Log:Devil In the Details
Devil In the Details
OOC Date: April 30, 2020
Location: Troiken
Participants: Ambrosia Greystorm, Ban Iskender, Vhe Tenara, David Ironside, Liren, Tyrius Bodega, Lokir, Barad, Aryn Cole
Troiken: homeworld of the Xexto. A minor world most notable to the larger galaxy for pod races, minor historical significance, and a large spice mining operation. One week ago, warships and ground forces of the Hydian League struck assets allegedly belonging to a criminal syndicate, at the invitation of the planet's Primarch (Nosin Falco). Other factions called it an invasion and appealed to the New Republic for rescue.
A standoff in space had occurred between warships of the Hydian League and Black Squadron, though outright hostilities had been avoided, leaving the Senate in a complex position: on one hand, Troiken is independant, not a member of the New Republic, nor traditionally very friendly towards it; besides this, entering another military action, while already facing down the remains of the First Order is dangerous. On the other, if the plea for help is genuine, Troiken could become a loyal member world, and a fine illustration of the new government’s altruism and power.
..If the plea is genuine.
Several representatives have attended, or sent agents, and an embassy has been allowed in the capital (a well appointed but modest building, that smells strongly of a scented cleaning solution) which Republic Intel has spent the past 24 hours thoroughly securing against monitoring devices.
Vhe, one of a few Jedi along for the investigation and uncovering of information gives a glance back and around as if to ascertain her location and where best to orient herself. Stepping up beside Liren, she gives a nod of her head to the other intiate. "You are looking rather official..I am going to see what I can find out from those doing the heavy lifting around here. See if our stories match or differ?" The offer is a brow arches and the streets are given another long look.
Waiting for the reply of her fellow, she kicks at the ground with her toe. She's quietly assessing her avenues and thoroughfaires for the most likely to want and ear sharing gossip.
David steps off the ship, having taken the time it took to travel here to read up on Troiken and the Xexto. He isn't wearing anything that'd identify him as representing the New Republic, and is scanning the surrounding buildings for anything like a cantina, or a bar. That's where the voice of the people tends to be heard best, after all. His cannon is left in the care of his astromech droid back on the ship today, and his helmet is merely secured to his side. The pilot runs a finger through his hair as he walks off towards what -looks- to be a bar.
"I have a friend from this world. She says its number one export is spice. Not the cooking kind, mind you.." Aryn says into her datapad, the image of her mother on the screen. Glancing up, Dr. Aryn Cole takes a look at her surrondings and quietly gathers that it must be getting close to time for the officials to speak. She glances back down at the screen.
"I think business is about to commence. I'll chat afterwards." The two blondes wave, and the screen cuts out. Aryn rises from the bench after uncrossing her legs and brushes her cape back just enough to tuck her datapad away. "Is someone planning to take charge of this?" Aryn asks aloud, silently wondering if she was to go against the Hydian League and the disgustingly smug Colonel Quinctilius Nim.
As the youngest on the staff in terms of experience and perhaps age, Liren has only just managed not becoming the staff dog's body and gopher. It gives her a certain leeway between having to appear at anything official and being out on the street trying to get unfiltered information for what is going on.
The comment from Vhe, the gypsy wanderer, as she calls her privately, has her tugging at the rather tight sash of her 'best' robes in the green and grey of her house colors.
"I will keep you in touch with what's going on in the delegation. Your information from the street will be of great help."
Lord Tyrius Bodega didn't ever spend much time off Drik until recently. Maybe a Vacation or two to Rishi which wasn't far from the Garus sector where his homeworld resided. He pleasent smile on his face as his disembarked, tap-tap-tap of his cane/staff. A newly minted and ornate saber at his side, likely ceremonial and a symbol of his 'status' as Lord of the Market region in Verrni City. "I will head to the municipal buildings and see what officials I can meet with, see what the real deal is here." He was a pretty good siplomate and very good at reading people, "Perhaps I'll peruse the markets later. See what kind of goods they may offer and what small talk and drum up."
