Honored Vility: The KOIN Rebellion

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Honored Vility: The KOIN Rebellion

Post by Archangel » Sat Jul 23, 2005 10:03 pm

"What are you going to do?" Prime Minister Michael Sloane demanded of the Council. "The Kingdom of Independent Nations should not stand for such rebellion among its own people, yet you sit here doing nothing while the rebels continue to undermine our attempts at trade and communication with the rest of the galaxy! They should be bowing before their king, not destroying his life's work!"

David Roland, Leader of the Council of the Kingdom, stood indignantly before the Prime Minister. "We, Minister Sloane, are doing everything in our power to overcome this rebel threat, but His Majesty the King refuses to grant us any more funding for the policing efforts!" he retorted. "If we had a few million extra credits to pay for--"

"A few million!" Sloane nearly shouted, his voice increased drastically in pitch. "You have already taken nearly half a billion credits from the Kingdom to pay for your little 'police force' and we have yet to see any improvements! When His Majesty the King has proof that his money is being put to good use, then - and only then - you shall receive extra funding."

Roland was forced to use all of his abilities as a public speaker to keep a straight face. "Minister Sloane, someone within the government must be providing these rebels with equipment, or at least the credits required to buy equipment," he explained, "They are often almost as well-equipped as our police force, but even when they are not, they are more familiar with the Undercity sections of the planet than our officers and can easily slip away in the slums. I do not like this prospect any more than you do - extra funding for this means less funding in other areas of the government, but if you wish to rid the Kingdom of these rebels, then it will be necessary!"

The Prime Minister, now pacing, spun on the Council Leader. "Are you saying, Mr. Roland, that there is someone in the King's government helping this scum?"

Roland, as much anger as he held towards the rebels, was surprised at Sloane's accent on the word "scum". He had never heard Sloane quite so adamant before. Even so, he hid his surprise well, appearing to take it all in stride. "Or a private investor, yes. Someone with enough money to spare for these rebels," he replied.

Sloane's left eye twitched involuntarily. His lips quivered with anger. "Then you, Mr. Roland, may have all the extra money that you require," he stated with an amazing amount of control. "Contact my secretaries and inform them of the amount and you shall receive it within a day."

Roland tilted his head just slightly to one size, unable to control his surprise this time. "Yes ... Minister Sloane."

Sloane took a deep breath and sighed it back out as he spun on his heel and left the Council chambers. Roland sat back down, still a bit dazed from the exchange. The rest of the Council looked to him expectantly. The Council Leader glanced around after a moment, realizing that his job was not finished yet.

"Alright, people," he said, "Do some research and find out just how much money we need for this operation. We're going to crack down on these rebels and get rid of them once and for all!"

* * * * *

Prime Minister Sloane knocked gently on the door to the King's royal chambers. "Your Majesty?" he asked softly, hoping the King was not asleep.

After a moment, the door was opened to reveal the seventeen-year-old King Richard, the young heir to the late King Henry IV, whose untimely death left Prime Minister Sloane in charge until Richard was of age.

Sloane's plans bypassed that; he intended to pass enough laws to make himself the ruler of the Kingdom and have King Richard as just a figurehead to make the people happy. Even with such plans, Sloane always treated Richard with the greatest honors, because he knew that if the teenager ever caught on to the scheme, His Majesty would have the power to have Sloane removed from his position permanently.

"Your Majesty," Sloane said with a bow.

The King rolled his eyes. "Rise, Minister Sloane," he said with mock formality. "What do you want at this time of night?" he asked, more informally, rubbing his eyes.

Sloane said, "Your Majesty, I have authorized the Council use of extra funding to eliminate the rebels once and for all."

King Richard came awake at that moment. "You what?" he demanded.

Sloane stuttered, "I-- I gave him permission to use as much money as necessary."

Riched lashed out, striking Sloane across the face with the back of his hand. "I told you that they were not to receive any more credits! That is my money you're giving away, Minister Sloane!"

Sloane gently placed his hand over the fresh red mark on his face. "Your Majesty, I normally would not have, but the rebels are receiving funding from someone!" he blurted quickly.

Richard had raised his hand to strike again, but paused and lowered it. "Someone?" he asked. "You mean you don't know who?"

Sloane nodded. "That is correct, Your Majesty," he said softly.

Richard shook his head in disgust. "Fair enough. Get out of my hallway, Minister Sloane. I would like to sleep now."

