Chapter Text
Brior Ouga
Maximus 3-A
Maximus System
3.6 ABY
Brior stumbled through the door of his family's hab-unit, sighing in relief at the cool air that washed over him.
A smile soon formed as his son rushed from deeper within the hab.
"Hey there little Mynock!" he greeted, sweeping the babbling toddler up in his arms. "How was your day?"
His response was half-formed words and plenty of spit flying every which way.
"I see, I see..." Brio nodded seriously, turning towards the living room to see his wife standing there, smile radiant. Trila was a twi’lek, lean and muscled from a life lived working in dockyards and construction zones.
"Our son has quite a lot to say, Trila. Apparently customer service has been subpar."
Her smile was stunning, sending through him a surge of energy.
"Well, the customer has been quite cranky, you see. He's been disturbing the staff all day."
She reached out a hand, lightly pinching one of their son's cheeks, still plump and blubbery with youth.
An equally plump hand swatted hers away, an almost insulted look crossing his young face.
"It seems our dear customer is in need of a nap." Briar responded, handing him off to Trila.
As she put their son to sleep, Brio bruised himself with removing his work gear. A cubby in the laundry room of the hab held Trila’s gear as well as his own. It was clean, if small, much like the rest of the hab.
Standardized fare, these habs. Pre-built, simple, provided by the colony. Once expansion became viable they would be torn down in favor of proper apartments and housing. While the colony promised to give all current colonists new homes, he was confident they’d be able to afford a better place in a few years time.
Brior, alongside Trila, worked at the local tibbana gas refinery, while they lived planetside on the gas giant's third moon. Maximus 3-A. A good name, even if the original name of the system had been Gluteus Maximus. The Survey Corp had a lot of jokesters who took great pleasure in getting to name systems they discovered. Thankfully the administration cut it down to just Maximus.
The work was dependable and well paying, even if the security measures could be a bit of a pain. It was understandable though, given the military used the gas extensively.
Moving to the kitchen, he picked up a plate of reheated food Trila had left him, and considered himself incredibly fortunate.
From poverty on Ord Mantel to a good job and great living standards on a brand new colony was an incredible leap.
When his son was born, he feared he and Trila might lose their jobs, given both of them worked. But instead, they were given parental leave. Both of them.
Who'd ever heard of such a thing!?
Now, they took shifts in turn so one of them could always be home with their son. Soon, he'd be old enough for the colony daycare.
And that was another thing. A daycare!
On Ord Mantel, where the lines between gangs and government were blurry at best, a daycare sounded like an obvious slaver front. Not that many bothered with fronts out there.
Briar and Trila had been skeptical at first, but time had proven them wrong.
Taking a seat at the kitchen table, he placed his PDA before him while he began to pick at his meal.
An unappealing nutri-bar was first, standard fare for colonists. The colony wasn’t quite self-sufficient in terms of farming just yet, and so imported these to ensure people were properly fed.
Next to it was a sandwich, shak meat topped with a local berry sauce between two slices of bread from that new bakery in town. Apparently the moon held some pretty interesting grains, turning the bread a dark orange with purple swirls.
Finally, a small treat. A little chocolate bar. Sweets weren’t so common on the colony, given they were all imports. But families tended to buy them in small amounts, and the colonial administration handed them out during annual festivals to celebrate growth.
On his PDA, he flipped through various screens before settling on an instructional video he'd started watching during his lunch break. It was a Guild video covering various classes and educational programs they offered. Specifically in regards to trades such as his own.
He hoped to take advantage of the Guild's subsidized classes for new colonists. If he could get a promotion or two, it would be great. Trila had always wanted to open a mechanics workshop, after all.
As he ate, a soft weight pressed on his back, two blue-green muscled arms snaking around his neck.
They didn't speak, simply sinking into one another's presence.
A few minutes in, Brior opened his mouth to speak, when an alert from his PDA distracted him.
[SECTOR-BROADCAST]
Briar and Trila shared a concerned look. The only time they'd seen such a broadcast was during the holonet outage.
Trila sat in the chair beside him while Brior opened the broadcast.
The screen flickered, a telltale sign of a holonet live-feed being established, before it stabilized into a clear image.
A podium sat on a raised platform, lights illuminating the area in contrast to the darkening sky behind it.
Looming above the platform stood a tall, sharp tower. Its drab grey was draped in Imperial white and Guild gold, long banners fluttering softly in the wind.
Between the platform and tower stood a dozen pillars, each a dozen meters tall. They glowed softly with light, emanating from the miniscule writing on each.
It was this detail that told Brior where the broadcast was coming from.
Minda. He'd heard about it from a friend who visited on vacation. Each pillar was a memorial, holding the names of those who died in defense of the sector.
At the podium stood a figure. The Moff.
He'd clearly seen better days. Dark rings hung under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped ever so slightly. His hair was messy, clearly unkempt over at least the past few days. Even his uniform was rumpled, if only a tad.
The Moff raised a steaming mug of something to his lips, taking a long sip before setting it down.
