Sins of the Father/Part 9

Celop Faro held his tongue until his agent finished, but his arms were crossed and his eyes narrowed. "How do we know this?"

"Two of our sources independently confirmed it," replied the holo of his man on distant Nar Kaaga.

"They're trustworthy?"

"We've had good intelligence from them in past. And they've no reason to love each other, I might add."

Celop looked down for a moment in thought, then nodded. "Pay them what they're worth, then."

"Yes, my lord."

Faro reached out for the holo controls, but paused. "Does Lord Osydro know this?"

"Best I can determine, my lord, not yet," the agent answered. "I can't speak for tomorrow or the day after, though."

Nodding, Celop cut the transmission, pondering what to do with this information. He had spies and agents he might activate, but to what end? He did not want Lady Gasald to think him incapable of managing her covert affairs, but even less did he want to act wrongly on so delicate a matter, especially when they were still indebted to Lord Osydro for his aid. In the end there was nothing for it; she would have to be consulted.

Picking up Jaigan Mazkazato—the foremost of his Sith Acolytes, the closest thing he had to an apprentice—at the door, Celop followed a familiar path to the Kiss of Death ' s throne room. The doors curved to match the sweeping walls of the circular chamber—a first view intended to awe and intimidate the entrant. Celop remained awed by the grandeur of it all—the sweeping, ornate marble columns that encircled the room; the wide, deep steps shaped like chevrons and leading from the expanse of lower floor to the upper tier; the upper tier itself, with its fifty-meter main circle and the smaller circle on each side, equipped with holoprojectors and tables; the mosaic ceiling, featuring scenes of Lady Gasald's many triumphs and what Celop understood were arcane Sith glyphs; the towering silk banners that swayed in the recirculated air, bearing the symbols of the New Sith Empire, the Council of Five, and, opposite the doors, Lady Gasald's personal sigil; the viewports opening onto the gleam of starlight or the flare of hyperspace; and, at the back of the upper tier's main circle, atop a two-step dais and beneath her banner, Lady Gasald's own marble throne.

The room awed him, but it no longer intimidated him; that feeling was reserved for Lady Gasald herself. Even from the doors Celop could feel her power, like snowfall—soft and cold, able to turn from gentle caress to brutalizing blizzard without warning. Five of her White Guards lined the stairs leading up to the throne—faceless in their white helmets, massive in their gleaming white armor, striking for the scarlet cloaks they wore diagonally across their bodies. Though less than a year old, the White Guard had already made an impression on the multitude of lesser beings who scurried about the ship at Lady Gasald's bidding, as well as those visitors and supplicants who came or were brought before her.

Holding up two fingers to stay Jaigan from following, Celop advanced to the centermost guard and nodded. "I must see her at once. It can not wait."

He had chosen the words to impress the gravity of the situation on the man—he assumed it was a man, though beneath that all-concealing armor, who could say?—but Celop was aware of the frailty of the words. Of course it would wait if his lady decided it would; none but the Five themselves could command an audience with a Sith Overlord, and while some Overlords were said to be more open to their advisors with their time than others, Vedya Gasald was not one of them. But the silent guard turned his head, as if listening to words he alone could hear, and after a moment he stepped aside to let Celop pass.

On the upper tier, Lady Gasald stood alone, studying a holoprojection of Milagro. She wore a backless, shoulderless dress of glistening scarlet satin, exposing her snowy skin almost to the tailbone save that which was covered by her cascade of white hair. Her small feet were bare, leaving instantaneous heatprints on the cool durasteel as she walked; indeed, apart from her slip of a dress, she wore only a belt of circular bone rings polished to gleaming white, from which her curved lightsaber hung.

It took Celop a moment to realize he was staring, and another to amend the error. He knelt a few meters away and lowered his head. "My lady."

"Lord Faro," she purred, trailing one finger along the rim of the holoprojector. Her fingernails, like her toenails, were painted blood red. "I hear you bring me word that can not wait."

Had she enhanced her hearing, or simply drawn his words out of the White Guard's mind? Celop opted not to ponder too long. "I do, Master."

"Word concerning Milagro, my lord?"

Her soft, gentle voice spoke to his heart, and it pained him to disappoint her, but after a moment he realized he didn't have to. "After a fashion, my lady."

