"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. "If he starts talking, if rumors spread through the fleet about how unprepared and deep in shit we are, the Federation will be finished before the Alliance fires a single shot! 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.
...
( 22 BBY )
The departure lounge was full, but there was no queue at all for customs. Obi-Wan wouldn't have even needed to wait in line if it wasn't for Prialla and Anakin being admitted ahead of him. Obi-Wan watched over his shoulder as a husband held his pregnant wife, who seemed to be struggling with the weight of the moment as tears rolled down her face. The woman had the same blue eyed, blonde haired look as Duchess Satine, common to those of original Mandalorian stock.
Obi-Wan sighed, wrenching his eyes away and looking back ahead. It made sense that so many people would want to leave, and so few would be wanting to come. Imagine if the assassin had succeeded in killing Satine? What would have happened to the government? What if the Clans tried to retake control? Or, may the Force be with us all, one of those maniacs from the Watch? The atmosphere was so tense and fearful that it was obvious people thought they were returning to civil war even though Satine was still alive.
"You okay, Kenobi?" A voice asked over his shoulder.
Obi-Wan didn't even look back. "Quinlan, I spent a long time on the run with Satine to make sure Mandalore would be at peace, and now it seems that effort was in vain. Perhaps the New Temple is eager to plunge the Galaxy into war, but having been through one, it's not a fate I would wish upon anyone if I could help it."
There was a brief pause before Quinlan replied. "But that's the rub, isn't it, Kenobi? It's really not up to us is it?"
He was right, and Obi-Wan knew it. That didn't mean he'd admit defeat out loud, though.
...
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