(Takeover of Anaxes, and Zonju V)

The Past

"The true battle with the Empire will be fought over the minds of the masses. The Empire long ago realized that its hold over its people can be sustained only if the people themselves allow it. Thus explains the vast Imperial propaganda machine, which is constantly spinning a web of deception, cloaking its activities in the name of security.

The Empire is evil, intrinsically, not because of the people who comprise its government or military, but because of the premise upon which it is founded. The Empire's ultimate goal is nothing short of the conquest of the entire galaxy, and an unending rule based upon lies and deception.

And so, they must be resisted. They must be opposed. And, eventually, they must be defeated."

Hilter Afdol stopped the recording, allowing the image of Brutus Nogoth to fade into nothingness. Staring out at the assortment of figures seated in front of him, he began pacing back and forth.

"Can anyone tell me why Brutus singles out the Empire in this speech?"

Silence.

Hilter stopped pacing. Arrayed before him was the next crop of GLF cell leaders, receiving the ideological portion of their training. They had been selected from across the galaxy; most from worlds oppressed by the Empire, though not all. The class contained an almost even split between human and aliens, with humans comprising a definite plurality, if not majority. Every one of them had been approached by a GLF recruiter, after showing some sort of attitude or belief that showed discontent with "the system". Then, out of a pool of recruits selected by the GLF recruiter, they had been identified as the most promising candidate to lead their own cell and had been whisked away to either the GLF's primary training center, at the secret underground mega-base on Ord Binir, or it's ultra-secret headquarters on the planet Zonju V. The trip to both locales was conducted under intense secrecy, and candidates were locked in cargo bays like prisoners until safely inside the base. The candidates were never told were they were, and left in a manner similar to their arrival, in order to maintain absolute secrecy.

"Anyone?"

A dark-haired human, seated in the front of the room, spoke up.

"Because the Empire is our greatest enemy."

The man's voice was soothing, and Hilter probably wouldn't have been able to hear it had he not standing ten feet from the man. Still, Hilter judged a certain quiet confidence emanating from the man, and pegged him as the soft-spoken leader type: a guy who could create such a rapport with his followers that a single utterance would drive them into frenzy.

Hilter repeated the man's statement for the benefit of the class.

"Can anyone tell me why the Empire is our greatest enemy?"

More silence.

Hilter's eyes bored into those of the soft-spoken man in the front row, but this time he did not speak. Finally, after a long moment, a Devaronian in the back called out.

"Because they are the Empire!!!"

Hilter smiled at the response, but shook his head.

"Incorrect." He added sardonically. "Nice guess though."

The remark caused a series of chuckles to ripple through the room. Once they died down, the silence returned. Realizing that some explaining was in order, Hilter pointed to the man who had spoken up earlier.

"Stand up please."

The man did. Hilter them motioned to the Devaronian in the back, a Bothan in the corner, a Rodian near the door and a Kubaz on the other side of the room.

"I think it's safe to say that I have just selected a widely diverse cross section of the people in this room. Now,"

Hilter turned to the human.

"Tell me everything you know about Kubindi culture."

The man glanced over at the Kubaz, then said.

"I know they eat insects."

Hilter stayed silent, waiting for more. The man shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah. And you." Hilter turned to the Devaronian. "Could you kindly explain the intricacies of the Bothan political system?"

The Devaronian stared back at him with a toothy grin, but said nothing. Hilter went to each in turn, asking them for complex details about another race's politics, culture or everyday life. When he was done, he motioned them all to sit down.

"So what was the point of that exercise?"

A human from the middle of the class spoke out in a loud clear voice.

"They were all different. And they knew nothing about each other."

Hilter smiled.

"Exactly. Each person who stood up was different, not only because they are different races, but because they come from different cultures, speak different languages, have different ideas of right and wrong and honor.

Yet the Empire sees none of that. The blindly assume that there way is the right one, and that one set of laws, one set of customs and traditions will satisfy the needs of the entire galaxy.

No government can do that."

He let that sink in.

"Class dismissed. We'll follow up on that train of though tomorrow.

The Present

Hilter Afdol was distracted.

He didn't like being distracted. To Hilter, distraction was like an itch that he couldn't scratch: annoying and even mildly painful, but nothing more than that. He would much prefer being depressed- drowning in the most paralyzing sadness- to the current addled state of his usually sharp mind. At least when he was depressed he could play dejarik. No matter how down he got, running circles around some self-righteous moron who thought he knew how to play, or out-witting a program that was touted by its manufacturer as unbeatable always lifted his spirits and made his mood manageable. But not even dejarik had helped Hilter scratch the itch, and he was losing to a second rate algorithm that probably had been intended for gifted teenagers. He felt his mind wandering off as the computer moved its pieces around the board, and he fell into several poorly disguised traps that his alert mind would have spotted five moves before they had even been set.

Disgusted, he surrendered the match, and shut off the table.

He randomly flicked on the Holo-net, but didn't even pay attention to what he had turned off. He stared out into space, his line of sight traveling beyond a stack of forms he had put off signing because he felt to distracted to read them over with his usual scrutiny. He was contemplating his mental state, trying to cut through the obfuscation and discover why exactly he felt so mentally sluggish. As he sat and reflected, thought danced lazily in his head, swirling to the beat of the theme music for a news program that was coming on the Holo-Net receiver behind him.

His first months in office as Overliege of Ukio had been a mixed bag. The excitement he had felt at winning (actually stealing) the title that made him the first non-Ukian Chief of State in Ukio's history had carried him for a surprisingly long time. He had begun his ten-year term with a fierce aggression, and his assertive and faced paced start helped him push through the major parts of his political agenda before a real opposition could be effectively organized. He had streamlined the Ukian business model for dealing with outside entities: relaxing restrictions on foreign investment in Ukio's agriculture and standardizing the formerly complicated system of tariffs on produce to make it easier for smaller importer/exporters to get into the game. He had contracted Galactech Securities to consult with the Ukian defense forces, and set up a massive warehouse program to store enough foodstuffs to feed an entire sector for a year; ostensibly to be used in the event of a massive disruption of galactic food production, though Hilter's mind had come up with numerous other uses for such a stockpile of consumables. He had set an Ukian record for swift political activity; not a single one of his proposals had been rejected or even amended.

