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Jun Sefu Sajuuk-Sjet
Alright, here’s the deal. My publicist is complaining that I’m an impulsive playboy, a narcissist, and an adrenalin junky. Apparently, I make her life completely miserable because she has to spend roughly seven hundred jillion hours or some such cleaning up my messes.
We got into a nice little spat about it this morning, which mostly consisted of me trying not to snicker at her as she blew every little mistake I’ve ever made way out of proportion, until she had herself convinced that I’m some kind of cursed bullet train hurtling along at seventy bajillion miles an hour, just waiting for the right moment to derail and royally screw the lives of everyone in my immediate vicinity.
After about an hour of the most hilariously lopsided argument in the history of mankind, which I think I nodded off for about half of, I caved and told her that I’d dispose of all my naughty little habits and start acting like a prim and proper businessman. She cheered right up and, after spending a few minutes explaining just how acting like a preppy jackass will allow me to become a mature and responsible businessman, she toddled off to her office all high and mighty. Kinda like a mother I never wanted.
Here’s the thing.
Being a fancy businessman doesn’t suit me. I don’t like suits, I don’t like political correctness, I don’t like the posturing and the publicity stunts. I don’t like being forced to fit the bill of the benevolent Kushari businessman; the guy who looks out for community first, his pocket second.
So yeah, I’m a playboy. I live life loud and fast. I party, I screw around, I pull stunts and I do stupid shit that makes most people think I’m just a bit crazy. I’m never going to be the businessman she wants. It’s just not who I am, and I don’t feel like pretending to be someone else just for the sake of a few publicity shots.
Why do I do it? Simply put, it‘s ‘cuz I can. If you want the long and complicated version, here it is: My family has always been this sort of assortment of heroes; Mum’s Nima Vakir Sajuuk, the Mother of the Federation. Big brother Tai is the current Prime Minister. Most of my other siblings have served in Kith Sjet or hold some position of power and have a flawless record in one way or another.
A lot is expected of us Sajuuks; we’re supposed to be the face of the Federation, a real bunch of saints. When I was raised, I was expected to be strong, to be kind, responsible, wise, skilled, and doggedly loyal. I started out that way, too. I learned to use the Force as Mum raised me, I was a whiz at any academic subject I had so much as a passing interest in, and I could do just about anything I set my mind to. Thing is, I’m not like mom. I didn’t want to grow up to be a servant of the Federation. I wanted to live by my own merits, not by the glowing reputation of my family.
So that’s exactly what I did.
When I hit 16, I was able to earn early acceptance into the Kharak Academy of Science, which is the Federation’s most prestigious scientific university. They overlooked my age when they saw my placement scores - for being just a kid, I was scoring higher than virtually every other applicant. I was something of a boy genius, and so the Headmaster decided to allow me in.
I majored in Engineering, with a minor in Chemistry and Computer Technology. I kinda slacked here and there, but I’m not totally lazy. I maintained high B’s in classes I didn’t care much about, and I was a A+ student in every class I enjoyed… Which was most of them. What can I say? I’m a curious guy, stick a tech-heavy book or a set of blueprints in front of me and I’ll be occupied for hours. [Or porn. Porn works too. I’m only male, y’know…]
Money wasn’t too much of an issue for me. The family offered to pay my tuition, but I turned them down and put myself through college. I went into Kith Sjet and served in the Marines as a Combat Engineer; I was a reservist, so I went to drill twice a month and spent a month at base every summer. Pay was good and education benefits were top-notch; it’s safe to say that the Corps put me through college.
Oh yeah, and my absolute favorite part about working for the military: since I was a soldier and a former member of Kith Damar , the ladies at the Academy saw me as ‘exotic’ and ‘rugged,’ and those two things translates to ‘total stud.’ I think it’s safe to say that you can figure out what that meant for me.
By the time I graduated at the oh-so-tender age of 23, with an armload of degrees and achievements and more credit-hours than I can count, I was a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines. They wanted me to re-enlist, but I opted out. I bounced around for a few months, then hired on with a corporation called ‘Targus.’ My military background and engineering qualifications landed me a spot as an assistant to the head of their Bureau of Military Research and Development. My gig basically consisted of field testing new gear in dozens of training scenarios, then writing exhaustive reports on how the Military’s new toys would function. In other words, I got paid to blow shit up and then write stories about it. Fun times, but not really what I was looking for.
