StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Okay, Geonosian fans, here ya go, a long four-parter all about how Archduke Poggle the Lesser and his pals got to where they’re at by the time of AOTC. I mostly based it on the Poggle character’s official background information. It is also my interpretation and loving exploration of Geonosian society and character-you have been warned! Action/drama, heavy on the drama, set from several years before TPM to about six years afterwards. Rated PG-13 for lots of violence and one scene with mild sexual content.

This is my very first Star Wars story. It figures that it took a bunch of space termites to finally inspire me. I really hope to get some feedback, both on the story and Geonosians in general. Even if you loathe my sucky take on these creatures, go ahead, vent your disgust, then tell me how YOU would have done them! I’d also really appreciate being tipped off to any other fan (or pro) fic out there that involves Geonosian characters. So far, as I type this, I’ve only ever found one other writer who made much use of them and that was a guy who chose to portray Poggle as an elderly lush, complete with the line, “Make mine a double.” My version of the good Archduke doesn’t stagger about and fall drunk on the floor, but I hope you’ll find him just as entertaining in his own way nevertheless.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this story are those of the respective characters and not the author.

CREAM RISES (OR, HOW POGGLE CAME TO POWER)
-Part One-

Poggle the Lesser turned his head and glared at the guard strapping the brail into place around the base of his wings.

“You don’t need to do that,” he snapped. “I won’t try to fly.”

“That’s what they all say,” the guard replied, gave the brail one final tug, then stepped away. He looked bored. Poggle could have cheerfully strangled him.

Several other guards moved in, caught up his wrists, and fastened them together with metal binders. Poggle trembled as he suppressed his homicidal impulses. A couple of the drones carried static prods and he was already too familiar with the agonizing jolts the deceptively small wands could deliver. One shock applied to his muzzle had taken him right off his feet. His mouth had smarted afterwards for hours. Better to conserve one’s energy and wait for a viable opportunity, that was now Poggle’s policy. But he never could keep his tongue still.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked the guards.

“For fun and games,” one replied, and the stupid creatures tittered together.

So. His time had come. That he would wind up in the arena had never been in doubt. The only surprise was how long he had languished in captivity since his arrest. Geonosian justice was usually swift and efficient. Criminals were often marched to their doom within hours of being sentenced.

The guards led Poggle to a long flight of steps and he started up eagerly, glad of the exercise. The long confinement to a tiny cell had been hard on his restless nature. Harder still had been his keepers’ refusal to bring him any news, although he had to admit to himself that they’d otherwise cared for him well, if not kindly. It was his Aristocrat status, of course. Even though only a Lesser, the very lowest of the low classes, he was still a member of the ruling caste, and the drone guards had respected that.

An incredible odour began to permeate the air as they continued upward. Stale animal smells; a mix of species, both familiar and exotic; blood, death, fear, and Geonosians-thousands upon thousands of Geonosians. Poggle breathed hard through his mouth and ran his tongue over the most sensitive receptors in the roof of his oral cavity, trying to detect the scent of his friends, his followers, anyone he knew. You couldn’t smell a thing down in the cells. They were strongly ventilated to remove that comfort.

As Poggle expected, the stairs exited directly into the vast service area adjacent to the games arena and soldier drones were waiting to take charge of him. One snapped a chain onto the ring on his binders. They turned and tugged him along like a pet, refusing to look him in the eye. Poggle followed docilely, the very picture of submissive cooperation. Yet his head moved alertly from side to side as they trudged along, and he continued to test the air, struggling a bit to process the sudden surfeit of stimuli.

A hot pungent breeze began to waft over the little group. Poggle could hear the low stridulation of a vast throng of his own kind and he licked his mouth and steeled himself. The corridor they trod expanded suddenly into a large chamber filled with a flare of light and more Geonosians clustered together in several distinct parties. They looked almost black, etched as they were in silhouette against the brightness streaming in through a tall portal at the end of the room. And through that portal…

The soldiers pulled Poggle up before one of their more senior members, a sergeant of sorts, identified by the incongruously gay ribbons adorning the shoulder prongs of his harness. Poggle ignored him. He was looking for the execution cart.

His attention snapped back, however, as soon as the sergeant began speaking.

“Poggle the Lesser,” the drone informed him, enunciating carefully, “you have been charged with treason
and sentenced to the petrana-ki. You will be taken into the arena, placed into position, and provided with a weapon. Do not move and do not talk until your restraints are released. At that time you may pick up your weapon and prepare yourself. If you disobey these instructions in any way, you will be punished. If you try to remove your brail or run away, you will be killed. Do you have any questions?”

“Thank you so much for that stirring speech,” Poggle remarked. He laughed when the sergeant looked perplexed. No drone was the brightest, but they were smart enough to know when they were being ridiculed. This one, miffed, coped by doing an about-face and turning his back. Poggle the Lesser didn’t care about the drone’s hurt feelings. He was too cheered by what the sergeant had just said.

A new soldier came forward and took Poggle’s chain. More drones fell into place behind him, creating a little procession, and the lot of them moved to stand just inside the entranceway onto the vast enclosed playing field beyond. Poggle blinked repeatedly at the bright light and strained to hear what the amplified voice being broadcast in the stands was saying. And then the soldier ahead of him was pulling on his chain and Poggle was led out onto the sand floor of the great arena…

The arena! How he loved it, the only place that could distract him from his constant anger and dissatisfaction with his hated job. Every hive colony had its games coliseum and Stalgasin’s was among the finest to be found on the entire planet. A huge swell of sound swirled about Poggle’s head as he walked, elemental in its intensity, the voice of Stalgasin raised in gleeful anticipation; an outpouring of raw emotion that Poggle had often shared in as he cheered or jeered some unfortunate in the past, but which he’d never thought to hear aimed squarely and solely at himself.

Curiously, he felt no fear. The sound buoyed him. He looked around, astounded by the scope and true size of the magnificent structure about him, wishing he could have enjoyed his revealing perspective under rather better circumstances.

A sudden grunt of pleasure escaped him. He could see two other bound Geonosians waiting ahead of him and both sported the green-tinged colouring and distinctive faces of fellow Aristocrats. Their eyes opened wide with surprise as they saw and scented him in turn. They watched as Poggle was guided up and pushed backwards to stand in between them, his chain removed, all three in a row. Wisely, none of the prisoners spoke. Picadors on orrays had accompanied Poggle’s party and they carried the long static pikes with which they controlled the arena beasts and, in a pinch, unruly criminals who could not keep their months shut.

Several drones came forward and placed a gleaming sword on the sand before each prisoner, then stepped back with careful measured strides, making a little ceremony of it. After a brief pause, all but one of the soldiers lifted up, hovered, and flew back towards the service exits. The picadors spun their orrays about and galloped back as well.

The soldier who had remained behind raised his hand to activate a small device and the binders on all three prisoners sprang open and dropped to the sand. The trio regarded each other soberly while the soldier flew away.

“The others?” Poggle asked.

“All dead,” said the Geonosian to his left.

“We thought you were dead too,” added the Geonosian to his right.

“Well, I thought you were dead,” countered Poggle, and the three of them burst into laughter and began patting one another on the arms. The other two Lessers, Tarel and Enar, were his friends, work-mates, residence-mates; his staunchest supporters and now convicted co-conspirators. They touched muzzles affectionately. If they seemed nonchalant about their situation, it was less bravado than a certain resignation. All Geonosians lived with the knowledge that they would someday come to a violent end.

Said Tarel, “Did I hear right? The petrana-ki?”

“Yes indeed,” Poggle told him. He bent to retrieve the sword left at his feet, a soldier’s saber with a heavy curved blade. “They gave us good weapons, at least.”

“Why this way? I thought we were going to be executed,” said Enar. His plaintive tone made him sound almost as though he were complaining. Poggle regarded him with wry amusement.

“What’s the matter, Enar? Don’t you want to go out in style?” Abruptly, Poggle swung around and lifted his arms, holding his blade high over his head like some gladiator already celebrating victory. The audience responded at once with good-natured jeers and creaks of laughter; even Tarel snorted, though Enar still looked unhappy. Poggle strutted on while his friends armed themselves. He looked for the archducal box high up in the stands and made a show of bowing to Archduke Hadiss the Vaulted, the object of his hatred and insurrection. Poggle and his comrades had been the ringleaders in a series of failed uprisings meant to unseat the hive leader. This, then, was the Archduke’s revenge, to put them on display and see them struggle for their lives as long as possible. Only, Poggle had no intention of succumbing.

He examined the blade of his saber again, noting its well-honed edge. The crowd kept yelling at him. They wanted him dead-he was, after all, a treasonous felon-yet already appreciated his willingness to play along, to go out well, to provide the entertainment for which they hungered. It was not so bad, this being vilified by a bloodthirsty mob. Poggle could feel his own blood heating in response, his senses sharpening, and his spirit rising. He knew he would have to be at his very sharpest to survive the ordeal to come.

“Gentlemen, I believe our good Archduke may have made a tactical error,” he said to the others in a low voice.

Tarel understood. He nodded. Enar seemed confounded. “You are NOT suggesting we’ll win this,” Enar exclaimed. “Are you?”

“Why not? People survive the petrana-ki all the time.”

“Yes! Crazy fools who train for months!” Enar cried. “Poggle, I-I’ve never even held a sword.”

“Neither have I. Learn fast,” Poggle advised. He swung his saber experimentally. It felt good in his hand. “Just think, Enar, we could make history. Three criminals winning redemption together at the same time. Three Lessers winning redemption. The low-class redemption trio.”

“I don’t think that’s funny,” said Enar angrily.

Several Geonosians began marching across the sand towards them. The rules of ritual combat-the petrana-ki-had allowed Poggle and company their few moments of preparatory calm; now it was time to get serious. Poggle and Tarel eyed their approaching opponents closely. “Soldiers,” Tarel concluded with satisfaction. “Look, Enar. Even you can take a drone.”

Their fear had been that they would be matched against true Gladiators, other members of the ruling caste who were intelligent and skilled and who would have minced the Lessers in short order. But soldiers were a different matter and these would not be particularly good soldiers; no officer of worth would allow his best drones to be used up for mere arena fighting. The Aristocrats drew together protectively.

The soldiers advanced with equal caution. They were under death-orders, charged with killing all three of the criminals confronting them or be killed themselves. None of them had much experience using the archaic weapons of coliseum combat and they were fidgety and unsure of themselves as a result. To their advantage, they could still fly, and they still enjoyed the scant protection afforded by their soldiers’ harnesses. Their adversaries had nothing but their own exoskeletal plating, and that plating only extended so far.

Poggle and the others were already acutely aware of their vulnerabilities.

“Watch your necks,” he warned, meaning it literally. “And your joints-under the arms, your elbows. They’ll aim at those.”

“Is this why you and Tarel were always such maniacs for the games?” Enar mused. “So you’d know what to do?”

The other two exchanged amused glances.

“We just went for the bloodshed,” said Tarel.

“Other peoples’, preferably,” Poggle clarified.

The soldiers suddenly rushed them, one on one. Poggle and Tarel managed to hold their own through sheer strength, but Enar was driven back. Their tight grouping broke up. The fight became a whirl of flashing blades crashing together, wild hacks and swings. Poggle was dinged on the upper arm, the skin scraped. Alarmed, he backed up. He and the others had fought, even killed before, but it had been with energy weapons and their own bare hands used on unsuspecting victims caught by surprise. This melee out in the open, with forward-facing, aware opponents, was new and unnerving.

Poggle parried several more slashes and looked for his friends, was slammed by an immediate terrific blow to his lower chest. The soldier, capitalizing on his momentary distraction, had tried to gut him and had aimed too high. Poggle’s chest plating had barely saved him. Angrily now, he fought back and the drone gave way reluctantly.

A sudden squawk and Poggle glimpsed Enar staggering to one side, his sword dropping from his hand. Maddened, Poggle lunged at his drone, driving him aside, running straight through him to Enar’s aid. Enar fell and the soldier who had struck him down startled at Poggle’s charge and lifted into flight; the Lesser jumped up and caught him by one leg just above the hock. He hung on grimly, head ducked, as the soldier furiously kicked and buffeted him with his wings, the two of them spinning round and round like some drunken double top.

The soldier Poggle had been fighting ran up. Poggle deliberately let himself fall and his weight pulled the hovering drone out of the air and on top of both himself and the other soldier; the lot of them went down in a tangle of wings, lost swords and bony limbs. Poggle got his hands around the snout of one of the struggling drones and a foot on the nape of his neck. He heaved, straining, and the body under his convulsed. Seconds later he was fighting for his life again as the other soldier, quite recovered, wrapped his own hands about Poggle’s throat and tried to throttle him. They wrestled together in the dirt, snarling, feet clawing, even biting; all vestiges of civilization flung aside.

A saber blade reached down between the soldier’s neck and harness prong and made a small careful cut. A red stream gushed out. The soldier shuddered, then slackened, and the hands about the Lesser’s neck went limp. Coughing, Poggle pushed the dying drone off himself and spat out a mouthful of blood. Tarel put down his hand to help him up.

“You could have taken longer to get here,” Poggle said sarcastically.

“You’re a mess,” retorted Tarel.

A great roar rose and fell around them; the crowd, expressing its approval of the show. Poggle took stock wearily. Enar was dead, his neck sliced. Tarel had taken out two of the soldiers in the same way. Only the drone Poggle had tried to kill still seemed alive, but he was clearly fatally injured, with glazed, unseeing eyes. The picadors would put an end to him.

They gathered up the spare swords, then started walking towards four huge pillars set to one side of the arena floor. It was a calculated risk, what they were doing. They tried hard to saunter, even waved to the spectators to indicate that they were merely shifting position and not trying to flee. The two Lessers had personally watched only three Geonosians survive the petrana-ki and all three had finished up with their backs to the pillars, using them for protection; the conclusion was obvious. But those survivors had gotten there during the course of their battling, not taken a deliberate hike. Poggle and Tarel, breakers of rules and tradition, glanced nervously at the guard towers as they walked along.

No armed soldiers spilled out of the towers, nor did any riders come galloping after them. The only orray they saw in action was the one pulling a service cart out to the scene of their battle with the drones; the picadors, coming to gather the bodies and tidy the sand.

The crowd had settled into a muted rumble, obviously curious about the prisoners’ intentions.

The two reached their destination with relief and took a breather. It was an irony that they were happy to be leaning up against the stone columns. A little earlier, both of them had fully expected to be led to the pillars and left shackled there for some arena beast to mangle; it was how most prisoners of worth were executed. Only the commonest, least interesting criminals were simply strung up. There was a hierarchy on Geonosis even among felons.

“What model, do you think?” Tarel murmured.

“Should be a standard Trade droid. I hope.”

As if on cue, several gaunt humanoid-patterned Battle Droids appeared at a distant exit. Drones were aiming them the right way, issuing orders. Poggle and Tarel waited tensely.

The Battle Droids were products of the Geonosians’ own foundries and well familiar to fans of bloodsport. They were often pitted against drones, and Gladiators liked sparring against them to show off their speed. They were relentless foes, but stupid. The two Lessers had their own ideas of how to beat them.

The Geonosians did a slow fade behind the pillars as the droids, four of them, marched up. The automatons stopped short, heads swiveling as they sought their targets. A sword poked out from behind a column and two of the droids blasted at it and clanked forward.

A pair of bony arms shot out, grabbed, and pulled the first droid down behind the pillar. The other was upended with a pull on its spindly legs and likewise dragged back. The Lessers hammered on the weakest joints of the downed machines with the heavy blunt edges of their weapons, working with frantic haste, finally yanking on the conical heads to snap the connections. The droids just lay there, almost helpless. It was difficult for them to recover from a spill at the best of times. With their two targets pounding on them, confused by their conflicting directives to recover yet attack, it became impossible, and they were quickly disabled. The Geonosians jumped up and ran for the cover of the next column just as the remaining droids got into firing position and began blasting away.

It turned into a game of hide and seek, with Poggle and Tarel darting in amongst the shielding pillars and luring the automatons on with exposed waves of their sabers. The Battle Droids, unable to think creatively, purely reactive in nature, were duped every time. Both were juggled into vulnerable positions and incapacitated in turn, and the Lessers got away with it all with only one crisped wing tip and a few singes between them.

The audience was not entirely sure of how to respond to the swift victory. Many spectators had had difficulty seeing what had actually happened and what they had seen had looked too easy. Some, the Aristocrats, who had the intelligence to appreciate the cleverness of the Lessers’ tactics, applauded their success by fluttering their colourful wings. Most of the drones, less sophisticated, wound up muttering with disappointment over the speedy and bloodless resolution. They shifted and hopped about in their seats in the upper tiers, a rippling, disgruntled brown carpet of Geonosian-hood.

“Bloodthirsty little morons,” Tarel remarked with grim amusement, observing the mixed reaction.

“They’ll get their fill with the next part,” said Poggle. He eyed his friend. “How are you managing?”

“Well. Surprisingly well.”

“Well enough to stand this mob on its head and spit in Hadiss’ eye?”

Tarel snorted at the image. “I think-yes. Yes. We can do this.”

“Then let’s get ready.”

The two started dragging the droid bodies into a pile against one of the pillars, creating a barrier. “Enar was right,” Tarel suddenly said.

“About what?”

“Us. We did always go to the games with the idea that we’d someday end up like this.”

“You, maybe,” Poggle replied. “You always did have that shifty way about you, Tarel.”

The banter lightened the burden of stacking the heavy droids. There was no need to discuss what they were doing. They had indeed already deliberated at length upon every match and contest they’d ever witnessed at the games they’d so loved to attend, arguing and debating endlessly about how they would have handled themselves in lieu of the actual participants. Now here was their chance to put their expert fan opinions into practice.

The remains of the four Battle Droids formed a reasonable barrier and they next re-examined their weaponry. One sword had been blasted into scrap and another bent and damaged; Poggle kept it as a spare, laid next to his feet. The four good blades they kept in hand, holding them loosely as they leaned back against the pocked stone of the pillar, standing side by side next to the heaped droids. The weapons of the droids they ignored. They knew that the blasters had been modified to require an activating electronic pulse, a means of keeping living combatants honest.

They waited for the last phase of the petrana-ki to begin.

Four drones finally walked out onto the sand, accompanied by large quadrupeds restrained by harnesses. The animals, native massiffs, were squat and bulky, covered with leathery skin studded on their topsides with protective scutes and spikes. Their perfectly round black eyes stared in a blank, disarming fashion, yet they moved with the nimble, assured power of intelligent predators and minded their handlers obediently. The Lessers watched the drones halt and set the animals free; gesture their way.

“Four of them,” Tarel muttered.

“Hadiss wants to make sure.”

Poggle hated massiffs. He thought them skulking creatures, fit only to catch vermin, and begrudged that they were favoured by the Vaulted class, who liked to keep them as pets. He’d sworn that he would never allow any massiff anywhere near the interior of Stalgasin once he was Archduke. But these massiffs didn’t care about his future directives. They were seasoned arena killers, well trained. Poggle was just another quarry they’d been sent to destroy.

The massiffs loped up, full of confidence, then shifted into a sprint. They hurtled at their victims, jaws opening wide to grab and pull them down.

And just as swiftly scrambled back to escape a hail of savage slashing blows, bumping into and stumbling over one another in their haste. There hadn’t been room enough for all four massiffs to reach their objective. Channeled by the makeshift barrier and their own eagerness, they’d crowded together and hampered each other, slowing their attack enough for the Geonosians to inflict severe cuts and gashes. They regrouped and several of them shook their heads and licked their hurt chops as they prowled back and forth, growling steadily, grumbling out their anger and aggression.

One of the massiffs abruptly collapsed onto its hindquarters. It sat there in an almost comical fashion, its front legs spraddled wide, staring stupidly with surprise. Blood sheeted down its dirty white chest; Tarel’s quick hands had scored again. It still wore its look of dumb surprise when it finally sank down, bled out. The other massiffs just continued stalking around the carcass, unconcerned and unperturbed by their loss.

They tried attacking again. Massiffs were courageous animals, in their way, and they knew their duty. But the attempt only garnered them disaster. One of them went howling away with a ruined eye and its muzzle slashed half off, and another was left gagging and frantically pawing at a blade lodged deep in its gullet; Poggle’s doing, this time. The remaining massiff, the only one still untouched, had again been crowded out and unable to reach the Geonosians. It paced before them, rumbling, a little hesitant now that it was alone.

Poggle and Tarel watched it warily. Both were winded and their arms ached from fending off their immensely strong attackers. They were almost drained and knew they’d have to be very careful with their remaining strength. The wounded animals were a concern. Left alone, they might recover somewhat.\

“We should go after those two. Kill them while we can,” Poggle said.

“What about this fellow in front of us?”

“He should move for both of us. We can guard each other’s backs.”

“All right, let’s try.”

Poggle stooped to first pick up his spare sword. Tarel shifted his gaze to watch him for one second and as quick as that, the massiff they’d thought demoralized was in the air, springing at them. Poggle was knocked down and Tarel had just time enough to fling up one arm before the brute was on him, rearing on him, crushing him back into the pillar with the full weight of its body. But the same stance that immobilized one prey left it vulnerable to the other. Poggle finished snatching up his second weapon and plunged both blades into the massiff beneath its loin. It let go of Tarel’s arm with a strangled yelp and actually backpedaled a few strides on its hind legs before keeling over and thrashing violently. Poggle pulled Tarel aside, away from the spasmodically snapping jaws.

“Are you all right!” he cried.

A crushed, useless limb was as good as a death sentence for a Lesser. Tarel, shaken, moved his wrist and hand, bent his elbow. “It works,” he breathed with relief. “It didn’t have time to clamp down.”

The two of them moved away from the column. The massiff that had bitten Tarel had rolled onto its side and was still feebly moving. Poggle aimed a vicious kick at it as they passed.

The animal with the saber jammed down its throat was crouching a short distance away, still scratching at its lacerated mouth and heaving desperately for air. It was a piece of mere butchery to dispatch it. The other massiff had more fight left. Unable to bite effectively, half-blinded though it was, it nonetheless charged as they approached, making them jump smartly for their safety. Tarel did the distracting and Poggle managed to hamstring the beast, and together they fell on the cripple, hacking away in a final flurry of violence. And then, quite suddenly, there was nothing left to kill. The Geonosians stood there, panting, gawking at each other, the only two creatures left alive and whole on the arena floor, while the spectators all about them erupted in shrill jubilation.

“We did it!” Poggle exclaimed over the noise.

“Must you always state the obvious?” Tarel chided, and threw his weapon down. Poggle did the same. Laughing, they embraced this time, pressing their long lean bloodied heads together, and found the energy afterwards to even caper a few steps, bouncing with delight at their victory. Had they been voluntary participants in the petrana-ki, there would have been a great celebration for them, with a lap of triumph in a decorated cart and much adulation and praise. As criminals, they were granted life and a pardon, period, which was just fine by Poggle and Tarel.