General Greystorm has deployed herself as a military-minded asset to help the Republic sniff out the veracity of these distressed claims. Is it worth their trouble to get involved? Enough eyes, ears, comp hacks and surveillance tech shoved into the right shadows will find out. We hope.
Ambrosia's typical uniform dress these days is nondescript. No badges, no telltale insignia, but her face would require considerable effort to disguise, having been a face of the "I am Resistance" adverts they broadcasted in the early days of this war. So, to make herself less noteworthy at first glance, she's untucked half her shirt, left the jacket open, unbound the elaborate bun, and struck out on a mission to find adequate vantage points, as far from people people as she can get. Here. There. Assess what she can of assembled forces...on either side of the equation. It wouldn't be her first forray into places she isn't wanted, but with the help of a little acquired land transport (bike share, from an unknowingly generous owner), she can hopefully make the necessary rounds to pre-planned stakeout points in a matter of hours, not days.
Lokir is alert, his keen hunter's senses working overime. His dark cloak breaks up his sillouette, with his ridged composite helm shrouded by a hood. Hidden from view, his civilian CDRF pistol is holstered in a non-threatening manner--a standard underpaid security guard slouch. < Spike, checking in. I've done my fair share of gumshoe-ing--happy to scope out any battle sites for traces of anything useful, or hit the pavement and see what the scuttlebutt is on the streets.>
Barad arrived on his good 'ole 3rd-hand Incom Slingshot. A nondescript low - budget traders' ship, if there ever was one. (But, hey, be nice, at least it's paid-for! :) Since that time, he's busied himself with looking into the local medical establishment, inquiring as to what supplies he can offer to get for them, and thus gauging its readiness to handle casualties. . . While also making note of -which- side(s) started to prepare for casualties -first-! (Just in case things on this planet are not exactly what they seem at - face - value . . . ) Having offloaded his cargo of instruments, and made such inquiries as he might, Barad heads to meet up with his friends. Upon arrival he pops the suit seals, and his bog 'ole floopy brown ears cascade on out in a bit of a rush. Sigh. Helmets made for smaller faces -- the bane of Klatooinians everywhere.
Merek looks about while he comes with the people, he has on what looks like black armor which is a bit decorated while he nods a bit to people. Weapons all holstered while he seems to follow, watching.
Directions and assistance are had freely from the New Republic's head of security for this operation, a precise, but harried Zeltron: agents will reconvene in the embassy in nine hours to share information and formulate a report to the Senate.
Aryn will be relieved to learn that Colonel Nim is unavailable for an audience.
Vhe begins to make a circuit of the streets, finding the areas of shop owners and workers alike. Purchasing from a food stall she pulls at the fried bread with its sweet topping as she meanders. Her path brings her to two stall owners speaking and as she picks a spot to listen she mmms and eats, tearing apart another bit
A brow furrows but the information gathered, she steps closer as if to engage in conversation though she has to chew through her next mouthful. Just a woman with an interest and posisbly opinion she has yet to share. David steps into the first bar that seems tailored to off-worlders, at least to their size, tapping a recording device on his wrist to start listening in the moment he steps foot inside. He gets to the bar and takes his sweet time deciding what to get. "Oh, yeah. I'll have a.." he starts, ordering a whiskey and a soda, separate, before leaving the bar and finding a livelier area to eavesdrop at. On the way there he discards the whiskey because he's a professional. As he walks he picks up talk of the Hydian League's apparent ground army, which bears a striking resemblance to an Imperial invasion force. David decides not to interject himself into any conversations just yet, content to let the information pour forth without his prodding.
With no one claiming the helm of this investigation, Aryn walked off quietly to find a lovely place to sit and people watch. Getting out of the main view was key, since given her obvious upper class appearence, would make her an easy target for 'being out of place.' Aryn hears Lokir's transmission but does not respond. She doesn't have the direction to give him.
When Aryn has found a table to her liking, her beverage arrives and she frees her datapad once more. She types in a search for Primarch, and is surprised to find that there is not just one, but several. Much like Mandalorians claim Mand'alor, these people have claimed Primarch. Aryn suspects it power here works like power everywhere else. Land, money, and muscle, which is why she's surprised that the least liked, or supposedly the Primarch with the least amount of influence, has ended up on top.
