by James Luceno
The blond man turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Jadak showed up at the Slag Pit II half an hour before he was due to meet with the scammer his comlink had identified as Flitcher Poste. Nar Shaddaa's short night had just fallen, with Nal Hutta shielding the moon from the light of Y'Toub. He waited outside, across the street from the flashing front entrance, until he recognized Poste making his way through the mixed-species crowd. A thickset kid of twenty-five or so, Poste had a pleasant face with symmetrical features and bushy eyebrows. His hair was several shades of blond and brown and swept straight back from his forehead. If Poste had grown up on Nar Shaddaa and was still fleecing tourists at his age, then he must have had a pretty lousy low-level childhood. Jadak watched him approach the tapcaf, exchanging greetings with a few beings. He had come alone, as Jadak had instructed, and was taking all the right precautions. Jadak waited awhile longer to make certain no one else showed up, then entered the Slag Pit II by way of the side entrance.
He had spent two days making info forays from a cubicle hotel in the heart of what was once known as the Red District. His research had returned a couple of promising leads, but he was hoping that Poste would have something substantial for him. Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the tapcaf's dim lighting, Jadak made a complete circuit of the large main room before heading for the table Poste was holding, a bottle of brew in front of him. Jadak got the attention of a waitress and told her to bring him a Meranzane on ice. He came up behind Poste, startling him, and slipped into the opposite seat.
“I wasn't sure you'd show,” Poste said in genuine surprise.
“Why wouldn't I?”
“I figured you might have found what you're looking for.”
“I haven't,” Jadak said. The waitress delivered the drink, and he took a sip, letting the liquor linger in his mouth. “This guy you mentioned …”
“He'll be here. But he's had to come a long way. I promised him you'd make it worth his while, no matter what.”
Jadak nodded. “I already told you I would. What do you know about him?”
“Not much, except that he had a reputation as being one of the best mechanics onworld until something went down that drove him into hiding for a couple of years. When he returned, he worked exclusively for Black Sun, keeping their cargo freighters shipshape. If he doesn't know whoever you're looking for, he'll probably know someone who does.”
Poste paused for a moment. “What's this all about, anyway?”
“That can wait till the mechanic gets here.”
“You know, I'm still not sure I want anything to do with you. The way you handled those goons. What are you, an undercover cop? Alliance agent?” He sniffed elaborately. “You've got that … aura about you. Who were they, anyway—rivals? Enemies?”
“Keep your voice down,” Jadak said.
“I'm just telling you, I don't have any big dreams. I'm content making a small living here.”
Jadak sat back into the chair. “Picking pockets? Making off with bags at the spaceport? Doing a bit of breaking and entering on the side? Some petty theft during power failures or while folks are attending funerals?”
Poste nodded knowingly. “See? You even talk like a cop.” He started to rise from the table, but Jadak grabbed hold of his sleeve.
“Sit down. I'll explain everything after we talk to the mechanic.”
“Bammy.”
Jadak looked up from his drink.
“Bammy Decree. That's his name.” Poste nodded with his chin toward the circular bar. “And I think this might be him.”
Jadak followed Poste's gaze to an elderly human, nicely dressed but somewhat stoop-shouldered and hobbling on perhaps century-old legs. “Are you Poste?” he asked as he approached the table.
“That's me.”
Poste stood, as if to offer to help him into a chair, but Decree waved him off and sat down unassisted, glancing uncertainly at Jadak.
“I've come all the way from the Duros Sector.”
“We know,” Poste said sympathetically, “and we appreciate it.”
Decree glanced at Jadak again. “Then let's get on with this.”
Jadak interlocked his fingers and leaned forward. “Bammy, I'm looking for information about a YT-Thirteen-hundred freighter that collided with a Corellian ship sixty-two years ago.”
Decree's jaw slackened and he stared at Jadak in astonishment. “Are you talking about the Stellar Envoy?”
Jadak practically came out of his chair and had to force himself to speak softly. “That's the ship, Bammy. How do you know about it?”
