Chapter 36: Shidar Zhol'skar

Tawa Asteroid, Dressel System

Twenty-three hours earlier.

A jet-black furred Bothan with violet eyes was making her presence known on Tawa. Carrying a bundle of flyers, all with her face on them, she now rode the zipline car across the sphere from one neighbourhood to another.

Since Azi'skar had announced his candidacy, Shidar Zhol'skar's campaign staff had collapsed. During the brief week they were working for her, they were under the impression that they were doing so following the wishes of Gavin Azi'skar. After he announced his candidacy, her staff melted away, Krudzhak left her, and, to top it all off, she was fired from Azi'skar's accounting division.

Shidar had made the mistake of viewing Azi'skar's motives for taking her under his wing as one of fear—She had suspected Azi'skar was afraid of what she knew and that, he was grooming her to be his protégée to protect his legacy. She had completely and spectacularly misread the situation. Now bumming at her parent's house, she subsidised her cross-system travel using her limited campaign donations.

Her goals had become more realistic after her campaign fell apart. They were now instead to spread her image and reputation across the system as best she could. If that nine or ten percent of Bothans who vote for me in the Senate would vote for me for the local legislature, I would get voted onto the Askar Assembly in a landslide.

The zipline car rattled to a stop on the rooftop of the Tawa Transport Union, a blocky brick five story building in the Tytho Burough.

A greying elderly Bothan female wearing green robes was waiting at the bottom of the ladder. "Glad you could make it, Shidar Zhol'skar."

In the .2 g of Tawa, holding her weight on the ladder was almost effortless. "Yeah, Director Gleshir Erzo'skar, uh—" on the lowermost step, she kicked down a bit too hard and floated up slightly, before hovering to the rooftop. She tensed up, bending her knees, expecting to have the wind knocked out of her from the impact, then blinked in surprise when the impact was so light.

Gleshir chuckled, extending a hand. "You are as disoriented as a Dome Head."

Shidar's fur swirled with embarrassment as she took it, sniffing the air curiously. "Well, I am here to learn more about Tawa, and the problems the Union has been having with the Clone Wars goin' on. I intend to do jus' that."

o.o.o.o.o

Alone at a tapcafé across the street from the Tawa Transport Union building, Shidar sat alone at a street side table, a pile of flyers in a folder under her chair.

She sipped her Kothtri, pondering all of the issues plaguing the trade in and out of the Dressel System. Aside from a narrow corridor of space leading corewards, and the mostly neutral Hutt space, the war was raging all around. Increased security in the Core caused many perishable goods shipped from the Dressel System to go to waste. The price of fuel had exploded with increasing scarcity and demand, far outpacing the low wages and cost of living of the Dressel System. Realistically, even if I become Senator, I couldn't fix most of those issues. Those issues are being caused by the war. It's clear that the war has to end. That there—

"—You esh awfully far from the Gal'skar Docks," a familiar voice growled wryly.

Blinking in shock, Shidar looked up from her cup of caf. Sure enough, it was Fyar Fey'lya, owner of the Sleepy Hollow brothel. "So esh you. Look, I told you, I am too busy to work for you. Nokiz have the time."

Fyar took a seat across from Shidar, completely uninvited. "How good is the caf here?"

Shidar's fur twitched with impatience as she regarded the middle-aged, short, plump, cream-coloured Kothliss Bothan.

"Look, I am here to ask if I could work for you."

"The kriff does that mean?!" Shidar snarled indignantly, with no idea what the brothel owner could possibly want.

"My associates in the Tawa Transport Union were impressed with you," Fyar said formally, abandoning any trace of her learned Askar Creole. "I never saw you as anything more than a pretty… A pretty thing. Now that I am… Well, I want to be your campaign manager," she finally blurted out.

Shidar gasped in shock, fur swirling with suspicion. Once the initial shock of Fyar's offer wore off, she narrowed her violet eyes, flashing her bright white teeth. "Just because I worked at your brothel, doesn't mean you know shtak about politics. It doesn't mean—YOU DON'T GET TO JUST 'MANAGE' ME! CRAZY OLD WOMAN!"

