virtualvoyages (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
virtualvoyages) wrote2018-12-21 06:58 pm
virtualvoyages) wrote2018-12-21 06:58 pm
Consequences: Part One
Guess I might as well catch up on posting fanfic here (though it can be found other places as well), since I did put the first two long fics up here.
(The universe of SW:TOR is, obviously, not my own. I am merely playing in George Lucas, Lucasarts, Bioware, etc's sandbox.)
(The universe of SW:TOR is, obviously, not my own. I am merely playing in George Lucas, Lucasarts, Bioware, etc's sandbox.)
Title: Consequences (Part One)
Genre: Gen (adventure)
Rating: PG (mild violence, swearing) [note: the rating for this fic will be higher in its future installments as things do get a bit dark]
Summary: When Kyrian's highly questionable approach to his job finally catches up to him, it's up to Jezari and Savler to save his life. If they can. The Empire does not take kindly to treason.
Caprida’s green patchwork of farmland reminded Kyrian a little of the planet he’d grown up on. The air was bright and clear and he could almost smell the tilled earth and bright new leaves through the cockpit windows. Thin silver arcs of an automated irrigation system glinted in the sun, and the agridroids barely glanced up at the passing starship.
Caprida was one of the Empire’s more automated agricultural worlds: network towers and droid barns replaced the scattered settlements and roads of a more traditional agriworld. There were no orphanages here, no industry, not even, as far as he could see from their approach, an orchard or ranch to break up the endless acres of fields.
And no obvious need for an Imperial Intelligence agent.
He’d taken a long approach to the main spaceport in the hope of spotting some reason for their summons. Watcher Two’s message had been unusually terse: they were needed urgently and would be briefed on arrival. Whatever was happening on Caprida, Intelligence thought it more important than the question of who was financing the Eagle’s terror network.
“Gotta be somebody’s idea of a joke.” Kaliyo perched on the oversized arm of the pilot’s chair with her usual casual disregard for regulations. And safety. “Or we’re supposed to shake the place up. Blow up a few silos, go joyriding through the streets. It’s got streets, right?” She frowned out the cockpit window at the fields below.
“Perhaps that's what we’re here to prevent,” Kyrian said. “The Eagle’s latest plan? Security here appears relatively low, and the Empire does need to eat.”
His partner made a face. “They’re starting to get to you, Agent. Let's blow this place, go back to Nar Shaddaa. Forget about the Empire. Before you turn into one of them.” She indicated the planet with a jerk of her thumb.
“An agricultural droid?”
She smacked him lightly. “You know what I mean. This is a waste of your talents. Probably another stupid mission for Darth Creepy.”
“I doubt that.” His last (and only) mission for Darth Zhorrid hadn’t gone well for anyone involved, and she was not the sort of Sith who forgot failures. Or forgave them.
No one in the Empire seems to.
He shifted in the pilot’s seat, trying to ease the sudden tension in his shoulders. Watcher Two hadn’t mentioned Zhorrid, or his more recent – and more official – failure. It was a beautiful day, and a mission to protect the Imperial food supply would be free of moral quandaries. The perfect opportunity to balance his record.
“Don't you get sick of it?” Kaliyo asked. “‘Go here, do this, don't forget to bow.’ What’s in it for you?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
She snorted. “Your boss pays me obscene amounts of money. I still haven’t worked out if you get paid. Come on, Agent, level with me. Why not throw in with the Hutts? Or go pirate? I got contacts.”
“I would make a terrible pirate. You know that.” Kyrian banked the ship toward the cluster of spires that marked the planet’s main port. “We're nearly there. You might want to take a seat; we could find trouble at the spaceport.”
She ignored the suggestion. “The Hutts then.” She leaned in close, her breath warm on his ear. “They don't get all zappy when you screw up.”
“True,” he agreed. “They feed you to exotic wildlife.”
“Hey, I'd bet on you against exotic wildlife any day.”
He laughed. “Now I know you’re up to something.”
“Just reminding you you've got options.”
.
.
.
The view of Jiguuna from the upper floors of Nem’ro’s palace was a view few people had the opportunity to see. Jezari would have appreciated it more from inside the palace. She shifted her grip on the industrial piping and tried to decide if she could slide down the slightly rounded surface to the balcony some six meters below. Nem’ro’s guards weren’t stupid. If they decided there really had been an intruder, they’d find the ventilation grate she’d climbed out of, and, if she was still clinging there, her.
It’ll be easy, they said. Just a few listening devices, they said. Little risk. Great pay. No problem. It had sounded so reasonable when the SIS had hired her. Of course it would be easier for her to get access to a Hutt palace – she was a smuggler, a criminal, someone with a reputation in the underworld. And she’d pulled off far more complicated things for them before.
