25. Chapter

The unnamed, hooded man was too experienced to shift. He was nervous, though. Underneath the cloak, his fingers tapped out a rhythm on his thigh as his eyes darted around, hidden by the shadow of his hood.

One of his contacts had informed him of a message that had arrived out of nowhere, popping into his inbox without a trace as to how it had gotten there. It was nothing harmful though; instead of a threat to his life or a warning, it was an offer for a job, with some gifted credits to sweeten the deal. Curious, he had accepted.

Now, here he was, sitting at the predetermined meeting point. He had scouted the area the day before and arrived several hours before the meeting. Every incoming patron was discreetly examined. However, as time wore on and he waited alone at the corner, he got nervous.

The unimportant man—so unimportant that his name will not be mentioned in this segment—wasn't well-known or successful enough to have a bounty on him, and he tried to be reasonably amicable to prevent hits, but things were known to happen. Many people saw bounty hunters as the scum of the galaxy, barely better than the criminals they hunted. He could understand; most bounty hunters didn't care about collateral damage, leaving behind trails of destruction in the pursuit of their target. He wasn't like that, though. He had standards.

Still, those same standards that he tried to keep to were the very things holding him back from being the best of the best. At times, money got tight, and he sometimes questioned the strict moral codes he adhered to. When funds got low, he did things like meeting with a seedy stranger in a seedy bar, by a seedy request sent through seedy means.

The hour struck, and our unnamed dude stood up. No point waiting for someone who might never come. It was bad for business to leave yourself open for too long, after all. You never know when someone would want to knife you in the back.

"Oh, but we haven't spoken yet!" the also-hooded man next to him said loudly.

Grunting in confusion, the part-time smuggler turned to him and examined him warily. The other man was covered from head to presumable toes, but there were several bulges here and there that suggested blasters and other gadgets. They were badly concealed, though, enough so that even an untrained civilian had a good chance of telling that something was wrong. A rookie bounty hunter, then.

He usually didn't have time for rookies. Inexperience got people killed in creative ways. Admittedly, there were other reasons why someone with money to spend would dress like a half-rate bounty hunter to lurk at a run-down bar, but still… "I don't train apprentices, no matter how many credits you've got hidin' in there."

The other gave a short bark of laughter. "Nah, not looking to get a part-time job. What I am looking for is to give a part-time job."

Part-time job? But… "Ten thousand credits is a lot for a part-time job," he observed warily. "What does it consist of? I don't deal in children, slaves, or anything with the Hutts." On a moral standpoint, it didn't do his soul any good. On a practical standpoint, he knew what kriffing up one of those contracts meant. It usually consisted of the contractor charging after you, guns blazing.

"And that's what I like about you," the other said, a smile in his voice. "Morals."

"Morals," he agreed, feeling much more suspicious. He discreetly angled the glass in his hand to reflect light at the face that should be under the hood, only to jerk back in stupefaction when nothing but blackness was revealed.

The figure seemed to take in his surprise. Then, the hood tilted like it was searching for something. "Oh, I see. This surprised you, didn't it?" The hood moved back several inches to reveal that the darkness was in a rough shape of a head. "New gadget I came up with. Ups the "'mysterious' factor quite a bit." The figure tapped a comm. unit on his wrist, and the darkness dispersed in a flurry of polygons to reveal a familiar face. A face that happened to sprinkle the news from time to time.

"You're Tony Stark," he said faintly.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out." The face was hidden in another few taps. It took a lot not to stare. He had morals, but tech like that would fetch a hefty price, and it would only hurt a person who could probably easily replace it.

"I'm talking to a famous person."

"That, you are!"

"Hold on, why am I only getting ten thousand creds? You're a millionaire or somethin'! You can afford to pay a lowly smuggler more for his time!"

Stark had the nerve to shrug at him. "Because this job can literally take maybe half an hour of your time, at minimum?"

That was… incredible. Enough money to upgrade his ship twice over, just for thirty creds?

"And did I mention I'll pay it all upfront? Won't even check to make sure you hold up your end of the deal."

Unbelievable. He could literally walk away a thousand credits richer without lifting a finger… Unless he was afraid of any bounty hunters Stark would hire to make sure he did his part. And morals. Dang morals, making him want to keep his end of the deal. "What do you need?"

