by Laurie Burns
Just when Kella was sure the leader of the Indu San system was going to vote “no” to an alliance with the New Republic, he went and blew up instead.
Literally.
Sheer surprise momentarily froze her in place as security sirens began to blare and a cloud of hover-cams whirred overhead, resembling a flock of electronic birds as they converged on the smoking ruin. Then her news sense snapped back as the media gallery erupted and reporters scrambled to get to the Council Chamber below, where what remained of Shek Baravel was sprawled against his chair. Pandemonium prevailed as hover-cams circled overhead, recording every grisly detail.
Surveying the chaotic scene, Kella tried to suppress an unbecoming thrill of satisfaction. She’d been with the Galactic News Network long enough to know that murder was almost always more interesting than politics, and while an assassination wasn’t the story she’d set out to cover, it would certainly do.
Though for the sake of her audience’s sensitivities, she’d try not to look like she enjoyed it too much.
She’d been on Indu San two weeks, yawning through the endless speeches and diplomatic wrangling leading up to today’s big vote. All eyes had been on Barayel, for though the entire Indu Council voted, theirs was merely an advisory role. The chief councilor, like the Imperial governor he’d replaced, was the one whose word was ultimately law.
The problem was, no one knew where he stood on this alliance issue. Though most of the council seemed to support it, he’d been maddeningly reticent through the diplomatic talks, hadn’t taken the floor at all during the council debates, and had curtly declared “no comment” when questioned by reporters. The New Republic ambassador, Dictio L’varren, seemed to take it in stride like the seasoned negotiator he was, but for the media, the story so far was a crashing bore.
Barayel’s actions had all the characteristics of another Outer Rim system poised to decline an invitation to join the New Republic. Not that newsworthy — neutrality and a healthy respect for the Imperials still active in the sector were much too common for reporters to get excited about.
But throw in a little murder and mayhem, and newsnets across the galaxy would be snapping the story up.
Digging out her comlink, Kella keyed in the frequency for the local GNN bureau and fairly leapt on Bureau Chief Robbe Nostler when he answered.
“Hold the newsdroid!” she told him, shouting to make herself heard over the uproar echoing through the stone Council Chamber. “We’ve got a hot one! Barayel’s just been assassinated!”
“What?” Nostler asked. “When?”
“Assassinated. At the Council Hall. Just now!” she said. “Turn on the holovid and take a look — the local stations should be carrying it.” Holding the comlink to her ear, she heard the noise magnified on the other end as Nostler turned on the bureau’s holovid and caught a live report transmitted by one of the in-system stations.
The story would have instantly hit all of the planetwide newscasts, but galactic reporters like her had to wait for their newsnets’ courier droid to drop into the system, upload the local bureau’s reports, then zip back into hyperspace to carry them further down the line for dissemination galaxy-wide. Fleetingly she envied the ease and immediacy with which reporters in the past had filed their stories on the HoloNet, but it was long gone and now only the couriers with their dratted timelags remained.
“That looks hot all right,” Nostler said after watching the holovid a moment. “Can you confirm if Barayel’s really dead?”
“Oh yeah, he’s dead,” Kella assured him, grimacing at the sight below. “Darn messy way to go, too.” Watching a dazed counselor get cornered by a reporter wielding a recording rod, she was reminded of the business at hand. “So hey,” she demanded. “When does the courier show up? I don’t want to get scooped on this.”
“It’ll be tight,” Nostler warned. “Newsdroid’s due in later tonight, but so is TriNebulon News’. First in the system, first out with the story, Kell.”
She scowled. There was no way she was going to get scooped by TriNeb — that sleazy excuse for a newsnet — just because its courier showed up first. With its slant towards the sensational, TriNeb’s reporters could make even the dullest debate sound interesting, if not quite accurate. She hated to think how they’d blow this whole thing up. She told him so, adding, “You keep an eye on the local reports, and I’ll follow things down here. Call me if you hear anything good.”
“Right,” Nostler said, and signed off, but Kella wasn’t listening. Below, a squad of Council Authority officers had arrived and were attempting to restore some sort of order to the chaos. Blasters drawn and bellowing orders, they cleared a path to the late chief councilor, herding his horrified colleagues to the sides of the chamber and forcing back the pack of overeager reporters as well.
But what caught her attention was the sight of a man slipping out a small door on the far side of the chamber, followed by one of the blue-uniformed officers. Recognizing Tev Aden, she raised an eyebrow, wondering what the authorities wanted with Ambassador L’varren’s aide.
Scanning the crowded chamber below, she found the New Republic diplomat huddled in conversation with several Indu councilors, clearly too involved to have noticed Aden’s departure, or be aware he was apparently being detained. Indeed, between the shouting of the authorities, the anxious babble of the councilors, and the gruesome spectacle at the head table that kept them all riveted, no one at all seemed to have noticed the two men slipping out. From her spot in the media gallery, Kella had the best view in the room, and her nose for news whispered that it just might be worth investigating.