But having access to a Hutt palace didn’t mean having access to every part of the palace. Listening devices in public areas wouldn’t tell the Republic what Nem’ro was doing for the Empire. No, the devices had to go in private meeting rooms, the apartments of his lieutenants, and Nem’ro’s own suite, where there were security cameras and guards and where she definitely didn’t belong.
The pipe she clung to stretched upwards, vanishing out of sight as it followed the increasing curve of the building. There might be another way in up there somewhere. If she could climb that far. Her arms were beginning to ache.
Bracing herself, she reached upward, trying to find a higher handhold on the pipe. Her boots skidded on the smooth surface of the building and she nearly lost her balance. Hugging the pipe, she crouched back on the relative safety of the tiny ledge outside the vent.
Nope. Not going that way. She panted, her heart pounding. Maybe Nem’ro’s guards would be reasonable and toss her in a cell while the Hutt decided what to do with her. Or they’d just toss her back out the vent as a warning to other would-be thieves.
Or they’d find the listening device she’d planted and turn her over to the Empire.
She looked around. Can’t go up. Can’t go down. What else is there? There was another ventilation grate a couple meters in front of her, but no way to get to it. She needed the miniature grappling hooks and other tools real spies carried. I do this again, I’m asking for supplies. Lots of them.
Behind her, another pipe ran down the building, past the balcony and out of sight. It was too far away to grab, unless she risked jumping for it. If she caught it, and slid down to the balcony…
Snatches of the guards’ conversation drifted out through the vent. She only made out a few words, but they were enough. She was out of options. Surrender or jump. She edged around the pipe until her back was to the grating. It wasn’t that far.
Sounds and a few more words from the vent told her the guards had found something to stand on besides the ornately carved table she’d used.
She focused on the distant pipe. Two and a half meters. Maybe three. And a thirty-forty meter drop to Jaguuna if she missed. Surrender: that was the safer option. The guards would take her to Nem’ro. Risha and her crew would rescue her.
If Risha hadn’t also been captured. If the guards didn’t take matters into their own hands. If there weren’t Imperials on hand to take her into custody.
She jumped.
A long moment that felt more like falling and she slammed into the other pipe. Hands and feet clawing for purchase, she slid down. The pipe fittings tore through her gloves, grooves on the building’s surface threatened to jar her loose. The balcony floor rushed up and knocked the wind from her lungs.
She wheezed for breath. The dingy sky of Hutta had never looked more beautiful.
.
.
.
The spaceport proved to be as free of trouble as the approach had been. Kyrian and Kaliyo left the ship on one of the outsized landing pads and followed a port worker’s helpful directions to the administration building.
It was only a few blocks from the spaceport, close enough that Kaliyo didn’t object to the walk. The sun was pleasantly warm, the air just as fresh and clear as he’d imagined. The sidewalk and streets were clean and well-kept to Imperial standards.
They passed few people on their walk. The city was a tiny one, only qualifying for the designation as it was the only settlement of any size on the planet. It didn’t take a large population to keep agricultural droids running, or to oversee an automated harvest. With a light workload and little danger, Caprida was either an ideal posting or an incredibly boring one. They were there to ensure it stayed that way.
The administration building was a shiny duralium and glassine affair, its entrance flanked by ornamental trees.
The receptionist stood as they approached. “Third floor.” She indicated the bank of lifts to her right. “Take a right and it’s the second door on your left. Go straight in.”
“Thank you.” Kyrian glanced at Kaliyo as they waited for the lift. “Watcher Two did say it was urgent.”
She shrugged. “Not like they get tourists. Bet they don’t even have a cantina.”
“Probably not one that meets your standards.”
“You Imps just don’t know how to have fun.”
The small office they’d been directed to was empty. A couple of chairs were pushed back against one wall and a worktable sat at the far end, its display in idle mode.
Kyrian glanced around for an inner doorway or some sign of whoever had been waiting for them.
“Must’ve stepped out for a sec.” Kaliyo let the door close behind her.
The holocomm on the worktable snapped to life, the familiar blue-tinged image of a bald man in an Imperial uniform blooming above it. His expression was grim.
“Keeper?”
“I received disturbing reports of your activities, Agent.” His emphasis on the title was subtle, but unmistakable.
Kyrian’s mouth went dry.
“This is not the first time your indiscretions have been brought to my attention. It is the last. Investigation into your previous missions is ongoing, but evidence from your recent mission on Nar Shaddaa was sufficient. At 0700, you were stripped of your rank and designation. You have been declared a traitor to the Empire.”
