by Timothy Zahn
“What kind of insinuation?” Juahir asked.
“Hints that you know what she did last night,” Arihnda said. “Or last month, or last year. Throw out a few vague comments, and most people will fill in the rest. Once they do, they’re a lot more open to settling the problem the tenant is having.”
“Assuming they have some hidden dirt to fill in,” Juahir pointed out.
“Everyone has hidden dirt,” Arihnda said. “You never said how long you would be here.”
“You never answered my comment about someone sweeping you off your feet,” Juahir countered.
“I thought you were joking,” Arihnda said, aware of the permanent hollow spot in the core of her being. She’d met many men over the past year, some of whom had tried to befriend or romance her. She’d tried with a few of them—really, really tried—but nothing had worked out.
Nor had she met anyone, man or woman, whom she could call a friend. In her line of work, everyone she encountered started by thinking of her as a helper, champion, or even mother figure. None of those was a good basis for a balanced emotional connection.
“I never joke about food,” Juahir said solemnly. “We’re hungry, and we bet you are, too. So shut this place down and let’s go.”
“I’m with you,” Arihnda said, starting her computer’s lockdown procedure. “Fair warning: I can’t afford to take you anywhere near as fancy as the Alisandre Hotel this time around.”
“Don’t worry, we’ve got it covered,” Juahir said with an impish smile. “We already have reservations.”
“At the Alisandre? Seriously?”
“No, no, no.” Juahir pointed upward. “At the Pinnacle.”
Arihnda felt her eyes widen. “The Pinnacle? You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Juahir said, grinning even more broadly. “You game?”
“Sure.” Arihnda looked down at her clothing. “In that case, I need to change.”
“No problem,” Juahir said. “We budgeted time for that.”
—
The Pinnacle wasn’t the highest point on Coruscant. But it was the highest point in the Federal District, and it provided magnificent views of the Palace, the Senate Building, and the various ministries and monuments clustered around them.
The clientele matched the view. Every third table, it seemed, sported a face Arihnda remembered from her days working for Senator Renking.
It was exhilarating. But at the same time it was vaguely depressing. She’d come to Coruscant to gain connections and influence and to work her way up the political ladder. Instead, she’d ended up stuck barely a few rungs from the bottom.
And as she gazed across the room, and up the ladder looming mockingly over her, her onetime goal of regaining Pryce Mining faded ever more into the mists of never.
But the food was good enough to almost drive away the wistful pangs of resentment at how she’d been treated. Once or twice along the way she wondered how Juahir and Driller were paying for all this, but what with the excitement, the memories, and the sheer taste sensations she didn’t wonder very much or very hard.
“So how does it feel being back in the skylanes of power?” Juahir asked as the waiter delivered their dessert plates.
“Very nice,” Arihnda said. “I thought I’d put all this behind me, but there really is a lure to it all.”
“So if you could come back to this life, you would?”
Arihnda gave a little snort. “What, is Senator Renking hiring?”
“Probably not.” Juahir nodded sideways to Driller. “But Driller is.”
Arihnda frowned at him. “Really? For what?”
“For a position with my advocacy group,” he said. “You do remember that’s what I do, right?”
“Of course,” Arihnda said. “I just assumed that people like you were on a hook-string budget. You’re really hiring?”
“We really are,” he said, nodding.
“And you didn’t snatch it up?” Arihnda asked, looking at Juahir. “Whatever it is has to be a hundred steps up from waitressing at Topple’s.”
“I’m not waitressing anymore,” Juahir said, frowning. “You know that. I dusted off my old martial arts stuff and got into bodyguard training, remember?”
“Since when?” Arihnda asked, frowning right back. Juahir had sometimes talked about her school-age hand-to-hand combat work, but she’d never even hinted she might want to do that sort of thing professionally.
“Since about four months after you moved here from Bash Four,” Juahir said. “I started part-time with a little dojo four hundred levels down from my apartment, and when a full-time position opened up—look, I told you all this.”
“You most certainly did not,” Arihnda said.
“But—” Juahir looked entreatingly at Driller.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” he said quickly. “You told me you told her.”
“I’m so sorry, Arihnda,” Juahir said, wincing. “I would have sworn…anyway, I’ve moved over here and have a job at the Yinchom Dojo now. We do civilian training, but we’re also licensed to train government bodyguards. We’ve got a handful of guards from the Senate, with some good word-of-mouth bringing in new ones.”
“They’re a hundred thirty levels down from your office but thinking of looking for someplace higher,” Driller added.
“Pluses and minuses,” Juahir said. “The lower levels are more discreet for aides and assistants whose senators want them to double as bodyguards, but don’t want the whole world to know they’ve been training. The higher levels are more prestigious and might draw more people who are supposed to look like guards.”
“And are more expensive,” Driller murmured.
“A lot more expensive,” Juahir agreed, crinkling her nose. “Anyway, to get back to your original question, that’s one reason Driller didn’t offer me the job.”
Arihnda had almost forgotten that was where this conversation had started. “And the other reason?”