They began their slow tired trek out of the arena, waving occasionally. Poggle made an especial point of flapping a hand at the archducal box; in your ugly face, Hadiss, he thought with glee. The Archduke was no doubt steaming over the outcome of his little scheme. The only thing that could have angered him more, Poggle thought, was if poor Enar had survived as well.

The crowd had fallen into a happy, steady chant. Their collective voice held an air of odd expectancy. Troubled, the Lessers exchanged glances. Really, what more could the audience want of them? Even if they were felons, there should have been some respect and recognition due their rare accomplishment.

Several mounted picadors came into view, guiding an acklay between them.

The two Aristocrats halted. “What’s this?” Tarel said uneasily.

“Setting up for the next event, I guess. There must be an execution scheduled.”

“I don’t see any prisoners. Poggle, I don’t like this. It isn’t right.”

“I know. You’d think they’d wait until we left the arena.”

“No! Just-listen.”

The crowd was screaming for blood. Poggle and Tarel shrank together, snouts jerking as they sought for some reason for the frenzied outcry, some bout or contest that they were about to get caught up in by error. The acklay was a magnificent predator and a great fan favourite, but its appearance alone would not engender such manic response. There had to be something else, behind them, close to them…

The acklay accelerated with sudden stunning ease and the Lessers, numb with fatigue and disbelief, let it run right up to them. Too late did they realize their mistake and that the acklay had been meant for them all along; that they’d been deceived and the petrana-ki made a mockery of; that it had all been a sham, just a sham, and then the enormous creature was on top of them and stabbing down with its slashing forelegs.

Pure chance favoured Poggle and it was Tarel who was impaled and driven into the ground. Poggle staggered back, moaning, in a state of shock. He stopped and stood drooping, transfixed with horror, and watched as the monster devoured his friend.

The acklay finished and lifted its head and fixed its beady-eyed gaze on Poggle with profound interest. More food! it seemed to say. Poggle started, shaken out of his deadly trance.

It was the only time his courage failed him. Instinctively he tried to fly, was brought up short by the painful jolt of the restraining brail. He whirled and took to his feet instead, grateful that he was still young enough to be fit and slender, that he still had sound, powerful legs that could propel him over the sand like the wind. He used those legs now and fled for his life, and the predator behind him gave enthusiastic chase.

Back towards the exit through which he’d entered this nightmare and here came one of the attending picadors, riding out to turn him. Poggle skidded to a halt, then dashed to one side. The picador cursed as she tried to switch her pike to her rein hand while maintaining control of her excited orray. Poggle leapt up, catching her off guard, crashing into her, and the two tumbled together to the ground, already grappling and fighting. She was game, but Poggle was desperate. He managed to kick her in the face, half-stunning her, and scrambled back up on his feet. The orray was long gone, but no matter. It was the pike he was after.

He ran to snatch it up and spun to confront the monstrosity bearing down on him. He set his hands fast on the pike’s insulated grip, raised it into what he hoped seemed a threatening position, and the acklay-

-the acklay swept past him and bent over the downed picador, killing her with one crunching bite to her chest.

Poggle, panting with fright and effort, stared at the feeding beast. It had ignored him. Its backside bobbed as it busied itself with the picador, pausing once to steady the small body with a claw tip before lowering its head again to tear away the meager flesh. Poggle edged closer and still the acklay disregarded him, so contemptuous of his presence that it felt free to show him its vulnerable belly.

Poggle suddenly shrieked, the thin nerve-shredding shrill of a Geonosian about to erupt in fury. He lowered the static pike and charged, flinging himself forward under the creature’s stomach.

The pike slid in with shocking ease and struck something solid. The jar shook Poggle loose and he fell. The acklay went straight up in the air. In later days, the height of its leap would grow with each retelling; some spectators in the stands would swear that it had reached the base of the first tier. Down it came, almost trampling Poggle, then stood for a moment, shuddering convulsively. The violent spasms pushed the pike back out of its body. The long rod fell square on Poggle’s head, which caused him to roll up on one haunch, swearing and sneezing. He’d gone face-first into the dirt and his nostrils were clogged with sand. He sat there under the monster’s belly, pawing beneath his eyes, spitting mad, oblivious to the appalling danger.

The acklay abruptly ambled away. It had had enough. Never had it felt such agony, been attacked in a way it could not comprehend. Moving made it feel sicker and it slowed to a crawl. It dragged itself towards the nearest arena exit, towards the only refuge from pain and confusion which it knew.

Poggle shot up. “No!” he screamed after it. “Stop!” The acklay kept going. Poggle snatched at the pike-luckily, it had shorted out in the wet guts, for he never noticed that he was grabbing the wrong end-and now it was the prey pursuing the predator, shouting at it, ordering it to halt, growing angrier with each refusal. It was crazy behaviour, but Poggle was not thinking sanely. He raced after the wounded animal with murderous intent, the precious pike clutched in one hand.

Geonosians were prodigious jumpers. Poggle sprang up onto one of the acklay’s rearmost legs and then over onto its body, climbing with his free hand and with his long footclaws, which could fasten vice-like onto the slightest projection. The acklay, immersed in its pain, paid no attention to his clambering. It wanted only to find a quiet place where it could rest and suffer in peace.

Poggle swung the pike and hit the acklay as hard as he could on the side of its head. Shocked anew, it jumped forward. Another blow, even harder, sent it scurrying, the fire in its belly momentarily forgotten. It was too hurt and confused to fathom the source of this fresh attack. All it could do was try to get away and that meant running as fast as possible.

The Geonosian clinging to its lower back kept lashing it with the stinging pike, punctuating every whack with an inarticulate snarl. Poggle was deep in bloodlust, no longer fully aware of what he was doing. He beat the hapless animal in a fit of rage, raining upon it all his malice and fury; his bitter resentment of every slight and snub; his vexation, his disappointment, his frustration at the injustice that kept him mired in servitude to people he hated. The acklay careened back and forth, seeking relief from the relentless blows. It began to whine, and the audience in the vast arena hushed and grew still, aware that they were witnessing something unprecedented.

A tremendous jolt broke Poggle’s grip and threw him sprawling over the armored back. The acklay in its blind pain and terror had run headfirst into the arena wall. Dazed, it turned weakly away and Poggle slid off and fell to the ground. He landed on his back this time, which knocked the remainder of his breath from his battered body, and lay there, gasping, while the acklay finally made good its escape from its tiny tormenter.

Poggle swam in and out of consciousness in waves. I am really rather tired of all this, he thought during one lucid moment. During another, he thought that he could see a great sculpted cliff rearing skyward above his eyes. A little Geonosian head seemed to be poking out of the rock partway up. Even upside down he recognized the distinctive outline of a snout, although this one was augmented with cheek flares and long wattles which-

The acklay had dumped him at the base of the tower containing the archducal box.

The realization that Hadiss was looking down on him cleared Poggle’s head instantly. He struggled to turn onto his side, then sit up. The watching throng, murmuring excitedly back into full voice, urged him on. He managed to get up on his feet, tottered a bit, then stood firm. Again, they shouted encouragement. The audience loved him now and they fed him their strength and their comfort. Poggle drank the sound in, supped on the rich thick scent of support. Refreshed, he started forward.

Five soldier drones dropped down into a semicircle before him, barring his way. They aimed their blasters at him. Poggle stared back, defiant. Dimly, he was aware of the instant change of mood of the crowd, the low growls and hisses of disapproval that swelled second by second into a steady sonorous drone. The soldiers began glancing nervously at one another.

An officer, member of the Royal Warrior class, fluttered down into position before his squad. Poggle’s vision was starting to waver; the officer’s face seemed lopsided somehow. Yet his manner remained crystal clear. He studied Poggle with cool professionalism, noting the multiple oozing dirt-caked wounds, the hanging shreds of scraped skin, the expression of fierce indomitability that had no business appearing on the face of any mere Lesser.

And then the officer was stepping back and the long head was tilting in a gesture of dismissal. The soldiers, still hesitant, looked to their leader for explanation. “The petrana-ki is over,” he told them. “Let him go.” Relieved, they stepped aside in turn, opening a path.

Poggle stalked through the group with immense dignity, snout held as high as he could manage. The wild exaltation of the crowd swirled about him, beating at him with almost palpable force. He knew that Hadiss must be staring at him, no doubt open-mouthed with astonishment and anger, and, although it half-killed him to do so, he refused to look up and even acknowledge the Archduke. He simply walked, placing one foot resolutely before the other, aiming for the only exit he was familiar with, heedless of those closer to him. He walked across the entire floor of the arena and the Geonosians waiting for him scattered at his approach and stood aside in awe. Through the long corridor and out of the service area and still people scrambled out of his way, frightened by his reek of gore and bloody visage. Past the agricultural sector, past the industrial complex-he was stumbling now, his steps faltering-and through the familiar passages close to home and past a clique of startled drones at the entrance to his residential cell, where he finally released the terrible hold he had on his body, staggered to his own little cubicle, and collapsed on his resting platform, too exhausted to even try removing the brail still strapped around the base of his tattered wings.

-End Part One-

CREAM RISES (OR, HOW POGGLE CAME TO POWER)
-Part Two-

Poggle lay almost unmoving for two days after the petrana-ki. The service drones assigned to his residential cell did their best for him and managed to get him clean, and trimmed off the bits of shredded skin and otherwise tended his wounds as well as they could. They brought him water, and one of the other Lessers even scrounged up a little food, but Poggle felt too ill to eat. He simply lay there on his platform, alone and brooding, dozing occasionally, enduring his hurts with the stoic resignation of his kind. During one doze, the Lesser to whom the cubicle had been assigned after Poggle was arrested, crept in and removed his meager possessions, and so his quarters were his own again.

On the third day of his recuperation, while Poggle was moodily licking a nasty cut on the inside of his elbow, a Royal Warrior suddenly appeared in the entranceway to his cubicle. Poggle felt his heart jog, but he refused to stop licking. He tried to surreptitiously examine the officer’s face as he pretended not to care that he was standing there, then came recognition.

“Oh,” he grunted. “It’s you.”

The officer from the arena stepped fully into Poggle’s cubicle and looked down at him. With his wits about him, Poggle could see that the lopsided impression had been caused by a thin yellow scar running up one side of the Warrior’s face and into his eye, also pale yellow. It gave him an alert, faintly inquisitive expression.

Poggle began to chafe under the officer’s silent scrutiny. He couldn’t very well tell him to get out-Warriors were higher in status than he and could go into any Lesser’s residence with impunity-but still, he was annoyed. He addressed the officer with rather more force than he should have.

“Have you come to arrest me?”

A safe enough question. He could already smell that his visitor was alone. The Warrior cocked his head.

“No.”

“What do you want, then?”

His tone was even harsher; another transgression. But the scar-faced officer did not seem to mind.

“I came to see how you were,” he said.

“Well, here I am,” Poggle replied sourly. “Alive and well.”

The officer didn’t think that Poggle looked well at all. In fact, he thought he looked pretty terrible. A goodly portion of his exoskeleton had been scraped bare in patches, the chitin gleaming through the rings of cracked scabs and showing pits and scores. The softer parts of his body were crisscrossed with little cuts and wounds, some still open, like that gaping gash in the crook of his elbow. Yet his spirit seemed to have survived intact. The officer could see it smoldering in the Lesser’s brown eyes and hear it in his voice. He decided that he would fan the flames a little.

“Everyone’s talking about you,” the Warrior said.

“Wonderful.”

“It was quite an accomplishment, what you did.”

“Mm.”

“I’d heard that you died of your wounds, though.”

The effect was galvanic. Poggle actually pushed himself into a half-sitting position, instantly enraged.

“Who- What- Where did you hear that!” he spat. “It’s that Hadiss, isn’t it? Spreading rumours about me? Lying about me!”

The officer’s head near spun, caught in the tempest of the Lesser’s fury. “I just heard it around the barracks,” he expanded soothingly. “Some drone’s misconception, no doubt.”

It seemed to mollify Poggle. He sank back. The Warrior regarded him thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you should go to one of the messes for a meal. Let people see you.”

Poggle looked back, a little surprised. “That’s-not a bad idea.”

“I’ll come with you, if you like.”

Poggle was not so proud that he would turn down an offer of protection in his weakened state. He nodded agreement and moved to stand up. When he tried to take a step, he almost fell over.

“I’m all right,” he snapped, shrugging aside the other’s proffered hand.

“Yes, you certainly are,” the officer replied, bemused.

Poggle hobbled into his cell’s common area, his joints frozen with disuse and strain. It was downright painful just to watch him. The officer waited while Poggle relieved himself-the Lesser groaning as he miserably discovered that not a single part of his body had escaped the drubbing he’d suffered-then accompanied him out into the passages. He had to adjust his normal stride down to a mere crawl for Poggle to keep pace.

The Lesser looked over at him out of one eye, gratefully, a little suspiciously. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Sun Fac,” the Royal Warrior said.



A dense layer of stratiform cloud settled over the plains surrounding Stalgasin and dipped low enough on occasion to envelope the exterior structures of the hive colony itself. Conditions became gloomy, almost night-like, and surfaces everywhere gleamed and dripped with moisture. The hive shut its doors to the outside and curtailed any foraging until the weather improved.

Sun Fac stood on the walkway before the lowest tier of seating in Stalgasin’s coliseum. The variable fog had put a literal damper on events; he could barely see halfway across the floor of the great arena. Despite the poor visibility, many arena personnel were taking advantage of the temporary lull. He could just make out a group of picadors putting their orrays through their paces, and elsewhere several Gladiators were honing their skills, some sparring against one another, one taking on several droids. Fac watched the Gladiators with especial interest. His own duties would be light until the arena resumed normal operations and he enjoyed the opportunity to play mere spectator for a change.

Fac heard a distant low thrum and felt the rock beneath his feet tremble, ever so slightly. A large spacecraft was departing from Stalgasin’s spaceport, probably one of the enormous, fuel-guzzling Trade Federation core ships. The sharp tang of its distinctive exhaust, more pronounced than usual in the damp air, soon permeated the bowl of the arena and Fac was able to confirm his tentative identification.

A far more pleasant odour suddenly filtered through his nostrils and Fac turned his head and chirruped to someone coming down the passageway behind him. A moment later, another Warrior appeared, uttering a similar soft purl of greeting. He went straight up to Fac and they licked each other on the mouth. Even for Geonosians, their faces bore a marked similarity of type, and well they should have; the newcomer was Fac’s gene brother, Rit, the only other Sun left. Their line had been discontinued as temperamentally unstable after most of its members had gotten themselves recklessly killed or maimed. Fac and Rit were the only individuals in which the Sun strain’s other noted trait, intelligence, had prevailed.

Rit had also inherited a rather mischievous sense of humour, where from, no one knew. He eyed Fac expectantly.

“I searched for you during rest time,” he said.

“I was busy,” came the short reply.

“I’ll bet you were.” Rit already knew who was monopolizing Fac’s time these days. “So. Is he crazy?”

Fac looked back, a trifle wearily.

“Only as much as he needs to be.”

Rit laughed at that. “What a slick little lackey you’ve become,” he said. “Always the perfect lieutenant. Well, you keep your secrets, Fac. The reason I was looking for you is to tell you that I’ve got another one.”

“Who?” asked Fac, surprised.

“My sergeant in number three.”

“The one with the notch in his inner left wing? Big fellow?”

“That’s the one.”

“That’s a good drone,” Fac said, sounding dismayed. “Can’t you talk him out of it?”

“You know what drones are like when they finally get an idea in their heads.”

“This is ridiculous.” Sun Fac was getting more and more upset. “That’s the fourth one, no, the fifth! Doesn’t he realize that he’ll be exiled if he wins?”

“Course he knows, Fac. That’s the whole point of it. No more hive, no more duties. No more annoying officers telling him what to do.”

“Exactly, and this one is telling him no!”

“A soldier’s got a right to fight for his freedom,” Rit pointed out. “C’mon, Fac. They’ve got nothing else. So we’ll get another drone.”

“It’s a waste. I won’t put all that training into someone who’s just going to run off and get himself killed in the arena. And he will be killed, Rit. He’s not that good a fighter.”

“His choice,” the other said, tipping his snout in a flippant manner. “And I don’t know why you’re so upset about it. It’s your buddy, Poggle, who’s the cause of all this. His victory inspires them, you know.”

“Poggle is not my buddy. He’s-“

Silence. “He’s what?” Rit persisted. “An investment?”

Sun Fac put his tongue out and carefully licked the top part of his mouth.

“Perhaps.”

Rit laughed. “Lackey.”

A rustle of wings preceded the sudden arrival of a soldier drone, who set down next to the two Royal Warriors. “The Commander wants to see you, sir,” he said, addressing Fac.

“I’m just about to go off duty.”

“Right away, sir,” the soldier insisted.

“Very well. Go on, I’ll be along in a minute.”

The drone flew off. Rit had that smug, amused glint in his eye again.

“You’re in trouble now,” he proclaimed.

“No, I’m not. You go away too, Rit. You give me a headache.”

“Fine. Go hobnob with your stiffs. I’m going to see if I can’t talk some sense into that sergeant. By the way, whatever you and Poggle are planning, I’m in.”

“Really?” Fac exclaimed.

“Sure. Who wants to live forever?” Rit said as he spread his wings, then took off. Fac watched him go until the fog swallowed him up. That was Rit for you, always full of surprises.

Fac launched himself and began flying laboriously towards one of the highest towers on the other side of the arena. Adult Geonosians were weak flyers at best, and the thick mist, wetting his wings, made flight all the more difficult. Fac was breathing hard by the time he reached his destination and identified himself to the sentries at the door of the Commander’s office.

Commander Nadeer the Devout was already entertaining several other middle-class Geonosians involved with arena security, and Fac found an unobtrusive place just inside the office and waited patiently to be noticed. He waited a long time and the others ignored him utterly throughout. They were still ignoring him when they finally filed past him and out the doorway, even though he was standing right there.

“Ah, Sun Fac,” said the Commander at last, acting as though his visitor had just arrived. “What can I do for you?”

“You wanted to see me, sir.”

“Oh yes, of course. Fac! This Lesser character we had, Poogle or Popple or whatever, I’ve heard reports that you’ve been keeping company with him.”

“Yes, sir, I am,” Fac confessed readily. “Given his criminal background, I thought it prudent to keep a very close watch on him for a while.”

“Oh. Did you.”

“Yes, sir. And the best way to watch him, I thought, would be to befriend him and gain his confidence. That way, I would know immediately if he began plotting against us again. Sir.”

“Ah ha. And no one told you to do this, Fac?”

“No, sir. It was my own idea. I’m only doing it during my off-duty time, sir.”

“I see. Well! I’m impressed, Sun Fac, I truly am.” Nadeer, who thought of himself as a kindly, well-liked leader, rose to the occasion to praise one of his favoured underlings. “Well done, Fac, very well done. I’ve always liked your initiative. It’s most unusual for one of your class and I commend you for it. You truly are remarkably intelligent, for a Warrior.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Well, carry on then. I’m sure I can count on you to let me know if anything comes of your little plan.”

“I will indeed, sir.”

The Commander turned his back, dismissing him, and Sun Fac saw himself out. As he walked, he deliberately ground his jaws together, once, twice. It was the only way he would ever allow himself to express his resentment. Nadeer would have been shocked to know how much his favourite Royal Warrior loathed him.

Fac flew back to his starting point and entered the network of passages granting public access to the coliseum. Poggle was due to come off duty and Fac hurried, wanting to catch him. He had a lot he wanted to tell him.

Fac took up station in a major thoroughfare near the administrative sector. No one paid the Warrior much mind. Security folk were a common sight throughout the hive.

Poggle soon came along, easy to spot because of his stilted gait. His eyes brightened when he saw Fac waiting for him. Like all Geonosians, Poggle did not mourn the dead and he had the capacity to form new attachments as quickly as he forgot the deceased. He was already fond of Fac and even more so of the support he offered.

“Well, hullo,” he called. “Weather’s given you a reprieve again, has it?”

“Yes it has.”

The Warrior fell in beside Poggle and they made their way forward, weaving expertly around their fellow Geonosians in the passageway without conscious thought. The Lesser was still limping badly, Fac noted, alternating sides depending on which leg currently pained him the most. The muscles had evidently been severely wrenched, probably during his wild ride on the acklay. Some of the scabbed areas looked bloody. Fac knew from personal experience how much new skin itched as it was growing in and guessed that Poggle had been digging at himself.

Sure enough, a hand reached up and scratched, even as Fac watched. “Itchy?” he asked, sympathetically.

“Hideously so.” Poggle rubbed at his upper arm, which was both aching and prickling abominably. “I think I’d almost rather fight those Battle Droids again,” he groaned.

“You ought to have a long hot soak,” said Fac with concern. “It’d help that soreness, too.”

“Ha! You think I can afford something like that?”

Sun Fac worked his jaws, nervously. He was about to do something counter to a lifetime’s worth of conditioning.

“I have a little money set aside,” he blurted.

Poggle regarded his new friend with interest, his itching forgotten. Warriors were almost as poorly paid as was his own class. There was really only one way for them to make any money.

“You’ve fought?” Poggle asked.

“A couple of times. Just low-risk matches.”

“Still…” By Geonosian standards, that meant even-odds at best. “I think I remember you now,” Poggle went on slowly. “Didn’t you fight a Rodian?”

“Yes.”

“And two soldiers?”

“Yes.”

“That’s hardly low-risk.”

“I knew the soldiers. They were both useless.”

“Is that how you got that scar? Competing?”

“No. I helped repel a raid when I was still working security for the foundries. An energy lash got me.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t blinded.”

“I was, for a short while. One of my supervisors spoke up for me.”

“Even luckier,” said Poggle, a bit enviously. His own record with supervisors was abysmal. There wasn’t a one of them, he thought, that wouldn’t happily slap on the humane killer himself if Poggle ever became seriously incapacitated. Even now, a couple were watching him closely, hoping his injuries would interfere with his work. On the other hand…

“Speaking of supervisors, there’s something important I need to tell you,” Poggle continued.

“I have news too,” said Fac. “Why don’t we save it for the baths?”

“Oh. You mean…you were offering?”

The genuine surprise now evident in Poggle’s voice warmed Sun Fac in a strange way. The Lesser was clearly unused to having favours extended to him by higher-status folk. Fac felt that he suddenly understood Poggle a tiny bit better and the last of his nervousness left him.

“Of course I was. I could do with a good soak myself,” he said, and was gratified again by the immediate exuberant response.

“Let’s go get a meal first,“ Poggle urged happily, near skipping along now. “It’ll be even better with a full belly.”

“Your wish is my command,” said Fac, equally pleased.



Sun Fac decided to visit one of the Gladiators he’d become friendly with while working at the arena. He wanted a professional assessment, as it were, of Poggle’s petrana-ki trial, and to gauge the mood of the gladiatorial class in general. It seemed to him that they’d appeared unusually testy as of late, and he didn’t know why.

