Loyalty/Part 11

A serving droid rolled up on the single, torso-wide sphere that provided its locomotion, held out a tray of hors d'oeuvres, and intoned, "May I interest you in a sampling of local delicacies, gentlebeing?"

Recognizing the droid could not see his expressions to be cowed by them, Zeff tapped the rebreather/vocoder on his helmet instead. The droid rolled back and bowed its head. "My apologies, gentlebeing, I meant no offense. I hope that your time on Commenor is fruitful and beneficial for you and the beings you represent."

Zeff followed it with his eyes as it wheeled away. You and me both.

Though patronized by the Republic and backed by Corellia and Commenor, the Commenori Economic Roundtable was theoretically a business conference, and so some fool had decided to host it in Chasin City's largest convention center rather than the secure government offices. Of course, the office building was less secure after one of Darth Alecto's Anzati had murdered most of the former governor's guards before running into Darth Vandak, who had also had no problems with security. But the government center had only a few access points, while the convention center had many, and the local police had thinned their cordon to cover the entire perimeter.

Shrizzzqadl had suggested avoiding the cordon by going through the sewers, but none of them could be sure they would reach the maintenance levels of the facility without bringing the stiench along, and while Shrizzzqadl's mystic's getup was designed for getting attention, that was not the kind of attention they had in mind. In the end, Dolre and Nevya had taken point to clear them a path through the service entrance, distracting guards and disabling surveillance systems as needed. As he mingled with meaningless representatives from minor worlds in the sector that leeched off Commenor's economic might, Zeff felt sure Darth Alecto would be pleased—if perhaps a little surprised—that they had made their entry without killing anyone.

But the Jedi were present, so it was only a matter of time.

Zeff had not seen either of the Knights, or anyone who resembled a Padawan, but he could feel their presence in the Force; he wanted to squint against the glare at the corner of his mind's eye. Darth Alecto had not yet taught any of them her trick for vanishing in the Force, but Dolre's presence was as amorphous as his body on the best days, and even Zeff had a hard time getting a read on Nevya at point blank, let alone lost in a multispecies mob. Zeff knew he and Shrizzzqadl were the likeliest targets, so he took care to keep his mind level and his actions innocuous until he was close enough to strike.

Once he had endured all he could about incentives for revitalized shipping along the Quellor Run, he managed an excuse to the blustering Human and wandered away. Across the daylit hall, he saw Shrizzzqadl whirling his prayer wheel; a few beings nearby gave him glances that mixed curiosity and wariness. Zeff stared so long himself that Nevya almost snuck up on him; he half-turned toward her only when she was within arm's reach.

"Have you considered my people's investment offer?" she asked at full volume, her attempt to suppress her native accent resulting in some bizarre hybrid that might have been from anywhere on the Outer Rim.

"I'm…still considering it."

Stepping closer, she lowered her voice and added, "I've seen some of the Corellians, but not the Solos."

"And the Jedi must be with them," Zeff agreed. He had spotted someone he recognized from Nevya's holos, though not by name—some Senior Executive Vice President of Corellian Engineering or other, no doubt—surrounded by supplicants and a loose knot of bodyguards. A couple CorSec agents patrolled the edges of the main hall, the green trim on their uniforms impossible to miss when one knew to look for it. But the Solos had not put in an appearance among the rabble, and it made sense for the Jedi to protect the most critical targets. "Where's Dolre?"

"I don't even know what he is at the moment, let alone where." Nevya scanned the gathering and drew a deep breath through her nose. If she could sniff him out, the sense evidently failed her. "Stay sharp; when the time comes, we may need to act quickly."

This isn't the first time I've killed someone. He didn't say it aloud, though; he was familiar with killing, but Nevya knew it intimately. Once she wandered away, he strolled in the opposite direction, listening for conversational tidbits that might justify more careful attention and glancing every so often at the flight of broad stairs leading up to the mezzanine where, he understood, the highest-level discussions were taking place.

"Do you think trade will open up down the Corellian Run now that Gasald is dead?"

Zeff almost walked into a Duros. He whirled to find two Humans leaning against the pseudo-marble newel at the foot of the staircase.

One of the men fidgeted with one of the buttons on his coat. "Are we sure she's dead?"

"They blew up the Kiss of Death and sent her fleet packing. If she's not dead, she probably will be once her bosses find out."

The ground seemed to sway beneath Zeff's feet. From the time he had left training until he had been handed over to Darth Alecto, he had served in Lady Gasald's fleet, dreaming of the day he would become one of her lords. Her march toward the Core had seemed unstoppable; even the loss of Milagro had proven more of a setback than a real problem. With the fall of the Crescentia and the defeat of the Seventy-Second Republic Battle Group at Eriadu, victory had seemed assured.

How? How could this have happened?  He almost dared to ask, but at the last second, he realized how suspicious two Humans would find a non-Human in airtight armor asking questions about Lady Gasald. He was forced to take cover behind a fern and eavesdrop, drawing out a datapad he didn't bother to activate, let alone read.

"Well, it looks like the Corellian and Tapani investments in Milagro may pay off after all," the fidgety man conceded. "Is the way clear now?"

"Nothing in the way but Gamor, and without Gasald to protect it, that'll go belly-up the moment the Navy says boo. Now may be our last chance to get a real investment in Milagro's industry; we can't compete with the Corellians or the Tapani, maybe, but we can get a foot in the door before the rest of these worlds flood the market."

"And you think that Corellian Engineering guy can set us up?"

"Milagro's basically a populated refinery. CEC needs all the materials it can get its hands on to keep feeding the beast with ships; they've probably sunk more into Milagro than anyone else, including the Republic proper."

