OOC Note: If you wish to join this thread, please PM me or catch me on AIM. I do have a specific goal in mind, and as this is not a fleeting thread, I do wish to reach that goal. However, since this thread will affect certain members of the board (mostly members of the Union, but also potentially members of the Rebel Alliance and other factions with ties to Hutt Space), I don't want to close the thread. Plurga the Hutt would probably be especially interested in this, as might characters like Han Solo and other smuggler types. So as a favor to me, please PM me before you post so I can discuss plot lines with you. Thank you.


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Imperial law.

It was purported to be the highest standard of justice in the galaxy, at least by INS. It was supposed to be that which protected its citizens and punished its criminals.

But there was one glaring blight in the area of Imperial justice. Hutt Space.

The area occupied by the slimy, worm-like creatures was rank with the stink of criminal activity of all sorts. From smuggling to piracy, from murder to robbery, from organized crime to moonshining of illegal types of alcohol, the Hutts ran a thriving business.

And it was time for that business to end.

Of course, ending that business would be difficult. The Hutts had enough money to pay off every person in office, and they did. Bribes were rampant, anything from illegal spice to liquor, from women to hard cash. The Hutts knew how to work the system, and they did. Whenever an honest cop rose through the ranks, he found himself either busted down to a desk job, walking the beat, or just plain dead.

It would take someone with guts to change that. Someone who knew no fear. Someone who was as ruthless as the Hutts and yet unaffected by their bribes. Finally, that person had been found.


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Nar Shadda
2300 hours
Warehouse District


Colonel-General Wesley Vos sat in the driver's seat of what the locals called a hoverdozer. It was a large speeder, somewhat armored, with a massive ram on the front of it. Usually, it was used to clear away debris from wrecks and such, and for construction when needed. Now, it was going to be used to cause such debris.

Beside him sat a rookie cop, one who seemed to be a bit shy. SS men were scattered throughout the group, which had been supplemented by the local police force. Earlier that day, he had received word that a major shipment of spice was going to be coming in, and according to his sources that spice was housed right here. He might not get the ones bringing it this time, but he would get the shipment.

The cop next to him stared out the window, watching...well, Vos wasn't quite sure what he was watching. There was nothing out there but blackness, a few small shops providing the only light. There was nothing to be seen here, no nightlife at all. The perfect cover for a smuggling operation.

It almost seemed too good to be true.

Then Vos saw a man running back towards the dozer. It was one of his sources, a nameless entity to him. The man slid up quietly beside the door and said, "It's there. I saw the boxes. They're marked with the Toydarian word for spice. You shouldn't have a problem confiscating them."

Wes nodded and repeated his orders over the comm system once more. "Boxes are marked with the Toydarian word for spice. Arrest anyone you see, shoot anyone who resists. Let's do this."

With that, he gunned the dozer's engine and sped towards the corner. Rounding it, he lined up with the doors and pushed the throttle all the way forward. Speeders and speeder bikes came behind him, as they careened down the narrow alley. The dozer slammed into the warehouse doors, snapping them in half and sending them flying about halfway across the building. The dozer came to a stop as Wes and his men climbed out.

All around him, police and SS men were rounding up the workers. None had resisted, which was a bit surprising to Wes. He'd heard these smugglers were tough. It became clear, though, when he broke open the first box why they were not resisting. He had just made a raid on a warehouse full of medical supplies.

His face grew hard, and he turned quickly to find his informant. But the man had already disappeared into the Nar Shadda night.


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Nar Shadda
0120 hours


He had left the police station disgusted. If this source had proven false, what could be said for the rest of them? How many of them were paid off? When he had taken this position, he had done so with a bit of resistance, thinking this would not be challenging enough for him. Now he thought that he might have bitten off more than he could chew.

Instead of taking the shuttle to the docking bays, Wes decided to walk. Throwing on an overcoat, he strode into the night, trying to figure out where it was that he went wrong. It seemd that either there was a massive conspiracy or he was an idiot. He could not find an inconsistency in the entire operation. It was executed flawlessly. And yet it failed.

He stopped on a bridge, one of the many that overlooked the man-made gorges of Nar Shadda. Over the railing was a thousand-meter plunge to the pitch black ground. He shook his head. It seemed that this place was as black as the bottom, corrupt throughout. Perhaps it would be better to demolish the whole place. Destroy the moon.

It was then that he heard a voice, a strange accent carried on the wind. Or not on the wind; the owner of that voice stood next to him. "Something troubling you tonight, son?"

