The Rebel Faction

Generis, Onyx Sector
Imperial Occupation Zone


A breath of wind reached up from the street below, pushed forward and upward along the sloping steelen wall of the garrison-base until it reached the top; there it gathered with another gust and together they advanced, buffeting those caught in the crosswind inside. The large blood-red Imperial Standard with its Iron Eagle and broad black cross cracked as the wind animated it so. Clouds assembled above the four-sided base, blotting out the midday sun allowing those atop the prefabricated ramparts to stare up without any interruption from illumination their humanoid eyes could not handle. Artemis Bradford was pleased his eyes did not need to strain to look up at the panorama of greys and whites and blues that stretched on as far as he could see; to him the coming of a storm was not inclement, it was beautiful.


" A nice day, no?" asked Colonel Alazahr, commander of the 2nd Regiment, 832nd Imperial Infantry Division; as that unit was the grand total of all Imperial military forces on Generis, he was also garrison commander. He moved with a quick step common to younger officers, his energy never having slacked during fifteen years service to the Emperor. In each hand he brought a cup of caf which might have been steaming if the winds of the Capital City did not whisk it away into the vastness of the plains beyond.


Governor Bradford maintained his smile as he turned and accepted the offered cup, bringing it to his lips; only when the warmth spread after he swallowed did he realize his fingers were cold. He wiggled them and quickly hid the one not holding his 'liquid energy' in his great coat pocket. " It is a nice day, I just wish I would not have left my gloves in my chambers."


The pair of younger men, one a professional soldier the other a seasoned but still vigorous bureaucrat, stood in silence, looking out at the suburbs that surrounded the small city of Vengaris and the plains and fields and farms which sprawled out around it. Here and there a stray piece of farm equipment punctuated the undulating rows of grain and grass. Vengaris itself also seemed to sway with the winds, a few scant speeders and trucks viewable with the naked eye - it was devoid of the chaotic activity of a regular Imperial city. The Colonel noted not inaccurately that it was simply not 'Imperial-ized' yet.


" If you don't mind my asking, how did you get stationed here? Or this an ideal assignment for you? I mean it can go both ways for my men and I; we have no enemy fight, no disorder to quell, only boredom to combat."


Bradford kept smiling, sipping the last of his caf as he pieced together an answer the Army officer would understand. " It's a choice assignment for me, one I requested. Here we don't have to do as you say, we can go straight to rebuilding. There isn't much damage here allowing us to build schools and hospitals and show these peoples the light the Empire can bring. We can crush the cartels that stiffle the grain exports and bring more money to the people..." The Governor saw he was losing his audience and decided to stop his explanation. The soldier was just that, and had little interest in rebuilding a society and bringing it into the folds of the Emperor's citizenry. " We - I - have a difficult task: to make these people Imperial citizens. I came here for the challange and the opportunity. You?"


The young Colonel scowled and tossed his caf down over the railing, letting it splash on the steel wall, displeased that it had gotten cold. His reply was that of a Corporals before he turned and departed, content to wait until the chance to kill and conquer presented itself again.


" I go where I'm sent."


For the Governor, he turned away from the city and looked at the hamlet of farms and equipment sheds a few kilometers away, connected to civilization only by a thin earthen path. In the desolation of oppressed and lonely farms he saw opportunity, in the broad expanse of swaying fields and reeds he saw harmony. He saw on Generis his purpose, and his smile got larger. He turned and started to descend the ramparts, thinking all the while Here I can do something good.

Vengaris traded day for night, light for darkness. Shadows danced in the streets and alleys, cast by those few who had business outside their homes and killed just as quickly as they'd been born. There were few clubs, few establishments which would contribute to a night life of any calibre, those in business were gathered only a block from the city police station. At the fringe of the city center where only a handful of buildings loomed over the rest drunks and party goers and revelers walked an uneasy path with police, detectives, and now the officers and men of the Imperial Army.


