The Rebel Faction

Salyrini, Sarka

Costigan kept his face blank, but subtly bended his knees. His legs had gone stiff after standing for several hours while “Demesk” performed his mechanical dance. The native of Genarius had lost all sense of appreciation for the droid's intricate dancing patterns, but the native Sarkans seemed intrigued by the design. I wonder if it's because the dancing is actually concerned good, or the info in it, or maybe even the spectacle of a droid that mimics a species so well... Costigan still remembered the first time he had met a HRD. In retrospect, that droid's actions would have been creeped him out if he knew it was a droid, not the human it pretended to be. It made him wonder if some of the more distant sarkans weren't aware of its true nature. He let his mind drift again to their landing on the jungle world. The wonderous expanse of jungle seemed light years away since he had entered the cave city of Salyrini, the sarkan cave city. Brilliant gems lit up the caverns with an illuminance brighter than some days on many Confederate worlds, yet for all the lighting, there wasn't much to see aside from the plain stony walls. The only thing remotely interesting he had seen in the city were the vast mineral hot springs. Some of them appeared to be open to the public, and the man wished that he'd be able to spend some time tonight, resting his weary legs in their therapeutic waters. His mind returned to reality just in time to see Demesk finish its intricate dance. A blue-skinned sarkan named Ganis dressed in what appeared to be a ruby-encrusted robe stalked up to the droid, inquisitively eying it.

“Very impressive,” pronounced the sarkan, turning to Ambassador Meritxell, “I am honored by Demesk's dance.”

The droid replied back in Sarkese. The sarkan leader's bright yellow eyes blinked in surpise. The alien replied in kind to the droid before returning his attention to the confederate ambassador.

“I have never seen a dance quite as impressive as that of your droid's, or should I say, your Confederation's,” replied the Tribal Leader, “but we have had few guests as of late.”

“Because of the Reavers,” stated the woman plainly.

Ganis cocked his dinosaur-like head to the side and stared down at the woman, “That is one reason. But tell me, Rear-Admiral Costigan, did you not find our fleet impressive?”

Costigan paused. He had seen elements of the Sarkan fleet in orbit. The ships themselve were very new Stellar Enterprise models, but their welcoming formation suggested a lack of training. He wasn't entirely sure if that was because the crew were just getting adjusted to their ships, or the crews themselves were simply inexperienced. But what he did know from CSIS was that the Sarkans had driven off a Reaver squadron nearly month ago with heavy losses. How many had survived, the Confederates did not, but it was entirely possible that they had had to replace their entire navy. But how to show we know that without pissing the little buggers off...He met the sarkan's gaze head on.

“Impressive enough,” admitted the Rear-Admiral, “and I hope they are as effective as those that came before them protecting Sarka. You have my condolences for those you recently loss.”

Ambassador Meritxell caught his eye. If only eyes could kill, we'd already have the best weapon to deal with this Reaver menace! Before the sarkan could respond, Meritxell was already cheerfully talking about the impressiveness of the sarkan homeworld, yet the sarkan kept glancing back at Costigan, as if expecting the man to talk more. But the native of Genarius merely kept his mouth clamped shut, already content with the verbal lashing he would likely endure from the ambassador at the night's end.

The turbo-car trip seemed to take hours to Costigan. Water pooled out of the Confederates skin and clothes to form as a sizeable puddle on the cabin's polished durasteel floor. The cabin itself sported heavily upholstered benches, a mini-bar (which he would have taken advantage of if not for the current situation), and holo-projector streaming content from the world's main holo-channels. None of the shows presented so far remotely interested the man, though Ambassador Meritxell and Jilieren seemed at least moderately entertained by what appeared to be a sort of Sarkan reality holo series. He surreptitiously eyed the other human in the car. How does she do that? She can't possibly understand all of that Sarkese...He turned to face Demesk. The droid seemed about as entertained by the holo-projector as Costigan did as it sat motionlessly with its half-closed mechanical eyelids. Finally, the turbo-car stopped, the doors slid open, and the motley group got clear of the repulsor tracks that the cars glided upon.


