Rejn first made a name for himself as a student activist in college, leading the charge against the Mandera Corporation — an influential defense contractor that had bribed its way into an exclusive license to produce the electrical wiring systems aboard the next generation of battlestars. His vigorous campaign earned him a week in jail, not to mention enough notoriety to land him a position as Policy Director for a grassroots organization calling itself the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CANUD) upon his graduation.
During his twelve-year tenure with CANUD, Rejn transformed the organization from a group of chamalla-smoking hippies in a leased warehouse to an influential think tank with branches spread across eight of the twelve Colonies. He appeared on every news program that would have him, distributed fliers and petitions to any college that would let him, and conducted a series of high-profile demonstrations aimed at attracting as much attention as possible. One particularly effective protest involved the purchase of forty-five seconds of advertising time during the final leg of the Intercolonial Pyramid Championships — time he filled with graphic pictures of patients in the last stages of radiation poisoning. As expected, the ad was banned by all major networks, but not before becoming a topic of Colony-wide discussion: more than enough to make Rejn something of a celebrity in activist circles.
It came as a shock to everybody, then, when he abruptly resigned his post at CANUD to take up a post as Deputy Undersecretary of Nuclear Affairs in Libran's Ministry of Defense. The new planetary government, already at odds with the Fleet, wanted somebody with Rejn's credibility to reshape that particularly ineffective department. His job wasn't an easy one. Condemned as a traitor by his peers and viewed with suspicion by his coworkers, Rejn found himself up against an ossified bureaucracy content to permit the Fleet to lead it by the nose.
Somehow, the man persevered. The Libran government had chosen their bulldog well: as effective as Rejn had been outside the halls of power, he became even more effective within them. A ruthlessly pragmatic bureaucrat, he soon developed a reputation as a terror at the negotiating table, known for using every weapon in his arsenal to drive the hardest possible deal. He'd bludgeon his enemies into submission with veritable boxes of evidence — and if reason didn't work, he'd simply go around them, breaking in the process one of the business' most sacred rules. When it came time to appoint a new Secretary of Defense, Rejn's body of accomplishments was more than enough to make him the consensus choice for the slot: just dovish enough for the activists, just hawkish enough for the Fleet. The protester-turned-minister would serve his people in that capacity for the next five years.
Rejn retired from his post at the end of his term, citing his desire to spend more time with his family. In his case, that excuse was actually genuine: he'd simply become sick of the interdepartmental infighting that had come to define his entire life. With his wife, four children, and eight horses, Rejn spent the next decade as a Practitioner in Residence at the University of Phoibe and Koios, teaching undergraduate students while putting together his memoirs.
Two weeks ago, that idyllic lifestyle finally came to an end. Increasingly concerned about corruption and graft within the ballooning military budget, the Quorum of Twelve extended him an official invitation to participate in the civilian delegation to the Battlestar Cerberus. Rejn accepted without reservations — and with his confirmed presence, a symbolic fact-finding tour was suddenly transformed into a mission with enough clout to get something done.
Somewhere, somehow, an admiral has started to sleep less soundly.
