Count of Serenno Chapter 43

22 BBY

A single station floated in orbit above Serenno with a nearly finished, sacanium plated battleship cradled in its arms. Deep Space Demolitions and Removals had been claimed as a prize of war, and had itself been recycled. Refurbishing the station’s interior had taken a lot of work, as had tracking down a point of origin for all the slaves being trafficked inside. The life support had been filthy, and so its machinery had needed to be almost entirely replaced, the vents scrubbed and cleaned out to get rid of the smell of mold and rotting food. The original purpose of the station was to tear apart ships, not put them together, but it was easily large enough for an entire cruiser to park inside it, and there was no other way Tan’ya would get her hands on a similar station. It had taken three years to finally remove all the unneeded parts and gradually transform it to meet Tan’ya’s needs, and even after that, it took another three years to complete the creation of its first ship. Normally it wouldn’t take so long, but it was the first starship Serenno had ever manufactured, and Tan’ya wanted to ensure that it was done right. 

Until now, the humble House Fleet had made do with ships purchased from other worlds, or taken in battle. These days the House Fleet stood at ten ships; the original three Hammerheads and two captured Coronas, along with another four CC-21 combat cruisers manufactured by Botajef Shipyards. For all the media interest in the sudden rise of House Serenno and its ‘Pseudo-Feudal Empire', ten cruisers was a paltry amount. They weren’t even genuine battleships, just mid-sized battle cruisers. A large force like the Trade Federation’s would easily be able to overwhelm and destroy this meager fleet.

Tan’ya knew that her fleet wasn’t what frightened the Federation. The thing that really had Grib Siv scared were the shipyards at Botajef and Raxus Prime. Between those two worlds they could output a third of what the Trade Federation’s own yards could, but that gap was closing. Right now, the Federation was still the mightiest power in the Outer Rim, but in ten years would that still be the case?

If Tan’ya was in their shoes, she would take action now, while the advantage was hers. Crush the upstarts, make it clear to the Galactic Audience what would happen to the Federation’s enemies. Knowing this, Tan’ya was facing a war in the near future, a war that she dreaded in some ways, but anticipated in others. The Alliance had a plan, one that could work. If it succeeded, the Trade Federation would never be a threat again, but if it failed they would lose everything. 

Now, berthed before her eyes, the final pieces of the SHF Naboo were coming together. Named for Count Dooku’s crushing victory over the Trade Federation’s fleet, it was to be the first of its kind. A sacanium plated, heavily armed battleship, named as a direct insult against Grib Siv and his allies. Looking out at it, Tan’ya couldn’t help but sigh sadly, knowing that it would be completed too late to see the coming battle. 

She swirled the cafstim in her cup, took a sip, and leaned forward to look out the window at Serenno below, and the jagged, splotchy brown scars that were dotted across every continent. They told a story, for those who cared to hear it.

It begins with a disaster for the upper classes across Serenno, Barons and major business owners alike. Their wealth and influence were massively diminished during the tyrannical reigns of Count Ramil and Count Gora, and even now they had a fraction of their former power. The two tyrants had confiscated hundreds of thousands of kilometres of the world’s best farmland, forcing out the serfs who had worked the lands previously, and replacing them with droid labourers. Those same serfs had then been forced to survive by any means necessary, mostly resorting to banditry or the logging industry, leaving deep and visible wounds on Serenno as a planet, as a culture, and as a people.

It was the kind of damage that couldn’t easily be undone. Suddenly returning the confiscated lands to the nobility wouldn’t see the serfs returned to their ancient homes, as the much more efficient droids labourers now dominated that industry completely. In the end, the only way out was through, and the solution to Serenno’s problems hadn’t come from increased market intervention, but reduced. With her father leaving Serenno mostly alone to pursue his greater political ambitions, almost all the day to day work of ruling had fallen to Tan’ya. She had finally had her chance to implement her beloved Chicago school of economic theory.

Her father had already overhauled Serenno’s law enforcement and dealt with the pirate threat, providing safety to the population. Then he sourced imported plasma from Naboo, providing cheap energy. Cheap energy had reduced the operating costs of the world’s droid labourers, repair shops, and food processing plants, which resulted in food prices lowering dramatically. Starvation, which even ten years ago had been a threat lingering in the backs of people’s minds, was now gone almost entirely.

