Kael Voss woke to the dull, persistent ache of ribs that had been promised forty-eight hours of rest and were clearly ignoring the protocol droid's orders.
The governor's quarters were quiet except for the faint hum of the palace's aging climate controls and the distant drip of rainwater still leaking somewhere in the stonework.
Dawn light filtered through the reinforced viewport red-tinged, weak, painting the room in shades of rust and gold. Outside, the plains looked bruised but breathing again: flooded lowlands had receded to muddy pools, grasslands glistened wetly, and in the far distance smoke rose in thin columns from native campfires.
He lay still for a long moment, staring at the ceiling.
Day two.
Still alive.
Still governor of a system he'd never heard of before.
Still carrying two lifetimes in one teenage skull.
Survived day one, he thought, even went out into the storm, for whole 2 minutes and I still feel fucking cold. Achievement unlocked. Where's my participation trophy? Oh right, this gray uniform and a death threat in my inbox.
He snorted softly at his own internal monologue. The humour helped. A little, at least his humour is not brain rot.
Kael pushed himself upright slowly, still wearing his sleepwear, wincing as his side protested. The bed was Imperial-standard: firm, narrow, utilitarian. The sheets smelled faintly of dust and recycled air. He swung his legs over the side, bare feet touching cold stone. The scar on his left temple itched.
He glanced at the small table beside the bed. His parents' encrypted datapad lay there like an accusation. The official Moff briefing sat next to it, still sealed. He ignored both for now. Ignorance is a bliss, amen.
Instead he reached for the simple tunic and trousers someone (probably Mira) had laid out the night before. No fancy governor's robes today just practical gray fabric, dark boots, and the insignia pinned to the collar like a target.
He dressed mechanically, fingers brushing the cold metal pin. If this were Earth I'd be hitting snooze for the third time and cursing my 9-to-5, he thought. Here it's 24/7 and the boss is a Sith Lord who even when he dies, he still. "Somehow comes back" with a massive fleet that he just does not use and lets some ragtag group of mostly junk ships to destroy them.
He looked at his reflection in the polished metal of a wall panel. Cold green eyes stared, dark hair still a mess from sleep. He ran a hand through it, gave up, and moved to the viewport.
The plains stretched out below Havenridge's foothills. Native crews were already moving small figures in earth-toned cloaks directing speeder sleds loaded with salvaged supplies. A herd of some shaggy, long-necked beasts grazed cautiously on higher ground since the rain subsided a bit.
Smoke rose from cooking fires under roofs, life just keeps going on. Minimal losses, a win is a win. I will take it. The interface pinged softly in his vision.
Quest Review: Weather the Storm – Complete
Outcome: Minimal civilian/infrastructure loss projected. Native coordination established.
Reward Applied:
+2 Database Entries (Elyria Seasonal Weather Patterns / Plains Tribes – Cultural Overview)
Governance Tree – Branch 1 Unlocked: Basic Diplomacy (+5% negotiation success rate, minor intuition in local customs)
Kael exhaled through his nose. Small steps. He focused on the new entries, mentally pulling them up. The weather data was dry: seasonal storm cycles, flood patterns, wind speeds. Useful for planning, boring as hell. The tribes overview was more interesting:
Thorn-Root clan values action over words, distrusts off-worlders but respects competence, places high value on herd survival and communal high-ground refuges during storms. Elara Korr listed as current speaker, respected, pragmatic, no known anti-Imperial ties.
He closed the window mentally. Okay, system. Not bad. Keep feeding me info and maybe I won't die in week one. A low warble and the soft clank of treads announced Rusty rolling in from the corridor. The droid's dome swiveled, photoreceptor flickering in what Kael had long interpreted as a raised eyebrow. Rusty let out a string of beeps and whistles, sarcastic, affectionate, familiar.
Kael translated without effort: You look like bantha fodder left out in the rain. Good morning, meatbag. Still not dead? Impressive. Kael snorted. "High praise from you. I'd bow, but my ribs would not be fans of that." Rusty rolled closer, dome tilting. Another series of chirps: Rib pain ? Weak. I've got rust in places that would make a protocol droid cry. Try harder.