Sloane bowed again. "Of course, Your Majesty," he replied and hurried from the King's palace. I hate him, he repeated to himself. But soon enough, he will no longer be able to treat me in such a manner. I cannot be King without being of royal blood, but I can have his power. Soon, he told himself.

* * * * *

Councilor Joel Farragut strode calmly from the Council chambers to his airspeeder, where his driver was waiting. "Take me home, Victor," he said softly.

He pored over the evening's events. So Minister Sloane is giving the Council everything they need to get rid of me, he thought, They just don't know it yet.

He pulled out his comlink and closed the sound-proof window between him and Victor. He trusted his employees to a point, but did not dare risk letting them know of such things as his collaboration with the rebellion, for their sakes as well as his own.

He activated the comlink and contacted Kyle Alcor, the young leader of the rebellion. "Kyle," he said, "You there?"

Kyle's voice came back, "Yeah, Councilor. You alone?"

Joel nodded, even though there was no video transferrance. "Yes, except for my driver, Victor - but he cannot hear this conversation."

Kyle paused, probably musing as he often did. His intelligence was what kept the rebellion going more than anything else. "Once you get home, get out of the house, take your personal speeder - don't let anyone know what you're doing. Go to the abandoned theater in downtown Cirran. We'll discuss the Council meeting when you arrive." After a moment, he said, "Don't worry, I'll be as alone as I always am. Your identity is safe."

Most would have wondered how Kyle knew where he was going, or that he was in a Council meeting, but Joel had become accustomed to the fact that his own credits let Kyle and his people know exactly where they were at all times. Like himself, Kyle and several of the other rebel leaders preferred to stay under the radar when it came to identity. Joel was not even entirely sure that that was Kyle's real name.

He swallowed before answering, "Okay, I'll try. My wife is getting suspicious, Kyle. But she's been loyal to the Kingdom since she was a child and I can't tell her ... I'll do my best."

"Don't try, Councilor. Get there, or your precious wife will never know what happened to you," Kyle replied curtly, then cut off the transmission.

Joel sighed. Nearly every one of their conversations ended with a threat, especially recently. This had not been his intention in paying for Kyle's rebellion. He had hoped for a peaceful resolution after a few months of anti-oppression demonstrations. Now, it was almost an all-out civil war.

* * * * *

Kyle was not particularly fond of threatening people like Joel Farragut, especially when they were funding him. But he also knew that if he did not, Councilor Farragut might have an attack of conscience and turn Kyle in to Prime Minister Sloane, and that he could not allow.

Kyle was not raised a violent man, but his family had lived is complete poverty since before he was born and the government was responsible with their high taxes on the poor and low costs to the rich. Things had only gotten worse as Kyle had grown up and he had come to despise the government, with its "democracy" - which never decided anything and, if it did, could be overruled by the Prime Minister or King at any given moment - and its "security" - which was more like "protecting" the rich from contact with the poor.

Of course, when young Charles Roland had come to him, having heard of his complaints and wanting to join him to begin a rebellion, Kyle could not resist starting his own private rebellion. Charles' money had quickly run out, though, and Kyle had been forced to turn to the alternative of one Joel Farragut. They had contacted several councilors through complete anonymity, and Farragut had actually accepted the proposition.

After that, it took four meetings before Farragut ever saw Kyle's face - and it was the only face in the rebellion that he had ever seen. Farragut had no clue that the Roland boy had been involved from the start - nor did anyone else. Charles' role had been completely monetary, until he ran out of money, and after that, he had begun to take a more strategic position. Even so, he only ever spoke to Kyle, and none of Kyle's subordinates knew that such a position even existed, much less that it was taken by the son of the Council Leader.

In the entire rebellion, Charles Roland was one of three men Kyle trusted completely. The other two had been Kyle's childhood friends; they had been through thick and thin together and Kyle knew that if they had wanted to turn him in, they would have long before now - they, unlike the rest of the rebellion, also knew of Farragut and Charles. As such, those two friends were always present at Kyle's meetings with Farragut, hence Kyle never saying he was completely alone.

Kyle sighed thoughtfully as he sat down in the middle of the old abandoned theater in Cirran to wait for Councilor Farragut. It would be a while, but not too long for Kyle's patient mind. He had a war to contemplate and, despite disliking the prospect, knew that an all-out war would be the only way to overthrow the King.

[OoC: Thread]

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Post by Archangel » Tue Jul 26, 2005 10:15 pm

Kyle stood and bowed his head slightly as Councilor Farragut entered the theatre. "Councilor," he said in greeting.

