Star Wars - Black Fleet Crisis - Shield Of Lies

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  "That's all you're going to tell me?"

  "That's all I can tell you," Akanah said. "Good-bye, Luke. I'll be

  back for you as soon as I can."

  After Akanah left, Luke first took some time to explore behind all the

  doors of the docking bay.

  The public showers and refresher were overdue for a cleaning, no doubt

  due to the fifty-credit cleaning fee.

  But the prospect of a real six-head unlimited-water space"s shower was

  too appealing to resist. Luke vouched for the additional charge and

  secured the door so that the automated scrubdown and sterilization

  could begin.

  Luke tried to get even on the day rummaging through the lockers of

  ship's supplies. To his surprise, there were two K-18 food packs--both

  out of date, but not too badly so. He installed the older of the two

  in the skiff's reprocessor and tested it, then found stowage for the

  other in the crowded belly bay. The portmaster would nick his account

  again for returning only one empty, but not enough to dissuade him.

  When scavenging paled, Luke turned to tinkering.

  The control systems terminal offered an extensive list of flight system

  upgrades, with a data card burner right beside it. Most of the skiff's

  flight systems were out of date, but Luke located half a dozen

  aftermarket upgrades and coaxed Mud Sloth into taking them. All of

  them came up virus-free-something he hadn't expected, considering the

  source. But the navigation upgrade spotted Luke's handiwork on the FCZ

  interlock, forcing him to restore the original, blissfully unaware

  package.

  In time Luke had done all the tinkering he could without risking having

  something crucial arrayed in pieces on the bench or the bay floor at an

  awkward moment.

  He then took advantage of the open space inside the bay to work his

  first complete set of Jedi training drills since leaving Coruscant.

  Working both with and without his lightsaber, he patiently went through

  the complex exercises which brought him to a profound state of restful

  clarity.

  It was in this state that he felt most keenly the truth and the wisdom

  of the simple words There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no

  ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is

  serenity.

  There is no death; there is the Force. The peace, the knowledge, and

  the serenity were gifts that came with his surrender to the Force and

  with his connection through the Force to all that was.

  Sustaining that clarity was always the challenge. In the isolation of

  a Dagobah, the Jundland Wastes, or a hermitage on a frozen shore, an

  experienced Jedi could preserve that inner state indefinitely.

  But the chaos of the real world was another matter.

  When ego returned, so did will. The surrender became tainted, the

  connection flawed. The clarity gradually slipped away under the

  continuous assault of elementary drives and passions. Even the

  greatest of the masters needed to perform the practice regularly lest

  they lose the discipline that made them what they were.

  The drills were as much a test for the body as for the mind, and the

  docking bay's newly sanitized shower brought a blissful peace to

  muscles that were telling Luke they had not been properly exercised in

  too long. He stood for a long time in the place where the six needle

  jets converged, letting the water flowing down his body become another

  meditation.

  When Luke finally emerged from the shower and once again donned his

  clothes, he allowed himself to check the skiff's chronometer and see

  how long Akanah had been gone.

  Barely six hours had passed.

  Standing beside the skiff's bow, Luke looked around the bay.

  Inexplicably, it seemed much smaller when viewed through the prospect

  of spending the next several days there.

  Donning his hooded cloak, Luke secured the skiff, locked the docking

  bay--bending a pin so that only he could unlock it again--and went out

  into the night.

  As he looked out across the spaceport and at the lights of Talos

  beyond, his hand--out of habit--went to the place at his hip where his

  lightsaber usually hung.

  His fingers found only air, which puzzled him for just an instant.

  Then he drew the face of Li Stonn down over his own and walked on.

  It was a much-remarked irony that very little was free on a Free Trader

  world. Walking and breathing were among the few activities without a

  price tag--though some said that was only because the Traders'

  Coalition hadn't figured out how to deny those amenities to those who

  wouldn't pay.

  But there was a twenty-credit service fee to enter Talos, which crowded

  up against the spaceport boundary in classic Free Trader fashion.

  Virtually anything could be bought on Atzerri, and no small part of the

  catalog could be had within five hundred meters of Talos spaceport's

  three entrances. Every major trader in the city had at least one of

  the kiosk-size satellite storefronts that crowded along the broad

  boulevards leading to the cabs and hire shops along the flyway ramp.

  The narrow little stores were aggressively gaudy and loud. Multistory

  display panels above their doorways graphically hawked their wares

  while door barkers made promises and entreaties shoppers were well

  advised to ignore. Every shop along the boulevard was willing to

  refund service fees and provide express transport to the sponsor's main

  location. Some sent small armies of droids out to stand outside

  competitors' doorsteps with even sweeter offers.

