Roth Likonis
Industrialist

"Anobis? This place is the back end of nowhere." - Han Solo
Planet: Anobis
Galactic coordinates: L-7 (Hex Y-20)
State: Civil war
Description: Colony world, populated sparsely by miners and farmers, history of chronic violence and civil war.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anobis. A colony world of sparse settlements centered around farms and mines, the world had a record of violence longer than a drunken Nikto on a crime spree; the planet was torn up, pockmarked with craters and scars, and seemed to be able to manage peace only a few years at a time before it managed to plunge itself into yet another decades long war.
The cause of the dissent? Why, credits, of course.
The miners of the planet depended on off world trade with the rare procurement ship from the odd militant government and wayward trader - they depended on it for their survival. The farmers, meanwhile, were largely self-sufficient, and didn't want their planet supporting the war machines of the galaxy, and supported an isolationist stance on moral grounds. The difference in opinion led to violence; the forests of the planet were rigged with traps, ranging from landmines, invisible monofilament nets, motion activated auto-turrets, holographically disguised pit traps, and more. The fields of the planet were riddled with burrowing detonators - a kind of burrowing centipede-like land mine that could seek out targets and detonate; they numbered in the hundreds for even a single field, making tilling, sowing, and harvesting a deadly affair. Meanwhile, the mines were rigged with motion and sound activated sonic detonators - designed to maim flesh and collapse tunnels. This was on top of old fashioned guerrilla warfare using blasters and slugthrowers.
Around and around the violence went, nobody really winning, nobody really losing; just senseless violence for the sake of it, like a child screaming at the sky to make it stop raining - a primal cry against the established order, to try and make sense of their realities...
-----------------------------------------------
Kaird Galfridian reclined back against the landing gear of his ship, intent on taking a well earned nap. Well, mostly deserved...there wasn't much to do on this backwater planet in the middle of Gods forsaken space. As he leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable on the metal against his back, a drop of water landed on his forehead - slowly, his eyes opened and crossed to look at the drop as it dribbled down his forehead to the end of his nose. Odd. It was colored purple. "Purple? Fracking hell, we're leaking coolant again." Muttered Kaird, closing his eyes once again and wiggling a little to the left so that the coolant drip wouldn't disturb him. He did nothing to seek out the source of the drip; there wasn't a point - his ship, the Rusty Riot, was named so for good reason. A Space Master medium transport, the ship was competitive against the freight standard GR-75, and with its long and narrow shape, could hold just as much cargo as its competitor. Combined with its four laser cannon turrets, and its forward command saucer section that had spacious rooms and accommodations, the Space Master was a popular alternative to the cramped GR-75, and was considered a prime ship for freighter and smuggler captains alike.
Of course, in its prime, the Rusty Riot was not.
On first glance, the ship appeared painted orange in color; it was only until one came closer that you realized that every square meter of the ship was rusted over and oxidized. With the rust came a heap of problems - leaky coolant and hydraulic fluids, pinhole leaks in the guest quarters that exposed it to vacuum (and thus was permanently sealed up), a completely dead port side engine, and a faulty targeting computer that made the ship's single operable laser cannon spew fire and death at everything but the intended target. All of this was due to the ship sitting in a junkyard for nearly twenty years, constantly exposed to the elements, scavengers, and vandals. Kaird had bought the ship at "Super nice discount price! You buy, yes yes yes?!" And if the gibbering Rodian saleman was to be believed, it had once been owned by a powerful warlord and criminal syndicate. No one really believed that, but a ship was a ship, and they had been desperate to get off world at the time. So Kaird and his first mate, Valana, had chipped in together and bought the rust bucket, on the condition they could salvage a few parts from any of the wrecks the junk dealer deemed "unsalvageable."
So began their true troubles. They salvaged a defective Portal Delta Navicomputer from a TL-1800 freighter - a Navicomp renown for cutting out and being glitch prone at the worst times; while simultaneously salvaging a hyperdrive motivator from a compatible Kuat Drive Yards ship (albeit half the Rusty Riot's size), a KLT-Kuat light freighter. The end result? When the Navicomputer did manage to input the proper coordinates without glitching out and shutting down, the undersized motivator leeched energy from other systems on the ship; life support, gravity plating, weapons, shields - you name it. Half the time they were lucky to jump to hyperspace and arrive at their destination in one piece. But, then, that's what you did when you were poor; you made do with what you had. And they were indeed poor. The Rusty Riot and its crew took on practically whatever job was thrown at them or landed in their laps, with some exceptions - almost always enforced by Kaird, on moral and ethical grounds. In Anobis' case in particular, they had been hired to deliver forty metric tons of assorted foods, drinks, and condiments to the miners and farmers - they hadn't been told that the planet had declared a new civil war, or the fact that what tiny shops and businesses that existed were now too poor due to the war effort to accept the Rusty Riot's cargo.
So here they were, stuck ground-side without enough fuel to engage the hyperdrive. They could move the ship maybe a couple hundred kilometers a handful of times, but the planet was so primitive, there wasn't much point. The shields, thankfully, were the newest and most functioning piece of tech on the ship - and in an emergency, they could engage them (and hold them on) practically indefinitely against any of the small calibre arms the locals employed. That which they couldn't defend against, they could blast away at with their faulty laser cannon. Surviving, didn't mean thriving at the end of the day, though. They had parked the Rusty Riot between the mountains and the fields, declaring the immediate zone around the ship as neutral territory. To those that wanted (and had the credits to pay) the Riot would serve food and drink for a nominal fee, not discriminating against patrons. The idea was to save up enough credits to get some fuel and leave the planet - and it was pretty much the only plan they had, given the fact Kaird wouldn't allow taking the fuel from the locals by force. So here they were, stuck, playing at chefs and cooks while the locals killed each other. They had popped open several of the cargo modules doors to make makeshift awnings, and had scattered about small and medium crates; small crates were chairs, medium crates were tables. Small crate lids acted as plates.
But Kaird could care less. They were free, free of cares, free of worries, and, most importantly...free to nap.