"I can feel John Brown's body spinning in his grave at supersonic speeds."
The Combine of Zyg was so much worse than I had anticipated, and I had anticipated a backward and economically unviable Hellhole that was not worth the bombs it would take to level the cities. No, finding a failed economy spread across a cluster of systems would have been infinitely preferable to what I encountered in low orbit around the planet of Zyg Prime.
Or more specifically, in the orbital factory of one of the larger conglomerates that dominated the local industry. Local conglomerates, ones that had their roots in the Combine, because no sane company was willing to risk the massive PR backlash from using slave labor without some truly staggering financial incentives.
Except for the Empire, since they already had slaves. We already had slaves.
But somehow, the Zygerrians of Zyg had found a way of making it so much worse, as I found out while touring an orbital starship factory. Along a broad central corridor, partially completed teardrop-shaped starfighters inched along a slow conveyor belt while workers from dozens of different species crawled all over them as they bolted and welded parts into place. Just a bit above their heads, on an elevated walkway whose far wall was lined with offices, I was being taken on a brief tour of the factory, with an exceptional view of the working conditions. Or rather, of the workers.
Of the slaves.
Hundreds of people from dozens of species with metal collars around their necks and metal visors clamped over their eyes and ears. Even if I had not been briefed on this place before so much as leaving hyperspace, I would have been able to piece together that this entire workforce was enslaved.
"Impressive work," I lied shamelessly as I watched an interstellar civilization fail to innovate on the procedures pioneered by 20th-century aircraft manufacturers back home. "Though I am surprised that you trust slaves with such delicate work."
After all, it would have been a matter of simply crossing a few wires or leaving a plug not fully seated to turn a functional starfighter into a very expensive and inefficient bomb. Part of me really hoped one of them would do so, if only to slightly inconvenience these people. And so I would have been able to call it an attempt on my life and deliver a... proportional response.
"The Hoods are powerful tools," my guide explained. He was a typical Zygerrian male, covered in fur so short and pale it could pass for human skin, with giant feline ears that framed a lean face. Of course, nobody in the Combine would have described him as simply 'typical'. This was Garche Fieldshire, president, CEO, and chairman of the board of Zyg Aerospace-Maritime-Naval. His factories accounted for a quarter of the Combine Military Industrial Complex. "They show the slaves what to do. Help with discipline, too."
Oh? Augmented reality integrated into the manufacturing process? Cutting-edge tech, that. By the standards of the early 21st century, at least.
"How so?" I asked, my curiosity not entirely feigned. I knew the principle behind it back home and knew how it could be adapted. But to see someone else come up with something like that on their own?
"You can only whip a slave so many times before he breaks," the guide said, his tone making it clear he was quoting something. "But if you whip his get once, you can replay that footage every time he screws up."
Never mind, I forgot where I was for a minute.
I really needed to get out of here.
Before I decided to see if the Inexpugnable Annihilator carried ordnance that could ignite an atmosphere.
"Keeping families hardly seems efficient for a slaving operation," I found myself saying, if only to try and find some sort of redeeming quality.
"It isn't," he admitted, causing me to immediately regret my attempt. "Which is why factory slaves are kept separate from hard labor slaves. Those need to be broken before they will work. These? Lifelong debt gives them the hope of freedom without ever achieving it. Much better for productivity."
If the ship did not carry the means to ignite this planet's atmosphere, I was going to invent it and test it here. No, wait, that would kill the slaves. Better plan: save the slaves, then set the planet on fire. Yes, that was it. Besides, if I did my job right, it wouldn't even be a war crime, just a plain old atrocity.
Then again, slavers were fair game…
"Motivational theory as applied to a slave-based workforce," I commented. "I see I will need to add a category for local research papers to my next expense report."
"By the time you're done on Zyg Prime, Lord Nestor, you'll need several new categories for your expense reports," Garche said with a sly grin and a jab of the elbow. "Trust me."
"No doubt it would liven up the future meetings my team arranged with the politicians," I said, acting like I was actively considering it instead of contemplating throwing him into the nearest volatile fuel source I could find. "Although perhaps the Tyrant will be a welcome deviation from the rulers of other planets."