"Bounty hunters and smugglers usually have contacts. Allies. A good, upstanding fellow like you—" Him? Upstanding? He couldn't help the snort that escaped, though Stark continued on as if he hadn't snorted. "—you'd have allies had somewhat adhere to your code of honor. At the very least, I don't think you'd be buddy-buddy with slavers and Hutts. What I want you to do is to tell all your allies to come to—"

"I don't sell out my contacts." They were the closest he had to friends. That was a sad thought.

Stark made a tsk noise and wagged a finger at him. "Look at the location. It's fairly neutral territory. If you go there and shoot up the place, you can just fly out. If I do something that causes damage, or if you shoot up the place, I'd be blamed for the whole thing. Look, I'm stepping out on a limb for you guys here. The best you can do is hear me out."

That was a rather generous analysis of the situation. Who would be stupid enough to invite a rowdy group of barely-legal troublemakers so close to the capital of Alderaan? That was like handing a child a blaster and placing it in the cockpit of shuttle. Not his problem, though. "So I just make my allies attend?"

"Nope. You ask your allies to attend. Anyone you think can be trusted. Nice guys you run into during the next two months."

"It's a deal," he said after a moment. He could just ask a few of his contacts to drop in, since the meeting apparently wasn't mandatory.

A bag was slid across the table to him. "Here's ten thousand upfront. Also, you're getting a hundred creds for every passible hunter, smuggler, or contact that shows up," Stark said.

Immediately, he thought of all the ways he could achieve this. He could just drop into the holes that bounty hunters seemed to gravitate to and grab all the ones hanging around.

"Oh, and by the way, if nothing goes wrong, no battles, explosions, or bounty hunters causing trouble for those poor Alderaanians, I'll even double the total amount of credits. You get a chunk deducted if anyone causes damage."

That settled it. No way was he passing this by. None of the bad sort. Trustworthy bounty hunters only. Difficult, but he could definitely do it. Just round up a couple of his friends to help… offer them a cut...

"Oh s***, I'm late!" Tony said, bounding up. "Sorry, duty calls… I have to go eat dinner with my daughter's boyfriend's family! You should think about the offer, though!" He ran out without another word, leaving behind a baffled but thoughtful smuggler, a StarkPad, and a pile of credits.

-Just a Plain Line Break, Actually-

Double dinners with the Starks. As a prince himself and the only son of Alderaan's viceroy, Bail had been on more than his fair share of formal dinners. Somehow, though, this one seemed more important than any he'd been on before, and Bail had been to many. The sheer amount of food served at the formal dinners and feasts he had attended within his lifetime could probably keep a small planet running for months, Bail knew—he wrote an entire essay on it, complete with calculations, for an assignment he had on running a planet.

"Are you ready yet?"

Bail turned to see his second youngest sister at the door. He glanced nervously back at his mirror. "I think so?"

Celly peered at him. "Why are you wearing red?" she asked, nose scrunched up. Judgement was heavy in her tone. She stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind her.

Bail glanced at his sister, then realized that, of his three sisters, she was the most fashion-conscious one. "Cel, please help." He gestured at his robes. "Do these…?"

"You're wearing red," Celly said, emphasizing the word.

"Yes, but—"

Looking for his other clothes, Celly tsked at him in a way reminiscent of their old tutor, a strict woman who Bail still had nightmares about. "Are you trying to scare off our guests?" she scolded. "Red, of all colors!" She opened his closet, pulling out one blue article of clothing after another, finally settling on a formal, navy colored robe.

"Don't you know who we are dining with? Red and gold are the Stark's dominant colors. I believe it is their house color," Bail explained, swinging his cloak away when Celly tried to grab it to switch it out.

One hand on her hip, Celly held out her other hand expectantly, waiting until Bail sulkily took off his maroon cloak and handed it to her. "I know that the Starks are dining with us, but that does not mean we have to wear their colors!" Celly said. "It's not as if you're trying to impress the Stark daughter…" She saw the look on his face. "Bail… You're trying to impress the Stark heir?"

Bail reddened. "Don't act so surprised. Friday Stark is a worthy lady."

Celly squealed and bounced.

"I'm courting her. I have been for a while now," Bail admitted.

"How long?" Celly demanded.

"A little over a month," Bail said, rubbing the navy material of the robe between his fingers. "Or longer. I'm not sure when we officially started."

"So not enough to be wearing her colors," Celly said with a pout. "Robe. On."