  The entire purpose of Traders Plaza was to snap up as many newly

  arrived "greens" as possible. Once they were safely away from

  competitors, they could be worked at leisure or steered to other

  members of a trading alliance--a scratchback, in Atzerri argot. The

  scratchback networks were elaborate. There was nothing a Free Trader

  hated more than having a willing buyer and seeing a competitor get the

  sale.

  Luke surveyed the offerings in Traders Plaza with a mixture of wonder

  and horror. The last time he had been on a Free Trader world, it had

  been to try to buy weapons for the Rebellion, and there had been no

  time for browsing the commercial districts. Few of the offerings in

  the plaza had any appeal to him now, but his curiosity went beyond the

  personal.

  Information brokers offered religious, political, and technical

  secrets. The forbidden vices of ten thousand worlds were available

  openly and without shame. Traders who called themselves facilitators

  arranged personal experiences. Embargoed technologies were readily

  available alongside unlicensed copies of commercial products.

  Librarians sold entertainments in every known medium without respect to

  content or copyright.

  Though Luke 'had prepared himself to resist the blandishments of the

  sellers on Traders Plaza, his resistance was broken down by one

  unexpected offering on the display board of The Galactic Archives. He

  accepted a credit tab from the barker outside, then stepped into the

  tiny storefront
.

  "Welcome! Welcome to The Galactic Archives, your one-stop source for

  everything that's worth knowing," said the hook, greeting him with a

  broad, oily smile.

  "Whatever you want, we havemor we'll get it for you, free. What did

  you say your name was?"

  "Li Stonn."

  "Li Stonn, walking through that door is going to be one of the best

  decisions you ever made. When you leave us, you're going to leave

  satisfied--but you're not going to want to leave, because we have

  everything. Did you see something particular that you were interested

  in?

  Don't be shy about asking--" Luke pointed upward. "You had an ad up

  just a few moments ago. Something about the lost secrets of the

  Jedi--" "Oh, excellent choice--a real find. We just added that to our

  catalog, and it's already a best-seller. Absolutely authentic

  material, answers all the questions we all have about the secret

  masters of the galaxy." The hook pressed a bright blue tab the same.

  size and shape as the credit tab into Luke's hand. "For security

  reasons, all our sensitive documents are available only at our central

  archives location. Just give these tabs to any trading agent when you

  arrive. Would you like a courtesy cab?"

  Dual display screens in the back of the cab subjected Luke to a

  concentrated dose of Galactic Archives advertising-advertising that

  seemed to be tailored to the request he had made at the satellite

  shop.

  The offerings included Emperor Palpatine's Principles of Power, a

  private publication for Imperial Moffs; the Sith book of offerings and

  rituals; the H'kig book of laws; and the secrets of forming Bilar-type

  claqa group-minds, among others--with a special discount if Luke took

  any three or more. Most of the documents were undoubtedly frauds, and

  none tempted Luke beyond idle curiosity over the skillfulness of the

  fraud.

  When Luke reached the traders' central site, negotiating the price of

  his purchase required most of an hour, two attempts to leave

  empty-handed, and a promise to bring a friend back to The Galactic

  Archives with him.

  The final agreement brought the price down from two thousand credits

  for the Jedi file to nine hundred for the file and a pocket datapad.

  By then night had settled solidly over Talos, and the bustle of

  activity had shifted away from the commerce district, leaving the

  flyways and walks there nearly empty. Luke walked west, drawn by a

  bright nightglow in the sky. Twice he was approached from the shadows,

  but the weak minds of his would-be attackers were easily influenced by

  a simple projection of doubt, and they retreated to await' easier

  prey.

  The nightglow came from the lights of a sprawling and boisterous

  entertainment district, The Revels. He could hear that it was well

  named long before he reached the district boundary and paid the general

  admission.

  The walks were jostling-full with visitors bent on pleasure, and the

  air was full of loud voices, laughter, and the music escaping from

  dozens of rec centers, casinos, and club bars.

  Li Stonn wandered The Revels looking for a place to sit undisturbed and

  read about The Secrets of Jedi Power. Luke Skywalker wandered The

  Revels listening, watching, and trying to understand what drew so many

  and stirred in them such a desperately fevered energy.

  With the effects of his exercises lingering, the pleasures offered on

  the banner displays of the clubs and rec centers seemed shallow and

  uninviting.