" It's a tidy little place, isn't it?" Governor Bradford asked, throwing a sideways glance out a ballroom window. His eyes traced down a few storeys into the streets below where the red and white lights of native police vehicle strobed away, its driver and passanger engaged in the noble art of citiation to one who had dared yell too loud.


" It certainly is better than an assignment could be. The people here don't exactly like us, nor do they hate us. They realize they've bene conquered and see us as just the latest in a line of governments. The fact that they are not Onyxians by birth merely amalgamated into that sector by virtue of decree I think has forestalled any upright opposition."


Bradford did up the final button on his tunic and smiled at Colonel Alazahr. The young man was competent, showing promise with his slightly political analysis of the situation at hand; that did not stop the Governor from realizing that competence came with an apathy that superceded objectivity and made him downright boring. He shook the musing from his head and tugged the purple sash roung his shoulder to a perfect fit. His white governor's tunic and green breeches were his work attire, but then this was a dress function. Pleased with his appearence, he left the Colonel alone in the dressing room and strode through some doors and up to a podium that had been set up for him. Those of the Generisien elite turned on the announcement of his presence and some clapped, others merely gave him the respect of silence.


Spotlights illuminated the governor with their rays, holocameras transmitted his likeness into every home on the planet that cared to watch, and even a few outside the system who had paid a much higher rate for expanded holo service. Gone was the smile from the Governor's face; he was the one who apathetic, impassive. He addressed the dinner guests in calm measured tones.


" You know who I am, and I assure you, I have been briefed on who you are. Many of you do not like me, others could not care. To all of you I represent the Empire - and I should. I have been named the Governor of Generis and my duty is to protect you. I will do that and more. My duty is make you Imperial citizens. That I will try to do - but it will not come easy. You must earn citizenship.


" Some of things you will appreciate, others you will not. And so let us dispense with the double talk. As of twenty minutes ago, Imperial soldiers closed the Vengaris General Hospital."


Inwardly, Bradford was pleased with himself. His lips were barely closed from that final statement when many began to hiss and cry in anger, while others in mute horror turned to others for confirmation that what had graced their ears was real and not a nightmare. The Governor enjoyed his moment as puppetmaster, for he had planned this.


" My soldiers..." He had to speak louder over the crowd. " My soldiers removed the patients and staff to quarters at the garrison base on the edge of the city. The hospital complex has been plagued with crime its security staff and the police cannot combat; the buildings are in a pitiful state of repair; equipment is old and some works poorly if at all. I have ordered a set of construction droids from Sector Command that arrive tomorrow evening. At that time the complex will be demolished and rebuilt. When the proper equipment has arrived to replace what is there now, the staff and patients will be returned to the complex. While the hospital is relocated to the garrison base and the temporary buildings being erected near it, its operations will continue and you will be free to visit as you like."


The Governor and Puppeteer smiled to himself a second time. He let his words hang in the air as he relished the sheepish looks on the faces of those who had booed him. They had expected the worst and been embarassed by their pessimism. There was no dispute that the new arrangements would be inconvenient - he had order Alazahr to relocate his motor pool and several mechanics shops to other areas - but it would be worth it. The public would now be forced to work with the Empire and the Empire would get to know the natives. Their manner might be brusque, but red tape was absent. The natives would see results.


Gloria Impierum, Generis. I will make you better and you will swear your loyalty. And all will be well without a shot fired. The Governor breathed and continued to outline his actions - those he had taken, and those he was about to take.

The Governor stepped from his limosuine to the fanfare befitting his rank and station as the ruler of Generies. When he arrived on the agrarian world boasting a capital city of barely a million and a few quasi-cities of a hundred thousand at best, thoughts of a supreme error on his part for actually reque4sting such a desolate command plagued him. His time looking out over undulating seas of waving grain had changed his mind; indeed, perhaps he would even call Generis home. A small ensemble was playing the Imperial March, a standard processional for all dignitaries, civil and military; they were doing their best and for an annexed people the rendition was beyond reproach. Bradford straightened his leather greatcoat and waved at the crowd of assembled farmers and planters and equipment operators.