Even now, as a group of Ukian politicians had begun to form an opposition party (united by an unhappiness over having a human Overliege) Hilter had had very little trouble. He had maneuvered around the growing opposition, lambasting the group's leaders with its own rhetoric (taken slightly out of context) and marginalizing them before they had gained any serious momentum. Hilter doubted if a veteran Bothan could have done it any better.

It was that last thought that didn’t slip out of his mind, somehow avoiding the current that had been rushing thoughts away from the analysis section of his grey matter. Hilter seized upon the thought, and like the sun burning off a layer of thick fog his confusion and mental sluggishness began to melt away.

It’s been too easy…

But it was more than that, he realized. The level of difficulty was not what was truly bothering him. If tomorrow he was elected head o the galaxy, and he found the job to be easy he was certain that he would not experience this dastardly tendency toward distraction that he was now experiencing.

What was really bothering him was how boring it was. Hilter loved a challenge, but if he was presented with a poor challenge, he would still enjoy handling it if it piqued his interest. Hilter was not an ideologue, in the manner of Brutus Nogoth. Although he had embraced his friend’s political ideology, he had taken his position as orchestrator of the GLF’s major operations because he reveled in the challenge of matching wits with the security apparatus’s of the galaxies largest governments. In most cases, planning and pulling of a successful terrorist attack was extremely difficult, but only made each success that much more satisfying. Sometimes though, “soft” targets, were his objective, and those objectives were always much easier targets. However, Hilter still relished defeating whatever security measures such targets did have in place, regardless of how simplistic they were.

His dealings with the Ukians however, had been far too easy. The lack of any opposition for the first few months of his term had been thrilling but disappointing. In the successive months the formation of a opposition to his administration had shown promise in providing some excitement to the job, but he had squashed the movement like an AT-AT treading upon a beetle. The movement had been so unsophisticated, so poorly organized that it had taken only one speech to send them reeling into obscurity. Where was the challenge in that?

His attention turned momentarily to the Holo-Screen behind him, which was filled with an impressive array of warships executing a series of maneuvers against the backdrop of a bluish star. The intricacies and impeccable timing of the huge capital ships as they weaved about caught Hilter’s eye, and his eyes glanced to the caption… Anaxian home fleet… but the screen suddenly faded out and a banner flashing with the words “Breaking News” came across the screen. Hilter was intrigued, but a low beeping from his desk immediately distracted him. The sound held the implications of an alarm announcing an imminent planetary bombardment, and Hilter slid his chair over in an uncharacteristic hurry. He looked down at the secure com-link and he saw exactly what he had expected to see.

The breaking news banner slipped out of his mind as he began making preparations for a short leave of absence. Little did he know how much that particular banner, and the events that it was preparing to announce, had with the message he had just received.

The Past

"Heavily centralized government, no matter how it manifests itself, inevitably concentrates power in the hands of a few individuals. It does not matter if the individuals feel their mandate to power comes from a deity, bloodline, strength of arms or a democratic election of the people- the noblest person soon succumbs to the desire to increase and substantiate their personal power. As is said, Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupt absolutely . Far too often, an individual has excellent intentions, but cannot withstand the pressure created by the institution of government that he is serving. It is not the fault of the person who has taken the position- it is not usually their intention to succumb to this force- but rather the blame must lie with the principles of the government which this person subconsciously tries to uphold and further.

That is not to stay government in and of itself is evil- it is not. Anarchy is no acceptable alternative to government in the same way that suicide is not a proscribed treatment for clinical depression. While it alleviates some problems, the cost of this "treatment" is not nearly worth the benefits gained. It is the ultimate goal of the GLF to nurture a form of limited government that avoids the pitfalls of both extremes: the chaos of anarchy and the tyranny of centralization."

The hologram faded away and the change in the volume in the room brought several heads up from the tables they had been laying on. Hilter frowned upon those who chose to sleep in this, what he considered the most critical part of a cell leader's training, but since he knew what many of them had gone through in the hours directly preceding now (an excruciatingly stressful session of interrogation resistance techniques) he was willing to cut the recruits some slack. No matter how ideologically significant Brutus Nogoth's words might be, they would never garner the same attention as some of the instruments of persuasion that could be liberally applied to any GLF operative he was captured by the Empire (or a number of other major galactic governments). For those who had listened however, it was time to prove to Hilter that they had the intelligence to be called upon to carry out one of his meticulously constructed field operations.

"Well?"

Before he started with direct questions he wanted to see if the cell leaders could perhaps formulate their own opinion on Nogoth's monologue.

A thin Defel, who sat in the back corner of the room where the lighting was poor enough that he might have been invisible even if his fur had not been able to absorb visible light, spoke up.

"Mr. Nogoth wants perfection, and in a real world I think his desire is like asking for utopia."

Hilter nodded thoughtfully at the comment, and he moved his eyes over in the general direction of the Defel, whose position in the corner was hard to ascertain exactly.

"Maybe so. But what do we lose by striving for a better system of government for this galaxy? Nothing! However if we all sit complacent and accept the status quo than we lose our right to complain about it. No system of government will be perfect- I know this, you know this, and I can guarantee you that Brutus Nogoth knows this- what he is saying is that we must strive for a happy medium."

A human with sandy blonde hair spoke up from the front row.

"What sort of government is he suggesting when he says" the man looked down at a sheet of holopaper where he had been keeping notes 'nurture a form of limited government that avoids the pitfalls of both extremes'?

"Excellent question. My suggestion would be to take up the matter with Brutus himself. Just be prepared for a very one-sided conversation, Brutus could drive a protocol droid cursing if you get him started on the perfect government."

Hilter looked around the room, hoping to see the smiles that would indicate that the recruits understood his sarcasm.

"Personally, I don't know how to describe what Brutus believes is the perfect government, because none of the words you would normally associate with a governing body: democratic, authoritarian... etc don't really fit it. It's an amalgamation of several different concepts and it takes a while to describe completely. I will tell you three critical components: its nothing like the major governments the galaxy sees today, it is heavily dependent on the people who make it up and it is probably infeasible in a real world model."

