Star Wars: Remnants, Part Eight, PG-13

by mtruane

The Yuuzahn Vong go all-in. 6 Worldships and hundreds of warships vs. a few re-awoken, Imperial World Devastators and Terminus. How could they lose? Meanwhile, Anakin's ghost has a chat with Ahsoka. Jabba's son settle with the Five Hutt Families. Myri and Sandra square off for Phon. Terminus saves a planet. The Mad Jedi make their play. And Leia solves everything with tea.

Author's Note: The editors of the Star Wars books do a bang up job of interspersing story threads. For this medium, story threads are published all together. The story threads, happen, basically, concurrently.

Part Eight

Vong System, Bridge of the Honor, Sorran, Ai, Beth, Kaleb

"Vong fleet dropping out of hyperspace, sir."

"How many, Butterbar?"

"Uh. All of them?"

There were already hundreds of scabs of all shapes and sizes and more winked into existence, dropping out of hyperspace at the edge of the system.

"Less hyperbole' please, ensign. An estimate will do. Send the complete inventory to my data pad.

"Configurations are making things difficult, computer estimates a little under seven hundred. Six Worldships at the core. Only seven Worldships were known to exist. "

"Under a thousand?" Ai raised her brow. "The Fluties did better than I thought."

"Thankfully, still only six Worldships. Maybe only seven are allowed to exist at one time. Maybe that's why they killed the other one," Captain Sorran suggested.

"And growing another would be considered a 'perversion' of what, sexuality? Religious tenant?"

"Maybe both."

"And here are, snug in our new Interdictors, watching from a distance. I want full sensors of the Vong!"

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Came the smart reply form the senor officer at her boards.

"Proceed as planned. Comm, Send to Echidna. Begin attack, send the twelve others, and Sow to attack. Remind her we can't count on the strange and dark matter chaff to work anymore."

"Echidna acknowledges, Commodore."

In the dark of space, Echidna's children formed a line of defense in front of their much larger mother, their Gyne and soared out eager to feed. The World Devastators had digested Vong, Worldships, Warships and a Vongiformed planet. They knew their enemy, their capabilities and chemical composition intimately. Deep in their core, unfeeling, unrelenting Byssian war computers made their calculations.

The Commodore moved up un Echidna's echelon. It was he who predicted the Vong could come to her table with every warship at their command. Her math could not imagine any species being so foolish. Echidna made a note to weigh the Commodore more heavily in her input scenarios. Her sensors, scanners and probedroids put the fleet within expected parameters, given all the Alliance intelligence she had been fed. "Sorran is correct. If they had come at us with everything they had sooner, retreat would be my only option. But they dithered. They do not have Emperor. But we had time to grow, to build, to adapt and adjust. The math is in our favor. Warships to the fore, Worldships to the secondary line. Raise Sorran's reliability index."

Vong System, Lead Vong Worldship

"I'm counting Thirteen World Devastators, High One. Good news. Except for the queen, they seem to be near weaponless, just missile launchers."

"More of that damn dark and strange matter in those missiles."

"Send to all commands. Engineers prepare to use gravity to swat the bad matter away, as we drilled."

"Yes, High One."

"Launch all fighters and boats. Attrition is our best hope. Pick a flank, away from his maw and pour everything we have. Fire cannons when are in range. Let them think we are attacking in the same old way, for now. Order the frigates on the flanks to ready to cut in and support the fighters' flanking attacks. The fighters will soften them up and the frigates can fire cannons. They can turn tightly and keep the cannons on the World Devastator's sides and away from the mouth.

Vong System, Bridge of the Interdictor, Honor, The Sorrans. The Underhiils, Ai

"They are attacking like they did before?" Ai frowned. "That is not like them. Look, the frigates are flanking. The fighters are going for the sides."

"Echidna is not fooled."

Echidna saw the Vong going for the flanks of her children, where there were fewer TR's. She refused the line, bending them back, like a hinge and fired the strange and dark (stark) matter smart missiles. The front line warships swatted them away. Again, the Commodore went up a notch in Echidna's reliability metrics. It knew that she could only work with the known. Only the living possessed imagination to foresee the future.

"Look. The Vong foresaw our dark and strange matter missile attack."

"Now we'll see what World Devastators can do with Terminus graviton disks."

"That's a lot of enemy ships, Sil." His wife whispered. "You sure? We have only 34 ships."

"35. With Sow. Oh, yes. Maybe a while ago, the dice would not have been in our favor. But the Vong factions took too long to assemble. Echidna and her brood calved and bred , not just here, but in Terminus asteroid field. Oh yes. It is too late for them.

"They are launching fighters, Commodore."

"Emperor's name!" Like hornets from nests, the Coralskippers flew. "It's like all the asteroids of Terminus are coming to attack us."

But then Echidna and her children launched their E-TIE robot fighters. Echidna and her children has the system's star at their backs. They had cast shadows on the Vong Fleet. But when they vomited forth the E-TIEs, by the tens of thousands, they blotted out the sun.

Each of the E-TIEs was fire-linked with the hive battle computer insider her particular World Devastator. Between Galactic Alliance intelligence and Byssian battle computers, Echidna had produced some interesting conclusions. Most interesting, the E-TIEs, could take much more G's than the Vong so this particular model had more thrusters. She examined the coralskipper hull and found it very laser resistant. She tested the hull against various weapons, and crunched the numbers on the singularity and determined the butterzone weapons to be one particle beam cannon and one very specific sort of laser cannon. The specific laser weakened over very short range, but she counted on the innate obedience and fearlessness of the robot fighters to not express any reticence about getting closer before using it.

The World Devastators watched their tsunami of E-TIEs meet the Vong squadrons with interest. Black, blue and silver shot yellow bolts. The Vong returned white hot.

"Interesting. Not green?"

"Particle beams, Commodore." Reported the weapons officer.

"Record."

"Already on it sir."

In a head on attack is SOP for the Coralskippers to The use their Dovin Basals to eat the alliance's energy weapons, as they always had before. But this time the yellow energy burst, exploded as soon as it was touched by the fighters gravity horizon, scorching and chipping but not destroying the coralskipper.

The fighters poured through each other, like combs. More E-TIEs than Vong seemed wrecked. As the Coralskippers closed on the World Devastators' golden particle beam AAA lit up the stars.

The Vong were confused. On the one hand, the particle beams were not as accurate or hit as hard as a lasers. On the other hand, the merest graze on their gravity well propulsion wake or shield and the beam acted like it had proximity fuse, detonating the packet of excited particles, a wound, not a kill.

Sorran watched the devastators' TR's snatch up the Coralskippers and eat them. It was like watching his children play "smarties on the lawn." They ate the E-TIE wreckage as well. All the while it spewed out a steady stream of fresh E-TIEs from its backside.

The E-TIEs clouds split and headed toward the flanking Vong Frigates reminding Sil of his time on Ontarius and its dammed blood sucking black flies. They flew to the small Vong ships, frigate equivalents and covered them so thickly Sorran could not see brown beneath.

First of the Vong Worldships

"The robot fighters are chewing up the frigates, High One."

"Never mind, They are short range fighters. Advise the frigates to jump and shake them off, then return."

"We are winning. All destroyers engage."

"Yes, High One."

Vong System, Bridge of the Honor, The Sorrans, The Underhills, Ai

"Sil?"

"Patience, my dear."

"But we are losing."

"Are we? What part of a starfighter take the longest to build?"

"The pilots…ooooooh. I see now."

The First of Worldships

The High One frowned. "Instead of waning, the World Devastators AAA seemed to be waxing. Why is this taking so long? Zoom in." High One saw what she expected to see, but not so much of it. The Coralskippers were sucked into the maw. "That should not be happening. Why are our fighters not avoiding they tractor beams as ordered? Commander of pilots?"

"Scanning. I believe I have an answer. The particle beams are wounding our ships' Dovin Basal, leaving them operational but unable to avoid their tractor weapons at peak efficiency."

"The barbarians! Wounding to win? Despicable. Order our capital ships to advance and finish them. Have the frigates returned?"

"No, High One, they never left."

"Never left? As soon as they activated the Dovin Basal, all the robot fighters should have been crushed or dragged into hyperspace with them."

"Yes, High One. But here they are."

High One gazed at the scope. There, lay the frigates, unmoving. High One swept the scopes over them. Through the E-TIE wreckage he could see the antennae were shot off, but what really drew his attention was the odd, circular burns on the Dovin Basals, "The Dovins….they are…dead. That is not laser fire. It cannot be laser fire. The Dovins' singularities are an excellent defense against lasers. Their singularities draw lasers away.

"If they have such weapons," added Left Hand of High One. "Why not use it right away, on the big warships, even the Worldships?"

"More of the strange and dark matter?" Right Hand suggested.

"No, look, the burns, for lack of a better word are perfectly circular."

"Maybe they went for the smaller ships because that's all the particle beams could manage."

"Or maybe, they are learning, like a Praetoria, testing, adapting…", croaked Creeda.

E-TIEs swarmed the Vong capital ships, bobbing and weaving, shattered by the droves in a moot imitation of bravery. Suddenly, each swarm disengaged, formed up like a flock of bugee birds and drove like a drill at one specific spot on each capital ship. "I hate it when you are right, Creeda." Then, still like buggee birds, they swooped one after the other one and blasted a specific spot in each ship and peeled away, to loop back in turn. Now they shot a grey lase from the second barrel.

"The Dovins? Why are they not creating laser eating singularities?

"They are trying, but its proving ineffective."

"Impossible."

"A lot of impossible things happening today."

"I swear by the Unholy, Creeda, one more word out of you and I'll staff your myself."

"You are welcome to try, High One. But I think our dying ships need your attention more."

"What are they firing? A beam of some sort."

"It's an x-ray laser."

"X-ray? So much for the Dovin Basal's deflecting laser blasts."

"Now we know what the little burns on the frigate were. Look, The Dovins draw in the bolts, but they escape the singularity, like x-rays escape black holes."

"And slam right into the Dovin."

"Clever. But it won't be enough."

"You sure?" Creeda pointed to the flanking frigates. One World Devastator was already approaching a frigate. The frigate equivalent lashed out with as many weapons as it could but wounded, its Dovin Basal disabled, it could only wallow against a World Devastator, fusion driven, the small yellow star in its belly roared and flared.

Back on the Honor, the sight reminded Sil Sorran of a youth eating a bratwurst. "Looks like the tide has turned."

In her unnatural Byssian mind, Echidna calculated probability of victory curve shot up. Once again the being known as "Commodore Sil Sorran" had proved almost prescient.

Vong ships were grown, not built. Versus technology, this saved on dockyard costs immensely. Each ship was different, like cellular life is different. On the one hand, against other living beings, that meant a strategy that worked against one Vong warship would not work on another. A successful strafing run on a relatively unarmed ventral surface on one Vong warship could land one inside a cannon in another.

But it also meant that each Vong ship was erratic. Which is fine, unless the enemy has a vast host of E-TIEs scouting every inch, firelinked to the universe's best battle computers, designed by the finest minds the Emperor could harvest. Once the chink in the armor was identified, all that was left was to stick the proverbial dagger in and twist.

A pattern developed. E-TIE's swarmed a capital ship, which defended itself mightily. Then a second wave of robot fighters was launched, right at the Vong warship's weak spot. Meanwhile, destroyed fighters and ships fed the World Devastators and were turned into more robot TIEs.

"Are the skippers doing any damage?"

"As soon as they do, it is repaired and another tractor weapon appears in that spot. It appears to have adapted new sheilds too! It's like they are healing."

"So the answer is 'no.'"

"Correct, High One."

"Then the only answer is overwhelming power. It's a risk but order all Worldships forward before we have no more warships left."

The Bridge of Honor, The Sorrans, The Underhills, Ai

"The Worldships are moving to attack formation!"

Echidna signaling. "She's sending in the other children. Hail the Emperor!"

Right above the Worldships eight more World Devastators dropped out of hyperspace.

First of Worldships

"Too late." Creeda shook her head and croaked. "Too late."

These World Devastators were not like the ones the Vong were attacking. These Devastators were bright white and swept with blisters on every surface, except their four "legs." Without hesitation, the new Devastators pounced onto the Worldships and spewed forth their own river of blue-silver E-TIEs

Inside the Worldships, water and loose items tilted crazily. "Enemy attached. Using gravity generators. High One! THEIR POWER! IT'S OVER NINE THOUSAND!"

"Impossible, right?" Creeda sneered.

"Break it, use our Dovin Basal."

"Trying." Reported the chief nurturer. "Temperature rising. Diverting coolant."

Vong are an active, aggressive species. They would rather do something, anything than nothing. But there, on the bridge of their Worldship, the captain and crew could think of nothing they could do. Two titans, one of soulless metal, the other a living world, wrestled with graviton waves so thick, they were popping Vong armored crabmen in the center of the ship like grapes, tugging the Worldship, like two daggets on a slab of beef jerky. Their fates hung in the balance.

But one of the titans had done the research, the scouting, the math and had built itself to win. One to each Worldship.

Each crew was deafened by a scream as it was torn in half, top separating from the bottom. At that moment, an aperture a half mile wide diameter opened up on the Devastator's "navel" between all four of its "legs." I glowed grey. An x-ray laser, pumped the equivalent of a red giant's weekly output of energy into the Worldship's guts.

Watching ALL the Worldships crack in half like eggs at breakfast-time decided the matter of all the surviving Vong captains.

Bridge of the Honor, The Sorrans The Underhills.

"Now that THAT"s out of way. Send in the interdictors, Operation Tourniquet."

"Time to renew." The Vong never retreated or withdrew but then did have times to "renew" attack. "Feed the Dovin Basal."

"Feeding."

"Set course back home."

"Course laid in."

"Jump. What is the delay?"

"Gravity, sir. We can't jump."

"Locate. Oh." The Vong recognized the Interdictors.

"I am sorry, I commander. I was distracted."

"We all were." The commander know that if the Worldships had been there, the tables would have turned and the Interdictors would be the ones cracks in half. Now with the gravity well projecting World Devastators, setting the fence posts and the dozen new Interdictor's covering the gaps., the Vong were trapped with the world eaters and no way to escape.

"Like Nerfs stuck in a Rancor pit. Coordination is key, Captain Ai?""

"No worries Commodore, the Dancertroopers on the other Interdictors are doing an adequate job of coverage. As long as they don't go into combat that is,...they are little more than buoys.

"Echidna will protect them. In any case, I doubt they try to make an escape. Look. They are attacking. Joining their Worldships in death. Good. Suicidal charges will speed things up." Sorran had seen his share of battle. And it always stuck him how miserable almost all of them are, the inevitable wearing down, from artillery duel to a whimper. Not a glorious swift win but the slow slog to victory.

Over the next hours he watched the E-TIEs, one by one, disabled the capital ships. Then the graviton disk equipped World Devastators and graviton disk enhances gravity-well projectors of the World Interdictors tractor them into their fiery maws. "And so the eaters become the eaten. A fitting end to a species of foul cannibals." Sorran sipped his tea.

"I hear the Vong like pain. I think we made a lot of Vong happy today." Kaleb smiled.

Coruscant, Abandoned spaceport, Phon, Myri

Two aircars, one sunny yellow, the other red, raced around the old spacefeild, flowing the orange paint and improvised "cones" left by this particular neighborhood's street racing community. The runways were laid in the long turns for taxiing and loading and the straight rays for runways. And many course were laid out. The orange course the aircars use using was shaped like a long balloon bent into a block letter "C" with an "S" in the middle.

More than color's contrasted the aircars. The yellow one was newer, sleeker, more needle like. The red air car was older, larger, louder, wider up front, a natural air foil. Bother were air cars, but they flew at ground level, in speeder mode.

Taking a snapshot at the race at any one point in time, one would see one far ahead of the other. But take a film and the true race became apparent. On the straightaways, the red air car blasted ahead, leaving the yellow air car eating dust. But on the turns the yellow air car cut inside the wide turning red and stretched the lead on the S and hairpins.

The pilots inside were different too, female and male. In the red speeder, goggles on, brownette hair poking out of the military speeder helmet, the tall female whooped and hollered.

In the yellow aircar, the male, head wrapped in a full helmet was silent, his face full of concentration, his leather gloves deftly switched from yoke to panel.

The red crossed the black and white dots of spray paint first and spun to a stop. Yellow smoothly did the same, fishtailing to with a foot of the red.

""I win!" shouted Myri.

"No. I won three out of the five laps!"

"Only the last lap counts."

"That was not the bet!"

"Bet, schment, you know who won."

"Yeah. Me."

"Tiebreaker?"

"I wish. Mission accomplished though. I really like your new air car."

"Really?"

"Really. This is a great little track you found. I had you on the turns but that big block's acieration on the straightaways is awesome!"