Bail exhaled through his nose, but did what she asked. "When do you think I should wear red?" he asked.

"Maybe in a couple months, at a public event, if you're still dating by then. Just a little splotch, nothing much. Now's too early. Trust me, the girl doesn't want you to follow her around like an astromech. She wants someone with personality, someone who complements her, not a male version of her," Celly said, shaking her head. Boys. "Either way, when things start getting serious, she's the one that should be wearing your colors."

Bail thought about how iron-willed Friday would take it when Celly started insisting she wear blues and bronze. Either way, it wasn't his problem. "If you say so," Bail said, looking at the discarded cloak.

"And this is going inside the incinerator," Celly said, following his line of vision to the cloak. With a wrinkled nose, Celly picked it up with her thumb and middle finger. "Where did you even get this, from grandfather's closet? You're going to have to go shopping with me for a dash of red that's actually wearable," she continued. "It'll be fun! We'll rope up the girls and have a siblings' day out"

"I-I can't," Bail said, alarmed. He tried thinking of excuses. "I have lots of work to do. And reports!"

"Nonsense. You always have work, and the work can always wait."

-Just a Plain Line Break, Actually-

"Research suggests that a 'private family dinner' is a casual event," Friday told Galee after a long stare-down. Galee blinked first, due to the fact that Friday had paused her avatar's auxiliary functions once away from any Alderaanians' prying eyes, but it was Friday who lost their battle of wills.

"Any they're royalty…" Galee gave a dreamy sigh. "What passes for formal for us commoners is casual for them."

"If you are sure," Friday said neutrally. She had been hoping to introduce Earthen fashions into the galaxy. Her T-shirt and jeans switched out for a blouse and slacks.

"The other formal," Galee said with a different sigh. She pulled up a holopic of a slim woman clad in a blue dress with a slit up the side.

With a narrow-eyed glare, Friday replicated the front of the dress, created a potential back for it, and turned it hot pink, the holiest of colors. As an afterthought, she gave it some gold down the sides. "Happy?"

Galee winced. "Sweetie, that shade does not go with you hair, like, at all."

Friday scanned the color palette and looked up several articles on the human brain. She tweaked a color here and there, adjusted her skin tone to balance out the colors better. After making sure the blends were aesthetically pleasing to the human eye, Friday looked to Galee for approval.

"I love technology," Galee murmured, looking at Friday as if she were an ascending goddess. "Do you know how many women would pay for something that could make a dress out of nothing? Stain concealers? Instant color-coding? Fri, we should start a business. A fashion company. My mind and your… thingy? We'd rule the galaxy through ribbons and jewelry. Say you'll do it!"

The idea had merit. Personally, Friday thought that the 'business' would be a wonderful front for some other businesses. Most of the products could be weaponized. Still, it would make Galee happy for now, so...

-Just a Plain Line Break, Actually-

Bail looked at the collection of people clustered at the head of the informal dinner table. His mother, Queen Mazicia, was seated at the head of the table, resplendent in the classical blues and bronze of Alderaan. His father was at her left, looking as dark and imposing as a Viceroy should. Tony Stark, the guest of honor, was across from Prestor.

At the other end of the table was the younger generation. Fair-skinned Rouge, as the eldest female, was at the end. She was a replica of their mother, a proper lady in blue and bronze. Next to her was Celly, the second eldest girl and only one of their family to have fair hair. Across from her was little Tia, who already had flowers in her hair in one of the traditional styles of adult Alderaanian women despite only being eleven.

Bail and Friday were sitting across from each other, stuck between the two groups. Despite her earlier confidence and her bluntness in their exchanged messages, Friday seemed almost shy.

The Starks were an odd bunch. Where Bail, Prestor, Mazicia, and Rouge wore varying shades of blue and bronze, Celly and Tia decked in the current Coruscant trend of mint green, Stark was loud in his red and Friday was not much better, in her blazing pink.

Tia was gazing at Friday's hair in something close to envy. "How did you get your hair to go with your dress?" she asked bluntly.

"You mean the colors?" Friday said with a flash of her teeth. "Trade secret. Maybe I'll tell you one day." Friday glanced around the table and seemed to become very aware of the difference between their families, ducking her head down. It didn't help—her hair was a more brilliant shade than her dress.

"You look beautiful, Friday," Bail offered.

