Deal Or No Deal

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

Almost everything about this situation was strange, if Torrsk Oruo'rel took anything more than a brief moment to consider it.

Oruo'rel found himself in a lavish courtroom in Drev'starn, graciously loaned and gratefully borrowed by the Alliance of Free Planets until work on the Alliance Capital complex could be completed. He found himself at the centre of representatives of five races who presided as magistrates; but it was he who felt like the alien among them.

Much time had past since Oruo'rel had been forced to remove and stow his uniform for the final time, and much had changed since then: no longer the resistance fighter, no longer the SpecForce General, but instead the duly appointed representative of his entire people, and Minister for the Alliance of Free Planets' defense. It had never been an ambition or aspiration: Oruo'rel was not the sort of Bothan who lusted for power, contrary to the rule and reputation of his race. Yet, those ambitions he did have aligned in strange ways. His ego did not crave the power, but his mind relished the control: the opportunity to guide his Alliance down the right path as he had from the Advisory Council; the chance to help shape it's future into one he would not feel compelled to rebel against. Minister of Defense was a heavy burden and a hefty honour; Torrsk forced himself to stay mindful of both, lest he stumble into the temptations that fuelled the ostentatious arrogance of his peers.

His peers. The Bothan's head barely moved as he aligned his vision to regard his colleagues; his comrades, though not the battle hardened sort of his SpecForce days that he would have preferred. To his left sat Tukphen of Mon Cala, his counterpart in the Minister of Supply; and beyond him, the Quarren advocate Thada Adel. Between them, they represented the Mon Calamari Shipyards and Hoersch-Kessel Drive, two powerhouses of the Alliance's military industry. The remainder was represented by Niev Minetti, the Sullustan from SoroSuub and Minister of Industry from the Alliance, who perched off to the far right of their quintet; Taataani Meorrrei of the Carshoulis Cluster, the so-called Starfighter Baroness, filled the final space directly beside the Bothan.

Perhaps it was wrong of him to have arranged the delegates that way. Perhaps it was impolitic to have not seated Minister Minetti beside him. Perhaps he was sending some inadvertent subtle message about how the Ministry of Defense valued its starfighters above all other military technology; though perhaps not an inaccurate one, given how much less expensive a squadron of starfighters was, compared to a patrol frigate from the Mon Calamari. Torrsk cared little for such things, though: he cared little for perception and political subterfuge. What mattered to him was that collectively, the five of them represented - with a few Sluissi, Verpine, and scattered other exceptions - every manufacturer of military weapons and hardware that the Alliance of Free Planets had within it's domain. Star Cruisers from Mon Calamari. Starfighters from Incom-Koensayr-Meorrrei. Frigates and blasters from the SoroSuub Corporation. Separatist warships from Hoersch-Kessel Drive. Of all the Senators that could have graced the magistrates' bench beside him, these four comrades were best suited for the mission at hand.

The doors groaned as they parted; archaic, manual, ornately carved from local wood. A moment passed before they disgorged Oruo'rel's adversary for the day: Ambassador Wrath of the Hutt Cartel. Torrsk harumphed internally. Ambassador. As if such an affectation could ever apply to a Hutt. As best the Minister of Defense could tell, the title was entirely self-assumed, rather than bestowed by any authority of real significance. Ambassador of the Ouishii Kajidic perhaps; though it was easy to appoint yourself representative of a clan when you were it's soul patriarch.

Rath Ouishii Dae came to them not as a Hutt however, but as a businessman. When the Alliance of Free Planets had first been contacted by him in their fledgeling days, the Senate envoy sent to greet him had not been sure quite what to make of it. When a neighbour as vast and potentially dangerous as the Hutt Cartel requested an audience, the Alliance of Free Planets was in no position to decline; but Wrath had wished to speak business, not peace, and so any negotiations had been deferred until the Senate had time to deliberate, and weigh it's options.

That was why this tribunal had been arranged, and why its five members had been selected. Torrsk's senate peers would likely dress the situation up in different ways; the simple truth was that he and his companions, representing the best of Alliance industry, were the most qualified souls in all the Free Planets to find a reason not to strike a bargain with the Hutt. It was true that Ambassador Wrath did have something to offer: the Alliance Army was sorely lacking in viable hardware, and Wrath's acquisition of Rothana Heavy Engineering placed him in a unique position to provide them with combat walkers, speeders, gunships, and more. But he was a Hutt: that was the simple and inescapable fact. The Rebel Alliance of old had dealt with the galaxy's criminal underworld enough to know that such arrangements were dangerous, and that his entire species was not to be trusted. That was Oruo'rel's mission, whether the Alliance Senate had stated it outright or not: find an excuse, if you can.

