Star Wars: From the Clone Wars to Starfaring Heroes

Chapter 41 - A Mixed Bag
As Ryan settled into the soft seats of the motorhome, he noticed that Paris, sitting opposite him, was staring intently at him.

"what happened?"

Paris hesitated for a moment, seemingly considering her words.

“...Did you really have to do that?” she finally asked, her voice trembling slightly. “I mean, the way you treated the space station administrator, he seemed... scared.”

"Have you seen many capitalists before, outside Coruscant or the Jedi Temple, Orpheus?" Renn asked softly, his gaze sweeping across the fleeting pipe lights through the car window.

"Never...never seen it before?" Paris admitted, her tone somewhat uncertain.

“I’ve seen them.” Hal, who was next to Renn, blinked and said, “They’re annoying. They’re polite on the surface, but they only care about their own interests.”

“Hal is right.” Ryan agreed, a cold smile curving his lips. “When you have the opportunity… I mean when you have the power to control them, never give them any false sense that they can take advantage of you. They are selfish and calculating, which means that as long as you make the rules clear enough and let them understand the consequences of crossing the line, they won’t dare to do anything stupid.”

He paused for a moment, then continued, "I told him we'd leave first thing tomorrow morning, remember? Today he'll use all his resources to clean up the surface of the 'Rotator' until it's spotless and in perfect order. Once my fleet has warped away, everything will be back to normal."

"Then... what's the actual benefit?" Paris was even more confused, her brows furrowing slightly. "Just to scare him?"

“What’s the benefit? It’s an unspoken understanding, Paris,” Ryan explained patiently, as if instructing a new recruit. “As long as he keeps a low profile and doesn’t cause me any trouble, I don’t need to report anything, and I don’t have to waste time writing those lengthy reports. It’s simple and hassle-free, much better than taking his bribes and then having him use them against me.”

At first, Paris looked angry, her lips pursed, but then her expression slowly calmed down and she became thoughtful.

Ryan viewed this change as a cognitive advancement.

Although the main control program is likely listening, it is essentially part of the space station itself.

So it doesn't matter.

Once they got off the car, they needed to be careful in public areas, as the place was a mixed bag, teeming with separatists and agents of the Republic.

A few minutes later, the air train smoothly came to a stop at the platform where the "Under the Dome" space lounge was located.

The car door slid open silently.

As they got off the bus, Ryan said "thank you" to the air, and Hal echoed him with "thank you."

Paris seemed somewhat confused, as if she didn't understand the act of thanking the machine.

But then her attention was drawn to the dazzling and noisy sight of the "wheel".

Aliens from every corner of the separatist space, including races from the Republic space.

They were enjoying themselves in the neon-lit corridor, surrounded by all sorts of bustling shops you could imagine.

Fine dining, alien art shops, robot service centers, various entertainment venues...

Here, you can find almost anything as long as you can afford it.

This is no joke.

Of course, the top-tier clubs on the luxury floors, the opulent casinos, and the hotels offering the ultimate in luxury are the hallmarks of "Roulette".

But its special status means that its true value lies in the unseen.

Ryan was certain that for every three people who passed by them, one was likely a hacker, an information broker, or a professional spy for some organization.

Half of the seemingly glamorous businesses on the space station are likely elaborate fronts designed by smuggling rings and black market brokers.

Just one wrong turn in those dimly lit alleyways filled with the suspicious smell of spices, and you'll find yourself in a vulgar underground casino playing obscene music.

The central core area of ​​the space station even has a legal, exceptionally bloody arena for alien creatures.

Paris's eyes widened, her head involuntarily turning from side to side as she tried to process this bizarre and surreal scene. "This...this place..."

“A mixed bag of people.” Renn whispered in her ear, his voice almost drowned out by the surrounding noise. “They are polite and well-dressed on the surface, and they even use the guise of officialdom. Everyone who can establish themselves here is an expert in their own field, because to afford the astronomical rent and bribes here, you have to have some real skills… and you also have to watch out for pickpockets.”

In other circumstances, this is a reasonable reminder.

But now, it's not necessary.

Despite the crowded corridor, because of Ryan's conspicuous brigadier general uniform, the crowd seemed to be pushed aside by an invisible force, forming a relatively spacious "vacuum" zone around them.

