scoffed. "It is hardly an insult to speak facts. You failed to ensure the security of the facility you were assigned to guard."

Before he could respond, Bree turned to the Moff. "And I am quite surprised that you also allowed this failure to occur, Moff Mola. You've been nothing but an exemplary servant of the Emperor until now."

"My sincerest apologies, Lieutenant. The blackout was a sudden event that created an immediate and massive crisis. The Governor-General has been focused heavily on mid-rim trade route protection, rightfully so, however this means the sector's forces were simply not in large enough supply to both deal with the piracy spike and keep a stricter eye on the relay network."

Bree's eyes narrowed, then flickered over to the man sitting next to him, a representative of the Governor-General who was also attending the meeting on account of the report the Moff sent both offices.

"Don't look at me! The Governor-General has been acting in his official capacity to protect the sectors under his command."

"Which has put other sectors under his command at risk. This is unacceptable."

"Oh please!" exclaimed the representative. "You're just a Lieutenant, ISB or not. Speaking poorly of your betters reflects badly upon you. Not to mention, this whole debacle would never have happened if the ISB did their jobs properly!"

Now Bree looked angry. "The ISB is infinitely more competent than you and yours. The fact is, if the Admiral here had any skill, and if the Governor-General had any real ability-!"

His PDA rang, a report. He paused his rant, glaring at the representative before going to check it.

"Ah, it seems the Hubs logs have been acquired. Now lets see here…"

Before further action could be taken, the doors slid open to reveal a new figure. An Admiral, uniform fit and clean. Face mired in anger.

"I am here on behalf of the Grand Moff himself, and I DEMAND an explanation!"

From there, things devolved. Dionhar would've liked to say that he was above it all, and sat back to watch the show, but to his shame he got viscerally involved. By the end, his face was red from shouting and everyone was standing up.

Everyone, save for the Moff, who had remained seated, calm, and collected. Even his pet lizard, seemingly glued to his shoulders, was perfectly calm. He only spoke when asked a question. Each time, deflecting blame subtly to a different faction.

Dionhar's eyes widened. He was playing them against one another! But just as he went to speak–!

Khhohhhhhh… Pwhhhhhrrr…

The hair on the back of his neck rose as the temperature seemed to plummet. Dionhars heart began to beat quicker, sweat breaking out on his brow.

Behind him, he heard it once more.

Khhohhhhhh… Pwhhhhhrrr…

That sound. He'd heard it only once, years ago on Coruscant. Yet, despite how much time had passed, the fear was no less real.

Khhohhhhhh… Pwhhhhhrrr…

Not a single one of them spoke, all of them standing frozen as the pressure subtly shifted higher, air suddenly a little thinner.

Then, a voice. The Moffs.

"Lord Vader, it is a pleasure to meet you. Would you like a seat?"

Dionhar's eyes darted to the side. The Moff was now standing, his face noticeably more brittle. A part of him wanted to laugh at the man and how his perfect facade was now on the verge of breaking, but he couldn't help but understand.

A behemoth stood before them, staring at the Moff and his lizard-thing. The stare lasted a little longer than was polite.

"...No."

The titan of gleaming metal looking slowly across the room, a predator gazing at the prey before it.

"I am here on the Emperor's orders to correct a disturbance in a critical part of our security."

Vader loomed now, bearing a pressure upon all their shoulders as though the vast ocean weighed down on them.

Explain. Now."

Dionhar wanted to speak. To grovel at the monster's feet and explain everything, if only to shirk the blame and escape this horrid beast alive. But his throat was closed with fear.

"L-lord Vader! I have the Hubs internal logs here! With them, we should be able to ascertain the culprit!" Bree was trying, and failing, to show any fear.

A single nod was the only response, and Bree quickly dove into his PDA, reading through the report.

"It…it seems that many of the logs from the period of the blackout, when the suspected Crimson Dawn infiltrators entered the Hub, have been tampered with extensively! But, the access logs are intact, and indicate that…"

Bree looked up from his PDA, staring directly at Dionhar. "...that the bases Master Access Key was used. Of which, only the Admiral here would've had nearby."

There were no words to describe Dionhar's emotional state. Fear, one supposes, could be the closest thing, but it was deeper than that.

Dread.

He was certain he'd covered all his tracks, erased all evidence of his wrongdoings! He'd triple checked the access logs alone!

His eyes darted across the room, throat still too dry and speak, when he glimpsed the Moff, off to the side of Vader.

For a fraction of a second, the tiniest hint of a smile graced the Moffs features. Dionhar's eyes widened.

"You–!"

–

Las
3.1 ABY
Akahista Orbit
Vigil of Starless Night
Meeting Room #3

Admiral Dionhar's corpse crumpled to the ground. Eyes still open, if facing opposite of where his head should've been pointing.

A part of me wanted to giggle at the corpse, if only because the outrage on his face combined with the way he crumpled was kind of silly.

Of course, I didn't giggle. Partially because I'm not a monster, partially because its just plain rude, but mostly because–

DARTH FUCKING VADER

–was in my ship, in front of me, breathing heavily.


"I trust you can clean up the rest?"

"Of course, Lord Vader! My agents are scouring the Hub as we speak for Crimson Dawn infiltrators. We already extracted their listening device."

As much as I didn't like interacting with the family of the old Las, Zyx certainly came in clutch. Infiltrating the Hub, planting the device, getting out, then doing it all over again just to get rid of our own device and leaving the Dawns there.

"Good."

Vader then abruptly turned and made to leave. He was blunt like that, but then again I imagine he was annoyed at being here and not trying to enslave the galaxy.

Sure, he has some more nuance than that, but I wasn't feeling particularly generous given the circumstances.

Before he left, he stopped. I swear I could hear everyone's hearts stop beating. His head turned towards me.

"This ship. I have never seen its like. I would have its type added to Death Squadron."

For a second I blinked in confusion. Darth Vader wanted and Arbiter? I thought the Imperial motif was 'make it REAL BIG then hope it works'.

Ah! I'd forgotten! He's a mechanic, right? Must like that sort of thing, but can't ask like a normal person because of Sith stuff. Makes sense, of course.

"Of course, Lord Vader. The Arbiter-class is a local invention based off of the Victory-Class hull, but focused on carrier operations. We can most certainly reserve the next hulls coming out of the yards for you."

"No. I will take your most experienced ships immediately."

Fuck. "Understood, Lord Vader. I'll have the Sector Admiral pick the ships with the most experienced crews for you." Goddamnit.

Ife was going to be so pissed. We just got our best crews to a decent level of experience and now this asthmatic was going to grab them?

"How many other 'local variants' have you produced?"

Of fuck off! He wants more!? At this point I was more angry than scared, but still more than scared enough to answer instead of telling him to go fuck himself, given he can't fuck his wife.

"Well, the Myto sector produces a variety of vessels and units locally. I can have a document sent to you if you so wish."

He just stared at me, again. I knew Mugwuffin was protecting me, or at least making my emotions a tad muffled, as though I had great internal control.

I don't. This guy is just kinda annoying. Terrifying, given he can kill me, but annoying.

"...Do so. I will requisition what I require."

"Of course, Lord Vader."

Khhohhhhhh… Pwhhhhhrrr…

The breathing was cool at first, but now he just kinda sounded like some sort of chud breathing heavily onto some porn or something. Get some cardio old man.

And with that, he actually left. Some might have described him as a wall of shadow streaking from the room. I'd call him a socially awkward widower waddling away after getting all the toys he wanted.

But with that, it was, miraculously, over.

Sure, there was some complications. Vader wanted to take one of the Whirlwinds in the hangar for a spin, and beat everyone's records.

Specifically, he flew at 191 of the maximum maneuver rating. Meaning Seventh Brother was no longer the reigning champ, and Vader now had the power to drift a starfighter in space.

A part of me feared for the future of the rebellion, for I was relying on their victory at Endor to escape.

A part of me just though the idea of Darth Vader drifting a TIE fighter in space to be really fucking cool.

–

Yo. Was gonna have Las be way more scared, then remembered this is a comedy not a drama so I changed it up.

Also watched that Vader: Episode II that came out and got all hyped. While the video itself is mostly just an alright popcorn watch, hype moments and aura are a good time in general. I think the creator is controversial? But I don't really know or care, it was as 7/10, hope they make more.

I did channel the vibe they gave Vader there a bit here, a menace, a presence, a wall. I leaned more on the shadows and stuff and the idea that in a confined space he would loom over others, this almost animalistic yet controlled thing, not quite a man anymore. Which made it all the more fun to have Las call him a chud.

Tired. The more political/economic stuff will be in the next chapter.

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Las
3.1 ABY
3 Days Later
Minda System

I watched out the window of the MARD as the last Acclamator-Class ship jumped to hyperspace.

It wasn't a standard Acclamator. Its internal bays had been reconfigured to house administrative staff and facilities. Extensive crew facilities, server bays, communication systems and more.

It was in effect a mobile space station. A mobile hub of coordination.

Not for me, no. I'm perfectly fine where I am now. No, this was for a project I'd been working on for a while.

See, running a sector was hard work. There were already a million things I had to manage at all times. And with my time increasingly taken by larger scale projects and out-of-sector diplomacy, I couldn't keep splitting my attention.

So, subsector hubs. Each ship would host hundreds of administrators, tax experts, and more. Their job would be to settle disputes between Governors, collect taxes, administer the tax code, and coordinate infrastructure projects.

That last part was especially important. Just creating a sector wide project wasn't enough. One had to properly implement it across all subsectors. Having these sub-capitals would help immensely.

"The fleet is already stretched thin. Are you sure of this?"

Ife was at my side for the event.

"No, but I'm running out of options. The sector is growing too quickly. If pressure isn't relieved, it'll create a myriad of problems."

And wasn't that the truth. Sure, the sector growing quickly was incredibly news. More immigrants streamed in from across the galaxy by the day. As the Empire got harsher and the civil war got hotter, people sought refuge.

If they couldn't afford the Core or safer parts of the Mid-Rim, then the Myto Sector was one of the few places in the outer rim considered nice to live in.

This came with problems.

Colonies were expanding far ahead of schedule. Cities were filling as soon as we could build them. I've started approving the purchase of pre-built space stations because there just aren't enough homes or infrastructure in many of the newly built, quickly growing colonies.'

And this was all without mentioning the larger projects. There were multiple concurrent programs in place to increase things like quality of life, medical production, industrial capacity, transit capacity, and more.

None of this was easy to manage, and while I could continue to expand my own capital administrative staff, that created far too much of a centralized location of power. It created bloat. If everything has to run through one single place all the time, that place gets slow.

And if things got slow, things started to go wrong. And that sort of stagnation compounded until it was impossible to fix.

As for why they were mobile? Well, the Governors were on average a lot cleaner now. But I still didn't trust most of them. After all, most of them were just cleaning up their acts, instead of being people I trusted from the start. If I made one system the capital of each subsector, that system would undoubtedly gain unparalleled power and prestige they could use as political weight.

"They won't be as well protected as planned. If they get targetted…" Ife's concern was real. The Acclamator-class was no slouch in combat, but it wasn't built to brawl either. Its primary escorts were mostly frigates and light cruisers, such as the Raider or Nebulon-B. Solid ships, but for such important vessels it wasn't enough.

"I know. But as things are, I can't avoid having them. For now, they'll stick near better defended systems, and only move when extra forces can be spared by system defense fleets to escort them. However, I can't delay this project. Already as the sector expands and projects become larger, we're seeing failures, delays, and compounding errors. If this continues to get worse, we could start seeing major problems."

Like smuggling, which was already finding a new niche to fill. Immigration was booming, yes, but it was easier get in if one had prior work experience in a field we were looking to expand. Medicine, for example, was at the top of our list.

But not everyone has such experience, and doesn't want to, or can't wait. So, they pay smugglers, and get smuggled in.

Sure, I could tamp down on immigration to slow things down. But that would only create a larger smuggling market. Right now, I had a fair grip on the underworld, reigning in the reasonable and eradicating those who wouldn't play ball. But if enough people got desperate to get in, smuggling would explode and a hundred new rings would pop up.

And that would create a million new problems.

"Coaxium profits have left up solidly in the green. I can release more into the naval budget for mercenary contracts and ship purchases." I replied. The Mando's weren't great at escort work, but there were countless more in the sector who did great at it.

Ife scoffed. "Trying to buy a warship right now would be near impossible. HIGHCOM is throwing everything they have at the Rebels, even if they don't want to say it." Her eyes slid from the window to my own. "Speaking of HIGHCOM, have they sent word about the Hubs replacement Admiral?
I sighed, rubbing at my temples in frustration. "All the people they'd trust with the assignment are out on other duties. And given Dionhar's treachery, that list is quite small and not budging any time soon. In the meanwhile, I've been given commanding authority over it."

"I see…" Her reply was quiet, and as I looked over at her, she seemed almost…anxious? What the hell? This wasn't the career climbing Admiral I knew?

"...Sir, I just wanted to ask–I know it's inappropriate given the chain of command and everything–"

No shot. No fucking shot. Did Ife Veers have a crush on me? This couldn't be happening. I meant that literally, this could not be happening! She was too good at her job, too vital to the sector! But still, I can't say yes, that would make things worse. Fuck, I've got to somehow reject her and get her to stick around!

"–but I just wantedtoaskifitsalrighttodateyoursister!?"

"Absolutely n–" I pause for a second. "Wait, waitwaitwait, what do you mean date my sister? Which one?"

She couldn't seem to meet my eyes, which was extraordinarily strange for her of all people. Her cheeks were a shade of red I wasn't sure was possible, much less healthy.

