Coruscant is bad for the demonness in demonmen: Sorval is drinking a frangie.

"No news from Vad?"

"Not yet."

Sorval nods quite solemnly.

"We can't wait for him," he says. "Man, we really can't. Maybe he'll screw us over — maybe. I said my maybes, okay? Seriously, though — you treat him as if you've been friends since kindergarten."

"I'm a good judge of character."

"Whatever you say. But we gotta act, man. With Alnam or without him."

"We've lost a lot of momentum."

"No shit, that's what I'm saying. Now that you've sent him to his dad, there's no telling what's gonna happen next. Maybe he'll figure out somehow that we plan on keeping the thing going."

"You told me that might be what he wants us to do."

"Are we going to just sit around twiddling our thumbs based on that assumption? No! We gotta act! It's important — you know it yourself."

"It is important, but we have nothing to act on."

"So we're gonna wait for what's potentially misinformation? You know it's gonna be easier than easy for him to discredit us if we use it?"

Krev can only sigh at that. "You're right. Screwed if we do, screwed if we don't."

"Maybe. But look at it this way: we're the only guys in the picture with nothing to lose."

"Hey, what's up with that? I thought I was the defeatist here!"

"I'm not saying I don't have any aspirations or shit. I do. I want to make stuff that helps people."

"Not only that, eh?"

"Yeah. Yeah. But — my point is — this is the most important shit in our lives, man. If I don't get to build artificial arms, the Galaxy will lose a fucking great artificial arm maker, but if we don't do this — hell, it may fall into hell wholesale!"

He may be right, you know. You really thought Vad would be the solution to every problem his father had gotten you into. Time to face the truth: that's not the case.

"At least with the info you got, we can be sure," Sorval says.

"It's just stuff from the Net."

"The old man himself said they are too lazy to actually delete all the incriminating shit from it. And I mean — if you found that much just lying around free to access, who knows how much more there is they forgot to properly delete? I'm talking archives—"

"That's where I found some of it."

"-droid-only segments, crawler bases — you name it."

"Which we can't access."

"We just haven't thought about it enough."

"Maybe."

Krev's whiskey's mostly soda. It's a sad little bar.

This is the opportunity you've waited for. Gotta take it, old man — you don't know if Sorval's going to be this excited the next time around. Take him at his word while you can — or you'll be fighting your fight alone.

"Alright," he says. "You're right. I've been doing nothing for far too long. Let's put it in motion. Besides, if Vad brings us something good, we're going to already have some audience."

Sorval salutes him with his frangie. "That's the you I remember."

At home, Krev puts the HB-890 online. Someone behind the wall starts shouting as the power goes out for a second. Shit-perks of doing it in a thousand-credit apartment on Coruscant as opposed to a warehouse on Telos: the wiring is in shit condition here.

The power comes back. Try number two: the lights fill up with dimness for several seconds, then go back to normal. We're up.

He goes on the Shadow forum the two dimwits used to post on. Double-checks his connection: all good. Makes an account — thankfully, no ID is required. Then he starts a new topic under the smuggest holopicture of Count Dooku he can find: "Daily reminder that the Reps are brainwashing their clone soldiers and there's NOTHING they can do to disprove it."

Send. Done.

He makes himself some caf while waiting. Suppresses the desire to sting himself — been less than two days since the last time.

The reminder isn't so daily, of course — but the first post in months should just draw some attention more than anything else. Krev's been reading up on PR technologies lately. He has his doubts on the qualifications of the people who wrote all that shit, but at least one guy has something that looks like legit credentials. And — they all are saying you shouldn't rely on facts too much. Emotional appeal is more important. That's what Krev had thought.

A cigarette comes after cigarette before the first reply arrives. Da8998039 writes: "yes they do use leaving creatres against droids& other machienery . this could of be the bloodless war in the history but they sad no lets use living breathing creatres against us the history will judge them for this".

This is what we are dealing with here. Your guess if this guy is going to check all the information he gets and make educated decisions.

