(Freedom Fighters) No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

 

No one crosses UniStar and makes it out unscathed. 

They'd heard the threat before, they knew UniStar could make good on it, too. They just didn't expect it to happen like this.

The Freedom Fighters (or, as they were officially known, the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Volunteer Fleets) operated at the very edge of legality on even their best days. A lot of energy went into their ethics; protecting their integrity while preserving their ability to assist independent worlds with military operations against their would-be oppressors. The Republic had stayed hands-off. They had their share of supporters in the Senate, but it had always been the quiet kind. For a long time, the first several years of their existence, they kept to the fringes, away from the public eye. That's where they could do the most good. 
That all changed after Telos. Everything did. More support, more partnerships, more credits, more supplies. All of a sudden, they were hailed as heroes in a very public battle against the Imperial Triumvirate. SoroSuub stepped in and offered resources, more resources then they could have imagined their ragtag fleet would ever see. Suddenly their once slipshod outfit was a well-armed, well-maintained, ship-shape fleet. Their volunteers had time off for a third of the year, now that the fleets were fully manned and could work in rotations. Their ration quality really improved, too.

But more money always comes at a price, and so it was here. The bureaucracy started creeping in, slowly at first. New committees were formed, new oversight restrictions put in place. Some of it was good and helpful. Armies need rules, to be kept on the straight-and-narrow, but honesty and good intentions had never really been an issue with this particular band of ex-rebels. There was a genuine attitude of respect among the Freedom Fighters for those they served. There always had been. It was an posture that Admiral Yima had drilled into them before his eventual retirement, and Admirals Zell, Raner, and Jeim had carried the torch proudly. The Volunteer Fleets were formed to help those who needed - and wanted - help fighting against their oppressors, that was their whole reason for being.

Suddenly, the flow of money was making that harder, not easier.

They were getting too big.

The UniStar crisis was unique. This wasn't an enemy you could face head-on; UniStar had a labyrinth of paralegals and shell corporations primed and ready to expose, litigate, and bankrupt. The Freedom Fighters did their best to keep their noses clean; they used proxies, spies, independent agents, but ultimately, their fight for justice pulled too much of the spotlight. 

It happened fast. One day, everything was business as usual. The next, the SoroSuub corporation was threatened with so much legal action that their hundreds of years of history were poised to come to a sudden and inglorious end. It was all about the Freedom Fighters, of course. UniStar had their ways: they dug up dirt, they pulled naysayers and false testimonies from Ankus and Rishi, Kinyen and even Sullust itself. They found or invented transgressions, actionable offenses, supposed war crimes. That stuff was taken seriously by the Freedom Fighters - they had a whole department dedicated just to investigating and holding accountable anyone who stepped out of line. They knew the stakes. They knew these charges weren't true, too. Analysts communicated with their contacts on planets they'd fought on in the past, and they were able to confirm the situation - UniStar was building a case on unprovable falsehoods. It didn't matter. They had the money to make it all real. They had plausibility, and they had the ear of the judges.
Any and all financial support for the Volunteer Fleets disappeared over night. The Admirals couldn't blame anyone - it was either that or go down with them. Sanctions were imposed, restrictions on their capacity to fight. It was only thanks to Leia Organa that the entire fleet weren't condemned as criminals outright. 

The fleets left Sullust and their dedicated shipyard, and the spirit among the crews was complicated. Not everyone stayed - some said their farewells and stepped away. The ones who remained were only the most dedicated - there was no money to be made in this anymore, nor any glory. You were better off turning mercenary than fighting for the Volunteer Fleets. Would they still fight for others? Of course. Nothing was ever going to stop them from doing that. But they had enjoyed the comfort of the last year, enjoyed having blasters that worked and ships that didn't creak in the cold of space. Enjoyed the months off in the warm fields of Kinyen, or in the fire-cities of Sullust. They had enjoyed a taste of legitimacy. That was all snatched away now.

They lost a lot of ships in the transition. On what they had left, they could only afford to deploy a fraction of their previous fleet strength. The 1st Fleet lost its flagship. The 2nd Fleet its entire section of frigates. The 3rd Fleet lost half its fighters squadrons, a battleship, and four support craft. The Admirals met aboard the Tilled Soil. A hard decision had to be made. 

"It should be you, Tavila," Admiral Jeim said sharply. "They'll follow you."

Admiral Tavila Zell, for maybe the first time in her life, looked taken aback.

Admiral Raner agreed. He and Jeim had discussed this beforehand. Actually, there'd been very little discussion, because they both immediately agreed on what needed to happened. 
"It's well-deserved. We have to make some changes, there's no way around it. But that doesn't mean we've lost our purpose. We'll be stronger as one fleet, than as three. Maybe this is how it is, now. Maybe its just for a time. Either way, I'd be proud to serve under you, Admiral."

Zell cleared her throat. "I'm...honored. But if this is all some ploy to abdicate responsibility..."

Raner smiled at what he recognized as a joke, even though Zell's stern expression hadn't changed.

"We're not going anywhere. I've missed being a Captain, anyway."

"There is a way to view our recent loss as a boon," Jeim observed. "i was beginning to chafe under our corporate associations, I admit. It is somewhat freeing to be destitute once again."

Raner leaned forward in his hoverchair, his smile waning. "Tavila,, you know what's coming next. We'll need new bases, places to house what we have left. D'Qar, maybe. Systems that are out of the way, where we can evade detection. The fight isn't over. It's just beginning. The galaxy still needs us, and the Fighters...well, the Fighters need you." 

Jeim tilted her head in the odd way she sometimes did. "You can, as they say, light the spark. The Fighters need morale, focus, and strong leadership, now more than ever."

Admiral Tavila Zell finally nodded, standing a bit straighter than she had been before. She regarded them with something approaching fondness. Unconsciously, she straightened her robes over her ceremonial armor, and folded her hands behind her back. "As if I ever needed another reason to trust you both. Thank you, my friends. It will be my honor to serve as your Admiral, I shall take it seriously."

"You are incapable of taking anything less than seriously," Jeim reminded her.

Admiral Zell gave her a wry glance, and leaned forward to turn on the holoprojector.

There were hundreds of their loyal comrades—their friends—waiting for orders. Waiting to know what would come next.

"I should like to address the fleet."

The projector snapped to life. The image of Admiral Zell appeared on every bridge across the weary remnants of the Volunteer Fleet. The Freedom Fighters watched and listened, bruised, down, but not out.

They listened as Admiral Zell told them about the consolidation of the fleets, about the plan to find a new home base.

They listened as she fanned the flames.

"We will take care of our own. Then we will make ourselves ready for the next moment that the galaxy should need us, and all moments thereafter.

We are rebels, all of us. We have risen from the ashes many times before. This is no fall from grace.

This is a new beginning."