“Sir, I...” His voice caught in his throat. There were no explanations. He had aided the enemy. Knowingly. Repeatedly. That his actions probably hadn’t harmed the Empire was irrelevant. He swallowed. “Kaliyo wasn’t… hasn’t...”
“Kaliyo Djannis is no longer your concern.” Keeper’s voice was ice. “Surrender your weapons and equipment. Do not make this difficult.”
Kyrian heard the door hiss open and the click of boots behind him. “Sir...”
Keeper’s face pinched with disgust, and disappointment. He cut the comm channel.
Kyrian closed his eyes. His heart thudded in his ears. Three, maybe four people had entered the room. Soldiers, probably. Armed. But perhaps not expecting resistance. He and Kaliyo had faced worse odds and prevailed. He could turn, slowly, as if surrendering, and...
The cold end of a blaster barrel pressed against the back of his head. “Don’t do anything stupid, Agent.” Kaliyo gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Guess I can’t call you that anymore.”
The soldiers seized him.
He had counted wrong; there were five of them. They stripped him of his weapons, his coat, his belt, searched him, scanned him for hidden cybernetics, and for the suicide pill he should have carried, all with harsh Imperial efficiency. He was nothing to them, no longer human in their eyes, a traitor. He would be shipped back to Dromund Kaas, to a final hearing – if sentence hadn’t already been passed – and executed.
He could have fought. It hardly mattered if he died now or in two or three days time. There was no escape. Nowhere to go if he fled. Even if, by some oversight, he could still access the ship, the Empire would be waiting for him wherever he landed. Or would ensure that the Republic was, and in a non-listening mood.
Stealing a shuttle would be little easier, and just as pointless. He doubted the few at the spaceport were fueled for more than a trip to orbit, or to oversee the fields. Even if he could make the next system, he would still be in Imperial space, in a stolen Imperial ship.
The cold grip of binders around his wrists put an end to the absurd line of thought. They fastened restraints around his upper arms as well, pulling his shoulders back painfully, and secured his legs, giving him just enough slack to shuffle along. The time for escape was long past.
The air in the room seemed to have thinned, as if the oxygen had drained away. His knees buckled.
The soldiers yanked him upright. There was no escape. None. It was over. Finished. He might as well have let Kaliyo shoot him. No. No, there has to be a way. There has to be something. An opportunity. A chance.
A refueling station? Dromund Kaas? His guards would get tired of having to all but carry him everywhere. They would remove his leg restraints, suffer a moment of inattention… It was vanishingly unlikely, but possible. He clung to the thought.
The soldiers shoved him into the hallway, pulling him up sharply when he stumbled. The hall was no longer empty. A tall, expensively dressed man waited there, flanked by two almost inhumanly large men.
For a dizzying moment, Kyrian wondered if he were hallucinating.
Lord Dralick was a minor Sith Lord, with no connection to Intelligence, and every reason not to draw their attention. He had a history of doing unauthorized business, selling his chemical concoctions to anyone interested. It was the reason Kyrian had crossed paths with him in the first place. He couldn’t be there. It was impossible.
Lord Dralick’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Did I not warn you about your choices?” He nodded to the soldier on Kyrian’s left. “Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll take custody of the prisoner.” The smile he gave Kyrian was anything but pleasant. “The Sith take great interest in traitors.”
.
.
.
Jezari was relieved to find Risha waiting for her in a back corner of the cantina, as they’d planned. It was clear her engineer’s half of the mission had gone a lot more smoothly than hers. Risha looked coolly relaxed, her elegant hair and clothing unruffled. A short glass at her elbow held a splash of amber liquid – probably Corellian whiskey.
Jezari limped over to her table and dropped into the seat opposite her. “That’s done.”
“Problems, Captain?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think they saw me. But we better not stick around.”
Risha sighed and finished her whiskey. “What’d you do?”
“There were more guards than we thought.” Jezari explained her near capture in Nem’ro’s suite and her escape down the outside of the palace as they headed back to their rented speeder.
Staying the night in one of the palace’s guest rooms would’ve covered their tracks better – and let her have a nice long soak in a hot tub – but if either of them had been seen, or caught on a security camera they hadn’t known about… It was too risky. Better to head back to the Luck, and a medpac for her scrapes and bruises.
“At least the room turned out to be empty,” Jezari finished.
Risha rubbed her forehead. “This is why we need plans. Actual plans.” She steered Jezari into the passenger seat and started up the speeder. “You can’t just wing everything.”
“It worked,” Jezari protested. “And we had a plan.”
