Xizran, who certainly doesn’t believe in wasting his life exercising when stims and Fennec exist, seems to be overseeing the T3 unit, who has been tasked with getting the holonet working.

Stro'to, meanwhile, also migrates towards Biggs, chewing a nutrient capsule and watching the human exercise with fascination.

"How far have you run, my human friend?"

Biggs turns the volume of his headset down once more as he glances over at Stro'to.

"Hmm? You mean today? 8.4 klicks so far. I usually try to hit 15 klicks per day when I can," he pushes off his headset to rest on his neck as he pants, his expression turning curious as he continues to glance at Stro'to, "So what exactly is your deal? Layla mentioned you are some kind of Exchange boss and so is Xizran, and yet you two are trying to kill each other? And these people chasing you are trying to kill you both?"

"Wise of you. You would need to be in practice at running, being in the Republic defense force," Stro'to grins sharply. "Alas, poor Xizran. Poor me too. Dear Layla has it wrong. We have changed our ways, my good friend, I assure you. These days, I would not farm a tach if one hopped in front of me, I swear. Would that we both knew why we were being targeted though. It is... troubling. Not to mention bad for business."

Biggs sends Stro'to an unimpressed look for his comment regarding the Republic defense force. He also raises an eyebrow at Stro'to's mention of changed ways.

"Uh-huh," he says, before frowning, "So how exactly is it that you and Layla met? She was pretty tight lipped about the whole thing, but I can't imagine a Jedi --or former Jedi or whatever she is-- working with you guys if you really were as bad as most of the things I've heard about the Exchange."

Stro'to does his best to look as earnest and like a changed twi'lek as possible, which is to say, not very.

"A human of insight, I perceive, like so many humans! Indeed, that she is with us speaks for our character indeed. You'll find most things you hear about the Exchange are somewhat exaggerated, however. We really aren't as bad a lot as they say. We are not upstanding citizens, perhaps, but I would still rate myself higher than Czerka."

Biggs looks understandably skeptical of Stro'to's words.

"So all that stuff about slavery and spice trafficking...?"

"Come now. If there is a problem with spice and slavery, does the fault lie with the seller, my friend, or with the buyer? We would not ship them within Republic territory if upstanding Republic senators and businessmen were not buying. It is not like we force them to buy, and it is not like they won't get those if they don't go through us, so why not profit off their greed?" Stro'to smiles reasonably. "If you are not going after them, why look down on us just because we are easier targets?"

"The Republic does go very hard on any senators or businessmen or anyone else who is found to be dealing in slaves or spice," Biggs replies firmly, pausing in his jogging to send Stro'to an even glance, "However if they are powerful and well connected it can be difficult to discover or prove anything against them. I'm not a peace officer or investigator, but if you've got information on anyone in the Republic involved in trading slaves or spice or are willing to testify against them then I'm all ears."

"Go very hard my foot," Stro'to snorts, leaning back and tsking gently. "Slavery is everywhere, but provided it's not you being enslaved, you will find few in the Republic who care. Our very own much-respected twi'lek senator walks around with two very attractive 'indentured female servants' who are alas not free to leave until they have 'repaid their debts,' debts that alas climb each year, and Czerka's 'indentured servant' count is in the millions. They pay a wage that is alas wholly negated by the cost of food and living quarters they provide their indentured servants. Everybody knows what they are doing. You know what they are doing. They are classed 'upstanding citizens' and not even fined."

Biggs' even glance deepens into a frown.

"I'm not a lawyer or a bureaucrat," he says staunchly, "But wiser people than I have made decisions about what constitutes reasonable indenture. And besides, the situations you have described a a far cry from Hutts torturing slaves or feeding them to pet monsters, which is where a good number of real slaves end up."

"As I said," Stro'to smiles, exposing a line of sharply filed teeth, "the Republic talks a great deal, but in the end, none of you actually care about slavery, so long as it is not you being enslaved. We can call what the Exchange does 'indentured servitude' if it makes you feel better. Remember, the Exchange is a Republic-sanctioned and fully legal operation too. We used to have offices on Telos as well before this recent mess started; even the Grenns have no fault to find with the way we conduct business."

"I don't know what galaxy you're living in but the Exchange is most certainly not legally sanctioned," Biggs shakes his head, "And if you're talking about the Bumani Exchange Corporation on Telos then I can assure you Dol Grenn would love nothing more than concrete proof of them being tied to the Exchange crime syndicate to have them arrested and removed from Telos for good. I'm half tempted to take you straight to Dol the moment we arrive, since it seems you have so much you wish to share about the workings of the Exchange."

“Now now, my dear fellow, that is harsh. Did Czerka not openly murder an entire enclave of Ithorians a few months back? Grenn did nothing to them except fine them. If you don’t have a problem with Czerka, why do you have a problem with us?”
This message was last edited by the player at 06:06, Sun 28 Aug 2022.

"I believe a bunch of their mercenaries did go out of control and on a rampage," Biggs replies, "I don't know the ins and outs of it but I do know that Czerka have been banned from hiring external mercenaries on Telos since then. Look, Czerka doesn't have a very good reputation and I'm not saying I'm a fan of their business ethics, but they are still a legal entity who are subject to Republic laws and are held accountable when they cross a certain line. Anyway, it's clear that you are determined to disagree with me on this so maybe we should just drop it."

