The Rebel Faction

Sesswe, in orbit via Boonta 

“You think we're safe here?” 

Among the huge tumbling wreckage of the orbital scrapyard the natives called Sesswe, the junior CSIS agent crouched down in the cockpit of the battered Kazellis-class Light Freighter. How the ex-pirate vessel had managed to stay together beyond the jump into the Sesswe was beyond Senior Agent Ladislav. But CSIS had become fairly adept at keeping such wretched craft working long enough to in piece for one mission. The brown-haired man spared a downwards glance at the muscular kon'me. Shrugging, Ladislav turned back to the ship's instrument panel. 

“Well, there aren't any sensor scans going on right now...I think we should be in the clear.” 

After locking down the craft to a larger piece of debris, the two agents walked among the scarred floors of the craft to its portside escape pod. After double-checking their gear, the two males clambered through the tiny hatch and onto the tiny padded bench that ringed the interior of the craft. They disabled the transponder and then Ngải, the Kon'me agent slapped a red button on the side: the miniature ship jetted out of the vessel's side among the glittering rubbish of the scrapyard. Ladislav directed the rudimentary rudder of the craft towards the orange desert world. As they did so, the CSIS agents jotted brief notes on the orbital traffic on their datapads. Confederate recon flights already provided much of that information, but CSIS preferred to check it against another source. While they did not see any blatantly obvious Maelstrom Eight ships present around the world, they saw enough gang and criminal markings on many of the vessels to confirm the planet's less than savory reputation. Ngải lightly tapped Ladislav's shoulder. 

“Did you see that?”

 “See what?” 

Ngải pointed out to a distant crescent-sailed craft with hull that resembled that of an an ancient sailing ship. Of course. A caravel...only one species uses those in any large amount...the Hutts. It didn't surprise the man too much, as the world had changed hands many times over. The Old Republic and various Hutt clans had constantly exchanged ownership of the world for the last thousands of years. It wasn't implausible that behind the official corporate government there was a Hutt crime family pulling all the strings. Gravity began to yank on their craft before finally seducing the little pod into its fold. The pod began to plummet towards the ground. Ngải strapped himself in tight and closed his eyes. The older man, more accustomed to CSIS frequently unique ways of travelling, kept his eyes wide open, piloting their craft towards its destination. They passed from the day side of the world and into the night. Few clouds on the desert world obscured his view for long until he found the many shining lights of the world's capital: Ootbootana. Translated from Huttese, it supposedly meant “Out” or “Far” “gardens”, though the older man thought the last time the world had any noticeable gardens was when Xim the Despot conquered the world millenia ago. As the lights of capital grew larger, Ladislav pushed the control stick.

The escape pod gently tumbled into the desert dunes and rolled to sickening stop. Ladislav punched the hatch open and stumbled upon to the gritty sand. Moments later, Ngải followed suit. The alien took in a deep breath before lowering his elongated neck to let out a stream of vomit. Ladislav staggered up onto his feet. That looks like it would feel real good...But the man didn't. Instead, he pulled the rest of their gear out of the down ship and started the thermal well charges. Minutes later, the inside of the craft was little more than molten slag, not that the CSIS agents were there to see that.

Bootna Holding Corp Office, Ootbootana, Boonta


“I could be shot talking to you, I hope you realize this. Hell, you probably are going to be shot for this.”


Ngải lowered his neck, peering into the scrawny man's glazed eyes. But the man abruptly turned his head away. The dim lights in the corporate office cast shadows over the man's face; the kon'me could made less out of the man's facial expressions than he would have liked. Is that so. The kon'me stalked up behind the human.


“That is the very reason I am here.”


“To get us both killed?”


“No,” stated the alien dryly, “to prevent both of us from being killed. I am told that the Kasdic Gang has a bit of a hold on you.”


“Understatement of the year. They own us in every way you can imagine.”


“So what if I were to get rid of them?”


“You are either stupid, or I'm buying myself into something deeper.”


“The second,” replied the alien, pulling the man back into the light, “you are buying you and your company into the Confederation.”


“It's not that simple. Even if you did get rid of the gang, you still have their superiors to deal with.”


“That's already being worked on,” stated Ngải, “besides, you're going to hear me out if you don't want anyone to know about the bribe your man just took to get me to you.”


“Fine, fine. But make it quick.”
 

Near the Kasdic Gang Lodge, outskirts of Ootbootana, Boonta


Ngải settled into position on the plateau overlooking the Kasdic Swoop Gang's lodge. For Hutt enforcers, the gang seemed remarkably clean-cut to his eyes. While a variety of humans, Nikto, and other Hutt servant species meandered and in out of the swinging doors, there were all dressed in the same black and gold jacket with a flaming sword emblazoned on the back. Light peered out from the slat-like windows on the metal structure, producing columns of lighted desert floor among the otherwise dusk lit sands. Even three kilometers away, the kon'me could faintly hear an odd mixture of high tempo cantina music mix with the drunken slurring of words and the occasional outburst of rough-housing. Finally, a single landspeeder pulled up to the lodge to disgorge a smaller shell-hutt: supposedly the Hutt's chief lieutenant on the world. Flanked by a pair of heavily armed mercenaries and an assassin droid, the shell-hutt slithered into the lodge. A bit more protection than we thought, that should work to our advantage, right?