Friday blushed slightly. "Thank you. You look handsome as well, Bail," Friday said.

There was a muffled squeal from his sisters' side of the table, but when Bail looked over, his sisters were calm and composed and Bail couldn't figure which one made that noise. The moment he looked back at Friday, he heard Celly loudly whisper, "They're on first-name basis already!"

"Are they going to kiss?" Tia said without bothering to lower her voice. Bail looked fixedly ahead of him, pretending he didn't hear them. He was glad that his tanned skin would hide any redness.

-At the other end of the table…-

"How fares your transportation projects?" Prestor asked.

"Oh, it's going… well," Tony answered. He thought back to two days prior...

Loud revs echoed inside the small chamber. Laughing maniacally, Tony held up a chainsaw. He was ready to dissect his next specimen. There was an indistinct hum as FRIDAY directed the lab table containing his latest victim into the room. His victim was prone on the flat surface, held down by steel clamps and magnets as Tony approached, to eager to wait for the table to come to him.

If a speeder could scream in horror, this one definitely would have been.

"Yeah," Tony said, nodding more enthusiastically, "pretty well. In fact, I might have a gift for the Queen in a week or so."

The Queen stared at him for a long moment. "On the behalf of Alderaan, I thank you, but this is more than enough." She patted the wrapped box on the table, the gift that Tony had brought to thank the Organas for having them there. It had some sonic watches and bracelets inside, but apparently it was bad form for her to open the present in front of them when she did not give them anything in return.

"It is the least we can do," Tony argued gently. "I swear we're not expecting a favor in return, nor are we bribing you. It is a simple representation of our gratitude."

-With FridayQueen Mazicia seemed to approve of her, at least. Tia was easily charmed and Celly just seemed happy that Bail finally had someone. It was Rouge who would not relent. The future monarch of Alderaan was cold, keeping Friday at a distance. Neither Celly nor Tia seemed to notice, but the older half of the congregation definitely noticed, and it humiliated Friday.

It was the little things, at first. She would ask Bail to pass a dish or for Celly to refill a glass when Friday was closer to the items in question. Simple questions would be asked to the Organa siblings, questions that Friday weren't invited to answer. Any question that was about the Starks or the budding relationship were solely directed at Bail.

The final straw was when a 'fond' nudge at Tia caused the little girl to spill gravy into Friday's lap, causing all conversation to die a swift death. Friday shared a panicked glance with her father, but the holoform held firm. It looked like the upgrades were better than they thought.

Friday excused herself from the table and went in search of a bathroom she could go into to make the stain 'disappear.' Instead, she found herself in a courtyard of some sort, filled with flora and bubbling streams. Her connection to the cameras in the palace let her know that a very unwelcome face was approaching.

"My apologies for ruining the dress, but it was the only way I could talk to you privately," Rouge said as she entered the garden, shutting the door behind her.

"There's this new thing going around. It's called asking," Friday replied.

Rouge lifted her chin. "As an heir to the throne, no, I could not. In fact, I cannot be alone with you."

Friday poured over hundreds of pieces of Alderaanian works. "I don't recall this being in the history books," she admitted.

"You are nobility of whatever planet you hail from, you are courting my brother, the Prince of Alderaan, and my father is considering offering you citizenship and legalizing your house as a noble house of Alderaan. It is highly irregular… but stranger things have happened. You are younger than Bail… If you are under sixteen at this moment, you have a real chance of running for the next queen of Alderaan."

Most of the information was not new to Friday. She knew that when a girl of a noble house of Alderaan had her Day of Demand on her sixteenth Name Day, she could declare her three challenges. If the challenges were completed by the time the reigning monarch stepped down, the girl would be eligible for the final vote for Queenship. It was very democratic. The only part that was new to Friday was that Stark might become an Alderaanian name.

"They are afraid that one of us might incapacitate the other to remove a contender to the throne. How… quaint," Friday said.

"Indeed. But onto other matters."

With that, Friday's Stark-temper flared up. "Is this the part where you threaten me over Bail? You haven't even given me a chance!"

"I've given you several, and I want to know why you feel you deserve more," Rouge said calmly.

Friday let her avatar's eyes narrow. "We literally just met an hour ago. What could I have possibly done wrong to make you dislike me? I swear, you hated me the moment I introduced myself!"