They stood before a set of nondescript blastdoors innocously labelled “Power Station Besh Eight Nine Seven”. The sarkan tapped a button on a comlink; the doors swooshed open to reveal a neatly decorated antechamber, where the next set of blastdoors was flanked by a pair of extravagrant statues. Someone needs to tell these guys about how to make a better hidden bunker...Jilieren hurriedly ushered the Confederates in before closing the doors behind them. As he did so, the doors in front of them opened to reveal Ganis. Instead of wearing the gaudy robes he wore earlier, the alien wore a simple long-hemmed black tunic whose elegance was derived from its surprisingly clean lines. The ruler of the world offered an outstretched claw and nearly yanked Ambassador Meritxell into his private layer. In that instant, he spotted a large bacta patch slapped onto the alien's arm. The rest of the group entered the large cavern.

“What happened to your arm, Chieftain?” questioned Costigan.

“An assassination attempt, probably by my fifth cousin...”

Uh-huh. You're almost assassinated, and that's all you've got? Apparently they didn't try hard enough...

“...luckily, my personal shield projector took the brunt of the blast...”

He clamped his mouth shut. Anyone who has both the money to buy and operate one, as well as the paranoia to actually keep that on has a hell of a story to tell...

“How do you know it's your fifth cousin?” questioned the Confederate diplomat.

“Because,” replied Ganis exasperatedly, “he is suddenly next in line to throne, after that disaster that Costigan mentioned earlier.”

Costigan frowned, “But he's your fifth cousin, you said...you didn't loose the rest of your family in that battle, did you?”

“One of the ships the Reavers ambushed was the tribal yacht. It was taking my family to different parts of the galaxy to drum up support for our tourism industry. My 5th cousin commanded one of the warships guarding it and the nova rubies the family was transporting to help with the advertising. But he stole the rubies, called in the Reavers, and absconded without a word. I've had several recent attempts on my life recently, but this is far too close to hide now. I need your people's help.”

“You want us to bring in your cousin for trial?”

“No,” stated the chieftain, “I want him dead before he even reaches our world. With the supply of nova rubies he's stolen, he has enough money to buy a mercenary force large enough to overwhelm the remaining Sarkan fleet and half of our army. But I don't think he'll do that. I think he'll keep on hiring assassins to kill me so he can legitimately take the chieftainship next. So here is what I'm prepared to do. I am willing to completely cut down on the negotiations. Sarka joins, and as a prize for your help with this situation, any of the rubies you recover can go straight to the federal government. I know that you need the money. And I need your forces, not only just now, but in the future, to keep our tourism industry running safe. But there is one catch. I want to see my cousin's actual head as proof of his death. I know that may not be easy, but I cannot afford to have him slip away to strike again later on.”

Rear-Admiral Costigan spared a glance at the Meritxell. She bit her lip. Yeah...kind of where I'm at too. I can't say we've ever had to cut off someone's head before. Is that even legal? Probably not...just great. The confederate ambassador flipped back a strand of her dark hair.

“How safe do you feel here?” asked the woman.

The alien paused, “Safe enough.”

“But safer than you would on the Swiftsure?”

Brailey found himself biting back a smile. His flagship was likely one of the safest areas in the galaxy as far as assassination plots were concerned. It was a heavily isolated and restricted environment, but the sheer size of the environment combined with thousands of Confederate troops and battle droids onboard made it nearly impossible for an assassin to infiltrate. There would be no easy way to assassinate the leader then. His brown eyes stared inquisitively at the chieftain. And now we have something he wants. Yet the alien still hesitated. Oh, he is going to counterbid us...

“Would that not appear weak to my people? Hiding on a massive warship like a coward?”

“Like a hero,” suggested the woman, “coordinating your fleet from our warship to strike at the Reavers and recover your world's lost treasure. You could even be there yourself to see your cousin's death.”

“What is the catch?”

“We're not going to behead your cousin,” announced the ambassador, “we can't do that under Confederate law, I'm fairly certain. But we could capture him, hand him over to you and your fleet, and then you can do what you please with him. Sold on the idea?”

“Deal.”