Ashleigh009 writes: "Well said, Da8997039! The hypocrisy of the Republic SHOWS. We are the most progressive state in the Galactic history, and they keep brainwashing their citizens (isn't that funny?) about how bad we are when they keep attacking us and using literal SLAVE military service."

EndOfTheWorldSurvivor's post: a picture of a swine with the CIS logo on its forehead typing at a computer. If you zoom in, you can see the pig's screen: it shows this thread.

Space_crown says: "Republic asses are still red I see... Brace yourselves, Repswines: we're coming. Soon you'll be squealing all around here how much you DON'T NEED Corellia."

A pig more — this one has a Republic tattoo. Its screen shows the CIS pig on it.

"Mmmmmmmmmm... Grievous will slice up some more Jedi (=faggots) very soon. Delicious! Say your prayers, reptards!" someone says.

Another battle picture: a large animal's ass from which Republic troopers jetpack down — each has the face of Mas Amedda. Subtitle: WARNING! REPTARD ASSAULT FORCE!

Half a dozen pigs and pigs quoting pigs later, Survivor gets banned. More reptards come to pick up his fallen banner, though. More swine follow.

Good luck getting your facts and sources in now. How did the dimwits even manage to get anything done?

"So what? They're talking about it," Sorval tells him the next weekend. He's still in this unhealthily agitated state — and Krev still can't tell if it's good or bad.

"The problem is, they don't want proof. They don't want to, you know, get into details. It's just a reason for them to hate each other — when they should be hating the people who call the shots."

"Well, not to sound like an asshole," Sorval looks out of the pub window — a hundred levels or so below monstrous garbage trucks move in endless rows, "but people generally don't feel for clones too much, so that you know. Err... at my courses, the other guys are very, you know, liberal-minded, but... And it's in the, uh, the School of Journalism. They rent the lecture room there. And a lot of other guys are actually journalists in making. I guess they already know there isn't any money in that, so they try to learn something about droid programming while it's not too late. Anyway, that's the most liberal audience you can find in the Republic. They jerk off to the Separatists — sometimes, even during the class. But I've spoken to them, you know, to a few of them about the clone army and, uh, how ethical it is. They don't care, man. They just don't care. All I got — let me tell you — was a sorta 'okay, it's shitty, but not if I don't think about it' kinda response. They view clones as not entirely sentient. I mean, have you seen how their newscasts portray them? They are, like, some higher beings. Like, completely on another level. They're never scared or perplexed or anything. I think it's actually done on purpose — so that citizens don't feel bad about them. We are not shown their emotions or something like that. They are dehumanized, pretty much. And that's — like I said — a very liberal public. All those hurrahers you talk to on the forums — they are even worse. They are happy to eat whatever the propaganda feeds them. They are happy that the clones are efficient. That's all."

"And the Seps are happy to see the Republic being shitty, but they don't want to find out the specifics. It's like it's too much for them. Like they are content with how much they hate the Republic right now."

Sorval puts an onion ring in his mouth. "Listen, listen. Why should we even care about the Seps? They're not our audience, okay?"

"That was the old man's plan. To sort of start the fire on their home base and then let it spread to the Republic one."

"That's very good and nice and all, but we see now that it's not working. The Reps mostly just come up with arguments why it's okay that the thing is done to the clones."

"I wouldn't say 'mostly.' Pretty much fucking exclusively."

"Yeah. And the reason is they don't care. How clones are treated isn't important to them. Doesn't affect their everyday life. But — we have something that does, don't we?"

Krev has thought about it, of course.

"But is it time?" he says. "I'm worried that if we pull that off now, people won't care about the old man's shenanigans later. It's too big of a topic, and I don't want him to get away with his shit."

"Well, if you put it like that... But consider this: we may not ever get anything substantial on him. Hell, he may guess when his son asks him where this is coming from. And then, we're out in the open. Bang! Bang! That's all it takes. He'll feed us something crazy that will either compromise us or tell him where we are."

"You realize he probably knows where you are, right?"