The other, too nervous to reply, nodded quickly in return.

Kyle smiled and gestured that Joel sit down. "Please, Councilor ... take a seat," he offered. After Joel had done so, he sat down across the aisle from him. "Tell me, Councilor - what was decided tonight?"

Joel swallowed visibly. "Erm ... Minister Sloane agreed to give Roland any amount of credits he required."

Kyle's smile disappeared immediately. "What?" he said menacingly. "I thought you said the King was refusing further payment."

Joel massaged the back of his neck timidly. "Well, yes, but ..."

When the Councilor trailed off, Kyle said, "But what, Councilor?"

Joel took a deep breath and said, "Roland informed Sloane that you were being funded."

Kyle closed his eyes and forced a smile. "And how did you let this slip?" he demanded.

Joel gasped. "I didn't! It was an assumption - Roland received reports that your men were very well-equipped, and, well ... he put two and two together, you see..."

Kyle nodded. "This is not pleasing news, Councilor," he said stiffly. He stood and began pacing, casting the occasional glances at his friends' positions. "Do they know about you specifically? Or about this place?"

Joel shook his head. "They don't know about me ... if they know about this place, they haven't said so."

Kyle cursed. That did not mean they did not know about the theatre - it only meant they did not trust everyone in the Council. He continued pacing in silence, trying to think, with his right hand massaging his temples. If only there were some nation within the Kingdom that would accept them, harbor them in the coming storm... but none came to mind.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, David Roland, like Kyle, was pacing in thought. The rebels must have added Undercity sections somewhere near the capital - maybe even beneath the capital. If we could just find their main hide-out and eliminate their leaders, then the headless snake might surrender.

"Councilor Roland?" a voice called through his comlink.

He picked it up. "This is Roland," he replied.

"Councilor, Captain Marcus Adrian here. Sensor sweeps indicate that the old abandoned theatre in downtown Cirran contains some advanced weaponry. What do you suggest we do?"

"Send in two squads, Captain, with two squads back-up. If that's the rebel hide-out, they're not as intelligent as I first assumed," Roland ordered.

"Yes, sir! Adrian out," Adrian returned, cutting the transmission.

Roland set the comlink on his desk and sat in his office chair, smiling contentedly.

* * * * *

Charles Roland paused as he passed by his father's office. "Sensor sweeps indicate that the old abandoned theatre in downtown Cirran contains some advanced weaponry," someone was saying over a comlink. Without pausing to hear the rest, Charles rushed to his room, where he grabbed his secure comlink, straight to Kyle.

"Kyle!" he said as soon as he had activated the comlink, "They're onto you! The police have tracked down some of your weapons to your position. Get out of there!"

* * * * *

Joel could not quite ascertain what was being said on the other side of the comlink, but by the way Kyle's eyes widened, he could tell it was not good. When Kyle spoke, that fear was confirmed.

"Get back to your airspeeder, Councilor. Get home as quickly as possible." Without providing any further explanation, Kyle started towards the stage, away from the main exit. As he walked, he glanced at his friends' positions, nodding once each time.

Joel stood, confused. "Wha-- What's going on, Kyle?" he asked.

Kyle spun on him. "Don't say my name! Get back to your airspeeder and go home! Now!" he almost shouted. He turned back towards the stage and continued - starting to run now.

Joel began to hyperventilate. He turned towards the main entrance to the theatre, bending over to try and steady his breathing. It was not working very well, but he managed to get out the door and started towards his airspeeder.

"Hold it right there!" a soldier's voice commanded. Joel stopped, his mouth dry with fear. "Turn around!" the voice ordered. Joel turned slowly, holding his arm in front of his face - more to hide his identity than shield himself from the policemen's bright lights. "Identify yourself!"

"Err ... do you think you could turn off those lights?" Joel asked, disguising his voice as well as he was able.

"Identify yourself!" the voice shouted again, ignoring Joel's request.

Joel swallowed, hard. There was nothing else for it. He turned and ran as fast as his aging legs would take him towards his airspeeder.

The leading soldier shouted, "Halt! Stop, or I'll open fire!" When Joel failed to obey, the soldier fired off three rounds with his semi-automatic rifle. Each struck Joel in the back.

The KOIN was a normally peaceful government; as a result, their best personnel weaponry was still based in slugthrowers - only naval forces had weaponry on par with the rest of the galaxy. Otherwise, the soldiers would have been using stun settings and Councilor Joel Farragut might have lived to hit the ground.