See, I wanted a challenge. I needed a challenge. The gig I had was good, but I didn’t feel… Challenged. The Marines had pushed me to develop a soldier’s mindset; I could think quickly, I could adapt on the fly, I didn’t shy away from hardship, and I eagerly anticipated anything that put my skills to the test. So I decided to give myself a challenge. Instead of merely writing reports, I started to make improvements to the gear that went through my hands.
At first it was nothing much. Just a tweak here, a slight adjustment to software or functionality here; stuff like that. It went mostly unnoticed, but it tided me over for a little while… Which means it satisfied me for all of three days. I was annoyed all over again, so I finally said ’**** it’ and decided to shoot for the stars.
My chance came a month down the road, when we were given a week off. Instead of taking the time to go party, as I usually did, I went back to the labs. Because I was the rookie I was usually stuck working on relatively simple things - armor, guns, that sort of thing. My boss, on the other hand, had been working on a retrofit package for the Marine Corps’ D44 ‘Thunderbird’ Heavy Transport. He was kind of an unimaginative sod, so his ‘upgrade’ consisted of modernized avionics, tweaks to the engines, and a pathetic little gatling gun bolted to the Dropship’s chin.
I was sorely unimpressed. The Corps wanted a Dropship that could go into battle, drop off heavy vehicles and troops, then provide overwhelming fire support - and they wanted that Dropship to be little more than an updated version of the classic Thunderbird. What he gave them was a Dropship with a peashooter duct-taped to the nose and a few fancy buttons and lights that the Corps could’ve added themselves.
My response: I took out the blueprints, my drafting kit, and I went to work. I’d redesigned the D44, deleting a few unnecessary parts here and shuffling some things around, while keeping an emphasis on maintaining its armor, load capacity, and handling characteristics. I added in a pair of retractable torpedo bays, four missile launch bays on the top of the hull, a pair of hardpoints for mounting anything from gatling guns to light railguns, and I even found enough space to add in a Fire Control Computer and Targeting Sensor Package to tie all the weapons in and make it all work.
Once I had the blueprints done, I broke out my plasma torch and tool set and, with the help of a small army of labor droids, started in on retrofitting the D44. I think I got maybe 8 or 9 hours of sleep in total that week, but it was well worth it. By the time the boss and his gaggle of goonies returned, I’d not only added in the new weapons systems, but I’d rebuilt the engine compartment to house more powerful and efficient modern drives and a updated reactor, and I’d completely rebuilt the avionics package using off-the-shelf components.
Best part is, it all worked.
Boss was absolutely livid for about an hour when he got back, and was in the middle of trying to rip me a new one when the Marine test pilot I’d sent for showed up to take it for a spin. He did, and had nothing but glowing praise for the redesign - he especially liked the weapons systems and noted that it made a fairly stable gun and missile platform. That shut the boss up very, very quickly.
With Targus enjoying a big fat contract from the Marines to start retrofitting all D44’s as per my upgrade schematics, I earned myself a promotion to the position of Military Production Overseer - basically, I got to babysit any corporate project that had anything to do with the military. This was all fine and dandy to me, and I still got my hands dirty by helping out with equipment and vehicle designs and upgrades and what-have-you. I even had a few pet projects that I got to look after. Those were very, very fun.
I was pretty happy with that post riiiight up until I turned… Eh, 25-ish. Somewhere in there. Our military contracts bottomed out as Targus began to have difficulty competing with smaller start-up corps, which could often provide similar services for lower cost. Our military generally prefers to buy the highest quality item available, but we weren’t bringing anything new to the table at that point and the start-ups were, so we got pushed to the side just a lil’ bit.
This irked me to no end, so I started a review of my departments.
Care to guess what I found?
If you guessed ‘unimaginative dipshits terrified of trying anything new,’ you guessed right.
Care to guess what I found?
If you guessed ‘unimaginative dipshits terrified of trying anything new,’ you guessed right.
Then I started looking at the other departments, the ones outside my control; I saw the same thing. It was like somebody had sucked the life out of Targus and sent it off to other companies. The company was failing because of it; some of the higher-ups had already resigned, and the corporation’s owner was seriously thinking about selling out.
When I heard that, I went straight to him. He was a pretty decent guy. Old though, and conveniently looking to retire. He was impressed with what I’d done with my chunk of the company and said that we needed more people like me. After a nice, long conversation, he and I worked out a deal. I’d take control of Targus for six months while he stepped to the sidelines and taught me how to run the show. If I could turn the company around in those six months, he’d sign it over to me in exchange for a small yearly salary, about 80% of what he was currently making. [Kushari CEO’s don’t make much money, even in big corps; at the time, Targus was the Federation’s largest corporation and the old man only made 650,000 Cr a year.]
