An Unexpected Plot

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FLASHBACK:
Dvorak, Mandalor
30 years ago
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At one time, Leopold Trafalgar was a young man with a noble life. He had a beautiful wife and daughter, and a strapping young son who he dreamed would carry on the family legacy of entreuprenuerialship as he intended to do for his father. Recently having the torch passed on to him, he inherited the responsibility of not only maintaining, but improving all aspects of Tlaska. Fortunately, his father left him with a reputable name and a loyal cliente, but this was not able to pull them out of a period of declining profit. Though still unrelentingly successful, he often searched the lesser familiar channels for new opportunity as a firm believer that innovation was the key to success. So when Lord Sidious made the offer, he listened intently before responding.

As the Sith put it, too many systems had money wrapped up in other investments to support his interests. The Republic, unfortunately, is disillusioned with this precarious period of peace which cannot last. We must be prepared."

Trade was at an all time high and political efforts were made to disband the more lethal weapons- deeming them unnecessary in this time of peace. Thriving planets attempted to outdo each other with their humanitarian contributions, ultimately to the detriment of less wealthy systems. At that time, cloning technology had reached a rather uneventful plateau and if it made the news at all, it was to relay news of yet another failure.

Foreseeing the latent significance of such an advancement, Leopold created yet another subsidiary of Tlaska to compliment their bioengineering section: Curel. And so it was that Lord Sidious became the anonymous benefactor of Tlaska's hidden treasure, Curel.


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Blavnor, Mandalor
Curel Headquarters
Lower Levels
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Leopold Trafalgar stepped into the security lift and pressed in the code that would take him below floors, each button reading his fingerprints. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he rolled back and forth on his heals, and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. The lifts always felt rather claustrophobic, but today seemed exceptionally so. When he reached the bottom, he exited to a decontamination room and passed through a retinal scan before heading down the long white hallway. Void of anything that might mitigate the austere, angular lines or break the glossy white he directed himself into the belly of the whale.

Leopold had not walked this hallway in years, not since its success had skyrocketed. The door opened to him and he was immediately greeted by his old friend, a lanky lizard-type who he had left in charge during his retirement. Leo, what brings you down here? Is everything alright? Why didn't you call first? We could have greeted you upfloors.

The two embraced. No need. I've just come to see about your progress. Other unfamiliar faces garbed in white robes stared at him from behind their consuls.

You are worried about Fianat? That she's gone public? Wek propped one of his four arms onto Leopold's back and he lead him further inside the clinical workspace.

It was much cooler down here, but Leopold found himself dabbing at his forehead nonetheless. Everything running smoothly then? He tried not to notice the workers, though he could practically feel their eyes drilling him curiously. Wek opened a door that lead from the bright florescent lab to his old office.

I've been sharing your old space if you don't mind, the scientist said as he lead them to a couple of comfortable chairs.

The muted browns immediately comforted Trafalgar as he sunk into one of his old familiar chairs. Ah, now this feels better. I think the light bothers me out there.

You get used to it, Wek waved at the air casually.

Looking around, Leopold found it interesting to see so much of Fianat in here. A picture of her as a little girl still sat on his old desk, and there were now plants and flowers adorning the once very masculine office. You can tell she's been down here alot.

Yes, I can see that, he chuckled fingering the tropical leaves of a bird of paradise. I think she's taken up your love of flora and fauna.

Ahh, those were just pet projects.

So was this at one point.

Nodding, Trafalgar sighed lost in thought.

But you're here for an update. So let me tell you where it stands. Wek crossed his legs and folded both sets of hands across his lengthy torso.

We've been shipping out embryos to Byss System quarterly. The first shipments are fully trained and ready for departure.

How many ready to go?

About 10,000 troops.

That's not enough. He asked for at least 25,000. What else have you got?

We have a younger shipment out on Eleandor, I suppose they could be ready, but they are only 15 years old. So you have a sale lined up?