"I know, right? It's like a driving a street legal A-wing. Wanna to take Gadaí an Ghrá for a spin?" "Ahhh. Maybe later. Baby already likes you. But I'm getting a vibe Gadaí hasn't made her mind up about me yet." "You boys and your cars." "More of Scoop's bad hey, we have a enough time for a couple of quick laps. Can I have a ride? I love the classic Faroes." "Sure! Hop in." "Sweet!. Don't worry, Baby." Phon kissed his aircar. "You are my one and only." Then he pressed the security button on his key fob. Rather than open the door, Phon put his hand atop the door hopped in expertly. Myri's eyes popped. "Scoop had a similar model. He said, 'Why open doors when you buy a convertablle?' Baby's too compact. I'd might scuff her dash." Myri called to Baby. "Can't have scuffs, can we girl? Buckle yourself in! Lots of straightaways this time. Come on Gadhai, lets show the senator what we can do." Reflexively, Phon held on to his helment as Gadaí took off. Before they hit the quarter mile mark, the were both laughing with joy. Coruscant, Senatorial Hall Parking Garage As Senator Phon's bodygauard, Myri was assigned a space in the partking garage across from his. Both Phon and Myri had spring in their step.
"I was thinking..."said Phon. "Next time, full aircar mode?" "Yeah." "Gadai's going to kill your butterfly on the z-axis." "Baby's going to fly circles around that beast!" They entered the lift talking light smack. Then exited the lift as Senator and Gaurd. They walked down the hall and into Phon's outer office. Kulp One and and Ms. Dacia were there for som prelimary agenda items for the day. The Prime Minsiter sent over the "brown book" showing a big increase in imports, exports and transports. Attached was a memo from the Correlian Guard on the sucess of the LOMARs. Ms. Dacia was puzzled that Phon did not seem pleased he was so far ahead in the polls. There were two sealed diplomatic pouches waiting for him on his desk. Phon sighed. "Sealed' sledom meant good news.. Both were from New Alderaan. One was from Burgos, Sandra's father. the other the Council of Deputies. Phon decided to get the personal matter out of the way. "What the hell?" In side the pouch was a swath of mountain melt-blue silk and the longest jacknife Phon had ever seen. The knife had a matching blue tassle knotted to a brass grommet in the base of the handle. It was the same kind of knife that he saw Burgos wearing earlier. It had a note. "For defending our daughter." Phon showed the note to Myri. "What does that me? Thank you? Or please use it to defend her?"
"Bit of both, I'd say. May I see? Oooh, Nice. An Alderaanian mountain knife. I've heard of these." She opened the jackknife slowly, it made a series of menacing sounds, click-click-click-click-lock. "Oh , yeah." She chuckled. "That does sound scary." She confirmed the lock was secure and snug. "Damask steel. Perfect balance." She pushed the catch and folded it back. "Smooth. The tassle's not decoration either. It's a distration or you can whip the knot across the eyes." Myri placed it on the desk in front of Phon. He looked at lit like a viper. "He can't expect me to wear that." "He might be insulted otherwise." "I can't wear a huge knife..." Her pointed to his new tailored suit. "... and my pistol belt." "Our Prime Minister said to do anything." Myri reminded him. "Well, I'm not giving up my pistol, not when I just when I was getting good at it." Phon thought. He check an idea on he datanet. "Got it. You are my gaurd, right? YOU can wear it in my name.
"Me?" "Well, you are expert with a knife, right? You are so good Shihan Winter made you knife sensei." "I am not defending Princess Sandra." "Why not? You did once before." "Because you are...well you are supposed to do it now." "It's in the best interest of Corellia so I am asking you to wear this. The data net said its customary." "And you trust the datanet? Deputy Burgos sent it to you, not me." "No easy way around this. Kulp-1. Put me through to Deputy Burgos of New Alderaan, please. Private line. The monitor is fine. Mark it not urgent." Phon was a little taken aback when the Deputy got right back to him, clearly he was just woken up, reading lamp illuminated his face, looking into a bedside commpad, sliver stubble on his rugged face. "Ah, Senator Phon. You recieved our gift?" "Pardon if we woke you up." Burgos waved. "When one owns a transport company, it comes with the territory. Besides good news flies, bad news can wait. You recieved the gifts I take it?" "Yes. It's quite the honor. I thank you."

"And...?" "And I was wondering if would be proper for bodygaurd to wear it. I am already kitted out with my laser pistol, as I am sure you know..." "Grunt." "And your gift would not..well... fit." "Huh. A reasonable request." Then he grumbled like a Ursus. "First we must know. Who is this bodygaurd?" "Myri Antilles." His eyes widened. "The woman pilot! Oh yes." His hand, palm down, waved, like brushing of crumbs. "Of course, she can wear the sash and knife, gladly. Is she there?" "Yes." "Hello, Sengior." The old man brightened. For the first Lady Burgos rolled over, appeared over her husband's broad flannel clad shoulder, moved her long braid to the side and engaged with a wave. "Hello, Ms. Antilles! You should not have sent the thank you card. But it is always good to get real mail." "Myri, please! Not at all. And how did you know I drink only Laphroig?"
"I asked your father." Burgos touched the side of his nose and winked. "We fathers like to brag about out daughters. Yes, yes, of course, Ms. Antillies can wear the blade and sash, any time she likes. Right dear?" "Let's see you in it." Mrs. Burgos put on her tortoise shell framed glasses and looked down her nose. "Myri, trainded myriad costumes and disquises managed wrapping the sash and tucking the lock-knife handily. "Lovely and dangerous!" Lady Burgos appoved. Myri felt like she'd been knighted by the Gand Damme herself. "Her." Burgos pointed a thick and determined finger. "And no other. Just you or her. Understood?" "Understood, sir." And...?" "And..?"" "Didn't the gorget arrive? They were supposed to arrive at the same time." "Oh!" Phon broke the seal on the second diplomatic pouch as Burgos sipped from the glass of water on his nightstand and his wife put on he robe and glasses. Phon removed a beautiful disk of silver plate with tabacc colored leather strap, turned down at the sides. The top of the silver was engraved and the leather sewn with fine lines of a water motif. The back half was a mirror image of the front half of the ¾ disk but made of thick sewn hide. Phon recognized the smelll of fine leather. "Try it on. I want to see if it fit. The Princess sent us your measurments, but we should still should check." "The Princess, how doe she...?" After a bit of figuring, Phon drew out the chrome pins on the sides and opened it. Narrowing tounges of leather fit under the gorget, padding it at the shoulders. The inside ring of the metal was curled, backwards, outward. It was shaped like a lake lapping, with pebbles under the crests smooth edge, not a foamy wave, until the riffle almost touched the gorget itself. Thin rim providing stiffness and to insure ther wasn't an edge rubbing the neck. Phon moved to put it on. "Not you. Now that you have a guard, she or your lady should put it on. The back is not armored. It symblozes trust. Its custom, but its also easier. Trust me." Naively Phon handed it to Myri and stood and turned his back to her. Myri's heart pounded, she blushed, she had trouble controlling her breathing. "This brings him closer to Sandra. So why do I want to put on his gorget so much?" Behind Phon and close enough to feel his body heat, smell his bay rum, Myri clipped the either half of the gorget on. "There. That's the badge of Courtier Errant of Alderaan, Riverman Caste. When you get some land here, you can add a gold rim." "Turn around." Said the expert dancer, Lady Burgos. "Yes. Perfect fit. I'll tell the princess." "Humph." Burgos looked to his wife who nodded. "I guess it fits. Get all dudded up and send me a portrait before you let anyone else see. Not a snap. A real portrait. Show respect. Millions died so you could wear that. Besides, it'll be good for you in the press over here. Trust me, you could use it. Lady Burgos piped in, "Goodbye Myri, and thanks again. Send us a portrait too." "Thank you, Deputy and Donna Burgos." "Darling? Since we are already up, how about..." the line to Mr and Mrs. Burgos' bedroom comm was swtiched off. Phon stood up and checked himself out in the full legnth mirror. "I love it! What do you think?" "I think it's fine, for special ocassons." "Come here." Phon pulled Myri over. "You look awesome." "I do, don't I?" The two stood close, facing the mirror. Phon enjoyed the moment. "She's beautiful, like some bandit queen. Wait. Can't be thinking that when I'm dating Sandra. I think I'll ask Senator Alcanta-Cardona to advise on the portrait. I don't want to offend any Alderaainians." "Why not? What do you care?" "I'm a known associate of Princess Leia now. Anything I do will relfect on her, and Corellia. The Spaceports are still new. I don't want to ruin relations just when we got started." "Of course." Myri hid her smile. She was no shy maiden. She knew boys and she knew that look. "Finally noticed I am a woman, eh, Senator Phon? We'll you've just taken your frist steps into a larger universe. Maybe this isn't so bad after all. Senator, do you think I've Riverman Caste now too?" "You know, you might be! Better ask the Sandra to be sure." "Yes, let's." Myri smile like the cat that ate the canary.

The Ord Mandell Run

As Excru Dickensian hovered at the helm of his corvette, he had to admit. "This Ord Mandell run is a pretty sweet gig. As long as there are fleets of ships just lying there (dry-ice blasted clean of Vong-barnacles if scuttlebutt was true) and Ord Mandell's factories are cold, we can always count on some greedy idiot trying to make the run. The Blue Dwarf sun limits the approaches. And best of all, with the Beskar Legion cooling their jets down there, the Alliance Fleet is in no hurry to help the planet out."

"On the other hand, if the Beskars weren't there, the planet would be ours, Excru." Hal Dan lay stretched out on his custom engineering recliner chair, cap over his face.

"Rule a planet? Lot of pain in the glutes if you ask me. This is better. It's like fishing in a barrel, but still fishing though. Just gotta be patient. Just like to know who is offering all that money to…bingo! Wake up boys. Looks like we got ourselves a live one!" Hal snapped up.

"What is it?" Excru's, co-pilot, Ravish K'tarn a human, slid into his seat.

"Three Gallafreyians."

"Oh they must really be desperate!"

"I'll notify the boss."

"Aw but Excru. It's only three old sows We can take them."

"And when Captain Dreberts finds out we was poaching, he'll feed us to the agony eels, like Lou."

"Too bad. I liked Lou."

"The eels liked Lou too." Excru sniffed his co-pilot. "Have you been at the rum again?"

"I told you. It helps with the boredom of just waiting."

"Which is why you'll never make captain." The Sullastan snorted. In the alliance navy, or at least the six months he spent in it before striking and officer, Excru knew he could have the copilot disciplined for drinking on duty. But in the pirate company, he's just be laughed at. "Charge up the ion cannon while I angle the deflector sheilds."

Dickensian's corvette, the Golden Claw pulled out of the shadow of Ord Mandel's fourth moon and cut off the three Gallafreyian freighters well away from their intended destination, Ord Mandell.

The pattern was the same. When they tried to run, he'd ion cannon one of them and they'd find the only three hyperlanes blocked by ion cannon equipped Gamma gunboats with a gauntlet of howlrunner fighters if they tried to made the escape.

Excru opened a channel. "Don't why I bother? They always run." He knew why. Dreberts was clear. Ion blasting cost time and money, reselling the captured freighters. He insisted the freighters be given an honest chance to surrender, if only to spare expenses of repairing short circuits and overloads.

"Attention Gallafreyian convoy. You are traveling in the space of the Free Carib Brotherhood. Cut power and prepare to be boarded. If you surrender now, we promise no one will be harmed. Maybe held for ransom or a bit of fun."

"They are not running, sir." Ravish observed.

"I can see that!" Swat. "They can't be hoping to ram us. Those ships handle like drunken banthas. Wait. What are those little bumps on them?" Then he saw a peculiar yellow flash from the nose of each of the freighters, a color he knew very well. "Oh Sith! Incoming missiles! Shields! Hard to port!"

Excru went to his old trick. Due to power conduit "issues" the pirate vessel had its stolen ion cannon mounted on the starboard side amidships, right below the main reactor. But then he discovered, without it being up front or atop or below, the prey did not see it until he was "turning away/retreating thing." The it was too late. The side facing ion cannon would blast the lulled prey and then it was a simple matter of killing them all. The side mounting of the ion cannon was a happy accident he exploited again and again. As Excru turned he breathed relief. The three missiles were dead-centered on his main reactor section and that meant in the sights of his ion cannon. 'Perfect."

"Fire!"

"I'm trying." Ravish kept pressing the big blue button.

"Arggh!" Excru reached over his co-pilot and slammed the big blue button. Nothing. Excru ran over the charging sequence. Only six of the seven power junctions had been connected. "You idiot. You killed us all!"

"It's their fault, they usually run."

DA-42 Spacedocks

While X-wings, Corvettes and the rest look cool. Without repair and refit facilities, they all are, inevitably, flotsam in space.

One of the great secrets of the Empire was that each Star Destroyer was a "blue" space dock, able to repair and refit its entire company and crew or its support ships if it came to that. Oh sure, they were infamous for disabling and tractoring in Rebel corvettes. But when they weren't doing that, they were bringing in Imperial transports, support ships, even small stations, for repair. If one assault didn't work to subdue a planet, a Star Destroyer was quite capable of recovery, repair and re-assault, hammering, attacks.

Docks have a certain caste. The cheapest (and hence most common) and most time consuming are the spaceports. Ships are typically docked to a ring or other framework. Fine if all the work in inside. But if the work is outside, in zero-g, requiring droids, articulated armed pods or similarly EVA suited humans, that will take time. But the good news is one can find them most anywhere.

On the other end of the spectrum are the planetside space docks, where everything is there. Not just air and plenty of people, but infrastructure too, expert advice, factories for parts and even entertainment to while away the time. But planetsides are often few and far between, reserved for destinations. Mores the point, suppose ones ship is so heavily damaged that it would burn up on approach?

In between, one has "Bluedocks," a myriad of enclosed spaceports (say inside a dome or carved out of an asteroid or comet) that are both in space and offer the convenience of atmosphere and artificial gravity.

Last but not least is the crème de la crème, the deepports. Deepports are planets that offer a wide variety of manufacture as well as repair facilities, even heavy-lift tugs than can carry a wounded capital ship to the surface , or a secure, underground bunker repair yard. And that's not all. To qualify for a deepports status, the planet must be able to provide anything a ship needs from the ground up, form forging armor plate to fresh water WITHOUT importing it form another world. A deeport has to be a ship's one stop shop for any kind of repair.

When one's father thinks 'deeport" he may think of "The Gem" Ord Mandell, galaxy's premier one stop shop for deepport facilities. That was before the Vong War. Though freed by Beskar Mercenaries (And who knows who paid them?), Ord Mandell still suffers from Vongiform infestations. Kuat, Corellia and Bothawui, respectively have surpassed them in deepport facilities. And lobbied to postpone terraforming. Indeed, between the Vongiform infestation, the presence of an army of mercenaries, and rampant Mid Rim piracy, this poor droid is hard pressed to even consider Ord Mandel a deepport any longer. Sad. And let's not even mention once-proud Fondor. Whoops. I guess I did.

The Ord Mandell Run

"What the?" Dreberts in his howlrunner watched his premier corvette, the Gold Fang, take three of three hits from three concussion missiles. One in the ion cannon, the other two above the reactor, proximity explosions. The Fang went immediately dark listing and drifting from the impact. "Whoever was targeting know what they were doing. Might be repairable. Too bad about the ion cannon."

"Order's captain?"

Bravado was not in short supply. "Oh well, more treasure for us. But remember, I want those old tubs with as little damage as possible. Gamma's! With the loss of Fang, that means your ion cannons will have to do double duty. If we stay away from the nose of those freighters, we should be fine. I know those models of missiles, Hawkbats. Those missiles can't chase you far or well."

"Copy that captain."

"Penny and Pound!"

"Penny and Pound!"

The howlrunners peeled off one after the other. "One shot in these only tub's reactors should. Eyeballs!" Dreberts shoved his yoke down. The old pirate's fear reflex saved him.

"What I don't see..ahhhh!"

Suddenly, Dreberts comm was filled with sounds of combat and dying. He scanned space. He saw the trademark double green-sting of TIE's but no fighters, the lasers were all coming from the Gallafreyian. "Maybe I should pull back to the gunboats and observe a bit."

With the perspective, and safety, of distance, Dreberts could see it now. The freighters had "socketed" salvaged TIE hulls into the freighters. One on each of the four sides."

"Sneaky. Howlrunners, stay low and take out the guns. Gamma's start the boarding. Those sows are not designed for overlapping fields of fire, so find a blind spot. Gunboat squad A, blockade them from any closer to Ord Mandell. Squad B and C, block their escape.

"Another convoy dropping out of hyperspace Captain. They are…dead on our six."

"It's a trap!"

"Can't be. I am scanning nothing but freighters and transports!"

"Damn. Oldest trick in the book, staggered hyperspace drops, and I fell for it."

"But these new guys are not the Navy. They are nothing but freighters and transports!"

"You idiot! Look! They are arming themselves now!" Dreberts looked at his upgraded command screen, stolen from a Y-wing, it allowed a pilot to see many ships at once. He had only spent six months in the navy before he deserted but even Dreberts recognized a classic bait-and-pounce. pincer movement, each ship perfectly covering the other, just out of the other's blaster range. "Just freighters and transports my left foot. Okay. Scram all plans. There is only one way out of any ambush, pick a direction and attack. So we head 180 away from base and rendezvous back there in twenty-four. Got it?"

His ships signaled "affirmative." And in the confusion, no one noticed Drebert's dark howlrunner slipping away, straight back to his base, where Dreberts' horde and a hyperring lay waiting. Dreberts looked down at the screen and watched one of his pirate ship's asterisk icons wink out one by one. Thought his fighters were named howlrunners, it was freighters and transports who acted like it, groups of "triangles" peeling one victim off one after the other. "Navy. Has to be. Oh well. With any luck, they'll be off to Ord Mandell. I just need to lay low for a while. Maybe it'll encourage more 'business' my way."

But as he sailed on the scanner disturbed him. His FOF showed ships captured. And they unengaged ships were definitely in a grid search pattern, slowly expanding the net. "They might find Sapphire Base. May be it will be good to lay REAL low for a while, just in case."

The Captain's howlrunner sailed into the asteroid. Formerly Sapphire 1, the abandoned Ord Mandell auxiliary spacedock had been gotten up and running, most of the time, by Dreberts. He landed and two human teens hooked the ladder up to his fighter. "Welcome back captain. Where are the others?"

"Just stopped off for a fill up. A big prize this time. Get my ship refueled."

"Yes, captain." Said one dirty youth in a dirty jumpsuit, as he and the other lad hooked up the hose.

Lumbering down the ladder of the traffic crow's nest, one hand holding a comm link came chief Snood Chomp. On his cheap droid leg prosthetic he shouted. 'They are all captured! Captured or dead! All of them! He just used them for a distraction so he could escape!"

