STAR WARS

AN ALLIANCE AT NAR SHADDAA


WAR IS SUBSIDING. THE NEW REPUBLIC, FORMERLY

THE REBEL ALLIANCE, HAS BEGUN TO RECRUIT

OTHER WORLDS TO THEIR CAUSE TO BUILD A NEW

GALACTIC GOVERNMENT IN THE WAKE OF

THE DEATH OF THE EMPEROR AT ENDOR.

IN A DRASTIC NEED TO BOLSTER THEIR NUMBERS,

THEY ARE NOW TURNING TOWARDS THE

HUTT SYSTEM. THE REPUBLIC IS PREPARING TO TRANSMIT

A CALL FOR ALLIANCE TO THE SECLUDED YET

POWERFUL SYSTEM, AND ITS HUTT MASTERS


Current Characters

Nar Shaddaa

Anzam Doulek – Duros male, born on Nar Shaddaa

Sor'el – Togruda female, born on Nar Shaddaa

R4-L0 – R4 Astromech droid owned by Anzam

Oordo – Ithorian, born on Ithor, shopkeeper

New Republic Fleet

Crix Madine – Corellian male, General in the New Republic

Borsk Fey'lya – Bothan male, Counselor to the New Republic


1

"I'll have the number four tonight, Oordo."

"You got it, Anzam." The Ithorian behind the rusted food-cart turned and threw a filleted bluefish onto the grill-top. The aromas immediately filled the air under the rain tarp that served as his small business's roof and walls, giving the space an almost welcoming presence. The smells continued to transform as Oordo added some woody herbs and the juice of citrusa berries onto the fish, then gave it a flip. Anzam finally couldn't smell himself anymore which hopefully meant that Oordo couldn't either, though you can't get away from stench down here anyway. The undercity of Nar Shaddaa was perpetually grimy, and the district in which he lived caught the nickname The City of Seven Smells, though a map-pad would tell you its name is Nar Rapidda. The capital's main waste center was positioned about 100-meters directly below, which is where Anzam worked operating a garbage lift.

He shifted to his side and eased himself up with a pained groan, rubbing his thigh. One corner of his lift's repulsors failed on his way out of the gate today, which threw him from the vehicle. "I'm going to step out really quick, L0 was only supposed to be a few minutes behind me," Anzam said.

"You got it bub, no rush, you're gonna be my last customer tonight anyway," Oordo called back over his shoulder.

Anzam pulled his hood over his head and poked out into the rain. He couldn't see much through the haze, but he could make out the shadowy silhouettes of others milling about in the distance, embossed upon the dimmed lanterns of the stalls further down the way. Some appeared to be braving the storm, but no one was staying in any one place too long. Everything on the street was awash in a soft, orange glow, impeded upon by the neon lights on the stairs leading to the skywalk above. There were a set of these stairs roughly every hundred feet or so.

He began to zone out, letting his weariness wrap him like a warm blanket as he leaned onto the post holding up the tarp. His gaze happened to fall on another Duros arguing with a shopkeeper down the way who appeared to be in the middle of closing up for the night. Just as Anzam began to make out some of the less complimentary words in his own language, a sole, small circular light appeared out of the fog in the distance in the same direction he happened to be staring. As it got more into focus, he saw the familiar shape of an R4 droid, grey with dark-red trim, rolling in his direction.

Anzam stepped further out into the street and began to slowly pace, closing the distance between himself and the droid. "Did you get the power converter?" he shouted, trying to speak over a piece of sheet-metal that made up a wall of an adjacent street-vendor's stand, which was loudly wobbling in the wind.

R4-L0 made an affirmative triple-beep. As he rolled to a stop, he rotated his body left to show the converter in one of his rear arms which was fully extended behind him. He shook it, clearly indicating he was tired of holding it. Anzam obliged the implication and grabbed it, flicking the the water off in the process, and placed it into the bag slung over his shoulder.

