The Rebel Faction

“Fascinating.”

Corise from the viewport turned towards the voice. “Genarius is an interesting planet.”

The Pro-consul shook her head. “Another one of your typical understatements. Genarius is eerie enough that I thought it might elicit something more erudite from you.”

The Commodore shrugged. “It’s the forth planet of the Cularin system with incredibly dense core, which is similar to that of a-”.

“I take that back.”

Corise smiled. The Seraph hung suspended in orbit around the blue and orange planet Genarius, which was indeed the fourth planet of the Cularin system. While not a major planet on the galactic scene, the gaseous planet was similar to Bespin in that the only reason for the planet’s occupation by humans or any other sentient life who mined the planet. Unlike Bespin, the colonies did not only mine tibanna gas, but also “harvests some 150 rare gases and nuclear energy for sale”; at least that’s what the official tourist guide to the planet stated. But as the couple viewed the planet, the internal glow of the planet’s atmosphere made Corise question how safe it would be for the Pro-Consul’s travel; nuclear reactions occurred regularly and naturally within the planet. Silence permeated the bridge. The Commodore wetted his lips.

“Madam, I’m not so sure if it would be the best idea for you to travel near the atmosphere, even if it is to just an orbital city.”

“Worried about the nuclear reactions?”

The Kashan man nodded. Their eyes made contact. Her face seemed to soften.

“They assure me that the reactions take place in the core, not even near the upper atmosphere. In fact, no person has every been injured by one of the planet’s reactions. We’ll be fine.”

Corise raised an eyebrow. “We?”

Her face became merry. “We. You’re coming along as the military representative for the Coaltion. Since we’re not too far away from the hyperlane, Gestalt and Kashan forces are likely to be the first ones to be able to defend the planet from any intruders. Thus, I thought it would be reassuring to show them an example of what we’ll be protecting them with.”

The Commodore closed his eyes. Of course, if economics was the key element for the planet’s membership, she would have likely used a fancy diplomatic shuttle to demonstrate the Coalition’s prosperity. But by coming aboard a man-o-war, she is showing Genarius that the Coalition can and will defend all of those who threaten our planets. And this also deals ensures that the economy will be safe.

“So it is not all just pure economics?” asked the Kashan officer.

She shrugged. “Well, mostly it’s economics. Genarius’ economy is roughly average on the galactic standard. However, if we draw it into the Coalition, they can expect increased revenues, as they are not to far away from a major trade route as well as the hyperlane. Moreover, it can guarantee them some products from Coalition worlds which typically don’t get transported to a world this far from the core. One of which they are interested in is Ferrocarbon, for strengthening their orbital city’s structure from their atmosphere.”

The Kashan man froze. Ferrocarbon was in limited production through most of the galaxy. And that which was produced, was typically sent to heavily urban worlds, especially Coruscant, to aid in the manufacture of the super-tall skyscrapers that dominated those worlds. The relatively limited production ensured that the highest bidder always ended up with the material. And thus, Ferrocarbon was not found at all outside of the Core Worlds with the exception of Kashan. And now, the people of Genarius could have it.

“We could probably supply a limited amount of it.”

She nodded.

“I talked to your father; he believes that KDI could briefly step up production in order to fulfill the expected Genarius demand…”

He had taken to tinkering in the long hours between jumps. Odd that he should feel so uncomfortable on this journey. The Provincial was nothing if not accommodating. Flagship status, with rooms reserved for executive escort, assured the carrier of a certain robust pride. But then, he knew her by every rivet and bolt. His hand had guided her birth, her form was his doing… and he had no interest in meandering about her.

Looking up from his work he studied the wall at length. It looked like wood.

Another clever trick; plastic painted oak and maple. Unable to invest himself in the luxury of wealth and as head of Galactic Technologies he could not bring himself to approve the real thing. Wood… in space, what an idea.

He smirked.

On his desk lay a man. The man was face down and wearing no shirt. His back had been cut open.

Lance Shipwright shook his head, blinked and focused on his work.

A mass of wires had been exposed. Between the bones that were not bones, the blood that was hydraulic fluid, and the innards that were clusters of hardware and not pulsating innards, was the revelation that this was not a man but a machine. The Deltas had been designed and built to replicate humanity in every detail, every outward detail.

“They say we’re all the same on the inside,” said Lance aloud and to no one in particular. Perhaps he’d been speaking to his patient but the android gave no indication of having heard. “Well, most of us.”

