Separation Anxiety: Comfort in Discomfort

[Nathan West]

"It is in times of great need that beings in power are defined by both action and inaction. It is unfortunate that they will likely not know for another fifty years if that decision was the correct one. Any major movement should be made with the future in mind, and this is why I move slowly, and with the greatest gravity.
When I move, the Galaxy shall know."

- Halara Teral, Sulisi Senator, 178 Pre-Empire.

The editor would like to note that Halara was unpopular with both the staunch traditionalists and what would become Trade Federation's supporters. The Senator "fell ill" 165 PE, shortly after being re-elected for a 4th term.

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"Replay it again."

In the distance, the barracks of the 132nd Krakken burned to the ground as a rouge Bushwacker tore through the base. One of the technicians had turned out to be a saboteur, and ably piloted the deadly machine. Chaos had ensued - however well trained the locals were, they simply lacked combat experience against a Bushwacker, along with the rest of the galaxy. The rapid-fire chin mounted twin blasters systematically slaughtered those who attempted to move against it on foot.

A pair of scrambled A-Wings strafed the beastly machine, which lurched as the blasts burned into the armor. They split after the pass, and a pair of concussion missiles chased the fighter heading southbound. The separate tactical holoprojector displayed one of the blue dots winking out.

A volley of rail cannon rounds streaked toward the hijacked machine, turning into a hulking pile of metal before the concussion missiles left in the magazine cooked off against the ground, leaving the blast nowhere to go but through the firewall.

The holoprojector mercifully shut itself off.

Nathan let his face sink into his hands after the ordeal. After a moment, he returned his hands to his chair’s arms, and sunk back.

“15 dead and 32 injured?”
Major Sarins, head of the 135th Reavers shook his head.
“17, and 35.” West swore. "Almost all locals, which is of course fortunate and unfortunate." Sarins elaborated.

The General took this into consideration for a second, and then adressed the other unit commanders.
"Looks like we're leaving Arcan. I'm going to hit Coruscant for a few days and figure out where. In the meantime, pack up the important stuff. The locals keep the disposables for the most part. I want as much of our equipment floating near the Sulis Van shipyards as you can suff in. I know keeping this quiet is going to be next to impossible, but just inform your people, and do what you can. You have 72 hours."

[Captain Tyle]

It was four in the morning, but never too early. Tyle bolted out of the barracks, changed into his fatigues in less than five minutes. Hot on his heels, the rest of the One-Twenty-Seven made their way to their swoops and speeders, quickly cutting through the pre-dawn lanes of Arcan City, until they arrived at the spaceport. Once there, they were a well-oiled machine, spreading out and locking down every point of access. Tyle reached flight control, giving the air boss a crisp salute with one hand, and a datapad with another.

"Mister Tavalarn, I am Sergeant Major Nemor Tyle, of the Special Forces One-Two-Seven. My superiors have made prior arrangements with you already, is that correct?"

The man nodded, and Tyle gestured to the two men behind him, who replaced two befuddled men at the controls.

"Mister Tavalarn, tell your men that we are running a civil defense check, and that everything is under control. I don't want so much as an errant fart to interrupt my schedule. We have equipment convoys scheduled to arrive at the south entrance at Zero-Four-Twenty and Zero-Four-Twenty-Four, respectively. They are in unmarked vehicles, as to not attract undue civilian attention. Your cargo personnell will sit this one out. I have requisition teams in place to handle all incoming cargo."

Tyle nodded.

"Is that understood?"

Tavalarn looked a little overwhelmed, but he quickly calmed his demeanor.

"Yes sir. I'll make the necessary changes."

[Nathan West]

The galaxy, in its 3 dimensional glory, was the single source of illumniation in the somewhat small conference room.

A few planets shifted out of the spectrum, glowing a brilliant green. Relevant information sprung up--gravity, diameter, general climate information, water percentage.

The list wasn't very long. Out of 30 canidate planets, most had been thrown out.

Oetrago
Farrfin

Both were sparsely populated. Farrfin had been used by the Alliance many years ago as an on and off base. Oetrago was a bit too close to swing-states like Kuat, but it was also much closer to supply lines.

West scrunched his face up in indecisions. They had been at this for the better part of 15 hours.

"Farrfin for two years, then Oetrago."

"Any partictular reason?"

"Mostly because Farrfin is more sparsely populated than Oetrago, and the NRSF is in need of a desperate lack of other people. Its also better for security."

The other Generals and Admirals at the table nodded, along with the Head of State.

"If thats everything, I'm going to rejoin my troops at Sulis Van. I'm sure the Sulisi are about ready to throw a fit." Garm Ibis chuckled vaugley.

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Like almost everything in a proper covert ops group, the order and location of the jump came abruptly. Just enough time to figure out what you needed to do and act on it.

[Captain Tyle]

To the minute, the convoys arrived at the spaceport. In the blink of an eye, security at the station had gone from reasonable to airtight, allowing the line of transports into the facility. Some screeched to a halt, as scores of personell disembarked to the clattering of jack boots, and began to prepare a series of six Action IV transports, none of which bore any distinguishing markings. With clockwork precision, hardware, and countless cargo pallates were loaded onto the freighters, with not a bit of space wasted. The contents of the crates were kept shrouded from any facility personell that might spy a glance.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Tyle had made his way back to the front tarmac, watching the proceedings with a scrutinous eye.