The Rebel Faction

CG-10 David’s Light, in orbit via Allanteen Six

The boxy starship broke free of the depths of space to settle comfortably into orbit on the night side of the world.  Looking to his right, Lippincott could see countless dots of light glimmering like specks of washed gold.  Light means cities and civilization…and customers…The thought pleased the man.  While an individual citizen on Allanteen Six might not be able to purchase them, the more citizens, the larger the defense force of a world it typically was, and the more ships he could potentially sell them.  More ships means that I can restart Galactic Technologies, or New Galactic Technologies rather.  While he had no rights to the actual company itself, he had almost considered buying up the almost worthless stock in order to simply get the name, but the Colonials present had voted in a referendum not to, in order to not spite their fellow Colonials who had sided with the Coalition.  Yet that had not ended his ambition to restart the company that had been the base of the Colonies.  No, he would remake it, better than it ever was, and far better than the wreck of the company that lingered on in half-death in the Coalition’s Western Province.  It would be a new bulwark of Colonial culture on a foreign world.  A buzz of static drew the executive’s attention off the planet to a massive superstructure of glittering lights and large durasteel slabs: the Allanteen Shipyards.

“David’s Light, you have priority clearance to land in Hangar Bay Eight.  The president wishes to welcome you aboard personally, Mister Lippincott, but unfortunately he was unable to make it up today.  You will be meeting with Mister Emmett, our vice-president, instead today.  He apologizes and wishes you the best, sir.”

Lippincott snatched a mike from one of the pilots and let an artificial smile crease his face and lighten his tone, “Thank you good sir for the welcoming.  I look forward to meeting Mister Emmett.”

The craft gently curved its trajectory to almost nimbly pass through a pair of construction spars to drift into an almost empty rectangular hangar bay.  He could already see a near-human wearing a square-cut business suit in gray waiting for him.  That being let a smile blossom across his face before striding forward to meet the oncoming ship.  With the David’s Light came to rest onto the shipyard with only the slightest shudder, like a ballerina making a successful landing after a quarter-half spin.  Before the ship had even set, Lippincott elbowed himself past a familiar-looking mechanic onboard before jostling down the ramp to meet the other man at the foot of the ramp.  The Vice-President almost could have passed for being entirely human aside from the unusually warm golden hue of his hair and skin.  The Colonial stretched out a hand to the other man.

“Mister Lippincott of New Galactic Technologies, at your service,” smiled the man, setting foot onto the deck.

The other man’s coal-black eyes bore into his Colonial’s as they shook hands, “Mister Emmett, but you can call me Fred.  I see that your ship would appear to be one of the designs you’re offering to license us.”

“Well, sort of,” hesitated Lippincott, “this is actually an older CG-10.  We’re offering you the CG-21, which is a substantial improvement over this earlier model, not in performance, mind you, but in cost, but the performance is just as good.”

“I see, well, I am very interested in seeing what kind of partnership New Galactic Technologies can bring to Allanteen Shipyards.”

“Yes, yes, I do hesitate to think that we can work out something to be mutually beneficial.  It will be good to have a local partner too, I think.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Emmett, leading him through a narrow corridor deeper into the station, “distance has frequently been a roadblock in our past projects.  I’m glad it’s one we can surmount so easily now.  I admit, that the company is not as interested in the CG-22…”

“Twenty-one,” corrected Lippincott with a quick smile.

“I’m, sorry, you’re right, the twenty-one,” said the near-human, “but really, we’re interested in the portfolio of your company’s starfighter designs.  There is a big market out there for them now, especially with the Reavers.  A lot of worlds used to be able to steer their way  out of conflicts by various political or economical means, but well…I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” rejoined Lippincott, “more worlds do not need to suffer the Colonies’ fate.  It is the very reason that I refounded my company.  The Reavers do not listen to politics or fall prey to schemes very easily.  They understand only destruction.  It is only my regret that the Colonies were not sufficiently well-armed to fight them off.  But I can do that for plenty of other worlds now, no matter what others say.”

“They’ve said that about your company too then?” questioned Emmett, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, “Sorry, I couldn’t help but read up on your company’s troubles in the news.  War profiteers is what they call you and me now.  But no matter what I detractors say, our products are needed to preserve those very same people’s lives.  They’re hypocrite’s if they don’t realize that.  To be sure, some of us producers are profiteers, but we’re not offering unfair prices for our goods or restricting them to only certain people.  The Reavers know no boundaries, and neither should we…”
 

The next day…

Executive Board Room, Allanteen Six Shipyards, in orbit via Allanteen Six

The last of the board members shuffled out of the room as the meeting ended before it even began, leaving only three figures: a sleak bothan wearing a gray CMF uniform, the near-human Mr. Emmett, and an older man with a shock of snow white hair and piercing blue eyes.  The three strolled over to a large viewport overlooking a set of scaffolding, where the growing body of cargo vessel lay suspended in a traction field.  Leaning up against the railing, the oldest man turned to face the bothan and the vice-president.