There was a moment of silence before a cream colored Bothan blurted out.

"Infeasible! Then why the hell are we studying it?"

Hilter could tell that the Bothan, being a Bothan, felt that a discussion about a theoretical government was a total waste of time, when they could just as easily discussing the intricacies of governments that actually existed.

"We aren't, actually. Your colleague over here brought it up and I answered his question."

That got the classes attention. It dawned on a few of the group that just because something got said didn't necessarily mean it was gospel truth. Which was one of the subtlest points Hilter was trying to teach them.

There was a good minute of silence, no one willing to take the bait and ask "then what are we studying." Not wanting to waste too much time Hilter decided to get back to his point.

"What's the difference between the Empire and the Galactic Coalition?"

One human, a pudgy man from some obscure planet in the mid-rim stood up and started giving a classical definition outlining the differences between an Empire and a Republic (which only was partially correct anyway, as the GC could only be loosely defined as a Republic) but Hilter quickly stopped him. That shut the class down again and Hilter was forced to answer his own question.

"Nothing. There is no difference. Yes they have different internal workings, different sets of bureaucracies and different titles for their leaders, but when it comes down to it, the Empire and the Coalition are one in the same.

My question to you is why

Think about it, and be prepared to discuss it for our next meeting."

With a wave of his hand, the class was dismissed.

The Present

A cursory look at the beings assembled around the long table where Hilter Afdol had situated himself would seemingly provide no connection, no coincidence to account for their presence. The majority of the beings assembled were humans, though the disparity in their dress and manner was alone enough to make drawing a common link between those seated a near impossibility. Scattered among them were an array of aliens, ranging from a bulbous Hutt to a willowy Falleen, a well-dressed Dug to a shabbily attired Twi'lek.

They were the Directors.

The common thread that connected the varied company at the table was the Union. The inter-galactic organization that brought together the powers of the galaxy often unaccounted for, that fostered cooperation among the shadier elements of an increasingly chaotic galaxy. The men and women, aliens and humans, seated at the table were either the leaders or representatives for some of the galaxies most infamous, secretive, or in some cases profitable organizations in the galaxy.

Where else in the galaxy could two of the most wanted and hunted men in the galaxy, Xander Griff and Brutus Nogoth, sit and chat with two of the galaxies most prominent and upcoming business leaders, Rac Fegal and Rico Belgardi?

The power of the Union emanated from the fact that it networked portion of society in ways that would under normal circumstances be impossible. Connecting legitimate businesses with terrorist networks, crime syndicates with intelligence networks- the Union cohesively utilized the strengths of its various members, magnifying an often-limited power to new heights. In many ways, the Union had evolved from its original form. Estro Sabrino had dreamed of a "Union of Crime" when he united the remnants of Black Sun with the Jutraalian Syndicate, inspiring the name of the organization. Today, crime was only one component of an ever-expanding confederacy.

Hilter tapped his hands on the heavy wood table. A few of the directors were talking, but most sat in silence. Notably absent from the head of the table was the Chairman, whose rotating seat sat empty. Hilter noticed a quizzical look on the faces of several of Directors (the ones who had not yet developed a sabbacc face to conceal their true thoughts), which was somewhat unusual for a meeting of these powerful beings. He didn't blame them though. The meeting had been unscheduled, and the summons had said nothing other than the matter to be discussed was urgent.

Hilter peered down the row of seats toward Brutus Nogoth. He had considered asking his friend if he had any information about why the meeting had been called, but hadn't had a free moment to do so. Nogoth might know what was going on, but then again he might not. Brutus was sometimes privy to information the other Directors weren't, but he would have alerted Hilter if he could have. It would be bad form to get up and try to hold a private conversation in the midst of the other directors, so Hilter sat tight and waited.

A few minutes later the door to the conference room slid open, revealing three figures: A man in a red suit and frosted glasses flanked by a pair of necrotroopers. The blind man walked into the room without the aide of his cane, hung loosely at his side. He moved toward the head of the table, to a chair to the left of where the Chairman would have sat. The necrotroopers, walking in step, peeled off and took up positions in the corner of the room. Tir Esias rapped his cane on the table, and the last of the quiet conversation died.

"Thank you all for answering this unexpected summons. I must extend the apologies of the Chairman, who is attending to critical business that could not be postponed."

That piece of news was particularly interesting. Something that could keep the Chairman away from an emergency meeting of the Directors was certainly a pressing matter.

"Let me get directly to matter at hand. The Azguardian Prime Minister of the Galactic Coalition, in his most recent speech, has made reference to the existence of the Union. This confirms our suspicion that the Coalition's assault on Pavo Prime has uncovered sensitive information that has compromised the secrecy of our organization."

Esias paused to allow this statement sink in. Hilter glanced over toward Rico Belgardi, who despite his best efforts looked uneasy and unnerved.

"The Galactic Coalition poses a direct and serious threat to the viability of our alliance."





Hilter Afdol sipped at his blue milk, a beverage he drank only when he wanted to get to sleep as quickly as possible. Something about it relaxed him in a way that even alcohol couldn’t, and he relished its soothing effects. He had just left the most tension filled, stressful meeting of the Union’s Directors he had ever experienced. The verbal daggers sent toward Rico Belgardi by some of the other Directors made Hilter wince even now.

Lying on the luxurious bed in his personal quarters on the Super Star Destroyer Midas Hilter was ready to slip off into a deep slumber. A knock on the bulkhead door trashed any hope of a quick exit off to dreamland. Hilter answered the door and was surprised to see Tir Esias standing outside his quarters.

“Director Afdol. I am sorry for disturbing you, but the Chairman would like a word.”

The Past

"Comparisons have been made between the Rebel Alliance led by Garm Bel Iblis, Leia Organa and Mom Mothma, and the Galactic Liberation Front. It would be ignorant to ignore the numerous similarities between the two organizations. In fact, the Rebel Alliance employed many tactics against the Galactic Empire that can be studied and emulated due to their proven effectiveness.

