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STAR WARS: Shattered Dreams
Chapter 12: "Airing Motivation"
by Dave Ziegler

"I find it surprising that you carry this with you to meetings of the Senate,"
Meecron said. He flicked the long, matte lightsaber between his hands, eyes running over
every detail of the strange weapon. It was new to him, having never seen one before. Well,
that wasn't true exactly. He had seen several in his employer's collection, and had met
several Jedi within the duties of his position, but he had never actually handled one
before. To hold such power so casually between his own two hands was a truly an awe
inspiring experience. These devices were weapons of legend, a glowing marker that conjured
fear in even the most hardened of foes.

And here it was, in his hands. Meecron felt, for a moment, that its mystique
coursed through his palms and into his body. An omen that, perhaps, he was meant to be
here, in power, and would not fall from prestige in this debacle.

But then it was gone, just as quickly as it had appeared, and Meecron allowed that
same sense of impending doom to crash in upon him. He had felt a foreclosure on his life,
his career, ever since Gwynandra's problems had surfaced. Meecron had gone to great lengths
after that to conceal her, to keep her safely tucked away from the prying eyes of his enemies
and the media, but he still felt haunted. The feeling had multiplied tenfold when his
employer had contacted him to relay the fact that Anakin Solo had penetrated Dasney and
retrieved data that showed he was, in fact, her maternal uncle. It was also made evident
to him that he had become a liability and was being abandoned to his fate.

And so, now left alone, Meecron panicked. He had thought grabbing the Chief of
State to be a good idea at first, but now things looked slightly different. The abduction
had seemed not at all to bother her, and neither had the confiscation of her lightsaber.
Here she was, within his power, hidden away inside of his offices, and she seemed supremely
serene and confident. Her poise was beginning to unnerve him.

"Politics is a very dangerous arena, Senator," Leia responded. "I am sure you are
well aware of this."

"Yes," Meecron countered, "but politics is often fought with the weapon of words.
Actual, physical, violence is something else entirely."

Leia smiled wanly. "In my experience, the two often come crashing together." In
the corner of the slightly crammed offices, Meecron's attaché, Xayla, snorted. The contempt
and disregard evident in her voice had been equaled by her eyes throughout the few days that
Leia had been in Meecron's custody. Mostly, they seemed to mark Leia as an inferior,
something that was amusing, and fun to toy with. There were instances, though, where Leia
had caught flashes of irate hatred in the dark green orbs. It poised the question what could
possibly have happened to cause the woman to direct such vehemence at her?

"Now, now, Xayla. We must not be too critical of the Chief of State," Meecron
chided. "She is, after all, our pass out of this mess."

"Which you allowed yourself to be thrust into," Xayla bit back.

"I have not allowed myself to be pushed into anything!" Meecron countered. Leia
noted the sudden and intense flush that had overtaken his face, and the fact that Xayla's
one comment had sent him careening toward that point. What significance did it hold though?
How was he thrust into this situation? Perhaps he was operating in conjunction with others?
Perhaps they were inside the Imperial Palace, providing Meecron with updates on the
Republic's movements?

No, that did not really fit the situation well. If Meecron was forced into something,
then he would be on the receiving end of orders, not giving them. Which meant that if he was
in fact working with people on the outside of this, then he was more a pawn than she was.

"In any case," Meecron continued, his anger directed at Xayla, "I think the subject
should be put to rest. Now, have you reconsidered your position, Organa-Solo?"

"You still think I have the power to keep you in your position at the end of this
whole affair? You over estimate my abilities, senator."

"You are the Chief of State of the New Republic! Such a menial thing should not be
beyond your power."

"There is much that is beyond me, senator. I am responsible to the Senate, and to
the people it represents. I cannot simply pardon you for your crime and order that you be
kept in your current office. This is a Republic, not a tyranny."

"They would not dare oppose what you suggest," Meecron stated, his eyes and face
intense with the faith he had in his words. "You are not only a hero of the Alliance, but
of the fledgling Republic and the Thrawn war. You forged a peace between us and the
Imperial Remnant. The people of the Republic respect you. In fact, they worship you as
legend. If you tell them to do it, Organa-Solo, they will."

