The Hand That Wields the Weapon
Gali-Ulan wore an expression that said he had expected this all along. He sneered. "Governor, is this your grand argument? Do you know how many people talk about such things in my ear every year? Peasant uprisings, worker revolts, droid rebellions, Outer Rim independence... Governor, before humanity entered the interstellar age, perhaps such topics might still have been worth discussing. But now?"
He brushed at nonexistent dust on his clothes and continued, "This is the interstellar age, Governor. No matter how workers and farmers riot, all they can get their hands on are blaster pistols. Even if the entire Outer Rim Territories gained independence, all they could produce would be cargo ships designed centuries ago... But do you know what we can have? Star Destroyers!"
The mockery on his face grew ever stronger. "...And you need not remind me that the Mid Rim and Outer Rim Territories of the Milky Way Galaxy account for two-thirds of its total population and four-fifths of its natural resources. It is useless. Those things are all under our control, because they will never possess a true core strength—industry! Even now, with the Confederacy of Independent Systems divided, it is still Mega-corporation giants like the Trade Federation that stand against us. In the end, it is merely a game of power among us upper-class people."
As he spoke, he stripped off his clothes as though venting his frustration, standing there bare-chested. He could no longer endure the coarse fabric. "Therefore, I am grateful that you took me to experience that life. It was something I had never experienced before, and I am very grateful to you. But now, please let us return to reality and continue the game that belongs to our class, shall we?"
Gali-Ulan saw matters with