Star Wars - Darth Plagueis

Muun?”
    Plagueis cut his eyes to the Nikto. “Who is this callow pup?”
    “Pup?” the Dug repeated before the Nikto could intervene.
    “Boss Cabra’s youngest progeny, Magister,” she said quickly, restraining the Dug with her extended left arm. “He means no disrespect.”
    Plagueis regarded the Dug again. “What are you called, pup?”
    The Dug’s rear legs were tensed for a leap, but the Nikto whirled rapidly, slapping him across his flewed and broad-nostriled snout and clamping a hand on his windpipe.
    “Answer him!” she bellowed into his snarling face. “And with due respect!”
    The Dug relented and whimpered, though certainly more out of humiliation than pain. “Darnada,” he squeaked at last.
    “Darnada,” Plagueis repeated before addressing the Nikto. “Perhaps young Darnada should be muzzled to prevent him from endangering his father’s business relationships.”
    “His brashness reflects his inexperience, Magister,” the Nikto said in abject apology. She gave Darnada a menacing glance before continuing. “Trust that your orders regarding the ship will be honored in full, Magister.”
    “I will also need a change of wardrobe and a fueled, piloted ship.”
    “Can we provide the pilot with a destination beforehand?”
    “Muunilinst.”
    “Of course, Magister. And what are your instructions regarding the droid?”
    “Instructions?”
    “Is the droid to be slagged along with the ship?”
    Plagueis looked over his shoulder at 11-4D. “How much of your memory can be wiped without tampering with your medical protocols?”
    “I’m modular in design,” the droid said. “My memory storage canbe erased in its entirety or according to whatever parameters you establish.”
    Plagueis considered that. “Remain with the ship until it has been liquefied. I will expect a complete audio-vid recording.”
    OneOne-FourDee raised its right-side appendages in a gesture of acknowledgment. “At your service, Magister Damask.”

5: HOMECOMING
    Those fortunate enough to have visited Muunilinst in the decades preceding the Clone Wars often remarked that the planet had been blessed with the most beautiful skies in the galaxy. To maintain that pristine blue realm—to prevent it from being sullied by drop ships, shuttles, or landing craft—the Muuns had erected the most costly skyhook of its kind anywhere outside the Core. As efficient as it was luxurious, the skyhook, known affectionately as the Financial Funnel, linked the orbital city of High Port with the planetary capital, Harnaidan, which functioned as the nerve center of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. While the stately tower seemed to speak to the Muuns’ high regard for aesthetics and ecology, its true purpose was to keep visitors from setting foot on Muunilinst, thereby safeguarding the planet’s wealth of resources and keeping secret the lavish lifestyles of those who had ascended to the top of the food chain.
    From its remote corner of the Outer Rim, Muunilinst exerted its influence across all of known space and halfway to the galaxy’s nearest satellite star cluster. Dating back to the founding of the Republic, the Banking Clan had funded governments, supported settlements, and bankrolled countless commerce guilds, trade corporations, and shipping cartels. In a very real sense, the IBC dictated the ebb and flow of wealth from the Core to the Outer Rim. Scarcely a building was raised on Coruscant without the Banking Clan’s approval; scarcely a starship left the yards at Kuat or Bilbringi or Fondor without the IBChaving brokered the deal; and scarcely an election occurred on Corellia or Commenor without the Muuns having been consulted.
    The Muuns accomplished all these things with a meticulous serenity that belied the frenzied workings of their mathematical minds. Save for when it came to collecting on overdue debts, the Muuns, on first acquaintance, appeared to be a stolid and lenient species, if somewhat arrogant, with an ascetic nature that was in full keeping with their willowy bodies and was reflected in the simple but harmonious architecture of their cities.
    As pale as the Muuns themselves, High Port Space Center incorporated the design elements they favored most: domed interiors, arch-topped windows, fluted columns, and unadorned friezes and entablatures. Among these faux-stone building blocks large groups of Muuns maneuvered and mingled with unhurried if single-minded purpose, maintaining a conversational clamor that