Chapter 17: Itoll Oc'nel
Coruscant
Smoke billowed out of the Underworld Portal between Central District and Federal District. Every few seconds, a speeder would emerge from the smoke and merge into traffic as if everything else were normal.
"Shtak," Oc'nel muttered to himself under his breath.
His TW-2 sped through the busy emergency lane. He was tailgating an LAAT that had picked up essential personnel from Central District and was now ferrying them to the Center for Military Operations.
For the first time the Bothan could remember, lines of ships were stretched vertically all the way from the skyline to the clouds. Many ships were trying to leave Coruscant but the inspections in orbit were creating huge traffic jams. Ships without repulsorlifts were instructed to fire their thrusters into low orbit and wait for inspection, everyone else was floating in lines. At this point, the lines would certainly last longer than a day.
Oc'nel steered his TW-2 to the far-right side of the emergency lane and the LAAT in front drifted to the right as well. A Coruscant police speeder passed them, zipping by at nearly the speed of sound.
His datapad began buzzing. He pressed the answer button.
"Itoll Oc'nel here—"
"Ensign Oc'nel. Where are you?" a Clone's voice asked impatiently. "We are landed at number 761 and—"
"Oh! I am flying. Currently in the emergency lane," Oc'nel stammered, his fur swirling guiltily. Damn. I didn't know—
"—You were told to wait for us to pick you up Ensign."
"My apologies," Oc'nel sighed. "I will probably be on base before you are."
"Very well Ensign," the Clone said impatiently and hung up.
"Next time you are ordered to wait for collection, you wait for collection Ensign."
"Yes Governor," Oc'nel stammered nervously. "It won't happen again."
In the formation area in front of the Naval Intelligence building, thousands of Clones from Coruscant Guard and hundreds of Republic Naval personnel were assembled. Some of them stared in Oc'nel and Tarkin's direction, a few staring disapprovingly with their arms folded. News of the Bothan's unexpected mode of transport has spread fast.
Sey'les and Wulf glared at him angrily as if he had created a huge embarrassment for everyone. Fojo and Dub looked amused.
"In case you have not figured it out yet, we have a situation," Tarkin said in a testy voice.
"What precisely is the situation Governor?" Sey'les asked pointedly.
Something bonked the top of Oc'nel's helmet. In the crowd, a few Naval officers in other groups who were not yet wearing helmets screamed in pain. Another credit chip landed squarely on top of Oc'nel's snout and he yelped in pain.
Something bonked the top of Oc'nel's helmet. In the crowd, a few Naval officers in other groups who were not yet wearing helmets screamed in pain. Another credit chip landed squarely on top of Oc'nel's snout and he yelped in pain.
Covering his snout defensively under his arms, Oc'nel cringed in terror. When the rain of metal stopped, he looked up as a Coruscant police speeder flew by chasing a grey speeder—a speeder that, no doubt, was full of Lurmen who had the audacity to drop credit chips in restricted airspace.
"We are not going to deposit these chips into our bank accounts now, are we?" Tarkin said icily to Ranger Teams 1 and 2, while kicking a cluster of credit chips.
"No Governor!" Oc'nel and all of the other Rangers yelled. The Clones all remained silent. Oc'nel imagined they must be smirking under their helmets in amusement.
As Oc'nel had predicted, things were falling apart.
Yesterday evening, someone in the Column District, directly underneath the Senate Building and Jedi Temple, bombed a group of protesters against the Banking Clan. On level 4139, a mob beat two Coruscant Guard Clones to death and chased the rest of the squad out when they attempted to block access to a banking terminal.
This morning a group of Lurmen insurgents—apparently those exist now—fleeing the Coruscant Guard, set fire to the junkyards of level 1782 to cover their escape. The Coruscant Guard lost two LAATs and twenty Clones in the chaos.
In much of the Underworld, the environmental controls could not catch up to the sheer volume of smoke. Residents were instructed to move to higher levels and all counterinsurgency operations below level 2,100 had ground to a halt. The Coruscant Guard was now too busy evacuating residents to continue chasing the Lurmen.
