Towler – Offices of Senator Towler
“I am aware of the proposal, Senator,” the Secretary-General said. Garrec Dallender, leader of the United Nations of Loronar, was a trim-looking man in his mid-forties, young for the position but, as Towler knew from meeting the man in person, wizened for the experience. The blue holographic render of Garrec Dallender’s bust did not properly convey his stately wrinkles or quickly whitening hair. “President Carrigher is hosting a holoconference to discuss a naval deployment into the Corellian Sector in a half hour. Ten of the largest Colonies worlds in the region will be there.”
“What’s her angle?” Towler asked. “Isn’t the Republic’s response enough?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me, Senator,” Dallender answered.
Towler thought about it. The Iseno-Denon Conflict had made the Hydian Way and Corellian Run hazardous. The last embers of the Galactic War still burned in those systems, and had made refueling there all but impossible due to a lack of publicly accessible stations. Even ships with the fuel were vulnerable to being waylaid by pirates and slavers in transit, and if that wasn’t enough both Iseno and Denon were fielding privateers that did not strictly limit themselves to preying on the enemy’s supply lines.
The Corellian Trade Spine was the last major hyperlane connecting the southern reaches of the Republic to Coruscant and the Republic’s northern heart. If Free Corellia successfully destabilized the Corellian Sector, the Spine would be unviable as a trade route as well. Every major hyperlane connecting the South Colonies to Coruscant would be lost.
“I understand the need to secure the sector,” Towler started. “The strategic value of the Corellian Sector is immense. There might be other ways to navigate from the southern regions of the Republic to the north, but I’m guessing the economic impact of a slowdown would be large in the aggregate, to say the least. On top of that, maybe it’s a moral victory for the South Colonies? Maybe Hosnian Prime wants to demonstrate that we are keeping the Republic together?” Towler leaned back in his chair. “What better way to do that than to very literally keep the Republic together by securing its hyperlanes.”
“So you think it’s a good idea?” the Secretary-General asked. Towler exhaled sharply. He wasn’t sure he liked Dallender. He liked that the Secretary-General listened to him. He did not like that the Secretary-General would make a decision of this magnitude based on Towler’s opinion. Not that he hated it. To have the influence was nice, but it felt wrong. Towler had been elected to represent Loronar in the Senate, not lead its people as its planetary governor.
“If it's a limited anti-piracy campaign, I think so, especially if the Republic can provide military support soon. If we have the full strength of the Republic on its way, we just have to look competent until they arrive, and we collect a victory for the Colonies,” Towler said. "Not bad for the polls, either, now that I think about it." Was is that simple, though? A cross-sector military deployment for the sake of local political capital? He counted back in his head, trying to determine if Carrigher was in an election year. Maybe it was next year?
“Thank you for your input, Senator,” Dellander said. Towler nodded. “I do have to ask, though, why did President Carrigher contact you? I’m glad to have your input, but it would have been more proper for you to have heard a briefing from me first.”
“President Carrigher is also the Senator for Hosnian Prime, Secretary-General,” Towler explained. Under Hosnian Prime’s senatorial election process, the President of Hosnian Prime appointed the Senator every election cycle. Naturally, President Bar Carrigher had appointed herself, and maintained proxies to represent her on the floor of the Senate. “I’m not sure why she felt the need to come to me, though. This is your area of control, after all, not mine.” It was always good to reassure your betters that you didn’t intend to step on their toes. It kept things civil.
“Of course,” Dallender said, seemingly pleased. “Thank you again, Fosten.” And his holographic image winked out of existence.
Towler pursed his lips as he sat, thinking.
Why me?- - -
Jumproot – Deep Space Refueling Platform 5, New Plympto System
Running an effective criminal enterprise, as far as Kragg Jumproot could tell, was all about standards.
The Nosaurian had worked the platform’s bridge comm controls for a few years now, deep in the black of space, and his time as a communications officer with Plympto Refueling Co. had gave him a front-and-center view of just how a profit-minded enterprise like PRC dealt with the pirates and smugglers operating in and traveling through the Corellian Sector. The first step was to be a legitimate business. Any group of pirates could cobble together a private refueling station, but it was a lot easier to deal with the authorities when you could flash a license at them. As for questions, the second step was to maintain a nice, comfortable set of rules. The small crew of Platform 5 had become very comfortable enforcing those rules over time. There weren't many, but they were important.