The Gladiators occupied an oddly shifting niche in Geonosian society, sandwiched somewhere between the low and middle ruling classes. Their status depended entirely upon their success in the arena, and their turnover, as might be expected of creatures bred purely for bloodsport, was immense. Fac had always felt an affinity for them. They were an offshoot of his own Royal Warrior class and few Warriors could thus resist entertaining a few delusional fantasies about their own fighting ability and dabbling in arena sport themselves. Curiously, despite sharing the same background, in temperament they could not have differed more. The Warriors were the most gregarious of Aristocrats; the Gladiators, quarrelsome and competitive, could not be trusted to share any sort of communal quarters and had to be housed in separate cells altogether. Since few of them lived very long, no one ever begrudged them the extra space.

Fac’s friend lived in a typical middle-class residential sector close to the coliseum. Two stories of cells lined a network of broad passageways, the lower level offering easier access, the upper ones more privacy. Gladiators liked their privacy. Fac had to climb a ladder-like set of rough projections left on the rock wall to reach his goal.

He paused and uttered several clicks to announce his presence, keeping well back from the small circular entrance. Even a Vaulted would have done the same; Gladiators, always volatile, were inclined to attack anyone foolish enough to catch them by surprise. A long snout jutted out of the entrance, took a whiff, clicked a reply. Reassured, Sun Fac finished climbing up and inside.

The occupant of the cell was relaxed and in a good mood (Fac was relieved to note), and welcomed his visitor warmly. His name was Tau Lee. Like their Warrior cousins, Gladiators acknowledged their lineage with a strain identifier, although they used it as a suffix rather than prefixing their personal names. The Lees were an exceptional line renowned for their diversity; Tau was one of the great ones and Stalgasin’s current reigning fighting champion. He had always given Fac good advice and had even sparred with him once, an experience which the officer had found truly humbling.

Tau Lee also carried the dilution factor that lightened his body to a yellowish fawn and his brown eyes to amber. The mutation had cropped up spontaneously some decades ago and had caught on with the general public, who liked the way the paler colouring contrasted against the arena sand and better showed the blood. Most Gladiators were now fawn, and in some lines, the normal variety had been bred out entirely. Spectator preference had overcome the loss of natural camouflage.

Sun Fac thought Tau a striking fellow. He was always in perfect condition and exceptionally svelte, even for a Geonosian.

“Interested in a good money match against one of my own?” Tau asked him now. “I have an overconfident youngster you should be able to handle. Arrogant, careless little twit. You’d be doing me a personal favour if you killed him.”

“I’d say yes, if I had the time,” Fac replied. “I’m busy keeping an eye on that felon that won the petrana-ki-Poggle.”

“Ah yes, that one.”

“I’ve been wondering if you had an opinion on what he accomplished. The trial itself and…after.”

An odd hard expression crept over Tau’s face, one which Fac could not exactly identify. Nonetheless, he gestured at one of the platforms ringing the cell’s interior, then seated himself on another, folding up his long legs and squatting down on his hocks in a Geonosian sit. Fac followed suit. It appeared that Tau Lee had rather a lot to say.

“Poggle,” the Gladiator said, “was lucky. Lucky in that he was allowed to fight alongside two other participants. Lucky that one of them turned out to have some natural ability so they could cover one another.”

“Does Poggle have ability?”

“Yes he does. He’s undisciplined…untrained, of course, but…clever, very clever. Using the pillars, that was smart of them.”

“Was that a rule violation, what they did?” Fac asked.

“Technically, no. Petrana-ki participants are allowed the whole of the arena floor.” He paused and laughed, a short harsh bark. “Not that it was much of a petrana-ki.”

“Oh?”

Tau’s mouth worked. Fac sensed that the Gladiator was all of a sudden seething and struggling for control. Alarmed, he gathered himself, ready to jump should his host explode.

“It was a mockery,” Tau abruptly cried out. “A mockery! That Hadiss-“ He halted himself, took a few quick calming breaths. “It was not a proper pretrana-ki. Not at all! If Archduke Hadiss wanted to execute those criminals, by all means, what do I care? But he ought not to have insulted our rituals that way.”

“It dishonoured them?” Fac ventured, his tone carefully neutral. Tau tucked his chin and blew a sharp breath through his mouth, an expression of disgust

“Of course it did! The petrana-ki, there has to be some principle involved, some integrity; otherwise it becomes just another mindless entertainment only a stupid grub of a drone could enjoy. Hadiss should never have tried to trick those two the way he did. He should have just turned that acklay loose with the lot of them right away, if he wanted them dead so badly. No one would have minded that.”

“No one but the actual participants, you mean.”

“They were criminals,” Tau declared curtly, still too angry to indulge any witticisms. “They deserved death. But they fought well, those two. Both of them earned their redemption. Hadiss shouldn’t have used the acklay.”

So much for the testiness, thought Sun Fac. “About that acklay, has anyone else ever defeated one?”

“Never,” said Tau. “Never.” His slender neck arched proudly and the amber eyes now blazed with a different emotion. “What Poggle did was unparalleled. Phenomenal. It was the bloodlust. It transcended him. He should have been a Gladiator. He would have been an easy champion, perhaps the best ever.”

“Better than you, Tau?”

“With training, yes. He has it in him.”

The Gladiator’s bald pronouncement gave Fac a lot to think about. He walked home later mulling over a multitude of images and possibilities.

Fac could hear a bit of commotion underway in his residential cell as he strode up, a not unusual consequence of having a good two dozen of his comrades off duty at the same time. The lot of them, arena workers all, lived much as did the Lessers, in a single large common area encircled by small cubicles into which individuals could retreat for privacy. A major difference was that some cubicles were co-joined, offering larger spaces for those who wished to share, and since gene brothers invariably stuck together, it sometimes made for comical arrangements. Fac and Rit had been easy enough to accommodate and had snagged a nice double cubicle, but the seven Tacs assigned to the cell had wound up cramming themselves into a space really only meant for four. They were perfectly content to lie half draped on one another while resting or looking out of their little upper level entrances, their lean downfaced heads nestled cheek to cheek or stacked on top of each other, like a pile of snoozing drones. It was a sort of familiarity the other Aristocrat classes could simply not have tolerated.

Creaking laughter greeted Fac as he entered and he was delighted to discover that Sun Rit and Poggle were the cause of it. Poggle had evidently been holding Rit up as a bad example of some sort again and Rit, predictably, was protesting vociferously. The other Warriors were having their fun at their work-mate’s expense.

“Yes you ARE, Rit,” one of them was saying. “You’re bone lazy.” Addressing Poggle, he added, “He only yells at his soldiers when there’s a superior around, otherwise he sits back and lets them do as they please.”

“All the drones want to work for him,” said another Warrior.

“Who could blame them?” remarked a third, to which Sun Rit responded with a string of vicious oaths.

“You ill-bred culls, I’ll thrash the lot of you!” he cursed, a threat that might have meant something if he hadn’t been hopping from foot to foot with happy excitement at the same time. Rit was one of those Geonosians who just loved being the center of attention, even if that attention was negatively gained. He never fooled anyone, not even the dumbest of drones.

“Thank you for that lovely show of gentlemanly restraint!” Poggle crowed with equal glee. “I’m glad to see that your decorum matches your work ethic.”

Of course, all that did was to get the Warriors laughing and Rit sputtering all over again. Fac regarded the instigator of it all with admiration and a little awe. It had taken Poggle just three visits to win all the Royal Warriors in Fac’s cell over completely. They’d initially welcomed him only because they were eager to hear more about his petrana-ki and fight with the acklay, then remained to listen to Poggle’s ideas about earning status through sheer accomplishment and not by birthright. His theories resonated well with the officers, all of whom were experienced and smart enough to know that they’d never advance beyond their current positions, although most felt capable of much more. The thought of having the responsibilities and perks normally reserved for the higher classes enticed and excited them. None of them cared anymore that Poggle was a Lesser. They looked at him the way they looked at those few superiors they had any respect for, the way they were supposed to look at the Commander, but never did. Sun Rit, Fac knew, adored Poggle, finding in him the perfect foil and mirror for his own love of sarcasm. The two had leapt into such an instant heated exchange upon first meeting that Fac had feared that they’d come to blows. But later, with Poggle gone, Rit had said, “Why didn’t you tell me he was so funny?”, then chastised Fac for not having introduced them sooner.

Even the service drones liked Poggle. Fac looked around and saw that every single one of them was present and had found some work to do, whether lending a hand at the grooming tables, shining up one of the officers’ harnesses, or just pretending to tidy up a nearby cubicle while its occupant was out; anything that allowed them to look busy and stay close enough to watch and listen in on the conversation. The Warrior had never seen anything like it.

Sun Fac waited now for a lull in the chat roiling about him and managed to catch Poggle’s eye. A moment later, the two of them were climbing up to the Suns’ cubicle, Rit following behind. The rest of the Warrriors gazed after them wistfully. They knew full well that their residence-mates and the Lesser were plotting something and they wished that they could be a greater part of it.

Fac quickly outlined what had occurred at Tau Lee’s and Poggle clasped his hands together with satisfaction. He knew that Tau headed Stalgasin’s gladiatorial society and spoke for all his kind. Having the Gladiator class onside would be an obvious and tremendous boost to his fighting forces.

“I’ve been busy too,” Rit revealed. “Contrary to the opinions of some people-“ Here, he looked pointedly at the Lesser. “-I do get up off my lazy hocks now and then and take a stroll around to check things out. A couple of our stiffs seem inclined to lean your way, Poggle.”

“Who?” asked Fac, surprised.

“Those two Citizens running security for the upper tiers. And Brossar-he’s a Patriot,” Rit clarified for Poggle’s sake.

“Brossar’s sympathetic to Poggle?” Fac exclaimed.

“Course he is,” Rit insisted. “Not that he’d ever let anything like that slip to someone like you.”

Poggle laughed happily. “This is excellent! Three more possibles in the middle class, now we’re getting somewhere.” He looked at his two new supporters with pleasure. “Good work, both of you. I’ll leave you, Rit, to keep sounding out your superiors. Speaking of, I suppose there’s no chance that Nadeer…?”

“Forget it,” Rit sniffed. “He’s one of Hadiss’ cronies. They stick together in the archducal box during games like a pair of nexu in heat.”

Poggle laughed again. “Well, too bad. Who’s off tomorrow evening? You, Fac? Could we go see your Gladiator then?” He flipped his snout in Rit’s direction. “Given my luck, he’d get himself killed off in the very next event and Fac here would have to start all over again, eh?”

“Seize the opportunity, that’s my advice,” Rit said, and Fac rolled his eyes. Exasperation expressed, Fac did confirm that he would be off the next evening and would introduce Poggle to Tau Lee. The Lesser decided that he would also make use of the next day to approach the one lone supervisor in his own work sector that had expressed some sympathy for his ordeal in the arena, plus try out another possible over in the admin area.

“May as well kick off the next level of our campaign in a big way,” Poggle said. “And if I don’t show up for our meeting,” he joked to Fac, “you’ll know I’ve been arrested again.”

“Don’t even think it,” Fac chided. “I’m sure it will go well.”

“We hope,” Rit added, and Fac seized his opportunity to cuff his gene brother on the head.



One look at Poggle’s stormy face the next evening and Sun Fac knew that their plans had suffered a setback.

“It didn’t go well, did it?” he asked quietly, falling in beside the Lesser. Poggle shook his snout and opened his mouth wide in an angry grimace.

“No. And I don’t like the pattern I’m sensing,” was all he’d say.

He’d settled down by the time they reached Tau Lee’s cell, luckily so, for the Gladiator was not happy to see him. Despite his high regard for Poggle’s arena performance, Tau disliked having anyone of such low class in his personal quarters, and he looked over his new visitor with obvious hostility, wings lifted slightly off his back in a show of aggression. Fac hoped that Poggle wouldn’t behave in too antagonistic a manner. A lot of the Gladiator’s favourite fighting blades were hanging on the walls within easy reach, including the two Fac had seen him use just days ago to slash open both sides of a reek’s throat in a glorious double fountain of blood.

“Why is he here?” Tau demanded, speaking only to Fac.

“I think you might want to listen to what he has to say,” the Warrior replied.

“You’re imposing upon our friendship.”

“I know, but it’s important.”

Tau examined Poggle again. The Lesser at least looked good, Fac thought with relief, his wings and epidermis newly healed and gleaming, his strong male body appearing sound and healthy and well-carried. Weakness always provoked a Gladiator. But this one evidently found nothing objectionable in Poggle, for he quit his scrutiny, then hopped up on a platform and sat down.

“Speak,” he said, waving at his unwelcome guest.

Poggle launched into his plea, speaking of his belief that their social system had become antiquated and inefficient, making his promises that if he were Archduke he could surely better run things and bring greater prosperity to the people of Stalgasin, even to the whole of the sovereign system of Geonosis, if only he were given the chance. As always, he spoke eloquently, even elegantly, Fac thought. Throughout it all, Tau Lee remained perched on his resting platform, sitting with preternatural calm, forearms resting on his upper thighs, hands dangling limply; his only sign of life the shifting highlights in his glossy amber eyes as he stared at Poggle, then at Fac, then back at Poggle.

“Well?” the Lesser concluded at last. “What do you say?”

“I ought to report both of you,” Tau said coldly.

Poggle laughed. “No you won’t. You know I’m right.”

Tau Lee stretched a leg out and down to the floor and stood up. A tremour passed through him, rattling his four overlapping wings. Fac jerked his snout up with alarm, but Poggle stood firm.

“I should kill you myself,” Tau growled.

“You can try,” Poggle retorted, and actually lifted his hands into a defensive position. For a few long seconds they looked as if they were about to do it, fly at each other in a murderous fury, and Fac, watching, held his breath. Then the Gladiator snorted.

“You’ve got nerve,” he conceded. “I’ll grant you that.”

“If I do, it’s from watching people like you in the arena,” Poggle countered smoothly. “I could be a friend to you, Tau, to all of you. I’d want our coliseum to be the finest in all Geonosis. I’d fund the gladiatorial society, see to it that your ranks were expanded.”

“How much funding?” Tau interrupted.

“A lot.”

“How much, exactly, is a lot?” Tau persisted, and Poggle flicked his wings irritably.

“I don’t have the exact figure in my head. But once I’m Archduke-“

“Find that figure. Better yet, bring me a down payment.”

“You want money?” asked Poggle, dismayed.

“Doesn’t everyone? Sorry, but I won’t commit my people on a promise. A sizable contribution, however…”

Poggle flicked his wings again, not at all shy of showing his annoyance. It seemed to amuse the Gladiator.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

“Yes. But-I understand. You’ll have to give me time.”

“Take all the time you want. I’m always here,” said Tau Lee, and on that note, their meeting adjourned. Poggle and Fac were soon trudging back to the Warrior’s residence, Fac by far the more unhappy of the pair. The Warrior even stopped en route to buy them both a treat of dried sand melon. Munching the sweet fruit seemed to help take the sting out of their unproductive evening, at least for Fac.

“I was so sure he’d support us,” Sun Fac fretted, once they were safe in his cubicle and free to talk. “He was so angry with Hadiss.”

“He’ll come around. So will the others. You have to look at the whole schematic, Fac. They’re interested, just afraid. Thanks to our glorious Archduke, everyone knows that backing me is not exactly the safest of ventures, eh?”

“We all support you,” Fac insisted, gesturing out at his cell’s common area.

“People like us don’t have much to lose,” Poggle pointed out. “The middle class, though…” He began rubbing his chin and lower jaw, pondering aloud. “We need money. That’s what they all wanted, payment in advance. We have to find a wealthy patron or two. I can’t chance going about this in a small way again, Fac. We need people in positions of power.”

“I could try some higher-risk matches. Tau Lee said he had-“

“No! No more fighting. I need you, Fac. I don’t want you risking yourself anymore. You’re too smart for that.”

Sun Fac was too dispirited to enjoy his friend’s show of confidence. “Am I,” he said listlessly.

“Of course you are. You’re remarkably intelligent.”

Fac’s head hung lower. He looked at the floor. When, after several seconds, nothing more was forthcoming, he chanced a glance at the Lesser and found him staring back with cool intensity.

“You were waiting for it, weren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Fac exclaimed, startled.

“You were waiting for the rest of it. Expecting me to finish it.”

“I-I-“

Poggle snorted derisively. “You think I haven’t heard it too? Even worse than you? Oh, Poggle, you are so smart! Why, Poggle, what a head you have for figures!” Voice dripping disgust, he went on, becoming more and more caustic. “How talented you are, Poggle! My goodness, Poggle, what a clever fellow you are! Such a shame we can’t promote you, but you know how it is. Yes indeed, Poggle, you truly are so very intelligent. For a LESSER.”

A sense of deep shame swept through Sun Fac, why, he didn’t know. He looked at the floor again and his breath came fast.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Poggle vaguely waved a hand at him. His mouth was open in another grimace.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Fac. You have nothing to do with it. It’s the system. And you are smart. You could run this whole planet.”

“I…wouldn’t have the vision.”

“Work for me, then. I’ll supply the vision.”

Sun Fac licked his mouth. He felt tugged by powerful forces, a little light-headed, like flying unexpectedly into an invisible atmospheric vortex. “That could be arranged,” he murmured.

“All right, then.”

The two regarded each other with mutual satisfaction. Their setback no longer loomed with such importance. Fac’s feeling of giddy dizziness subsided.

“What’s to be done, sir?” he asked.

“For the moment, not much. Let’s give our contacts time to think things over. You and Rit work on your people a bit more. Maybe we can arrange a little accidental meeting at the arena with that Patriot Rit mentioned-they all know that you’re tasked to watch me, yes?”

Sun Fac nodded vigorously. It would be quite in order for Poggle to hang about the stands waiting for Fac to come off duty after the next scheduled games and the Warrior knew exactly where Poggle should place himself to best catch Brossar the Patriot’s eye. They discussed the setup in greater detail for a few more moments, then parted for the night in far better spirits than when they’d entered the cubicle. Fac would fill Rit in as soon as he next saw his gene brother.

Poggle walked home through the usual constant flow of foot traffic using the passageways at all hours of the day and night. Often, he could catch little snatches of whispered conversation starting up behind him-that’s him! Poggle! the one that beat the acklay, he would hear. Less frequent but more satisfying were the slight nods afforded him by fellow Aristocrats as they passed, some of them coming from the same middle-class members that would normally have stared past him with indifference. Poggle felt good about his notoriety. Far from fading, it seemed to be feeding on itself in a way that excited the masses, that gave his peers and the upper classes pause. It made all the pain and anxiety he had suffered to date seem worthwhile.

Poggle’s rather turbulent evening turned out to be not quite over after all. As soon as he entered his residential cell, he was confronted by an odd trio and several fellow Lessers, one of whom, the nominal leader of the grouping, was especially glad to see him.

“There you are!” he cried. “I was just about to send someone off to look for you.”

“What is this?” Poggle queried. Two drone guards stood flanking an odd-looking little droid by the entrance to his cubicle.

“You tell me,” said the other Lesser. “The guards say this mechanoid has a message for you.”

“For me? From who?”

“We don’t know, sir,” one of the guards offered. “We were just told to bring it to you.”

Poggle eyed the contraption with interest. Droids were, of course, entirely familiar to his people-they churned out enough of them in their foundries-yet were rarely used for everyday matters which drones could accomplish equally well. This droid looked to be of unusual manufacture, a suspicion confirmed by the guards, who maintained that it had come off a visiting alien commercial freighter.

“Well, let’s hear it, then,” Poggle decided, ushering the little droid into his cubicle. “You drones, scat. You too,” he added, looking at his work-mates, who moved off good-naturedly albeit disappointed.

“You WILL let us know what’s going on, yes, Poggle?” one of them called.

“Sure. Whatever,” Poggle muttered. Having ensured his privacy, he turned back to the droid. It sat there serenely, waiting. “Well, I am Poggle the Lesser,” he said to it. “Do you need me to say more for a voice-match? Some other ID?”

“No. Identity confirmed,” the machine intoned in decent, although metallic-sounding Geonosian. A broad faint blue beam emanated from its front and a small holo-image began to form in midair before it. The image looked like some alien to Poggle, something that could have been bipedal under an enveloping, covering cloth. It began to speak in the dull flat monotones he thought typical of humanoid languages.

“Halt. I don’t understand that gibberish,” Poggle interjected irritably. “Translate into Geonosian and replay.”

The droid obediently did as ordered. This time the words rang loud and clear.

“Greetings to you, Poggle of Geonosis, from the heart of the Old Republic. I have a most interesting proposition for you…”

-End Part Two-

CREAM RISES (OR, HOW POGGLE CAME TO POWER)
-Part Three-

Poggle slapped a pile of notes on the grooming table in front of Tau Lee’s muzzle.

“There,” he exclaimed. “As requested.”

For a long moment, nobody moved. What Poggle had done was incredibly rude. The three service drones that had been working on Tau were literally frozen with fear, terrified that they were about to be enveloped by a shrieking brawl. But the Gladiator remained uncommonly calm. All he did was lift his head and gesture at the entrance, and the drones scooted out gratefully to wait in the passageway, leaving their grooming paraphernalia behind. After a further moment, Tau propped himself up on one elbow and reached for the money. He lay there on his slab of stone, comfortable and confident, lean body glistening with freshly applied sweet oils, and carefully counted the notes, then he counted them again. He looked up at Poggle.

“This is a rather large amount.”

“It’s what you wanted.”

“Where did you get this money?”

“Never you mind. All you need to know is that there’s more of it. A lot more.”

The Gladiator studied both of his visitors more closely. Sun Fac, standing a few steps away, looked taut and nervous, but then he always appeared nervous when in the Gladiator’s presence, which was just how Tau Lee liked it. This Poggle character, however…

Tau put his feet out and rolled off the table and stood up. The money he took and stashed in the nearest handy cubbyhole carved into the living rock itself, then he returned to his guests. He looked over Poggle’s body and that of Sun Fac. He smelled the Lesser with great care, breathing through his mouth to best analyze the markers of his distinctive signature odour. Poggle tolerated the examination, but only just. His fingers and wings twitched as Tau sniffed him and he never stopped watching his temperamental host.

“Leadership agrees with you,” said Tau at last. He looked again at Sun Fac, back at Poggle. “You’re thickening up.”

It was true. Now that the Gladiator had pointed it out, they could all see that Poggle’s shoulders and chest had broadened compared to those of the other two Geonosians. His body furnishings were starting to develop, a natural reflection of full male maturity, but also of dominance. Poggle touched a hand to the exoskeletal ridges beneath his long throat.

“Whatever,” he said dismissively, although in truth he was pleased with Tau’s observation. “Will you speak to your people now?”

“I already have,” Tau said. “I had a feeling you’d be back.” He regarded the Lesser with sudden approval, his mood all at once much milder. “It’ll be good to have an Archduke who knows what it’s like in the arena.”

The casual confidence inherent in his unexpected statement fell as welcome rain on parched land. Poggle’s eyes glimmered and Sun Fac’s tense stance relaxed somewhat. “Well! I’m glad to hear you’ve changed your mind about me,” the Lesser said.