Those were the three pillars of a functioning economy. Security,  energy, and food. With those needs met, the people were now able to focus their time and effort on creating new sources of wealth for themselves. Businesses were springing up everywhere, from domestic furniture making to local banks, bakeries, breweries, publishers, marketing firms, holonet and shadowfeed installers, blaster salesman, and the list went on and on. Given the chance, the people of Serenno had naturally flowed like water, filling every available economic niche. The cheap energy had brought the costs of construction down, resulting in a housing boom, as more and more families found that owning their own homes was no longer an impossible dream, but an achievable goal. Prosperity was growing, flowing across the planet like molasses, reaching one village, one family, one entrepreneur at a time, slowly but surely filling every corner. If things continued like this, it wouldn’t be more than a few generations before Serenno stood as a peer to the rest of the Galaxy.

Unfortunately, things were not likely to continue like this. The plasma from Naboo was subsidized by their government, and ignored the more profitable markets in the Core Worlds. This wouldn’t last long. Soon enough, market pressure would draw the shipments away and the loss would drive Serenno back into the misery and poverty it was slowly climbing its way out of.

Plans were in the making to avert this fate.

Looking past the window, Tan’ya caught her own reflection in the viewport and paused, looking at herself. It had been multiple decades since high school as a boy, but Tan’ya was sure that she was the sort of girl that would have fit in with the pretty girls. Perhaps she had a touch of her father’s hawkish nose and thick brows, but for the most part she resembled her mother, with brown hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. Nice, high cheekbones, clear skin, and a set of perfect teeth, with soft pink lips. Unlike her mother, she had an athlete's body, thanks to a lifetime of disciplined lightsaber practice. Her limbs were long and corded with tight, flexible muscles, and she walked with a measured, focused confidence born from countless hours of combat and training. On some level, Tan’ya was surprised that there weren’t more young men who showed open attraction to her, but then when she thought about it, she realised she was the exact kind of woman that would be too intimidating for her peers to pursue. 

Currently, she was wearing her formal clothes, with a cape, chain of office, and a long black skirt similar to the one Asajj wore. She had a lightsaber on one hip, and a blaster on the other, something that other Indinoor Jedi had begun copying from her father. 

There was a knock at the office door, and Tan’ya turned away from the window, waving a hand after a moment to open the door and see her guests in. M8-ID, her long serving protocol droid, led Admiral Hoves and General Seith inside.

“Gentlemen. Are we ready?”

Gon Seith nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it, but Hoves looked completely at peace despite the risks of their plan. “Every ship is stocked, crewed, drilled and ready, Your Highness.”

“And their communications?” Tan’ya asked. “Has anyone leaked the plan?”

“No, Your Highness. The men are only allowed to send written messages, which we review and delete any part that could give details to the enemy before sending them.”

Tan’ya nodded, before looking at Gon. “And the smugglers?”

“As ready as they can be.” He hesitated, then added. “It’s too late to change our plans now, but maybe we can change your role in it? I’m worried about the risk to your safety.”

Tan’ya considered the man, slightly annoyed that he still didn’t see that there was really no other way. “I appreciate your concern, but who would you propose to replace me with?”

“Your Father would be able to-”

Tan’ya held up a hand to forestall him. “Father will be needed elsewhere, Colonel. He might be able to take on my role, but I can’t take on his. I have been trusted with the security of Serenno and the Hydian, and Father has already approved of my plan. I understand that it’s risky, but this is what we have to do.”

“...I understand, Your Highness.” Gon said, quietly. 

“Now, if there’s anything else?” Tan’ya asked, looking between him and Admiral Hoves.

“Just one thing, before I depart.” Hoves answered, then took three wrapped cubes of stainer from his pocket. 

Tan’ya took one for herself without hesitation, but when Hoves offered one to Gon, the older man hesitated.

“Something wrong?” Hoves asked.

“I’m not from Serenno.” Gon answered.

“Yes, this is a great honor for you. Why do you hesitate?”

“I’m a Coruscanti.” Gon tried to explain, looking to Tan’ya as if expecting her to understand, but finding her only watching the exchange curiously. 

Hoves closed his hand, drawing the cube away. “Do you plan to return there?”

“Not me, no, but my first granddaughter was just born.” Gon explained. “I want to know they’ll be able to return.”

“You stand with a foot in each world.” Hoves said. “Know that I only offer this to you because of your granddaughter. Your daughter has married a man of Serenno, and your blood has mingled with ours. The future of you and your descendants is already here, with us. If you return to the Great Mouth it would be alone.” 