"Oh, I doubt it. There was nobody in the embassy," Sorval frowns momentarily, "to tell him I got my visa."

"You sure? I bet Fadrina also didn't flaunt her loyalties."

"You see? The old man got you. That's his best weapon — to make you believe he's stronger and smarter than he is. I'm sure he hasn't got anyone on Telos even now, let alone at the start of the year."

"And you're sure about it because..?"

"Because I don't worry too much about things I can't change. Relax. It'll be fine."

Krev pours more caf into his cup. "There's one more thing that bothers me."

"Yeah?"

"The old man told me the orders are common knowledge."

"With the old man, what it means is that he had known about it before you told him. And I wouldn't even put it past him that he heard about them from Brate first. Even if not — that means nothing. He's got connections, the old man. Somebody could've told him for old times' sake. Don't worry. Nobody really knows about the orders."

Krev smiles. "You got any statistical data to back it up? Another survey of droid builders and journalists, maybe?"

"Not gonna lie to you, I didn't go around discussing it with everybody. I don't feel like going to jail — even if it is a Coruscant jail. Let alone being deported."

"You think it would get you deported?"

"Let's say I didn't want to find out. Anyway, those in the know know about the orders. Those aren't don't. I can see it being like, if you write a formal request to your senator or something, he tells you how it is. Maybe there is some law that forces them to. But most people wouldn't even think of it, would they? I mean, how crazy is that — to imagine there are some situations when the Grand Army is authorized to behave in a not-so-grand way? Look, I'm not a Republic citizen, but at least I hadn't known about it until you told me. Not even Brate or the old man said anything to me about any orders — and I was in the thick of it, man. For most people, it's gonna be... huge. An explosion. And if they can check it with their senator — all the better."

"Makes sense."

"Man, we gotta act. People are dying every day we wait. People like Brate and people like you and me."

"Same thing."

"Right."

"Alright." Krev sighs. Not combat that's scary. "So here's the plan: we make a post. The first one, it has some more info on the Double-C — to lend it some credibility — and info on the orders."

"Nah. I say you don't mention the old stuff at all. It will look as if you're getting in on the act."

"Who's gonna believe it otherwise?"

"Come on. They believed the brain-cutting thing, didn't they? Not like we had any real proof of that. Some circumstantial shit at best. Like, we didn't present Brate to them."

This gets Krev thinking. "What if we could find some people from his company? And they spoke up?"

"That's fucking unreal, man. Unless one of them makes a run too — and just happens to run into us, I guess — that's not a possibility."

He's right — but Krev's remembering the 221st.

Maybe there's some road to a miracle.

He thinks — the entire trip home — he'll need time to consider it all before he goes back to posting. Tomorrow morning sounds good. Maybe another couple of days. A couple of days won't change anything — if Alnam was to act, he already would have, right? You just know it. You know you can take these couple days off. Your plan — if you can call anything you've ever had a plan — will maybe hit some semblance of sanity. Maybe after the next meeting with Sorval would be fine? Just to walk through all the minutiae once again. For one last time, you know.

But as soon as he gets to Mr. Kossar's apartment, Krev knows he can't wait. It may be stupid — most likely, it is — but he physically can't postpone it. No postponing it — like there's no postponing getting your hand out of fire.

Lights waver and shrink — as if a devil entered the room. Connection is a go. Krev cracks his fingers.

Do you go the Shadowfeed route or the Holonet route? Alnam's strategy makes sense — those ass-hurt Reps do indeed bring the bad news over to their echo chambers. So the fire spreads. But: how do you know it's more efficient this way? You haven't tried the other one.

He checks the two sites he's put up accounts on. One has suspended him: suspicious activity, whatever it means. Whatever. The other one seems fine.

But: if you post it here directly, it's gonna look kinda bad. You've got one post so far, and that's asking about the 221st's archive. Wouldn't it be better if an old and tried member brings the discussion here?

So: Old Alnam was right. Or maybe he was not, but there's no real way to check it — not without tying Mr. Kossar's ID to these unpleasant operations, and Mr. Kossar wouldn't want that, would he?