“We had kind of a plan. Don’t argue, Captain. You’d be telling me the same thing if I almost got caught.”
“I… Okay, fine.” She sank back in the seat. “Next time, we’ll plan better. And ask for equipment.”
The spaceport wasn’t far from Nem’ro’s palace, but Risha took a winding route through the city to avoid the more dangerous areas of Jiguuna. Nem’ro’s feud with one of his fellow Hutts seemed to be mostly over, but there were always people in the seedier parts of Hutt towns who would look at two lightly armed people in a rented speeder and think that they were easy pickings.
“Why didn’t you take their offer?” Risha asked as she made the last turn back toward the spaceport. “You like doing this stuff. It’s most of what we do these days.”
“I like my freedom. And my crew.”
“Like the SIS wouldn’t take all of us.”
“I want to work for me. Take the jobs I want. Only the jobs I want.” And I don’t want to explain my friends. If the SIS knew those friends included a bounty hunter who was willing to work for the Empire and – more damningly – an Imperial Intelligence agent, they’d lose all interest in her. Or decide she was a danger to the Republic.
“Good.”
Jezari looked at her. “You’re not gonna try to talk me into it?”
“No.” Risha shook her head. “I think staying independent’s smart. But they’re not gonna drop it. You’re too useful to them.”
Jezari groaned. “I’m just a freighter pilot.”
“You passed that point a long time ago, Captain.”
The droid at the rental stand happily returned their deposit and they made their way through the throng of beings that filled Jiguuna spaceport. The Wayfarer’s Luck was parked halfway down the row of private docking bays.
Corso bounded out of the door as they approached. “Captain! Are you okay? What happened? Let me help you.”
“I’m fine.” She shooed his hands away. “It’s just a few scrapes.” She limped past him and up the Luck’s ramp. Hello, medpac. Risha could fill him and Bowdaar in on what had happened.
“But...” Corso trailed after her. “Captain? There was a message while you were out. We waited for you.”
“I’ll get it in a second.” Jezari dropped onto the acceleration couch with the medpac and stretched out her throbbing knee.
.
.
.
Kyrian studied the walls of the cell. There wasn't much to study; the cell was purpose-built, a standard Imperial cell, not a converted cabin or storage room. There were no seams where one might pry a bit of paneling away, nothing that could be used as a weapon, only the smooth surfaces, prickling force field, and a limited sanitary arrangement.
Looking for nonexistent flaws was better than replaying Keeper's words. Or Kaliyo's.
Dralick's bodyguards had removed his restraints when they'd tossed him in the cell. For all the good that would do him. He could hardly overpower Dralick and his legion of enormous guards, nor could he escape from a starship in transit. At least not if he wanted to survive the attempt.
If I’d agreed, turned back to Nar Shaddaa, would Kaliyo have been pleased? Or did she only suggest it because she knew I’d never agree. Kaliyo hadn’t been under arrest, even before she’d demonstrated to the soldiers that she was on their side, not his. But then, Keeper had never expected Kaliyo to be loyal to the Empire. Only loyal to a paycheck.
I’m sorry. He could still see Keeper’s disgusted look. I only wanted to… ...help people? ...change things? The Empire had raised him, trained him, Keeper had tried to turn him into a proper agent. And he had betrayed them all. Because he was soft, and squeamish, and could never see the big picture.
Yet, if Keeper had appeared and offered him one last chance, he knew he would only go on making the same choices. He wasn’t sure if that was courage, or cowardice.
The ship was too well insulated for the sound of the engines to reach his cell, but if he pressed his hand against the wall, he could feel the faint vibrations. They were in hyperspace. It was only a matter of time before Dralick came for him.
His throat felt tight. There was no escape. No one would come to rescue him. There was nothing he could do. No point in begging for mercy. Dralick had no reason to even keep him alive. No, no… No, Dralick has every reason to keep me alive. Their destination was Korriban. For a Sith execution, yes, but Dralick was clearly not the executioner.
He followed that thin ray of hope.
Korriban was only home to Sith, but it did have regular supply shuttles. And miles of poorly mapped tombs and desolate canyons – filled with tuk’ata and k’lor’slugs and worse, but also filled with hiding places. People did escape. He’d met some of them. All he had to do was survive the voyage.
Dralick and his guards were far more likely to make a mistake than Imperial soldiers would have been. It only takes one mistake. He would escape, hide, and steal on board a supply shuttle. Wherever it went there would be a spaceport. And from there, his way out of Imperial space.