I must stress however, a crucial difference between the Rebel Alliance and the GLF. The freedom fighters of the GLF are not fighting to replace one tyrant with another. The stated goal of the Rebel Alliance was to end the oppressive reign of the Galactic Empire, a noble goal that the GLF shares. However, the Rebels proposed to replace the Empire with a New Republic, a government doomed from the outset as a crude marriage of central authority and regional independence.

Quite frankly, the New Republic was an amalgamation of the worst of both worlds. It's central government, bound by constitutional limitations, lacked the crushing efficiency of an authoritarian regime; yet its federalism hampered the autonomy of individual regions. As a result, the New Republic found itself unable to deal with situations like the Caamas incident.

I promise you that I will never be campaigning for Chief of State.

The Galactic Liberation Front exists assist the oppressed to overthrow their oppressors.... and to support those who wish to maintain and nurture that freedom."


Hilter Afdol said nothing as Brutus Nogoth’s image faded away again. The eyes of his class were intently focused forward, as if they expected Nogoth to reappear and continue its soliloquy. As they became more immersed in the comprehensive training program Hilter often noticed that the ideological training sessions became more and more interesting to the future cell leaders. Trainees were becoming part of something larger than themselves, and those who had been selected to enter the program had psychological profiles that made them extremely susceptible to that kind of indoctrination. As the training progressed many trainees were something akin to secular fanatics, dedicated to the GLF like the Jedi were to the Force.

“Mr. Afdol, Leia Organa never wanted to become Chief of State either. As they say, power corrupts…”

Hilter looked toward the source of the voice that had broken the almost reverent silence. It was the soft-spoken, dark-haired human, whose smooth voice had stirred something in Hilter’s heart from the first time he heard it. Before Hilter could speak, a bulky, muscle bound human stood up and started berating the soft-spoken man for insulting Nogoth.
Hilter had expected as much, but didn’t immediately step in as a peacemaker. He wanted to see the soft-spoken man’s reaction.
In a short but spirited debate, the soft-spoken man stood by his words and defended his position with conviction, but did not berate the larger man for his own feelings. A hot-head gran had jumped up and started to make references to another way to settle to argument, one that was slightly less educational and quite a bit more raucous, at which point Hilter silenced the class by bringing his fist solidly down on his desk.

“While I’m sure that Mr. Nogoth would appreciate you faith in his statements, I am also sure that he does not be wished to be worshiped like a deity.

He’s a man of convictions. He believes the galaxy must change for the better- he has dedicated his adult life to facilitating that change. However, the Empire survives because its populace believes everything that comes on INS.”

Loyal cell leaders were an important part of the GLF organization. This class would provide some idealists who would sacrifice their existence for an abstract idea- and if there were no one like that then the GLF could not function. But Hilter Afdol knew that men like the soft-spoken man were the true gems, because the ability to reason would trump blind loyalty any day.

“Think about that. Be ready to discuss next class.”

And then with a wave the class filed out.

The Present

It wouldn't take a military genius to determine that the fleet of warships sitting over Anaxes was a formidable fighting force. The sheer size of it was imposing, but anyone who had ever seen an Imperial battlefleet would quickly tell you that size was not the most frightening visual aspect of the fleet. It was the sight of a fleet composing entirely of the trademark Imperial wedge that would cause enemy captains to quake in their boots.

Hilter knew that much of that fear was inspired by the tremendous mystique surrounding the mighty Imperial Navy- but looking out on the fleet of 39 Victory class Star Destroyers was awe inspiring in its own right. Granted, the Victorys were smaller than most of the vessels that composed Imperial fleets these days, but there was something about their razor sharp lines that seemed to exude an aura of lethality.

Despite the fleet's fearsome appearance, it wouldn't be hard to find a cadre of military "experts" who would point out that Victory Star Destroyers were now more common in pirate fleets and planetary militias than in the navy of galactic powers. Victorys had been introduced at the end of the Clone Wars and most of the ships were older than the members of their crew- which led to the general consensus that they were obsolete. However, the ships of the Anaxian fleet were not run-of-the-mill Victorys.

Hilter heard the static of a comm transmission, and a terse reply from the Ukian who was piloting his transport. Despite the fact that Hilter was not on an official state visit, he still had access to his personal Ukian pilots. Had he wanted to, Hilter could have traveled in style, but in an effort to minimize his visibility he had opted to take a rather plain, utilitarian transport. Of course, since he had made a sudden change of itinerary it was a good thing that he had not brought a massive entourage.

The transport made a rather abrupt turn to port and reduced its speed. A pair of snubfighters came alongside the transport and took up escort positions. Hilter watched as the profiles of the Victory Star Destroyers grew larger, slowly filling his viewport. He also noticed the presence of numerous smaller vessels whose profiles had been hidden by the bulk of the Victorys. It wasn't long before the small transport was caught in the grip of a tractor beam and guided into the docking bay of a Victory Star Destroyer.



"Welcome aboard the Chasm, Mr. Overliege."

Hilter extended his hand and allowed it to enter the steel grip of the towering man who stood before him in a sharply tailored light-red uniform.

"The pleasure is mine..."

"Rutledge. Vice Admiral Samuel Rutledge."

Rutledge released Hilter's hand.

"Please, follow me."

Rutledge led Hilter to a conference room several decks above the docking bay. Rutledge engaged Hilter in the necessary pleasantries until the two reached the conference room. Hilter plopped down in a seat and made an all-encompassing gesture.

"I must say that for a forty year old ship, she's in pretty good shape."

Rutledge seemed to take the comment seriously.

"We pride ourselves on operational readiness. You won't find a Victory Star Destroyer in better condition anywhere in the galaxy."

"I don't doubt it."

"Mr. Overliege..."

"Afdol. Please, call me Mr. Afdol. Or Hilter. I am convinced formal titles exist simply to waste my precious time."

At that Rutledge smirked a little.

"That’s an interesting take, Mr. Afdol, for a man who has vied for the political leadership of two different non-human populations. I would assume that formalities would be very important to you."

Rutledge's tone was not particularly inviting.

"Mr. Afdol, what brings you to Anaxes? This is not an official state visit, and if I am not mistaken the Ukian press announced you were going for a short holiday on Pavo Prime. Yet you show up in a transport with a poorly disguised transponder code and don't even bother announcing your presence until contacted."