"An easier question would be 'what have you done right?' The answer is 'nothing.'" Rouge shook her head, the flowers in her hair sending dainty petals fluttering down. "You sent him a courting gift when it should've been the other way around, you two became a couple the literal first time you saw each other, and you wear pink."

Friday snorted. "Can you hear yourself? That is completely petty. The color or my dress? Seriously?"

"Look around you. Have you seen pink? Or even red?" Rouge paused and Friday realized her point. Other than her father, Friday hadn't seen an article of clothing with a stitch of either of those colors on Alderaan. "Alderaan has been an ally of the Jedi for centuries. House Organa has been allied with the Jedi for thousands of years. The Sith, enemies of the Jedi, wear red. Red does not have positive connotations, not here nor in most of the planets in the republic. By default, pink is also rarely welcome."

"It's just a little pink…"

"Every single one of your appearances has been in pink, and not even the pale kind. No, you had to use a shade so very close to red. Meanwhile, you've also broken dozens of courting protocols in just two days."

"Every relationship is different. Some need different boundaries," Friday protested.

"That may be so, but when have you compromised? It's always been Bail, hasn't it?" Rouge asked.

Friday couldn't answer that. Maybe she had been a bit stubborn, clinging to Earth's views and twenty-first century values. She'll have to work on that. When in Rome... "It's my first relationship… I guess I'll have to wing it."

Rouge sighed. "You have a good heart, Lady Stark," she admitted grudgingly, "But even that's not enough. Bail is to be Viceroy. He needs a wife who reflects Alderaanian values, not… whatever it is that you've been doing."

"Or, he needs someone to be the yin to his yang… er… that is, he needs someone to complement him, bring him balance and do what he can't. I can be that person. This galaxy has remained stagnant for too long. We need to help it move. Maybe I can do that..."

"You're just going to bring Bail heartache and pain," Rouge said bitterly, squeezing her eyes shut, "and there's nothing I can do about it. Bail's too enchanted by you to stop now."

Then, Friday straightened. "If that's what you think, I'll be happy to prove you wrong. I think we both know you want to be wrong, so help me prove you wrong." She gave a respectful nod to Bail's sister. "Princess." WIth that, she walked out of the room.

Princess Rouge failed to reappear that evening, but the dinner finished and the guests migrated to the main hall less than ten minutes after Friday returned. After Friday promised Tia and Celly that she did have a fashion company, and that they could visit, Bail pressed a flower into her hand. It made the entire, stressful day worth it.

-Just a Plain Line Break, Actually-

The crowd cheered as Tony raised up his giant, flashy laser. No oversized pair of scissors for him! Tony debated the benefits of naming it a StarkSaber, just to mess with the Jedi. Unfortunately, he had been unable to replicate the strength of a lightsaber. Maybe there was more to this 'Force' than he at first believed. Tony made a mental note to go over the semantics and blueprints of lightsabers again.

"And so… I'm proud to announce the opening of the Republic's fifth Stark Industries building!" Tony said, finishing his speech by rote, using the same speech he used for the opening third and fourth buildings. It wasn't an exact replica, of course. He switched out similar words, added a few relevant asides here and there, removed some bits.

With a light hum and a quick slash of light, two pieces of ribbon floated down to the ground. Tony eyed the 'StarkSaber' critically, having expected to slice at the ribbon twice to cut it. 'Inconsistent power output,' he decided.

The crowd took no notice, the cheers only growing in volume. The middle and front of the rippling throng of people consisted of reporters and the well-off. However, they weren't the ones that Tony deemed important. No, not for this phase.

Thin faces grinned back at him from the corners of the crowd. Tony spared them a wave. They would be the ones affected most by SI. While the planets they were on were carefully chosen for their level of influence in the galaxy or other factors, each new SI building was built close to an impoverished area to grant job opportunities and stimulate the economy.

And if that happened to gain SI the permanent goodwill and support of the poor - of those who made up nearly triple of the than all the other population groups added together?

Well, that was merely a coincidence.

What was also a coincidence was the fact that there was a bounty hunter's den just two buildings down from this building.

Funny how no one noticed that, within three blocks of every SI building that opened, of every plot of land surveyed as a potential SI location, there was a Paramexor base.

-Just a Plain Line Break, Actually-

Friday was not a human, and therefore did not need eyes to examine the Alderaanian girl watching her. She kept her eyes fixed on the StarkPad in her lap as she hacked nearby cameras to view the girl from four different angles.

