There were standard rates for bribes, available in an itemised table, published instruction booklets on how to avoid standard Trade Federation searches, insurance policies for smuggled goods, perks for preferred clients, you name it.
Smuggling various kinds of fuel out of the Trade Federation was a regular cottage industry.
...
He had to wonder, how had it gotten so large? How long had it been going for? Was this sustainable?
Yetter tried not to think about it too much. He was getting paid well, and asking too many questions might lead him to dangerous answers not worth thinking about. Today, he wasn't smuggling anything out of the Federation, he was smuggling something into it. In his cargo holds were a number of crates of blasters and foodstuff frozen in carbonite. Military supplies by the looks of things, though not Federation issued.
Who was buying it? Why did it need to be smuggled?
In the end he just wasn't paid to ask questions. Still, he sucked on the beard hairs that grew around his lip, feeling anxiety burning in his chest, his two hearts beating with unusual speed despite his physical inactivity. Here he was in the Corporate Sector, just as the Trade Federation went to war. It was such unlucky timing…
There was a ping from his holocom, and he reached over to flick it on, seeing his job calendar displayed. This wasn't where he recorded the smuggling jobs, he wasn't stupid enough to keep a record of that, this was where he recorded the legal courier work that was his front business. The calendar was rapidly emptying itself, as another deleted a job. They forfeited their security bonds, but from their perspective it was probably safer than relying on him to be able to carry goods across what was soon to be an active warzone.
More worried than ever, Yetter dialed his handler with the Ring.
"What's up?"
"Hey uh… I'm out here in the Corporate Sector. I saw that the war was just declared, so I need to know, is this job still good?" Yetter almost felt stupid for even asking.
"Trying to renege?"
"No, no, 'course not." Yetter swallowed, nervously. He'd never been threatened by the Ring before, and he didn't have to be. "Just worried about finding work. Another of my front jobs just quit."
"Ah, I see the problem. Tell you what. My boss has a special interest in your current run. Don't ask, I don't know. But I can see he's authorised me to offer payments for your downtime. After you make the delivery, don't go anywhere. Just linger on the landing pad. If you stay there on standby for us, we'll cover any overdue fees, and we'll pay you a substantial bonus. After this job is over, I'll see if we can't hook you up with some of our front businesses to keep you going. That sound good?"
It meant getting even deeper in business with the Ring, but given the war that had just broken out, Yetter didn't really believe he had a better option coming any time soon. "Alright. Thanks. I'll take you up on that."
"No worries. Rest easy mate, we take care of ours."
Not feeling much better, Yetter hung up and turned his news broadcast back on.
"-in the markets we're already seeing the expected jump in fuel prices, demand for hypermatter and plasma has jumped through the roof in just minutes, and is expected to continue to climb even after trading closes today."
Suddenly it occurred to Yetter why so much plasma and hypermatter was being smuggled out of the Corporate Sector. Now that the war was on, the value of the stuff was only going to keep going up and up, and up. Whoever ran the Ring had his finger on the pulse of the Galactic economy, and was making smart plans well in advance of the rest of the Galaxy.
Finally, his holocom pinged with a call from the planetary flight tower. "Flight Tower to Yetter's High Speed Couriers, we're broadcasting your intercept codes now, over."
Finally! With practised ease, Yetter matched his humble freighter to the speed of the orbiting station, landing smoothly on the pad, and easily matching his dockport to the station's spin. He was a good pilot, if nothing else. Plenty of practice.
As he crossed the docking clamp to enter the station proper, he Paused to look out a window. Far below his feet, much of the planet Bonadon's surface was hidden by a sandstorm that covered what looked like an entire continent. Through the swirling red brown darkness, he could see the glimmer of lights from cities and space ports, many of a similar size to this massive station or even larger, which was saying something.
The station was huge, easily the size of a Coruscanti spaceport, with multiple ports for ships, small and large to land. It was huge, spherical, and armour plated like it was expected to withstand a battlefleet.
The sign at the entrance to his little dock had a small, easily deciphered map to offer directions. In one direction was the port, the repair shops, droid storage, personnel rooms, etc, and in another was hypermatter storage.
This was the Trade Federation's strategic Hypermatter Reserve. Even with the outbreak of war, this station alone had enough hypermatter stored to keep the Federation security fleets flying for at least three months. How much it would all be worth now, Yetter could only guess at.
The place was heavily protected. Every single door was a blast door, meant to seal and contain potential breaches, and there were droid dispensers built into every other hall. Not to mention the turrets everywhere. If anyone tried to assault this place, they'd be buried by a sea of battle droids, if they weren't locked behind a blast door or vented into space.
"Are you Yetter?" The Neimoidian who greeted him just inside the entrance was a creepy looking fellow, with one milky, bulbous eye and dried, cracked skin that was flaking over his top lip. "From the Ring?"
"That's me. You're buying this stuff?" Yetter asked, taking out his compad and exchanging information with the Neimoidian's own. "It's mostly just carbonite goods and some-"
"I know, a bunch of smuggled armour and such." The Neimoidian answered, holding up his hand. Without looking at Yetter, he scanned over the checklist, quickly ticking every box, even though he definitely hadn't carried out his due diligence. "The Ring is paying me to store this stuff here. Anything more than that and I'm at risk of knowing too much. All I know is it's not tripping our tibanna sensors, so it's good enough for me."
Right. It was an attitude Yetter could sympathise with, though he wasn't sure how the Ring planned to make money on a grocery run. Whatever. If they were smart enough to put together their little scheme to profit off the hypermatter they were skimming from Federation ships, then they surely had some kind of plan here.
With the exchange of permissions done, Yetter hurried outside and back across the pad to return to his pilot's chair, sealing the door behind himself. He settled in to watch the group of droids that rolled out across the dock, up the ramp and began unloading his ship.
Yetter leaned back in his chair and took it easy as the droids worked. It didn't take them long, and they did it without accidents. While they were taking the goods of his cargo and into one of the facility's many storage rooms, Yetter saw something that made him gasp.
One of the blocks of frozen carbonite had what looked like a human hand print on it. He swallowed, feeling guilt writhing away at him. People. The Ring was having him move people disguised as food. Were they slaves? Was he a trafficker now?
Yetter squirmed in his chair, the feeling of guilt unsettling his stomach. But who could he talk to about it? What could he tell them? Wasn't he complicit?
He wanted to believe he was a good person, but in the end he was much like everyone else. In a dangerous Galaxy, he was always going to do what he had to so he could survive and keep flying.
Anxiety led to inaction, and as the sandstorm below finally abated, Yetter eventually crawled into his cot, and fell into an uneasy sleep.
...
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