No slaves, for example, was a big one. PRC didn’t service slaving ships. Not necessarily for moral concerns, though Jumproot had a few of those regarding the business himself, but the authorities had a particular distaste for slavery and tended to look a little closer at where a slaving ship had come from and where it was going. It was a quick way to land yourself in an orbital prison somewhere. Management at Deep Space Refueling Platform 5 refused to let the station be either port of origin or call for those ships.
Another example, no obvious callsigns. Plenty of dumb would-be merchant raiders thought up a blood curdling name for their gunship and took to the stars, looking to scare a freighter captain shitless as soon as it came on comms. Management didn’t deal with those types either. It’s very difficult to refuel a gunboat flashing the name
Throatslitter over broadcast and convince the law you didn’t know what they were up to. Again, quick way to land yourself in an orbital prison somewhere.
Third example, no nameless ships. Every ship in the galaxy had some sort of identifying code. Anyone refusing to fly a BOSS-registered signifier didn’t know what was what, and management didn’t like to work with amateurs to begin with, let alone dumb ones. That, or they were up to some real bad shit. Working with a professional refusing to broadcast a name was, again, a quick way to land yourself in orbital prison.
So, when one such nameless ship appeared on scanners, Communications Officer Jumproot politely advised it to go away.
“They’re not responding,” Jumproot said, gesturing to the comms screen with his mug of caf. Gatt Rockjaw, commanding officer on Platform 5’s bridge at the moment, stroked his chin. “They did make some course adjustments though, so someone’s home over there.”
“And there’s no distress signal?” Rockjaw asked, again. Jumproot shrugged.
“No, not on any channel we’re picking up,” he answered. The ship was far off in the depths of space, a solid blip on their scanners. It seemed to be a large ship, some sort of heavy freighter maybe. At this range, a smaller vessel would have been barely noticeable to Platform 5’s sensors or might not have been picked up at all.
“Try to hail them again,” Rockjaw ordered, and Jumproot obliged. There waited patiently for a moment. No reply, it seemed. He shifted uneasily in his seat. He had a bad feeling about this. Just nerves, he figured. But then, a voice shouted from the sensor controls on the far side of the room.
“Captain, we just picked up an energy discharge!” a female Nosaurian shouted. Rockjaw and Jumproot, at once, swiveled to look at her. The speaker was a new transfer from another PRC station. Jumproot didn’t know her name, but he thought her very attractive, with horns in all the right places. Considering the gravity of her words, he wondered if her horns were an odd thing to be thinking about. “Heavy turbolaser fi—”
She was cut off as Platform 5 roared and rocked. The small crew stationed on the bridge gripped tightly to emergency handholds until the ship stabilized. When they had regained their poise, they found the ship’s electronics dead. Jumproot frantically attempted to reboot his systems, hoping to surrender, but to no avail. He turned around and found another Nosaurian trying the door, but it refused to open.
Rockjaw stared out into the starred blackness of space through the bridge’s transparisteel viewport, looking at, as far as Jumproot could tell, nothing. Useless as it was, Jumproot stared too, looking for some glimpse of the vessel that had just given Platform 5 a sour taste of what seemed to be heavy, military-grade weaponry. He could feel his heart pounding in his head, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Prey, in the jungle, stalked by an unseen but known predator. Jumproot took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm himself.
“Officer Jumproot,” Rockjaw said, slowly, “please open a comm channel and inform this vessel that we are an unarmed civilian refueling platform.”
“Comms are down, sir,” Jumproot answered. The words ran out of his mouth, slurring together. He was shaking. What happened to bodies exposed to the vacuum? He couldn't remember, wasn't sure he wanted to remember. “Everything’s down.”
Rockjaw didn’t acknowledge him. His eyes had fixed on something in particular, and as Jumproot looked back to the viewport, he saw it. It was a pair of bright red lances arcing through the void, and the bridge of Platform 5 was very much in their way.
“Ah,” Rockjaw said, perhaps speaking to Jumproot, perhaps not. And that was all there was to say.
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