Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Now what?” Taylor asked aloud.

She and HK-47 were still in the CEO’s office, the man sitting at his desk while carefully breathing. It had been tricky to make him speak so fluently, but HK-47 had helped her

The plan had been... somewhat simple.

First, they shut down the building-wide alarm and her droids below, with Tattletail in tow, returned to the topmost floor where they rejoined with Taylor and HK-47 and the man currently sitting behind her.

Then HK-47 had a brilliant idea.

How better to make a company recant their evil ways than to force the entire company to air its dirty laundry out for all to see?

Corporations were not people, Taylor didn’t feel so much as a tinge of guilt as she basically destroyed this branch of Czerka. At least, she assumed it wasn’t going that well for the company. The devices on the CEO’s desk kept beeping for attention, and a screen nearby with what looked like the company’s stock exchange information charted a price drop that looked like a straight line to the bottom.

Tattlerail seemed overjoyed to publish all of Czrka’s dirtiest secrets on the public holonet.

HK-47 prepared an entirely truthful speech, they stood next to a holoprojector set in the CEO’s desk, and with nearly an hour spent rehearsing and repeating the speech more or less phonetically, Taylor had ‘spoken’ through the man’s mouth.

It was all theater. Lisa would have loved it.

“Suggestion: Now that the branch’s value has plummeted and the CEO is incapacitated, it might be wise to finish the job.”

“Finish the job?” Taylor asked.

HK-47 walked to the CEO’s desk, opened a few drawers and found a compact blaster that he held up. “Amused Hypothesis: What does a weak-minded meatbag do once their entire career has been destroyed? Answer: Self-Termination, because their poor fleshy brains are incapable of assessing a situation past their own emotional distress.”

“That’s a bit dark,” Taylor said.

“Reply: You are a sith, Mistress.”

Taylor sniffed. “We’re not self-terminating him,” she said.

“Observation: Technically what we would be doing is homicide framed to look like a self-termination event.”

“No, we’re not doing that,” Taylor said. With some emphasis on the ‘not.’ “You know what we are doing? We’re calling our boss.”

“Query: We have an employer?”

“I meant Dooku,” Taylor said. “He’s the one that gave us the ship, and those droids.” She gestured with an arrow made of insects at the black-and-gold painted battle droids. She had lost a few of those. She wondered if she could get replacements. She filed the thought away for later. “We should call him, he seems somewhat politically astute.”

“Indignant Response: Are you doubting my political acumen, Mistress?”

“What percentage of your political knowledge is tied to assassination and subjugation?” Taylor asked.

“Deflection: My political methodology functions exceptionally well at accomplishing the goals I view as most important.”

Taylor laughed. It didn’t last long, the room was grand enough that the laughter echoed, and it was strange to laugh on her own. Still, she felt... nice. “You’re in a good mood, aren’t you?”

“Reply: I am satisfied with a good day’s work.”

Taylor walked over to the CEO’s desk. The man stood, taking the holdout gun with him as he pulled the seat out for Taylor who gestured to the holoprojector on the middle of the table. “Tattletail, are you done sending that message to anyone that’ll listen?”

The droid whistled, and it sounded affirmative enough to Taylor.

“Good. Can you connect me with Count Dooku? HK-47 likely has his coordinates,” Taylor said.

The R3 droid beeped and wobbled on the spot, then it rolled to a wall where a small silvery jack was at just the right height for the droid’s little plugin-arm to fit into it.

Taylor leaned back, then cursed as the lightsaber she’d tucked into the loop of her belt dug into her side. She made a mental note to buy a sheath of some sort for it. Or maybe just a pouch? She wondered if fanny packs were acceptable fashion in the Outer Rim. Did women’s pants have pockets here, or would she need to carry a purse of her holdout blasters and lightsaber?

The holoprojector flickered, then a quarter-sized image of Count Dooku appeared before her. The man stood at easy attention, looking one part fatherly and one part regal as he stared at her through the projection. “Darth Khepri,” he said. “A pleasure to hear from you, especially so soon after your latest success.”

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HK-47 finished translating the man’s words, and Taylor nodded. “Thank you, Count Dooku,” she said. Her faithful droid companion started translating before she had even finished. She paid attention to the translation, in case he slipping in a ‘meatbag’ without her permission. “You heard about our message already?”

“I viewed it, yes,” the count said. “I suspect your actions will send some small ripples across the galactic community.”

“Only small ones?” Taylor asked.

The count nodded once the translating was over. “Indeed. I’m afraid that the galaxy is a grand place, and news, even as interesting as your incident, rarely has a great impact past the system where it originates from. The world can be strangely insular, at times.”

Taylor thought she understood. In a way, she’d seen it herself. Did an endbringer attack in some city on the other side of the world really affect her back home? Maybe when she was a hero and it had a tangible impact on her plans, but before that? “I think I understand,” she said. “But it will impact some people, right?”

“I suppose those selling slaves to Czerka will find themselves without a customer, and the galactic financial market will shift, just a little.”

Taylor sighed. “Well, I didn’t call you to ask about my growing infamy. I need help.”

“You would look past your own pride so soon?” the count asked.

Taylor frowned. Had that been a mistranslation? “I don’t have so much pride that I would risk hurting people. The slaves on this planet aren’t free yet. We can probably damage Czerka a lot from here, but that’s it.”

Count Dooku nodded, then reached up to touch his chin. “I see. Perhaps you are presenting us with a greater opportunity than I had initially suspected. Czerka is not the greatest corporation in Republic space, but it is an important one. Taking over the corporation for the benefit of the Trade Federation might assist us in the future. The Falleen and a few other member-states also express an extreme dislike of slavery. I think it may be possible to fund a wide-scale rescue operation.”

“That would mean a lot of ships and materials brought over,” Taylor said.

HK-47 chose that moment to speak up, this time without translating. “Observation: Mistress, if the Trade Federation is coming to this world, and they are capable of manufacturing large numbers of inferior droids, then perhaps replacing the slave population with more trustworthy and reliable mechanical workers would be possible.”

Tayer grinned. “That’s an excellent idea, HK-47. This planet must be running some sort of profit, I imagine.” She related HK’s idea to Count Dooku, who listened to it while stroking his beard.

“Yes, I sense that the idea may well work. I will have a few Lucrehulks divert their path to Anoat. Let us take care of the business and political ramifications, Darth Khepri. I will have someone contact you about another mission soon.”

“Will the Republic interfere?” Taylor asked.

“After the message you sent? Most certainly. But the problem with the Republic is that it is a grand bureaucracy. It doesn’t have the means to respond rapidly. It is the Jedi who will come to investigate that you will have to worry about.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them,” Taylor said.

Count Dooku nodded. “Do so. Goodbye, Darth Khepri. May the Force serve you well.”

The holoprojector winked out, and Taylor sat back in the CEO’s rather comfortable seat.

So much was happening, so quickly.

And she only had herself to blame.

Perhaps she could have chosen another career. But her only marketable skill in this big, alien galaxy was aggressive conflict resolution, and experts in that particular skillset weren’t always in high demand. She had been lucky so far, but it wasn’t a job that promoted a long and healthy life, or anything like a retirement.

Taylor pushed herself off the table and stood up. “Alright, HK, Tattletail, I think it’s about time we head out. Do we have a way to restrain this guy?” She gestured to the CEO.

“Affirmative.” HK-47 reached to his back, pulled out a rifle, and shot the CEO in the chest.

Taylor stared at the man who slumped down next to her. He was... still alive. She looked up and recognized the stun rifle HK-47 was holding. “Well, I suppose that technically works,” she said.

***