Desperate Times/Part 12

"Well, good morning, Tirien, good morning indeed!" said little Master Dansh, hopping off his chair with a smile. "It's good to see you up and about."

"Good morning, Master," Tirien replied, bowing to the smaller Jedi and nodding to the pair of Padawans he was training.

"What brings you down our way, Tirien?"

"Just going for a walk, Master," Tirien lied, trying for an answering smile, but the Gate Master's faded a little in response.

"Oh…I'm not sure that's the best idea, Tirien, given your…"

He trailed off awkwardly, clearly at a loss for a sufficiently kind word. Condition? Misfortune?  Tirien felt the muscles in his face tighten as he worked to maintain his smile. "I wasn't planning to stroll through the Works, Master." Pulling open one side of his knee-length civilian coat to pat the blaster holstered on his hip, he said, "I'll be all right."

"I know you're a capable man—a capable Jedi—but still…"

"Master, I'm not confined to the Temple, am I?"

"…no. Just be careful."

"Of course, Master, it's just a walk. May the Force be with you."

"And also with you."

Tirien did not need the Force to sense the eyes watching his back as he took the hundred steps down past larger-than-life statues of the Jedi Temple's founders and onto the Processional Way. He spotted only a few other Jedi, most returning to the Temple from elsewhere; security for the exterior of the Temple was generally given over to the non-Force-sensitive Temple Security Force, and these he saw several times on the kilometer-long walk from the Temple, patrolling in pairs or quartets.

The Supreme Chancellor—when the Republic had one—and some members of the Senate and the admiralty enjoyed the privilege of landing directly on the Temple's roof, and daily deliveries of supplies and food had their own private hangars below the rooftop "surface" of Coruscant, but most beings who hoped to visit the Temple landed on a circular reception pad at the far end of the Processional Way. Some Jedi advanced the theory that walking toward the Temple, past historical statuary and large empty spaces alike, could give even a normal being some measure of appreciation for the Force, and thereby strengthen the interconnectivity among all life forms; Tirien privately wondered if the ancient Jedi, who had raised the Temple after a period of war themselves, had not wanted to impress on potential enemies the perils of making war on the Jedi.

"Where to, uh…Jedi?" the speeder taxi driver asked as Tirien clambered in. His tone made the identification a question which Tirien left unanswered.

"The Uscru."

"Big district," the driver said, pulling away from the docking station and into a traffic lane. "Opera House, Club District, looking for a nice bite to eat…?"

"Vos Gesal and Chakking Streets."

That put an end to conversation. It was clear that the driver could not quite summon up the courage to object, but the tendons in his neck became more and more defined as he clenched his jaw. Though still nearly a kilometer from Daring Way, Vos Gesal and Chakking was a far cry from the bright lights of the upper Uscru, where the most dangerous criminals were pickpockets and the occasional enterprising being selling high-end spice to the high rollers. When Tirien exited the taxi—which departed immediately—three different beings had sized him up before he walked ten paces. Steam not only issued from grates, but wafted upwards from long stretches of the open Chakking Street itself; it smelled of industrial exhaust, and Tirien could feel some of the particles clinging to his hands. Even Coruscant's orbital mirrors could only bring a sort of twilight to the area.

Tirien had consulted the latest intelligence reports and found the name he had sought, along with coordinates on Kothlis. That fit with his last memory, five years before…but with a man like this, a month-old intelligence report was a gamble, and time might become a factor very quickly. And so Tirien had queried the database for another name, just as familiar but closer to home, and Republic Intelligence had a report from only two days before.

Stepping into Troegett's Bar, Tirien was greeted by a chorus of mingled cheers and groans; he glanced at the bar and saw every screen showed a sport he recognized as smashball; a player bleeding copiously from the mouth was being carried off the field, clutching the smashball to his armored chest while referees attempted to pry it away. Passing through the mob, he swept the periphery of the room with his eyes; he spotted a number of beings talking in quiet tones while bodyguards stood nearby or covertly passing packages from hand to hand, but none was the one he sought.