He set down the macro-binoculars and rolled over to the CCA-9 sniper rifle propped up on a bipod. After rechecking the weapon's settings, the CSIS agent double-checked his cheekweld and homed in on one of the minute windows, catching minute glimpses of the Hutt slithering around and chattering among the bikers. Now to keep you in there. The kon'me tapped a button on his comlink. Far above him, another escape pod jetted out of the diplidated Kazellis-class freighter which had brought him to the world. It weaved itself out of the pile of orbiting junk to fall from the stars to the surface of the barren world. Ngải kept the reticle of his rifle's scope pinned on the lodge's door. But he spared a quick glance towards the sky, watching the escape pod's alabative ceramics burn brightly in the night sky. The kon'me returned his gaze to the scope. The pod came down hard onto the entrance of the building, crushing the arched metal entryway into burning rubble which intruded into the building itself. Toxic fumes and acrid smoke billowed into the hall. Ngải pivoted his rifle's reticle to cover the rear exit.
 

Near the Kasdic Gang Lodge, outskirts of Ootbootana, Boonta


Ngải squeezed the trigger of his rifle, incinerating the midsection of the assassin droid charged with protecting the Shell Hutt lieutenant. The droid collapsed into a heap on top of another dozen bodies in the doorway, all slain trying to leave the burning building. Let's see that hutt slither through that pile of bodies. He felt a blast of wind nearly knock his head to the ground before he heard the twinned sounds of repulsorlifts and engines pushing a dozen starships through the sky towards the lodge. This is soon? I've got to get out here. The alien easily hefted up the oversized blaster rifle and began running to the speeder bike he had rented. A hutt light starfighter zipped over him, its shockwave knocked the running alien to the ground, but the kon'me quickly scrambled back up and kept running forwards. Several minutes later, he jumped into a small ditch and finally reached the hastily concealed bike. Then he heard a sudden whistling pierce through the air. Without thinking, the alien fell onto the ground behind the speeder bikes. Moments later, the salvos of Starflare missiles finished their plummet, smashed into the lodge, and detonated. The resulting explosion of the proton explosives obliterated all the agent's handiwork. But he had held them in long enough that there was little to no chance of escaping the explosion. I wonder how the news will explain the explosion, but that does give the Confederation a lot of plausible denialability and neatly wipes out most of the Hutt's power on this world...if the CEO has the guts to go through the rest of it...I'd better get back to him.


***


Ko Vari Shipyard, Ssesswe, in orbit via Boonta


Ladislav slinked along the danky passageways of the station. Whenever heard the faintest sound, the rub of a cleaning droid's brushes or the ding of a piece of metal hit the floor, he froze before finding cover. It was surprisingly easily. Over the years, most of the panels in the hallways had disappeared out of neglect or removed for easier maintenance on the ancient station, leaving a seemingly endless amount of exposed compartments for him to hide in. Yet despite all his work creeping around the station, he hadn't seen anyone yet, aside from some cleaning droids who Ladislav thought were only slightly newer than the station itself. They ignored him, and he ignored them in turn. He heard a sudden droning of Huttese from a throaty individual errupt from the next intersection up. The CSIS agent quietly peered out from the side to see a chattering nimban and a quiet human male quickly stroll through the intersection without looking. Glancing around, he noticed a strand of loose wiring. Grabbing it, the man shuffled off into the corridors behind them.


When he was within ten meters, Ladislav rushed up behind pulled the wiring around the other man's neck and pulled. The tech's arms scrambled to reach around and grab the assailant. The nimban drew out a comlink and quickly chattered into it. Ladislav smiled and shoved the man into the alien. As the nimban caught his co-worker, the CSIS agent closed the distance and snap-kicked the alien's knee. The nimban struggled to keep his balance. Better. Ladislav forcefully shoved the gasping man forward, toppling and entangling the pair into a tangled mess on the floor. Alarm klaxons began to sound followed by a forceful voice in huttese barking words unknown to the CSIS agent. He ran from the scene. Well, hopefully that is the guards issuing the alarm that the Nimban called in. That should send security over here shortly. And I have a date to catch with a certain Zabrak...


