Slars' Stars, Season 2, Episode 6

[Kaane]

"Well that’s gonna do it for our Slars with the Stars segment of the show for this week; once again, Kurtiss Vado, a brave man for coming here and sharing his story of how this insane war is decimating his moisture farming business. A truly inspiring display of courage right there for all of us.”

“Speaking of courage, I believe it’s time to give my final word on all of this new news. Now, most people have been scared of coming out with their stories because of the absolutely ravenous press we have nowadays, chewing out anyone who isn’t for the Midichlorian Galactic Order. You can’t disagree with the Jedi for two seconds without being called a Sith sympathizer, and you can't call people to action without being called a warmonger. This insidious censorship is a pervasive enemy that has its tendrils in all of us, in every crevice of economic and social systems that should be free as a bird right now. But it’s a fine sight to see people waking up and understanding exactly what this all actually means. And with this realization, people like Kurtiss can finally just get on up and explain their plights. It’s never happened quite like this before, people now finally have an outlet to vent their frustrations, and channel it into real change, not just with me, but elsewhere where logic and common sense has finally prevailed. People are finally not being afraid.”

“Meanwhile, if you can believe this, you’ve got assholes trying to say I’m making people afraid! I can’t tell you how many planetary governments and their media corporations allied with the Jedi and the Sith are feeding people straight up lies about the state of the war, veneered with silken promises that are about as superficial as the morals these governments pretend they uphold, trying to keep people in submission by saying there's nothing they can do except sit under their bed sucking their thumbs like a clutch of hatchlings. And throughout it all, the one guy trying to get them to come out of hiding, yours truly, is getting mobbed by people who have no idea what the hell they're talking about. They see me, they go after me, without even taking the time to listen. They're like kriffing heat-seeking missiles with a load of flame retardant. They find the nearest source of revolutionary fire, and attempt to snuff it out thinking they're saving their own skin."

"There’s a Dosh expression for this I think: you stare down a scope too long, you lose track of your target. Now these people who say they’re working for your interests, your interests, mind you, are scoped in on the one damn person in this galaxy who’s got a set of balls to actually do so! It speaks volumes about what their real loyalties lie to; they’ve already been subsumed by the Midichlorian collective, they can’t think for themselves anymore. Those damned bacteria have got them so stupid, they don’t even know how to control people anymore. They find an easy target, scope in, and forget to take in the big picture. And I tell you, with this war, it’s going to become more and more evident how willing this “Force” is going to be to use desperate measures to compensate for their lackeys’ incompetence. Just keep your eyes open mates, and prepare yourselves. Something big is on the horizon.”

“Now the show's going to be taking a break for a few days, but we'll be back on Wednesday, same time, same stream. Once again, live from Trandosha, this is Slars Nnthryk, signing off.”

The red light from the camera in front of him turned off, as Slars relaxed back into his chair, breathing a sigh of relief. It was unexpectedly a hard business, talking and looking good on a Holonet livestream. What he wouldn’t give for a good drink and a nap right now.

“Great job, quite honestly the best one yet,” said a ginger-haired human lad eagerly off to Slars right. Vik Trysson, one of Galactic Liberation Network’s new correspondants, and a great talker. He had a much better natural knack for show biz than Slars did. If the Trandoshan news host ever took a vacation, this kid would probably be one of the first people he picked to temporarily replace him.

A few other employees, including a Rodian camera director, three cameramen, some Mon Calamari geek monitoring the social media feed, and the couple of journalists that had reported on his show, were now clapping vigorously and hooting to show their approval. Certainly, it was a small group, but one that hung on his every word. Slars wasn’t one to succumb to a savior complex, but the growing amount of loyal supporters working in his newsroom was indeed a confidence booster.

He motioned with his hands to calm them down, jostling the padded shoulders of his expensive, grey suit. He adjusted his blood red ascot, stretching as he got out of his chair.

“If it’s my best one, hopefully it’ll leave the biggest crater. Zakkar,” he said, referring to the Mon Cal. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, going to get some fresh air. Get me a report on the fallout, I want to know what my people are thinking.”

A curt nod was all he needed from him; the Trandoshan exited the studio and entered the hallway outside, stepping into the turbolift to take him down to the lobby of the building he worked in.

Somehow, within the confines of the lift, he felt as though he was being watched. He shook his head and shoulders, trying to dispel the feeling.