"Clever. Someone who uses their brain over raw force. This man is dangerous, and yet.. his allies are even more so..." Aryn says aloud.
Keying her encrypted comm to the rest of the team, she begins to relay her suspicions: <<"I've done a little research on local politics. Judging from the Resistance's involvement, command was led to believe there may have only been one Primarch-- There are five claiming that title and each clawing and fighting for more influence. Interestingly enough, the one liked least to climb to the top has: Nosin Falco. He controls this city, a few others, and is directly linked with the military of the Hydian League.">>
<<"I believe we're looking at a type of conquest. He's outsmarted his opponents, and now they seem desperate for anyone except the Hydian League. In your searches, I recommend asking people who the League is targetting as 'criminal organizations.' I can look up their actual affiliation, if it's available..">>
Perhaps it's her accent, the rather ostentatious ring that she is careful to flash without appearing to certainly is an entry into a shop of its type. Liren guards the inward shudder at the tawdry stuff (surely they gave her the wrong address) on display and smiles pleasantly to the young man in clothes as colorful and as bad taste as the jewelry.
A conversation ensues that becomes puzzling and then almost alarming when finally the young Jedi wrangles out that the shop owner, along with a large part of his family and clan, which accounts for the significant jewelry traders on the planet has gone on holiday. The alarm setting in when she realizes that that is a euphemism for arrested.
The tea shop that was her next destination is shuttered and closed. A wander down the street shows her that the upper-class streets have a deserted look to them.
Tyrius strikes out on his own, making his way through the industrial section of the cities. He made a few abrupt and casual meeting with some of the heads of local buisnesses. A light meet and greet, there was no intention of hiding who he was. It was more of a warm welcome when he got to mayor officer and other municipality leaders. Lots of booze, lots of food, a luncheon in his honor. Oh it was all too much for Lord Bodega's ego. "Oh, please Gentlemen, you are far to kind..." Said multiple times wih that charming laugh and smile.
On his way back to the embassy, he strolls through the market, asking various shop owners about their day and view on the current political climate. He does his best, but likely seems like just another politician not to be trusted. So there are a lot of half truths and eminense fronts to put up with. He was used to that.
"You naughty, naughty boy...." Ambrosia murmurs to self from atop her perch on rooftop, watching a convoy go buzzing by below. She's made some rounds, noted a few suspicious conenctrations of fortifications, and decided to soak in the sun's dying rays from a lofty view. Sprawled on belly, macronocs propped on nose/rim of canteen. A lazy man's prop. All that's missing is the cocktail and cabana boy, this is so comfy...
Not. Her holster'a been grinding into her pelvis for the past twenty minutes, at least. Aryn's voice comes over the comm bugging her ear and puts a crooked grin up one side of her face. "So this is how you've done it, eh? What use is anti-aircraft artillery 'gainst a den of local syndicate fellows, I do so wonder..."
She doesn't really wonder. It's pretty evident that these Hydian forces are not tunneling in for defenae against a troublesome minority group. They are eatablishing themselves for the long haul. <<Copy, Dr. Cole. You've ascertained the 'why' and I believe I've seen enough 'how' to draw some conclusions.>>
"All right," Greystorm grumbles to the small congregation of reptavians begining to show an interest in her gear. One of them has seized a zipper of her pack in its toothy beak and is tugging something fierce. "Frag off," she groans, slithering away from the roof's edge a couple meters before she can peel off the chipped duracrete tiles and reclaim her things. Slowly. Carefully. Much as she'd like to give her Torch a little target practice up here, now is NOT the time. "Next time," she menaces the city fauna with a sneer and ignores the pecks on ankle. It's time to reconvene.