Kael allowed himself a real, small smile. "Thanks for the pep talk," Kael said dryly. "Anything useful from the night logs?" Rusty plugged into a nearby console port with a satisfied click. A moment later, he got it.
After he got it, it was also placed in his system.
Overnight Summary (Rusty Compilation):
Palace power grid held (one minor brownout at 03:17, resolved).
Security sweeps: no new intrusions detected.
Comm traffic: routine weather reports from orbital station, one encrypted burst (source masked, content deleted before full intercept).
Native activity: Thorn-Root clan camps stabilized, Elara coordinating relief from eastern gate since 05:00. Other native clans also receiving assistance
Kael's jaw tightened at the encrypted burst mention. The fragment from last night . Someone's watching. Close.
He pushed it down. One crisis at a time. "Flag that burst for Lira," he told Rusty. "Cross-reference with the logs she pulled yesterday." Rusty beeped affirmatively.
A soft knock at the door. Harlan entered, uniform crisp despite the early hour, datapad in hand.
"Morning, Governor. Storm cleanup progressing. Native teams are already moving herds to higher ground. Elara has the eastern gate organized no major complaints so far. Militia volunteers helped with sandbagging overnight"
Kael nodded. "Good. Casualties?"
"None confirmed. Few sprains, one broken arm from a speeder skid. Bacta patches handled it."
Kael exhaled slowly.
"Tell Mira to prep a small supply drop emergency rations, medical kits. Send it to Elara's location. And get me the latest mineral reports from Elyria II. I want to see those ledgers before noon."
"Yes, sir."
As Harlan left, Kael turned back to the viewport. The sun was climbing now, burning off the last of the storm haze. The plains looked almost peaceful again. He muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the empty room:
***
Kael left the governor's quarters with Rusty trailing.
The palace corridors were still wet from the storm, it has stopped raining around 2 hours ago but it seems theres more rain incoming later.
Boots echoed louder than they should have in the empty halls. Havenridge Palace felt too big for one teenager and a handful of loyalists.
The governor's office waited at the end of the corridor. Through the viewport he could overlook the drying plains native crews already moving again, speeders kicking up mud as they hauled supplies.
Kael sat. The chair creaked in protest just like yesterday, his hope that someone got him a more comfortable chair dashed in an instant. Rusty rolled to a console port and plugged in without being asked, dome lights flickering as he pulled fresh data.
Mira arrived first, datapad yet again clutched like a shield, braid slightly frayed from the night's work. She looked tired but steady. "Morning, sir," she said quietly. "I've compiled the initial staff roster and kitchen inventory. We're low on fresh protein storm spoiled half the herd shipments but synth rations will hold for three weeks. Water recyclers are at 90% now."
Kael nodded. "Good work. Sit. We're going over the ledgers next." Harlan entered a moment later, carrying a stack of physical flimsiplast printouts and a secure datapad. Old habits from the Clone Wars, apparently he still preferred the equivalent for paper for sensitive numbers.
"Mineral reports from Elyria II, as requested," Harlan said, setting them down. "Current cycle overage: 2.754%. Miners reported higher yields than projected. Tax quota met, but the excess is sitting in orbital storage." Kael pulled the top sheet closer. Columns of numbers, Imperial stamps, timestamps. His father's voice echoed in memory: Skim carefully. .He stared at the 2.7%.
Skim Opportunity: Elyria II Duranium Overage
Current Excess: 2.7% (~14,800 credits equivalent at black-market rate)
Safe Diversion Window: 1.8–2.3% without triggering immediate audit flags
Projected Reward: +5,400–8,600 credits to personal slush fund
Risk: Low (current oversight minimal)
Kael exhaled slowly. The numbers were tempting. Too tempting. "Harlan," he said, voice even, "walk me through the payment chain. How does ore get taxed, processed, and credited to the sector coffers?"
Harlan leaned over the desk, pointing at the flow chart on the flimsi."Miners report yield to Durak's Hold overseer. Overseer tallies and stamps. Monthly shuttle to orbital platform. Platform scans, deducts Imperial tithe (22%), sends remainder to sector tax office. Excess ore is held in bonded storage."