“Admiral Hoves,” Tan’ya warned. “Though I agree the ritual is important, now is not the time for Gon to choose his family’s future.” 

Hoves looked between her and him, before nodding once. He reached out, took Gon’s hand, and dropped one of the cubes into it. “The time that you will have to choose is not now, but it is coming. Eventually you will have to eat this or throw it away, and then you will know what to do.”

With a final bow to Tan’ya, Hoves left to depart on his mission, closing the door behind him. Gon pocketed the cube of stainer, looking after the man with a frown. 

“These Serennoans are getting quite belligerent.” He muttered.

“It was bound to happen, eventually.” Tan’ya told him. “I understand that it puts you and the other Coruscanti in a difficult position.”

“Yeah… difficult.”

The reality is this was bound to happen sooner or later. The Serennoans hated and resented Coruscant, even more than most anyone in the Outer Rim. A decade ago they tolerated the Coruscanti presence on their world because they had a need for skills they did not yet possess. Now that time had passed and the Serennoans were increasingly ready to take on the roles they once depended on others for. Coruscant was still despised, but the Coruscanti who were here had a measure of good will built up, but there was a question being asked that had to be answered.

It was a question much bigger than Serenno. It was even bigger than the Alliance, and the coming war with the Trade Federation. Slowly but surely that question was going to reach every corner of the Galaxy, waiting on the tip of every tongue, and burning in the forefront of every mind. It was a question that couldn’t be ignored, one that would tear this galaxy apart.

Are you on our side or not?

Tan’ya took a few more minutes to drain her cafstim, relishing the taste, before getting out her holocom and typing up a quick message. ‘Fleet has been dispatched. Ready on our end.’ She was just moments from leaving herself when the holocom rang. It was Hego’s number, but despite that Tan’ya considered ignoring it. Everything was in place, all that they were waiting for was a casus beli. Did Hego want to change something now? Businessmen could be skitish…

She steeled herself, quickly checking to make sure her uniform and appearance were in order, before finally answering.

“Mister Damask, it’s good to hear from you.” She smiled. “But I am a little pressed for time.”

“Then I will be brief.” He assured her. “Reports have come to me that your father is planning an assault into the Ranroon Sector. I understand your role, but is a pitched battle with the fleet at Zygerria viable? I’ve invested quite a large amount into my part of this plan, and it seems to me to be quite the gamble.”

Tan’ya hesitated for a moment. Part of her wanted to tell him that the military side of the plan was her and her father’s business, but at the same time she did need to keep him reassured or all the whole thing would be pointless. No doubt he had his own advisors and informants speaking to him about the risks involved. 

“You’re right, it is a gamble, but a measured one. Holding the Trade Federation at the Salzin Tunnels would secure that entire front. The Zyggerian sector fleet would have a numerical advantage, but our own work with the smugglers has been going perfectly. They don’t even realise how low their supply of vulture fuel rods, tibanna gas, and hypermatter really is. At this point, I suspect we have a better idea of the Sector Fleet’s actual capabilities than Viceroy Grib Siv does. I understand the concern, Magister Damask, but I’m confident in this plan.”

He considered her for a long moment, sucking on his long pipe. After undergoing a lengthy medical procedure, the damage to the Magister’s lungs was repaired to the point he no longer needed the rebreather, but he’d taken to using his pipe as a prop instead. It was one of the few points against the man in Tan’ya mind. What was he thinking, smoking after such a slow and expensive recovery? If she were in his shoes, she’d never breathe in so much as an engine fume ever again if she could help it.

“Very well.” Damask said at last. “In the future, I would prefer you inform me before you gamble with my credits.”

“Of course.” Tan’ya agreed. “We will include you in the planning phase going forward.”

He nodded once, appeased. “And what of the Jedi investigation? Any concern about the Coruscant Temple interfering?”

“Not a concern at present.” Tan’ya replied. “They can only confirm what we already know, and Knight Prialla will be there to keep them honest.”

“Very well. You seem to have everything firmly in hand.” Damask tilted his head respectfully, before hanging up.

Tan’ya let out a breath of tension that she hadn’t realised she was holding. With her allies placated, it was time for the real work to begin. She had a long trip ahead of her, traveling through some of the most remote and wild regions that remained in the Galaxy.