So how do you word it?

The decision to do it today was easy — probably since it wasn't a decision at all. But now — he's sitting in front of the screen, unable to type anything. Every look at the blank Feed forum field makes him grind his teeth.

This is important. That sounds fucking retarded. A lot of things that are the truth do, don't they?

Krev thinks back to the last time. That one was easier. He didn't think too much about. That's how you do it — you just don't think too much about it.

Story of my life.

He scrolls the last thread. Copies some of the holopics in it — useful to describe a pig civil war. Droids aiming at pigs, droids fucking pigs, pig cyborgs — some insane cartoon universe for the most adult of the viewers. Pigs in clone trooper armor. Pigs piloting Venator-class destroyers. Someone's got a major pig fixation. Worse — it's people on both sides. Pigs with Palpatine's face. Palpatines with pig snouts. Krev doubts sentients have spent so much time obsessing with pigs since the domestication of the bloody thing. Entire chains of pigs with CIS and Republic badges posting all of the above — the longest Krev finds is ten pigs deep.

There are things more fucked up than pigs, though. Here — a dismembered clone trooper. Another one — same thing but with a smile painted on the dead lips.

Krev feels bad for copying it.

He thinks about it and sets up a new account. Starts a new topic.

You got it. You do it now — or you shit yourself for ever.

Self-motivation Krev-style helps. At least, he starts typing.

"Let me tell you," he types, "about the so-called Contingency Orders. What are the Contingency Orders, you might ask? Why, I'll tell you. It's a cute name the Reptards have for anti-sentient genocidal orders their brainless idiots (aka the Grandest and the Armiest Army of the Republic).

"Let's take a look at the juiciest of them, shall we?

"Order 37: Tubers are allowed to literally round up and execute civilians en masse whenever they need to arrest someone hiding among the population. Imagine the scenario, reptard: you wake up in the middle of the night to see a test-tuber's retarded face. It doesn't even understand what you meekly try to say to it — the parts of its brain that are responsible for that have been removed. It drags you and your cute little family out of your beds and into a literal death camp — along with all the people you know in your town. There, a fat and homosexual Reptard general proclaims to you that they are on an important mission: to capture a guy from your planet who said that maybe licking Palpatine's ass isn't the best course of action in the current circumstances. Oh, wait, what is it I'm hearing? You squeal that it's separatism? Oh shit, you're right! It makes it completely justified, doesn't it? Well, then let's say they are after a guy who said on the Holonet your senator is a fuckhead. You know why we can say that? BECAUSE THERE ARE NO SPECIFICATIONS FOR WHEN ORDER 37 CAN BE CARRIED OUT. That's right: they can execute it ANY. FUCKING. TIME. THEY. LIKE. For WHATEVER. REASON.

"As you stand there in the rain, it becomes obvious the guy they're after isn't coming. Maybe he's fucked off to Raxus by this time. Smart of him. So they start EXECUTING you. Yes, you. Your Republic citizenship doesn't matter. They take your crying whelps from you and shoot them up in front of you. The clonetards may even be smart enough to rape your Republic wife too. You come in the next batch. You beg the clonetards to spare you — you're even offering them to suck them off; the desire to live is THAT strong. But they can't disobey their orders — PHYSIOLOGICALLY. They are far dumber than the dumbest of one-function droids. The last thing you ever see is a flash of blaster fire. While your heart is making its last futile contractions, you remember His Wisdom the Chancellor. Next morning on Coruscant, he will look through the report on your and your family's execution while he's drinking his caf that costs more than your house. 'Well done, lads,' he will think with his signature smile.

"'B-b-but surely there must be provisions,' you start blubbering.

"No!

"There are no provisions. There are no limitations. Your whole life depends on your shithead neighbors — by neighbors, I mean your entire planet, so good luck reporting all suspicious activities like not jerking off to Palpatine every day to the police — not doing anything considered bad by the fat faggots at the top.

"'B-b-but there's no way they can do it! It will become known to the public in no time!'

