<font color="#ffff00"><center><b><u>Uprising Part I</u></b></center></font>

<font color="#ffff00"><center><b>Seeds of Rebellion</b></center></font>

<font color="#ffff00"><center><b>THE REBEL ALLIANCE has gone along in somewhat anonymity for the past three years. THE NEW ORDER continues to dominate the Galaxy at large, until the most unusual of events takes shape. SIMON KAINE Supreme Commander of THE NEW ORDER - has retired, leaving his post to BHINDI DRAYSON, unbeknownst to THE REBEL ALLIANCE.

MARIN FAULKER has continued to fight the good fight, through numerous plans which have fallen to the wayside, THE REBEL ALLIANCE has been somewhat of a failure. A failure which Marin Faulker has taken especially far. Through the current events which will shake the very foundation of the Galaxy, MARIN FAULKER'S resolve will be ignited.

VANCE TAESCH emerges as CHIEF OF STATE of THE REBEL ALLIANCE, and begins to seek aide from the Galaxy at large. Numerous like-minded factions offer their support, which VANCE TAESCH gladly accepts as he generates a successful campaign which generates much interest in THE REBEL ALLIANCE, and garners much support.

</b></center></font>
The past three years had been difficult for the Rebellion, small victories here and there, but overall they had not accomplished much.

Soon.

Soon events would be set in motion which would spur the Rebellion into action.



<b><u>Imperial Center</u></b>

Night set upon the Empire, perhaps literally. There was something in the air, something was amiss. The amount of ships making their home in the orbit of the city-wide planet was unusual. The Rebel operative known simply as "Stringer", sat there, absorbing a multitude of information from multiple sources.

It was his job to review the intelligence which was received, and pass on any urgent information directly to Admiral Matthias Woods. Lately, it seemed as if he'd been busier than normal. The reports were coming in rapidly. Information was flowing, something was happening, Stringer knew it.

Then the call came that confirmed Stringer's suspicion.

The operative's voice was full of static and the volume was low, but he did manage without fail to deliver the message to Stringer.

"I don't believe what I'm hearing.

"Are you sure that this intel is legit?" He asked, as he received the information via comlink.

The muffled response confirmed what the spy had heard was indeed true.

"I've gotta get this intel back to Admiral Woods. Good work soldier."



<b><u>Yavin IV - Matthias Woods' Quarters - 0503 Hours</u></b>

Matthias Woods stood there in the shower, still shaking off the morning fog. He began to think of the state of the Rebellion, in the past three years it had been difficult - losing close friends and allies to the war, which led Matthias to wonder if the Empire even knew they were <i>in</i> a war sometimes.

But things were changing, the terra forming effort which had begun three years ago was now coming to fruition. Vance Taesch the Chief of State of the Alliance was doing a superb job of spreading the message of the Rebellion, and being the "face" of the Alliance.

Other factions were reaching out to offer their aide to the fledgling Rebellion, and recruitment was starting to pick up again. Despite the clever propaganda which the Empire spread freely, the citizens of the Empire knew better. So, to try and stay sane, the average citizen did their best to simply live their life. <i>What could they do?</i>

<b>Fight.</b> Matthias Woods knew, the only way to topple the Empire was to fight, fight as though your very soul depended on it - perhaps it did.

As thoughts of Rebellion swirled in his mind Matthias Woods stepped out of the shower, and was preparing to get ready for duty when he heard the incessant beeping.

<i>What the hell?

Who the <b>fuck</b> would call me this early...</i>

He tapped a button on the console of the comlink and the rushed voice of the Rebel operative was heard.

"Admiral!!"

"Stringer? What the -"

"Admiral you're not going to believe this." The operative said, cutting the Admiral off mid-sentence.

"Well? What is it, Stringer?"

As Matthias Woods stood there, bare-chested wearing only a towel, he heard the news - straight from Imperial Center.

"Retired?"

"Yes, sir. It has been confirmed."

"I've gotta tell Marin... Good work, soldier. Woods, out."

Admiral Woods scrambled to put his clothes on as fast as possible before running out the door.



<b><u>Yavin IV - Marin Faulker's Office - 0515 Hours</u></b>

"Right. That's not a bad idea. I think if we focus our efforts, we should be ready to go in a week or so." Marin Faulker said, sitting at his desk, with fellow soldier Arza Rezar who was one of the few soldiers in the Rebellion that had been with Marin since the beginning.

"Oh really?" Arza Rezar said, genuinely surprised. "So the terra forming effort has been going well?"

"Yes, it has. Last I spoke with McCorda on Yavin 8, they're proceeding according to schedule.

"We'll be able to expand our base of operations to the other moons, once it's complete."

"That's great to-" Rezar began to reply but immediately paused when Admiral Matthias Woods burst through the door, panting.

Both men sat there, exchanging glances, not knowing what to make of the Admiral's sudden arrival.

"Marin..." Admiral Woods said, gathering his breath.

"Simon Kaine..." He continued, regaining his wind.

"...Retired."

The last words struck like a dart.

"Simon Kaine? Retired?" Arza Rezar said, clearly taken aback.

"Yes, our intelligence has confirmed that Simon Kaine has retired his post of Supreme Commander." Woods replied, after regaining his composure.

"I can't believe it." Was all Marin Faulker could muster.