Hilter nodded, acknowledging Rutledge's statements, but said nothing. Rutledge paused for a moment, then continued.

"I assume that it would be sheer coincidence that your arrival would coincide with the timing of our upcoming election?"

"Actually, its not."

The comment caught Rutledge off guard.

"In fact, Vice Admiral, that is exactly why I am here."

The Past

"Operations carried out by our corps of freedom fighters are prone to harm or kill innocent bystanders. How can we justify... rationalize... this loss? I have spent many sleepless nights considering this question, and the remorse and pity I feel for these unintentional victims is immense.

However the loss of a few, by accident, or on rare occasion, by design, must be accepted. As a commander... as a leader... you must understand that no fight can be won without sacrifice. If I felt that our cause would be furthered by the sacrifice of my own life, I would not hesitate for an instant to do so. This attitude must be your own, and applied to those whom may be adversely effected by your actions.

There are many religions that prize martyrdom above all else. I hold no pretenses, nor will I dare to claim that God, in whatever form he happens to reside in, is on our side. No- but the concept of laying your life down for the betterment of all is undeniably noble. If and when the time comes, it is up to you, as it is up to all of us, to do what we must for the greater good."




Hilter turned off the holo-projector. Almost instantly a hand raised up, a vast improvement over the beginning of the class. This set of recruits, a new generation of GLF cell leaders, was nearly ready to be returned to the galaxy at large. Their supple minds, for the most part, had been imprinted with all the indoctrination they could handle or were willing to accept.

"Should we plan suicide bombings, and if so, at what point should we ourselves become actively involved in such activity?"

Hilter was surprised by the serenity of the alien, a snivvian with a surprisingly good command of Basic, who posed the question. Though upon reflection, he probably shouldn't have been so shocked to know that some of these future leaders would be so willing to give up their life for the cause. Recruiters had been trained to search for the type of malleable personality that would conform to a cause, that would become enthralled by the sense of purpose and in many cases, believed righteousness.

Hilter started to respond, but the soft-spoken man, his name was Jorec Fontine, stood up. Hilter, who appreciated the way the man had grown intellectually since the start of the class, gave a nearly imperceptible nod, his signal that Jorec could answer the query.

"I don't think Mr. Nogoth is prohibiting suicide bombings... but neither does he believe them to be the most effective course of action. A GLF member, who is alive and active is of much more value to the organization, as he can cultivate more members, and perform tasks to further the cause. In certain situations, granted, sacrificing your life could do more to advance our cause than an entire lifetime of service- but those instances are rare.

In your particular case, given your level of training and knowledge of the cause, it is highly unlikely that a situation would ever arise in which acting as a living bomb could do more than your continued presence in command of a cell."

Hilter clapped softly a few times, to emphasize his next few words.

"Excellent, Jorec, excellent."

Jorec was a rare find, a person who could both absorb the indoctrination but manage to maintain his own persona and capability to think and rationalize concepts that were underlying in Brutus's speeches. Jorec would not be immediately sent out to cultivate a GLF cell- additional, higher-level training would be given to such a valuable recruit.

"The key focus of Brutus's message here is about collateral damage. When is it acceptable, even advantageous to harm civilians, non-combatants and other innocents?"

The question was a difficult one. Even Jorec remained silent. Hilter smiled knowingly. As much progress had been made, there was more to be had.

Lets see if I can simplify matters

"In general, the GLF does not intentionally harm civilians. Why?"

Again, no response.

"The people are not our enemy."

There was a sudden ripple of understanding that flooded the room, as the recruits let that simple sentence flow through their minds.

"Every civilian killed is one less potential ally, one less person to resist the regime that enslaves them. Even those who proclaim to hate us are often merely enshrined in propaganda and if exposed to the truth realize the oppression that is truly leveled upon them."

Jorec raised his hand.

"Why then, is our primary strategy consist of terror attacks if all we need is to provide is the correct information?"

"An excellent question- any thoughts?"

A rodian raised his hand.

"Because the Empire disseminates the bad information, and must be destroyed."

Hilter stroked his chin.

"An interesting theory... but not what I was looking for. Let me answer the question by asking you one:

What is the correct information, and who has it?"

A voice shouted out without a hand.

"What Brutus says is right!"

"Ah.. but how is the general populace supposed to know that? It is easy for you to say that, but when the INS pounds into your head day in and day out that Brutus Nogoth is evil incarnate, then it hardly seems like he has all the answers."

The class became quiet again.

"Yet, many of you were force-fed the same lies and propaganda and here you sit now. You"

Hilter pointed toward a Bothan.

"Why did you seek out the GLF."

The bothan contemplated for a moment, then said,

"I felt like the galaxy was being run... wrong. And that the institutions that ran it were stacked against change."

Hilter pointed and elicited similar feelings from several other recruits. As he listened to a burly human describe his continual frustration with a crooked bureaucrat in the Corporate Sector who demanded ludicrous bribes, he noticed out of the corner of his eye as realization washed over Jorec.

"Yes Jorec?"

The man looked at Hilter, momentarily confused, then spoke up.

"Anger... fear... emotions provoked thoughts. Many of us were content, until something simple provoked us into thinking for ourselves. "

"Yes. Absolutely correct."

Hilter held up two fingers.

"Our attacks serve a two-fold purpose. The simple, and most obvious reason is to weaken our enemies and reduce their ability to oppress the people. Destroying infrastructure, weapons, soldiers- all help further the cause. But the second purpose, the subtle purpose, may be the most important.

We want people to be angry... afraid.. confused.

Because when they react to our attacks, the one question that always comes up, in some way, is WHY?

Why would anyone do something like this?"

Hilter paused.

'And when they start to think for themselves, more of them, in searching for why, become like you."

Hilter felt a twinge of joy as he saw heads nod and understanding come to the last confused faces.

"Class dismissed."

