Desperate Times/Prologue

Five years ago

"Mind your thoughts," said Suwo Tolp in Quarren.

Tirien Kal-Di frowned and replied in the same throaty, gargling tongue, "He's not a telepath, Master."

"The stronger a thought, the likelier it is to appear on your face," Suwo answered. "He isn't blind."

Tirien seemed to take it under advisement as they moved through the shade of palm trees—at least, the tightness of distaste faded from around his eyes. Suwo had chosen the shady path as a favor to his apprentice, for Tirien's brow gleamed with sweat in the warm ocean breeze; one could take the boy out of Pantora… Suwo himself had taken the opportunity for a swim to keep his skin moisturized, but Tirien avoided extra humidity whenever possible, and he was already wearing his hood up to conceal his Padawan braid. Suwo wore multilayered, voluminous robes of an airy material, light enough to allow easy movement and yet just heavy enough that the variety of weapons he carried did not imprint.

"Do you think he'll know?" Tirien asked.

"If he didn't, he'd know who did," Suwo answered. "But yes, he knows."

He had no doubts himself, but Suwo knew this would vex his apprentice—Tirien was a man who liked to have the whole picture before he acted, and taking information or whole plans on blind faith was anathema to his makeup. He was quick and clever, and already far more powerful and skillful with a blade than Suwo would ever be, but his reluctance to improvise and his resistance to change were his greatest weaknesses as a Jedi. He was getting better, Suwo could admit, but he had more room for improvement, and he needed to be pressed in that direction; he could not remain a Padawan forever.

Most of the beings they passed were Bothans, and Suwo sensed many eyes on them as they passed; neither was instantly recognizable as a Jedi, but neither was Bothan or Human, either, and that was sufficiently abnormal to be noted. He wondered whether their attention could be diverted with the Force, and considered instructing his apprentice to try as a way of stretching his burgeoning powers, but abandoned the idea immediately; Kothlis was a Bothan colony and, in many ways, a satellite of the famed Bothan Spy Guild, and there were simply too many watchful eyes to close them all.

They followed a path over sand-covered pavement, beach bars and cabanas visible in the distance, though most of these were half-filled at best and primarily by non-Bothans; war left little time for tourism, and Suwo suspected the Bothans would rather serve drinks to aliens and hear them spill their secrets in moments of blithe intoxication than risk that themselves. His and Tirien's path, however, wound not down to the beach but up farther into the old city. The downtown of Kon'ratta, Kothlis's second city, was duracrete and durasteel, but wood, thatched straw, and stone prevailed on the city's outskirts. The first villas were little more than huts linked by open-air walkways, but the largest were multistory stone-and-terra mansions fronted by spacious courtyards and palm tree gardens.

Passing a mansion so ostentatious that he saw Alderaanian thrantas penned in the enormous yard, Suwo led the way onto a promontory where a smaller, old stone fort stood guard over the Sesseranda Ocean below. Outbuildings and utility structures had encroached on what Suwo suspected had once been a hundred meters of cleared space, but the fortress walls still stood, meeting at angles in some places and curving in others. Tirien took it all in with an expression of mild curiosity.

"What is it?"

"Stone," Tirien replied. "It's an unusual choice for the Bothans; they were obviously spacefaring by the time they got here. Did they build it just to conserve the resources they brought from offworld, or was this from some precursor species?"

Suwo did not know, nor was it something he would ever have bothered to consider given their mission. Opting to treat the question as rhetorical, he advanced on the fortress; the portcullis was down, but Suwo smacked the stone wall beside it. He sensed observation and suspicion before a speaker he couldn't see asked, "What do you want?"

"To hear the whispers on the ocean breeze," Suwo answered in Basic.

The portcullis rose and the Quarren Knight walked without further preamble into a stone tunnel that led to the heart of the fortress. Tirien followed in his master's wake, loosening his robe enough to reach his lightsaber. Beyond the tunnel—the wall was some ten meters thick—a small keep lorded over a sunlit courtyard, but Suwo paused once they were both inside and the portcullis had closed behind them.