"Keep it down," Fyar snarled, fur swirling with embarrassment. "Hear me out."

Panting, Shidar looked back down into her cup of caf. She had not intended to scream angrily, but, for reasons she did not understand, she found the whole scenario deeply distressing.

Fyar suddenly handed a datapad to her.

Shidar took it, scowling as she scrolled through the screen. It is Fyar Fey'lya's resumé. To Shidar's amazement, Fyar had a law degree from the Varesk Se'lab Institute of Interplanetary Studies and an arts degree in political science. She had no idea what the Varesk Se'lab Institute for Interplanetary Studies was, or how good of a university it was, but she recognised the credentials. "Shtak. You have a law degree, and you are running a brothel? The kriff is your angle?"

Fyar sighed, flashing a Spacer hand shrug. "Long story. Came to Thellus after being disbarred for corporate espionage."

Shidar's fur swirled apprehensively at the frankness with which Fyar said this. "Huh. Okay okay. So you aren't jus' some old brothel owner. All right. What if it comes out that my campaign manager got disbarred?"

"Look at who you are facing," Fyar snarled, fur standing on end. "Zerir Vri'skar, a kriffing cannibal, and your Grum, a treasonous war profiteer!"

Shidar gulped. Fyar really thinks I can win this.

o.o.o.o.o

Fyar Fey'lya

Aboard the Spirit of Tawa

The Spirit of Tawa was an old Mon Calamari MC-40 luxury liner converted into a short-range transport. Most of the crew and passenger quarters had been stripped out, replaced with expansive seating. The direct sublight journey from Tawa to Thellus would take an hour and forty minutes nonstop. However, the Spirit of Tawa zigzagged through the asteroid field on a very non-direct route, making stops at three other stations along the way

It was not the only transport connecting Tawa and Thellus, but it was the largest, and the only public one offering first class seating.

"What's wrong?" Fyar asked. She took a sip of Corellian Sunrise, staring out the massive transparisteel window, sitting with crossed legs. In her other hand, she held a datapad where she was slowly working out a schedule from the first debate onwards.

Shidar's fur twitched guiltily as she stared out the window.

The Spirit of Tawa was now docked at Voshkul Station, a maze of metal constructs built onto the surface of the Voshkul asteroid. With a population of 13,000, it was one of the smaller stations of the belt.

Fyar's fur swirled with apprehension. She had never visited Voshkul, nor really had a desire to. With so many plans now in motion, she worried that Shidar would want to make a campaign stop here.

"It's jus' that flying in this luxury, esh bothering me. There are so many more passengers I could reach out to on the lower decks."

"Huh," Fyar muttered, fur relaxing. "Good idea Shidar. Why don't you go down to the lower decks and do that? I'll finish up writing this schedule."

"Sure, you don't want to come?"

"Maybe next time," Fyar answered with a smile. "I really have to organise this whole thing. Don't worry, all esh in order."

"All right," Shidar sighed. "I'll see you in the Docks."

Fyar's ears perked up, listening to Shidar's footsteps as they grew more distant. When she was satisfied that it was most unlikely she was still on the deck, Fyar turned around cautiously, giving the area a last glance. There were two Bothans sitting near the opposite window of the observation deck but, otherwise, the lounge was empty. Good. I can make some calls.

Picking up her datapad, she began dialling a number with a local identifier number in one of Thellus's agricultural districts.

"Oh, Fyar, nokiz expectin' a call," Kalori's voice stammered nervously. "Esh everythin' in order?"

"Our contact in the Thellus Police counterterrorism unit," Fyar growled cautiously. "Does he still have access to that untraceable railgun?"

"Railgun?!" Kalori yelped, so loudly Fyar had to hold the datapad away from ear.

"If I say I want a railgun, I want a railgun. Yes, get me a kriffing railgun you stupid washed up schutta!"

o.o.o.o.o

Fyar Fey'lya was a member of a famous crime family. The Fe family was dispersed mainly across two Kothlis Clans, Ojia and Alya. Some members of the family had become more respectable over the years but, in Fyar Fey'lya's case, she was a criminal through and through.