The lady—for she was a member of a noble house—had been observing her for six minutes and twenty-three seconds exactly. Like a large fraction of all Alderaanians, she had black hair, dark eyes, and skin that was a hue somewhere between a golden tan and copper. Objectively, she was what most would call 'pretty,' based on both the last record Friday had of Earth standards and the current Alderaanian standards.

If Friday was more inclined to the arts and poetry, she might have said that the girl's face was like the moon - startling in its brightness, but beautiful nonetheless. Her eyes were large and the edges of her lips were tilted demurely up, as if she did not mean to smile at that precise moment, but laughter was so ingrained in her being that she couldn't not smile. Despite her young age, she held the grace and poise of one twice her age.

And she was finally approaching.

A quick, cursory glance at protocols for Alderaanian nobles and commoners greeting a noble had Friday manipulating her avatar to make it rise to its feet just as the young lady reached her. "Miss Friday Stark?" the fourteen-year-old said in a manner that was more akin to a statement than askance.

"Yes, Lady Breha?" Friday said with a curtsey after putting her StarkPad down. It was all for show, anyways. People would be concerned at the sight of a person sitting in one spot for two hours, staring at nothing. The AI had been accessing the HoloNet remotely, and had no problem creating a new thread to concentrate on speaking to the aspiring noble without slowing her processing down. Friday's curtsey was just deep enough to be respectful, but not an inch lower, because Friday knew she was no mere commoner.

"I just wanted to meet you," Breha said shyly, eyes wide. "How did you know my name?"

"Alderaan is my home for the foreseeable future. I felt it best to study all major events and people. Your family is quite prominent," Friday explained easily. After all, normal humans did research on planets they decided to take up residence in.

It appeared she had chosen the right words, because Breha beamed with pride. "The House of Antilles is a member of the Republic's Elder Houses," Breha said, straightening her back and lifting her chin. "We would be gratified to make your acquaintance."

Friday nodded. It was nothing that couldn't be found with a quick search on the HoloNet. In fact, it was the fourth thing mentioned on the first page she opened. Actually, it probably would help to have someone on the inside of Alderaanian society. There were so many questions that couldn't be answered by books. "IMay I ask you a question? I'm dating a noble boy, but our cultures don't quite mesh. What should I do?"

"Ew… Really?" Breha asked.

"Really," Friday confirmed.

"Can you tell me who? Just so I could get a better sense of what you're asking."

"It's a secret, and you have to promise not to tell," Friday said.

"Promise."

"Bail Organa."

A barely perceivable scrunch of the nose. Interesting. "My family does not get along with the Organas, but I would be happy to help you."

-Just a Plain Line Break, Actually-

"Mr. Stark," a reporter said, ambushing him as he tried to sneak past. His cover ruined, Tony was swarmed in seconds. "Mr. Stark!"

Tony sighed and put on his media smile. "No, no. You're saying it wrong," he chided. "It's Doctor Stark. I have exceeded the qualifications for that title in two separate fields. In fact, I will be a doctor thrice over in..." he checked his StarkWatch. "Two hours."

It was a semi-sweet pill to swallow. All his qualifications on Earth were gone, reset. He was earning his colors in this universe, but as a 'young' man. When the world looked at Tony, he wasn't some child genius. He was merely a particularly brilliant man. While he was still more intelligent than most of them, there was more of a perceived equal footing.

The reporters went crazy, but Tony only had eyes for the one that called him out. She smirked at him, waving her cameradroid to a better angle. "Well then, doctor," she said. "What is your reply to the claims that your little business is harming the environment and has lowered the overall employment rates in over fourteen planets in the Core Worlds?" She looked down her nose at him.

"Well, my reply is 'which company is using you as an attack dog?'"

"Why, I never-"

"No, really. I want to know. Gotta keep track of my rivals," Tony said blithely.

She sputtered, then glared at him. "Why, how dare you!" She raised her hand to slap him, but Tony sidestepped it easily.

"No need to get violent. I'm just saying it as it is," Tony said. "Where is the data? I use clean energy, and that's more than what ninety-nine percent of Coruscant can say. What are the statistics? I offered employees of several companies better benefits, and they took me up. The jobs are off-world. That's why the statistics say the unemployment rate looks like it is up. Go check up on the planets in another two weeks or so, when they do another consensus. I guarantee that the employment rates will be at an all-time high."