As he glanced around the room, he felt a hand sliding along his credit belt. Without thinking, he caught the young Human by the fingers, twisted them into a lock, and forced him into a yowling hold drowned out by the smashball spectators. Rotating the boy, Tirien threw him into a beefy Ongree, who turned at once at the impact and lifted the Human off the floor, bellowing at him. Leaving them to it, Tirien turned back and finally spotted a Gamorrean standing in front of a back door.

The boar grunted as Tirien approached, hefting his heavy axe in both hands. Stopping just out of range, Tirien said, "I'm here to see Acroaka."

The boar's deep-set, piggy eyes narrowed. "Who asking?"

Tirien opened the left side of his coat to reveal the shoulder holster that contained Mali Darakhan's lightsaber. The boar stared at it for a long time, far longer than it took to identify the weapon and its significance, tapping his axe against his leg. Then he nodded abruptly and turned to open the door. Following him in, assaulted by the pungent aroma of pheromones, Tirien heard him announce, "Sith here."

There was a scramble of activity and a series of shocked cries; Tirien rolled his eyes, slipped through the crack between the Gamorrean and the door, and said, "Sit back down, Acroaka."

The beings inside froze, and a Rodian who had stopped halfway into a lurch toward a curtain that Tirien suspected concealed a back door stared at him. "Tirien Kal-Di?"

Acroaka Trenton was bracketed by a female Rodian server and a second Gamorrean. The Gamorrean stared at his fellow, but the female Rodian's snout widened in surprise. The Gamorrean at the door put a hand on Tirien's shoulder, so heavy that Tirien's knees bent a little, but Acroaka raised a hand. "Ah…wouldn' do tha' if I were you. Big Jedi hero, he is.  Well, come on in then, Jedi, pull up a chair.  Couldn' get us another whiskey, could ya?  There's a good girl."

He gave the Rodian server a swat on the behind with one hand and gestured to a free chair with the other. Shrugging off the Gamorrean's hand, Tirien took the chair, sweeping his coat out enough to leave his blaster within easy reach. Acroaka glanced at the weapon, but didn't challenge it as he sat too. "Haven' seen you in ages, Kal-Di. Been keepin' well, then?"

Tirien gave him a look, and the Rodian snickered. "Chatty as always, eh? Well, Suwo was always the conversationalist.  How's he been keepin'?"

"Dead. Almost five years now."

Acroaka leaned back in his chair. "Well, sorry to hear tha'. Wha's got you slummin' down in the Uscru?"

Tirien remembered watching Suwo haggle and trade quips with Acroaka, and he glanced deliberately around the room, letting the Rodian sweat. He fixed his gaze on a box with a double code lock. "Is that it?"

Though he could no longer sense Acroaka's emotions, Tirien noticed the Rodian drumming his suction-tipped fingers on the table; he took a deep breath through his nose and noticed the pheromone funk had grown more acrid. "Is tha' wha'?"

The Rodian server returned with Acroaka's whiskey; Tirien took the opportunity to fix the criminal with an unblinking stare until she had gone again. Acroaka sipped the drink, made to set it down, then sipped it again. Steepling his fingers deliberately, Tirien said, "You're good, Acroaka, but you're not perfect. We followed you from the Crimson Corridor, all the way here."

The shipment had gotten through Coruscant's customs without an alert, but a slip in the Crimson Corridor had allowed the Coruscant Police to trace the cargo in both directions from there. Acroaka stiffened, and the Gamorrean standing at his shoulder looked up, past Tirien. On reflex Tirien drew his blaster, pointed it over his shoulder without looking, and said, "I wouldn't do that, either."

There was a pregnant pause, and Tirien tried to conceal his apprehension. Suwo had taught him to read body language, but he had learned since to rely on the Force; if the Gamorrean at the door was not behind him, he was pointing his blaster at a wall and revealing his impotence to Acroaka. The Rodian might be intimidated by a Jedi, but a Forceless man with a blaster was no different than any thug in the Uscru, and just as easily disposed of…

The boar grunted, not more than two meters behind him, and Acroaka waved him off. "It's all right. Kal-Di's not a bad 'un, we just need to…negotiate."

Suwo had not let him down after all. Trying to release the breath he had been holding subtly, Tirien gave it a three count, then re-holstered his blaster. "I might be open to negotiation."