Was just the midichlorians talking again.

 

[Outlander]

The lights above him dimmed, flickered, then cut out entirely. Red emergency lights immediately flared into existence, and the turbolift slid to a halt before locking itself down. It was a fairly standard precaution meant to keep the lift from plummeting to the bottom of the building, in case of an emergency. But the only emergency was in the lift. And the fact that the lift was no longer connected to the building's security system.

"Mr. Nnthryk." A voice said from above. "We'd like to speak to you."

 

[Kaane]

The Trandoshan looked above him and saw the lights flickering.

"Son of a bitch" were the only words he managed to get out in his native language before the lift jolted to a halt. He pressed himself against one of the walls of the lift, his eyes widened somewhat as red flooded his vision. His mind desperately tried to calm his psyche down, but any rational thought of the lift merely being broken was shattered as the voice filtered in from the speaker above, swiftly cutting off the calming elevator music once playing earlier.

Someone's finally come for me. It's the Jedi, it's the Jedi, I kriffing knew it!

Immediately he began to think in overdrive. There had to be a way out of this situation. But whoever controlled the lift seemed to have every last chip he could have used to bargain with; he'd have to secure his own scales first somehow.

"K-kill me if you want jackass, but you're only chopping off the tip of an iceberg. My movement runs far deeper than what you think mate!"

He was standing still and resolute, but the lift camera, though cut off from the security system of the building, was probably capturing his claws nervously drumming the wall behind him. He'd been wary of his enemies before, but now he was just plain scared. This couldn't be the end...not now. Not with so much left to live for, so much left to say, so much left to do.

Somehow, the blaster pistol concealed in his suit was no longer making him feel nearly as safe.

 

[Outlander]

"Oh, we don't want you dead. We where actually interested in talking... business." The voice cut out for a moment, static filling the increasingly cramped feeling elevator. What returned made it infinitely worse. "We know all about your illegal dealings, Mr. Nnthryk. Blue Skulls, The Karrita Gank, and the 3.01 Club. All of it." They let the information simmer for a moment before continuing. "Exit the building, turn left, and enter the waiting black speeder. We'll be watching."

As the voice stopped, the lights rose again, and the lift continued its downward descent.

 

[Kaane]

Slars raised his brow at the proposition of business. Only for his heart to entirely stop for a few beats as almost every scandal he had been involved with was mentioned explicitly by name. Even the kriffing 3.01 Club...nobody knew about the 3.01 Club except him and his fellow extortionists. They'd left absolutely no paper trail in stealing from Jedi charity funds, he was sure of it. And every little hint he might have given his viewers about the more public scandals was a masterful piece of misdirection, nipping any iota of a chance of his involvement in any of the above in the bud. Either someone blabbed...or whoever this was on the intercom was too good for Slars' own good.

He shuddered and exhaled, having forgotten he had held his breath as soon as the voice started off with the Blue Skulls. Hopefully his investment in that particular group of pirates would still be returned. Somehow, he didn't think it would after that little piece of excitement.

The lift turned on again. It seemed he would have no choice in following their directions. If they knew about his scandals, they knew enough to make them public. It would be a death sentence to his crusade, and he'd be reduced to a common criminal. He contemplated messaging his friends upstairs with his wrist-comm to give them some kind of secret message like in one of those abduction-themed holovids, but being watched cancelled that option immediately. They weren't bluffing on that if they had the tech to hack a turbolift.

Sighing and composing himself, he exited into the lobby and walked quickly towards the door. Giving the uniformed Trandoshan security guard standing out front a curt nod as he entered the cool, forested dusk, he would immediately follow the voice's instructions, making a beeline for the black speeder it mentioned.

Hopefully the doorman would be smart enough to realize Slars had parked his speeder bike in the other direction.

Given the bad luck he was having today, he doubted it.

 

[Outlander]

The black speeder was a fairly nondescript model, with a few noticeable exceptions. The windows where heavily tinted, keeping anyone outside the vehicle from seeing who was inside. Odd, but fairly standard for VIP vehicles used for clandestine transportation between events, and an especially common sight in the entertainment district they where in. The other exceptions where much less noticeable. Armor plating lining the undercarriage, in the unlikely event of mine detonations or other traps, as well as a set of small concealable holocams positioned around the outside of the vehicle, giving someone inside a full 360 degree view of the area, useful in scanning potential hostile zones.