"Apparently he left Imperial Center without a trace, even the Imps don't know where he went."

"Disappeared off the face of the Galaxy..." Marin continued.

A flood of thoughts immediately filled Marin Faulker's head.

"Rezar, have Morgan setup a meeting. <b>Immediately</b>. Get everyone here ASAP."

"Yes, sir." Arza Rezar said, as he rose and quickly went to fulfill his orders.

"Matt, find out whatever else you can about the situation. Keep me updated regularly. This might just be the break we needed..." Marin said, trailing off.

"Yes, sir." Matthias said, as he turned exiting the office.


<b><u>Undisclosed Planet - Office of the Chief of State of the Alliance, Vance Taesch</u></b>

"Sir, we have news from Yavin." The voice of Anna said, through Vance Taesch's intercom.

"Yes, Anna. Come right in."

"Sir, it appears that Simon Kaine has... <i>retired</i> from the Empire."

"What?!?" Vance said, as he stopped what he was doing and raised his attention to his assistant, Anna.

"Yes, sir. Morgan has requested your presence on Yavin as soon as possible."

"Right. Clear my schedule, Anna. Prepare my things, I shall leave right away."

"Yes, sir." Anna said, scurrying out of the office in an attempt to complete her duty post-haste.

Vance Taesch leaned back into his luxurious chair in his large corner office which looked out over the ocean. The sun setting caused the clouds to paint the sky like some pastel masterpeice, orchestrated seemingly by the Gods themselves. Vance couldn't help but smile, this was good news for the Rebellion.

As soon as Vance allowed himself to relax, he snapped back into reality.

There was work to do.





<i>The Rebellion had once dreamt of a day when the Galaxy would be free once again. A time when peace and harmony played their sweet song throughout the Universe. The battle for freedom was hard fought, and costly. The Rebellion had struggled, the Rebellion had failed. But from that failure the Rebellion had been reforged, and had now been given the chance that might help them restore freedom throughout the Galaxy.

Victory might not come on the terms that Marin Faulker hoped it would, but rest assured that victory <b>would</b> come.</i>

Mon Calamari - 0500 hrs local time

The sun was just breaking through the liquid blue horizon when the news of Simon Kaine's retirement, Supreme Commander of the Imperial combined forces, reached the desk of Matko Ko'Vic. Once an Admiral in the New Republic the Bothan commander had let his routine slip. He slept late. Fortunately for him and others his friends had not become lax in their duties. John-James Jamison had long served beside Ko'Vic - first as a Capitan under the Bothan's flag and then, following the break up of the New Republic, as Chief-Administrator of Ko'Vic Incorporated. An early riser for as long as he could recall Jamison rose with the crack of dawn. Years of regimented routine had kept the thirty five year old human fit as a fiddle and sharp as a tack. Showered, shaved and dressed for the days events, Jamison stormed in to his friends room.

Their apartments were located in the auspicious upper terrace levels of the floating city. Throwing open the doors Jamison called for his once-commander to wake up moving directly towards the opulent bay windows, darkened by heavy curtains, that looked out on to the oceans of Mon Calamari.

"Admiral," he called again, louder this time and using the honorific with emphasis. "Simon Kaine..."

"Unless he is dead," put the Bothan in an early-morning deadpan monotone, "I do not want to know."

At this Jamison paused, contemplating. For a moment he was silent.

"What?" Ko'Vic asked half propped on one elbow, ears forward.

The uncustomary silence that surrounded his aide and friend was disconcerting enough to draw his attention.

"Well," he asked again, "what is it Jamison?"

Having reached a conclusion Jamison parted his lips to speak but said nothing. Instead he turned and threw open the curtains allowing the early morning dawn to spill lazily across the floor. Then, silhouetted against the brilliant pink sky, he said, "Simon Kaine has retired. He's gone."

Outside the streets of the city were a buzz with activity. In the face of the pending arrival of the Dragon Imperium the people of Mon Calamari were frantic. Plans for evacuation, plans that Ko'Vic Incorporated had helped develop, had turned the war torn world on its head.

The next few hours were spent pouring over incoming reports from the various arms of Ko'Vic Incorporated, the two men elbow deep in shifting piles of flimsy-printed reports and dossiers. It seemed that what had happened within the Empire was entirely internalized. Information was scarce at best and vague beyond description at worst but what both men could agree on was that Kaine was gone. If their sources were to be trusted then indeed the Empire had come dangerously close to civil war - some said that Simon Kaine had attempted to stage a coup and was repelled by the Emperor while others insisted it was all just a push to install Bhindi Drayson as the new Supreme Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces. What they all agreed on however was that whatever the reason behind it Simon Kaine had vanished.

From over a stack of core-ward reports Ko'Vic fixed his friend with a weary glare. They had ignored their duties pertaining to the evacuation of Mon Calamari today and had no plans of attending to them - there were others on the planet more qualified and besides; their attention was needed elsewhere.

"Do you know what this means?" He queried. He did not mention the chaos outside or the roaring din of passersby moving towards the evac-zones.

Jamison, still engrossed in a data-feed streaming from the Holo Net, only shrugged.

"It means we are back in business."

Curiosity peaked, Jamison looked up. "Hmmm?"

"Are you sure," started the long-time line-captain, "it's really all that important? The more I discover the more I'm beginning to doubt it."