"See? There's a good lad.  So what's it gonna be, eh?  You lookin' into that new gang runnin' 'round Vos Gesal?  Might be I've seen somefing…"

"I'm certain you have," Tirien said, privately suspecting that what Acroaka had seen was the gang refusing to distribute his product, "but I'm more interested in offworld matters at the moment."

"All this business with the Chancellor, is it?"

"Something like that."

"If you're lookin' for Darf Alecto, I can't help you. She ain't been here, tha's for sure…"

Tirien's left hand squeezed into a fist with tension; mercifully, Acroaka looked at it with more apprehension than realization. "Pity—the Republic would pay well for that piece of information—but no, not Alecto either." He leaned forward, fixing Acroaka with a cool, appraising look. "I'm looking for Sorin."

Acroaka worked his snout, open and closed, sucked in toward his face and extended, not bothering to hide his unease now. "Tha's a big favor, that is."

Tirien gave the locked box another look. "If half of what I hear about the potency of this new stuff is true, I'll be doing you a big favor just by walking out the door, never mind what I might say to the Coruscant Police."

"Well tha's…tha's true enough, but…been a while since me an' Sorin done any business, y'see—"

"You got this through spaceport customs—on Coruscant, the heart of the Republic, when we're on high alert for anything wrong," Tirien cut him off. "Your people didn't do that, they couldn't even manage to get it through crime central. Don't lie to me, Acroaka.  You know I'll know."

The Rodian shifted uneasily. "Righ', but see, fing is, if I send you along his way and he's not 'appy to see you, he's not gonna be very 'appy with me, either…"

"It's like you and me, Acroaka—old friends."

"Righ'…well, you know he's got the place on Kothlis, yeah?"

Republic Intelligence had nothing but the seaside fort on Kothlis as well, but in the current climate, for a man like Sorin Ruy'the… "I didn't ask what he has, I asked where he is."

"Yeah…yeah…" The pheromone funk grew stronger and Acroaka took a few deep breaths, but he finally whispered, "Kwenn Space Station.  Edge of Hutt Space.  I dunno anyfing more specific."

Tirien nodded. "Kwenn Space Station."

"But you didn' hear that from me!"

"Hear what?" Tirien asked as he rose.

"Yeah…an'…an' you didn't see any of this stuff, eh?"

"See what?" Tirien asked on his way to the door.

"Yeah…you're all righ', Kal-Di!" Acroaka called after him.

Finding a taxi out of Vos Gesal street proved more challenging than coming in; after two kilometers Tirien gave it up as a bad job and took a turbolift to the surface instead, reflecting on his conversation with Acroaka and the message from Mali that had driven him down to Coruscant's seedier districts with nothing but a blaster and a lightsaber that was now almost as dangerous to him as to anyone else.

''Arrived on Skorrupon. Looking for them now.''

Stepping out into the reflected sunlight when the lift ran out of floors, Tirien walked to a tourist observation point, surveying the stretch of the now-distant Senate District without reallyu seeing it. He had wanted to have a lead if Mali and Slejux failed to catch their Padawans in time—certainly Republic Intelligence still had nothing useful to contribute to the hunt for Darth Alecto—but the hunch that had seemed so clever in the Temple now seemed like a wild bantha chase. He had promised himself that he would not run it down if Mali and Slejux succeeded; he would give it to other Jedi to pursue, and wait in the Temple like the good, Forceless half-Jedi he was while others carried on for him. Even if he followed through, even succeeded, what then? Who knew what trap had been set for the Republic on Skorrupon, and whether Narasi and Aldayr had unwittingly sprung it…

Tirien started as his beacon transceiver vibrated. Stepping away from a few clusters of idling tourists, he plugged the transceiver into his imagecaster and activated it. "Kal-Di."

"Tirien, are you receiving me?" Slejux Nissatak's faceless head appeared; it seemed to be raining, because even in a blue holo droplets of water gleamed on his cilia.

"Did you find them, Slejux?"

"I'm so sorry, Tirien…we were too late."

Tirien's heart stopped. "What happened?"

"It was a Sith trap, just as Mali feared. It was over before we even arrived.  They must have put up an incredible fight, we found the wreckage…"

Tirien thought the connection was wavering until he realized his hand holding the imagecaster was shaking. "Are they dead, Slejux? Did you find their bodies?"