"S-Shal, Sir. I know she's a subordinate but she isn't under my command, and there's just this spark of sorts and it's not anything yet but I just wanted to check–"

I raise my hand, and her mouth clacks shut at an impressive speed to stop the flood of words. I sigh. "Look. You're not in the same chain of command. So long as you keep it private, stay effective, and avoid any scandals, I don't care."

Maybe it'll get Shal to stop pestering me to go out on a family rendezvous or whatever.

–

Clifcor Gabrsta
3.1 ABY
Kuat System

Clifcor sighed in relief as he sat down on the bench, the heavy zero-G suit hissing as the seals opened and he tasted the Rings air.

Still recycled, like the suits, but less so. To him, it might've well been a fresh summer day breeze.

From a storage compartment below the bench he retrieved his lunch. A nutri-pack and energy drink. He could afford more, sure, but his break was shorter now than it used to be. He didn't have the time to eat anything more.

The Ring had been working overtime for a while now. Ships were being built on tighter schedules, workers pushed harder for the same or even lesser pay.

"Hey there. How done are ya?" To his side, he saw another worker, Sernat he remembered, sitting down.

His eyes found their way to the window, beyond which sat the hulking form of a half-built star destroyer.

"About halfway. Parts shipment got delayed again."

Sernat sighed in frustration. "Same. Just got started on this Bellator when we had to stop because they only sent us half the wiring! What a mess…"

Clifcor nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's bad out there. I hear the rebels are hitting supply convoys all the time. It's why all these ships are being rushed out. For patrol duty."

"See, that's what doesn't make sense" exclaimed Sernat, waving his nutribar like a lecture stick. "If they wanted patrol ships, they'd build patrol ships. We could've pumped out three whole Raiders in the time it took us to put the Bellators frame together!"

"Well, you know how the military is," Clifcor shrugged. "They want big ships with lots of guns. Hell, just last week the future captain of the ISD we're building came by to demand we add extra guns!"

"Yeah, a total kriffing disaster. Didya hear their even pulling ships from the system defense fleet? Apparently some rebels hit Mardona and Najan-Rovi, and there aren't enough ships anywhere else."

Clifcor scoffed. "And we end up paying for it. Bet they'll toss another hundred orders of ships, tell us to make em by tomorrow, and be mad when they take months."

"Like they always do."

He nodded. "Like they always do."

–

Yo.Tired. Take this and enjoy. I will defend my literary choices when I am of sound mind once more.

–Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Maximillian Veers
Hoth
3.4 ABY
The snowy planet stretched before him as the General held firmly to the handrail above him, his AT-AT stomping through the howling blizzard. As it did, he considered his situation.

The assault had started off poorly already. He wasn't privy to every detail, but suffice it to say the Admiral who had made the sort of mistake Lord Vader wasn't keen on forgiving. Death Squadron had suffered for it. The rebels knew they were coming ahead of time. Multiple cruisers had been shot down as the rebels' surprisingly heavy anti-orbital weapons caught them off guard, forcing an expedited combat landing.

Which was a simply kind way of saying they would have to drop all their ground troops while under fire from heavy orbital weaponry.

He didn't complain. No one ever did. You don't complain to Darth Vader. You nod, and then you figure out how to fulfill his orders without dying miserably. It was something Veers considered himself to have become adapted to, because when you did something to survive for years on end, it became second nature. Or you became a corpse.

"General." A voice crackled through the comm unit. It was one of the scouts. "Rebel fighters inbound. The blizzard makes them unidentifiable, but there's at least a squadron."

"Understood." He replied, staring back out the viewport. "All units, prepare for contact. Maneuver for covering fire."

He had fought fighters using his AT-ATs before. It wasn't easy. The AT-AT was a weapon of ground warfare, a towering behemoth meant to crush the enemy beneath its metal feet and impressive armament. It was not meant to fire at starfighters. Their best bet was to stay grouped together to create overlapping fields of fire, and scare off the enemy fighters until friendly fighters could pick them off.

Through the sensor net, he saw just that. Those new TIE fighters Lord Vader had taken from his daughter's naval stocks ripped through the air, shooting forward into the fray.

He couldn't see what was happening, and his sensors told him only that things were happening. Veers didn't know if the TIEs would win, however, and so he maintained his order to be prepared.

The Navy had a habit of failing the Army whenever it was convenient for them, and while Vader wasn't keen on such dysfunctionality within Death Squadron, he also couldn't squash every little thing.

Yet, at the same time, a part of him wanted to trust in his daughter. She'd been the one to use these TIE's constantly, and to great effect if what the reports said were true. But that was a small part of him, the one proud of her achievements and rank, the one kept locked up.

The rest of him was disappointed she didn't join the army, angry she'd run from their family, and more complex things he wasn't in a position to properly process. He knew that he never quite was in that position. Maybe he never wanted to be.

"General!" The scout again, panic clear in his voice. "Rebel fighters split from the fight! They're inbound, signatures say they're bigger than X-Wings!"

Veers cursed under his breath even as his AT-AT's maneuvered closer together. If only he'd been allowed AA platforms on this mission. Unfortunately, rebel orbital coverage meant only a select number of transports could make it onto the planet, and Lord Vader had demanded heavy armor over all else.

He couldn't even curse the man in his mind, as much as he wanted to. Vader had an uncanny ability to know when one was thinking poorly of him, and calling him a myriad of names for interfering in Veers's operation was a bad idea, even within his own mind.

Once the fighter's signatures blipped onto the display, he gave the order.

"Fire! Spread your shots, lower energy, higher rate of fire! Fill the sky!"

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even good. Calling it a serviceable tactic would be generous. But it was all he had at the moment.

As expected, it barely worked. A few fighters split off, scared from the massed fire. But one didn't, dodging and weaving as it pierced the snowy veil and made itself clearly seen.

As he got a proper look at it, Veers's mind vaguely recalled seeing it somewhere. A half-remembered report about some blockade in the Jubilar sector. How could a blockade runner be used here?

Then, the wings unfolded, uneven shape taking form, and Veers remembered what the thing was called. A B-Wing.

Maximilian Veers saw green, and thought of his family.

Maximilian Veers saw nothing, and thought of nothing.

–

Las
3.4 ABY
The past few months had been hectic.

Suffice it to say, the Empire didn't like talking about it. But for the first time in a long time, they weren't as certain.

Publicly, the Battle of Hoth had been a resounding success. Rebel forces routed, their base destroyed, thousands dead. It seemed a perfect victory.

But the numbers told a different story. An empire that had just won such a grand victory does not immediately triple down on war material demands. An empire that has just eradicated a major base of its enemy does not demand triple the production from its sectors in such short timeframes.

Sure, the Empire has made unreasonable demands before. But this was beyond the pale.

I didn't know exactly what happened at Hoth. All I knew was that the Empire wanted me to extract three times the amount of resources, ships, labor, and more from my sector.

I distinctly didn't want to do that.

"Sir, while I understand that the Empire requires more fuel, and I am happy to provide it, as it stands, our coaxium facilities simply aren't advanced enough yet. It will be at least another few months before we reach even half of what is being asked. And that's if we cut every safety regulation in the book, which would undoubtedly lead to workplace accidents that would drain the facilities of experienced personnel and cause further delays and costs."

"I sympathize with your problems. I really do." The Governor-General's holographic visage twisted in that way that told me he was playing a part. I don't think I'd ever met the man when he wasn't playing a part, so I'd come to understand his false moods. "But the quota must be met. Perhaps you could put prisoners to work. It's quite popular amongst other Moffs within the Oversector. I know you have your own system of doing things, and it's clearly worked out quite well for you. But if it can't adapt to this…well, my friend, I'm not sure what else I can tell you."

You could shut up and stop being such a prick, is what I wanted to say. But I didn't, because he was my superior and could order me killed.

"I understand. But I've run the numbers. Even if I were to begin using prisoner labor immediately, it would still take nearly six months to build facilities up to what you want. It would be cheaper, in fact, to augment other facilities. More ship-building capacity is available in my sector now more than ever."

The Governor-General gave an almost theatrical sigh. If this was the quality of acting he'd been using with all his fancy friends in the Mid-Rim, then they must either be very foolish to fall for it, or they humored him. I imagined it was a mixture of both, given what I knew about rich people.

"And yet it is not ships the Empire is asking for. At least not from you–I mean us."

Nice save there, dipshit.

"The Empire has more ships being built across the galaxy than ever before. Our Oversector has been producing more than ever. From you it demands only fuel and weapons. And you, my friend, have one of the only coaxium deposits in the Oversector. However you do it, know that it is expected of you to find ways of improving your output. If you yourself cannot find a method of doing so, I will find someone who can."

The call ended not long after, and I sat in the silence of my office.

Not even Mugwuffin was there, as she normally was. She was off hunting mouse droids again, or trying to coerce stormtroopers around the facility into giving her snacks.

I was stuck with this conundrum. As it stood, there simply wasn't enough crime in the sector to allow for the increase in prisoners that would be required to increase production. Not to mention, I hadn't lied when I said I wouldn't trust prisoners with such a valuable resource. A particularly savvy pirate group might strategically plant moles within the workforce to organize convoy robberies.

There was also the morale problem. I didn't want rebels. Rebels had proven time and again that they were very capable at killing people, and I didn't particularly want to be killed. I wanted to live a long, peaceful life, which was not possible if I became the kind of target worth striking. So I had to keep people happy, because a sector full of happy people is a sector in which the rebels have a very hard time gaining recruits, access, and support.

If I knew one thing about the rebels, it was that no matter their recent victories, they were an inherently logical organization. They would not attempt to foment rebellion in a sector where they were not confident of gaining popular support. So long as I kept people happy and treated them well, I got to live.

And now my direct superior was telling me to imprison as many people as possible in order to expand production.

I couldn't tell him no. Not outright, not truly, because that wasn't very Imperial of me. And while I was certain he wouldn't move against me immediately, if I proved unfriendly to his wishes, I had no doubt he would eventually use his position to get rid of me and install someone more agreeable. Which would very likely end with me in either prison or dead.

I quite liked being alive.

So I had to toe the line, which meant I had to find a way to increase production without increasing the amount of forced labor. A difficult prospect, all things considered. Not impossible, but expensive.

The only question was what I would be willing or able to give up in order to succeed.

I couldn't pull money from the military. Lord Vader had taken nearly a dozen Arbiters and twice that in the new Dreadnought-class, not to mention two whole wings of starfighters. Thankfully, the only thing he hadn't grabbed was land-based attack craft, which would've made things significantly worse. But as it stood, it would take time and money to bring the sector's naval forces back up to strength. With trade being the absolute lifeblood of the sector's economy, I couldn't afford to let up on trade security.

So I'd have to find the money elsewhere. And money took time to move. I couldn't will it out of thin air. Not to mention it took time for factories, mining settlements, and refineries to be built. And clearly the Empire wasn't in the mood to entertain ideas of logistical reality.

Somehow, I had to find the money and magic up the resources to more than triple current production. As fast as possible.

–

Yo. Wanted to do a Jir section but shit man its getting hard to write her, gonna have to give it more time in the oven.

Other than that, I'm fairly proud of this section even if it isn't my best work. I didn't go into too much detail regarding Hoth since given its entire thing is to showcase how much better prepared the Rebels are, it only needs to showcase the set up and Veers's death. I could've gone into more detail for a variety of things, but didn't want to bloat the chapter.

As for Las's section, its that classic exposition. I figured I'd end it without him having a solution, because I feel like a lot of these problems end up having a solution within the same chapter and then the next few are just about how that solution is implemented, and I don't really want that for this. Gonna make Las sweat for something, the lazy bastard.

Didn't bake anything super recently, haven't had the time, transferring colleges is really stressful on account of my chronic procrastination. But I did make some chicken and waffles.

Admittedly the waffles were eggos frozen waffles and the chicken was some thighs I tossed in some premade spice combos and tossed in a pan until they were alright. But shit, now I get it. Chicken and waffles fucking slaps.

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-123

Ril Baagoss
Hoth
3.4 ABY

The thrum of his X-Wings engines did little to calm Ril's nerves. Even as he was surrounded by his squadron, even as the sound of the anit-orbital cannons rang through the tundra, even as he knew that the evacuation was proceeding on time, his hands still shook.

Not much. Just a little. Certainly a noticeable improvement from when he'd started some 5 odd years ago.

Out in the white of the blizzard, he saw little. Only his sensors and the pre-mission briefing told him what was near.

Behind him, B-Wings. A new model of ship, some of the first to be made apparently. He'd heard the techs complaining about maintenance all month, so clearly they weren't exactly fit for mass production.

Not that the Alliance could mass-produce much of anything.

Ahead of him was the enemy force. AT-AT's were the main target, hulking war machines with more armor and firepower than any land-based vehicles they had on hand. That's what the B-Wings were for.

His job was to keep the TIE's off the B-Wings. Easy. He'd blown up dozens of TIE's. They were practically made of flimsy.

The thought didn't stop his hands from shaking.

"Enemy TIE fighters inbound. Shell-Squadron, keep them off our bombers!"

But just the same, shaking hands or not, he had a job to do. Pushing the throttle forward, he advanced towards the enemy.

Soon, the first TIE was within visual range, ripping out of the blizzard with its characteristic speed directly ahead of him. Within a second, he fired a burst and pivoted out of the way.

Yet, he heard no explosion. His targeting computer confirmed a hit, but was still tracking the fighter.

A second later, someone else answered his question.

"They've got shields!" The message was quickly followed by the telltale explosion of a fighter. Ril barely paid attention to the following confirmation of a downed friendly as he turned hard.

His turn landed him on the tail of a different TIE. The previous one was still on him, but he had at least a second and a half. So, he held down the trigger this time, letting a veritable stream of red streak forward.

Instantly he recognized the blue shimmer that appeared around the impact points, crackling as the shield tried its best to hold out. But after the sixth landed shot it gave out, and the seventh and eighth ripped the TIE to shreds.

