by Jeff Grubb
After that first evening, Lieutenant Commander Angela Krin met privately with Mander, and the Jedi soon came to understand her position. She had the responsibility to maintain the quarantine but could not deal with matters onplanet, Endregaad not being an official world of the Corporate Sector. So they were in orbit as people suffered and died below, charged by a distant bureaucracy with keeping others away. What help they could provide was advisory only, and any personnel were under the control of a now-collapsed government.
“The spice you brought was both welcome help and a can of worms,” she said, over dinner. “On the one hand, we desperately needed the medicines, but on the other I don’t have specific permission to use them.”
“Surely even the CSA can see the wisdom that such an opportunity presents—having the medicine, if from an unexpected source,” said Mander.
“You would think so,” said Angela Krin, moving her meat around in its gravy idly. “But in reality, the wheels of bureaucracy spin slowly but fine. The supply officer tasked with delivering the CSA-authorized medicine from Duroon blew a gasket when I sent him word that yours had arrived. He had been assuring me that there was not enough medicinal spice at hand to cover a planetary emergency, and he needed approvals to access the surplus stock.” She shook her head. “And this was while one in ten people on Endregaad were dying.”
“I hope that our contribution can have some effect,” said Mander.
Krin popped a morsel into her mouth, “It already does, though not the way you’d expect. As a result of your shipment, suddenly the floodgates have swung wide and sufficient amounts of medicine should be arriving by week’s end. In military terms, you gave them a good hard kick in the pants.”
“Have you distributed the spice we brought?” asked Mander.
Angela Krin’s face darkened slightly. “They are still checking it over. It is a standard issue, broadband soporific with strong antibacterial and antivirus properties. But it is very high-grade. Any idea where it came from originally?”
“You would have to ask Popara,” said Mander.
“I don’t think we’re his favorite people,” said Krin.
“This part of space is filled with species and factions that have been competing for millennia,” said Mander. “Trust is a hard coin to find.”
“There’s that,” said Krin, “but there’s also the fact that the Hutts were not particularly supportive and encouraging before you came along. The missives we got were as high-handed as you would expect from a Hutt, filled with demands and insults. And then, when we didn’t produce immediate results, they got nastier.”
“Popara sent these? Or did you talk to a green female named Vago?”
“Neither,” said the lieutenant commander. “It was a big lumpish blue one. Zonnos, I think his name was.”
“That would be Mika’s brother,” said Mander. “I’ve met him. A soft touch is not what he is noted for. That’s one reason they brought in a Jedi.”
Later, in the New Ambition, Mander related the events of the dinner to the others over a mug of Karlini tea. The Bothan was checking over the parts list against the schematic, while Reen debugged the latest software install.
“Do you think Zonnos is just an oaf, or is he trying to get his brother killed?” asked the Bothan.
“I don’t know,” Mander said. “It could be both. He certainly gave me a wink and a nod that Mika’s safety was not a priority for him. And if his younger sibling doesn’t come home, then that leaves more of the family business for him.”
“What I find curious,” said Reen, swiveling in her chair away from her station, “is the amount of time you spend with this commander. Doesn’t she have a planet to protect?”
“She does, and it is obvious that it troubles her,” said Mander. “She’s by-the-book, I’ll give you that. But she’s also smart enough to see that the book doesn’t cover every situation, even though she keeps trying to make it do so. The CSA is a large bureaucracy, and it takes a long time to turn large things and head them in the right direction.”
“Are you talking about the CSA or Popara the Hutt?” asked the Bothan.
“Both, perhaps,” said Mander, staring into his mug at the dregs of his tea. “I don’t need the Force to feel her frustration. But all the same, I want to be off from here as soon as possible. How are the repairs?”
The Bothan smiled broadly. “Every time you have dinner, we get a delivery of more supplies that they just ‘happened’ to find. I think we’ll be ready by tomorrow. Local midnight or so.”
“Good,” said Mander. “I hope that I can convince her to let us land.”
