The Rebel Faction

Hilter Afdol is best described as an Oruip Onion, a type of produce that his company, Agro Incorporated, sends to markets across the galaxy daily. An Oruip Onion has several thick distinct layers, each with a wildly different color than the next; sometimes one onion contains ten different colors. Each layer has its own distinct flavor- but that’s not what makes an Oruip Onion special. What make it truly unique is the fact that from onion to onion, the number, thickness and order of the layers varies, even between specimens on the same plant. One fat Oruip might contain seven layers, while another specimen from the same plant could have 5 layers, and omit all the colors of its cousin. Why such behavior occurs is unknown, and is quite a mystery in the botanical world; but that fact that it does makes the Oruip a delicacy and commoners veggie at the same time. Some Oruips are intricate, delectable and simply scrumptious. Others are frenetic, simplistic and in all frankness, terrible. What you get isn't apparent, however, until the Oruip is opened up.

Hilter Afdol shares several characteristics with an Oruip Onion. He is a man of many trades and talents and can change radically from day to day. He is also a man of many secrets, often hidden deep behind his outward façade, that can only be reached by peeling away his exterior. He is unpredictable and is liable to go off on a whim, such as his bid for the leadership of the Azguards, and his decision to start an agricultural corporation. Much like the Oruip, those plans successes range from amazingly good, to horrifically bad. Most of the time, Hilter puts together a reliable string of ‘goods’ before having a ‘bad’. His secret planning for the Galactic Liberation Front is a perfect example of his quality of work- tremendous successes the majority of the time, with a few utter failures mixed in.

His work on Agro Incorporated however, could be labeled a complete success. Building a massive company from scratch is an impressive feet for anyone, but even more so for a man who relied on natural instincts and intelligence as his primary guidance. Agro Inc. was built almost singled handedly by one man, with no business background, to become the largest and most dominant entity on crop laden Garqi. Absorbing almost all competition on the world, Agro pumps out massive amounts of foodstuffs every season, an exporting it to every corner of the galaxy. With such a dominating control of a fertile world like Garqi, Agro has become one of the major players in the galaxies food production scene. A report of a good harvest on Garqi can send food futures of all sorts soaring, while a poorer report can send shockwaves right to the store shelves. There are other players as well, just as large or larger than Agro, but Hilter already has plans to expand his companies power to other areas. With fields and influence elsewhere already, Hilter’s actively working on gaining total market share on other worlds like Garqi. In doing so, he and Agro will have to go head to head with several other major players in the Agricultural business. When that happens, the equivalent of corporate warfare ensures, as lobbying, bidding and planning become the three fronts in the fighting. But where other companies have only themselves to throw into the fray, Hilter has a resource that will prove to be invaluable.

The Union.


The galaxy is a huge place. Duh. Tremendously large. Inordinate amounts of area. Some of it is amazing, stunning, awe-inspiring, and breathtaking. The sort of place where holo-vids are made; where pictures are plastered on clothing and souvenirs and people flock by the thousands simply to say they've been there. Other places are amazing in a different sort of way- inspiring because they are they unique way they are. Coruscant is the ultimate example. A planet covered in cityscape, with barley a reminder of what was once a living world. No one can go to Coruscant for the first time and say they aren't deeply moved (possibly by revulsion or disgust, but moved none the less.)
However, most of the galaxy is not amazing or breathtaking or awe inspiring.

Most of the galaxy is boring.

The reason most of the galaxy is boring, is that for the interesting parts to function, the boring parts must exist. The mighty shipyards that produce the warships of the galaxy would cease to function if the many dull ordinary mining colonies of the galaxy didn't pump out raw material for them to shape and mold. The cityscapes and tourist attractions can't be marred by the sweatshops and droid factories that pour out their wares, and thus the usefulness of the Corporate Sector becomes readily apparent. The galaxy is littered with examples of places that are plain and unexciting. However, even the dullest place can have its quirks- or even events that propel that locale to the top of interest cycle. Tatooine was a backwater, unimportant desert rock where a mega corporation had foundered and hooded midgets provided the only form of native entertainment. The planet was abandoned multiple times, and was "the place farthest from the bright center of the universe": until Luke Skywalker was brought there, a space battle was fought over it, and Jabba located his crime syndicate's palace on the backwater planet. Then Tatooine became a hot-bed of interest and intrigue which is still boiling to this day, proving even the most dull of locales can become a galactic point of interest....