He sagged against the wall. He wouldn’t think about the next two days. He would think about his one visit to Korriban and all the half-forgotten Imperial history classes that had covered the Sith homeworld.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the landing area. There had been guards – soldiers – but not many of them, and mostly to keep the wildlife away. It was hemmed in on three sides by cliffs, probably to limit both the size of landing craft and their approaches. Was there really only one path?
The sound of footsteps interrupted his attempt to remember. Dralick. He straightened and faced the forcefield at parade rest. It hid his shaking hands.
The Sith Lord smiled as he approached, one of his towering guards a step behind. “Ah, good, you’ve regained some of your spirit. I was beginning to fear this voyage would be dull.” He nodded to the guard. “Bring him.”
Caprida was one of the Empire’s more automated agricultural worlds: network towers and droid barns replaced the scattered settlements and roads of a more traditional agriworld. There were no orphanages here, no industry, not even, as far as he could see from their approach, an orchard or ranch to break up the endless acres of fields.
And no obvious need for an Imperial Intelligence agent.
He’d taken a long approach to the main spaceport in the hope of spotting some reason for their summons. Watcher Two’s message had been unusually terse: they were needed urgently and would be briefed on arrival. Whatever was happening on Caprida, Intelligence thought it more important than the question of who was financing the Eagle’s terror network.
“Gotta be somebody’s idea of a joke.” Kaliyo perched on the oversized arm of the pilot’s chair with her usual casual disregard for regulations. And safety. “Or we’re supposed to shake the place up. Blow up a few silos, go joyriding through the streets. It’s got streets, right?” She frowned out the cockpit window at the fields below.
“Perhaps that's what we’re here to prevent,” Kyrian said. “The Eagle’s latest plan? Security here appears relatively low, and the Empire does need to eat.”
His partner made a face. “They’re starting to get to you, Agent. Let's blow this place, go back to Nar Shaddaa. Forget about the Empire. Before you turn into one of them.” She indicated the planet with a jerk of her thumb.
“An agricultural droid?”
She smacked him lightly. “You know what I mean. This is a waste of your talents. Probably another stupid mission for Darth Creepy.”
“I doubt that.” His last (and only) mission for Darth Zhorrid hadn’t gone well for anyone involved, and she was not the sort of Sith who forgot failures. Or forgave them.
No one in the Empire seems to.
He shifted in the pilot’s seat, trying to ease the sudden tension in his shoulders. Watcher Two hadn’t mentioned Zhorrid, or his more recent – and more official – failure. It was a beautiful day, and a mission to protect the Imperial food supply would be free of moral quandaries. The perfect opportunity to balance his record.
“Don't you get sick of it?” Kaliyo asked. “‘Go here, do this, don't forget to bow.’ What’s in it for you?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
She snorted. “Your boss pays me obscene amounts of money. I still haven’t worked out if you get paid. Come on, Agent, level with me. Why not throw in with the Hutts? Or go pirate? I got contacts.”
“I would make a terrible pirate. You know that.” Kyrian banked the ship toward the cluster of spires that marked the planet’s main port. “We're nearly there. You might want to take a seat; we could find trouble at the spaceport.”
She ignored the suggestion. “The Hutts then.” She leaned in close, her breath warm on his ear. “They don't get all zappy when you screw up.”
“True,” he agreed. “They feed you to exotic wildlife.”
“Hey, I'd bet on you against exotic wildlife any day.”
He laughed. “Now I know you’re up to something.”
“Just reminding you you've got options.”
.
.
.
The view of Jiguuna from the upper floors of Nem’ro’s palace was a view few people had the opportunity to see. Jezari would have appreciated it more from inside the palace. She shifted her grip on the industrial piping and tried to decide if she could slide down the slightly rounded surface to the balcony some six meters below. Nem’ro’s guards weren’t stupid. If they decided there really had been an intruder, they’d find the ventilation grate she’d climbed out of, and, if she was still clinging there, her.
It’ll be easy, they said. Just a few listening devices, they said. Little risk. Great pay. No problem. It had sounded so reasonable when the SIS had hired her. Of course it would be easier for her to get access to a Hutt palace – she was a smuggler, a criminal, someone with a reputation in the underworld. And she’d pulled off far more complicated things for them before.
But having access to a Hutt palace didn’t mean having access to every part of the palace. Listening devices in public areas wouldn’t tell the Republic what Nem’ro was doing for the Empire. No, the devices had to go in private meeting rooms, the apartments of his lieutenants, and Nem’ro’s own suite, where there were security cameras and guards and where she definitely didn’t belong.
The pipe she clung to stretched upwards, vanishing out of sight as it followed the increasing curve of the building. There might be another way in up there somewhere. If she could climb that far. Her arms were beginning to ache.