Acquiescing, he pressed his lips together and tapped on the armrest of his chair. How many there, on Eleandor?

Another 10,000 troops, pausing, he went on to question his plan. Would you like me to make arrangements? Are you sure this transaction is secure?

Mmh. No problem, but he specifically requested 25,000. Certainly you must have more, it's been 25 years.

I know, but it's been difficult in acquiring human DNA. We must cut and paste together live samples; we can't just synthesize these organic bases.

He nodded. Can't you speed up the growing rate?

We're still experimenting with that. Encouraging the cells to duplicate at an increased synchronized rate often generates abnormalities. However, we do feel the product we have created is superior.

Undoubtedly. You've created the perfect human species.

Leo, you make me blush. Your daughter has had a great deal to do with it, you know.

Don't tell her about all this, Wek. She has enough to think about.

His counterpart paused then agreed reluctantly, tapping his twenty fingers together symmetrically.

Do you think you can have them ready for deportation in a few months?

I'll see what I can do.

Dabbing at his forehead again, Leopold got up and thanked Wek profusely. Thank you for your loyalty all these years. They touched hands walking to the door, but before he exited back out into the labs Leopold stopped and turned once again to his friend. I do have one more question, Wek. Fianat is not planning on taking this division of Curel public, is she?

No, no, no, Wek's green slender head nodded. The galaxy isn't ready for this yet. She'll keep that under wraps for a while and work within the health sector. She just accepted her first deal to grow organic tissue for the Kaiser.

She had mentioned something about that the other day, Leo fanned himself absent-mindedly.

HMO's will be begging her business.

Satisfied and smiling proudly, Leopold allowed himself to be escorted back up to the main floors and departed with a satisfied grin.



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Walkar, Bonadan
Negotiations, the following day
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Enlighten me then, Ambassador, as to why we should forfeit our slaving rights? And even if we did release them, where would they all go? Our system surely couldn't support one billion unemployed miscreants.

Not any one system could, Trafalgar threw in as a side note. It surprised Obi-Wan that he was listening as his bloodshot eyes had been closed the last half hour.

After a long draw of stalemate contemplation, Kiltma broke with silence. The Chancellor has bid me ask you to consider a transition to droid labor, Kiltma leaned forward on his seat, his sweaty palms open in an offering of good will. Even though Senator Palpatine had asked him to delay the offer, he didn't have much faith in the senator's true understanding of the situation. If he could convince the governor to trade, he'd be the hero of the hour, but it was going to take his best bargaining skills.

Chlak's eyes burst from their sockets in surprise. How could this be? Suddenly very nervous, he dialed up his assistants and juggled the holodisks before him in a panic. Although the group noticed the odd behavior, their attention was now on Kiltma.

The Chancellor didn't really propose this, but he was speaking in the Chancellor's stead, so that was probably okay. Besides, it was a well known rumor that the OASR planned the same attack, only he would be able to save them the trouble. The governor would be far more willing to hear his proposal on the matter than any OASR representative, even Chlak.

But Kiltma did not receive the reaction he expected. Throwing back his head dramatically, M'ztka forced a laugh from his gullet. Please don't tell me that's your trump card.

Chlak stopped short; the governor's reaction was not surprising, but disappointing.

As if on cue, two assistants wheeled in a cart loaded with docudisks surrounding the failings of over twenty systems in their efforts to convert live labor to droid machinists. Taking a handful of disks, he threw them on the table. Go ahead, gentlemen. Review. You'll find the cost far outweighs the benefits

Obi-Wan grimaced at the piles and piles of documentary and began sorting through the data half-heartedly.

Chlak, on the other hand, jumped on the idea. What if another system tried it out first? His information wasn't exactly first hand either, but the OASR wouldn't mind if offered the deal a little earlier than planned. And since it was already out on the table, he improvised. We could arrange for a committee to analyze the data and work through the mistakes these have made. Gesturing toward the docudisks, Obi-Wan noticed the Sullustian voice grew with excitement at the proposal, pleased at himself for having offered something.

