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Defiance on Dac
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| Treslar | Date: Thursday, 08 Mar 2012, 10:57 AM | Message # 1 |
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The Cronese and the Tionese were at each other's throats again. So were Brentaal and Sluis Van. War games in the Auril Sector. Politics on Empress Teta. Debate in the Senate about droids and veterans and "custom vessels" and weights and measures. Meanwhile, in the city of Mon Ubris, on Mon Calamari, there was a smell that the Imperial stormtroopers referred to, disgustedly, as "rotting fish." To Treslar, it was the smell of tragedy. More of his people murdered by the Empire for daring to say no, I won't bleed and sweat for you apes. Mostly Mon Calamari men, but also some women and children lay dead in the street, their soft flesh charred black from blaster fire. The stormtroopers left, and Treslar, as the city's Captain of the Guard, was left to clean up the mess. Wisps of smoke continued to hover about the scene on a beautiful morning in the city.
Treslar and his troops went about their task quietly. They identified, where possible, the remains of these slaves who had refused to board a shuttle that morning to the Mon Calamari shipyards for the day's labor. A simple act of defiance that the Empire was quick to punish--it wouldn't tolerate insolence among the Calamari, a species known for its love of the arts and sciences and renowned for its tactical and technological brilliance. It wasn't enough that the Empire treated this proud species as slaves, it also demeaned them and their culture, claiming that it was the Empire that had discovered the planet despite its thousands of years of history with the Old Republic. Berooken had been a Supreme Chancellor, but the galaxy was willing to believe the Empire's lies and look the other way while it subjugated Treslar's people.
The Mon Calamari were a dispassionate species, but there was quiet anger in Treslar's glassy eyes and in those of his troops as they cleared the bodies from the street. There was resistance to the Empire here, and more than just peaceful acts of disobedience like this one. Sabotage was frequent at the shipyards in orbit--this week, someone had re-programmed a binary loadlifter to collide with a scaffold supporting one of the partially-constructed Mc30 frigates in its mooring. This is what happened when you forced qualified technicians into slavery. An Imperial foreman had been killed when the prow of the ship fell from its mooring and crushed him; some Calamari had died too, but the Empire had been set back many weeks and many, many credits. And, like those who'd been murdered here in the street, many Calamari were willing to die to make a point ("when your life is no better than death," as one of Treslar's peers had phrased it).
But resistance here was hard. The Empire didn't hesitate to shoot any of them--sometimes for sport. Those responsible for the sabotage at the shipyard, and many more who weren't responsible, were scheduled to be shot too. At the end of the day, the Empire would still be here counting the casualties with complete indifference. Since Representative Ackbar, the leader of the resistance, had been captured and sent who-knows-where to be enslaved himself, the resistance had been without a strategy. All it could manage were isolated incidents.
Treslar intended to change that.
To be continued.
Added (29 Feb 2012, 8:50 PM)
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"We can shoot them for you and save you the trouble," the Imperial officer told him.
"That's nice of you," Treslar replied—a dry remark for an aquatic species. "We prefer a trial first."
"I know you Calamari are... tolerant," the Imperial said as if the word offended him, "But I assume ship theft is a serious crime even on your world. You should make an example of them, Captain."
"Thank you for your advice."
"Mm."
The Imperial officer, also a Captain, whose facial features reminded Treslar of a bird of prey, wasn't satisfied. He stood with his hands behind his back, and glanced from Treslar to the half-dozen Mon Calamari prisoners with scorn in his eyes. He'd received an unexpected call from Treslar, the Captain of the Guard in the city of Mon Ubris, alerting him that an MC-18 freighter had been stolen from the city and was attempting to escape the planet. Treslar reported that he and his squad were in pursuit in a police cruiser—a modified MC-24a shuttle—but wouldn't be there fast enough. He requested that the Imperials capture the freighter so that Treslar could return it to its owner and take the criminals into custody. The Imperials accomplished this with no difficulty; there was no escaping the orbital shipyard's many tractor beams, the Imperial captain told Treslar once he'd landed.