But he'd taken too long. Just as he started his own evasive turn, the other TIE caught him, green death splashing his rearward shields. Still, he managed his turn, dumping more power to engines in order to lose the TIE in the storm.

Across the battlefield, the same dance played out. His squadmates were surprised at first. Shields on a TIE fighter? Since when has the Empire ever spent more than a half-credit on TIE's?

Some paid for this surprise. Two down already. Ril didn't remember their names, but Shell-squadron was new. Pulled together from a dozen near-dead squadrons from across the region.

It was a consequence of their cockiness, to be honest. Resources had started to become less scarce. Success after success had emboldened a not-insignificant number of cell leaders. Now, they were down a half dozen major cells because of foolish mistakes.

Had the Mid-Rim not taught them anything?

Ril supposed it didn't matter to him. At least, not at the moment. He could ruminate on politics later. Right now, he had a job to do.

It took nearly twenty minutes to clean up the enemy TIE's. Twenty minutes was a long time for an engagement of this scale.

Shell wasn't the only squadron there, of course. Across the valley multiple squadrons clashed with TIE's while B-Wings and other bombers made their way towards their targets. But twenty minutes?

Sure, Shell wasn't Rogue Squadron, but that was absurd.

However, even with their victories in the skies, the situation on the ground only worsened.

Their anti-orbital weaponry could only slow the Imperial advance, not stop it. In the distance, through the rare gaps in the blizzard's wall of ice, he spotted Imperial dropships disgorging more and more forces. Not just AT-AT's, but more. Tanks, repulsor-craft, infantry carriers.

All protected by a thick black swarm of TIE fighters. Even if they weren't shielded, it would be a bloody fight. One Ril knew the Alliance couldn't afford at that point.

Over the comms, he was informed of the next phase of their plan.

"The base is nearly evacuated! All squadrons, reposition and escort our evacuation ships off-world!"

From there, Shell squadron ripped around, pivoting back towards the base. A cursory look at the base revealed the extent of their situation.

Every hangar wide open, empty of anything of importance. Even now as the final freighters left, people were dragging any technology and weapons they could carry with them. Someone even grabbed what looked to be the caf machine.

Ril wasn't sure why'd they do that. The caf it made was awful.

Upon reaching the base, they were directed upwards, towards the evacuating ships already in movement.

The familiar sight of GR-75's and other similar freighters appeared before him, racing away on modified engines.

"Enemy TIE's incoming! Shell squadron, defend transports 5 and 8!"

Again Shell squadron pivoted, forming up on an intercept towards the incoming TIE fighters. The fighters up ahead looked strange, and it put him on edge. First shielded TIE's and now a new type all together?

Instinctively, he redirected some power towards shields.

As they engaged, he lined up a shot with the first fighters. But as he pulled the trigger and watched the shots streak out into the void, the TIE did something new. It twisted.

Its engines quite literally twisted, sending it into a downwards spin. He turned to follow, lining up a second shot as he flew in behind it.

That was when it twisted again. But not the engines this time. No, this time, it was the cannons.

Suddenly, his ship was rocked with laser fire, shields falling, and he pulled up, pushing his engines to the max to avoid the enemy fire.

That was when the warning came over comms.

"All units! We've identified the enemy TIE's as Whirlwinds! Intel labels them threat level BLACK! GET OUT OF THERE!"

Shit. That was bad. Ril wanted to run. He knew it wasn't the right thing to do, but by the Force he wanted to run.

Duros such as himself had, under their ribs, two small sacs. When stressed, they filled with acid. And right now, Ril's gut was near bursting. He wanted nothing more than to activate his hyperdrive and get out.

Instead, as he heard his fellow rebels die over comms, he knew he couldn't. Whipping back around, redirecting what little shield power remained to thrusters, he flew back into the frey.

Ahead of him was another Whirlwind, tailing a friendly. Its side was to him, gun turrets blocked by its wings.

He held down the trigger, watching with glee as the shots connected, enemy shield rippling blue.

Then the wings folded down, and the turret aimed at him.

Ril Baagoss saw green, and thought of retirement.

Ril Baagoss saw green, and thought of nothing.

–

Las
3.5 ABY

A gentle turn of the controls smoothly tilted the ship to the left, deftly avoiding the asteroid.

"This is an insulting speed. I demand we race forward."

"No."

I ignored Myr'thos's continued rants about how it was 'uncouth to move so slowly' and focused on navigating the asteroid field.

I was once again back in my executive shuttle, my personal ship. I loved it dearly, and had learned the basics of flight back in my days as Governor.

Recently, I'd picked it back up again. This time, however, it wasn't for leisure.

See, I'd been plotting, planning, scheming. On how to fake my death.

Well, the deaths of myself, Mugwuffin and Myr'thos.

The plan itself was fairly smart, if I do say so myself.

I decided to start flying my ship through the field, with escorts nearby of course, under the excuse of 'leisure' rides. I would continue to do this with decent amounts of regularity, in order for it to become routine.

In the meantime, using Myr'thos as a proxy, I would purchase and have hidden a ship, a highly modified light freighter, within the asteroid field.

It was unfortunate that my previous one was to be left forgotten down on Minda, but it was simply the way of things.

One day, not long after the destruction of the death star, maybe a month or two to really let the chaos ramp up, I'd take a ride in the asteroid field.

And then my ship would explode. Myr'thos, Mugwuffin and I would eject beforehand, of course, but the ship would explode quite violently. Then, using our spacesuits and boost-packs, we'd make our way over to the ship and quietly leave before anyone could get there.

Of course, this hinged on me ditching my escorts so they weren't around to see my freighter running away. That's where Myr'thos would come in.

"You have no tact! I am an esteemed individual of high standing. The least your craven self could do to accommodate me is increase the speed of this blasted vessel."

"If you want to go so fast, why don't you get your own ship? I prefer the slow and steady pace."

They scoffed. "If 'slow and steady' is your preferred pace, it is no wonder you remain alone. The sector's line of succession is in dire straits it seems."

Now it was my turn to scoff. "First of all, my position is not hereditary. Second of all, my romantic life is perfectly healthy and I will tolerate no accusations towards the opposite."

"I spend much of my waking life at your side, and so I know full well that not a single consort, concubine, or whore of any species or gender has graced your bed."

"Well–"

"Your hand doesn't count."

"...my imagination is a potent thing."

A laugh broke out over the comms before quickly being smothered, and I felt a bloom of satisfaction.

See, I'd kept my escorts on open comms 'just in case' something happened. By making jokes and having Myr'thos complain about the speed on the regular, I could ensure an alibi of sorts.

On the day of my plan, I would 'give in' to their demands and speed up significantly. My shuttle was decked out to hell and back, and could easily outspeed my escorts.

This would allow me to get to my freighter. And when questioned as to why I would suddenly do this, my escorts would remark on the fact that Myr'thos and I had this same argument every time.

It was a perfect plan. Honestly, it was my only plan right now. Everything else I was planning for was far more complex.

That damned quota was going to be the death of me. I was trying everything I could, but it wasn't enough.

All my usual plans weren't enough. I was used to moving around existing things. I was used to having time. I was used to not being the center of attention.

Now I was the only coaxium producer this side of the Oversector, and the pressure was on. The industry couldn't scale fast enough without accepting unneeded deaths. Which would reflect poorly on myself.

I was considering less legal methods. Moving empty shipments, having outbound shipments 'raided', etc… but none of that could work on a large enough scale without far too much risk. At best it would help me stall things out.

Not to mention the blowback that was inevitable no matter what I did. Production was being pumped across the sector for just about any and all things military or military-related. People were going to be working harder hours for longer, and I couldn't spare the money needed to pay them a proper extra compensation. Only enough to keep people in the black.

Automation was too expensive as an alternative, and people would resent losing their jobs. Not to mention anti-CIS sentiment was high in the region. Especially after the Hand prominently used droids in their terror attacks.

So I needed to pump production sector wide, alongside meeting an impossible coaxium quota, and keep the people from jumping me.

I had no idea what to do, and to avoid thinking about it for a little bit, I decided to switch to a different problem. The Navy.

So, I called Ife.

The first thing I noticed as her holo sprang up was that she looked haggard. The holo on my ship was of high quality, none of that awful glitching or pixelated fuzziness. Meaning I could see the bags under her eyes, the tenseness in her shoulders.

Was the job getting to her?

"Good evening, Admiral. I'm calling for a rundown of your naval situation. Have the mercenaries acquitted themselves well?"

The Guild couldn't solve my coaxium problem, but it could help patch the gaping hole left by Darth Vader's little spree of greed. Mercenaries and Guild vessels were now helping take hold of some of the Navies duties, interspersed among regular patrols to stretch our forces farther.

"They've managed. While not quite as professional as I'd hoped, the mercenaries have proven competent and capable in lower roles. However, they aren't enough to return back to our previous state." Responded Ife.

"I see. That's as good as it's going to get for now. Our production capacity is being diverted towards exports, so I can only get you an Arbiter a month right now."

She sighed, and it was a deep thing. Her shoulders seemed to almost fall slack before they launched back up into position as though they had almost fallen asleep and were now trying to stay awake.

Clearly, something was getting to her. What could it–oh shit.

I'd forgotten about Hoth.

"Admiral. I want you back on Minda for an evaluation."

Her eyes widened in shock, fear clear within. "Sir, I'm not–"

"You're not getting demoted. You are getting a break, however. It's clear to me you aren't in the best mental space at the moment."

"Respectfully, sir, I'm–"

"--going to come to Minda, speak with a mental health counselor, and take a week off with your girlfriend. I will not have my top naval officer buried under the current workload in such a state."

She had some fight left in her, that much was clear, but it fled the moment I mentioned time off with her girlfriend.

HAVEN kept tabs on her and Shal, given their respective positions and Ife's importance to the sector, and by all accounts they didn't get much time together. I was practically dangling a juicy steak in front of her.

"...understood, sir."

"Oh stop moping Ife, you'll be fine. Just remember to speak honestly about your feelings, and use protection!"

Her cheeks darkened, and her mouth opened in shock, and I cut the call on the spot. Funnier that way.

Though…speaking honestly. Now that could work…

–

Hallo. Been binging Vintage Story after the absolute peak that is Torched by RubixRaptor ended. Shits addicting man. Love getting gored by 10,000 Drifters.

As promised, here is the Rebel POV of the battle. Not my best but I figure it gets the point across. The Rebels got more stuff out of Hoth, the Empire still kicked their shit in, and some poor fucker got slimed by a Whirlwind doing its shenanigans.

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Brior Ouga
Maximus 3-A
Maximus System
3.6 ABY
Brior stumbled through the door of his family's hab-unit, sighing in relief at the cool air that washed over him.

A smile soon formed as his son rushed from deeper within the hab.

"Hey there little Mynock!" he greeted, sweeping the babbling toddler up in his arms. "How was your day?"

His response was half-formed words and plenty of spit flying every which way.

"I see, I see..." Brio nodded seriously, turning towards the living room to see his wife standing there, smile radiant. Trila was a twi'lek, lean and muscled from a life lived working in dockyards and construction zones.

"Our son has quite a lot to say, Trila. Apparently customer service has been subpar."

Her smile was stunning, sending through him a surge of energy.

"Well, the customer has been quite cranky, you see. He's been disturbing the staff all day."

She reached out a hand, lightly pinching one of their son's cheeks, still plump and blubbery with youth.

An equally plump hand swatted hers away, an almost insulted look crossing his young face.

"It seems our dear customer is in need of a nap." Briar responded, handing him off to Trila.

As she put their son to sleep, Brio bruised himself with removing his work gear. A cubby in the laundry room of the hab held Trila's gear as well as his own. It was clean, if small, much like the rest of the hab.

Standardized fare, these habs. Pre-built, simple, provided by the colony. Once expansion became viable they would be torn down in favor of proper apartments and housing. While the colony promised to give all current colonists new homes, he was confident they'd be able to afford a better place in a few years time.

Brior, alongside Trila, worked at the local tibbana gas refinery, while they lived planetside on the gas giant's third moon. Maximus 3-A. A good name, even if the original name of the system had been Gluteus Maximus. The Survey Corp had a lot of jokesters who took great pleasure in getting to name systems they discovered. Thankfully the administration cut it down to just Maximus.

The work was dependable and well paying, even if the security measures could be a bit of a pain. It was understandable though, given the military used the gas extensively.

Moving to the kitchen, he picked up a plate of reheated food Trila had left him, and considered himself incredibly fortunate.

From poverty on Ord Mantel to a good job and great living standards on a brand new colony was an incredible leap.

When his son was born, he feared he and Trila might lose their jobs, given both of them worked. But instead, they were given parental leave. Both of them.

Who'd ever heard of such a thing!?

Now, they took shifts in turn so one of them could always be home with their son. Soon, he'd be old enough for the colony daycare.

And that was another thing. A daycare!

On Ord Mantel, where the lines between gangs and government were blurry at best, a daycare sounded like an obvious slaver front. Not that many bothered with fronts out there.

Briar and Trila had been skeptical at first, but time had proven them wrong.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, he placed his PDA before him while he began to pick at his meal.

An unappealing nutri-bar was first, standard fare for colonists. The colony wasn't quite self-sufficient in terms of farming just yet, and so imported these to ensure people were properly fed.

Next to it was a sandwich, shak meat topped with a local berry sauce between two slices of bread from that new bakery in town. Apparently the moon held some pretty interesting grains, turning the bread a dark orange with purple swirls.

Finally, a small treat. A little chocolate bar. Sweets weren't so common on the colony, given they were all imports. But families tended to buy them in small amounts, and the colonial administration handed them out during annual festivals to celebrate growth.

On his PDA, he flipped through various screens before settling on an instructional video he'd started watching during his lunch break. It was a Guild video covering various classes and educational programs they offered. Specifically in regards to trades such as his own.