Like two peas in a pod, Kiltma supported the idea. Yes, we'll need more help. Economists, Ergonomic Specialists, Financial Efficiency Experts....

Chlak was already contacting the OASR before his counterpart finished the sentence. And, jumping on the band wagon, Kiltma began barking to his two assigned assistants while M'ztka slumped back in his chair.

Very well, then, I invite you to prove your point- that all this research is null and void- but I assure you-

Its a god damned waste of time. M'ztka turned to Trafalgar quite pleased to see him be of some use, no matter how disheveled he appeared.

I suppose that's one way to put it. The governor tapped his fingertips together casually and while Kiltma and Chlak were contacting here and there, more assistants rushed in and out. And although Obi-Wan found it difficult to read past M'ztka's stoic guise, he had a strong feeling that Kiltma and Chlak's energies were being wasted on a lost cause.

Nevertheless, he felt obligated to review the material and picked up a couple disks.



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Walkar, Bonadan
Governor's Palace
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Hours, dreadful hours, went by and the group finally began to speak of breaking for the day.

Elia gathered her things hurriedly, and hoped the Jedi would not try to insist on coddling her any further by escorting back to the clinic. She was embarrassed enough about yesterday's little episode without him mistaking her as an incapable woman.

She hated men like that. Women of Dathomir treated men poorly, and while she had tried to conquer the bias, she had seen far too much sexism in the galaxy to entirely overcome the prejudice. Although she did not find Obi-Wan deliberately chauvinistic, it annoyed her that Li'sarrow put him in a position not to trust her with that whole incident with Relvaire and the Nimitz.


*

Obi-Wan sensed Healer Amelia felt pressured to the Simmians, to somehow clean the slate with Li'sarrow and herself. Overall he felt she wasn't too fond of him, and the idea made him self-conscious as he predicted they would be spending a great deal of time together. She also made it perfectly clear that she was not interested in his assistance or his presence in general but he had promised Li'sarrow to look after the healers.

After another rather fruitless day of negotiations, he worried about offending the healer again by suggesting he walk her back to the clinic. So to avoid anymore resentment, he presented the question in another manner and asked if she might take him by the labor residence.

Of course, but I'm surprised you're interested in seeing the residence, she commented in a flat voice.

Why do you say that?

I think you would gather more information to report back to the Council at one of the work sites. What difference does it make to you how they live?

Her sharp tongue was beginning to irk him, but no matter how much he would have liked to give her the kind of comment she deserved, he withheld his voice and settled for a vague, unrevealing answer.

Slavery is illegal either way, but there are ethical laws that planets like Bonadan must abide by in addition to the tax.

A sarcastic uh-huh' hung in the air, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He may not have been as in sync with the Living Force as much as the healers, or someone like Qui-Gon, but he was not the heartless bastard she was taking him for. Maybe she was disappointed in the realization he was not going to support the Simmians anymore than he supported the OASR or CSA or M'ztka. In any event, he did not deserve the treatment he was receiving.

Refusing to humor her further, the conversation remained stalemate until Lepkaum came into sight.

Beginning again, he resolved to smooth things over. That seems like an inordinate amount of security for a residence, he commented after having noticed the high electric fence and guard towers.

Elia deliberately tried to make up for her curt, cynical attitude earlier, but it still frustrated her that he was being so nonchalant about the issue of slavery. Yes, this is the Lepkaum Manufacturing Residence. It's workers make trinkets and mass produce faux jewelry. Brushing passed the remembrance of last week and the girl's necklace, she continued to narrate. The plant houses over 5,000 Simmian slaves, a relatively small outfit for Walkar.

Why such a need for security?

Intimidation. They want to make sure the Simmians know their place. But the government will tell you otherwise. It is for their own safety, so they say.