As the trandoshan approached, the door would swing open, allowing him entrance. The inside was sparse, but comfortable. He would, of course, be the only one inside, except for the driver safely concealed behind a metal barrier separating the passenger compartment from the front. Once he was settled, and the driver had time to use the concealed scanner in the back to confirm he was unarmed, the door would close and the speeder would begin moving. It wouldn't be an especially long drive, but the trandoshan wouldn't have any chance to find out exactly how far, as the inside was just as tinted as the outside.

The repulsorcraft would then slow to a stop, allowing another passenger to enter.

An armed passenger.

Bria Tsuani slipped into the vehicle, the Gratia pistol aimed squarely at Slars. She trusted that her people had setup the scanner correctly, but she wasn't taking any chances, especially with someone who could give her a run for her money in a brawl. Not that this clandestine stuff was particularly easy for her. She was a warrior and a rebel. She fought to get what she wanted. She didn't meet in back allies or pickup people in the middle of the night.

That would have to change soon. They wouldn't be able to just keep raiding the imperials without concealing themselves, and the Specter Cell could only do so much. So, she'd begun learning the art of Black Ops, and had her men trained in turn. It wasn't exactly easy, but she knew a certain... Fat Rodian that was able to assist them.

"I assume you have questions." She said, voice concealed by her helmet. She wasn't that naive, even before her training.

 

[Kaane]

Slars slid into the speeder without further ado, and tried not to flinch as the door closed behind him. Inside it was well-lit, but the windows were totally black. It was as though he was some clumsy rancor in a cage, being made to dance around and go here and there for someone's sick amusement. Perhaps this was the machinations of some Imperial sadist, meant to break him before interrogation. But if they already knew everything about him, why would they need to interrogate him? Maybe it was just literally for the fun of it...or to make an example of a rebel in front of a large crowd somewhere.

His mind spiraled downwards into this maddening maelstrom for the rest of the drive, continually thinking of worse and worse scenarios this could end up in. Though he was used to secrecy and complicated rendezvous, he was always the one in control. He knew what was going to happen.

Losing control was torturous for him. He could only pray that this was some belated secret birthday party being thrown by some of his friends or something stupid along those lines.

As the speeder halted and the door opposite to where he was sitting opened, any hopes of a cream-iced blood cake with his name on it evaporated.

"Woah woah WOAH!" he yelped as his hands immediately raised, pressing himself into the seat. A mix of humiliation, terror, and knowledge that this person's grip on that Gratia was impeccable swirled through his head as he sat immobilized. The only thought that made it through the storm was that if he reached for his gun now, he'd be toast. He'd neglected to wear his blaster resistant vest since he was on his home turf, and even if he had, tanking more than a single shot from point-blank would do him in. He was vulnerable and afraid; all he could do was hold it in as much as possible.

"I assume you have questions," said a woman's voice firmly from underneath the inscrutable helmet he was looking at. To be sure, he had a fair few. The ones at the top of his mind were the first to seep out after a moment of stunned silence.

"I...uhm......who you are, what you want, and whatever happened to the "I don't want to kill you" thing would be a great start, mate."

 

[Outlander]

"I don't want to kill you, Slars." Bria said, noticeably not moving the pistol away from the rather terrified looking Trandoshan. Weren't they supposed to be a hunter species? She had honestly expected a bit of a better showing from the man. Maybe all his bluster was just a well constructed image? His illegal dealings didn't exactly get his own hands dirty, so it was entirely possible they'd misjudged him.

It was of little consequence though; if he couldn't be of use one way, she'd make sure to get hey money's worth out of him another way. "I assume a man of your stature knows the meaning of a 'contingency plan'. This gun is mine." She let the statement sit in the air for a beat, letting the presence of her weapon add punctuation to it.

Bria shifted her weight in the seat, using a free arm to remove a small holoprojector from her belt and tossing it across the somewhat crowded cab to Slarn. It flickered briefly before flaring to life, projecting a looping image of a shattered fist into the air between them.

​

"Recognize this?" She asked gesturing the gun at the image. Bria had been using it for years; a symbol of rebellion that seemed oddly fitting with her own views.