Decree smiled, revealing gaps in his yellowing teeth. “How do I know? I rebuilt that freighter top-to-bottom after the collision. Added parts to it from an old YT-Thirteen-hundred-pea, retooled the engines and power core, beefed up the plating and the hyperdrive, redid the entire interior, even installed a new droid brain.”
Jadak put his hand gently on Decree's upper arm. “Who bought it, Bammy?”
Decree gazed at Jadak's hand until he removed it. “A crime boss by the name of Rej Taunt.”
Jadak logged the name. “Is this Taunt still alive?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Does he still have the Envoy?”
“He renamed it Second Chance. But, no, he doesn't have it.” Decree smiled lightly. “He ran into a bit of trouble with that ship because of something I did without meaning to. You see, the computer I installed was built by the Colicoids, and it wound up activating a cargo of black-market buzz droids Rej was hauling for a Black Sun Vigo. Rej managed to jettison the droids before they could dismantle the Second Chance, but they went and attached themselves to an Imperial cruiser that was vectoring in to intercept the freighter.” He looked from Jadak to Poste and back again. “The cruiser blew to pieces, killing more than seventy-five men and a lot more stormtroopers.”
Poste whistled. “What happened to Taunt?”
Instead of answering, Decree turned to Jadak. “I didn't catch your name.”
“Jadak.”
Decree blinked in confusion. “Any relation to Tobb Jadak?”
Jadak stiffened. “You could say that.”
Decree wet his lips. “You're his son.”
“Whose son?” Poste asked.
“The son of the pilot who died in the collision,” Decree said without taking his eyes off Jadak.
“No, I'm him,” Jadak said finally.
Decree went white. “But … but that can't be.”
“I survived the crash.”
“You survived the crash.” Decree tried to make sense of it. “Even so—”
“I know I don't look my age.” Jadak motioned to himself. “Believe me, Bammy, underneath all this I'm older than you are. But how do you know my name?”
“From the YT's flight recorder,” Decree said when he could. “I pieced together a whole history of that ship.” He ran his hand down his face. “And now you're looking for it?”
“I am.”
Decree's eyes narrowed. “Rej would know where it ended up. I can tell you where to find him.”
“Where, Bammy?”
“Well, he was on Oovo Four for a time. Now he's in Carcel.”
“The prison?” Poste said.
Decree grinned. “He's sure not there for the waters.”
* * *
When Bammy Decree finally left the Slag Pit II three hours later, he was wobbling far more than when he had arrived. He had recounted all he had uncovered about the Stellar Envoy's checkered past, and Jadak had told him about the sixty-two years he had lost to a coma. Jadak underplayed his interest in finding the ship and dismissed the Republic Group as nothing more than a courier service. He made no mention of the Envoy being the key to locating a hidden treasure, although he knew he would have to play up that fact if he hoped to enlist Poste in the search. The kid wasn't much with a blaster or an airspeeder, but he had talents Jadak lacked, and he knew the ins and outs of modern life. More important, he was a keen observer, and a second pair of eyes would be c
rucial to steering clear of whatever parties were after him, especially now that they had made a move.
Jadak paid Bammy more than Poste imagined the information about the old ship could possibly be worth, and sent him back to the Duros Sector in a private hover limo just as Nar Shaddaa's short, global night was waning.
“You're a lot more than I bargained for,” Poste said when Jadak returned to the table.
“And you remind me of a former friend of mine,” Jadak said. “His name was Reeze, and he was my copilot when we crashed into that bulk freighter. He died here.”
Poste frowned. “Is Reeze part of the reason you're so keen on tracking down the ship?”
“Yeah, he is. But that's not the half of it.” Jadak leaned forward in a conspiratorial way. “Poste, what would you say if I told you that the Stellar Envoy is the key to finding a treasure of maybe unimaginable wealth?”
Poste regarded him over the neck of the bottle of ale. “As in you have no idea, or you can't even calculate it?”