Call it a hunch. Call it natural instinct. Whatever the source, Lokir has a sense that the real story of this planet will be found below ground, in the dirt and the dark. As Lokir tours the spice mines, he tries to keep a low profile. This isn't his first goose chase in the shadows. And it's not long before Lokir's hunter's nose smells...something fishy. Judging from the signs on the walls, there are at least four different safety boards and three different police forces regulating these mines. And they're all stepping on each other's toes. There are fines for forgetting equipment, rewards for reporting lost equipment, five bulletins about workers safety and compensation from five different official-sounding committees...and not a single civilian officer of authority in sight. Everything is military...soldiers and tanks and...occupation? Lokir smells sour, familiar notes of his own childhood on the air. < Spike, reporting in. I'm scoping the mines. It looks like they're a source of high local politics, drama, and squabbling down here. Seems like they've changed hands a bunch of times, and recently. Everyone wants a piece. Right now, the winning hand is all Hydian military--no police, no security, no union reps...no civilian presence of note yet. Some very fancy tanks down here, though.>
Barad reconvenes after eight and a half long hours of hauling and sweating. X-ray machines and MRI's . . . those metal beasts are plenty heavy! *whew* Well . . . Thank goodness for the sealed and air - conditioned climate - control of this brand - new suit. Incredibly welcome, even if the helmet does smush his big 'ole floopy ears. Just a bit. It's not a big deal, Barad decides -- a minor discomfort -- compared to the new suit's obvious utility! Barad waits his turn to report, marveling at how it's all come together. So many species, from so many worlds, each working for the betterment of a people that many of them -just- barely met! It's actually inspiring. Well, at least, it is to Barad . . . When possible to do so in a quiet out - of - the - way type situation, Barad reports on in to AC, Amber, Ban and Tyrius: "On the Medical Side: Not -nearly- as many casualties as you'd have expected, given an operation of this size! Very few Hydian troopers were wounded, most of them by small arms fire with a few suffering explosive damage. Even _fewer_ Xexten and native Human injuries. Falco's faction was definitely the best prepared. But in any event, there should be more casualties. -Someone- might not be fighting as hard as they could . . . especially among the natives. Why?" Barad then heads out for a quick shower and meal before the group's big get - together.
Merek will take a bit to set up work space for his terminal, while he begins to check on the equipment which he keeps with him. Then he begins to check, while he compiles the information. Eventually, when it looks like he finds all he can, he will begin to pack up. That was a bit useful, even in not being completely successful, he manages to learn what they have to protect.
Through various channels- voice over comlink to those traveling openly, silent encryption to those operating covertly, the New Republic's head of security sends the message: <Reconvene at home base for full debrief.>
Vhe has finished the baked good but is still dealing with the residual stickiness. Rubbing her fingers together she waits for the others to gather before stepping forward to offer what she heard. "It seems amongst the general populace the Republic is not held in favor but it would seem that the Hydian League is thought to be worse. There could be a way to angle into the wind and use it to our advantage. Help sway favor and prove that the Republic is a worthy ally." She glanaces to the others before she then adds. "We may want to expose the underlying problems and perhaps wrong doings of the League."
David returns, leaving behind a second barely-touched glass at the bar. When Vhe details her findings, he takes time to call his droid over to the meeting point to replay the relevant information. The recording highlights the armed troopers, hovertanks, aircraft and possibly a walker of some kind. It then notes some call the troops 'Imperial.' to which David pauses the recording. "It's unlikely to be Imperial. Could be all surplus from somewhere, 30 plus years old ordnance." he starts. "Could be the First Order backing this Primarch's play, install a puppet government." he suggests, glancing around for concurring or opposing opinions.
Tyrius makes his way back finally, not long after getting the call from the security officer. He looks tired, possibly drunk and high... Likely both with all the wining and dining her recieved. He saunters his way into the debriefing room, moving to get a large glass of water. He takes his time drinking it, pondering some of the words said before he speaks. "I don't know who's backing this play. But one thing is clear. THey don't want the League here in their current capasity even if they say it's all fine and dandy. I would suggest convincing the gorvernment to tell the League to leave and then at least we could help them remove an unwanted agressor if they refuse to stand down and withdraw. I don't particularly like anyone with the name 'Nim' so... I can honor their choice to remain indipendant. Doesn't mean we shouldn't help and open up trade lines with them if they decide to remove the army they gave and inch and whom took far more than a mile."