Obi-Wan did not respond, but knew if the Republic was aware of such conditions, support for the OASR would skyrocket. So far, though, his impressions from the Healer seemed to be one sided. How could he find out more about the system of slavery from a more objective viewpoint? He would have to do some research on his own. Although he listened attentively to what she had thus far contributed, he wondered how accurate her picture truly was, and how much was simply a incensed reaction to slavery in general. Reminding himself not to get too swept up in her arguments, he withheld any comment through her short commentary.

Why don't we go inside? I'll show you around.

I surmise if it wasn't safe, you wouldn't have offered.

Within no remark other than a half-hearted affirmation, she rounded edge of the facility and stopped before a huge wrought iron gate. Just inside, a booth guarded the entrance before another gate. LeTauktch, its me, Healer Elia.

She didn't raise her voice or seem to direct it anywhere in particular, though no being was present besides the two of them. Then, moving to the left of the fence, she held onto the bars and seemed to speak to the tree. Let me in.

Who's that with you? an old voice grunted in Simmian from the bush.

This is Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi. He wishes to see the residence.

I'm not supposed to let you in without medical concerns. The voice switched to Basic.

I know, but I just want to show him a quick peek.

A pause lead Obi-Wan to believe her request had been rejected, but in a second or two, the gate slid aside on an unseen track. Although it wasn't quite dark outside, the shadows seemed to grow the moment they stepped through the gate. Leading them through the gate and short entrance, she softly rapped on the booth's door.

The door whooshed back and they entered the dark, confining space. Barely enough room for the two of them, the Jedi lingered outside the door peering into the rigid hovel, but stepped in when it nearly bisected the length of his body. With scarce enough room to turn around, Obi-Wan pressed up against Elia and craned his neck to see around her.

It was the first Simmian he'd seen in real life, and he wondered if they all looked like that. A soft iridescent fuzz covered the stringy man's body, similar to the Bondani, but their facial features were very different. Large walnut shaped eyes dominated their rather rectangular face, and he was surprised to see they had no whites. Their whole eye was like a large opened iris, lined with a silvery purple. The man stretched out his legs before him as if comfortable in the small space, but promptly shifted them out the way as the Healer moved toward him. Touching hands in the customary gesture, she introduced the guest.

Jedi Kenobi, this is LeTauktch, the gatekeeper.

He stood to touch hands, and Obi-Wan, though not an exceptionally tall man, belittled the Simmian's diminutive frame. Bent and crooked, his small mouth creased in an odd sort of way.

What are you doing here? You shouldn't be rummaging around here like that. They've got eyes you know.

Oh stop with that non-sense, you're going to frighten away our guest. Its not all that treacherous here.

Not for you, it isn't. How many times a day do you get poked with those sticks they carry? LeTauktch rubbed the side of his back.

Rolling her eyes, Elia tapped his shoulder and the old man leaned forward and began to purr as she rubbed and scratched his back. Ahhhhh. OOOOOhhhhhh. SSSSShhhhhhh. On and on he went, 'til Obi-Wan intruded with a guttural grunt. His eyes scoured the technological den. What is it you do in here? Elia eased off him, and scooted aside to show the display panel.

I monitor the outside fences. See, these screens show the action. Ah, that's right. You're eyes can't see it. But its there. Clear as day.

What do you mean we can't see it?

He means human eyes aren't very sensitive to light. Skirting the subject, she refocused on the point of his visit. So can we go in?

Why do you want to do that?

A single look and he surrendered. Alright, you can go in. But keep in Cell A.
The healer smiled and tilted her head affectionately. Grabbing Obi-Wan's arm, they slid through a dark opening and into a long wider hallway, listening to LeTauktch's reminders.

The dim lights rendered the walls a yellowish brown. Why is it so dark in here? Are we underground? His logic denied the question had even been asked, but his senses told him otherwise. Even the air was cooler, like in a cave of sorts.

