Progress

"What is it that is so important that it requires my attention," the customs officer asked, his voice harsh and unyielding.

The officer had just arrived to replace the previous customs officer after their shift was over, and not even a few standard minutes later, he was getting a request for his person in the main control tower. He didn't even get to take a sip of his morning cup of caf, which annoyed him to no end. Sometimes he wondered if being so dependent on a morning beverage to function was a weakness, but on a regular day that thought was usually swept away in a wave of caffeine and creamer. Today, that was not the case, and he was more irritable than usual.

This was going to be a long day.

"Sorry sir, but incoming has requested your presence personally."

An annoyed sigh. Another high and mighty officer, senator or merchant requesting the best lodgings and landing pads he had to offer, with all the snark, demeaning comments, and utter nonsense that was their manner of speaking to others not of their class.

"Fine. I'll take over from here. See to it that landing pads 3 through 10 are taken care of. They were having technical difficulties last I checked."

The junior officer complied with his order with speed, and he turned his attention to the screen, overlooking the data being displayed.

'Ship Class: Raider Class Corvette. Clearance codes: 11J-213'

He almost choked on his own spit when he read the clearance code. That was reserved for extremely important imperial military officers, moffs, or Inquisitors. People who did not like to be kept waiting. He rushed over to the comm unit.

"Raider Class Corvette, this is Control Tower 3SB, you are cleared to land on landing pad 2."

"Excellent, and make sure that your stormtrooper attache is awaiting my arrival in parade formation. If not, I'd hate to find another officer to replace you," the voice on the other end sneered, before cutting off with a blip of static.

The officer never moved faster in his life. He spoke so fast to so many people he wondered if he was actually speaking understandable words. More likely it was sounds of utter fear and anxiety, and those that he spoke to understood the underlying message.

The result of that mad scramble was a formation of 500 stormtroopers, all standing at attention, with him and a junior officer at the head of the formation, stiff as boards as they waited. Their terror only grew as they saw the silhouette of the corvette in question slowly descending from the atmosphere towards the landing pad, the blood red imperial cog painted on the port and starboard side of the vessel only adding to their stress.

The sounds of the corvette's landing gear extending and making contact made him shiver in fear, the hissing of the hydraulics as the landing ramp lowered made the junior officer visibly flinch. A single figure slowly made their way down off the ramp and onto the landing platform, their visage made the officer's heart race. He was sure that it would find a way to beat itself out of his chest before the day was through. He held his breath as the Inquisitor finally stopped a few feet in front of him, turning left and right, surveying all the soldiers behind him.

"I'm impressed. Most impressed. You managed to round up the entire stormtrooper attache assigned to this facility and get them into proper formation on time. Well done."

The praise, if said by anyone else, would have meant something to the officer. But coming from this….thing, he doubted that it was capable of telling even the most simplest of truths. The way its voice seemed to hiss, its demeaning tone, the nearly imperceptible mechanical twinge every time it spoke. It wasn't natural. It was an abomination. Utterly evil, with no remorse.

"Thank you, Inquisitor."

Its emotionless face, alien, twitched, before smoothing into a blank canvas once more.

"I am tracking someone, and I was told that they were on this planet. As we speak. Therefore, I will begin my investigation here."

"Of course, Inquisitor," he replied, having no actual authority to even suggest his presence wasn't welcome or wanted.

"Ergo, since I will be investigating the entirety of the planet to find who I seek, I will need some...assistance to help expedite my efforts. Therefore, I am pleased that you have volunteered the entirety of your stormtrooper attache, along with a battalion of Imperial Army soldiers, vehicles, assets and more to help with this investigation," the Inquisitor spoke, an order in all but name.

The officer reigned in the impulse to tell off this Inquisitor, his face minutely twitching as his mind warred between fear and anger. He then put on a mask of compliance, for his own sake. Raising objections to moffs, Inquisitors, or anyone above his rank absconding with his military units, assigned to him, was unthinkable, an unfortunate fact of being on a backwater with no powerful friends to protect him from such predations.

"Of course, Inquisitor. Anything to expedite your investigation," he ground out.

"Excellent! I shall begin immediately," the Inquisitor spoke, walking past him. He stopped, turned back towards the customs officer, and spoke.

"For the Empire."

He didn't want to say it. By the spirits he didn't want to say it. Not to this...thing after it usurped his authority. However, it would mean death. All eyes were on him. Every stormtrooper, every deck officer within earshot. Even his junior officer watched him with baited breath, waiting for a sign of either weakness or strength. He turned to stare at the Inquisitor, and with a fist to his chest, he spoke.