"Well come on then, get out of the rain or your gonna be mistaken for a trash can. I really don't want to have to give you an oil-bath two nights in a row either." Anzam lifted the tarp's entrance, which had begun to sag from the downpour, so he and L0 could get back into Oordo's shop. The astromech droid whirred angrily and followed.

"I know, I know, I'm the one who sent you, but it was that or I miss the usual hovertrain and I don't eat tonight," he said as he began to stuff the meal he had just noticed in front of him into

his mouth. He didn't see it at first, it blended in with the native dried Juu'lek blossoms Oordo kept on the countertop as decoration, which were native to Ithor. He had clearly taken an artistic liberty in garnishing the dish tonight, something you weren't getting if you weren't a friend, and weren't last. Anzam continued, speaking through a full mouth, "More specifically, you need those converters. I'm not the one who needs to worry about dying hooked up to an underpowered outlet."

L0 moved a chair out of the way with two of his robotic arms to settle into his usual spot where he waited for Anzam to finish his food and banter for the night. He had been stringing his energy-stores along all day, dropping to 15%, then back up to 25% via a portable recharger that Anzam recharged every few hours. While droids don't feel quite the same way that organics do, the closest approximation he could find was terrible. He was really hoping Anzam was joking about the no-oil-bath comment, because the thought of it was the only thing keeping him from shutting down on the spot.

The Holonet projector hanging in the corner behind Oordo suddenly flicked to life, and all three of them half-turned to it to see what would happen. The airwaves had been an unregulated mess in the months since the Alliance finally took down the Emperor. Most of the regular programming was carrying on as scheduled, albeit taking advantage of the lack of a filter, but the government channels weren't receiving any sort of official transmission. In their absence was a strange mixture of pranksters, crazed Imperial admirals, and the occasional reminder of hope to the galaxy from theself-proclaimed New Republic. They were working on taking the relay stations, but it seemed to be slow-going. Because of this minor chaos, many were staying tuned in out of curiosity as to which one it would be that day. To all their shock, or the closest they could muster after an era of perpetual shock, the loading image on screen changed to a New Republic logo with a countdown set at 2-hours.

"Well, isn't that something," Oordo muttered as he got a couple of tumblers out. He reached under the counter out of view and pulled out an opaque, dark-green bottle sealed with a cork. He popped it, shooting the cork like a rocket into the tarp's ceiling, and let it roll into a corner.

"I am really getting tired of the don't lose hope, we are coming calls. At this rate I am going to be underground before I'm looking at a government that doesn't want to kill me. " He leaned onto the counter with both hands and sighed out each mouth, then shook his enormous anchor-shaped head. "I'm sorry, just…do you want a glass?"

Anzam pursed his lips and nodded at his friend, then turned in his stool so he could glance back outside from where he was sitting. "One step at a time, Oordo. I can't even imagine what they're dealing with at this point in the process."

The issue here was that he knew both of their views at this time were accurate, and were to some degree mutual.

20 years of an iron-fist had a severe psychological effect on the non-human races of the galaxy, and it was hard to pull oneself back up into the excitement the current reality called for. Oordo was still with his family on Ithor when the Republic ceased to be a republic, and remembered when the first Star Destroyers came and took his siblings. He himself had only been spared because an Imperial officer had chosen to shatter his legs with a hydrospanner and leave him there to watch the Clone Troopers, who had previously upheld the will and justice of the Republic, drag his family and friends into prison-scows. Comparable trauma was felt by almost everyone over the course of those two decades, and it was still ongoing. To many, none of this was going to be real until their planet had its own New Republic Embassy.

On the other hand, though the destruction of the Second Death Star had financially crippled the Empire's and scattered it back towards the core, the Alliance was still very much in the process of recuperating. Untold thousands in their fleet had died at Endor, and hundreds more at Bakura. Hiring and recruitment had expanded, but all resources were still stretched thin, and they were a ways yet from being a fully stable government. It would be even longer until the tax-system was in place to restart social-services that had lapsed on many systems since the Empires collapse. Building a new galactic government was an unfathomable task, and it was a matter of time before they became more audacious with seeking members, both on the planetary and individual level. This was something Anzam had been counting on for longer than he could remember.