The terrifying caveat went unspoken. If a bitter old Bothan and four self-interested corporations couldn't find a viable enough reason to turn down Wrath's business proposal, the Senate would have no choice but to align themselves with this Hutt. Hounds of the hunt, Torrsk mused to himself, uttering a silent prayer to the old deities of Bothawui. Guide us safely to the wisest path.

[Ambassador Wrath]

The Ambassador was not alone.

It was moments such as this that Rath came to appreciate - for a brief moment - the aesthetic talents of his cousin Okar. In business, appearance was everything. Amid the criminal underworld it was essential to negotiate from a visible position of strength, and corporate business was no different; at least, not in that regard. What different was the dress code, and while the likes of Avar and Nychus would suit him just fine if this were a meeting with Black Sun, the Tenloss Syndicate, or anyone else who needed reminding of the resources at his proposal, such a brutal and inelegant display would be out of place here. Instead, Rath had selected his companions like fashion accessories, adorning himself with companions that would subvert, challenge, and misdirect the rebel Senators and their preconceptions.

Or at least, that was why Victor Montegue was here. Rath had little patience for humans in and of themselves, but the further he strayed into legitimate business, the more advantageous he found having a few humans here and there to be a friendlier face for his business ventures. Most sentient races seem to find it distasteful to have dealings with the Hutts, even legitimate and legal ones; and frankly, Rath couldn't blame them. His aversion to his own race wasn't quite as visceral and superficial as the humanoids of course; but the Hutts were by and large petty and childish, lacking in vision and subtlety, and Rath had little patience for them. That was why his business ventures brought him here, away from the Cartel, closer to the Core, and into the domain where a human face with a human smile did far more good than the cackling maw of a Hutt.

That was the theory, at least; but as Rath surveyed the Senate representatives arrayed before him, his false assumption became clear. Five Senators, none of them human. It was an unexpected twist, and a mistake easily made in a galaxy so overwhelmingly dominated by the bald-skinned simians. Even when the rebellion had begun, standing up against the oppression of the human overlords of the Galactic Empire, it had been humanity that flooded the resistance in droves; humans who died by the hundreds and thousands in every conflict. This was not the Confederacy of three decades ago; these were not alien Separatists protesting the dictates of human bureaucrats; this had been a rebellion of conscience, a clash of ideals, and no one in the galaxy was better to fight such an opinionated fight than the pale skinned humans of the Core Worlds, so eager to take up arms on behalf of others and wage their war of social justice.

But therein lay the reason, the realisation that Rath had overlooked. Humanity dwelt in the Core Worlds, and for the most part those planets had been clung to by the Empire with an iron grip. There were exceptions, of course; there was Naboo, and Lantillies, and Contruum, and the human infestations in the Hapes Cluster and the Gordian Reach; but for the most part it was the non-human worlds of the Mid and Outer Rim that had slipped through those fingers, securing their freedom down the barrel of a planet-devastating weapon. The humans of Alderaan, Corellia, Chandrila, Mandalore, and all the other worlds whose sons and daughters had flooded to the rebellion's cause and the non-humans' aid, had all been left abandoned and betrayed by the Alliance, services no longer required by the aliens who were now secure in their freedom.

Such sweet irony; it was all Rath could do not to laugh.

While the appeal of Victor Montegue may have been drastically undercut, Rath took solace in the fact that his other accessory might still hold some value. Just as Montegue walked to his right, to his left strode Kalibac: the accessory to end all accessories, in a negotiation such as this. He was a rare sight, and Kalibac knew it; every movement, every striding step, every twitch of the wings slicked flat against his back was calculated and precise, his mere existence a monument to a people that the Empire had destroyed. He was not the last Geonosian in the galaxy, but at times Rath wished that he were: it was a grim honour that Kalibac would have worn like a crown, and wielded like a weapon on Rath's behalf.