The Present

Hilter Afdol stared at the gray bulkhead at the far end of the chamber, his eyes focused on a point, but his mind far from it. In most cases, the void of space was the perfect backdrop for such deep thinking, the perfect medium into which one could stare into oblivion, but the chamber had no viewport. For a moment, that had been a problem, as Hilter's mind had been distracted by the most minute of details... the pattern of the paint that covered the wall... a slight misalignment of that particular bulkhead in relation to the rest of the room (both most likely the result of hurried or makeshift repairs in some long forgotten conflict) but slowly he had let himself drift away from the present and recede into his thoughts.

The parallels made between dejarik and galactic affairs was one far too commonly made, and too simplistically rendered. Still, the metaphor of the galaxy as a giant game board (littered and intertwined with thousands of smaller, interlocking but separate boards) was one that his mind gravitated toward in the same way that so many others did. There were pieces, a finite but nearly unfathomable number of pieces, moving around this board: some with a high level of predictability, others seemingly at random. There were players, those who controlled the pieces (though often times, players who controlled pieces on a small board were also pieces in a larger game). But unlike dejarik, you could never be certain of which players were moving which pieces... or if there were even any rules governing that movement! The complexities were mind-boggling.

And Hilter loved it.

The challenge, of not only deciphering such an incomprehensible phenomenon, but actively shaping it and directly participating in that endless waltz was what made him get up in the morning. By the same token, however, it kept him up at night.

His view of the game was distorted by his own perceptions, his biases, and his level of information. He was not particularly concerned with the first two (if he was, then he wouldn't be much of a player), but the latter did sometimes concern him. It seemed counterintuitive for a member of the Union, one of the galaxies most well-informed entities, that he would fret over his level of information but he could think of nothing that frightened him more.

Given enough information (and granted that he had enough time to formulate an effective assessment of that information) Hilter was confident in his ability to "play the game" well. Yet, much of the information that was critically important was either unavailable or sketchy at best. Questions that could not be answered plagued his mind, as the possibilities that spawned from their various outcomes drove him to the edge of insanity as he plotted out contingencies and reactions for thousands of different possible moves and counter moves.

Sometimes Hilter wished he was a force-sensitive so he saves himself the effort and just peer into the future.

Still, it had not been that long ago that Hilter had sat in his office frustrated because he was lacking intellectual stimulation. With a sudden start, Hilter's vision refocused and he became acutely aware that the door to his quarters had slid open, and the Vice Admiral Rutledge was standing in the doorway.

"Vice Admiral."

"I just finished relaying your message to Fleet Admiral Pernize. Quite frankly, he thinks you’re off your rocker. However, as much as anyone he afraid that damn fool Ronich will actually win."

Hilter smiled.



The Anaxan military had managed to maintain the planet's independence despite being what amounted to a micro-jump from Courscant. Having 39 Victory Star Destroyers (the majority of which sporting expensive retro-fits that would make them dangerous most of today's ships of the line) certainly made things easier. But the military alone could not sustain Anaxes unique position in the galaxy- if the Empire felt the need, they would smash Anaxes without much of an afterthought. They would pay a heavy price, but today's Empire (unlike the impotent New Republic or, the "New Order" after just retaking Coruscant) could absorb the losses with ease.

Anaxan politicians had nurtured a careful political atmosphere that cushioned the planet's independent status. They signed trade agreements with the galactic power that happened to hold Coruscant at the time, pledged non-interference in most conflicts around the planet, and ensured wary neighbors that they harbored no expansionist plans. They held occasional joint naval exercises to demonstrate their willingness to cooperate (and remind everyone how capable their space navy truly was). The politicians made sure to enlighten anyone who would listen about the planet's rich history and tradition... emphasizing their history as "Defender of the Core" in the Old Republic days and the defiant actions of Anaxes' Galactic Senators following the dissolution of the Senate.

Had he not been distracted by the Rebellion, it was highly likely that Palpatine would have smashed the "insolent anaxans" into a pulp...

After all, reconvening the recently dissolved Imperial Senate had been quite an inflammatory move.

But since the planet had no attachment to the Rebels at the time, Palpatine was exercised uncharacteristic caution and made a concerted effort no to empower the nascent rebellion by handing it one of the most powerful warfleets in the galaxy. And so the planet sat in an unusual limbo, unwilling to support direct rebellion, yet steadfast in its opposition to Imperial tyranny.

When the New Republic finally took Courscant, and the Empire appeared crushed, the fledgling government invited Anaxes to join the fold. It had shown a great deal of foresight on the part of the planet's leadership when they had politely declined.

The Anaxans were known for their uncanny ability to steer themselves clear of danger; a Jedi-like danger sense that ensured that even when they took "gambles" there was very little chance of anything going wrong.

At least, most of them were.

Alexandro Ronich was the man to whom Rutledge was referring. A man who did not fit the mold of an Anaxan politician. Whereas most important Anaxans could be considered analogous to the Chiss- calculating, efficient, cautious, possessed of a razor intellect- Ronich would have been more akin to an old Rebel Alliance rabble rouser- Loud, impulsive, quick-tempered, and idealistic. If not for the heaping helping of charisma that he seemed to exhale with every breathe, the man would have long ago been relegated to a job deep in the tunnels of Pols Anaxes, where he could deliver his grandiose speeches without disturbing (or influencing) any rational Anaxans.

Ronich was an eloquent, if somewhat bombastic, orator. It wasn't how he delivered his speeches that worried the military, however, it was the topics he chose to cover, and the content he decided to include. Ronich bucked decades of Anxan tradition by challenging the planet's status quo. Whenever he go the chance, whenever he could grab the attention of more than three Anaxans, he demanded to know why the planet continued to maintain a massive planetary defense fleet. He sported volumes of data about tax figures, maintenance cost, and general economic condition.

It worried the military leaders of Anaxes was that most of what he said was right. And no one... well, anyone with any intelligence, easily saw right through the pathetic arguments that military officers offered as explanations of Ronich's data.

But what really worried the officers was that Ronich was gaining support.

Anaxans held democracy in the highest regard. For a little over 40 decades now they had strained their economy to maintain a fleet large enough to ensure that democracy survived. But that same sentiment was now pushing a sizable (if not yet majority sized) faction of the populace towards Ronich- which meant an inevitable downsizing of the military, and quite possibly an alliance with a galactic power.

