The Rebel Faction

Styria-class Galleon Pondichéry, in orbit via Estaria


“And?”


Captain Reygrl stared deeply into the eyes of the decrepit-looking man. Thousands of kilometers away on the storm-wracked world of Estaria, the older man shifted the camera around, displaying only the faintest hints of modernity in the room. Yet despite the handler's age and lack of resources, Reygrl felt as if the man had more of a hold on Reygrl than the CMF officer would ever get on the operative.


“Well,” mused the man, “it's just there's almost nothing to go on. Her store running as if nothing happened to her, albeit no-one has claimed to see in her a while. When I asked one of her workers, she just replied that Mrs. Putri was on a business trip and wouldn't be back for a bit. She said it honestly enough.”


Reygrl frowned, “She has taken such trips before according to my records, and I'm sure you already know more about them than I.”


“Yes, of course,” muttered the CSIS agent, “but never one to Intan Island. That's where all her finiancial activity on a personal note has been taking place.”


“So you do have a solid lead.”


“No,” replied the man, “not a useful one. Intan island is the most lawless places on this world. It's home to dozens of spice dens, bootlegger distilleries, brothels, any kind of vice you can think of, it lives there. There's no law there. I think it more likely that her identity got stolen or given away to someone who's visiting there. There's obviously too much for her to lose by going there. She'd never fit in among those outcasts and criminals.”


“How lawless are we talking about?”


The man snorted, “The law of the blaster, and of Boss Christopherson. He sort of keeps the miscreants there in check, lest they absolutely piss off the more powerful bosses on the world.”


“But not the other countries?”


“...who are all run by one way or another by boss. Some of leaders of state are simply corrupted by avarice, some are held hostage by their vices, some held hostage by blackmail. There is only one country on this world that I found to be legitimate, or most legitimate: the Estarian Energy company.”


Reygrl frowned, “Not so much of a country as it is a company controlling vast areas of uninhabitanted land for their energy collectors.”


The CSIS agent sagely nodded, “But they bring in the most offworld credits and goods which nearly all of the other countries covet.”


“So that's the angle then,” mused the captain, “at least Reg'lia already has business with them. Thank you for your time, we'll be entering orbit soon. I expect we have some welcoming committees to deal with.”


“Good luck Captain,” replied the elder man, cutting his communication's link with the galleon.


Pierre strode away from his console to the nearing orb of Estaria. Water covered much of the world, yet there still a dozen sizeable continents of varying colors scattered among the seas. His ginger-colored eyes settled on one of white windswept sands, Dwamyn, the home of the Estarian Energy company.


“We're being scanned from the surface,” reported an officer.


“Set a course to place us in geosynchrous orbit over central Dwamyn,” decided Reygrl, “now what's this nonsense about us being actively scanned...”


“Multiple stations ground side,” reported the sensor operator, “I suppose it's not too unusual with Reavers about, but there's one on an island that seems to be running multiple scans.”


Reygrl paused, “Is it labelled Intan Island on the automap?”


After a brief glance at his console, the officer nodded, “How did you know?”


“Call it hunch. Are there any other starships in the area?”


“None that seem like obvious threats. A couple of bulk freighters over Dwamyn, doubtless coming or going after getting their energy crystals. There are some smaller freighters, shuttles, and the like popping up from the other continents every once and while, but they all seem to be taking pain to avoid us.”


“Sir, I am receiving a transmission from groundside, from Intan Island.”


“Patch it through to my console,” ordered Reygrl, striding back to his command chair.


After sitting down, he tapped a button on his armrest. The holo-projector hummed to life to produce a video feed, as typically taken by an old two-dimensional flatscreen. The narrow, tanned face dominated the feed before retreating back to reveal a second individual, Mrs. Putri. The man beside her stared at him with hard blue eyes.


“I assume I'm talking to a Confederation commander or something of the like,” spat out the man.


“Captain Reygrl,” stated Pierre, “who am I speaking to?”


“They me Cops, because of my nicely tanned skin. Do you know who this lady next to me is?”


“Can't say that I do,” lied the Confederate, “your wife, perhaps?”


“Very funny. Mrs. Putri is a friend of your Confederation, to her speak, but maybe you'll have to talk to someone a bit higher up to confirm that, I get that. We all have to start out somewhere on the ladder.”


“Indeed,” mused Pierre, “is this an extortion attempt or something, or perhaps you just want an autograph for your lady friend? I could sure I can find time to send a junior cadet down if you both wanted to see a real life Confederate from the developed galaxy.”


“Very funny. Look here sport, this is what's going to happen,” said Cops, looming in closer to the camera, “you're going to talk to someone higher up than yourself and confirm that Mrs. Putri is someone who's important to you. Then, you're going to negotiate her release with me, for say, no less than a five million credits.”


Pierre blinked, “Do you have any concept of how much that is? I can't see her being worth that much...what exactly does she do for a living?”