Garqi
Agro Incorporated Headquarters

Sometimes Hilter Afdol wondered why he chose to accommodate his employees in the manner in which he often did. As CEO it was his prerogative to do things when and where the suited him, yet here he was, strolling down a long hallway en route to a conference room at the opposite end of the building. The primary reason for that choice of location was convenience for the majority of attendees, who merely had to walk across the hall from auditorium where they had been viewing a large multimedia presentation detailing un upcoming focus on expanding Agro Inc off-world.

He could have made the meeting near his office. He could have chosen his own personal convenience. Yet, for some reason, until now the thought hadn't occurred to him. He peered back into the past, recalling his thoughts when scheduling the meeting. He quickly had the answer; he had wondered how to best facilitate the largest number of people involved in the meeting. He spent a good deal of time and energy looking up available locations and cross-referencing them with the people with which he was going to be meeting. He immediately chalked this action as the product of his logistically inclined mind-the mind that helped him coordinate the complex operations of the GLF. As he turned a corner, another thought sprang to his head, which provoked an interesting question.

He had never once thought about his own personal convenience, even when considering all those involved in the meeting (he had omitted himself). The question was Why?

Why had he disregarded his own interests for those of others? He could think of no logical reason, especially considering the fact that it would be his privilege to pick a location for the meeting that would best suit his needs.

He would have continued along that line of thought had he not been distracted by the pair of armored soldiers marching the opposite direction down the hallway. Their white armor had been recently polished and reflected the lights put off by the small chandeliers that hung from the ceilings. Any sentient being in the galaxy could have told you who was walking down the hallway- Imperial Stormtroopers. Hilter walked by the two without incident, they seemed not to notice the CEO of Agro as they passed him, and continued on his way. He wasn't surprised to see a pair of stromtroopers walking the halls of the Agro Headquarters (they were a semi-common sight) but despite the fact that the Imperial presence had been evident on Garqi for some time, Hilter didn't think he would ever get used to seeing them walking the halls. Every time he saw a group, Hilter had to suppress an urge to go the other direction. Most of the stormtroopers paid him no attention, and the few that did were very respectful (they were the ones who knew Hilter wasn't just some stupid corporate lackey) but the feeling of insecurity he had around them lingered despite their countenance.

His feelings about the stormtroopers mirrored that of the Imperial occupation in general: outwardly he accepted it, but inwardly Hilter retained a certain feeling of paranoia and even fear of the Imperial presence. Part of that stemmed from what he had revealed in his office to Captain Sansa, on the night that sealed Garqi's status as an Imperial Protectorate. He had revealed his ties to the GLF... revealed enough details to be dragged off to some god-forsaken hellhole and tortured or even just summarily shot. He had been telling himself over and over that if Sansa had wanted to have him "dealt with" he would have done so already, and that he was worrying for nothing; but the constant reminder of how vulnerable he was among the legions of Imperials on Garqi had kept the thought fresh in his mind.

He really had not wanted to reveal his connection to the terrorist organization so candidly, but...

The meeting was in five minutes, and Hilter realized he had been standing still in the middle of the hallway, as he was thinking. A common occurrence of his, to be lost in thought and shrink away from the outside world. It had happened many times, and Hilter knew that the long pause simply allowed him to focus all of his mental energy on one target. Hilter started walking again, his pace quickened.

He had an important meeting to get to.

Rulant

The first kill was always the best.

The first target never knew what hit them.

The first impact was the kill shot.

The first was very rarely the last.


Qive's left eye peered through the tiny hole that passed for a scope on the A-295 sniper rifle, following the movement of a slowly marching guard. Ostensibly the guard was there to protect the field from arsonists. In reality... Qive smiled as a thought suddenly popped up in his head. In reality the guard would become a spark that would ignite a conflagration greater than any a mere arsonist might try to light.

Qive closed his left eye, letting his unaided right optic to scan the expansive field in front of him. Scores of humans and aliens were laboring, gallons of sweat pouring of their bodies as the afternoon sun beat down on their backs. Many went without clothing, or very close to it. Others had covered themselves like tusken raiders, using highly breathable fabric to shield them from the powerful rays of the planet's primary. There were fewer of these workers, but only one would be needed.

The field was in full bloom, at its plants were nearly 8 feet tall. The field was taking a patchwork appearance as sections of it were cut down, but it was primarily still standing. Qive surmised the plant must have multiple uses, as he watched laborers pick off odd shaped growths, presumably fruit, from the large thick stalks; then when the stalk was bare, cut the plant down and hauled it away. Workers appeared and disappeared at random as they stepped into and out of sections of the field were work still being done.