Dreberts always admire the smooth lines, lightweight and hence, smooth draw of his DC-17. Little more than two rectangles with pug nose barrel sticking out of it, it was not as powerful as new models but quick draws never went out of style. He pulled and blasted the old man in the chest. Then, careful not to hit the hose, shot the two boys.

This got the attention of the rough score of beings in the dock. The picked up weapons, most had a vibroknife already and surrounded Dreberts. "I think you better explain yourself, Captain." Some Folorran mechanic who Dreberts did not know or cared to know, grumbled. The circle of myriad dirty beings in dirty, tattered jumpsuits was always changing. Blasters were carefully controlled on the pirate base. Dreberts felt assured he was the only one with a blaster, but only a bit. Most of his crew had at least one death mark. "Need time. Don't look at the fuel line. A bunch of ships escaping might not be so bad."

"It's the Alliance boys! They ambushed us. I'm sorry but these three traitors were going to try and steal my ship. I really don't know why. Don't we have enough for all of us to escape with?" Silence. "Idiots. Well we do if we count the captured ones you've been fixing so well, right?" No one dared say otherwise. "Right. We'll we knew this day was coming. I was happy and proud to be your boss. A pirate king can't ask for better but it's ever man for himself now. We'll meet up again at Khomm. Savvy?" No response. "And they wonder why they could not make it in real world. So you can stay here, with me…" he waved his blaster, "…or you can escape with everything not nailed down. Your choice."

They stood still. Dreberts was on the tall side, his howlrunner was a tight fit. His curly hair itched under the helmet like it always did when he was scared. Dreberts pulled out a control rod. "Hey? Who wants the key to the weapons locker? And he flung the control cylinder into the corner of the bay with the empty barrels and crates.

That got them running. Some to the ships, some to their quarters, most to the keys to the weapon's lockers with eyes to being the next pirate king of Sapphire One. "Idiots. Any pirate worth his salt has his escape all ready. We'll see who's alive when I get back." He laughed.

Dreberts was left with one "companion" his R4 astromech. "Strap in R4. It's going to be a bumpy ride." The droid used it rockets and magnetically attached itself to the top docking port, sticking out, attached to the hull, but connected. It whistled the 'all full' note. "Good." Dreberts disconnect the hose, leaving it on the deck and blasted out, and hair-pinned into the asteroid field and rigged for stealth mode, not a moment too soon. The stars were full of freighters sailing into Sapphire One in pairs.

Dreberts cut all power but life support and waited, praying to the Force, the Sith, Draffut, anyone, that now one had snitched and his blue spaceport, the one thing that really put him the pirate upper tier, his only reliable source of income was safe. "Maybe they'll just move on." He was going through his short list of new recruits, when he saw the armed convoy arrived and sighed. The freighters divided into formation, columns flanks covering the ships who were entering.

"In pairs? No room for error." The man always prided himself on his 'no attachments' rule. But now that he saw an eclectic mix of freighters and transports soar into his prize possession, the pride of any pirate, his own blue dock, he felt something. "Violated. It's the only word for it. Must be getting old." He turned on his viewer and watched from the cameras he had all over his base. The freighters landed, retroes extinguishing the burning fuel line Dreberts left behind. Ad hoc mounts above the landing ramps opened up, repeating blasters swept the bay.

"Those are ground buzzers! Those are illegal!" The pirate was outraged.

When the deck was clear, ramps descended, men and women of all species flowed out, without hesitation, firing from the hip. The pirates, who had gotten to the weapons locker fell like bowling pins. "I was right. Navy…army, navy and marines."

On the back end of Sapphire One, almost like comedy relief, some ships tried to make an escape. Attached to the back of the asteroid to save blue space, the pirate fleet, a half dozen, beaten, leaking, smoking, badly repaired hulks, released clamps, lurched into space, and attempted to start their engines. The armed freighters were on them like stinkbugs on poodoo. "That won't be so bad. I'd like to see their expression when they hear I'm headed to Khomm. IF they believe it.

All attention is on them. That's our cue, R4. Gently, get us into our ring." As his especially outfitted docked, Dreberts looked up. His chest of treasure was still attached, safe and sound. R4 docked. It wasn't easy with howlrunner, but it done it before and he's invested a lot of swag in his little getaway sled. "This is when I'm vulnerable. This is when I blasted old Westlie. Now if I just get the time…" R4 rolled off the howlrunner and locked himself into the hyperring's astromech socket. As Dreberts waited ,he watched the feed from the space dock. His pirates were surrendering inside and in their ships, stripped and zipped(tied) on their bellies or abdomens.

Then Dreberts watch the raiders dance. He knew that dance, none better. "Damn those LOMARs. They must be thinking of all the prize money they will get for MY bluedock!" the irony was lost on him. He felt his face red, burning like it was seared. R4's chirp and message on his panel brought him out of his reverie. "Course? Talus? Yes, more than enough to retire in luxury, in Talus as planned. Rub it in everyone's faces. Who says you can't go home again?" Dreberts continued to watch the looting of his base as R4 made the necessary math. The dance continued and it stuck in his craw. "No. Wait. No. Set course for Courkrus. There is more work there."

Coruscant, Office of the Chief Executive, Lando & Tendra Calrissian "Come in, honey. Thanks for coming on short notice. I want your opinion on something." Lando ushered his wife in. "I had had to cancel a couple of things. But if you say it's important…" "It is." Lando offered his wife a kelp cigar. It was one of their little traditions when heavy thinking was involved. "Watch this. We just regained contact with Task Force 8." "The Vong System force." "That's the one. I got their recording on Terminus and Legion Zero's assault on the Worldship. "Watch." Tendra not a fan of war but watching the Sixth Finger stab into the Vong Worldship, she could not tear her eyes away. "Amazing." "It gets worse. He fast forwarded. "The Vong Strike back. We think this faction is claiming the planet." "After letting that star destroyer mortally wound the Worldship?" "Right. But now…" "Who is that?" Lando froze the image. "That is General Wight of the Jedi Knights. She mind tricked our secretary of defense into putting her in command, she and twenty Jedi with her." "Smith?" "That's the good news. Turns out Smith and her crew where just held in cargo. Terminus managed to escape with three Vong Star Destroyer equivalents in pursuit. Wight and he Jedi took the Amethyst, their colonization dreadnaught, Seed Pod, in tow and escaped, leaving Smith to regain command and talk to me." "This sounds awfully military." "Right again. I want your opinion on this part." Lando showed his wife the interchange between Wight and Sorran. Tendra found her hairs standing on end. "She's trying to mind trick him into falling in love with her, just like the crew of the Amethyst! I never heard of Jedi doing that. You sure she's not Sith?" "Luke says she'd have killed all the witnesses if she was." Lando tapped his ashes. "But thanks. I wanted a woman's opinion before I jumped to conclusions." "Since you asked. Look. See how the Commodore's wife is digging her nails into his upper right arm. She senses what's going on. Good thing she was there. Oh, look, that engineer is behaving the same way towards that stormtrooper." "Never noticed that." "We are just lucky she didn't try that on that Captain." "So, what do you think?" "I think I better hang around you a little more, until that Jedi is rounded up. Oh, and once the Senate gets ahold of this…

Ord Mandell, Ten Mile Plateau Spaceport

Crowds gathered for the first freighters had seen since after the war. Now maybe, at long last, the Beskar Legion would be paid off and they would leave.

The opinion of what was on the ships swung widely from foodstuffs (the un-Vongification of the agricultural sectors was going slowly) to equipment to get the city up and running again.

In any case, copper, gold, silver, platinum, titanium even Beskar ingots lay stack as high as bantha's eyes. But no one arrived to trade for them.

The Gallafreyian freighters landed and one human male stepped out of the lead one. "Hello. I'm Nellbeck. We heard you people could use some trade."

Coruscant, Senatorial Quarter, Sandra Alacanta residence, Sandra, Roehmer

Sandra sat at the edge of a divan, back straight. Eric crossed legged on a pillow, lower than her. "Thanks for agreeing to see me."

'I really shouldn't, not without a chaperone."

"Those guys don't count?" he pointed to the two Marines and tow Burgos Transport security guards at the corners of the arched and mosaiced apartment.

"No."

"Nice place. I like the open floor plan."

"Get to the point."

Eric took a deep breath and tried to remember what his mother scripted for him. Step one: take responsibility, use the insight Leia gave you. She probably doesn't know Leia gave it. am really sorry for what I said the other day. I wasn't thinking. I would never consider you a 'consolation' prize." Step two: equivocate and sympathize "It's this place, Coruscant. Everything is politics. It's making me crazy. I'll be well rid of it. Do you know what I mean?

"I can understand that."

"But that still doesn't mean I had to say that." Step three: a reminder of a shared past and then the gesture towards the future. The no-fail gifts. "From his belt pouch, Eric removed a box of New Alderaan's Finest chocolates. "Pralines. I remember they were your favorites when we were kids."

"Are you trying to get me fat?"

Eric hid his smile. His mother told him just what to say to that. "That would mean you are going to stop dancing. And we both know that is not going to happen."

"Humph. They are my favorites."

As she daintily nibbled on the chocolates, Eric recalled summer days and chubby-cheeked Sandra jamming them in her mouth one after another. "And the next no fail gift. And one more thing. Two tickets to the ballet. Box seats."

"But it's sold out!" Sandra snatched the tickets.

Eric felt great. "Worked like a charm."

The Sandra frowned. "Oh. But it's for Saturday and I always promised Senator Phon to escort him to the air car races on Corellia. Can you get others?"

"Uh, no. I had to call in a lot of favors just for these. Can't you cancel?"

"I am sorry. But I've seen this ballet twice, once with my sister as prima, and was looking forward to my first air car race. I already picked out my outfits. You understand."

Eric knew his old friend. "Outfit picking" meant she had made up her mind. He was dumbfounded.

"But you can ask someone else. Any girl would be glad to go."

"I don't want any girl. I want you…to go with me." He took a breath and went for another tack. "Sandra. He's a foreigner and not of the old stock."

"Not any more. Princess Leia made him a Courtier Errant."

"A gorget? But even I…." Roehmer did like how excited Sandra was to talk about the Corellian. "Please. Let me apologize properly. Dinner, anywhere you like."

"That sounds lovely, call my secretary and we can arrange something."

"You're secretary?"

Her commlink buzzed. "Oops. I have to take this call. Would excuse me?"

"Who is it. Courtier Errant Claudius Phon?"

"I don't like that tone, Eric. You better go."

Eric looked around and noticed the guards had taken an interest. "Just disappointed. How could I not be? Dinner then." Just outside the door, tore the ticket and half and threw them off the bannister.

Corellia, Miracle Mile Racetrack, Government Box, Phon Sandra, Myri

Myri was glad she (Really the Prime Minister) had talked Phon into using the Government Box instead of the center grass. Not only was the view of the finish line ideal but with all the normal security, she could relax a bit and enjoy the races too. It was after the race that she would be busy.

She had to admit, it was funny watching the delicate princess take a bite of a giant pretzel, getting mustard on her face and wash it down with lagerbev, as the air cars thundered by, Phon chose to root for Don Prude, a racer from his province. His car was sunny yellow, the provincial color of Baby. Sandra chose the red racer Towen because his car matched her dress. They finished first and second. Myri was in for the pits, using her visors to snitch ideas.

The Faroes were not racing, but they were "sponsoring" the event if the aircoaches in on the concourse grass was any indication. Phon didn't know it, but Myri and the Prime Minister had something planned.

After the race and the trophy award, the mostly un-sober crowd was going home when the announcer handed the mike to the President of the Faroe Motor Club.

"We have a special guest in the government box today! Two honorary Faroe members. Interim Senator, Claudius Phon and Myri Antilles. Come on down!"

Right on cue, the security aircar floated in front of the sliding transparsteel doors. Sandra did all the pushing that Myri was afraid she would have to do. Phon dragged Sandra into the aircar with him. Myri noted he didn't have to drag hard.

The aircar soared down to the winner's circle, where, surrounded by the Faroes, Phon and Myri were present with two shimmering gold lame' jackets with their names embroidered over the (human) heart area, the back had the patch of the club, a pyramid rising above three rocks in the ocean. Myri and Phon put one arm around each other and waved to the cheering crowd.

And then the President notice the pretty gal clapping like mad for Phon. "We'll I'll be." He helped the little lady (who was a little unsteady on her feet) up to the circle. "Look who we got here. Sandra of New Alderaan! The princess they recused!" The applause became a roar.

Emotions were high. Sandra was bit buzzed, as was Phon. He was her rescuer. She knew what the audience wanted. What he wanted. And she wanted it too. Then Myri stood between them, waving. ""Time to go, Senator. Always leave them wanting more."

Fondor System,

"Convoy coming boss. The biggest yet."

"Composition?"

"This is interesting. Nothing but Bothan YT's, their mandibles pushing…sugar in my kaffe, I'm counting 1800 cargo containers!"

"Bothan? That means foodstuffs. Perfect. Bulky but we can sell them anywhere."

"Escorts?"

"None."

"None? That's suspicious. They must know we are here and won't allow it. You sure?"

"Maybe they are counting on the YT's to protect them."

"Wait. We have time. Last thing we need is the 8th fleet to drop out of hyperspace behind us." The pirates watched at the freighters lumbered ahead. "Okay. That's it. They reached the point where a drop-in attack force could not support them and we have plenty of time to escape. Send in the dreadnaughts. The prize is too sweet. I heard the Bothans were not sticking their necks out any more. This is proof. Dreadnaughts?"

"Moving in, sir."

Veracious Ply was very proud of his dreadnaughts, the last of the Katana fleet. He'd put them up against any local system's militia. He had taken them to Fondor for repair. In the midst of the Vong War, the Fondorians had been foolish enough to believe Ply wanted to use them to defend Fonder from the Vong. After the war, the Vong threat gone, Ply found himself with a fleet of dreadnaughts and in charge of Fondor. The Fondorians rebelled but Ply was more than able to blockade the heavily industrialized planet. He had already starved the orbital stations into submission. He, and the Fondorians, kept waiting for an Alliance intervention that never arrived. Ply bet, he guessed correctly, that the Alliance had done the same the same cruel math he had grown up with on Maw Station. The force that could free one system, Fondor, could be used to free dozens of systems, not occupied by twelve dreadnaughts.

"Maybe I should offer the corn to anyone who promises me loyalty."

"They are jettisoning containers, Boss."

"A distraction." He waved dismissively. "That's to be expected. We'll pick them up later. Stay on course. Meanwhile, order all dreadnaughts use the tractor beams and collect them. Bring the jetsam containers aboard. Don't miss a one. We've got plenty of firepower to spare. Let me know what they find.

"Copy, boss."

"Order the convoy to cut power and surrender. Promise them the mercy. We just want the corn."

"Convoy is…cutting power."

"Not a full jettison and run?"

"No."

"Smart. Saves me wear and tear on my cloakfighters and YT's are valuable. Stay out of quadblaster range though. In case some idiot gets sand."

"Copy, boss. Relaying instructions."

The lights on the Yesterday's Dream flickered. "What was that?"

"Oh, Sith. We've been boarded!"

"How?"

"Look!"

The screen showed the pirate opening the food container getting a smoking hole blown through his chest. Being's, whipping LRB's left and right poured through the containers and into the landing bay. "LRB's? They should not have LRBs! That's illegal! Damn! Warn the others!"

"Too late! Oh Sith."

"What now!"

Renfeld Carfax was always a good CnC officer, alert and bright. But as Boss Ply looked at him, he saw, for the first time, defeat painted on her fair face. She pointed out the main window.

"Containers" dropped off the cargo carrying barge-frame, revealed themselves to be what they really were. Gamma Assault Boats painted to look like ordinary BOTHCO cargo containers. Other containers opened up like lupins dropping of Z-95 headhunter fighters, old, but small and competent.

"Against a dozen dreadnaughts? It's not enough!"

"It is." Renfeld drew her blaster.

"How dare you?"

"You forget the slaves." Speaking of which, she shot a Fondorrian chief engineer, like she needed to make the point.

Ply felt his energy flow into the deck from his feet. He pictured all the Fondorians in the engine rooms, the decks, everywhere throughout the dreadnaughts, tethered, shock collared, just looking for their one chance to…"Come on. We are going."

The Numidian shuttle was old and unarmed but it was very, very fast. Ply was given a mynock's eyes view of his fleet being taken down. Gammas left his dreadnaughts and soared to the orbital stations. "Bet it's those damn LOMARs they're after."

"What now?"

Ply shrugged. "I always knew this would happen. Most of my money is off planet already."

"Course?"

Ply considered it. "Not the Maw. "He had few ideas about retiring. But he looked down, at Fondor, stations glittering in the sun like tinsel, a place where the orphan was once, even briefly treated like a king. "Courkrus."

Coruscant, High Towers, Roehmer residence, private office, Roehmer

Roehmer's guard leaned forward curled in a ball and went to sleep.

His holo comm link activated.

"About time you showed up. Where have you been?"

"Resting. Meeting up with old friends. And you?"

"Not good. No more delays."

"Very well, But we cannot risk being on Coruscant until you need us, not now."

"I'm having dinner with Sandra next week. I'll send you the details. My security men tell me it's ideal for what we have planned. And once I have my princess, you get what you want, a charter for your own Jedi Temple on New Alderaan."

"One matter. My colleague is making me ask. After this procedure, this Sandra may become very different. The process can remove a person's…spark.. over time."

"Why tell me now?"

"Just so you do not become disappointed and decide to renege on our deal."

"Actually it sounds preferable."

Planet Parada, Llano, "The Rangelands."