 

[Kaane]

The Trandoshan remained silent through her explanation of the pistol's necessity as he reeled himself back in emotionally. Such a showing of weakness was not like him, but he had more to fear from death than most. Everything he worked for could be lost in an instant if he left this mortal plane, despite his earlier comment in the lift. He almost wanted to ask her how she would feel if he had pulled a gun on her when she was least expecting it. But in moments like these, anyone experienced in the field of public relations knew not to exacerbate the situation.

He had brought himself back to a level mood by the time the holoprojector was tossed to him. But his mind only found himself intrigued upon seeing this symbol.

The power of investigative journalism was not lost to the touch of fame Slars was receiving. He spent his time researching obscure issues and stories as a pastime, out of curiosity. Some of his best analysis work came out of it. And this symbol popped up here and there sparsely around attacks on the Imperials.

It was paired with a name he now faintly recalled as he gazed down into the base of the hologram.

"GALAF. Isn't it? ...You've done some nice work from what I've read. I used to do similar bullshit. Fighting, championing anarchy and the like. But I imagine you know enough about me already to have figured that out...it was fun, o'course. But I found it's easier to reach people as a talking head than a freedom fighter. No such thing as valor or a good hunt anymore...wars are won with words and espionage. Can bring an entire armada of star destroyers down with a little misinformation, eheh."

He looked up, grimacing as he was staring right down the barrel of a pistol again. "Can you put that damn thing away at least?" With a sigh, he nodded his head to his chest. "I can't believe I'm doing this...but there's a blaster in my right breast pocket. If you take it out, please, PLEASE lower that Gratia, as gorgeous of a model it is. My date with the Scorekeeper ain't yet due, alright!? Plus I swear I saw your trigger finger twitch like two seconds ago! I don't have any problems with you folk, trust me...

...even if you abducted me like a bloody paedophile."

Though he now looked merely exasperated instead of terrified, there was a sort of pleading in his draconian eyes. He was desperate not to wind up dead.

 

[Outlander]

"Galaf, it is." Bria confirmed, her suspicions on the man finally validated. Slars wasn't one to just let news fall by the wayside. The trick with reporters was that they couldn't stop from looking at the deeper truth of stories. The good ones, that is. Slars wasn't exactly a reporter, but you didn't become a figure of his scale without something backing you up. How much of that backup was from his illegal dealings and how much was due to actual intelligence was still to be seen however. "Although i'd remind you that we're not on the air here, Slars. You won't benefit from calling the woman with the bigger guns inefficient."

Yes, Slars had his benefits. He knew his trade, and he knew it well. But Bria knew war. And she knew it well enough to know of its necessity.

She reached across the seat at his pleas, sliding the weapon out of his pocket, just as he'd said. Even if he had another piece on him, which the scanner told her he did not, her armor could resist more than enough shots from a holdout to end the trandoshan. In response, she slowly lowered the weapon, settling the pistol across her lap. The heft was somewhat comforting, know it was there even if her prosthetics meant she couldn't feel it.

No, if he tried anything, she wouldn't shoot him. She'd gut him on the blade, quick and easy.

"What I want is your assistance." Bria said, studying the man's reactions. "Me and my men fight well. We can blend into a crowd, strike from the shadows, and leave without anyone being the wiser. But no one can twist words and gain the support of the people like you can. That is what we need."

 

[Kaane]

A quiet breath of relief escaped his nostrils as the gun was lowered. Of course, he wasn't in any position to fight his way out despite his strength; one does not merely try to punch someone in full-body combat armor, after all. But after hearing this person give him the benefit of knowing his own suspicions were correct, he felt somewhat more at ease. Somewhat.

It was hard to have a cordial relationship with someone who hijacked the relaxing evening you had planned featuring a fine dinner and the cute Zeltron reporter you were busy wooing, after all.

He once again listened, waiting for the mysterious woman to finish her pitch. It was interesting to say the absolute least. He maintained eye contact, or at the very least looked where he surmised this person's eyes were, as he began his response.

"GALAF needs a PR division? Well...not to load my own rifle, but you've found the right guy for the job. I swear, those corporate relations companies in the Mid-Rim are imbeciles, all of them. But, eh..."

He would lean back somewhat, still maintaining his gaze, calculating but reasonably personable.

"I would need more...information before I agree to anything. The 411 on your brigade is scarce, to say the least. I know what GALAF stands for, and that's about it. If I'm gonna be getting people to support you, I need the lowdown on this thing, in full. I live and breathe for this galaxy to find its footing someway, somehow, but I'm not going to get screwed by unprincipled idiots in disguise as anti-Imperials. I got this far by having a clear-cut agenda; what's yours?"

