Years had passed since the Brotherhood of the Maw's return to the galaxy's charted reaches, and in that time a ramshackle fleet of pirates and zealots had grown into an ever-expanding bandit kingdom, squatting on the throat of the Unknown Regions. At first they had been a threat known only to the Jedi, barely noticed and never opposed by the organized governments of known space. Csilla had been their first - and so far only - open battle with such governments, and since then they had played a cat and mouse game of raids and skirmishes with their new foes, a deadly dance of order versus disorder.
Still rebuilding from that first titanic conflict, the Brotherhood had gained strength by looting and despoiling the collapsing Sith regimes of the Galactic East... but this could not be their sole focus. The Galactic Alliance was expanding into the Unknown Regions, seeking to settle, civilize, and protect the planets of their northern frontier. It was an expansion that threatened the Maw's domain, and so a shadow war had ensued, raid forces dancing around settlers and security fleets, striking where they were vulnerable. The Alliance could push into the unknown, but they were finding that the unknown could push back.
Part of the game, of course, was that the Brotherhood could seldom stand up to the full might of an Alliance military fleet, especially as they hurried to rebuild their forces with only a tiny fraction of the resources their enemies possessed. Ilum had been a perfect example; the NIO-GA joint assault had scattered the marauders, forcing them from the icy world with heavy casualties... but not before they had seized the kyber crystals that would power their next weapon of mass destruction. Determined to continue their raids and distractions on the Alliance's eastern border, The Mongrel and his tribe had relocated here.
The old Imperial Remnant tibanna mining platform on Kril'dor had been easy to seize. Occupied by a small group of independent prospectors, it hadn't been able to put up much of a defense; the spacers had been outside the borders of any major government, and had no one they could call for help. Now they were mostly dead, with a few of them spared only to be clapped in manacles and placed under the lash. They would keep the platform running, keep it extracting valuable tibanna. The gas was shipped back to the Maw's domain, where it was put to use creating the Brotherhood's blaster ammunition.
But the tibanna wasn't really the point; it was more of a bonus. Over the past few weeks, The Mongrel and his raiders had struck out from the platform, attacking Alliance convoys, civilian vessels, and even small military patrols. This region of space was
teeming with colonists and explorers participating in the Outbound Flight project; it hadn't been so long ago that The Mongrel himself had led a raid on Outlander Station not far from Roxuli, attacking the heart of the bold push into unsettled territory. Colony ships and exploratory vessels invariably carried a bounty of supplies the Brotherhood could seize.
And there were always captives to be taken, too.
All the loot, and all the enslaved Alliance citizens, were brought back to the platform to be sorted, then loaded onto freighters bound for Maw territory. Plunder was a renewable resource, and one that was badly needed in order to restore the Brotherhood to its full military strength. The platform also saw eastward-bound military traffic; it was a key staging point for the campaigns against the Sith governments, campaigns that had enabled them to seize vital supplies and powerful Dark Side artifacts while also destabilizing those the Heathen Priests deemed vile heretic pretenders. Kril'dor was important.
So its discovery by the Alliance was... unfortunate.
But the impending Alliance attack had not yet begun. The Mongrel roamed the walkways of the tibanna gas platform, overseeing operations as his raiders unloaded the proceeds of the latest convoy attack. Foodstuffs, medical supplies, electronic components, ammunition, and more were sorted out into different piles, to be brought to different Brotherhood worlds for processing and distribution. The captives were also sorted by worth. The strongest would be broken as slave-soldiers. The clever and meek were turned into maintenance and labor slaves, the lowest of the low but still useful.
The broken and worthless were of no use to the Maw. The Mongrel watched as those sorted into this last category were lined up along the rim of the platform, then casually kicked over the edge by laughing marauders. The screamed as they fell, vanishing among the planet's orange clouds. He chuckled as well, the sound distorted and metallic thanks to his implanted rictus mask. It was good to let the boys let off a little steam after the stress of a raid. As a leader, though, he couldn't get distracted with such idle amusements. He needed to ensure that the whole operation proceeded efficiently.
The Mongrel glanced up at the central platform of the refinery, where the command center tower perched.
Marlon Sularen
was up there, scheming his neo-Imperial schemes, still believing that the chaos and destruction brought by the Brotherhood would somehow allow him to impose his vision of iron-clad order in the aftermath. The marauder cared little for the Grand Overseer's plots, and made no attempt to understand them. What mattered was the fleet support Sularen provided, powerful vessels that added to the strength of the Brotherhood fleet - and helped to defend this very platform.
So far, the day was going completely to plan.