Kael tapped a finger on the excess line. "And if I requisition a small portion for 'planetary defense upgrades' say, 2% and quietly sell it to a passing trader?" Harlan's eyes narrowed fractionally. Not suspicion calculation. "It's been done before. Quietly. Most Moff's auditors are lazy, especially for ones in outer rim, unless someone flags a pattern. Rotate the justification: one month defense, next month infrastructure, next month storm relief. Use neutral intermediaries try to never use same trader twice."
Mira shifted in her seat. "Sir… is this-"
"Legal gray area," Kael cut in, meeting her eyes. "My parents died because someone played politics better. I'm not dying because I played too clean. If you're uncomfortable, you can leave the room now if you want. No judgment." Mira swallowed, then shook her head. "I'm here, sir. I just… want to make sure we don't get caught."
Kael gave her a small, crooked smile. "That's the plan. "He turned back to Harlan. "Set it up. 2% this cycle. Justification: emergency repairs to Havenridge shield generator post-storm. Route the credits through a blind Muun account, then hop it twice before the vault. No trace back to me." Harlan nodded once. "I'll handle the paperwork. Quietly."
As Harlan left to make the arrangements, Kael leaned back, rubbing his temple. Not even 2 days in and I am already skimming, is this how top officials in banks feel when they skim 5%?
If this goes wrong, I'm dead by audit. If it goes right… five to eight thousand credits closer to breathing room, its not much, some governors make millions a day by skimming 2% but that 8 thousand feels huge to me. If I remember correctly a star destroyer costs like 150 million so I still need a hell of a lot more.
In my old life this would be tax fraud and I'd be terrified of an IRS audit. Here it's just Tuesday. Galactic Tuesday, to be fair if the empire had IRS from the states not even good old palps could avoid paying taxes, nobody fucks with the IRS not even the joker.
"Well, I guess the secret ingredient to getting rich is crime"
Rusty beeped from the corner low, amused. Kael glanced at the droid. "Laugh it up, rustbucket. You're not the one who'll be explaining to a Moff why the shield generator got a sudden upgrade if he ever even pays attention."
Rusty's dome tilted. Another chirp: You'll explain it badly. I'll translate. We'll both die gloriously. Kael snorted despite himself.
Lira entered then, expression tight, diagnostic kit still slung across her chest. "Governor. Found something. Not urgent, but not nothing."
Kael straightened. "Talk."
"Last night's encrypted burst the one Rusty flagged. I cracked the outer layer. It's a short-range tight-beam, bounced off the orbital station. Origin: somewhere in Havenridge. Not the palace. Probably a low-level clerk or trader with a hidden transmitter."
Well shit.
"Which clerk?"
"Missing this morning. Tovik Jarn. Junior ledger assistant. Didn't report for shift. Quarters empty. No note." Kael stared at her for a long second. Day two. Already a mole, whats day 3 finding a fucking Rancor in someones attic?
He exhaled slowly. "Find him. Quietly. I want to know who he's talking to before we tip our hand." Lira nodded. "Already have Torv sweeping the lower city markets. I'll cross-check comm logs."
***
The midday sun burned off the last of the storm haze, turning the plains into a shimmering sea of gold and mud. Kael stood on the wide eastern balcony of the palace high enough to see the sprawl of Havenridge below and the open grasslands stretching toward the horizon. Dust still hung in the air, carried on a warm wind that smelled of wet earth and distant pine resin.
He had changed into lighter field gear: gray tunic sleeves rolled to the elbows, boots scuffed from yesterday's relief run, the governor's insignia still pinned but less ostentatious under a short travel cloak. Rusty rolled up beside him, dome swiveling to scan the view.
A low warble, half question, half commentary. "You look like a drowned tooka cat trying to look dignified. Planning another heroic mud bath?"
Kael snorted. "If I fall in again, you're the one pulling me out. And no whining about rust." Another derisive chirp "I'd rather short-circuit than touch your soggy boots." Kael's lips twitched. Rusty's insults were the closest thing to normalcy he had left.
A soft footfall behind him. Elara stepped onto the balcony without announcement practical boots leaving faint mud prints on the stone. She wore the same earth-toned tunic and cloak from yesterday, braid still threaded with bone beads.
She stopped a respectful distance away, dark eyes flicking over the plains before settling on him. "Governor," she said, voice low. "The eastern camps are stable. Herds moved. Flooded crossings cleared. Your transports and rations arrived at dawn on time. My people appreciate it."