-----

The air was balmy and humid, joined by gentle wind chimes and the soft sound of a nearby stream. It burbled down the hills, past the resort and its outdoor pavilion, merging with a larger river in the distance, and numerous insectoid oishinlan beasts came over to lower their heads and sip from its cool, refreshing waters. The pavilion itself was suffused with the smell of burning incense, fresh fruits genetically modified to impossible sizes, cooked mushrooms, and deshelled dnobag beetles deep fried to perfection with traditional spices. Attractive twi’lek slaves in a variety of exotic colours that made them easier to tell apart moved gracefully about, stopping to gather up drinks or offer new refreshments to the resort’s guests.

The occupants of this resort were a collection of cowardly, snivelling grey toads who Grib Siv could smell from the entrance. The pathetic stink of their fear was almost as repugnant as the various odors of their old, grey, mistreated bodies. The Trade Federation Board of Directors were all neimoidian of course, and among them it was clear that Grib was the only one with youth, or vigor. At a respectable forty five years of age he was no spring chicken, but none of these worthless old men had seen the inside of a gym in decades and it showed. They let themselves grow fat and soft, not realising that the mind and body were a single organism, and failing to look after one would hurt the other.

Grib Siv was a clearly superior nemoidian specimen, a fact he thought unfortunate. If more of his species were like him, it wouldn’t be humans who dominated the majority of the Galaxy. Born and raised on Coruscant, Grib was well used to the subtle, but powerful currents of Republic politics, and he understood appearances in a way that these mediocraties and company men never could. The appearance of strength was a strength in itself, and looking weak made you a weakling. That was why Grib was in the gym every morning, strengthening his core, improving his cardio, and building muscle in his limbs. His body was strong, so his mind was sharp, and the awful smell coming from Neeg Tone made him pause in his step.

Turning to look at the old toad, he was unsurprised to see the twi’lek girl who had been helping him undress looking like she was about to throw up. Neeg’s scent glands were repulsively swollen, bulging from the back of his neck in angry purple welts that quivered as he turned his head. Seeing that almost everyone’s eyes were on him, Neeg whispered out in a hoarse, dry voice. “My doctor tells me it’s from too much stress.”

Grib clenched his own glands tight, to stop himself from releasing his own stress scent out of sheer frustration. Surveying the rest of the board of directors, most of them entering a similar state of undress, exotic twi’lek servants hovering about, pampering and flattering, but they could do nothing to lift the spirits of this lot. Even with the pavilion’s relaxed aesthetic, they looked dour, nervous, and damn near helpless. It was a miserable atmosphere that wasn’t just visible in Neeg’s glands, it could be seen in Vinwe’s dry, unhealthy skin, patchy and peeling in places, where he kept scratching at it. Himera was clearly stress eating, planting his morbidly obese form right next to the snack table and absently chewing his way through plates of whatever he could get his hands on, even as he stared at a potted plant with eyes fixated on somewhere else entirely. At the very end of the pavilion, leaning against the balcony and watching the landscape of watering beasts was Reyhon Andlo, an illegal death stick in hand that he was smoking with trembling fingers.

This was the mighty Trade Federation’s Board of Directors, and this was what Grib had to work with if he was to win the coming war.

He rubbed his hands together, looking left and right, before settling on his first target. He paused for a moment, taking out a powerful lozenge that numbed his sense of taste and smell, and popped it into his mouth. With preparations made, he strode over.  “Neeg!” He called out, and the old nemoidian jumped so quickly that his swollen glands jostled against each other. “I’m glad you could make it, you old scallywag.” Grib fell into his chair next to the older fellow, and patted him on the back, well below the shoulder blades. 

Neeg didn’t look happy to see him. As the Director of the Legal Division, he had a crucial role to play in the coming war. Despite how much he was clearly struggling with his burden, Neeg cleared his throat, and spoke in a low, hoarse tone, one that was already cracking from doing too much yelling. “Grib, I’ve needed to talk to you. I’ve done a review of our current contracts, all of them, and what you’re asking for is impossible.”

“I don’t like that word.” Grib warned. 

“But it is impossible!” Neeg insisted, glands pulsating with his rapidly elevating heart beat. “The ships you need are already committed, our security patrol fleet is bound to our clients. If we try to recall them all, we’ll be trapped in legal warfare against seventy nine sector governments for the next half a century! Even the most back water among them can easily afford an excellent legal team. That’s not even counting the different planetary governments. We can’t just cancel our contracts either, not when they’ve kept up with their payments.” He swallowed once. “The only way out is to declare an emergency-"

“No.”