Unfortunately for all parties involved, Joel's lifeless, crumpled body hit the ground heavily. He lay there, unmoving, in a slowly expanding pool of his own blood. The soldiers advanced, slowly, keeping their weapons trained on him. One kicked his foot lightly. When the dead councilor failed to move, Captain Adrian knelt and turned the body over. He instantly recognized the councilor. "Oh, spast," he muttered.

The other soldiers recognized him, too, but Adrian did not give them time to think about it. "Get in there! Check the building!"

* * * * *

Kyle, watching from a nearby building, closed his eyes and sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. His two friends tugged silently at his shoulders. He resisted them for just a moment, then relented and ran from the building, headed for the Undercity.

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Post by Archangel » Fri Jul 29, 2005 1:05 am

"Doran Alcor; kneel," the Emperor's deep voice rang out. The difference between this Emperor and the one that would eventually come to rule the Galaxy some three hundred years later was great - Emperor Esimon, as all our Emperors are called, was a kind and gentle man. He was not harsh, nor was he cruel; he led his people into the fold of the Republic like a father with a torch, not like a taskmaster with a whip. He was not a young man; past his prime, Emperor Esimon had the wrinkled appearance of an age-old human and only half a century of his life remained. Indeed, that was assuming he died at the usual age. Some had lived some thirty or forty years past their Golden Year, as it was called.

When he spoke to anyone, they obeyed, and I was no exception. I dropped to one knee, bowing my head low while keeping my shoulders straight. It was the most respectful posture a man from Esim can provide, and I held the Emperor in the greatest respect. He had done great things, not only for the Empire, but also for me - as his single most skilled Imperial guard, he had persuaded the Republic to take me in as a common soldier in an effort to create ties between us and they.

The Republic was astounded with my skills. They even requested of the Empire that I be tested for sensitivity to their vaunted "Force", and the Emperor agreed; the test proved negative and the Republic could not discern what provided me with my skills. I am unsure as to why the Emperor did not explain the Esim lifespan; it would ultimately be a necessity, since even he would outlive the Supreme Chancellor of that day. Still, I gave no argument to my Emperor, as he held absolute power within our community with grace and kindness.

As a testament to my skills, Emperor Esimon decided to bestow upon me my Imperial title; I was extremely honored, as most (who received it) did not receive their title until their Silver Year - that is, the middle of their life - and over four-fifths of the Esim population never received one at all. This ceremony was performed each time an Esim received his or her Imperial title.

"Doran Alcor," the Emperor continued, "I dub thee, Suexj of Esim." "Suexj" means "protector" or "guardian", but it was the rest of the title that made mine so astonishingly unique. All other Imperial titles were given "of Argon" or "of Chirazn" - that is, of the home city or country of the individual. Even Emperor Esimon's was that way; he was dubbed "Nerion of Lyvos" by the last Emperor, "nerion" meaning "successor". I was titled "of Esim", which placed me in the highest honor of being named after my planet and people.

"Rise," the Emperor finished, raising the ceremonial sword from my shoulder and backing away from me. I obeyed, standing tall before my Emperor. I bowed, in accordance with the rituals, and said, "For Emperor and people, my liege." Emperor Esimon returned the bow and I backed away; when I had gone thirty paces, I turned and strode from the courtyard into the capital of Esim, Lyvos of Lyvos - that is, the city Lyvos of the country of Lyvos, home of the Imperial lineage.

After that ceremony, I returned to my duties as a Captain of a Republic Army squad; not that the Republic Army was used a great deal - only in quelling small rebellions or stopping minor threats - but it was a duty I was proud of. I think a small part of me longed for the Mandalorians to return so that I might pit my strategy against theirs, my strength against theirs, and battle to the end. The rest of me was more practical, realizing that if the Mandalorians were to rise again, it was doubtful there would be another Jedi like Revan to stop them and countless innocents would die.

Little happened for the next twenty years. I refused promotions past that of Captain for as long as I could, but Emperor Esimon requested that I follow the Republic's wishes and continue to rise in rank. At the end of those twenty years of peace, though, something occurred which I can barely bear writing about. A new Chancellor came to power with the death of the last; this Chancellor was not a kind man and he demanded that the Esim conform to the Republic's type of government - that is, obviously, a republic - or they would be branded as enemies of the Republic. The Senate heartily agreed, demanding to know why Esim was receiving "special treatment".

