Captain Ion flicked the little treat into the air, munching noisily as he lounged on the mat. "Suck up to some stuffed shirts? Easily done, friend. They've got politicians where I come from too. Too bad they're not a bit more like you, though, this makes a nice break from all the cramped workhouses."

A faint slurping noise came from Captain Eisle as she extricated her tea cup from her tentacled beak. "Sorry. We, uh... we use bigger cups back home." She polietly picked a few loose pieces of crockery from her mouth and put them gently back in the cup.

"Anyways," said Ion, turning back to the Anx. "Thanks for the meeting sir, and the advice, and the tea too. Sorry it won't do much good with our negotiations though - Zhang Sei and his friends don't look like the tea-drinking types."

One of the downsides of sitting at a low table is that there's no way to kick someone's foot surreptitiously to tell them they're making a fool of themselves. As such, Jargur settled for a piercing glare at his military envoys before turning a respectful smile to Vorlorn Holm. "Pardon the brashness of my fellow ambassadors, sir. We too have heard of the cultural situation of the Sinsangese and are grateful for your insight."

In his grunting native language, Oaxaca added "Jargur's correct. Your noble work in the preservation of the Sinsangese's traditions has done us much good, and can I please have another botamochi?"

"You've had enough, you hairy beast," Jargur snapped, shooting his compatriot a sharp look.

"What if we run into another tea ceremony?" replied Oaxaca defensively. "I'd want to have something to offer. I thought that was important."

"The tea server brings the snacks," said Ion, rolling his eyes. "I don't think anyone's expecting us to bring anything but credits. Besides, I bet you could buy a whole crate of the things from some mass-production factory somewhere around here."

Jargur, fearing he might once again lose control of the delicate balance of their diplomatic relations, rose and offered an awkward bow to Vorlorn. "You seem a very busy being, Mr. Holm, and I don't doubt we've taken up a great deal of your time, but thank you once more for the honour of this visit. Your insights are much-appreciated by the Western delegation, and I promise the Coalition will see to it that your fellow Anx will be fairly represented in any trade talks we have with the Sinsangese.

"If we might crave your pardon, though, I think I can hear Zhang fuming outside..."

The Westerners got up to leave, but Ion lingered, taking in the beautiful and ornate surroundings. His own people were artisans and philosophers, and though the styles differed, he nevertheless felt a certain familiarity in it all.

Now alone, Ion glanced over to Vorlorn. "A lot of people give up their roots in this galaxy. It's a dangerous, fast-moving place that hasn't got time for the beliefs of a few million people here or there. That doesn't make it right, but that's life for you.

"You though... you've taken up a culture that wasn't your own to begin with, whose own people are rejecting it for a quick buck. Why?"

There was a slight look of surprise on Vorlorn Holm’s face when the question was asked. It was a look of pleasant surprise, but surprise none-the-less. He smiled gently, and slowly stood up.

“I am one of the last of my kind.” The old Anx said slowly to Ion. “I do not know if you can understand what it is like. Few in this galaxy can truly understand what it feels like to see your kind one day winning honours in the Republic’s Forums, to being a nearly forgotten race. To see all your species try and work towards, undone in your own lifetime.”

Vorlorn paused for a moment as he slowly took up the one piece of cookery he had been using. It was of different design from the others. It was the same in principle, but it had different decorations along it. While the others had been of Sinsangese artistic style, his bore a far more harsh and rigid style.

“I am the last of the leaders of my people. The only one of the Elders to have been off planet when the Empire came with weapons they needed to check the sharpness of.” Holm’s gaze raised to that of Ion’s, with a look that wasn’t born with sadness, nor anguish. It was just simply a look, as if gauging Ion’s take on this.

“It is my responsibility to lead what is left of my kind, for as long as my body has years left to give.” Vorlorn Holm walked steadily towards Ion now. His pace was slow, as most Anx were and age hadn’t helped the matter.

“Why I do this, is quite simple. I do this to understand for my people. To understand where the Sisnangese went wrong in order to help my people keep themselves. To understand what the Sinsangese are for when I deal with my hosts. To understand so that maybe, just maybe, my people’s blood will not be lubricant for the machine just as theirs is.”

“Take this as a gift. As a reminder so that you do not loose yourself while touring the depths.” Vorlorn said as he gently took Ion’s hand, placing the tea cup within it. “It is one of the last surviving pieces of Anx artistry in the galaxy. Use it and remember those who remember.”

Then, Vorlorn turned towards the door, with a slight smile on his face. “Come, let me walk you out. You have your duties to return to, do you not? The Minister does not like to have his schedule put off and I fear the time he had allotted me is almost fully spent.”

The western delegation was guided out of the grand old home in silence, now a little more aware of the preserved culture around them. It occured to Ion that it was much like passing through a museum, causing him to wonder if perhaps that was why the Sinsangese hadn't yet gobbled the land up for further industrial development. Vestiges of cultural identity, echoes of the past... it wasn't so strange that Vorlorn liked it here.