"For the Empire."

Rebels

They surrounded the holo-projector, looking at the map of the planet being displayed, the terrain features glowing with a blue hue. Tos kept an eye on those that surrounded him behind his helmet while paying the barest form of attention to what the rebels were discussing. He turned his eye to the planet. Rannon was a planet carpeted in thick forestry, leagues upon leagues of thick woodlands and wilderness, pock marked by semi-sufficient settlements and small stretches of farmlands, owned by farmers that have cleared out small, rectangular plots so that their crops could have a chance to flourish without being smothered by the yawing trunks of the surrounding trees.

Travel overland was nigh impossible for heavy machinery or large vehicles of any kind. Only through rigorously maintained dirt pathways could such vehicles travel between settlements, and those were reserved for the capital and its surrounding satellite cities, which were linked to the local space port, the military installation, and the manufacturing centers. Ad Hoc pathways, created by farmers for their cargo haulers to move their goods from their plots of land to the local markets in the settlements nearby, snaked throughout the planet, unofficial by nature, and entirely unsecure from highway robbers and gangs of thieves.

Imperial control was relegated to the largest of the settlements and the capital, its authority tenuous at best in the settlements on the fringes. It was ripe for rebel activity.

"...and here is where we believe to be an imperial munitions stockpile. Our intel suggests that it is relatively unguarded and chock full of munitions, ready to resupply a local imperial garrison. If we take it, we could deprive the garrison of their munitions. After that, we will launch hit and run attacks on their patrols, slowly whittling down their ability to react to our actions until they can't do anything but guard the settlement. Then, that is when we strike with everything we have. We will overrun their defenses, and the settlement will be free of imperial rule."

Tos turned his attention to where the rebel leaders were gesturing to. It was a munitions cache near an outpost on the fringes, surrounded by heavily wooded hills, with only one pathway to and from the cache, which leads to the outpost. The outpost lay near a settlement, semi-sufficient, small when compared to the satellite cities near the capital, but it sprawled nonetheless. It was out of the way, which means that it wasn't on the priority list for supply by imperial forces in the capital. A ripe target.

"Any intel on the imperial garrison?" Glii Va asked.

"Our intelligence has confirmed that the outpost and the settlement is host to a full battalion of imperial army troopers. What we have trouble identifying with certainty is their capabilities. From our past skirmishes and ambushes, they are mainly infantry with standard imperial loadouts, though they may have heavy vehicles or walkers."

Tos raised an eye at that. "May? You aren't sure as to what they're killing people with? You fight them regularly don't you?"

A glare was shot his way, the rebel leader doing his best to not throttle the mercenary there and then. "As much as it may be to the contrary to what you are expecting, we tend to not stick around long enough for them to pull out their heavy payloads and armor. We suspect they may have them due to our spies finding multiple heavy vehicle garages and maintenance bays, though they couldn't find out more without being spotted."

Tos nodded at that. Fair enough.

"The troopers stationed in the outpost are due to be replaced within a week. This is when we will raid their munitions cache. The troopers here now are veterans, skilled and wary of our usual tricks and traps. We…" the rebel leader sighed with remorse, "we lost a lot of good people in the last few months. With any luck, this new company of imperials will be dumb, slow, and ready for slaughter."

The way the rebel leader growled out that last bit had Tos on edge, his hand twitching towards his carbine. Only by reminding himself that he worked for them did he stay his hand. Glii Va noticed his boss's action, and nodded in shared concern. After a few minutes conversing with the rebel leader, a man named Eddant Jescol, he can summarize the man in a sentence.

Death to all imperials, no matter who.

He was vicious, ruthless, and downright sadistic when it came to imps. He wouldn't doubt that the man hasn't personally tortured a decent amount of imps during this rebellion, and he didn't doubt that the man would continue to do so long after. It worried him, honestly. He understood the hatred of the imps. He could get behind it, but that would cut in half how many contracts that were available if he decided to not work with the imps, so he put on a mask of professionalism when it came to dealing with imperials. But this man took it to levels he was uncomfortable with, with Glii Va sharing his feelings.

After this contract was complete, with any and all Old Republic war gear safely tucked away on Florrum in his secret stache, he would black list this planet on his hyperdrive coordinates listings. He doubted that he would be welcome back after this, and there wasn't much for him here anyway. Win win for everyone.

"Our raid on the munitions cache will also keep us combat effective for around….eh..three months, give or take," a rebel off to Eddant's left spoke, continuing the pseudo briefing.