Despite the bizarre and wonderful things that have happened on this space station, the "Rotating Wheel" security team is indeed trying to maintain a semblance of order.

There was no obvious arguing in Raine, and the numerous gangs that divided up the various areas knew they couldn't provoke the authority of the master program and the violent machine behind it.

In this respect, Raine's B2 combat robots even seemed somewhat superfluous. "You four," Raine turned to the four super combat robots, whose red optical sensors immediately focused on him, "conduct regular patrol and surveillance on this floor, and keep communications open."

"Yes, sir." The lead B2 responded in a monotonous synthesized voice: "Patrol mode activated!"

“And, Paris…” Ryan turned to Paris, took a small wallet containing credit point chips from the inside pocket of his uniform, and stuffed it into her hand. “Take these and go find some fun.”

Paris looked down at the credit point chip in her hand, then looked up at him suspiciously. "Aren't you afraid I'll take this opportunity to escape? Find a communications station and contact the Republic?"

“If you can quickly find a Republic agent in this chaos who is willing to believe you and capable of helping you, I will admire you greatly.” Raine’s voice was so soft that only she could hear it, with a hint of amusement. “Even if you find one, if you can persuade them not to kill you, I will admire you even more.”

"..."

"Why did they want to kill me? I'm an absolute—" Paris stopped herself in time, glancing warily around.

“First, you’re a Miriel, which is a cardinal sin in the eyes of some Republic extremists,” Raine explained calmly. “Second, you’re wearing a Confederate uniform, and from the moment we entered the space station, you’ve been under the watchful eyes of countless surveillance cameras and potential agents. The Republic’s intelligence service isn’t Jedi Knights, Barris; they’re waging shadow wars, they don’t show mercy, and they’re not… naive.”

They'll drag you to some back door where there are no security cameras, and shoot you in the back of the head, because it's better to deal with the problem directly than risk assessing your authenticity. They'll instinctively think you're bait, deliberately luring me to their rendezvous point.

And they were absolutely right.

Renn silently added in his mind.

Because trackers were implanted in three different places on Paris's body.

Ryan could hear and hear everything she said in real time.

Even if they truly believed Paris and took her away.

For Rennes, there was no loss.

He glanced at Paris's expression.

There was no expression on her face.

This must be a testament to her ability to control her emotions, but it doesn't matter; at least those words left her with something to think about.

For now, Raine needs to make her understand that the Republic is not the perfect embodiment of justice and light that she imagined, before she can reconsider.

Perhaps exposing her to some Confederate holographic propaganda and providing different perspectives would be helpful.

step by step.

“We’ll meet at Perhentian Bay in about two standard hours,” Ryan told her finally. “If you get lost, just find the nearest kiosk, and the system will help you.”

"Let's go, Hal!"

He waved his hand lightly.

Watching Paris hesitate as she blended into the crowd, Ryan hoped that his secondary instruction to the B2 robot, "maintain visual contact and do not interfere unless necessary," would be effectively executed.

The “Under the Dome” Cosmic Lounge, located in the Central area, is a very popular venue.

Despite its relatively small interior space—just a small tavern—it's so popular that a dedicated bodyguard is needed at the entrance.

The reason is that the tavern is located near the large public hangar area, rather than the main hull area.

Therefore, most captains and businessmen who have a little money but don't want to show off in the most luxurious places will choose to come to this more relaxed lounge when they make a short stop on the "carousel".

The tavern's bodyguard was an unusually burly, humanoid creature.

He stood like a wall at the entrance decorated with glowing pipes, blocking Ryan's way.

Commendably, he looked warily at the conspicuous military overcoat on Ryan's shoulders, but showed no sign of nervousness or obsequiousness, only a professional assessment.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the bodyguard said in a deep, guttural voice, “we are currently full and there are no seats available.”

He smacked his thick lips and added, "...Did you make an appointment in advance?"

"My appointment name is Trilm."

The bodyguard pulled a sturdy data tablet from his waist, his large fingers clumsily but skillfully swiping across the screen to search.

After finding the name, he breathed a barely perceptible sigh of relief, a glint of light flashing in his eyes. "It's in private room number two. Please follow me."

(End of this chapter)