"It's a dangerous galaxy, as you know," the Toydarian explained. "There are a lot of unpleasant characters out there. Pirates, smugglers, or worse. It would be unfortunate if they preyed on your fine world, Marshal. But it's also unfortunate that a legitimate businessman like Njon Anjiliac can't do business on your world without your government trying to close down his operations. We suggest a compromise." The Toydarian smiled as he seemed, finally, to come to his point. "As you can see, we are in a position to help you defend Druckenwell," he said, "And bring or resources to bear to make sure that pirates, like these, don't harass this planet again. What we want is to do business in peace—business which, by the way, brings revenue to your world as well as to us. I assure you, Marshal, there are many individuals in your government already who support this."

"Tell your superiors to consider it," he said, his toothy grin suddenly becoming a frown as he added, "And tell them that we were displeased with your conduct and your temperament too, Marshal."

It wasn't quite that simple, of course. And as it happened, Ryloth had a lot to do with it. It hadn't escaped Njon's notice when Senator Ryuun had offered to defend Ryloth from slavers. In other words, to defend it from Njon. The Hutt had been willing to disregard this as empty political talk, if not for the rumblings from Druckenwell the last few weeks that it was interested in forming a so called "security coalition" with other New Republic worlds. Njon decided that Druckenwell—a very profitable place for Njon, at least until the government began getting in his way—needed a show of force. And so, as the government clamped down on his operations, Njon redoubled them. He even lowered the price of his spice to make sure that every weary worker on Druckenwell who wanted glitterstim could pay for it on his salary from the factory. And now this.

It was not a large show of force compared with what he could have sent to Druckenwell. But as Colaverde had noted, sometimes the threat of what could be done was deterrent enough. And so, Ryuun would find himself in a difficult position—the easiest thing was to be permissive and let the Hutt conduct his foul business on Druckenwell unimpeded. But this wasn't an option if Ryuun's proposed "security coalition" was to be taken seriously by any of its potential members. But on the other hand, would a planet like Mowgle, without much of a piracy problem, join a coalition with a world that does have a piracy problem? The benefit of this for Druckenwell was apparent, but what was the benefit for Mowgle and planets like it? Then there was the fact that Ryuun couldn't know how many members of his government were in league with the Hutt.

The Senator had a lot to consider, while Looro, the Toydarian, remained sneering at him.

The passage of Senator Ryuun's Spice Regulation Bill, however, posed a challenge for Njon. The first part of the bill, requiring a search of all incoming ships for spice, didn't terribly bother Njon; he knew that this was immensely expensive and time consuming, and that Druckenwell couldn't possibly keep it up for long without driving away shipping companies and other private freighters that simply wouldn't be willing to wait in the intolerably long queues to land on Druckenwell (which would also provide Njon with more targets for piracy). Sooner or later, customs agents would also demand higher wages, and might even go on strike if Druckenwell responded by using more droids instead. But moreover, there were many ways around this prohibition; Njon only needed one customs officer on his payroll out of the tens of thousands of them on Druckenwell in order to deliver his spice to the planet, and no doubt he would have more than just one.

Rather, it was the rehabilitation clinics that troubled the Hutt. Not only on Druckenwell but now, thanks to Ryuun, spread throughout the Republic. He would need to make an example of them, and since Druckenwell was the progenitor of this program, it would be the clinics on that planet that would recieve the brunt of Njon's wrath. He would begin modestly, having his people record the faces of people who went in and out of these supposedly anonymous clinics and then disseminating their images in the public, discouraging them and others from going. He also spread the lie far and wide on Druckenwell that all patients at the clinics would be reported to the police upon being admitted. Then, a number of "incidents" would follow—usually bricks or rocks being thrown through the windows of the clinics, and, in one incident, an improvised petrol bomb. One particularly heinous incident occurred when a speeder truck delivering synthetic spice to one of the clinics was ambushed in the small hours of the night, its drivers shot in the face, and the truck stolen along with its cargo. The truck would be found a few days later, burned and empty, on one of Druckenwell's more remote beaches. The police, remarkably, reported that they had no leads.

Meanwhile, Njon lowered the price of his spice even more, in the hopes of expanding his customer base to young adults who had less disposable income, but always proved to be reliable, life long customers. These were also the ones that Njon could get to work for him, both as dealers and as thugs. In so doing, the crime rate in general would begin to rise on Druckenwell in the following months, with vandalism becoming especially problematic and, in particular, vandalism of security holocameras on the streets. During this period, Njon would also begin smuggling weapons onto Druckenwell and storing them for his upcoming plans.

The Hutt also delivered on piracy, as promised. With lines of ships now waiting for their spice inspections increasingly far above Druckenwell, the planet's forces had more ground to cover. This would prove problematic for them when, presently, at 3:55 PM Coruscant time, an R-41 Starchaser would appear from hyperspace high over the planet with a pair of R-22 Spearheads on either side as the trio of fighters immediately closed in on the nearest unarmed freighter. The R-22s remained in flanking formation to run interference for the R-41 as it opened up on the freighter with its lasers, ion cannons, and concussion missiles. "Distress!" the freighter would call out to Druckenwell's space defense forces, "Pirates! Repeat, pirates! We're under attack!"