You mean the humans, spoke a wordless voice. You’re so elitist.

Sweat beaded on brow and froze. A dozen tiny icicles formed on his forehead. Absently, he drew a palm across his face and pressed shut his eyes. He locked up. Words failed, log jammed in his brain and battled for position. Nothing came out though he tried to shout.

An ethereal presence swelled up behind him. Roses and perfume filled his nostrils, a fine delicate hand, ethereal and immaterial, draped over his shoulder. The heat of a woman’s breath warmed his ear and sent shivers down his spine. Cerebrum failing, responses not forthcoming, he reclined into the sensation. Goosebumps dimpled his flesh.

You cannot put me away like one of your toys, it said. Like always and forever, she spoke with the voice of an angle, like the breeze blowing through silken sheets hung to dry in the late afternoon sun. Your new boyfriend cannot do for you what I do.

“I…” He stammered.

Groping in the mess of his electronic friends bowels, groping blind with his attention waning, Lance closed his palms around the androids heart. Compressed and irregularly so, it pulsed. An unhealthy dose of energy ripped through him. He went limp, tumbled to the floor. He toppled.

Paralyzed within his own body, unable to control his limbs and locked in electro-induced shock, the mind of Lance Shipwright spun like a nuclear top. Eyes open but unable to see the world beyond he blinked spasmodically.

Quiet now, soothed the voice. It was female and it took his pain away. You need to sleep now. I will see you in your dreams.

Lance Shipwright succumbed to unconsciousness.




Colonial Minister Ramos stood bedside next to the injured Vice Commodore.

He was naked but for the medical garments and light blanket strung across his chest. She looked down upon him with something akin to concern but closer to consolidation.

The medical bay aboard the Provincial was equipped to deal with the most severe injuries and featured the extensive equipment found in most hospitals. Well suited to deal with wounds most grievous, the minor electrocution of Vice Commodore Shipwright had not been of pressing concern though it had immediately inspired a new series of stories which were ruminating around the rumor mill. Many of these had reached the Colonial Minister by virtue of the fact that, like the Vice Commodore, she was part of the diplomatic envoy assigned to Genarius and had thus been aboard the Provincial when it had happened.

She doubted very much that it was a suicide attempt despite the preliminary reports. All the same, she wondered how he could make such a simple mistake. Men so well versed in high technology as Lance Shipwright did not often go around grabbing live power generators without some sort of insulation between their flesh and the conductor.

The Vice Commodore groaned and attempted to open his eyes. The stunning visage that awaited him, Colonial Minister Ramos clad in her usual form fitting suit, encouraged him further. Affronted by the luminescence and stark white ambiance of the medical bay, Lance winced.

“What…” Groggily he discovered a rather large amphibian in his throat and instead, gestured emphatically.

Minister Ramos seemed to understand.

“You seem to have electrocuted yourself.” She chided him. “And believe me, we don’t have the insurance for something like that…”

Good naturedly he tried to laugh. It hurt, so he stopped. This earned him a smile from Paula.

“The doctor says you are going to be fine,” added the Colonial Minister, “and I need you up and about as soon as possible. We have much to go over before our arrival. So…”

She yanked his blanket back, “Get dressed!”

Lance blushed from head to toe.



Without much ado or complication the CDS Provincial entered the Cularin system. Colonial Minister Ramos and Vice Commodore Shipwright were both on the bridge to introduce their presence. This was largely unnessescary as the local population had been expecting them but it did seem to evoke a warm reception from the natives.

Shortly there after the carrier moved into position alongside one of the docking berths before extending her umbilical towards the pier. The inhospitable planet raged in the background though it disturbed the ship not. Easily, she made dock.

Upon disembarking their vessel, Ramos and Shipwright were pleased and honored to be welcomed by Commodore Lucerne, Pro-Consul Thorn and Governor Victor Saxon. Introductions were made, though Lance, Corise and Thorn had all been previously acquainted… some better then others.

Commodore Lucerne smiled, and following the introductions said, by way of small talk, “Did you have an eventful voyage?”

At which Ramos and Shipwright, exchanging looks, chuckled and demurred.

“No,” offered Lance with a smirk. “Nothing of note.”

