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Tagged.  Thank you, MA.  I'm sick of having nothing to read.

“Broke?  BROKE!  What do you mean we are broke!” thundered Garm bel Iblis.

Thom Patrice sighed and he gazed out of the expansive windows that overlooked the Lake Country here on Naboo.  The landscape was relaxing and serene—perhaps too serene, he thought.

“I mean, Lord Steward, that the Imperial Union of the Rim has spent far more credits than we have taken in.  At the moment, we are relying upon loans from various corporate interests and institutions—but the loans will come due soon and we must address the issues facing us here.”  He paused and turned back to face the chief executive of the Union.  “Don’t you read the memorandum your advisors send to you?”

The Steward had the grace to flush, at least, and then he snorted.  “Have you any clue as to how many pieces of paper I get on my desk that it is absolutely imperative that I read?  On a daily basis?”

“I do, Lord Steward.  So was that a yes or a no?” asked Thom.

“Not that I recall—although I do believe that I recall you telling me that cutting Imperial taxes on the member systems would result in a greater amount of revenue collected!”

“It did, Your Grace,” answered Thom.  “Our taxation rates are half those of the New Republic and Imperial Remnant—and we have seen an overall increase in the total sum of revenue we have collected.  But your government,” and Thom placed the emphasis on your deliberately, “has managed to spend nearly fifty percent more than our annual revenue stream this past year!”

“There is so much that has to be done—take the Fleet, for example, Thom.  Ships cost money; training crews costs money; paying those crews costs money.”

“I agree.  And we would have plenty of funds available for the Fleet and the Army had we not moved so precipitously to intervene in our neighbors affairs and almost double the size of the Union in just three years time.”

Garm waved one hand in dismissal.  “They needed our help—they still need our help.”

“So they did and so they do, Lord Steward.  But we are spending ourselves into disaster here by pouring money hand-over-fist into Sectors to repair the damage of centuries in a matter of months!  I mean, you signed the legislation to revamp the infrastructure on twenty-three systems in Toblain Sector—twenty-three!  With grants, not loans, issued by the central government of the Union!”

“The people need to see that we are taking an interest in their affairs, Thom.  That our first priority is their safety and security, which means adequate power and water supplies and safe means of transport.”

Thom shook his head at the idealist seated in the chair behind the ornate desk.  “And just how safe and secure will they be when we are forced to cut the Fleet and the Army to pay our debts?  Garm, we cannot save everyone.  And yes, I realize that you are making an important point to the Galactic media in that while the New Republic is talking a good game, we are actually getting the job done!  But it is Mon Mothma who will have the last laugh if you spend us into a fiscal black hole!”

Now the younger man, the former Rebel scowled and he leaned back in his chair.  “The Sectors are doing well enough . . .,” he began.

“The original twenty-three Sectors including Tolanda,” Thom said bluntly.  “Yes, we are doing fine—the other seventeen we added are money sinks, Garm.  And we are stretching the CAF like a skin atop a drum—any more tension and pressure and they could break.”

Both men stared at each other and then Garm sighed.  “The Senate is pressuring me to promise that no new taxes are coming . . . but we need the revenue.”

“You are an elected official, Garm bel Iblis—raising taxes is something that will very much impact your votes next year in the election.”  Thom sat down and he shook his head.  “I’ve spent too much time in Cyralis instead of here, I fear.  This is partially my fault for not arguing with you against this overuse of our forces and this too-rapid expansion.”

“No, I should have read the damned memos,” Garm said gloomily.  “How long until our creditors start getting antsy?”

“They are already antsy, Garm,” Thom chuckled.  “A year, maybe two before they start to dial back on future loans—and increase our interest rates.  But we cannot keep spending at the current levels—we literally cannot.”

“If we bite the bullet and raise taxes,” the Lord Steward began, but Thom interrupted him again.

“Then industry will have no incentive to move their operations out here instead of staying in the Republic or the Remnant.  With less liquidity in the public square, the economy will slow—we might see a short-term gain, but in the long run we will lose.  And you already promised the citizenry that you would ease the tax burden they bear—the public has long memories about broken promises that affect them personally, Garm.”