“You're a funny guy, Captain,” snickered Cops, “but it's time to talk business now. It's what she does, and I here you merchant fleet types can be good businessmen. Maybe you'll actually have to send someone skilled for this part.”


“Fine, I'll ask my superiors,” replied Pierre, “this may take a bit though for me to get a response though. Probably won't get one for a week, and it'll probably take another week after that to get the cash for her, assuming they do agree to exchange her for it.”


Cops nodded and cut the connection. Reygrl let out a sigh. Well, that's one thing done. At least we know where she's at, roughly. Saving her is going to be a big mess though. There's no way CSIS would ever give five million credits for her though...
 

Autumn Falls, off of Intan Island, Estaria


The repulsor yacht glided over the waves of the cerulean waves of the sea, almost without leaving a wake behind her. Only the brief directional change of the waves themselves suggested that her crisp white lines had ever skated over them. Orange light beat down from the setting sun, bathing the yacht in golden hues and plainly outlining the dark shores of Intan Island in the distance. On the Falls' deck, a quartet of men sat hunched over a circular table, eying each other's cars while waited upon by old serving droids passing out drinks and appetizers as if they were as numerous as the water in the sea. A narrow-faced man glanced at his cards, took a sip of his drink, and stared across the table at man swatting an insect away from his plate.


“Look Boss, I don't know what to tell you,” said Cops, setting down his glass, “the Confederate said he'd need time to confirm it with his bosses, and then more time get the money.”


Christopherson frowned and bellowed in his deep voice, “Perhaps we need to contact them again. Tell him we'll take whatever they've got, but obviously, make'em work for it. Otherwise the lady disappears forever.”


“You're worried Boss. You don't think they're behind all the other happenings, do you?”


“I ain't got no proof,” muttered the man, “but tell me who else could have persuaded that nimwit President to arrest the Colazo family, and then somehow actually get the charges to stick and defeat the cartel's attempt to rescue them. It's like they somehow have actual fighters and expertise. It's unreal. The amount of drama popping up all over this world...it ain't right. They've gots to be doing something about here, and I don't want to be next.”


“Maybe we just oughts to get rid of her,” suggested Cops, “throw'er in the sea, or just let wander out. Then there ain't going to be a reason for'em to come here after-”


A pair of blue bolts slammed into the other two card players; they're bodies went limp, their cards fluttered down to litter the oiled teak decks. Cops slowly turned his head to see the air shimmer around the door to the vessel's cabin. A pair of humanoids seemed to walk out of thin air. One was rarely seen on the world, but Cops couldn't think of a person who hadn't seen a Wookiee in a holo-film before. The other appeared to be a middle-aged woman wearing her gray-streaked hair in a tight bun. Both carried a pair of compact blaster carbines, unusual in a world where slugthrowers were the norm. Cops' eyes met those of the female.


“You ain't from around here.”


Shaking her head, Rhys turned her eyes to the swarthy man behind Cops, “Mr. Christopherson, we are going to have a little talk.”


“You're from the Confederation,” ventured the boss.


“Perhaps.”


“She ain't here,” said Christopherson, “but if anything happens to us, she's a goner.”


“You're bluffing. Because I doubt your people are going to be listening to you once they find out that you're a goner. And by that, I mean you're in our custody,” said Rhys, making air quotes with her free hand, “you need to at least appear strong to stay in charge. Otherwise you're going to have people like Cops here thinking he can simply do whatever he wants. Isn't that right Cops? I only have to broadcast that we have you in our custody, and your empire will crumble into a dozen rebel factions.”


“So what's stopping you from doing it, if you're so confident?”


“Like I said,” smiled the woman, “we're going to have a little talk. Two, grab Cops here and put him somewhere safe while I have a little discussion with Mister Christopherson here.”
 

Troseer City, Troseeria, Estaria


“Captain Rey'grl, I presume.”


A gust of wind nearly buffeted the captain towards his host, a man with age-spotted face below a plain of snow white hair wearing a neatly pressed gray-green tunic. Catching his step among the walkway, Rey'grl grasped the handrail on the catway from the landing pad situated far above the rest of the city and offered a counciliatory smile.


“You presume correctly. I take it you are Governor Wynere.”


The man quietly eyed him and spared a glance at the pair of C1 droids striding behind the man.


“There is no need for body guards here,” noted the governor, “I assure you, Troseer is quite safe, unsay, like Intan Island use to be.”


Rey'grl nodded, “You'll forgive me if I still request their presence. Since I seem to have made a few enemies on this world, I like to take precautions.”


Governor Wynere slowly smiled and shook his head, “The legendary Confederation paranoia.”


“Preparedness is not a vice, Governor.”


“If I thought so, you wouldn't be here,” replied the other man, turning his back to the officer, “follow me. If you insist, your droids can come with. I doubt they'll be better the dozens of guards stationed here though.”