"What?" Ko'Vic smirked. "No, not 'this' in general, I mean this... in spesfic."

Clutched between the Bothan's claws was a document.

"This," he reiterated.

When Jamison, a blank look on his features, failed to catch on he added...

"It is from Marin. Marin Faulker."

Following the news and the brief from their long estranged contact in the Alliance events moved with an urgent swiftness. A meeting had been set though the location had not been revealed to them as of yet nor did they believe it would be in any short order. These things moved according to their nature and that nature was clandestine. Neither of them had been long for the watery world and now they had their orders to move out for which both were glad of. Ostensibly on Mon Calamari to provide relief charity their true motives were far less noble and geared towards the Alliances’ interests in the conflict between the Dragons and the Coalition. Their mission had achieved results but not to the satisfaction of either man nor to their leaders and so, glad of this change of scenery, they were taking to the new assigment amicably. Within hours of the transmission they had arranged their responsibilities and set their affairs in order before preparing for departure.

“How did your wife take the news?”

Ko’Vic, standing out front of his apartments beside his long time friend, smiled. They knew each other intimately and kept few, if any secrets hidden from the other. The small talk was just that – an attempt to cover their own anxiety with some meaningless chatter.

Immersed in the frantic goings-on that were part in parcel for the evacuees and yet removed from it the pair stood on their dock-side street and waited for their ride while the hustle and the bustle of a fleeing people went on around them. A small child with eyes large as dish-pans paused to study the duo and earned a snarling hiss from Ko'Vic for his troubles. His mother, a look of insulted disdain on her squid-like features, swept the boy up in her arms and stormed off. Running from War had a way of changing people. Running towards it was no different.

“She’s fine.” Replied Jamison needlessly. “She grew up on Dantooine.”

Ko’Vic nodded. He had known this of course but the exchange, simple though it was, buffered his resolve in not only himself, but his love ones. Without a family of his own the Bothan had become deeply invested in theirs.

“With any luck you will be back together within a week,” he lied. Each man knew what they were getting in to and knew what it meant to their lives. “With any luck.”

Jamison nodded pensively. “Here comes our ride,” he said at the rising hum of a hover skiff approaching from the sea-side dock among a cluster of similar craft arriving for similar but different purposes. Their bags were packed at their feet. Jamison nudged one with his foot. “It’s been a long time. I hope I don’t forget how.”

Again, Ko’Vic smiled though he added, draping an arm over the shoulder of his companion. “So do I,” he said. “So do I.”

Undisclosed Location – 24 hours later

The room was dark save for the glow of a half dozen lamps. There were no windows and only one door. In truth the room was a cave of man-made proportions. A hodge podge of stone-mason walls surrounded them but no two stones looked alike. Fixed to those irregular walls hung panels, display screes, and various input terminals. At the center of the room was a table, but no regular table was this. Instead it was some meters across and twice as wide with a voluminous depth around which were set a number of chairs.

Upon this looked Matko Ko’Vic with a self satisfied smirk.

“Everything is ready,” reported Jamison emerging from behind a stack of processor cores. “Done and done exactly according to the specs from Faulker.”

The Bothan smiled.

All of it could be taken down in a matter of minutes and reassembled just as quickly. The mobile operations base had been developed by the Bothan and his people long ago. They had selected the location due to their ability to funnel their guests in without revealing too many cues as to their where-abouts. Once this meeting was over, he knew, none of this would remain. They would be off to their next location.

A display off to their left beeped.

They watched carefully. “Your ship,” remarked Jamison. “Your crew.”

Wincing, the Bothan set Jamison with an insulted glower. “They may be my people, John, but we are all in this together. Loyalty, theirs and yours, is the most valuable thing in the galaxy.”

He agreed. “Marin is coming, the rest will be here soon.”

“Let us get this show on the road.”

Fulgonia - Outer Rim

Paunch frowned and placed the pistol on the table top.

Across from him was sprawled an alien of unknown sort and from its chest rose a cloud of smoke, or rather, from what used to be its chest.

The other players arranged around the small back-room gambling table froze and fixed him with alternating glowers of rage and worry, all this between exchanging glances with not only one another but also the corpse that had moments ago occupied the fifth seat. Roughly four sets of eyes (damn aliens) studied him and their cards.

Paunch was not a small man, nor was he a tall man. He was neither fit nor fat, ugly nor handsome. In fact, if anything could be said about Paunch it was that in every outward way he was totally and utterly unremarkable. His features were completely average, his hair a dusty brown. But none of the men present would ever forget him. He was carved in to their memories now and for that, he might as well have been looking at four dead men.

None would survive, could survive more then a handful of steps on the cold streets without him. Paunch would make sure of that, or his people would.

This was not, after all, just another game of cards.

"I hated doing that," remarked Paunch.

Knitting his fingers together over the weapon he went on, "But you have to understand why I did that, yes?"

The others remained eerily silent watching him as though he were still brandishing the weapon.

"This is a circle of trust," he continued, "and when you go outside the circle you break that trust and what do we have if not trust?"

"Nothing," he answered. "You for instance..."

He nodded towards one, "Without trust you have no insurance, no guarantee that your privacy remains private..."

"And you," he indicated the next, "Without trust you have no safe harbor for you and your men coming off of a job, no where to turn when the authorities are pounding you down."