Dolor Malo woke up. She wasn't sure why. But her trusty Westar-34 was already in her hand so he knew it wasn't good. Del was asleep. She left her there as he rolled out of bed. She didn't pause for shoes or a coat. She had learned that mistake during the war. She stepped out of the pit house and looked out at his spaceport. It all looked normal.

That was why she picked Parada for the location of the base. No one would ever expect the agriplanet of harboring a pirate base. And unless the local ranchers wanted their home-station strafed, they knew to avoid the lonely space pad. She was proud of all she built.

Situated on the Senex Trace hyperlane, linked to the Rindao system as well as the Bortras system, Parada was perfectly situated for striking out in three directions. When looking for an ideal pirate base, she had thought back to General Celchu and his lecture about "defense in depth" and wondered what he would say if she saw what she did with his strategy, of using strike bases instead of pouring assets into the front line. Looking for a strike base, not a choke point, or a base on the outer rim, far away from the Navy but also far away from commerce, like most pirates, she had done math and come up with Parada. Now, after four years of mid-rim raiding, during and after the Vong War, she could count herself one of the most successful, of all the pirate queens. She stretched. Her body, proud of how fit she kept it and scratched her short buzz cut. "It's a wonderful thing."

She never regretted killing her old captain and leading the mutiny that left the two hundred refugees on Coruscant for the Vong. "Who is laughing now? I am queen. I rule a planet where the people are as docile as the womback cattle."

Dolor looked on forty fine ships. "I do even need guards, just a fence to keep the ever-blasted wombacks at bay. The wombacks…wait that's it." The constant lowing of the free roaming herds in the distance was nowhere to be heard, just outback thunder to the west, and the dawn. As she scanned the horizon, she saw nothing but blue sky and light clouds, the usual good visibility. Now green-tornado sky (the outback's only drawback and why she preferred the pit house). "Why is the horizon…shaggy?" The ground began to rumble, then shake.

Del charge up the earthen steps, wrapped in saffron bedsheets, her long black hair, even more tossed than usual, wild. "Earthquake!"

Dolor grabbed her. "No! Not here! I told you!"

The womback heards were always large. But, now as Dolor looked left and right, it was wombacks as far as her eyes could see, hairy humped, and galumphing in her bases direction. Two flat triangles zipped behind and to the sides of the massive stampede, heading the thousands of one-ton, frightened hard beasts right towards the base. "T-16's! They are using T-16's to stampede them tight towards us!"

Dolor and T-16's had a history. It was on a T-16 she got dropped form fighter school. The words that condemned her to become a cargo hauler still haunted her. "If you can't shoot. We can't use you."

Someone had already hit the alarm.

She could see her crews running towards her. She knew why. They wanted the command rods. Inside the pirate ships and captures, they'd be fine. But in their shelters… Dolor looked back at the herds, Looked at the ships. She would make the closest one, hers. But not with Del grabbing on to her. She peeled her lover off. And sprinted for her Mobquet medium transport, Ricini's Daughter. Her crew followed her. The rod to the ship, like all the rods, was back in the detonite rigged vault back in her pit house, but she knew the key code for the pad beside the hatch and where a spare control rod was stashed for just such an occasion. A few taps and she, and her crew, for the Ricini's Daughter could easily hold all 194 bodies, would be safe. The problem was it was large and needed a big dust-off area, so it was parked a safe distance away. With wombacks on the way, the easy walk now seemed like miles. She hoped her long legs were up to such a sprint. She heard the fence go down and vehicles and equipment smashed. It sounded like someone spilling a whole rack of silverware. Screams. Snorting. Bellowing. "I'm not going to make it to the hatch. But the Ricini's Daughter's durasteel landing pylons were right there. She jumped and climbed.

Ten feet above the ground, rocked and shoved by the shoulders of weighty ungulates, Dolor looked around. Three of her crew had made the pylons too. She was dressed in nothing but her underwear and she was cold but she felt like she'd won. She was relieved. Her instincts had proved right again. Dolor coughed. The prairie dust the beasts kicked up was tremendous. Through the clouds of orange-brown, she saw all the shelters being torn down. A big puff indicated her pit house had collapsed. Meanwhile the pair of T-16's herded the wombacks neatly through the camp.

One pilot, dressed in the stereotypical Parada cowboy leather hat and Delian tooth necklace, paused in his flight to grace Dolor with a rude gesture. Dolor would have taken a shot, but she needed both arms and legs around the landing pylon or risk being knocked off.

The young wombacks followed their parents. Soon, the chaos, like the sounds of retreating storm or marching drum band, faded in the distance. A saffron bedsheet caught a random breeze and tumbled by.

With an eye roll to her fellow survivors, Dolor climbed down the pylon. "Damn hicks. Think the last strafing run was bad? Just you wait."

The shadow of Ricini's Daughter changed. "What?" Dolor looked up. Her ship was taking off. "That's not right. No repulsars. What's happening?" Looking down the landing pad, she realized what was happening to her ships, her fleet. A mix of landers and lifters, civilians and old military models were lifting her ships into orbit, stealing them. "Damn LOMARs."

It was then she flashed on Tycho Celchu lessons. "The first attack just put them in position for the real, second attack. Can't be Celchu. He's a fossil by now. Besides. Those ships were all civilians. Somebody in TC's command though. And I thought I was so clever."

"What now, boss?"

"Now, we get the out here before the T-16's come back."

"How?" the Devonian, who Dolor did not know well, waved his arms at the wreckage that was once a pretty neat landing pad.

"You let me worry about that. A good pirate always has an escape plan."

"Where to then?"

"Courkrus. I got money. Best place in the galaxy to start up a new gang."

Coruscant, Quey Flats, Lascivious Skink, Viraxo Residence Lascivious Skink checked the address. Until he started sifting off world records, he had never realized the reach of the Vong destructions. Sure was part of the evacuation of Coruscant, but in the old days, he could have found the weak link in Alderaan's supply lines in one eighth the time. He knocked on the flat's. He waved at the camera. A man, buzzcut blonde, a nose that been broken a few times, white, straight teeth and an eye that sized up Skink in a second. He needed a shave, a clean tank top and the judging by the living behind him, and the smell, a maid. Toys especially littered the area. On the other hand, the DCC Defender (short barrel version) leveled at Skink's chest was clean. He could even smell the fresh oil. "What do you want?" "I am not a bill collector. Just the opposite. I'm offering you a job." "Don't need a job. I've got my own ship." "I know and one of the rare permits to trade with New Alderaan. Question is why are you stuck here?" "Come in. The reason… reasons, are at school right now. You from the government? Because I really need…" Skink cut him off there. "No. And frankly there are two trillion refugees in line ahead of you. The Alliance thinks to are rather fortunate, all things considered. Me on the other hand, I know you need help. Lost your wife to the War. No relatives to help out. You lost them to the war too. And it's not like you can raise two girls while you are on the road." The middle aged cargo pilot, swatted toys and a lazy dagget off the sofa. "Have a seat." Lascivious Skink mentally held his nose and did so. Then he noticed Cal Viraxo still stood, still pointed and he Skink wondered if his profiler had made her first mistake. "I've met guys like you before, see the name Viraxo and your think I'm a shady type. I'm not a criminal. I don't beat my wife. And I'm not my old man." "Then why…?" "I was raised by my grandparents. If you really knew what you were doing, you'd know I was a civilian." "Never said you weren't. I'm just representing some clients from New Alderaan who asked for help getting some rare imports." "So? I'm doing business with New Alderaan because I have to, not because I like it and I have all the cargo I can handle and then some." "My profiler was right after all. You got that right. If you don't used your permit in the next fourteen days, you will lose your contract. Hey. I get it. We, yes I said we, fought the Vong. And what did New Alderaan do? Hide and by the blood of our people they were kept safe." "Damn straight. And the Bothans too." "Agreed." Skink did not need to fake his ire for that comment. He had scores to settle with the "cheating Bothans" going way back. 'But a Being has to make a living." Cal Viraxo lowered his blaster. "I can't leave my girls. Can't take them on the road." "Why not? Plenty of transport captains do." Skink saw it then, the bone weariness of a man who lost the love of his life, in pain that he thinks will never end, and wants to just blow his brains out but he has his daughters to think of. "Profiler was right after all." "A YT-100 is no place to raise a family. Not alone anyway." "Suppose I offer you the helm of YT-1300p? The Nubians can't give them away right now." "Yeah. That would work. They have the mandibles for pushing cargo and I have compatible cargo pods. So what's you company?" "No company." "Lease?" "No lease. The ship will be yours. Title free and clear. I have a friend at the Trade Union, you see and we've arranged…" "I know what you've arranged. A sweetheart loan in exchange for transporting rare things to Alderaan gratis." "Ah! I do appreciate someone who speaks the Old Tongue. Yes. Gratis. Nothing big. The compartments in the 1300p should do well. The profit from the cargo pods attached to the mandibles will be all yours." "Uh-huh. And when I pay off the ship with your "rare" cargo, you'll just let me walk away? My granduncle practically invented that scam." "How could I stop you? Seriously, I'm betting that once you finally get your daughters a normal life, out of this, frankly, hell hole, it will be hard to stop. Alderaan will eventually open up. There will be competition, except for the rare items you bring. We'll see to that. Guaranteed income, no scrabbling for contracts. How about that, a nice steady income? That's not common in the transport biz. And no undercutting the other transports for starvation wages. Wouldn't that be nice for once?" Skink saw the man sag. "Won't work. Security is screwed down tight. I show up in a shiny new Nubian transport? Security will smell something fishy right away." "I've won. Now he's looking for an excuse to refuse. But he doesn't know my profiler. We thought of that. You will have to cash in your YT-100 of course, but with your permit as collateral, the loan will not be too conspicuous. Many of your fellow pilots are doing the same, just at MUCH higher rates. War inflation, you know." "What's the catch, besides the obvious?" "Catches. The traditional smuggler three. You moonlight. You tell us up front and we get a third, off the top. You sample. You're fired. You skim. You are dead. And we don't touch family, ever." "The Old Rules? Damn. Do you know my family?" Skink sagged his shoulders. "I partied on the Highroller, more than once, until the buzzkill Rebels blew it up. No loaded dice. No marked cards. The game was a cheat enough. Learned a lot. So, you in?" "I…can't. It wouldn't work out. I can't be work and be a dad. Some guys can, not me. That's one of the mistakes my Old Man made. They don't have anyone else." "And here's my ace." Skink raise a droid control rod. "Open the door." Cal picked up his blaster. The monitor showed a golden droid at the door. Human female shaped, with what looked like good joints and spot-welded restraining bolt on its chest. Cal looked at Skink. "Gratis." Curious, Cal opened the door. "Hello?" Is voice was female, material. "I am Eff-Eff-Bee-Seven-zero-zero-one, Parent-Child relations." "A nanny droid?" "Top of the line too. Getting her was the toughest part of this deal. You know how many…yes. I guess you do. In any case, she'll never be tired, or make a mistake, she can cook, clean, bandage boo-boos and knows how to wipe over six million forms of baby's bottoms, not that you'll need that. I think she gives singing lessons too." "Do you know how much these cost?" "I think I already explained that. Just call her 'Effie. 'What?" Cal walked around the flat in large strides, agitated, thinking. "This isn't can't be about money. I know how much 'rare' commodities cost. The ship, maybe, but this puts you so deep in the hole, there is no climbing out. Who hates New Alderaan this much?" "Muerte. You don't want to know. You in?" "Yeah. The ship, the nanny droid, the rules, yeah, sure, but once the ship is paid off, we renegotiate." "Don't push it. After the ship, we negotiate a buy out or you sell the franchise. In means in until we say you are out." "And no family." "Wouldn't dream of it. We are scoundrels but we are not scum." Skink dropped a comm on the coffee table. "We'll be in touch. Pack up." Skink looked around and sniffed. "Or maybe just leave everything here." Coruscant, Foggy Towers, residence of Etta Hartstay Hartstay buzzed Skink up. The security scan in the lobby said he was clean, no weapons, no recording devices, just a comm link but she wasn't sure what 'business' Skink wanted. She felt safe, he had been on cameras, she ushered him in. "Pardon the boxes but I am being relocated. "A promotion?" "Hardly. A space station." "A shame, after all your hard work, finally getting stationed to the Bureau of Revenue on Coruscant only to be shipped off to some cold, durasteel ring in space. "Okay, You did your homework, I did mine. What does a nightclub owner want with me?" "First answer me this. Does your new position come with a raise?" "What do you think?" "It certainly deserves some 'hardship' pay though doesn't it? I mean in lieu of a promotion, a quicker means to retirement?" "That would be nice. You have something in mind?" "A friend of mine is trying to raise his two daughters while being a freighter captain. He's not very good with…ahem.. paperwork. I was hoping, you, as Chief Assistant Revenue collector on New Alderaan Orbital Customs Station 1, could help ease his transitions through customs, you know so he could spend more time with his family." "Oh? And this extra income would have to be in excess of my expected pension and health benefits?" "Yes. and…ahem…very discrete. I have a friend in the Trade Union who is willing to set it all up. All off world. You touch nothing. Just keep your eye on his paperwork and leave the rest to the shipping company." "Just a blind eye? Yeah. It would be hard to prove." Skink smiled. "Wouldn't it be ironic that if they charged you with negligence and incompetence, and you have this…situation…to show a pattern of such. I think the Being that put you on this new assignment would have your employer shouldering the blame, no?" Etta smiled. "Let's talk how much it should charge to help this friend of yours with paperwork. Many of my colleagues moonlight helping people with taxes, you know?" "Really?" "Maybe I just helped you." "A little good faith payment? Why not?" Skink dropped the small purse next to the comm on the packing crate. "Just don't make any big purchases until you get to the station." Coruscant, Old Alderaan Tea Graden, Sandra, Roehmer. Sandra looked the stones. She sipped tea. The blisters on her hands from the hilt of the steel knives stung. She didn't mind the sensei so much, she had lightened up, for some reason. And the fighting kata more than made up for the missed dance lessons. She ached in new muscle groups which, as any dancer knew, was a good sign. Everything was going well. The Spacelanes were open. Leia was ahead in the polls. She felt, disquiet. She had been dwelling on that lately. Comparing him to the rich pretty boys who acted like it was all about getting richer. "At least Eric treats me like I have a brain in my head. But stones is so boring! I'd rather be here with Phon or at the dojo...with Phon. Damn Leia and her interfering. Everything was so clear before. No. I'm not some Princess falling for handsome knight in shining armor. Ha. Phon's no knight. He looks more like a advocate, fitter though, dances better too. We'd be dancing now, or hot rodding, or.." "Your game is off Sandra." "Sorry. Thinking about other things." "New Alderaan is lot to think about, us being the two senators." "It'll be a shame to lose such a good advocate to the govenership. Seems like I just got here and you are leaving." "Thank you, but I haven't won the election, yet. Who knows, I might lose and we can be together." Sandra flashed on Phon offering to throw away his ciizenship, his seat in the senate, everything to court her. She stood. "Excuse me I just remembered some pressing business." Sandra stormed past her chaperone, Princess Leia and her daughter Amy. She pointed one sharp finger at Leia and hissed. "This is your fault." Roehmner followed and so dumbstuck was he, he actually asked the chaperone a question. "What did I say?" "Right? I mean what girl wouldn't want to be told she's a consolation prize?" Roehmner whirled on Leia. "You'll regret that." "What? Telling you the truth? That's why I'm ahead in the polls. I'm not so weak as to surround myself with yes-beings. Spin. Spend. But I have more real friends than you will ever have." "We'll see about that." There was a message waiting for Sandra in her car. It was Phon. Her mood immediately lightened. "Sandra! My portrait oufit arrived!" He showed off the gorget. "Look very handsome Phon." Sandra remembered her father and the other Knights wearing them. "Your dad sent be another Riverman sash and a really cool knife." Sandra found she could not help but smile as she imagined bookish Phon, rubbing shoulders with her caste-brothers and cousins, who could be a real rough bunch, as transporters need to be. "Speaking of which, your dad says he wants a portrait of me 'dudded up.' I was hoping you could advise." "I'd be happy too, but all the portraitors I know are on New Alderaan." "I thought about that. Maybe Tendra could help." "Oh, I'd love to see her again. I haven't seen her since the party." "I'll give her a call." "Great. Sandra out." "You didn't tell her about giving me the sash and knife." Myri said without emotion. Phon felt like he should apologiuze but he wasn't sure why. "I'll tell her in person." Coruscant, Calrissian Residence, Penthouse Terrace, Everyone, except Han Phon arrived right on time. So when Sandra's limosine pulled in, he was waiting to open her door. Phon was dressed in an neat bespoke indigo dyed wool suit, Sandra had not seen him in it before, with the collar cut flat to fit the gorget. He had his pistol belt on, but over a smaller width, silk sash of the correct mountian-lake-under-a-clear-blue-sky hue. Sandra stood and hid her smile as Phon was quite obviously poleaxed by her sky blue robes of state, simple, one peice, ebroidered in light blue alonge the midde, and the hem of the dress and the cloak behind her. She wore a silver chain and snowy mountain silver and cermaic pendant which fell to her decountage, matching water-motif wide siver belt at her waist. Her dress discretely and regally showed every curve. Her deep-brown hair was braided and high-coiffed. Sandra broke the usual repsonse she got from every man in the room by spinning him around. The experienced stage performer. Then she could not help but fix one or two folds in the Senator of Corellia's sash. "Phon, you are looking very good! Dashing even." "I know, my tailor helped. I like the sash. It's a bit slippy but it stops the belt from cutting into me. The high waisted pants take some getting used to." Sandra took Phon in. "Who would have thought? Should not have told him he's dashing. So corny. But its true! Oh! What will people say? What are they saying already?" Phon offered his arm. Sandra took it. She could not help but 'try him on for size" the newly minted Coutier Errant and the bejweled princess. Phon felt a tug on his left arm. Sandra had stopped. "What is she doing here?" "Myri? She's my bodygaurd." "No. What is she doing wearing the livery?" "Your dad said she could. And its not like I know how to knife fight. I couldn't just throw the knife away. That's okay, right? I mean she did save your life." "I understand." Sandra smiled. "She doesn't know what the liverly means. Now we'll se who drops and gives who fifty." Myri didn't like the princess's smile. It meant Myria had miscalcualted but she didn't now how. Phon was impressed. Even he had heard of the famous portait artist Mot Nunj of Sullust. He was award winnng portraiture for Lifeform Magazine, camerabeing to the stars. Like most Sullastans, Mot, was very no-nonsense. As far Sullastans go, Skip always advised with an air car metaphor, "'Go with the flow, Phon. A windy day can have its virtues.' Come to think of it, I'm glad its not windy." Suddenly, two women took Sandra away. Myri snarled as two more tried to take her. They escorted Sandra to a high chair. Tendra and Leia were sitting on either side, getting daubed as well. "You!" Mot pointed at Phon. In the chair over there. Girls always take more time than men, unless they are Kuati! Feh." The chair was highbacked with an intricate mosaic on the back of tondells and winding vine-roses and lilac., a graden motif. The green padded top arch bent to the legs and held the panel. The spaces between the tiles were filled silver-wire and the ceramix was so glossy, Phon had to wonder if some, if not all were semi-precious stones: lapis, coral, malachite, etc. The oak was filigreed in silver. The arms and legs were turned amphora shapes and the handels ended in scrolls. The pad was the same forest green as the trim. "Wow." "Yes, wow, now sit. Good thing your suit is so simple, Hate to think what would have happened if your tailor was Devonian." Before Phon sat, the two women Myri had snarled at, tugged at his clothes and combed his hair. Then they stepped back and Phon took it as his cue to sit. And so Phon's hour long photo shoot began. It was actually hard work and he was grateful for the blunt directions of Mot. He was also impressed by Mot's use of real lenses. Phon's time shooting had taught Phone the claritiy of real glass over pixels. Then Mot look at his notes. "Wait. Where is the rifle? There is supposed to be a rifle." "I really don't think...": Phon blushed. "Was it in the news?" ""Uh, yeah." "Then we need it." Phon was afraid to move a hair's breath at that point. "Uh. Myri?" "You should be safe enough, here." She returned a moment later but let Phon assemble his laser rifle himself. Mot snorted and nodded on approval. "Hold it in your dominant hand. Butt on the ground, back straight, chin like it showed you. There!" "Now you." Mot mpointed to Myri and waved her in the shot. Before Myri could say anything the dresser and stylist swooped in to applled some touchups. Myri was embarrassed to now be forced to admit to herself she had put a little more make up on, asked her mom to bind her hair in a Correlian braid and ordered a senatorial guard uniform specifically designed for a sash, all becuase she knew Sandra would be there. Phon was oblivious, of course. But she could not fool the stylist. The manicure and pedicure (if she could see through the freshly polished black riding boots) was one thing. Any soldier took care of their feet and trigger fingers. But when the stylist attempted to comb mascara or daub lipstick on the soldier, she found her job, already done. It was the stylists examinination of the neatened eyebrow line that Myri could tell really gave her away. The stylist, a full figured middle aged woman with tan skin and impeccable lip lines (harder than people think) raised her own eyebrows and looked, a tiny bit, in Phon's direction. Then she brushed a little powder on Myri's blush and called it a day. "You. Guard. Stand to behind and to the left." ""No. She's stand to my right. I'm left handed. That would be my shield side." "Is that who I am, your sheild?" "Better than. More than. You know that. I can't wait to see these. You look awesome." Mot shurgged. "First with rifle, then without. A little more to your right. Show the dagger. Ach, zo." Myri breathe deeply, The Sullustan was very good, he depressed the plunger on the real camera in time with her breaths. He weidled his flasgun like a Jedi weiled a lightsabre. She could not stop her trembling. Remembering his words, "Oh, Phon do you know what you are doing to me? Listen to me I sound so stupid!" "Zere! All dun!" "Wait. Now, just Myri." "No way." "The Burgos' asked, remember. You don't want to disappoint them, do you?" "Oooo, dirty pool!" "I take that as a 'yes.' Relax. Our Prime Minister is paying for it all." "Fine. But no sit. A fine, fit women like you. Over here. Stand. Yes!" Mot put Sandra throguh a dozen poses. "You take direction very well! You model before, neh?" "Thank you, but no." Myri didn't tell him it was all part of her spy training with disguises. Phon looked over, the women had not taken the tissues from the collars and sipping Procesco. "What are they wating for? Hey, we have time. Let's take a picture together. Not bodygaurd and senator." Phon took off his silver gorget. It was easier off than on. He thought about taking his pistol off but then his sash would fall. "Just us!" "Okay!" Myri took off her knife. "Is that okay, Mot?" Mot checked his chronometer and his notes and shrugged. "It's you dime. You want to pay an award winning artist, like myself, for cheesy posed photographs, who am I to say no? Okay, walk toward me like you are drunk... laugh..that's it..." Myri had not had so much fun since the amusment park photo booth as a child. It was only a little while later Myri turned around and Princess Leia was there. "That's enough of that. My guests are arriving. Mot?" "Certainly, princess!" True to her word, the luxury airlimos arrived and Mot and his crew scrambled. Phon was hard pressed not to know the illustious peole who stepped out, heroes of the Rebellion and more. Admiral Ackbar, General Antilles, Cheif of State Calrissian, Ambassadors, Senators and their wives, even Grandmaster Skywalker and his son. Phon walked up to Sandra who didn't seem to be part of the pack Mot arranged on the risers. "Why are they here?" "Tendra thought that since we were booking the illustrious Mot Nunj, she could just extend his day's shooting for some good old politcal propoganda. It's a supposed ot be a photo showing how Leia will bring the galaxy to New Alderraan's doorstep." They moved the ornate chair into the middle. "That's a recreation of the Organa chair of state. Most of the time, we Alderannians prefer divans and pillows. But when we sit in one of those, we are recieving people for redress of complaints or filling requests for aid." "Expensive." "She has the money now." "You are not joining?" Sandra shook her head. "Not yet. Leia and I are on the same page with the spaceports. But the Rverman's Guild, my father and my supporters are in favor of trhe LOMARs, while she is not. If she gives in on the LOMARs, I will endorse her." "Ouch. Your dad and Leia on the other sides of the issue and you in the middle?" "Afraid so." Phon didn't like seeing Sandra frown. "Roehmer likes the LOMARs. You are not endorsing him?" "No." "Why not?" "I was afraid you'd ask that. I'd have to be an idiot not to realize his networks have been seilling fear of nobility and that's politics. It's really becuase his mother's netwroks have treated you so shamefully. You saved my life." "And Myri." "Yes, and her. I am an Alcanta for pity's sake! Saving a life is big deal, the biggest, something we do not forget. What does he expect me to do?" "Thanks." Sandra shurgged. "And his propsed budget is all smoke and mirrors." In the center, ground floor of the photo, in the noble chair, sat Leia. "So, if she conceded on my LOMARs, you'd endorse her?" "Your LOMARs?" "Yeah, they were basically my idea." "I thought Baron Clarissian..." "I just had the idea. He made them work, something I can learn. It's not enough to have an idea. You've got to know who to make it work. Well?" "If she conceded on the LOMARs, yes." "Okay." Mot was still arranging people by height and gown so Phon didn't mind approaching the Princess or her daughter. "Hi, Amy!" "Hey, Phon." "Get Chance to get to dance with you, yet?" "NO!" "His loss." "Excuse me, Princess. I could not happen to notice that your husband is not here. I think Corellia should be represented." Leia laughed. "Thanks. But Han isn't necessarily the best represenatative of he best Corellia has to offer. But if you want to join in, that would be great. It would mean you are endorsing me. Did you run this through Mary first?" "No. But I don't see the problem." Phon was always amazed by how the mother and princess could switch, in the blink of an eye to a cunning politician. "You despise, Roehmer too, eh?" "I will always be grateful to the senator for introducing me to your daughter and young Master Calrissian. But...yes. And I think you know why." "Yes, I do. As good a reason as any." She hooked a thumb. "The more the merrier. Oh! Put that gorget back on. It cost me a fortune and will play great back home." "The Gorget! Only a lady or guard can put it on." Phon looked back. Myri was standing next to Sandra the two seemed to be talking about the sashes. They both clammed up when Phon approached, and drew the gorget out of his sash. Sandra smiled. "He's going to do it! He's going to ask me to dress him, as his lady!" Myri could see it. He was walking towards Sandra, Worse, she wanted him to walk to her. "NO!" Myri's hand interceded and snatched the gorget from Phon's hand. She could see he was angry with her, the first time, ever. "Tough. Let's me get this for you, Senator." His response was clipped. "Thank you, Ms. Antilles." He spun, not looking at her. After Myri attached it around his neck, Phon tried to rescue the moment. "Is it on right, Sandra?" Behind his back, Phon could not see the two women shooting eye-lasers at each other. "Oh yes..." said Princess Sandra Alcanta-Cordona, "...it is SO on." After the photo shoot, Sandra hooked herself into Phon's left arm and drew him away from the buffet. "Phon you bad boy." "I don't know what you mean." "Once the press finds out you, the inventor of LOMARs is Leia's photo of supporters, she'll have to concede." "I would not bet on it. She's very canny." "Don't I know it!" "Where are we going?"
"Well, Mot is hobmobbing, but apparently Princess Amy is very good with a camera. I wanted one of us together, my Courtier Errant and his princess." "I don't know." "You are Riverman now. You have to obey." Phon laughed. "Okay." She walked him over to the Organa chair. "As my courtier, you stand at my right, as I sit down." Amy had watched Mot and did very good job of draping Sandra's dress. Then she took the photo and one for insurance. Last but not least, she put Mot's camera on timer and took two exposures of her on Sandra's lap, "The two princesses!" Myri was forced to watch it all, including Phon's endless stupid blushing and proud expression. Sandra knew Myri was watching. Myri tried to deny Sandra the statisfaction of knowing was fuming and she owning the feild. That night, Myri went to the bow earlier. She started the session picturing Sandra on the target and missed. Then she thought about the photo shoot with Phon did very well. "So I am weak when I am angry. And on target when I think about the man I love. The bow is right. I need to think about Phon more and worry about Sandra less. It IS all about the bow. When is Aunt Winter NOT right?" She drew her bow. "Okay. Only Phon." Senator Phon's Office, Phon, Leia Leia Organan burst into the the inner office "Phon! You ratcatcher." The stormed into the inner office. "Why didn't you warn me the LOMARs were your idea?'
It was late in the day, Phon waved the thrid shift bodygaurd, Kevin, away. "Warn you?" "When you asked to join the portrait." "Executive Calrissian is on the record supporting the LOMARs, he was in the portrait. General Antilles too." "Neither of whom are wearing an Adleraanian gorget I bought them!" "I see. Some people..." "Not people, Roehmer!" "Fine Roehmer is saying 'why is okay for me to kill kidnappers and pirates but not other civilians with LOMARs? You award me a gorget but other heroes get nothing?'" "You've been watching?" "Mary told me." Phon pulled out a packet. "We've been doing LOMARs a while now. Three big victories in the past week alone. How about you read the results? And if you still think they are not the lest lousy solution to a lousy problem..." "No." Leia waved her hand. "I've already done that. I'm standing on principle, not results. What's going to happen is this. You and I are going to hold a conference. In it, I concede on the LOMARs and you concede on my point, ending LOMARs permits after ten years. That should be enought to clean up the post-war wreckage. I am on record on saying the endlessness of the legal priacy was always my sore spot." "Suppose I don't take your deal?" "Your Prime Minister will." "Okay. You got me. I will agree. On one condition. You formerly request Senator Alcanta-Cordona to endorse your platform and election to the governership." Leia's eyes went wide. "I'd never thought I'd surprise her." Phon braced himself. Leia busted out laughing and shut the soundproofed partition double doors as she recovered. "You aren't angry?" "Just the opposite. I am proud of you. Scoop's little senator, all grown up! Scamming me on my political support photo so he could impress his sweetie by brokering her a deal." She laughed some more.