He quickly added, remembering where he was, "No personal offense to you, of course. Just I like to know where my money and time is going."

 

[Outlander]

"You're a smart man, Slars." Bria said, running a finger along the blade of her Gratia. She'd made sure to keep the blade as properly maintained as the gun itself, and she'd probably be bleeding if her fingers weren't made of metal. "Smart enough to know that, the more you know without being on the inside, the more of a threat you become." It should have gone without saying that Galaf was a rather covert organization. The more that was known about them, beyond the general knowledge of their goals and allegiances, the harder things became. If she told Slars about their operation, he could gamble that the Imperials would offer more for that information than Galaf did for him to keep it secret. But that was a gamble she had to take going into a meeting like this.

No, she was confident that he'd make the right choice. If he didn't, he wouldn't live long enough to feel much regret over it.

"We will go to great lengths to ensure that threats disappear. Understand?"

 

[Kaane]

The subtly conveyed threat was not lost on him. It took him a moment to answer, quietly ruminating over the consequences of the decision he was about to make.

He could always say no to this whole thing, forget learning anything more about this thing, and back out. But there would be no guarantees that if he did back out, he would come out unscathed. He had no idea where this speeder was; he could be surrounded by GALAF operatives ready to fill him with ion heat just for defying them. And even if he was somewhere safe, he could easily be targeted later. If they could hack a nondescript office building on Trandosha, they could hack the show that broadcasted out of it easily. Or just assassinate him when he wasn't paying attention.

Then again, he couldn't get ahead of himself. He still didn't know anything sensitive about this thing. He probably could leave if he wanted. Live free from interference, or having to tailor his message to anything but his own beliefs. Just the way he liked it.

But in reality, he had other concerns that compelled him to stay. He had downplayed the need for war both in his rhetoric, using a vague "call for action" against Force-wielders to make him sound more palatable to the uninitiated while throwing the buzzwords "galactic peace" around like they meant nothing. He was well-convinced that the only natural end of his ideology was revolution, before any sort of peace could be achieved. And these guys were starting one right under his nose. They might be the transition from idle talk to real action he needed. Garnering funds from illegality was painstakingly slow and worrisome; this was a more welcome kind of illegality. Actually fighting the good fight.

Not to mention his journalistic itch was making him oh-so curious; though he hunted game in his spare time, there was nothing quite like hunting a good lead. Even if the story was for he and himself alone.

He wouldn't be the de facto leader of the overall movement as he had planned, that position probably belonging to some secret, dark figure at the top of this pyramid of obscurity. But if this organization had the capability to arm and bolster the efforts of the people he was trying desperately to radicalize against the authorities that were, there could only be one option.

"I understand," he said, flashing a toothy grin. "Hit me."

 

[Outlander]

Bria grinned under her helmet, nodding as he accepted her terms. He was in, and there wasn't any backing out now. For better or for worse, Slars Nnthryk was an actual rebel now, although she'd make sure to keep his actual identity extra secure against Imperial Intelligence. He would have his uses on the ground, in public, and behind the scenes. But, for now, they had some catching up to do.

She tossed him a comlink from across the cabin before actually holstering her weapon. She didn't need the threat anymore, and if he still decided to try anything, she'd have plenty of ways to deal with him. "Call your studio. Let them know that you'll be gone for a few days. I imagine you'll want Trysson to cover for you in that period." There was no need to let his entire crew know about them. Doing so would be rash and stupid. But, in time, she imagined they'd need to lock down security there too. Until he finished the call, she waited patiently in her own seat. When he was done, she'd take the comlink back and replace it on her belt.

"If you'll excuse me, I much prefer to show you what we're about rather than just telling you." Almost as if on cue, the speeder shook momentarily before stopping. Bria raised her hands, showing that whatever situation they where in was planned, before opening the door. Light rushed into the cabin as their new surroundings became apparent. It looked to be a fairly standard cargo bay, but soldiers moved across the floor, taking up positions around their vehicle. Several larger artillery pieces where visible along the walls, along with a variety of munitions. She stepped out into her personal freighter, the Willow, and motioned for the trandoshan to do the same. "Welcome to my ship. It'll be taking you back to our fleet until we can have your personal vessel upgraded with our encryption systems."