The guards walked on raised earthen walls that lined the edges of the fields. The earthen embankment sat over a shallow ditch that served to contain the run-off from severe storms. These particular fields lay in a high precipitation area, and were sometimes used to grow a semi-aquatic foodstuff in partially submerged paddies. When the field wasn't being used in this manner, the ditch was often used to capture rainwater for irrigation, a practice that saved money and conserved water. It also had the fringe benefit of acting as a sort of moat for the guards, who looked down on the fields as the defenders of an ancient castle looked down upon an army of besiegers.

Qive's own location was in on one of those earthen embankments, albeit, a partially collapsed one. The field adjacent to the one which he was surveying had been the site of a small accident- a crop dusting hovercraft had malfunctioned and begun spraying a potent weed-killing herbicide at extreme concentrations and was shot down to stem the damage- and was the perfect locale for launching this operation. It was overrun with a hybrid of indigenous weeds (hardy, quick-growing specimens were all that had survived generations of targeted elimination) and some unculled crop that stood at towering levels but looked rather sickly. Strewn throughout the field was the debris of the large craft, most notable the epi-center of its crash which had been the earthen retaining wall. It had nearly punched a hole threw the thick mound, stopped short only by a foot or so. The sides of the gaping hole had collapsed and in its wake a large pile of loose earth remained. The field was scheduled to be burned down and readied for re-planting in three days, once there was no danger that the fire would harm nearby fields, ripe for the harvest.

The opportunity presented itself. Qive watched with his right eye as a heavily clad worker knelt down at the edge of an open patch of the field that had been recently picked clean. The guard Qive had been watching earlier was facing that worker, but conveniently turned and began walk in the opposite direction, his back to the kneeling worker. Qive immediately stopped breathing. Accuracy was critical.

Sometimes in life it just helps to be a Gen'Dai.

The laser bolt flew straight and true... millimeters to the right of the guards head. He spun with amazing speed, his mouth opened wide, yelling. He started to raise his rifle. Thank (insert deity here) for human instinct. Qive pressed a small button that was in his stabilizing hand. In the center of the field, partially buried, an anti-personal mine exploded in a small orange fireball, and sent thousands of tiny spherical pieces of shrapnel flying in all directions. The look on the guards face was classic, confusion mixed with anger and an underlying terror consuming it all.

The next shot hit the guard on the bridge of the nose.

He fell forward, into the partially filled irrigation ditch. All hell began to break loose. Other guards were rushing toward the field: some had seen their compatriot fall, others hadn't. Workers were rushing out of the thick crops, many bleeding and obviously wounded. Some of the crops around them were sizzling, trying to catch on fire.

Qive waited. One last piece of the puzzle had to come together. He couldn't do anything about this part. He just had to hope things worked out...

A bloodied human with sandy blonde hair popped out of the crops. In his hand was a small holdout pistol. There was no time to react, as he pulled the trigger, hitting the closest guard in the lower abdomen. Somehow he avoided the return fire, ducking back into the thick foliage behind him. Then one of the guards gave Qive a gift he wasn't even expecting. He had ripped an incendiary grenade from a pouch and lobbed it at the patch of crops.

Qive suddenly found out what Hell was really like.

The explosion sent a mass of flames shooting skyward and instantaneously ignited a huge patch of the field. A mass of workers charged the earthen embankment, running from the firestorm that was building behind them. The guards, full of adrenaline and with the memory of their buddy just recently shot opened up with everything they had. Workers dropped like flies. More poured out from between the giant stalks. A good number of them pulled out weapons of there own and started shooting back. Other workers were already making it up the retaining wall, and began wielding farm equipment as melee weapons. The guards had the high ground and the technological advantage. But they were too severely outnumbered. The workers began surging over the wall, into the next field.

Qive tossed the A-295 forward, the rifle landed in the heart of one raging pocket of flames. He had one last job to do.

He ran around the side of the burning field, his arms filled with HE grenades similar to the ones the guards had been tossing. As he ran he tossed the grenades randomly, igniting nearby fields, and starting a series of firefights and adding to the growing mob of angry confused workers.

The critical part of the juncture was now. A primary transportation road was nearby, in the direction of the mobbing workers. Whipping out a pair of electrobinoculars, Qive could already see a blockade being set up, as several transport landspeeders unloaded reinforcements, donned in full battle gear, whole others began setting up E-Webs and mobile barriers. A cloud car whipped around above the road.

The mob was coming on fast... but if they met a hardened target like that road then they would be slaughtered. Qive hopped up onto a nearby retaining wall, devoid of guards who had rushed toward the pillars of black smoke rising high into the sky. He reached over to his back and grabbed the barrel of the Trident missile launcher. He grabbed a bead on the cloud car, and squeezed the trigger, which sent a high speed projectile spiraling out of the barrel. Qive dropped the launcher (maybe a lucky worker would pick it up) and watched as the cloud car slammed into the ground on the far side of the road. That field went up in flames. The attention of the guards was momentarily on the burning hulk of the cloud car, and Qive made good use of that distraction.