Or, perhaps less an alliance than a subjugation.

Alexandro Ronich was good Anaxan patriot, who thought his leadership would be best for the planet. He was in the process of convincing the people that was the case as well. And so, as had been the case for so long, the Anaxan military was going to protect the people from a great evil, even if they didn't think they needed protection.


"I take it then, that we have an agreement?"

Rutledge peered at Hilter, his face hardened and wearied, as if he had aged decades overnight.

The price for, solidarity, a deal with the devil?

Hilter returned the gaze with Rutledge, his expression neutral. The Anaxan nodded. Hilter let his mouth curl slightly, a smile that was best personified a demonic. It had been intentional.

"Excellent. I'll inform my superiors. They will be most pleased."

Rutledge said nothing, but his facial expression spoke volumes.

It had to be done.

The Past

"Scientifically speaking, darkness is nothing but the absence, the lack of light. Darkness can seem all-encompassing, consuming, engulfing... yet even the deepest darkness can be broken- illuminated by even the faintest sources of light. As long as that source exists, no matter how faint and insignificant, then the darkness is to some degree broken. No amount of darkness can overpower the light and so as long as a source perseveres then the light lives on. Those who wish to preserve the darkness will do everything in their power to extinguish the light, because no other course of action can help their cause. They will create an atmosphere where maintaining the light will be become extremely difficult, and they will try to starve the light of its lifeblood- because they know that a light, a fire, given time, and enough fuel, will grow larger and burn brighter.

Let yourselves be that light against the darkness of oppression, and realize that you can overcome the darkness if you find the fuel and grow. You are the watch keepers of the light, and you must nurture it so that its warm glow will one day wash over those who now huddle in the shadows.

I am proud to know that the GLF is filled with such capable sentients. Without you, my vision could never succeed. I wish you the best of luck, and you have my solemn promise that I will spend every waking second working toward a galaxy in which all are in the light."

He had to be a priest in another life....

Brutus Nogoth was not a man who was particularly comfortable dealing with people, or anticipating their actions, but he was a man who had a passion. When he talked about his passion, even in broad strokes, he morphed into an articulate, charismatic man who bore little resemblance to the real Brutus, the man behind the confident face that shown so vibrantly in his press releases and at meetings of The Committee. Hilter had never been a religious man, but had seen some of the most mild-mannered men in the galaxy explode with incredible zeal when preaching their faith.

Brutus the Prophet.

This final recording had been designed to add the final touches to the subtle psychological molding that the recruits had been receiving through-out the course of the training. This final speech gave the recruits the sense that they were part of something larger than themselves, a noble crusade to free the galaxy that could not fail, with a visionary leader who would bring it to a glorious conclusion.

Well, most of them would get that sense.

Others would see the motivational ploy for what it was, but had reasons enough to go back to their homeworlds and propagate terror cells. And then there was Jorec.

In many ways, Jorec was like Hilter. He believed in Brutus ideology (probably to an even greater extent than Hilter, who gave it lip service) yet saw through the smoke and mirrors that inevitably arose around any large organization/faith's/cults most "sacred" tenants.

This session had been the final one, and all of the recruits had left the classroom. All except Jorec.

"Finished with 'Bribery for Dummies', Jorec?"

Although Hilter's class was over, many of the other recruits had specialized classes and training regimes that weren't quite done. Jorec had mentioned at the end of one class that one of his regimes involved detailed techniques to bribe low level bureaucrats.

The soft spoken man smiled, but didn't respond. Hilter paused for a moment.. wondering if he should inquire further. Jorec obviously had something to say, something he didn't want to say in front of the rest of the recruits... but Hilter knew from experience that if a person wasn't sure enough to say something without prompting, then they were looking for a justification to say it. And if they needed justification, it probably wasn't worth saying.

Then Jorec spoke, in his familiar tone that carried strength on barely more than whisper.

"We're never going to win this battle."

Before Hilter could say anything Jorec continued.

"I don't mean to sound defeatist... but if you listen to what Brutus really said... beyond the bullshit (that got Hilter's attention, as he had never heard the man curse) and propaganda... he's telling us to fight on against insurmountable odds, with barely a glimmer of hope for victory."

Jorec looked at Hilter as if suggesting that the man should challenge him on that fact. He looked rather surprised when Hilter did the exact opposite.

"You're the first recruit I've had come through here to realize that."

Jorec started to say something, probably the rebuttal he had been working up to Hilter's counter-argument, but stopped short. Hilter continued.

"I agree whole-heartedly with you Jorec. I don't think that the GLF will depose the Empire. Hell, I doubt we could even take down the Coalition. They're too big... and in the case of the Empire it’s like playing sabacc against someone who’s got all skifters- you can't beat them no matter how good you are. But..."

Hilter let that statement hang out there for a second, then continued.

"But there is a tendency in this galaxy, in the universe in general, a general movement toward disorder. It happens among matter, among men- it’s like the law of gravity, the principle of infinite entropy. Everything inevitably degrades, becomes unstable, deteriorates. It cannot be prevented."

Hilter walked toward the door. His voice changed a bit, subtly but noticeably.

"Every logical analysis, every rational sequence, bringing in every possible variable- it all leads to the same conclusion. I have played them out to the nth degree, and I always get the same result. Yet, I know, I know intuitively that despite this evidence, that nothing lasts forever. There is no immovable object... for everything must eventually succumb to the irresistible force of change."

Hilter took a step toward the door, but stopped at the sound of Jorec's voice.

"Sometimes a little faith can supersede all rational evidence."

Hilter spun.

"Perhaps it can."

The Present

Alexandro Ronich swung one of his arms upward and pounded the other down with equal vigor, allowing his clenched fist to smack the podium that stood in front of him. The wild gesture was part of the bombastic, explosive style that had allowed Ronich to defy Anaxan tradition- an established precedent of self-reliance- and garner previously unconceivable (if no overwhelming support) for a major shift in Anaxan policy.

