The Rebel Faction

Brandenburg, Genon

He was not a droid, nor an organic. What he was, no-one was quite certain. What was sure, is that the Thing appeared to be revolting mass of decaying flesh and castoff droid parts. The humanoid shaped figure knelt down, cradling a wispy thin Arkanian. The thing’s twin photoreceptors burned through the Ithullian Infantry Helmet, staring at his creator. Attempting to breathe, the Arkanian leveled up a blaster pistol at the Thing. His hand slowly rose and wavered, and collapsed. The blaster pistol clattered to the ground, and the Arkanian went limp. The Thing stared at the alien, and let the body slip from his grasp and hit the ground with a sickly thud. His left limb, formerly that of an unfortunate Trandoshan, slid to his gunbelt. The Thing, better known to the galaxy as Gorm the Dissolver, stared down at his fallen creator for several seconds, before staring straight ahead. His voice boomed out.

“What is this? The fall of a genius, or of a fool? The fall of morality, or ascension to a higher purpose? He thought he suffered, the fool, when he tried to extinguish my life. But he brought it upon himself. The power to create is not the power to destroy. You cannot make an advancement to abandon it, and then terminate; no, not with any ill results. You must live with its results and accept responsibility. And I know this, that he was my creator, and yet he did would nothing for me. And of the spite in my heart, I will ignore his last request, his last will. I shall leave my treacherous homeland and seek glory throughout the galaxy. Heed my words citizens, lest his fate befall you.”

The Thing bowed down towards his creator, and was met with thunderous applause. As people rose from their seats, the other Thespians came out onto the stage, politely smiling at their audience; the din of the crowd increased. It was the play’s fifteenth performance at Brandenburg, and was proving to be something of a local sensation. As the show sold out, under the table ticket prices soared. People were lucky to get a seat, and few yet to receive one of the Theatre’s private balcony booths. That was, if a person didn’t possess any power. In one of the booths, a brunette woman rose from her chair, and smoothed out the fabric of her white dress. Her dark eyes out peered out at the crowd.

“So, what do you think? Was it worth your time?”

The booth’s other occupant, a slim, if somewhat athletic, man leaned back in his chair, pulling out a comlink from the pocket of his suit coat. He shrugged.

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?” questioned the woman.

“I can see why it has become popular. It has enough action and special effects that even a brute would find it amusing, and yet, the underlying themes have a message that almost everyone can relate to.”

“What’s that? If you create a monster, it will kill your wife?”

The man smiled. “Yes, that’s it. But in all seriousness, the writer is attempting to demonstrate tjat the loss of one member of a couple can cause the surviving member to lose his or her own identity. And eventually, become completely warped figures of themselves with but the thinnest strand of resemblance to their former selves. Though really, I think the actors, maybe even the playwrights, made it a little too maudlin.”

“That’s a little deeper than I was expecting from you, Corise.”

The man flashed a smile. “I try.”

“I thought you would be more interested in the main theme. The one that everyone else automatically sees.”

“That the advancement of sciences and knowledge brings with it a burden of responsibility?”

Thorn blinked. “Yes…and that sounds really familiar.”

“Well, I am literally parroting that from the CCNS play review…”

“That would be why.”

“It’s a valid theme,” noted the officer, “but we don’t have to see plays to see that message. We have but to look around us. Look at the Black Dragons; a civilization that has continually pushed the technological envelope without any regard for morals. The suffering they have brought to the Tion Sector and the fear they have spread to those around them. That is the monster of enslavement by technology. But alternatively, one could look at the Empire, and realize that it is even a greater monster than the Dragons, even if not technologically superior to BDE. For what they both possess is decaying moral standards.”

She snorted. “And after taking you to so many diplomatic functions, you haven’t learned to see things from the frameworks of other peoples?”

He smiled. “There are some innate, universal truths out there. Truths that even the most ardent Imperial must feel the tinges of in their cold hearts. Unjust deaths, enslavement, and a whole host of vices.”

“Which they do sometimes act against,” ventured the Pro-consul.

“In public, to be sure. But everyone knows, even the most meanest of vagrants know that they support it in secret, when they do not do it overtly. And that is to their own detriment. They may profit in short-term, but they are sowing the seeds of long-term decay in their foundations.”

She laughed. “Two months away, and when I get to see you next, you’re all caught up in these magniloquent talks. Who are you, some kind of preacher trying to spread a gospel of truth among the unenlightened savages?”