"The Magnificent Tyrant of Tyg, May His Reign Be Terrible," he corrected, his voice once again sounding like he was quoting something before shifting to a more normal tone of voice. "A mouthful, I know, but all of it is part of his regnal name. Makes it easier to tell him apart than simply adding a number like some kind of barbarian."
"Perhaps the Empire can stand to learn a thing or two from the Combine," I allowed. Like how to allow a heavy cruiser into prime bombardment range of a planet's capital city. Now that I could appreciate the next time I had to hold myself hostage. "Beyond refinements in slave-driving, of course."
"Innovation can come from the most unexpected of places," he said, making a sweeping motion with his hands to indicate the assembly line before us. "Like this humble factory of mine. Not even part of the Republic, no access to the consolidated financial networks or supply chains of the Core Worlds or the Empire, and yet one of the greatest suppliers of the Aurek."
The Aurek-class tactical strike fighter I had recognized the moment I had seen the tear-drop-shaped spaceframe take shape on the floor below. A design nearly three centuries old, yet still in heavy use. Shields, hyperdrive, proton torpedoes… everything you needed to ruin the day of anything with a heat or radar signature.
And more importantly, designed for and used by the Republic and most planetary governments. So why was it being built in a neutral shipyard?
"Built under license?" I guessed as we passed a mostly completed fighter and came to a halt at an intersection. Straight ahead were stairs leading down to the factory floor. To the right, another reception area. No guesses for where my guide was taking me.
"Of course," he confirmed, subtly guiding me towards the reception area. And beyond it, the airlock and landing pad containing the diplomatic shuttle that had brought me here from the imperial cruiser carrying most of the imperial delegation. "Though many look down upon our methods, the Combine of Zyg is a leader in low-cost manufacturing, more than enough to offset tariffs. And those who do care find themselves reevaluating their priorities when pirates come calling."
"Desperation does have that effect," I allowed, a potential hook already forming in my mind. But I needed a bit more information until I could make it work. Damn it, why did I have to have so much pride in my work? "Although I somehow doubt that the Republic has been completely happy with its premier fighter being built outside of its borders."
"Republic Fleet Systems has begun insisting on annually renewed instead of subscription-based license agreements, yes," he said, bringing me over to a long table set along the wall of the welcoming area loaded with small snacks. All meat-based, to the surprise of no one. The Zygerrians had a noted preference for the more profligate things in life. "With constant price increases since the Cold War started."
Garche said those words without any sense of concern or worry, showing more concern for picking a puffed-up pastry horn stuffed with meat and spices. He started to gesture towards the display as though to invite me to partake before he remembered that my mask did not, in fact, have a hole for my mouth.
That I could not partake did not stop him from eating.
"Intellectual property laws can make for a bit of a hurdle," I commented. "Though I did not expect Republic laws to apply outside of Republic space."
"You'd think so," he said. "But interstellar trade is never so cut and dry. They license their designs, so they write the contracts. And if we break them, well…"
Damn it.
Damn it I saw a hook I could use.
"The Combine of Zyg would be facing a corporation that is spread out across the galaxy and has been building warships for thousands of years. With obvious results," I concluded. "Unless they had a more powerful ally."
"Ally?" Garche Fieldshire asked, raising a brow. Or just a ridge of darker fur, perhaps. "Or master?"
"The term 'guarantor of independence' might be more apt," I corrected gently as I wondered why in the name of all that was good I was actively trying to court slavers. "Someone whose priorities and industry, shall we say, aligns with that of the Combine of Zyg."
"Now there's a-," he began to say, only for another Zygerrian to sneak up behind him and whisper something into one of his massive ears. Whatever those words were, I did hear them, but I did see Garche stiffen quite visibly. From the corner of my eye, I saw a red-uniformed figure hurry over to us from the docking bay. "You will have to excuse me, Lord Nestor, but something has come up."
Returning my attention to my host, I saw that the messenger was now hovering some distance away. Quite nervously hovering, if I had to guess.
"So it would appear," I said, nodding towards the imperial messenger and secretly quite glad that I could be literally anywhere else for at least a little while. "Perhaps we can continue this later? I will be in Combine space for a little while longer."
"Yes, we shall," he declared, just as the imperial messenger reached me with a very fun bit of news for me: assassinations.
Oh, right, there was a Jedi Shadow on the loose that was capable of handling five Sith more or less on her own. How silly of me to forget.
Maybe I could point her in Garche's direction?
...
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