The Simmians have been bred to work the mines for generations. Their skin has paled and their eyes have become incredibly sensitive to light.

I noticed the enlarged irises.

She nodded. Although he was beginning to feel claustrophobic, the healer kicked out her heels at a brisk pace and rounded a number of corners without hesitation. Where are we? They'd made no known decent, and yet he was certain they were underground. He swallowed to encourage his ears to pop at the change in air pressure. The whole plan was making him nervous, like when he was stuck on Bandomeer in that mine shaft. He expected danger, but there was no evidence to lead him to believe so. Where are you taking us?

We're almost there. He sighed heavily as if to evince his disapproval when the cavern fed into an octagonally shaped recreation facility. From this central location, one could view a nursery, a medical unit, the mess hall, library, and correctional droid posts. Large plexiglass walls allowed the visitors to view directly into the facilities where machines whirred away endlessly, and small groups of Simmian workers went about their duties.

Entering the plaza, Elia introduced the Well Care Circle. As you can see, everyone's at work now. The next shift will bring in hundreds.

They don't all work in these facilities, do they? He peered into the busy rooms wondering if they could see them lingering outside their windows.

No. The ones who work here are very fortunate. Most are at the manufacturing plant down the street. Toddlers played in an open room with colorful plastic blocks and toys, while a soundless library slept next door.

How do they get there? He craned his neck upward towards the soft yellowish lights that illuminated the chiseled ceiling in shadowy pockets.

Through this and other tunnels like it.

A giant gate towered at the ready to smash down any rebellious escapees. The design was centuries old, and Obi-Wan felt there were many more modern and effective methods of restraining people. That decrepit gate doesn't appear as if it gets much use, though I assume there are lockdown restrictions?

If they don't check in at certain locations like the plant, they are retrieved by guards with standard consequences. Depending on the number of demerits, that could mean extra work detail to solitary confinement. Outside of work, they have morning and night electronic check-ins. However, as long as they make those check in times, they are free to visit Walkar, the Vending Station, the clinic, and a few other select locations.

What's that? The Vending Station?

It's a outdoor public market across town. Skirting the edge of a gurgling pool that bubbled into a large puddle, they ambled closer to the windows.

Do the Simmians sell goods there?

Sometimes. But they're issued a minimal stipend for their work in the form of vouchers which can be used to purchase personal items and whatever other luxuries they can afford.

Is it possible for them to purchase their freedom?

In theory.

It did not sound as severe as he had originally hypothesized. It's different, but these conditions certainly aren't poor, he commented as she read his subtle reaction.

It's not the terror you expected, she remarked, hoisting her hand onto her hip. But of course that's not the point.

She felt comfortable in here, he noticed. But he also noticed the keen eye waiting in expectation for him to comment on the evils of slavery- which he purposely avoided.

Let me show you the medic quarters. He followed behind her silently, observing each detail. She lead him to a hallway from which one could access all the Well Care Rooms. Pressing her thumb into a decoder, the door whooshed open, and she let him step in first, placing her hand on his back.

Healer Amelia. Welcome. Were you called upon? Behind a long counter, a medroid questioned her as she came in. No. I've brought Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi with me to view the facility.

Obi-Wan wondered if the droid might protest, but it did not. As they passed beyond the counter into a world of white, he whispered her in ear. So the healers have a strong rapport with the Medics?

Medics? This is it. It's only the Medroids. Live medics are too expensive. A few other resident halls have them, not Lepkaum.

He nodded as she lead them into a treatment room equipped with all sorts of supplies. They seem to be well stocked, he commented ambivalently.
I suppose. The healer poked her head into a couple treatment rooms, but realized these facilities must seem rather insignificant to him.

Where are all the patients?

Long term care is handled as outpatient medroids in the Simmians private quarters. These rooms are for immediate care.

He said nothing else and she might have interpreted it as disinterest if she hadn't suspected he was deliberately withholding comment.

