Complete Detachment (Star Wars Prequel SI)

[9adam4]

"The Underground," Diff explained as we moved slowly if steadily down the dark passage, "is the closest thing the Ragoans have to a government in these parts. But they're nothing like what you're used to. And they weren't equipped to deal with the Vosadii kajidic when it arrived."

"Kajidic," Olana repeated, "so there's a Hutt behind this?"

"Not one on the planet, praise the Force," he rumbled. "Klatooinians are in charge, but they've been very vocal about their boss."

"Soergg," I nodded.

"You have encountered him before?"

"No, but I'm familiar with his reputation." It was still a decade before Anakin and I were to encounter the bossban on nearby Ansion. "Heavy use of assassins, and little qualms stepping into planetary politics."

"Isn't that true of most Hutts?" Olana asked.

I shook my head. "Different kajidics deal differently. It's a common pattern among the Hutts that end up confronted by Jedi, but that's the exception rather than the rule."

"And it appears to be a rule the operation is obeying here," Diff supplied. He stopped and turned to face us. "We've not encountered much violence, or even threats, from the Vosadii. They hire locals to manage. Pay them discreetly and very well. It's only the nature of the merchandise that's objectionable."

"What's the Den?" Olana asked, nodding to a hatch closing off a side tunnel.

The male's claws manipulated the latch, allowing the double door to hinge outward. We followed him into the narrower tunnel. "The Den is a tradition stretching far back into our history." Diff blinked solemnly. "About one in a thousand Ragoans are born with an abnormality we call Skyward Eyes: an extra copy of some genetic material. It interferes with mental development, but leaves the body intact or even promotes size and muscle growth. Skyward Children can still grow into functional adults, but will always be… disadvantaged."

"Humans have similar disorders," Olana pointed out. "Gene therapies can -"

"Pardon me, we're aware. We developed medical techniques to address the disorder before we were discovered by the wider Galaxy." He turned his head between us. "The point is about what we used to do with the afflicted."

Diff stopped at the end of the tunnel, which was not at ground-level, and allowed us to look out around him. Our head-mounted illumination was immediately swallowed in the titanic cavern that lay before us. Bioluminescent plants grew along the cavern sides, with small recesses carved into each vertical surface at different levels. Cages and corrals were the main features in evidence, the huddled figures little more than shadows in the depth. Workers moved between and among the levels, delivering machines and containers of various types.

The majority of workers in the dim cavern were the low-built locals, with some humans and other species mixed in. I immediately felt the cacophony of minds, from the fear and resignation of those locked in cages to the guarded and weary alertness of those who tended them.

Having given us a moment to look out across the Den, Diff resumed his explanation. "A tradition was started millennia ago. Clans with greater resources, able to provide more structure and security, would adopt the Skyward Children from clans that didn't want them. This was always presented as being for the childrens' benefit, and was considered very prestigious. But…" he paused, blinking rapidly. "Over time, the tradition became more… mercenary. Certain burrows began treating their Skyward Children more as a source of menial labor than true members of the clan. The Skyward Dens," he swiped a paw outward into the massive space, "ceased to be meeting places to celebrate the children and decide who could best look after them. It became a place to keep, sell, and eventually breed them."

I nodded. "This isn't an unusual story. Plenty of worlds have come to exploit the differently abled as part of a slave class.'"

"That doesn't make it any less to our shame. And we were happy to have put it behind us. It's been a hundred and fifty years since any burrow permitted slavery. The Dens were repurposed, or left alone as history."

"Until now," I prompted.

Diff spread his claws. "So few star systems are mapped out in this part of the galaxy. It was our misfortune that slavers found several planets further into the Unknown that the Republic has never set foot on. And here, next to a lone planetary spaceport with no visible law enforcement, is an entire infrastructure already built to contain and move slaves."

"The Underground didn't oppose them?" I frowned.

"Couldn't," Diff repeated. He handed me a data chit. "Directions to lodging is there. The auction's tomorrow, but plenty of customers show up today to talk to slavers about particular lots. I'll leave you to it."

With a nod, Olana and I made our way down the narrow ramp that descended from our entrance to the cave proper. The echoes in the space were dominated by the hums and whirs of machines rather than the vocal pollution of people that usually occupied such a space. As we reached the foot of the ramp, we found a human woman rapidly approaching us, her smile and unguarded mind both telegraphing someone in sales.