Stro'to pats Biggs on the shoulder comfortingly.

"Indeed, my good human, indeed. It is so much easier to just not worry about inconveniences like ethics, is it not? There's good and bad in all of us, but not caring if other people do spice or slavery doesn't make us bad people ourselves."

Biggs does not look at all impressed as Stro'to moves forward to pat him on the shoulder, but with difficulty he restrains himself from responding to Stro'to's remark. However as Stro'to returns to the doorway and is about to exit Biggs' resolve appears to fail.

"Not caring about the mistreatment of others does make you a bad person," he blurts out, "And I do care, just like every self respecting citizen of the Republic cares. There may be good and bad in all of us, but there is a good deal more bad in some than others."

His tone makes it clear just who he feels one member of this 'some' is.

Stro'to pauses, looking back with a sliver of empathy.

"My brother is much like you. My late father, too, and my dear niece. Do you know what it is like, living on Ryloth? The winds in the Bright Lands are scorching. The temperatures reach as much as 300 degrees. The Nightlands are cold as ice. The local wildlife-- protected, under various Republic Fauna protection acts; we cannot exterminate it because biodiversity matters more than we do-- eats the foolish who walk on the surface amidst the scattered tropical regions of surface that are actually habitable. We live in caves; when gundarks chew the power cables or the generators, it can take days to restore it. They do not care who needs surgery or life support. In places where insufficient food was imported from traders, we live on fungi. One child in two does not make it to adulthood; most adults do not live to see 60. If we sell our brothers or our sisters or our children into a life where they are stuck filling out datawork for Czerka 10 hours a day or dancing in a comfortable cantina with a warm room and free meals until they are 35, at which point-- so long as they do not anger their employers-- they are generally released with an ID card and enough credits to eek out a living on till they can find employment that is actually legal, can you truly blame us? Or if we choose to mine spice or sell it so that we can buy passage off-world to a better place-- since spice and slaves are all we have to export, and the Republic in its wisdom has outlawed both-- can you also blame us? Even if we choose to sell our bodies, you should not despise us. The rich can afford ethics and self-respect. The poor do not have such luxuries. The dead are dead regardless of how little or how much you care about them, and the sound of crying children does not get less painful because you tell yourself it is not your fault they have nothing to eat. Telling yourself you are a good person may let you sleep better at night, but means nothing to them if you care they died if you will do nothing for them to save them. If others will not save us, why despise us for doing what we can to save ourselves? You fight in the military to save others precisely because you understand that we all have a right to live and nobody wishes to die, do you not?"

As Stro'to speaks, Biggs' expression slowly morphs from self righteous indignation to sheepishness.

"Huh," he says pensively as Stro'to finishes, chewing his lip, "I guess I don't know much about Ryloth and what you and your people have been through. I suppose I shouldn't be so quick to judge or jump to conclusions. I'm sorry."

Layla, who was passing by the far end of the corridor as Stro'to spoke, seems to stop and pause to listen for a moment. But even as Stro'to glances in her direction she quickly hurries on once more and is gone.

Stro'to laughs a bit self-consciously.

"It is no matter. My brother has been getting upset about the same issues that you are for years. Father, too; perhaps that is why it stings. He did not invite me home on his deathbed, even when my aunt would write to me weekly to ask for the credits to pay for his medical bills. I am-- let us say-- a slightly black nerf in my family. I understand why you despise slavers and spice dealers though-- do not imagine that I don't see how a galaxy where everyone is free, no one starves or dies a needless death because they do not have enough credits, and nobody ends their life a crazed spice addict would be better than the one we live in now. But life is life. Where there is freedom of choice, some people will choose to buy spice, from the Hutts or from Kessel or from Ryloth. They will not part with credits for charity, but they will part with them to have a good time and kill themselves. And while there are bad masters, there are bad bosses who shoot their employees everywhere. I sold myself to the Exchange when I was 13 to pay for my sister's medical bills, since Father refused to sell any of us, and my mistress was-- demanding, at times, but kind enough when I didn't displease her. There are worse fates than slavery. Enough of all that though. I must seek out the refresher. All this emotional honesty is bringing out my allergies. It is much easier when I only have spoiled nobles' children like dear Xizran to deal with whose biggest concern in life is their next promotion or how awful it is that the newest speeder released is 0.0001 kmph faster than the one they bought last month, or how to get their 10 million credits doubling to 20 before they're 30. Or 300. However old dear Xizran actually is."

With this, Stro'to makes his escape.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:33, Mon 29 Aug 2022.

Biggs stares at the empty doorway as Stro'to departs, continuing to chew his lip. At length he turns back to his gravity treadmill, flicking a switch and resuming his jogging. However he does not put on his headset, opting to run in the silence of his own thoughts.

Bane, by this time, has located Xizran, who stands, arms crossed in the corner of the lounge. In front of the Falleen stands T3, an appendage plugged into the communications terminal as it attempts to achieve Xizran's objective to get the holonet working. The astromech seems less than impressed to be assisting the being who kicked its master out of his sleeping quarters, however it eventually gives up trying to argue with Xizran's persistence. Not that it makes much progress in the endeavour.

"Any luck with the holonet?" Bane says brightly as he approaches the pair.

T3 makes an unimpressed beep.