“Of course,” smiled the officer, “because if it seems that way, then it must be true.”

Christina slowly shook her head. “I much as I enjoy to banter with you, and to watch plays with you. I know didn’t come back from your beloved Revanche to spend some quality time with an old childhood friend.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Yes,” stated the diplomat, “Now why are you really here?”

“Madam Pro-consul,” stated the Colonel, “I am here on the behalf of my people; to make a case for the Gast tribe. The Rear-Admiral has said a little about our people?”

Christina folded her arms and leaned back. “A little. I have to say, you are the most unstereotypical Multopo I have ever met.”

The alien’s mouth opened in a mockery of a human grin. “You were expecting a Multopo who spoke pidgin Basic and wore no clothing. Let alone one which was a Confederation special forces officer.”

“And one with the surname of Gast,” mused the woman, “that’s a decidedly non-Multopos name.”

“And behind is a tale that deserves some explanation,” acknowledged the alien, beginning to reminiscence, “when we were hatched in the tanks of the Corporation, we had no known fathers or mothers. We were just a bunch of hatchlings that were the experiments of a man named Dr. Gast. We were bred by Gast for the warlord Zsinji to be loyal, aquatic shock troops for amphibious operations. And what a force we could have made. A Multopo as you probably know, is extremely adept in the water. We can swim in the deepest ends of our oceans for hours at end, and yet, at the same time, we can move about on land at speeds just slightly below your own species.”

“And you received training for this?” questioned the woman.

“Yes and no,” stated the Colonel, “our first lessons were on speaking fluent Basic. We learned by watching these children holos and trying to talk with our ‘trainers’ and each other, just like a human baby would learn how to speak in a family. After that, things got complicated. The New Republic in their war against Zsinji struck the complex, and all of the projects being kept there were evacuated by Gast to new locations. But one of our trainers was sympathetic to us, and in the resulting chaos, reported our deaths as part of the destruction of the facility when the Republic blew it up. Instead, he procured a freighter which took us to Baralou, the planet of our ancestors. He had gone to great lengths in this operation, providing the most basic modern necessities, even things that obviously didn’t work well on water worlds, like comlinks or datapads. We never used much of it as we adapted to our new home. Except for the vibroknives and blasters. We hunted for game, mostly fish, gathered plants. Tried to meet and observe the actions of the native Multopos, who we could only talk to through Basic. And like the natives, we ran into our own problems, particularly with the Krikthasi. The beings that stole our eggs and even engaged us in open conflict from time to time. But unlike the native Multopos, we did not merely start to find ways to protect our eggs. No, we started an offensive, hunting down the Krikthasi with ease because of our modern technology...”

The alien hesitated, shifting slightly on his webbed feet.

“I am ashamed to say this, but we protected our young too well; within months, there weren’t any Krikthasi tribes within kilometers, and only the most desperate of their bunch snuck onto the fringes of our claimed territory. And our children were safe. It was fine at first, until all of the eggs began to hatch, we belatedly realized that we had a problem. We had too many hatchlings. It was hard enough to find the food to feed them and ourselves within our staked area. We were forced to expand our area to support our population. We had to hunt more and more, and expand as our population continued to increase at exponential rates. And this, as you can well full imagine, brought us into contact with other less technologically advanced Multopos Tribes. And we had quarrels and several times even skirmishes. But it taught me and my people an important lesson: even if technology and logic solves all of your initial problems, it in turn produces more problems. Have you seen it?”

The Pro-Consul slowly nodded. “When the Confederation broke away from the Galactic Coalition, it was a conscious choice between freedom and defence. For under the Coalition, we did enjoy the benefits of a strategic alliance, but the fusion within the Coalition brought us into contact with ideals and people we didn’t necessarily agree with at times, particularly so with the more warhawk elements within the group. We did not agree with attacking the Empire at Bilbringi, but as loyal Coalition member states, we did send ships to support the effort. And we paid for our decision with the lives of our brave servicemen. It was a decision we had to rectify, and we did so, at great cost to our reputation to some members of the galactic community. But it has been well worth it. For now we have both freedom and the ability to protect it. It took learning from our mistakes; a new beginning.”

“Which is why am I here,” announced the Colonel, “I am here to plead for you the chance to grant my people a new beginning.”

She arched an eyebrow. “How so?”

“What do you see out that viewport?” asked the Multopo, gesturing with his webbed hands.

