INT. GALACTIC SENATE MEETING HALL It's dark. Very dark. There's a layer of coating of dust thick enough for the first perosn in to leave fooprints. Even the cobwebs look long abandoned. The place looks like it hasn't been used in decades (or in the last two hours if it's anything like the condition of my place). A grizzled member of what was once the GS opens the front doors. To say the doors creek would be like saying oxygen's a good start for breathing. The trenchcoat's tattered. The cigar in his mouth is almost down to the stub. He pulls a seat out, flops down, puts his feet up on the meeting table and sets his empty bottle right next to his boots. He takes a breif look around and realizes exactly what's missing. GS MEMBER: Why is the rum gone?