“Don’t misunderstand. I still don’t care for this business of yours of disregarding class. Still, you’ve an air about you. You really believe you can do this, don’t you? Become Archduke?”

Poggle snorted. “You think I’d risk my life if I didn’t?”

“I suppose not.” A hint of the Gladiator’s earlier suspicion returned, hardening his voice and expression. “You’d better hold to your promises, Poggle,” he warned. “I can be a lot more efficient than any acklay.”

“He will,” Sun Fan snapped angrily, an outburst which had the odd effect of amusing both other Geonosians.

“Easy, Fac,” Tau soothed. “I’ve no cause to hurt your…friend. Not yet, anyway.” He turned his attention back to Poggle. “Loyalty already. I’m impressed.”

“What can I say? Sun Fac’s a perceptive fellow.” He turned his head towards his lieutenant to share the joke, but Fac was having none of it; he was still staring at Tau Lee with surprising venom, his newly aroused protective instincts for once overcoming his natural deference to the Gladiator. Poggle was secretly delighted by Fac’s fierceness. He could see that Tau, beneath his amusement, was taken aback by the Warrior’s change in attitude and was glancing at him in a speculative way, drawing his own conclusions. All of which favoured Poggle’s position.

The Gladiator seemed to come to a decision. “What do you want us to do?” he asked of Poggle.

“Nothing for the moment. I’m still waiting on other developments. But don’t worry…” He jacked his head up, eyes narrowing. “I’ll want you there when the fighting starts. Right by my side. In the meantime…”

The two other Geonosians cocked their heads, intrigued. “Yes?” Sun Fac prompted.

“I’ve a very special project in mind…” Poggle replied.



Sun Fac was not feeling quite so eager a few nights later when Poggle gathered some of his chief conspirators together for a secret meeting in the bowels of the arena’s service area. Appropriately, given the setting, all of those present aside from the Lesser himself were employees of the coliseum. Tau Lee was there, as sharp and keen as ever, as were the two remaining Suns. And so was Brossar the Patriot, solid member of the middle class, whose well-developed body and big head with its flaring casque and cheek ridges lent a certain imposing maturity to their otherwise youthful-appearing group.

Brossar, a Geonosian of undeniable talent and quality albeit little charm, had already proven himself invaluable. He was exceedingly bright, entirely sensible, knew the operation of the arena inside-out and was a long-time master at the status game. Once onside, he’d quickly and discreetly made his own rounds and determined who among the upper staff supported Poggle and who was not to be trusted, and had delivered the welcome news that all but five individuals, those five including the two Devout Commanders and the Arena Master himself, could be considered potential followers. He confirmed that the vast majority of Royal Warriors and all of the Gladiators would fight for Poggle and that the well-trained soldier drones and picadors could be counted on to do as their officers told them. Only Sun Fac ever seemed an ambiguous puzzle to Brossar. The first time the lot of them had met, he’d looked at Fac and gruffly remarked, “I never thought I’d see the likes of you mixed up in something like this.” Rit, delighted, had burst out laughing and Fac had flushed so hard with embarrassment that his eyes had glinted red with blood. Fac was still leery of Brossar, even though the Patriot was quite willing to set aside the usual rigid social conventions during their secret dealings and had never been known to abuse his rank or bully anyone at any time.

Poggle had been greatly excited by Brossar’s report. The pledges of support from people with serious combat ability plus the Patriot’s access to the coliseum’s armory meant that Poggle finally had a real shot at achieving his goal. His only concern was that the higher-status Aristocrats would not fight for him at full capacity or might fall back on ingrained conditioning and question his authority during a moment of crisis. Poggle had always bossed his Lesser peers and drones around without a second’s thought. His ability to control all these loftier folk he was not so sure of.

Which was why he intended to inspire them by riding an acklay into battle.

And not just any acklay, but the same beast that had once chased and tried to kill him in the arena. Its agenda hadn’t changed any since he’d seen it last. It struck vainly at the bars separating them even as he watched and wove its head from side to side as it tried to pinpoint the location of the prey it sensed just outside its small holding chamber; a superbly fashioned, acutely dangerous, always hungry predator.

Poggle turned to the beast manager, a Citizen, standing in the acklay’s pit with him. “You’re sure this is the same one?”

“Absolutely,” the manager assured. “I must admit, we weren’t happy with you injuring it. They’re very valuable animals, acklays are. We almost lost it, not so much because of the wound, but because it couldn’t eat for a time and almost starved to death. It seems fully recovered now, though. I used it in the arena for the last couple of venations and it performed well.” He paused while the creature noisily raked its impressive teeth over the grillwork confining it. “Better than before, actually. Seems more ill-tempered, not that they’re ever anything but vicious.”

Poggle snorted. “How does it behave with the handlers? One with a pike, I mean?”

The other Aristocrat regarded the Lesser soberly.

“We never go in with it. If we want to clean its pit, we entice it into its cell with food, and that other gate there opens directly into the corridor that leads it into the arena. I wouldn’t go near it on foot myself.” He pointed up at the edge of the deep depression they were standing in. “See those railings? We had to put them up around all the acklay pits. The brutes were leaping up and snatching stupid drones that were leaning over the edge, trying to have a look. They’re very quick animals, a lot quicker than you’d expect. It’s lucky for us they aren’t built for climbing, otherwise I’m not sure how we could keep them confined and alive.”

Poggle had seen enough. He motioned to the picadors that had accompanied them and took a pair of static pikes from them. Up above, Sun Fac’s hands clenched all the harder on the blaster he was holding and a slight moan escaped him.

“Poggle, please, please, sir, reconsider,” he called down. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes he does. Leave him be,” Tau Lee exclaimed. In response to Fac’s furious glare, he added, “What? I want to see this. I’ve always wondered if those things could be trained.”

“YOU go down there then!” Fac retorted angrily.

“Huh! I’m not the crazy one here.”

Their incipient argument was cut short by the arrival of the beast manager, who fluttered up to join them, and the two picadors, who scampered up the rough sheer walls and out under the railing with polished ease. The Lesser remained in the pit, holding a pike in each hand, focusing all his attention on the monster rattling around inside its cramped holding cell. He could even smell its frustration and dumb fury, rolling off it in hot thick waves. The manager yelled down a last few instructions.

“If it comes at you, run under it between its legs,” he shouted. “You should be able to get up the wall and out behind it before it can turn around. And put the pike to its face, not its legs. It won’t feel a blasted bit of pain through its legs.” He straightened up from the railing and looked at the others. “Well, he does have courage, I’ll give him that,” he said, shaking his head.

Sun Fac jostled for the best position from which to aim his blaster. Rit joined him with his own weapon, his expression as he glanced at his gene brother sympathetic. The others opted for the best view. Poggle lifted his snout, eyes glittering in the dim depths of the pit with a weird exhilaration.

“Wish me luck!” he cried. “And if anything should go wrong, Fac’s in charge. He knows everything.”

The Warrior named felt the weight of the others’ scrutiny upon him. Brossar seemed about to speak, but shut his mouth again without saying anything. Fac’s grip came near to denting the housing of his blaster.

A picador activated the mechanism that controlled the gate of the acklay’s holding chamber and the beast within shot out from under the rising bars with a wheezy, whistling screech. It hated being caged and hated even more any intrusion into the tiny space it nonetheless considered its personal territory. It fixed its gaze on the little creature standing to one side of the pit and started for it in a clatter of long armored legs.

Poggle lowered both pikes. He waited. The thick cloying air swirled about him, radiating outward, carrying his scent…

The acklay suddenly reared up, whirled about, and raced straight back and halfway up the wall before falling back down. It scrabbled frantically at the rock in a pure paroxysm of terror, blind to all else but getting away, getting away. Poggle looked up at his followers in triumph. All were clinging to the railing and staring down, mouths hanging open like a row of little trapdoors.

“Close that gate!” Poggle shouted at the picador still hovering by the door mechanism. He lifted the pikes back into an upright position, knowing that he’d have far more trouble calming the acklay than fending it off. It was still digging at the rock with its forelegs in a hopeless attempt to carve itself an exit, bloodying its limbs on the unyielding stone. It pressed its head against the wall as it struggled; panting, desperate, and a little pathetic.

Poggle the Lesser watched, more than happy to allow the acklay time to wear itself out. His rigid mouth configuration might have been forever fixed in a dour frown, but inside, he was smiling.



A long period of dark, damp gloom settled over Stalgasin again, the last probably of the season. That portion of the year that passed as winter was drawing to a close and the long hot growing season, one that was typically marked by blazing sunshine interspersed with occasional violent electrical storms and torrential downpours, was about to commence. Geonosian labour drones were sent out despite the dull weather to repair any weakened portions of the hive exteriors and the dry waterways that channeled away any potential flash-flooding that might find its way inside the colony were carefully inspected. General repair work also occurred inside the hive. It was just that time of year for fixing and sprucing up and preparing.

Poggle’s conspirators at the arena and elsewhere made the most of their time too, although not in any way that would have drawn the approval of Archduke Hadiss the Vaulted. The Lesser got his acklay trained just as he had hoped to do and drew up the final details of his plan to topple Hadiss’ regime. It was a bold plan, even a crazy one, set to unfold on the Geonosians’ greatest holiday; a plan so daring and ambitious in its scope that all the principals involved felt giddy with excitement over its mere contemplation. Poggle went over the outline of his proposal with his secret patron in the Republic and earned enthusiastic approval from that quarter as well. All that was left was to execute his scheme. After waiting for the right time.

It turned out to be the most nerve-wracking thing Poggle had ever done. All his life, he’d been able to exercise his restless mind with plotting and daydreaming. Now that his plotting was temporarily done, he had nothing left but constant re-evaluation and worrying about the others-would they do as he told them? perform up to par? be able to keep their mouths shut and not betray themselves or the plan? Poggle believed that he had found good supporters that would stay loyal to him, but his own class now restricted him severely, as did his notoriety. He could no longer wander without attracting attention and no Lesser at all had any business at a couple of the sites he intended to raid. All he could do was depend upon the higher-class followers that would not seem out of place perusing or visiting such locations to act as his eyes and ears, and make intelligent use of whatever information they could access and bring to him.

The two Suns became irreplaceable to him. Royal Warriors were common and plentiful and few folk ever took interest enough in them to distinguish between them. They were of low enough status to blend in, with duties of a broad enough scope to take them almost anywhere…perfect spies for Poggle. They passed on many of his most crucial instructions during the days of foggy gloom. And they were friends to him, at a time when Poggle needed friends badly. Rit was always able to make him laugh, no matter what, and Fac’s stolid faithfulness was very reassuring. They both made the waiting go by much more easily.

And then the final remaining day came at last, the day before the Eve of Meckgin, when Poggle planned to strike. He spent it much as he did every other day, working at his mind-numbing job, visiting the nearest mess twice to eat, looking forward to his rest period when he could go about his real business. One of his hated supervisors even tossed him a kind glance once, but Poggle knew it was only done because the supervisor had mistook his tiredness for docility and was thinking that he had finally learned his place. Poggle had been tired since his return from prison. Though Geonosians did not sleep exactly, they did need rest, but there never seemed to be enough time for that anymore, especially as of late.

This day before the Eve of Meckgin would be different, though. Poggle determined that he would indulge himself in a full night’s rest for once and insist that all his followers rest too. The actions of the following day were too important to risk sabotaging due to sheer carelessness.

The Lessers in his residence cell, supporters all, were happy to remain home with him that evening and pass the time with quiet chat. They knew that some of them would likely die the next day during the fighting and it put them in a reflective mood. Poggle did his best to keep the tone of the conversation positive. He was likewise aware that he would not be seeing some of the faces turned to him for much longer and was surprised by how much the thought pained him.

Sun Fac came over to see if Poggle had any last directives and wound up staying a good long while, just for the company. Later, he insisted on accompanying the Lesser into his cubicle, to ensure that Poggle obeyed his own advice and lay down for a proper doze. He’d noted Poggle’s weariness long ago and was worried that the Lesser was having trouble relaxing.

Fac regarded his leader with considerable concern. Poggle had been licking his mouth frequently all evening, a sure sign of severe agitation, even though he’d put on a good front of cheerful optimism for the other Lessers. Though lying down on his own familiar resting platform, he still looked tense, his body slung tautly between his haunch and propping elbow, and his eyes had about them none of the softness of a Geonosian about to drift off for a snooze. Fac didn’t know what he would do if Poggle ever faltered. He knew that he hadn’t a fraction of Poggle’s charisma and the Geonosian hierarchy still tugged fiercely at him, hampering his own ability to command.

“You appear a little restless, sir,” he said, unable to resist voicing his worries.

“I’m all right. I’ll settle down in a while.”

“I’ll stay, if you like. Or maybe we could go for a quick hot soak.”

Poggle laughed at that. His lieutenant’s solicitude could be so transparent.

“We’d only make each other nervous. You go on now, Fac. Go get some rest yourself and make sure Rit does too. The two of you are going to have a very long day tomorrow.”

But Fac was unwilling to relinquish his anxiety.

“Perhaps a visit with a female…” he mused.

“Ha! And breed more little Poggles to grow up and usurp me? I should think not!”

“I was thinking of a fresh female, sir. There’s one I know, from the arena. I could bring her here.”

Poggle reconsidered. A fresh female, one newly matured and ready for mating, was quite a different proposition than a visit to a producing breeder. Poggle already knew the breeding cells well. Thanks to his uncommon accounting skills, he’d been picked out early as a likely sire and sent off to do his patriotic duty on numerous occasions. But although his body had always performed eagerly and well, he’d nonetheless grown to hate the sensation of losing control, of finding his mind reduced to the status of a mere passenger helplessly watching as the rest of him obeyed the irresistible commands of the pheromones. Gossip had it that mating fresh females was a much less intense experience, for which reason many males simply wouldn’t bother with them. Poggle, however, liked the notion of maintaining his composure. He also liked knowing that any eggs produced would be tossed to the orrays. The first mating was always just to get the female’s hormones pumping and her body cycling into a good laying pattern, a test run of sorts, before she’d be flushed out and refertilized by a proper mate carefully selected for her by the breeding centrex.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Poggle admitted, and Sun Fac nodded and disappeared.

Poggle thought about females while he waited. They certainly were everywhere, the young ones typically working at menial, nontaxing jobs that got them out into the public to socialize while they grew to sexual maturity, but he could not remember having a single interaction with one, even though he must have, many times. His mind was too busy with other things, he supposed wryly, treasonous scheming chief among them.

Sun Fac soon reappeared with the female in tow. She was already practically dancing beside him, her body bent and her head stretched out and twisted to one side, nudging at him flirtatiously with her slender snout. He murmured to her in a soft voice, then chuckled as he put out a hand to fend her off. The female stood up straight, looking almost comically petulant. She made it clear that she was quite disappointed with Fac.

“Here she is, sir,” he said to Poggle. “Her name is Mariss.”

The two of them, Lesser and female Aristocrat, regarded each other. She was really quite lovely, Poggle thought, with her sharply arched, narrow face and overall air of well-bred feminine refinement. Her eyes, large and luminous, shone with lively good health and her darkly veined wings glittered as she pertly rustled them. Evidently, what she saw of Poggle appealed to her equally well. Before he could say a word, she had hopped up on his resting platform and sat down beside him, exchanging suitors as readily as she changed her mind. Sun Fac looked a bit pained by her instant dismissal of him, but took it with good grace.

“Until tomorrow, sir,” he said, retreating discreetly, and Poggle nodded his own farewell. The Lesser was feeling unexpectedly tongue-tied. He had no experience with chatting up females and had no idea of what it was they liked to talk about or, indeed, what it was like to talk to one at all.

It was, he discovered, about like talking to a drone. Mariss didn’t have a clue in her pretty little head.

“You’re Poggle,” she chirped, looking at him coyly.

“Um. Yes I am.”

“I saw you fight in the arena. With your two friends.”

“Ah. Did you now?”

“Yes. You were so brave.” She plucked at his closest leg, rubbing the bend of his stifle. “I liked when the other Geonosian got eaten. I’m glad it wasn’t you, though.”

“I’m glad too,” Poggle said, feeling as stupid as she sounded. Yet how could he dislike her? Females were the lifeblood of any hive colony. They looked upon all males as their friends and protectors and trusted everyone to care for them, and no one, drone and Aristocrat alike, could deny them. Poggle was already making his own concessions. Any other stranger sitting down next to him and pawing his leg would have prompted an immediate vicious retaliation, yet with this one, he would allow it. He would allow her anything at all.

Mariss fearlessly fingered the edge of his left outer wing, tugging at it. “Can you fly?”

“Yes. I guess. I haven’t, for a while.”

“You didn’t fly in the arena. I would have flown. I’m scared of acklays.”

“Well, Mariss, when I was in the arena, I couldn’t fly. I was wearing a brail.”

“What’s that?”

“A de-…a leather strap. They tie it around the base of your wings to stop you from flying.”

“Oh.” She shook her snout, delicately. “That’s not fair.”

“Believe me, I didn’t think so either, at the time.”

She prattled on and Poggle regarded her with some bemusement. Now that she was close to him, she certainly did smell enticing, but nowhere near enough to arouse him. He supposed he would have to engage in some sort of sex play with her to generate the requisite excitement and he was not at all sure how to proceed further.

Mariss knew what to do. Driven by her feverish need, she snuggled up to her hesitant partner and stuck her head under his, bumping the sensitive bare underside of his lower jaw with her snout. It made him tuck his chin and tilt his head down, bringing his muzzle close to the side of her proffered neck. Tentatively, he gave it a lick. It tasted good. Encouraged, he licked her again, rather more thoroughly, then paused to savour the odours, mouthing them thoughtfully.

Poggle began to relax, the tension and worry melting away before the onset of sensations far more pleasurable. Even her rambling chatter became enjoyable to listen to. It occurred to him that the only way Sun Fac would have known of Mariss’ condition was if he’d been routinely monitoring her with the intention of someday mating her himself. Instead, he had brought her to Poggle.

“You like Fac, don’t you?” he asked Mariss.

“Oh yes,” she replied happily. “He’s always very nice to me.”

Poggle didn’t doubt that. Everyone was nice to a young female Aristocrat. Only an abnormal Geonosian would behave otherwise.

“When I’m Archduke,” he said to her, “I’ll see to it that Fac pays you a visit. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To have some offspring by Fac? A nice batch of little Royal Warriors, just like him?”

“I’d love that,” she said, and tittered endearingly and nuzzled his throat. Poggle knew that in truth, once she began to swell and produce, she’d be lucky to remember her name let alone the kind, odd-eyed officer who used to pay his respects to her at the arena. The only things a breeding female ever cared about was having a warm, safe, comfortable place to lay her eggs and getting enough food to eat. But that was all right. It was as it should be. Everyone contributed to the functioning of the hive in their own special way.

Poggle finally put his arms around Mariss and that was as it should be, too.



The day of the Eve of Meckgin dawned clear and bright. The airmass over Stalgasin had changed right on schedule and the time of intermittent damp gloom and cold was at an end. Foragers and scouts went out gladly. The hive opened up and pumped in the warm dry air, flooding every hall and chamber until even the deepest recesses of the catacombs were refreshed. Labourers in the foundries and farmers in their gardens, technicians, makers and service drones alike, wherever they were, all lifted their snouts and sniffed at the welcome exchange and knew that Meckgin was at hand. They turned back to their work with uncommon enthusiasm, anticipating the happy afternoon and evening to come.

The Eve of Meckgin was the most ancient of the Geonosians’ holidays. Ages ago, they had broadcast their species by sending out a swarm of winged reproductives at the start of every hot season. The males would battle over the females and the resultant pairs would pioneer in the wild, scouting out likely locations to start their hives, making out as best they could and living off their stored body fat until their own first drones emerged to serve them. Most pairs were killed by predators or misfortune long before they ever established themselves, but there were always a few, the tough, smart, lucky ones, that survived the first summer to stamp their likeness on their teeming descendants. Such had been the Geonosians’ humble beginnings. Nowadays, the rare creation of a new colony was undertaken in a far more civilized manner, yet the old term for the dispersal of the reproductives remained and had become cause for a general celebration of good fortune.

It was the one and only time each year that every hive colony’s precious resources were ever squandered. Festivities always began just after high noon with the unprecedented early shutdown of work and release of countless labourers from their toil. After that would come the entertainment in the games coliseum, a full afternoon’s worth, which all were encouraged to attend and enjoy while the Eve of Meckgin feast was prepared. This special meal, at one time reserved for the young males and females destined to depart the home colony, was now extended to all Geonosians; in fact, it was a matter of pride for a hive to be able to set out bounty enough that everyone, even the lowliest drone, could for once fill up and perhaps even find a treat or two of some sweet on their tray. Even better, it was a feast that went on all evening long. The messes would fling their doors open wide as soon as the games were done and one could go in, stuff themselves, come out to socialize and visit and walk about with friends, then go back in to eat some more, repeating same as often as one’s appetite and the supplies held out. Everyone loved the Eve of Meckgin, even if they paid the price the next day with hours of bloated discomfort when they sluggishly returned to work.

It was against this backdrop of revelry, excitement and gluttony that Poggle had planned his raids.

But first there were the games, and for the first time ever, Poggle found himself sitting in the stands with his heart pounding not with fervour but with real trepidation as he watched the Gladiators, his supporters, perform. As usual, several were killed, one by the hand of Tau Lee himself during a challenge match, an expected loss Poggle had figured into his plans. Losing Tau himself, however, that prospect was hard to witness. When the champion did his famous routine late in the venations of fighting a reek to a standstill with nothing but an energy lash and his own quick reflexes, then hamstrung and killed the exhausted beast, Poggle was in such a state of nervous strain that he almost vomited. Never had he been so glad to see an event end. His Lesser friends sitting with him managed to get into the spirit of the moment and made up for his glum demeanor with their own loud cheers and gleeful response, but they, of course, had far fewer responsibilities to worry about.

The Lessers lingered in the stands once the games finished and chattered about the afternoon’s action like any good fans. They trailed slowly out towards the arena exits at the very end of the departing crowd and took their time at it, stopping on occasion to talk and discuss some more. And carefully, singly and in pairs, they began peeling off from the group and slipped away down service passages or around corners, moving with the concealing stealth which all Geonosians were capable of when they wanted to hide themselves. Poggle soon walked on alone, following the other stragglers, then took a more circuitous route that looped him down to the lower levels. Most of the tiers there were already emptied of spectators and arena workers were erecting the temporary barricades declaring the sections behind them closed to the public. Poggle halted and pretended to watch the drones with interest.

Another Aristocrat already present and monitoring the work spotted Poggle and called to him, and the Lesser hurried over to the higher-status Geonosian obediently.

“Yes, sir?” Poggle asked politely.

“You come with me. I want to talk to you,” the other Aristocrat said in a severe tone, and led the Lesser away down a nearby side passage. The instant both males were out of sight and hearing of the drones, they dropped their act.

“Good to see you,” Brossar the Patriot murmured. “Did you get all your people away safely?”