The Pro-consul’s dark eyes stared outside. “I see New Hesiode, a moon of Genon, and little more than a ball of water. But you see it as a place for a new beginning for your people, is that it?”

“Yes,” admitted Gast, “I do. We too have learned from our past, and there have been ways invented by our own people and the medical experts of Treppok to control our population. If we stay on Baralou, we will continue to wreck havoc with the ecosystem and disrupt the lives of the other Multopos. And while we are almost biologically identical, our cultures are completely different, and they view us as much as aliens as they would view you, madam Pro-Consul.”

The woman stared at Corise. “Why have you traveled here, without your beloved flagship, to bring this case to my personal attention? Even if you do convince me, I am not currently leading the Council.”

A slow grin crept across the younger Lucerne’s face.

“I am looking out for my own. You see, the Colonel’s people have temporarily solved their problem, by enlisting within the Confederation military, where most of them serve in the few aquatic infantry forces that we have. They are invaluable to us in many places. Yet when they are done serving their country, where will they go? To Baralou? To a mess that may be the home of their forefathers, but not of them? Neither the other Multopos or the Krikthasi will welcome them there. They are a distinctly unique culture that need their own place. And New Hesiode looks perfect for it. There is a planned colonization for the moon as it is, because of the discovery of Pyerite within the moon’s crest. Moreover, it already does have a small naval training facility there, so an arranged military transfer of them would not be a difficult matter for myself.

And while you may not hold the leadership spot of the Council currently, you do have connections with the parties which have been organizing the colonization. I’m certain that the New Oceanus Councilor and Elder Monoceros would certainly support this notion. We do…they do have rather strong ties with Kashan.”

She arched an eyebrow. “As a personal favor?”

He nodded. “And one for our people, especially those on Baralou. What better way to solve this problem than to make it into a solution? And what better way to honor those that serve?”

Locris

Brackman, clad in his dark blue uniform, walked off the boarding collar into the city of Locris, the partially built capital of New Hesiode. Fresh air recently produced through the city’s hydrolosis plants immediately greeted the man; who had become accustomed to the stale air which constantly was recycled throughout the Thrasher. A smile creased his face. Nothing quite like fresh air after days of this recycled junk. The Gast clan seems to have done fairly well for itself if this is to be their new haven. Heck, I’d like to live someplace like this when I retire…though really, the Thrasher has been a good home to me. He pivoted on his heel, to face the sub from the safety of two meter thick planes of ceraglass and its accompanying durasteel frame. The ship’s ventral and dorsal hatches had been opened, allowing Multopos workers to haul the crates containing the parts for the hydrostatic bubble generators and the power generators to be unloaded with ease. The crates tumbled out into the deep, wavering in the currents until the powerful Multopos swimmers grabbed them to haul into the city’s lower airlocks.

“Captain Brackman,” stated an educated voice.

“Colonel Gast?” replied the man, spinning back around on his heel.

The Multopos nodded. “I’m glad to see that your ship made it here safe and sound. The cargo is undamaged?”

“Yes. It was a rather uneventful trip, aside from seeing the new Glumpfish. Should it have been otherwise?”

The webbed creature grinned. “I should hope not, but you never know. You’ve heard the rumours about the Thresher?”

Brackman nodded. “I have, and one of my crewmembers told me that it’s undergoing repairs right now. Did it really happen?”

The Multopo looked over his shoulder. “Why don’t I take you to my office, and I can talk to you about that, and some other matters pertaining to your ship.”

Brackman nodded back in acknowledgement. A slight grin wrinkled the alien’s skin before flattening out as the tempest of the sea gives way to calm, glassy waters. They passed through several airlocks and walkways, affording the man to see the progress of the city’s building. Increasingly, the prefabricated structures deployed from the Confederation Merchant Fleet were giving way to designs more suitable for the deeps of New Hesiode. Multopos shaped and crafted buildings out of slowly hardening duracrete and a mixture of special industrial materials which made the duracrete hardened and watertight. Whether it was a home or a fishing plant, they all shared the same design aesthetic, doubtlessly partially inspired by the prefab buildings; pairs of duracrete obelisks set at angles in to the ground to form a lattice work, which was then faced with ceraglass or simple duracrete blocks. All were connected to each other by a series of ceraglass tunnels similar to the one Brackman currently traveled through. It would certainly provide a nice vista of the ocean and its life to its occupants while providing the proper protection against the depths too. It would probably take a very high powered pack of explosives to even remotely damage one their homes. Very sturdy, very practical, and yet there is a touch of an attempt to become one with nature. Interesting.