Kael turned fully to face her. "Good. Casualties?" "Two sprained ankles. One child with a fever—treated. No dead. No lost stock worth mentioning." He exhaled slowly.
"Report says your people were already moving before my orders came down," he said. "You didn't wait." Elara's mouth curved just a hint. "Waiting gets herds drowned. We know the storms better than your palace sensors."
Kael nodded. No defensiveness. Just fact. He gestured to the low table nearby two chairs, a pitcher of water, a few datapads. "Sit. We need to talk longer than yesterday's."
She hesitated a fraction of a second still likely testing him then took the chair opposite. Rusty rolled to the side, photoreceptor flickering like he was taking notes. Kael poured water for both of them. "You're my advisor now," he said. "Provisional civilian coordinator. That means I listen. You speak plainly. No courtly nonsense. I want to know what the clans actually think of me and what it'll take to keep them from resenting the next tax collection."
Elara took the cup, sipped once, then set it down. "They think you're young. Off-world. Imperial. They expect you to squeeze credits until the plains bleed, then leave when the posting ends. They don't hate you yet because you showed up in the rain yesterday. That matters more than words."
Kael leaned back. "And if I keep showing up?" Her eyes narrowed slightly assessing. "Then maybe they start believing you're different. Not gone in a year. Not just another tax collector in gray. But trust is earned in seasons, not days. One storm won't buy it forever."
Fair. Kael pulled one datapad closer. "I need eyes on the ground. Not just reports. Clans, trade routes, who's talking to slavers or pirates. You know the people. I don't. What do you need from me to make that work?" Elara studied him for a long moment. "Authority that sticks. If I speak for you, the militia doesn't second-guess me. Resources when I ask food, medicine, speeders without three forms and a Moff's blessing. And no spies in my camps. If your people watch my people, they'll know. Trust dies fast." Kael tapped a finger on the table. "Done. Militia takes orders from you on joint ops. Supply requests go straight to Mira no middlemen. Spies…" He paused. "I'm not stupid enough to plant them in your camps. But if slavers or pirates show up, I expect to know before they hit, and dont try and make your clan the dominant one or go slaughtering the other clans just because you dont like them.
"She inclined her head. "Fair."
A beat of silence. The wind carried distant sounds children laughing in Havenridge streets, speeder engines, the low moo of recovering herds.
Kael broke it. "One more thing. The reddish hue. Locals say it's adaptation. I don't buy it. Not completely, if it was the people not get so defensive about it whenever people asked. If it's something more genetic, historical I need to know before it becomes a problem. Not for the Empire. For Elyria. "Elara's eyes sharpened. "You're asking dangerous questions for day two."
"I'm asking practical ones. I'm stuck here. You're stuck with me. If there's a secret that could get your people targeted or give us leverage I want it on my side of the table."
She stared at him. Then, slowly: "Old blood. Very old. Diluted. Forgotten. We don't speak of it outside the clans. Not because we're ashamed because outsiders twist it. If you prove you're worth the risk, maybe we talk more. Not today."
Kael nodded, but inside his mind he's going "what in the fuck are you on about." After a while he responds. "Understood."
The interface pinged softly.
Database Updated: Plains Tribes – Trust Metrics (Partial)
Entry Added: Cultural Sensitivity – Native Heritage (Reddish Hue) – Speculative ancient lineage. Further data locked behind trust threshold.
Governance Progress: +0.5% toward next milestone Kael hid a thin smile. Grindy, but moving.
Elara stood. "I'll be at the eastern gate tomorrow at first light. Joint inspection of the outer settlements. You coming?"
Kael despaired for his lack of sleep but rose as well. "Wouldn't miss it."
She almost smiled, almost. Then she turned and left, boots leaving faint prints on the stone.
Rusty rolled closer, dome tilting and chirped "You're terrible at small talk. She still didn't run screaming. Progress. Kael snorted. "High bar." He looked back out over the plains. Day two wasn't over yet. But for the first time, it felt like he might not die before dinner.
***
The afternoon sun hung low and heavy, turning the palace courtyard into a patchwork of long shadows and drying mud. Kael stood at the edge of the upper walkway, arms braced on the stone railing, watching a small speeder convoy roll back through Havenridge's eastern gate.