“Perhaps I can convince the Sectors to make a one-time tithe to the Union,” bel Iblis mused.  “As you said, the original Sectors are doing very well.”

“They will resist such an effort—I will resist, Lord Steward.  It is true that some of us have a surplus; it is also true that all of us are working very hard on making our Sectors competitive.  Taking our rainy day funds away is not how you win the hearts and minds of the Sector Moffs or Senators.  Beside,” Thom said with another shrug of his shoulders, “even if you did that, it would account for only about a third of this year’s short-fall.”

Both men sat in silence for a moment before Patrice sighed.  “We have to cut your programs in the newly acquired Sectors for domestic improvement to the bone, Lord Steward.  Unless you want to slash defense?”

Garm winced.  “Those improvements are what will tie the new Sectors to the Union, Thom.  They need them—they need to see us there for them.”

“We don’t have the funds to do everything, Garm,” Thom said quietly.  “We are already seeing problems getting enough recruits to fill every position we need in the CAF—and Grand Admiral Morvin has just signed off on retiring all of our Dreadnought-class ships, with the exception of the six you brought with you, because of their immense manpower requirements.  Unless we want to reintroduce conscription, Lord Steward, we need to devote more funds to the Consolidated Armed Forces—half of the Sector forces are paying better wages and bonuses than the CAF.  For less risk.”

Garm’s eyes flashed at that.  “Including those of Cyralis,” he growled.

“Including Cyralis,” agreed Thom.  “I told you three years ago, you needed to offer the enlisted and officers better compensation, but instead you decided that the domestic affairs had a greater priority.  The New Republic is having the same problem—they cannot maintain numbers anywhere close to what the Empire could because they aren’t devoting enough fiscal resources to the men and women in uniform.  The Remnant is conscripting people to keep up its strength, but we cannot afford to start that.  Not if we want to make the average citizen see us any differently from Palpatine’s Empire.”

Garm glared at Thom, but the old General just returned the look stoically until the Lord Steward sighed and turned his gaze away.

“This was supposed to be fun,” he whispered.  “Where is the fun that you promised me?”

“Are you becoming senile?  I never promised you fun, Garm,” laughed Thom.  “I promised you the chance to do things right.”

“So what are our options?” asked the Lord Steward.

“We have to reduce the budget—have to,” answered Thom.  “And frankly, we need to release four or five or six of the new Sectors that are the biggest drain on our finances.”

Garm winced.

“Look at it this way, Lord Steward—we will still be much larger than we were three years ago.  Or we can find a major corporation and nationalize it—but I do not believe you want to start down that road.”

“No,” bel Iblis spat.  “Put together a working group—coordinate with Irenez and work out a plan to gently let some of the border Sectors go their separate way over the next year,” he snorted.  “Sena would wind up shooting half of your members, I think.”

“She would—she’s feisty, Garm,” Thom agreed.

“Which is why she is my head of security—Irenez does the heavy lifting on the Operations side of things,” Garm answered.  “What else?  You didn’t come all the way to Naboo to discuss just the budget?”

“I had a visitor last week, Garm,” Thom said.  “The son of an old friend from inside the Remnant.  He said that someone very important wants to meet with me—privately.  Outside of Union space.  He seemed sincere.”

“And you are asking me for permission?  That is a first!”

“No, just giving you a heads-up in case I don’t come back, Garm.  And,” Thom paused and he scratched his cheek, “I am getting reports of New Republic forces massing at Rodia.  Fleet and ground elements both.”

“What does Galen say?”

“That we need someone on the ground to give us better information than the limited SigInt our ferret is picking up in the outer system.  He cannot confirm or deny anything, but he is starting to get worried over our good friend Navik.”

Garm snorted again.  “Navik is an opportunist.  He worked for Palpatine to keep the Rodians under control and now he is working for Mon Mothma on behalf of the Rodians.  The man is a snake.”