Of course, Emperor Esimon refused. The traditions of the Esim were older and more powerful than any Republic, and they always would be, he told them in a more political manner. I supported him completely, even returning to Esim to counsel him militarily. He and I both knew that if the Republic decided to enforce their threat, the Empire would not withstand the onslaught. We both agreed that it was worth the risk. Even so, he provided me with copies of the entire Esim and Galactic history from the Lyvos Imperial Library - dating back to before the rise of the Republic, before hyperspace, before subspace communications, before laser weaponry, to a time of agriculture and farming. These copies I had taken to Kadim, an Outer Rim world that the Republic knew nothing of. The Republic allowed my extended leave given the circumstances and I simply neglected to mention my travels away from Esim. I also took two duplicates of every piece of technology the Esim had created, for posterity's sake, if anything were to happen.

I was out of contact with the Galaxy while on Kadim; its people were not of great importance at the time. They were human, their ancestors from Coruscant; they were colonists from an early period of Galactic history, and they had not advanced technologically to the same level that the Republic had. I had my library established underground, beneath their capital city - Cirran - and paid several of them to keep it guarded and make sure nothing went missing. My photographic memory would know immediately if something was taken, and I told them that they would be held responsible. These things took two weeks, and then it was back to Esim.

When I arrived at my home planet, I was at first unsure I had input the proper coordinates; but then, I had never done so before and, if I had, I likely would have ended up melted in some star, rather than in orbit over a planet that appeared nothing more than a desolate wasteland. I ran sensor sweeps over the former coordinates of the capital and confirmed my fears: Esim had been decimated by the Republic fleet, bombarded to rubble. I landed on the most solid spot I could find and, after three weeks of digging, I found my beloved Emperor's mutilated corpse beneath the collapsed Imperial Palace. Filled with anger at the Republic, I returned to my ship and went straight to Coruscant, taking with me my Emperor's personal mementos and ceremonial sword, which were held in the Imperial vault, undamaged.

I went straight to the Chancellor - the young, pretentious Chancellor who had my people killed - and demanded an explanation. This Chancellor was not fond of me as the last had been; indeed, he refused to give any explanation and ordered me to tell him why I was still alive. Of course, I told him nothing; he threatened me, "Return to your position within my army, or have your head added to the pile with your Emperor's!"

Most who "remember" the Republic from those days - that is, those who read the history books - would think me a biased lens through which to view this particular Chancellor. That is because the Chancellor had all records of my people erased from the libraries - be they Republic or Jedi - and made sure no one ever wrote of what happened. Those orders never had an effect on me; I was never under the Republic and even if I were, that Chancellor is now dead of old age and four tenths of my life have passed. Less than another tenth and I shall reach my Silver Year.

Then, though, I only had a spry three twentieths of my life under my belt. I was rash and foolish; naïveté was my forte. I immediately left the Republic Army. I wandered for a decade before I found the kind of people I considered my own. The Dark Stars were a group of mercenaries and pirates that held no love for the Republic. I joined and immediately rose through the ranks. In half a century, I was leading them in their toughest missions. I even grudgingly worked for the Republic. We charged extremely high prices for our services and none ever met us besides those that wished to join. We contacted our clients through a series of cells; we were the stars of fabled "cloak and dagger" stories, our leaders descendent of the Genoharadan of old. We were the best in the business, and all feared us. I never used my true name, instead using my Imperial title as an alias. It was known by no one - the Esim were very private about their Imperial traditions. The only insignia the Dark Stars ever bore was a faded star in the darkness of space, slowly going into extinction. The analogy was that stars often grow shrink, growing dark, before going supernova and destroying everything in their solar system.

Occasionally, though, we fell into the category of those stars which simply fade until they dissipate into nothingness, freezing their solar system, rather than burning it. Such was the case when we - that is, me, along with my best men, Fioro Jizan (a Zabrak) and Quince Pri'vo (a Twi'lek) - were given a private mission to eliminate a Republic official. It was not a Senator, nor was it the Chancellor, nor was it anyone else of great importance. What we did not realize, until after the deed was done, was that it was the Chancellor's grandson. The Chancellor immediately ordered the eradication of the Dark Stars.

It took two years, but they finally found us and killed every last one of my men. Fioro died in my arms as I dragged him from a battle scene onto an escape ship. I, the only survivor of two horrible massacres, owed the Republic a slaughter. But I stayed my weapons and hatred, returning to Kadim. I stayed there a century; at the end of my third tenth of life, I married a local human woman and fathered a child. Since, I have learned that I unknowingly bestowed my curse of long life on my young Kyle, as he is today one hundred twenty seven years of age, and I four hundred twenty seven. My wife died seventy years ago of old age and that was when I learned that I could not befriend those of fewer years than I, for it could only end in heartache on my part.