“We’re looking for an expert in mines, mining, and refining,” Driller said. “Juahir doesn’t know the first thing about that stuff, while you know the first thing, the last thing, and all the things in between.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Arihnda said modestly, her mind racing. Working for an advocacy group wasn’t a huge step up, status-wise, but it would once again take her into the centers of political power. That alone made it worth pursuing.
Not to mention it would get her away from desperate citizens and their desperate problems.
“The downside of the job is that it doesn’t come with an apartment like your assistance office job does,” Driller continued. “But Juahir’s got a decent-sized place, it’s closer to the Senate Building, and she’s already told me she’d love a roommate.”
“Absolutely,” Juahir confirmed. “You have no idea how many times I’ve collapsed onto the couch, every muscle aching, and wished there was someone there to make dinner without me having to move.”
“I’m pretty good with dinner,” Arihnda said with a shrug. In politics, she’d learned, it never paid to look too eager. “And I’m definitely ready to move on to something else. Where and when do I apply for the job?”
“You just did,” Driller said with a grin. “Seriously. I’ve already floated your name, and the rest of the group has already vetted you. If you want the job, it’s yours.”
Arihnda took a deep breath. The hell with not looking too eager. “I want the job.”
“Great.” Driller picked up his dessert, frowning a little at Juahir. “So. Is it proper etiquette to toast a momentous event with a dessert plate?”
“I don’t know,” Juahir said, picking up her own plate. “Let’s find out.”
—
And just like that, Arihnda was back.
It was like waking up from a bad dream. Suddenly, she was among the elite again, walking the ornate hallways of the Senate and office buildings, speaking to the people who ruled the Empire.
Not just speaking, either, but
actually being listened to. Back when she’d been delivering data card packets for Senator Renking, most of the recipients had barely noticed her. But licensed advocacy groups had prestige, if not any actual power, and they were noticed. Now, suddenly, it seemed like everyone knew her face and her advocacy group. Some of them even remembered her name.
Arihnda had survived the lower levels of the Federal District. But up here, where the sun shone and the brightest lights glittered, was where she wanted to be.
She was back. And she would never leave it. Ever. Whatever it took to stay in the skylanes of power, she would do it.
—
“Okay,” Driller said, sitting Arihnda down in front of the Higher Skies Advocacy Group’s main computer. “Last job of the day, I promise.”
“You promised that two jobs ago,” she reminded him.
“Who, me?” he said, looking innocent. “I know, I know. What can I say? You’re the mining expert. That means you get all the mining expert jobs.”
“Right,” Arihnda agreed. It wasn’t like anyone else could do it, after all.
Mainly because there never seemed to be anyone else around.
At first, she’d puzzled about that. Driller had explained that most of the time the other members were out of the office, talking to senators or aides, visiting the various ministries, or traveling offplanet to talk with governors or moffs or just gather firsthand information. He’d also reminded Arihnda that she herself was often out of the office, and suggested that it was simple bad luck that she’d missed crossing paths with any of the others.
It was a lie, of course. Arihnda had figured that out very early on. Either the rest of the staff was off doing nefarious things, or else there was no other staff.
But she didn’t care. Driller paid on time, and he had enough spare credits to keep her in outfits suitable for the rarefied company she kept these days.
More important, his license continued to give her access to the Empire’s powerful. Ultimately, that was all that mattered.
“So here’s what we need,” Driller said, reaching over her shoulder and tapping a few keys. “There seems to have been an unusual number of Imperial takeovers lately, mining facilities and sometimes whole planets. I want you to pull up the list and evaluate it for the importance of the mines in question, the circumstances of the Imperial takeover, and anything else that might establish a pattern as to what’s going on. What?”
“What do you mean, what?” Arihnda asked.
“Your face went all puckered just then,” Driller said. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” Arihnda said. She hadn’t realized she’d reacted. “Sorry. I was just thinking about the Empire taking over our family’s mine three years ago.”
“Sorry, I’d forgotten about that,” Driller apologized. “If it’s too uncomfortable for you to do this…?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Arihnda assured him.
“Okay,” he said. “And don’t feel like you have to finish tonight. I’ve got a late appointment—you okay with closing up alone?”
“Sure,” Arihnda said. The apartment she shared with Juahir was two hundred levels down and not in the best part of the district, but the rowdies usually didn’t come out into the walkways and platforms until the sunlight had faded from the bits of clear sky above. At this time of year, that was a good two hours away. “Enjoy.”
“Right,” he said drily. “A meeting with a Senate doorkeeper. It’s going to be so much fun.”
He headed out, locking the door behind him, and Arihnda settled in to read.
She had assumed Driller was imagining things, seeing patterns and conspiracies that turned out to be figments of his overblown imagination. He had a tendency to do that.
But in this case, he was right on the mark.
There were twenty-eight mines on the list: twenty-eight Imperial takeovers dating back to a year before Renking had ripped Pryce Mining out of Arihnda’s hands. The majority of them, though—twenty-one, to be precise—had occurred during the past year. She dug through the list, scanning the basic elements, occasionally digging into or at least skimming the accompanying subfiles, looking for common threads. She reached the entry on the most recent event, an attack on an Imperial task force off Umbara—
She paused, frowning, as one of the names in the report caught her eye.