" I don't like this," Colonel Alazahr stated blunted, exited the limosuine after the Governor and following closely on his heels. The young soldier had none of the genial nature his bureaucrat boss had cultivated; no, his face was dour and blank, a little strained even. The three or so hundred people gathered at this particular farm complex had been summoned by radio and broadcast network announcement mere hours ago, leaving no time to install proper security or even a perimeter - if the Governor had allowed one in the first place. " Your gambling with your life for a little popularity."


" Rubbish," was the only reply Bradford made as he smiled and nodded and people and shook a few hands of the brave denizens who stepped away from the blanket of the mob's anonymity. He ignored the musings of his garrison commander and went right on smiling as he mounted the platform erected for him. He looked out at the crowd and gave nods of appreciation to the dozen or so reporters who recorded everything and said nothing.


" People of Generis, a great day for us all. You're no doubt wondering why I've called you out here. Well, I promised changes to you and I'm delivering." The Governor stepped back and took a comlink from his pocket. Raising it to his lips he looked up into the midday clouds, his gaze dispersed among low hanging greys and dark-whites. " Progress?"


There was a crack of static over the amplifier as the comlink frequency crackled to life; the droid nearby took a moment to match harmonics and the static was gone. " (shhhh)..descending now. Break cloud cover in eight seconds. Seven, six..."


Looking with the Governor skyward, the press rotated their holocams and took a few long seconds to record the low ceiling of clouds that presaged the midday storm, only an hour away - at most - from loosing its rains on the region. Then a shape pierced the clouds, a long rectangular shape replete with claws and boxy protrusion from what one could safely assume was the front. A ship of some kind. Those of a rural world who had seen only the occassional freightor or tug that took their grain harvets from the spaceport into the heavens were clueless; Colonel Alazahr recognized immediately as an Incom G-17 Dropship, the kind used to bring the Emperor's soldiers down from the stars that they might conquer and vanquish. The cameras were now exclusively on it so they did not record for posterity the Colonel massaging a wound long since healed he had earned dropping 'hot' onto Paramell VII when a flak explosion had introduced the side of his skull to a bulkhead none too gently.


A gasp from the crowd spread as one became two, two became four, then four became seven. Seven dropships descended from the clouds and touched down amid a roar of whining repulsor lifts and de-powering drive engines. The ground shook as each boxy craft in turn sunk its landing claws into the soil and smashed a whole section of field under them. The Governor did not need to narrate when each craft seemed to hiss like some giant metal beetle as atmospheric seals popped and pressurized; landing ramps fell with a mighty thud to the ground. Rumbling was heard from inside and a few of those present ran for safety - the rest looked on in horror. Many knew, if the worst was coming, they would not be able to start their speeders before death embraced them. Instead, they looked on in rapt attention.


From the closest dropship emerged the first visitor. Some suspected an AT-AT, others repulsor tanks - both were wrong. The winds kicked up dust that gave the true greeting of Generis to a new white-painted Tam Elk Superharvester. The huge piece of equipment idled down the ramp and presented itself to view. The more experienced farmers went wide-eyed: that harvester cost more than a quarter of a million credits and was far superior to the outdated and barely-maintained TriIngrid units they had made due with long after they'd been outmoded elsewhere. Even the richest farmer of Generis couldn't afford such a piece, but here was one - no two! By the time ach dropship had retracted its ramp fourteen superharvesters faced the crowd. The men controlling them lined them up as if on parade - the precision with which wheels matched made the Colonel grin for the first time that day for he knew if no one else did those were Army drivers.


" Citizens of Generis, I must apologize. I had hoped to have thirty of these here by now but the last consignment of them was in a convoy attacked by pirates and lost. I ask you to accept these first as a gesture of things to come."