“Grib!” Neeg hissed in pain, puss oozing from his overworked glands. He sounded like he was about to start sobbing in anguish. “If you want those ships freed, it’s the only way to get them legally! We declare an emergency, and we can recall them without voiding our contracts.”

“If we declare an emergency, this company dies!” Grib hissed, leaning in. “Someone in the Banking Clan has begun shorting our market position, Neeg!” He grabbed the nomoidian’s arm and pulled him closer, speaking in a low, angry, whisper. “Not just some Magister, but one of the Five! What if the rest of them join him? If we declare an emergency it could cause a panic with our shareholders! Forget losing the war, if our stocks bottom out before it even starts, there won’t be a company left to fight it!” Grib reached up and rested a finger against one of the swollen lumps, pressuring it and drawing whimpers from Neeg. “We’ve talked about what we need to do, now do it.”

“But Siv!” He whined, gasping and writhing. “If we fabricate cases of personnel abuse against all our clients, we open ourselves to counter suits! Yes, it gives back those ships and crews for now, but in a year we’ll-”

“A year is all we need.” Grib declared. “We can settle our debts afterwards. You understand? No more whining, now do it.”

Neeg swallowed, thickly, nodding. “Okay. Okay. I can get you a year.”

Grib released him, and clicked his finger at one of the servants, who came over offering him a fresh white towel to clean his hand with. Wiping the pus from his finger, Grib looked over to see Neeg watching him, cautiously. Something was clearly on his mind. “What’s the matter?”

“Reyhon Andlho has a plan.” Neeg answered. “He came to me with it, and I think he’s gone to some of the others, too. You should hear him out, Grib, I think it’s a good one. He told me not to tell you, but I think you should know.”

Grib was furious, but forced a smile to his lips. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him, alright.” He stood up, looking out towards the balcony, where Reyhon was just finishing his death stick, his shaking hand at last seeming to have calmed.

Once again adopting an air of cool confidence, even as his glands were all but boiling over with the sour scent of outrage, Grib made his way to the Board Secretary. Reyhon heard someone approaching from behind, and turned to regard Grib, his scrawny face so pale that it was nearly white.

“Andhlo! So glad you could make it.” Grib smiled. “I hope customs didn’t give you too much trouble for your extracurriculars." 

Andhlo blinked at him, his large eyes taking a moment to focus as he grasped the implication of Grib’s joke. “No.” He answered, plainly

Grib waited for a moment for Andhlo to continue, and barely stopped himself from hitting the fool when he realised that was it. “Neeg mentioned a brilliant idea you had, anything you care to share?”

“...It’s still in the preliminary phases of development.” Andhlo said at last, shooting a betrayed glare towards Neeg, who flinched away from his friend’s gaze. “I need to workshop it.”

So it was that kind of plan, huh? This skinny fool thought he could force Grib’s hands once he had all his kcudrays lined up? Not while Grib was still standing here.

“Well that’s what this get together is for! Why wait when we can workshop it right here?” Grib announced, cloaking his fury with a razor thin coat of magnanimity. He threw his arm around Andhlo’s shoulder, pulling him forcefully towards the table at the centre of the pavilion, and the skinny addict wasn’t able to resist his more powerful brawn. “Everyone! Gather round, gather round! Andhlo has a plan to propose to us all!”

Andhlo stumbled, and opened his mouth to object, but soon seemed to realise that it was too late for that. Slowly, all fifteen members of the board of directors gathered, looking much the same as they had a moment ago, tired and stressed.

“Go on, Andhlo. We all want to hear.” Grib said, looking around at the rest that were gathered and forcefully adding, “Right?”

There were scattered nods, Neeg’s the most enthusiastic of all. Pathetic.

Andhlo hesitated for a moment, before breathing out through his nose, and beginning. “Look. We’re caught between a rock and a hard place. We’ve got two bad choices in front of us. If we don’t crush the Alliance soon, then it won’t be more than a decade until their navy is as big as ours, and they’ll be coming for us. Not to mention every sector we lose to them is another sector not paying into our security services, and the ancestors know our overheads are just…” He sighed, knuckling his neck glands, nervously. “Well, let’s just say I try not to think about them.” 

That brought out some nervous chuckles from the rest of the board. 