I gave up my hatred, leaving the ceremonial sword and my personal Blas-Tech A280 Longblaster on Kadim, in my library under the care of fifty locals, so great was the library then. I left when Kadim established a Kingdom, when my son was fifty-seven years old; it was the year my wife died. I returned to the rest of the Galaxy and began to observe all that went on. I had an implant placed in my skull that transmitted information - sights, sounds, events - back to Kadim, where it was coded into text and added to the history books. This account is but the abridged version for the lazy of mind; a full account of everything that happened to me, last of the Esim, is available in my library, in the Undercity of Cirran. Its existence is unbeknownst to the King, as was my son's wishes. I have only returned once, when the first king was near death and the future one was a mere three-year-old, but from what I could tell, my son was right in his wishes for the library. In fact, only he, I, and those who attend the library - my son has added a few - know how to reach it.

My observations became largely pleasing to me, despite the fall of the Jedi - the Republic fell to its own Chancellor, replaced by an Empire. This Emperor - Palpatine - was completely unlike my beloved Emperor, as I have said. Palpatine was cruel and hateful, claiming that the only way to order was through death. He despised non-humans, as well, placing even me in a group of lowlifes and those to whom nothing belonged. I, however, was different. Because the Dark Stars charged so much, and because I was in ultimate control of the finances of all Dark Stars, paying each man what he was worth with each job he did, I received all funding from those events. I am probably one of the richest men in the Galaxy, short of Kuat or the Emperor himself. Even so, I keep my money in reserve, only using it from time to time when absolutely necessary.

As I finish writing this, I am preparing to return to Kadim - which my son tells me is now called the Kingdom of Independent Nations, or "KOIN", which is truly rather catchy. I sign this historical account off as truth.

Farewell, reader,
Doran Alcor, Suexj of Esim
Doran stood from the desk, holding up the datapad as he signed it. It was the last installment of his historical summary of the Esim and the Galaxy - his own life. He punched a few buttons and it was off through subspace to his library attendants to be added to his historical summary section, which, in and of itself, consumed twelve datapads - one for each millennium summarized. The detailed history consumed two hundred forty datapads - two for each century. That, however, was inclusive of all Esim history and all Galactic history (as was important to the Esim; that is, from the rise of the Republic).

He pocketed the datapad and walked up to the bar, where he set his glass on the glass-topped stone. "Rwirooro," he said softly to the Wookiee bartender, "I've got to go now. Take care of this old cantina - I'm sure I'll come back here sometime in the future. There's plenty of future left for you and me," he finished with a grin.

The Wookiee nodded to him, "[Indeed, Suexj. Take care of yourself, and of your son.]"

Doran nodded. "Will do," he said and was out of the door, headed towards the Moenia spaceport. His modified Z-95ER, the Dark Star's Flame, was in one of the 'fighter docking bays.

* * * * *

Kyle sat brooding in his favorite part of his father's library - the history of the Jedi and the Sith. His father had always preferred organizing by topic, then by time, rather than the other way around. He said it provided better access to what you wanted to know, since you often did not know the year of the event.

Kyle, however, was not studying. At one hundred twenty-seven years old, he no longer needed to study the histories and he, like his father, had developed an extreme skill in combat and strategy through the years. He had learned much from his father in those first fifty years of his life. Now, he had to put those skills to the test. He had lost his funding for his rebellion, and his men were beginning to get worried. He had sent out a communique for all soldiers to return to the Undercities, unless they were in complete control of a surface city of the Kingdom. He wanted time to think, time to regroup, despite knowing that while he did so, the King would as well ... or, more precisely, the Prime Minister and the Council would. The King had all the power, but he never exercised it, leaving the thinking to his officials.

What he always told his men, about growing up in poverty and coming to hate the government, was true. Until he was fifty-seven, both his parents were alive and present on Kadim and both disliked the idea of a kingdom; the Kingdom was not established for another five years after his mother's death, but it had growing popularity for Kyle's entire life. His mother - and, subsequently, he himself - was poor. He knew his father had an extensive amount of money, but he was unwilling to bring that money into Kadim - first of all, at the time, Republic credits would not be accepted on Kadim, and secondly, it would completely disrupt Kadim's economy if he brought in so much as a fifth of his fortune. As a result, not even Kyle knew where his father kept the seemingly innumerable cold, hard credits that he had earned as a Dark - no, the Dark Star.

