“Freedom for Caldir, Freedom for Caldir”. The protests had gone on for a week now and the government was beginning to crack under the pressure. First the president had gone on a planet wide holobroadcast to calm the population with promises of better working conditions and more integration with the Combined Clans movement. But the people of Caldir had been lied to before. This time they could not be pacified.

Pash was a rather obvious choice to command the takeover of the planet of Caldir. The government was… conservative to say the least. They were the epitome of a self interested Bothan colony, more interested in relations with their non-Bothan neighbours than they where with loyalty with their species. A largely industrial planet the citizens of Caldir were subjugated into appalling working and living conditions and denied the basic freedoms a Bothan felt their natural rite. Other Bothans, even those who had little desire for the unification plans of the Combined Clans of Bothawui, were appalled at the social order on Caldir and so it’s liberation by the CCB would be a fantastic propaganda coup in other reluctant Bothan colonies. And there was a very good reason why Pash had been chosen to lead such an operation.

Galactic piracy was not ordinarily a profession respected by the Bothan species. Aged 20, bored with the luxury of his clan life he ran off planet and joined a notorious group of pirates operating on the edge of Bothan space. Working his way to the top of the organisation in a relatively short period of time he gained a reputation for being a clever tactician but also a violent and ruthless killer.
During the rebellion however, angry at his people’s neutrality, he made a living from raiding Imperial convoys and terrorising patrol vessels. This launched him to virtual legend status among the rebellious youth of Bothan society and the large amount of Bothans who had rebel sympathies. These disillusioned groups took pleasure watching a fellow Bothan stand up against the might of the Empire and victimise them without retribution.
The government of Caldir had seized on this popular folk hero as an inspiration to work harder and as a symbol of Bothan pride. There were even statues of the flamboyant pirates in the streets of the capital city, a fact that pleased Pash no end. But the government had made a gross mistake and were now paying for it.

The movement for revolutionary change had been gaining support steadily for years now despite the violent reprisals and public executions. Once the word was out that Pash Kha’lya had come to Caldir to join the revolution a mass movement literally sprung up overnight. Spontaneous protests had raged in every major city on Caldir for four days now. It was exactly as Pash had planned. He had been given virtually no budget to take the planet for the CCB, a fact resulting from the dislike of so many senior politicians for Pash. There were those that willed him to fail, or better, be killed.
Both were a possibility but neither eventuality would save the government of Caldir now.

It was a beautiful day. The sun of Caldir, a tiny white star, lashed down on the presidential palace and the crowd outside. They had gathered there for two days now and the palace guard were looking very nervous. A huge holoprojection image of Pash, his familiar eyepatch over his cybernetic eye, talked and gesticulated to the crowd. But his words were silent, agents were interfering with the transmission. There was a roar of anger as the image crackled and faded into the ether. The crowd surged towards the gates of the palace and shook them violently. Several blaster shots had to be fired into the air before the crowd subsided and moved back from the gates reluctantly.

“No, sir, we have been completely cut off this time. I’m sorry sir, you are off the air.”
Pash grinned, a twinkling star of light glancing off his diamond tooth.
“It matters little my friend, the people are already with us whether they hear my words or not. Soon it will be time to rise up, and then I must speak to my people. But until then let them reflect on what they have already heard”. The Bothan pirate spoke with a growl in his charismatic voice, that ebbed and flowed like a purr, both smooth and abrasive. He stood. Pash was tall for a Bothan. His assistant ran and handed him his long red double-breasted officers coat, and he swung it over his shoulders and marched to the door. He had a delivery to secure before he could exercise the full extent of his plan…

Flashes of yellow and green lights blured past Pash's face as the speeder excelerated hard. The streets were busy with traffic. Even with the protests the factories still rumbled on as best they could. General strikes had been called but the more essential industries had begun to pay double to entice people to abandon their dreams for wealth. Some had done so, but less than was necessary to keep the planet running in full working order. But repulsor vans and hov trucks still whizzed down the main thoroughfares transporting goods and raw materials to the shops and factories.
It was a miserable night. The dirt stained rain lashed the speeder as they moved further to the edge of the city. The vehicle turned abruptly to the left and off the main road pulling up sharp. Pash and his bodyguard jumped out and the speeder tore off into the night leaving the two Bothans in one of the seedier ends of town. The speeder would be back in an hour, Pash just hoped that nothing would happen in that time. He reached inside his coat to check is DL-44 blaster. It was there.
They walked for nearly half an hour and came eventually to a derelict warehouse, a single sheet of dented Plasteel curved into a half circle. Out of a top window hung a Black Bothan smoking a death stick. Around it's neck was a strap, probably a blaster strap. As the figure saw Pash and the guard arrive he flicked the deathstick down into the street and disappeared.
Pash didn't bother to knock. The door opened just a crack and a grey stripe of fur with a bright yellow eye embedded in it appeared out of the gloom.
"What is it?" Came the muffled voice.
"Pash, come to pick up his merchandise"
The door opened a little wider revealing a blaster aimed at them. The bodyguard was well trained, she didn't even flinch.
"Well" grinned Pash humourlessly, "Very friendly I must say..."
"Can't be to careful", said the bothan, voice now clear.