He hoped to take advantage of the Guild's subsidized classes for new colonists. If he could get a promotion or two, it would be great. Trila had always wanted to open a mechanics workshop, after all.

As he ate, a soft weight pressed on his back, two blue-green muscled arms snaking around his neck.

They didn't speak, simply sinking into one another's presence.

A few minutes in, Brior opened his mouth to speak, when an alert from his PDA distracted him.

[SECTOR-BROADCAST]

Briar and Trila shared a concerned look. The only time they'd seen such a broadcast was during the holonet outage.

Trila sat in the chair beside him while Brior opened the broadcast.

The screen flickered, a telltale sign of a holonet live-feed being established, before it stabilized into a clear image.

A podium sat on a raised platform, lights illuminating the area in contrast to the darkening sky behind it.

Looming above the platform stood a tall, sharp tower. Its drab grey was draped in Imperial white and Guild gold, long banners fluttering softly in the wind.

Between the platform and tower stood a dozen pillars, each a dozen meters tall. They glowed softly with light, emanating from the miniscule writing on each.

It was this detail that told Brior where the broadcast was coming from.

Minda. He'd heard about it from a friend who visited on vacation. Each pillar was a memorial, holding the names of those who died in defense of the sector.

At the podium stood a figure. The Moff.

He'd clearly seen better days. Dark rings hung under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped ever so slightly. His hair was messy, clearly unkempt over at least the past few days. Even his uniform was rumpled, if only a tad.

The Moff raised a steaming mug of something to his lips, taking a long sip before setting it down.

"People of the Myto Sector," he started, eyes scanning the crowd. "I come to you with unfortunate news."

"I have been informed by my superiors that, as a consequence of increasing desires for security from the greater Empire, all material and security-related quotas must be tripled."

A gasp could be heard rushing through the crowd. Briar and Trila's hands found each other's as they watched with growing anxiety. Nothing good ever came of the Empire's demands for more.

"Thankfully, our hearty workers and robust economy means many of these quotas can be met with little to no expansion."

The Moff paused for another sip of his drink. "However, this will cut a deep gash into the sector government's funds. As a consequence, we will have a harder time restoring the navy to its former strength."

"This will create openings for pirates once more, which in turn would put our citizens at risk and slow trade at such a stressful time."

Here, the Moff stared directly into the camera. Eyes narrowed, serious, his large scar illuminated clearly.

"As such, I make a request of the citizens of this sector. The Sector Government will be creating a Mytoan-Bond. I implore those who have the money to spare to purchase these bonds so as to fund the protection of your fellow citizens."

He bowed. Not a deep bow, nothing subservient, barely noticeable — but his head dipped at least 15 degrees, his shoulders hunching a little as he did so.

"Thank you for any and all support you send," he said to the crowd.

It was a different kind of shocking.

While Brior had only been in the sector for a little while — a few years at most — he'd come to know of their leader's eccentricities. Not the maddening kind, nor the kind where they did strange, unpredictable things. No, the Moff of the Myto Sector was a bureaucrat, and he was a bureaucrat in a way no other Imperial officer he'd ever met was.

He simply did his job.

Apparently there was a name for this. The Mola-Shock — for immigrants arriving and being utterly baffled that the leader of their sector simply did his job.

He was not a particularly charismatic individual, nor did he portray an image of unparalleled strength. By all accounts he seemed like a normal person, which was exactly what was strange about it.

Imperial leaders tended to be corrupt, cruel, or completely mad. Often some combination of the three. It was an oversimplification, but it was a trend found in the higher echelons that all who watched a few broadcasts learned quite quickly.

Even then, Brior wasn't sure anyone ever expected the Moff to give anything resembling a bow towards his people.

It made him wonder sometimes if he wasn't in some sort of wonderland, a dream of some kind, and that at any moment he could wake up back on Ord Mantel, back in the slums, back in poverty and despair.

The broadcast continued from there into interviews. Reporters came up and asked questions of the Moff. Many were variations of the same few questions. How much will taxes be increased, if at all? How will this affect the economy? How will this affect the military? Will this delay one infrastructure project or another?

The Moff answered each and every one.

"Taxs will rise only on certain products and industries that can afford the extra expenses. The average citizen will not be overly affected, though you may want to cut back on imported luxuries for the meanwhile."

"This will strain the economy. While we are working hard to minimize the damage and ensure life continues as it did previously, there will be negative effects. You can expect travel and the general cost of living to rise as trade slows down. I encourage all to seek solidarity and help with your local communities. Pool resources, help one another, and cut down on living expenses."

"Major infrastructure projects will be put on hold for now. These include our hyperspace beacon network project and our logistics station network project, among others. We hope to resume these projects once things settle down."

"I am also in negotiation with neighboring sectors for mutual assistance agreements. As we have an excess of resources in some needed sectors, we plan to trade those for military reinforcements and other forms of assistance. These negotiations are still ongoing, and as such I can't promise success, but rest assured we are doing everything in our power."

"To expand on the bonds, we are looking for outside creditors, so as to not place the entire burden on the people. The Muun Banking Clans have agreed to purchase bonds, and others are in consideration. Bonds will be set at an interest rate of 6.5%, due to the current security crisis. Once its over, that will drop down to 3%."

The Banking Clans. Brior wasn't so sure about them.

He banked locally, of course — a credit union that had sprung up on the colony, Guild-backed. But he had friends with investment portfolios through those banks, and they spoke highly of their professionalism.

Brior wasn't so sure. The closest thing to real banks back on Ord Mantel that would ever serve someone of his social status had been loan sharks with a few fancy pieces of paper that made them a bank. So perhaps it was his prejudice against large institutions speaking.

Regardless, he wasn't sure what the banks wanted out of the sector. But if nothing else, he trusted that the Moff knew what he was doing.

Eventually the broadcast ended with the Moff reiterating his call for all those who could, to purchase bonds for the security of the sector. A set of instructions appeared on the broadcast screen, showcasing how and where to go to purchase them.

Once the broadcast was over, the two of them sat there for a minute, staring at the blank screen and the reflection in it.

Eventually they turned to each other and nodded at once.

They had some cash to spare. And the mechanic shop could wait.

Their sector needed them.

–
Las

Within the space station I called home sat a room. Said room held a circular table, though circular wasn't quite the right word for it — it was too angular, built with sharp edges and dull colors like everything else the Empire built.

There was only one seat, my own. But as I sat down, projectors around the table flared to life, and three holographic projections appeared before me. They were Moff Moew, Moff Callron, and Moff Delninian — the rulers of three neighboring sectors, and the only ones who had agreed to meet at all.

I was surprised to see that Moff Callron had joined at all. He was a capricious man, very much unlike his now-deceased father, whom I had met briefly earlier in my career. His response to the holonet crisis had been rude, to put it one way.

Moff Moew was a different case. She was shrewd in her dealings. Her sector was not the richest nor the most powerful, but it was not poor or weak by any stretch of the imagination. She was, however, the kind of person to ensure that every deal made was as beneficial to her as possible, regardless of the consequences for everyone else. There's a reason I didn't take her deal during the crisis, after all.

The final person was Moff Delninian of the Braxant Sector. He was perhaps the only one I might call anything close to an ally, given how closely our two Guilds worked. Our economies weren't entirely intertwined — that felt like an easy trap to fall into, the security such a thing promised being quite tantalizing.

However, the downsides of integrating such large economies so quickly would be incredibly dangerous and foolish to ignore. Still, our two economies did grow closer slowly over time, strengthening one another. So it was him I would likely be counting on as the only person in the room — well, not actually in the room, of course — who would be willing to act in my interests, if only because our interests were so economically aligned.

"You called us here for a meeting," said Callron. "I don't have all day."

He was brisk and rude as always, his mustachioed face twitching in annoyance. Not for the last time, I dearly wished his father was still alive and in control. He had been a much more reasonable individual.

Moff Moew gave a light, dainty laugh, and I almost wanted to applaud her. It was the most real-sounding fake laugh I had heard in a while. She must have been taking lessons — it was certainly an improvement over the last time I'd heard her attempt one.

"Why, my dear Tyron, no need for hostilities." She turned to address the room at large. "I called us here together to address the shared concerns we all have. The demands of the Empire as of late have been quite strenuous. I believed it would be beneficial for us to come together and assist one another in our respective times of need."

This was a surprising move from her. It had been one I myself was considering — after all, we all needed things, and we might have things the others needed. If she was the one making this proposal, she must have been in more trouble than I thought, though I wasn't sure of the nature of it. I would have to do some research on her sector to understand what exactly was being demanded of her.

It must have been serious. Or this meeting was a trap.

Still, this was a good thing. It saved me the effort and political capital of proposing it myself. Political capital wasn't something I was immensely interested in keeping, but it had a way of coming back to haunt me when I lacked it.

"So you finally show your weakness," replied Callron.

"And yours," she replied. "I know your sector is severely lacking in the kind of production the Empire demands — just as we all are in our own ways. Yet we each excel in others."

She didn't look at me when she said that. But I knew what she was talking about. While I may not have kept tabs on exact production numbers across the sector, I did know that my sector outpaced its neighbors by quite a lot. This so-called alliance could very easily be a ruse to gain access to my resource wealth while giving relatively little in return. I couldn't have that.

"I see," said Delinean. "I too have been having some problems with these production numbers. I don't even have the factories for some of the things being asked of me."

Tyron looked like he wanted to object, but it was clear to everyone he had no basis to stand on. His sector, while having an older and more entrenched administration and a larger population than average, was not rich enough to project the strength he clearly wished for. Finally, he ground out the word "fine," and we moved on.

The negotiations were tense. No one quite wanted to admit what they were lacking in — or at least, Moff Moew and Moff Callron were not so keen. Moff Delninian and I were more open about it.

I suppose it comes with being well-adjusted individuals.

Still, the negotiations took multiple days. Between meetings, I fielded individual calls from Delinian and Moew, each offering their own individual deals. Callron made no such attempt, not that I expected one.

By the third day, we had something resembling an agreement.

Callron would provide excess medical production to Delinian in exchange for weapons production. Moew would provide Callron with excess mineral extraction in exchange for excess agricultural products.

I would provide everyone with excess tibanna gas and TIE fighters, in exchange for spare patrol vessels which I sorely needed.

The four of us sat there, on that third day, each of us looking something akin to being satisfied with our dealings. Well, three of us, Callron perpetually had the look of someone who'd just smelt a fart.

Of course, it was during this relatively peaceful time that all four of us had aides whisper breaking news into our ears. How they did it at the same exact time, I'm not entirely sure. I suspect they were colluding to be as theatrical as possible.

Still, we looked at one another in unison, understanding blooming across our faces. Production quotas would be rising once more.

Kuat had just been attacked.

–

Yo. more stuff. The first section is there to show the life of the average Mytoan immigrant. Most move in because of the promise of the new colonies. To them, they owe the sector everything, and are more than willing to buy a shit ton of bonds.

Second segment is a little weaker, but does what it needs to do. Gets negotiations going to showcase how Las is getting around things, and touches on Ringbreaker.

Didn't bake anything this time, spent all my time playing Stalker and now Zero Company. And also college. Gonna be there a lot more with 5 classes so some updates might be slower/shorter.

-Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-125

Las
3.7 ABY

I watched the footage on the screen before me, replayed for the third time.

For the third time, I watched the rings of Kuat burn.

Not literally. There weren't that many fires, nor did the entire ring get hit.

But the footage made certain facts clear.

The Kuati Rings had been hit by a Rebel hit-and-run attack. A combination of coordinated mass fighter strikes, alongside GR-75's converted to carry mass torpedo launchers, had done no small amount of damage.

On the screen, the footage zoomed, showing those freighters open the 'cargo' pods on their underbellies and unleash a veritable swarm of torpedoes. Not a single ship got more than two volleys off before being ripped to pieces by Imperial fire, but I suspected they weren't meant to hold more than that. They likely weren't meant to survive. By reversing the footage and zooming in on the freighters, one could see how the underbellies glowed with heat. The volleys were fired too quickly, likely modified to bypass security limits.

Following the missile's trajectory, the camera zooms out to show the true enormity of the impact.

The torpedoes slam into the ring, arcs of blue energy zipping from the impact points, doubtlessly frying countless subsystems and disabling defenses. As the localized shields went down, the follow up torpedoes plunged into the structures, turning turrets and TIE hangars to scrap.

This wasn't targeting the whole ring, of course. That would be an immense operation. This attack was targeted.

Kuat Drive Yards iconic ring wasn't made up of berths from tip to tail, no. While their dockyards were massive, the vast majority of the ring was dedicated to other facilities.

Security centers, residential and commercial space, etc… Many people lived on the ring itself, with entire sections acting like miniature cities. In fact, there was a fairly famous propaganda show following a Kuati Imperial security officer in one of those cities.

6/10 show, the main character was fairly bland and the story predictable. The action was pretty good though.

One of the most important parts of the ring itself, even more important than the dockyards, were the logistics.

The machine shops. The warehouses. The factories. Contrary to popular belief, the number of berths on the ring wasn't the sole reason for KDY's success. It was the logistics. By producing so much of their own materials on the ring itself, KDY cut down on costs and construction times more than any other comparable competitor could.

And it was these that the rebels were targeting. Seconds after the freighters were slagged, fighters jumped in.

The next minute of the video was dedicated to their exploits, the camera diligently and elegantly following various fighters as they made bombing rungs, targeted factories, and intercepted enemy TIE fighters.

Eventually, the video ended with raging fires and a big message stamped onto the screen.

JOIN THE REBELLION! FIGHT THE EMPIRE! FREE THE GALAXY!

This video had been circulating the galaxy in the month that followed the attack. Despite the Empire's best efforts, it had become quite prominent.

