Star Wars: Scourge (11 page)

Mander cocked his head a moment. “Something else is wrong.”

“Nothing else is wrong,” said Reen. “We’re just busy. And I don’t want to leave anyone alone in the ship.”

“No, no, something is definitely wrong,” said Mander. “And I don’t need the Force to tell me that.”

“Tell him,” said Eddey, not looking up from his work.

“Nothing is wrong,” said Reen, folding her arms over her chest.

“Something is wrong,” said Mander.

“Tell him—or I will,” said Eddey.

Reen scowled deeply. “I’ve had run-ins with the CSA.”

“You’ve smuggled,” said Mander succinctly.

“Some,” Reen said, shrugging. “A little. Nothing bad, nothing major, nothing that a Jedi would blow a circuit about.”

“Small package trade, really,” said the Bothan calmly. “Personal items, artifacts of dubious provenance, objects of art. That sort of thing.”

“Nothing bad or horrible,” Reen added quickly. “Nothing like hard spice. Nothing like … Tempest.”

Mander nodded and thought he understood. Reen and her partner were part and parcel of the shadowy world of spacers, the great majority of whom wouldn’t think twice about bringing contraband through planetary customs if there was a bonus in it. But it was that same evasion of authority that made the spice trade possible, and the same avenues may have been used to bring in the Tempest that killed her brother.

She knows how smugglers think because she has been one herself
.

He said, “The Jedi are not religious leaders. We don’t provide absolution or forgiveness. The best we can do is help others come to terms with what they have done, and help them make amends. But that does not explain why you wouldn’t want to meet with a CSA lieutenant commander who doesn’t even know you.”

“Ah,” said Eddey. “There’s the rub.”

“The original
Ambition
,” started Reen.

“The one probably being sold for scrap on Keyorin to pay for the docking fees,” clarified Eddey.

“The
Ambition
was,” Reen continued, “for lack of a better word, damaged as result of escaping a CSA corvette,
conveniently parked behind a moon near a rendezvous point.” Her cheeks flushed dark again.

“Ah.” Mander mimicked Eddey. “I understand. And even though it is unlikely that anyone will make the connection, you aren’t sure if you are in a database somewhere, the information just waiting to leap onto Lieutenant Lockerbee’s datapad and surprise you.”

“That sums it up,” said Reen, but she didn’t look up at the Jedi. The Bothan let out a small cry of triumph as he pulled away a particularly stubborn gasket, now reduced to a tattered black mass.

“Very well—I will be dining with Lieutenant Commander Angela Krin,” said Mander. “And if your name comes up, I will take note. In the meantime, though, I intend to avail myself of the hospitality her command offers, and try to persuade her that she should trust us enough to let us go planetside. Three days. I think three days should do it, one way or another.”

“We can get things operating in three days,” said Eddey. “If we can get the parts. Tender our regrets to the good commander,” he added to Mander, “and both of you can leave me to my work in peace.”

“Indeed,” said Mander Zuma. “I think it is time to renew my research in CSA standard operating procedures.”

Three days passed with a glacial slowness. Most of the planetary transceivers were in Tel Bollin, and as far as Mander could tell most of their operators were stricken by the plague or just laying low until the pestilence had passed over. From what little Mander could gather, general society—always a rough-and-tumble affair on mining planets—had collapsed entirely in the wake of the disease. Looting and fires were common; what civil authority was left had its hands full surviving on its own, and therefore had precious few resources to help offworlders. One of the few full holoconversations Mander
managed took place with a tired, exhausted officer with white crusts at the corners of her eyes and mouth, her hair an unruly tangle. She didn’t know anything about Hutts onplanet, but said that any exomorphs should have gone to ground, since the survivors were looking for something to blame and nonhumans fit that bill. Then the officer terminated the call in the middle of a prolonged coughing jag.

Once further attempts to contact anyone on the ground proved equally problematic, the Jedi turned to the ship’s library. It was a smart little operation consisting of a set of military histories and CSA law, the former well thumbed while the latter apparently pristine since the ship was first launched. He mixed the two, in particular checking out the regulations and specifications of the Corporate Sector Authority’s navy.

Each evening, Mander would present himself, in clean and formal robes, to the Commander’s Galley. The first night was with senior officers, and Mander got the standard array of questions directed at the Jedi in the wake of the fall of the Empire:
Is the Order starting again? What are your intentions? Will you rule from Coruscant? How have things changed?
He deflected them as politely as he could, and got the officers talking about their own experiences in space instead. The nature of the Force was forgotten in stories of running down raiders and recovering contraband.

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 truth,” 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.”