Captain Thrawn.
“No,” she murmured under her breath. Surely it couldn’t be the same blue-skinned nonhuman she’d met at the Alisandre Hotel a year ago. That Thrawn had been a lieutenant, and this one was a captain, and she’d heard somewhere that it typically took ten to fifteen years in the navy to ladder that far up the ranks.
But it was him, all right. There was a subfile attached giving the details of the battle, and the accompanying images left no doubt. The lowly lieutenant that Colonel Yularen had been trying to rescue had leapt to command rank in less than two years.
Mentally, she shook her head. Either he was amazingly competent, or he had impressively powerful friends.
Interesting, but not her concern. Putting him out of her mind, she got back to work.
Focused on her analysis, she didn’t notice the time slipping away, and it was a shock when she looked at the chrono and realized the sun had been down for over half an hour. The rowdies would be starting to gather, but the trip back to her apartment should still be safe if she hurried. She closed down the computer system and headed out, locking the door behind her.
The faint daylight from overhead had long since vanished, but the increased intensity from the streetlamps and brassy advertising signs more than made up for it. Still, the lack of sun somehow created a psychological illusion of darkness.
Up here, where the police were vigilant, things were all right. But in the lower parts of the district, the rowdies would be gathering to drink, spice up, and make noise.
Some of them, eventually, would also start making trouble.
The turbolift car, when it arrived, was packed. The next car might be more comfortable, but Arihnda wasn’t in the mood to wait. Fortunately, the passengers began filing out almost immediately as the car stopped at the more elite residence levels just below the government offices. Twenty levels above hers, her last companion got out, leaving her alone.
Not an ideal situation, certainly not at this hour and this deep. But she should be all right.
And as long as she had the car to herself, she might as well take advantage of the unexpected privacy. Pulling out her comm, she keyed for Juahir.
“Hey,” Juahir answered cheerfully. “What’s up? You got dinner going?”
“Not exactly,” Arihnda said. “I got tied up at the office and I’m just heading home now.”
“Ooh,” Juahir said, her voice going serious. “You okay? Where are you?”
“In the turbolift heading down,” Arihnda said, watching the indicator. “I’m almost—”
She broke off, her breath catching in her throat. The car had reached her level; but instead of stopping, it continued moving down.
“Juahir, it didn’t stop,” Arihnda said, fighting to keep her voice even. Belatedly, she lunged for the control board and punched the next button down.
Too late. The car had already passed that level. She tried again, picking a button ten levels farther down this time. Again, the car reached the landing and continued on without stopping.
“Arihnda? Arihnda!”
“It’s not stopping,” Arihnda ground out. This time she ran her finger down the whole column of buttons. The car ignored all of them.
And it was picking up speed.
“Juahir, I can’t stop it,” she said. “It’s heading down and I can’t stop it.”
“Okay, don’t panic,” Juahir said firmly. “There’s an emergency stop button. You see it?”
“Yes,” Arihnda said. It was at the very bottom of the panel, protected by a faded orange cover. After years of uneventful travel, she’d forgotten it was even there. She flipped up the cover, revealing
a less faded orange button underneath, and pressed it.
And grabbed for the handrail as the car screeched to a sudden halt.
For a moment all was silence. “Arihnda?” Juahir called tentatively.
Arihnda found her voice. “I’m okay,” she said. “It stopped. Finally.”
“Where are you?”
Arihnda peered at the indicator. “Level forty-one twenty.”
Juahir whistled softly. “A thousand from the top. Okay. You took your usual turbolift, right?”
“Right.” The car doors slid open. Cautiously, Arihnda peered outside.
She’d never been this far down before, but it looked exactly the way the vids and holos portrayed it. Garish display signs blazed everywhere, much brighter and more strident than the ones higher up, promoting shops or advertising products or flickering with the visual static of malfunction or unpaid bills. Contrasting with the bright colors was the stolid faded-white of the streetlamps, about three-quarters of them working, the rest struggling to maintain illumination or gone completely dark. The walkways beneath the lights, like the lights themselves, were mostly fine, but there were enough broken and missing tiles to emphasize that she was no longer in the city’s upper levels. The building fronts behind the signs ran the gamut from carefully maintained and almost cheerful, to struggling and faded, to dilapidated and slumlike. And everything, even the bravely painted storefronts, seemed dirty.
And then there were the people.
There weren’t many pedestrians on the walkways right now. Most of them were traveling in groups of three or more, as if no one wanted or dared to be alone, and all of them were walking in the odd gait of people who wanted to hurry but didn’t want to look like they were hurrying.
Like the buildings and the walkways, the people also seemed dirty.
“Okay,” Juahir’s voice came from the comm. “You’re going to have to move—that turbolift’s obviously broken, and you don’t want to wait there until someone comes to fix it. There’s another turbolift about six blocks to the west. Can you see the sign?”
Arihnda squinted down the walkway. But the turbolift indicator sign, if it was even theoretically visible from this angle, was completely swallowed up by the glare of the display signs. “No, but I can get there.”