Native drivers, militia escorts, Elara's people unloading the last of the relief crates.
Lira found him there ten minutes later. She moved quietly boots soft on stone, her pale blue skin caught the light oddly in the late sun. "Governor," she said, voice low. "We found Tovik Jarn."
Kael kept looking down "Alive?"
"Barely. Torv pulled him out of a back-alley cantina near the market district. Drunk. Scared. Talking fast once the cuffs went on. "Kael exhaled through his nose. "Where?"
"Lower holding cell. Secured. No one else knows yet." Kael pushed off the railing. "Take me."
They descended through narrow service corridors dusty, lit by flickering overhead strips. Rusty trailed behind, treads whispering on stone. The lower levels smelled of damp rock, rust and old machine oil, probably closest thing I have to what a mechanicum from 40k would smell like.
A single stormtrooper stood guard outside a reinforced door. He saluted sharply as Kael approached. "Open it," Kael said. The door hissed aside.
Tovik Jarn sat on a metal bench inside a small holding room no window, one glow-lamp, cuffs mag-locked to the table. Mid-20s human, thin, pale, eyes wide and bloodshot. Sweat stained his tunic. He flinched when Kael stepped in. "Governor-" His voice cracked. "I- I didn't mean-" Kael held up a hand. "Quiet."
Lira moved to the side wall, datapad out, recording silently. Rusty positioned himself near the door dome swiveling slowly, photoreceptor locked on Jarn like a targeting laser .Kael pulled the single chair opposite and sat. No rush. No anger on his face. Just cold green eyes and absolute stillness. "You accessed the financial ledgers last night," he said. "After hours. You sent an encrypted burst. Short-range. Tight-beam. Bounced off the orbital station." Jarn swallowed hard. "I-I was just-"
"Trying to sell information," Kael finished. "To who?"Jarn's eyes darted to the door, then back. "I don't know names. A contact. Said he represented… interests on the sector level. Said they'd pay well for updates on the new governor. Said you were-" He stopped, throat working. "Expendable, please thats all I know." Kael ignored him and supplied. "A mercy posting. Easy to remove if inconvenient."Jarn nodded miserably, nervous sweat pouring from him.
Kael leaned forward slightly. "What exactly did you send?" "Just… arrival confirmation. That you were alive. In the palace. No major changes yet. They wanted to know if you were… settling in. If you'd be a problem. "Kael stared at him for a long beat. Then: "And the reply?"Jarn flinched again. "They said… 'Window still open. Observe. Report daily. Payment on confirmation of opportunity.'" Kael sat back. The room felt colder. Day two. Already a direct line to whoever killed my parents. He kept his voice level. "I dont know why you even tried to hide after we it was known someone tried to secretly send information, but you did, you're going to keep reporting. Exactly what I tell you to report. You'll send the messages through a relay Lira sets up. If you deviate if you warn them, if you run, if you even dream about running Torv will find you. And he won't be gentle."Jarn nodded frantically.
"Y-yes, Governor. I swear. I didn't want this. They threatened my family. Sister on Corellia. Said they could-"
"I don't really care why, so spare me." Kael cut in. "I care that you do what you're told now. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." Kael stood. "Lira-fit him with a tracker. Low-profile. And set up the relay. I want every message logged and copied to me before it sends."Lira nodded. "Already prepped."
As they left the cell, Rusty rolled alongside Kael. A soft, almost sympathetic warble. Kael muttered: "Hey! I am not turning into a bad guy, well maybe just a mean one."
They climbed back to the upper levels in silence. Outside, the sun was dipping toward the mountains. Shadows stretched long across the plains. Kael's comm beeped priority channel from the Gozanti cruiser in orbit. He answered.
"Governor Voss," the captain's voice crackled. "Sensor sweep complete. Small unidentified skiff likely pirate scout circling Elyria II mining moon. No hostile action yet. Just watching. Orders?" Kael stared out the viewport at the distant moon hanging low in the sky.
Of course. Because why not pile on. He thought for two seconds. "Launch two TIEs for a close flyby. No engagement unless fired upon. Record everything. I want to know who they are, what they're carrying, and where they go when they leave, tell the TIEs not to engage we can't spare anything we are stretched as we are already."
