Faction (UPSS) The Protectorate's Answer

[Protectorate Stories]

North of the Mid Rim lies the lonesome world of Petrusia, a planet far enough from the great centers of galactic power that its suffering has gone largely unnoticed. For generations, the Petrusians have been accustomed to outsiders arriving upon their world with promises in one hand and demands in the other. Exploitation is nothing new to them. They have endured it before, survived it, and learned to carry on long after those responsible departed in search of easier profits elsewhere.

This time, however, Petrusia cannot simply endure. The planet is facing a crisis on two fronts, and either one would be dangerous enough on its own. Together, they have brought Petrusia to the brink of catastrophe.

The first is famine.

Petrusia's food reserves have dwindled to dangerously low levels, leaving the planet unable to support its population. The remaining stores are being stretched further with every passing day, while ordinary families are forced to choose who eats and who goes hungry. Without immediate assistance, shortages will become starvation, and starvation will inevitably bring with it disease, unrest, and death.

Yet the famine has been made far worse by Petrusia's second crisis: piracy and extortion.

A band of pirates has effectively taken control of the world without ever formally conquering it. They have forced Petrusia to provide them with safe harbor, allowing their ships, crews, and operations to use the planet as a sanctuary beyond the reach of those who might otherwise hunt them. In return for the privilege of being occupied, the Petrusians are forced to pay a hefty "tax" to their supposed protectors. The protection, of course, never comes.

When Petrusia could afford the pirates' demands, they paid. When famine tightened its grip, and those payments became impossible, the pirates did not relent. They simply demanded more.

The Petrusians are not bound in chains, but neither are they free. Resistance carries the threat of retaliation against settlements already struggling to survive, and the pirates possess the weapons, ships, and manpower to carry out those threats. The people know that rising against their oppressors alone could cost countless innocent lives.

With their food disappearing, their resources being stripped away, and no means of removing the pirates themselves, Petrusia has finally sent a desperate call for outside aid. That call has reached the United Protectorate of Sovereign Systems, more commonly known simply as the Protectorate.

Word of the Protectorate's previous actions on nearby Tholatin has traveled farther than perhaps anyone expected. To the people of Petrusia, those stories offered something increasingly rare: the possibility that someone might actually answer when ordinary people asked for help. They have placed that hope in the Protectorate, and now its members must decide what that hope is worth.

OBJECTIVE I: LIBERATION

The pirates must be driven from Petrusia.

As long as they are permitted to operate freely, no amount of food or humanitarian aid delivered to the planet will solve the underlying problem. Supplies can be stolen, relief convoys intercepted, and settlements threatened into surrendering whatever is left behind. Before Petrusia can truly recover, the occupation must end.

This objective requires the Protectorate's frontline warriors, soldiers, pilots, and combat specialists to strike at the pirate presence across Petrusia. Their safe harbors must be broken, their ability to threaten civilian settlements removed, and their forces driven from the world.

Care must be taken in doing so. The Petrusians have already suffered enough, and the pirates have deliberately entrenched themselves among a population too frightened of retaliation to openly resist them. This is not a war against Petrusia. Every blaster fired and every position taken should serve one purpose: giving the planet back to the people who live there.

These are innocent people trapped beneath the power of those stronger than themselves. If the Protectorate intends to honor the principles it claims to represent, then there can be little question about what must be done. Petrusia must once again know what it means to be free.

There is another benefit that should not be ignored. Successfully liberating Petrusia will demonstrate to neighboring worlds that the Protectorate does more than make promises. A people freed from oppression are unlikely to forget who answered when they called, and good relations with Petrusia may prove valuable in the future. Good PR can never be understated.

OBJECTIVE II: RELIEF

Removing the pirates will mean little if the Petrusians are left free only to starve.

The famine requires an immediate humanitarian response alongside the liberation effort. Food, medicine, agricultural supplies, and other necessities must reach the population as quickly as possible. Distribution centers will need to be established, communities assessed, and aid delivered wherever shortages are most severe.