The moment the government consented to a pay raise for customs workers, meanwhile, the immensely influential portworkers union—which held sway over every spaceport on Druckenwell, as well as its orbital shipyards—voted to demand a wage increase as well. The total demand was more than the government could afford to pay without having to make cuts in other salaries or services, but the portworkers would remain adamant that if the customs workers got a raise, so should they. And if they didn't, they would go on strike and bring Druckenwell to a stand still. The customs workers, meanwhile, might have consented to the raise in good faith, but as ever Njon's people could find ways around the new obstacle; namely, simply shutting off the droids during an inspection and either not mentioning this in the paperwork or, occasionally, having some flimsy excuse for it ("electronic emissions from vessel on lot 12D interfering with photoreceptors on droid—droid shut down for duration of inspection"), and so on.

The police patrols, aside from being more expensive to Druckenwell's government on top of more customs inspections and customs wage increases, would not deter Njon's assaults on the clinics. It only took one person on the payroll in the local police precinct for Njon's people to know when and where the patrols would take place, and avoid them. The anonymous attacks couldn't truly be stopped, only diminished. But diminished they were. Other, petty crimes, such as vandalism and delinquency, were also diminished but still continued. As for the scandal, it would remain quiet only for as long as it remained quiet. This depended on more than just the internal security team that spied, illegally, on the ministers' records. It depended, also, on how they did so. For example, did they go to the bank and ask to view the ministers' records? Without a warrant? Or did they slice into the bank's records? If so, surely there would be a record of them having been sliced into, even if the identity of who sliced them remained buried. And if there was a record of it, there would be an investigation. The same would go for monitoring the ministers' communications—had the police or holocommunications companies been asked for this information? Again, without a warrant? Or had it been stolen from them? This was the sort of thing that would be hard for a small team to keep quiet without the entire apparatus of the state becoming involved in a coverup, and it had been said before, wisely, that the coverup was usually worse than the crime.

If only Njon knew that Lomen Ryuun was breaking as many of Druckenwell's laws as the Hutt was, he would be delighted at the irony. But for now, he continued to build up his infrastructure on the planet, which included legal operations as well as illegal ones; namely, he arranged to have a number of spiced wine distilleries opened along with a wine bar and tasting room to act as his front (not in his name, of course). It would rather quickly become a large, local employer in Il Avali, the planet's capital, and become a member of the chamber of commerce. It also imported large amounts of strictly legal (for now) spice and liquors used in making its brews. If Druckenwell's government interfered with these shipments, surely it will have gone too far. But at the least it would put the government's puritanical "all spice is illegal" attitude to the test.

Meanwhile, the Shapani Flyer, a medium freighter from Mrlsst, finally touched down on a landing pad in Il Avali after waiting hours for clearance. Its ramp lowered and a pair of small, feathered Mrlssti with ornate robes hobbled into sight and took a deep, refreshing breath of cool, ocean air. Then they conversed with each other pleasantly in their fast, indecipherable language as they waited for whatever reception the planet would have for them. They had told customs that they were simply here to visit, but with Druckenwell seemingly inspecting every ship they weren't sure what to expect. Each of them had small holdout blasters (well, small for a human, but just right for a Mrlssti) on their tiny hips. It was 12:01 PM local time.

Meanwhile, near the opposite side of the planet, where the sky was dark and the time was 1:01 AM, a police patrol cruised by one of the rehabilitation clinics. A good few minutes later, once the police were gone, a speeder van swerved to a sudden stop in front of the clinic, and its rear doors swung open to reveal a mounted E-Web blaster inside. It opened up on the clinic, pelting its hopelessly outmatched security guards, and the front of the building and its windows, with hot, red death. No doubt when he would read about this incident later, Senator Ryuun would recall a passage from Colonel Belkin's earlier report on illegal weapons, that "customs officials report that the current emphasis on spice interdiction is coming at the expense of emphasis on other contraband, such as illegal arms."

Meanwhile, the pair of R-22 Spearheads from the first formation peeled away from the R-41 in an attempt to draw fire away from it. One of them cleared the gravity well (they were, as aforementioned, very high above the planet) and made a blind jump to hyperspace. The other one made it back to the freighter whose engines they had blasted out a moment ago, rounded it, and cut his engines. All four of the missiles on his tail impacted the freighter at 4:08 PM Coruscant time, blowing its cargo bay and several of its compartments wide open and venting whatever was inside, along with durasteel debris and some of the crew members, into space. The R-22, whose pilot was feeling proud of himself, throttled up again went to join up with Barris and the others. The first R-41, meanwhile, fired a burst of chaff and gunned its engines as hard as they would go. Another moment and it would be home free, if it managed to get clear of the missiles.

On the opposite side of the planet, meanwhile, the attack on the clinic had apparently gone undeterred. With the damage done, windows broken, and security guards crumpled on the duracrete outside, the doors to the van latched shut and the vehicle sped away into the night. It would be found in the morning, abandoned in an alley with the E-Web nowhere to be found—probably swapped into another vehicle when it was out of sight.

To his credit, Ryuun did resolve the tension with the portworkers union, even if he was, in effect, handing this burden to his successor. But as he noted, there would always be ways to circumvent customs. If some of Njon's people simply turned off the droids, others arranged for the droids to have "unfortunate accidents" that would require repair or replacement, knowing it would take time. Or, perhaps, an inspection requires a certain number of agents and there's no room for the droid in the speeder. There were many possibilities, not to mention that smugglers—of which Njon had many at his disposal—made a living on keeping their goods hidden from inspections. For now, his supply on Druckenwell remained steady. Yatooni Distilleries, for now, had nothing to do with it.