The Rebel Faction

The MMI owner had his back to the conference table. He was looking out a viewport, at the remains of what had once been one of the foremost shipyards of the galaxy. Somehow the Chimeran's massacre of the yards and their personnel had gone nearly unnoticed amongst the rest of the galaxy. The survivors had done a masterful job of rescuing and restoring everything they could, however vast numbers of men and women had died, and their bodies continued to float through the asteroid field, until crushed by the rocks or other debris that seemed to be everywhere. It would take a massive cleanup and millions, perhaps billions of credits to return things the way they were and give as many of the fallen proper burials as possible.

* * * * Slowly he turned, the slightest hint of a tear in the corner of his eye. His entire life Petroski had despised those that would pick on others. Maladwen was the same, which was one of the traits that had brought them together as friends and business partners. While having been deep in thought however, he'd heard everything that had gone on, and logged it in the back of his mind. He shook Shadowlurker's hand and continued to stand.

* * * * "Yes gentlemen, we at Maverick Munitions are here on business. We're businessmen, that's what we do. We build and sell things, and we take every moral step we can to improve that which we've built. As I was saying, we're moral men as well. I must admit, I cried when I heard about the horror your people were put through. I've always hated such needless violence. Though most people don't know it, I'm from Toprawa, and I think you all know what happened there. After the original Death Star plans were ferried through by the Rebellion we were pounded flat, forced back into the dark ages! All my youth I had to beg for food from our Imperial oppressors, who usually just laughed and kicked me to the ground. Have any of you ever been kicked by a stormtrooper? Do you know how hard those boots are? Especially when your so thin from starvation that every bone can be seen clearly? Believe me when I tell you we only want the best for everyone who works here. My concience will allow nothing less."

* * * * "Under MMI management, a massive cleanup project will be launched. Some of the details of which should be coming up on the holo now. Ahh, there they are now. As you see, this includes clearing the wreckage from the asteroids, and recovering as many of the missing bodies as possible, so they may have proper burial. The materials recovered will be resmelted, remade into parts that will make up the new yards. Bilbringi reborn gentlemen! From the ashes you arise, yet stronger. You’ve done a fantastic job so far in recovering, despite horrendous circumstances. But now we’re here to help. I ask you, please accept our offer so we can truly do what is right here.”

* * * * While he spoke he looked slowly from man to man around the table. Eye to eye he looked into them directly. His words were filled with passion, everything he said completely and utterly true. Lowering his head slightly as he concluded, the single tear finally made it’s way down his cheek, falling silently to his chest. It left a tiny wet spot, seemingly a starburst, right next to the Maverick Munitions Emblem on his suit. Tentatively he licked his lips, looked once to Maladwen, and finally took a seat.

OOC

John will be unable to continue due to RL issues so I will take over the entire thread.


John shrugged slightly as they rounded another one of the many corners of the office complex. They came before a great transparisteel viewport, outside there were hundreds of tiny and large ships alike making movements about the asteroid field that had come to be known as Bilbingri.

"They have a lot of reason not to trust outsiders any more," he said with a sigh, "it's perfectly understandable."

Maladwen nodded and crossed his hands behind his back as he watched the little ships plucking things off of the asteroids.

"Let me ask you a question John," he asked with sudden seriousness. Petroski turned an inquisitive glance on him. "Do you think that Fearsons caused this?"

Maladwen had had a habit of asking questions like this out of the blue, but not as though he was genuinely curious about anything, more as though he was concerned, like he was trying to convince himself he was not a terrorist, to convince himself he had no affiliation with murderers.

"Well no, the Chimera Syndicate-," John was cut off by one of his friend's raised hands.

"No I mean, was it Fearsons's empire that caused this? Was it their actions that caused all this suffering?" he asked.

He had long asked these questions ever since the Republic liberation of his home world, Adumar. For before then he was a regular duelist, he loved the actions taken place in the open streets, the honor duels, the air combat, everything. That had all been taken from him, and he was slapped in the face by the New Republic's "civilty" laws.

But he'd always been afraid that he worked for something unjust, that he was some sort of murderer. On Adumar it was culture to do combat, there was nothing inherintly wrong with it. He had his morals there as well. Those who do not wish to do combat, do not do combat! It's that simple! Those who die do so on their own accord due to their own stupidity.

Out here that did not take place. Where he was a warrior there were cowards out here, that was seen with the Damorian Munitions Corporation, the Galactic Defense Initiative, the Chimera Syndicate. He did not want his talents to be wasted on such things, to insanely massacre civilians and crush their spirits like had been done at Bilbingri.

John put a hand on his Adumari friend's shoulder.

"Do not worry Mal," he said with a smile. "We're the good guys here. We're making their dreams come true again."

Maladwen nodded.

That did not truly answer his question.