He chuckled and took a swig of the glass Oordo had laid in front of him, and asked "Who do you think we get this time?"

"Like always, take your pick, chancellor or princess," Oordo said back through laughter. Two minutes had fallen off the timer at this point. "I'm going with princess, twenty credits."

"Deal."

Neither men were gamblers, it was a joke-bet on their part, as Imperial credits had become almost worthless. The short-term effects of this were being felt on less self-sufficient systems to a greater degree than Nar Shaddaa. The Hutt's had contingency plans, including an emergency currency in place for vast geo-political shifts to keep their star system's economy functioning and its citizens from starving. Presently, there was a five-hundred Hutta stimulus a week, more than sufficient to cover the basics for people's food and shelter. The public was advised to hold onto their Imperial credits so they could hopefully someday soon be transferred to New Republic credits, if those ever became a thing. Anzam himself had saved up roughly forty thousand before the Death Star blew, rendering his savings to wasted space in his apartment, but his job in public utilities thankfully gave him an easy line to his stimulus with a little bonus for being necessary.

Oordo's pad chimed, and he shifted sideways to lean on the bar more casually while he checked it. He grew quiet, reading intently.

"Related?" Anzam asked.

"Seems so. A few folks are getting together at the Star to tune in. Sor'el is throwing on another of her little watch parties. This one is getting people riled up it seems. I for one don't know how you kids stay excited."

"The same as always, my good man." Anzam replied. "You need to stop seeing hope as a four-letter word." He lifted his glass one final time and held it up to the light, peering through it before downing it and setting it on the counter. "I'm going to get L0 charged up at home, then we're going to hit the Star and see what's up. I suspect you'll be in bed in half an hour, so I'll catch you tomorrow night, same time?"

"Not tomorrow bub, took the day off, Aara and I got a date at a casino on Nal Hutta and dinner at the Remora. We're going to milk those checks before this wild ride really takes off."

Anzam hoisted himself out of his seat and tucked it back under the bar. He reached into his pocket and pulled out enough Hutta to leave a decent tip and left it on the counter under his plate, then turned on his heal out the door. He bungled the maneuver halfway through and almost knocked a plant over but managed to recover and mouthed a silent 'sorry' back towards Oordo, then strode out the door with L0 in tow.

Oordo made the closest Ithorian gesture to a smirk and shook his head as he finished polishing off his glass. He glanced at the ticking New Republic logo, the pink symbol washing him in an alluring, hopeful glow before flipping the carts main power switch off for the night.

. . .

Crix Madine stook on the command deck of the Nebulon-B frigate Wampa in orbit around Bothawui. The ship had been recently constructed, and still shined white in the Bothan star's direct rays. He was someone who prided himself in his manicured appearance, and he stood tall to stare at his own reflection against the beautiful Bothan homeworld outside the room-length window. If you stared briefly enough, you would have thought it was a painting, save for the slowly twisting storms along the northern hemisphere.

His eyes shifted to the reflection of the hologram behind him, a slowly spinning pink New Republic insignia with a count-down timer presently at one hour and forty-five minutes. He had started the broadcast just fifteen minutes prior and directed it towards Hutt space. In another fifteen he would be speaking with the senior staff assigned to this mission. When the rotating clock finally ran out, he would be addressing tens of billions of life-forms across lightyears of space.

In the months since the victory at Endor, they had welcomed a dozen worlds into the new government, pledging themselves to the transitional process of taxation, new trade legislation, and elections for representatives in the eventual Senate. Bothawui, whose citizens sacrifices can never be repaid, was being used as a staging point for the latest of these campaigns. Borsk Fey'lya was on-board in a further attempt to fluff his people's image. This gesture was wholly unneeded, but Bothans were renowned for their ego, and had an almost-biological need to be seen. The Alliance leaders had learned to concede certain things, such as this command post, so as not to upset what Bothans saw as the necessary political order of things.