“I think so. No one seemed to notice or said anything when they started disappearing,” Poggle replied. He paused to draw a deep breath, steadying himself. “Tau Lee came through all right. Three Gladiators were killed, one injured, quite badly, from what I could see. He probably won’t be able to fight.”

Brossar snorted. “Count on it. They put that Gladiator down already. Severed tendons, pity. My Warriors are all fine, though. I talked to Sun Fac just before I came over here. He was on his way down below to organize your Lessers and sort out some food I requested be sent over. There should be something for you to eat while you wait; it’ll help a bit.”

“Yes, thank you,” Poggle exclaimed, pleased by the Patriot’s initiative. He looked back the way they’d both just come. “You still think you can take the arena without any fighting? It seems unlikely…”

“We’ll do it. You don’t know what it’s like around here after venations. It’s always a mess, people running everywhere, drones underfoot cleaning up. Nobody will notice a few people going missing. And I’m keeping the barricades up, in case any visitors come snooping about. By the time anyone does realize they’ve been up too long, we should be in place to handle any troublemakers. Not that I’m expecting much. People here support you, Poggle, you’ll see. They haven’t forgotten what you did in the arena.”

Poggle felt his confidence soar, hearing such words. He suddenly remembered how he’d declared that Hadiss had made a tactical error in sentencing him to the petrana-ki instead of death. Brossar also now glanced back up the passageway.

“I’d better get back out there. Most of those drones don’t know what’s coming; they’re from the common pool. They should be supervised. You’d best get below now too. If anyone you’re not sure of asks, tell them you’re on your way to find Sun Fac. Everyone here knows he’s supposed to be watching you.”

“I will.”

Poggle turned to go, hesitated. He looked again at the Patriot willing to risk his prestigious position and life for him.

“Brossar, I… You’ll be rewarded, Brossar. I promise. For all your work.”

“Just make sure you kill Hadiss,” his follower grumbled. “If you don’t and this fails, he’ll decimate us. He’ll empty half the hive to get us, Poggle.”

“I know.”

The Lesser left for the chambers below to begin the wait for the evening festivities.



Hours passed. Stalgasin’s work output trickled and ground to a halt. The Eve of Meckgin took hold. Passages and chambers everywhere filled with people, the hoards of drones, made giddy by the surfeit of food and violent spectacle of the arena, scampering and frisking about, and the Aristocrats, mellow and cheerful, tolerating the silly play with good humour and even partaking on occasion, laughing as they abandoned the usual hierarchy for a bit of frolic. A virtual miasma of esprit, euphoria and content drifted through the air and soon permeated the entire colony.

Only at the coliseum did the congenial vapours not penetrate. Brossar was too busy directing his secret takeover and down below, the Lessers, Warriors and Gladiators that had slipped away into temporary hiding were assembling into their raiding parties. The rebels had two primary targets and one considered of secondary importance. Poggle and Sun Fac were to lead the best party of fighters, made up of Gladiators and Warriors with some skill at close arena combat, against Hadiss himself, and Sun Rit had the important job of commanding the group that would assault the primary power plant attached to the foundries. Planning the attack on the plant had already caused Poggle considerable grief. Fac had some small experience with the place, from his earlier days of having once worked just next door, but any attempts on his part to scout out the target on the pretence of looking up old security pals that had been transferred there had been firmly and then suspiciously rebuffed. Recent attempted infiltrations by industrial spies from other hives had apparently made everyone extra cautious and vigilant. Poggle had been unable to acquire any further useful information and there was grave concern that the plant was still being heavily guarded despite the holiday. Nonetheless, it was an objective Poggle deemed crucial and for which Rit had volunteered.

It was also Rit who had suggested that parties of soldier drones led by clever-talking officers could probably gain access to several of the smaller armories during the height of the festivities without too much trouble. Rit had begun his own career at such a post and was sure the minimal personnel left on guard would be disgruntled and easily distracted. Poggle had thought the idea sound and at the proper time, the requisite people currently (and luckily) milling about with the rest of the partying throng in the hive center would gather together and give it a try.

The Lessers were being saved for an attempt on the communications sector. Poggle had some inside help there and expected that any resistance would be low. The Lessers, unfamiliar with combat but quick enough with their own hands or a blaster, would likely suffice as soldiers under the command of more experienced Royal Warriors in such a situation and would be best able to afterwards decipher and work the equipment they captured.

Such were Poggle’s intentions and his hopes. Whether he could actually get so many people into place to strike all at once, that would now depend on the distraction he was about to provide.

His troops had gathered at the start of the major service tunnel linking the arena with the colony proper and the huge stores area at the spaceport. It was a much broader corridor than those used by the public and normally restricted for the use of official personnel transporting supplies and other necessities. Even on a holiday, hours after venations, there were bound to be people using the tunnel, but never in the numbers one would find in the public routes. Poggle hoped that using the less-populous path would allow him to maintain his element of surprise for just long enough.

The Geonosians waiting in the service corridor abruptly perked up. They could hear the rasp of something living scraping stone, caught the whiff of an animal already well familiar to many of them. An acklay suddenly burst into view through a linking passage ahead, rearing its crested head high. It turned to face them, staring hungrily, but moved no closer. Poggle, standing on the acklay’s back, leaned to one side to see around its neck.

The Lessers, none of whom had seen anything of Poggle’s training of the beast, gaped in their astonishment at the sight. It was one thing to know about it, quite another to see it for yourself. Most of the waiting Warriors and Gladiators had seen it, but still they shrank back a little, their wings lifting up and their hands going to their swords or blasters. Poggle’s control of the creature was still tenuous to say the least and no one was exactly sure how it would behave once away from its familiar surroundings.

For the moment, it obeyed, remaining in place at its master’s command. The others crept up cautiously, ready to fly or bolt. Some of the Gladiators, Tau Lee among them, took up position before the acklay-well before it, actually-and the rest stayed behind, the lot arranging themselves in squads, two abreast, for an easy, instant dive to either side should the monster suddenly run amuck. Poggle tapped the acklay on the neck with one of the two specially modified pikes he carried, both deactivated for the moment but ready to jolt at the flick of a small lever, and maneuvered it into position in the center of the corridor, then ordered it forward. The beast walked readily, eyeing the nervous Gladiators striding on ahead of it, but not trying to charge or snatch at them. Poggle relaxed a little and took his thumbs off the levers activating the static pikes. He lifted his snout and rode easily, body swaying with the acklay’s motion.

Sun Fac, marching directly behind him, at the head of the rear squads, gazed up at the Lesser with a strange sense of déjà vu and simple awe. How could anyone not be impressed with such a leader, with such courage and cunning? Fac was introspective and intelligent enough to know that he was susceptible to a degree of hero worship, but still thought Poggle the most worthy Aristocrat he’d ever seen. Whatever happened on this day, he considered that he would live or die in the service of Poggle the Lesser, not the Archduke that currently still ruled Stalgasin, albeit hopefully for not much longer.

The service passage began curving gently to the right and two labour drones guiding a laden anti-gravity sled towards the arena appeared ahead. Both were conversing and didn’t even notice the amazing parade approaching them until it was quite close, then both sat bolt upright in their seats and their mouths fell open. Tau Lee lifted one of his swords high in the air.

“Hurrah for the Eve of Meckgin!” he cried as cheerfully as possible. “Hurrah for glorious Stalgasin and Archduke Hadiss the Vaulted!”

The drones hurriedly steered their sled over against one wall and jumped down. They bounced with delight as the party passed them, yelping their own little cheers, all apprehension at sight of the acklay readily overcome when they saw the rider on its back. The Aristocrats waved as they went by, their steps all at once lighter, their happiness genuine. It was their first test of how all the people that would inevitably see them would react and their façade worked perfectly and the acklay behaved beautifully. Even Poggle, uncommonly grim, managed a joyful flick or two of a wing.

They passed three more working parties and all responded in the same way, first the moment of shock upon seeing the acklay, then the delirious realization that it was under the mastery of one of their own and tamed and harmless, a mere display to be gawped at and marveled over. Several of the drones even recognized Poggle this time and excitedly called his name. The parade began to take on a flavour of genuine celebration instead of serving as a mere front.

A major intersection came up. Poggle halted the acklay and waited while the teams designated to raid the power plant and communications center split off and organized under Sun Rit’s direction. Fac watched his gene brother and felt a cold dread brush at him. He had the sense that he would never see Rit again.

Sun Rit, far more cheerful than his sibling, strode up to make his good byes. “Well, I’m off!” he exclaimed. “You’ll forgive me, boss, if I don’t come any closer.”

“Understood,” Poggle called from his restless mount’s back. “Report at once when you have the plant, Rit, but not before. No unnecessary communications.”

“Sure thing.” He looked back at Fac. “Wish us luck.”

Sun Fac couldn’t. Instead, he pushed his snout hard against the other Warrior’s, then simply stood, breathing in his scent. Rit licked him gently on the mouth before disengaging.

“Awright!” Sun Rit bawled at his contingent. “You four Gladiators out front, Warriors and Lessers behind. Step lively now, this is supposed to be a blasted impromptu parade. We’re all overcome by the joy of bloody Meckgin!”

The group marched off, many of them chuckling. Poggle chirruped to the remaining troops, tapped the acklay back into motion, and led his own people onward. Sun Fac walked for a few strides with his head hanging until he remembered that he was supposed to be setting an example and jacked his snout back up.



In the High Audience Chamber at the very core of the royal spire housing the Archduke himself, the high and mighty of Geonosis were celebrating in their own haughty, privileged way. There was a certain irony in making merry in a place normally reserved for matters of suffering and death. The great chamber, almost perfectly circular in structure, its expansive floor edged by several tiers of audience seating and an elevated balcony, not only mimicked the games coliseum in shape but shared its importance, for it was here in this very room that important prisoners destined for execution in the arena were sentenced. Captured alien spies were always judged in the High Audience Chamber and so were Aristocrat felons deemed worthy of special attention. Archduke Hadiss also routinely used it to make announcements of state and sometimes hosted official functions within its cavernous walls. And once a year it was used to observe the Eve of Meckgin and turned into the site of a sumptuous feast for the Vaulteds and a few very lucky guests.

Their observance always took the form of an evening soiree. The high class did love their conversation and needed nothing more to entertain themselves than the opportunity to socialize on neutral ground while being pampered with delectables of food and drink. To cater to their preferences, long tables laden with favourite staples and every delicacy imaginable had been set up on the tiled floor for the Vaulteds to examine and pick over at their leisure. A veritable army of service drones stood by or circulated constantly as well, replenishing the victuals, clearing away used plates and cutlery, offering further trayfuls of tidbits and beverages. The servers snatched mouthfuls for themselves as they worked and also fed the security folk on standby within the chamber, bringing them whatever they asked for so they could remain unobtrusively at their positions in the background. Filling up on the rich food was one of the big perks of working the Archduke’s Meckgin party every year for all the drones and Warrior officers.

The high-class Aristocrats wandered freely about, meeting and greeting, showing off their finery and slick, groomed bodies. It was rare for the Vaulteds to gather together all at once and rarer still for them to do so for purely friendly reasons. Meckgin was the one time they were supposed to set aside their competitiveness and relax together in a spirit of cooperative self-congratulation at having led the colony through another successful and productive year. Normally, they did so happily. But this year a certain tension prevailed. Their leader’s rule was under scrutiny.

Strength of will was perhaps the most respected aspect of any Archduke and an absolute necessity for enforcing harmony. Hadiss had been a good and strong leader for a long time and even his greatest detractors had never felt confident in challenging him. That feeling was changing. The truth was that Hadiss was getting old and he was not ageing particularly well. He no longer protected his reign with the vicious zeal he once had and his dreams of power had waned considerably. Even a few years ago he would have recognized Poggle as a serious threat regardless of class and would have insisted on getting rid of him after the debacle with the acklay via an unfortunate accident, but now, instead, he’d been content to let his cronies do the follow-up and had accepted their assurances that the threat was contained. As an error, it was one which would compound for him to a deadly degree.

His political rivals had noted his handling of the Lesser affair and sensed his weakness. Here and there about the chamber, little cliques stood murmuring, darting glances at one another. The problem was that none of them dominated the others to any significant degree. No individual stood out as a worthy successor around whom the others could rally, and Hadiss’ supporters were too cozily entrenched and lazy to harbour any ambitions of their own. It made for a disgruntled and fractious aristocracy.

Just outside the High Audience Chamber, a far greater harmony prevailed. The Geonosians guarding the door to the room, soldier drones and Royal Warriors alike, had but one thought in their heads; the anticipation of being soon relieved and allowed to go inside and partake of their share of the delicious meal within. Hadiss might have had his faults, but he knew all the tricks of ensuring loyalty, including keeping his subordinates’ bellies full.

The guards were so wrapped in their contemplation that it took them a moment to react when an utterly unexpected party of Geonosians came around the corner of an intersecting side passage and began marching up the corridor towards the door. The strangers’ class was instantly recognizable-only Gladiators sported such pale colouring-and as the group got closer, the guards could identify Tau Lee himself at its head, resplendent in his full fighting regalia, harness and weapons gleaming, colourful ribbons fluttering. The Royal Warrior in charge of the guard detail hurried forward to greet the great champion personally.

“Sir, an honour to meet you,” he exclaimed. “And your people.”

He looked round at the other Gladiators, who’d come to a halt in a broad arc behind Tau, filling the corridor. All were similarly attired in fighting garb and the Warrior fancied that he could even smell the blood and other arena odours still clinging to them after their performances only hours ago. Their presence thrilled him and also puzzled him.

“May I…help you?” he inquired politely.

“We’re here to entertain the Archduke,” Tau said.

“Oh?” Now the officer was really puzzled. No one had said anything to him about a visit from Stalgasin’s Gladiators. He studied the face of the champion more closely, looking into his eyes, sniffing discreetly, suspicion beginning to-

Tau Lee struck faster than the eye could follow, slicing the throat of the Warrior with his rapier before the officer’s last thought could even formulate. It cued the others into action and they fell on the startled guards with savage authority, killing them as quickly and quietly as possible. A few shouts and shrieks, brutally cut short, were all that marked the slaughter. A single drone had time to engage his sonic blaster and fired it once into the ground as he keeled over dying. The Gladiators, panting in their excitement, eyes blazing like molten ore, seized the door to the High Audience Chamber and yanked it open.

continued below…

continued from above…

A great clatter of hard feet on even harder stone rattled through the corridor. The acklay shot up the passageway in full charge, followed by running Geonosians. For one dreadful second it looked as if the creature might be too large for the entrance, but then it ducked down, compressing itself, and squeezed eagerly through, Poggle flattened and clinging like a limpet to its back. His Gladiators and Warriors raced in behind him, some remaining to replace the slain detail and secure the doorway.

Total pandemonium erupted. For an instant, every Geonosian within the chamber succumbed to their greatest, most visceral fear-a major predator loose in the heart of the colony amongst the reproductives. Those that could fly flushed instinctively, some crashing into the ceiling or each other in their fright. The land-bound fled before the acklay in all directions or stood petrified, unable to believe their senses. Training and reason returned to the flyers and they unslung their blasters and began firing. But their few seconds of panic cost them dearly. Poggle’s own people had already poured into the room and returned fire before Hadiss’ easily targeted troops realized the greater danger. Burst, disrupted bodies rained out of the air. The remainder set back down, regrouping, and the invaders rushed them. Within seconds more the fighters were so intermingled that neither side dared use their energy weapons anymore. They went for their blades and the combat turned personal and ugly.

Grunts of effort and pain underscored the screeching clash of swords. The Gladiators, terrible in their bloodlust and unmatched skill, cut a swathe right through their opponents, battering and gashing with their heavy sabers, stabbing with the thin killing rapiers. Service drones and Aristocrats still ran and stumbled about and got in the way. Some fighters tried to avoid them, others simply slashed them aside. The battle became a melee, a nightmarish bloodbath.

And all the while the acklay swept the perimeter of the High Audience Chamber under the direction of its master until Poggle spied a certain sought individual. The Archduke stood under the meager cover of the overhanging balcony, eyes wild and wide as he beheld his ruin, still depending on others to watch out for him. Poggle struck the acklay on the back of its neck and sent it forward.

“Get him!” he screamed, and then, “Hadiss!”

The Archduke spun about. Poggle saw the recognition in his eyes, the fear overcome by sudden outrage. But no Geonosian could stand weaponless before an acklay. The Vaulted yielded to reality, tried to bolt, and the monster’s forelegs flicked out, once, twice. Archduke Hadiss the Vaulted fell to the floor in three quivering pieces. Poggle screamed again.

Elsewhere, Sun Fac had his own encounter with fate. In scrambling over one of the toppled banquet tables, he slipped and spread his wings to save himself from falling, hovered and barged right into a hefty body that staggered back. Fac got his feet under him, jerked his head up, and stared right into the face of Nadeer the Devout.

They regarded one another with astonishment. “Fac!” the Commander exclaimed. “What are…” His voice trailed away as he grasped the depth of his underling’s betrayal.

Sun Fac made a mistake at that point, a bad one that almost cost him his life. Having only ever seen a side of Nadeer he’d thought slow and doddering, he underestimated the Devout and forgot that all male Geonosians were potential killers that had fought one another viciously for the privileges of mating and status not so very long ago. Aggression simmered far closer to the surface of the Commander than he knew. He should have taken the Devout captive at once and he didn’t.

“Traitor!” Nadeer shrieked, and suddenly lunged at Fac, catching him by complete surprise. Fac’s weapons went flying. He went down with a squawk of pain and shock, beset by an enraged opponent who was heavier and stronger than himself. Nadeer was so furious that he didn’t even try to get at the dagger still strapped to Fac’s waistband. He meant to break the Warrior’s neck or strangle him with his own bare hands.

Powerful fingers seized Sun Fac’s throat. He kicked and clawed desperately, the two of them wrapping together in a deadly embrace, but the choking hold on his neck would not lessen. Fac snapped at Nadeer’s face, raking his cheek ridge and jaw, ripping his muzzle, abruptly finding the soft, unprotected flesh of the Devout’s own throat and sinking his teeth deep. They lay there, writhing and heaving, both of them slowly suffocating, both of them refusing to give up their grips.

A red haze obscured Fac’s vision. He thought that he felt the hands about his neck shift, just a little. Then the body against his bucked with sudden brief violence and the pressure at his throat became agonizing, then fell away entirely. Fac blinked as the haze retreated. He heard his name called and smelled the scent of a friend.

Tau Lee was squatting down next to him. “Let go, Fac,” he ordered quietly. “He’s dead. You have to get up.”

Fac did as he was told and unclamped his jaws and slowly pushed himself into a sprawling sit, shaking off Nadeer’s slack arms as he did so. Blood dripped from his mouth and snout. Tau pointed out the ragged bleeding gashes still feebly pulsing in the Devout’s throat.

“You got the artery,” he said. “I would have finished him for you if you hadn’t, but…”

Sun Fac understood. For a Gladiator, interfering with another’s kill was a serious breach of etiquette. But he rather wished Tau Lee had gone ahead and been rude for once and spared him a few moments of suffering.

The fresh rush of oxygen energized Fac and he was able to get to his feet unaided. He stared down at the body of Nadeer and trembled as the realization that he’d just murdered a much higher-ranking Aristocrat sank in.

Tau Lee, far less perturbed than he, moved to another body lying nearby, examined it, then slit its throat. Fac saw the feet kick a few times, spasmodically. Whoever it was had still been alive. His senses came fully back to him and his focus broadened until he could again take in the whole of the High Audience Chamber. Much to his astonishment, the fighting already appeared to be over.

The floor of the vast room was in a shambles, littered with produce from the overturned tables, strewn with the bodies of the dead and dying. Tau and the other Gladiators still fit for battle were stalking among the fallen and administering the usual brutal standards one applied to wounded Geonosians, killing anyone who was crippled, unresponsive, or unable to get to their feet and walk. Occasionally, they would pause over one of their own and allow a Warrior or two to come and carry the individual away for further evaluation. Mostly, they just put the injured down with a skillful stroke of a blade.

As Poggle had hoped, most of the Aristocrats attending the festivities had been unarmed and had scrambled for cover almost immediately rather than try to fight. Many had fled into the tiers of spectator seating ringing much of the chamber’s interior. Poggle’s Warriors were digging them out one by one and bringing them down to the center of the floor. Other Aristocrats, stunned by the turn of events, had simply backed against the nearest wall and stood or sat awaiting their fate, dazed and docile. They were the easiest of all to manage, requiring but a shove in the right direction to get them moving. The surviving service drones who’d been unlucky enough to be on duty when the raid began had also found refuge in the seating area and had clustered together in their mutual terror, clinging to one another and hiding their heads, whimpering and shaking pitifully. A couple of Warriors were soothing them and trying to sweet-talk them out of their huddles.

Sun Fac drifted forward, picking his way carefully. He retrieved his sword and blaster, watched the Warriors for a moment as they cleared away a bigger space to accommodate the growing number of prisoners they were collecting, then looked for Poggle. The acklay was stopped by a wall at the front of the room, its head down, gnawing on a body. Poggle had gotten off the animal and was standing in front of it, holding both pikes upright with their ends on the floor; the acklay’s cue that it could relax while it waited in place. The Lesser’s face was already turned in Fac’s direction and he motioned at the Royal Warrior to join him.

“Brossar called in,” Poggle said as Fac approached. “He’s managed to secure the arena without alarming anyone, just as he predicted. The comm center’s ours and so are the east and south armories. It’s just Rit we’re waiting for now.”

“Oh. Good,” Fac croaked. His neck still throbbed painfully. He wondered again how so much could have happened in so short a time.

Poggle looked at the blood smeared all over Sun Fac’s front. “Are you hurt?”

“No. It’s not mine, it’s… I killed Nadeer.”

“I saw,” Poggle replied dryly. “It took you long enough. You must have enjoyed it. I wouldn’t have minded getting my teeth into Hadiss’ throat myself, but…”

He trailed off and turned his attention back to the feeding acklay. Fac recognized an insignia of high office adorning a scrap of cloth under one of the creature’s feet and knew that he’d seen the last of Archduke Hadiss the Vaulted, except for remnant bits and pieces.

Poggle called a Warrior over and pushed the pikes into his startled follower’s hands. “Here. Take over,” he ordered. To Sun Fac, he said, “Let’s go gloat a little.”

The Gladiators had finished their grisly task and had begun aiding the Warriors in flushing out the last remaining Aristocrats and hauling them down to the center of the High Audience Chamber. Poggle and Fac got close enough to have a good view of the spoils of their success without getting in the way. It looked as though they’d caught or killed every single attendee at the soiree. So swift and devastating had their attack been that no one’d had time to escape or raise an alarm, and Hadiss’ own security forces, plentiful though they’d been, had simply been overwhelmed. Not a single soldier drone had survived the battle. True to their breeding and training, they’d fought until killed or too badly injured to continue and none of those wounded had been fit to leave alive. Their officers, Royal Warriors especially selected for their fierce loyalty to Hadiss, had also fought to the death, and it was pure luck that a pair of them had been knocked senseless during the melee and safely captured. They’d been herded in with the rest of the prisoners where they now stood staring back at their fellow Warrior captors; frustrated, shamed, and a little bewildered.