Credit chips had fallen across more than a dozen districts of Coruscant and somehow, the Coruscant police had only managed to apprehend a few perpetrators.
Oc'nel raised his hand awkwardly as they stood around Tarkin, listening to his briefing of the situation.
"Yes Ensign?" Tarkin asked impatiently.
"Governor, I do have one contact in the Lurmen community it might—"
"—What? What do you mean you have a contact?"
"Well sir, I know one Lurmen named Travi who makes burritos."
"Know her? Burritos?" Tarkin asked with raised eyebrows.
"They are a Lurmen dish Governor," Oc'nel said. "I think—"
"—Do the Lurmen trust you?" Tarkin interrupted.
"I think so Governor."
"Ensign, wait here one moment." Tarkin walked away from the Rangers and over to a group of Coruscant Guard Clones.
"Oc'nel," Sey'les hissed angrily. "Why didn't you tell us before?!"
"Sorry ma'am, I was going to yesterday but then you well… You didn't want me talking to Tarkin," Oc'nel winced.
"This is crazy Oc'nel! I can't—"
"—Ensign," Tarkin returned with a group of eight Coruscant Guard Clones. "I am assigning second squad to you."
"Understood sir," Oc'nel said with a toothy smile. "What will our objective be?"
"To find as much intelligence from your contacts in the Lurmen community," Tarkin said simply. "I want you to find out what the Lurmen—the ones who aren't shooting at us—what those Lurmen know."
"All right, I will do my best Governor," Oc'nel said and stood there waiting to hear the rest of Tarkin's briefing.
"Dismissed Ensign, take your Clones and brief them!" Tarkin huffed impatiently.
"Sorry Governor," Oc'nel stammered. "All right Clones, follow me," he said, leading the Clones away from Ranger Teams 1 and 2.
"Sir," one of the Clones said pointing the opposite direction, "our LAAT is right over there."
"Okay, let's debrief over there then," Oc'nel said now following the Clones to their LAAT. After they arrived, Oc'nel stepped inside. "I am not going to have more credit chips falling on my snout, Troopers, come inside."
The Clones stepped inside and cautiously formed a half-circle in front of the shorter Bothan. "So, I am Ensign Oc'nel. We are going to be flying to the Phare Mall where I know some Lurmen. We are—" he stopped talking. The Bothan found the fact he could not make out any of the humans' facial expressions deeply disconcerting. They could be leering at him under their helmets. They could be smirking in amusement. They could be doing anything.
Oc'nel undid his helmet strap and took his green helmet off. "Everyone, take your helmets off please. I want to see your faces."
"But sir, we are Clones and—" one of the Clones protested.
"Take your helmet off Sergeant," Oc'nel growled impatiently.
"All right, you heard the Ensign," the Sergeant said taking his helmet off. The other Clones reluctantly copied him. As with the Clones assigned to Ranger Team 2, these Clones all wore different haircuts but were otherwise identical. Two of the Clones wore extremely curious expressions, including the Sergeant, probably meeting their first Bothan.
"I was saying, I am Ensign Oc'nel. Now that we can all see each other's faces, do you have questions about me before I begin?"
"Have you ever been in combat before sir?" the Sergeant asked curiously.
"Yep," Oc'nel replied with a shrug. "I've even lost an eye. This one is cybernetic."
"What species are you sir?" a Clone Corporal asked.
"Bothan," Oc'nel replied simply. "Any more questions?"
No one else raised a hand.
"Good, so the way I am going to conduct this mission is simple. We are going to meet some Lurmen I know, I will buy you all food from them—"
"—but sir, we already had breakfast!"
"Yes Trooper," Oc'nel sighed. "The point isn't to eat. The Lurmen will be more willing to talk, I expect, if we act like paying customers."
"Sir, my men and I are trained in the best interrogation tactics," the Sergeant said in a proud voice. "We can—"
"—Nope," Oc'nel said with a casual dismissive shrug. "That is not how we are doing things right now Sergeant. We will carry our blasters just in case, but I want you all wearing your patrol caps, not helmets and I won't be wearing a helmet either."