“Both.”
Poste took a sip of brew, set the bottle down, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “First I'd ask you how you know.”
“I was told so by the folks who were paying me to pilot the YT. Reeze and I were on our way to delivering it to someone when we crashed.”
“And the YT is the key to finding this treasure?”
Jadak nodded.
“Then you don't know where the treasure is.”
“I know enough. And what I don't know the ship does.”
A look of revelation dawned on Poste's face. “Are you asking me to join you on this treasure hunt?”
“Chance of a lifetime, kid.”
Poste threw his head back and laughed. “You must be space-happy.”
Jadak snorted. “You ever been off this rock?”
“No, but—”
“I'm offering you an opportunity you don't want to pass up.”
Poste shook his head back and forth. “Jadak, sorry to have to remind you, but folks with blasters are after you. I appreciate the opportunity to see the galaxy, but I'm not interested in returning to Nar Shaddaa in a body bag.”
Jadak waved his hand. “We can handle them.”
“We can …” Poste took another pull from the bottle. “What do they want with you, anyway?”
“I figure they expect me to lead them to the treasure.”
“Maybe you could cut a deal—”
“Forget it.” Jadak downed the contents of his drink. “I'm not lying about the ship, Poste. And the only thing Nar Shaddaa has in store for you is jail time. You know it as well as I do.”
Poste crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “Even if that ship of yours isn't scrap by now, it could be on the far side of the galaxy going to rust.”
“You're not telling me anything I haven't thought through a hundred different ways. Maybe it is scrap. Maybe it got vaped during the Rebellion or swallowed whole during the war with the Yuuzhan Vong. Maybe it was dismantled for parts. If any of those possibilities turns out to be the case, then I pay you for your services as a guide to modern life and we shake hands and walk away.” He paused to let it sink in. “But if we find it …”
Now Poste leaned forward. “This is where it gets interesting, huh?”
“If we find the ship, we split down the middle everything it leads us to.”
Poste pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “And just who's going to finance this quest?”
“I have a small stash.”
“How much?”
“Close to eight thousand credits.”
Poste's eyebrows arched in surprise. “That amount could carry us for a while—depending on just where the ship ended up. I mean, if we wind up having to travel all the way to Ord Mantell or somewhere …”
“Suppose we start with Carcel and see where that leads us.”
Poste smiled. “Rej Taunt probably hasn't had a visitor in decades.”
“A LITTLE TO THE LEFT,” LESTRA OXIC TOLD THE DROID. “MAKE certain it's centered before lowering it into place.”
The loadlifter droid made a series of adjustments and slowly set the marble plinth on the floor alongside the study's large hearth. Oxic motioned for the droid to move aside and stepped back to regard the result. A slender metal rod half a meter high extended from the pedestal's square top. The rod terminated in a cup-shaped holder not much wider than Oxic's thumb and into which he placed a crystal sphere. The smallest but most costly of the items he had purchased at the auction, the star map sphere was thought to have been one of a vast assortment of similar devices housed in the Jedi Temple. Found shortly after the end of the Yuuzhan Vong War by a member of a reconstruction crew, the crystal had been smuggled offworld to a warehouse on Bilbringi. Discovered accidently by a cleaning droid, the piece was sold by unknown parties to a private collector, who ultimately put it up for auction at Hydians. In the time of the Old Republic Jedi, the sphere's map function would have been activated by a cup-shaped reader similar to the facsimile Oxic had had fabricated to serve as a holder. Now the sphere could be initiated by a small remote that had come with the piece.
Moving to the center of the study, Oxic depressed a button on the remote. Instantly the crystal sphere glowed with brilliant light that expanded nova-like to fill the entire room with tiny illuminated globes. Face uplifted and spotted with light, Oxic was revolving in place when the study's wooden doors parted and Koi Quire entered.
“Impressive,” she said, gazing at the display.
“The star systems of the Bright Jewel Oversector.” Oxic switched off the remote and looked at her.