Zeff remembered—so long ago it seemed like another life, though it hadn't even been two years—when his first master had returned with his and the other Acolytes' orders for Milagro. Apparently, Lord Karzded had voiced that same logic, except he envisioned Milagro's processing plants and refineries feeding Allanteen, not Corellia. It had been that way for a little while, Zeff understood—Lady Gasald's fleet had taken Allanteen the better part of a year ago—but then Darakhan had thrown a hydrospanner into the works. And now, if Allanteen was lost too, and Lady Gasald with it…

Overtaken by imaginings of this catastrophe, Zeff might have missed someone yelling his own name from a meter away. Nothing but the Force could wrench him out of his inward spiral, but the Force rose to the occasion, and Zeff found himself turning before he really understood why. Through the tinted filter of his goggles, he saw Nevya drifting up the stairs, but his eyes shifted past her without even stopping to appreciate the swish of her hips as she walked. Satir Solo leaned on a mezzanine railing, chatting with some Commenori bigwig, but Zeff only catalogued him before his eyes moved on; he didn't bother looking for Galera at all.

Because behind Satir, vigilant but unobtrusive, stood two Jedi.

The Padawan was some near-Human or other—a woman about Zeff's age, if appearance counted for anything with her species. Zeff had seen the Knight's species before, though never met one; he thought it was called a Selkath, but all he could tell for certain was that it was a fish of some kind. Even from across the hall, he could feel the Force in both Jedi, and having them in the same room sharpened that aggravating glare until the dark side demanded he put out the light projecting it. Conscious anew that he could not shield himself in the Force, Zeff turned his gaze away and noticed Shrizzzqadl staring at them too, his skeletal features somehow even surlier than usual.

Zeff joined several beings flocking toward the base of the stairs, wondering if one of the Solos might make an address. He looked for Nevya and saw her stalling halfway up the stairs, in conversation with a Human woman—Zeff couldn't be sure whether Nevya was just maintaining her cover, or if Dolre had gone the extra kilometer. Closer to the stairs—Nevya's target, Zeff guessed—Galera Solo spoke with a male Caamasi Zeff recognized as Commenor's latest governor. Four CorSec agents hovered, watching the crowd, but the second Jedi was part of Solo's conversation too. The Caamasi made a bow of respect, shifting enough for Zeff to get a good look at the Human Jedi's face…

"Oh, kriff me!"

Zeff started, checking a lurch forward at the last second. Even that betrayed him…or perhaps he had simply allowed his fear to bleed into the Force. He turned his helmet's visor to a nearby Ithorian and sensed he had escaped her meeting his gaze by nanoseconds; he could feel her eyes on him, then around him, sweeping the area for the danger she could feel. Zeff tried to listen to the Ithorian, forcing himself to pay enough attention that he picked up the gist of the conversation, but he knew he could not hide his mind for long. Nevya had to be warned—to be stopped—before she tried to strike.

The Caamasi governor began to speak, loud enough to be heard, but in a voice so soft Zeff thought he had never quarreled in his life. Zeff tried to slip surreptitiously through the crowd during the speech, but he knew he was moving faster and with more deliberation than a few of the other beings paying less than full attention, and he was forced to expend precious seconds drawing out his datapad, turning away from the speech, and pretending to scroll through incoming information. As he read the prepared intel on Commenor, though, he saw the means to convert the waste to his advantage.

Pocketing the datapad, he made a show of looking around before fixing his eyes on Shrizzzqadl, who hung to the back of the crowd around the stairs, occasionally tinkling his bell and rasping; Zeff wasn't sure if it might be Sith, or the native Zanibar tongue, or just meaningless, ominous sounds to add to his image. Stopping at a respectful distance and bowing from the waist, he said, "Er…Highest Potentate…may I beseech a moment of Your Beatitude's time?"

Shrizzzqadl studied him with those bottomless black eyes. "It may have a moment."

Shrizzzqadl drifted after him until they were far enough away not to be heard; when they were, Zeff dropped his obeisant voice and asked, "Where's Dolre?"

"I don't know."

"Nevya's moving in—"

"Yes, and we need to get into position too."

"We have to stop her—we have to reassess the whole approach."

"Why?"

"The Jedi—"

Shrizzzqadl's harsh laugh cut in. "We knew they would be here. What's wrong, Acolyte, lost your nerve?"

Zeff bared his teeth behind his helmet and, try as he might to keep it leashed, the dark side responded to his anger, encouraging him to slap down one who would deride him. He managed not to squeeze Shrizzzqadl's throat until those black eyes popped out of his skull, but he matched the Zanibar's snarl as he replied, "The woman with Galera Solo. She's not a Knight, she's a Master."

Shrizzzqadl had enough discipline not to glance, but he hissed through his perpetually-exposed teeth, and Zeff felt him start to understand some of the danger.

Some, but not all.

"It was supposed to be two Knights…"

"Well, it's not—"

"How do you know this Master?"

"From my time with Lady Gasald. My master made us learn all the Corellian Jedi—"

"Corellian? But the Republic—"

Zeff refused to be overridden again. "—and all the Masters of the High Council."

Shrizzzqadl stopped, and this time he did glance. "The High Council?"

Zeff struggled not to turn and meet those eyes he felt on his back, though the force of the light behind them was starting to burn. Admittedly, some of the faces he had committed to memory in Lady Gasald's service had faded—and one or two of their owners had since died—but Darth Alecto had thought knowing the High Council a worthwhile use of his time, so he had kept up the practice.

And it helped that, between the High Council and the Corellians, she was the single point of overlap.

"It's Nawsa Arodion."