Taking the gallery stairs two at a time, she activated the beckon call for her hover-cam. A transponder in the comlink would tell the hover-cam where to find her, and she hoped it would hurry. Downstairs, word of the assassination was making its way through the government building and council aides, functionaries and bureaucrats clogged the corridor trying to get in the chamber so they could see their slain leader.
More authorities arrived, adding to the confusion. Kella weaved through the crush, trying to reach the side corridor where Aden had disappeared. Traffic thinned considerably when she reached the corner, and she paused to glance back for her hover-cam, relieved to see it emerge through the main chamber door and float towards her above the sea of bobbing heads.
She headed briskly down the hall with the hover-cam whirring at her shoulder, but as she approached the door Aden had slipped out of, it swung open and a burly Authority Officer with a short haircut and an even curter disposition stepped out and blocked her way.
“This section’s being sealed,” he said, ignoring the bright yellow media badge clearly visible on the front of her vest. “I’ve got orders to clear the hall.”
“Kella Rand, Galactic News Network,” she said, tapping the badge anyway and glancing impatiently past him down the corridor. Another 15 meters away, it intersected with another hall, from which there was an exit leading to the hall’s south portico and the city streets beyond. “I’ve got media clearance, and I need to get through.”
“Well, consider your frippin’ clearance revoked,” he retorted. “I told you, this section’s being sealed. So move along, or I’ll have you removed.”
Kella’s eyes narrowed. This kind of hassle she didn’t need. But following Aden was just a hunch. Maybe she’d do better to worm her way back into the Council Chamber to watch them sweep up what was left of Barayel — get some on-the-scene reaction, maybe talk to L’varren. On the other hand —
Undecided, she and the guard were still glaring at each other when the distinctive retort of a blaster shot echoed from around the corner.
They look
ed toward it, back at each other. “Stay here,” the Authority ordered, drawing his blaster and heading for the corner. He eased an eye around the stone edge, then hurried on.
Kella followed, hover-cam whirring behind.
The corridor they turned into was empty except for several closed doors, but there was another intersection 25 meters down. She trotted after the guard, followed him around the next corner —
And came to an abrupt halt. She’d found Aden, but it didn’t look like L’varren’s aide would be up to an interview anytime soon.
At least his death had been neater than Barayel’s. He lay sprawled on the floor, the charred hole in his chest evidence of the blaster shot that killed him. The officer she’d seen follow him out of the Council Chamber knelt at his side while the burly one gave her a hard look and slowly lowered his blaster.
“I told him to stop, but he just kept going,” the Authority kneeling by Aden said, staring down at the body with a furrowed brow. “He just ignored me, acted like he didn’t hear. Then he turned around sudden-like, went for his pocket …” He shook his head, voice trailing off. “I didn’t think I had a choice, y’know?”
“Just sit tight, Darme, we’ll get this cleared up,” the other officer said, pulling out his comlink and calling for backup.
Kella took advantage of the momentary distraction. “Hadn’t you already checked him for weapons?” she asked.
Darme glanced up as if noticing her for the first time, gaze sharpening as he took in her media badge and the hover-cam recording the scene. “No,” he said. “How could I? I never got close enough.”
“I had the impression he was under detention when you left the Council Chamber,” she persisted. “That wasn’t the case?”
He stared at her, a hint of wariness creeping into his eyes. “No. I saw him leave, and followed. We had orders to seal this section, and that meant clearing out anyone wandering around back here. All I wanted was to catch him and tell him to leave.”
Kella opened her mouth but, done with his call, the other Authority stepped forward and brusquely cut her off. “You, be quiet. No more questions.” Holstering his blaster, he squatted down on the other side of the dead aide. “Let’s take a look at what he has in there.”
Avoiding the charred spot, he carefully ran his hands down Aden’s front and patted his tunic pockets, then slipped a hand into one and pulled out a small, flat device. Holding it up, he turned it over in his hand thoughtfully.
Kella craned her neck to see what it was, then remembered the hover-cam humming over her shoulder. “Close-up,” she told it, and a green light on its front panel flashed, indicating acknowledgement. At the sound of her voice, both men looked up again.
“Turn that burnin’ thing off,” the burly one ordered with yet another glare, but he promptly forgot her as a squad of booted feet thundered around the corner and he rose to consult with its commander.
Moving aside, she flattened herself against the stone wall in hopes of not being noticed. Already, with the discovery of what appeared to be a detonator in Aden’s pocket, she’d found an angle none of the other newsnets had. And as the only reporter on the scene, if she stayed quiet and inconspicuous, she might get still more vidclips of the action as it unfolded.
But no such luck. As several of the new arrivals ringed Aden and a few more took up positions at each end of the corridor, their commander turned away from the burly officer and bore down on her. Cool eyes flicked to the hover-cam still humming beside her and he ordered, “Cease recording, and clear the area immediately. This section is being sealed.”
Kella tried, though she knew it was probably useless. “Kella Rand, Galactic News Network. I’ve got media clearance for the entire Council building.”
“I don’t care if you’re the late Emperor himself,” the man snapped. “Media access has been revoked. You and the rest of you newsfleas can get the down-and-dirty later, at the media conference. So get moving, or I’ll have you arrested. Then you won’t be able to even go to the conference, now will you?”