Now, he was unsure of how to proceed. He had no more money. Without money, he could not repair his equipment or buy new equipment, nor could he bribe anyone who might need to be bribed. Perhaps if his father came ... but no, he had not ended on a good note with his father. They kept in touch, but the old Suexj was not particularly loving. It was probably because he was unsure of how long his own son would live, even with the family "curse", and he did not want to grow too close again. Even if his father did come back, he would not spend his money on a rebellion. No, his father could not help.

An incessant beeping interrupted his thoughts. He hurried to the library control room; it was probably his father's final installment, which he had promised would arrive soon. Kyle rushed into the control room and looked over the message; his heart skipped a beat when he read the final paragraph. So his father was coming after all. With any luck, he would bring at least some money.

* * * * *

What Kyle did not know was that his father had given a large amount of his money to the Rebellion - that is, the Rebellion of the Galactic Civil War - and had given several thousand to Rwirooro so the old Wookiee could keep the cantina. He only had a few hundred thousand left, which he had placed in a Galactic bank - inaccessible to Kadim. All Doran brought to Kadim was a mere fifty thousand credits in chits to pay the attendants of his library and to give the rest to his son as an apology. Doran was very sorry indeed that he had left his son without so much as a "goodbye" or an "I love you", and he wanted to make it up by financing whatever project he had going. The Suexj never dreamed that young Kyle would have started a rebellion.

Three days after sending the message, Doran landed the Flame at the Cirran spaceport. The King sent him a greeting, asking him to come to a meeting of the Council - which the King and Prime Minister would also attend - to discuss his visit. Doran reluctantly went.

When Doran entered the room, all present stood. He bowed formally to the King and all sat. Prime Minister Sloane addressed him, "Doran Suexj, you have at last returned to our humble Kingdom. His Majesty remembers you from his youngest years, as do I. You do not seem to have changed in the slightest."

Doran sat across from the King at the seat that had been designated his. "Life has been good to me, Minister," Doran replied. He had told them his name was "Suexj" when he last returned in order to protect his son's identity if ever they discovered the family "curse".

Minister Sloane nodded to him from his place at the right hand of the King. "We have called this meeting to discern why you have returned. On your last visit, you gave the King a large number of credits which were used to advance our culture and people. Is this the case once more?"

Doran shook his head. "I am afraid not, Minister. My funds have nearly gone dry over the past fifteen years," he replied - truthfully, if one were to speak comparatively.

The Leader of the Council of the Kingdom, David Roland, asked directly, "Then what have you come for?"

Doran swallowed, checking over what he planned to say to make sure he betrayed neither his son nor his library. "I am returning to make a home here. I have grown older and I feel it is time that I stop gallavanting around the Galaxy like a spry young pirate. Of all my travels, I found the Kingdom to be the most peaceful planet."

Minister Sloane shook his head, but before he could answer, the King blurted out, "Peaceful!? The Kingdom is in a state of disarray; my own people retaliate against me! They joyously allowed my father to rule over them, but me? No, of course not! They must rebel! And no one knows who their leader is! Whoever it is, they managed to get funding from one of my own Councilors. I swear, if I get my hands on the fools who are running that rebellion, I'll wring every last rebellious neck!"

Minister Sloane stood and tried to comfort the King, "Easy, Your Majesty," he said softly. The King took a moment to slow his breathing, but eventually calmed.

Doran licked his lips, almost sure who was behind the rebellion. "I apologize, Your Majesty. But if I may stay for a few weeks, to see for myself how the politics are going? Not that I distrust anyone here, I am just one of those people who cannot stand to take something at face value."

He hoped he did not offend anyone and, to his credit, he did not. Minister Sloane agreed, "Of course, Mr. Suexj. Stay as long as you like."

* * * * *

Doran went straight to his library, where he found his son sleeping in the control room. "Kyle," he said, trying to keep any reproachment from his voice for the moment.

Kyle awoke with a start and looked to his father. "Dad?" He stood and hurried over, hugging his father. It was a gesture of affection not often shown between the two, who had grown steadily apart over the years. "Dad, it is you! I got your message; I knew you were coming, I was just unsure of when you would arrive."

Doran looked at him, knowing why his son was acting so pleased. "Kyle, I don't have the money to fund the rebellion," he said, answering all the questions Kyle was formulating in his mind.

Kyle's smile disappeared and he looked at his father solemnly. "How do you know about that?"