"You," he motioned to the third. "You need your weapons, your explosives, your merchandise. Without a supplier you have nothing to sell and what does that leave you? A bunch of angry customers with a demand you cannot supply."

"And last," eyes locked on the fourth he pressed through, "Without trust, where is your rebellion?"

He was silent then. For a long moment Paunch did not speak but simply turned his ever discriminating stare across the assembly. Subtly, he gestured. From the shadows that surrounded the room and filled the corners emerged a man, nay a creature. It hissed and deposited, heavily, a package dead-center on the table. Landing with a heavy thud it drove their cards and chips to dancing madly amongst one another. The game was over.

"There," Paunch spoke, "is the ticket to your freedom. Everything you will need to put together your uprising and see it through. It is sad that we should come so far only to have one among us act as betrayer."

A hand motioned towards the still smoking cadaver, "But this is the nature of the business we are in. I have done everything your people need to set you on the road to liberation and freedom. Call it democracy, call it whatever you want. You asked and I delivered. Now, the small matter of my fee?"

Now, at last, they broke from their intensive quiet. The one who spoke, the last addressed by Paunch, was obviously their leader - his style of dress was finer, his method of speech more eloquent and his wallet much, much deeper.

"We thank you for your efforts here Mr. Spock," the large creature in the corner bit back a laugh, "but we have concerns that your work here has not been exactly what we are in the market for. Your style of... action... is too bloody for our tastes. Look here, you have laid low one of our membership already and what are we to make of this? You tell us he would have betrayed us, and maybe so, but what proof do we have? Are we to take you on your word alone?"

Paunch was quiet now, unspoken. He simple grinned and watched, watched and listened.

"Look at the path you have laid out for us," the speaker went on waving his eyes at the parcel before him. "You have charted us on a course of murder, lies, terrorism and hate. This is not the message we want to convey to our people, this is not the freedom we have bought."

"With all due respect," Paunch rose from his chair and donned his jacket. "You have bought nothing. You came to me and asked for my services which I provided, and have yet to be compensated for I might add, and now you would presume to be surprised by what you have to do? Gentlemen, if I dare sully the word, what you have to understand is that revolution is never easy, no rebellion is born without blood and no uprising can rise up without force. Now if you are still too squeamish even after all the things I have shown you during my time here, on your planet, then I am sorry. You are under no obligation to use what I give you. You are only obliged to pay me for my time."

"Of course," started the leader of the four but Paunch quickly interrupted him.

Paunch held up a palm, "Please save the pleasantries. I will retire for now and contact you through the usual means tomorrow. By then, if you still do not wish to use what I have given you, I will accept my payment and leave. Until then, gentlemen."

Again they were silent as he gathered his belongings and left. While the speaker, the vocal rotund man, had managed to find his voice in face of the brutal murder the others, all closer to the recently living man then he, the rest had been too shocked by the sudden outburst to properly arrange their thoughts. Paunch found this amusing and said as much to his large, serpentine friend upon exiting the dank room in to an equally dank back-alley.

"Hmmm," snarled the other. "That could have gone better."

"It's not important," replied Paunch stepping over a the body of a possibly deceased homeless man. "We are done here."

"Oh?" The alien looked surprised by this. "Since when?"

"Since I heard from Marin," he nodded. "We are on to bigger and better things."

"And what about them?" The massive alien turned it's head back towards the building they had just left. "What about democracy and freedom? What about all these people on this planet? What about tyranny and evil?"

"What about them?" Paunch echoed. "I'll tell you what about them."

Producing from inside his jacket a long slender remote he toggled a switch and said, "Fuck them."

From behind them, from within the building a deep bass rumble ushered forth. It shook the foundations. Moments later the smell of smoke filled the air.

The alien paused in stride and studied the human. Paunch did not even wince, but simply continued his slow walk down the alley. The lizard laughed aloud now. Paunch was his kind of human.


Undisclosed Location - Same day

Paunch, reclined in one of the high-backed chairs arranged around the sizable meeting table, kicked his heels up on the table and looked around.

"Nice place," he said to no one in particular.

The room was busier then he would have expected this early on in the game but he bid his peace and said nothing. A number of Humans and Bothans worked side by side with one another attending the numerous terminals lining the cave-like walls of the place. Two men, working in a cluster of others, seemed to be the hub of activity. One, a Bothan in Admirals fatigues seemed to be the senior ranking officer present but even to his eye the uniform he wore looked oddly out of place, if not out of date. They smacked of New Republic traditionalists.

Marin Faulker was not yet present which had lead Paunch to guess that these men represented some more standardized forces, obviously a part of his over-all scheme.

The method by which Paunch had been conducted here was one to which he had become accustomed in his years with the rebels. While he could guess at their present location he knew that even his trained abilities would be hard pressed to single out clues – many of which would have been included deliberately to mislead any such inquisitions. All in all the freedom-fighter-for-hire Paunch was impressed.

This, he thought, had the air of determination about it. There was a passion here. Perhaps, he dared dream, his dream of changing the status quo would come true here, in these halls. Perhaps…

The Bothan Assault Cruiser cruised through the vastness of space. Around her, several aging X-wings paced the warship, occasionally venturing ahead on scouting details. The Excalibur had spent the past two weeks monitoring and occasionally harassing Imperial shipping in the area, with little effect. It frustrated Bandor Kre’fey, the Excalibur’s commander, and his crew. Again, they tediously plied the spaceways, searching for prey and slipping by Imperial warships. Kre’fey sat in his meditation chambers, awaiting the newest report from the scouting party. A creamy furred Bothan slowly entered.