The scene was crowded; Treslar and the Imperial captain both had squads with them—brown-clad and white-helmeted police officers with Treslar, stormtroopers with the Imperial captain—watching over the prisoners. They shared the landing pad with the stolen MC-18, Treslar's MC-24a, and the Imperial captain's Sentinel-class landing craft. The number of prisoners wasn't clear; some of them, apparently, had stolen the ship, and the rest were passengers. The Imperials weren't interested in who was who, having simply ordered them all—7 of them total—onto the ground and (as usual) leaving it to Treslar to determine who was who.
Enormous MC-30c frigates loomed above them, covered in scaffolding as hundreds of Calamari slaves put the finishing touches on them.
"Suit yourself," the Imperial said, eventually. He obviously suspected that Mon Calamari's overly permissive society wasn't going to adequately punish the criminals, but decided that he had more important things to concern himself with than how these fish conducted their affairs. "They're all yours, Captain." He signaled his stormtroopers to lower their weapons and return with him to the Sentinel-class.
This was it.
"Everyone! Now! Now!" Treslar shouted.
"Excuse me?" the Imperial captain, having turned already in the direction of his shuttle, began to look back at Treslar with an expression on his face that was simultaneously confused and outraged that a Calamari had managed to confuse him. It was the last thought that would occur to him before a stun blast from Treslar's pistol hit him in the small of his back and sent him sprawling onto the landing pad.
Treslar's troops didn't bother with stun blasts for the stormtroopers. Red lasers exploded against the white-armored Imperials before they even suspected what was happening, much less had time to shoot back (most of them having just clicked the safeties on their characteristic E-11 rifles). A stormtrooper's plasteel armor, for all its strengths, had a habit of being useless when it was most needed, and in a moment the skirmish was over—the stormtroopers were dead, strewn about the landing pad.
Mon Calamari slaves laboring throughout the enormous complex turned to look at the commotion.
"Ibtinor! The flare!" Treslar said to one of the 'criminals,' most of whom scrambled to their feet now that the shooting had stopped and into the 'stolen' freighter. They emerged a moment later dropping crates full of weapons onto the ground. Ibtinor produced a flare gun and fired it high above the shipyard complex. It exploded a brilliant blue, signaling to their organizers among the slaves where the weapons and ammo dump was located.
Ibtinor got busy unloading the E-webs from the freighter to provide cover for the slaves as they came here to retrieve the Plex missile launchers and other weapons they'd cleaned out of the Mon Ubris police precinct. The Plex's would help destroy the few Imperial turrets that surrounded the landing pad and the moorings, as well as—if all went to plan—the generators powering the tractor beams. The tractor beams must be brought down. Enough of them, at least.
It's up to Marrab now, Treslar thought to himself as he led a charge into the Imperial captain's Sentinel-class landing craft. The modified MC-24a police cruiser, still on the landing pad, was already opening fire with its light turbolasers on unsuspecting TIE fighters above them.Added (08 Mar 2012, 10:57 AM)
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Yes, it was all up to Marrab now..................................
Treslar
Captain of the MC-30c frigate Tarsus Valorum
Ruusan Reformation League
Former Captain of the Guard, City of Mon Ubris
Message edited by Treslar - Thursday, 01 Mar 2012, 0:12 AM |
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| Marrab | Date: Saturday, 10 Mar 2012, 0:18 AM | Message # 2 |
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| It was ironic; these days there wasn't a single Mon Calamari that wanted to work in the shipyards, of all places. Only a decade ago, it was the aspiration and dream, it seemed, of every Mon Calamari to want to work in the shipyards, that is if they couldn't themselves, explore the reaches of space. He wasn't old enough to serve in the Clone Wars... his father did, however; Admiral Arikakon Baraka. It was likely that the Empire refuted his service, placing some human in his place in the annals of history, just as the Empire claimed it had "discovered" Dac, this of course had changed from the story of them not being loyal enough to the Empire during the Clone Wars, due to Senators Meena Tills and Tundra Dowmeia signing the Petition of 2000; no one in the galaxy had seemed to notice that, however. When the Empire invaded, his father led the naval resistance, and was killed in the opening battle.