Almost on queue with his own thoughts, the door to the command deck slid open and the well-dressed Bothan strolled through the door. The man's waistcoat clung tightly to his frame, accentuating his broad shoulders, making him seem taller than his 5-foot stature.

"Councilor!" Madine exclaimed, throwing his arms wide, flashing a full grin. "It has been too long. I must have gotten lost in the view and missed your shuttle come in." Starting off strong tended to bode well for the rest of your time with Fey'lya. If the energy left a moment, his pedanticism would take over and he would suck the air out of the room.

Fey'lya continued pacing until he was alongside General Madine, who pivoted to face the same direction as the councilor back out the window.

"As much as my home is on the ground, seeing one's world from above is irreplaceable. Wouldn't you agree, General?" he asked.

Crix thought of Corellia, at least the one he knew long ago. It was a swirling jewel of blues and greens, peppered with infinitely expansive cities. He had a family there once, but that was before he defected to the Alliance. The Empire's response to his treason was to take that family away from him forever.

No, he would not be going back any time soon. The view was not worth the memories.

Ignoring the previous comment, Madine gestured to the table around the holo-projector. "You're early, looking for one of the head seats?" he asked sarcastically.

"Oh, not tonight General, that spot is reserved for you! It was your idea after all to put the ambassadorship for this mission up to pulling straws," Fey'lya replied while pulling out a chair left-of-center around the oval table. He pressed a button on the armrest as he sat, summoning the catering-droid to bring refreshments. The door he came through slid open once again, and this time a protocol droid with a tray of carafes stiffly staggered through.

Crix followed the Bothan over to the table but didn't sit down, instead leaning on the chair, his eyes fixated on that damn insignia. "It didn't seem like we had many other options, no one was exactly lining up to plead with the Hutts for an alliance" he said. There was an implied "yourself included" that he felt his colleague was far too clever to not pick up on, but he appeared to have let it slide.

"General, that's because this is probably going to fail. Do you honestly believe we are going to work out a better deal than the Empire, let alone anything resembling a pledge of membership?" Fey'lya asked rhetorically.

"Now now councilor, that sort of negativity is unbecoming of a Bothan!" Madine exclaimed in response. He knew deep down however that there was a considerable amount of truth in what Fey'lya was saying. The Old Republic had never been able to convince the Hutts to formally join. This left them absent of from all decisions of galactic importance within the Senate. The benefit of this came to fruition when the Clone Wars broke out, and their system was left wholly neutral throughout the entire struggle for galactic hegemony. They instead used the time to quietly plan for an unexpected outcome and expand their navy. When the Empire ultimately burned into existence, even they couldn't strongarm the Hutts into occupation. All the Empire was ever able to get them to concede were a pair of permanent outposts on Toydaria's poles.

The Hutt's were not reclusive, they were just private. The system regularly traded with other systems, and both Nal Hutta and its moon Nar Shaddaa were popular destinations for any manner of alien seeking a refuge with lower legal standards. The moon particularly was a regular midway point for smugglers moving spice from Kessel, or slaves from any number of outer-rim systems.

The issue of slavery would become a severe point of contention if Madine's endeavor got as far as the negotiating table. The Hutt's had maintained legal slavery throughout their system, something they had no desire to give this up, thus keeping them out of the Old Republic. Then the Empire had legalized slavery throughout the galaxy, allowing the business of its trade to flourish. The New Republic would not concede to anything less than its abolition for a planet's membership.

Crix Madine shook his head and muttered to himself. One step at a time.

"What was that, General?" Fey'lya asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing at all councilor, just lost in my own head," Madine replied quickly. He had not noticed that some of the senior staff had begun to show up to the command room. He didn't recognize many of them, but then again the fleets were spread thin on their own campaigns, and there had been a considerable recruitment drive lately. This resulted in a lot of upward mobility in the ranks that would have occurred long ago had the Rebellion had a legitimate military previously. He himself was hoping to skip a rank of Marshall straight to Admiral after this mission.

He turned to those who had come in and pulled his own chair out and spoke out, "Once you all get settled, make sure you're comfortable. It's going to be a long night on Nar Shaddaa."