"I think this is a major risk sir," one of the Troopers interjected. "We might get shot—"
"—Trooper, we are flying to my house. These Lurmen work below where I live in a shopping centre. I would not be conducting this mission this way if I thought it were hostile territory. We are on Coruscant, not on an enemy planet. We are not in hostile territory, is that understood?"
"Yes sir," the Trooper replied in a disappointed sigh.
"IS THAT UNDERSTOOD!" the Bothan snarled, copying how Sey'les gets everyone's attention.
"Yes sir!" the Clones all yelled.
Lir Sey'les
"Governor, I really am worried about Oc'nel," Dub said to Tarkin in a concerned voice.
Tarkin and both Ranger Teams were standing in an LAAT, holding the hand grips.
Sey'les's fur had been swirling nervously for the last ten minutes. She hung her head sadly, and her gut felt tight. She was afraid that Tarkin was going to promote Oc'nel over her; that giving Oc'nel his own assignment was part of Tarkin's convoluted scheme.
"Governor, I agree," Sey'les growled.
Tarkin smirked at her as if reading her mind and shook his head with an angry sigh. No Captain, I don't have time for Bothan drama right now. Shut the hell up. "Lieutenant Dub, what is your objection?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well Governor, I mean this in the nicest possible way. While I respect Oc'nel as a soldier, he is not the brightest," Dub paused and clenched his jaw nervously. "These Bothans, no offence Captain I really respect you ma'am," he sighed clearly not sure how to word his objection. "The Bothans don't seem to be the most… well, clever. Especially Oc'nel, that is. Oc'nel is the dumbest being I have ever met in my life."
Sey'les's jaw dropped in shock. Dub said something so wrong about Oc'nel and Bothans that it didn't even offend her. It was so wrong—like toddlers worrying about Jogan fruit growing in their stomachs because they ate a seed.
Tarkin smirked smugly, almost hungrily, as if Dub's stupidity was delicious. The fact the Clone said something so stupid clearly stoked Tarkin's ego. "Lieutenant, what would give you that impression?" he asked with a smile.
"Sir, he did not seem to know what an Acclamator was. Oc'nel was very confused—"
"—Lieutenant," Tarkin sighed. "Lieutenant you are mistaken. Oc'nel was a Judicial cadet nine years ago. He was on his first Acclamator around the day you were born Dub."
Sey'les lifted her head curiously. Fojo turned to Tarkin, his antennae raising higher, Wulf's jaw dropped and so did Seeger's. Jassk gasped in shock.
"Be—before they were born?!" Sey'les stammered, completely stupified. "Sorry Governor, I don't understand."
Tarkin sighed. "This batch of Clones is about nine years old Sey'les. The ones who were sent to Geonosis are ten years old."
"What?!" Sey'les gasped. "Governor, they look like they are adults."
"We have had our growth accelerated," Dub said proudly. "It is true, we are all a lot younger than we look."
"Yeah Captain, don't worry about us," Grath said. "We have plenty of genetic enhancements."
Well, that's just kriffed, Sey'les thought to herself. They are children. Human children in adult bodies.She suddenly felt like she might panic. Taking a deep cautious breath into her nose, she looked around gauging everyone else's reactions. Most of the other Rangers looked uneasy about this too. Jassk's Aqualish eyes looked permanently wide. Tarkin continued smirking at the Clones.
The LAAT descended into the smoke, which was now a mix of steam as the firefighters extinguished the junkyard fires thousands of meters below. Humidity and heat flooded into the LAAT, making Sey'les feel like it was uncomfortably hot.
As the LAAT left the sunlight behind, she started thinking of Woshyrryagh, Archumagh, and how short-lived Bothans and humans must seem to the Methuselah-esque Wookiees. I guess it's also kriffed up that Bothans and humans live a fifth of a Wookiee's lifespan, the Bothan thought, justifying to herself what the Republic was doing to the Clones. Still, no matter how she framed it, it did not seem fair.
Itoll Oc'nel
"But sir, we would rather wait on the landing pad! We have to stay with the ship," the LAAT pilot stammered.
Jazal's apartment landing pad, it turned out, was large enough for an LAAT. Oc'nel supposed the Clones must have been speaking literally when they said they were at his apartment this morning. The LAAT's wing was less than half a meter from the walls of Phare Tower, but it fit.