Even as an Askar Bothan who had never set foot on Kothlis, Shidar was vaguely aware of the Fe family history, the bloodier episodes of which had been rendered into popular holofilms. This was common knowledge only the most uncultured or sheltered Bothans were unaware of.

What Shidar did not know, was that the Sleepy Hollow Brothel had become nothing but a money laundering scheme. While it started as a semi-legitimate business, the brothel had not been profitable in more than nine years. As profits from that business dried up, Fyar funnelled money from her other business into the brothel, using the brothel to pay her taxes to the Askar Taxation Office.

Fyar's other business was spice. In a secluded spherical greenhouse of the Magol Agricultural District, the environmental controls were set to a chilly 5 º C, with the perfect humidity to grow Lumni Lichens. On Corulag, where gravity was slightly higher than on Coruscant, Lumni grew as a thin layer of lichen on the pine trees. On Thellus, where the gravity was thirty three percent of Coruscant's, the lichen grew in half-meter tall bulbs on the rotting wood stacked in the sphere's interior.

Toiling away in the dirty soil and smuggling the spice, were a couple dozen desperate, poorly paid Bothans, mostly former prostitutes who Fyar had recycled from her other business.

Two of these Bothans, Kalori and Makosk, held a railgun, its tripod, and six slugs for the weapon.

"May we please set it down?!" Makosk yelped, his legs shaking as he carried an ammunition satchel of doonium tipped rounds.

"Please—Esh gonna drop it!" Kalori gasped.

"I believe the Bothawui Marines say something about blasters and guns," Fyar yipped. Her fur danced with excitement as she inspected what they had brought in. In the garbage level below Grav'shtarn, perhaps unsurprisingly, Fyar was up to no good.

"So, you really think you can shoot this Kalori?" Fyar asked, looking Kalori directly in the eyes she felt the barrel—so wide it shot rounds that could take down an armoured fighter in one hit.

"Well, my grandpa did teach me how to shoot a Bola," she panted.

"Well, that doesn't sound very confident," Fyar snarled, tugging at the fur under Kalori's chin. "If you can't, then I have to get more people involved in this. If you can't, then I have to hire people. People are expensive. Hiring mercenaries is risky."

"I can!" Kalori yelped, tears forming in her eyes.

"Good," Fyar snorted. "Set that shtak down." She added, in an extra cautious tone, "carefully." We are definitely going to need to figure out how to make this set up more… Mobile.

Kalori and Makosk sighed in relief, breathing heavily. Makosk leaned against the wall.

Fyar looked up and down the corridor. "You since you two are clearly too weak and pathetic to carry this thing, we are going to have to come up with… Something that doesn't involve you carrying it everywhere."

"Thank you," Kalori and Makosk stammered in unison.

"Makosk, did that cop say whether the tripod could be mounted onto a cart?"

"Didn't ask," Makosk sighed despondently.

Fur twitching with impatience, Fyar's snout began to form a snarl.

"Not necessary," Kalori stammered, fur flat in fear.

Fyrar blinked in surprise. It was not often that any of her smugglers corrected her. "Explain."

"Grum's convoy esh gonna be on the 'xact opposite side of the sphere," Kalori stammered. "I jus' need to lie down, on my back, and aim up at it. Jus' like grandpa did in the war."

Crafty schutta, Fyar thought, impressed with Kalori for the first time ever. Lying down on her back, and shooting across the sphere's interior, would not have been a solution a planet-dweller like Fyar would have ever come up with. "All right. Well, we need a cart still."

"Kiz," Kalori agreed.

o.o.o.o.o

The next morning, the plan was in action. Another one of Fyar's smugglers had given a note to a random passer-by, along with twenty Zav and instructions to deliver it to the front of the Marshalcy headquarters in New Aroo.

On the flimsiplast note was a paragraph of crazed, radical-sounding, incoherent death threats, along with mentioning that the anonymous author knew that Grum Azi'skar was leaving for Botha'ahir unexpectedly at 0800.