Nodding, Rey'grl strode away from the landed Centaur transport to follow the Governor into the skyscraper. Swiveling his head around, he could see that there few skyscrapers nearby enough that could potentially provide a sniper's hide, which made him feel slightly better, yet as he passed through the glass doors into the rest of the building, his focus changed to the dozens of people around him. Most of them seemed like the institutional types who kept governments and companies quietly working, almost invisible to politicians. Yet he noticed slight bulges in some of their clothing, suggesting that either some of them needed to lose a few kilograms, or more likely, that they were carrying concealed weaponry. He felt their stares as the Governor led him past the various guests at the party. I suppose if I didn't wear a uniform, or I didn't have a pair of battle droids behind me, this would be a little less awkward, but I didn't exactly plan on being paraded around a bunch of Troseerians. Five minutes passed before they neared a pair of polished wooden doors about which a half dozen guests apparently hung about. The governor nodded, and pair of the guests swung open the doors. Pierre eyed one, who calmly met his gaze. Security again. And he's saying that I'm the paranoid one...The confederate thanked the guard for opening the door for him and entered the room. The doors swung shut behind him. The Governor spared a glance at the droids.


“Would you mind leaving them outside, next to my own guards?”


“Absolutely,” assented the Confederate, motioning for the pair of droids to remain outside.


“Take a seat,” suggested the Governor, “and let's get down to business.”


“Thank you,” replied the man, plopping down on a padded chair across from the governor, “I didn't expect to see quite so many people.”


“I wasn't exactly planning on receiving you now. It's my wife's birthday party, but I can't really chose to ignore your Confederation...”


“My apologies...”


“It's unnecessary,” said the older man, waving a hand, “if nothing else, it was interesting to see all the reactions going about, between you and them, and vice versa.”


“Anything that could affect you?”


“I hope not. But that will depend on what happens here. I'm assuming you didn't come to small chat, and you're being far too polite for someone about to intimidate me into joining their government. Hell, with your guards, it seems like you think the tables are flipped.”


“Aren't they though?” suggested Rey'grl, leaning forward, “some of your press are making the Confederation to be the bad guys...”


He smiled, “The blessings of the press isn't something I even get completely. Some, even here, are welcoming the change. The rise of two democratic governments in our world, and the Estarian Energy Company finally turning its eyes to the worlds beyond back to those around it are good news. I am still debating about the bill one of their lobbyists got to introduce to the Senate, if that's what you're here for...”


“No, grander schemes I'm afraid.”


“I'm listening.”


“The Confederate nations on Estaria will not stay like they have been, like the rest of this world,” mused Rey'grl, “they will grow more technologically advanced. The droids behind those doors are common in the rest of the Confederation, and they are but a small portion of the technology that will soon come to the rest of the nations on the backs of my starships. Automated combines and harvesters, computers, defenses, whatever you can think of. They will soon be on a different league than the rest of your world. Troseeria and the rest of the alliance that you have formed risks coming behind the curve if something was to happen between us.”


Governor Wynere eyed the man cautiously, “And joining the Confederation would keep us on the same playing level as they are.”


“Yes.”


“What do you want?” said the Troseerian, “doubtless our membership into your galactic government. But what else? I know that the other...nations have undergone some changes...”


“Nothing.”


“Nothing? Absolutely nothing?”

“This is my reasoning,” explained Rey'grl, “if Troseeria joins, the rest of the nations in the alliance which you built will also join.”


“Quite possible. So you want our influence. Tell me Confederate, what happens when we lead the rest of the nations into the Confederation. What does that change? Aside us all being on the same technological and economical playing field, or maybe more level, would be a better way to put it...”


“A unified world government,” replied the alleged CMF officer, holding up a hand, “I don't mean this in a way that reduces anyone's particular power. But a council or some other body where decisions could hammered out by all the nations. A body that could select a councilor to represent Estaria on the Contegorian Council, giving your peoples a voice to be heard in worlds that have never heard of Estaria.”


Wynere's gaze pierced through the Confederate's bronze brown eyes.


“Power to a world that provides power to Confederate worlds,”quipped the Troseerian, “that's almost amusing. And how can you guarantee that Troseeria will have its voice heard among the six nations among on our world.”


“You will have the political support of your allies, I'd assume,” replied Rey'grl, “giving you half the votes needed to select a councilor, assuming that every nation gets one vote, which is what I'd suggest. I'm not sure if the nations currently signatories of the Confederation could agree on one, but I think I could talk to Governor Putri and have her lend her vote to your own, giving you the majority needed to select the councilor.”


“And what about Dwamyn? Will not Estarian Energy want their own voice to be heard?”


“Quite possibly,” said Rey'grl, “in which case, they'll have to go through your candidate to be heard at the Contegorian council. It might even help improve relations and economic flow between Dwamyn and Troseeria. They won't have much of choice to be nice with you.”


“Fair enough. I cannot guarantee anything yet, but I will need to speak to my fellow alliance members and see what I can arrange. But I think you can likely count on us joining your Confederation.”