She stopped for a moment, then turned to face him. Celop took a second to appreciate the way her dress lifted her breasts—her cleavage commanded his attention in a way usually only a lightsaber blade in his presence could—before he raised his gaze to her soft, heart-shaped face. Her white eyebrows arched over her deep, dark eyes. "After what fashion?"

Celop cleared his throat. "My spies report that Runganna the Hutt is—"

"Runganna?" she interrupted.

Celop was used to this manner of briefing; Lady Gasald insisted on elaboration of anything she did not know. "A minor Hutt of some little accomplishment, based on Circumtore—an artificial planetoid south of Nar Shaddaa. She has some role in the arms trade, but it's been inconsequential until now."

Lady Gasald processed it for a moment, then nodded.

"Runganna is holding an affair at her estate on Circumtore, to which she's issued invitations to an auction. Evidently she's auctioning off some weapon of mass destruction."

Those dark eyes narrowed. "Your spies heard this…Lord Osydro was invited, not us?"

"No, my lady," Celop told her gravely. "No Overlord was invited. To the best of my spies' knowledge, the Empire was excluded entirely."

"Who was invited?"

"My people can't be certain of the entire list, but definitely the Republic and another Sith faction. I'm told Mandalorians are present on Circumtore, though my sources aren't sure whether their presence is merely coincidental.  Some Hutts may choose to participate, but so many are already Runganna's associates that their presence isn't inherently suspicious."

Lady Gasald looked thoughtful for a moment before the interest started to fade from her face. "You mentioned some connection to Milagro? Have they sent delegates too?"

"No, my lady, but the Republic negotiators are Tirien Kal-Di and his Padawan—the Zygerrian, Rican."

Now—and, Celop realized in retrospect, for this first time since his arrival—he had her full attention. Not always the safest prospect, that, but Celop had been able to tell her something she wanted to hear, and that eased some of his fears. Her soft lips parted a moment before she spoke. "Kal-Di and Rican."

"Yes, my lady."

"Two of Darakhan's strike team."

Feeling it wiser not to pour acid on that particular wound, Celop merely nodded this time.

"And of late attached to the Seventy-Second?"

"Reports conflict, my lady, but I feel our most credible intelligence supports that, yes."

"A skillful Jedi, from all reports? One who could make trouble for our plans?"

"Our armada is strong, my lady, and growing stronger still," Celop assured her. "I'm confident—"

"Halicon was confident too." Her voice chilled, and Celop winced. "The force I left him was strong as well. There can be no mistakes this time."

She paced around the holoprojector. "You have eyes on Circumtore, but do you have agents there?"

"Not on Circumtore itself, but nearby," Celop said. "As well as some mercenaries and assassins we've worked with in the past. Do you wish me to target them?"

Lady Gasald stopped long enough to give him a look. "Kal-Di is a Jedi Knight; he and Darakhan faced the late lamented Darth Vandak and survived to tell of it. It would take a truly exceptional mercenary or spy to eliminate him directly."

Thinking about it, Celop mused, "That might actually be possible…"

"But failure is more likely and harmful to us," she finished. Typing on the holoprojector, she shifted out to a view of the galaxy. "Rise. Where is Circumtore?"

The chance to be close to her made the ache in his knee easy to ignore. Celop narrowed down the holofield, then stepped as close as he dared while pointing. "Just there, my lady, you see?"

She tilted her head so it was almost—almost, but not quite—resting on his shoulder. "Yes."

Celop's other hand rose as if of its own accord, trembling as he imagined placing it against her bare back, feeling that silky flesh under his fingertips. Just as he made up his mind, though, she slipped away with a rustle of satin. "I have a different plan, Lord Faro."

Celop swallowed hard, catching hold of his thigh and twisting the flesh behind her back so pain would distract his body from longing. "In—" He coughed, cleared his throat, and managed, "Indeed, my lady?"

She nodded and described what she wished done. "Will you relay that message to an appropriate agent for me, Lord Faro? You'll select someone capable of carrying it out?"

"I…of course, Master…"

"Is there a problem?"

"I just…don't understand."

She sauntered over, her hips swaying, and reached up to caress his cheek. "It's all right; I don't require you to. As long as you're sure this can be done, exactly as I said."

The sweet perfume of her skin fogged what might have been indignation. "Of course, my lady. I won't fail you."

"I know you won't," she whispered, and drew him down, at last, into the kiss he had dreamed of since Karzded's fall.