If nothing else, it was an excellent propaganda piece. I had watched it with the sound off, but a triumphant musical score had played in the background. The video was also quite carefully shot so as to avoid lingering on any vision of destruction for too long, or showcase the deaths of any rebel pilots.

I had a feeling a good chunk of those pilots didn't make it out of there alive.

The second video was also another propaganda piece.

Unlike the Kuat strike, this one was an edit of multiple news sources, with music playing in the background. Something not unlike videos I remember from my previous life, the kind found on social media sites.

It was quick paced, cutting from different scenes of protestors, rebel soldiers, and burning Imperial flags.

All throughout, it showed the names of different planets.

Each of those planets was a planet in full open rebellion.

At least, they were.

The attack on Kuat and the subsequent propaganda had been a huge galvanizing factor for the Rebellion. A smart move, if nothing else. By targeting expensive and hard-to-replace factories and machines, it created a bottleneck and would serve to slow down KDY's production.

At the same time, by striking one of the most important military targets in the galaxy, the Rebels showed they were not to be underestimated. It was the single biggest hit since Yavin, after all.

What that seems to have done, however, is galvanize people. Three sectors down in the south-eastern Outer-Rim saw massive rebellions. Admittedly those sectors had always been very rebellious, but this was at an unheard level.

Especially since it wasn't the Alliances doing. From what Darna and Thorne were able to scrounge up on the down-low, these were local cells and units. The kinds that were fighting for the freedom of their sectors over any Republican resurgence.

Over the course of a few weeks they caused untold havoc. Cities were taken, ships were destroyed, it was chaos.

It didn't last, of course. The Empire brought the full weight of its might down onto the sector. Ardus Kaine and his Scourge Squadron soon appeared, and spared no mercy.

The Reaper alone glassed a dozen cities. Some 20 million or so died, per Imperial estimations. Non-Imperial estimations doubled that, at a minimum.

It wasn't over, not yet. Even after a month of fighting things hadn't ended. But to say it was a true war would be a lie. It was no Mimban, after all.

There were no trenchlines or artillery. No mass coordinated military actions. It was a full purge. Stormtroopers going door to door, shooting any they found suspicious. Disparate rebel cells pulling out all the stops and bombing whatever they could before getting gunned down.

The rebels weren't 'fighting back' as much as they were getting slaughtered.

It was a horrific slaughter. It was a show of pure Imperial might.

And to those who saw the greater picture, it was a show of weakness.

If the Empire was half as competent as it claimed to be, these rebels would've never had the chance to start this. It wouldn't have taken the glassing of cities to stop them.

If the Empire was as secure as it claimed to be, it wouldn't have increased the quotas again. This time for war material.

Looking up from the video, I assessed the two before me. Darna and Thorne.

They were sitting patiently, though given the subtle stink eye they were both giving one another, their relationship hadn't improved since I'd last spoken with the two.

Regardless, I trusted their professionalism if nothing else.

"These quotas are out of control. As it stands, chances are more likely of rebellion breaking out than any actual work getting done. Something needs to be done to obfuscate this reality, at least for the short term. Options?"

"I've got–

"Through reports–"

They turned on each other, each glaring at the interruption.

"What I was trying–"

"Before I was–"

Again, they glared. For a second I thought they were going to go again, but they didn't. Instead, they played a round of rock-paper-scissors.

Not really rock-paper-scissors, but some local game of the same kind.

They tied nearly dozens of times in a row, playing so fast that at one point their hands were blurs that my eyes didn't even bother tracking.

Thorne came out on top, and he sported the smuggest look I've ever seen on him. Which for Thorne meant he had the tiniest smile and his spine was a tad straighter than usual. Darna just pouted, professionally of course, which meant some tension in the shoulders and a slightly downturned mouth.

"I have reviewed dozens of reports from across the oversector and beyond. From the data I have compiled, it is clear this current pace of extraction is untenable for the vast majority of sectors. Thus, an advantage is possible in the realm of bureaucratic delay."

He inserted a data-chit into the holo-projector on the opposite side of my desk. From it sprung a number of datasheets and timetables.

"Governor-General Hiral is panicking. From the data it is clear he is not properly spreading the quotas out or fully utilizing the resources available to him. Admittedly, even if he did it would be impossible to meet the quotas. However, it is clear he is not handling the situation well. Complaints from the mid-rim sectors make it clear they are not happy with the increased quotas."

The projection changes to a map, the mid-rim sectors highlighted in red.

"I've analyzed public speeches, events, and other publicly available data. From what I've seen of micromovements, small social cues, and more, support for the Governor-General in these sectors is falling."

Now the projection moved onto data sheets once more, this time financial in nature.

"Based on publicly available financial records and markets, the money-makers of the sector are pulling away from the Governor-General's sphere of influence. Investment in companies he has stock in or founded is dropping at a steady pace, while core-world corporate influence is rising."

"Through this, we have an avenue. The Myto Sectors main issue is a lack of resources and industrial capacity needed to meet quota. Not pure financial power. Through strategic investments via shell corporations, it is possible for us to further destabilize the Governor-General's base of power. In doing so, we distract him from our sector and create more chaos. This allows us to more easily fake transcripts and shipping logs, alongside targeted bribery to the correct officials, which will therefore allow us to avoid large parts of the quota."

With his report finished, Thorne looked quite pleased with himself. Which, for Thorne, meant he had the tiniest hint of a smile.

"I see. This is a solid approach. Now, Darna?"

From her data chit sprang a different spreadsheet. Instead of publicly available financial and logistical data, what appeared was far more personal.

"This is a list of direct potential targets we have access to." Darna started, scrolling through the list.

"As you know, we've been hard at work spreading WEBs network of spies across the oversector. While most of our intel is located within our relative neighborhood, we have gained access to a few positions within the mid-rim sectors. Through this, and our deeper connections within the Velcar sector, we have discovered a few interesting connections."

The data shifted, showing a list of names all interconnected between the Velcar sector elite and the rich and powerful of the Mid-Rim portion of the Oversector.

"Our 'friends' in the Velcar sector aren't just rich slavers. Their rich slavers with mid-rim connections. In the Core, the rich pretend they're above slavery, as though they hold no part in it, even as their factories are filled with them. The rich of the Mid-Rim like to believe themselves part of the Core. Want to be part of the Core. So they follow the trends of the Core, such as an aversion to open slavery."

Again the projection shifted, this time to shaky photos taken with hidden cameras. The visuals were unclear, but what was clear was the sight of chains and beaten bodies.

"The thing is, they aren't actually better. Slavery is deeply embedded into a large portion of the Mid-Rim. So, they hide it. Lots of these magnates keep slaves both as workers in faraway factories or as personal pets in their vacation homes. Never in the open, certainly not in public. Those who make such a faux pax are quickly ridiculed by their peers and tend to lose influence and standing among Core connections."

On the next set of images, gala's and balls appeared. Glamorous things, easily ten times more expensive than anything I'd ever attended.

"So, we embarrass them. Expose them. These aren't the only dirty secrets they have, but they are the easiest to uncover. Combined with the already high tensions the Mid-Rim is going through, and a few other tricks of the trade, we could set off quite a few fireworks in their little parties."

Thorne's face scrunched up at the mention of Darna's 'tricks', but held his tongue. I knew he preferred to do things through data, reports, and more subtle means. Admittedly, it wasn't as though Darna's methods were particularly brazen, simply that he had very high standards.

Then again, tossing extra spices into party food and turning up the heat until it was a little too uncomfortable, was certainly a strange way to go about spy business. Thorne's ISB sensibilities were unused to it.

"Through this we can sow division amongst his followers and backers. By doing so, we create targets for him. Hiral has so far been protecting his backers from the full force of the quota by offloading the work onto other sectors, ours included. Now he will have enemies within his richest sectors, and removing the extra work from us to hoist back onto them will both relieve our strain and create more division among his powerbase."

The presentation finished, the two of them looked at me expectantly. Like dogs waiting to see which got the treat.

"Both methods hold merit. Frankly speaking, I don't see why we can't have both. As always, I expect both of you to work together. And any assassination plans are to go through me first."

The next few minutes were spent maneuvering their petty arguing. If they weren't both the best and only intelligence officers I had, I would've fired them for this kinda bullshit.

Eventually, they left. And I was in my office, alone once more.

Indignation!

You aren't a person, your a scaly pest. Pests don't get personhood.

Ignoring the tail flick that struck the back of my head, I focused in on the newest reports before me.

After the attack on Kuat, some rebels had gotten ahead of themselves. Specifically, those in the Gaulus sector. Ryloth, specifically.

They instigated a sector-wide revolt. It was well planned, and well executed.

It wasn't meant to happen yet. That much was clear.

They made solid progress for a whole week. Stolen ships, hidden bombs, and plenty of subterfuge I'm sure the reports didn't know about, let them make real progress.

Hell, they'd assassinated a very large portion of the local officer corp, and stolen two whole ISDs! That's incredibly impressive.

Combined with all their other trickery, they stood a solid chance at outwitting the sector fleet and winning their freedom.

Then Scourge Squadron arrived.

Ardus Kaine.

Within three days the rebels had been pushed back, their stolen ISD's destroyed. Three cities on Ryloth had been glassed. Jumbled guesses and underworld estimates put death tolls at some 200 million. Imperial reports didn't bother to count. I imagine they'd get to it eventually, once they had to start cleaning up the bodies.

Admittedly, the Ryloth Rebels weren't down for the count just yet. Guerilla warfare was still ongoing, and I imagine Ryloth would never stop being a trouble spot of sorts.

But such a large-scale slaughter was, without a doubt, the largest single casualty event since Yavin. Rebel propaganda was having a field day with this. More and more ships were being deployed from the Core to quell rising unrest across the galaxy.

Ryloth wasn't the cause of all this, simply the latest and most public event.

I sighed once more, and ignored the tiny voice in the back of my mind that told me I was doing too much of that for one lifetime, and focused on the paperwork instead.

Since money itself wasn't an issue, R&D was still going full blast as usual.

It had a myriad of projects, and normally these weren't cause for concern for me. I knew they had a few far out ones, like a project for revamping the ISD, and another for creating a successor ship to the ISD.

Neither project was given any berth space of course, but they wouldn't need any for a while.

What was more important was the LECA project. PROJECT IRONCLAD, it was called, sought to bring in the next generation of LECA frames. These were better in every way, more efficient and effective. Unlike the standard LECA which was initially literally cobbled together, this was more purpose built.

PROJECT IRONCLAD had recently finished development. And production of the new LECA units was already underway. They didn't require many resources that were in particularly high demand by the quotas, and those few that they did require we already produced in high enough numbers to not worry about them.

As these new units replaced old ones, we'd be stuck with a surplus of thousands of frames just sitting around. So, I decided to sell them off.

Unlike the civilian variants we built and sold, these military variants could only be legally sold to other Imperial Moffs. So, I'd have to arrange a buyer in these trying times.

Which wasn't as hard as it seemed. After all, which Imperial wouldn't want to buy a new weapon?

The Empire was so predictable it physically hurt.

–

Yo. Sorry for the late chapter. Combo of transfer to a new college alongside life and also playing a shit ton of Wardogs since it dropped makes me late on things. I had a second POV from Jir planned but I'll just start the next chapter off with that. We're overdue for an Interlude anyways.

As for baking adventures, made some fudge cookies, very good stuff, liked it a lot. Its a miracle how much some unsweetened coco powder can do. Also made a very basic butter/flour/sugar cake. It was a done in a rush for a party and it wasn't super good. The butter wasn't softened enough because it never is because softening butter perfectly is such a massive fucking pain in the ass. So chunks of butter in the cake melted during baking, so when you bite down you either get soft mediocrity or way too much butter.

Also had my first empanada ever. Kinda pathetic for a Los Angeles native. But it was absolutely fucking banging holy shit I gotta learn how to make those.

–Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-126 Interlude

Jir Mola
3.8 ABY
Accordia, Minda

The office was abuzz with energy unlike any Jir had previously seen.

Normally, the Guild office was filled with background chatter. The noise of fingers on keyboards, casual break conversation, and the rushing of the occasionally late worker.

Now, the energy was different. Frantic. The casual conversations became hushed discussions. Keyboards rattled with furious energy. And for once, no one showed up late.

All of this, caused by the Empire's fear.

And that's what it was. Jir knew they would call it caution or strength or something else, but she'd grown up amongst the gangs and syndicates. When the strong grew fearful, they fell back on their strength. They pushed for more.

When one feels threatened, they rely upon what they know to do best. For the Empire, that means cracking down on things.

A part of Jir was worried. For all its relative stability, the chaos of the Guild HQ made it clear the Myto Sector wasn't free of the Empire's foolish endeavors. But then again, there were few places free of such.

Still, she kept a backup plan ready, as always. A false identity had been hard to come by, but thankfully the Guild was generous with its vacation days, and she'd taken some to search for the correct underworld contacts. If need be, Jir could disappear into the Corporate Sector.

"...and your payment will be transferred as usual."

"Does that include the hazard bonus?"

"Correct"

The mercenaries before her grinned. "And the next contract? You got anything for us?"

With a swipe of her fingers on her PDA, the holoprojector between them flashed with dozens of options.

"There are a variety of options for a team of your skillset. Given your team size, composition, and noted skills, these are the best missions available."

One of the mercs, the team leader, scanned the page quickly. His mouth curved into a frown as he did.

"Is this it? We came here expecting better!" His fist slammed into the table between them. Brutish, foolish, but nothing she couldn't handle.

"If you believe yourselves more capable than the Guilds rating system, you may take on a mission above your current rank. However, I am obligated to warn you–"

"Then sign us up already! Get us a better gig!"

The screen changed once more, missions appearing once more. Higher rewards, along with higher danger ratings.