Uncertainty was a familiar mistress. Vice-Commodore Shipwright was only too well versed in the field of doubt and misdirection, he had used it to create the Colonies and found it in malice when dealing with the Coalition Minister of Ethics, Viryn Quell. As Corise had observed on many occasions, Lance was a man of deep philosophy and that same philosophy had made him out to be a naturally suspicious person. While the latter had never been prominently introduced to Commodore Lucerne, as their friendship was highly amicable, it was a skill that Lance kept in quiet reserve though he had often relied upon it during his years as a freelance designer before being roped up by Mumphs.

“Much as I hate to admit it,” spoke Lance. “I anticipated as much.”

Colonial Minister Ramos was absent, and aptly so. The Vice Commodore preferred to keep her ignorant of certain dealings so to preserve her ability to better serve the people of Gestalt. It might have been questionable, but it worked and worked well. In her place he had brought along a Delta-unit replicant android. Though perfectly human in every detail, he was in fact a cleverly designed robot. His name-tag identified him as Rubik Rubkicon.

Lance Shipwright nodded to the Delta. It moved forward with a holo-projector in hand. The android quickly configured it and, setting it in the center of the single table dominating the shared chamber, switched the device on. He disappeared behind an operations panel, seconds later an image leapt into place. Hanging in holographic space was the planet Genarius.

“Thank you Rubik. Please bring up the projection.”

Manipulated from behind the scenes, the image mutated to highlight a number of red zones. Relative to these the perspective began rotating along an uneven orbit.

“These areas represent areas classified by the locals as Unknown Zones. Radiological anomalies prevent their scanner technology from accurately mapping or patrolling these areas. Now, as you can see, these areas are not static but they are easily predictable which is why the planet has enjoyed such relative safety. The flip side, of course, is that any one of the locals can find out when and how these storms are forming but no significant efforts have been made to develop sustained information sources in those areas. Naturally then vast tracks of space are rendered invisible for predictable measures of time.”

“Thank you Rubik, next please…”

Again the image shifted. It now moved in to focus on a series of super-structure orbital platforms located in a storm hot-bed.

“Just like a terrestrial/aquatic world, these storms are responsible for the creation of shoal or coast areas in a three dimensional reference. Now if we map related and reported organized criminal activity, and this was acquired from open source material available on the planetary information network, we discover that the majority of this activity is focused on these areas.”

“On its own, I admit that that it’s not really all that notable. It happens on most planets without a strong ethic,” he said with some pride, reflecting on Kashan and Gestalt unity. “However, this is not where the trail ends.”

“If we correlate Peace-Officer spending, excuse the generalization please, and compare it with relative Political pay checks, by which I mean monies authorized by the Government to pay civilian stubs, we find that we are again looking at another hot-bed situation.” As he spoke the image changed to represent the appropriate financial records and reports also acquired from free library sources. “What it looks like is that we have exorbitant amounts of Government authorized money going in to the area and not coming back out. And because of the storms, no one really looks in to it.”

“They are quite literally, I believe, throwing their ill begotten gains into the winds. Please bring up the storm data please Rubik.”

It was Commodore Lucerne who spoke next, quickly interpreting the information presented there in with astounding speed sufficient to surprise even Lance.

“These storms aren’t natural!”

“Absolutely correct, Commodore, they are being generated.”

“Do you know where from?” Corise asked. “And how?”

“I know where they are being generated from,” the holo-projection shot altered entirely. “They’re being generated from within by an unknown means but the statistical plot cannot be wrong. These are self sustaining energy wells and it is my belief that the locals are using them to cover off planet transport and transmission according to plotted schedules.”

Commodore Lucerne, shocked, slumped into a chair and reclined. “What you’re proposing would take some incredible technology. I am not even going to guess at how they are building the storms, but how do you suggest they are transporting through the radiation? That would take…”

“… some incredible ships; hulls and shields. I know what I’m saying and I believe it, or I wouldn’t bother at all.”

“Okay,” conceded Corise, “go on.”

“I’d like to introduce you to the Extreme Atmosphere Solid-State Aeronautical Reconnaissance Vehicle and Dedicated Network Transpacial Receiver Satellite.”

Projected in vivid reality, the vaguely avian shape of the EASSARV appeared alongside the orbital satellite used to operate it. This had been the very first project undertaken by Galactic Technologies; it had been a smash hit success. In the galaxy aboard there existed no formal technology so well suited to planetary observation. A data summary accompanied was pictured alongside.

“What I propose is that we deploy a AeroStat Network in the upper atmosphere of Genarius to observe and track the storms.”

“Two problems I can see,” observed the Commodore. “One, your birds won’t last in those storms, not with what you’ve constructed them of. Two, if it is the government, how do you propose we get these things approved?”