Phon's cheeks burned like with acid. "She is not 'my sweetie.'" "Whatever you say. Okay, you got yourself a deal. Sandra endorses me and we compromise on the LOMARs. I didn't enjoy an issue putting her between me and her father anyway." "You knew? It was making her miserable." "She's a big girl. She needs to learn that people can be on the other side of an issue and still work together." "Speaking for which, I can only promise myself. There is still the Baron and the Admiralty courts to consider, not to mention the Senate." Phon saw the Princess squint. "Here it comes." "This compromise, will put you up front, as the senatorial face of the LOMARs. You up for that?" "It doesn't matter if I am 'up for it.' They were my idea." "Good boy." She squinted again, then looked around. "Is Myri here?" "Steel Bow Sisterhood." "With Winter, eh? Good." "And Sandra." "Oh, that's right. How's that working out?" "Ask them." "I will." "So you are not angry?" "At being outmaneuvered? If I got angry every time that happened, I'd have a stroke. I wasn't really angry. This was theater. You'll know when I am angry. Besides, how can I be angry with your motive? You are one step closer to marrying that nice girl, am I right?" "I am not..." Leia cut him off. "Hey, kid me, kid Correllia but you can't kid the unblinking eye of the camera. You should see the same proofs I did. I think my daughter has a career in th emedia ahead of her." Steel Bow Sisterhood, Myri, Sandra, Leia, Winter Sandra was frustrated. Myri had flat out refused to recognize her place in the Riverman Caste and she was already almost as good with the folding knife as her tournament winnng brother, Tomas. But there was more. The brittleness of Sensei's earlier lessons was gone. The frustration left with her sensei giving the signal to being the kata facing the wall of mirrors. "She may have to defend Phon, someday. She may have to defend Phon, someday." Myri chanted inside her head, hoping for the "fake until you make it" moment her fellows on the late Errant Venture always bragged about. But it wasn't coming. "I see you've been practicing the kata, good. Your balance on the slashes is is good, set for quick recovery. But these are not dances. On the stabs, I want you to picture punching a handspan into the body. Quick as a serpent, out at quick as in, quicker! Don't let the knife get tangled." "Sensei. Princess Leia is at the door. She says it urgent." "Keep practicing. You may be alone, so weights only. You may have to fight when tired." Myri picked up a towel and followed the gi-wearing student. "Leave it Aunt Leia to dare to interrupt the Steel Bow Sisterhood." The student let them to Shihan Winter's office. "Must really be important." The student waited outside. Myri entered. "Wow. They really do lood like twin sisters." "Come in. Shut the door behind you." "Even sound the same." "Sit." Shihan pointed to the grass mat on the floor. Considering how sweaty she was, Myri did not object to not being offer the other chair across Shihan's desk, like her Auntie. Winter, Leia's onld bodygaird, motioned for her former trustee to speak. "This is between us. Senator Cladiua Phon has set himself in opposition to Eric Roehmer politically and personally. Han and I came into information that Roehmer, aside from the usual yellow journalism garbage likes to play with shady side of the law." "Oh, yeah, the day spas. Everyone knows that." The two elder women sighed. Leia continued. "That's the front. When you are in our business word gets out. I am talking bribery, graft, kickbacks, even blackmail and extortion. Roehmer treats crime as part of the poltical game." "Good luck trying either one on Phon." "Exactly." "So if Phon cannot be bought or threated..." Myri understood why they were talking to Phon's lead bodygaurd. "Roehmer's enemies have a bad habit of disappearing or dying under mysterious circumstances. When a man like him threatens a senator from Ixor with a fatal 'accident' word gets around." "Have you warned Phon?" "How would he react?" "Oh." "Right. Better for Phon he remain unaware. Despite recent events, his apparent harmless and naivte' suits him. Roehmer can be confident Phon is a politcal lightweight. Roehmer may just pass him over. Who knows? He could be elected to the governership and he'll be someone else's problem. Roehmer's made more enemies than he knows on New Alderaan. Unlike the others we suspect Roehmer has killed, accident or no, Senatorial Security will investiagte any injury to Phon. That is a risk Roehmer should not take." "Should?" "Unless Roehmer is thinking irrationally." That was Winter, the old agent, Myri's tutor talking. "Like if Phon turns out to be a rival for Senator Alcanta-Cordona's affections?" Myri shook her head. "It wouldn't work. I know my student. She wants to be a career senator, like you." "I repeat, he may not be thinking rationally. So, how do we take Roehmer down, save New Alderaan and Phon while we are at it?" Winter asked. "Leia?" "Yes. The Force, thank you very much. The Force is telling me we are missing something. We all have a peice to the puzzle. But we need to coordinate." "Should we alert the Jedi?" "Please. Get the boys waving all their swords around? We girls will solve this puzzle of how Roehmner thinks he can win. I know just what to do." "What?" "Have tea." Coruscant, Old Alderraan Tea Garden, Leia, Tendra, Winter, Myrim Sandra, Amy When Sandra entered she saw Leia and Amy and smiled. But then she saw Shihan and Myri around the glass table, gaurds in the distance jamming communication and scanning for listening devices, Her demeanor cooled significantly. Princess, Miss Amy, Shihan." "Relax. Have some tea." Leia offered. "This isn't an ambush. But we do need to get things out in the open."
Sandra did not sit down. "I don't think..." "That's just it. It's not about you. It's about New Alderaan. Now have a seat." Blushing, not looking in Myri's direction, Sandra sat. "We all have a stake in this game. You, Winter, Me, Amy? Alderaan is our home. Tendra is married to the man who will usher New Alderaan into the Alliance. Even Myri is River Guild now."
Sandra knew how to put on a business face. "Very well. What is so urgent?" "What do you think about Roehmer? Girl talk time. Give it to us straight." Sandra sipped and thought. "Lately? Frankly. I hate him. I always get the feeling he's trying ti 'handle' me. He used to like me for me, He just wants the perfect politcal wife He's beocme like so many other boys I dated before. Fluff. He should find somebody esle." "And as govenor of New Alderaan?" "Awful. He only wants it to suit his own ego. He's a very effective senator, but as govenor I don't think so. You are the natural choice, Princess. You've poured your life into our Homeworld. And his budget proposals are deleusional." "Right." Said Leia. "But he's fixated on you. Both Han and I have seen it." "As long as you are Senator." Added Tendra. "He has no chance." "So there would have to be a scandal. Something to remove you from office, put you in his debt, his protection." Said Winter. "Impossible." "It's not." Said Winter."I've engineered or exposed schemes like that a dozen times. Myri too."
Involuntarily, Sandra followed Winter's gesture, to Myri who shrugged. "And what scandal would bring you down. Skeletons in your closet?" "She's has none." Leia spoke. "Family a little bit, nothing that stopped her from getting elected the first time. Brother went off a bit during the war, nothing that hasn't happened in a lot of familes." "Okay. Nothing in the past. How about the present?" "Underminding what she is doing now?" "That would be the stations." Leia had an insight. "That's it. He's going to discredit the stations!" "Love having a Jedi to tea." Tendra kidded. "How would he discredit the stations?" the women were silent, pensive. It was Myri, who until then had been silent. "Drugs. He'll use someone to smuggle in drugs. Then his xenophibic accusations about outsiders, like me and Phon, will be proved true." "Hey, I am no fan of Senator Eric Roehmer but surely..." Leia was cut off by Sandra. "No. He will." Sandra folded her hands on her lap and looked down. "You know, it's flattering when one of the richest and most powerful men on a planet tells you he will stop at nothing to make you his wife. But then it comes to this." She sighed heavily. "It all fits. If my stations are proved to be importing drugs, the scandal will destroy my career. My father, as a Transporter will be suspect, even if it's not true, the taint of accusations will remain." Sandra faded, deflated.
Winter carried on. "And in comes Senator Roehmer offering everything you could hope for, keeping the scandal out of the press, even cutting off the supply of drugs. All if you only allow him to join the family." "How could I be so stupid?" "We've all been there honey." Amy hugged Sandra for Leia "The question is, 'What do we do now?'" Myri put her boots on the table. Tendra began. "My husband will be notifiied for one." "I'll aske Han to ask around the Cantina." "That won't work." Winter let Myri speak. " GA Intel, Senator Alcanta and the New Alderaan government set up some very good security. All the pilots are vetted. It won't be smuggler. It will be someone with a clean reactors, clean but desperate, or angry. Bribery and extortion will be my guess. Bribery first. Look for people who made big purchases besides cargo on the way to New Alderaan." "I confirm." Winter graced her spy-pupil with a respectful nod. Courescant, Admiralty Court, Lando, Phon, Rotta "Welcome Seignior." Said Lando. Everthing all right?"
"Yes, fine?" replied Rotta. "Why do you ask?" "The bandages and stitches." "Ah, yes." Rotta paused and considered all that Baron Calsrissan must know. "Sometimes the best lie is the truth. A rogue Jedi from the temple nearly beat me to death." That caused a stir. Lando looked grim. "Why?" "As near as can figure, she thought I stood between her and draining my neice,of all her Midichorians. You know my neice, Ahsoka Tano? Sadly, I was not up to the task. Now my neice has been stripped of her Force." "Can they DO that?" Rotta was pleased. "THAT got them distracted. Good. More worried about safety than money. Hm. Sneator Phon is not distracted. He is very angry about something. Not about the Errant Venture anyway." Landohammered the bell that served as the gavel and anvil at admiralty court. "We are hear to discuss the Errant Venture. If Seignior Rotta wants to discuss other matters, there are other courts." "Very reasonable, Baron." Rotta made sure to be the first agree. As was his usual, what a being admitted to and NOT admitted to, told him a great deal. "You have read my brief. You broke the deal." "A deal which was ruled unconstitutional." Added Phon sharply. "We entered the deal in good faith, assuming you knew what you were doing." A dig at the young, amature, senator. "If the deal was ruled unconstitutional, that is your fault, not ours." He threw young man a pallative for his embarrasment. "But that is all water thorugh the generator. We have a Star Destroyer II, more worn, thanks to you, but in certified, 'reserve' condition ready to sell." "We've seen the appraisals. It's a wreck. Ten million and that's being generous." "New Alderaan is offering twenty." "The Roehmer Family is offering twenty, you mean." Calrissan was raising the ante. He noticed Phon. "Why is he flinching? Sandra? Never knew him to mix business with personal matters before. The boy has it bad." "Ten and you get the Deysum III colony back." Said Phon. Lando was not used to being raised when he was the dealer. "Ah yes, my clients mentioned a colony on Deysum. Forutnately, they came into some other ships, so they won't need the Star Destroyer to serve as shuttle. One condition, and unfortuately this a deal breaker, they are most stubborn on this point I am afriad. Though they promise to swear alligence to the Alliance, considering they were refugees from the Empire, a de facto penal colony if you will, the citizens of Terminus wish an exemption from the Reconcilation process." "Nevertheless it was an offcial Imperial ourpost. I don't think..." Lando began. "Agreed!" Phon jumped in. "I think this requires a vote, senator. Gentlebeings?" Lando was shocked as every officer voted for the deal. "This is very bad. Deysum III a toxic cess pit but the Hutt, and that Commodore, have an ace up their sleave. Phon knows that but he's more interested in sticking it to Roehmer. I get that. But why? Tendra says Sandra hates Roehmer. There is a bigger game going on here. Sometimes I hate being the best sabacc player in the room."