Bracing herself, she reached upward, trying to find a higher handhold on the pipe. Her boots skidded on the smooth surface of the building and she nearly lost her balance. Hugging the pipe, she crouched back on the relative safety of the tiny ledge outside the vent.
Nope. Not going that way. She panted, her heart pounding. Maybe Nem’ro’s guards would be reasonable and toss her in a cell while the Hutt decided what to do with her. Or they’d just toss her back out the vent as a warning to other would-be thieves.
Or they’d find the listening device she’d planted and turn her over to the Empire.
She looked around. Can’t go up. Can’t go down. What else is there? There was another ventilation grate a couple meters in front of her, but no way to get to it. She needed the miniature grappling hooks and other tools real spies carried. I do this again, I’m asking for supplies. Lots of them.
Behind her, another pipe ran down the building, past the balcony and out of sight. It was too far away to grab, unless she risked jumping for it. If she caught it, and slid down to the balcony…
Snatches of the guards’ conversation drifted out through the vent. She only made out a few words, but they were enough. She was out of options. Surrender or jump. She edged around the pipe until her back was to the grating. It wasn’t that far.
Sounds and a few more words from the vent told her the guards had found something to stand on besides the ornately carved table she’d used.
She focused on the distant pipe. Two and a half meters. Maybe three. And a thirty-forty meter drop to Jaguuna if she missed. Surrender: that was the safer option. The guards would take her to Nem’ro. Risha and her crew would rescue her.
If Risha hadn’t also been captured. If the guards didn’t take matters into their own hands. If there weren’t Imperials on hand to take her into custody.
She jumped.
A long moment that felt more like falling and she slammed into the other pipe. Hands and feet clawing for purchase, she slid down. The pipe fittings tore through her gloves, grooves on the building’s surface threatened to jar her loose. The balcony floor rushed up and knocked the wind from her lungs.
She wheezed for breath. The dingy sky of Hutta had never looked more beautiful.
.
.
.
The spaceport proved to be as free of trouble as the approach had been. Kyrian and Kaliyo left the ship on one of the outsized landing pads and followed a port worker’s helpful directions to the administration building.
It was only a few blocks from the spaceport, close enough that Kaliyo didn’t object to the walk. The sun was pleasantly warm, the air just as fresh and clear as he’d imagined. The sidewalk and streets were clean and well-kept to Imperial standards.
They passed few people on their walk. The city was a tiny one, only qualifying for the designation as it was the only settlement of any size on the planet. It didn’t take a large population to keep agricultural droids running, or to oversee an automated harvest. With a light workload and little danger, Caprida was either an ideal posting or an incredibly boring one. They were there to ensure it stayed that way.
The administration building was a shiny duralium and glassine affair, its entrance flanked by ornamental trees.
The receptionist stood as they approached. “Third floor.” She indicated the bank of lifts to her right. “Take a right and it’s the second door on your left. Go straight in.”
“Thank you.” Kyrian glanced at Kaliyo as they waited for the lift. “Watcher Two did say it was urgent.”
She shrugged. “Not like they get tourists. Bet they don’t even have a cantina.”
“Probably not one that meets your standards.”
“You Imps just don’t know how to have fun.”
The small office they’d been directed to was empty. A couple of chairs were pushed back against one wall and a worktable sat at the far end, its display in idle mode.
Kyrian glanced around for an inner doorway or some sign of whoever had been waiting for them.
“Must’ve stepped out for a sec.” Kaliyo let the door close behind her.
The holocomm on the worktable snapped to life, the familiar blue-tinged image of a bald man in an Imperial uniform blooming above it. His expression was grim.
“Keeper?”
“I received disturbing reports of your activities, Agent.” His emphasis on the title was subtle, but unmistakable.
Kyrian’s mouth went dry.
“This is not the first time your indiscretions have been brought to my attention. It is the last. Investigation into your previous missions is ongoing, but evidence from your recent mission on Nar Shaddaa was sufficient. At 0700, you were stripped of your rank and designation. You have been declared a traitor to the Empire.”
“Sir, I...” His voice caught in his throat. There were no explanations. He had aided the enemy. Knowingly. Repeatedly. That his actions probably hadn’t harmed the Empire was irrelevant. He swallowed. “Kaliyo wasn’t… hasn’t...”
“Kaliyo Djannis is no longer your concern.” Keeper’s voice was ice. “Surrender your weapons and equipment. Do not make this difficult.”
Kyrian heard the door hiss open and the click of boots behind him. “Sir...”
Keeper’s face pinched with disgust, and disappointment. He cut the comm channel.