This objective requires those with hearts of service, whether healers, diplomats, logistics specialists, relief workers, pilots, agricultural experts, or simply those willing to put themselves to work helping people who desperately need it.

Yet immediate relief is only the beginning. The goal cannot be to replace dependence upon the pirates with dependence upon the Protectorate.

Petrusia must eventually be able to feed and sustain itself again. Relief efforts should therefore look beyond simply filling empty stomachs today. Damaged agricultural systems must be restored where possible, local supply chains strengthened, and communities given the resources and assistance necessary to rebuild their own capacity rather than waiting indefinitely for Protectorate shipments.

If Petrusia becomes entirely dependent on outside supplies, the Protectorate will only create the conditions for another group of pirates, warlords, or opportunists to exploit it in the future. The purpose is not to make Petrusia dependent upon the Protectorate, but to help Petrusia stand on its own.

Those participating in the relief effort will also become the face of the Protectorate to a population that has spent generations learning not to trust outsiders. Every ration distributed, every field restored, every frightened family reassured, and every promise kept will shape what the Petrusians believe the Protectorate represents.

Success will mean more than saving lives. It will earn something that cannot simply be demanded or purchased: trust. Perhaps, when Petrusia has recovered, and its people once again possess the freedom to determine their own future, that trust will become lasting friendship and loyalty between Petrusia and the Protectorate.

OBJECTIVE III: BRING YOUR OWN

Not every problem on Petrusia can be solved on the battlefield or at a relief station, and not every member of the Protectorate will find their place within the first two objectives. Petrusia is an entire world caught in the middle of a crisis, which leaves plenty of room for those whose skills, interests, or circumstances take them elsewhere.

Perhaps you are hunting down a pirate captain attempting to flee the system with their ill-gotten gains, investigating who has been purchasing the pirates' stolen goods, negotiating with frightened local leaders, escorting civilians out of dangerous territory, repairing damaged infrastructure, gathering intelligence, searching abandoned settlements, or simply finding yourself somewhere you were never supposed to be.

You may even have come to Petrusia for reasons entirely your own, only to discover that the crisis has a way of pulling everyone into it eventually.

Whatever brings you here, tell your own story. Explore Petrusia, pursue personal objectives, meet other characters, follow leads created by the liberation and relief efforts, or create something entirely unexpected. So long as it fits somewhere within the wider events unfolding across the planet, bring your own objective and make Petrusia part of your story.

The United Protectorate of Sovereign Systems has come because Petrusia asked for help. Some will answer that call with weapons, others with food, medicine, diplomacy, or simple compassion, while still others may find their own reasons to become involved. Whatever path they choose, one thing remains the same: by the time this crisis is over, Petrusia should belong to its people again.

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Objective: 3
Tags: open

Ra'a'mah had never believed pirates appeared from nowhere.

Ships required fuel. Weapons required ammunition. Crews needed food, medicine, replacement parts, and somewhere to spend whatever credits they managed to steal. Even the most self-sufficient criminal organization eventually depended upon someone else, and the pirates strangling Petrusia had been here far too long for their operation to exist entirely within the borders of one starving world.

While others within the Protectorate moved against their ships and strongholds, Ra'a'mah had gone looking for the people who had spent years paying them.

The room provided to her was hardly impressive, though considering the condition of Petrusia, she hadn't expected it to be. A long table had been covered with everything the local government could assemble on short notice. Payment records. Cargo manifests. Port registrations. Agricultural inventories. Fuel allotments. Transponder logs. Even handwritten accounts from settlements where official records had become unreliable. Several Petrusian officials occupied the other side of the table, people who looked as though they had spent far too many nights deciding which impossible problem deserved attention first.

Ra stood over the collection with a datapad in one hand, occasionally transferring something from the records into a growing file of her own. She hadn't asked them for military intelligence. The Protectorate had people considerably better suited to analyzing defenses, patrol routes, and pirate numbers. What interested her were the mundane details most people overlooked.