“Captain, still nothing, sir.”

The Kre’fey nodded. “Fine, inform me later if anything comes up.”

The other Bothan nodded and exited, leaving Bandor Kre’fey alone in his meditation chambers. Kre’fey slowly shook his furry head and paced over to the star filled viewports. Their ethereal light poured through the large transparisteel view ports of the Excalibur’s meditation chamber. He starred at several of them.

“How many of those star systems are in conflict? How many people die among the stars?” mused the alien, “and how many more live on the tyranny of the Empire? Such evil times are these. When the righteous cower, when the righteous hide from the galaxy at large. When shall return? When shall restore righteousness to the galaxy? When? When.”

The intercom buzzed.

“Sir, sir! We’ve received news from headquarters that Kaine has disappeared!” reported a bridge crew officer excitedly.

“Thank you Ross. I’ll be up there shortly,” said Kre’fey.

But what does this mean? It is a trap. It is a ploy. Another Imperial ruse. No truly formidable enemy would suddenly retire, would they? Or…or does he think he has already won this galaxy? Has he? The bothan’s fur rippled like Mon Calamari’s ocean waves. He barred his teeth in snarl. Who do you think you are Kaine? Who are you to taunt your enemies like this? Such…such…Kaine. We will bring you to justice. I pledge myself to that cause. Or I will die. Bandor slammed his feline fist on a durasteel table, generating a hollow, metallic thud. Cursing, the alien harshly slapped the door’s controls. The door uneasily slid upwards, and the alien began to walk through the Excalibur’s corridors. A variety of creatures in the employ of the Rebellion walked about, many of them wearing uniforms of defunct governments; the New Republic, the Diversity Alliance, the Bothan Military. Several of the crewmember’s threw casual salutes at the striding Bothan. Kre’fey ignored them, his mind focused on this newest conundrum. The bridge doors opened, and Ross sharply saluted him.

“So?” demanded the Bothan.

“So what, sir?” replied Ross hesitatingly.

“What are orders came with the news?”

“Ah…none sir…I think.”
|
“You think?” snarled the irate Bothan, “I surely hope you think. There hasn’t been much action in the area. We’re going back to Headquarters.”

“But-”

“I brought the Excalibur to the Rebellion on one thing, Ross, do you know what that is?”

“Ah-”

“We’re going to smash the Imperials! We’re going to smash them every day! We’re going to smash them until there are no more Imperials left! Waiting and watching for Imperial shipping isn’t smashing Imperials. To Yavin, men, we’re getting a new assignment.”

Ross paled, nodded, and abruptly walked towards the helmsmen. In seconds, the Excalibur surged forward into the swirling realm of hyperspace towards the outer rim; headed straight to Yavin.

((Pretend I am signed in as Sha'tek. >_>))

Strength was all that there was.

Strength is what decided who would rule, and who would follow. Strength decided who would succeed, and who would fail. Strength separated the great from the meek.

The Shusugaunti were not great philosophers, but they understood that universal truth. It was not always strength of the body, but that did not matter to Sha’tek. He was of the Warrior Caste, so it was strength of body and cunning of battle that were his goals in life. Ever since he had left his home, no matter where he went he heard of this ‘Empire’. This organization lead by humans, and preaching the might of humans and the inferiority of other species.

They DARED to question the might of Sha’tek and the whole Deep Fang Caste! The humans cowered behind blasters, and feeble armours and their ‘laws’. He had once challenged a Stormtrooper to a duel, and he had learned the difference between ‘Warrior’ and ‘Soldier’ on that day. The Imperials were cowards, fearing death and TRUE glory.

Sha’tek fought for money, like many other mercenaries out there. You needed coin to make ones way through this galaxy. Also, it raised less questions than working for free. Many assumed that a warrior who fought for free had an ulterior motive to honour and glory. In truth, he was doing it to gain more strength. To prove himself the better of any challenger.

His recent partner, this ‘Paunch’, was a mercenary hired by this group of ‘freedom fighters’ in the rim. Today, he had come to better appreciate this Paunch fellow and to learn something of his true colours.

‘We’re fighting for democracy and freedom! To free the people of this planet from oppression and tyranny!’ That was the cry for those who was working for now. He couldn’t help but laugh at the concept. Well, after they explained to him what this ‘democracy’ and ‘tyranny’ thing was.

This concept of ‘democracy’ was just foolish to him. It was just a given that the best ruled their lessers. The most powerful warrior leads the warriors, the best craftsman leads the craftsmen, the wisest shaman leads the shamans, so on and so forth. People voting would just weaken the state. The average do not understand the best, and that is why they are not the best and that is why they should not command the best.

This galaxy was full of so many stupid concepts.

Sha’tek had first thought Paunch was like some of the others he met. Full of stupid ideals that would just result in him getting killed. But then he blew up that group, with no sweat or caring. He showed that he was fighting not for some foolish set of values. But it did bring up the question of why the man fought the Human Empire.

It had been something bothering him. He did not like fighting with a man who’s values he couldn’t pin. It was what determined what kind of warrior a person was. It determined where, when, how, and for how long a being would fight. Their reasons were what determined whether a being would hold to you, or sell you out. Whether he’d break the line in a frenzy, or hold his place despite whatever emotion drives them.