Leia couldn't help but roll her eyes. What Meecron said might have been true
once; when the Republic had first been formed and they were fresh off defeating the Empire.
At that time she, Han, Luke, Lando, Wedge, had all been lauded as the heroes of the Alliance.
Since then though, well, she might not be able to speak for all the people everywhere, but she
could easily gauge the temperament of those in the Senate, and it was not one of hero-worship.

"You are mistaken, Senator. They will not agree to such a frivolous edict." Leia
stared firmly at him, as if a rock solid gaze would somehow force Meecron into understanding
the words.

"They must!" Meecron turned toward Leia, eyes ablaze with both agony and desperation.
His entire frame twitched as if he were trying to control intermittent surges of adrenaline.
"After all I have done, after I've struggled to make it here, then to keep Gwyn away.... after
the compromises I have made.... I cannot be dismissed so easily. It isn't right!"

Xayla unfolded herself from the small chair she had occupied, and smiled almost
predatorily at Meecron. "Haven't you already, senator? Haven't they dismissed you?
Abandoned you? You've lost your benefactors, isn't that why we've taken such a drastic
course of action?"

"They're damned ungrateful bastards. It doesn't matter so much an inch if they
helped the election along, I've paid them back tenfold! Money, archaeological excavation
permits, information: all of it came straight from me, even long after I satisfied the debt!
Oh yes, they want to protect Dasney, keep it safe from all of the outsiders. Hah! I'm their
best hope of keeping everything on Dasney status quo, and they treat me with no more honor,
no more respect than an outsider! It's disgraceful!"

By the time Meecron had finished with his verbal assault, his face had deepened
several shades of red, and an aura of wildness tinted his aged eyes. The subject of his
attack, a diminutive girl, no older than her very early twenties, simply grinned widely,
seemingly beaming her approval of the senator's outburst. "Yes, a fascinating story,"
she said. "Wouldn't you agree Organa-Solo? That is, of course, assuming you can connect
the pieces."

At Xayla's words, Meecron's face fell into an expression of horror. Leia took
careful note of the emotions that crashed across it as he realized the import of what had
just happened. First an intense fear, followed by momentary anger, then a simple and
undeniable showing of defeat.

"Your election was the result of coercion?" Leia asked. She noted the quick look
of utter malice and bewilderment that Meecron fired at Xayla before returning to her,
slumped and acquiescent.

"I was a floundering hopeful in my homeworld's political arena. I had campaigned
several times and for many different offices. I always lost. As the years progressed,
my chances of success became smaller and smaller. There were new, fiery young people ready
and willing to take on the challenges that I craved for myself. Seeing no way around yet
another defeat, I made an alliance during the last campaign for a position in the senate. My
allies have a strong power base within my planet and its government, even if all of the
people do not realize it. They made certain arrangements that would guarantee that I would
become the next senator from Dasney to join the Republic."

"And in return for this you had to provide them with certain favors?" Leia prompted,
hoping to get the man to relate as much to her as possible before he decided conversation was
pointless and all was not lost quite yet.

"In return for my appointment to the Senate, I had to use my position to acquire for
them certain elements of funding. Often it was simply money that I was able to skim from
our various expense accounts within the Republic hierarchy. Other times, it was simple
information. Foreknowledge of trade agreements or alliances between alien species that
might endanger the people of the Dasney or its interests. Most often though, I had to
obtain for them permission from the Republic to perform archaeological expeditions and
excavations. There are certain elements within that organization that simply love to dig
things up."

"Like you," Xayla added, a sickeningly delighted grin still set on her face.

Leia ignored the comment from the young woman, and continued to press Meecron. "So,
as long as you made your payments they were happy?"

"Perhaps, but in retrospect I see how entirely unnecessary I was to them. My
election was a matter of convenience for them. Perhaps a demonstration to certain parties
of the extent of their influence and power. But, quite honestly, they have no need of me
to obtain money, nor any Republic permission. They were already possessed of the means to
easily procure whatever they needed."

Meecron's words ripped through Leia's mind. If that were true, then there must
be more leaks within positions of power here that support this extralegal group. There
was once a time when Leia would have thought no one could have betrayed the Republic's
ideals for the close-minded and bigoted goals of protecting oneself from different beings.
Such an attitude was of the Empire. Had they really lived through all that time of
oppression and tyranny only to repeat the same mistakes? Would they leave that time of
darkness so unenlightened?