“I’ve helmed more than my fair share of meetings over my time here, but this was by far the shortest and most disappointing that I have held in quite some time,” said President Ecory, “but I owe you an explanation for not having taking Mister Lippincott’s place after Mister Emmett asked for your presence.  It’s not that I question your credentials or expertise, Captain, but I question if you really are a valid substitute for him.  I question how much you could know about the inner workings of New Galactic Technologies.”

Captain Yruba eyed the corporate president curiously, “If I may put your concerns to rest?”

The white-haired man slowly nodded in acquiescence while Emmett bit his lip.

“Well,” started the bothan, “I realize that I am not an employee of New Galactic Technologies, and thus while I do not have Mister Lippincott’s expertise in such matters, but with his disappearance, and alleged murder last night.  I am your next best source of info on Confederation economic law.  Simply put, the Confederation would not allow the export of modern military designs and hardware to a company over which it has no legal control, such as a corporation in a neutral country.  Now, Mister Lippincott may have been able to work out some exceptions, especially if the built ships were immediately, and only going to be supplied to the Colonial forces.  But that would preclude any production of the craft, or use of knowledge and technology derived from those projects, from being used on ships you would build for any other parties, including the defense forces of your own world.  If you would like, I can pull up the exact law and transmit it to you for confirmation.  Do you have any questions?”

“I stand corrected,” said President Ecory, with a slight smile, “it would seem, Mister Emmett, that our lawyers were right to begin with.”
Emmett opened his mouth to protest but the bothan beat him to it.
 
“Now before you blame your vice-president for being drawn in,” started the bothan, “I cannot rule out the fact that Mister Lippincott had made some other arrangements around that law…there is always a chance he could have…but with his disappearance…”

“It would seem that none of us knew how he planned to do that,” sighed Emmett, “if only his motel room hadn’t been torched…we should have set him up here at the station.”

“It’s a mute point now,” noted Ecory dryly, turning back to face the bothan, “is there any way that you know out of this legal mess?  I can make it worth your file, if you would like a consulting fee.”

The bothan’s fur rippled, “On a large-scale, no.  I have heard of only one reliable way to get pass the same regulation, but I do not think it would apply in this case.”

“Oh?” questioned Emmett, “what was it?”

“Personal gifts,” stated the alien, “but that only has been applied to small arms, and in one occasion, a single battle droid to a certain trusted monarch, who has maintained friendly relations with the Confederation for years now.”

“In other words, an ally,” surmised Ecory, “but I would guess that we are far from that point with your Confederation, at least right now.”

“Yes,” confirmed the bothan.

“But even if we were to obtain one ship,” said the president, “even a mere starfighter, it would take a long time to reverse engineer the craft, if they are advanced as Mister Lippincott states they are, and even then, I feel that our company would be asking for a lawsuit in international court.”

“That would seem probable,” admitted the Confederate captain, “I think your best bet would be to come up with your own designs, but I am going to go ahead and guessed that you tried that.  It’s certainly not for lack of facilities.”

“No,” said Emmett quietly, “we have tried twice to market our own starfighter design.  The first was…well…good for a first time, but horrible in terms of actual performance.  The second, well…”

“It is not worth mentioning,” explained Ecory quickly, “because it did not turn out to be economically viable.  So we turned our trade to cargo ships, which has done as well so far, but cargo ships do not stop Reavers or any other sort of enemy fleet from invading our home.  I fear that we will have to shell out for Stellar Enterprise to build us some starships. ”

“Supplying credits to a rival?” questioned the confederate, “how will that be looked upon?”

“Not well,” mused Emmett, running a hand through his golden hair, “but you already knew that.  Do you have any alternatives?”

“There are several,” decided the bothan, “you could try and hire some better, or perhaps more experienced starship engineers, improve an existing design, get a license from another starship manufacturer, or somehow get around the Confederation’s trade laws on exporting military technology.”

“Exporting,” repeated Emmett slowly, “I suppose we could always join the Confederation to get around that problem…”

“I would not be that hasty,” said the confederate, “it’s not that simple, nor would it be necessarily worth your company’s time, much less your world’s.  Joining the Confederation would only remove the importing problem, not necessarily the exporting problem, unless you were to export it to other Confederation members and selected allies.”

