Entry Forty-Five – Days after Geonosis, Two Hundred Eighty-Five
The inevitable consequences of tweaking Black Sun have finally rebounded into the open. With the foundations of new housing now poured at their own expense, the syndicate has determined that the only future occupants will be those who pay them, in own fashion or another, for the privilege of moving in. The usual threats and beatings have been issued for those disinclined to play. Several of those who advocate for the homeless and were instrumental in signing up displaced squatters for this initiative have been assaulted, kidnapped, and in at least one case murdered. The police have made an effort to stop this, but it is largely symbolic. Even with assistance from the Clones they lack resources, especially with so many officers needed in critical crowd control roles.
Overall, I consider the message to be quite obvious. Black Sun refuses to lose out in the end. They will get their credits, one way or another. Nothing new, but this time I recommended the people who have fallen beneath the gaze of the syndicate. Some portion of responsibility is my own. Yet I feel helpless to contest this action in any way beyond upbraiding the overzealous Mr. Logas. He at least managed to sound suitably chastened by the end of my call, but it is hardly satisfying. His intentions were good.
Despite the small satisfaction, I suppose it is good he was willing to listen to me. Dangerous as that man surely is, he has connections. Perhaps I should keep the line of communication open, regardless of the risks.
Instead I can do little more than watch while those shuffled into resettlement zones burn through the very last of their resources, and in some cases their own bodies in supplication to wretched gangsters. The majority are Zabraks, the most abundant species with above-average tolerance for common industrial contaminants like sulfurous dust. Their community in the Bucket has deep roots and understands the rules of the game, for better or worse. They pass distribute the suffering among themselves and smolder in silence.
It is some of the smaller, less notable components that have attempted to resist Black Sun oppression.
One such group is the Ongy, a species of oversized humanoids from the distant Outer Rim. They are native to an iron-rich world and have specialized enzymes for resisting contamination from residual lanthanide elements. As such they are over-represented among the disposed due to a tendency to squat in brownfields. Bribery and bargaining melds poorly with their familial honor culture, which leads to struggles in business and also with the syndicates here in the Underworld.
They react poorly to extortionist shakedowns. An understatement, that, given that Ongy have strength nearly even to Wookiees and tend to carry blades as long as they are tall as part of some sort of religious dictate. Their response to Black Sun demands was rather pointed, and, tragically, largely pointless. Brute strength and swords the size of speeders count little against stun nets, nerve disruptor gas, and shock grenades.
I have volunteered my time in field centers to heal those injured I can, and lost some more sleep, but I wish I could do more. Medical resources down here are never even close to enough, but it is clear that corruption is the true menace. If I can trust the numbers Tesso supplied, upwards of twenty-five percent of all production in the Bucket is in some way lost to corruption, and while some of that eventually returns to the economy through expenditures by the corrupt huge amounts are hoarded or transported to the upper levels of even off-world. The fortune siphoned off by Obah-Diah alone is staggering.
How does one fight something like this? The rot is so deep that to carve it all away would leave nothing left. How did it come to this? Is the Republic terminal? A patient unable to survive the surgery needed to save it?
I cannot accept that. For all that the underworld offers up horrors, I have seen hope here too. The people are remarkably resilient. They would heal if the burden upon them could somehow be lifted away. It is such a shame that the war only weighs it down further, but perhaps things will change when it is over. There will be a window of opportunity, a chance to shift the system, I can feel it. Should I ever have time to spare I will try to think of what I might do to make ready.