“It is out of the question,” said Krin the next evening. She was in dress uniform, and her hair was in a tighter bun than normal, not a hair out of place. Mander for a moment thought it was for him, but he soon discovered that she’d been on the transceiver, reporting to her superiors about the quarantine, and in particular dealing with the complaints of a local bureaucrat from Duroon. Her eyes were a little haggard, but her jaw was firm and set as she shook her head.
“You will have to distribute the medicine soon,” said Mander. “Even the CSA bureaucracy can’t hold it up that long. Let me volunteer the ship as a shuttle for supplies and medical personnel.”
“I’d like to, but no,” said the commander. “We have sufficient shuttles—or will when the remaining supplies get here. It is one thing to redirect scrap durasteel for a private freighter that did me a favor. It is another to countermand direct orders. And that’s what I have: a direct order to chase down anyone who tries to break quarantine, going in or coming out.”
“With what support you have,” said Mander.
“With what support I have,” she said, handing him a glass of emerald wine and offering a toast with hers. “May you have a safe and uneventful return home.”
“May we all have safe and uneventful trips,” replied Mander.
When Mander Zuma returned to the New Ambition, Eddey had already finished the preflight check and Reen had reinstalled the navicomputer. The Bothan looked up and said, “Did you work that Jedi charm? Are we going down to look for the Huttling?”
“Take us out. Here’s the flight plan,” said Mander, handing over a datapad.
Eddey looked almost crestfallen, “We’re leaving, then.”
“You see it there, clear as day,” Mander replied, sighing. “Apparently our lieutenant commander spent most of the day dealing with very officious types, and was not in the mood to waive a few rules. Head over the pole of Endregaad, and make for the sector where we met the Bomu raiders.”
Eddey growled and closed the hatches, securing the last piece of equipment as the deck officers cleared and evacuated the bay. Reen fell into one of the crash chairs while Mander settled himself in. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I did tell you these CSA types were stiff-necked.” Mander said nothing, just leaned forward in his seat, lacing his fingers.
The force shield holding back space flickered out and the New Ambition left the Resolute, banking slightly to take the polar route Mander had plotted and filed. The planet cast the Dreadnought in deep shadow, and beneath the Resolute the city of Tel Bollin was a muddle of indistinct lights. As they rose over the white-tan polar deserts of the world, a false dawn of the system’s sun greeted them.
They had passed over the polar terminator when Mander finally took a deep breath and said, “Right—we’re going in. We’re making landfall.”
Eddey almost jumped in his seat, then allowed himself a toothy smile and started reconfiguring the thrusters. Reen looked surprised and said, “Should I get to the turbocannons?”
“Not yet,” said Mander. “For the moment, keep an eye on the sensors. I’m sure Lieutenant Commander Krin isn’t foolish enough to pull off her patrols just on my declaration that we were going away.”
“You lied,” said Reen. “I didn’t know Jedi did that.”
“I’d prefer to think of it as dissembling, or shading, or at most mangling the t
ruth,” said Mander. “But yes, when push comes to shove, Jedi are allowed to lie. Don’t tell anyone. It would just ruin our reputations.” And he allowed himself a smile almost as wide as the Bothan’s.
They fell into the sunlit side of the world, and the fire-wisps of reentry curled around the cockpit.
“They’re on to us,” said Reen as a pair of blips appeared at the corner of the scanner. “Two IRDs, matching course. Contact in about ten minutes.”
“Faster than I thought. She’s good, I’ll give her that,” said Eddey Be’ray.
“Textbook approach,” said Mander. “Standard operating procedure. Bring the ship down shallow, and bank her to the left. We want to come back around the planet to Tel Bollin before the sun rises there.”
“Steeper would have a better chance to lose them,” said the Bothan.
“I know, but we don’t want to lose them just yet,” said Mander.