"Great thinking, reptard! Unfortunately for your mediocre life, it's not the clones who plan these operations. Not saying people in charge are smarter than your average bantha, but they know this sort of information spreading may sink His Majesty's approval by a few points. So they CUT THE HOLONET DOWN before they start. Remember this the next time you can't load your favorite porn site. Remember this and think well what it can mean.

"Don't think your Jedi Knights will come to stop the clonetards, by the way. Most clone legions operate without a Jedi commanding it. But even if your shitty planet got lucky and there is a Jedi, it doesn't mean he will save you. Want to know why? Here is why:

"Order 66: Jedi officers who act against the interests of the Republic can — and will — be exterminated. All it takes is His Authoritarian Majesty the Supreme Chancellor's order. Guess what? No trials — trials are for rich people with friends in the Senate. Yes, your precious Jedi protectors will be shot like rabid dogs same as you if the Republic decides they act against its interests. Hint: taking down that terrorist from your village who says His Superiority should only rule for two terms is in the interests of the Republic. Saying that murdering your entire family to take him down is bad is against the interests of the Republic.

"'B-b-but the Jedi are too powerful! Our clonetards can't do shit against them!'

"Yes, a Jedi will cut up a few clonetards before going down. Maybe even a dozen. It's not going to save you, though: there are going to be tens of thousands of clones versus one Jedi.

"'B-b-but our clonetards take orders from their officers, not from the Chancellor! The Jedi won't allow it!'

"Nice try, reptard, but you already have been told that most legions aren't led by Jedi. Even in those that are, it will be like this:

"Palpatine accesses the clonetard communication wave and gives the orders. The Jedi farts and dies. Your family is rounded up and executed.

"'B-b-but Palpatine will never allow it! I voted for him!

"Too bad he doesn't know and care. He has quadrillions of other useful idiots like you who will vote for him again even if you are shot by a clonetard.

"He won't allow it? How do you know? Oh, let me guess, my dear reptard, it's because it's never happened?

"There is a first time for everything. Even Palpatine told his first lie once. The first clonetard was lobotomized once.

"And who's to say it's never happened? Once again: they cut off the communications as soon as Order 37 is issued.

"But alright, let's say it hasn't happened yet. Why do you think there is such an order in the first place? Do you think CIS spies managed to sneak it in while Palpatine was sleeping? Or did he sign it while drunk?

"No, wake up, reptard: this is what you're worth to your Chancellor and the likes of him. If he wasn't going to allow I no matter what, he wouldn't have let it be passed.

"This is so extreme you can't fit it in your head, isn't it?

"Okay, let's do a less extreme one for now, just to give some rest to you:

"Order 80: If your Chancellor suspects there are spies on your planet, he can issue this order. What does it do? Well, the clonetards on your planet cut off all the communications and block spaceports. Nobody is allowed to leave or land. What is it? 'B-b-but I have a hyperdrive ship of my own?' Good news, reptard: it will be confiscated per the same order.

"'B-b-but it's okay! Everything for the Republic!'

"Guess what — the isolation will last until the spies are caught. Let's say you got lucky and those are CIS infiltrators with no relations on your planet, so Order 37 isn't applicable (if you also are lucky enough to get the smartest GAR commander in the universe who can actually figure it out). Sounds good so far, doesn't it? You and your family won't be killed — well, for now.

"But:

"No traffic means your planet's economy shits the bed. Every day without hyperspace communications means trillions of credits of losses. Guess how these losses will be paid. Hint: it's not from the Republic budget and not from your senator's pockets, but from yours.

"The best thing about this order is that it can be implemented indefinitely. Oh, you wanted to go get some tan on Corellia? Too bad. No hover-skiing either! You're staying on your Shithole XI because the big boss says so.

"What's that? You wanted to call your daughter on Coruscant and ask if she made it into college? Chances are, you'll hear the news a year after her graduation — or her death of an overdose. Your mom is sick and lives on Kirtarkin? Nope, no checking up on her until the Big Dad tells you you can. Which may never happen — can you even imagine how long it takes to comb a planet for spies?