  Be a pirate for a night at Tawntoom Territory-Play Point 5 where it was

  invented! New games every five minutes! Ninety-percent payoffs!

  Near-Death Experiences! Walk Right to the Edge with our Master

  Torturers and Million-Credit Insurance!

  Melee!--Any Weapon, Any Target! The Ultimate Personal Combat

  Simulator!

  The Daughters of the Erapath Princess Know Exactly What You Need-Arena

  Shock-Ball Now with Ultracharge!

  Li Stonn was no more interested than Luke. But there were no places to

  sit outdoors--not even a half-wall or a ledge--and no peace from the

  crowd or the hookmen. The managers of The Revels had cannily decided

  that if a visitor needed to rest, it should be somewhere indoors, where

  the average seat turned a hundred credits an hour in drinks, food, and

  services.

  Facing that prospect, Luke decided to leave The Revels and return to

  the docking bay. It was possible that Akanah had already returned--and

  if she had not, he would at least have quiet for his reading.

  But making his way to the outgate, Luke turned a corner and was taken

  aback by the brilliantly lit exterior of a club bar called Jabba's

  Throne Room. Performing Nightly--The Original Max Rebo Band, said the

  scroll. Visit Jabba's Guest Quarters with a Pleasure Slave. Face the

  Mighty Rancor in the Pit of Death-Driven by an outraged curiosity, Luke

  joined the line and paid the membership charge without haggling.

  Inside, he descended a curving flight of stairs into a remarkably

  faithful copy of the throne room in Jabba's desert palace on

  Tatooine.

  Some of the dimensions had been stretched to accommodate more tables in

  front of the bandstand and around the rancor pit, but the architecture

  and atmosphere were authentic.

  "Why, it's just like the Palace Museum," Li Stonn said to the tall and

  elegantly dressed Twi'lek barring the way at the bottom of the

  stairs.

  "I'm afraid my master Jabba is away on business," said the Bib Fortuna

  look-alike, nodding toward the empty dais. "But I'm having a little

  party in his absence, and I hope you'll enjoy yourself." His

  head-tails stirred in signal, and one of the scantily clad dancing

  girls hurried to him.

  "Yes, Lord Fortuna," the server said.

  "Oola, this is a friend of mine," said the major-domo.

  "Treat him well. Find him a seat at my best table."

  The same fiction was carried through everywhere else--an Ortolan

  keyboardist leading a jizz-wailer trio on the bandstand, the roaring of

  the rancor underfoot, an annoying Kowakian monkey-lizard skittering

  around the room stealing food and cackling rudely, even a carbon-frozen

  Han Solo hanging in the display alcove. But a busy kitchen was

  concealed down the corridor to the servant's quarters, and the price

  card "Oola" left for him included various services available upstairs

  in the guest quarters and downstairs in Jabba's dungeon.

  It was tasteless and exploitative, but the music was surprisingly

  agreeable, the roast nerf was tantalizing, and the clientele was

  markedly more subdued than their counterparts out on the walks. Li

  Stonn ordered a drink and the executioner's cut of nerf, refused all

  other offers with a polite smile, and settled in to discover the truth

  quotient of The Secrets of the Jedi.

  Shortly after his meal arrived, Luke's consciousness was pricked by

  hearing a familiar name spoken at a nearby table Leia's. He looked

  up, fearing that the evening's entertainment at Jabba's Throne Room

&nbs
p; would be a dance by a slave-girl-Leia look-alike. But the band was on

  a break and the transparisteel dance platform over the rancor pit

  deserted.

  Luke extended his awareness, seeking the voice and the conversation

  that had intruded.

  "This'll lead to war," the woman was saying. "And bravo for that. The

  Republic has every right to slap the Yevetha down for what they've

  done."

  "That's nonsense," her companion--a slender Lafran--retorted. "It's

  like going into someone else's home to break up an argument.

  Completely inappropriate."

  "We're not talking about an argument. We're talking about murder."

  "It's still their business, not ours."

  "You can't just let them get away with murder."

  "What does it matter to us what anyone does outside our borders? If we

  try to police the whole galaxy, we'll always be at war. Organa Solo

  should just grow up, and accept that the universe is an imperfect

  place."

  "That's awfully cold," the woman said, "It sounds like if you heard me

  screaming next door, you'd just complain about having your sleep

  disturbed."

  "We're all responsible for protecting ourselves--and no one else," the

  Lafran said, shrugging. "We have no business going into Farlax to pick

  a fight over someone else's business. If a single Fleet pilot dies

  there, the Princess should be put on trial--for murder and treason."