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SCL Chapter 161: Mar Sara Under Control
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 18:59:23 +0000 UTCLate October, 2489. On Mar Sara’s main planet, the changing of the seasons and shifts in temperature were barely noticeable. The weather remained scorching hot, though half an hour ago, a brief rain had fallen on Echo Town, leaving behind a rainbow arched across the sky.
The sheriff’s office in the Echo Town Police Department now had an extra set of wooden desks, chairs, and a bookshelf. Augustus lounged on his long bench, cradling a mug of military-style instant strong coffee in his hands. For over a month, Augustus had spent nearly all his time in that office—it had effectively become the headquarters of the Revolutionary Army on Mar Sara, and Echo Town had become their de facto backyard.
It had been more than three months since what UNN and several colonial networks had called The Siege of Tarsonis. Since then, the Revolutionary Army’s fleet—along with the terrorist group Sons of Korhal, which had only made a single appearance—had vanished without a trace. The politicians on Tarsonis, relieved by their disappearance, had repeatedly declared in public that the rebels had been wiped out.
Worried that the Revolutionary Army might attempt another surprise assault on the Core Worlds, many fleets had returned to their stations. Only Alpha Squadron continued its relentless hunt for the rebels. Colonel Edmund Duke—who believed Augustus had played him for a fool—was now seething with fury, yet had no outlet for it.
In front of Augustus was a thick stack of documents. Though his hands weren’t even on the table, the pages turned on their own, as if guided by an invisible hand.
“Judge Ida of the Echo Town Courthouse has sent a letter,” came a voice. “He’s asking you to thoroughly investigate the widespread circulation of revolutionary pamphlets in town. He wants you to arrest those reactionary and terrifying Korhal rebels and their despicable accomplices still skulking around Echo Town. He hopes you can eliminate those discordant voices and arrest at least one or two ringleaders.”
As the voice trailed off, a pair of long legs clad in tight black combat boots appeared before Augustus—followed by a curvaceous waist and hips, and a cascade of striking crimson hair. Ghost agent Sarah Kerrigan stood beside him, flipping through the documents as she asked, “So, how do you plan to respond?”
“I’ll take care of it soon,” Augustus said, taking a sip of coffee. “If he pushes again, just tell him it’s being handled.”
“Rod Fowles Slater, the Chief Justice of the Hinterland Autonomous Region, wrote to commend you,” Kerrigan continued, turning the page. “He called you the most outstanding marshal in all of Hinterland. Said you not only eradicated the drug trade in Echo Town, but also cracked down on gangs across Echo Town, Redstone, Thornwood, and Anthem—dropping the crime rate in those regions to its lowest point in a decade.”
“He’s approved your proposal to form the Ridge Plains Civil Defense Force—equivalent to two full-strength militia companies, three hundred and twenty men,” Kerrigan said. “Within two months, he’ll supply you with matching kinetic armor, Gauss rifles, grenades, and other military provisions.”
With the end of the four-year Confederacy-Kel-Morian War, the Terran Confederacy’s military-industrial complex continued churning out kinetic armor, firearms, and multipurpose vehicles, all while scrambling to expand its markets. Arms dealers, long accustomed to profiting off war, could not stomach the sudden drop in revenue caused by declining sales. They’d already made a fortune and earned their fame—yet still found it wasn’t enough.
Leading the charge were the Brubaker family—longtime arms dealers—and the Bennett family, dominant in the shipbuilding industry. These conglomerates led by the Old Families began fanning the flames of the 'Korhal rebel threat. Aside from selling to the military, they also offloaded their now-obsolete weaponry to wealthy merchants, power-hungry nobles on fringe planets, and essentially anyone who could afford them.
That same year, previously restricted items like CMC-200 powered armor, E-series Gauss rifles, and Vultures began flooding into the arms market on a wide scale. Of course, since it was the “initial lifting of the sales ban,” the prices were predictably astronomical.
The large-scale acquisition of powered armor and Gauss rifles by private armies and mercenary companies became a reality. And with the military broadly adopting the newer CMC-300 models, planetary defense forces and local militias on colonies like Mar Sara were handed down massive quantities of decommissioned CMC-200 suits.
However, once these suits were damaged, no fresh supply would be forthcoming. These militias would have to patch and jury-rig what they had, just to survive until the next equipment overhaul—perhaps a decade or more down the line.