"No, but they've been captured. They—"

His face disappeared, and Tirien's eyes widened. "Slejux? Slejux!"

The imagecaster crackled with noise that resolved into the bearded face of Mali Darakhan. "It's me. The Sith must not have been expecting to spring the trap twice in the space of a day, they obviously left the Besh Team behind as a rearguard."

The space of a day… "How far ahead of you are the Sith who have them?"

"A few hours at most. We found the Second Chance, but by the time we got to the ambush site they were gone.  Most of the scum left behind were mercs, they don't have a clue what's going on.  We got one useful one, but he's an Acolyte at best."

"At best?"

"He's not feeling very conversational yet. I'm working on that.  What's going on there, any leads?"

Tirien hesitated, struggling to think dispassionately. Mali was better at small talk and on an average day might be able to barter better than Tirien, but with his Padawan in such acute danger he was liable to incline toward aggressive negotiations if he didn't get his way quickly enough, and that would never work with Sorin. Slejux was calmer and more careful with his words, but he had less experience with the back alleys and below-the-surface rot of the galaxy. Acroaka had said Tirien was slumming in the downlevels, and for the Jedi Knight he had become that might be true, but there had been a time in his life when consorting with useful criminals and lowlifes had been the order of the day…

"Tirien? Tirien, are you still there?"

"Say again, Mali, you're breaking up," Tirien lied to buy time, deciding.

"I said are there any leads?"

"…no. No, you'll have to run it down from that end.  I'll try to find something useful here."

"Acknowledged. Pray that the Force is with us, brother."

"I will."

Hours after the holo had faded, when the orbital mirrors had shifted light away and twilight had fallen on Galactic City, Tirien still stood on the overlook, gazing at the Jedi Temple in the distance. He could return there and continue his fruitless search of the Temple holocrons, spend more hours on his knees before unfeeling stone and mindless waterfalls, the only place he could be helpful while he waited for Mali and Slejux to chance upon some clue that would let them follow Narasi and Aldayr…

And what will they find, a small, macabre portion of his mind whispered, when they find them?

Tirien shook his head; if the Sith were capable of capturing the Padawans they could have killed them, so they were obviously meant to survive at least in the short term. Tirien could not help them directly; Mali and Slejux had made clear that they were not interested in any help he could provide in the field in his weakened state. Neither was the Jedi Council likely to look fondly on the situation when they finally found out, and they would certainly stifle Tirien with their misplaced protection. But there was someone who would know what the Sith were doing, who might have participated in planning the trap on Skorrupon, and who could, perhaps, even undo the calamity that had befallen Tirien and allow him to help again…

Coruscant Spaceport had no shortage of freighters, private shuttles, and other vessels bound offworld. Finding one bound for Hutt Space was harder—at least, finding a crew willing to admit they were bound for Hutt Space to an unknown Pantoran did not yield many results. Of those who were, many seemed a little too untrustworthy for a powerless Jedi to chance, and others planned to linger on Coruscant far too long. It was close to midnight when Tirien finally found Chokk Fernetti, a mottle-skinned, fanged Near-Human who was shouting orders to a crew loading a freighter.

"Hutt Space?" he asked suspiciously. "Why in the blazes would anyone want to go there?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"You're not likely to find anyone you want to meet there, lad."

"Nevertheless, I need to get there, and I can make it worth your while to take me." When Chokk hesitated, Tirien said, "It's only just over the border, and who knows what kind of tips you might pick up there? With the galaxy the way it is, knowledge is power."

"Ain't that the damn truth," Chokk grunted. He sized up Tirien, then said, "All right, we're running tech out to Kashyyyk. Should be a day-and-a-half trip, and we can get some nice hardwoods to sell down at Randon.  You come along and earn your keep, I'll slide you down the Ootmian Pabol to Kwenn.  Agreed?"

It was slower than Tirien would have liked, but short of stealing a ship from the Temple or the Spaceport he had no better option; Master Dansh might have grudgingly let him out the front door, but the High Council would never let him leave Coruscant.

"Going once…going twice…"

''Hold on, Narasi. Just a few days.''

"Deal."