The Shusugaunti were not great philosophers, but they understood.

-------------------------------------

Undisclosed location

Sha’tek had followed Paunch here, for the opportunity for battle and glory. A contract were he could crush Imperials was always a job Sha’tek enjoyed to take advantage of. He was somewhat leery of how sane these people would be. Many he had met were bound by what they called ‘morality’. An odd sense of honour where they would weaken themselves by being unwilling to have those idiotic enough to be on a battlefield die. They would offer supplies and aid to those who were too cowardly or weak to join in the fight.

When he came through the door, many offered strange looks to him. He was a beast of a creature. He stood a full seven feet in the air, with eight feet of tail coming behind him. His face was that of a predator of the deep, and his body was that of a being who did nothing but improve his body. He was truly a massive and imposing being.

He glared around the room, staring down any that dared to try and look him in the eyes. He found a corner, and coiled up there looking around the room for anyone of importance. His eyes settled on the one in the uniform with the most symbols upon it. One of those dog-beings. ‘Bodin’ was the name Sha’tek recalled.

“You with the baubles. Bodin.” Sha’tek growled as he stared intensely at the being. “Why am I not killing yet?”

<b>Aboard the <i>Illustrious Dream</i> en route to the Yavin System</b>


The reports were beginning to come in through the more mainstream channels, the news of Simon Kaine's departure from the Galactic Empire was news indeed.

Vance Taesch had yet to catch a report from the INS Newsroom, but he assumed that was because they were trying to figure out how they could spin the news in their favor.

Vance shook his head, "Glad I don't have to do that job."

"Which job is that sir?" His assistant and confidant, Anna inquired.

"Sorry, Anna. I was thinking out loud. I was just thinking about how I'm glad I'm not the one who's responsible for making Simon Kaine's departure from the Empire look like a good thing.

"The truth is, we need to jump on this ourselves. We could really use this to our advantage. If we can just use this to plant seeds of doubt in the citizens of the Empire..."

"How could we possibly?" She asked, with a puzzled look on her face.

"Well, Simon Kaine was a prominent figure within the Empire. We know that even the Emperor himself wasn't sure what to make of Kaine's return to Coruscant. Which leads us to believe what?"

"He was going to overtake the Emperor himself..."

"Exactly, and from the initial reports I'm getting back from the field, it looks like the Imps themselves were divided on the matter. There were those that would have seen Simon Kaine rise to become Emperor, and they would have given their lives to ensure his success."

"While there were others... who found their loyalty with the Emperor Hyfe, and would have protected the sanctity of Empire." Anna said, putting the peices together.

"Exactly. Now that Kaine has seemingly disappeared off the face of the Galaxy, what is to become of the officers who openly diverted their forces to support a coup against the Empire?"

"Wow, you're right Vance. I'd hate to be the one trying to sort out that mess."

"We need to get to Yavin, quickly. I need to speak with Marin Faulker.

"Anna, can you find out what our ETA on Yavin is?"

"I spoke with Captain Grenier not a moment before I joined you. We should be in the Yavin System in the next few hours, on schedule to meet with Marin Faulker and the rest of the Alliance."

"Well done, Anna." Vance said, smiling.

"Thank you, sir." She replied, also smiling.


Meanwhile - Yavin 8 - Alliance Base (Under Construction)


"Dammit McCorda, where the fuck have you been?" The angered voice of High Admiral Faulker blasted through the comlink with heavy static, yet Captain Davin McCorda was still able to get the gist of the message.

"Marin?" He replied sheepishly.

"Yes, it's Marin, who the fuck else would it be? Haven't you gotten any of my messages?"

"No, sir. Our communications array went down last night, we were attacked by a pack of Reel."

"Real what?"

"No, Marin. A pack of Reel, you know, giant snakes?"

"A <i>nest</i> of Reel."

"No, we didn't attack their nest, they came out of nowhere."

"No, you idiot. A group of snakes is called a <i>nest</i>, not a <i>pack</i>."

"Oh, well I thought-"

"Nevermind, I need you to get back to Headquarters, <b>immediately</b>." Marin said, interrupting the Captain.

"Why what's going on?"

"I'll tell you when you get here. Hurry up. By the way, how's progress on the base coming? How much damage did the Reel do?"

"We were able to contain most of the damage to our communications array, which we were able to repair. Other than that, we're on schedule. I had a crew work through the night, so we didn't lose much progress."

"Good work. I'll see you when you get here. Faulker out." The High Admiral said, cutting the transmission.

Davin McCorda stood there for a moment, not sure what to make of the situation. He was summoned back to Yavin IV, and he was to come immediately. Between the attack on the base last night and this sudden news, Davin McCorda didn't know <i>what</i> to think.

Garen Racto was not a violent man; in truth, he shunned violence of any form, for any reason. He believed that communication was the path to peace and ultimate understanding; pure communication, mind you. Garen Racto believed so fervently in the power of communication, that at the age of thirty-five, he had had himself implanted with a Borg Construct Aj^6, one of the most notoriously personality-limiting cybernetic implants of modern times.