Visual contact came nine minutes later—a pair of IRDs similar to the ones that had blown up the Bomu raider. The transceiver crackled, and a voice that sounded very much like Flight Officer Lockerbee snarled, “Attention, New Ambition. You are in violation of interdicted space. Pull up and return to the Resolute, or we will be forced to open fire.”
Reen pulled the microphone toward her, but Mander pulled it out of her hands. “Attention IRDs. We are experiencing difficulties. Our repairs did not hold. We are losing altitude and will have to ditch. Systems are fail—” He stopped midword, and returned the transceiver to the cradle. “If they call back, don’t answer.”
“You’re doing horrible things to your Jedi reputation,” said the Bothan.
A pair of ionic blasts bracketed the craft.
“That’s one,” said Mander. “Regulations say they have to try twice more, since we are apparently in distress.” They were deep inside the atmosphere now, and the Jedi scanned the horizon, looking for one particular feature. “There,” he said, pounding Eddey on the shoulder and pointing to the east.
“Dust storm,” said Reen. “Pull up to get over it.”
“No—” said Mander, “head into it.”
“It will play hobs with the navigation,” said the Bothan. “And I just cleaned everything out.”
“Exactly,” said Mander, and another pair of blaster bolts streaked past the cockpit. “That’s two. They won’t wait as long to fire the third … and then all bets are off.”
Mander held his breath as the wall of sand and dirt, visible from orbit—carried from one side of the world to the other—approached and then towered over them. It filled the observation scanners, panning across them. There was a third blast of ionic fire now, but Mander didn’t even pay attention to it. Another couple of seconds and—
They were inside the cloud, the dust screeching against the hull. Eddey cursed, more for the damage done to the finish than any real effect on the ship’s structure. Around them the storm licked at the engines and coated the flight surfaces. The sky lightened and a string of bolts laced around them, but none of them hit.
“They’re on instruments now,” said Mander. “Can you manage?”
“I’ve got my own scanners up, but we’re awfully low,” said the Bothan.
A dark shadow passed by the ship, then another, and a third. “Those are rock formations!” shouted Reen. “We’re too low. Pull us up!”
“Not for another minute,” said Mander. The Bothan did not reply, though he clutched the steering yoke in a death grip.
Another set of bolts, but these were wide and faint. Then the sand started to diminish, and they were clear of the leading edge of the storm.
And there was a mesa wall dead ahead of them.
Cursing, Eddey pulled back on the stick, pitching the ship almost perpendicular. They cleared, but as they topped the rise, the IRDs caught sight of them again. They closed, their forward-facing guns blazing. One of the IRDs smoked along the side as a concussion missile fired.
“They’re going to catch us,” said Eddey. “Sorry.”
“Ten more seconds,” said Mander. “Gun it.”
The New Ambition screamed as it lunged forward. The concussion missile was fast, but the chunky Suwantek’s engines were more powerful, and it fell away behind them. The two IRDs could have redoubled their own speed, but instead they pulled up almost vertically, heading for space.
The three in the cockpit let out a long sigh, and Eddey tried to bank the sand-clogged engines. “What happened?” asked Reen.
“Standard operating procedure,” said Mander. “The IRDs have air-breathing capacities, but maintenance rules say they can only spend so long in a planetary envelope.
Failure to do so would result in a notation on their personal record.”
Reen looked at the Jedi and said, “You said you were reading their manuals … you knew that was there.”
“I knew something was there that we could use,” said Mander. “Even so, I think we’ll need to keep a low profile once we get to Tel Bollin. Eddey, if you can find some dry wash close enough to the city that we can reach it by cargo skiff, but beyond their normal scanners, I would be much obliged.”
“Done,” said the Bothan. “And let me be the first to welcome you to scenic Endregaad. After this landing, everything else that happens will be smooth sailing.”