Tirien stepped to his side. "Master?"

"Which way?" Suwo tested.

Tirien's yellow eyes narrowed into a look of introspection Suwo recognized with approval. The Force around them both trembled like a mental heat mirage as Tirien stretched out his senses. He took two slow, dreamy steps forward, eyes half-closed in concentration, before gesturing to a door set into the tunnel wall. "Here."

"Yes, I think so too."

"He's changed things around since last time," Tirien commented.

"Advisable, given his profession," Suwo answered, rapping on the door. "Staying in one place exposes him enough."

"Then why stay?"

"Access to the Bothan spy network, for one. And Kothlis borders the Mid Rim, information flows in here even before it reaches Bothawui."

The discussion was ended when the door did not open, but rather slid aside, its handle and knocker merely a façade that fit into precisely carved notches in the stone. A slender Zeltron with a winning smile and a bandoleer full of knives stepped out to greet them.

"Welcome, gentles. Sorin will be delighted to see you back!  If you'll follow me?"

Suwo nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. Tirien smiled, which was not at all like him given the circumstances; as the Zeltron started down a staircase, Suwo took the opportunity to discreetly elbow his apprentice in the ribs. Tirien stared at him for a moment, then blinked, apparently realizing what had happened. He narrowed his eyes at the Zeltron's back, but Suwo said, "Calm. Do not resent her for trying; see your own failure in her success."

"Yes, Master."

If the Zeltron was offended by them speaking around her in Quarren, she gave no sign of it as she ushered them into a small but well-appointed parlor. "Sorin's just wrapping up some other business. Please, have a seat."

They sat side-by-side on a plush couch, Suwo taking a sea snail from a tray on the table and digging the meat out with two of his facial tentacles while Tirien threw back his hood and waved off a glass the Zeltron offered. Suwo thought his apprentice was overcorrecting for his momentary lapse until Tirien said, "I sense something…off. Darkness."

Reaching into the Force himself, Suwo felt a tremor of heat and a ripple of shadow. He met Tirien's eyes for a moment before his Padawan asked their hostess in Basic, "Who's Sorin seeing now?"

The Zeltron wagged a reproving finger and winked. "Now now, secrets, Jedi. Sorin takes his visitors' confidentiality very seriously.  You don't want anyone knowing you're here, right?  Oh, here's more refreshments!"

Suwo took the point, though the server turned out to be a protocol droid, and the Quarren Knight wondered if perhaps the Zeltron wasn't taking speech in Quarren quite as in stride as she made it seem. The way Tirien's face smoothed out showed that he had realized the significance of the protocol droid as well, though whether he had taken the larger point was unclear. As Suwo picked up another snail, he heard in his head a voice quite unlike the sound of his own inner monologue saying Sith.

He managed not to start, though it was a near thing; he had never quite gotten used to his apprentice communicating that way. It was not his own forte, so he simply nodded under the pretense of giving his snail a seal of approval before tugging the meat out.

Evidently even Tirien could not telepathically convey the precise thought he had in mind, for he sat back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought and, as if by mere coincidence, brushing one side of his robe back to expose his lightsaber hilt.

Suwo sighed internally; his apprentice clearly hadn't taken the larger point. He sucked on his snail shell a moment, shook it upside down, then used that as cover to shake his head.

"Have you been with Sorin long?" he asked the Zeltron, both to get her talking and to take her eyes off Tirien, who had gotten the hint from Suwo but now sat with his jaw clenched.

"Oh, a good little while. He's a great boss, and I get to meet so many new people!  Are you okay?" she asked Tirien. "You seem stressed. We could offer you a massage here in the compound…?"

"I'm fine," Tirien said coolly. His tone and his emotions both seemed to register, because her smile wavered. Before Suwo could speak, the door opened and out stepped a Moogan wearing a silver and gold headpiece.