“They're here.”
He glanced at his wrist chrono. “I shouldn't have to devote time to this. Discovery on the Colicoid case has to be completed by tomorrow. A judgment in our favor will mean a windfall for us, but success hinges on having our star witness properly prepared.”
“I can handle Cynner and the others, if you wish.”
Oxic gave it thought. “No, they need to hear from me if we're to avoid future mistakes. Send them in.”
Quire nodded and turned, leaving Oxic to pace before the bank of windows that lined the study's west-facing wall, long-fingered hands clasped behind his back and rail-thin legs propelling him a meter with each step. The view took in all of Epica City, which had grown in recent years to fill the bowl formed by the surrounding mountains. Where at one time Hydians Auction House was the city's cynosure, a number of Republic-era structures had sprung up around it, rich in period detail. The cold waters of the nearby sea created fog that obscured the city for part of the year, but Oxic's mansion was well above the fog line, beneath an azure sky even when you couldn't see your hand in front of your face down below.
The star map crystal was one of many examples of authentic Coruscant Republicana that Oxic had spent a fortune acquiring in more than twenty years of collecting. But he collected for love rather than investment. Some of his fondest memories were of the years he had spent on the galactic capital before the Clone Wars, living the high life with the Senators, dignitaries, and celebrities represented by his law firm. During the war, Oxic had frequently served as a defense lawyer for beings accused of sedition by Chancellor Palpatine and his cadre of sinister minions, all of whom Oxic had loathed.
In the long years since, the firm had dwindled in size if not importance and was largely a one-man show, though Oxic employed close to one hundred beings in various capacities. Escorted by the stunning Quire, four of them entered the room now, two—Oxic noted peripherally—still badged with bacta patches as a consequence of the mess on Nar Shaddaa.
Long accustomed to performing before juries or judges, Oxic was suddenly in a position of being both, and unhappy about it. While celebrated for his ability to synthesize information and speak with a facility envied by lawyers of many species, words failed him. Even when he swung away from the windows to glance at Quire, the woman who knew him better than anyone could only retur
n what amounted to a sympathetic shrug.
Oxic came to a halt and whirled on his employees. “Do you have any idea how much I've invested in this man?”
His anger caught him by surprise, and he regretted having led with a question. Though it hardly mattered; they got the point. That was the reason for Koi's rueful expression. She had warned against allowing the Nautolan to organize the pickup. And now all four of them were behaving just as they expected he would want them to behave, keeping their heads down, studying their hands.
“Look at me.”
They raised their heads in unison.
“He's not a criminal. He's not someone who skipped bail. Why did you feel it necessary to treat him like one?”
“We don't know any other way?” Cynner said, speaking for all of them.
Oxic stood over him, using his towering height to maximum advantage. “Is that a question or an explanation? Because if it's the latter,” he added while they were trading uncertain looks, “then I can't have you in my employ.”
“It's not that we don't know how, it's just that we didn't expect the reaction we got.”
“Which was what?”
Cynner's half a dozen head-tentacles twitched, and he gestured to the quartet's sole human. “Remata's nose. My ribs.”
“My airspeeder,” Oxic thought to point out.
Cynner nodded. “The airspeeder.”
“He knew he was being tailed,” Remata said. “And he sure reacted like someone who had jumped bail.”
“Did it occur to you to wait until he was somewhere less public than the spaceport? Somewhere with fewer cams to record your every action?”
“His reaction would have been the same,” Cynner said.
Oxic looked at Koi, and she nodded in an understated way.
Oxic loosed a long exhale and folded his arms across his narrow chest. “Next time my instructions will be more explicit.”
Their signal to leave. They rose and filed out. Koi had already moved to the bar and was preparing Oxic a drink.
“Anger will only sabotage the fine work Dr. Sompa has been doing all these years,” she said.
Oxic hurried to the mirrpanel behind the bar to inspect his face for signs of reappearing age lines. “Not all species are blessed with your natural flawlessness, Koi.”