Bradford now had the attention of everyone, even those who listened only with their ears, their eyes refusing to turn away from the towering apparatus. " The first two I should like to present to Mr. Hans Frestold and his family. Their harvester is well - no offense - its a piece of dung. That monster over there "- Bradford pointed to the family's green TriIngrid unit whose rust was as prevalent as the matte green finish -" should have been phased out ten years ago but Mr. Frestold couldn't afford it. So, the Empire realizes that without the means to produce well, production suffers. Generis is a world that should be exporting much more than it is now and you should be bringing more of the profits in, not returning them back to the export companies' pockets to send for spare parts you shouldn't need..."


Bradford droned on to the crowd and received a few ovations from those not standing. Colonel Alazahr went back to stolid as quickly as a Wookiee sheds and scanned the crowd. All his years as a soldier told him inescapably - something wasn't right...

The storm had not yet made itself over the farm called 3176 on maps of the province yet still thunder rolled across the plaisn, still lightning crashed, blinding eyes and deafening ears. The thunder though, was not the voice of the Gods - it was the smash of bodies to the dirt and scant slabs of ferrocrete that made a pad here and sidewalk there; the lightning was not the mortal form of the Gods thoughts but the flash of blaster fire.


Colonel Alazahr sniffed at the air, each breath making his nose wrinkle in disgust for the air was burnt with the hot fusilade of laser fire. The stench of death was all around. Try as he might, he found himself unable to grasp the reality of the situation; he lay there on the ground, tossed aside by the beast of a man, a thing barely human. He ignored the pain in his ribs and fought furiously to ignore the pain from his right hand for there was no hand anymore: he tried to remember just what went wrong. There was a moment when his instincts had kicked in and he had unbuttoned the clasp of his holster...then mayhem. A foul smelling wretch in a garb he could not recognize and a figure he had never seen burst froth from the crowd and hacked at the five men the city police force had detailed as security. In a moment they were dead, having fired too few rounds in too short a time for Alazahr to accept. He had crouched down and slid behind an amplifier casing, drawn his weapon and fired...


Yes, that is when it happened. The shot rang true for he saw it hit, he watched the beast make what he hoped was a grimace - then it had shot back. A well-aimed shot that had immolated his hand and sent what remained of his pistol towards the soft ground below. He fell to the surface in pain and clawed at his tunic, ripping off a piece in a quick sham of a turniquet. When he crawled around to find another pistol the monster had already killed the Governor, slicing him far more times than was neccessary. No sooner did he stand, ready to avenge, when the ebast was on him - there was no time to fire for the weapon had already been knocked from his grasp. Stinking like some sewer-dwelling vermin, the creature spoke with foul breath words that dared insult the Empire and the dead men sprawled about: Much as these machines harvest grain, so shall I harvest your Empire! You shall know FEAR. You shall know PAIN. And you SHALL know DEATH!


Alazahr rose with the strength he could muster and for the third time he located a pistol and trained it to where he thought the beast to be. He aimed but there was nothing there; he crouched and searched for another target. The creature was gone. All around, the sky had darkened as the storm finally arrived. The wind picked up, but only slightly so, and for the first rumble of thunder, the Colonel felt himself shudder. A gentle rain misted for several long seconds before it got harder and harder, pelting everything as far as the eye could sea. The two-meter tall grain plants swayed to and fro, ignorant of why their roots would soon turn blood to nutrients along with the water that made them so precious.


It was twenty minutes before a half dozen police vehicles and other emergency vehicles arrived, another ten before ten half-tracked armored personnel carriers and as many AT ST walkers arrived: all fanned out and searched the fields but nothing was found. In the pouring rain, bodies were covered and identified and the butcher's bill tallied. Five policemen dead, six civilians dead, two wounded, one Imperial Governor brutally murdered - cleaved was more accurate. One Imperial officer wounded. Colonel Alazahr winced when a medic removed his dressing and began pouring bacta on the problem; he pondered why. Artemis Bradford was the best thing to happen to Generis is a long time.


Again lightning crashed but this time the Colonel did not blink. He remembered what the creature had said: You are faced with death. With the why change it? You Humans always over think things. You have the now, and the only question that will change anything, is whether you die on your knees or on your feet. Things fell into cruel, cold perspective. Governor Bradford was not dead because he was hurt Generis, he was dead because he was an Imperial. Therefore the why did not matter. An Imperial official was dead - he would be avenged!

