The Old Republic Series
Page 5
“Report,” said Watcher Three.
Ula summed up everything he had learned in as few words as possible: A ship from an unaffiliated resource-rich world in the Outer Rim had been captured by the Hutts, who were offering information about it to the highest bidder. That same ship was the object of a search by a Mandalorian, Dao Stryver. Another name, Lema Xandret, was implicated. The origins of the ship were unknown, as was its cargo, the mysterious object L’Beck had alluded to. Both were up for auction.
When he finished, the noisy line crackled and fizzed for almost half a minute before Watcher Three responded.
“Very good. This is a matter of concern to the minister. Maintain a close watch and report all developments.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
The transmission ended, and Ula sagged with relief. For all he knew, Watcher Three was a perfectly ordinary person, just another functionary like him, but there was something about that hollow voice that made him feel utterly unworthy. Bad enough that he wasn’t fully human, but worse even than that. He felt dirty, unclean, vile, for no reason at all.
Watcher Three made him feel like he did when he talked to a Sith.
His comlink buzzed again. He prepared himself again, with very different reasons to feel nervous. Whereas the last call had come through perfectly official channels from the Ministry of Intelligence, this one had a very different purpose, and bore risks of its own.
This time, when the holoprojector stirred, it revealed a perfectly clear image of a woman who still struck Ula as looking entirely too young for the role she played in Imperial administration.
“Hello, Ula. How nice to hear from you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Ula swallowed. Shullis Khamarr’s smile seemed perfectly sincere, and Ula had no reason to believe it otherwise. The current Minister of Logistics was the same age as he and shared his passionate belief that the Empire was a civilizing force to be reckoned with. They had discussed this subject at length during a shuttle flight from Dromund Kaas, the one time he had visited the Imperial capital world. He had been attending a briefing for members who hadn’t qualified to be Cipher Agents but were still considered useful to the intelligence arm; she was on her way to be promoted to lieutenant. Since then, her rise had been meteoric, while he remained essentially nowhere.
“I have something for you,” he told her. “A world ripe for annexation, discovered by the Hutts.”
“I’ve heard something about this already,” she said. “No one knows where it is, and we won’t until we pay up. Do you have anything to add, Ula?”
He deflated slightly. So he wasn’t the first to make a report. “Not yet, Minister. But I’m well placed to follow it up and hope to learn more soon.”
“That would be to the benefit of us all, Ula,” she said with another smile. “Why did you call me about it?”
“Because it’s the opportunity we’ve been waiting for,” he said, feeling his pulse thudding in his neck. This was as dangerous a territory now as it had ever been. “We don’t need fanatics to rule a galaxy. We just need proper governance and administration. Rules, laws, discipline. When you see those lunatics wreaking havoc on the worlds out here—Jedi and Sith alike—I have to ask what benefit they bring.” He used her own word deliberately. “There wouldn’t be a war at all without them stirring things up.”
“I remember this, Ula,” she said with patience that cut through him like a lightsaber. “I understand your views, but there’s nothing I can do—”
“All we need is just one world, a strong world capable of defending itself, on which the Imperial citizens could thrive without fear or oppression.”
“The world you’ve heard of belongs rightfully to the Emperor. I cannot claim it for myself.”
“But you’re the Minister of Logistics now! The entire Imperial bureaucracy is yours.”
She rebuffed him gently, as she always did. “It is the Emperor’s, as it should be. I am his instrument, and I would not betray his trust.”
“I would never ask you to do that.”
“I know, Ula. You are as loyal as I am, and you mean well, but I fear that what you ask is impossible.”
He took pains never to push their friendship too far, but he was unable to hide his disappointment. “What will it take to change your mind, Minister?”
“When you have the location of the world, talk to me again.”
He knew all too well that betraying the Republic while at the same time trying to convince a senior minister to increase the influence of ordinary people in their relations with the Sith ruling class could bring his entire world to ruin.
“Thank you, Minister,” he said. “You are kind to indulge me.”
“It’s neither kindness, Ula, nor an indulgence. You may call me anytime.”
She ended the transmission, and this time Ula didn’t sag. He already felt fully deflated, insignificant—even if Watcher Three did describe his mission of being one of significance to the Emperor himself. He felt like a grain of sand buffeted by powerful ocean currents. No matter which shore he landed upon, the waves pounded him harder than ever.
Maintain a close watch and report all developments.
That he could do. Exhausted from his day of talking, he filed a written report for Supreme Commander Stantorrs. Then he undressed and lay on his hard bed and waited for dawn.
LARIN MOXLA STOOD in the Senate Gardens, on a busy thoroughfare lined with benches. It was early evening, and the sky was full of lights. She felt uncomfortably exposed, and was struck by how used she’d become to the old districts. Only a few months had passed since she’d been drummed out of Blackstar Squad, and already the hazy sky of the upper levels looked too large, the people too refined, the droids too clean, and the buildings too new. Give her a year, she thought, and she’d be completely at one with the dregs of society.