"We have things you want," she greeted politely in Hutteese.

"We have money if you have goods," I gave an equally polite response in that language, then switched to Standard. "I take it we've found the Den?"

The young lady immediately transitioned to Standard, albeit with a heavy back-world accent. "You have indeed. You are new to Rago?"

"Our first time." I extended a hand, which she quickly grasped. "I'm Jerome, and this is Tylah."

"Sedabah." She gave Olana a polite nod, turning and gesturing for us to follow her. "Welcome. It's a little surprising to see a new face here today; the auctions are tomorrow. Most of those who arrive early are regular customers, or come with their own slaves to exchange."

"Nothing like that. This was an unplanned stop for us, and I like to make purchases at my own pace." As we made our way along the area, dodging workers and slow-moving vehicles, I noticed lone men and women - mostly human or Bothan - standing near their cages and exchanging appraising looks with Sedabah. I could easily sense the subtext of the exchange: by escorting us as she was, these other salespeople/attendants no longer felt free to approach us.

I, however, was not so constrained. My attention was grabbed by a cage only slightly above ground-level, and I immediately made to ascend the ramp. A man in front of it - human, at least fifty - gave me a friendly smile as I looked into the cage.

Past the fine wire netting was a single furry biped, about two feet tall, surrounded by four much smaller specimens that I took to be her children. She soothed them with long delicate hands, even as her exhaustion and terror sang out to me. They sat on the ground, each clutching several eggs, with more eggs piled haphazardly in the cage.

"Good eye, sir," the human attendant replied as Olana and Sedabah stepped up next to me. "Brovelid matron, still young. The four hatched ones are hers, of course, but the other thirty-eight will imprint on you or me just as easily as her. Clever, energetic. Good for menial and household tasks."

Time for some theatrics.

"She's as big as they get?" I asked. The 'matron' had turned her attention on me; I could feel her despair and fear clearly.

"She's full size, yes," the man agreed. "They don't eat much, compared to how much work you get out of them. And the size makes them easy to train."

"Was this the sort of thing you were looking for?" Sedabah asked, keeping the frustration I could feel from her out of her voice. "Because, just a little further down, we can -"

"Tylah." The one word cut off Sedabah's entreaty.

"My lord?" Olana answered instantly.

"Will these suffice for the house?" I didn't take my eyes off the matron.

"If it pleases you, my lord, we had intended to look for twenty-five for the house, and some with kitchen training," my apprentice said with cool deference.

"I want these for the house. How much?"

"Ah," the human flailed a bit, "they'll be lot forty-four at auction tomorrow. The bidding will start at four hundred -"

"Eight hundred, plus delivery fee," I nodded to Olana, who made a small bow as I turned and gestured for Sedabah to lead the way again.

"My, uh, lord, I'm not - wait, please -" the man started after me, but flinched when Olana - her stern face looking above her steno pad in her scholar's outfit - stepped in front of him.

"Now, sir, I believe you heard Mr. Jerome as well as I did," she began, as I walked away. "I can authorize payment now, but we need to arrange carriage and shipping costs…"

"So, uh," I could feel Sedabah mastering herself as she recalibrated her sense of my worth; the word 'lord' had sent her imagination soaring when Olana spoke it. "As I was saying, is that the sort of merchandise you're looking for?"

"Not primarily, no," I said. "Tylah has the specifics, but we're looking for a thousand miners, preferably radiation-resistant. And a contract for replacement."

"A dangerous mine?" She asked casually. "Remote planet?"

"I won't be going into the specifics," I gave a non-apologetic apology. "Tylah has the exact requirements, and we brought hard currency."

"Yes, about that," Sedabah jumped in, "you're aware that eight hundred peggats is roughly four thousand credits? That's… significantly more than a family of house servants would usually run."

"Oh?" I cocked my head, then shrugged. "No matter. It's well within the budget. Saving a few credits is seldom worth the haggle."

And with that, I had her.

 

[9adam4]

(The SpaceBattles version of the story is getting some revisions/updates as I go along. Here's an inserted chapter).

For Coruscant office buildings, it was a matter of prestige to have an office on a high enough level that sunlight could make it through during the day. I stepped into the corner office of Baktoid Combat Automata's Vice President of Research and Development to find its owner inspecting a turret-mounted blaster rifle that was completely out of place with the room's earth-tone decor.

