“I understand how it could be, sir.”
“Tell me, droid, what is the possible consequence of low theloxin levels in a Pau’an?”
OneOne-FourDee didn’t hesitate. “One possible consequence would be an elevation of the oxidation rate, leading to the growth of an exophthalmic goiter, which in turn would affect the production of roaamin from the anterior lobes of the lutiaary gland.”
“And?”
“One result might be giantism, well beyond the Pau’an norm.”
“If so?”
“The connecting ganglia making up the autonomic nervous system and controlling glandular secretion might induce an acceleration of the circular sphincter muscles of the digestive tract, resulting in xerophthalmia.”
“So you are a diagnostician, as well.”
“In a minor capacity, sir.”
Beyond the viewport, growing larger against the backdrop of a behemoth ringed planet, a space station turned in fixed orbit near a heavily cratered moon. A hodgepodge of interconnected domed modules, the station featured two long, boxy arms to which ships of varying size were tethered. Plagueis called data to the display screen of his comlink and placed it in view of 11-4D.
“Transmit this code over the comm.”
The droid performed the task and waited at the comm while the cockpit enunciators crackled to life.
“Unidentified freighter, Deep Space Demo and Removal is in reception of your request. Give us a moment to authenticate your transmission.”
“Holding fast while you authenticate,” Plagueis said.
“Freighter, you are cleared for docking,” the voice returned a moment later.
“My ship,” Plagueis said, leaning forward to take hold of the yoke.
As a precaution, the station directed them to a berth at the distal end of the larger of the two arms.
“You will accompany me into the landing bay,” Plagueis told the droid when he had shut the ship down. “Raise the boarding ramp behind us and activate the anti-intrusion system. No one is to board the
“I understand, sir.”
Waiting in the gloomy landing bay were a female Nikto and a russet-colored young male Dug, backed by a motley contingent of armed beings. Lowering the cowl of his robe as he approached, Plagueis saw the Nikto stiffen and signal those behind her to leave the area immediately.
“Magister Damask,” she began in Basic, “I had no foreknowledge—”
Plagueis cut her off. “This isn’t a social call.”
“Of course, Magister. Regardless, do you wish me to apprise Boss Cabra of your visit?”
“Is he on station?”
“No, sir. But he can be reached by comm.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Plagueis said. “I’ll contact him myself.”
“As you wish, Magister. What services can the station provide?”
Plagueis gestured in an offhanded way to the berthed freighter. “This ship is to be sealed and slagged.”
“Without salvaging anything?” the Dug said.
Plagueis looked at him. “I said sealed and slagged. Do you need to hear it a third time?”
The Dug bared his teeth. “Do you know who you’re talking to, Muun?”
Plagueis cut his eyes to the Nikto. “Who is this callow pup?”
“Pup?” the Dug repeated before the Nikto could intervene.
“Boss Cabra’s youngest progeny, Magister,” she said quickly, restraining the Dug with her extended left arm. “He means no disrespect.”
Plagueis regarded the Dug again. “What are you called, pup?”
The Dug’s rear legs were tensed for a leap, but the Nikto whirled rapidly, slapping him across his flewed and broad-nostriled snout and clamping a hand on his windpipe.
“Answer him!” she bellowed into his snarling face. “And with due respect!”
The Dug relented and whimpered, though certainly more out of humiliation than pain. “Darnada,” he squeaked at last.
“Darnada,” Plagueis repeated before addressing the Nikto. “Perhaps young Darnada should be muzzled to prevent him from endangering his father’s business relationships.”
“His brashness reflects his inexperience, Magister,” the Nikto said in abject apology. She gave Darnada a menacing glance before continuing. “Trust that your orders regarding the ship will be honored in full, Magister.”
“I will also need a change of wardrobe and a fueled, piloted ship.”
“Can we provide the pilot with a destination beforehand?”
“Muunilinst.”
“Of course, Magister. And what are your instructions regarding the droid?”
“Instructions?”
“Is the droid to be slagged along with the ship?”
Plagueis looked over his shoulder at 11-4D. “How much of your memory can be wiped without tampering with your medical protocols?”
“I’m modular in design,” the droid said. “My memory storage can be erased in its entirety or according to whatever parameters you establish.”
Plagueis considered that. “Remain with the ship until it has been liquefied. I will expect a complete audio-vid recording.”
OneOne-FourDee raised its right-side appendages in a gesture of acknowledgment. “At your service, Magister Damask.”
5: HOMECOMING
Those fortunate enough to have visited Muunilinst in the decades preceding the Clone Wars often remarked that the planet had been blessed with the most beautiful skies in the galaxy. To maintain that pristine blue realm — to prevent it from being sullied by drop ships, shuttles, or landing craft — the Muuns had erected the most costly skyhook of its kind anywhere outside the Core. As efficient as it was luxurious, the skyhook, known affectionately as the Financial Funnel, linked the orbital city of High Port with the planetary capital, Harnaidan, which functioned as the nerve center of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. While the stately tower seemed to speak to the Muuns’ high regard for aesthetics and ecology, its true purpose was to keep visitors from setting foot on Muunilinst, thereby safeguarding the planet’s wealth of resources and keeping secret the lavish lifestyles of those who had ascended to the top of the food chain.
From its remote corner of the Outer Rim, Muunilinst exerted its influence across all of known space and halfway to the galaxy’s nearest satellite star cluster. Dating back to the founding of the Republic, the Banking Clan had funded governments, supported settlements, and bankrolled countless commerce guilds, trade corporations, and shipping cartels. In a very real sense, the IBC dictated the ebb and flow of wealth from the Core to the Outer Rim. Scarcely a building was raised on Coruscant without the Banking Clan’s approval; scarcely a starship left the yards at Kuat or Bilbringi or Fondor without the IBC having brokered the deal; and scarcely an election occurred on Corellia or Commenor without the Muuns having been consulted.
The Muuns accomplished all these things with a meticulous serenity that belied the frenzied workings of their mathematical minds. Save for when it came to collecting on overdue debts, the Muuns, on first acquaintance, appeared to be a stolid and lenient species, if somewhat arrogant, with an ascetic nature that was in full keeping with their willowy bodies and was reflected in the simple but harmonious architecture of their cities.
As pale as the Muuns themselves, High Port Space Center incorporated the design elements they favored most: domed interiors, arch-topped windows, fluted columns, and unadorned friezes and entablatures. Among these faux-stone building blocks large groups of Muuns maneuvered and mingled with unhurried if single-minded