They were led inside and once Pash was positively identified to be himself the blaster was put away by it's owner.
"There it is" The tanned bothan who had been looking out of the window said. He was indicating three metal boxes, a metre cubed. Pash approached them and tentatively touched the lid. If they were being double crossed this would be the moment they found out. Mentally he reached for his blaster and turned a couple of times, readying himself for the action. But when he prized the lid off he saw what he had come for, Blastech sidarms, two hundred in each box. The protests were about to get violent.

As they drove back, one box's worth of blasters under the back seat Pash considered the events of the next couple of days. To be honest, he was surprised that the army hadn’t been called in earlier. Most likely government agents were assessing which regiments could be trusted to stay loyal and which could not. Soldiers have unfortunate qualms about shooting into crowds of women and children at the best of times and in times of mass protest they have an uncanny knack for seeing which way the wind is blowing. Facing crowds consisting of most of the population often has the effect of making a soldier think he is facing in the wrong direction. Pash knew that CCB agents had been negotiating with certain leading military personnel for some time but to what effect he had not been told.

“Come on” came the sound of a disembodied voice.
“Come on, there’s no time for that now. Pash opened his eyes, the universe was a blur of colours and tones. He tried to move but the room moved faster than he thought it should and a feeling of heated nausea shot up from his stomach to his windpipe. The blurs begun to make a little more sense as his eyes began to focus properly. The disembdodied voice came again, but this time Pash thought he could make out the figure from which it came.
“We don’t have time for this, remember what today is…”, But instead Pash remembered last night. He remembered the celebration, the Sullustan Gin and the Corellian Brandy. Suddenly Pash smelt water and realised his aide was holding a glass underneath his snout. He reached for it and poured all of it down his throat. For a second the rancid taste was gone but quickly it returned.
Today, yes. Today they could hand out the blasters to the protesting crowd. They had to act quickly. Today Pash would lead the assault on the presidential palace before the army arrived to put the protests down violently.
Pash was still unsure about the state of the army’s loyalty but there was no sense in taking risks. No sense at all.
His eyesight fully returned Pash stood up, slowly and carefully. His stomach was heavy. The Bothan pirate looked around at the miserable basement he had slept in the last two weeks. He has a fondness for squalor.
“Should be the last night here huh?” His aide said cheerfully as he handed Pash another glass of water and some capsules to help his nausia. Outside he could here the chanting of the crowds already as they gravitated towards the main square. There was a quiet anticipatory murmouring from next door too, the group of forty or so brave Bothans that would form Pash’s squad. Each one carried four or five blasters to distribute amongst the crowd when the time came.
Drawing himself up Pash shook the body language of his hangover away and marched confidently into the next room. The gentle chattering died down and everyone stood up to face their leader. Pash flashed a piratical smile and walked towards the door.

Today there was a different atmosphere in the air. The way the crowd moved, the light, the certain harshness in the air, everything told of today being the crucial day. Today was the start of it all.
When Pash and his group arrived at the central square the chanting was almost deafening. The palace guard looked nervous.
The crowd flowed forwards and backwards almost mimicking the pitch of the chanting. It crushed against the palace walls and gate and then moved backwards again. When Pash reached the middle of the crowd he and his men begun handing out the guns. Pash had never felt quite like it. The looks of respect and excitement people levelled at him when he was recognised were like nothing he had ever experienced even from his loyal crew.
In a frenzy of anger the crowd surged towards the gate like a great wave against a dam. They shook the bars and as had happened a few days before the Bothan guards shot blaster bolts at the Bothan protestors. The crowd fell back in fear but anger ruled and the wave crashed against the gate yet again. And yet again the Bothan guards fired into the Bothan crowd, only this time the Bothan crowd fired back. Just a few shots felled the guards and seeing this the pitch of the crowd rose to an even greater volume and the wave crashed once again with a catastrophic might. And this time the dam broke. The gigantic crowd spilt into the presidential enclosure, terrified guards throwing down their weapons or turning around to shoot any of their counterparts who might try to fight.