[right][h3]Towler – The Trentana Café[/h3][/right][hr]

Artificially managed evening settled in on Coruscant’s Federal District with the assistance of the planet’s enormous orbital mirrors, and the well-dressed diners on the sky patios of the Trentana Café found themselves looking out on a twinkling sea of light in the darkness. The Senate building was lit with a soft blue that night, the structure ringed with white lights in more of the windows than not. Government never truly slept at the center of the galaxy.  

“This is delicious,” Towler said, swallowing the last of the steak and setting the silverware down. 

“Amazing what money can buy, isn’t it?” Callum Rensler said, leaning back in his chair across from Towler, dark eyes narrow in the fading light. Towler gave him a pursed smile. 

It was just the two of them at dinner. Towler knew, as soon as Rensler had called, that it was about the seizure bill. Rensler wasn’t a social friend these days. 

“Directly to business. I like it,” Towler said. He certainly did not like it. He had a long working relationship with many of the Federal District’s lobbyists, Rensler in particular. Ku’lya Kast had held the Loronar Corporation account for a solid eighteen years of Towler’s career, right up until Ven Panteer had poached the contract from Rensler. Towler hadn’t worked as much with Rensler since, as the lobbyist had gone on to work other interests outside the scope of Towler’s constituency. Corellian interests, specifically.

“The seizure bill is going to die, Towler,” Rensler said. “The CEC won’t let it happen. That’s a fact you need to accept.”

“You sound like me, Callum, I’m glad I’ve rubbed off on you after all these years,” Towler answered. “But it’s early days yet, and we’re a long way from the floor.”

“The CEC has written twenty million credits’ worth of checks in donations today alone, Fosten,” Rensler parried. “There’s going to be another twenty million credits tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. The CEC is willing to empty the war chest killing this bill.”

“And here I thought this was a social call,” Towler said with a smirk. “I think you’re bluffing. The seizure bill in its current form allows only for a temporary occupation. No more than hwhat's necessary to protect the Republic's interest in the shipyards,” he continued, reaching for the glass of whiskey beside his plate. “I don’t see the CEC wasting its extensive resources to avoid a temporary seizure.”

“Is the duration at the discretion of the Chancellor?”

“We don't have the legal language down yet,” Towler said sourly, knowing full well where Rensler was going with this train of thought, "but that's my expectation.” 

“A temporary suspension at the discretion of the Chancellor is as good as permanent. If Free Corellia holds out for ten years, does that mean the CEC operates as a state-owned entity for a decade?” Rensler asked pointedly. Towler saw an opportunity.

“Are we arguing over the sale or the price? What if the bill had a hard cap on the length of the time the Republic could occupy the shipyards? Say, six months?” Towler said. 

“Don’t misunderstand me. There’s no room for compromise,” Rensler retorted sharply. Towler pursed his lips and took a sip of the whiskey. 

He spoke again after a long moment. “You have to see there’s a compelling interest in securing the shipyards, Callum,” Towler tried. That was weak. Better to not say anything than say something weak. This was not going well. He was being stonewalled at every turn. 

“What I think has nothing to do with it. I represent the CEC, and if the CEC doesn’t see a compelling interest, neither do I. This is not a negotiation,” Rensler said. Now that was not true, Towler knew. Rensler represented the CEC, yes, and it was his job to represent the CEC’s interests, yes, but it was also his duty to advise the CEC. What Rensler thought mattered very much as far as advising the CEC went. Towler stayed silent, taking another swig from the glass, and waited for Rensler to speak again. “Could you put a time limit on the possession?” 

There it was. The lawyer's ethical obligation to keep the client fully informed. “Maybe. I can’t guarantee anything, but I can try.” Towler thought about it. “For every senator who wants to pass a bill that’s fair to both the Republic and Corellia, there’s another who wants to hurt the CEC so their corporate sponsors can take a piece of the Republic’s naval budget for themselves.”

“Hosnian Prime,” Rensler said coolly. 

“You might very well think that, but I certainly couldn’t say,” Towler said. He could, though. Hosnian Prime, Chair World of the South Colonial Caucus, had just finished a massive shipyard in orbit over the planet the previous year, and while private business was booming, they were looking for a seat at the military contracts table. That table that was opening up as Corellia fell out of favor with the Republic, which meant Hosnian Prime was eager to keep up the pressure. “Ask your people if they’d be able to work with a six-month limit on the possession.” 

“Four months. They won’t take it, but I’ll float it. It’s an invasion of Corellian autonomy and they won’t stand for that.” 

“Fine, float four months too, if you have to. If it’s really an absolute ‘no’ based on the principle of the matter it won’t hurt, but if we’re haggling over the terms they might as well know the option's on the table,” Towler answered. Rensler reached for his own glass and took a sip of liquor, considering the offer.

“Fine. But I have to tell them that you can’t guarantee a delivery on that,” Rensler said. 

“I can only do what I can.”

“If the CEC turns the offer down, I’d advise you to give up, Fosten,” Rensler warned. “The CEC will find the projects you care about and kill them, and they’ll find the projects your opponents care about and pour money into them. The only winners are the people who oppose you. Someone else might be sitting in your office in a couple of years.”

That was a threat, and Towler didn’t like threats. He shifted in his seat, taking his time as he collected his thoughts. Rensler watched him expectantly. Aware that he had struck a nerve, maybe? Towler couldn’t tell. Rensler was hard to read, which made him an excellent choice for an advocate and a poor choice for an adversary.

“Let's not say things that'll make us look foolish when the cards are played out," he began, doing his best to keep the venom out of his voice. Cooler heads always prevailed in these talks, he knew well enough. Rensler lifted his chin a bit. Defiance, Towler figured.

“The Rim Faction hates the CEC because it’s a corporate monolith that receives all the favorable treatment in the galaxy from the Republic,” Towler continued, slowly and deliberately, setting his elbows on the table as he spoke, “and the Core Faction hates Corellia because it refuses to stand with the Republic as part of a unified galactic state. The CEC has far fewer friends than you’d like to pretend, Rensler, and I've always found it very difficult to win on the Senate floor without a few of those.”

“Money makes more friends than ideologies. We don’t have to be enemies, Fosten,” Rensler said. “If you want to come over to the winning side, you have my number.”

“I agree. We don’t have to be enemies. If your client comes around to see that the value in compromising with the Republic outweighs the cost of ‘winning,’ if that's what you'd call wasting billions on a losing fight, you have mine,” Towler answered. “I’ll propose a time-limit to the possession to my side if you propose it to yours.” 

“They won’t take it, but I’ll run it by them anyway. It was nice seeing you again, even if we’re on opposite sides this time around,” Rensler said, and he stood to leave. 

“Likewise,” Towler said, and honestly at that. He liked Rensler, circumstances aside. 

“Don’t worry about the bill, by the way. Dinner’s on the CEC tonight,” the lobbyist said, buttoning his jacket and turning away. Towler watched him leave, and then looked into the shallow finger of liquor that was left in the bottom of his glass. Much less than half-full, far more than half-empty.