"Understood, sir." The line cut. Kael looked at Lira. "Get Torv. Prep a shuttle. If that skiff runs, I want eyes on the ground when it lands."Lira raised an eyebrow. "You're going personally?"
"No," Kael said. "But I do need to go to the moon for an inspection sooner or later."
***
The palace had gone quiet after sunset. The storm's last echoes had faded into a heavy stillness only the occasional drip from a leaky gutter outside and the low hum of the outdated power grid broke it.
Kael sat alone in the governor's office, the overhead lights dimmed to a soft amber glow, only setting where they dont flicker every so often. The viewport showed a black sky pierced by Elyria Prime's two small moons and the faint running lights of the orbital Gozanti cruiser.
Papers and datapads covered the desk in chaotic layers. Flimsiplast printouts of mineral yields, tax receipts, militia payrolls, water recycler efficiency logs, food stock inventories, medical supply requisitions. Numbers.
Endless, merciless fucking numbers.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. stress, fatigue, or just the planet reminding him he wasn't invincible. The interface hovered in his vision, unblinking.
Current Resource Overview (Compiled from Manual Input – 87% Complete)
Tax Revenue: 68% from plains agriculture, 24% Elyria II mining, 8% timber/herb trade Current Deficit (Immediate Needs): –90,700 credits (multiple shield generator repairs, militia gear upgrades, storm relief restock, buying necessities and salaries)
Military Readiness: 500 stormtroopers (62% combat effective), 36 TIEs (14 grounded for maintenance), 4 bombers (2 operational), Gozanti cruiser (fuel at 71%) Food Stocks: 19 days (emergency synth rations only) Medical Supplies: 11 days (bacta patches critical low)
Native Relations Index (Estimated): Cautiously Positive (+12% from storm relief)
Kael stared at the red-lined deficit line. Just to keep the lights on and the people fed. He scrolled through the mineral reports again. The 2% skim had gone through 7,200 credits already routed, sitting in a blind account waiting for the third hop to the vault.
Not a lot, not even enough to fix anything meaningful. Barely enough to make a dent. He pulled up the militia payroll. Most were farmers, miners, kids barely older than him. Gear was mismatched old Republic surplus, patched armor, blasters that looked like they'd jam on the first shot.
He switched to the water recycler logs. 90% efficiency after yesterday's patch job. One more brownout and half the city would be drinking recycled piss for a week .Food next. Synth rations were tasteless bricks designed to keep people alive, not happy. Native herds were recovering, but the storm had killed enough breeding stock that next season's meat would be thin.
Traders were irregular next one wasn't due for eleven days. If they skipped, starvation rationing started in three weeks. He leaned back, chair creaking. The office felt smaller now. The high ceilings pressed down. Short on money. Short on troops. Short on trust. Short on time. He thought about the pirate skiff circling Elyria II. Two TIEs had scared it off barely. No shots fired, but the message was clear: someone was testing the defenses. Slavers next, probably.
Then whoever sent that encrypted warning. Then the Moff's auditors. Then-
He cut the spiral off.
Enough.
He closed the datapads one by one. The interface hovered stubbornly. Pending Milestone: Resource Assessment – 87% Complete manual review for bonus entry? Y/N
Kael stared at it for a long second. Then muttered, voice hoarse from disuse: "Fuck it. That's a problem for tomorrow-me."
He shut the interface with a mental jab. The blue text vanished.
He steadied himself on the desk, then walked to the viewport. The moons hung low. Havenridge slept below flickering campfires in the native quarters, the faint glow of the shield dome, speeders parked haphazardly. Somewhere out there Elara was probably still awake, organizing night watches.
Somewhere else a clerk was sweating in a holding cell, feeding lies to killers.
Kael pressed his forehead against the cool transparisteel."Tomorrow-me can deal with the deficit," he whispered to his reflection. "Tonight-me is going to sleep before I start talking to the furniture."
He turned off the lights.The door hissed shut behind him.
"Man, I'd love for a good kebab right about now"
*
Heyo, remember if you have any ideas do tell me, I cant make you enjoy this story if you dont give me feedback/comments that I can then use to improve this.