The air in the dining hall on Toshara was thick with the scent of roasted gorg and the cloying sweetness of Chandrilan wine. Senator Monaray Dod smoothed the front of his heavy robe, his long fingers trembling slightly not from fear but from the lingering concern of his recent meeting with Judah Dashiell.
Though they did not see eye to eye on many issues involving the High Republic, they could agree that it was best if the Republic Senate left the Corporations alone to continue business as they always did, certainly now that Chancellor Dominique Vexx was starting to shape her administration properly.
As the Senator rose from the table, a sleek silver protocol droid approached, its metallic joints whirring softly. In its hands, it held a small, rectangular box crafted from polished obsidian and trimmed with delicate gold filigree.
"A parting gesture, Senator," the droid droned, its photoreceptors glowing a steady amber. "From an associate who wishes to remain anonymous, though I am told it is meant to commemorate your spectacular foresight during yesterday's senate session"
Dod's eyes narrowed with surprise, taking the box from the hands of the protocol droid noticing its surprising weight. "Foresight indeed, ZM-06." he proclaimed, a thin smile touching his lipless mouth. He didn't care for public displays of wealth, too many prying eyes, too many rivals within the High Republic.
He clutched the gift to his chest and gestured for his guards to remain at the door as he retreated toward the sanctum of his private office.
The door to his office hissed shut, sealing out the ambient hum of the Toshara winds and the distant chatter of the dining hall. Here, surrounded by tapestries depicting the spice mines of Kessel and the soaring spires of Cato Neimoidia, Monaray felt truly in control. He set the obsidian box down on his desk, a slab of rare black marble.
The gold trim caught the light of the overhead holoprojector, shimmering like a promise. He imagined what lay inside: perhaps a rare Shili pearl, or an encrypted data stick containing the offshore accounts of a political rival.
"Let us see what my associate deems worthy of my time," he murmured. He reached for the latch. It was a simple mechanism, a small sliding bar of cold metal. As he pushed it to the side, he heard a sound not the soft click of a lock, but a high-pitched, rhythmic chirp that lasted only a fraction of a second.
In the heartbeat before the end, Dod saw a flicker of blue-white light escaping from the seams of the box.
It wasn't the glow of a gemstone. It was the blinding, ionized glare of a thermal detonator, compressed into a shape far too small for its destructive yield. He didn't have time to scream. He didn't even have time to let go of the latch. The explosion was contained within the office for a millisecond, the pressure turning the black marble desk into shrapnel before the walls finally gave way.
The Senator was instantly vaporized by the searing heat and the kinetic force of a gift that had been designed, with meticulous foresight, to ensure the meeting with Judah Dashiell was his last.
So Marked The End of Senator Monaray Dod, Career Politician and Trade Federation Official.