The other large weapon running down his back was suddenly in his hands. The thought of what was about to happen sent a jolt of excitement through Qive's body. With great vigor he pulled the trigger, and the zabrak battle cannon's multiple barrels began spitting out a multitude of deadly fire. The nearest landspeeders exploded as the amazingly powerful weapon raked their thinly armored chassis. Qive continued firing until the weapon sputtered, its power packed drained.

The road was lined with piles of dead guards. Qive dropped the battle cannon. A small group of remaining guards charged Qive, rifles blazing. Just for fun, he let the first salvo hit him, absorbing the burning pain simply to see the looks on the guards’ faces. Satisfied, he pulled out a pair of Mer-Sonn 434 "Deathhammer" blaster pistols. The hail of blaster fire dropped the last remaining obstruction to the growing mob.

He twirled the heavy, durasteel plated blasters, and then walked off away from the burning fields...

The words Ukian and agriculture are almost synonymous. One would be a hard-pressed to find another race of sentients more talented at working the soil, or another planet more productive in that respect.

Looking at a Ukian, without any prior knowledge, and agriculture is not what immediately springs to mind. They are a race of hairless humanoids, with green skin and thin red eyes. Words often used to describe a Ukian are "gangly", "loping", "wiry" and "awkward". The first impression of a Ukian is that when they made the mold for them, the sculptor had all the pieces right- he just put them together backwards, or skewed somehow. This odd construction leads many to believe that Ukians are weak, which could not be farther from fact. On the contrary, Ukians possess great physical strength, which when coupled with a keen understanding of the science of agriculture, allowed them to become some of the galaxies best farmers at a very earlier point in galactic history.

Although millions of sentients around the galaxy benefit from the bounty of Ukio everyday, those who know about the planet do because of the most famous moment in its history: Grand Admiral Thrawn's dreadnaught deception. The incident, in which Thrawn snuck a cloaked dreadnaught under Ukio's planetary shield and then managed to make it appear like his Star Destroyer could bombard through the protective screen, was one of the greatest military (as well as economic and political) victories in galactic history. A fully shielded world, taken in pristine condition, in only a few hours time. Although the deception was eventually uncovered, there was a stigma of cowardice associated with the Ukians by many. Others liked to assert that the race was nothing but a bunch of dumb brutes, whose only talent lay in working in the fields.

Regardless of such stereotypes, no one could deny that the Ukians were the best of the best when it came down to farming. No other planet produced singly as productive yields as Ukio, nor were any other planet's foodstuffs considered of the same quality as those nurtured in Ukian fields.

Ukio's climate and size are major factors for this productivity (it's growing season is basically the entire Ukian year) but the culture and government of Ukio play a major role. The planet's three continents are nothing more than giant grid works of perfectly maintained fields, with only small intrusions from the planets few cities (which are regulated to keep their size small and pollution levels at near non-existent levels). Crop rotation cycles are a major part of Ukian law. The mighty Ukian Farming Bureau, which oversees all agricultural activity on the planet, zealously enforces all major regulations and is larger in size than the Ukian military.

Private agricultural companies, even intergalactic ones, are allowed to work on Ukio provided they follow the regulations set up by the Ukian Farming Bureau. Dozens of Ukian companies exist; they control over 95 percent of all of Ukio's production. The reason for such a Ukian dominated landscape is due to a regulation that forces every farming company that wishes to sell products off-world to sell all of its goods to the Ukian Farming Bureau, who will they re-sell it to the galaxy as a whole. For Ukian companies this is not a problem, as the Ukian Farming Bureau's sales directly benefit them by financing government subsidies, and by lowering taxes rates, as the UFB requires less money to maintain. Off-world companies however, lose almost all their ability to profit from non-Ukian sales, and therefore don't locate there.

The Ukian Farming Bureau was using funds from its vast off-world sales, to finance the bid for the Annoo Licensed Foodstuffs Contract. The Ukian population, easily excitable by rumors and easily rattled by swift or unexpected changes and events, was wary about the bid. To top it all of, Ukio was coming to the end of one of it's 10 year political cycles, and would be selecting a new Overliege very soon.

The Ukian future, much like the crops for which it was so famous was in its first stage. The sowing of the seeds of today would shape the rich, or poor harvest of tomorrow.



Hilter Afdol had received back an answer for his comm-link communiqué.



He planned on reaping that bountiful harvest.

(wrong account, plz delete)