Author's note: In this SW universe, the Trade Federation was an obnoxious little flash in the pan that was short-lived, at best.
And yes, I know that "frell", "frelnik", and "dren" are Farscape swear words. I just like the sound of them, and we did use them a lot in the game.
Interlude: Grobstar Industries
Located in the squat center of Purgatory station was a bulbous hub scavenged from a ship belonging to the old and now defunct Trade Federation. When they went bankrupt, all those nifty droid control ships went to scrap, and a lot of them ended up in the junkyards of Ord Mantell. Grobthar managed to get a sizable chunk of one to graft onto the station, expanding it into the open-ended circle it was today. The hub became the home of Grobstar Industries, an investment he and one of his buddies had recently made. . . with the permission of their boss, of course.
A grimace soured the Mon-Calamari's fishy face. Here they were, over two years later, still under the reins of Prometheus. The cheap shit gouged him and his partner Aidan Regana for more than half of what they made; and had the muscle to take it if necessary. They were virtually on a leash for that pocket pinching little frelnik's enjoyment! At least he allowed them to run Purgatory as they saw fit. It was the least extravagant of the three stations owned by Tri-force Supplies and Shipping, Prometheus's legitimate front for his vast smuggling empire; but to Grobthar and Ravenstar, it was home.
"Home is where the heart is, my scaly ass," the engineer grumbled as he looked over the latest work order of the evening. "Home is where you're overworked and underpaid."
"Still, you've got to admit that last customer was interesting."
Aiden Regana, call sign Ravenstar, hopped lithely onto the cold steel surface of Grobthar's drafting table. The two of them had been friends since their days in Prometheus's "shipping" business. Ravenstar had been first his captain, then his partner, both in the running of Purgatory and the budding Grobstar Industries. Currently, they were working on rather thin ice, proverbially and almost literally. Their last visitor had been from the frozen world of Csilla, the new Chiss businessman who was rumored to be looking to oust their boss. Grobthar felt his mottled brown scales stiffening with nerves at the thought of the job; but Ravenstar seemed amused by this borderline treason. He was usually the more comfortable of the two when it came to shady dealings.
"Obtaining and modifying a CloakShape fighter! Old boy, you must be thrilled!" He clapped Grobthar on back with one hand and ran the other through his ink-black hair. "Not to mention getting on the good side of the man who might rid us of Prometheus."
"Oh, don't start that again!" Grobthar shrugged him off and walked away from the table and the first sketches of the formative plans for the modifications. "The man that might rid us of Prometheus, the deal that might rid us of Prometheus, the natural disaster that might rid us of Prometheus! When are you going to get it through your that scoundrel's brain of yours that we aren't getting rid of Prometheus anytime soon!"
Still, his bulging gold-flecked eyes wandered back to the blueprints he had just begun for the Chiss noble, and he knew they were too huge to easily hide the hint of hope therein. Ravenstar saw; he always did. And he was cracking that roguish grin of his, which told Grobthar volumes about his mindset. The enthusiasm was contagious, as usual.
"You really think this guy's that tough?" Grobthar heard himself mumbling gruffly, succumbing to his desire at last and snatching up the plans he so longed to work on. If Prometheus caught them helping this Von Lormac character without his knowledge, they could land themselves in real trouble. But it was a CloakShape the Chiss had ordered; one didn't get the chance to work on those very often.
"We'll find out tomorrow," Ravenstar answered his partner's question with an easy laugh. "At least we got to meet him before our official 'diplomatic' capacity as Prometheus's stooges."
Grobthar groaned. The obnoxious rodian had been especially delighted at making the two of them his 'special emissaries', complete with stupid costumes and lame scripts. He hadn't even spared poor Kebron. Grobthar cast a sympathetic glance at where his favorite creation, a super intelligent, heavily modified droidika slumbered in the corner of his workshop. Keybron was also part of the "show" for Von Lormac tomorrow morning.
He understood the nature of the empire of the Chiss well enough to know that Von Lormac without a doubt planned to take over. But he didn't share Ravenstar's careless confidence. The cool wit of the Chiss verses the heavy arm of the gangster . . . it would be a tough match to call, not unlike the duel arranged for a few days hence, another of Prometheus's 'celebrations' for his visitor . . .