“Slater’s a good man. I’d like to buy him a drink someday,” Augustus said with a chuckle, setting his coffee cup down. He knew perfectly well that the man had nothing to do with the word “good”—but he was decisive and efficient. As long as Augustus delivered results, Slater would provide whatever was needed: manpower, money, or gear.
Agents of the Korhal Security Council under Augustus had conducted thorough background checks on nearly every official in the Hinterland Autonomous Region, mapping out their preferences and weaknesses. Some officials lived simple lives with no vices to exploit, while others—though sharp and competent—had their flaws.
For instance, Rod Fowles Slater, the judicial chief of Hinterland, was a man of excessive greed—and an appetite for women that went far beyond ordinary.
Greedy, lecherous—but undeniably capable.
The Slater family was a cadet branch of the Falco family, one of the Old Families. Most colonial governors and magistrates were somehow related to one of the Old Families, since these positions weren’t elected, but rather appointed directly by the Tarsonis Federal Government.
Few among them managed to resist the temptations of corruption. Accustomed to the luxury and excess of life on Tarsonis, being sent to the barren wilderness of Mar Sara was, in many ways, a kind of exile.
“Anyone else looking for me?” Augustus sat upright and picked up the next file himself.
With crime rates having plummeted, being a small-town sheriff had become a relatively laid-back job. Most routine cases were handled by the lower-ranking deputies, and when something needed more muscle, Tychus handled it. He wasn’t good at much else, but when it came to brawling, he was more than competent.
“The townspeople wrote you a letter of thanks—signed by all of them.” Kerrigan handed him a sealed envelope made of pale yellow paper.
“Put it in my letter box. I’ll read it tonight.” Augustus gazed at the envelope for a moment, and an unexpected sense of melancholy crept in. Back during training at the Turaxis boot camp, his mother and sister used to send him letters regularly. He had gotten into the habit of reading them at night after drills.
“Any progress in the Perdition’s Crossing mining zone?” Augustus asked next.
“Chief Engineer Swann and his team have dug up tons of crystal ore. Most of the rich vein seems to be Ardeon crystals,” Kerrigan said, pulling over a chair to sit beside him. “But they still haven’t located the source of the electromagnetic interference signal.”
“It’s nearly November. We’ve been digging in Perdition’s Crossing for a month now,” Augustus said as he organized the documents and placed them into the filing cabinet.
“What did Swann say? How much longer until he hits the damn thing?”
“Ah~ real soon, just a few more swings of the pickaxe—pass me my toolbox, buddy.” Kerrigan mimicked Swann’s distinctive gravelly voice with a grin.
“I can already hear him in my head.” Augustus chuckled. “But even if we haven’t uncovered the signal source yet, the crystals we’ve collected already match an entire week’s yield from the Arcturus Peak mine zone.”
He added, “Plus the funds Arcturus wired to my Umoja account… I’ve got around 55 billion Umoja citizen credits on hand. That’s enough to buy one or two Kel-Morian Heracles-class battlecruisers.”
Augustus had also received news that his older brother—Arcturus Mengsk, heir to the Mengsk family—had, just last month, led a massive mining fleet of tens of thousands beyond the Koprulu Sector, in the name of his people. At the same time, an organization known as Sons of Korhal had begun taking root across various Terran Confederacy colonies.
In pursuit of Korhal’s revival, Arcturus Mengsk was walking further and further down the road of a mining magnate. And with that kind of financial backing from his brother, Augustus was hardly in short supply of money.
“My only concern,” Augustus said as he stood up and opened the office door, “is whether the Kel-Morian Combine will still retain sovereignty over its homeworld Moria after its defeat.”
Sarah Kerrigan cloaked and followed silently as he stepped out of the police station.
“The news says most Kel-Morian residents from the mining worlds have been repatriated to Moria,” Kerrigan remarked. “Only a few planets remain under Kel-Morian fleet control. With the flood of returning colonists, Moria’s population has now exceeded 4 billion—a terrifying number. That barren land can barely sustain itself.”
“But Moria’s government flat-out rejected the Confederacy’s proposal to establish outposts and military bases on their homeworld,” she continued. “They’d rather seal off every starport and isolate themselves from the galaxy than let Confederate troops set foot on Moria.”