Sun Fac glanced over at Poggle’s face. It wore the same expression Fac had seen in the arena months ago, a look of fierce defiance tempered by a vast satisfaction and something else that was almost feral in its cold piercing intensity. Whatever it was, it made the Warrior uneasy and he looked away, glad that he was not one of Poggle’s enemies.

A sudden scuffle erupted. An Aristocrat, by no means cowed, had snatched away the dirk of a careless Warrior trying to take custody of him and the two of them crashed to the floor as they fought for possession of the weapon. Before any of Poggle’s followers could react, another Aristocrat close to the action calmly waded in, grabbed away the dagger in turn and plunged it into the waist of his colleague, aiming the blade with considerable expertise. He backed away, putting his empty hands out to his sides, as the Warrior he had saved pushed and kicked at the dying body on top of him. Two Gladiators advanced on him anyway, lifting their swords, seeing only an enemy that had offered fight, and Poggle, who’d witnessed everything, yelled at them to stop just in time.

The Lesser and Fac made their way over. “You, I like already,” Poggle exclaimed as he came up. He sniffed at the stranger and looked over his sturdy body and the long dangling wattles hanging from his snout. “You’re a Vaulted?”

“I am, and please don’t hold it against me. We’re not all pompous dolts,” the unfamiliar Geonosian said. He looked past Poggle’s shoulder. “Hullo, Sun Fac.”

“You know me?” Fac asked, cautiously.

The Vaulted lifted his snout in a rather condescending manner.

“Several years ago,” he said, “one of my Citizens came to me pleading for recovery time for a Royal Warrior who’d been blinded in one eye while carrying out his duty. He convinced me that this Warrior was an exceptional officer and would regain his sight.” He eyed Fac as though he were examining him in his office, as though the ring of grim assassins surrounding him simply did not exist. “Who’d have guessed that I was extending mercy to a future revolutionary?”

“Sperr,” Fac intoned.

“The Foundry Master?” Poggle interjected, eyes brightening. “Well, Sperr, you’re one Vaulted I could find some use for.”

“I expected so,” Sperr replied, still cool as could be. “I’ve heard some of your rhetoric, Poggle. Quite the ambitious fellow, you are.”

“Is that so wrong?”

“Not at all, although you’d think otherwise to hear Hadiss go on about it.” He looked over to where the acklay was contentedly munching away on its unexpected feast. “I always hated his defeatist whining. Not that he’ll be doing any more of it.”

Poggle laughed. The other Vaulteds, those composed enough to have followed the little drama, glared at the turncoat with varying degrees of hatred, disbelief or incomprehension. Sperr ignored them. He was far too absorbed in the business of bartering for his life.

Sperr’s sheer audacity was what won Poggle over in the end. He motioned to the Vaulted to stand aside before addressing his followers.

“Watch him, but let him be,” he said to them. “All these others, lock them up!”

The waiting Warriors and Gladiators fell to their task with considerable pleasure, some handling their charges far more roughly than necessary. One of the Vaulteds, feistier than the rest, began struggling fiercely as two Warriors took hold of him.

“You’ll pay for this, Poggle!” he shouted, digging in his foot-claws. “I have friends!”

Poggle grimaced, raised his blaster, and fired it directly into the Vaulted’s face. He flew back as if catapulted, head pulverized.

“Not anymore, you don’t,” said Poggle, then added, to the two stunned, empty-handed Warriors, “Well? What are you waiting for? Toss that carcass to my acklay!”

They hurried to comply, casting more fearful glances at Poggle than at they acklay as they did so. The Lesser confronted the remaining prisoners. “Anyone else have a complaint?” he demanded.

The captives turned their faces away, some of them cowering. Poggle watched carefully as the guards prodded them forward and they filed past him, taking note of those who looked angry or sullen and resentful, marking down in his memory the frightened, bewildered ones whom he could likely sway to his cause. The only two Royal Warriors still left alive also showed promise. Poggle saw them glancing hopefully at their fellow class members, their allegiance to Hadiss starting to wane.

Poggle checked on the acklay. It jerked its head up fearfully as he approached, then relaxed and resumed eating its latest tidbit when the Lesser did nothing but stand and watch. Poggle noticed a flash of gold amidst the strewn remains. On a whim, he walked forward, heedless of the feeding beast, and picked out a segment of lower leg which was wrapped with a short coil of bright golden metal just above the foot. The Warrior who’d been designated temporary acklay handler watched dumbfounded as Poggle continued searching through the discarded remnants until he’d found and pulled out the matching upper limbs, each identically wrapped with a plain coil of gold.

Poggle dumped the gruesome little bundle at the handler’s feet. “Here. Keep an eye on these. Make sure they aren’t gathered up for recycling.”

“S-Sir?” the Warrior exclaimed. He’d never heard of anyone wanting body remains for themselves. He wondered whether Poggle meant to salvage the limbs’ decorative bands of gold.

“Just watch them, I said,” Poggle reiterated. “I’ve an idea.” Abruptly, unexpectedly, he laughed aloud. “A good one,” he concluded, oblivious to the poor Warrior’s confusion.

Sun Rit still hadn’t reported in. Poggle took to his feet, making his rounds of the great chamber, his keen eyes and mind missing nothing. Fac was still standing close to the spot where Poggle had made an example of the rebellious Vaulted. He looked forlorn, almost lost, obviously torn between his natural inclination to pitch in beside his comrades and the demands of his higher status. Poggle left him to work it out on his own. He had more confidence in his chosen lieutenant than Fac sometimes had in himself.

Tau Lee, who’d been busy seeing to his own comrades, lifted his snout as Poggle walked past, then started after him. He slowed after only a few steps, seemed to hesitate, and changed course, making for Sun Fac instead. The Royal Warrior jerked his head around nervously as the Gladiator came up to him.

“Fac, listen, about my wounded. Some of them took blaster fire. I put down the worst ones already, but there are a couple of others that only took partial hits. They’ll recover if you give them time. Even if they could have just a day, so they can lie still until the bleeding stops, it’ll-“

“Take it,” Fac interrupted in a hoarse voice. He watched Tau’s eyes widen with surprise and pleasure at his ready compliance before the Gladiator nodded, turned, and walked off. Another Geonosian, one of Fac’s residence-mates, approached and made his case in turn.

“We’ve got wounded too, with the same kind of injuries,” the Warrior told him. “Mar Pak and one of the Tacs. And Noh Mac’s cut up pretty bad, though it’s nothing that wouldn’t heal. If they could have a few days…”

Sun Fac shook his head numbly. The Warrior went back to tend to their friends. Fac became aware that the Vaulted, Sperr, was standing quite close by and was staring at him strangely, and the Warrior edged away from him, self-conscious and unhappy.

Poggle came by again, head high, striding with tremendous energy, focused and purposeful. Fac trailed after him apprehensively.

“Sir, I- About the wounded. I said they could have recovery time.”

“Well, so they should. We haven’t enough people yet as it is to consider wasting anyone.”

“Yes! That’s what I thought! So is it- That is-“

Poggle stopped and looked at his lieutenant more closely.

“Fac. You’re doing fine. Don’t be afraid to use your own judgment. I trust you.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Sun Fac stuttered. “Of course, sir.”

The Lesser reached a hand out and touched the other Geonosian on the arm.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” he remarked, all but winking with good humour. The unexpected levity had its intended effect and Sun Fac gusted out a huge breath, expelling most of his anxiety along with it.

“Yes. Yes it is,” he said in a more normal tone.

“The worst is over, I think,” Poggle added. “Now the fun begins, eh? For both of us.”

Sun Fac regarded the Lesser-his new Archduke-with dumb devotion. Poggle patted his arm again, brushed his muzzle fondly with his own, then left his lieutenant to carry on. Fac stood alone for a moment longer, mustering his resolve.

Sperr was still watching him out of one eye. The sight of the smug male who had once held the power of life and death over him and who could still look so self-assured despite the disaster that had befallen his station filled Sun Fac with sudden, irrational rage. He marched up to the high-class Aristocrat and glared at him as he would a recalcitrant drone.

“Do you have something to say to me?” he snapped.

“Not me,” Sperr replied, and averted his face and sleeked his wings down flat against the back of his body. Fac wished Sperr hadn’t been so swift in submitting. He would have enjoyed having an excuse to slap the Vaulted across the muzzle.

The raid seemed to be winding down. The chamber had been secured. The captives were all gone and under guard. The two Warriors assigned to round up the hysterical service drones had not only managed to calm and reassure the simple-minded creatures, but had put some of them back to work at scavenging through the spilled food and drink. Poggle was still striding about, issuing orders, and Sun Fac decided to inspect the wounded. The badly injured that had been spared were all lying quietly, their eyelids already drooping as they drifted in and out of the light torpor that best facilitated healing. Those with lesser damage were busy stripping the bodies of the dead of their harness and weapons before dragging the corpses over to the delighted acklay. Fac was relieved to note that all of them seemed sound and alert, although many were pausing to lick at their wounds or shake the blood from their heads. All in all, they’d gotten off remarkably well, despite the ferocity of the fighting.

Fac saw Poggle stop and lift his hand to speak into the communicator strapped to his wrist and the Warrior raced over to join him. Even before he got within earshot, he could tell by the expression on Poggle’s face that the news was good.

“…so confused they starting popping off at anything that moved,” Fac heard Sun Rit’s voice-his wonderful voice-say as he came up, “but we got them disarmed, finally. I’ve got their own officers watching ‘em now.”

“Their own officers, you said?” Poggle exclaimed sharply.

“Yes!” Rit replied with equal emphasis. “Boss, most of the Warriors here tossed their weapons rather than fight us. Some of them even turned on the few that didn’t and stopped them from firing. I think it’s because when we first ran in, I yelled that it was a coup in the name of Poggle the Lesser and Sun Fac, thinking that some of Fac’s old buddies might, you know, still be kicking around. I guess some of them were and figured if a stiff-necked sniveler like Fac was backing you, you had to be legit.”

“Rit, you idiot!” Sun Fac exploded. Poggle started to laugh. It was the third time he’d laughed on that long, long day and the first time he did so with complete abandon, expressing both his delight and relief. Rit on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, is that you, Fac?” his disembodied voice inquired. “Are you still alive? Glad to hear it, I think.”

“All right, enough,” Poggle interjected, although he was still chortling. “What about the workers and supervisors?”

“All secured,” Sun Rit assured. “It really wasn’t much of a battle. Most of the labour drones probably don’t even realize yet that the plant’s changed hands. It was mostly trying to get all the soldiers under control-without killing or hurting them, that is-that took all the time. Oh, and I’ve got some sti-, um, I mean, supervisors here that want to come onside. They didn’t try to fight us either.”

“Lock them up for now. Tell them we’ll hear them out later,” Poggle decided.

Sun Fac leaned closer. “And when you do lock them up, make sure you keep them separated from the others. We don’t need them killing each other off in the cells,” Fac added, then looked at Poggle. “So we don’t waste anyone, sir.”

The Lesser nodded. “Good, Fac. Exactly right. The more Aristocrats we can turn now the better.” He swung his muzzle back to his communicator. “Rit. The Warriors there, you’re sure of them?”

“I’d say so, boss. They‘re working beside our own people already and looking pretty happy about it. It seems you have quite the fan following here. Wish we’d known about it beforehand.”

Poggle wished so too. He praised Sun Rit for his efforts and signed off, then stared off for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He’d done it. He’d really done it. Every objective was now his. He had no doubt that his people could retain what they’d taken and no uncertainty whatsoever that the vast majority of Stalgasin’s inhabitants would accept him as their leader. He was, after all, the famous Poggle, the one who’d won the petrana-ki, who’d defeated and mastered an acklay; Poggle the Lesser-a mere Lesser!-who’d dared to pit himself against Hadiss and who’d emerged victorious. Archduke now. Archduke Poggle the Lesser. Yes, he would keep his class title. How the other Archdukes would hate having to say it, to be reminded with each utterance that they were really no better than the lowliest of all Aristocrats.

A great exhilaration swept through the new Archduke and he suddenly leapt up for the sheer joy of it. The balcony overlooking the floor of the High Audience Chamber, the site where Hadiss would have stood when he addressed his minions on formal occasions, beckoned and Poggle flew there now, his wings bearing him as easily as though he were the lightest of spun spider silk. His people cheered him as he took his place and cheered again when he flung his arms wide in triumph and cried, “The colony is ours! I’m the ruler of Stalgasin!” And although it was his destiny in the years to come not to rule wisely, never could it be said of Archduke Poggle the Lesser that he did not rule memorably or pay his dues.

-End Part Three-

Tech Note: Argh! This library computer I'm using refuses to open the last file of the story! Will have to go home and get the backup disc and will try to post the last part later today or tomorrow. Sorry, folks. Looks like a genuine glitch for once. (The damn file works fine on the machine at work, grrr....)

OK, I just finished part one. DAMN, that was well-written. Suspenseful, descriptive, and good action. I'll read part two later.

Very well done, I like the descriptions and the subject matter is a refreshing change of pace. A word of advice. It would do better for you to release these in episodes or chapters instead of all at once. Folks don't usually want to invest the time in reading a dense first offerring but are far more open to reading a "free sample" let's say and once you have them hooked they are willing to read more. I just say this because it would be easier for you if you created a demand for your work instead of posting like 50 pages of written material and few people want to make any comments because they're still reading through it or are frightened off by the size of your inital posts.

Okay. Let's try this again, from a backup file this time...

CREAM RISES (OR, HOW POGGLE CAME TO POWER)
-Part Four-

Brilliant bronze sunshine spilled into the bowl of Stalgasin’s coliseum. It was still early, just after high noon, yet the sand of the arena floor had already been leveled and raked for the venations scheduled for the day to come. Four little lines of Geonosian footprints were all that marred the smooth orange expanse of the playing field. They ended near the very center of the arena floor, where Sun Fac, Tau Lee and Brossar the Patriot stood together with their new Archduke.

Brossar was pointing out a sector of the towering walls of rock encircling them, a portion high up behind the stands that was still in its natural state.

“That part there could be developed easily enough. Work it left and run it right above that sector under the north-east tower. That’d give you seating for another two and a half, maybe three thousand.”

Poggle examined the rock face in question carefully. “What about working it the other way as well? Putting in a whole new level altogether?”

“Ah.” Brossar’s eyes brightened. “That’d be a fair undertaking. Several months’ worth, I should think.”

“But doable.”

“Absolutely.” He swung his burly head about, imagining the construction required. “We could do it one section at a time. That wouldn’t cause too much disruption at all.”

“Finished capacity?”

The new Arena Master calculated rapidly. “An added twelve thousand. Possibly fourteen,” Brossar said.

Poggle nodded. He’d seen the light ignite in the Patriot’s eyes and knew Brossar welcomed his suggestion, was already excited by the scope of the expansion. “Think about it and I’ll have the architects sent over tomorrow,” he said to him. “Don’t worry about expenses. I’ll see to it that whatever you need is available. Let Fac know when you have some plans drawn up for me to look at.”

“I will, Archduke. Thank you, Archduke, sir!”

Poggle put off any further expressions of gratitude with a grave tilt of his head. In truth, he was just as excited as Brossar, but of course one had to maintain one’s decorum in public. He looked next at Tau Lee.

“It wouldn’t do to expand our arena without also enhancing our glorious games, would it?” the Lesser said with just a hint of tease in his voice. “What would it take to ensure that Stalgasin’s Gladiators were the best in all Geonosis, Tau?”

“Competition. Quality opposition,” the pale Aristocrat shot back. He’d been waiting for this very moment since Poggle had seized power and had thought over his words many times. “The bigger the pool of competitors and higher the standards, the better the chances of producing exceptional talent, that’s my belief.”

“I thought you’d say something like that. How many more Gladiators do you want?”

Tau Lee, his mouth already part way open to argue his position further, blinked rapidly a few times, then tucked his chin. “Er, fifty?”

“Fifty it is. I suppose you’d like more funding for all the inter-hive matches you’ll be pursuing in this search for excellence.”

“That would be nice,” Tau quipped, composure regained. His amber eyes now glowed with the same fervour as did Brossar’s. Poggle beamed back despite his determination to remain cool. He was feeling almost drunk with generosity and the power he now had to indulge his friends as well as himself.

“Coordinate what you want with Fac and Brossar,” he concluded, regarding the proud Gladiator warmly. “Happy?”

“Entirely,” Tau replied. He tucked his chin again, this time as a gesture of submission. “Thank you, Archduke,” he added humbly.

Poggle acknowledged his words and obeisance with another slight nod. He remembered how Tau had once aggressively sniffed him over, all but threatening him. No more. No Geonosian alive would ever dominate him again.

The Archduke lifted his face to the sunshine. The bright rays coaxed out the light undertones in his eyes, turning them momentarily into orbs of gold. “Leave me alone for a while now,” he said.

Sun Fac obediently shooed the others back the way they’d come. Poggle was pretty sure he knew what would happen the instant the trio was out of earshot; his lieutenant would turn on his Gladiator friend with some sneering commentary reference keeping one’s word. Fac never forgot…

Poggle strolled forward. I fought here, he thought, right here in the middle. We fought the soldier drones and I pulled one of them out of the air on top of me. And then we walked to the pillars, where the other Lesser-what was his name? he had such fast hands-was almost killed by that massiff. The acklay got him instead. That wasn’t right. He should have lived. He was a good fighter and I could have used him during my insurrection.

Poggle’s old hatred for Hadiss flared up all over again at the thought of having been cheated out of a loyal follower, even though the former Archduke was long gone and digested or ground into fertilizer. Well, not entirely gone. Poggle’s hand tightened on the handle of his command staff. The waist-high implement, which he enjoyed employing as a walking cane as well as a symbol of power, was quite obviously made of lengths of limb bone pieced together with bands of finely worked metal and cloth.

The new Archduke looked again to the towering walls surrounding him. Strange to see the stands so empty aside from a smattering of labour and service drones. They’d been teeming with spectators the day he’d won his petrana-ki and fought the acklay; he remembered the yells and screaming and the sea of fluttering wings and roiling bodies. How they’d cheered for him when he defeated the acklay…must have cheered-he had to admit to himself that his memory of the entire acklay fight was rather blurry. He’d been in bloodlust throughout most of it and groggy by the end of it and could only recall bits and snippets here and there.

He hadn’t been groggy the day he’d hosted his first games as Archduke, though. That day he could remember with crystal clarity. Thrilling the crowd by riding his acklay into the arena, then flying up off its back to the archducal box-how they’d loved that! Brossar reported that his people now called him the Fighting Archduke or Acklay Master. Poggle liked that. He hoped that gossip about his extraordinary first entrance had made its way to the other hives.

It would in all likelihood remain the only such entrance as well. He was getting too heavy to fly much anymore. Nature was doing its best to equip him with a body reflective of his sudden enormous rise in status and his head and body furnishings were developing explosively, his exoskeletal plating thickening up and convolving itself into decorative knobs and ridges, the skin framing his snout swelling and extending into the long wattles which, nuisance though they were, no self-respecting Vaulted ever failed to cultivate. Even his muscular structure was changing to support his altering exterior-it all made him feel quite itchy and aching and sore by degrees. Still, he enjoyed the process. It was the most compelling evidence yet for his assertion that all Aristocrats were born essentially alike and he knew that the others were impressed by his rapid transformation.

Poggle lifted his command staff, shifted it, and gave it an experimental swish through the air. Like a saber blade. A soldier’s sword.

The staff felt good in his hand.



Sun Fac gazed with pleasure on the beautifully latticed window with its panes of layered silicate. He rested his muzzle against the inlaid translucent mineral and enjoyed the warmth that bled through and the soft golden glow. Rarely could he resist pausing before any of the many windows cleverly sited to admit light into the outermost halls and chambers of the royal spire. He’d come to think of this one as his own and often stopped before it on his way to his new quarters for a moment or two of introspective reflection.

Fac, like Poggle, had also changed in appearance, although not in body. Royal Warriors-and their Gladiator cousins-had been genetically modified a long time ago to not develop the secondary sexual characteristics of full male maturity and dominance. He would never sport the usual natural adornments of an Aristocrat of high status, neither would he lose his slender athleticism and ability to fly; it seemed a fair enough trade-off for the two classes meant to be the physical workers of the Aristocrat caste. Sun Fac had instead adopted a more colourful outfit, elaborating his traditional harness with a metal-gilded base and a bright two-tone breast-cloth, which served to acknowledge his Warrior heritage yet made him stand out, as Poggle wished. Fac always tried to do exactly as his new Archduke requested. He was still somewhat astonished by the realities of his change in circumstances and humbled by Poggle’s evident confidence in him, even though he’d never had the slightest doubt that his leader could accomplish his goals.

At least he wore his astonishment with a little more panache these days. Poggle had said he did.

Fac left his window and resumed his walk home. The hall he trod appeared to flow forward around him, an effect caused by the rich sculpting on the walls, both naturalistic and stylized. Some of the designs glittered with inlaid strips of metal and semi-precious gemstone. Living amidst such elegant surroundings was another thing he was still not used to.

“Fac! Wait!”

The Warrior stopped and turned his head to look back over one shoulder. Sun Rit trotted up from behind him. He came to a halt with a cheerful little skip and nuzzled his gene brother affectionately.

“I caught your scent a ways back and tracked you,” he said. “So, did old Brossar get the extra seating he wanted?”

“He did and then some. Poggle approved a whole new level.”

“Really!” The two fell into step together, just like old times. “That should-hmm. That’ll put us on par with Andergau’s arena, won’t it? If we put in seating for ten thousand more?”

“Brossar guessed twelve. We’ll know more once the architects look things over.”

“I bet the boss’ll wind up approving more than ten. I know him. He wants the best,” Rit concluded, sounding smug.

Sun Fac regarded the other Warrior fondly as they walked along. He’d already seen a lot of happy Geonosians on this day and his sibling looked no different. Rit had done very well for himself. Poggle had appointed him chief justice, a position that had seemed at first completely inappropriate given Rit’s birthright and background, but, as usual, the Archduke’s instincts had been entirely correct. Acting as sole jury and judge appealed to Rit’s flair for the dramatic and love of being in the limelight and let him work the one part of his body he was inclined to exercise-his smart mouth. He’d proven a natural at the job and already drew a coterie of fans who attended the public trials for no other reason than to hear the new chief justice’s caustic proclamations and inventive sentences. Only the accused ever seemed to have a problem with Rit. Those of higher status, the middle and high-class Aristocrat malcontents Poggle was systematically purging from the ranks, were invariably outraged when they found a lowly Royal Warrior sitting in judgment over them, a reaction which always spurred Rit to even greater heights of sarcastic verbosity and which provided all the more splendid entertainment for the appreciative audience.

Thinking over Sun Rit’s situation reminded Fac of another matter. “Weren’t you supposed to sentence that bunch from accounting today?” Sun Fac asked him.

