Star Wars
Revanchism book 1
The Ultimate Crusaders
Prologue
3,967 BBY
Taris, Lower City.
Taris was a planet not of the Galactic Republic, rather, a border planet; but their non-membership status never disqualified them or their dependencies from commerce. In was through trade that Taris came to adapt a strict societal structuring: the luxurious Upper City reserved for the very wealthiest, the casual Middle City for the working class of humans and small business owners, the wretched Lower City for most of the non-humans and starving riffraff, and the skyless Undercity where the descendants of banished prisoners dwelled, never to see daylight again.
Another transport ship had arrived on Taris, in the Lower City; and partially thanks to a rather lavish payoff from the Upper City, the non-human operated Lhosan Industries had agreed to organize the seperation of immigrants and provide the best protection possible – though their chief customers, the rival Swoop Bike Gangs known as the Hidden Beks and Black Vulkars were always eager to rain on a parade.
"Quee grufkn ortugg sseefn," the piglike Gamorrean growled, jabbing his activated vibro-ax at the vastly-smaller Black Vulkar member, a snotty little human probably no older than twenty. "Haha, stupid piggy," the teenager shot back, "Can't you speak Basic? Too dumb to understand what I'm saying are you?" "I'm not." responded another human, this one backing up the Gamorreans, a supervisor. "Carry your filthy self back to the hole you crawled from, Black Vulkar, before I decide to let my friends remove you themselves. Which is it?" The wretched little man continued with his basic taunts and jeering, but found the numbers game a bit too much; and mounting his tattered swoop bike he zipped away from the line.
The line was more identifiable with bantha herding than anything else. From the large durasteel transport ship, the refugees from Althir, broken-hearted as they were, were divided into two groups. Group A, the humans, were assisted with whatever little luggage they managed to get aboard the packed vessel and, protected from the terrors of the Lower City by the barricade of Lhosan employees, were shuffled onto the various lifts and elevators headed for the Middle City. Group B, the non-humans, were unceremoniously driven and prodded out of the Docking Bay and onto the streets, their fates at the hands of the Swoop gangs and Hutts that controlled society there.
Tera and Michael Gedaz were a newlywed couple, and fortunate enough to be humans. Michael, who had been orphaned on Althir as a young boy and without relatives, had held his beloved young wife as she wept nearly the entire trip to Taris, fearful of the brothers she was leaving behind who elected to defend the planet against the Mandalorians. "Come now," Michael reasoned, "Listen, they said in the Speeder lot just the other day, the Mandalorians only have a navy the size of a tenth of ours. How could they possibly break through?" "Ohh, Michael, you d-don't know.." she sobbed, in their little compartment, "W-what they did on Cathar, did you never hear the stories? Oh Jarl, Resko, they're doomed to d-die, I just kn-know it, they're gonna die!"
"No, thanks, I have it." Michael said to the bothan who had halfway-politely offered to take their little aluminum locker, hoisting it over one shoulder; and wrapping one arm around his upset wife's waist, moved forward into the filth. How could anyone live like this? he asked himself, staring at the refuse piled on heaps on the streetside, the ripe smell of excrement lingering in the air. Garbage of all kind was smashed underfoot as he and Tera headed for the nearest lift. The faces of the employees that herded them forward were full of contempt, something that made him hold onto Tera a little tighter than before; and a wave of relief passed over him when he saw professional human guards waiting at the lift. Slowly, they and about twenty others ascended, the grated flooring sagging ever-so-slightly from the weight, the shaft hardly illuminated by the occasional light planted into the walling.
When the gate opened and they departed the shaft, the found themselves in a dramatically nicer place. People, specifically humans, strolled about the streets much as folks did on Althir, dressed in a similar fashion too. "See, sweetheart," said Michael, leaning over to peck his relaxing wife on the cheek, "We're going to be just fine until this whole mess blows over."
They accepted the voucher for one night at a nearby hotel, moving through the general midday crowd across the paved streets. Here, the skyscrapers were the dominating feature, seemingly rising to the heavens themselves; and Tera found a small bit of laughter within as they marveled at one that alternated its color every ten seconds.
Stepping into the carpeted hotel, Michael drew near the desk; but he needn't speak, for the receptionist took little more than a glance before saying in a sharp tone, "More Althirians, eh? Come to find shelter here, of course, they all do when the Mandalorians attack; here, your card. Room 824." The little elevator moved much quicker than the lift had, and in seconds they were heading up a nicely-decorated hallway. It took little more than a swipe of the keycard for the door the slide up, and in they went.
The room was nice enough, but small as well. Tera brought herself to rest in a little cushioned metallic chair before the little viewscreen mounted on the wall. Finally able to place the locker somewhere other than his shoulders Michael stretched. "Sweetie," he said in his nicest tone, though it was little more than a tired drawl, "I think I'll catch a shower, so, if you lay down don't hog the bed." A sharp, yet playful look from his wife made him grin, and, stripping the workclothes that hadn't left his body in a standard day stepped into the shower.
The water was absolutely refreshing, and he found the strange scent of the soap to be pleasing. He took just a little longer than normal, soaking, before he was out and drying himself off. Wrapping the towel around his waist he stepped from the little bathroom back into the main room and began changing; but it was as he slipped on a cozy pair of pants that he noticed his wife's horrified face, staring at the viewscreen. There was their homeworld, Althir, to them one of the most beloved sights they would ever know; and there, in the near orbit of the planet, on the outer planetary rings, was the utter destruction of their fleet. Perhaps the most unenviable job in the galaxy belonged to the shaky-voiced man forced to cover the assault:
...the ships, as I said, all destroyed from that last group...This is unthinkable, viewers, unreal...Those two massive Mando ships there, those are the capital ships. Their barrage of the cruisers didn't last long at all, even the battleships took-oh no, there, that explosion was an orbital turret. At this rate the Mandalorian's could be groundside in a matter of hours... Is there no end?