"This is just a gist of the Great Contingency Orders. How do you like their taste, republitards? To the CIS people — how do you like it? Maybe you want to rejoin the glorious Republic and be subjected to this? (Yeah, it won't go anywhere after the war, reptards — your government will never give you your freedoms back).

"Stay tuned for more insides. From the best minds of the Republic — to your ears!"

And send. And done.

He feels like he has to go out: all his mental energy is spent, and the energy physical feels weird alone in his body.

Turn the HB off. Let the neighbors do whatever they need power for.

Coruscant is cooling down. Krev warms himself up with a cigarette.

It's a strange feeling: are you supposed to be afraid after the battle's done?

Whatever. He's too tired for it, anyway.

Too tired to think about what he's done today, too.

He gets on a bus without looking where it's going. It's fine. He's too excited to sleep.

Can you rely on Vad?

Ah, the same fucking thought. It's been squatting in his mind for the past four weeks — like, squatting for real.

It's because Krev really didn't like what he saw four weeks ago.

Hard not to be annoyed. Back on Telos, Vad looked like a man who can deal with hardships. He organized the Ixtlari's cleanup. Well, a lotta good that did. Krev looks at night skylanes. What if the old man knows you didn't kill them? All the fatter chance Vad will trust you.

He can't say why he didn't kill the remaining trio. Didn't have ammo — well, that's a shit excuse. They thought he did. He could've come up with something.

It wasn't ammo. It was you getting old and soft.

Now that's banthashit. Killing them wouldn't have solved anything. Let's not pretend you're smart enough to fake your own death in a way the outfit would believe.

But smart enough to plan and see through a galactic redivision of power.

Back to Vad. Vad: seems to have lost his mojo. It's gnawing at him, what he did on Telos. Maybe it has more to do with the three Ixtlaris that are still alive than with the one who died. One thing to kill a man in combat...

Okay. Stop worrying what the old man can tell him. There's nothing you can do about that.

There's plenty you'll have to explain to him if the old man does sing, though.

Unlikely that the old man knows. It was a cop what put the Ixtlari onto you. Old Alnam — most likely — communicated with him, not with the boys.

That's what he told you, remember? "My power holds many jaws tied, including the jaws of police officers here who know who you are, Mr. Devin."

But what if he knows?

Enough of that, Krev tells himself. Better think about the operational plan.

You got two helpers. One is in some sort of depression. The other one is love-struck, and heaven only knows what's going on with that since he isn't telling you anything concrete.

A real dream team you got there, buddy.

The night traffic is soothing with its headlights and tail lamps. It looks like a Coruscant-long belated Fete festoon.

So why didn't you kill the boys, after all? There must be a reason.

It was a retarded way of atoning for what happened to Brate, wasn't it? Only the boys aren't Brate. The boys are the boys, and one day, they'll make your sorry ass regret you let them go.

I wasn't trying to prove anything, he tells himself without believing or disbelieving it.

Fucking Alnam! Dragging a man who should've died in narcotic peace in ten years into all this shit. Fucking Alnam and fucking Fadrina — these are the two who deserve each other. A perfect mix of ambition and irresponsibility.

As if you are that different!

Well, maybe he's not. That's why you need Vad on your side — no matter what. Get him off that self-blame train he got himself on.

Is it even an improvement? All this? Coruscant? This sabotage shtick you got going?

Hell, it's Coruscant, right? That alone is worth it.

Or not. Krev'd be damned if he knew.

It's just too much. Too much weight on his shoulders. Why the fuck does it all depend on him? How did it come to this?

Not too late to fuck off, you know. You still have money. You can live at Fucktwerp Bannison's. Still get to die in ten years, not one — like it's likely to happen if you don't stop screwing around with important people's affairs. Hell, it's better than it would've been on Telos — at least, you'll have company.

You'd have to go outside every time Nullan is there, though. Can't let him know your entire story was just a wet fart.