<<"I copy on all accounts. Good observations out there. It appears our contact means to convene. I will see you all shortly."
At the gathering, Dr. Cole reveals, after hearing about possible First Order/Imperial connections. "It's my belief that the man who leads this outfit of Hydian League military, this Colonel Nim, is former Imperial himself. The locals referred to the Colonel as a War Lord. My own world, with the help of Black Squadron, convinced Colonel Nim's forces from exacting their justice in the Ileenium system, so I would tend to agree with them. But then, we look at the bigger picture and what are we trying to save? /Who/ are we trying to save, and who are the victims here?"
There is an intelligence to Vhe that Liren has come to respect; one of the unexpected benefits of being an initiate is meeting people from many planets and walks of life. "Exposing the League for what they are is a good recommendation," she tenders to those who listen.
Her research confirms part of what they have each begun to suspect, "The Hydian League, isn't wanted on the planet except by a certain few. It's not the current upper class. Not if my foray into the well-heeled part of town bears out my ideas. Instead of bankrolling the current Primarch, there has been a push against him and his mercenaries. It's landed a lot of them in jail. It doesn't make sense except if you look at the First Order being behind it."
Freshly showered and having just eaten, Barad is in a much better mood after his long day spent hauling X- Ray machines and other heavy instruments around. Barad stands up to report his findings, combing his big 'ole floopy ears back and away from his eyes as he stands: "On the medical side: Falco's faction was definitely prepared in advance with superior medical supplies and triage planning. But: Casualties *across the board* were _incredibly_ light. Very few Hydian troopers were wounded, mostly via small - arms fire. Not from heavy weapons. Were heavy defensive emplacements -told- to surrender quickly, in order to preserve them for the future? Bribed? Were there covert ops? And: There were even _fewer_ Xexten and native Human injuries . . . it's quite remarkable." Barad notes. "Overall, it would seem the preparations planet -wide could well be for a conflict yet - to - come. And -not- for the conflict which just occurred." Barad summarizes. "The evidence is that the -intended- 'victims' here will be . . . whoever next shows up in starships and speeders, in the sights of heavy weapon emplacements." A taut grim inhalation. Barad looks as if he might want to say more, but, for now, he sticks 100 percent to facts, no conjectures. He then sits back down and rests his helmet on his knee, his big 'ole floopy ears tracking the conversation as each of the envoys reports -their- own findings . . .
Merek eventually makes a way back to the group, while he offers the information which is written into a holo.
General Greystorm makes her reentry into their secure base of operations looking every bit the dirty rebel scum she once was. And still is, albeit...few more wrinkles. The break-neck race of speeder bike through alleyways, lesser patrolled avenues came to an eventual end within a half klik of walking distance, but not without mussing her mane of silver and gold into rebellious disarray. Suitably matched is the dust on her clothes, a bit of pecker shit on her jacket sleeve and boot heel. Frumpled shirt and a smudge of something she's going to tell herself is tar across cheek, near her ear.
Did she have fun today? You bet.
Ambrosia's pack sloughs off shoulder and dumps at her feet with a heavy 'clunk', strapped-on drone and all. S'okay. These things are built tough. Bout as old as she is, anyway. A silent nod goes around while she listens to the info shared and drops into a chair.
"Anyone who isn't Falco or the Hydian League could be under fire afore long, is my guess," (who the victims will be) she mutters and tugs her datapadoff her belt to move some of the mapped bits onto a shareable chit. After David's played through his recordings she stands and inserts her lil device to the room's projector. A large, ghostly grid pops up, mapping the city and outlying mines and refineries. "Like Ironside shows, walkers, tanks...heavy atuff. I saw some tightly escorted convoys ferrying impressively armored drek into the city. This here," she points to a section on grid, "they've got anti-aircraft defense systems in place. That's a bit overkill, comes to fortifying against some local syndicate scum. You don't take the time to dig in this deep unless you plan to be in it for the long haul. Not a quick fix of crippling crime. What they've done shows they are anticipating some fallout from bigger players. Maybe the other four Primarchs. Maybe us." A gesture to Barad. Frowning, she goes on to point out a couple of the mines. "Other hotbeds of activity. Good place to hole up, fortified as these structures already are. And the way they move, here to there, around town....it's not some mercenary frag-all affair. Whoever is organizing these movements knows how to move. Well coordinated. Well armed. It'd be a pain in the ass to hit one o'these convoys. Intimidating for the general population, I'm sure. In short..." The general motions to the 'outside'. "The Hydian League is preparing for war...or at the very least, encamping themselves too deeply to be politely shooed out."