Here the mercenaries cheered. Within a minute they'd picked out a new mission hunting a particularly persistent gang of pirates and left, all of them speculating on what they'd do with their cut of the profits.

With their meeting over, she left the meeting room back to her desk.

Sitting down at her desk, she immersed herself in her work. Reports and statistics were soothing to her. Orderly, predictable, a sense of method to the madness of the sector.

A few minutes later, Melandre sat down at her own desk next to her, sighing in exhaustion.

"These mercs are the worst!" she exclaimed even as she signed a report that Jir recognized as a mission acceptance report.

"They are from outside the sector. The Guild's lowering of requirements has allowed useless riffraff to enter the institution. It is abhorrent."

Melandre sighs again. The tone is different, deeper almost. Jir has heard this sigh before, if rarely. Something akin to grief.

"I…had another team die today." She said, voice smaller. "...third this month. "

With lowering standards and heightened risk came the Guild's loosening of requirements. Now teams could take missions one rank above their own. It helped curb the more dangerous criminal elements now that more guns were pointed their way. It also led to higher death counts.

"They agreed under their own volition, therefore any fault lies with them."

"That doesn't make it right."

Jir glanced at her, and found Melandre frowning deeply and staring at her desk. Strange. She was oftentimes one of the hardest workers of their department.

Did she actually care?

…It didn't matter. Jir knew her position within Melandre's group had been destroyed. Her old accent had slipped in a moment of weakness, exposing her. As such, further non-professional contact with that group was inadvisable. She'd kept her distance despite Melandre's attempts to reconnect.

"They agreed under their own volition. If they cannot understand their own limits and foolishly try to push forward, the fault lies with them. Bemoaning this will do you no good."

Jir didn't know why she said that. Something about the look in the girls eyes…

"That doesn't make it right."

Now Melandre was looking at her, eyes wet with unshed tears but filled with a steel she'd never seen before.

"It's our job to guide them. To make sure they succeed." Her voice seemed to wobble, but she stayed steady. "And now I'm being told to let them go on missions I know they won't succeed at? All because some idiots in the Core want more of everything and leave nothing for us to defend ourselves with!?"

Her outburst drew stares, though none spoke out. Did she perhaps have influence to avoid such a thing? Jir drew on her mental database and concluded that couldn't be the case, Melandre lacked such pull.

They stayed silent because they agreed with her.

Melandre noticed the stares, and quickly wiped her face with her sleeve before turning back towards her terminal.

Jir did the same, trying to immerse herself in reports and her work. But in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but replay that moment over and over again.

Was her duty truly that important to Melandre? Had Jir misjudged the woman, believing her to be a career climber like her instead of some kind of idealist?

And why did the look in her eyes dig a pit in her stomach…

Jir dug a fingernail into her palm, snapping her out of the funk she'd allowed herself to be trapped in. Such thoughts were inefficient and purposeless. If work could not allow her to escape, she'd find something else.

Like monitoring the investigation about the mugger she'd killed. It should've been dropped by now but the so-called 'brutality' of the killing worried the police enough to continue. She'd covered her tracks well, but perhaps there was more she could do. After all, it wasn't as though she could trust the police. What kind of foolish sentiment was that? Police were beacons of corruption that would doubtlessly extort her if they discovered it was her.

Anything to keep those eyes out of her head.
–
Brocso'ior'ovinor/Oioro
3.9 ABY
Minda
The clacking of her heels was rhythmic and perfectly spaced.

She'd chosen her heels specifically to make a unique sound — higher-pitched and almost musical, each heel making a slightly different noise.

The sound acted like a signifier. People knew who she was by sound alone.

With recurring negotiators, it was an effective intimidation tactic.

Admittedly, she also wore them because they looked nice and she liked the sound. They were from Aphelion after all.

The fashion brand of the sector, made by the Moff's previous secretary and expensive to boot. Afforded thanks to her generous salary.

A salary she used to immerse herself in a multitude of activities — from fashion shows to weekends at the gun range. There was an honestly surprising number of activities throughout Minda to enjoy. Why, just last week she'd taken one of the trains to Rolling Greens to see a parade celebrating a good harvest.

It was wonderful cover.

After all, Oioro was a spy for the Chiss Ascendancy. Her outings weren't just for pleasure, but as covert ways of dropping information or receiving orders.

Though at times she barely felt she was a spy at all. After all, the Moff knew she was a spy.

And he just... let her continue.

Oioro had been sending monthly reports and info packets, alongside stolen blueprints and ideas. And while she took great care to be quiet and careful, there was no way she wasn't constantly being monitored.

She presumed he must be waiting for something — or perhaps he truly didn't care. What she did know was that he expected her to do her job well, like any other member of the sector government.

She stopped at the end of the hall at a door flanked by two internal security stormtroopers.

Their armor was painted a mix of white and red, while their helmets were a tad bulkier, holding extra comm-tech that connected them to the facility's systems.

At their sides stood heavy shields. Dense slabs of metal with a small viewport and a port for firing their weapons from.

They didn't normally carry the shields with them, given the weight, with the protective gear instead stashed in emergency lockers across the facility in case of an attack. It wouldn't do to have the security guards tired before lunch.

But Oioro had them use them when delegates were visiting. It added a bit more to the intimidation.

Stepping into the meeting room, she made sure she was wearing the appropriate smile. Not too friendly, but not too predatory. Somewhere in between, to leave them off guard.

"Hello there. My name is Oioro, head of Sector Acquisitions."

As she sat down, she studied the person across from her.

Human, mid-30s, with a large mustache and incredibly pale skin. Raised on a station, most likely.

Her eyes scanned his face, seeing no signs of disgust or arrogance at her for being non-human. In the corner of her vision, her modified Guild glasses provided her with important snippets of a dossier on the man.

"A pleasure to meet you. I am Yotham Starjo, lead negotiator for Starjo Shipping Inc."

They shook hands even as she mentally reviewed what she knew.

Starjo Inc. was a mid-sized shipping concern operating out of the Mid-Rim. They used to operate many routes and were a serious regional contender.

But now? They were losing money. They had failed to acquire proper patronage, and once Hiral made Governor-General, they had lost contracts to competitors with better political connections.

They needed this contract.

Perfect.

She passed a dataslate over to him, contract pre-loaded and pre-filled, with the signing section highlighted and an e-pen in his hand. A simple technique, these things subtly primed him to take the path of least resistance and sign.

But his eyes didn't simply glance over the contract. He took the time to read through it, mechanical and precise. He was better than she gave him credit for.

"This pay is higher than the market average…but I don't see any additional responsibilities. Demand isn't this high."

Her smile widened a tad. "Of course. The payment is for discretion. The cargo you will be shipping is of a sensitive nature."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were shipping coaxium?"

"Correct. But certain ships will need to be taken aside at random for…extra checks at checkpoints. Security, you understand."

Yothman nodded, slowly. His eyes scanned the contract again, likely looking for traps. "And the paperwork, it'll be handled through your office?"

"Of course."

He nodded again. It was clear he understood the true nature of the deal.

Ships would weigh cargo, leave without unloading, then go back and weigh again.

Combined with a few other tricks of the trade, the scheme would pad their coaxium numbers.

Oioro was unsure — for such a scheme couldn't last more than six to eight months. But she was no longer privy to the Moff's innermost circle of confidence now that she was no longer his secretary.

It shouldn't have mattered to her. If the Moff gets caught and the sector goes to hell, she'd just leave. But a part of her had come to enjoy the sector and her job.

Her mind jumped to the upcoming info dead drop she needed to make.

If she worded things right, maybe she could get the Ascendancy to help…

–

Garpastealap "Garp" Hath
3.10 ABY
Clok

The hotel's private dining suite was luxurious in all the ways a business professional would love.

Seating that was comfortable but not excessively extravagant. Lighting that was both soft enough to not hurt the eyes, while being bright in just the right way to wake one up in time for a meeting.

And the food was crafted practically by committee. Every item on the menu was incredibly well prepared, yet not one item was out of place. Each meal was built to satisfy hunger without stuffing the client. Food that would taste great without gastrointestinal distress or post-meal drowsiness. Food that was easy to eat in quick bites so those eating could discuss business throughout the meal.

The waiters were dressed in neutral colors and simple clothing. Well made, but ultimately as simple as possible. They were built to blend into the background, to reduce the waiter into a set piece. A biological droid to be ignored so as to not interrupt any business.

Garp hated it.

The entire hotel felt manufactured, bland, and utterly without soul.

Which, to be fair, was most hotels he went to.

Normally, he'd ignore it. Sometimes, it would inspire him.

This time, it was simply another annoyance added to this family dinner.

Around the table sat his family, each massively successful in their own ways. Each holding valuations worth billions of credits.
"...but it turned out alright in the end, what with them going under and all. Quite the scare, I must say."

"Ah, I understand. Even when your position seems unassailable, there is always a crack to be exploited. You'd do well to keep that caution with you."

"Of course, father. Speaking of caution, mother did you not recently pull back from that hostile takeover attempt of yours? You seemed to almost have them."

"I know, and I almost did. But the final few holdouts went to dinner with MuutaPharma executives and I'm not in a position to be going toe to toe with them quite yet."

These were the common conversations his family partook in. Business on business. It was an absolute soul-sucking endeavor.

The only reason he was here at all was because he'd quite literally run into them in the financial district of Clok Station. The station had become the major financial center of the sector, hosting bustling stock-trading hubs, financial data centers and more.

Garp had been passing by on the way to Minda after returning from a show, and decided to check and see if there were any stocks worth buying. He also wanted to step a little outside of his comfort zone and see if he could find any inspiration. Perhaps the blandness of the corporate world could spark something in his mind.

The only thing it sparked was an accidental meeting with his sister, who immediately and without apology dragged him into this family dinner.

Apparently, the immediate inner-circle of the Hath family, meaning only the immediate family, were on Clok to celebrate the opening of a new branch of Hath Inc.

"And you, Garpastealap? How has your…enterprise been going?"

His mothers voice was tight, suffused with the awkward feeling of not quite knowing how to address a topic properly yet feeling as though they must.

"It's going quite well mother, thank you. My latest pieces have sold very well and I retain a far better understanding of the fashion space of the sector than my competitors."

"I see…thats quite nice dear."

"And your profits?" There was his father, barreling on into the conversation. At least his mother tried somewhat to understand. To his father, who'd clawed his way from the bottom of the Hath family line to become Chairman, the only thing that mattered was profit.

"Healthy. My products have lower margins to achieve a higher overall customer base, alongside cultural capture of the audience. I also recently won a contract to design the new Guild uniforms."

They all stared at him with blank faces, clearly waiting for the hard numbers. That was simply how they were. When one spoke of profit to a Muun, hard numbers were expected or they'd think you a fraud.

So, he rattled off the latest profit numbers. A few million on this line, a few million on that product. Aphelion was fairly successful, though not as much as those in richer sectors. He explicitly refused to expand to such sectors as of yet, preferring to hold to the Myto Sector and its neighbors to establish his brand identity.

Outer-Rim high fashion wasn't something most people thought could exist, meaning it was an untapped market.

Upon revealing the numbers, he got just about the reaction he expected. A mix of surprise that he was making any money at all, pride that he was successful, and disappointment that his profits weren't measured in the billions.

The strangest part about all of this was that they were surprised he could make money with fashion. It wasn't as though there weren't incredibly profitable fashion brands out there.

Then again, Muun culture didn't care all that much about such things.

"That's wonderful dear. I knew being friends with the Moff would be good for you."

A spike of anger rose in his chest, but he suppressed his reaction. "My connections are irrelevant, mother. Not only did I not use them, government contracts for the Myto Sector are done blindly. I couldn't have been favored."

Garp refused under any circumstances to utilize either his family connections or political connections to help himself. He would grow his fashion empire on his own. Build his own brand. Backroom deals and corrupt tricks were a betrayal of that.

Well, there was that one time he asked Myr'thos to sabotage a competitor. But that brand made all their clothes using the skin of a species that was only classified as 'non-sapient' because of Imperial corruption, so he had no conniptions over it.

"A shame. Well, I have heard the sector is looking for medical production, am I right?"

"Correct, mother. They've been subsidizing start ups and new production lines." Among other things.

To be frank, while Garp no longer had access to internal Imperial documents, he could tell the sector was bleeding money. It had become quite rich in the previous years yet it seemed to be throwing it into a dozen different projects and programs.

Oh, he'd seen the bonds. He'd bought a substantial amount. But that was just a stop-gap. The sector seemed to be aiming towards self sufficiency while the wider Empire squeezed it for all it could give.

"Could you be a dear and give the Moff a call for me? I'd love to expand more thoroughly into the sector, but the negotiation department refuses to entertain any queries from your fathers banking connections."

"Quite strict, those negotiators" his father chimed in. "Very good at what they do. They actually got a good deal out of the Chosk clan."

Again, the anger spiked up. This time, he wouldn't suppress it. At least not fully.

Garp looked up from his meal to stare his mother in the eyes.

"No."

Silence emanated from the table.

"...I'm sorry dear. Could you repeat that?"

"I won't use my friendship with Las to get you a contract."

"But dear, you have lunch with the man every month! Couldn't you just bring up my name? I know the sector needs it badly."

"If you want that contract, earn it. The sector is a fair place. Unless you lack confidence in your product?"

"My products are top of the line, and you know it!"

"Then prove it."

Suffice it to say, the rest of dinner was an awkward affair.

–

Ife Veers
3.11 ABY
Minda

The painting was, aesthetically speaking, beautiful. Clean lines and bright colors, alongside a near perfect replication of the subjects.

Her family portrait was perfect.

To the left stood her father, tall and proud. He exuded an energy of abundance, a well of enthusiasm that never ended.