Well, that's about it, she sighed ambling loosely back towards the door. On the way out, Obi-Wan noticed another room lined wall to wall with tissue samples. He paused momentarily, but Elia didn't seem to think anything of it, and so he stepped back into pace behind her.

As they came back upon the guard booth, LeTauktch pulled Healer Amelia aside and whispered to her deliberately out of ear shot of the guest.

We've heard news about Aklina.

She gasped. Has there been an accident there?

No, nothing like that. We've heard they adopted synthetic androids.

You've got to be kidding. Tlaska owns Aklina, and they'd never do such a thing.

I know. Please find out. We are anxious to hear if this true, he touched her elbow gently in supplication.

She agreed, but guessed their information had been askew in some way. However, she didn't want to press the issue with Obi-Wan waiting so close by.

As she passed through the gate after the Jedi, he asked if all was in order. Yes, no problem.

Knowing his suspicions were aroused by the enigmatic, unrevealing reply, she avoided his gaze and slipped out of Lepkaum baffled by the mere suggestion.

As the gate doors closed Obi-Wan still had many questions, but held back to see if she might volunteer more information. Instead, they headed back to the clinic in a state of obligatory small talk.



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Dvorak, Mandalor
Curel, Inc.
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Relvaire held out an overdone arrangement of tropical flowers. They were so bright, so large, one might have mistaken them for silk. Fianat rolled her eyes from behind her desk, setting down her data pad. Buzzing her secretary, she asked why the unexpected caller was not announced earlier, only to be told that he came bearing gifts.

You bought this downstairs, she sighed half-heartedly, folding her arms across her chest and falling back into her chair for a breather.

He snickered back and abandoned the exotic display on the coffee table, waltzing towards her as if he were concealing the real treat. So, how's business, he inquired evasively, locking his hands behind his back.

Same as it was last week, she responded drily, arching an eyebrow into a frozen pose of soon-to-be irritation.

He knew she held little tolerance for sycophancy, so he moved on to the point of his visit. I understand you are in the cloning business, now. I thought I might offer you a new proposal.

And what would that be?

He held up a finger. Before I get to that, though, I'd like to ask what you've heard from that addict brother of yours? He hasn't been much for reporting to the CSA.

So that's why you're here spying for the Corporate Sector Agency. You want to know about negotiations.

He leaned forward on her desk with a feline suavity his thighs pressing into the edge of her desk.

Not missing a beat, she crossed her legs and pushed back from her desk. Where's your wife?

The corners of his mouth wrinkled into a disappointed smile as he rounded to the other side her desk. Swiveling her chair to face him, but refusing to stand, her face lifted as he neared her. He merely stared down at her until she interrupted with reality.
So you have business proposition? She stressed the word business as if to discourage him from anymore of the ridiculous drama.

It's more a piece of advice really. He lifted a haunch on the corner of her desk to which she frowned and raised her eyebrows until backed off. She watched his lengthy frame wander away. True Mandalorian stock, tall, bronzed, short clipped peppery hair.

Withdraw your stock in Bonadan.

Standing, she followed him to the door with crossed arms. And why would I want to do that?

The look was obvious.

Even if I thought such an act might be wise, Tlaska's not mine- yet.

He lingered as she stepped up close enough to touch him. If Junior doesn't call within the next couple of days, I'll be in contact again.

Like you need an excuse, she teased, glancing away from the starry long look that dwindled on her face. Instead, she opened the door and held out an arm in closing.



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The Governor's Palace
Obi-Wan's Private Quarters
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Static buzzing from a poor transmission, Qui-Gon's tin like voice was barely audible. How goes...situ... on Bonadan?

Obi-Wan, played with the tracking on the view screen. Thankful to have the opportunity to consult the Jedi Master, he continued to fill him in on the current state of affairs.

M'ztka refuses all proposed treaties and nearly laughed in Kiltma's face when he suggested replacing the workforce with droid labor. He will not bend, Master.