CHAPTER
SIX
TEL BOLLIN
They left the New Ambition a short distance from Tel Bollin. Mander set some security monitors along the perimeter of the camp while Reen and the Bothan unfurled long strands of red-tan camouflage netting and draped the ship in it. It wouldn’t stop a determined searcher, but the odd passerby or aerial patrol would not give it a second look. Then the pair readied the Ubrikkian Bantha III from the cargo hold. The Bantha III was a lightweight repulsorlift skiff that could carry them and a young Hutt, if need be. It had the smooth lines common to most of the Ubrikkian pleasure craft products, and it did not surprise Mander that Popara had put one in the ship’s hold.
Mander watched the Bothan and Pantoran working together quickly and efficiently. There was a minimum of words between them, yet one would have a tool ready when the other needed it. They seemed to fit naturally into the world, as if assembling a cargo skiff on a plague-ridden planet while hiding from the Corporate Sector Authority were the stuff of everyday life.
It was never like that with Toro, Mander thought. From the start the young Pantoran was hidden from him—not particularly secretive, but not open, either. The young man was so intent on becoming a Jedi—so driven to live up to the image from the holofilms and the legends—that he found the older archivist, with his magnaspecs and dusty old records, to be a bit of a disappointment. He said nothing at the time, but to Mander the young man was clearly crestfallen when they first met, expecting something more heroic.
And the disappointment remained even after their first sparring session, when the youth rushed at him and Mander dispatched him easily. The older Jedi sidestepped every charge, blocked every attack, and met the young Pantoran’s passionate fury with a calm response. But it did little to remove that doubt. Now in the young student’s eyes Mander Zuma was a mystery to be solved, a puzzle to be unlocked. The older man held secrets that belied his unassuming appearance, and Toro wanted to learn them. Indeed, how could an unassuming person such as Mander Zuma defeat a dedicated opponent, if not by Jedi magic?
For his part, that first mock duel was equally troubling to Mander. Yes, he had beaten the youth calmly and handily, but wasn’t that what was expected of a Master? And even then he could feel the Force within the youth, impatient though he seemed. It was clear that with the proper training, Toro Irana could be a powerful Jedi.
The proper training. Mander shook his head. Perhaps that was Mander’s ultimate failure. He had calmed the fury of the youth, but had never taught him to master it. Toro was always challenging, both in training and in philosophy. He was always questioning, always pushing, always looking for a weak spot. The ability to see a weakness in a plan or a
n opponent was invaluable as a Jedi, yet Toro would always go for that weak spot immediately, often ignoring caution.
Was that what led his former student to Tempest? Perhaps he was looking for something even more powerful to master than the philosophies of his teacher. He wanted to prove himself better. He wanted one more advantage on others. It was a common enough road to destruction, and Mander had read enough tales in the Archives to know that it was a tempting trap.
Mander set the last of the perimeter monitors and watched the sky, a dusty inverted bowl lightening only slightly with the dawn, the ruddy brown stain of the sky darkening with pollution in the direction of Tel Bollin. The cloud cover would keep them safe from most observers above the atmosphere, but a determined scan would punch through the clouds and find their ship with little problem. The question, he thought, was how determined any search would be. The lieutenant commander was headstrong enough to pursue them, even if it meant breaking a few directives of the CSA—directives that Mander had found in his own research. And while her obvious intelligence made Mander feel that she was aware of those directives, he hoped that her dedication would keep her from violating them too blatantly.
While he was in thought, Reen had come up with a bundle of cloth. “Here,” she said. “Put this on.”
Mander unraveled a poncho-like cloak. “It’s a zerape,” she explained. “Local coloring out here in the Outer Rim worlds. Even if Krin is too busy to scan for us, she probably has told people what to look out for.”
“We are a Jedi, a Bothan, and a Pantoran,” said Mander. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to blend in with the local population too much.” Still, he took the garment and shed his outer robe. The zerape was little more than a blanket with a neck-hole, but it fit well enough, and left his arms free.
“I don’t know—it’s not like you’re what I expected from a Jedi,” said Reen.
Mander started. Her words mirrored his own dark thoughts. “You’ve met other Jedi?” he asked. “Other than your brother, I mean.”