"Okay pilot, suit yourself," Oc'nel sighed. "I am leaving my landing pad door unlocked if you need to use the restroom or anything though."
"Thank you, sir," the pilot said giving him a salute through the cockpit window.
The Bothan returned a lazy salute and led the eight Clones into his apartment.
"It's huge! So, sir, this barracks is where you live? By yourself?" Fudge asked.
On the flight over, Oc'nel had learned all of the eight Clones' names: Trooper Jom, Trooper Logan, Trooper Dust, Trooper Cat, Corporal Fudge, Corporal Tyze, Corporal Nines, and Sergeant Arch.
"Fudge," Oc'nel replied as the Clones spilled into his living room. "It's my apartment. Right now, I do live here by myself but my partner…" Oc'nel gulped.
"Is she dead sir?" Nines asked.
"No," Oc'nel said defensively. "She is just—well she won't be back for a while, let's leave it at that."
"It isn't polite to pry so much Nines," Arch said sternly.
Oc'nel and the Clones had all left their helmets on the LAAT. The Bothan wore his green uniform with a green patrol cap, while the Clones wore their red and white armour with black patrol caps. He had instructed them to take holstered pistols only.
"Sir, I still don't understand," Arch said in a worried voice as he followed the Bothan out of the apartment into the hall.
"Sergeant, we are going to get lunch. When I was in the Judicial Security Corps, before I joined the Extraction Division, we called it 'going local.' If you are nice to the locals, and interact with them as a friend as opposed to an interrogator, well… It can make them more cooperative."
"What exactly is our objective sir?" Jom asked.
"Our objective is vague. Commander Tarkin instructed me to get intel," Oc'nel said, pressing the turbolift button. "We will go in, get burritos, and then I will ask Travi if she knows anything, especially particular Lurmen I have photos of."
"Photos sir? What do these Separatists look like?" Nines asked.
"Yeah, I've never seen a Separatist—"
"—These aren't Separatists. At least I hope they aren't," Oc'nel growled cautiously. "Look, just because some Lurmen are Separatists does not make every Lurmen a Separatist. Lots of humans on Raxus are separatists. Nines, that doesn't make you a Separatist does it?"
"No sir, but no Clones are Separatists. We are all loyal to the Republic."
Oc'nel sighed in frustration as the turbolift door opened. "Well, some species have split loyalties where some of them work for one group and others for another."
"What precisely is a burrito sir?" Cat asked.
"It's… well you will get to see for yourself," Oc'nel said impatiently as he pressed the floor button. "What do we do in Phare Mall?"
"We are going to be on our guard sir but try to look not so threatening."
"Good," Oc'nel sighed as he stepped out of the turbolift. The mall was about as busy as it typically is around 1015 on a weekend. A few signs on the shops said "Sorry, not accepting Credit Chips today," "CASH ONLY," or even more bafflingly "NO REPUBLIC CREDITS ACCEPTED TODAY, sorry for the inconvenience."
To the Clones, malls seemed to be more worrisome and less exciting than a Maglev. Not one of them yelled 'whoa!' or 'marvellous!' The Clones did not seem particularly excited to be here, just curious and apprehensive. Oc'nel could not understand why a Maglev would be more exciting than a mall.
The Clones looked around curiously at all the shops as they walked through the mall. A few onlookers stared back at the eight identical humans. Oc'nel tried to ignore it all and focus completely on where they needed to be.
"All right, here is Mygeeto Burritos."
"Mygeeto," Fudge gasped. "A Separatist world," he said darkly.
"For now," Oc'nel said. "That might change, or it might not, in any case that's just the name of this place." He cautiously pushed the door open. "Hey Travi!" he yelled into the restaurant.
"Hey Itoll! Whoa! Those humans look the same."
"They are Clones," Oc'nel said to the voice behind the counter. The Lurmen was too short to be seen.
"Where is that voice coming from?" Arch said worriedly.
"She is behind the counter," Oc'nel explained. "Travi could we get a table for nine?"