It was an older man, but not too old; his late fifties, perhaps. And he was a cop.

Great, Wes thought. Simply wonderful. On this night of all nights, I run into a cop.

He reached into his overcoat to pull out his ID, but the cop's truncheon was out in a flash, holding the coat closed. "Aye, don't be thinking about that, boy." The truncheon hit the 9mm Wes carried, and the officer said, "What be this? You better have a good explanation for this, lad, or I'll be hauling you're tail down to the station."

Wes rolled his eyes. Great. I just came from there, and now I have to go back? "Look," he said, "I'm an officer in the SS."

"Ah," the old man interrupted. "You're not much o' a cop, are you?"

Wes just stared for a moment, then went back to looking at the gorge. The man continued. "Well, at the end of the day, if you can go home and say that you survived, it's been a good day. Here endeth the lesson."

The man turned and began to walk away, and Wes called out, "Officer, aren't you even gonna search me? How do you know I'm really an SS officer?"

The man turned, a chuckle in his voice, and said, "Who would say they were that who wasn't?"

Wes, a bit dumbfounded, replied, "Officer, what's your name?"

The man smiled. "I'm Officer Joseph Truscott. And yours?"

Wes, ignoring the question, said, "How'd you get to be walking the beat. Man of your age should have a desk job."

Truscott smiled. "I said no to the desk job. At least in this line o' work I'm fairly safe from th' bribes an' the blasters."

At that, he turned and disappeared into the darkness. Wes returned to his contemplations, though they now took a different train. He would bring order to this space in the Empire, and now he knew how to do it.

Journal of Colonel-General Wesley Vos

The raid was a disaster. My source turned out to be scum who led us to a medical storage center. My lack of knowledge of the area was my downfall. The SS raided a supply of bacta, not a supply of spice. What was worse, apparently an INS reporter was there, and somehow the story got onto the holonet. It was an embarassment to the SS, and despite that I called to complain INS claimed that they didn't know how the story was run. They claim it must have slipped by their screening. I think they just wanted to embarass me.

Needless to say, I was somewhat discouraged after this raid. It seems that even those in the police cannot be trusted entirely. Still, I think I have figured out how to fix the problem. A short talk with a beat officer - Joseph Truscott, I believe his name was - gave me an idea. From now on I will rule with a rod of iron. None will escape my grasp.


0900 hours
In orbit above Nar Shadda
ISD V Tyrant


Selere's elevated voice was the first thing Wes heard, but it was quickly followed by the sound of heavy footfalls in the corridor and the crashing open of his office door. Wes had opted for the more traditional door, and had insisted it be solid oak, like the panelling of the rest of this room. His office had been decorated in the high-Bakuruan style, with stained oak, soft light, plush seats, and tapestries. It reminded him of his childhood.

The only thing out of place right now was the large, black-clad colonel of the SS standing in his doorway. Selere hadn't bothered to knock, a courtesy he normally showed the General, but instead had simply shoved the door open, nearly tearing it from its hinges. Which wasn't easy to do. Wes, for his part, hadn't bothered to look up, but kept typing on his computer. He knew what was coming.

The burly colonel, his voice elevated far above that proper for a colonel to address a Colonel-General, Selere said, "What the kriff is going on?" Wes looked up now, eybrows slightly raised. Selere continued. "I turn on the holonet and find your face plastered all over it! And not for being some kind of kriffing hero, either! You've gone and dug yourself into a pile of bantha dung, and I'm not sure you even know which kriffing end is up!"

Wes simply stared. Selere would be finished soon, and then the problem could be dealt with. Still the rampage went on. "I'd like to know what the kriff you were thinking, raiding a kriffing medical facility! Why not just send the entire kriffing SS down the kriffing crapper? You might as well have!"

Wes, calmly, asked, "Done yet?"

Selere, by now out of profane utterances, simply stared. "Good," Wes continued. "Now, shut the door and have a seat." Selere did, and Wes smiled. "Now, I'll admit that we have a bit of a problem. Apparently INS has a leak in their system, or a bug perhaps. Not to worry. We didn't destroy any equipment, unlike what the holonews is reporting. The truth will come out in time.

"We have a bigger problem on our hands. It has become clear that the police on this moon are, shall we say, not quite the epitome of Imperial loyalty that we were led to believe they were. Whether that was Grand Admiral Desaria's fault or the police chief's, or someone else's, I have yet to determine. I'll be having a little chat with the police chief later this afternoon to learn the identity of the informant that misled us. But this is a job for the Kommandos."