"People of the Myto Sector," he started, eyes scanning the crowd. "I come to you with unfortunate news."
"I have been informed by my superiors that, as a consequence of increasing desires for security from the greater Empire, all material and security-related quotas must be tripled."
A gasp could be heard rushing through the crowd. Briar and Trila's hands found each other's as they watched with growing anxiety. Nothing good ever came of the Empire's demands for more.
"Thankfully, our hearty workers and robust economy means many of these quotas can be met with little to no expansion."
The Moff paused for another sip of his drink. "However, this will cut a deep gash into the sector government's funds. As a consequence, we will have a harder time restoring the navy to its former strength."
"This will create openings for pirates once more, which in turn would put our citizens at risk and slow trade at such a stressful time."
Here, the Moff stared directly into the camera. Eyes narrowed, serious, his large scar illuminated clearly.
“As such, I make a request of the citizens of this sector. The Sector Government will be creating a Mytoan-Bond. I implore those who have the money to spare to purchase these bonds so as to fund the protection of your fellow citizens.”
He bowed. Not a deep bow, nothing subservient, barely noticeable — but his head dipped at least 15 degrees, his shoulders hunching a little as he did so.
"Thank you for any and all support you send," he said to the crowd.
It was a different kind of shocking.
While Brior had only been in the sector for a little while — a few years at most — he'd come to know of their leader's eccentricities. Not the maddening kind, nor the kind where they did strange, unpredictable things. No, the Moff of the Myto Sector was a bureaucrat, and he was a bureaucrat in a way no other Imperial officer he'd ever met was.
He simply did his job.
Apparently there was a name for this. The Mola-Shock — for immigrants arriving and being utterly baffled that the leader of their sector simply did his job.
He was not a particularly charismatic individual, nor did he portray an image of unparalleled strength. By all accounts he seemed like a normal person, which was exactly what was strange about it.
Imperial leaders tended to be corrupt, cruel, or completely mad. Often some combination of the three. It was an oversimplification, but it was a trend found in the higher echelons that all who watched a few broadcasts learned quite quickly.
Even then, Brior wasn't sure anyone ever expected the Moff to give anything resembling a bow towards his people.
It made him wonder sometimes if he wasn't in some sort of wonderland, a dream of some kind, and that at any moment he could wake up back on Ord Mantel, back in the slums, back in poverty and despair.
The broadcast continued from there into interviews. Reporters came up and asked questions of the Moff. Many were variations of the same few questions. How much will taxes be increased, if at all? How will this affect the economy? How will this affect the military? Will this delay one infrastructure project or another?
The Moff answered each and every one.
“Taxs will rise only on certain products and industries that can afford the extra expenses. The average citizen will not be overly affected, though you may want to cut back on imported luxuries for the meanwhile.”
“This will strain the economy. While we are working hard to minimize the damage and ensure life continues as it did previously, there will be negative effects. You can expect travel and the general cost of living to rise as trade slows down. I encourage all to seek solidarity and help with your local communities. Pool resources, help one another, and cut down on living expenses.”
“Major infrastructure projects will be put on hold for now. These include our hyperspace beacon network project and our logistics station network project, among others. We hope to resume these projects once things settle down.”
“I am also in negotiation with neighboring sectors for mutual assistance agreements. As we have an excess of resources in some needed sectors, we plan to trade those for military reinforcements and other forms of assistance. These negotiations are still ongoing, and as such I can’t promise success, but rest assured we are doing everything in our power.”
“To expand on the bonds, we are looking for outside creditors, so as to not place the entire burden on the people. The Muun Banking Clans have agreed to purchase bonds, and others are in consideration. Bonds will be set at an interest rate of 6.5%, due to the current security crisis. Once its over, that will drop down to 3%.”
The Banking Clans. Brior wasn't so sure about them.
He banked locally, of course — a credit union that had sprung up on the colony, Guild-backed. But he had friends with investment portfolios through those banks, and they spoke highly of their professionalism.
Brior wasn't so sure. The closest thing to real banks back on Ord Mantel that would ever serve someone of his social status had been loan sharks with a few fancy pieces of paper that made them a bank. So perhaps it was his prejudice against large institutions speaking.
Regardless, he wasn't sure what the banks wanted out of the sector. But if nothing else, he trusted that the Moff knew what he was doing.
Eventually the broadcast ended with the Moff reiterating his call for all those who could, to purchase bonds for the security of the sector. A set of instructions appeared on the broadcast screen, showcasing how and where to go to purchase them.
Once the broadcast was over, the two of them sat there for a minute, staring at the blank screen and the reflection in it.
Eventually they turned to each other and nodded at once.
They had some cash to spare. And the mechanic shop could wait.
Their sector needed them.
–
Las
Within the space station I called home sat a room. Said room held a circular table, though circular wasn't quite the right word for it — it was too angular, built with sharp edges and dull colors like everything else the Empire built.