She opened her mouth to protest, shut it again as he beckoned to the near guard. “Okay, okay, I’m going,” she said, quickly stepping away from the wall and moving away from the group gathered around Aden’s body. She hated backing down, but she could hardly file her report from the local lock-up. And it might be hours before GNN authorized funds for her bail — if the Indu legal system even allowed prisoners to post bail. She’d found out the hard way that some didn’t.
Half expecting to be hauled around and escorted from the building, she headed back down the corridor towards the Council Chamber. She’d go, but she wasn’t through. There were still sources to contact, leads to follow, facts to confirm, and a media conference to crash.
Kella lengthened her stride, prepared to barge past the guard at the chamber entrance. She’d have to hustle to get it all done before deadline.
The setting sun was casting a spectacular golden-red glow over the city’s streets by the time Kella finally trudged up the steps to the Indu GNN bureau. Rustling through her datatote, she dug out her GNN identi-credcard and slid it into the slot on the door.
The scene that greeted her was in sharp contrast to the media circus she’d just left. Two reporters sat at desks, Juloff reading a datapad and Crislyn typing at her terminal, while over in the corner Nostler had both feet up and was scratching his chin as he watched a holo rising from the pad on his desk. The only sounds were the comm scanner spitting out occasional snatches of City Authority chatter, and the muted music accompanying the report that had Nostler engrossed. He looked up as she came in.
“Hey, Kella. Thought maybe you’d gotten lost,” he greeted her.
“No, just stuck,” she said, looking around for an empty chair. Nostler pointed to a desk opposite his own, and she slid gratefully into its seat. “You wouldn’t believe the crush at the conference — every two-bit station in the system must have sent someone.
“Not that it was all that exciting,” she added. “The Authorities gave us a statement, answered about four questions, and walked out.” She shrugged — what’s new? — then asked, “So. how long do I have?”
“Deadline’s at 2200, the droid’ll arrive sometime after that.” Nostler said. “Have your piece ready to go by then, and I’ll give you the newsbank access code so you can transmit any updates direct, right on down to the wire.”
“Okay,” She was silent a moment, considering. Roughly three hours to dig up anything more, then her story would have to stand until she could update it with the next scheduled courier droid in four days. Although, with the apparent political scandal brewing, GNN might consider the story hot enough to send a special courier to collect an update sooner —
Nostler interrupted her train of thought. “I hear the assassination’s getting pinned on the New Republic,” he said.
She looked back up. “Yeah, so it seems. The Indus haven’t actually come out and accused them, but everyone’s pretty much thinking it.”
“Based on what?”
“Nothing conclusive, but it’s probably enough,” she said. “Almost certainly enough to nix any possibility of an alliance. It’ll take a few days for the investigators to figure out exactly how the explosion occurred, but the Council’s already announced its intention to elect a new chief and rush ahead with another vote tomorrow. Sounds like they’ve made their minds up to me.”
“What does the New Republic have to say about all this?” Nostler asked. “You ought to be able to get the inside story since you know L’varren so well.”
“Not that well,” she said, for what felt like the hundredth time since that incident on Corellia last year. Would she ever live it down? “He’s shocked, appalled, horrified — about what you’d expect when your aide’s suspected of blowing up the system’s leader.”
“Uh huh,” Nostler said. “Any chance he didn’t?”
“The Authorities don’t seem to think so. That detonator thing makes Aden look real bad, and L’varr
en didn’t help by claiming diplomatic immunity to keep the rest of his people from being dragged down to the Hall and questioned.”
“What do you think?” he asked.
Kella hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “The circumstantial evidence certainly points to Aden, and if they have any other suspects, they’re not telling us. But on the other hand, what’s the point? Why would the New Republic want to knock off Barayel?”
“Maybe he was going to vote no,” Nostler suggested.
“Yeah, but getting rid of him only means they start over with someone new who might also vote no,” she said. “And it’s a good bet this whole mess has soured the Indus on the idea of an alliance, anyway. Unless the New Republic plans to storm in and take over, all it really accomplished is to virtually assure that Indu San will end up staying neutral until the war is over.
“And,” she added. “You might find this interesting. Some Indus are even taking it in the opposite direction. I talked to a lobbyist for a business consortium who basically wants to kick the New Republic out of the system and invite the Empire back.”
Nostler nodded, unsurprised. “The Empire wasn’t all that unpopular here, at least not with some of the people in power,” he explained. “Sure, the resistance groups were glad to see them go, but there’s also a lot of people who made a lot of credits from the Imperials, and they don’t want to give that up.
“Unless,” he added, “the New Republic wants to work out the same sort of kickbacks the Imperial governor offered to keep them fat, happy, and loyal …” He shook his head. “No. Probably not.”
“Well, it’s beside the point now,” Kella said. “Looks like they’re going to sit the fence like everyone else.”
“Can you blame them?”
“Not really,” she conceded. “With all the skirmishes still going on, why irritate the Imperials with a big show of support for the New Republic when there’s always a chance the Empire might be back in charge someday?” She dug into the datatote, came up with a handful of datacards. “Well, I guess I’d better get busy. Got a booth I can use?”