“Already done,” Rit replied. “I just finished with Poggle’s old supervisor. When I asked him whether he had anything to say, he demanded-demanded, mind you!-to confront Poggle face to face and launched into some rot about refusing to acknowledge my authority. I told him he had the brain of a pupa if he expected the Archduke to waste a single second of his precious time on him, and that if he could convince the massiffs in the arena to invalidate my decision, well, he was welcome to do so.” He chortled and skipped again, a little half-hitching stride. “That’s what I sentenced him to, the massiffs. The boss’ll like that, don’t you think? Watching him get torn up tomorrow like so much vermin?”

Fac shook his head. “You’re a well of compassion, Rit.”

“Aren’t I, though.”

A spell of companionable silence reigned for several moments. Rit brushed his gene brother’s arm with his hand.

“He was a good investment,” he said. “Wasn’t he?”

“He was indeed,” Fac agreed.

The two walked on, perfectly content.



On the other side of the royal spire, Archduke Poggle the Lesser was also walking home. A quartet of Royal Warriors, his personal guard, trailed along behind him. All four were from Fac’s former residential cell and well familiar to Poggle. He’d rewarded them and other faithfuls after the uprising with the unprecedented opportunity to choose where they wished to work and, much to his surprise, a large number of Warriors, wanting to remain close to him, had volunteered to fill in the decimated ranks of the former Archduke’s security forces rather than ascend to higher-status positions elsewhere. After some thought, Poggle had decided to accept them all. There were really more than he needed, but he justified the wastage of personnel by rationalizing that the resultant lesser duty hours assigned per Warrior would translate into satisfaction and greater loyalty overall.

The two Warriors they’d captured during the attack on Hadiss were serving as supervisors for the influx of new security folk. They’d gotten over their old allegiances pretty quickly once taxed and distracted by the unexpected responsibilities and faced with the alternative of death.

Similar blends of personnel had occurred and were still ongoing all through the hive colony. The devastating attack on the Vaulteds had left many sectors bereft of senior leadership. Poggle had promoted middle-class Aristocrats already present in some cases; in others, he’d brought in his own supporters to take up the empty positions. Some Aristocrats couldn’t handle the radical reshuffling of the class structure that had favoured them and found themselves speedily demoted, if not worse. Others, afraid of Poggle, had swallowed their misgivings and accepted his decrees without protest and usually retained their jobs and status. It all depended on Poggle’s whims and sense of how much he could trust those who had once served his enemy, Hadiss. History also played a role. The Lesser’s memory was as keen as Fac’s and he allowed his long-festering old hatreds and bitterness free reign, taking his revenge on anyone who’d ever bullied him, insulted him, or simply opposed him in even the slightest way. His ruthlessness already inspired awe and gossip among his followers and much anxiety for those who had dealt with him in the past
and had reason to fear his wrath.

Any softness in the new Archduke during those tumultuous first few months after his rise to power had been reserved, oddly enough, for the lowest strata of Geonosian society. When moving into the luxurious new quarters he’d inherited, Poggle had called for the drones that serviced the residence to come before him. They’d been a sad-looking lot, and little wonder. The most a dead Archduke’s servants could normally hope for was to be sent to the common pool; at worst, the oncoming ruler would simply have them killed and replaced with his own drones. Poggle’s reputation had preceded him and Hadiss’ old staff clearly expected to be put to death. They’d stood staring glumly at the floor while he looked them over, suffering what they mistook as his gloating attention.

But Poggle had no interest in killing drones. He also had better things to do than waste his people’s time in getting together and training up a personal staff for him from scratch. He offered the group before him the same choice he’d offered many Aristocrats-work for him and be happy doing so, or get out of his sight, permanently. The drones had perked up after hearing that. They’d gawped at him, dumbfounded, the thought of switching allegiance instead of being replaced as staggering a notion to them as was Poggle’s defeat of their former master. After allowing for a few long moments of staring and shuffling, Poggle had pressed them for a decision.

“Well?” he’d demanded. “What do you say? Anybody?”

Surprisingly, it was one of the service drones and not their overseer who finally spoke up.

“Some of us were allowed to watch the Archduke fight in the arena,” she’d said in a clear, confident voice. “We all admire him very much.”

As a declaration of loyalty, it was good enough for Poggle. He turned the lot of them over to his new chamberlain, his Lesser friend, Tolmar.

The drone who had spoken up turned out to be a prize. Sensing uncommon quality in her, Poggle had asked Tolmar to ensure that she be retained as his chief personal groom. As it happened, it was a duty already familiar to her and she took to her promotion with real zeal, fussing over and catering to her new Archduke with a thoroughness that surprised him. After the merely adequate care given him by the communally shared service drones in his former residential cell, it was pure joy to have access to such dedicated pampering at any time of the day or night. She always handled his face with especial tenderness and knew exactly which lotions and ointments to apply to his sore growing wattles and poor aching head to best sooth and warm away the nagging pains.

Poggle also quickly determined that his new groom was far more intelligent than she let on. It was always a fine balancing act for the breeding centrex to turn out drones that were smart enough to do their job, but not so smart that they would start questioning their purpose in life. The odd aberrant was bound to slip through. Most Aristocrats didn’t like smart drones. Intelligence brought on dissatisfaction and rebelliousness, as Poggle himself knew all too well.

One little drone, however, did not worry him, besides which it was clear that she genuinely liked him and was grateful for his mercy in keeping them all. He encouraged any show of independent spirit and before long she realized that he was not at all like the Vaulteds she’d been used to serving and felt safe in allowing her personality to emerge. Like most drones, she was a dreadful gossip, and Poggle often found himself laughing aloud as she chattered away during their grooming sessions, telling him of the secret rivalries and petty spats amoung his personal staff, making her astute observations with a wry wit that reminded him a lot of Sun Rit. Other times he would allow the relaxation brought on by her ministrations to overwhelm him completely until he lay limp and dozing on the table, getting some much-needed rest while she carefully cleaned and wiped down every last bit of him, proud to be doing all the work herself and to be so trusted by her intriguing new master.

Poggle supposed she was alertly watching for him right now, tucked into some nook of his inner sanctum from which she could monitor the entrances. Drones didn’t really have any space of their own. They were expected to stay out of the way close to their place of employment when not needed and find places to snooze where they could. Those like his chief groom, who shared his quarters to a certain extent, actually lived quite well as long as they performed their duties to their master’s satisfaction and didn’t annoy him.

Poggle’s adopted staff had so far pleased him and none of them had anything to fear. They kept his quarters, possessions and his personal self sparkling clean and their overseer was evidently doing a good job of organizing their duties and time so that all appeared well-rested, groomed and fed, yet were always available when Poggle was present. Indeed, they’d become so clever at anticipating his wants that it seemed he had no sooner thought about eating or perusing productivity records than a delicious meal or comm padd would appear in front of him as if by magic. Yes, he would keep his new service drones. He liked knowing that the same hands that had once busied themselves for Hadiss now worked on his behalf.

The door to Poggle’s quarters came up and the party slowed and stopped. The soldier drones watching the entrance were, like the Warriors, former arena workers. Poggle nodded at them and watched them flush with pleasure at having been acknowledged by the Archduke himself. It never hurt to boost morale, he thought.

He went inside and, as usual, several drones popped up at once, eager to do his bidding. Poggle ignored them and carried on towards his little personal office. He had more business to attend to before he would let himself think of pleasure.

Once comfortably ensconced in his office, Poggle activated the signal that would let his patron in the Republic know he wished to speak with him, then sat back. He thought while he waited about all the additional information he’d recently gleaned about his generous friend’s source of inner strength, this ‘Force’ that was said to permeate every living thing and the fabric of space itself. Some even claimed that tiny organisms lived inside said same living things and that practitioners of the Force, most especially those self-righteous Jedi, somehow communed with their parasites-really, what absolute nonsense! Trust people like the Jedi to make up a bunch of superstitious pap like that. Poggle had lived a good long while and those parasites he supposedly hosted had never said anything to him.

It was typical of Poggle’s nature that he never once considered that the real reason he might not hear anything was because he was far too arrogant to listen. He believed only in the sheer force of will and that knowledge was the true source of power. Genuine Force practitioners like his patron, Lord Sidious, were dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, he’d learned, even knowledge that others couldn’t comprehend or manage, no doubt due to their weak minds. He was not surprised that the Jedi were among those too weak-minded to study and understand the teachings Lord Sidious followed.

Poggle’s comm gear suddenly pinged softly and a moment later a small three-dee image began to coalesce over the holo-emitter, a good transmission with barely a flicker to mar it. As always, the human pictured wore a full cloak which partially concealed his face. The Lesser sometimes idly wondered what his benefactor looked like, but supposed he’d find out soon enough once the Republic regime crumbled.

“Archduke Poggle,” the projection appeared to say, “how fortuitous of you to call. What can I do for you?”

Poggle’s Basic was getting quite good. He understood the alien words well enough not to have to consult the written translation being simultaneously displayed beneath the ghostly image.

“I’m almost ready to begin the next phase,” he replied, getting straight to the point. He’d found that Sidious, like himself, was no lover of meaningless small talk. It was one of the things Poggle liked about him. “I’ll have to tempt or frighten the others and need your approval to divulge some of what’s coming,” he added.

“I see,” the human remarked. There was a brief pause. “I presume these other Geonosians can be trusted?”

Poggle snorted at that. “They’re Archdukes,” he said. “We keep our secrets.”

“Yes, I believe you do,” Sidious said in a voice tinged with equal amusement. “You’ve done well, Poggle. Tell them whatever you think they’ll need to know. I’ll trust in your good judgment.”

“Thank you, Lord Sidious. I’m sure I’ll be able to sway them. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I expect not,” the human agreed. “And while I have you here, I may as well tell you that you should shortly be receiving a rather large order from the Trade Federation.”

“Battle Droids?” Poggle interjected. The Trade Federation was his colony’s best customer. A big order could mean millions in revenue. “Do you know how many?”

“Some tens of thousands, I should think. I’m sure Viceroy Gunray will soon present you with all the details.”

“Yes, I look forward to it.” Actually, Poggle despised the annoying Viceroy, but as long as he paid up front, Poggle would welcome the wretched creature. The Sith Lord seemed to share the Lesser’s true feelings. Poggle heard him utter the soft repetitious sounds that translated into a low chuckle.

“Contact me again when you’ve made your first convert,” Sidious said. “I’ll be most interested in hearing of his reaction to your words.”

“I’ll do that, Lord Sidious. And thank you again.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Archduke,” the human said, and the transmission faded. Poggle shifted and sat more upright, taut with excitement. Tens of thousands! He’d gather up Sun Fac and tell him the good news in person, then go see Sperr, the Foundry Master, right away.

Poggle emerged from his office in high good spirits. Walking about the arena floor had made him a little dusty, he’d noticed earlier. He nodded at the waiting service drones this time and put his arms out, and several jumped up to unclasp and remove his garments. By the time they were done, his chief groom was standing in front of him with her kit in one hand, a trayful of food in the other.

“What’s this?” Poggle said to her. “It’s not your responsibility to see to my meals.”

“It is when it affects your appearance,” she insisted. “You need meat, sir, to bring out the colour on your wattles and help them grow. It’s very fresh, killed just this morning.”

“I don’t have time for this. What I want is a quick once-over, then I’m going out again.”

“You can lie and eat while I do your wings and back,” she suggested.

Poggle looked at the chunks of savory raw meat, bathed in a heated sauce of tasty blood dotted with globules of fat. It did seem and smell very appetizing.

“Well, all right, maybe a few bites,” he grumbled.

The Archduke stretched himself out on his grooming table and propped himself up with one elbow to accommodate the tray slid close before his snout. He took the tongs provided and lifted a morsel to his mouth, to taste it. A moment later, he was eating hungrily. His chief groom stood behind him, wiping his wings carefully with a soft oiled cloth and looking on with approval.



Falkiss the Vaulted, Archduke of Andergau, noticed the improvements to Stalgasin’s arena at once, but refused, of course, to say a word about it. Poggle knew Falkiss had taken note, though. He’d surreptitiously watched his guest out of one eye as the two had stepped out into public view in the archducal box and all the while Poggle had waved and acknowledged his people’s gleeful adulation, Falkiss had been looking at the new sections of seating, the skin about his mouth growing taut with grim annoyance. It was the same reaction he’d shown when first meeting Poggle in person; first, the quick startled dart of his gaze over his host’s face and body and then the tightening frown. Falkiss clearly didn’t care for Lessers that had the effrontery to start looking like Vaulteds and he hated discovering that another colony’s coliseum now surpassed his own.

Naturally, none of this could be vocalized and it didn’t have to be. That the two would dislike each other was a given. Archdukes were bitter rivals at the best of times, vying against one another in the fields of industry and bloodsport with the same pitiless passion they would have expended on a battlefield. It was a fairly recent development that they could set aside the antipathy between their respective hive colonies and interact and visit with each other with any civility at all. Stalgasin and Andergau had always been especially fierce competitors, with Andergau usually holding the upper hand. Poggle had his reasons for soliciting his greatest rival’s visitation and had hoped that his own considerable curiosity value would suffice in enticing Falkiss to Stalgasin, which it had.

Despite himself, Poggle found himself rather admiring Falkiss. The Andergau Aristocrat had overthrown his own former Archduke while still a relative youngster and was now his colony’s longest ruling Archduke on record. He was said to be utterly pragmatic, hot-tempered and sometimes viciously obsessive, and Andergau’s productivity records certainly supported his reputation. A large, imposing specimen, he sported the sort of lush male furnishings Poggle had yet to acquire and always carried himself with utmost confidence, his snout lifted high to flaunt his lavish wattles, his unusually dark eyes glittering and wary as they glanced constantly about. Poggle concluded that he was quite lucky that he hadn’t gone up against a Falkiss instead of Hadiss; he sensed that the Andergau Archduke would never have been so stupid as to pardon a known rebel after any sort of petrana-ki, let alone sentence him to one in the first place.

Imposing or not, what Poggle staged for him in the arena that afternoon did impress Falkiss. At one point he commented favourably about one particular predator that was new to him, no doubt hoping that Poggle would disclose how he’d acquired the alien creature and with whom he’d dealt to achieve the transaction. He also enthused over the Gladiators and suddenly proposed a future series of inter-hive matches on the spot, the closest the two Archdukes came to having a shared moment. Poggle responded by pointing out Tau Lee and warmly recounted how the champion had early on been a key supporter of his, after which Falkiss watched Tau with even keener interest.

With the venations done, Poggle next took his guest off to a comfortable private chamber for some rest and chat, walking en route past the best-looking of the royal spire’s latest renovations. Again, Falkiss paid great attention to all he saw, although he wouldn’t comment, and this time his mouth worked in a thoughtful fashion rather than clamping grimly shut. Poggle hoped it equated a thawing of the Vaulted’s attitude towards him and better receptivity overall. It was important to him that the other Archdukes took him seriously rather than regard him as some unimaginably common upstart with delusions of grandeur.

The two perfectly turned-out Suns, Fac and Rit, had done their part in lending Poggle an air of respectability, accompanying their leader throughout in an attentive and dignified manner and generally keeping their mouths shut in instinctive deference to Falkiss, who had looked them over severely when they’d first been introduced. Royal Warriors just didn’t become executive assistants to Archdukes in Falkiss’ world, but then neither did Lessers ascend to positions of power. It was a hard reality for the Andergau Aristocrat to swallow. Poggle had watched very carefully as his guest wrestled with his thoughts throughout the afternoon. He did want receptivity, but also a tiny degree of disorientation.

Once inside their private retreat, Poggle and Falkiss sat agreeably together on a comfortable sofa, arms hooked over its back to face one another. Their respective quartets of Royal Warrior guards, there more for show and custom than true security, took up their stations against the walls. Fac and Rit likewise withdrew and stood close at hand, and service drones offered tidbits and refreshments which the two Archdukes nibbled and sipped at, then ignored. For a first official visit, all was going extremely well, far better than Poggle had expected.

Falkiss began talking about all the aerospace traffic his people had been registering recently in the general vicinity, fishing about for some hint as to how much cargo the vessels landing at Stalgasin’s spaceport had been taking on. Poggle mildly agreed that there had indeed been a great deal of traffic as of late, the Trade Federation mostly. He glanced at his Royal Warriors as he spoke and at Falkiss’ guards. The Andergau Warriors were still looking curiously at the two Suns, obviously intrigued at seeing members of their own class working at such prestigious jobs. Distracted-good. He turned his attention back to Falkiss.

“Those new CTR class core ships the Trade Federation is using,” the Vaulted said, “they have quite the increased capacity, don’t they?”

“Oh yes. Quite so.”

“Enough for six more full racks of droids, would you say?”

“More like eight,” Poggle replied. He stretched out the arm hooked over the back of the sofa, reaching for the beverages the drones had left for them. “Excuse me, Archduke, my mouth is quite dry. I do believe…I’ll have another drink.”

Instantly, Poggle’s four guards jumped the Andergau Warriors. Fac whistled shrilly, then he and Rit leapt in to help. An additional squad of Warriors charged through the doorway. In a twinkling, the lot had subdued their brethren and began marching them out. Poggle swiveled his head to watch.

“Don’t hurt them!” he called. “Just keep them handy outside. Tell them they’ll be let back inside in a little while.”

“Will do, sir,” Fac acknowledged, and they disappeared. Poggle, satisfied, turned back to his guest, happily anticipating the amusing look of shock on his face.

Falkiss was gone. Startled, Poggle looked about. The Vaulted was standing against the wall at the far side of the chamber, his hands up defensively. He’d managed to leap over the back of the sofa without upsetting the attached table, hurdle a couple of divans, and get across the spacious room, all in the space of several seconds. No wonder he’d been in power so long, Poggle thought-no assassin could catch him!

He started laughing. Falkiss swore horribly back at him.

“I should have known I couldn’t trust you!” he cried. “A bloody Lesser! Stalgasin is doomed, Poggle, doomed! My people’s revenge will be terrible!”

“Will you relax!” Poggle exclaimed. “Falkiss, please come back over here. I have no intention of hurting you.”

“Blast you, what sort of bloody stupid game are you playing at now!”

“No game at all. I just need to talk to you privately. I didn’t want your guards listening in.”

This earned him another long blistering string of oaths. “You could have asked me!” Falkiss screeched.

“Really? Ask you to send out your guards voluntarily? Would you have done that?”

The other Aristocrat blinked. A sullen expression replaced the anger. “No,” he admitted.

“Then please come and sit back down beside me. Or are you afraid of me?”

The implied allegation worked to sting the other’s touchy pride. Falkiss came back, walking stiffly, still smouldering with rage. He sat down again next to Poggle with an air that suggested he’d just as soon strangle the Lesser as speak with him.

“What do you want?” he asked roughly.

Poggle leaned closer, mustering his will, licking his own mouth in his anxious concentration. “Falkiss, Archduke, look at me,” he said. “Will you do that?”

The Vaulted did as requested, suspiciously. He didn’t like Poggle hovering in so close to him. The strong male scent of him irritated Falkiss and aroused his aggression. He averted his snout a little.

“You’ve wondered about how I defeated Hadiss, haven’t you?” Poggle said.

It wasn’t what Falkiss expected to hear. He shifted his jaws. “You’re persuasive enough,” he grudgingly replied. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

“Talk alone doesn’t elevate you from lowest to highest.”

Falkiss glowered at him. “What are you getting at, Poggle?”

“What I’m getting at is…how would you like to make more money than you’ve ever dreamed of?”

The other jerked back, eyes widening. “You’re- This is some trick.”

“Oh, it’s no trick,” Poggle said. “Listen to me, Falkiss. Listen carefully. There is a great storm coming, one with power enough to sweep through the entire galaxy. It’s going to tear out the heart of the Old Republic, demolish their regime, cleanse away all their stupid bureaucracy and restrictions and sanctions. A storm of reform, Falkiss. A whirlwind! Eventually, it will sweep over us too, at which point we can either duck and let it pass, or stand up and embrace it and take our place in the rebuilding in its aftermath. And there’ll be such rebuilding, Falkiss, you have no idea. If we accept this, if we embrace it, we’ll rule. Free trade will rule. Industry will rule! A whole galaxy to do over, Falkiss, think of it. We could make billions. Trillions!”

He halted, panting. Falkiss was staring at him, mouth open. He gulped, cleared his throat, gulped again.

“Did-did you say…trillions?” he breathed in a tiny voice.

Poggle sat back. He knew he had him.



On an access platform in the foundries of Stalgasin, Archduke Poggle the Lesser gazed at Viceroy Nute Gunray and wondered how far his fingers would sink into the Neimoidian’s soft, fleshy neck if he seized him by the throat. Perhaps his hands would dig in so far that they’d even meet one another somewhere in the vicinity of Gunray’s gullet-the creature seemed to have no bones at all. Neimoidians always looked to Poggle as though they’d passed directly from a larval stage into that of an adult, by simply gaining size and extruding limbs and eyes instead of decently metamorphosizing as did his own Geonosian species. Maybe they developed a framework of cartilage to prop them up from the inside. They certainly seemed rubbery enough.

Nute Gunray abruptly stopped talking and his expression shifted into something vacillating between suspicion and fear. “Poggle!” he exclaimed. “Are you listen-ing?”

“Of course, Viceroy. ‘…capitulated as soon they saw our droidekas.’ I hear every word you say.”

Gunray still looked doubtful, but that didn’t stop him from rattling on again. Really, the fellow was pathetic. Poggle couldn’t comprehend how someone so naïve could have risen to a position of such authority. And after learning of the true facts behind the Viceroy’s recent humiliating defeat on that backward planet, Naboo, how could one not perceive him as idiotic and cowardly as well? Gunray’s only remaining saving grace was that he always paid his debts promptly and in full, otherwise Poggle had come to think of the Neimoidian as completely useless-and on a planet where being useless was synonymous with having lost one’s right to existence, this was a grave insult indeed.

Poggle was dealing with the Neimoidians on his own for this particular visit. The Foundry Master, Sperr, had lost all patience with them long ago and was inclined to lose his temper, and Sun Fac was always so upset by Gunray’s shenanigans that Poggle was sometimes afraid that his poor exec would crack a tooth when grinding his jaws in his exasperation. Rit could find some humour in the Viceroy, but was busy elsewhere, which left the Archduke alone to squire his annoying clients about on their factory tour. It was a self-appointed duty Poggle was finding surprisingly tolerable. He’d just finished hashing out a huge new order from the Neimoidians, for one thing, an occurrence that always had the pleasant bonus of making the aliens seem positively likeable, if only for a few brief hours.

In was in this spirit of temporary good-will that Poggle had steered the Viceroy and his oafish aide to that portion of the foundry where the outer shells of the automatons were normally poured and shaped. Despite all the noise and constant sharp odours that stabbed one’s olfactory sense, Gunray did love his visits to the droid factory, Poggle had to grant him that; he seemed to derive great pleasure from watching the machines being assembled and would stand rubbing his hands together, a big smile plastered on his malleable face, while the near-finished units whipped past him on the conveyer belts. Poggle thought he was probably imagining his glossy new droids engaged in shaking down some victim or other for more taxes.

