Lodd felt the familiar hum of his mechno-chair, a comforting vibration against the polished durasteel of his command office. Before him, a star map of the Deep Core shimmered, then next to it the faint hyperspace route near the Commerce Guild world of Castell. A Trade Federation convoy, TF-774-Gamma composed of Lucrehulk Class GH-3201 Cargo Freighters, was currently navigating those obscure lanes, laden with a particularly… sensitive cargo.
His mind was a complex network of profit margins and strategic alliances, weighed the implications. He had spent a considerable effort recently in financing the careers of both Senator Monaray Dod and Sentapoth Findos in both the Alliance Senate and the High Republic one in order to further integrate themselves into the wider Galactic Market. Yet, such influence sometimes needed....adjusting..
This contract with Operation Cinder, the fervent Imperial followers of
Darth Solipsis
was highly lucrative if not considerably dangerous for his own position as Trade Monarch. Their demands had been precise, their payments upfront and substantial enough to override the risks that the Beast would grow larger, and powerful enough to collapse everything that the Viceroy had worked for since the days of the New Imperial Order. His hand lightly brushed the terminal as the holographic display highlighted the convoy's trajectory. To outright lose a convoy especially one carrying such high-value, albeit unconventional goods would attract unwanted scrutiny. Aduits, investigations, perhaps even a token military presence "sweeping for pirates". All of it inefficient disruptive to the decliate balance he sought to maintain.
No, the convoy would not be lost. It would merely… disappear.
He tapped a single, elongated finger on the armrest of his chair. A direct, encrypted channel opened to his lead convoy commander, a Neimoidian as pragmatic as Lodd himself.
"Commander," Lodd's voice was flat, devoid of inflection. "Execute Operation Eclipse. Convoy TF-774-Gamma is to cease all identifiable transmissions upon approach to Grid 77-Delta-Tau, approximately six standard hours from Castell."
There was a barely perceptible pause on the other end, a flicker of understanding. "Understood, Trade Monarch. Will arrange for a suitable… anomaly."
"Indeed," Lodd replied, the word a soft click of finality. "Ensure all protocols are observed. No trace. No lingering questions. Just… an unfortunate incident in uncharted space that we can attribute to the Planeshift Event."
The connection severed. Lodd leaned back, the hum of his chair a quiet counterpoint to the distant whispers of galactic finance. The Alliance might frown upon such unconventional trade practices, but the rising tide of credits from Operation Cinder would easily compensate for any temporary ripple in Alliance relations. Profit, after all, was the ultimate justification. And sometimes, the most profitable transactions were those that left no official record.