Long ago she thought to answer 'yes' would be impossible. Years and experience had
taught her, though, that people and ideas were not so easily changed. Even being dominated
by the culmination of the dark side could not sway the pigheaded and paranoid.

"I expect," Meecron continued, "that they thought to remove me any time they wanted
by making my family history known to the voters. At the time, my niece, Gwynandra, was
undergoing psychological evaluation and treatment for certain acts of obsessiveness and
unstableness. I beat them to the punch, however. In my paranoia, I thought that the media
might stumble upon Gwyn and make the connection, resulting in the end of my fledgling tenure.
To prevent this, I arranged to have her quickly removed from the institution at which she
was being treated, and set her loose on the galaxy. I had heard little of her since, until
finally I learned of her activities regarding your son on Candren V, and your subsequent
inquiries into her."

"Wait," Leia gasped, startled. Suddenly the name Meecron fell neatly into her
recollection of Gwyn's family records. "Your niece is that Gwynandra? Gwynandra Salanon?!"

Xayla began to laugh hysterically.

* * *

Graydon stepped through the slight waves of smoke and into the 'Pay and Drink.' His
nostrils were assailed by a mix of alcohol, sickness, and sweat, while his ears suffered the
constant blaring notes issuing from a heap of a converted astromech droid that covered the
center of the floor. Stepping quickly through the bare metal tables, Graydon forced his way
to the bar. He waited patiently while the bartender took care of a few other customers,
mentally reassuring himself of why he was doing this.

He was not risking himself simply because he had suddenly found himself believing
in Jaina Solo. She was, after all, the daughter of a known and skilled smuggler, his status
as retired and reformed not withstanding. It was simply a matter of eliminating all
possibilities to come to the correct conclusion. There was a connection between Gwynandra
Salanon and the murdered Mr. Mek. And it was this bar. So, here he was. Not for any other
reason.

The bartender, a rough looking Sullustan in something resembling a tuxedo, made his
way to the counter spot right in front of Graydon. He looked Graydon over, taking note of
purposely soiled clothing and his relatively clean face. "You, don't belong here," he stated,
in broken basic. "You are not the type. You try, but the look is forced. You, are security?"

Graydon nodded slowly, not sure if it was wise to answer truthfully. For all he knew
the Sullustan might point him out to the rest of the establishment, which seemed to be full
of individuals who would really not appreciate what his occupation was. "Yes. Yes, I am.
I need you to help me with something."

The bartender snorted. "No way. I'm not going to work with you. Just turn around
and go the other way, security man. I need the tips I get here. People see me speaking with
you, and then they get suspicious. Then the money stops coming."

"I'm not sure you understand the position you are in here, sir," Graydon grated. "I
could close this place down forever on a whole slew of health code violations. If that
happens, not only won't you be getting your tips, but your paycheck will be gone too.
Wouldn't that be a shame?" He allowed a trace of a smile to trickle across his face as the
Sullustan stared at him.

"You would do that?" he asked skeptically.

Graydon nodded. "This is a very serious matter. I will do anything necessary."

"All right," the bartender conceded. "What do you want to know?"

"Gwynandra Salanon. She used to work here I understand."

"Yes," he grudgingly admitted.

"Did you ever notice any of the people she associated with? Perhaps, a short, older,
balding man? Very well dressed and proper?"

"No. No one matching that description."

"Are you sure? I don't want any mistakes made here, if you know what I mean."
Graydon quietly patted the blaster beneath his jacket.

"Very sure." The bartender glanced nervously at Graydon's blaster, then out into
the crowd.

"What is it?" Graydon asked, following the Sullustan's head movements.

"There," he said, nodding into the crowd. "That young man, there. The one at the
table with the red hair, and blue jumpsuit. I saw Gwyn talking to him many times. If you
need information on her, he could tell you more than I can."

"I see," Graydon said, standing up from his stool. "Thank you." He threw some
credits onto the countertop, before walking steadily through the crowd and to the table
the bartender pointed out. He sat quickly down and forced the blaster that the young man
had begun to pull from his hand. "Pulling a gun on me is never a good idea, my friend,"
Graydon admonished. "Now," he began, his grip tightening on the young man's arm. "I think
you and I need to have a talk about Gwynandra Salanon."

The young man tried once more to pull away, but was quickly yanked back into his
seat by Graydon. "I think you should really start talking, don't you?"

To Be Continued...