On the day he was considered an adult, the Empire came. Beneath the water, to his city Ishq Noor, a beautiful underwater city that was the focus of a religious group practicing the old ways of the Mon Calamari, called Haliqism. They were targeted because of this. The Scuba Troopers, that mere years ago had been their saviors, were now their executioners. There was no warning, and there were no civilians in the eyes of the Empire. Indiscriminately, they attacked and killed. There was no reason, no purpose to the slaughter, other than to set an example. It was the slaughter, and utter destruction of his city, called the Massacre of Ishq Noor, that was one of the chief events that set in motion the Mon Calamari Resistence.
The few who did survive Ishq Noor, himself included, were the first slaves the Empire took. Originally, over one-hundred thousand of them went to the shipyards, where they had remained for eight years. Now, they numbered only a few over two thousand. Between being shipped off to unknown places, accidents, and executions, over ninety-eight thousand Mon Calamari were dead, not to mention the untold millions that had died over the course of the past eight years. And no one cared. Not a single being, not even the Quarren, who likely viewed it as a chance to finally take full control of the planet, seemed to give a damn about the genocide.
It was here, they would make their stand. They were assembled in one of the docks. The MC30c Frigate which had its prow knock off earlier in the week was before them. A line of workers were assembled against a wall of crates. In front of them, was a line of Stormtroopers. The commander of this section of the shipyards was berating them in some Imperialistic speech about loyalty and consequences. All of them may as well have been deaf; they ignored orders anymore, for they had all become committed to resisting, at least in this section. Yesterday, one of them had gotten daring and shoved an Imperial tech off the top of one of the two completed MC30c Frigates, each sitting on the sides of the uncompleted MC30c. That had cost them ten lives. It was always more than one. One Mon Calamari was never enough for the Imperial.
He saw the signal. The prow event had in fact been their calculated event. Production in this mooring had been shut down, it was merely a company of Stormtroopers, their officers, the new mooring foreman, and the section commander. When the order to be ready was given to the Stormtroopers, it began. Silently, the outer lines charged the Stormtroopers, with the core of them rushing forward towards the firing squads and the officers. In that moment, the Imperials froze, unsuspecting such a mass revolt. All two thousand of them were charging at the Stormtrooper Company. It was not an organizational company, but rather a deployment company of only 225. A little over one Stormtrooper for every ten Mon Calamari. Despite the numerical advantage, the Stormtroopers were armed, and aside from the now shocked firing squads, the crowd of Mon Calamari were being fired upon. This would not stop them however... all of them were committed to either be free or be dead.
Marrab
Imperial Slave, Mon Calamari Shipyards
Message edited by Marrab - Saturday, 10 Mar 2012, 0:19 AM |
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| Treslar | Date: Saturday, 16 Jun 2012, 10:53 PM | Message # 3 |
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Sergeant
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| The mooring was, in essence, an enormous rectangle-shaped hangar built into the rest of the complex, big enough to accommodate several MC30 frigates encased in scaffolds. This "hangar" was open on one side, the kilometer-wide opening shielded from the vaccuum of space so that the inside of mooring had an atmosphere (and weak gravity generated by the rotation of the shipyards around the planet below). All of the other "walls" of the mooring were adorned with smaller storage hangars, machine shops, etc. and a maze of catwalks connecting them to the MC30s under construction. Viewed from a distance, the inside of the mooring was as complicated as the inside of a watch. But up close, it was large enough to squeeze in supply ships, as well as Treslar's ships and the Imperial Sentinel-class shuttle and TIE fighters on patrol.
It was possible to see across the entire mooring, though one needed binoculars to do so clearly. Nonetheless, as Treslar and his lieutenants burst into the cockpit of the Sentinel-class lander, he could make out the sight of the enormous tractor beam array on the "ceiling" of the mooring that had guided his ships inside in the first place—and would prevent them from getting out if it wasn't destroyed. He fired a stun blast at the hapless pilot of the Sentinel and ordered one of his people into the pilot's chair. "You, open a channel to our cruiser and get us in the air, too. You, in the gunner's chair—I want to know what kind of firepower this lander has," he ordered.
The lander began to rumble to life as the pilot took the engines off standby, and established a line to their MC-24a. "Twenty-four, do you read?" the pilot said.
Outside, the MC-24a police cruiser was also lifting off, as Ibtinor and his people continued unloading the weapons and ammunition on the landing pad. The pilot of the MC-24a could be seen waving to them. "Loud and clear. What's your callsign?"
