by Timothy Zahn
And it was, really…except that Arihnda remembered her mother mentioning earlier that day how Pomi Harchmak had been having digestive problems. Which meant all those disappearances almost certainly were to the restroom.
Maybe Harchmak was innocent. Maybe there were no missing funds, and Uvis was simply making a bald-faced play for control. Or maybe the stomach thing had been a deception and excuse and Harchmak was genuinely guilty.
Arihnda didn’t know. She also didn’t care. All she cared about was drawing enough suspicion off her mother to persuade Renking to intervene. Once he did, Harchmak’s guilt or innocence was her own problem.
“May I make a copy of all this?” Renking asked.
“Actually, I already made you one,” Arihnda said, pulling a datacard from her pocket and placing it on the desk.
He smiled wryly as he picked it up. “Rather sure of ourselves, are we?”
“Just the opposite,” Arihnda said. “If I couldn’t get you to see me in person, I thought you might at least look at the evidence I’d compiled.”
“I’m glad I decided to take the time,” Renking said. “Give me a moment.”
He finished watching the security recording, then silently pushed the datapad back across the desk to Arihnda and turned to his computer. For the next few minutes he worked the keys, gazing at the display. Arihnda remained where she was, trying without success to read his expression.
Finally, he hit one last key and turned back to face her. “Here’s the situation,” he said, his voice grave. “First: As matters stand, I can’t lift the embezzlement charge.”
Arihnda stared at him. That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. “What about Harchmak? I just showed you there’s another suspect who’s at least as viable as my mother.”
“Oh, she’s viable, all right,” Renking agreed. “And I have no doubt she’ll be detained as soon as I pass this on to the police. But without proof of your mother’s innocence, Governor Azadi isn’t going to release her.”
“Can we at least get her out on bail?”
“You really don’t understand what this is about?” Renking asked, giving her an odd look. “This is Azadi’s attempt to take over Pryce Mining.”
“Azadi’s, or Uvis’s?”
“Does it matter?”
“Probably not,” Arihnda conceded. “That’s why I came to you instead of pleading my case to him. I hoped that if I gave you enough ammunition you could stop him. Now you’re telling me you can’t?”
Renking raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think I want to stop him?” he asked. “What makes you think I’m not part of his plan?”
Arihnda pursed her lips. What did make her think that? “Because if you were part of the plot, you wouldn’t have told me about it. You’d have kept quiet, or encouraged me to make a deal to sell out.”
“Very good,” Renking said, favoring her with a small smile. “You’re right, there is a certain…rivalry between the governor and me. And there is a way I can help your mother. But I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“I’m listening.”
“I can get the charges dropped,” Renking said.
“Sounds good so far,” Arihnda said. “What about the company?”
“That’s the part you won’t like,” Renking said. “You’ll have to sign the mine over to the Empire.”
Arihnda had suspected something like that was coming. Even so, the words were like a punch in the gut. “The Empire.”
Renking held out his hands, palms upward. “You’re going to lose the mine, Arihnda,” he said. “Either to Azadi, or to the Empire.”
“Because of the doonium.”
“Basically,” Renking said. “Bear in mind that Coruscant can take it by fiat, with no compensation at all. Right now they’d prefer to play nice in this part of the Outer Rim, but that restraint won’t last forever. This way, at least, you’ll get your mother out and new jobs for your family.”
Arihnda shook her head. “I don’t think they’d want to work the mine for someone else.”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about keeping them here,” Renking assured her. “Not at Pryce Mining or anywhere else on Lothal. Governor Azadi is a vindictive man, and as long as they’re in his jurisdiction he might be tempted to mess with them out of pure spite. Fortunately, there’s a mine I know on Batonn that needs an assistant manager and an experienced foreman. I already have an offer.”
Arihnda smiled tightly. “The two hours you kept me waiting outside.”
Renking shrugged. “That, and other things. Unfortunately, there’s no datawork position for you at the moment, but the owner says he can put you on inventory until something better opens up.”
“I see,” Arihnda said, watching him closely. Lothal was awash with petty politics, and over the years she’d learned how to navigate them. If the same rules applied to the Imperial version…“I suppose I could just stay here on Lothal until then.”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” Renking said quickly. “Not with Azadi unhappy with you.”
“Unhappy with me?”
Renking’s lip twitched in a small smile. “Unhappy with me, then,” he conceded.
“He probably wouldn’t hesitate to try squeezing me, either,” Arihnda said slowly, as if she were just now working it out. “That wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
“Hardly,” Renking said, a mixture of amusement and resignation on his face. “Let’s skip to the last page. What exactly do you want?”
“I want to go to Coruscant,” Arihnda said. “You must have a hundred good assistant positions you can offer. I want one of them.”
“In exchange for what?” Renking asked. “Favors have to work both ways.”
“In exchange for not making trouble when the Empire takes over Pryce Mining,” Arihnda said. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what people are like here, but they won’t be happy about a bald-faced takeover.”