At the moment, the cyborg was sitting in his office, immersed in a wordless conversation so pure in nature that most organic life could never possibly understand. The soft buzz of the door chime filled the room, and he pressed a small button on his desk, which emitted its own tone; why allow such a crude distraction as speech, when other means were readily available?

The door slid open, and a silver protocol droid entered the room. The droid waited for the door to slide shut, simply staring at Garen with its glowing, gray photoreceptors. Following the familiar hiss of the door's closure, the less-familiar sound of its locks issued through the small room; the soundless notice of the room's computer spoke into Garen's mind, informing him that the room's full security measures had been activated. Garen's eyes widened in surprise, and for a brief moment, the machine that was made to seem human—and the human that had made himself to seem like a machine—traded a wordless stream of thought.

Garen leapt to his feet, a stray thought closing the datafile he had been working with only a moment before. He moved quickly to a side table, taking out an odd-looking datapad and a multitool, then moving quickly toward the protocol droid, whose mannerisms had changed to reflect a supreme sadness. Garen quickly opened a panel on the droid's head, plugging the datapad into an access port and pressing a few buttons. The droid collapsed to the floor, where it lay motionless for several seconds, undergoing a full system-restart.

Garen removed the datapad, closed the panel, and stored the devices away again. As the droid climbed awkwardly to its feet, Garen stormed from the room. One rushed command that felt entirely too much like talking departed from his mind, and the dazed protocol droid returned to its workstation. The only knowledge contained by its newly-wiped brain was this simple statement: Garen Racto is not in at the moment; he has departed to tend to a family emergency.




Garen Racto stepped through the door and into the small room, his eyes coming to rest on the pale, frail body that lay on a bed within it. My brother has been poisoned. As painful as that thought was, Garen's logical mind would not allow him to forget the most important fact about the message his droid had delivered: it had been Darik himself—Garen's brother—who had sent it. Staring at the withering body before him, Garen knew that his brother was in no condition to send a message, and likely had not been since his poisoning. So, the question was. . .

Darik's eyes fluttered open without warning, and with great difficulty, he lifted his head to peer at his brother. There was an urgency in those eyes, a desperation that Garen didn't completely understand, but recognized well enough to act. Reaching out with his artificially enhanced mind, he found the hidden security computer concealed behind the wall, undoubtedly installed specifically for Garen's use. In a fraction of a second, it had activated, and that small room became every bit as secure as Garen's own office had become so very recently. As a soft beep issued from behind the nearby wall, Darik opened his mouth: "Marin Faulker," he wheezed, then slouched back into the bed, no longer able to hold his brother's gaze.

Garen fled the room immediately, rage filling his thoughts and clouding his mind.



Undisclosed location

My brother poisoned himself. For a man who abhorred violence, it was a difficult thing for Garen to admit. His own brother had almost killed himself, and though he now understood why, the thought of such an appalling act almost made Garen sick. Of course, no one had actually told Garen of what his brother had done, and it was absolutely essential that Davik never admitted it. . . ever.

At the mention of Marin Fulker, Garen had understood completely. It had taken him less than five minutes to find the short message Davik had hidden for him, and he had set out immediately for the shady meeting place in which he now stood. Looking back on it, as shocked as he was, it was really quite simple: Davik had needed a way to get Garen away from the watchful eyes of his Imperial supervisors, and a nearly-successful assassination attempt on his brother would give more than enough excuse for Garen to depart immediately and without announcement, leaving his duties unattended.

And so, there he was, at the meeting his brother had almost died to get him to, sitting in a room that was quickly filling with men and women wrapped in the garb of long-defunct government militaries, as well as a host of beings possessing a less. . . savory. . . appearance. Whoever they all were, wherever they all came from, it was clear that this was not the place for a cyborg pacifist in the employ of the Galactic Empire. Still, Marin Faulker had apparently insisted that Garen be here, and Garen knew that there could only be one reason for that.

<i>I observed Marin Faulker.

I watched him from afar.

I took great interest in his 'Rebellion'. I myself had sympathies to the cause. I myself knew of a time when the Republic flourished.

I saw firsthand what the Empire did to those who opposed.

Freedom was dead. Empire was born.

So I watched Marin Faulker, silently cheering him on from the sidelines.

But, over the course of the past few years, Marin Faulker and his band of rebels never fully succeeded in their goal. Sure, they made progress, but Marin Faulker always set his sights for something... bigger.

But, it wasn't so much in how they succeeded, it was in how they <b>failed</b>. I know it's a strange thing to say, but through defeat, I learned the most about Marin Faulker.

No matter how many operations didn't go according to plan, Marin Faulker never faltered.

He never lost his resolve.

And he never lost the respect of his men.

It was inspiring, to see a man so dedicated - so focused.

I knew a man like that could never truly fail.

So I joined him, I offered my support.

That is where I find myself today, on the eve of a meeting of the so-called Rebellion.

In light of the news of Simon Kaine's departure from the Empire, we converge upon the Yavin system - united in our goal.</i>

"Sir," The voice of Anna came through the comlink.

"Yes, Anna?"

"We're approaching Yavin IV. Your transport is ready to take you to the meeting."

"Thank you, Anna."

Yavin IV - The Office of Marin Faulker

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Vance." Marin Faulker said, welcoming the Chief of State of the Rebellion into his office.

"Of course, I'm glad to be here, given the circumstances."

Marin Faulker nodded in agreement.

"We've got a lot of work ahead of us Admiral."