“You can see that the construction is going quite well,” commented the Colonel, “the city should be fully operational within a month, or a little after that. Not as fast as the other colonists, but I think our city is better than theirs.”

A grin cropped on the Captain. “Locris is certainly a much better settlement than the others. There is a certain mystique, maybe even a grandeur, about this city. I think, that if, no, when I retire, I would want to be someplace like this. Not someplace close to the sea, but someplace to be with the sea.”

Gast smiled. “Your sentiments echo most of those of my people. Perhaps we can reserve a spot for you here, right next to New Hesiode Hall.?”

“What?”

The Multopo smiled. “Lucerne put quite a lot of influence into the colonization meeting, and combined with that of Thorn, gave us more than a few extra benefits that we weren’t planning on. One them is for Locris to act as the capital of our new world. New Hesiode Hall is being planned out right now. It’ll probably be something like the rest of these buildings, but larger, and more durable and secure.”

“How can you make these more durable and secure?”

“They are to us,” replied the alien, “because even in the unlikely event that the city somehow becomes flooded, we can survive, no, thrive in the waters. But for the nonaquatics like yourself, that would be a disaster. Tell me, do you think you could survive if the city became flooded.”

“Not for long,” admitted Brackman, “not because I couldn’t swim, but because of the depths.”

“Exactly, so New Hesiode Hall will have to incorporate multiple redundant seals and rooms to make sure it can almost never be flooded or destroyed. Those hydrostatic bubble generators are part of that idea, but for as a dual water control system for the entire city. Along with simple airlocks, of course.”

“Of course.”

The two neared an old-fashioned, manual blast door, on which a silver Unitas was inscribed. Gast fished for his code cylinder, and inserted it into a reading socket. An artificial click emanated from behind the door. The Colonel neatly pocketed the device and reeled the crank. The door opened, revealing Gast’s quarters. It was a single room the size of most Corellian light freighters constructed in the typical Locris fashion of lattice worked beams and ceraglass, providing an unparalled view of Locris and the surrounding wilderness. It was an otherwise sparse room, with a single surplus cot and several bags filled with the being’s personal belongings. The two entered, and Gast locked the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” announced the alien, “but I do not even have a chair for you to sit in. As you can probably tell, things have been busy setting up the city. The only time I am here is to change clothes and sleep.”

Brackman waved the issue away, “I understand.”

The Multopo smiled back. “Then I shall get to the point. The rumours you have heard about the Thresher are true. At least if they are the same ones that I have been hearing. A Colo Claw Fish did indeed enter the city limits, which is most peculiar.”

“Oh?”

“We introduced a lot of species to this moon,” explained Gast, “because there was little life around when the first scouts landed and surveyed it months ago. But the Colo Claw Fish wasn’t one of them, and currently, the only other place it is known to exist is on Naboo, which raises an interesting thesis about New Hesiode’s relation to Naboo, but I digress. The fish was problem; it came out of nowhere and attacked an unfinished building on the city’s outskirts; perhaps mistaking some of the ceraglass for the body of a jellyfish. I imagine it figured out that it wasn’t a jellyfish when it was impaled by the building’s durasteel-reinforced beams and cut by the shards of the ceraglass. It became berserk, attempting to hit anything and destroy anything in its path. Naturally, we can’t have that in our city, and since it was a big fish, we threw everything we had at it, including the Thresher. The sub basically finished off the creature with its torpedoes, but in its death thrall, it used is claws to rip apart the sub’s hull platings and its hypersonic screech ability to stun many of the Thresher’s crew. The sub barely survived intact. The Thresher took 35% fatality casualties.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

The Multopo let out a sigh. “Because we’re not sure if there will be another one or not, and I’d prefer you not be caught off guard by one. And for another reason; you will be losing men, and maybe even your life. So I would like to let you and your people know the gratitude that we Multopos feel towards you. You don’t have to be here, I know this is a voluntarily assignment. Thank you sir, for being willing to oppose the natural order for our benefit.”

“I thank you for your words and candor,” replied the man, “but are being ignorant if you think it is only for your own benefit. I expect great things to come out of Locris, and I am sure that Lucerne and Thorn think so too. Otherwise, they never would have backed this colonization, I suspect.”