Our little experiment got off to a rocky start. I rebuilt the company’s marketing and research departments; I shuffled people around and laid off a few others [with pay; I’m not a total jackass, I wanted ‘em to be able to pay their bills and support their families until they could find a new job.] Next, I hired on fresh blood; college grads, up-and-coming folks from small corporations, and freelancers. They brought new ideas and enthusiasm to the table, which was precisely what we needed.
I’m not going to claim to have worked a miracle. Targus’s situation didn’t instantly reverse, but my actions did put it back on steady ground. We began to win back the contracts we’d lost and became competitive again. The old man was satisfied with what I was doing, took his paycheck, then ran off to lounge on some random beach. He’d taught me what I needed to know about running the company, so I wasn’t sad to see him go.
That was… Oh, about two years ago. Things have been running smooth ever since. We’ve expanded our operations and we’re buddy-buddy with the government, and we’re easily the largest corp in Kushari space. We’ve got our fingers in everything now, from medical technology to personal vehicles to clothing to guns to snack foods to capital-grade warships. Sure, most of that stuff is made by our subsidiaries, but it all ties back in to Targus.
The company’s doing so well that I’m back to having plenty of free time. I can finally fulfill every 14-year-old boy’s dreams of being a stereotypical playboy CEO; the world in my left hand, booze in my right, and a smokin’ hot girl in my lap.
Okay, so maybe I haven’t quite reached that level of douchebaggery, but I’ll get there someday.
Jury’s still out on whether or not that’s a good thing.
Jury’s still out on whether or not that’s a good thing.
Anyways, there are only two downsides about being so big. The first is that the Federation has a lot of oversight on us; they like to know what we’re up to, that way we don’t completely screw the economy by pulling something stupid. That I can live with, though. I understand their reasons well enough. [Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.]
The second thing is that I have to put up with my family again. You’d think this was a good thing, but no, it’s really not. I haven’t had much to do with them in just over a decade. We’re polar opposites.
Mom’s life is governed by her own concepts of right and wrong and her very own code of honor. Most of my elder siblings are the exact same ****ing way. They’re good people, I’ll give them that, and they’ve definitely got the moral high ground, but it’s clear to see that I’m the reject in the family. While everyone else put duty above themselves, I put myself above everything else, and because of how my siblings’ hive-mind like intelligence works that means I instantly vilified myself. Surprise, surprise.
Then again, I can’t blame ‘em. In their eyes, I ran away from home, turned down every scrap of help and advice anyone had to give me, and blazed my own path irregardless of the effects my choices had on their lives. That’s exactly what I did, but it was because I had to get out of the family’s shadow before it suffocated me.
They can’t blame me for what I’ve done either, so… Well, actually, yeah, yeah they can. They can blame me irregardless of whether or not any blame can actually be assigned to me. Being able to cast guilt on a whim is one of the perks of being in a high-and-mighty family. Whoops, kinda forgot about that. Oh well, **** ‘em. I don’t need them to like me, and I don’t need them to back me. So long as my company controls the market and is buddy-buddy with the Federation Council, they can blow smoke out their ass for all I care.
Anyways, I’m about to open up a new chapter in my life. The Federation intends to launch an expedition into the galaxy. They’re calling it the ‘Deep Space Expeditionary Group’ - DSEG for short. It’s kind of pathetic as far as a name goes, but they want Targus to jump on board. All the ships are ready to go, they just need people to man them, equipment, supplies, so on and so forth. I already made my choice - Targus is going to provide them with everything they need, but on one condition.
I had to be appointed as the commander of DSEG.
I expected them to reject my request outright, but some pinhead on the Council thought it’d be a fantastic idea and approved it. I’m an honorary ‘Lord Admiral’ now. Got a uniform and everything. Lots of shiny, shiny brass, and a ceremonial sword. God, I bet a bunch of the older admirals are going to give the Council hell - I’m not even thirty!
But hey, I don’t care what they think. I get to run DSEG. It’s gonna be a riot, and one hell of a challenge. I’m not gonna lie - I don’t know if I have all the skills its gonna take to make this expedition a success, but I’m going to give it my best shot anyways. I dunno what’s going to be on the far side of the galaxy, but you can bet your tail that I’m going to have a blast getting there.
Height: 6’7”
Weight: 650 Lbs
Age: 27
Species: Damarian Kushari
Force Sensitive: No
Weight: 650 Lbs
Age: 27
Species: Damarian Kushari
Force Sensitive: No
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