"How did you pay them?" The answer brought another entry onto her datapad. "And when credits weren't enough?"

Food. Fuel. Equipment. Raw materials when they could provide them. Ra listened, asking for quantities, dates, and locations whenever anyone remembered them. Then came the question she considered considerably more important.

"What did they bring in?"

Her gaze moved between the officials. "Not what they took from you. I want to know what arrived with them. Replacement components. Weapons. Medical supplies. Fuel they didn't acquire here. Anything you remember seeing unloaded from one of their ships?"

One of the manifests was pushed toward her, and Ra drew it closer. Her expression changed subtly as she began reading. There were entries that didn't belong to Petrusia. Manufacturers that certainly weren't operating here. Serial numbers, partial shipping identifiers, perhaps even a few companies whose names had been buried beneath intermediaries. Nothing conclusive yet, but she hadn't expected the pirates to leave an invoice identifying whoever kept them supplied.

"Good."

She transferred another line into her datapad before looking toward the Petrusians again.

"The people fighting outside are going to remove the pirates you can see. I'm interested in everyone who made it possible for them to remain here."

Ra set the datapad upon the table and turned one of the manifests around so those gathered could see the entries she had marked.

"Someone sold them parts. Someone supplied their ships. Someone bought whatever they stole from you, and somewhere along the way, credits changed hands." Her finger settled beside one of the unfamiliar shipping identifiers. "Pirates can change their name, repaint a hull, or abandon a base. Business leaves records."

A faint smile touched her lips as she picked the datapad up again.

"So let's find out who they've been doing business with."

 

[Saroyan Dovryn]

Objective: Deliver Aid to Petrusia
Location: Petrusia
Attire: Dorectorate Uniform
Accompanied by: Serene Valis
Tag: OPEN

The first relief convoy from Mokk IX had been on the ground for less than six hours before Saroyan Dovryn decided she disliked what she was seeing. Not the Petrusians. Certainly not them. The distribution center had been assembled in what had once been a municipal freight terminal, its broad loading floor converted into a temporary warehouse beneath harsh overhead lights. Pallets of emergency rations stood in disciplined rows beside medical supplies, water purification equipment, replacement power cells, and other necessities purchased or redirected through Mokkan commercial networks. Cargo haulers moved steadily between landing pads and loading bays while security droids stood at carefully selected points around the perimeter, visible enough to discourage theft without creating the impression that Mokk IX had arrived to occupy anything. Outside, the line stretched farther than Saroyan would have preferred. Families waited beneath the Petrusian sky with identification cards, battered containers, handcarts, or simply whatever they could carry. The food was here. That was the important part. People who might otherwise have gone hungry tonight would eat. Everything between the cargo hold and their hands, however, irritated her.

"The manifest from Bay Three still doesn't match physical inventory," Saroyan observed, gaze moving across the information displayed on the datapad in her hand. Her voice remained level despite the growing list of inefficiencies. "We're showing forty-eight additional ration units received that no one can locate, while medical inventory is apparently missing seventeen cases of antibiotics that I can see from where I'm standing."

Her eyes lifted toward the conspicuously marked cases less than twenty meters away. "Impressive." There was just enough dryness behind the word to make her opinion unmistakable. She started walking again, expecting Serene Valis to remain beside her without needing to ask. The Director of External Relations and Diplomatic Protocol had accompanied Saroyan as Mokk IX's principal diplomatic representative, which was both entirely sensible and—if Saroyan allowed herself to acknowledge considerations having absolutely nothing to do with operational requirements—rather pleasant. Not that anyone watching them would have reason to suspect anything.

They had become exceptionally good at that. On Mokk IX there were always eyes, records, schedules, professional acquaintances, and overlapping institutional circles. Their relationship existed in stolen pieces carefully fitted between everything else: private doors, altered schedules, meetings that ran suspiciously long only when no one else was present. Here, several systems away from home, Saroyan had discovered the peculiar sensation of being able to walk beside Serene without immediately considering who might recognize them together.