Several hours later, the Confederates had been able to search the entire wreck, finding no trace of the nova rubies the warship had been transporting. They had found Desgodi sprawled out across his cabin's floor, his blue-green skin riddled with blaster wounds. Yet the Confederates found no physical evidence of the boarders' identities. Fortunately, the starship's computer cores were still mostly intact enough for Confederation slicers to salvage the warship's short-term sensor memories. What they did find were the images of a squadron of free-booting buccaneers: the Maelstrom Eight. While not a terribly large gang, they had a reputation for unpredictable and ruthless raids that were said to do the damage of a much larger group of pirates. Costigan didn't quite buy their reputation, but he had to admit that the group had been unusually successful. Chieftain Ganis had poured his mind into the Swiftsure's databanks, pooling over all of the information the Confederation had available on the criminal band. Rear-Admiral Costigan quietly approached his command chair, half expecting Ganis to actually get out of it. But the alien didn't.

“Well, at least your cousin is dead,” started the man, “you shouldn't have to worry about assassination threats any more.”

“Now my world probably has a larger problem,” half-snarled the reptilian, “a bunch of bandits who know of our wealth and know of the lack of my planet's strength. Desgodi probably told them all about our world if he tried to hire them like you think he did. But there is some hope.”

“What is that?”

“One of the nova rubies in the stash wasn't a ruby,” informed the chieftain, “it was a tracking device, just in case they were to get stolen.”

“That's how you knew Desgodi was here,” theorized Brailey.

The alien nodded, “But it is only a matter of time before they realize that once they start looking at the gems more closely, if they have not already. We need to move now.”

“Can you provide to me the location of the tracker?”

The reptilian hesitated, “It's a set of coordinates in the middle of space. I do know if they dumped it already. I will leave shortly to lead my ships back to protect Sarka in case they are headed there now. If you would...if you would divide up your forces with mine, and see if you can follow find the tracker...I would be in your debt.”

“Consider it done. I'll have our hyperspace capable fighters accompany your ships back home.”

The alien leader hopped off Costigan's command chair and offered a little bow before departing the warship's bridge. He's worried. Brailey slid back onto his command chair and watched the blinking dot on the distant coordinates. Still hasn't moved, that's a good sign, right? He gave the appropiate orders. Within a half hour, the Confederation warship was travelling the confines of hyperspace to the tracker's location, while the allied fleet headed back to defend Sarka from the alleged pirate invasion force. The Rear-Admiral poured over Ganis' aggregated research, hoping to not only get a handle on the pirates, but also into how Ganis' mind worked. The alarm klaxon ripped his mind from the research. Seconds later, the mammalian-shaped warship emerged among the stars at the set coordinates, hovering just above a tangled collection of mismatched hulls woven to form a impromptu space station. A shadowport. Comm traffic filled the space and dozens of starships began to attempt to leave the station.

“Interdict all traffic,” ordered the Rear-Admiral, “and lock tractor beams onto any ship attempting to move. Launch the drones.”

Piranha drones, the only starfighters left on the star defender, swarmed out of the sides of the craft. Warheads and lasers began to litter the space between the Confederates and the port's shadowy clientele. The Swiftsure's powerful weaponry began to silence their foes as they appeared. Brailey flipped a few switches on his console and put on his headset mike.

“All vessels power down immediately for boarding. All ships attempting to flee the area will be fired upon if not destroyed. Any ships or crewmembers not found to have committed a crime will be released.”

You always have to give them the illusion of hope, even if there is none...

Yet despite the variety of craft they engaged, the Rear-Admiral saw no trace of the Maelstrom Eight. It confused him. Few of the craft escaped the confederate warship's sudden appearance, but those that did CSIS would later flag as suspect vessels. A full legion of Paladin II droids boarded and captured the station, encountering little significant resistance. Once the droids had secured the station, a scanner team from the Swiftsure was able to locate the cache of nova rubies. The man watching over them only had to say “You will regret this” before offing himself with a blaster. It almost worried Costigan, before the Rear-Admiral got back to his nightly rounds of drinks with his fellow officers.