“Agreed.  And he despises you and I both—rumors suggest that he was promised lordship over all of Savareen before Moff Anar decided to get onboard.  He covets those worlds—and I have to wonder who besides the Hutts he may be cutting deals with.  We’ve seen a lot of activity in that Sector in the last month.”

“We don’t have the forces to send there to hunt ghosts, Thom,” Garm said.  “Unless,” he began with a smile.

“Unless what?  And why do I suddenly have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach?”

“Unless Moff Anar agrees to host joint maneuvers with say . . . the Local Defense Forces of Cyralis Sector?  In part, of course.  I do not mean to suggest your entire force, Moff Patrice.”

“Of course you don’t, Lord Steward bel Iblis,” Thom growled.  And then he sighed.  “I’ll cut the orders—but you best make sure that Anar knows to expect them.  He’s rather particular about his privileges and responsibilities.”

“I’ll do it after lunch,” Garm answered with a smile.  “Who are you meeting with, by the way?”

“A Fleet Captain by the name of Gilead Pellaeon,” Thom answered.  “I knew his father in the Clone Wars.  If the son is half the man Daveed was, I think this is a meeting I should attend.”

“Then may the Force be with you,” Garm answered.  “And back to the salt mines of endless memorandum for me.”

“Next time bring a flame-thrower to work with you, Your Grace,” Thom answered with a smile.

“I would—but Pooja and the Queen both would kill me.  Their gift of this desk cost more than my annual salary, a point they remind me of every time they visit.”

“Han, wait!” Leia cried out as she emerged into the wide corridors of the former Imperial palace.

The dark-haired smuggler and hero of the Rebellion stopped in his tracks and he turned around to face his wife.  “They want proof, Leia?  Well, I am going to get them their proof—as if I don’t know what a Grand Admiral looks like!  This guy was no fake, no self-promoted ambitious Moff or officer, he was the real thing, Leia.”

“Han it is just so . . .,” her voice trailed off, and Han Solo nodded.

“Unbelievable.  I get it.  But I know what I saw, Leia.  I don’t care if he isn’t human, I don’t care what their records say about us accounting for all of Palpatine’s Grand Admirals,” his voice trailed off and the flush faded from his face.  “To tell the truth, this man scares me.  And I will wager that he is a bigger threat to the Republic than Kaine and Patrice combined.  Ackbar needs to get over his unease with my smuggling history—and you need to get Mon Mothma to trust me!”

“Han, what did you expect?  Barging in here to tell them that we missed one of the Emperor’s most senior agents?  I believe you,” and it wasn’t completely a lie, “but it is a single report.  One solitary report.  Where has he been?  Why hasn’t anyone seen him before now?  Why don’t we have any record of him?”

“I don’t know, Your Worshipfulness,” Han said with a sigh.  “But I will find out.  I’m taking the Falcon back out there—there are still some old friends who owe me.”

The Wookie standing beside the smuggler made a low moan that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and Han glared at him.

“No, these friends won’t let some Dark Lord of the Sith freeze me in carbonite, you flea-bitten walking carpet,” and Han smiled.  “Speaking of which, Lando owes me as well.  And he has a lot of connections that the Republic frowns upon—and knows some of the best slicers in the galaxy.”

Han held up his hand as both Leia and Chewbacca began to protest at the same time.  “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“How many times have I heard that?” Leia said in an exasperated voice.

“How many times have I been wrong?” asked Han with a grin.  And then he shook his head as the Wookie opened his mouth.  “Those don’t count, Chewie.”

“You will never stop being a scoundrel, will you?” asked Leia softly.

“Hey!  You like me being a scoundrel, Princess.”  And Han stepped up close to Leia and he kissed her.  Then he stepped back.  “I’ll be back—and I’ll have the proof those two need when I return.”

“Han,” Leia soft quietly.  “Be careful; if it is a Grand Admiral, he is an incredibly dangerous man.”

“When am I not careful?” asked Han with a wide grin.  “Let’s go, Chewie,” he said cutting off the Wookie again.

The tall creature howled at Leia and shrugged his shoulders and she shook her head.  “Take care of him, Chewie.”