Liren is given a nod by Vhe as she agrees. "A step in the right direction is to be rid of the League. It seems they are moving about if Aryn is correct. That means we must possibly stop them permanently before they try to enter and exploit another system. But you will need to root out who their supporters are here..because even with the League gone, that will still remain a problem."
The intiate rubs a hand to her neck, listening to each. The Primarch brings a raised brow though when it comes to military focus and placement, she is quiet, with nothing to add or expand upon.
Lokir is freshly decontaminated. The military made sure that nobody would be getting an inadvertent contact high from his adventure in narcotic spelunking. Lokir suspects it was much a matter of revenue retention as for ostensible public health concerns. Lokir clears his throat--a bit of a growl. "I poked a bit at the dirt. Normally, it's where the criminal underbelly is. But here...no belly. Which is...possibly worse. The spice mines are foul and should be the exclusive domain of organized crime. But they're not. The whole area is under military supervision...The "government" is running spice." Lokir pauses to gather his thoughts. "The area is obviously valuable--looked like there was a clear and recent power vacuum. If I had to guess, whoever controls spice on this planet has it by the throat. And the military down there...they're not looking to let go. I could barely scratch the surface before I hit clear roadblocks--they had me on a short leash. It felt like a prison with untrained, trigger-happy guards. Speaking from personal experience, there's a reason you don't put soldiers in the roll of police--if you value the lives of your citizens. Smelled like occupation to me--and it doesn't take a prime sleuth to figure that mining spice under military watch isn't the kinda job most folks would do willingly...but that's just speculation. Couldn't dig further without creating a diplomatic incident."
Tyrius adds with a distant smile and gaze, "Yeah... they're running some pretty good spice." He confirms as well... he probably got offered it once or twice during his little political outing. He chuckles and shakes his head. "He who controls the spice... controls the..." There's a pause as he looks to the others. "Nah, hat's too hammy." He waves his hand dismissivly, "Ignore me..." Another long drink of water.
Silver Astro, the Republic's head of security, summarizes while typing rapidly into a console. "Mass arrests. Anti aircraft. Speeder convoys under heavy guard. Minimal casualties. Possible upper class purge. Military control of spice mines..." The details can be better organized later, for now the agent is just keeping free form notes while the droids handle complete recordings. Looking up, she prompts, "What further inquiries do you all recommend take place, before we compile a full report for the Senate?"
"Economy?" Ambrosia snorts softly in response to Tyrius' observation with a little smile aside. Yeeeeah drugs. No such offerings where she's been today. Cept the half sandwich she found in the swiped bike's saddlebag. Tempting as that was....nah.
"Find out what happened to that workforce who USED to operate those mines. See if you can't get a word or three from local police forces. Corruption in law enforcement is as old as time, any neck of the galaxy, but I bet someone's got to be upset about Nim's boots on their toes."
Lokir nods. "Wouldn't mind scraping more at the mines. Worst case: it's a forced labor camp to get rid of political prisoners while turning a profit. Best case: this is a government willing to keep the spice trade flowing in the place of organized crime."
"It looks like some of the upper classes weren't happy about it. I wonder what part the planetary banks have played in this takeover?" Liren wonders aloud. She knows the General by reputation but the unexpected rough and tumble appearance of the woman is more charismatic than the holoprojections of the older Resistance leader ever seemed.
"Follow the money, follow the spice. This world would be a rich lode to mine."
Aryn grows quiet as she listens to everyone reporting in. In her head, she paints each piece of the puzzle there, but it ends up looking like an unfinished piece with key things missing. Aryn quietly wondered why they had taken to defending Troiken if it's been an independent world solely focused on its mining of spice and distributing it. It would not be a practice the Republic could overlook.