They reached the arched gate, where indeed Zhang Sei was impatiently waiting. Ion ignored this for now, turning instead back to Vorlorn to shake the old Anx's hand. "Thanks again, old-timer, it's been a pleasure. A real honour." With a firm nod, Ion turned on his heel an headed towards the waiting vehicle. The other three delegates took their time shaking Vorlorn's hand as well before joining Ion.

"Well, that was... informative," said Jargur, who clacked his tongue uneasily. "Sinsangese politics are a lot more complicated than I gave them credit. We might be outmatched here."

"Giving us only a few minutes to learn their cultural mores, from an outsider no less?" exlaimed Oaxaca. The slim wookie frowned and let out a plaintative grumble, which translated to "It's almost as if they want us to fail."

"Or just be dangerously underprepared," added Eisle, who gestured for them to be quiet as Zhang Sei approached. "Minister, we've had an excellent time so far. Our meeting went well with Vorlorn, so we're ready for the next appointment."

Satisfied, albeit still sore, Zhang gestured for them to get into their transport and began telling them of the next meeting - they would be touring more factories and industrial complexes for the rest of the day, in preparation for major meetings with business leaders tomorrow. The details fell on deaf ears, however, as the western delegates looked back at the hunched old Anx, hobbling his way back into his ancient adopted home.

Ion looked at the cup in his hands. On a strong racial instinct, he tried to balance it on his nose, but quickly gave up. It was lovingly crafted and patterned, by hand as opposed to the mass-produced and identical workmanship seen everywhere else on Sinsang. Coming from a culture of artists and thinkers, the little cup stirred something in the mind of the young captain.

Something that he didn't have time to address at the moment, as Zhang Sei continued to list off their remaining business for the day. Ion quickly slipped the cup into a safe pocket, turning back to their guide.

"Wherever you need to take us is fine," said Ion with a dismissive wave. "You're the man with the plan, Zhang. You know what we need, and where to find it, so we put ourselves in your capable hands. Let's go."

The big wooden house receded until it was only a small wooden house, obscured by mist and mountains. These too fell behind the travellers as they headed back towards the sprawling industrial parks and dense business districts that littered the planet. It wasn't long before the whole wondrous, mysterious land was gone entirely, replaced with endless urban decay.

The grind of metal filled their ears. All around them machines whirring and working at an endless pace. The dim lights hanging from the ceiling casting shadows of the robotic arms moving, cutting, and welding along the production lines. A few technicians and engineers were spotted here and there, but most of the workers were mechanical. They made their way slowly along the catwalks, led by one of the representatives of the company.

Rimward Robotics was a new robotics company on Sinsang, that was actually a partnership of many of the older robotic companies. After the end of the Clone Wars, a large chunk of the galaxy had anti-robotic sentiments and it hurt the market significantly and they were forced to join together.

The representative was going on about various economic factors and choices the new corporation had to make. Production capability and current models available. Standard economic statistics that they’d been fed all day from a variety of companies. But then they went from the catwalk into a straight durasteel hallway, the panel lights on the wall buzzing slightly as they pass.

“And now, we take you to our Research and Design department headed by some of the best minds in robotics on Sinsang. As I’m sure you’ve heard of, the government is funding work towards several types of worker droids as a contribution of their membership to the Galactic Coalition. Helping to build a better tomorrow for Sinsang and other worlds like your own.” The commercial representative said, maintaining the same sales pitch he’d been giving the whole tour. “But I believe I shall leave that matter to the head of our R&D Department.”

Before them stood a large and think door. The representative walked over, and ran through a number of security checks before the doors began to move. The grinding of gears next to them giving them a sense of how far they’d come from the noise behind.

Through the door, they found the hallway continuing and followed it through various branches and turns. Every so often, they’d pass a window letting them see into one of the testing chambers. In one room, the found an engineer working on fine tuning a fine manipulator. In another, they saw a screen and one trying to focus a new type of photoreceptor. All attempts to gain an edge on the competition, or so the representative said when explaining the basics of what they were seeing.

There were lead through this twisting facility, up a turbolift, to end up in a well furnished reception room. A young Sinsangese woman was patiently typing in something in the computer only looking up for a moment. “Foreman Grem Devor is expecting you. You may go in.”

There wasn’t even a hitch in the movement of the representative, as he didn’t even pause. The motions as smooth and calculated as the droids that were developed in the labs bellow them. He opened the door and held it, waiting for the group of representatives to come into the room, where the perfect number of seats awaited them. Behind the desk stood a sight that was a slight bit of a surprise.

So far on Sinsang, most of the people they’d met in business had largely been Sinsangese or some other brand of Human. But behind the desk sat a heavy set Skakoan male. His face hidden behind the pressure gear they had to wear on worlds with galactic normal air density.

He stood up to greet them, offering his hand to the Westerners. “Greetings and welcome to my labs!” Grem Devor said in a very jovial tone. “Please, sit, it must’ve been a long walk coming through the whole factory.”