“Oh dear,” said 3PO as he ambled into the corridor and waved his arms at the Princess.  “My apologies, Mistress Leia, but the Chief of State requests your presence in the meeting of the Council,” he said.  “Is Master Han leaving?”

“Yes,” she whispered before she turned back to the droid.  “Let’s not keep her waiting, shall we?”

“Well, well, well,” intoned Kerr Avon, Colonel in rank and commander of the Vigil-class Corvette Bringer of Justice, along with all ninety-seven souls (including his own) aboard her.  “What do we have here, Jas?”

“Corellian YU-410 class light freighter, Sir; she has not been cleared by perimeter security,” the sensor operator replied almost immediately.  “She seems to believe that she can avoid detection by using the cometary tail to mask her drives.”

Avon snorted.  Indeed, if Bringer of Justice had not been here, with her advanced sensor suite, the tactic might well have worked.  “Armament?  Defenses?  Complement?”

“Two twin laser turrets, dorsal and ventral mountings, Sir,” answered the tactical officer.  “Light shields—no match for our guns.  Official crew complement is four with space for a dozen passengers—but these ships are capable of extensive modification.  Fully outfitted as a slaver, she could be carrying upwards of five hundred individuals aboard.”

“Very well, ladies and gentlemen,” Avon said formally.  “Sound action stations and lay in a pursuit course.  Order Special Agent Benchek and her team to prep . . .,” and Avon paused as he scrolled through data on his screen, “Cutters Three and Four for boarding action.  And ask Lieutenant Gayne if his gunboats are ready for deployment.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the executive officer answered as she began to pass orders.  Avon sat back in his chair and he smiled.  Quite a bit of difference from the old way of doing things, he thought to himself.  In the old days, the Sector Rangers made do with what they could—but here?  Now?  In this Imperial Union of the Rim?

Almost one hundred of the new Vigil-class Corvettes had emerged from Ord Tanis over the past three years.  And every single one of them had been assigned directly to the reformed Union Rangers.  At 255-meters in length, these ships were heavily armed with three twin turrets of medium-weight turbo-lasers, five twin turrets of heavy laser cannons, and two bow-mounted proton torpedo launchers.  Not to mention a pair of very powerful tractor beams and two hard-hitting ion cannons.  Each of the new ships carried six Boarding Cutters—specialized shuttlecraft that lacked any hyperdrives, but were designed to board even the most uncooperative of targets—and four Gunboats.  And they were designed from the core outwards to serve the Rangers.

Ninety-seven officers and men comprised the crew—all of them Rangers.  The ship had its own forensics teams, research labs, medical examiners, analysis laboratories, and cutting-edge computers run by some of the best slicers in the business.  Avon smiled again.  Such as himself.  Once upon a time, he had been on the opposite side of the law—but no more.  Now, he enforced the law, for he had seen with his own eyes just what barbarity many criminals were capable of.  And the ship had space for as many as fifty-three more passengers, troops, or Rangers.  Plus the cells in the four brigs that could hold up to eighty prisoners in maximum isolation and containment.

No, Avon, thought to himself, these ships were not just transport for the Rangers, but were mobile headquarters.  And they had allowed the Rangers to finally begin putting an end to the foulness that seethed beneath the surface here in the Outer Rim.

“She’s seen us, Sir—she’s running,” the sensor operator declared.

“Put us on an intercept course, Helm.  Jas, hail her and instruct her to heave to at once at the direct order of the Imperial Office of Criminal Investigations . . . Guns, if she fails to cut her drives, put a turbolaser bolt across her bow and warm up the ion cannons and tractor beams.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” a chorus of voices answered.  “No response,” answered Jas Kimlane from the sensor/comm station.

“Guns, you are authorized to fire at your earliest convenience,” Avon ordered as he pressed a stud on the arm of his chair.  And snorted again.  Crazy Imperial Fleet officers—a proper commander sat, he didn’t stand.  “Lieutenant Gayne, I trust that your toys are almost ready for launch?”

“Aye, Sir,” a strong voice emerged from the comm.

“Then go convince this smuggler he has made the wrong choice, Ranger,” Avon said.