Calrissian Residence, Bedroom

"Okay. Tell me what's going on with Phon and Sandra."

"Oh! Thought you would never ask. Classic love triangle. Phon, Sandra and Myri."

"Myri? Myri Antilles? His bodyguard? Does Phon know?"

"No. Not yet. Not about Myri, anyway."

"Who knows?"

"Well, Leia, of course. She and Amy are on Sandra's side. She thinks Sandra's had enough of pretty boys and there's that cousin thing. And Winter is on Myri's side but she reminds Myri of a younger self, you know. But do NOT tell her I said that.

"And you?"

"Carefully neutral, not easy I can tell you. I am on Phon's side. He like the little brother I never had."

"Anyone else?" Tendra looked down, smiled and slipped into bed without a word. "Oh, COME ON! That many?"

"Afraid so. Everyone is taking a side too. It's easier to answer who doesn't know."

"Who doesn't know?"

"Roehmer. Not yet anyway, I think. His mother is quite the Mustela."

"Not good. I've known guys like Roehmer before. They think bumping a guy off comes with the territory."

"I thought Han scared him off."

"Yeah. But off messing with Leia, not Phon."

"So we are going to have a Remnants in the Mid-Rim?"

"Yeah, but the court has a point. It's only a few thousand former Imps and Deysum III is rad waste cess-pit. They should be too busy surviving to cause trouble."

"You don't sound that confident."

"They agreed to quickly, too easily. Never a good sign." Lando slipped into bed and reached for his book.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Who are you rooting for?"

"You kidding? Neither. Poor Phon. I like Sandra but she's clearly a career senator looking to make the galaxy a better place. Great, but clearly the job comes first and I don't see that for him. Myri is family. But from what Wedge told me, she suffering classic case of burnout and rebound. She's getting help, but who knows how long that will take? Either way, poor Phon seems on course for heartbreak.

Coruscant, Delphina's, Sandra, Roehmer, Phon

"You bought the whole place out?" Sandra tapped into acting ability to sound impressed, Truth was she could name a dozen rich boys and men who tried to impress her with the same trick of buying out an exclusive restaurant. "If he only knew the most fun I had eating out was a race track!"

They sat, the Prosecco was poured. "Eric you should not have done this."

"But I am happy to." Eric saw Sandra take a deep breath, readying a big announcement. He knew the look. She had not looked him in the eyes in the limo all the way over. Her dress and hair were not meant to impress and ordinary gown and a hairstyle that she did herself. "If there had been the usual crowd here, I would have been embarrassed to be seen with her. Which was her point, I suppose. Just a minute. I have to take this. He tapped the code on his comm link. All of the guards rolled their eyes and folded to the red carpet.

Sandra watched two Jedi, judging by their lightsabres and tall human and Twi'lek wearing too much make up virtually glide into the room. Sandra was not afraid of Jedi. "Eric?"

"You made me do this."

Coruscant, Office of Sneator Claudius Phon, Phon, Myri Phon walked into the inner office whisteling, Myri close behind. He checked his messages. There was another one form Sandra, he felt he could float.
"Phon. I am sorry. But I have decided to let my dear old friend, and native Alderaanain, Senator Eric Roehmer court me. Please do not contact me again. It would be awkward. I'm sure you understand. We can still be colleagues." It was hard for Myri not to feel sorry for Phon. "Just like Lando and Tendra had predicted. She chose career. Wait. She hated the guy." "Ms. Antilles? May I have sometime alone please? Please ask Ms. Dacia and KULP to hold all my calls. Call me when it's time for Admiralty Court." "Of course, Senator. Time for a little tea and sympathy."

DEYSUM III

"Deysum III: We don't sell waste repositories. We sell peace of mind." –Deysum III advert

"I'd rather sit on a barrel of biowaste and have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion."-Deysum III Oligarch motto.

DA-42 Deysum III

How do you make your planet pollution free? Well you could tax the population to build waste facilities, impose mandatory recycling laws, enforce pollution penalties on manufacturers and put the planet before energy production. But then who would ever elect such a government to office? Especially when the opposition promises a simpler, sacrifice-free solution.

With all the subtlety of your kid shoveling the pet's poodoo into the neighbor's yard, planets have historically chosen the easier route of shipping (or dumping if you prefer) waste on Deysum III. Yep, good old Deysum III. Third World of the Deysum System. The planet's dead, been dead for centuries, (or undead, depending on who one asks). Even the Vong flew right by, so what does it matter?

The so-called citizens of Deysum are happy to dismantle your heavy metal monitors, bad Lifeday lights or simply bury you're your nastiest biorad waste deep underground and forget about it.

Heck, because it's on eighteen major spacelanes in the Mid Rim area, plenty of ships just drop out of hyperspace, jettison their biorad waste in the planetary gravity well and jet back to hyperspace without even leaving a comm number.

The result of this awful, terrible, abuse of what was once a perfectly habitable Mid Rim world? Core Planet citizens can soar though their own sparkling metropolises without having to face the reality of their "green" lifestyle. No need to face the cesium and deutronium poisoning of the groundwater, power cell disposal causes. Factories still pump out brand new powercells without the added cost of recycling. The people get cheap powercells. Everyone is happy.

So, go ahead. Ship your waste to Deysum III. The people there are happy for any work.

So what do people do on Deysum III? They just process the absolute nastiest of waste or charge fees for disposal. There is some recycling going on but the profit margin is so slim, they don't pay the workers much. It's not a prison but its close. If anyone landed on the planet they could leave. But they don't and that means they can't. That leaves the Oligarchs in charge.

The Oligarchy sits safe, in their domes behind, screens, processing units, uni-filters and shields, secure, healthy and fat. Since the Vong War, business had been brisk, selling permits to dump war surplus biorad waste and batteries on the surface, under the surface, on the moons of their dead world, in orbit, on Deysum II and IV and royalties from the patents on waste disposal technology.

The peons squat in the chemical filth or skitter in the processor gantries. They have three choices of castes. The Reds serve the needs of the Oligarchs. The Yellows process the toxic waste of planets. The Greens, the lowest, live in the waste.

The Oligarchs hold the dirty secrets of many "clean and green" planets but they do not own the planet, the Republic, the Empire, then the Alliance does. Centuries ago, the Republic, bought the planet, re-settled the beings who polluted it to begin with and then paid recyclers to settle the world, naively hoping recyclers would rejuvenate the planet.

Unfortunately, the presence of guys who get paid for waste, a.k.a. recyclers, encouraged more waste than ever to be dumped on the planet. Soon the recyclers, soon to be the Oligarchs, were overwhelmed and they learned it was much more profitable to just bury the waste than treat it.

As soon as their fortune was made, they sold their shares, left the planet and its waste behind for the next generation of oligarchs. Buy. Bury. Blast off. It was the cycle of life for the Oligarchs. Meanwhile the workers, a.k.a. peons worked below.

Today, the Oligarchs found the tables turned. Their creditors, the Alliance, have called in their chits. It was announced group of Imperials was be proprietary licensed to colonize their world. The secretary read the proposal before the planetary council. Then the old man cracked wise. "First time we've be asked to dispose of Remnant waste or shall we say Remnants AS waste?"

Soylent Gorget stood up. Short, stout, he represented the new money of Deysum III. His money was based on developing, selling and installing the various filters that made an oligarch's life on Deysum III tolerable. Then selling patented Deysum certified purifiers elsewhere. He knew they had to listen.

"Fellow Oligarchs, I say we do not fight the Remnant colony on our planet." He waited for the grumbling to die down. "I've read the colony proposal. It leaves to us to select which continent of Deysum III the Remnants inhabit." He let the word 'continent' settle in. Hard rads had cooked Deysum's oceans and seas into steam long ago. "I say we invite the Remnants to center their colony the on the old capitol of Bhopeoit, vacant now for over a two centuries. "

After the laughter died down, Legislator Nella's, old money base on leasing tracts of wasteland, stood.

"True. All the waste site leases around Bhopeoit are full, used up. The place is so hot, you could cook a spud from high orbit. The very air is a corrosive fume! They would never accept."

"Correct. Once we transmit the data, they will no doubt refuse our offer flat. Our creditors can hardly blame us. Then all we have to do is stand firm. What could we lose?" His reasoning, like his girth, was sound. The Oligarchs voted for approval with Garget's codicil. "Transmit the proposal!"

They did have to wait long. The message read. "Terminus agrees. Expect our emissaries arrival in the week. Terminus out."

The Oligarchs were unaffected. Most were sure that arrogant Imperials had once again made a grave underestimation of challenges involved. They prepared to absorb more desperate refugee scum, the Vong War had made lots of those. The Oligarchs knew waste, living or otherwise, knew it very well. The wheels of their mind turned, wondering what to do with the Imperials when they came begging.

The Echidna. dropped out of hyperspace well into the Deysum system. She detected thousands of waste containers drifting around Deysum III and IV like large asteroid rings. Marking the containers for later consumption, she drove to the third planet of the system.

Proximity alarms rang in the assembly hall. But the oligarchs were not worried. Haloxon Bot had even arranged a buffet of rare Fedorite sweetmeats. The Imperials were expected. The men and women of the Oligarchy were confident that in the unlikely scenario the Remnants did not abandon the planet right away, it would just be soon. The only thing there were curious about, and wagering on, was the equipment and people the Imperials would leave behind. Colon Legist even a pool going with dates and tonnage. But the Echidna. surprised them.

"What is it? A space station?"

"They must have transported a part of Terminus."

"But that's a ship. Not an asteroid."

"Computer. Analyze and identify."

"Ship is World Devastator Prime, designate, Echidna.."

"Impossible. All the World Devastators were destroyed at what's its home port?"

"Byss."

"That's right. Byss!"

"It's a fraud. Bet most of that is hollow.

The Echidna's memory banks downloaded the data of ancient Bhopeoit, the City of Fountains, capitol of planet, Gateway to the Outer Rim, Portal to the Core, to the molecular printers. She compared it to neighborhoods and parks to the new buried, giant pyramids of rare earth and heavy metal batteries, the lumps of acid rain dissolved marble and oxidized jagged metals and duracrete frames that remained. She dipped into the atmosphere and then retreated.

"It's retreating! It's too corrosive. We're too corrosive!"

"See? Just like the Vong."

The formerly terrified oligarchs laughed and hugged each other, not for the first time grateful to the toxic environ that repelled all competition.

The Echidna. set itself in the solar systems ring jetsam waste and fed-tractored the rings into her maw. The heavy metals and toxic brews of miles-long chemical chains found within the thousands of containers was like her ultimate fly-thru window. She gobbled them like a Puckman eats Dotz.

As she ate, the Echidna. deployed her swarms of maintenance droids to scrubbing her hull of the corrosive materials. Then she grew and deployed pallet after pallet of fitted ceramic scales, completely sealed and completely inert. The droids that cleaned, then glued them on the surface of the World Devastator. Each plate fitted to the other so tightly, air could not have squeezed between them. All the scales were blinding white.

"What is she doing?" Gorget looked at the World Devastator. "She's insulating her hull. Clever. Ceramic is would be proof against almost all corrosives. It would have to be air tight though. And you cannot really have air tight scales, not on something that big."

"You sure? The computer brain on the thing has to be pretty smart."

"Of course I'm sure. Our nasty little stew has confounded the finest environmentalists of the Alliance and alien invasion fleets. And even if she is able to armor herself, how could her innards possible survive or process any of it?"

"Forcefield bubbles?"

"What?"

"You know. They're like docking shields but for sensitive equipment. We use them in our recycling and diamond manufacturing process."

"Impossible. We use them only for small scale refining. And even then the energy cost is enormous."

"For that thing? They'd have to be massive!"

"Anyway. She's just sitting there. Armoring up. Any sign of the Imperials?"

"There are life signs on that thing. But they aren't answering any calls."

"I just bet they aren't. Wake me if they call or that thing manages to land."