"Sure Itoll!" Travi said excitedly walking around the counter holding a stack of menus. Today the ashy-furred Lurmen dressed in what appeared to be a blue satchel bag with three holes cut in the top. Her bushy tail danced excitedly behind her as she walked. "I've never met Clones before," she said in her exotic Mygeeto accent. "To be sure to be sure Itoll, I am not acceptin' no Republic Credits today, and nah, I don't have any Credit Chips—"
"—That's all right Travi. I have Kuati Scrip," Oc'nel said with a slight wince. His fur swirled guiltily.
"Kuati Scrip?! I was hopin' a Bothan such as yourself would have heaps of Zav!"
"Oh, well—"
"—Kuati Scrip will be fine. It will," Travi interrupted.
"Good," Oc'nel said with a toothy smile.
The Clones cautiously sat at the table with Oc'nel and took menus from the Lurmen. Travi returned to the counter and disappeared.
"Well, the Lurmen don't seem dangerous sir," Fudge admitted.
"These Lurmen aren't," Oc'nel agreed. "However, Corporal, trust me some Lurmen are."
"Sir, when are we going to ask her questions?" Arch asked with a hint of impatience.
"Sergeant, you have my permission to ask her questions unrelated to our investigation. I will ask the other questions," Oc'nel said.
The door opened and Travi greeted three teenage-looking humans, dressed typical human nobility would dress on a weekend outing at the mall—completely eccentric with huge billowy cloaks, ridiculous feathered hats, capes, and knee-high boots. The Clones turned and stared briefly until Arch told them to stop.
Oc'nel's conversation with the Clones shifted to mostly them asking him questions about his Judicial career. He explained how being in the Judicial Security Corps was a lot like what these Clones do currently.
Meanwhile, the eccentrically dressed humans chattered away loudly at the other table. They seemed to come from one of Coruscant's moons—Centax 3. A particularly loud one named Alinka kept complaining about how bad her situation was.
Oc'nel scowled, turned around, and listened in when Alinka said something particularly annoying.
"Yeah, this. I totally agree. I am so tired of slumming it here in Central District. I just wish the traffic up to orbit would just go away."
"Doesn't your father have a place in 500 Republica?"
"Well, he's away for—"
"—sir? What's the matter?" Arch asked, interrupting Oc'nel's eavesdropping.
"Ah nothing," the Bothan lied. Many other beings would be bothered by the overall snobbery. Instead, it bothered the Oc'nel that even though he had moved to a far nicer place since meeting Jazal, there were still some other beings so wealthy that they would view his current home as a slum.
Lir Sey'les
The Underworld was not a place Sey'les visited often. She had gone a few times to seedy establishments, but only with Wookiee company. Level 1762 was not even a place on her radar. This morning was the first she had heard of it.
"Sir," the LAAT pilot said to Tarkin, "I would advise you all to wear transpirators. The fires are out but the smoke is still quite thick."
"Very well, Rangers, transpirators on," Tarkin said, removing his helmet and slipping oh his transpirator as the LAAT landed in front of the scrapheap.
Once all of the Rangers had their transpirators on, the pilot opened the door. Steam and smoke billowed it. Tarkin was the first to step out and was greeted by two Clones.
"Sir, we lost track of them here," one of the Coruscant Guard Clones said, pointing to the smouldering scrapheap.
"Very well Lieutenant," Tarkin replied, his voice muffled through his transpirator. "Those bodies?" Tarkin pointed curiously to a line of body bags on the sidewalk.
"They aren't ours, sir. Some illegal residents of the scrapyard didn't make it. We removed the bodies of the Clones who were killed in the crashes this morning."
"All right, everyone, turn around and get back on the LAAT," Tarkin said.
"But Governor," Sey'les mumbled, her snout bumping the inside of her transpirator. "We just got here!"
"Yes Captain, we aren't going back up to the surface."
"Where are we going then sir?" Seegers asked.
"Beyond there," Tarkin pointed ominously to the burnt scrap heap.
"Why would anyone want to live down here sir?" Grath asked.
"It's free," Fojo said simply.
"But we don't pay for anything in the barracks—"
"—enough chatter Ensign, Trooper," Tarkin's voice echoed impatiently from his transpirator. "Let's focus on the task at hand."
