The Galactic Turbosteel Strike

Mr .N threw his tool at the wall. He had been working at Smelting some Turbosteel in the large workers factory on Nimbus 3 and the recent news had been grating on him all day been impounded by a heavy eight hour shift in the factory. Mr.N was a Turbosteel worker. Turbosteel was one of the most important metals in the Galaxy and politically the Turbosteel workers where a very influential group of people. They had formed their own Union with a distinct history and a sometimes very turbulent one where Intergalactic Governments where concerned.

In particular the workers did not get on with the current Imperial regime. Well, in many ways the Imperial regime didn't get on well with it. Since coming to power, Palpatine had decided that the Union was had too much power and had been determined to remove some of it, for reasons which will become clear. The Union had been frozen out of many important committees, the workforce had been cut back a little, hours had been extended and attacks had been made on its funding. It was the extension of the hours which had been annoying Mr.N.

'That's it,' cried he in tired anger and frustration. 'I am not doing it. I have had it with working all hours, then been forced to work a little more just because the Government is too stingy to pay for a few more workers. We don't deserve to be pushed like this!' he marched in his anger along the huge metal frames of the working factory, making is way for the staff cantina.

'Long day?' asked the Barman, a long-briaded Twi-lek called Chantinda. 'Tell me about it. But tomorrow won't be. Want to know why? Because I won't be here.' The Twi-lek chuckled sympathetically. 'What on a Thursday. Feeling a bit queasy are we? I thought you where looking unwell. I hope you are getting prove from a Doctor, however. Someone as well-informed as yourself would know that the company takes a very dim view on unofficial sickness.'

Mr.N took a gulp of his brown coloured Beer, which at least did taste good if one could ignore the recent 5p price rise, another sore point, and ran his fingers through his brown hair. 'No, I'm not going of sick,' informed he, 'I'm going on Strike. I have just been pushed to the limit. If anyone thinks that I am going to work another unpaid half-hour on my shift they have Asteroids in their brain.'

'And I think the Turbosteel board takes an even dimmer view of unofficial Strikes. Oh, and look a friend of yours.' Mr.N turned around and sighed as he saw a small, balding officious-looking man behind him. His foreman at work. With whom Mr.N had such an………. Interesting relationship.

The foreman, name of Derrick, tapped his shoulder. 'Oi, you, I heard that about your Strike. You're not going to do that. We want you in tomorrow.'

'You can just forget about it. I'm going on strike. Then I'm going to contact my union bosses. We'll see what's going on around here.

Derrick sipped a little of what looked like weak, white wine. 'A wildcat strike, eh? No way sunbeam, not with your record. We will suspend you first then sack you. After a chat in the office.'



'Oh, yes,' Mr.N was an even-tempered man normally, but he was been pushed to the limit here. He leaned forward towards his Boss. 'Oh, really. Well to give you a bit of advice, I suggest that you look behind me. Whilst you have been bullying me, more than a few people have come to this Bar. I don't think my strike will be as alone as you might think. If you take a look around you and at all that noise you will see that I am not alone. 'Mr.N was correct about that. Entering to the bar, and as almost as annoyed as Mr.N was a large group of Turbosteel workers. Some Human, some a variety of species, such as Wookies, Hungans, Frackans, more Twi-leks and others.

The foreman scuttled over towards them and tried to sort things out. But workers where very angry. Loud voices where raised and fingers gesticulated towards each other. Mr.N was the local union representative or rep as more commonly known as. He was called over. Well, as it happened Mr.N was not the only angry person. Indeed, his feelings was only a representation of all the workers on the Planet, a major turbosteel producer. 'You'll help me calm this lot down?'

'No. In fact my colleagues are justified in their anger. You lot are going to have to listen to us. Or, in your case just run away. Things could get a bit ugly.'