“But look, our situation is… not ideal, but it's stable. Not being able to move our security fleet down the Hydian is a big problem, but there are ways around it. They haven’t targeted our regular cargo ships yet, or our clients, and that gives us some wiggle room.” He waved his hand in a line, like a fish swimming upstream. “We can open negotiations with them, pay them to provide security for our civilian fleet while they pass through Alliance territory. Then, we can have our own security fleet continue to patrol the routes on the other side. We can pay other worlds to allow us to dock and do maintenance for our security fleet in the Mid Rim. It will be expensive, it will push up our operating costs even higher, but at this point, does that even really matter? The point is if we do all this, we buy ourselves time. Time to re-arm, and prepare a proper warfleet. Not a security fleet, but a proper military arm with real battleships and solid, reliable crews.”

“We have a huge fleet, already.” Grib pointed out, offering him a bit more rope.

“Yeah, but I’ve read the reviews, Grib.” Andhlo replied. “All of them.”

“What reviews?”

“The crew performance reviews!” Andhlo snapped, already so stressed out that he was fumbling for another death stick to light up, but gave up when he couldn’t find it, instead waving his hands about desperately. “All of them! It took me and my team months, but we went through every single performance review of every ship crew and every client for the last decade, and it’s not looking good, Grib.”

“Andhlo, captains fake their crew performance reviews, because they’re all trying to get promoted. Everyone knows you can’t trust them.”

“That’s the problem, Grib!” Andhlo hissed, eyes darting to all the gathered Nemoidians, as if begging them to see what he was seeing. “Almost all of them were falsified in some way! We didn’t find a single good or reliable officer or crew in our entire fleet! We don’t know what their actual combat readiness is, we don’t know if their ships are being properly maintained, and we don’t know if morale is high, because they’re all blasted liars! We’re flying blind here!” He swallowed thickly. “Right now we could amass the single biggest fleet the Galaxy has seen in a thousand years, which sounds great. But what if we lose, Grib? What if we get wiped off the board? What if it's like Naboo, but at an even bigger scale? Five to one odds, but with a thousand ships lost this time?”

“I see.” Grib replied, considering carefully. “So what makes you think your new war fleet proposal will be better?”

Andhlo looked relieved, like he felt as though someone was finally hearing him, and a spot of hope had bloomed behind his eyes. “Because I didn’t just review the fleet, I reviewed our ground commanders as well. They can’t falsify their reports the way the fleet can, because they actually see combat on a semi-regular basis, we can just look at things like their droid replacement rate, or their mission accomplishment rate, and other statistics they can’t falsify. We can rate them mathematically, the same way you would a smash ball team. Our best performing officer is from the debt recovery department, a primitive named General Grievous.” His speech was picking up speed, excitement entering his voice. “He’s the real deal, Grib. A genuine, unparalleled military talent. His recovery rate is one hundred percent, and his military record before he joined us? Incredible. He already observed all the problems I had, and already had this whole plan laid out and ready to go.”

Grib stroked his chin, pretending to seriously consider the notion. “So this is his plan, then?”

Andhlo nodded. “I’ve spoken with him. I’m telling you Grib, this is the man we want in charge of our warfleet. With six months, and the chance to hand pick his own officers, recruit new crews, and get us ready, we’ll roll those Alliance bastards. They won’t stand a chance, and our monopoly over the Hydian will be guaranteed.” 

“Six months?” Grib repeated. “That’s all?”

“Yes! That’s all.” Andhlo promised, looking at everyone who seemed to be just about nodding along with him.

“Only six months…” Grib murmured. “That’s a lot of time to ask for these days…”

“You’re right.” Andhlo agreed. “But if we just give ourselves a little time, we can have a certain victory then, instead of gambling everything now.”

“Alright, well, what if we could achieve a certain victory now, instead of in six months?” Grib suggested. “Wouldn’t that be better?”

“Well, of course, but the fleet-”

“What if I was able to double its size, overnight?”  Grib added. “You don’t think a five to one advantage is a good enough margin of error? How about a ten to one advantage?”

Andhlo blinked once, then twice. “That would take our entire patrol fleet. All our assets, already commited-” 

“That’s right, but thanks to a legal loophole that Neeg has discovered, I’ll be able to recall our entire fleet at once.” He looked to the older Neimoidian. “Isn’t that right, Neeg? We’ll have legal cover for the next year, right?”

“Wh- uh-” Neeg’s eyes darted between Grib and Andhlo, and the assembled audience. He turned pale, gaping, and his pustuled glands began pulsating again. 