After the formalities of the greetings were finished, he put his hands together and the desk looking between the lot of them. “Well, let me personally welcome to the Research and Development section of Rimward Robotics. I’ll spare going over any of the details that our representative has already gone over.”

“Our company has been working hard to fill the promises made in our government’s agreement with the Galactic Coalition. It is a privilege that organizations like ours and the Commerce Guild can work towards expanding new technologies. And please, this isn’t a marketing gimmick. I personally am enjoying this challenge to expand beyond the commercial sector and take up some large scale operations.”

Grem Devor reached under his desk and pulled out a datapad for each of the Westerners, handing them out. “These are from our electronic department, and contain information and specifications on the models we have available AND the ones we’ve been working on that aren’t out on the market yet. As members of the Coalition, we’ll offer you the chance to preorder for some of the first batches.”

“These include the new Engineer and Spider models we’ve been responsible for creating and providing to the central government and military, as well as civilian work droids. We have several models from everything from farming, mining, to street cleaning. We pride ourselves on making automated devices that fill the full needs for their jobs.”

“For example, the Harverster AX-10, can till, harvest, and water all in one unit. Our Lumberjack C-6 series can both cut the trees in mass quantities, has its own attached container unit, AND has an attachment that lets it replant new saplings as it goes. We do still have the traditional humanoid droids to fill the room of equipment you already have, if you don’t feel like replacing anything you already have.”

“Ah, I’m beginning to go on. Please, review the data I’ve given you. And if there’s anything, ANYTHING, your people require, my contact information is within. If there’s a market you need, we’re more than willing to develop something to fill the gap.”

“But please, what is it that your world seeks that you couldn’t find on any of the other worlds of the Coalition?” Grem Devor asked, leaning back in his chair and bringing his hands back against his chest.

"I'm glad you asked!" said Jargur, his whippet tongue snapping with anticipation. He then launched into a barrage of diplomatic jargon so dense that Ion's distracted attention couldn't even pretend to follow along.

Instead, the captain's attention drifting around the room, his mind wandering to the factory floor and the testing facilities they had left in their wake.

The Sinsangese and their ways were strange to him - almost alien, he considered with amusement. Where Ion had been raised in a culture of art, philosophy, and academic science, Sinsang had forsaken that part of their heritage in favour of production and wealth. In a galaxy where there existed countless times more industrial might than was needed to make everyone wealthy, why did worlds still indulge in mass-production, leverging cheap labour like one more commodity to be turned in for profit?

Yet there was another side to Sinsang, a bright side to their dark ambition. Ion had seen it here and there, and it piqued his curiosity. The practiced, corporate facade, the professionalism, it all spoke of achievement, of doing something great. They could not be great on their own, however, for it was a big galaxy, and of all the partners to choose they chose the Coalition (perhaps remorsefully now, admittedly). Why, then, shouldn't they work with this ambition and turn it into something good?

Captain Ion noticed a definite silence, and realied that the others were looking to him for a response. Uncertain of what they'd been talking about, Ion paused.

"Um... I was just thinking, listen - all these droids you're making, right? There's no way you've got enough demand on Sinsang alone for them, that's why you export. But you could be producing more, better too, if you had more reliable contracts and safer access to markets, right? It's about working harder, not smarter-"

"Smarter, not harder," Eisle muttered.

"Yeah, yeah," said Ion, sheepishly. "Look - We've got the markets. We've got the need. We know you guys want this sort of trade deal, and I think we can make it work. How many more of those droids you showed us could you make with better working conditions? Subsidized factory construction? Even more advanced manufacturing technology - I know we've got access to it, heck, the Verpine have a few deals working with us and they're still top of the line!"

"You're rambling," Jargur warned, leaning in close. "Keep it nice and soundbyte-y."

Ion sighed, but he did manage to pull himself together and state in a composed tone "Your factory has impressed us very much, foreman Devor, and I can say that the West has definite uses for your droids. We will be keen to discuss details further at the negotiating table."

Oaxaca the wookie jumped to his feet, reached across the table and grabbed the foreman's hand, shaking it enthusiastically while growling. His translator necklace stated "Thank you for allowing us to tour your facility, foreman Devor! We look forwards to our future dealings and on behalf of the Western Delegation we commend your service to the economic wellbeing of the Coalition!"

As the group filed out, Jargur shot Ion a sideways glance. "You seemed a bit off today, captain."

"I'm just not feeling this trade deal yet," Ion murmured as they were lead away. "Why are they wasting our time with so many tours? What are they trying to prove?"

Oaxaca yowled from the back of the group, startling scientists on the opposite sides of test-chamber windows. "Diplomacy is a delicate process."

"We'll get our chance to have our say at the negotiating table soon enough," Eisle cooed in consolation. "For the time being, let's just let them finish the tour. They seem to be enjoying it, at least!"

"I very much doubt it," grumbled Ion as Zhang Sei approached.