"Hmm." Adds the blonde doctor, tapping her chin with a gloved pair of fingers. "I don't think the answers we seek are here. They are mining the spice, sure. Have a good defense around it, but the purpose for all the mining is to sell what they exhume. Like Lady Liren says; follow the supplies."
David has remained quiet after he got done divulging his findings, but watches the others with interest. "Is money enough of a reason to bring a planet like this into the Republic, though?" he asks. "Crime seems to be the top currency here, we ought to be careful not to introduce such systems into a smaller Senate, you know?" he inclines his head towards Aryn. "As the Lady stated."
"Further inquiries.." Silver recites and records. "Five Primarchs.. Spice mines.. Bank.. Lines of export.."
"If the Hydian League is allowed to puppet ground operations insofar as controlling resources," spice "then it's only a matter of time and good business before profits from those mines and refineries gets used to reinforce their armory. Build bigger. Means every week or so they go unchecked they're gonna be that much bigger a threat. Not just to Troiken. Right now, it's an isolated tumor. But you feed that thing enough..."
Look, it's not quite how /that/ works, but Greystorm's no doctor. She's only good at taking people apart. "What world of opportunity will they turn their attention to next? Ideally, we insert an agent. IN in. In there." A point back to her grid, where the convoy was delivering heavy artillery. "And there." The mine.
Barad watches, waits, and listens. It's interesting, to Barad, how decisions are made at this level. It's neat! Decision by evidence, decision by consensus. All new things! Barad listens, and learns, his big 'ole floopy soft brown ears alert and tracking each speaker in turn.
Lokir whistles softly. "My people have a saying. 'A sick member dooms the pack.' This feels like a powder keg. What would the New Republic do if this planet is admitted, and the mines are the scene of a military mass grave next week? Spice is not a normal economy--to be poor is not a crime, whereas to traffic in the worst of drugs..." Lokir shakes his head.
"This planet feels sick to me. Crime is a symptom of disease. Healthy societies all have some level of crime. When you can't spot the criminals on a planet...you look closer at the folks in charge."
David nods at Lokir. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Like, okay, swooping in and making their lives a little better by taking out the guy with the army, sure, but, you know.." he pauses to look at anyone else's faces, "Just.. inviting them into the Republic with open arms, not only is that going to be a hard sell to anyone without a criminal bone in their body, and I'm saying this knowing I don't represent anyone but myself, but you also need to make sure you're not dragging these people kicking and screaming into using actual credits for currency." he sums up. "Because that'll just breed resentment."
"Oh, well said Lokir. It is Lokir, right?" The dark haired woman leans forward toward the horned man. "I don't know that the New Republic would want this planet to be in the Senate but it wouldn't want it to be a new locus for the remnants of the First Order either. I think. I don't make policy," Liren adds with a shake of her head.
Barad subconsciously *wags* his tail when Lokir says "to be poor is not a crime." *whew* Well, that's a good thing. Because if it were a crime, that would make pretty much every single Klatooinian a criminal of one stripe or another. And yet -- Barad wonders -- why is it, then, that if a rich man and a poor man both commit the very same actions, the rich man stays free and the poor man is locked up as a criminal? Or is that not true on Other Worlds . . . Barad listens, yet more deeply, as the mysteries of economics are expounded by the other envoys. Learning. Takes time . . . . So Barad gives it the time it needs. Barad listens; Barad learns.
"No way to know until yer in it," Ambrosia shrugs a shoulder at Vhe and then offers David a little nod. "Need to learn more more about what stake the League has in this place before the Republic decides whether or not action is in order. Is my advice. If you could tap into some com relays...theirs and the other pirarchs?" Amber's probably botched the word, but she doesn't care. She was here to oggle military assets and show of force. And she did. Found them to be more competent than she'd liked. "Once your agents have milked all they could possibly assemble into reports, then it's up to the Senate to determine if they're keen to sit on their hands or not. And to what degree, if at all, they wanna get muddy." And on that note, the weathered woman pulls her data card and slouches back into seat to suck down some water.