There was only one seat, my own. But as I sat down, projectors around the table flared to life, and three holographic projections appeared before me. They were Moff Moew, Moff Callron, and Moff Delninian — the rulers of three neighboring sectors, and the only ones who had agreed to meet at all.
I was surprised to see that Moff Callron had joined at all. He was a capricious man, very much unlike his now-deceased father, whom I had met briefly earlier in my career. His response to the holonet crisis had been rude, to put it one way.
Moff Moew was a different case. She was shrewd in her dealings. Her sector was not the richest nor the most powerful, but it was not poor or weak by any stretch of the imagination. She was, however, the kind of person to ensure that every deal made was as beneficial to her as possible, regardless of the consequences for everyone else. There's a reason I didn't take her deal during the crisis, after all.
The final person was Moff Delninian of the Braxant Sector. He was perhaps the only one I might call anything close to an ally, given how closely our two Guilds worked. Our economies weren't entirely intertwined — that felt like an easy trap to fall into, the security such a thing promised being quite tantalizing.
However, the downsides of integrating such large economies so quickly would be incredibly dangerous and foolish to ignore. Still, our two economies did grow closer slowly over time, strengthening one another. So it was him I would likely be counting on as the only person in the room — well, not actually in the room, of course — who would be willing to act in my interests, if only because our interests were so economically aligned.
"You called us here for a meeting," said Callron. "I don't have all day."
He was brisk and rude as always, his mustachioed face twitching in annoyance. Not for the last time, I dearly wished his father was still alive and in control. He had been a much more reasonable individual.
Moff Moew gave a light, dainty laugh, and I almost wanted to applaud her. It was the most real-sounding fake laugh I had heard in a while. She must have been taking lessons — it was certainly an improvement over the last time I'd heard her attempt one.
"Why, my dear Tyron, no need for hostilities." She turned to address the room at large. "I called us here together to address the shared concerns we all have. The demands of the Empire as of late have been quite strenuous. I believed it would be beneficial for us to come together and assist one another in our respective times of need."
This was a surprising move from her. It had been one I myself was considering — after all, we all needed things, and we might have things the others needed. If she was the one making this proposal, she must have been in more trouble than I thought, though I wasn't sure of the nature of it. I would have to do some research on her sector to understand what exactly was being demanded of her.
It must have been serious. Or this meeting was a trap.
Still, this was a good thing. It saved me the effort and political capital of proposing it myself. Political capital wasn't something I was immensely interested in keeping, but it had a way of coming back to haunt me when I lacked it.
"So you finally show your weakness," replied Callron.
"And yours," she replied. "I know your sector is severely lacking in the kind of production the Empire demands — just as we all are in our own ways. Yet we each excel in others."
She didn't look at me when she said that. But I knew what she was talking about. While I may not have kept tabs on exact production numbers across the sector, I did know that my sector outpaced its neighbors by quite a lot. This so-called alliance could very easily be a ruse to gain access to my resource wealth while giving relatively little in return. I couldn't have that.
"I see," said Delinean. "I too have been having some problems with these production numbers. I don't even have the factories for some of the things being asked of me."
Tyron looked like he wanted to object, but it was clear to everyone he had no basis to stand on. His sector, while having an older and more entrenched administration and a larger population than average, was not rich enough to project the strength he clearly wished for. Finally, he ground out the word "fine," and we moved on.
The negotiations were tense. No one quite wanted to admit what they were lacking in — or at least, Moff Moew and Moff Callron were not so keen. Moff Delninian and I were more open about it.
I suppose it comes with being well-adjusted individuals.
Still, the negotiations took multiple days. Between meetings, I fielded individual calls from Delinian and Moew, each offering their own individual deals. Callron made no such attempt, not that I expected one.
By the third day, we had something resembling an agreement.
Callron would provide excess medical production to Delinian in exchange for weapons production. Moew would provide Callron with excess mineral extraction in exchange for excess agricultural products.
I would provide everyone with excess tibanna gas and TIE fighters, in exchange for spare patrol vessels which I sorely needed.
The four of us sat there, on that third day, each of us looking something akin to being satisfied with our dealings. Well, three of us, Callron perpetually had the look of someone who’d just smelt a fart.
Of course, it was during this relatively peaceful time that all four of us had aides whisper breaking news into our ears. How they did it at the same exact time, I’m not entirely sure. I suspect they were colluding to be as theatrical as possible.
Still, we looked at one another in unison, understanding blooming across our faces. Production quotas would be rising once more.
Kuat had just been attacked.
–
Yo. more stuff. The first section is there to show the life of the average Mytoan immigrant. Most move in because of the promise of the new colonies. To them, they owe the sector everything, and are more than willing to buy a shit ton of bonds.
Second segment is a little weaker, but does what it needs to do. Gets negotiations going to showcase how Las is getting around things, and touches on Ringbreaker.
Didn’t bake anything this time, spent all my time playing Stalker and now Zero Company. And also college. Gonna be there a lot more with 5 classes so some updates might be slower/shorter.
-Freefaller