Together, the odd assortment inched through the Bothan courtroom and towards the magistrates' bench, the two bipedal companions knowing better than to outpace their vengeful employer. At last Rath came to a halt, and carefully adjusted his arms, resting atop the band of fabric that Okar had adorned him with for this occasion. What had his cousin called it? Kamarband? Either way, the sash was uncomfortable, despite the ostentatious luxury fabric that Okar had selected. Yet, it served a purpose. Aside from sparing the humanoids and their prudishness at a Hutt's typical state of undress, Okar had carefully chosen the outfits of Kalibac and Montegue to match, choices of unique colour with subtle points of similarity in style and adornment; three individuals, and yet a united front; almost uniform, in fact. Attire fit for a military contractor; or so the theory went.

"Allow me to present Kalibac of Geonosis, and Victor Montegue of Czerka Arms."

The words escaped Rath in basic, but in a low, deep rumble that vibrated through every inch of the musculature of his body, and into his gastropod which clung awkwardly to the courtroom floor, from which the carpet had been conspicuously removed. Rath's eyes swept across the tribunal before him, wondering which of the Senators would react first.

[Thada Adel]

The slug had arrived. Thada Adel of the planet Dac, advocate for the Quarren people, broker of peace and understand, and living rights activist watched the progression with an uncharacteristic face of stone. Her usual rich adornments, the silken dresses with their trains of excess cloth meant to float in water in seaweed was absent this meeting, along with her jewelry save for the single aquamarine gemstone that sat in the center of her orange-pink forehead; a simple reminder of her ocean homeworld. Her clothing was more practical and businesslike; a sleeveless tunic and dress pants. Her bare arms seemed quite desolate without the bangles and bracelets that often adorned them.

It was a much more mature look for the young Senator.

If not for Tukphen she would have not even come to this meeting. She kept no secrets from her Mon Calamari companion, and her distrust of the Hutts had been laid out in the open before him. While the rest of the Alliance seemed more than content to share their side of the galaxy with their slimy neighbors, Thada occupied a lonely opposition. The close proximity of the Hutts, with so little in place to regulate and enforce the border there was no doubt that weapons and drugs were constantly moving to Alliance worlds; fueling crime and self destruction. Rath may only represent a single clan, and be a partially legitimate businessman, but there was little that would convince her that he did not have his tail dipped one dark enterprise or another; fueling a systematic problem.

Hutts represented everything that was wrong with the galaxy. Their greed, apathy, and racial predisposition toward crime made them the enemy now. A peace accord kept them safe from the Empire. If Thada had her way the would move to control their neighbor. She would never advocate their eradication or imprisonment, but steps should be taken to reduce the collateral damage of allowing them such free reign. She was very aware that her own people had been viewed in a similar light for hundreds of years. She would like to think the Hutts could be saved, that there must be good souls hiding in their sinister culture, but she had never met one, or even heard of one. Instead every single Hutt was the same, just like Rath, a horrible slug pretending to be people.

She said nothing, for fear of the vitriol in her heart spilling fourth.

[Tukphen]

This was an issue where Tukphen and Thada differed. Such things were thankfully far fewer in number than the subjects on which they agreed; but like a few select other instances, the gulf between the two Senators for Dac on this issue was vast.

It was not that Tukphen had a fondness for the Hutts, or the way that they conducted themselves. As a people, they were petty, vain, and cruel: traits that he could only condemn, not condone. Their proximity to Alliance space, and their lax attitude towards illegal trade and conduct made the rimward edge of the Alliance of Free Planets a haven for smugglers, pirates, spice traffickers, and almost certainly far worse things. Would Tukphen prefer that the Hutts conduct themselves differently? Of course he would. Anyone who did not wish for a better galaxy did not deserve to carry the title of Senator: how could they care so little for the lives of people and still claim to speak for them?

But as with many things, the situation was not that simple. Before Tukphen had been a Senator, he had been an Admiral, entrenched in the logistics infrastructure of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. Even now, as Minister of Supply, he saw the world through a certain kind of eyes. Abhorrent as the Hutts were to him personally, their existence had been invaluable to the Alliance. The Hutt Cartel had stood for thousands of years, enduring through countless wars between the Galactic Republic and Sith, Separatists, and far more; that the Galactic Empire allowed them to exist, never seeking to subjugate those eastern reaches of the galaxy spoke volumes about the endurance of their civilization. Their presence had given the Rebellion places to hide, to source contraband, and to finance and arm their insurgence when there was no other way. It was was easy to turn their gills up at the Hutts now that they were all trying to be a civilized Alliance; but Tukphen had not forgotten his past and theirs, and that earned them their grudging respect.