Kyrian closed his eyes. His heart thudded in his ears. Three, maybe four people had entered the room. Soldiers, probably. Armed. But perhaps not expecting resistance. He and Kaliyo had faced worse odds and prevailed. He could turn, slowly, as if surrendering, and...
The cold end of a blaster barrel pressed against the back of his head. “Don’t do anything stupid, Agent.” Kaliyo gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Guess I can’t call you that anymore.”
The soldiers seized him.
He had counted wrong; there were five of them. They stripped him of his weapons, his coat, his belt, searched him, scanned him for hidden cybernetics, and for the suicide pill he should have carried, all with harsh Imperial efficiency. He was nothing to them, no longer human in their eyes, a traitor. He would be shipped back to Dromund Kaas, to a final hearing – if sentence hadn’t already been passed – and executed.
He could have fought. It hardly mattered if he died now or in two or three days time. There was no escape. Nowhere to go if he fled. Even if, by some oversight, he could still access the ship, the Empire would be waiting for him wherever he landed. Or would ensure that the Republic was, and in a non-listening mood.
Stealing a shuttle would be little easier, and just as pointless. He doubted the few at the spaceport were fueled for more than a trip to orbit, or to oversee the fields. Even if he could make the next system, he would still be in Imperial space, in a stolen Imperial ship.
The cold grip of binders around his wrists put an end to the absurd line of thought. They fastened restraints around his upper arms as well, pulling his shoulders back painfully, and secured his legs, giving him just enough slack to shuffle along. The time for escape was long past.
The air in the room seemed to have thinned, as if the oxygen had drained away. His knees buckled.
The soldiers yanked him upright. There was no escape. None. It was over. Finished. He might as well have let Kaliyo shoot him. No. No, there has to be a way. There has to be something. An opportunity. A chance.
A refueling station? Dromund Kaas? His guards would get tired of having to all but carry him everywhere. They would remove his leg restraints, suffer a moment of inattention… It was vanishingly unlikely, but possible. He clung to the thought.
The soldiers shoved him into the hallway, pulling him up sharply when he stumbled. The hall was no longer empty. A tall, expensively dressed man waited there, flanked by two almost inhumanly large men.
For a dizzying moment, Kyrian wondered if he were hallucinating.
Lord Dralick was a minor Sith Lord, with no connection to Intelligence, and every reason not to draw their attention. He had a history of doing unauthorized business, selling his chemical concoctions to anyone interested. It was the reason Kyrian had crossed paths with him in the first place. He couldn’t be there. It was impossible.
Lord Dralick’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Did I not warn you about your choices?” He nodded to the soldier on Kyrian’s left. “Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll take custody of the prisoner.” The smile he gave Kyrian was anything but pleasant. “The Sith take great interest in traitors.”
.
.
.
Jezari was relieved to find Risha waiting for her in a back corner of the cantina, as they’d planned. It was clear her engineer’s half of the mission had gone a lot more smoothly than hers. Risha looked coolly relaxed, her elegant hair and clothing unruffled. A short glass at her elbow held a splash of amber liquid – probably Corellian whiskey.
Jezari limped over to her table and dropped into the seat opposite her. “That’s done.”
“Problems, Captain?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think they saw me. But we better not stick around.”
Risha sighed and finished her whiskey. “What’d you do?”
“There were more guards than we thought.” Jezari explained her near capture in Nem’ro’s suite and her escape down the outside of the palace as they headed back to their rented speeder.
Staying the night in one of the palace’s guest rooms would’ve covered their tracks better – and let her have a nice long soak in a hot tub – but if either of them had been seen, or caught on a security camera they hadn’t known about… It was too risky. Better to head back to the Luck, and a medpac for her scrapes and bruises.
“At least the room turned out to be empty,” Jezari finished.
Risha rubbed her forehead. “This is why we need plans. Actual plans.” She steered Jezari into the passenger seat and started up the speeder. “You can’t just wing everything.”
“It worked,” Jezari protested. “And we had a plan.”
“We had kind of a plan. Don’t argue, Captain. You’d be telling me the same thing if I almost got caught.”
“I… Okay, fine.” She sank back in the seat. “Next time, we’ll plan better. And ask for equipment.”
The spaceport wasn’t far from Nem’ro’s palace, but Risha took a winding route through the city to avoid the more dangerous areas of Jiguuna. Nem’ro’s feud with one of his fellow Hutts seemed to be mostly over, but there were always people in the seedier parts of Hutt towns who would look at two lightly armed people in a rented speeder and think that they were easy pickings.