“The Confederation is fairly large though,” noted Emmett, “and we could probably control the market for nearest prefecture…”

“Which is a local market,” reminded the bothan, “that has been supplied so far by other shipyards so far.”

“But not ones closer,” agreed Ecory, “that may be a potential selling point.  You don’t seem particularly happy about this, Captain.”

The bothan’s fur rippled, “I’m not.  Let me explain why…”
 

Unknown Location, Allanteen

“So that’s him, huh?”

Agent Coker spun about on his heels to see a creamy-furred bothan slink into the warehouse’s backroom. Despite the alien’s long trenchcoat, he could still a solid gray tunic in a military cut peek out from underneath the bulky coat.  He glided past the other Confederate agent to the partially dissected body laying spread across the table.  The alien’s dark eyes poured over the carnage.

“I met him, while he was alive you know,” said the bothan agent, “I never would have guessed.  He seemed a little sleazy, in that used landspeeder salesman sort of way, but I never would have guessed this.”

“I didn’t either.”

The two stared at the body in silence.

“You should have told me, Coker,” said CSIS controller Peshk Sut’skra, “I spent three hours muddling through Confederate business law with the executives of Allanteen’s shipyards.  Do you know how many hours of study it took to pull that all of?”

Coker’s pale face flushed, “Look, it’s kind of a personal matter, I, well, I didn’t want anyone to know…”

The bothan’s fur rippled, “Not a relationship you should be having.  That’s tradecraft 101, Coker, to not an enemy any chance to get a potential hold over you like that, to be able to coerce you....  But still, if we knew about this in advance, perhaps we could have used Lippincott’s maneuvering to our own advantage.  But what’s done is done…I…I’m just not so sure it will work for us this time.  Did they recover data from his brain?”

Coker shook his head, “No, the field team is still working on it, but they think that we’re going to have to ship most of this stuff out of here to get a handle on who, or what, Lippincott really was.  It’s all too foreign and advanced to them.”

“Well, Lippincott was obviously some sort of Human Replica Droid,” said Sut’skra, eying Lippincott’s remains, “and a pretty advanced model at that.  That’s not just a simple synth-skin job that they can easily hack.”

“You think the Colonies knew and built him?” questioned Coker, “or maybe it’s someone else...”

“You’re suggesting it’s a spy… maybe…but I don’t think it’s the Empire, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” replied the bothan, “what little I’ve seen of their’s in the briefings don’t look quite like this, and they have a tendency to prefer more attractive bodies for their’s.  He’s not much of a looker...but that’s also probably for the best.  We won’t have to worry too much about his looks when we move him around.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have to move him soon, before it gets worse.”

“I don’t get it.”

Sut’skra’s fur rippled once more, “I tried to convince the executives to just let things fade away and go away, to be like how things were before Lippincott visited.  I don’t think it’s going to work.  Lippincott gave them a hope and a dream of what Allanteen could be.  Whether Lippincott knew it or not, I think he started a shift in Allanteen politics.  The last the executives were talking to me, they’re going to try and do so political persuasion with the ongoing elections.”

Coker frowned, “I still don’t get it.  How’s that a bad thing?”

“Because Lippincott is going to remain on everyone’s minds, and it’s going to be hard to cover for you on this if they join.  What happens when their intelligence agencies join and discover that you were the one who killed someone on their soil?  It’s too late to blot that fully from the reports now.  One of them might want your blood.”

“I did the right thing,” said Coker glancing down at the body, “I came clean after it was all said and done.  I tried to cover my tracks.”

“Let’s hope you covered them well,” said the bothan, “but even if we do win the local agencies over if we join to keeping it quiet, we still have an official investigation going on, and there’s a good chance that you got caught somewhere on holo-cam stalking Mister Lippincott here.  They’ll be a police investigation.  We have to make this trail go cold quick.  In fact, I am moving all of this out as soon as possible.  They’ll be less evidence for them to find.  As Captain Yruba, I’ve arranged a CMF transport to come done here to pick up a cargo container in the next room.  You can guess what’s going to be in it…”

“I need to move it in there too.”

The bothan’s fur rippled, “The fewer people involved, the better.  Don’t worry Coker, we’ll find a way to keep this covered up.  You might have not fully thought it through, but unmasking Lippincott for what he truly was is for the betterment of the Confederation. “

“I hope so boss.”

Peshk glanced at his wrist chrono, “Time is running out.  I’ll give you a hand.”