Her feeling of alienation was only confirmed when a quartet of Senate Security officers strode by, three men—Twi’lek, Zabrak, and human—and a stocky Nikto woman. The SSOs caught sight of her and approached.
“Are you lost?” rumbled the Twi’lek. “You look like you’ve been pulled backward through a Sarlacc.”
“Twice,” the Nikto woman chittered, not unkindly.
Larin wanted to walk away. They were speaking to her soldier-to-soldier, using familiar, bantering tones, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“Thanks, guys,” she said. “I’m okay, and I won’t be here long.” She was waiting for Shigar to return from talking to Satele Shan, and this was where she had said they should meet.
“No worries,” said the human with a wink. “Just try not to frighten anyone.”
“Wait,” said the Zabrak, peering at her. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “You’re Toxic Moxla, the Kiffar who snitched on Sergeant Donbar.”
Larin felt the blood rising to her head. “That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, yeah? I’ve got a cousin in Special Forces who’d disagree,” said the Zabrak, right into her face.
She held his stare, fighting the urge to retreat, or to head-butt him—one swift, solid lunge that might cut her forehead to the bone on his horns, but would certainly lay him out cold.
But then she’d have a probable affray charge to wear afterward. The gardens were full of witnesses, fine, upstanding witnesses who didn’t sleep in an abandoned warehouse and hand-weld their clothes from castoff scrap.
“Easy, Ses,” said the Twi’lek to the Zabrak. “You’ve had one too many fizzbrews over lunch again.”
“When did you hear from your cousin, anyway?” added the Nikto woman, taking his arm and guiding him firmly away. “Last I heard, he owed you money.”
The human cast Larin an apologetic look as the trio led their drunk friend away, but not before he could call over his shoulder, “Crawl back into your hole, Toxic Moxla. We don’t want your kind up here!”
But mixed with her outrage was a feeling of deep shame. Yes, she had snitched on her commanding officer. Yes, she was playacting at being a soldier in a poorly made costume. But neither came lightly to her. She had her reasons.
Larin turned to face the distant Jedi Temple. Abandoned in ruins and sealed off ever since the sacking of Coruscant, it was an ominous, shadowy presence against the lights of the skylanes and skyscrapers. Like fate, ever-present.
SHIGAR WAITED FOR five minutes before his Master appeared as though out of nowhere, right by his side. He never heard her coming, but had learned at least not to be as startled as in the early days of his apprenticeship. That, he assumed, was the heart of this particular lesson: some things could never be anticipated, but he could control the way he reacted to them.
They stood together for a moment in the empty cloisters, staring up at the looming, silver cylinder that was the Galactic Justice Center. Its lights burned brightly, and never flickered once.
“You’ve put something in motion, Shigar,” she said.
“Do you see this in the future, Master?” The foresight of Grand Master Satele Shan was legendary, and never wrong.
She shook her head. “Not this time. I received this a moment ago from Supreme Commander Stantorrs.”
She passed Shigar a datapad, and he read the packet of information displayed there twice. It contained everything uncovered about Dao Stryver, Lema Xandret, and the Cinzia in the previous hours. Someone had been busy, he thought.
“The Hutts certainly recognize an opportunity when they see one,” he said, wrapping the new data around everything he had already gleaned about the Mandalorian, the Black Sun, and the attack on Larin Moxla.
“The Cinzia gives Tassaa Bareesh two plays for the price of one,” his Master said. “To the administrations of the Republic and the Empire, the primary concern is the ship’s origin. Where it came from matters much more than its purpose or what it contained. We all know that the Republic is desperate for resources, and any new world will aid its cause. It goes without saying that Supreme Commander Stantorrs will pursue this matter further, on that ground alone.
“From the point of view of the Jedi Council, however, the situation is precisely reversed. The Hutts are auctioning more than just information: there’s the cargo of the ship to consider, too. The object they’re selling presumably has some recognizable value, but as yet we do not know what it is. It could be anything. We can’t ignore the possibility that they have stumbled upon something critical to the Jedi Order—an artifact, perhaps, or a weapon. Many are spoken of in ancient records but are yet unaccounted for; just one might make a difference in the war against the Emperor.”
“It could be a Sith artifact,” he said, knowing full well that the forces of the enemy had their own arsenals, as ancient as the Jedi Order’s.
“That’s also a possibility. We must, therefore, do everything in our power to ensure that this thing the Hutts have—whatever it is—does not fall into the wrong hands.”
“It’s already in the wrong hands,” he said.
“That’s true, but Tassaa Bareesh only recognizes one side: her own. I have no fears of her using this find directly against us. Still, we need to know more about it, and soon. That’s where you come in, Shigar.”
Shigar studied his Master’s face. He had felt that the conversation was more than idle chat, but he hadn’t expected an active role in the situation.
“I will do anything you wish, Master.”