Selere, beginning to see where the General was going, began to smile. "What do you want me to do, Sir?"


1100 hours
Nar Shadaa
Government District


Government District, Wes thought with a bit of derision. What government? The entire moon is run by smugglers, thieves, and crime lords; why they have the audacity to call this sector the 'Government Sector' is beyond me. Until the Empire came, there was no government, and there is little now. At least, perhaps the police chief will see things my way.

That was where he was headed, of course; to see the chief of police. But he had a stop to make first. Turning from his course, Wes made the short walk into one of the residential districts, the one nearest the police station. He'd run a search earlier, and the old cop's house was somewhere nearby.

The SS commander wandered the streets for about five minutes before finding the small apartment where the cop made his home. Wes buzzed the visitor button, and Truscott's voice emerged from the small speaker. "What is it?" he rasped.

Vos replied, "Colonel-General Wesley Vos of the SS here. Open the door."

The door slid open to reveal the cop with an ancient shotgun pointed at Wes's midsection. "What'd'ya want?" he asked suspiciously. "Oh," he said, as recognition dawned. He lowered the shotgun. "My apologies, General. My visitors are usually scum that think I have something they can steal. But as you can see, I live pretty sparsely."

Wes nodded. "After only a few days on this moon, I believe I understand," he said. "May I come in?" Truscott nodded, and the door shut as Wes entered. "I have a proposition for you," he began, but the old cop cut him off.

"Not a chance," he said. Wes paused, befuddled. Truscott continued. "I knew when I first saw you that you'd be by today, asking for my help in cleaning up the planet. I won't do it. I'm sixty-two years old. I've lived a full life, and I'm not about to waste what's left of it getting gunned down by some two-bit smuggler that thinks he's a hot-shot, or worse getting shot by my own police force."

Wes, stunned, didn't know what to say. He hadn't even asked, and already he'd been turned down. He had the authority to force this man to help, but somehow he didn't get the impression that that approach would quite work. So, instead, he nodded and said, "Very well, then. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

With that, he turned and walked out of the house and back towards the station. He had actual work to do.

Establish purchase line for ex-Imperial craft
Take control of the Imperial Bureacracy on Nar Shaddaa/Nal Hutta

Wes Vos

Journal of Colonel-General Wesley Vos

The raid was a disaster. My source turned out to be scum who led us to a medical storage center. My lack of knowledge of the area was my downfall. The SS raided a supply of bacta, not a supply of spice. What was worse, apparently an INS reporter was there, and somehow the story got onto the holonet. It was an embarrassment to the SS, and despite that I called to complain INS claimed that they didn't know how the story was run. They claim it must have slipped by their screening. I think they just wanted to embarrass me.

Somewhere off Nar Shaddaa, a week prior...
For the first time in a month it seemed to Bjorn Kard that everything was going alright. For the first time in over a month his YT-2000 was up and running perfectly, and buried within the hold of the Spare Change was a million-credit load of spice. His cut, after all was said and done, would be nearly enough to pay off all the bills for the repairs – which included a complete rewiring of the ship’s electrical grid and a new, hot propulsion module taken from a stolen YT-2400.

Only one thing could stop them now, and that one thing had just come into view on his sensor screens.

“Oh shit…”


Somewhere off Nar Shaddaa...
Isolated from the cold vacuum of space and it’s twinkling stars by the thousands of tons of durasteel and plasteel that made up his Victory-class Star Destroyer Smuggler’s Luck, Smuggler’s Alliance Capo Jesh Tolli stood in the ship’s comfortable, large command chamber and looked at Captain Bim Thorton, who was seated behind a table.

“That was funny as fuck, Bim,” Jesh praised. “He hasn’t even been here a week, and already half the Empire’s convinced he’s incompetent, and there’s no way now he’ll be taken seriously now by his subordinates in the sector.”

Bim smiled. All it had taken was two comm calls after a mole inside the local police had notified them of the raid – one to a local INS correspondent who arraigned to do a story about the relief supplies being sent to a nearby planet in crisis and a second to an administrator who had arraigned for the story to pass censoring. It didn’t hurt that the SS wasn’t popular with the new service to start with, either.

“He deserved it after what he did to Bjorn,” Bim told him.

“And he’s going to get it back more than double in a few hours, too. As soon as we hit the staging point the convoy is going to make the jump in and the Imps will be in for an unpleasant surprise.”