Doran smirked. "I'm no fool, Kyle. Plus, I spoke to the King not an hour ago."

Kyle frowned. But of course the Suexj would speak with the King. He was always proper about everything. Kyle still did not understand the sentiment. "You don't have any credits with you?"

Doran shrugged. "Fifty thousand. Most of which I was going to give to you anyway," he said matter-of-factly. Now Doran recognized his son - this was how they always were with each other. "Though I wish you would not go through with this rebellion. There are easier ways to resolve conflicts."

"I tried, Father!" Kyle retorted, returning to the more formal "Father" in addressing Doran, "I tried for thirty years! You know I tried! This was the only way!"

Doran closed his eyes and nodded. He knew. Kyle had told him all about the situation monthly. He had never told him about the rebellion. "I assume it's on the verge of a civil war, then?"

Kyle nodded. Doran sighed. "Very well, then. Take your forty-five thousand, do whatever you wish. Use the money wisely, Kyle. It's all I can give you. I am going to take no part in this rebellion. Please, do your best to keep away from my library, okay?"

Kyle nodded, a smile forming. "I promise that unless we are on the verge of losing, no rebel other than myself will set foot in your library."

Doran nodded to him with another sigh as his son hurried from the library. "Curses," he muttered.

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Mirrodin
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Post by Mirrodin » Mon Aug 08, 2005 6:39 am

Lieutenant Kailee Durer loved cushy jobs. Infact, to her, they'd be nice, very nice. But that was not the case, she found out, as her unit of the police force was ordered in, to route out the rebels. She held her slugthrower, and ordered her unit forward. Her unit was made up of three squads of twelve. She was rather high up, at least in her mind, with the police force. She was thinking about poltiics. At her age, twenty seven, she couldn't always be in the military, so she needed to think of somewhere to go after this. If she survived this rebellion.

Ducking under some fallen debris, she made her way through the small trapdoor. The Undercity. By the gods.

"All squads, forward. Forward! We need to catch these rebels. They're on the run, don't let them escape."

OOC: Pitiful compared to your posts, Arch, but its something, and I want to get a toehold before a foothold :D
Wars come and go, but my soldiers stay eternal

After the freedom of Spyrta soon won, Shinobi, Ronin, Samurai, and Orochi will clash under waning moon and rising sun

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Post by Archangel » Mon Aug 08, 2005 7:20 am

[OOC: You can't compare to me ... I have so many more people to write about. You have just one. :P]

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Post by Archangel » Wed Aug 10, 2005 6:27 am

Captain Adrian patted Lieutenant Durer on the shoulder when the group had paused their charge. "Keep up the good work, Durer. With the numbers we've got going on this push, we might actually be able to clear out this section of the Undercity."

The officer moved on, checking up on other miniature groups in their push against the rebels. The lieutenant had been right; the rebels were on the run, but they weren't in all-out retreat. It was like they were taking strategic steps back, deeper and deeper into the Undercity.

Leading the police forces, as it were.

Adrian ignored the idea; first, that the rebels could possibly have such a strategic mind was unlikely; second, that they had the manpower and the weapons to pull off such a stunt was laughable.

He ordered the groups forward again. "Move in, if we can get them out of this section of the Undercity, it will be a battle won for the Kingdom!"

* * * * *

On the other side of the battleground, Kyle Alcor lay with binoculars, watching the Captain pushing his men forward.

Straight, luckily, into Kyle's trap. The rebel soldiers were retreating into small alcoves that littered what had once been a park. When the police chased the last force onto that field, they would be surrounded. "Keep 'em coming," Kyle muttered into the comm unit that was attached to his ear. "Keep 'em coming."

* * * * *

"Mr. Roland?" the Councilor's aide said as he sidled up to the older man. "Police reports coming in. They're pushing the rebels out of the Undercity of Skerron. Looks like a win is guaranteed."

David Roland smiled thinly. "Have them push through. I don't care what resistance is before them - tell them to recover Skerron for the Kingdom."

The aide bowed. "Yes, Councilor."

* * * * *

Adrian glared at the comm officer. "That politician is telling me how to run my war? That Sithspawn... I'm the strategist. I'll say what we do. Have the troops move forward slowly; my gut's not happy about the way there seem to be less rebels now than before... I know we haven't killed that many."

The officer saluted. "Move forward slowly; yessir!" The comm officer relayed the order out to the others throughout the field. About two hundred meters ahead was the old Central Park of Skerron.

A good place for a trap, thought Adrian.

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