Tos stared at the rebel, a short weequay with cybernetic implants covering the left half of his face, in astonishment.

"Only three months? That supply cache is for an entire battalion, how can you burn through that much ammunition that fast?!"

The rebel leader sighed in annoyance. This wasn't going to go away, was it? This mercenary questioning things. It's gonna get old, fast.

"We do not limit ourselves to this corner of the planet. We run operations all across Rannon, organizing and supplying recidivist movements and rebel cells, providing them training and intelligence so that our end goal of driving off the bastard imps is closer to reach. We were going to be able to go for a full year without having to get supplies, but somebody took all of our money," he said pointedly. "Now, we will have to rethink our means of supply, since we no longer have a secure source. Those Hutt shipments were keeping this operation afloat more or less, but now, we will have to do without if we are to keep this rebellion going, or find another secure supplier, and those are in short supply nowadays."

Tos exchanged a look with Glii Va and opened a private comms channel.

"I'm thinking about offering our services doing mercy missions and milk runs. It'll keep us out of their hair for the most part, and will get us in their good graces...somewhat," he proposed.

Glii Va's brow, or what counted as one for Rodians, raised slightly in question and slight amusement.

"I don't think you'll get them to like you even if you deliver him an entire fleet of capital ships and all the imps on Rannon on a silver platter. He's dead set on not liking you."

Tos inwardly sighed in acceptance and frustration. He saw the signs of a difficult contract the moment he felt the need to draw his carbine, but the promise of Old Republic war gear swept away any and all trepidations and concerns, and now he was paying for it by dealing with an angry and irritable rebel cell who will probably skin him alive if he so much as entertains the idea of acting too out of line.

"I know, but I got to do something to show that I am at least trying to get on his good side."

An eye roll of exasperation.

"It's your call boss, even if it is doomed to fail."

Tos shot his second a rude gesture with no actual bite behind it, which earned him a small chuckle from the Rodian. He switched off the private comm channel and returned his attention to the pseudo briefing.

"...but if we petition the aid of the local gangs, we become beholden to their wishes, as they have connections to the local imperial elite on Rannon. We would shackle ourselves to becoming thugs to crime lords and syndicates, our original mission forgotten. There's also the possibility that we wouldn't get the help we need either," the weequay pointed out, crossing their arms in frustration.

"I know, I know, but what choice do we have? We'll either have to increase the amount of supply raids we do, or have our strength sapped until we are dead men walking, waiting for the imps to execute us," the rebel leader argued.

"There is an alternative to those options," Tos said.

"Really? What bright ideas do you wish to reveal to us that we haven't thought of already?" the rebel leader sneered, his words venomous to an absurd degree.

Tos scoffed. "I suggest that I make supply runs to ensure that my employers can still pay me and that I can see my contract fulfilled."

Initially, the rebel leader wanted to tell the mercenary to bugger off into some dark corner of the base and wait for orders so he wouldn't have to look at him, but a stern look from the weequay stopped him in his tracks. It was a good idea, but it had many flaws, too many for him to be comfortable with. However, they didn't have many options to choose from. The gangsters in the satellite cities and the capital were a hard no for him. He wouldn't associate his rebellion with scum and slavers. Finding a new supplier was hard enough already, and finding a trustworthy one was tantamount to finding pure sensana spices on his doorstep.

He was out of options, but he would make the mercenary wait for his decision.

He felt petty, and wanted to exact some sort of revenge for practically robbing them of money and equipment. Shugesh was always willing to haggle on the price for supplies, and both parties usually benefited from such exchanges, but the way the mercenary practically held the supplies for ransom. It was highway robbery. He was being a hypocrite for thinking such things, as his group had held up imperial freighters and cargo haulers before, but he dismissed such thoughts due to one, simple fact. Those they robbed were imperials.

"Let me think on it, mercenary. I have to discuss it with my lieutenants," Eddant responded.

He then left the room, followed by all of the rebels in attendance, including a massive ithorian dressed in dark, boiled leathers and durasteel plates. What caught Tos' eye was the Z-6 rotary cannon strapped to the alien's back, the metal gleaming as if freshly scrubbed and polished. It held his attention more so than anything in the room. It was beyond perfect, the ultimate handheld death machine capable of wasting waves upon waves of enemies. He was gonna get that gun, one way or another.

"You know you can always buy one, boss," Glii Va suggested halfheartedly, already knowing what Tos was going to say next.

"I want that one though. I'm going to have it," the mandalorian said with utter conviction.

The Rodian sighed in exasperation and weary acceptance. He was not paid enough to deal with this poodo.