“Viceroy,” Poggle said, “do you remember the plans we were looking at earlier, for your Super Battle Droid?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to see part of one of the prototypes?”

“Wha-at? You have it done?”

“Just the shell. We’re still fitting the components that-“

But Gunray had already barged forward to the front of the access platform, getting dangerously close to the moving machinery. “Where is it? Show it to me!”

“Viceroy, you really shouldn’t-“

Too late. A stamper, crashing down in a fury of shearing metals, threw up a shower of sparks. One fell on the hem of Gunray’s voluminous robe and ignited with a little puff of smoke.

“Aaaahhh! I am on fire! Put it out! Put it out!” the Viceroy cried.

His aide stooped to brush at the tiny flame. His swats managed to extinguish the spark, but he burnt his hand. Now both of them were whirling about and yelling and flailing their arms. Poggle started to laugh-he couldn’t help it-then slammed his mouth shut in the nick of time. What came out, a sound midway between a honk and a bray, would hopefully be misconstrued as a yelp of concern.

The automated stamper flung up another spray of sparks and a glowing slip landed on Gunray again, this time on one of his sleeves. He shook his arm wildly, screaming, “Get it off me!”, at his poor beleaguered aide, who seemed unable to coordinate sucking at the wounded finger on his one hand and slapping at Gunray’s sleeve with the other. It took a nearby soldier drone to seize the initiative and use the tip of his personal static pike to finally flick the offending bit of metal away. Unfortunately, the pike was activated and also delivered a hefty shock to the Viceroy’s arm.

Gunray’s shrieks instantly trebled in intensity and he went from whirling to bouncing up and down. The only good part was that his jumps carried him away from the dangerous machinery and back towards Poggle. The Archduke put a hand out to try and steady the Viceroy.

“Easy! You’re not hurt, are you?”

“This is outrageous!” Gunray shouted. He clutched at his jolted arm. “I could have been killed!”

“Oh, come now, Viceroy. You’re far too quick and clever for that. What’s a couple of sparks between friends?”

The Neimoidian fixed his goggle-eyed gaze on the cringing soldier. “He attack-ed me!”

“I’ll see to that matter myself right now,” Poggle soothed. “Why don’t you go on ahead and have one of our medical droids look you over, just in case? I can have parts of the prototype body brought to one of our design shops in the meantime and we’ll look at it there, where it’s more comfortable.”

Gunray, mollified by Poggle’s solicitude, deflated visibly and began rubbing at his arm with exaggerated concern. “Very well,” he decided. “But I’m going to have to change. I can’t go about looking like this.”

The hole he displayed in his sleeve was barely visible to Poggle’s eyes, but the Geonosian nodded gravely nonetheless.

“Of course, Viceroy. Take all the time you need. I’m at your disposal.”

He gestured at a couple of his Royal Warrior guards to accompany the Neimoidians, and Gunray, fully appeased, flounced off, his fawning lackey trailing along in his wake. Poggle turned back to his own people.

The soldier drone in question was already standing and waiting, flanked by his overseer and Warrior supervisor. “Give me your pike,” Poggle said to him, and the soldier did so, then went back to waiting, head hanging, for the punishing blow or worse. The Archduke looked the weapon over closely. He flicked the toggle that activated its static charge, turning it from off to on several times.

“Ah, here’s the problem,” he concluded. “This lever is loose.” He handed the pike to the overseer. “Make sure that he gets a properly working one next time. That’s your job. As for you…” He regarded the soldier drone critically. “The rest of the day off should do. And see to it that he gets unlimited rations for the day as well.”

The Warrior officer thought he’d misunderstood. “S-sir?” he exclaimed.

“You heard me. The day off and unlimited rations,” Poggle reiterated sharply. “He tried to help, which was more than any of you did. I won’t have honest effort go unrewarded.” He spoke again to the drone, kindly. “You did try to help, didn’t you?” he asked, and the soldier, faint with so much conflicting attention focused on him all at once, affirmed his intent in a small, breathy voice.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“There, you see? Not his fault if his pike suffered a glitch. Now carry on, the lot of you. And the next time any Neimoidian imbecile tries to walk right up to working machinery, you all have my permission to tackle him immediately.”

He turned away before the others could react and motioned at his remaining two Royal Warrior guards to fall in behind. Both had their chins tucked severely, trying very hard to appear solemn and sober. Poggle stamped his staff as he swaggered along and flicked his wings from time to time, just because he felt like it. Oh yes, no matter what they did, his friends in the Trade Federation would always receive his most careful attention.



Another year, another tour through the weapons facilities of yet another hive colony. Archduke Poggle the Lesser had gotten so good at going through the motions of power that he believed he could host a visit while in a resting torpor, but there were still some that demanded his undivided attention and engaged his interest. Such as this one, by that intriguing native of Skako, Wat Tambor. Tambor was one of the very few aliens Poggle had developed any genuine liking for and for which he would do almost anything, for reasons both professional and personal.

All the Geonosians Poggle knew seemed to like Wat Tambor, or at least were tolerant of him. Something about him served to set aside the contempt with which Geonosians normally regarded other sentient species. After much thought, Poggle had come to the conclusion that it was the mechanical appearance of the protective environmental suit which encased Tambor that was negating the usual xenophobia; he looked far more machine than living being and even his voice was artificially generated, so that he sounded not unlike a messenger droid when speaking. Despite the very real barriers separating them, Poggle nonetheless sensed a kindred spirit beneath the machinery. Tambor’s words bespoke those of a passionate industrialist and technocrat, and his frank and easy-going manner was one the Archduke responded to very well.

Tambor was also, in one sense, the Lesser’s superior. Like most Geonosian factories devoted to building weapons for export, the foundries of Stalgasin laboured under the auspices of a corporation that was in turn a signatory of the mega-conglomerate Techno Union. Tambor, chief foreman of the Union, oversaw all the plants beholden to his institution and helped ensure that all got their contractual share. Poggle had requested the Skakoan’s latest visit with an eye towards showing off the added facilities now under the Lesser’s direct control and wooing the alien into sending more work-and revenue-their way.

The inefficiency of the factories on Geonosis had long been a sore point with Poggle. Even as a lowly accountant, he’d known there were problems; he’d looked over the records and numbers and saw that even a colony known for its high productivity, such as Stalgasin, was in truth running well below its actual capacity and sometimes sitting idle for lack of work. One of the first things he’d done once in power was request a meeting with Tambor to talk over his concerns reference his world’s ties to the Techno Union. The Skakoan had been very up front with him and had confirmed all of Poggle’s suspicions. There were indeed many customers shying away because of the Geonosians’ reputation for political instability. Yes, the quality of their goods was superlative, in some cases, unsurpassed, but even the Union found it tiresome and inefficient to have to deal with the colonies on an individual basis and sometimes chose to direct very large orders elsewhere for that reason alone. Poggle had swallowed his anger and pride upon hearing this and had thanked Wat Tambor profusely for his honesty. Shortly thereafter, the Archduke had begun his campaign to unite all the prime hive colonies under his rule.

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continued from above…

It had been easier than he’d anticipated. Gossip about unknown friends in high places probably helped. Perhaps the other Archdukes also saw the problems, but lacked the initiative to do anything about them. Once Poggle had tempted or bullied the first dozen hive leaders into seeing things his way, the others had begun coming over voluntarily, no doubt envious or frightened in turn.

The hive colony that Poggle and his staff and guest had just visited had been one of the most recent converts. Tendelhof, led by Archduke Degelin the Vaulted, was a rather small colony that had been barely scraping by. No one had been starving, but neither did they have the resources to expand, and their labour drones spent more time in stasis than they ever did at actual labour. Degelin had carefully watched what became of neighbor hives that joined with Poggle and what he’d seen had convinced him. He’d come to the Lesser alone and humbled himself, even offered to turn over every bit of profit from their first job in exchange for the chance for his people to prove themselves reliable and hardworking. His plea had struck a chord with Poggle and he’d given Degelin his opportunity. Now, scant months later, small or not, Tendelhof was one of his most profitable holdings, and Poggle had brought Tambor to see for himself what the little colony had accomplished and to hopefully approve Techno Union funded expansions and upgrades to Tendelhof’s factories. To his delight, the Skakoan good-naturedly acquiesced almost at once. And if Poggle had been delighted, Degelin had been positively ecstatic-over and over again he’d insisted on thanking the Lesser and bowing before him, face averted and wings clamped tight, almost groveling in his gratitude. Poggle accepted it all as his rightful due. He knew that Tendelhof’s well-documented turnaround, from poor to prosperous, not only benefited a lot of fellow Geonosians, but made his own managerial skills look very, very good…

Tendelhof wasn’t the only hive colony that had been granted funding on this inspection tour. Tambor obviously liked what he saw and had been generous. While walking back to the royal yacht after finishing with Tendelhof, Tambor sidled close to his Geonosian host and quietly said, “This has been impressive. We’ll talk privately later on.”, and Poggle felt within himself a surge of exhilaration not unlike the one he’d experienced upon learning that his planned overthrow of Hadiss had worked to perfection. He sensed himself again on the verge of attaining great power and jacked his head high and strode on with loftier carriage, his steps becoming as spritely and buoyant as those of a scrawny, light-bodied youngster newly emerged from his pupa,

The party of inspectors was soon underway again, the yacht, an interplanetary sloop extensively modified to Poggle’s tastes and needs, streaking low over the stark mesas and plains en route home to Stalgasin. Six little Nantex-class Geonosian starfighters, the aero-workhorses of every prime hive’s security forces, accompanied the royal yacht, three per side, trailing closely behind in an arrowhead formation. Poggle had no compunction in ordering his pilots to cut brazenly across other colonies’ air spaces and always traveled with a starfighter escort battle-ready and alertly in place, just in case. So far none of the still independent hives had dared challenge his presumed authority.

One of the yacht’s most impressive features was the big lounge-like cabin sandwiched between the ship’s twin stacked prows, which offered stylish transport for as many as two dozen Geonosian-sized individuals and a wonderful look at the passing scenery through the extensive wrap-about view ports lining the cabin’s front and sides. Communal seating hugged the sides so that one could half-recline and watch the world streak by virtually beneath one’s snout, and there was an island of further seating in the cabin’s center for those less appreciative of views from a height. Tambor usually used the center island, which better accommodated his humanoid propensity to sit rigidly upright with his legs bent downward and feet on the floor. The Geonosians, immune to acrophobia and preferring to sprawl sideways onto one haunch with their legs drawn up, always chose the window seats.

The royal yacht’s crew included its own service drones, of course, carefully trained to see to their passengers’ comforts, but they were little needed for this particular outing. There were only the four of them after all-Poggle, his chief lieutenant, Sun Fac, and his Foundry Master, Sperr, and their alien visitor. And there was the Archduke’s chief groom, lying on one of the far ends of the communal seating, her long limbs folded close, curled up into a compact ball except for her head, which she kept elevated in order to stare fascinated at Wat Tambor. Poggle had gotten into the habit of taking her along on long inspection tours, in part as a reward for looking after him so well, and because he’d gotten rather fussy about his appearance and liked having his armoured, bejeweled vest and skirt and his face touched up between stops. She’d also become a surprisingly effective little spy, who was prone to hearing all sorts of interesting things when left behind to tidy up. Even Sun Fac didn’t know how smart she really was. It was a little secret shared between Poggle and his service drone alone.

It was largely thanks to the chief groom that Sperr was enjoying his current favour with Poggle. The drone had overheard him angrily defending the new Archduke before other, more skeptical Vaulteds, declaring that Poggle, Lesser or not, was the best thing that had ever happened to Stalgasin. This revelation only confirmed Poggle’s feeling that Sperr, like Fac, had long been a Geonosian sorely in need of respect-worthy leadership. He’d begun taking the Vaulted along on his tours after that, with an eye towards grooming him to eventually oversee all of the foundries on Geonosis. It was a responsibility that the Archduke thought Sperr would be eager to embrace and that the overworked Sun Fac would no doubt be equally happy to relinquish.

Poggle regarded his underlings with pleasure as their transport flew serenely onward. Both had fully justified his faith in them. Fac had been a bit hesitant at first, true, and Sperr still had his moments of inbred superciliousness, but the two always yielded in the end to the greater good and Poggle’s authority. They were highly intelligent, enthusiastic and loyal, and if Poggle had been born to power and followed the social norms, he wouldn’t have been making a fraction of his use of either of them. Pah! So much for the old ways. Poggle liked his own way much better.

Sperr was, if anything, even more intrigued by Tambor than was Poggle, and thoroughly enjoyed any opportunity to chat with the alien foreman. Poggly idly listened to their conversation while he looked out a view port and watched the sharp-etched, sun-drenched horizon roll by. He could not remember a time when he’d felt more content. In the midst of this contemplative interlude, Tambor dropped a bombshell by announcing that the corporation through which the Geonosians marketed their weapons and droids, Baktoid Combat Automata, was changing its name.

“What!” Sperr exclaimed. “What for?”

“The Republic has been pressuring us for some time,” Tambor explained. “They consider its current name too war-like.”

This prompted an incredulous yelp from Sperr and a shared glance between Poggle and Fac. “War-like!” the Foundry Master echoed. “That is totally ridiculous. What do they think we’re building here, mobile security units?”

Tambor gazed back steadily, quite unruffled, or at least they always assumed he was gazing-his actual eyes were covered up by impenetrable round lenses. “That’s quite a good suggestion. I may recommend it to my colleagues,” he said.

“You can call them automated waste receptacles, for all I care,” Sperr grumbled on, “as long as you don’t-“ He abruptly stopped and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re not going to ask us to alter our designs-are you?”

The Skakoan was quick to reassure his Geonosian hosts.

“No. For you, it’s merely a formality. There’ll be no requirement for operational changes.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Poggle interjected. “What’s really going on here, Wat? It’s the pacifists again, isn’t it? Peddling their useless morality?”

“They have been a concern,” Tambor admitted. “We’re considering moving some of our plants to the Rim or dissolving them altogether. You’re expanding your facilities at a good time, Archduke. We may have need of them.”

“That bad…”

“And worsening by the day. The regulations governing trade, they’re becoming intolerable. I can’t comprehend the mindset of the Senate anymore. They seem determined to make it as difficult as possible to distribute new technology. It’s already hindering progress and profit.”

“The Republic bows to its weak,” Poggle opined. “You’re trying to deal with people who have the misguided notion that everyone should share in everything, no matter what their actual contribution.”

“Yes, I have long observed this propensity for equal allocation. It is baffling.”

“It’s a recipe for mediocrity and stagnation, is what it is,” Poggle continued. He was watching the Skakoan very closely now, although his pose remained otherwise relaxed. “Our leaders saw it centuries ago. It’s why we’ve always refused to join the Republic…as is. If they ever implemented some sensible reforms, however…”

He let his voice fade off suggestively. Tambor sat in silence a moment longer, then said, “It’s more likely that a different system altogether would have to arise. I’ve heard rumours… People are unhappy. There’s talk that many systems are thinking of leaving.”

“Are they now! Well, who could blame them? Not I,” Poggle remarked, and fell quiet again. He left the obvious follow-up question unspoken. The ambiguous silence was far more effective.

Sperr, still stewing over the statement that had initiated the conversation, suddenly asked what Baktoid was changing its name to.

“Baktoid Armour Worship,” Tambor replied.

Sperr snorted. “Defensive, vague and ambivalent. Typically Republican,” he declared, and everyone, except for the Archduke’s puzzled groom, had a good laugh.



Archduke Poggle the Lesser watched the landing platform lower into its subterranean hanger and admired the small personal spacecraft that came slowly into view. He fancied that he’d become quite adept at gauging much about a visitor by the sort of vessel he or she rode in. This particular ship, a little beauty that was all flowing curves and sleekness, met with his immediate approval and own preferred aesthetic sense and he guessed that he was about to meet someone of quality and elegance. And strength-there was hidden power under that slick exterior if one could believe the details of its recent itinerary. All these observations both excited and reassured the Geonosian leader. The visitor he was about to meet was the first ever directly dispatched to him by his generous patron, Lord Sidious.

It was a bit of a shame, Poggle thought, that Sidious himself had not come to meet him. Sidious was the one who could most appreciate all that he, Poggle, had accomplished; had known him when he was still just another cog in the ruling machine being chafed by mediocre supervision, albeit one that had refused to let himself be ground flat! And now… Poggle shifted his hands on the handle of his command staff as he waited. The slight movements made the many golden bracelets he wore on his forearms clink gently together. Each plain armlet represented a prime colony that was now under his direct control, a symbolic coming together of every single important hive on the entire planet and the unification of all his people at last into a single magnificent juggernaut, all orchestrated solely by himself, Poggle, the Archduke that was merely a Lesser. Yes, it was a shame Sidious could not come to acknowledge his triumph in person. But this human he had sent would do in the meantime. Like Sidious, he was said to be a Sith, a Sith in training, if Poggle had understood correctly. Even more intriguing, he had once been a member of the Jedi Order. How curious to think that he’d be meeting his first Jedi and first Sith Lord, all at once.

The platform came to rest in its recessed setting at floor level and the roof leaves above finished sliding shut, restoring the security of the underground hangar. Poggle had had a number of such new landing pads built close to the royal spire in order to accommodate the growing number of important offworlders that now visited him. Most were clients, bringing with them the orders and revenue that kept the Geonosian foundries humming and Poggle wealthy. Others, impressed or perhaps alarmed by Geonosis’ rapid industrial rise, came currying favours of one sort or another. And a few, those very few Poggle considered his equals or superiors, arrived as potential friends as well as business and political associates. The Archduke hoped to make a friend of this particular associate.

A stair-ramp lowered from the sleek ship’s belly and a moment later a single human stepped down to the hangar’s burnished floor. Aside from his head and hands, he was fully covered after the fashion of his kind. An additional covering, a cape, streamed over his shoulders and back. The hair he wore, framing his face, was quite white, which Poggle understood indicated advanced age, yet he stood and moved with the self-possessed vigour and confidence of a male in his prime. He looked for his host, spotted him, and began walking towards the waiting Archduke. As he came up, Poggle saw that the human was of like height to himself and that he could look directly across into the other’s eyes. They were compelling eyes, too, frank and intense, with none of the usual human tendency to glance nervously away. Poggle held the other’s steady gaze until the Count halted before him.

He dipped his snout, gravely. “I welcome you to the Sovereign System of Geonosis, Count Dooku,” he said in Basic, knowing that his harsh and guttural pronunciation of the alien words and sing-song inflection would grate, but doing the best he could given his distinctive physiology. “I apologize for my accent.”

“Oh, but you needn’t, Archduke. You speak Basic far better than I could ever hope to speak Geonosian,” the Count replied in a low, curiously soothing voice. “I do, however, understand your language. If you would like…”

Poggle accepted the suggestion, somewhat gratefully. “Very well,” he said, switching back to his native tongue. “Then again, in the language of my world, I welcome you to Geonosis.”

The human bowed forward in turn, a courtly, dignified gesture not so unlike Poggle’s own. “I accept your welcome and thank you, Archduke Poggle the Lesser. I also bring you greetings from my Master, who wishes you well. He regrets that he could not come to meet with you himself, but as you can well imagine, there are many matters occupying his time.”

“Of course. I understand fully.”

Poggle turned slightly and gestured with his arm, inviting his guest to walk beside him. Dooku did so and they strolled forward, the human’s fine cape rustling softly. There was about him an aura of quality and regality, the same as that exuded by a Geonosian Aristocrat of the finest possible breeding-already Poggle liked this alien. He looked at Dooku out of one eye and Dooku inclined his head and smiled back. Yes, a definite aura. The Archduke’s curiosity surged to the fore.

“I am surprised by your ability to understand Geonosian,” he said. “I was given to believe that my language is, er, somewhat difficult for humanoids to comprehend.”

“Difficult, but not impossible,” the Count replied. “I learned because I thought it would facilitate communications between us. Also, my Master desired it.”

“Indeed,” Poggle remarked, his surprise now genuine.

“Yes. As you know, I am en route to Raxus Prime, and expect to be based there for some time in order to best facilitate the work required of me. But I was also tasked to meet with you, Archduke, with the intent of establishing closer ties. To act as-shall we say-a go-between, for yourself and for my Master.”

The Lesser felt excitement jolt through him. “Closer ties?” he prompted.

“Oh yes.” Dooku smiled again. His eyes gleamed like those of a Gladiator about to step into the arena. “You’ve impressed us, Archduke, myself and even more so, Lord Sidious. What you’ve done with your world, your populace…well, it’s uncommon to find a person of your determination and vision. We conferred and decided that it was perhaps time to expand your participation in our plans. That is, if you are interested in doing so.”

“Yes! Of course I-“ He caught himself before he degenerated into babbling like an agitated drone. “Well, I-might be,” he concluded.

Another upward tilt of those mobile lips-he hadn’t fooled his guest at all-but there was no malice in that expression, just mild amusement and a certain…could it be, approval? Yes, certainly approval. Dooku was pleased by his enthusiasm and Sidious would be also. Interested! What a joke! As if he wouldn’t be!

The two strode on, the human, elegant and patrician, keeping his secrets for now; the Geonosian, ostentatious in his glittering, clinking finery, near swaggering with pleasure and pride. All of Poggle’s fondest dreams were coming true. He sensed that he and his people had a great role to play in what was to come and that this man beside him, envoy of Sidious, would guide him on his path. It was an exhilarating, almost intoxicating prospect, one that would guarantee his world its favoured place in the new order to come. And all because of him, Poggle, first Archduke of all Geonosis. Maker of history.

Poggle would get his wish. In the ages yet to come, his name would indeed be remembered, and so would the people of his planet, Geonosis.

They just wouldn’t be remembered for the reasons he envisioned.

-End Part Four And Finis-

Whew, done! My apologies again for the story interruption. I should really know better than to NOT have my backup files handy when I post stuff like this.

Stravo: You bring up some very good points, however, I am exactly opposite to you in my own attitude towards multi-parters and won't even read one anymore until it's been completed. Myself, I can't think of anything more annoying from a reader's point of view than getting right into a really cool story--then it stops--dead! And sometimes it stays dead, ie. never finished! Way too frustrating for me. By posting everything all at once, I feel that I can better please everyone. Folks who like the story and who feel as I do, can slog through the whole thing in one go. Others can take it bit by bit, whenever they've got the time. Also, I'm under no delusions that this is the sort of story that's going to 'hook' anyone, no matter how it's presented. Fact is, no matter how dressed up, it's still about a bunch of giant talking bugs, NOT the sort of characters that normally endear themselves to the vast majority of people. But for that special less than one percent of the general population that actually likes such critters, well, hopefully this tale'll be right up your twisted little alley!

Anyhoo, have fun with the story, those of you who do read it, and be sure to let me know what you think about those Geonosians!

Finally finished reading the whole story. I thought it was great. Very well written.