“Oh, I remember just fine,” Renking assured her. “Why do you think I’m taking this approach instead of just letting the Empire move in directly and cut Azadi off at the knees? Lothal’s like every other frontier planet in the Outer Rim: unruly and a potential pain in the rear.”
“But a new doonium vein is worth the trouble?”
“It’s worth a lot of trouble.” Renking took a deep breath, eyeing Arihnda closely. “All right. As it happens, I do have a job on Coruscant I can offer you. There’s an opening in one of my citizen assistance offices.”
“What are those?”
“My job is to represent Lothal’s interests on Coruscant,” Renking said. “That includes citizens visiting or temporarily working there. It turns out that there’s a decent-sized contingent of such displaced citizens working in the Coruscant mines.”
Arihnda’s surprise must have shown, because he smiled. “Not real mines, of course, not like yours,” he said. “These are more like reclamation operations, where centuries’ worth of dumped slag, metal shards, and other debris is dug up from around the foundations of old industrial plants. The Lothal contingent is always in flux, so I have an assistance office in the area to help them with housing and general orientation, as well as guiding them through the Coruscant bureaucratic maze.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“About five hundred at the moment,” Renking said. “But there are miners and support personnel from a dozen other Outer Rim worlds working the reclamation projects, as well, and that number probably comes to ten thousand or more. I have people who understand bureaucracy, but no one who understands mines and the specific needs and language of miners. I think you’d be a great asset to me.”
“I’m sure I would,” Arihnda said. “What would my housing and salary be? And when would you want me to leave Lothal?”
“Housing would be modest, but salary would be far higher than here,” Renking said, studying her face. “Enough to maintain your current lifestyle, even at Coruscant prices. As to leaving, I could take you there as soon as the agree
ment with the Empire for Pryce Mining is finalized. Unless you’d like to help settle your parents on Batonn first, of course.”
“That would probably be best,” Arihnda said. “Assuming I can persuade them to go along with this plan in the first place.”
“I hope for their sake that you can,” Renking warned, his voice going darker. “It’s either this, or your mother’s next mining job could be on Kessel.”
“Then I’d better go talk to them.” Arihnda stood up and slipped her datapad back into its pouch. “I assume you can get the visitor ban on my mother lifted?”
“I’ll give the order as soon as you’re out the door.”
“Thank you,” Arihnda said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Five minutes later she was driving down the roadway, her mind spinning with conflicting thoughts and emotions. So this was it. After years of waiting—after years of knowing it would never happen—she was finally getting off Lothal. Not just off Lothal, but to Coruscant.
And all it would cost was her parents’ jobs and dignity, and several generations of the Pryce family legacy.
It wasn’t as if Renking was being completely altruistic, either. Part of his goal in accepting Arihnda’s thinly veiled demand was clearly to split up the family, which would help stifle any legal challenge or local stirring they might decide to mount.
But machinations and plots aside, one point stood out clearly.
Coruscant.
As a child, she’d wanted to see the lights and colors and big buildings of that distant world. In the turmoil of her teenage hopelessness and desperation, the glittering capital had seemed the epitome of the life she so desperately wanted.
Now, when all hope was past, she was finally going to get there.
Renking had his own reasons and agenda. But then, so did Arihnda.
Because along with the lights and colors and big buildings, Coruscant was first and foremost the center of Imperial political power. The power that Azadi had used to put her mother in prison. The power Renking was using to take their mine for the Empire.
The power that Arihnda would someday use to take it back.
So her parents would accept Renking’s terms. Arihnda would see to that. And then she would go to Coruscant, and work in Renking’s little assistance office, and be a good girl and a model employee.
Right up until the moment when she found a way to take him down.
All opponents are not necessarily enemies. But both enemies and opponents carry certain characteristics in common. Both perceive their opposite as an obstacle, or an opportunity, or a threat. Sometimes the threat is personal; other times it is a perceived violation of standards or accepted norms of society.
In mildest form, the opponent’s attacks are verbal. The warrior must choose which of those to stand against, and which to ignore.
Often that decision is taken from his hands by others. In those cases, lack of discipline may dissuade the opponent from further attacks. More often, though, the opponent finds himself encouraged to continue or intensify the attacks.
It is when the attacks become physical that the warrior must make the most dangerous of choices.
—
“Don’t you see?” Vanto demanded. His voice is harsh and strident. His hand gestures are wide and expansive. He is angry and frustrated. “If you keep ignoring these episodes, they’re just going to get worse.”
“How would you have me respond?” Thrawn asked.
“You need to tell Commandant Deenlark,” Vanto said. His voice is still harsh, but his gestures are calming. The anger abates, but the frustration remains. “A month in, and you’ve already had run-ins with four separate cadets.”
“Three,” Thrawn corrected. “The second incident was unintended.”
“You only think that because you’re not up on Core World slang,” Vanto said. He makes a gesture mimicking that of the supposed insult. “That isn’t in any way a mark of respect.”
“But I have seen similar gestures without such intent.”
“Not in the Core Worlds you haven’t.” Vanto sweeps his hand crosswise in front of him, indicating dismissal. “Look, three or four—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re not being respected, and Deenlark needs to know that.”
