Project Boussh: You Can't Handle the Truth!
by Brad Corletti

Brad put his hands over his face. "I manufacture droids. Droids that
cannot be legally produced in the New Republic or the Empire. Droids
that can kill."

Dorset glanced out the front window in the general direction of a
hangar. "Like your droid. Wait a minute." A look of alarm crossed her
gorgeous face. "You said your droid got the drop on Piggy and Nick."

Brad nodded. "Not a shot fired. That droid was one of the first I
built. Apart from the brain, they're made entirely from local
components in a small factory I own in the outskirts of Adelaide.
They're mostly for crew duty - there's a lot of demand for crewdroids
out there. They're not agile enough for infantry work. Outside of
crewing ships they are psychological weapons. Very intimidating."

"And who buys these droids?"

"The Empire."

"The Empire," Dorset repeated, disbelief in her voice.

"What's left of it. They're so desperate for crewers that they've
started raiding Thrawn's clone caches. So they jumped at the chance to
buy competent crew droids."

Dorset's blow smashed the back of his head into the wall. "How DARE
you?" she bristled. "You're helping to keep the Empire in power!"

Brad was completely stunned. "What?" was all he could manage.

"I grew up on CORUSCANT, you fool! I saw the Empire first-hand!"

Brad shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Stars were going
nova behind his eyes. "These droids aren't doing anything. They're
crewing ships, not running amok through settlements. The Empire is too
weak to do anything but defend itself these days."

"Oh, really," Dorset said, her tone sarcastic. "Then perhaps you'd
like to explain the little matter of Quiara's abduction?"

Brad cursed inside. He was in control of himself enough to realise he
was rapidly losing control. Part of him wanted the catharsis of
disclosure; part of him was afraid of the consequences.

"Every droid that dies in service to the Empire replaces a human being
who didn't have a choice. Every being who dies from the actions of a
droid would have died at the hands of a human being. Every credit that
buys a droid could have been spent on conscripting human beings."

It was the justification that Brad had used to comfort himself since
taking over the droid factory. Only now did he know how hollow those
words sounded.

Betrayal hurt. But it was even worse to discover that you deserved it.

--

And I thought the Wraiths were screwups, Dorset thought to herself.
She left the remnant of a man in the clubhouse and walked outside to
think.

She liked this man. Or, had. When he was just another pilot, a smile
on his handsome face and a pair of aviator sunglasses over his eyes.
When he was the "Australian High Priest of the Crossed Strike-Foils".
A title he claimed he held onto only for its annoyance value.

Before he was a supplier of Imperial equipment. Before he was a
supporter of the Empire. The government that had caused so much pain
and suffering on her world.

Her world. So different to this one, with its wide open spaces. So
different to so many worlds, she reminded herself. There was nothing
special about this one.

She heard the hum of repulsorlifts. Blast! He was making a run for it!
She spun around and saw the B-wing shoot out of its hangar and
immediately angle for the sky, as though the pilot wished to outrun
the consequences of this day. Perhaps, for a while, he would. But
Piggy - and New Republic Intelligence - would no doubt want to
interrogate him after this mission was over. And then the truth would
come out. And when it did, he'd be lucky if he ever saw daylight
again.

Dorset then realised she had made no move whatsoever to chase him. Her
A-wing would easily catch Brad, but now he had too much of a lead, and
was probably off her sensors.

Perhaps she wished him well, after all.