As soon as the last plate was glued into place, the Echidna. descended. The TR's on her legs activated. She liked the new tractor-repulsar her new masters at Terminus gave her. They were vastly more powerful, flexible and energy efficient. Even after she had activated her bubble fields, she had energy to spare. Her four intakes sucked in the air, the soil, liquids and scraps of Deysum III. The Echidna's droid mind found Deysum III to be a buffet line of chemical, rare metals and exotic isotopes. The printers reeled, like an herbivore suddenly eating a whole roast beast.

'It's sucking up old Bhopeoit."

"Fat lot of good it will do it."

The dust and the hurricane of fume the city sized droid factory soon blinded all the monitors. The Oligarchs soon grew bored and returned to the "amusements" provided by their Red Peons.

Down the Echidna. went. It found so much building material, that it could leave the original mineral and PH of Bhopeoit in the soil and water. It was pleased with her new masters, Terminus. She was unhappy at first. But now the alliance made sense. Her Emperor was gone, for now, but Terminus was the next best thing. It found barrels of depleted fusion fuel. She shunted them to her Tokomak Rings, enriched them and stored them as fresh fuel globes for her future children. She missed her eldest she left behind, de-Vongifying the Vong world. She missed her youngests sent to purge the Vong and Fluties and expand the Empire.

This word would be a fine base. As she sampled, she estimated she had enough raw material for a host twice as large as that that existed from Byss, just from this planet and its dumps.

Gorget awoke and pushed the Red off of him. He rolled his body over and activated his monitor. "RB? What's the status on the World Devastator? Is it broken down yet?" RB2 was his chief security droid. The Oligarchs did not trust people. Flesh died, got sick, injured and desperate. The security droids were especially modified Darktroopers.

"No sir. In fact, satellites report there are three of them now. The new two are much smaller." RB switched over to satellite view. Gorget was originally from Coruscant but he recognized hurricanes. "WD Prime is in the eye of the largest storm. She seems to be following the Fibonacci sequence. The smaller World Devastators are generating smaller factories."

"What are the factories producing?"

"Construction droids, ma'm, by the millions."

"Any word from the Imperials?"

"No ma'am. But all interspace communication is down. It could be interference from WD Prime."

"That was one thing wrong with the security droids, they were incredibly dim. "The Imperials are jamming us, you stupid machine! Maybe I should have my ship ready. Scan space."

"There is a small fleet guarding the major approaches. The only capital ship appears to be an Interdictor Class Vessel."

Gorget felt a phantom noose around her neck tighten. And she wasn't the only one.

The council chamber had the best access to all channels so, one by one, the Oligarchs found themselves drifting in, as much for the company as for the view.

The Oligarchs had nicknamed their factory, "Fume City." The council chamber was one molded piece of especially coated transparsteel, completely inert. When in session, the Oligarch's could admire the churning bilious clouds in their sky and the unique, unnatural colors it produced.

Hour after hour, they watched with dread as more "hurricanes" of dust and fume clouded the horizon.

The Echidna. birthed World Devastators. The World Devastators birthed rolling factories. The factories built themselves into World Devastators.

Constructions droids of all shapes and sizes marched forth like ants and beetleson predators. And so on. As hurricanes expanded from a continent to a hemisphere, a pall settled on the chamber.

"Word from our seismic unit. They are eating down to the bedrock."

Someone put a counter up on a screen. Two columns, one for World Devastators, one for factories. There was only one Echidna, ever. The Oligarchs watched the numbers snowball. Someone's droid, (it had to be a droid, Deysum III was known more for keeping the stupidest members of rich families rich.) figured out the math and a clock "Countdown to Purification" appeared in the same screen.

One thing no droid noticed was that if the way the WD's spread remained consistent, Fume City would be the last place to go.

Gorget and others slept in the chamber, waiting for the dust to settle. Morning broke on the Eastern hemisphere and revealed a gleaming city, with bubbling fountains at the confluence of two sparkling rivers, flowing into a crystalline lake, as big as an inland sea.

Godet zoomed in. "Bhophaleoit! It rebuilt it!"

"Impossible!"

"Right down to the Star Sapphire Fountain! Look! A three story pillar of pure corundum." Then she heard something.

"What's that?" Her main security droid answered.

"Peons ma'am. They are cheering. They are watching this broadcast."

"Which ones are cheering? Yellows? Greens?"

"All of them ma'am."

"Even the Reds?"

"Yes, ma'am. All."

"That's gratitude for you. Reds! Clear the chamber."

"See here, Gorget, you can't just boss my Reds about."

"Fine. RB. Kill them."

RB lifted his right and left arms. A blaster popped out of his forearms and he shot Hott's two Reds at point blank range.

Hott was shocked but didn't order retaliation. They were just Red meat to him. He reacted as strongly as if a dinner guest as smashed two expensive plates. "That was rude!"

"Any other Reds want to stay?" Used to being treated as Sabbac chits in the game of Oligarchs, the Reds fled the chamber. Hoping even the harshest of masters could not blame them.

"Now what is this all about, Gorget?"

"We need to kill them all, now!"

"Who? The Imperials?"

"No, you moron. How could we possibly fight THAT?" she pointed to the screen. "I mean the Peons. Once the Imps are finished recycling this planet, we'll lose hold of the Peons. They'll have fresh air. FRESH AIR for FREE! And what do you think will do next?"

"Uh? Breathe?"

"No, you moron! They will rebel! With fresh clean air and Force forbid, clean water, what will they need us for then?"

"We have Darktroopers."

"Which they outnumber thousands to one. Only the constant threat of flooding their levels with unfiltered atmosphere has kept in line so far and our ability to do that is rapidly fading."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting we kill the peons before they rip us to pieces!"

"I'm not going to be war criminal."

"We've known this day was coming for a long time." Croesus the oldest and had been there the longest, spoke. He stayed because he liked it. He spoke so rarely everyone was shocked. "After we gas the Peon levels, the droids will toss the bodies outside, into the Retch Canyon. The bodies will melt in seconds there. No DNA will remain. I know. I tested it. Just in case, we placed strip mine explosives on the canyon walls. One destruct code will bury all evidence and then the acids in the soils will do the rest. Even teeth will be gone in a little more than a day. With any luck, that thing will recycle any remains."

"All that's left is blaming the Remnants." Gorget opened her hands. "We'll be left with a nice neat planet practically all to ourselves.

"How will we make money without workers? "

"Haven't you been following the trade journals? The Vong War has created a whole generation, desperate for any work. That machine, may have even made a fine recruiting image for us. A brand new world, robot factories, yada yada."

"The Alliance is not stupid. And when it how asks our eight hundred thousand odd workers are dead but we are fine?"

Croesus made a sad face, cracking it. "Dead. Killed by a terrible, terrible accident long ago. We've been getting by on droids since then. Phfft. We have the false data all ready. And do you think our new Imperial masters will care? You are too young to remember Imperial mining operations, I am not. Besides, even if we are, somehow found guilty, the worst the Alliance will give us is the Reconciliation Process. If Kuati can pass, we certainly can."

"Makes sense."

"I don't think we have a choice."

"Being a live War Criminal beats being a dead Oligarch."

"Then it's agreed. Croesus?"

"Gassing is the work of a moment. The real time expense will be making sure data is altered properly. Maybe an hour?"

"At the exponential rate they are gaining?"

"Would you rather GA Security find the one holo recording what we are about to do?"

"An hour it is."

"Prepare the security droids to round up stragglers on our level. No witnesses."

"I will miss my little harem. It took years to train them. Oh well."

So rapt were they with the countdown to destruction, no one noticed the device affixed like a barnacle below the lip of chamber's dome. It stuck transparent listening device, only as big as an infant's hand to the glass.

Meanwhile, on board the Honor, in geosynchronous with Fume City, Commodore Sil Sorran could not hide his disgust. "Cowards."

"They aren't kidding about the corrosive pollutant in the atmosphere sir. Our probe droid is already glitching and it's our extreme environ variant."

"It never ceases to amaze me how the Alliance can claim the moral high ground yet allow governments like this to exist."

"What do we do, sir?"

"Do? Why save the citizens and kill the oligarchs? General?"

"Sir, the Echidna, with her legion of droid Dancertroopers, could easily overwhelm the Settlement Domes. But not in time to stop the voiding of atmosphere."

"Agreed. And the citizens need to see our faces when they are rescued. Electronics Warfare Officer? Can we hack the Oligarch's Darktroopers?"

"They still have their original Imperial comm units. But their higher functions are secured against another Oligarch overriding the system. Good too. I can't slice into their command codes in the in the time I have, sir."

"Pity. We could order them to slaughter them all and end it quickly."

GO01 bumped the Commodore's shoulder. Sorran wondered what it was about. Then his train of thought was interrupted.

"Commodore? The assault shuttles are launching."

"Inform them to expect droid filled Darktroopers, battalion strength."

"Commodore? What are we going to do?'"

Sorran sat down and closed his eyes.

"Commodore what's the plan? General Pompey and two transports are on the way. We've got poison gas and a hostage situation. We aren't ready. "

Sorran waved the lieutenant words away like he was waving away a fly trying to land on his nose. "Everything is ready if our minds are. Let's see. We want the gratitude of the workers. We need to stop the gas from killing them all. The Oligarchs have about a battalion of Darktroopers." Sorran opened his eyes. "Lieutenant. You can you hack the factory's operating systems?"

The officers hands flew. "Yes, sir. Their OS has to be twice as old as me."

"I thought so. Factory systems OS are often old, why change what works? Hack it. They should have a positive air pressure system, simple fans pushing the air outwards, keeping any leaks from seeping in.

The simplest way to flood the Red, Yellow and Green levels would be to turn on the open the hatches. I want control of the AC system.

When the Oligarchs try to trigger the kill. Don't let them. First, I want you playing our recording of the Oligarchs on the Domes' PA system.

After two plays, THEN let open the hatches. Allow the Oligarchs to think they are controlling the gas. Meanwhile, keep positive atmosphere pressure. Not gas to kill enough to kill but enough to scare. Please tell General Pompey to stand by. Lieutenant, Can you patch us into the factory cameras?

"Yes, sir. Switching now."

Sorran watched with interest as the people watched the video of the Oligarchs planning their mass murder. When the tape was done twice Sorran ordered the gas to be let in. "Commander, Please tell General Pompey to commence with the landing. "Use of Mark I's is authorized." He rubbed his forehead. 'The Darktroopers will hurt." GO01 Bumped his elbow again.

"Captain Ai? Your droid's object avoidance systems are off."

"Can't be, sir. I had him completely recalibrated after we downloaded Lord Vader's OS and the Emperor's command codes into it."

"Oh! That's what you were trying to tell me. Lieutenant, patch GO01 in. This could be easy after all. How are the people doing?"

"IR shows them moving to the center. The Oligarchs sent a Darktrooper outside to blast our probedroid."

"Pity. Use your hack. Transfer communications to their own antennae array. Uplink with the Honor."

"Already done, sir. Their comm is ours." He showed the council chamber. The robed ones were running around and shouting.

"Good lad. Mute that please. Nothing they say can change things now."

GO01 made a happy chirp. Words flashed along a display. "All Deysum III Darktroopers are now slave to the service of the Empire. Hail the Empire!"

"Hail the Empire. Now, GO01, if you would be so kind. Order the Darktroopers in the Council Chamber to beat the Oligarchs senseless. Then order the rest to report to storage and stand down."

"Chirp!"

"There's a good droid."

The Darktroopers punched their former masters in the gut, grabbed their wrists and began to throw them around the room.

"Not kill them, sir?"

"Oh, goodness no. These people need a vent of revenge. Denied the Oligarchs, they may turn on us."

The Oligarchs began to scream and yell, much like the Peons below. "Oh. That reminds me. Shut hatches. Clean the air. Notify the Peons that the Terminus has rescued them from the perfidy of the Oligarchs." A large body flew across a council chamber camera. "OH, and pipe these images to them. Inform them the Darktroopers are under our command now and we wish our fellow citizens of Delsym III all the best."

Gratitude was something Sorran was unaccustomed to. Vengeance on the other hand…

The mob screamed up. Sorran stood on the gantry. Below him, on the metal stairs and lower gantries, stood row upon row of glittering Stormtroopers. On the factory floor, now flushed of the foot deep waste that pitted it's duracrete surface, the mob chanted.

"Jus-tice! Jus-tice!" they chanted, fist pumping the air.

The battered and bruised Oligarch swayed on a movable scissor lift scaffold in front of Sorran. GO01 floated above Sorran behind and between him and General Pompey. GO01 piped the conversation into the PA system.

"Mercy my lord!" Gorget was on his knees.

"You will stand trial as per Imperial Law."

"Give us the others!" Shouted the mob. "We want their families!" And "Give us the Reds! The Reds!"

Sorran hesitated. "No. The children and the Reds will be safe. The children were blameless and the Reds were as much slaves as you." The mob screamed for blood and surged forward. "Troopers!" The blasters, on stun, squawked.

"That wasn't popular." Beth whispered in his right ear.

"Since when did the Empire cared about what was…ahem…popular?"

"And it wasn't what the Presidium planned." Now it was his wife, whispering in his left.

"They picked the wrong officer for this job. This…culling they ordered reminds me too much of the camps when I was handed over by a similar mob. You don't look surprised."

"I know the man I married. Good thing the men and women respect you."

"Sir." General Pompey was clearly uncomfortable with the change of orders. "What do we tell the Presidium? The orders clearly stated we were to ingratiate ourselves with the locals."

"And we will. But appealing to lawlessness is a terrible idea. These Yellows and Greens cannot get the idea that they can demand mob justice whenever it suits them. That's a terrible way to start an administration, don't you think?"

Pompei nodded. A career military man, he knew the value of establishing discipline.

"And while we're at it, we can show them that Imperial justice is swift."

"Commander, collar the oligarchs for now. Confine them to the brig. Post a heavy guard. Once the Yellows and Green have calmed down, inform them they can enter testimony into the nearest terminals. Lieutenant. Set up a data bank for that purpose. Where is that Red fellow?"

"Here! My lord."

"Commodore will do. Encourage your Red people to enter testimony too. I think it will a long way to assuaging the hatred of those people down there if they know the deplorable details of your slavery.

Oh and let everyone know that I was once a slave too." The Red's eyes went wide. "Oh yes. I know the lash very well, but I will not tolerate rioting on my watch."

The Commodore looked down. "Your caste will exist as long as you prove useful. "

"We will?"

"Yes, for the time being, you Reds will serve as civil servants. That should keep you safe until things calm down. The Greens and Yellows will be farmers and craftsmen and above you in rank."

Gorget tried to stifle her spontaneous laugh and failed. Sorran looked down on the woman. "Yes, farmers. You will see." He straightened up with pride. "You will all see, the might of true sons and daughters of the Empire! Raise the blast shields!"

Gorget looked out the window. It wasn't glass but a checkerboard of foot thick mica. World Rejuvenators churned up clouds of soot and ash spotted with drops that glowed. He had to admit, the machines were pretty in their own way, shielded in white ceramic scales, like the Dragons of myth, molecular furnaces flaring in in their maws and feet.

"Well, Mister Red, what do you make of it?"

"It's amazing and…"

"And?"

"And I think I better get used to being called 'Mister.'"

"What are we going to do?" Felix Chaff hissed. "They took my tower!"

"They took all out towers! The first thing you are going to do is count your blessings! They could have turned us over to the mob."

"Only because we know how things work!"

"And let's keep it that way! This Sorran…this Sorran …oh, he's very clever. He knows his Troopers are the only thing standing between us and the Peons. "

"The Peons! Hah! Our Darktrooper droids would have taken care of them as always. I cannot believe they found my backdoor commands. Just get me to a comm panel."

"Have you looked outside? Machines as big as cities! Talk sense."

"It's a wise man who knows when the wind changes."

"Listen to the Croesus. We've survived this long by being flexible. We bend with this wind or we break." More silence. "Besides, we are still better off than the Peons. We will build other towers, not as high but higher than the Peons."

"Are you sure?"

"The Peons have always wanted land. The Imperials want space."

"What do we get?"

"Fool. It is our land. The Alliance is guaranteed it, if only to keep their waste and now that it is farmland, we still own it. Even if he ships us off to Coruscant to stand trial, we still own it!"

"Yes. The Alliance is on our side. And the Peons?"

"Renters."

The Oligarchs "Ahhed" as one."

"Clever. This is indeed our land, Chartered by the Alliance. True, its fertile now. The Peons will need capital to start their farms, we make them loans…." He opened his hands. "and soon they will once again owe us their souls."

"Then it is agreed. We welcome the Remnant. We will allow the Peons to rent the new soil and we switch back to an agrarian economy with an eye to debt slavery."

"Croesus, you are a genius."

"Try picking up a history book once in a while."

The Oligarchs were cheered by the fact the Stormtroopers allowed them to go to their residences and dress for the trial. An old hanger had been set up for the trial. There was a raised platform for the courtroom and large screens to transmit the results.

The Oligarchs came in a side door to the left of the platform and a roar rose up. The voices rose as one, in time, like a wave but it had none of a waves smoothness, it was like a skyscrapers glass hitting pavement or a transport load of silverware spilling on a road. Gorget had gotten the hand of the hobble and cuff chains so she risked a glance to his left. Behind the line of Stormtroopers stood the mob; yellows and greens still filthy, still dressed in faded jumpsuits, stained with excrement.

The oligarchs were marched up. They were positioned at obtuse angles to tribunal table, so the audience could see both the Imperials and the oligarchs. His spot was marked with gaffer's tape.

Garget's silk robes and jewelry caused Gorget to curse Sorran. "The dress and wash was a trick! Would have better for us if we looked like victims of Imperial oppression too."

Sorran tapped the bell for order. The crowd still roared. Sorran spoke into his throat mike. The line of Stormtroopers, as one, leveled their blasters and stomped their right foot. The mob shied back and silenced.

"That's better. Oligarchs of Deysum III you have been found guilty by a tribunal of judges of the crime of attempted genocide."