“Why didn’t you take their offer?” Risha asked as she made the last turn back toward the spaceport. “You like doing this stuff. It’s most of what we do these days.”
“I like my freedom. And my crew.”
“Like the SIS wouldn’t take all of us.”
“I want to work for me. Take the jobs I want. Only the jobs I want.” And I don’t want to explain my friends. If the SIS knew those friends included a bounty hunter who was willing to work for the Empire and – more damningly – an Imperial Intelligence agent, they’d lose all interest in her. Or decide she was a danger to the Republic.
“Good.”
Jezari looked at her. “You’re not gonna try to talk me into it?”
“No.” Risha shook her head. “I think staying independent’s smart. But they’re not gonna drop it. You’re too useful to them.”
Jezari groaned. “I’m just a freighter pilot.”
“You passed that point a long time ago, Captain.”
The droid at the rental stand happily returned their deposit and they made their way through the throng of beings that filled Jiguuna spaceport. The Wayfarer’s Luck was parked halfway down the row of private docking bays.
Corso bounded out of the door as they approached. “Captain! Are you okay? What happened? Let me help you.”
“I’m fine.” She shooed his hands away. “It’s just a few scrapes.” She limped past him and up the Luck’s ramp. Hello, medpac. Risha could fill him and Bowdaar in on what had happened.
“But...” Corso trailed after her. “Captain? There was a message while you were out. We waited for you.”
“I’ll get it in a second.” Jezari dropped onto the acceleration couch with the medpac and stretched out her throbbing knee.
.
.
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Kyrian studied the walls of the cell. There wasn't much to study; the cell was purpose-built, a standard Imperial cell, not a converted cabin or storage room. There were no seams where one might pry a bit of paneling away, nothing that could be used as a weapon, only the smooth surfaces, prickling force field, and a limited sanitary arrangement.
Looking for nonexistent flaws was better than replaying Keeper's words. Or Kaliyo's.
Dralick's bodyguards had removed his restraints when they'd tossed him in the cell. For all the good that would do him. He could hardly overpower Dralick and his legion of enormous guards, nor could he escape from a starship in transit. At least not if he wanted to survive the attempt.
If I’d agreed, turned back to Nar Shaddaa, would Kaliyo have been pleased? Or did she only suggest it because she knew I’d never agree. Kaliyo hadn’t been under arrest, even before she’d demonstrated to the soldiers that she was on their side, not his. But then, Keeper had never expected Kaliyo to be loyal to the Empire. Only loyal to a paycheck.
I’m sorry. He could still see Keeper’s disgusted look. I only wanted to… ...help people? ...change things? The Empire had raised him, trained him, Keeper had tried to turn him into a proper agent. And he had betrayed them all. Because he was soft, and squeamish, and could never see the big picture.
Yet, if Keeper had appeared and offered him one last chance, he knew he would only go on making the same choices. He wasn’t sure if that was courage, or cowardice.
The ship was too well insulated for the sound of the engines to reach his cell, but if he pressed his hand against the wall, he could feel the faint vibrations. They were in hyperspace. It was only a matter of time before Dralick came for him.
His throat felt tight. There was no escape. No one would come to rescue him. There was nothing he could do. No point in begging for mercy. Dralick had no reason to even keep him alive. No, no… No, Dralick has every reason to keep me alive. Their destination was Korriban. For a Sith execution, yes, but Dralick was clearly not the executioner.
He followed that thin ray of hope.
Korriban was only home to Sith, but it did have regular supply shuttles. And miles of poorly mapped tombs and desolate canyons – filled with tuk’ata and k’lor’slugs and worse, but also filled with hiding places. People did escape. He’d met some of them. All he had to do was survive the voyage.
Dralick and his guards were far more likely to make a mistake than Imperial soldiers would have been. It only takes one mistake. He would escape, hide, and steal on board a supply shuttle. Wherever it went there would be a spaceport. And from there, his way out of Imperial space.
He sagged against the wall. He wouldn’t think about the next two days. He would think about his one visit to Korriban and all the half-forgotten Imperial history classes that had covered the Sith homeworld.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the landing area. There had been guards – soldiers – but not many of them, and mostly to keep the wildlife away. It was hemmed in on three sides by cliffs, probably to limit both the size of landing craft and their approaches. Was there really only one path?
The sound of footsteps interrupted his attempt to remember. Dralick. He straightened and faced the forcefield at parade rest. It hid his shaking hands.
The Sith Lord smiled as he approached, one of his towering guards a step behind. “Ah, good, you’ve regained some of your spirit. I was beginning to fear this voyage would be dull.” He nodded to the guard. “Bring him.”