The point was that the extra half an hour shift was really the straw that broke the Tuskan's back. One major issue was that Turbosteel workers had been made redundant. Around 10 of the factories had been proposed to close down. With the rest of the workers making up the shortfall. The Imperial spokesman had said, 'in these difficult times we all have to make sacrifices,' although it appeared too many that some had to make more sacrifices than others. A feeling of militancy had swept over most of the Turbosteel workforce in the galaxy. Some factories had already walked out and many more such as this one where to follow. The Union's governing body, its executive was about to hold a meeting to make the dispute official. But no secret ballot amongst the workforce. Well, actually such a thing had not been thought of as necessary up to now. But the lack of one was going to become a political point of which the Imperial regime could bash the Union with.

Truth was that in some ways the Turobosteel workers where in a privileged position in the Galaxy. This was because as the producers of one of the Galaxy's most important raw materials the workers had organized themselves into a union to ensure that no-one exploited them in this manner as had happened in centuries gone by. This union had become very powerful and had brought down Chancellors on some occasions. For this reason Palpatine had been cautious to directly take on the Turbosteelers. At least up to now.

So, while the rest of the Galaxy groaned under Imperial repression, tyranny and evil, the Turbosteelers where allowed a limited amount of freedom of expression that much of the Galaxy simply didn't enjoy. Now, to some it might seem that an industrial dispute is not as exciting? Or significant as say a space battle, impending doom to the galaxy or Imperial takeovers but it was extremely important. Turbosteel was essential to the galaxy's economic well been. Without it, the Imperial regime would have collapsed imperial Sith lord, or no Imperial Sith lord. A long-term strike by the Turbosteelers could radically alter the shape of the Galaxy.

One month passed. Orbiting Nimbus 3 was an Imperial Star Destroyer, containing one of the most powerful men in the Galaxy, Grand Moff Tarkin, and a brown-haired, tallest to medium build, rather thin with somewhat of a rubbery face. That would be Rear-admiral Whitesnake known politely in 

the Galaxy as Tarkin's hound. Actually, impolitely he was known by rather a lot of other more ugly names, but there's no need to go into that here!

Whitesnake turned to his commanding officer and said, 'Now, please explain to me again, why we can't take a squadron of Tie-fighters, an army of Stormtroopers, aim our lasers at the planet, and step by step wipe out all of our opposition on it in a blazing ball of fire?'

Tarkin and Whitesnake where looking down from the Star Destroyer's bridge window at the yellow planet below. Tarkin gave a tight smile and responded, 'Well, I suppose I could ask you to read the Official press to gain an understanding of events, but no. I think you need some proper analysis. Fine, what this is is a very delicate political situation. These people are on strike. Though they don't all admit it, this is in fact a highly political strike. If there was an all-out walkout, they could bring the Imperial Government down.

'However, fortunately for us the strike is not total. Around 80 of the Turbosteelers are on strike, but one-fifth of the workforce are still at work so we have, for now, just about enough Turbosteel production. But at any moment, the workforce that are at work could join the strike. And they are watching us. Despite their differences there still remains a certain amount of sympathy between them. If we make too much of an aggressive action that would very well be enough to turn them against us. We must be careful. Plus if we do launch a strike the turbosteelers down there have told us that they are perfectly capable of destroying the factories. That would put a serious dent in our production.

'Plus Palpatine is involved. This could all be part of one of his plots. Wheels within wheels, I'm afraid!'

Whitesnake smiled. Wheels within wheels, indeed. That was the trouble with the Emperor of all the Galaxy. Been a Sith Lord, he didn't just have wheels within wheels. He had wheels within wheels, within greater wheels, on top of wheels, surrounded by wheels, all moving on one big wheel, half of them moving in different directions. But despite Tarkin's justified scorn for the official press. Well, frankly, they weren't very informative really, Whiesnake decided that he would do a bit of reading up.

'Frustrating, though, having to do things this way. Playing the waiting game. I just don't like it.'

'Whitesnake, you do what I tell you to do for the good of the Empire. Weather you like it or not is immaterial.'

'Yes. But I do need something to take out my frustration on. I am in the mood for performing a little bit of mindless violence.'

At that moment there was a movement as someone came up to Whitesnake's side. 'Latest reports, sir.'

Ah, that was Baldrick, Whitesnake's very dim-witted underling. Well, why waste a good opportunity. 'Thank you,' said Whitesnake, then knocked Baldrick down with his fist for the hell of it.