Predictably, the bumbling Marshals sprang into action, flying at full speed towards Grav'shtarn, dressed in full battle rattle.

Kalori, Fyar, and Makosk looked up across the sphere. Four kilometres away, a convoy of flashing blue lights emerged from the tunnel, zipping quickly through the suburbs towards Gavin Azi'skar's abode.

Fyar felt more alive than she had in years. The artificial breeze of Grav'shtarn blowing her fur—She could actually smell real plants. And, more importantly, everything was going to plan. This attempted assassination would be televised for the whole station to see. It would be something Azi'skar could not just sweep under the rug.

While Fyar's fur danced with jubilation, Kalori and Makosk's twirled unhappily.

Fyar glared at Kalori, who was standing on the cart, propping up the rifle on the side. Makosk was staring across the sphere with a pair of electrobinoculars.

"Kalori, get in position," Fyar snarled.

"I can't," Kalori cried. "Nokiz can shoot at the Grum!"

"Nokiz gonna shoot him," Fyar snarled. "Jus' shoot near him, give him the scare he deserves. Send his campaign into chaos. Change the reality in Thellus so all the campaigns, Gavin Azi'skar's, Zerir Vriskar's, Shidar Zhol'skar's have to start in the same place. Not gonna kill no one! Influence! Power! That's what this is about!"

"Shar'wor said that, you never shoot at someone unless you mean to kill 'em," Kalori sobbed, tears globbing onto her red eyes. "I might accidentally kill the Grum. I can't live with myself—Even the possibility…"

"Well, your grandfather sounds like a kriffing moron," Fyar snarled, remembering the days when her own father would shoot blaster shots into ceilings to intimidate crowds. "I know where you live. I know where your mother lives, I know where your sister lives, I know where your kriffing Shalk frog lives! Maybe next time I'll bring in my Black Sun friends. They'll set you—"

"—I can't be a part of this either," Makosk growled, fur flat in fear. "If you don't like it, you'll have to kill us all."

"UNBELIEVABLE!" Fyar yelped, voice echoing along in the silent suburbs for blocks. "Fine. You little weasels are probably not very good shots anyways," she huffed, lying down on her back. "I am cutting a hundred fifty Zav from each of your salaries!" The plump middle-aged Bothan reached out and grabbed the railgun, yanking it over.

It toppled dramatically onto her stomach. With an angry grunt, Fyar balanced it. Shtak this really is heavy!

Makosk and Kalori stared down at Fyar, fur flat in fear, far too afraid of the spicelord to do anything to stop her.

"Sometimes, a Fey'lya's gotta do it herself," Fyar grunted. "I'm gonna show you little Spacer weaklings how it's done." Gazing through the sniper scope, she could see the streets four kilometres away up close. As she aimed her rifle towards the entrance to the tunnel out of Grav'shtarn, she caught sight of a convoy of black and blue speeders, surrounding a lone black speeder in the middle.

"Gotcha," Fyar whispered under her breath, flashing her dull yellow teeth—a gesture she had learned from the Askars. She hesitated for a moment. If I get caught, I will be charged with High Treason and attempted murder. I will probably end up joining my own foolish father in prison. No, 'gotcha' is not just a thing you say. It is a truth. It is a solemn promise. It is a promise that I—"GOTCHA!" she snarled, aiming at a spot about ten meters behind Azi'skar's speeder, in front of the rearmost Marshalcy vehicle. She pulled the trigger, closing her eyes reflexively, a complete amateur at shooting.

Unlike with conventional firearms, the doonium slug was propelled through the barrel by a silent electric arc. Once it hit the atmosphere however, with the loudest sonic boom Fyar had heard in her entire life, the barrel kicked up, sending the scope directly into her eye. The spicelord yelped in terror, pain, and surprise.

Makosk knelt down to help her. "You esh bleeding!"

"SHTAK!" Fyar snarled. "Of course I am bleeding. A kriffing rifle hit my eye!"

"The Grum!" Kalori wailed, looking across the sphere with her electrobinoculars. "You—Holy…"

"What? What did I do?!" Fyar demanded in a stammering yelp.