"I object!" Dare Gorget. "We haven't had a defense."

"Defense? What defense could you have for this?" The screen above the Tribunals head flashed on. Its showed the film of the discussion of gassing the Peons. This time it was a new perspective, the chamber's own recording. The crowd hushed. Murmurs gone as the Oligarchs ate, drank and make jokes while Croesus organized the gassing.

"Altered images!" shouted Gorget. "Faked by Imperial intelligence agents!"

"And these?" The image changed to a scrolling image of files. "Thousands, hundreds of thousands of testimonies of millions of crimes."

"You exaggerate!"

"You may have a point there. The Red, Green and Yellow data banks filled up in only 36 hours. While you have been under house arrest, these citizens have been listening to nonstop testimony.

Some of the testimony is so shocking, especially the Reds, we've had to block children from viewing it and blur the images.

Rape, murder, torture, slavery, biological experimentation, forced body alteration, the list goes on and on. And then there is mass murder both real and attempted."

"I for one have never murdered groups of people!"

"And what's the difference between murdering a population by a blaster or pollution? The infant death rate alone is obscene."

"The Death Penalty is illegal in the Alliance!"

"Normally, we'd be happy to hand you over to the Alliance and be done with you. But your crimes are so heinous, we just could not bear it. Under the Old Imperial Code of Bronze, we sentence you to the gauntlet, fustarium, in the Old Tongue. Behind us is one of your filthy yachts. 50 people you injured, were chosen at random and given yard long carbon fiber rods. Each rod is no bigger in diameter than a centurion's thumb. You will run the gauntlet. We'll let the people decide how much punishment you deserve."

"And if we make it to the yacht we're free?"

"Oh, no. If you make it you will spend the rest of your lives in the penal colony of Terminus. May the Force have mercy on you because Terminus won't."

"Terminus? I might as well lie down and let them beat me to death!"

"That is an option. Frankly, it's better than you deserve. You disgust me." Centurion. Drag these Things to the gauntlet."

"Wait. I can pay you!"

"Alliance law says we can have a lawyer."

"You did have a lawyer. A Red. He pleaded you all guilty."

"NO! This can't be happening!"

"Oh it is. In fact, right now, we are filing extradition proceedings for the rest of the old oligarchs. Those people have a lot of gauntlets to look forward too and if we have anything to say about it, they are going to get them!" The mob cheered.

"Now I get it." Gorget sneered. "You are ingratiating yourselves on our blood."

Sorran ignored the accusation. "And all your assets are forfeit, put into a scholarship and health fund for the people you poisoned."

"I demand to see my ambassador. No! My Senator!"

"Anyone still on the platform by the time I count four will be stunned and thrown into the gallery. I suggest you get running. One."

Coruscant, Senate Justice Committee

"They threw the rulers to the mob!" shouted one of the three indignant Senators of Deysum III."

"I saw the tapes. They got a fair, if unconventional trial."

"And the fustarium?"

"Still on the books as a legal, local, punishment."

"The senate will not sit still for this!"

"You know what I'm not happy about? I'm not happy that such a depraved, criminal system of government was allowed to exist in my Alliance simply because we could not manage our waste. Frankly, I'm ashamed. You should be too."

"Once they see the courtroom transmissions, you will have no support in the Senate. The Holofeed are already calling Sorran 'a breath a fresh air.' If you like puns."

"In any case the current, democratically elected government of Deysum III carried out the sentencing under its local jurisdiction. You can expect your replacements to arrive in the week."

"If I were you, I wouldn't waste my time with worthless protests. One hour reading the damning testimony and all your protests will fall on ears as deaf as mine. Your time would be better spent packing for some Outer Rim world with no extradition treaty. Now get out before I have you thrown out."

Coruscant, Calrissian Residence, Lando, Tendra

"How's it going, honey?"

"Not good. I don't want to involve myself in local governments but have you seen the media? How could we have allow the Oligarchs to exist?"

"Deysum III? I'd say your biggest problem is the World Devastator and Sorran."

"Humph. Intel reports that except for the Echidna., the WD's have no weapons at all. No Darktroopers or fighters either. Not saying that it couldn't change but intelligence says the ships are set up for tractor beam efficiency, not fields of fire. Nothing more than huge recycling plant. We even own and operate an old one as a recycling plant, remember?"

"I remember. It's Sorran I'm worried about. He's not playing Sabbac. He's playing stones, one thing setting up another. Deysum III is small spuds."

"The long game, huh? Yeah. I'll buy that. But what does he want?" His wife was silent. "What?"

"I just get this feeling, there's a game going on that we cannot see. Like my grandpa used to say, it's time to keep our eyes clear and our powder dry."

DA-42: Q: How do you stop a Trandoshan from smelling? A: Cut off his nose.

"Sir, have you seen Deysum IV?"

"Should I?"

"Look, sir. Nothing but junk. The whole surface is covered with wrecks of ships. No life on it before. A whole planet of wrecked ships!"

"It is our salvage yard." Gorget spoke. "We have droids…searching for parts. It's perfect for you, if I may say."

"Tell me more." Said Beth.

"Our whole system…we have separated the waste form the junk from the trash from the…"

"You knew! You knew all long!" she grinned from ear to ear.

Mrs. Sorran hugged her husband and bragged for him. "Of course we knew!"

"Centurion, order the Devourers…I mean the "Rejuvenators" to construct orbiting and free space depository stations. Even with our conquest, waste is still arriving every day. "

Nal Hutta Space, Neutral System, Han, Ahsoka, Rotta

Ahsoka asked. "So much for New Alderaan. What now? We pose as bodyguards?" she fingered her DT-12.

"That's not the way it works. Deception in the Hutt world has more layers than the rings of Cerebos. They know who we are, anything else is laughable.

It's all about guarantees, protection and vouchsafes. To gain entrance to the Hutt Family Council, Rotta finds a sponsor. In this case, he's under the protection of the Zolamines. Don Zolamines speaks for Rotta. We shut up. The deal is done he vouchsafes us a safe exit."

"To a certain point."

"Yeah. Up to a certain point."

"Is this Don Zolamines any less dangerous than any other boss?"

"Going by his reputation, more so. But his reputation is that he always offers a fair deal first, then he sticks by the deal. Jabba always spoke highly of him."

"He's that old?"

"The oldest, as far as I know. Word in the cantina is that since his heirs died in the Vong War, the fire went out of his belly. He's territory's been shrinking, gobbled up by the other families. He brokered the Hutt charter with the Alliance. Of all the Hutts he had the most influence in the world of Alliance politics. But many Hutts value independence more. He's lost tributaries."

"Which explains why we run to him. He's weak enough to want our money."

"Any port in a storm, Shoka. We should be safe from those Sith here."

"They are not Sith."

"But you said…"

"They are still Jedi, just sick."

"Speaking of which…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine by me. While you were getting acquainted with that old blaster of the Greedo's, Rotta set up a meeting of the Five Hutt Families."

"What for?"

"Whatever it is, its big. And since his other bodyguards are dead…"

"Have you told him you killed them yet?"

"Why ruin a good time?"

Rotta passed a tray around the table, on it lay a half dozen Stygian gems of the first water. Each Hutt boss took one, examined it and passed it to a flunky. Then bolts of shimmering white silk were carried to each one. The Hutts seemed fascinated by the silk more than the stygian gems which surprised her.

Ahsoka examined the bosses. Each was corpulent. All were draped in golden mussel-beard silk brocade togas. The amount of wood in the chamber impressed her too. Real wood was expensive, especially in space. But the chamber was paneled in warm deeply finished and polished walnut. The conference table was of a hard wood she had not seen before. It was actually made up of several smaller tables on articulated, swiveling arms, allowing each boss to pull or push it to him or her for just the right height and distance. The armatures were wood as well. The couches were leafed in gold with scarlet padding. Three of the five Hutts, not the one at the head of the table, nor Zolamines' had waterfrog hookahs at their side, puffing away.

The Leader, Don Baksheesh spoke. "So, young Rotta has a proposal for the five families. Don Jabba was a valuable member of the Outer Court so when his heir calls of a meeting, respect must be paid. Don Zolamines you vouch that this young Hutt will be spending our time wisely? You sponsor this young Hutt?"

"Yes, Don Baksheesh. And with your permission and the permission of all these glorious Hutt families, I would like young Rotta to speak as he has a greater command of the situation." He handed it over to Rotta.

With a comm link, Rotta began his slide presentation.

Han swallowed a groan of boredom. "He's an advocate all right."

"Nar Hutta. Jewel in space." The image was one of a mossy green and muddy brown. The Hutts sighed in nostalgia. "Continents of beautiful swamps." Slide. "Now Vongiformed." The greenish brown planet now appeared orange and rusty brown, like a scab. The Hutt's shuffled and growled. "Terraforming is proceeding but it is tedious and expensive. I have recently been in contact with a group of people who are willing to accelerate our Terraforming. They promise to return Nar Hutta to pristine, pre-settlement state in only ten standard weeks."

One Hutt with a hookah, Don Lucca, laughed. "If a deal sounds too good to be true, young Hutt…" he let the axiom drop.

"I didn't believe it either. But look. This is a Vongiformed world my clients recently subdued. Before terraforming. These are unretouched recon photos." The planet looked even more scabrous than Nar Hutta. "After only three standard months of terraforming. A blue world covered in two thirds water ices caps and dozens of biomes."

"A trick!" said another one, Donna Fabrizia, a female Hutt marked a celadon blue tear waterfall tattoo that spilled from her left eyebrow down to her tail.

The table was silent.

Zolamines was unfazed by the outburst. "Would anyone be so stupid as to think they could trick the Five Families? Or me?"

"I meant no disrespect, Don Zolamines' I was just taken aback."

"Of course. Please continue, Rotta."

"I thought it was trick at first, too. Then they showed me this." Slide. "The World Devastator Prime, the Echidna.. Fully functional."

Ahsoka noticed Han Solo broke out into a sweat.

"Don Zolamines' is this true?"

"I would not have bothered this august body if all this had not been independently verified. The numbers are on you datapads now." The meeting took a break as the flunkies handed datapads to their masters.

"Humph. It appears in order. The cost?"

"Senatorial backing in acquiring Deysum III."

"Ah." The Hutt's nodded.

"Guarantees? A ship of that power could conquer and hold Nar Hutta once it was recreated. "

"Terminus has barely 500,000 Beings. Still, they have offered hostages or a coffer of stygian gems held in escrow. "

"A whole coffer!"

"We could buy another Nar Hutta for that."

"Two."

"So much for the Jewel of the Universe?" Ahsoka muttered.

"Don Zolamines'?"

"I have been in contact with one of their leaders, Commodore Sil Sorran. He is a serious man, worth taking seriously. He had everything to gain by going through with the deal and everything to lose by breaking it.

I say making an accommodation of ten weeks is against an early chance to return to our world is worth the risk. The gems will make sure we can all wet our beaks should something unfortunate happen.

Most importantly, it is nearly impossible to raise the next generation in the belly of a cruiser." The Hutts nodded. "We need real lakes, swamps and seas. Spawn? They come and they go, but we owe it to our ancestors to give them the same chance we received."

One by one the Hutts made similar pontifications and then the escrow and such were worked out. Ahsoka reached out with the Force and felt nothing. "This is what everyone has to live with all the time?" She felt like a chef who lost the sense of smell and taste and had to go by sight alone.

"That went better than I expected." Ahsoka was cheery even though she still felt hollow.

Solo looked surprised. "They are going to kill us."

"But they agreed."

"Too easily, too quickly." Added Rotta. "They didn't haggle for more gems or silk. An insult. Either they think I am stupid or I have no choice to go through with my client's deal. In either case, they plan on killing me and taking my shares of the heist. They want me to believe it's Fabrizia. My sources tell me she's pushing for more spawning grounds. Fabrizia is a thug. It's Baksheesh. It was always Baksheesh. The Heist, the gems, everything." Said Zolamines

"Of course!" Rotta looked at the old Hutt with awe. "It would be simple matter to let the data slip to Talon Karrde. The Echidna?"

"That explains why he wasn't impressed with the stygian gems. He expected them. Not the spider silk."

"I am glad you came along. I needed to see these bosses together, how they interacted. Now I know. Baksheesh thinks himself clever. He has let Fabrizia place her men in key positions in the reclamation process, let her show me disrespect at his table, play me for the old fool. Only when it's too late, when Fabrizia is invested, will she find out it was Baksheesh pulling her strings all along. Nar Hutta is being terraformed to give her certain advantages. But her lands will be Baksheesh.

This World Devastator is a pebble in his bowels, as are we. It will Terraform Nar Hutta back to its original state, the old borderlines will be back. His land grab will be pruned short."

"Why didn't you warn me before, Don Zolamines?"

The old Hutt smiled. "And I was going to stop you? You are a grown Hutt. If you don't know the risks, you should get out of our business. Neh?" Rotta blushed. "Besides, you are only used to fooling magistrates and senators. You could never fool the Families. So I needed you honest. No matter. It is good this issue is forced. What I did not know, until this moment was that it was Baksheesh mooching my territory all along."

"I don't feel like living on world designed by Don Baksheesh. I refuse to live my life by kissing some other being's tail, fellow Hutt or no."

"If he's going to strike, it's going to be before the Echidna. arrives. Then he gets the gems. Nar Hutta. Everything." Solo added his two cents as he scanned the passageway.

"Argh! I was so stupid! I didn't imagine any Hutt would not want our Homeworld rebuilt for free!"

Don Zolamines' patted Rotta. "When you are as old as I am, the grasping shortsightedness of some people will not surprise you. Never mind. The matter is already taken care of. This jostling for spawning grounds is foolish. Baksheesh or Fabrizia forget that all Hutts are invested. If we start seeking advantage now, no one will be left alive.

As much as it pains me to admit it, repopulating Nal Hutta is the one time we must play…fair." Don Zolamines rolled his tongue after the last word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "I have Hutts in position. Hutts who don't want to beg for table scraps. And now that I know its Baksheesh behind Fabrizia…How long until the Echidna. arrives?"

"Three days."

"In three days all debts will be paid."

Don Cuneo entered his private lift from his Deathstick factory. Personal attention to his trade was always a hallmark of his business. The personal elevator was armored with foot thick armor glass magnetically sealed doors. It was a secret lift, exiting in the garage for his own personal transport.

The lift appeared at the space dock. His four guards waited. Suddenly, they were cut down in a hail of RPG blaster fire. Before Cuneo hit the emergency button his lift went dark, its power cut.

The binary load lifter heaved into view and used its armatures, two enormous beam-vices to rip the entire lift from its moorings. Cuneo's bodyguards drew their weapons, until this Huttish master waved away back into their holsters. "Be easy! This glass is pure crytosis weave, a lightsaber could not penetrate it! We even have a rebreather so air is not a problem. An alarm signal has been sent. An armed transport is on the way."

"My comm link is jammed."

"Of course it is. Ha. The signaler is in the shaft."

A cargo transport pulled up and the loadlifter shoved the polygonal lift into the transport's cargo area.

"Oh, well, a simple kidnapping then." Cueno went through his pouches, planning an escape. "How much is this going to cost me?" Then the blinding light hit. The cargo bed was covered in solar lamps. He could feel their radiant heat on his skin immediately. The lift had become a greenhouse. In one minute the ambient temperature reached 80 degrees Celsius. "The troops will already be here. They don't know which one I'm in!" The Don had already noted the transport looked just like any other in the hanger, loaded with deathsticks ready for export, all the containers would be expected to be magnetically sealed.

He slammed his girth against the welds and bolts as the temperature rose. He recalled discussing the lift with his engineer. It was bombproof, blaster and laser proof. And the Terminus crystal was supposed to safely allow him see what was going on. The welds would take a fusion cutter. The air was getting heavy with moisture, moisture extruded from his carapace and his bodyguards pours. "They are baking us to death!"

"This is restricted loading area. No one is permitted to simply park in front of the Coruscant City Hall."

"See the diplomatic plates, pal? We have clearance."

"See the sign? It reads, 'No Parking.' Not 'No parking except for diplomats.' Now move it."

"You know who I work for? I ain't moving it."

"Move it or I'm writing you up."

"Then write me up, 'cuz I'm more afraid of my boss than some Coruscant bluetail. I am staying right here, right where, he expects me."

"You got it citizen." The security guard pulled out his datapad and stylus, put his boot on the bumper and began to write up the citation.

Don Baksheesh impeccably dressed in Merino blue with gray pinstripe and his bejeweled entourage came down the stairs in an outrage. "What is this?"

The security guard kept writing.

"Sorry, boss. This guy here is being a real blockhead."

"Look here, bluetail, you see those diplomatic plates? You know who I am? I'm Don Baksheesh, chief counselor of Nal Hutta."

The security man put the citation pad back into the large pouch at his side. "A thousand pardons Don Baksheesh but we've had complaints of chauffeurs abusing the diplomatic plates for their own joy rides."

"Well no such thing is here. We are on official business."

"Very well, sir. Very sorry." He bowed. This was Don Baksheesh was used to. Baksheesh began to turn. "Oh, just one more thing, sir." The security guard, in one smooth motion, drew his KL-55 and shot the bodyguard to left and right of Baksheesh in the face, then shot the human chauffer in the throat.

Baksheesh turned his hovercouch back to City Hall. But the steps were steep and the repulsar needed time to bold momentum to climb them.

The security guard, knelt, braced his blaster on his left forearm and shot Don Baksheesh three times in the back of his head.

The Hutt stiffened. He stretched out and up, like he wanted to float higher, but a blast had severed his spine, his hand had gone limp. He fell off his couch and rolled down the marble steps, flop, flop, flop.

A high speed air car swooped in. The ersatz security guard leapt inside and the car sped away.