“Gunboats One through Four are launching, Colonel,” reported the XO.  “Gunnery is reported direct strikes on her stern shields with the ion cannons—Sir, she is cutting her drives and is now transmitting.”

“On speaker, Jas.”

“Imperial vessel, this is the medical transport Harmony.  Cease fire!  Cease fire!  We are on an authorized mission to bring emergency medical supplies to Orvax.”

“Jas?”

“Transponder confirms ship ID as Harmony—but she is registered as a stock light freighter out of Kolanda Station in Yminis Sector.”

“Right up near Hutt space,” Avon whispered.

“Yes, Sir.  And we have no record of her being a medical transport—or having authorization to land on the surface.”

Avon frowned.  Even though as a Senior Colonel in the Rangers he could have had his choice of assignments, he had come here to Orvax because . . . well, to hunt Rancor one had to go where the Rancor lived.  And to stop slavers, one had to come to the prime market for the slave trade outside of Hutt space.  And for the last six centuries, that location had been Orvax.

“Open mike,” Avon ordered.  “Freighter Harmony, you were directed to heave to for inspection—an order that you disobeyed.  Lower your shields and cut your drives—you will be boarded, your manifest and cargo will be inspected, and we will discuss your infractions in person.  By now, you have no doubt detected my gunboats that have you surrounded—running is no longer an option.  Do not compound your crimes by firing upon my officers, you are not dealing with the Fleet or with Customs—you are dealing with the Rangers of the Rim.  And we do not take people shooting at us lightly, Harmony,” he growled.

“Understood,” a very depressed voice answered over the comm.  “I’m just the middleman delivering the packages—do the Rangers still offer reduced sentences for cooperative witnesses?”

Avon’s lips twisted.  “That depends, Harmony.  On how cooperative such witnesses are and whether or not their crimes make my stomach twist—if you aren’t one of those, we might be able to deal.”

“I’m not—just trying to make a few credits and pay the bills, Ranger.  Wouldn’t have touched this job if I had anything else—and I don’t do it because I like it.  There won’t be any resistance over here.”

“If that sentiment plays true Harmony, I am certain we work something out,” Avon said with a fierce grin.  “Ranger out.”

He looked up at the XO, who was listening to a second transmission.  “Benchek is aboard—no resistance.  At least forty slaves in the cargo holds—the crew is cooperating.”

“Excellent.  Send a prize crew across—and have Dr. Illian give the . . . passengers full examinations.  Jas, send a message to Ranger HQ, Dalchon.  Request transport for these people—I’ll be damned if I see them landed on that cesspool down there.”

“Colonel,” Jas reported with a sigh.  “New contact emerging from hyper—three hours out, but inbound for Orvax.”

Avon shook his head.  It was going to be one of those days, he thought.  “As soon as the prize crew is aboard our capture, set an intercept course for the next customer.  And have the chef make an extra pot of caf.”

True justice has arrived but i doubt that Mon Mothma would understand. Anything that is not the new republic is evil.

That might be true but the rest Luke,Leia, Han and the rest of the command structure are also a threat to freedom. Luke is the greatest threat because he is rebuilding an order that stole children and that wobbled like a drunk between right and wrong like when they at the direct command of the republic senate crippled the Kaleesh race and left hundreds of thousads to starve to death. The jedi were suppose to be guardians of good but their arrogance and their belief in their own superiority destroyed so many innocent lives. That they could compel people to do what ever they wanted took away all races freedom and liberty.

Yeah, it seemed to me that Mon Mothma was leading the rebellion for the wrong reasons, but she gained the support for the rebels and the money they needed t osecure resources and troops in order to stay in the fight.  Garm Bel Iblis, her former partner from the Rebellion, has a more level head but lets the idealogical mentality control him far too much.  He is an idealist and a charismatic figure, but not practical enough(On his own) to keep things running.  During the Rebellion, they had each other for a counter, which was a significant boon for the rebs.  Unfortunately, without Garm in the New Republic heirarchy, the ones who can bring Mon Mothma down a notch from her tower, like Han Solo and a few others, are rarely there to do so.