"Sorin will see the Jedi now," he said, lacing his fingers together and bowing.

"Lovely," the Zeltron said, recovering her smile. "Gentles?"

Suwo followed the Moogan in, Tirien at his heels and the Zeltron trailing to bring up the rear. The corridor wound this way and that beneath the courtyard; once they were away from the protocol droid, Suwo took the opportunity to repeat, "Mind your thoughts."

He sensed Tirien's contrition, and the state of emotionless peace that followed as their Moogan guide led them into a comfortable solar, where Sorin Ruy'the sat behind a desk. He had no art or decorations, but a wall of computer monitors behind the desk and a holoprojector on each side, though all were depowered at the moment. Other, closed doors led out of the room; Suwo sensed his apprentice following one set of stairs with his mind, tracking Sorin's last "client".

"Here and now," he reminded his Padawan, then turned to extend a clawed hand to Sorin.

The Bothan rose and shook. "Welcome back, old friend," he said in Basic. "And you, Kal-Di."

"Good to see you, Sorin," Suwo answered, taking one seat on the opposite side of Sorin's desk. Tirien simply nodded, standing behind Suwo's right shoulder with his hands clasped before him, the picture of Jedi restraint. Sorin eyed him briefly, then nodded past Suwo's shoulder. The Moogan took the free seat beside Suwo while the Zeltron stepped out.

"What may I do for you, Suwo?"

"Word has reached the Jedi that the Sith are planning a bioterror campaign," Suwo began without preamble. "What do you know of it?"

Sorin sat back, the fur around his collar rippling. Suwo knew it was indicative of some emotion, but he could not gather which; Sorin had always been hard to read. "I may have heard about it. The Sith plan many campaigns."

"You'd know this one," Suwo said dryly. "The depopulation of entire worlds would be bad for business. Spies can't speak when they're dead."

Sorin did not smile, but Suwo felt him allowing a touch of amusement. "A fair point. What do you think would be good for business?"

"What are you asking?"

The Bothan did smile this time. "Humans stand to gain a great deal if you succeed—enough that it should produce gratitude even in the most intractable. The Corellians, for instance."

Carefully now Suwo told himself. Corellia's notorious pride rebelled against the manipulations of outside powers, including the Jedi. "Humans dominate many worlds; Corellia's only one."

"A world of manifold opportunities for some of my clients."

"Still fixated on it?" Suwo asked. When Sorin's fur ruffled in agitation, Suwo knew he had chosen the wrong phrasing and coiled one of his facial tentacles.

Tirien caught the signal, arched an eyebrow, and asked at once, "Intrigued by the mystique of the Eldest Brother?"

"Eldest, richest, and most deeply steeped in knowledge and intrigue," Sorin replied. "And all might be lost…or might not, depending on you."

"Corellia is out of my reach," Suwo said flatly.

Sorin gauged him for a moment, then shrugged. "A Jedi can't begrudge me hope. But I trust you have something else to offer?"

If these rumors are true, the release of the plague must be prevented at all costs. Master Broze's command had reached him in the field, and, like Tirien, the old Jedi spent time considering words rather than shooting from the lip. "They say Lord Aresh is planning an offensive into the Bright Jewel sector."

"And doubtless the Jedi will have to respond?" Sorin baited.

"Indeed."

Suwo shared what he knew, haggling when Sorin pushed for more details and resisting the impulse to look at his apprentice's face, wondering if Tirien had managed to conceal his loathing of the entire process. In the end Sorin nodded, leaning back in his chair. "I wish your Jedi good fortune in the north."

"I'm more concerned with the fortunes of the entire galaxy," Suwo said pointedly. "Bioterror?"

Sorin sat forward again, resting his forearms on the edge of his desk. "My sources tell me the Sith are mass-producing the Candorian Plague."

"Where?" Tirien demanded.

Sorin spared him a glance, then looked back at Suwo. "A world called Thisspias."