I've been informed of the situation on Huab. The slaves will only be freed if the trial period is proven to be 20% more profitable than current slaving- which looks unlikely.

Master, the situation for the Simmians is grim, their lifestyle despicable. His opinions flew easily and honestly with Qui-Gon, yet he did not expect the other's reaction.

It seems your experience there has been a great influence on your judgment, but there are many items to be considered, the Simmians' plight just one of many.

Obi-Wan found it interesting that Qui-Gon neither affirmed nor rejected his summation of the situation, but simply noted that it had changed since his viewing of Lepkaum. Wasn't this to be expected? Was he out of order? But as usual, Qui-Gon did not elaborate and cut the conversation short before he could ask about OASR progress.

The OASR has formally called for a vote, either slavery will exist or not. If the Senate cannot make a decision within one week, the vote will be forfeited to the courts. Either way, it will buy us some time. A number isolated groups are banding together to reinstate an interstellar army to demand Bonadan remain a part of the Republic if they vote out slavery, but many fear the power of militant central government, as it is said to invite tyranny.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and leaned forward on his knees. Remain weary of who you trust. I feel a disturbance. May the Force be with you.

His master's last comment left him doubling his suspicions of the healers and while he was now able to better understand the passion exerted for the movement, he would nonetheless remain cautious of tipping over this house of cards which may potentially hurt many in the long run.



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Three Days Later:
Walkar, Governor's Palace
Governor M'ztka's private office
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Slithering back into his dark hole, the satin lined robe shuffling behind, M'ztka entered his private office. Sitting in the stillness, he sighed at the pressure which, like a vise, gripped his forehead. Basking in the cool, calming blues of nightly shadows, he opened his eyes to a red light bleeping on his desk. Unable to tolerate its obtrusive presence, he stabbed away at the button, and a holo recording danced on an ornate pedestal. A confidant Din punched in data on a transfer before beginning.

I'm sorry to hear you're not available, but I thought the good news couldn't wait. The Senate has chosen to suspend the vote to enforce the antislavery laws until the OASR can offer a plausible alternative. Unfortunately, that seems unlikely to a great many of us. A number of systems, including Bewwt, Urma, and Flekora have agreed to back our cause in case Chancellor Vallorum gets a little too comfortable with his powers. I'm forwarding you the most recent media coverage from here on Coruscant. It's rather encouraging. Just keep stalling them. I have a strong feeling, they'll come around when they realize what's truly at stake.

The image folded like a genii back into its bottle. Plopping back into his plush throne, M'ztka switched on the attachments and listened as Mon Mothma tried to rationalize how redistributing wealth would improve the economy. Smirking, he knew no one in the galaxy would allow the OASR to decrease their profits. Especially not rich idealists. The rest of her soliloquy faded out of his thoughts until the Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn appeared.

We are currently designing a trade treaty with Bonadan that will incorporate both ethical and pecuniary standards. However, negotiations can be time consuming. Until we can agree on a satisfactory arrangement, Bonadan will maintain its workforce as well as continue tribute to the live labor tax.

Rocking his head back and forth, the corners of his mouth curled as he contemplated the futile efforts of the abolitionists. They would never be able to extinguish humanity's instinctual nature for dominance. Jedi or not, no one was going to threaten him.

Unimpressed with the Kenobi character, he wondered if together they might try to somehow schwindle him out of his status, though independently they didn't seem like much.

He was more worried about the Healers, who had played upon the public's sympathy one too many times in the past. Since the Relvaire incident, public opinion had swayed in his favor, but that could easily change. As a branch of the Republic, it was critical both the Jedi and the Healers remain an enemy to the state if the governor was to maintain the support of his own people for he could not afford to fight the galaxy and his own kind. With interest in the Relvaire case dwindling, he would have to do something to keep the motley crew in the limelight- something to discredit them once and for all....