His night trip ends when he finds out the bus has turned back and arrived back to his building, but from another side. He wonders if he should take a different bus, but simply goes home in the end.

In the morning — it's almost noon — he nearly tries to access the Shadowfeed without turning the transmitter on. Would've been poetic if it was the unchanged lighting that saved him — but no, he just remembers right as he's about to choose the address. Really good thing he does — it's the Sun's Hour here on 409. The artificial lights are off anyway.

He mumbles something when he sees his thread.

He should say: "Well, fuck me sideways," or something to that effect.

But when he opens his mouth, words escape him. He decides not to press.

The thread is huge. The thread has grown in his absence like a malevolent offspring from an old fairy tale.

The thread is huge.

He scrolls down. There are plenty of pigs — sure — but for every pig, there is at least one post of discussion.

CIS people laughing at Republic people's expense. Republic people asking for evidence. Republic people claiming there is no evidence. Republic people claiming that it's okay if this is true. CIS people laughing at Republic people's expense.

The thread goes on and on. Closer to its end, pigs finally get properly abundant — but there's a thousand messages prior to that point.

Krev is afraid to exhale too loudly. This cannot be happening, right? This is someone else's life. Whoever's editing this feature screwed up and put this bit here in Krev's part.

Okay, he says to himself. Okay.

Nothing else comes to mind.

Still half-paralyzed, he checks the light side forums. One is silent about the contingency orders. The others are a-fucking-blaze: Republic people convincing each other it's all banthashit and fine in the same breath.

He sits by the computer, having forgotten about his morning cafstim. Didn't even brush your teeth. Wasn't brushing your teeth the thing that separated you from becoming a full-blown reprobate? Wasn't that what you used to say?

The day is spent monitoring what feels like twenty threads. It's probably more. More still appear every hour.

During weekdays, the activity slows down a little — but not enough to suggest nobody is fanning the flames instead of working.

The Republic mass media look pristine all the time — no mention of the orders. But Krev knows — the serenity is false. It's the serenity of a dam about to collapse.

Can't be any other way.

First sprinkles start coming through on the opposition channels. Some senator who was fat and old already when Valorum was in office calls for an investigation one day and then proclaims the orders a tall tale the next.

By the weekend, the pro-Palpatine media have no choice but to mention the "rumors". It's this careful weasely banthashit government's mouthpieces have to deal when it's unclear how the government is going to react — but it's something. It's happening.

And Krev did it.

"Everybody is talking about it," Sorval tells him. "Like, literally everybody. We barely had a class this week — everybody was just going on and on about these fucking orders, man."

"And now I don't know what to do. I didn't expect it."

"I guess we lucked out. I told you — this is the shit that people care about. All it took was some 'independent,'" Sorval draws no quotes in the air, but his voice does it for him, "journalists happening upon it. Like the ones who have to lick maybe an ass or two less than most. They have to make money somehow, right? That was their golden opportunity.

"You don't know what to do?" The demonman snaps his fingers. "I can give you a direction."

He does, and Krev follows it. Sorval doesn't come — says he's got to study for the next class.

Maybe that's for the best. Just one look at the nightclub tells Krev all about the upcoming night.

And look at that: not an hour in, and he's already mixing his credits with other people's and taking tiny, one-dose autoneedles off someone's elegant palm.

"We didn't have these back home," he says into the palm.

"These what?"

"We had, like, those huge syringes. Anti-fucking-materiel needles..."

The palm-owner laughs in voices. Krev tries to share more about the Kessel culture, but someone drags him out of the toilet.

Strobe lights burn in the back of his skull. The needle was gentle. The spice is gentler.

"The contingency orders are unproven," a synthetic voice flows along the bassline. "It's a lie. The contingency orders... so-called contingency orders... It's a lie. The contingency orders..."

"DJ Happy's latest," the girl with the palm articulates, pointing at the music.

"Fuck him, man!" Krev finds her ear. It's strangely big — gotta be careful not to fall down. "It's all me! I did... I did the orders! I'm DJ Whistleblower, man!"

The girl laughs — or is it a part of the track?