To the right stood her mother. Calm and collected, a beacon of stability. In her arms was her baby brother, a bright blob of youth without a proper person to contain it quite yet.

And in the center stood her. She'd donned her academy military uniform for the picture, a proud smile on her face. She'd still been attending the general military academy at the time, yet to choose her path forward.

The next picture was different.

Her mother was gone.

Now, her father stood in the center. He held the same energy, but muted, focused. Not enthusiasm, but drive. Endless drive.

In front of him was Ife, older then. Solemn. Her grades in the academy had dropped that year, and father never let that go.

And in front of her, was her brother. He was small, but that youthful energy was nearly gone. In its place was a feeling she couldn't quite describe but which she knew all too well.

The picture after that was of her father and brother only. She'd left for the naval academy by this time, disowned in all but name.

Ife turned to stare down the hallway. Endless rows of pictures adorned the walls of her ancestral family home on Denon. The rustling of robes echoed down the hall. The slave's robes, she remembers. They were always rougher and scritched and scratched on the floor when they walked.

She couldn't look at them. She'd never wanted to look them in the eyes. They were too sad. So she turned the other way.

Another endless hallway. But standing in it was a figure, short and stout.

They had no face, no recognizable features. No one in the hallway, from the slaves to the paintings, had any sort of detail to them.

But she recognized the figure all the same. Anger, a sad, bitter kind filled the figure. He didn't speak in words, for she'd forgotten his voice. But she knew the tone. She didn't want to hear it.

So she ran. Past the figure, past the paintings, down the endless hallway.

If she could just find the exit, find the path, find her ship, she would be fine. Safe once more on the bridge of the Theorem, away from it all.

But the hallway didn't end in an exit. It ended in large wooden double doors.

A luxury among luxuries on an ecumenopolis like Denon, where natural life rarely grew.

She knew these doors. The doors to her fathers study. She'd been inside as a child, that much she knew. But now? When was the last time she'd been? Would she recognize it?

Ife didn't want to know. Didn't want to open the door. But between the door and the figure far behind her, she had one path.

Her hand touched the knob…

And she woke up, heart pounding and sweat pouring down her face.

Her surroundings came into focus, and the warm presence at her side helped her steady her breathing.

At first, the ceiling above her was unfamiliar. As was the light pouring through the windows, or the distant sounds of the city outside. She slept on the Theorem, and was accustomed to harsh lights and bland metal. The only sound the humming of the ship.

Without it, she felt lost.

Then, her mind retraced her steps. Late nights working overtime, responding to emergency calls and coordinating patrol groups. Meetings into the early hours of the morning with sector military officials, sometimes with the Moff, sometimes without. And mountains of paperwork, such that she envied the Moffs strange ability to simply do it.

Then, a message. A mandatory break. The Moff wouldn't have his top brass overworking themselves, the hypocrite. What was she to do now? Ife rarely took breaks.

But, she was in a relationship now. And that Love for Dummies holo-vid had made it clear that spending quality time was key. So, she invited Shal out for a night in the city.

Flashes of their time streaked through her mind in a hazy, pleasant blur. Taking pictures at monuments, signing autographs for those who recognized her, paying respects at memorials and so much more.

A romantic boat ride and dinner through Accordia's river, the Midnight Accord, had capped off their night. And when the sky went dark, they turned the boat's lights off and watched the river glow like a galaxy in the moonlight.

Then, they found a hotel room and…

A blush erupted across her face. She'd have to leave an extra tip for the cleaning droid.

Climbing out of bed, delicately so as to not wake Shal, Ife made her way to the hotel kitchenette. There, she brewed a cup of caff and sat at the table, staring at the marble countertop.

She wanted to focus on the previous night. On the pure joy she'd experienced, the first in a long time. But she couldn't.

Her mind kept jumping back. To that hallway. To those paintings. To that door.

With mechanical precision, she retrieved her PDA and flicked to the message. The report sent about her fathers death. She'd been reading and re-reading it in the months since he'd died.

IMPERIAL NAVAL BUREAU | CASUALTY NOTIFICATION COMMAND
DEATH SQUADRON FLAGSHIP FLOTILLA | PERSONNEL RECORDS OFFICE
DISTRIBUTION: IMMEDIATE RELATIVE / NEXT OF KIN

RECIPIENT: Veers, Ife

SUBJECT: Official Notification of Operational Casualty

REGARDING: Veers, Maximilian (General, Imperial Ground Forces)

Dear Next of Kin,

The Imperial Naval Bureau and the Commanding Office of Death Squadron regret to inform you of a casualty involving your immediate family member.

On standard operational date corresponding to the assault on the Hoth system, General Maximilian Veers was killed in action while performing assigned command duties in service to the Galactic Empire. Ground operations were disrupted by hostile rebel elements employing unlawful strike craft. During this hostile action, General Veers sustained fatal injuries while maintaining his command post.

Be assured that General Veers died valiantly in the line of duty, fulfilling his obligations to the Emperor and advancing the security of the galaxy. His efforts contributed directly to the neutralization of insurgent assets within the theater.

All personal effects currently held within his quarters aboard the flagship will be inventoried by the sector logistics office. Eligible items will be processed for transfer to your recorded address following standard security clearance and bio-decontamination protocols. Pension inquiries, back-pay requisitions, and death benefit applications must be submitted directly to the nearest Sector Administrative Office or equivalent using Imperial Form 1080-C.

The Empire acknowledges his service.

Sincerely,

Casualty Processing Division

Bureau of Imperial Personnel, Death Squadron Command

Galactic Empire Fleet Administration

She'd tried calling her brother to tell him the news, maybe send something of fathers. She couldn't find his number.

They'd taken months to send his affects. Trouble on the shipping lanes, they said. Low priority.

When his things arrived, the box was small and there was little within. Whether that was because her father kept very few things or because they just didn't bother sending it all, she didn't know.

And that was the thing. She didn't know. Ife Veers did not know her own father. Not truly.

When she'd first opened that box, within it was a series of photos. One was of her graduating from the naval academy.

He hadn't been there. But he'd kept the picture. Why?

She'd never know. How could she? After leaving for the academy she hadn't looked back. She'd changed numbers, always lived on the ship, and did everything she could to get as far away from his side of the military as she could.

And now she'd never know. It was why that dream always ended at the doorway. She didn't know what he was like, not truly. Not since she was a kid.

But the one thing she did know about him, was that her father was no fool. He was proud, yes. He was loud, without a doubt. And he loved his ATAT's. But to lose to strike craft?

It sounded ridiculous. Her father loved ATAT's, and therefore was aware of the platforms weaknesses. It was why he was always advocating for a million variants. He wouldn't charge into a battlespace without anti-air or air superiority.

But it wasn't as though she could get her hands on the Hoth battle reports. So she could only speculate. Either the rebels brought more firepower, or he lacked AA.

If it was the former, then it was simple. The rebels killed her father using air superiority. They brought heavier firepower of some kind, perhaps those Y-Wings she'd heard of.

If it was the latter…she wasn't so sure what to think. Her father wouldn't charge ahead without AA unless he knew he had a chance. But clearly he didn't. Either he didn't know they had air superiority, or he was ordered to charge without it.

Knowing what she did of the average Imperial Commander…

The caff woke her up, sending her mind racing away from her troubles. This strange feeling did her no good.

Instead, she jumped into the pile of reports waiting for her on her PDA. Nothing like work to distract the mind.

The reports were the usual bad news mixed with the occasional nugget of goodness.

For example, the Empire's demands were ever increasing. More ships, more weapons, more supplies. Every shipyard in the sector was so swamped she could hardly get new vessels to fill the gaps, having to rely on Guild mercenaries.

On the other hand, R&D had come through. Their Project: Imperial Rebirth was showing success. The project sought to decrease the crew requirements of the ISD. While they hadn't yet finished, they had discovered a variety of things regarding the general structure of Kuat Drive Yards ships that allowed for crew cutting measures across the board.

If only she had the ships to divert this freed up manpower to.

And she was supposed to. HIGHCOM simply couldn't decide if they had to crack down on the Outer Rim or reinforce the Core. Ships were called from the Rim only to be told mid-transit to go back, and then to reverse once more.

There was an ISD that had been jumping back and forth between the same two systems for the last two weeks that should've been in the sector a month ago.

It was as though the galaxy was falling apart around her. She knew it wouldn't last. HIGHCOM would calm down once KDY repaired its factories and the Rebels lost a few more battles. The quotas would calm down and patrol schedules would return to normal.

Something similar had happened during the Mid-Rim Offensive, after all. She just had to hold out.

And, if nothing else, the constant work was a good distraction.

It was as she immersed herself into the sea of reports that she felt a soft, warm hand caress her shoulder. Turning to look behind her, she came face to face with Shal.

Her hair was messy and tangled, sticking out at odd angles after years of confinement to a regulation bun. Her face was scrunched up with morning tiredness and she was wobbling on her feet ever so slightly.

Shal was, for lack of a better word, radiant.

She could've kept staring at her for hours if Shal didn't decide to poke her in the cheek.

"And what exactly am I looking at here? Work? On your mandatory off day?"

"I was just–"

"Nuh-uh, zip-it!" Shal mimed a zipper closing her mouth. It was so at odds with the calm, collected, controlled person she knew.

Another facet to fall in love with.

"The Moff himself decreed you would take two days off. Today is day two. You. Will. Be. Off. Got it?" She emphasized each word with a poke to the cheek and a grumpy face.

Ife couldn't help but chuckle in response. "Ok, ok. I'll 'be off', whatever that means. Do you have anything planned?"

Shals face scrunched even more in concentration, sleep addled mind trying to find something.

"...later. Right now, back to bed!"

Ife laughed again, and let herself be dragged back to bed.

The feeling was still there. A strange pit in her stomach, an ache for something she couldn't quite place.

But as she cuddled under the blankets with the woman she was increasingly becoming certain was the love of her life, Ife found she was certain it would turn out alright.

–

Darna Sabrir
3.12 ABY
Minda

The contract sitting before her was a lie.

A well constructed lie, she'd give them that, but a lie nonetheless. Megacorps were good at that sort of thing.

Darna had, in some distant corner of her mind, hoped she'd never have to deal with contracts ever again. That was what Oioro's department was for, after all.

But megacorps didn't care about things like that. They sent contracts directly to the Moff, and when he told them to bugger off and talk to Oioro, they usually did.

Some didn't get the message, and so they went to her. After all, why talk to some negotiator when you could talk to the head of the Guild?

And so, contracts came to her desk. She reviewed them, of course. But she never signed them. Always gave them to Oioro.

Reading them was good practice for spotting the lies.

For example, an agricultural giant wanted to buy obscene amounts of land in the sectors main agriworlds. They promised massive returns, huge amounts of foodstock, enough that selling the excess would solve their financial worries.

Their numbers weren't the lie. Those were correct. The production numbers, the profit margins, it all added up. In theory, this contract could double the sector's income over the next four years.

In theory.

The lie lay in the clauses, where most lies lay. See, the contract only stipulated a preset amount of farmland. Any land developed or bought after the fact would not be subject to the contracts conditions.

And, according to another clause, if the sector could not provide adequate protection, the company would provide its own, and get tax breaks proportional to how much they need to spend on their protection.

Meaning, they would hire a dozen security firms owned by either their subsidiaries or friends, pay them obscene amounts, and launder the money back into executive pockets. Effectively making tax free money.

And by the time the sector could provide protection, the company would've cornered the market with cheaper goods. By then, it would have far more power, deeper networks of bribery, and be nearly impossible to uproot.

It was the third contract in a similar vein she'd received that day.

What made it different was where the company was from.

Officially, it was based off of Coruscant. But backtracking the owners, investors, and shell companies led to owners who were based in the Velcar Sector.

Darna had to resist the urge to sigh. The Velcar Sector had been a premiere pain in her ass for years now. The only time she enjoyed working with Thorne on anything was screwing over the Velcar Sector.

Reaching deep into her mind, she perused the most recent HAVEN reports on the sector.

Piracy was theoretically high, but in reality most of those pirates were bought by the various elites and power blocs of the sector to raid one another. Some even funded raids into the Myto Sector, though internal conflict inevitably drew the raiders back to Velcar to strike at another rival.

Now, what could she do to disrupt that arrangement?

Direct attacks were out of the question. Perhaps sabotage against supply lines? Risky but could make pirates strike out on their own if they believe the oligarchs aren't helping. Could also simply create more cooperation between oligarchs.

Perhaps staging fake raids? HAVEN had some off the books armed freighters that could be painted the right colors. A few light 'raids' against oligarchs, really just flybys, could incite more violence between them. But it carried even more risk, too close to a direct assault.

Information. That was always king, even pirates knew that. If she could get some ledgers, some financial transactions, she could leak them. If pirate crews knew who was calling what shots, who was paying who, the calculus changes.

The pirates don't know who they're really working for. The smart ones, the captains, they'll have an idea or two. But the fixers selling them info won't squeal easily and the pay is good. Having confirmation they're just a buffer? Disposable? It'll scare off some, make others demand more.

It'll also create uncertainty among the oligarchs. Who leaked the info? Their friends? Their family?

They were already at one another's throats. Their world was one of constant infighting. This would heighten that.

The only one she was truly worried about, however, was Gregor Raquoran. HAVEN had made little progress in its infiltration, and unlike the other oligarchs he seemed to be taking a slower, steadier approach to gaining power.

He'd likely be the next Moff of the sector, all things considered. That possibility wasn't something she wanted.

Because any of the other oligarchs would be easier to manage. Gregor was cunning, and would doubtlessly secure a far stronger power base before gaining Moffdom compared to Ecressys.

Sighing, she made a mental note to bring it up in her and Thorne's next meeting. They always met at a nice, upscale, secure place in the Sullustan Quarter. The meals, a weekly lunch, were good enough to cover while they spoke in code. And the food was good.

