The "Sweat Shop", Level 224, Yorn Skot Mining Station
"Just because you're the target of relentless self abuse, doesn't mean you need to bring me into your problems..." she muttered. For three days she had been stuck in this hell-hole. Three days of unbearable heat, excessive work, and endless work. She was exausted, not only physically, but mentally, and emotionally as well. Slaves were treated better.
The ominous figure of Clode Rhoden hovered over each of them, high above the rancid smell, and the festering clouds of steam roaring from the duragaskets from the power coverters. His green skin stood out against the crimson red faces of the workers that stoof before him, tending to there stations at a quickened pace, for they knew the price they would pay if he wasn't satisfied with there performance.
Bectoria Tresin found out the hard way. Rumors still circulated about her, and how she had come to disappear from the Yorn Skot Mining Station. Some say she fell off of the unipod repulsorlifts below the station with the garbage from the engine rooms. Others claim to have witnessed her brutal murder at the hands of the green-skinned humanoid, Clode Rhoden himself. No one spoke of her. No one dared. It was a dangerous living, working on Yorn Skot Mining Station, but at times it had it's benifits. After all, the second largest Tibanna Gas producer in the Galaxy was Clode Rhoden, second only to Governor Lando Calrissian of Bespin.
"I've got a plan..." one of the workers dared to whisper as Clode strode off into the distance, his formal robes trailing behind him with a long entourage of personal servants, and server droids. Few looked up to listen to the babbling fool, but those that did were not let down by his so-called plan. "Rumor has it that the Green Forge docked two days ago aboard a Corellian Corvette. Apparently they aren't too happy with the mining." The old man snickered.
She listened, not because she wanted to but because she happened to eavesdrop. It was a perfectly honest trait... one that could get you pretty far if you knew how to use it properly. Blackmail was, afterall, how she managed to get into such a high-paying position. A simple smirk crossed her lips as she raised a swear-filled hand to her forehead, and whipped the black grease from her hands, and crimson face.
Undisclosed Location, Level 168, Yorn Skot Mining Station
"The time is now!" one man cried.
"It's too risky!" cried another as the room became engulfed in violent arguement.
It was a small room, thick durasteel tables resting on each side as a host to a number of imported Corellian dishes, and various types of fruit, and vegetable trays. She helped herself to a few pieces of Barabel Fruit as she listened to the endless talks. Should the governor find out, they'd all be dead for sure.
"If we blow the station at dawn, Clode will be completely caught off guard!" one woman said as she stood from her seat, knocking it over in the process. Her fists slammed against the durasteel desk that sat before her almost as a turbolaser slammed against the hull of an unshielded warship. "What makes you so sure?" retorted another man, and once more the violent arguement erupted. As the room silenced, awaiting her excuse, she answered. "Because he is my husband..."
Silence befell the crowd of workers, and Green Forge fundamentalists. None spoke, nor moved as Madam Rhoden took her seat, shuffled a few documents and continued to speak. "According to my calculations, a direct blast to the Aurorient Express in dock should sever the communications tower directly above it, causing a mass communications blackout throughout the station. If the Pressure Pirates can create a distraction, we should be able to infiltrate the mine deep enough to plant the final core bomb, and destroy the station," she paused, her eyes looking over the skeptical crowd, "with enough time for everyone to get off safely. Women, Men, and Children alike."
She grinned, and took another bite of her Barabel Fruit.
Interesting twist...
"Just because you're the target of relentless self abuse, doesn't mean you need to bring me into your problems..." she muttered. For three days she had been stuck in this hell-hole. Three days of unbearable heat, excessive work, and endless work. She was exausted, not only physically, but mentally, and emotionally as well. Slaves were treated better.
The ominous figure of Clode Rhoden hovered over each of them, high above the rancid smell, and the festering clouds of steam roaring from the duragaskets from the power coverters. His green skin stood out against the crimson red faces of the workers that stoof before him, tending to there stations at a quickened pace, for they knew the price they would pay if he wasn't satisfied with there performance.
Bectoria Tresin found out the hard way. Rumors still circulated about her, and how she had come to disappear from the Yorn Skot Mining Station. Some say she fell off of the unipod repulsorlifts below the station with the garbage from the engine rooms. Others claim to have witnessed her brutal murder at the hands of the green-skinned humanoid, Clode Rhoden himself. No one spoke of her. No one dared. It was a dangerous living, working on Yorn Skot Mining Station, but at times it had it's benifits. After all, the second largest Tibanna Gas producer in the Galaxy was Clode Rhoden, second only to Governor Lando Calrissian of Bespin.
"I've got a plan..." one of the workers dared to whisper as Clode strode off into the distance, his formal robes trailing behind him with a long entourage of personal servants, and server droids. Few looked up to listen to the babbling fool, but those that did were not let down by his so-called plan. "Rumor has it that the Green Forge docked two days ago aboard a Corellian Corvette. Apparently they aren't too happy with the mining." The old man snickered.
She listened, not because she wanted to but because she happened to eavesdrop. It was a perfectly honest trait... one that could get you pretty far if you knew how to use it properly. Blackmail was, afterall, how she managed to get into such a high-paying position. A simple smirk crossed her lips as she raised a swear-filled hand to her forehead, and whipped the black grease from her hands, and crimson face.
Undisclosed Location, Level 168, Yorn Skot Mining Station
"The time is now!" one man cried.
"It's too risky!" cried another as the room became engulfed in violent arguement.
It was a small room, thick durasteel tables resting on each side as a host to a number of imported Corellian dishes, and various types of fruit, and vegetable trays. She helped herself to a few pieces of Barabel Fruit as she listened to the endless talks. Should the governor find out, they'd all be dead for sure.
"If we blow the station at dawn, Clode will be completely caught off guard!" one woman said as she stood from her seat, knocking it over in the process. Her fists slammed against the durasteel desk that sat before her almost as a turbolaser slammed against the hull of an unshielded warship. "What makes you so sure?" retorted another man, and once more the violent arguement erupted. As the room silenced, awaiting her excuse, she answered. "Because he is my husband..."
Silence befell the crowd of workers, and Green Forge fundamentalists. None spoke, nor moved as Madam Rhoden took her seat, shuffled a few documents and continued to speak. "According to my calculations, a direct blast to the Aurorient Express in dock should sever the communications tower directly above it, causing a mass communications blackout throughout the station. If the Pressure Pirates can create a distraction, we should be able to infiltrate the mine deep enough to plant the final core bomb, and destroy the station," she paused, her eyes looking over the skeptical crowd, "with enough time for everyone to get off safely. Women, Men, and Children alike."
She grinned, and took another bite of her Barabel Fruit.
Interesting twist...