“You will go to the court of Tassaa Bareesh and uncover everything you can about the Cinzia and its contents. You’re to travel incognito in order to minimize our apparent interest in the sale. You will report what you find to me directly, and I will decide what to do with that information. You will leave this evening.”
Her voice was brisk and matter-of-fact, belying the significance of her words. This was a major assignment, cutting through the thick of a complex political knot. Were he to fail, it would reflect badly on the Jedi Order, and perhaps hinder the entire war effort. The responsibility was considerable.
Coming so soon after his disappointment of that morning, however, it was impossible to silence a nagging, doubtful voice.
“Are you sure I’m the right choice?” he asked, dragging the words out as though they were made of lead. “After all, the Council believes me unfit for the trials. There must be someone else better qualified who can do this for you.”
“Are you telling me you don’t want to go, Shigar? That you’re not ready?”
He bowed his head to hide his mingled pride and uncertainty. “I trust your judgment, Master, better than my own.”
“Good, because I believe my reasoning is sound. Your face is unknown on Hutta; you will therefore find it easier to pass unnoticed. And I have faith in you. Remember that. I am certain that this is the path laid down for you.”
“So you have seen something!”
He tried to read her expression in the flickering lights of the city. She could have been amused, concerned, or completely blank. It was hard to tell. Perhaps all three.
He swore to himself that he would make her proud. “What about the situation here—the gangs, the poverty?”
“That’s the responsibility of the local authorities,” she said, fixing him with a firm stare. “They are doing their best.”
He heard the warning in her voice. The Jedi’s role in the galaxy led them outward, to Tython; he had been told many times before that the Republic’s many social problems should not be his, even if this time Mandalorians were involved. Until Mandalore declared himself a particular enemy of someone, he could be considered more or less neutral. “Yes, Master.”
“Go now. There’s a shuttle waiting for you.”
Shigar bowed and went to walk away.
“Be kind, Shigar,” his Master added. “Some roads are harder than yours have been.”
When he turned back, Satele Shan was gone, vanished into the night as though she had never been there at all.
WITH RELIEF, LARIN saw Shigar striding along the thoroughfare toward her. He had been gone less than half an hour, but it felt much longer than that. After the encounter with the Senate Security Officers, she had spoken to no one and avoided catching anyone’s eyes, feeling more out of place than ever. When he returned, she promised herself, and when he had finished assuring her that he had spoken to his Master about the situation down below and she would do something about it, Larin could vanish back down her hole again, just as the Zabrak had advised her to.
It wasn’t that she thought the Zabrak was right. On the contrary. She just didn’t know where to fit in anymore, up here. At least she had something to do in the old districts. Ever since her discharge, she had committed herself to protecting the weak and disenfranchised, those whom even the justicars ignored, to the extent her meager resources allowed. Unlike the justicars, she was interested in something more important than territory, and if that meant working alone, so be it.
“How did it go?” she asked Shigar when he reached her.
“Well. I think.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell what troubled him, but he didn’t seem remotely content. His brow was knuckled, and the blue chevrons on his cheeks were twisted out of shape by the clenched muscles beneath. Perhaps the reassurance she’d been hoping for wasn’t coming after all.
“I have to go somewhere,” he said. “Will you walk with me, part of the way?”
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“Eastport.”
“I thought you only just got to Coruscant.”
“That’s right.” He glanced at her, as though surprised that she had remembered. “I’ve been traveling all my life—since Master Satele took me on, anyway.”
They walked at an
easy pace through the temperate night. A light breeze ran its fingers through her short hair, and she was reminded of one good thing about life topside: weather. The last time anything had rained on her was when a sewage line had burst two levels up.
“I haven’t seen another Kiffar for years,” she said to break the silence. “Were you on Kiffu during the Annexation?”
“No. Master Tengrove, the Jedi Watchman of that sector, found me the year before. I was on Dantooine when it happened, helping my Master dig through some ruins.”
“Find anything interesting?”
“I don’t remember.” He glanced at her again. “What about you? The Annexation, I mean.”
“I was there, although I don’t remember it clearly. I was too young. My parents slipped me into a shuttle and got me offworld before the worst of it hit. The shuttle took me to Abregado-rae, where a host family adopted me. They had taken on a lot of kids after the Treaty of Coruscant, but there was always space for another. It was a madhouse.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“They died in prison on Kiffex.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be. It’s just more ancient history. What about yours?”
“Dead, too—from a vacuum seal accident on a Fresian shuttle, though, nothing to do with the Annexation.”
They walked in silence for a while again, he looking fixedly ahead and she down at her booted feet. She felt the usual mixture of relief and sorrow whenever the matter of her parents’ sacrifice came up. She hadn’t known it at the time, but she had worked out later how much her narrow escape had cost them. With Imperial warships crowding their home planet, they must have bribed an Imperial gunner to overlook an escaping shuttle, plus the shuttle pilot and who knew how many spaceport guards? They had given up everything, just to save her.
And how had she repaid them?
“I have to go to Hutta,” he finally said.
“Why?”