Shifting one's view to the left (which, at the angle from which the scene was being viewed, was the space that lay before the platform upon which the podium had been raised) revealed a voluminous crowd which nearly filled one of the largest public squares in Pols Anaxes to its substantial capacity. Judging from the crowds responses, Ronich must have been doing some serious rabble-rousing. Still, at the edges of the crowd, there were some obvious signs of dissent; a few brave counter-protestors waving anti-Ronich banners.

If only they would mobilize...

A majority (albeit a shrinking one) of the planet's population wished to remain independent, to retain the status quo. The reasons why they supported that position were varied, sometimes overlapping, in some cases very diverse. This broad coalition of people however, lacked focus, consistency and most important had no face. Ronich's movement... his drive for Solidarity with a galactic power... was energized by his charisma, his fervor, his voice. Classically speaking, an interested minority was moving rapidly to incapacitate an apathetic majority. The situation was unusual, but was the subject of many a treatise on democratic theory.

Ronich was gesticulating even more wildly, and not for the first time, the man was glad he was watching the situation through the powerful long range scope of a BlasTech A295 sniper rifle. It pained him to hear the smooth talking Ronich lead Anaxes away from what was possibly the closest the galaxy had come to effective government. The planet was independent, secure, and prosperous. Populist reforms (aided by the wonders of technology) allowed the Anaxan citizens to initiate referendums and ballot initiatives at anytime, provided sufficient, planet-wide support could be mustered. The Anaxan senate and its presidium (the post for which Ronich was clamoring for) were held accountable far more easily than just about every other democratic government in the galaxy. The education system, with its military traditions, was one of the strongest in the galaxy, and imparted to every Anaxan a sense of civic duty and planetary pride.

Anaxes alone was not emasculated by the Empire. Even more importantly, the planet had been blessed by a temperance and moderation. Anaxes did not meddle in the far flung affairs of the galaxy- nor did it people have any desires to do so.

Ronich threatened that. But he threatened more than just Anaxes- he threatened an ideal. He threatened to destroy a model, a shining example of reserved strength and pride.

The scope swung back up toward Ronich, wobbling slightly with each breath. Slowly, he began the exercises he had learned on a world far from here, to control his respiration and steady the crosshairs.

Ronich's body twisted, as he reached backwards to receive a container that an aide was handing him. The aide scurried off, jumping into the crowd instead of returning the way in which he came. Ronich took a long gulp, then continued. He tossed the container downward, and it skittered across the stage- even his drink breaks were incorporated into his speeches!!

Ronich was suddenly still, leaning forward over the podium, gripping it as if to support himself. The opportunity was presenting itself. He moved his finger under the trigger guard, began putting the slightest bit of pressure on the trigger...

Ronich slumped down over the podium. People rushed onto the stage, as gravity took its toll, dragging the once vibrant body ignominiously down the back of the podium. Ronich didn't even twitch.

Jorec Fontine lowered the sniper rifle.

The GLF's commander of operations, core region, allowed himself a smile. The neurotoxin laced drink was something that would have made Hilter himself proud.

Plus, he wasn't much of a marksman anyway.




Deep Space
1.5 Parsecs from Anaxes

At exactly the agreed upon time, a tiny blip popped up on the Noir Soliel's sensor screens.

Hilter peered out of the viewport at the tiny spec of light, tracking it as it moved along the shortest possible route to the ISD's hangar bay.

"ETA is 2.5 minutes, Captain."

The Noir Soleil's captain, a feeble looking nemoidian, was the latest to occupy what was perhaps the most difficult captaincy to hold since Darth Vader had roamed the galaxy. He acknowledged the sensor officer in the distinctive husky tone of his species.

'Veerry Goood. Send him telemetry for the secondary hangar."

Maybe this one will last a bit longer.

The captain had immediately carried out his only, albeit critical, command that Hilter had requested. With it carried out, he made for the bridge turbolift. He arrived just in time to watch Vice Admiral Rutledge land in an otherwise empty bay.

The first thing Hilter noticed was that the Y-Wing that Rutledge had flown looked brand new. For a fighter that had been old during the Rebellion, it was in remarkable shape. On a moment’s reflection, given the state of the Anaxan VSDs, this should have been no surprise, but Hilter had never seen a Y-Wing that didn't look like it belonged to an exhibit about the Battle of Yavin.
The second thing he noticed was Rutledge himself, who had a steeled, hardened edge to his facade.

Hilter met Rutledge halfway from the primary corridor leading away from the hangar. Hilter smiled, but the expression on Rutledge's face did not soften.

"I have your money."

Hilter ignored the comment for a moment.

"Do you keep all your ships in this good of shape?"

"My planet has an affinity for relics."

"I assume the situation was handled to your satisfaction?"

Rutledge didn't respond. He dropped a small briefcase that clattered on the solid surface of the hangar. The transfer was to be made in credit chips, making it virtually untraceable. Hilter didn't move to pick up the suitcase.

"Stay away from my planet."

Rutledge turned and started back toward his fighter.

He never saw the blaster bolts that killed him.



Hilter turned to the lanky humanoid who had entered the hangar the instant Rutledge had turned his back. The alien had already holstered his weapon.

"I hope that was enough..."

"It will do."

Hilter nodded.

There had been a time when the alien had been a major nuisance. He was a Shi'ido, a member of the Outer Rim Sovereignty’s highly effective intelligence arm, the Black Hand. Hilter had assisted the Liberty Sect, a GLF ally, fight the ORS- and on several occasions it had been the work of the shapeshifting Shi'ido who foiled Hilter's best laid schemes.

Nowadays the ORS was just a memory, crushed by the Empire and absorbed by the Coalition. Yet the Black Hand, living up to its lofty reputation, continued to exist.

"Our timeline is not yet set... this could last for some time."

The lanky humanoid just nodded. He walked over to where Rutledge's body lay, and peeled away his coveralls. A few moments later, he replaced them with Rutledge's. The humanoid looked over his shoulder, and Hilter found himself staring into the face of Samuel Rutledge.

"Nice doing business with you, Mr. Overliege."

Hilter, try as he might, couldn't tell any difference between the voice he was hearing now, and the voice he had heard just minutes ago.

Amazing. Simply amazing.

Hilter's mind started whirring, barely resting a moment, as he shifted his considerable mental prowess toward his next operation...