“Well,” admitted Lance. “Both of those responsibilities fall on your people. Problem one we solve with UltraChrome. It is more then strong enough to do the task. I already have a plan in the works it just needs your stamp.”

“And?”

Lance sensed that his friend had already answered the question, and he didn’t like it. The two thought alike; great minds did seldom differ.

“And that problem two, we just shove it down their throats. The people want it, hell… They need it. Look at the conditions down there. Threaten them with economic sanctions… I don’t know, you’ve probably guessed it…”

“You’re leaving that to me?”

Lance shrugged, “Can you think of anyone better?”

It was said that the most unnatural talent among men was good public speaking. The Commodore had not thought much about that fact until he had reached the podium, a slight bead of sweat dripping down to his brow.

"As many of you know, I am Commodore Corise Lucerne of the Kashan Defence Fleet. It has been truly wonderous to visit your planet, even if it is somewhat disconcerting to some of my crew."

There were a few chuckles among the gathered reporters.

"Yesterday, I was given the oppurtunity to meet with the Genarius Science Foundation. We are delighted to join together in a tremendous undertaking; the mapping of Genarius' internal atmosphere. Until recently, this has been impossible, but with Kashan technology, Gestalt thinking, and the will and dedication of the Genarius Science Foundation, I believe we can together accomplish this feat. As I speak, a Seraph-class from the Gestalt will be arriving with a complement of the specially protected drones which will be run by the Genarius Science Foundation for this mission..."
------------
Seraph-class Cruiser Queen of the Colonies

"Helm to Point-oh-four-one-two."

"Aye sir."

"Last course change of your watch, Lieutenant."

"Of course it is; because then we'll be at Genarius."

"Thank the maker too."

"Why is that Gallis?" asked the Kashan Lieutenant.

The other man shrugged. "We're carrying a bunch of probes instead of the Deathsabers. I don't think the probes work very well against enemy starfighters."

Lieutenant Solvan sighed.

"I never would have guessed that one..."

The two stared out of the viewport at the swirling of stars as the last leg was almost completed.

Lieutenant Johnstone pulled his HyperFighter in a wide arc around the bow of the Provincial. From his cockpit the massive super carrier dominated his perspective. The matte grey hull of his host carrier swelled up and then shot away as he crested the stern of th ship. With a smile he juked his stabilizers in a gesture to his wing mates.

“This is Jeremy Two away on recon run,” his tongue clicked the microphone in his helmet. “I’ll see you guys in sixteen hours.”

The single unit launched itself into hyper and without any ceremony, disappeared.

Lt Johnstone had drawn detached duty and could look forward to two full duty shifts locked in the cockpit of his starfighter. This was not a glorious job and he had it to himself to conduct… alone. The rest of his squadron had remained behind, more or less; four of his wing mates had also been assigned long range recon runs and would not be back for some hours.

He could not fathom why they were bothering. Genarius was supposed to be secure, or at least as secure as any independent nation could, and the area was supposed to be clear of enemy activity. All the same Admiral Mar-Veil had been adamant about maintaining standard recon deployments even in such seemingly friendly skies as these.

Checking his monitors and flipping the appropriate switches the pilot configured his Heads Up Display for hyper navigation. A tweet from behind his seat confirmed activation of the primary astrogator. In the top corner of his display a counter populated the timeline for the first navigation jump and the Lieutenant settled himself in for a long flight…

Four hours later and with a six axis differential location from his primary departure point, Lt Johnstone steered his craft out of hyper. It reverted to real space seamlessly. Riding the continued forward inertia of his reversion, and still moving, relatively, and almost seventy percent of light speed, he swung the nose of his craft around before bringing his primary scanners online. What he expected was the quiet pop-pop-ping of a clear read but what he got were the screaming alert bells of a tripped hostile sensor.

“Where the hell is that coming from?” He asked of no one in particular even as his fingers danced over the split keyboards poised on either side of his flight modulators. He opened his microphone, broadcasting on the Coalition merchant channel (which tended to be tied in to most military grade receivers as well). “This is Jeremy Two reporting hostile contacts at…”

The transmission tore away from the fighter under hyper broadcast. It would reach the Provincial moments later but Jeremy Two was not about to sit around and wait for orders. He brought his starfighter around again and shot towards the massive asteroid body that seemed to be the source of the hostile signals but he remained too far out of range to get a proper resolution.

He only hoped he could get there in time.