This Hutt was no ordinary Hutt, either. He called himself Ambassador, and his conduct towards the Alliance of Free Planets thus far had endorsed that status. Tukphen had requested a portfolio from the Bothan SpyNet, and while this Rath Ouishii Dae was utterly unashamed and unapologetic about the amoral activities he engaged in, he did so with an odd respect for law and protocol. His illicit merchandise was not illegal on the worlds where it was purchased, nor in the places it was sold. What happened between was hazy, but it made for a fascinating individual. Rath played by the rules, but also played the rules, bending but never quite seeming to break them.

Today was the latest unexpected turn. A meeting arranged through legitimate channels, seeking to make a legitimate deal with the Alliance on behalf of his legitimate businesses. In one gesture, the Ambassador had shown the Free Planets more respect than half the corporate galaxy. It was a ruse, there was no doubt of that. There was a game being played here, and Tukphen attempted to unravel it. But all the games of strategy and intellect Tukphen knew of followed certain protocols and expectations of conduct. As long as Rath continued to show the proper respect, so would he.

"You and your companions are most welcome, Ambassador," Tukphen spoke up, bowing his head in turn to each of the three.

[Victor Montegue]

Victor wasn't sure why he was here.

Well, that wasn't true. He knew exactly why he was here. His ol' slug of an employer wanted to sell tanks and guns to the Alliance of Free Planets, and that meant Victor Montegue needed to make himself look fancy, and play nice. Such things happened when you made a deal with the devil, and then that devil appointed you CEO of two of his arms manufacturing companies; and gosh darn if the fat stack of credits sitting in his numerous bank accounts sweetened the situation just enough to outweigh his frustration and annoyance at all this dealing and negotiating crap. The actual day to day running of the company? That was great. That was easy. Wrath hired good people - or at least, passably competent people - and for the most part Victor was just there to put a happy human face on the product, a sugar pill to help smooth things over with people who'd rather not be reminded they were dealing with Hutts. It was the same story over in Ubrikkian Industries as well, though truth be told, Victor was more than a little offended that Wrath had gone and hired a CEO there who was so noticeably more attractive than him. It just felt underhanded, y'know? Pretty face, meet prettier face. It had stung, though Victor was man enough to keep that pain hidden deep inside.

Where the question came in was why he was here. Or rather, why he and the slug were both here. This sort if thing usually went one of two ways: either Wrath rolled on - or rather, sort of scootched in - to do his whole booming voice and unsettlingly sinister sweet-talking on the clients; of Victor was sent in to do things the right way, with charm and wit, fine wine, good food, and as many attractive secretaries as could be crammed into a single jacuzzi. It was an important disconnect. Having them both here was not the Hutt's usual play. But then, this was not the Hutt's usual business move, either. They'd pitched to planets before. Private militias. Worlds where the Empire had gone bye-bye, and hadn't had the decency to leave their trashy old TIEs and walkers lying around for the civilian militias to take over. There'd been a pretty sweet little arrangement worked out with the people of Christophsis for example: Rothana walkers and TransGalMeg fighters were currently enforcing whatever the leaders of freshly freed Christophsis decided needing enforcing. This, though? This wasn't just stepping up their game, this was a fifteen-foot standing jump up into the big leagues. How was it Ghtroc had put it, before they'd left Circumtore? Rath's really shelling up on this one. Probably something like that, anyway. Usually was with Shell Hutts, but frankly Victor had been a little too zazzed on celebration drinks to pay that much attention.

Maybe it was an intimidation thing. Maybe it was a reinforcements thing. Back before he'd been a corporate big shot, Victor had been a Sector Ranger. He knew the value of working along, but also knew that sometimes you'd have to be frelling stupid to even consider that approach. Sometimes you just had to suck it up and roll in with as many bodies as you could find. That didn't seem like Wrath's style though; and the absence of Four-Arms, Greyface, and the Pink Lady didn't fit the usual intimidation scenario. What, then? Was this all for show? Look at how diverse I am, I have a pet human, and a pet Geonosian?

Victor would have sighed, if he didn't know how bad that would have wound up looking. Instead he forced a smile, distracting himself with an appraising glance at the lady selection the Alliance had provided. The Quarren at the far end conjured up memories that were best left unremembered, but the cat woman? Cizerack, probably? She was pretty easy on the eyes, as far as politicians went.

For her, the smile became a little more genuine.