Elsewhere…

"Progress is going very well. Except in this sector." A thin man muttered, gesturing to a computer screen. He shrugged, brushing a thick mop of dark hair back from his eyes. "No matter. As more come on line, they should plug that gap."

"Yea, yea, that's nice, Doc. How about we conclude things so I can get outta here?" Another man gumbled, hands on the gunbelt over his hips. "I gotcha the goods. Now pay up. That's how it works out there."

"Certainly." The thinner man, 'Doc,' pulled himself away from the screen and went into a corner office. As the smuggler waited, he gave the place a slow look, his gaze finally going through the control room window and taking in the floor below to watch as the Doc's minions worked to bring the droids online. Not all of them would be capable of operating, not after so long in an unmaintained state. But at the least, if there was even a quarter of them in the bunch active and capable, they would certainly be troublesome enough. And they'd be worth the risk. As it was, more than that was already online and marching out to do the man's bidding, so from a business standpoint, it was a good investment. Or so the smuggler thought.

The smuggler cared not a whit for what they were going to be used for. He picked up the cargo, and he dropped it off. So long as he was paid, that's all he cared about.

Doc came back out of the office, muttering to himself with a large briefcase in hand. The smuggler turned away and grinned, removing an unlit cigarra from between his lips. "Now we're getting somewhere." He walked up to the case as it was set on a desk and opened. Inside were several ingots of metal. "Perfect."

"As you can see, Mr. Sharmain, I have had the payment pressed into the monetary forms you have requested, to the exact specifications. You should be able to use them off-world." Doc stepped back, while the smuggler lightly brushed his gloved hand over one of the ingots.

"So long as they do, you won't have to unexpectedly see me again." Sharmain greedily caressed the ingot again, before closing the case with a resounding thump and taking a firm grip on the handle. Placing the cigarra back between his lips, he touched the brim of his hat with a two finger salute. "If'n ya need another job, you know how to reach me."

"Sure, sure. I will call you if needed." Doc muttered distractedly, already turned away to another screen. "If you'll excuse me, I have much to do."

"Heh. Good luck." Sharmain turned, shaking his head as he headed for the exit. "You're gunna need it."

"Wait…" The smuggler paused, looking back over his shoulder. "...why are these showing as offline? Many more of them are going offline...what's going on?!" Doc's expression became increasingly red with fury, and when he looked up at Sharmain, it was with nothing but contempt. "Explain this!"

Sharmain shrugged, a hand idly slipping down by the blaster at his belt. "Might have something to do with that gap you mentioned earlier, maybe the locals are stopping them. Not my problem though."

"That's impossible, there's no way even AP Girl could be hitting that many at once!" Doc exclaimed, looking back at his screen and gesturing. "She's not that fast, I made sure of it. My calculations are absolute!"

Sharmain relaxed slightly, even if he did keep his hand near his blaster. "Well, you've still got several thousand. Eventually you'll figure it out." He began to walk towards the exit again as the Doc began to nod, calming down.

"Yes...yes...yes of course." Doc rubbed his hands slowly in thought. "It is inevitable. This city and then this world will eventually be mine."

Sharmain's eyes rolled as he looked forward once more, before they widened and he came to a sudden halt: standing before him was a short and stocky red headed man, the unmistakable shape of a lightsaber hilt in his hand. An eyebrow was raised as he gave a pleasant smile.

"You sure about that?"

"Awww kriff…"