"Mister Kenobi," the slight, well-dressed young man made himself smile as he turned to face me. "To what do I owe the honor?" His eyes flicked to the firearm. "Sorry about the extraneous equipment. Delivery insisted it come here, although I assured them it was a mistake. Reika's looking into it for me." As he spoke, he took the frustrated anger that he felt over this unforeseen annoyance and buried it under his mental self-image. He had been hoping for this meeting; the gleeful anticipation fairly leapt out at me.

"Mister Varani," I returned his smile and gave a short nod, "thanks for fitting me in today. I wanted to address this issue as soon as it came to my attention."

"Yes?" He gestured to a chair in front of his desk as he returned to his place behind it, allowing himself only one more look at the large energy weapon before placing his full attention on me.

"Yes, I finally had a chance to spend time today at the BCA prototyping facilities."

"The upgrades are going beautifully, aren't they?" Welor Varani smiled. "The generational margin is down almost fifteen percent. That combat data you've provided has really increased our efficiency."

I nodded. "I saw that, but... " I cleared my throat. "The disposal procedures haven't changed."

Valani furrowed his brow in a show of confusion that I knew was entirely feigned. "Disposal? We're still recycling at more than ninety-five tons per hundred. That's way above industry standard."

I pulled the chit out of my pocket, placing it on his desk. "I don't mean the waste recycling. I mean your procedure for dealing with 'defective' prototypes that pass sapience tests." I watched him politely take the chit and plug it into his desk port. It displayed highlighted language from my agreement with BCA. "I was assured that rescue of the affected units could begin immediately. That was more than a year ago."

"Oh?" he said, and he couldn't quite get the knowing smirk off his face. "Assured by whom?"

"By the Board of Directors. The same Board who voted to authorize this agreement, and who control this company."

"Well, yes," he nodded, his grin only widening. "They do control the company. But they don't precisely run it."

"That's why I'm here. I spoke with one of your engineers, Bema Rorn. She said the detection and salvage procedures could start immediately, but you had ordered them to continue disposing of the defective units as normal."

The man nodded again. "Guilty as charged."

I cocked my head. "If you don't implement those procedures as agreed, then BCA is in breach of contract. I can sue."

"Yes." Valani leaned forward, his eyes widening. "You can indeed sue, for actual damages. Which we estimate at well under a million credits altogether over the life of the contract." He brought up another document - a report with these numbers written out stark columns. "Whereas the 'rehabilitation and sustainment procedures' you had us commit to, are at least twice that number."

"An incredibly small margin of the overall profits," I pointed out, "with an uncountable upside. We're talking about sapient beings, here. People. You understand that, right? As many as a hundred thousand thinking, conscious people over ten years."

Valani shook his head. "With all due respect, mister Kenobi, that's simply not so. There are no people involved at all. These are a hundred thousand defective machines, of no value to anyone. A drain on resources, on the time and energy of our best and brightest employees." He shrugged. "I'm sorry, but the answer is simply no."

"Or I could get the board to replace you," I threatened.

He actually laughed at that. "Mister Kenobi, trust me: at the end of the day, they'll side with whomever is making BCA more money. As of now, that's me. You may have a lot of leverage with them, but not enough to get me sacked." He took a deep breath and let himself calm down. "But here is what I will do." He pressed several more buttons on his desk console. "You stick to the rest of the agreement, and I'll increase your profit-share by the estimated value of these defective prototypes. We can call it a settlement for our breach." His smile widened. "Or, you can cease working with us, and we can sue you for more than your shares are worth."

Inside, I had already centered myself, letting my feelings of frustration and concern wash over me without finding purchase. Outside, I allowed myself to look as though I was just now bringing my anger under control. "Let me think it over," I stood abruptly.

"Please do. No hard feelings, mister Kenobi. It's just business."

I waited until I was visibly out of the building before mentally activating one of BCA's forays into robotic weaponry: a turret-mounted blaster rifle with an auto-aim feature. Strange how the weapon, which was still quite temperamental and wasn't supposed to be deployed outside the live fire labs, had found its way into the VP's office. It wasn't on the internal records to be delivered there, and none of the personnel could remember doing so.

But considering my involvement with R&D and the Board, no one found it particularly strange when Mr. Valani's replacement, one Bema Rorn, had a sympathetic ear for droid rights. The R&D prototyping labs implemented the procedures right away.