The LAAT continued past the many piles of rubbish shining a bright spotlight into the steam and smoke.
"Keep a lookout for the speeder, pilot," Sey'les said, stating the obvious and trying to seem helpful to Tarkin. Her fur, squished up against her uniform and transpirator, slid around nervously, unable to swirl.
"Very well ma'am," the pilot replied.
Tarkin turned and faced her. Unable to see the Governor's facial expressions under his transpirator, Sey'les gulped nervously and looked down at the floor.
Her squashed ear began itching under her transpirator, but she could do nothing but sit and wait for the sensation to go away.
"Seegers, Sey'les?"
"Yes Governor?" both of the Captains replied.
"We may have to divide our forces. If we do, I want your team to approach from the front, while I will take Sey'les's and cut them off from the rear."
"Governor," Sey'les growled nervously, mumbling under her transpirator. "If you want, I could lead my team and approach from the front, and you could embed yourself with Seeger's team."
"Sey'les, you are down a team member with Ensign Oc'nel on a separate mission. It is only logical for me to embed myself with your team." Tarkin sounded increasingly impatient with the Bothan.
"Yes Governor," Sey'les mumbled. "EVERYONE!" she mumble-yelled from under her transpirator, "you ready to kick some Lurmen ass?!"
"HOOAH!" Wulf yelled. The Clones looked confused and Fojo shook his head in exasperation.
"ARE YOU READY TO KICK SOME LURMEN ASS?" Sey'les yelled louder, this time in a mumbling snarl.
"HOOAH!" everyone yelled more enthusiastically, including Ranger Team 2.
Tarkin put the palm of his hand onto his transpirator, as if trying to face-palm. "Captain, that's enough racket!"
"Sorry Governor," Sey'les croaked nervously.
Itoll Oc'nel
Travi now sat on a high stool at Oc'nel and the Clones' table. She was chattering excitedly with Fudge and Arch about the winters of Mygeeto, and how she missed the snow. Oc'nel was munching on a burrito filled with carrots and beans.
The Bothan had his photos of the Lurmen ready on his datapad. Fojo had taken such a high-resolution photo that Oc'nel was able to zoom in to the point where even the yellow Lurmen eyes could be seen. Out of the ones towards the front of the frame, six had ashy grey and black fur, much like Travi's, while three had more brownish-black fur.
"So, Itoll, you are working with human Clones now, you are?" Travi said with her typical repetitive Lurmen tag-questions.
"Actually, I do work with four Clones, but these eight I just met today. We are on a special assignment," Oc'nel said, his fur swirled in anticipation. The Bothan hoped the Lurmen would pick up on his body language even though she was a different species—I am positively bursting to tell you exactly about what we are all doing.
"Huh, what sort of assignment?" she asked curiously.
"Have you heard anything about credit chips?" Oc'nel asked, pointing towards her sign saying, "NO REPUBLIC CREDITS ACCEPTED TODAY—sorry for the inconvenience :(."
"Yeah, well, I heard on the HoloNet from San Hill and also later from Palpatine," she said darkly. "For some reason, everyone around here seems to think I have credit chips for them!"
"Oh really?" Oc'nel said in mock surprise.
Travi squinted at him suspiciously.
Oc'nel's fur swirled nervously. Damn it. Don't lie. Everyone knows when you lie. Straightening his face, he responded apologetically, "sorry Travi, I didn't mean to tease. We have been having trouble with some Lurmen though—not you, mind you! Just some other Lurmen."
"What—what sort of trouble?" Travi stammered.
The Clones all turned to Oc'nel observing him curiously.
"Well, it started last week. I was flying to the Jedi Temple and—"
"—What were you doing at the Temple sir?" Cat asked curiously.
"—Never you mind," Oc'nel growled. "Anyways, I was flying to the Jedi Temple and some Lurmen threw these strips of metal onto my airspeeder."
"I am sorry to hear that," Travi gasped.
"Well, I just got a few paint chips taken out on the roof. It turns out though, that the metal strips are Credit Chips."
"Credit Chips!" Travi exclaimed.
"What are 'credit chips' sir?" Fudge asked.