“Isn’t that right, Neeg?” Grib’s voice growled.

Neeg jumped, then nodded. “That’s right. For, uh, a year, we’ll be able to draw on every ship.”

“Well, there we have it.” Grib looked to Andhlo. “Do you think ten to one odds will be enough?’

Andhlo remained silent, it finally seemed to dawn on him that his proposal never really stood a chance. “But in six months-”

“In six months, the Trade Federation may well be no more.” Grib spoke over him, and that drew startled looks from everyone present. “Of course, I don’t mean to be rude, Andhlo, but your plan is missing some crucial information. You’re the one that was flying blind, as it were.”

That drew some nervous titters from the surrounding board members.

“Last night I was informed that one of the Banking Clan Five has shorted our market position.” Grib announced, and gave it a moment to sink in. “Gentlemen, the Galaxy has looked at us, and has seen everything that Andhlo and this… Grievous has. We’re not discussing secrets here, we’re talking about things that are public knowledge. The Galaxy sees us as weak, failing, flailing, dying. We’ve already had to beg the Senate for a bailout, and that teet has run dry. It took every trick and connection I had to just get that influx of credits to come our way, and now it’s all already nearly gone. We’re running on fumes. We don’t have six months!” He declared firmly. “If we negotiate with the Alliance, appease them with tribute, we confirm what everybody already believes they know. It will cause an investor panic, and our stock prices will plummet as our shareholders sell it all. The Federation and its constituent companies will cease to exist!

He surveyed the group, who watched him with rapt attention, startled and horrified, but listening. He let his glands release, the sour scent of his hatred and anger leaking into the air, his raw contempt for these fat, sallow, fools.

“The choice is not to fight now or fight in six months, it’s to fight now or die. This is it, gentlemen. No more hiding from the truth. The most important moment of your lives is coming soon. It's time to go for it. We win, or we all lose everything.” He looked left and right, meeting the eyes of each and every one of them. “Do you understand?”

They all made scattered sounds of agreement.

“What?” He cupped a hand to his ear. “I can barely hear you! I said, do you understand me?!”

They spoke as one, from the chest, and sounded just barely like they weren’t all complete wastes of time and skin.

“Now, we’re going to enjoy our time at this resort, and we’re going to work together to come up with a real plan that will actually save the company.” He settled his glare on Andhlo, who flinched back. “Understand?”

Once again, the surrounding execs bellowed their agreement. 

“Good.” He waved a hand to dismiss them, and they all began to go their separate ways, but Grib kept a firm hold on Andhlo, to stop him from wandering off. Grib leaned in close to whisper in Andhlo’s ear hole. “Fire Grievous.”

Andhlo looked shocked. “But he’s our best-”

“I don’t care what he is.” Grib hissed. “We can’t have a general undermining their own Viceroy! You can scapegoat him for your little coup attempt, or you can take the fall. Pick.” Then he shoved Andhlo away.

For a moment, Andhlo stood there trembling. He clenched and unclenched his hand, the sickening scent of fear wafting from him. At last he seemed to get control of himself. The fear scent disappeared, giving way to exhaustion. “Fine. I pick me.”

“What?”

“I quit.” As he said it, a hysterical giggle escaped him. “I quit. I can’t take this anymore.”

“And what happens when the Galaxy finds out about your bad habits, Andhlo?” Grib warned. “You quit now, and everything I have on you will come out. You won’t be going back to normal life, you’ll be going to a cell. The bribery, the skimming, the second family. All of it.”

Andhlo looked at him for a moment, before shrugging. “You try to expose me, you expose the rest of the board. Everything I did, they’re doing too.”

Grib considered him for a moment, before dismissing him with a final, disgusted flick of his wrist.

As the pathetic little addict walked away, showing just enough spine to run, Grib consoled himself with the knowledge that he’d have the fool killed soon enough. There was nowhere in the Galaxy that Andhlo could hide from the Master’s blades.

Turning back to the rest of the board, returning to their massage chairs and steam baths, an air of determination began to form over the pavilion. Not confidence, not courage, but the desperate, feral determination that came with knowing these next days could decide their fates. Slowly but surely, Grib would spend the next dozen hours, working his way through the group, one by one, sharpening his tools for the coming war, and arraying them for the purpose. It wouldn’t be long until the Federation and all its might was fully committed, a force ready and waiting to shatter the Alliance once and for all.

After that, he would just need some fool to set off the spark.