"Liberty," Treslar said the first thing that came to mind from over the pilot's shoulder.
"Copy, Liberty. Want us to stay close here and cover the landing pad?"
"Yes. Knock out any TIE's that try a strafing run and do what you can against those turrets, Twenty-four. Now that they've sounded the alarm, this place is going to light up fast. We're going to try to knock out those tractor beams."
"You got it, Liberty. Good luck."
"Okay," Treslar said to the pilot, "Take us up. Guns?"
"Eight laser cannons, an ion cannon turret, a repeater turret, and looks like a pair of concussion missile launchers. Says we've got 8 missiles in all," the gunner answered.
"That'll do," Treslar said, impressed. "The tractor array is up there," he pointed, "But let's see if we can help Marrab's people get to the ammo dump, yes?"
"Yes, Sir," the pilot said as the Sentinel-class lander Liberty accelerated carefully through the scaffolds and catwalks that littered the complex. Two TIE fighters swooped in from below—one of them clipped a catwalk and careened out of control, the other was picked off by the MC-24a below. "Squad of stormtroopers at six o'clock," the pilot announced, pointing out white-clad troops hurrying across a catwalk toward Marrab's people.
"Got it," said the gunner, as one of Liberty's retractable laser cannons extended and opened fire on them. The shots missed wildly, but tore the catwalk apart and sent the entire squad falling to the "floor" of the mooring hundreds of meters below. "Oops."
"Work on the accuracy," Treslar said, and patted him on the shoulder.
As for Marrab and his freed slaves, their firepower disadvantage would be corrected as soon as they got to Ibtinor's ammunition dump, where blasters and missile launchers and all the ammo they needed for them were laid out and ready to go. They'd need them if they were going to storm the MC-30 frigates.
Treslar
Captain of the MC-30c frigate Tarsus Valorum
Ruusan Reformation League
Former Captain of the Guard, City of Mon Ubris
Message edited by Treslar - Friday, 06 Apr 2012, 9:58 PM |
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| Management | Date: Saturday, 16 Jun 2012, 10:57 PM | Message # 4 |
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Mon Calamari — Two to three Imperial frigates are believed to have been stolen in an hour-long slave rebellion at the Empire's shipyards over Mon Calamari. Alarms sounded in one of the shipyard's drydocks, and heavy blaster fire was reported as a number of MC-30 class frigates were seen breaking loose from their moorings and leaving the dock with Imperial TIE fighters in pursuit. The frigates then disappeared into hyperspace, one of them appearing to explode as it attempted to do so in what was described as a "bright, brilliant flash" witnessed from as far away as the planet Mon Eron, elsewhere in the system.
Ars Dangor, spokesman for the Imperial Ruling Council, told reporters that the explosion was an "accident" and denied that a slave rebellion had occurred, despite numerous instances in recent weeks of Imperial ships under construction at the shipyards being sabotaged by Mon Calamari slaves. Executions of Calamari saboteurs were reportedly in-progress when the latest incident occurred.
The planet Mon Calamari supported the Republic in the Clone Wars but the Empire later considered its native species, the Calamari—known for their engineering skill—to be "dangerous" and enlisted them in the construction of Imperial warships while closing down their planet to trade. Hundreds of thousands of Mon Calamari are believed to labor in the shipyards over the planet, and discipline has been a consistent problem for the Empire.
How many slaves participated in the latest incident isn't clear, nor how many of them or how many Imperials died in the hour-long fighting. Ars Dangor sought to downplay the incident, referring to it and similar events as "petty acts of vandalism and sabotage."
"The Calamari, like Wookiees and many other alien species, hate to work and some of them, naturally, will resist attempts to make them into more productive members of society," Dangor said. "Instead of taking pride in their work, some will indulge in violence. This should come as no surprise to anyone, and it certainly isn't front page news." As of press time, the Imperial News Network and many other news outlets weren't reporting on the incident. The Coruscant Journal, however, will continue to follow the story as it develops.
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| Treslar | Date: Saturday, 16 Jun 2012, 10:59 PM | Message # 5 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
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| (( Thank you. I'll have a post up here soon.  ))
Treslar
Captain of the MC-30c frigate Tarsus Valorum
Ruusan Reformation League
Former Captain of the Guard, City of Mon Ubris
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