Marin Faulker nodded once again.

"Which is why I've called everyone here." Marin Faulker looked down to his chronometer. "Let's get to it shall we? The men should be waiting in the briefing room."

"Of course." Was the reply Vance Taesch offered, as he followed Marin Faulker out to the meeting.

Yavin IV - A Few Minutes Before the Meeting

<i>"You with the baubles. Bodin."</i> The creature somewhat reptillian in appearance said. <i>"Why am I not killing yet?"</i>

The small, furry Bothan clothed in an Admiral's uniform, looked the creature up and down.

The Admiral barked out a command in Bothese which the creature may or may not have understood.

Just as the Admiral was about to make sure that the Shusugaunti warrior understood his command, the doors slid open in preparation for Marin Faulker's entrance.

As the High Admiral and leader of the Rebellion entered the room, everyone rose in respect to their leader.

Marin Faulker entered the briefing room, which was now full of soldiers in the service of the Rebellion. It had been an extraordinarily busy morning and he hadn't had the chance to greet everyone on an individual basis.

As Marin Faulker entered the room, he took just a moment to personally greet Matko Ko'Vic and Bandor Kre'fey as he hadn't had the chance to do so before the meeting.

After exchanging pleasantries with the Bothans, Marin proceeded to the center of the room where he would address the Rebellion.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming to the Yavin System on such short notice. As you all know by now Simon Kaine has not only retired from duty to the Empire, but also vanished.

It is imperative that we not become lax in our convictions, no it is at this time that we must redouble our efforts.

From this day forward, we won't know ourselves simply as 'rebels'.

Because what do rebels have to do if there is nothing to rebel against?

No, not us men.

We have a goal.

We have a purpose.

Rebellion is but a temporary thing, but <b>we</b>... <b>WE</b> will be here long after the Empire has taken its last breath.

<b>We</b> will be there to rebuild from the ashes of the Empire, a <i>Republic</i>. A Republic which once stood for many millennia. A benevolent Republic which is intwined into the very fabric of this Galaxy.

Do not think that the good citizens of this Galaxy have forgotten. They will not forget. Should the Empire stand for a thousand years, they will <b>never</b> forget.

From now on men, let that vision guide you. Let that vision fuel your every action.

No longer are we but a short-sighted thing.

No longer will we simply be known as 'rebels'.

Yesterday, we were the Rebellion, <b>today</b> we are <i>the Alliance to Restore the Republic</i>.

Do not forget that men, do not forget that we have a purpose. A purpose far greater than ourselves, and even each other.

Do not think the path we walk will be an easy one.

We will <b>never</b> give up. But our road will be a difficult one.

This is not a mere <i>battle</i> that we fight, make no mistake - this is a <b>war</b>.

Along the way we will fall, but we will not be defined by how we fall. We will be defined by how we bounce back after such failures.

Failure is but a temporary thing.

Carry this in your hearts, know that every day may not be a resounding success, but in those days we must look to the future, and see the larger picture.

We have a purpose, we have a goal.

We are <i>united</i> in our cause. We cannot fail, so long as we never give up.

I am here to tell you that as I stand before you, I will not give up. I will never waiver from this cause. Because, in my heart I know it is just.

Our enemies are clever, they are powerful, and they are just as determined as we.

But they are not us, and they do not fight for what we fight for, which is <i>freedom</i>.

A great man once said, 'Freedom has its life in the hearts, the actions, the spirit of men and so it must be daily earned and refreshed - else like a flower cut from its life-giving roots, it will wither and die.'

We are those men, the last vestiges of hope for a free Galaxy. But make no mistake about it, we must <b>earn</b> it."

With that, Marin Faulker concluded his speech to those faithful to the same cause as he.

Although Marin Faulker was a soldier at heart, he was a leader by birth. His ability to shed light on such a dim prospect was second to none. The reason that he was so successful was because he believed in what he said. In the very depths of his soul, he knew that the Empire was evil, corrupt, and unjust.

"So, now that we've gotten that out of the way. Let's get down to business, we've got a Republic to restore." Marin said, opening the conversation up to the masses. Now that they had firmly established their goal, it was time to put it into action.

As the stirring speech echoed throughout the room, Kre’fey’s fur rippled as Marin Faulker spoke. Eyes of a multitude of species and backgrounds raptly stared at the former Imperial. Whether they had been dirt poor human farmers from some backwater worlds or oppressed aliens from Coruscant, Faulker’s message resonated in all them. In their own way, most soldiers emanated one things: Unity and Resolve. Powerful emotions that could drive men to accomplish the impossible. Now all that would be needed would be directions. Maurin concluded his speech.

"So, now that we've gotten that out of the way. Let's get down to business, we've got a Republic to restore."

Bandor stepped towards the military leader.

“Democracy is based in the power of the people. If the Republic is to be restored, then we must have the backing of the people of the galaxy lest we become no different than the Empire. If we are to gain their support, then we must show that we can win; that we can accomplish what we have set out to do.

We must give them victories. And to do that, we must have supplies, men, and intelligence all while depriving the Empire of their own. I propose a new campaign that will do just that. A campaign that will encompass all of our forces and assets to build our Alliance and tear down the Empire. With your permission, High Admiral, I request that if this idea is shot down, that I may at least take my Excalibur to pursue these goals…”