It was two days since the event. Since then, they’d been in the forest planning their next move.

Well, less planning, and more Sha’tek telling the slicer what he needed to get done. The creature wanted him to get access to the flight database so they can make a get away for another world. It wasn’t exactly something easy that he could get done in a couple of days, with the planet on lockdown and all. But Six was more concerned about his own well-being in comparison to everything else.

Sha’tek had made sure to enforce that fact that any failure or betrayal would result in the death of said betrayer.

Six knelt over the datapad, grumbling to himself as he frantically typed away. “So, I’ve got to wonder, what the Hell do you care?” Six asked, drawing an irritated gaze from his reptilian companion. “Like, don’t get me wrong but you don’t seem to give a mynock’s ass about the galaxy, so why are you going through so much trouble to try and fight the Empire? Like, I hear of a lot of rebel cells out there that want to take the Empire down, especially in these parts. But you don’t strike me as the type to care about that kinda thing.”

Sha’tek gave something that could be best interpreted as a laugh. His gaze settling coldly upon the small human who felt all the more tiny from it. “You wonder for you have no sense of honour, human. Or else you’d know.”

“And what would I know? That you’re willing to cut you way through everyone without a thought but pause to embarrass their governor?” Six sarcastically spat out as he sliced away, casting only a quick gaze to his controller.

“I gave him the chance for HONOUR.” Sha’tek growled, keeping his pitch in check in case there was a nearby patrol he hadn’t known of. “I let him know his worth to fight me in single combat. Few in the galaxy have the privilege to say they were cut down by Shusugaunti steel, and skill. Just because the Empire insulted my clan does not mean I do not respect the strength they have garnered through the right of conquest.”

“Insult your clan? What the frell are you talking about?” Six asked, as he suddenly raised his head from his work as a genuine curiosity. Suddenly Sha’tek’s eyes turned to that of a sharp anger.

“Who said you could stop working!?! If you think your questions are more important than what I have told you to do then I shall simply cut out your tongue!” Sha’tek hissed, as he brought his blade up to face at the young slicer whom immediately resumed typing. Six knew that Sha’tek needed him to crack data systems, but Sha’tek was right that he didn’t need a tongue to do that.

“Since I have little else to do with my time, I shall indulge your curiosity.” Sha’tek grumbled, as he looked out dully onto the wooded landscape they’d been hiding in for the past couple of days. “The Empire believes humans are superior to other species. The thought is rooted from years of preaching. They believe themselves greater than all other beings. INCLUDING myself and my clan! They dare think they can declare themselves our better without challenging our warriors to combat!?!”

“I come to prove to them they are WEAK. PATHETIC. That they are the prey.” Sha’tek murmured, narrowing his eyes as he gazed out across the forest. He sniffed at the air, taking the scent of something foolish enough to come from upwind. It smelt of plastics.

An Imperial patrol.

“Enough with talking, they are now closing in on us. We must leave this world.” Sha’tek said flatly, beginning to hide the signs they’d had an encampment there. He did have to admit, he had learned much in his life as a blade for hire he hadn’t known before. Survival above the waves was a largely new thing for him, and he had to catch on quick or die. It was the best learning environment for a true Shusugaunti.

Keeping downwind of his foes on instinct, Sha’tek lead his follower through the woodlands. It was a long walk to their destination through forests and rivers and fields, but finally they came upon what Sha’tek was looking for. It was an old farmhouse, that seemed to be for the better part abandoned save for rats and birds.

He crossed the non-maintained field, and came to the dilapidated barn. Six seemed a bit more on edge than normal, but Sha’tek shrugged off the man’s pointless fear. Environments never caused a Shusugaunti to get angsty, even if it was a graveyard riddled with the dead. At least a true Shusugaunti. With a slight bit of effort, the rusted doors opened.

With a flutter, several birds shot out the open door. Before them lay a variety of old utensils, but also something newer. Grabbing ahold of a tarp, Sha’tek ripped it away to reveal an older hovercraft. A large pick-up.