Travi's jaw dropped and she stared at the Clone.
"Sorry Travi," Oc'nel winced. "These Clones, they grew up in a facility of some sort and don't know how the Galaxy works. But yes, Credit Chips."
"Slaves?" Travi asked staring at the Clones.
"Slaves?!" Fudge and Arch exclaimed in an offended tone.
"We do what we were born to do Lurmen!" Arch yelled angrily and proudly, banging two of his hands on the table.
Travi did not flinch. She stared the Clone down with her majestic yellow and amber eyes. "No offence intended Mr Fudge or Mr Arch, but I am just speakin' as a former slave myself," Travi sighed. "If you work for someone, don't have no choice in the matter, don't have a right to quit, and don't make any money, you are a slave—or somethin' like, somethin' like."
"Something like something like?" Cat asked curiously. "What does that mean?"
Oc'nel sighed. It sounded like a calque of an expression from Bocce, but he did not feel like explaining to the Clones that an entirely different way of speaking existed, called Bocce.
"You don't think we're slaves do you sir?" Arch asked, folding his arms angrily glaring at the Bothan, daring him to agree with the Lurmen that he is a slave.
"No, I don't Sergeant," Oc'nel said sadly, his fur swirled guiltily. "But Travi, in any case… argh we have gotten so off topic," he groaned. "I promise I will talk more about this later with you. Credit chips though. Some Lurmen are dropping credit chips from the sky. I was wondering first, if you, as a Lurmen, had any theories as to why."
Travi sighed. "That explains why everyone's been askin' me for credit chips." A worried expression crossed her face as she scratched her wrist. She shifted uncomfortably in her burlap sack and her ears drooped. "A few weeks ago, before the war, the Banking Clan offered some Freed Lurmen on Coruscant a job. I didn't accept it and most of us didn't. There is no way, after I earned my freedom, that I would ever work for those kriffin' Muuns again. Then I see San Hill's face pop up on the HoloNet—"
"—We are looking into that too, and I am sorry about that Travi," Oc'nel apologised. "I imagine it must have been difficult to see his face. We don't understand how it happened. San Hill shouldn't have been able to access Coruscant's emergency information channel."
"All right Bothan, I believe you," Travi said.
"Your theory is that San Hill recruited from the whole Lurmen community?" Oc'nel asked.
"Well, most of us at least. I reckon only a few took up the offer, as I said."
"I have one more question. I understand if you are afraid to answer but… do you recognise anyone in this picture?"
Travi took Oc'nel's datapad which looked huge compared to her tiny hands. She tapped the image to make it bigger and gasped. "Galbin Kow! I can't believe he would… I can't believe, I can't."
"Galbin Kow huh?" Oc'nel asked.
The Clones stared at the two curiously. Arch sat back in his seat, looking like he was mildly impressed.
"Do you know where this Kow lives?"
"Yeah I do Itoll," Travi sighed. "Don't tell him—"
"—There's no way I would tell him it was you Travi."
"Well, he's my best mates with my brother, he is," Travi sighed sadly.
"You know what Travi? I'll go fetch him myself. I won't hurt him unless he attacks us," Oc'nel said reassuringly.
"Okay," she said nervously. "Well, we Lurmen mostly live directly under the Central District. A few of us also live scattered around in the lower levels of the Underworld. He lives in the ground floor of the Phalanx, room 17. I don't know the exact address but it's along the Q Bisect, level 3214."
"Thank you very much Travi," Oc'nel said with a toothy grin. "Would any of you like dessert?" he asked the Clones.
"Dessert sir!" Arch stammered angrily. He shifted uncomfortably to the left and right in his chair like an angry snake. "But sir! We have to get Galbin Kow. This is ridiculous—"
"Sergeant," Oc'nel growled cautiously, "I am getting myself a dessert."
"Sir! I am going to have to log this in my report and—"
"Log away Sergeant. Your formal objection is noted," Oc'nel sighed. I can't get demoted to anything below Ensign. He turned to Travi. "Could I get a Coconut and Jogan pudding with the chocolate bith bean ice?"
"For sure, for sure!" Travi said excitedly.