The woman blustered around a bit more, but Tony had no interest in listening. He walked to his waiting speeder. He paused right before entering. "Next time, dear, do your own research, not the regurgitated info you've been spoon-fed by the corporates."

Tony decided to look up the statistics himself. It wouldn't hurt to double check. Hopefully, this spectacle he made would make other reporters and journalists think twice before bothering him. Howard had used the carrot and stick method to fight SI's way to being the top U.S. business. There was no reason why SI couldn't use the same method here.

-Just a Plain Line Break, Actually-

"So, tell us about yourself," the faceless interviewer said, leaning forward with a straight back. In contrast, Tony was lounging on his seat, limbs sprawled out in a way that was relaxed and confident. In all honesty, the alien interviewing him was a very fascinating neon green and was probably a very interesting dude - he had to be, to have enough followers for Prestor to suggest him - but Tony had been interviewed and fielding requests countless times over the last couple weeks. After a time, they all sort of blended together.

"Come on," Tony said. He flashed a grin to the cameras. "You can find out all about me online or by watching any of my last… what was it- twenty-nine interviews? Go ask me something interesting, something no one's asked me before!"

The audience whooped and Tony sent a little wave at them. The green alien flicked through his cards, nervousness prevalent. Tony wondered if Prestor sent him here because the alien was good, was 'in his pocket' - as the Earth saying went - or simply because the alien was new and needed more support.

"Um, your daughter?"

-Just a Plain Line Break, Actually-

The ex-smuggler opened the hatches and let all of the metal boxes spill out into space. They floated out, meeting with the huge cloud of chrome-colored cubes that were already gathered. The crates collided, scattering in all sorts of directions. Starlight, unhindered by clouds or pollution, glinted and glittered off of the mirror-like shine of the crates, creating its own miniature galaxy of a thousand suns.

The shuttle's pilot had spent the last two weeks transporting loads upon loads of them there. By now, he had long since lost count of how many crates there were. It looked like a flashy, aimlessly-drifting pile of litter, but it was not his business. He was getting paid well, and that was all that mattered.

He used to be an outlaw, a dirty crook that was in it for himself. He had gotten into the life of a smuggler on accident. Once he became known, it was impossible to get out. First, one planet put out a warrant for him. Then, its allies picked it up. After that, the allies of those allies started their own little search. There was only so many jobs available once you were blacklisted.

But that had all changed.

He had been contacted by Tony Stark's - yes, that Tony Stark - daughter, who had promised to legally clear his record if he would work for them.

Where was the catch? No, really - where was it?

He had the respect of being a Stark employee. He had discounts on all things Stark. The pay was top-notch for just piloting shuttles, and the benefits were almost unheard of for a lowly menial worker. Moreover, he had a chance to settle, put down roots. Maybe even start a family.

He steered the ship away from the metal, deep in thought. He owed Tony Stark everything, and he would repay that debt. Even if the only thing he could do was do his job.

He'd be the kriffin' best delivery boy Stark Industries had.

Any job, Tony Stark could count on him to do. This, he swore. Even if it was during his vacation time. Even if he was in the middle of a date with a hot alien chick. He'd drop everything and go lugging suspicious crates halfway across the galaxy. He'd never be tempted to take a peek. A good man like that didn't deserve betrayal.

As he made his promise, the shuttle reached an area that the StarkNavigations - StarkNav - said was clear enough for hyperspeed travel. Without looking back, he pulled the lever and disappeared from view.

If he had looked back, he would've seen something strange.

Behind him, two boxes near the middle of the cloud clinked together. Instead of bouncing off of each other like all the other ones, something was different this time. The cubes recognized each other, latching and locking on. In other areas, the same thing was happening.

Within moments, nearly all of the cubes had at least one partner. Within minutes, clear groups were beginning to form. Just under a quarter of an hour later, all the pieces were together in a blocky, indiscernible form. There was a moment of inactivity as an AI connected to it, system diagnostics running. Light-years away, a genius was watching a camera feed with eager eyes.

Then, the lego-like collaboration unfolded. Each cube unraveled, expanded. Metal links tightened, miniature gears turned, hinges locked into position. A signal was sent out to every StarkSatellite. From there, it was multiplied and forwarded to every Stark building and every bounty hunter under Paramexor's banner.

The first StarkStation was active.