“To what end?” Thrawn asked.
“Look.” Vanto pauses, the muscles in his jaw tensing and relaxing as he prepares his statement. “The Emperor himself put you here. Even if no one else knows that, Deenlark does. For his sake, you need to let him know. Because if the Emperor finds out that this has been happening and Deenlark hasn’t done anything, there will be trouble.”
“Commandant Deenlark is in a poor tactical position,” Thrawn said. “If he is told and does nothing, he risks attack by the Emperor. If he hears and acts, he risks attack by the families of the cadets.”
“So what would a good tactician do?”
“Ideally, he would withdraw to a better position or a different time,” Thrawn said. “In this case, he can do neither.”
Vanto looks toward the window. His facial heat is fading. He grows more deeply in understanding of the situation. “So what you’re saying is that we’re stuck.”
“Only for two more months,” Thrawn said. “We then graduate and leave this place.”
“And you finally get to put on that lieutenant’s rank plaque,” Vanto said. He returns his gaze and points to the pocket where the plaque is customarily concealed. His facial and throat muscles again tighten briefly. His frustration increases.
“Are you disturbed by that?”
“Disturbed by what?” Vanto asked. His voice deepens and grows more harsh. Frustration, but also resentment. “That you’re getting through four years of academy training in three months? And then jumping a rank on everyone else on top of it?”
“Have you forgotten I have already passed through many years of military experience?”
Vanto again turns his face away. “I know that. I just sometimes forget that you…I’m sorry I even brought it up.” His face smooths out as the resentment fades. His hands open and close briefly with embarrassment.
“I understand,” Thrawn said. “Do not be concerned. The incidents will stop when the offenders are emboldened enough to push their actions too far.”
Vanto’s eyes narrow. He is surprised now, with growing disbelief and suspicion. “Are you saying you want them to cross the line?”
“I believe the lack of response to verbal attacks makes it inevitable,” Thrawn said. “Such actions would put them in position for official discipline, would it not?”
“Probably.” Vanto holds his hands in front of him in a gesture of confusion. “But didn’t you just—hold it; I’ve got a call.” He pulled out his comlink. “Cadet Vanto.”
For a minute he listened in silence. The voice is human, the words indistinguishable. Vanto’s facial muscles tighten and his facial heat increases. He is first surprised by what he hears, then wary, then suspicious. “Sure, sounds like fun,” Vanto said. His voice is guarded, but holds none of the wariness revealed in his expression. “We’ll be there.”
He closed down the comlink. “Well, you may just have gotten your wish,” he said. “We’ve been invited to the metallurgy lab tonight to play cards with Spenc Orbar and Rosita Turuy while they run some corrosion tests on one of their alloy boards.”
“Are we permitted in the metallurgy lab?” Thrawn asked.
“Not unless we have a project we’re working on,” Vanto said. His lips compress briefly. His suspicions change to certainty. “Which we don’t.”
“What if we are invited guests of those with such projects?”
“No such thing,” Vanto said. “Not in the big labs. If some wandering instructor or officer catches us, they will not be happy. And if the card game includes betting, it’ll go even worse. Gambling for credits is strictly forbidden.”
“That assures they will not attempt such a trap.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because if we
are charged with gambling, they will be also,” Thrawn said.
Vanto shook his head. “You still don’t get how it works, do you?” His facial heat increases; his muscle tension also increases. Once again he shows frustration. “Orbar’s family is from here on Coruscant. Worse, they’re connected to the planet’s senator. He can probably pull anything short of straight-up murder without getting kicked out.”
“Then we will simply refuse any offers to gamble.”
Vanto exhales noisily. “You’re going to go, aren’t you?” His voice is calmer, indicating unwilling acceptance.
“We were invited,” Thrawn reminded him. “You may stay here if you wish.”
“Oh, I wish, all right,” Vanto said. “But I don’t think letting you wander around alone is what the Emperor had in mind when he put me here. Might as well find out what Orbar has planned.” His head turns a few degrees to the side. He is curious, or perhaps perplexed. “Is this what Chiss do? See a trap, and just walk into it? Because that’s not how the stories say you operate.”
“You would be wise to tread carefully around such stories,” Thrawn said. “Some have been distorted to the point where no truth remains. Some speak only of victories, and are silent about defeats. Some have been deliberately crafted to leave false impressions in the hearer.”
“And which one is this?”
“Sometimes walking into a trap is the best strategy,” Thrawn said. “There are few traps that cannot be turned against their designers. What card game did he suggest?”
“It’s called Highland Challenge,” Vanto said. Resigned acceptance? “Come on—I think there’s a deck in the lounge. I’ll teach you how to play.”
—
“I suppose you’re wondering,” Orbar said as he dealt out the first hand, “why we asked you two here tonight.”
“You said it was to play cards,” Eli said, watching him closely. Both Orbar and Turuy were playing it cool: greeting Eli and Thrawn at the door, making a big fuss of setting up their corrosion test, then pulling four chairs up to one of the lab tables and bringing out the cards.