“You will drive, I will be in the back beneath this crop. You shall take me to the Spaceport. To docking pad number nine.” Sha’tek said flatly, as he got in the back of the truck. There were some bails of golden hay back there, with some work, Sha’tek buried himself. “If you are stopped by a patrol, hand them the ID in the glove compartment. And do not forget about the communicator and that it IS a communicator.”

“But… how…?” Six fumbled as he got into the driver’s seat of the vehicle and fetched the key.

“Do you think you are the only being that owes me debts? Or that I chose this planet and this time out of coincidence?” Sha’tek poised to the human, who gave him only silence as a response. “If I were foolish, I would already be dead.”

With a whir, the vehicle kicked to life. The gamble was that with so little of a garrison, and with so many places to hide, combined with the docile population that the Empire would put light garrisons once the cities were swept so they could sweep the country-side.

But really, the real threat was the one that was just under your nose. The one that worked within the system, not without. And that was really the trick, wasn’t it? For a being as unique as Sha’tek to slip in right in front of them and within the bounds of their system. It was why Sha’tek had to learn to gather debts. His culture didn’t value wealth, so he found it easy to surrender coin in exchange for things that money could never get him.

Like a man who seemed so run of the mill, that an Imperial Patrol would never suspect him of evil. A man that looked just like everyone else. More importantly, a man who was capable of slicing systems with this dangerous asset. Sha’tek would never tell Six this, but he was one of the most powerful assets a being in this galaxy could ask for.

Six was better off without an ego.

After a couple of stops by Imperial patrols, the pair had made their way to the Spaceport. It was under heavy watch and now was where things got tricky. It would seem very suspicious for Sha’tek to go shooting across the dock.

“-BZZT- Open on the empty cargo container, and drive the truck in. The code is A104195 –BZZT-” Sha’tek muttered into the communicator.

“-BZZT- What? How do you know that? –BZZT-” Six demanded of the Shusugaunti. He was impressed by Sha’tek having all these things set up, but this was a bit too out of the ordinary.

“-BZZT- You still ask questions. What did I tell you about me doing all these things for a reason? Do you not recognize this ship? This is the ship we arrived on. I chose it because someone who owed me a debt sold the ship to them at a cheap price. –BZZT-” Sha’tek scorned the slicer. Six merely just paused, perplexed for a moment on the complexity of Sha’tek’s plan.

After a slight pause, the truck pulled forward and raised a bit as it entered the cargo hold. Once the old metal doors came to a close, Sha’tek jumped out of the bails and shook, his scales shifting slightly at the unpleasantness of it. He still hadn’t gotten used to the scratchy crop humans grew.

“Shit! That actually worked!” Six cheered as he stepped out of the vehicle, relief all along his face. He couldn’t believe what had just happened and that the crazy plan worked. Sha’tek merely grabbed his Ssliath and headed into the vessel through the cargo door, and then heard a sickening thud. Six’s colour immediately vanished again as he came out into the hall to see a human land to the ground in a pool of his own blood, as his head rolled off the top of Sha’tek blade.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?!” Six yelled as he looked at the corpse and back to Sha’tek. “I mean… what? WHY?”

“They wouldn’t fly us knowing they had a criminal like me in their ship. The crew is more of a liability.” Sha’tek said as he flicked the blood off his blade. “If they are dead, they cannot report their missing ship. And since you seem to be useful enough for my purposes, I will proceed with my mission.”

“I… I…” Six muttered as he looked at the body of one of the members of the crew of the Harvest Moon. He had done bad things, but he had always been away from where Sha’tek killed. This was one of the first times he had seen an innocent man cut down who had done nothing more than get in the way.

“Get to work changing the database. We shall leave this planet within the hour. Our destination is Desitus.” Sha’tek stated without emotion or caring, proceeding to cleanse this ship of the rest of the crew would be put to the blade. He couldn’t risk them reporting him and ending his mission yet. He had so much more Imperial blood to spill!