She had also discovered that old habits were difficult to abandon. Her hand almost settled against the small of Serene's back as they stepped around a cargo loader. Almost. Saroyan caught herself, turning the aborted gesture into an indication toward the distribution floor instead. "That queue shouldn't be there," she said. It was an easy recovery. Nearly flawless. Nearly.

Her attention settled upon the waiting Petrusians. The Mokkan system being assembled around them was already collecting information concerning household size, nutritional requirements, medical priorities, settlement of origin, and previous distributions. Given another day, Saroyan expected she could substantially reduce both waiting times and waste. Give her three and the entire operation could be coordinated through encrypted regional nodes with inventories updated in real time. She could make it efficient.

Yet something bothered her that wasn't represented on the datapad. People accepted their supplies and left. Few lingered. Fewer spoke with Mokkan personnel beyond what was required. Parents kept children close whenever one of the security droids moved nearby. Saroyan watched an elderly Petrusian answer a relief worker's questions with little more than clipped responses, collect a ration package, and hurry away.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "The throughput isn't the problem." That admission cost her more than it probably should have. Saroyan glanced toward Serene. "They're afraid of us." Not specifically Mokk IX, perhaps. Outsiders had been arriving on Petrusia for generations with promises of prosperity and demands for compensation. The pirates were merely the latest and most brutal example. Now another collection of offworld ships had descended upon them carrying armed personnel, droids, food, sophisticated equipment, and assurances that everything would improve.

Saroyan could hardly blame them for wondering when the invoice would arrive. She lowered the datapad. "Seventeen distribution centers were selected from population density, transportation access, existing infrastructure, and projected demand. Nine is underperforming by almost forty percent despite servicing one of the highest-need districts." She turned the display so Serene could see the figures. "The numbers say it should be one of our busiest facilities. It isn't."

That was why Serene was here. Well. One of the reasons. Saroyan's expression softened almost imperceptibly as she looked at her, a change most observers would probably have mistaken for professional consideration. Serene would know better. "I'd like you to find out what my numbers aren't telling me." There was considerably more warmth in you than there had been in anything else Saroyan had said. She noticed it immediately.

A fractional pause followed. Then the Director of the Data Vault and Communications Authority turned her attention back toward the relief operation with impeccable professionalism. "I also want meetings arranged with representatives from the settlements receiving these shipments. Not merely the planetary government. Municipal authorities, merchants, transport operators, medical administrators, community representatives—anyone who understands how Petrusia actually functions." Saroyan resumed walking. "Emergency supplies are necessary, but I'm not interested in creating another dependency. Mokk IX already maintains procurement relationships capable of sustaining a population considerably larger than Petrusia's. We can provide access to those markets, guarantees for legitimate contracts, secure escrow, communications infrastructure, and financing mechanisms while their economy recovers."

Her gaze moved toward the enormous Mokkan cargo vessel visible through the open freight doors. "But they need to control it." That was important. Perhaps more important than efficiency. "If six months from now Petrusia still requires me to decide where its next shipment of food comes from, we've accomplished very little."

They reached the edge of the terminal where the crowd outside was more easily visible. Saroyan stopped there, watching a mother divide something from a newly opened ration packet between two children before taking anything for herself. For several seconds, there were no statistics. No projections. No systems. Just people.

"We can fix the infrastructure," Saroyan said more quietly. "We can secure their communications, finance purchases, guarantee shipments, track every crate from its point of origin to the family receiving it. None of that matters if they think we're simply waiting for our opportunity to become the next people collecting tribute."

Her eyes shifted toward Serene again. This time the look lingered a second longer than professional necessity required. Being away from Mokk IX was proving dangerous in entirely unexpected ways. "That's the part you're better at." Another pause. "Considerably better."

Saroyan finally seemed to realize precisely how fond that had sounded. Her lips pressed together as she looked back toward the distribution floor. "We should inspect Center Nine personally." A perfectly reasonable decision. Entirely professional. The faintest hint of a smile betrayed her. "And perhaps you can explain what I've missed on the way."

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