He rounded a corridor sharply and smacked into a beefy gamorrean wielding a vibro-axe.The CSIS bounded off the alien, who grunted and swung his vibro-axe to where the man had been seconds earlier; the axe crashed through the side of the wall. The gamorrean pulled, but the axe did not come out. Ladislav used the opportunity to grab the bulky alien's tusk and sharply twisted them downwards to the wall. Moisture from the alien's mouth lapped onto his fingers. Last time I ever try this one. He let go of the struggling alien and repeatedly banged the alien's left eye with a closed fist. Ladislav seized the belt of the creature, pulled it forward, and as the alien resisted, quickly changed it to a pushing motion; the alien fell back flat on his feet. Ladislav turned, lifted the axe out of the dent it had made and swung it downwards in a quick chop that fell solidly in the creature's midsection. The guard let a out a disturbingly poignant grunt and huddled up into a ball.


Cradling the weapon, Ladislav continued forward deeper into the station and to Project Brightstar.
 

Epilogue...


Brandenburg, Genon


“I didn't think I'd every be seeing you in private again,” noted Pro-consul Thorn quietly, “what crisis has pulled me back into being back in your circle. I thought you had enough councilors under your sway. How many take their unofficial counsel from you now? A dozen? I heard you're becoming a bit of a politician, some would even say a puppetmaster.”


The Supreme Commander quietly shut the door behind him. The Pro-Consul's suite in Atlas Hall hadn't changed much since the last time he had been present. There were fewer holos of them together, and more of her with random diginitaries of the Confederation and foreign powers. She did always like to change them up.


Corise shrugged the woman's comments away, “How did the Sarkans do it?”


“I'm going to assume that you're talking about Boonta, since everyone seems to be talking about it today...but why are you here with me, truly. Harding can tell you everything about this, and I know the two of you still have your monthly dinners. You could have dropped by on him.”


“I could have,” acknowledged the younger Lucerne, “but he doesn't have the subtle interpretation that you do of situations.”


Her brown eyes stared hard at him, “He's a bit more straightforward and to the point, kind of like someone else in this room.”


“I don't deny it.”


“Then you won't mind telling me straight out why we're suddenly talking again. Let me omit a few excuses for you first: it's not for old time's sake, it's not because we were almost sort of thing, and it's certainly not for you to flatter me into anything at all. The hard truth, like you always wanted from me.”


He hesitated.


“I won't deny staying away from you these past months,” admitted the man, “because you revealed a side of you that I didn't appreciate when you revealed it to me. You said you were politician, and I've always known that, but it always seemed to easily coexist with that precious little school girl I grew up with in Solace. You were somehow cleaner, more pure than the other politicians. But the clone incident, whatever you want to call it, it took that perception and idea I held of you and destroyed it like Skywalker did to the Death Star.”


“People aren't clean and straightcut, aside from you, Mr. Droid Supreme Commander,” mused the woman, pouring up a cup of caf, “we're all messy, and I'll admit this is the messiest I've ever seen you. You're almost emotional. Maybe you've spent too much time around politicians now. But in all seriousness, Corise, I never liked that double life I lived behind your back, or should I say mine and the clone, er...clones. But it seemed like the bright future for the Confederation. The one that would help all our people, and once I thought they had accomplished that, I thought you would accept that the ends justified the means...”


“Sounds like a certain Empire founder that I remember reading about, one alive when we were still young.”


“And he was a great politician,” defended Thorn cradling her caf, “as much as we loathe Palpatine, he was successful at what he did, and his methods and reasoning were sound...admitteldy more in the beginning than the end.”


“You're getting offtrack.”


“That's one thing I didn't miss,” muttered the woman half-heartedly, “everyone else doesn't seem to mind the diversions of thoughts...”


Corise shrugged, “It's that I don't dislike them, it's a matter of time...”


“Then you'll have to promise and come talk to me sometime else this week, nothing professional, only personal. I've missed you, Corise. Promise?”


“Promise.”


“I'll get to the point then,” said Thorn, “as far I've been able to make out, the Sarkans threatened the head of our legal committee with funding a study group to look into how the cloning experiment ever made it past that committee without certain moral safeguards, or something like that. In any case, they twisted his arm to get the necessary framework in place to get several of these prewritten membership treaties in place, just awaiting signatures. I won't get too deep into the legalese, but it's one of those temporary emergency approvals that provides the basic alliance until a more formal treaty can be signed.”


“It needs to be regulated.”


“But it is a nice trick to have in the tool bag,” replied Thorn, 'and those councilors who liked having that tool to deal with sticky situations, along with those councilors swayed by Sarkan credits, easily outweighed that coalition of right and just councilors that you seem to be trying to form.”


“I think the Council needs an oversight body,” admitted Corise.


“You've always thought that. Whatever supreme court idea you've been trying to hammer needs more work too. But that's something we can start working on, when you know, we're meeting on a more regular basis, and having some fun together. That's what I call what you call torture. You know you can be productive without doing work, right?”


“Dinner?”


“Absolutely. See you at 1730.”