She also made a note to check the Aphelion catalog for anything new. Thorne had that infuriating smug smile–really the tiniest curve of his lip–as he wore a nicer outfit the week before.

Darna Sabrir would not be outdone!

–

Yo. This chapter is sort of a timeskip. I didn't want to stretch out the time until the Deathstar with pointless stuff, but at the same time a straight timeskip felt too cheap. So I decided on this Interlude, with each chapter being a month after the previous one. Has the added bonus of giving me space to write some characters I haven't touched recently.

Sorry for the much longer wait than usual. A combination of the new Ace Combat game dropping, midterms popping up, and me getting dragged into the deep end of nation roleplaying has had me procrastinating this chapter for weeks.

That and the fact it's much longer than usual.

–Freefaller

 

[Freefaller]

Chp-127

Las
4.1 ABY
Minda

I paced back and forth across my office, counting and recounting every step of my plan.

"I've got the papers, the outfit, the routes…ship is hidden and ready, got the money ready…"

My escape plan was almost upon me. I wasn't exactly sure when in 4 ABY the Battle of Endor would occur, but I knew it was early in the year. I had to be ready.

"Your frantic antics annoy me, peasant. Cease at once." Myr'thos called out from across the room, though their eyes stayed focused on the holo-projector before them. They were all in on fighting the newest hero in that game they were addicted too, For Glory or something.

"But what if something goes wrong? I have to be prepared for everything! I've been waiting too long…"

"Cease your blabbering! The plan will be executed without fail. You have dragged me along for those annoying joyrides of yours for too long to fail."

Before I could respond, a small rubber ball bounced off my head. Turning to the side, I could see Mugwuffin laying atop her cat-tower with one eye open, looking at me.

Relaxation

I sighed. "...I suppose you're not entirely wrong. Its just…I've waited so long for this! I can rest knowing its so close."

"Then you are simply weak. But within you lies the potential for strength. Become stronger, and you will have no worries, such as myself." Myr'those had turned to look at me, something approximating warmth coloring their tone. "Though none could ever achieve my perfection, of course.

I felt my lips curl into a small smile. Who knew they had it in them. Then I looked at the game they were playing.

"Didn't know perfection could go 1-4 in a match."

Their head whipped back around to the projector, lips curling into a snarl.

"These honorless curs! They play the new hero and spam their kriffing stance changes and call me a 'noob' when they have AUTO DODGE! They have no skill!"

The screen flashed red as they lost, and the controller went flying into the adjacent wall, smashing into a million pieces.

I could see the look on their face, and I knew damn well the next thing to come out of the Sith's mouth would be a list of every slur every in existence, and a dictionary's worth of ones that hadn't been used since 4000 years ago.

And I couldn't have them saying that shit. They were so loud my bodyguard stormtroopers stationed outside the office could hear. And one of them broke down crying last week because of the same shit.

"Alright, let's go get some lunch, yeah? I heard the cafeteria lady has a new smoothie recipe."

The look on Myr'thos's face went from enraged to curious. "Hmm…the pantoran…her last recipe was almost passable. Let us see if she has evolved her craft, or if she has stagnated since I last spoke with her."

"Spoke with her?" I said as we moved from the office to the elevator. "You didn't 'speak with her', you gave her a lecture. With slides!"

They quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the soft padded wall of the elevator while I pressed the button. "Of all the cretins in existence, you above all may not speak to me of slides and lectures."

I raised a finger to respond, before giving it a second thought. "I…well, I guess it was pretty well put together and educational. You even cited your sources."

They turned their nose up at me. "Of course! I would not deny the great masters of the art their due credit."

Our banter continued until we reached the station's mess hall. Well, one of its mess halls. The station had grown a few times as time passed, with modules being added on as more personnel were needed.

Thankfully, the subsector moving capital project had pulled off some of the strain, and left the station with an empty module.

I'd had it converted into an indoor garden some six months ago or so. Apart from the fresher air it produced spreading throughout the station, it had reportedly reduced worker stress noticeably!

It would be nice to visit if I ever got the time.

Within the mess hall, the atmosphere was light and relaxing. Warm lighting and darker faux-wood wall paneling really sold the vibe.

Long tables lay in the main room while the food counter sat to the left, a full kitchen hidden behind it. To the sides and corners of the room lay a bevy of reading alcoves and smaller private dining nooks meant for 2-4 people.

Across the hall lay the game room, featuring a full arcade and holo-game cabinet (Myr'thos held all the high scores) and various larger tables for games of sabacc and similar. Though gambling with credits wasn't allowed, so people gambled with sweets as those were rationed due to the higher and higher import cost.

On the walls sat various pieces of art. From sculptures and metallic works to paintings, tapestries and murals. Each one created by a person on the station, each one voted on by the people of the station. The winner got to have their piece on the mantle above the fireplace, with the other pieces scattered across the station to spruce things up. Then each piece got rotated around over the next few months, and when the year was up new pieces were made and new votes were cast.

And yes, it was a real fireplace. It added to the ambiance, even if accommodating one on a space station isn't the cheapest of things.

The hall itself was relatively full this time of day, with about half of all the seats taken and a dozen or so people waiting at the food counter.

No one really reacted to my presence beyond the obligatory salutes, and even then those were the quicker and more casual kind. I was a regular visitor to the mess hall, after all.

Back when I was just a Governor, I worked far longer hours and ate in my office. Now that I was only working a measly 50 hours a week, I had the time for a short lunch break every day.

When it finally came my turn at the food counter, I didn't have to ask for anything. The pantoran woman behind the counter, Teeyox Chora, had already placed a steaming plate of food down.

"Verndari vine-snake noodle soup, newest in the kitchen. And I opted for a glass of cold chocolate milk to counterbalance the heat. It's quite spicy." The soup smelled amazing and was a vibrant green you only ever saw in hair and on screens, while the milk was perfectly mixed, just how I liked it.

"Wonderful work as always, thank you Ms. Chora." I picked up the plate, careful to balance the liquids as I made my way over to an empty table.

I was the kind to have a 'regular' order by any means. Generally, I ordered what I felt like ordering. However, if anything new was ever added to the menu, then I always tried it. Food was half the reason I wanted to travel the galaxy. There were so many cultures and places with undeniably incredible foods just waiting for me to try them.

And a glass of chocolate milk was always my drink of choice, no matter the meal. Even if the meal went better with a different drink, then I'd have my milk as a second drink regardless. It was usually hot, but with new dishes I left it up to the chef's discretion.

From where I was sat, I could see Myr'thos trying Teeyox's newest drink. She was clearly nervous even if she hid it well. But after a long sip, the Sith nodded.

"A noticeable improvement, apprentice mine. The rox-berry mixes well with the…"

I stopped paying attention as they launched into another lecture about everything the drink did well and poorly. Apparently the biggest blunder had something to do with the angle of the spoon when stirring?

Regardless, I focused on the meal before me. Thick noodles of green meat were intertwined with a plant-noodle of some kind, the latter holding the former together. Each was thick enough to only allow one to be slurped, and even then I had to bite them for they were too long. But the taste was divine, like ramen noodles and hamburger meat had a baby.

As I ate the delicious meal, taking sips of my milk whenever the spice got to be too much, I looked around the mess hall.

Despite ostensibly being the center of the sector's Imperial governance, nothing about it seemed Imperial at all.

Aliens mingled with humans openly, though most of the aliens were near-humans of some kind or another. I could get around Imperial regulations only so much, after all.

Yet the atmosphere lacked the almost background radiation-like effect the average Imperial installation gave off. Every time I'd been in an Imperial base outside the sector it felt like I was being constantly watched, as though the walls were slowly closing in on me.

Sterile yet hungry.

And as I looked around, my mind wandered off to my escape plan, as it always did.

I would go out on one of my 'joyrides' near the asteroid belt with accompanying TIE fighters as normal. Myr'thos, as normal, would try to goad me into going faster. This time I'd say yes, if only to get them to stop pestering me about it. This would happen on an open channel so the escorts could hear.

Then, I'd 'accidentally' go too fast, eject alongside Myr'thos and Mugwuffin, and let the ship slam into an asteroid. I even packed some extra explosives in the cockpit so the destruction would ensure no one went looking for a body.

After that, the three of us would spacewalk over to my hidden freighter and make our getaway to Nar Shaddaa, where I would undergo some sneaky facial reconstruction surgery and get my burn scar cosmetically fixed, before leaving the crime-ridden moon a new man!

Specifically, a new man named Venatorus Sanctimo, traveler extraordinaire. After that, I'd adventure across the galaxy in search of new and interesting places, meeting new people, eating new foods, doing new things!

And when I was older, or simply had my fill of adventure, I'd settle down in whatever the most stable government around is and open a trading company running safe, local routes somewhere in the nicer side of the mid-rim.

All while leaving the galaxy to blow itself up on its own terms.

Myr'thos and Mugwuffin eventually joined me at the table, Myr'thos chewing on some jerky they got addicted to and Mugwuffin stuffing her face full of a barbequed shakk steak.

We passed the time talking and bantering and overall relaxing. It was a nice thing, something I hadn't expected to have at all during my time under Imperial employment.

Eventually we finished, and Myr'thos decided to go spend time in the training room, as they'd heard Grant had returned from her most recent clean up job and they wanted a spar.

I contemplated heading back to the office, but decided to make a detour first. I hadn't ever visited the garden after all, and since I didn't know exactly when Endor would happen I might not have another chance.

Another elevator ride later and I was standing inside the garden. It used to be a series of offices and bunks, but without any need for the personnel the entire thing was retrofitted to be a little nature reserve of sorts.

Plants from across the sector sat in their own shelves under warm lights. Each biome and planet had its own dedicated room, with places to sit and plaques to read up on the worlds the environments came from.

I took my time, reading each one while Mugwuffin sniffed around.

Eventually, I reached one of the larger rooms. This one dedicated to the Verndari environment.

The air was noticeably more humid, though atmospheric technology meant the paths between the plants were kept at a nicer temperature. The benefits of 25k years of technological advance.

It was easily the tallest room in the garden, having previously been a cargo/storage area. Tall trees lined the edges with vibes and greenery blanketing the floors around the path.

Without a doubt, the garden was beautiful. To think I might've missed this…a shame that it might be destroyed come the Warlord era…

And that got me thinking…it really was a shame, wasn't it? I didn't know how things would go down exactly in the sector once I was gone.

One might think the Velcar Sector and their free commerce zone bullshit might take over. It was a major power bloc in the Pentastar Alignment I remembered from old sourcebooks in my old life.

But with the Guild, HAVEN, etc…there was no shot they'd have any real power. Still, the Alignment was just the Empire 2.0 in most ways that mattered. The only real difference was more non-humans in the army and noticeably more corporate power.

What would become of them…and did I care?

I mean, it's not my problem anymore, right? I did my job, and I did it real well despite the fact that I never wanted it at all.

Again, I looked around the garden. Vibrant greenery dotting every corner. Between the moss, I could spot a painting. One of the many dotting the walls of the station.

It wasn't complicated. An artistic rendition of Accordia from the Mandalorian plateau just outside the city. It was painted in abstract, streaks of light and shadows that hinted at concrete shapes but never committed. Almost like the dream of a city.

Only two things were obvious, clear, or held any real coherence.

The Midnight Accord, running through the city, gleamings its myriad colors.

And the Imperial Tower. The only clean lines in the entire painting, stark against a fluid background. Almost oppressive, but not quite. Held back by the waving banners flowing down its form and the glow of the stars behind it.

I built that. Not just me, of course. Countless people built that. And I was one of them.

A voice broke me from my thoughts. Turning, I saw past the trees a figure sitting on a bench.

It was a man. I didn't recognize him, though from his voice I knew he was a clone. There was a solid population on Ugea, after all. You got used to the voice.

"It's a girl!" he spoke, cradling his PDA in his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. "It's a girl, and there's nothing wrong with her! She's healthy!" The tears were accompanied with choked sobs of relief as he recorded the message. It could only be a message, since off-system communications weren't allowed through non-monitored channels.

But I could vaguely recall what he was talking about. Clone populations in Ugea struggled with having children. They were too old, their advanced aging taking a toll. Genetic treatments and fertility medicine allowed for it, but even then it wasn't guaranteed. A good chunk of the kids came out with one genetic defect or another. 12% died within the first 24 hours.

Clone genetics were just too complex. Whatever black magic the Kaminoans pulled to do it, we couldn't replicate, much less predict the effects on their children.

"And we're going to name her Chip…after the squad lead, y'know? Gotta honor our brother…" he wiped the tears from his face with a hand. "She's got my eyes, but her mothers nose, and let me tell you she's a fighter! Always slapping hands with people! Just like Chip. She'll grow into a fine soldier, or whatever she chooses, one day."

I backed away slowly from the scene, feeling fairly awkward standing there listening to this guy cry.

Yet, once I was out of the room, I couldn't get my mind off of him.

His kid would grow up healthy and safe. She would have a bevy of opportunities before her in life. With the systems I'd helped build, she would have the world to explore to her hearts content.

If it survived.

If it wasn't torn down.

If, if, if…

Before I knew it, I was back at my office, sitting at my desk. My hands were moving as though on autopilot.

I wasn't giving up on leaving. I'd done my part.

But maybe I could give the sector a few more advantages before I left.

–

Yo. Was originally gonna have him track down the ruins of the Arc Hammer and have Guild personnel S.T.E.A.L its ruins for study but after reading up on the wiki it seems the Arc Hammers location was kept ultra secret and Katarn only managed to get to it by sneaking on board the Executor.

I'll figure something else out for him to S.T.E.A.L for the next chapter. Suggestions are welcome as always.

Thanks so much for reading!

-Freefaller.