Convergence/Chapter 4

 4 

               Admiral Jorrel Sakantos poured himself a nightcap from the decanter without even a passing glance at the liquor flowing smoothly into the crystal glass. His eyes were transfixed on the holo coverage of the latenight Five Worlds News. The anchor, a pretty young Human female, was discussing his speech from earlier with a paunchy Selonian pundit.

             “Mr. Thalmus, the admiral’s speech was definitely at odds with the agenda of your own Contemplanys party. He spoke of ‘rebuilding and fortifying with resilience.’ Do you think he’ll have the political support for it?”

             “Well Glanis, I’m not sure that the admiral has the clout necessary,” the Selonian pontificated. “Patriotic speeches are all well and good, but they don’t pay for ships and new recruits to crew them. I understand, he’s a central figure in the Five Worlds Defense Force, and after a major incursion like this, he’s obligated to talk tough, inspire the troops. But let’s not kid ourselves—there simply isn’t the political will to militarize to the extent he wants.”

             “And what is your party’s view on rearmament?”

             The Selonian looked down his long furry snout, clearly having been set up for this response.

             “We believe that further militarization will only lead to more Grasp incursions. It’s clear that any world that seeks to resist them forcibly ends up paying the price. Look at what happened to Fondor—the surface is still molten rock nineteen years later. Some day, the Grasp may no longer be the threat they currently are, but for the foreseeable future, Corellia’s best course of action is to not draw attention to itself.”

             “And what of the outlying colonies and worlds that are part of the Five Worlds Coalition?”

             “We will of course do our best to protect and support them, both from the Grasp and from other factions that wish to prey on our alliance,” Thalmus insisted.

             “Sure you will,” the admiral muttered. “But with what ships?”

             “What about the Reunification League?” the anchor asked Thalmus. “They’ve made waves with their recent publicity campaigns.”

             The Selonian’s fur bristled with indignation.

             “The Reunification League is merely a well-funded society of idealists,” he responded irritably. “Reunification sounds great in a holobyte, but Glanis, reality just isn’t as clean. Their offers come with zero guarantees of security or economic gain. Reunification with the other galactic powers hardly seems to be in the interests of the Five Worlds Coalition at this point, particularly not with the Grasp’s current strength. There’s ample reason why the Reunification League has yet to attract any of the major players to their cause. Not the Bothans, not the Wookiees, not the Kuati—no one takes them seriously.”

             “Too bad,” the admiral muttered, even though no one could hear him. “You’re right about one thing though. Those R-Leaguers are damned idealists.”

             His wife was already asleep; their servants gone home for the night. His palatial mansion was silent and dark except for the light and sound from the holoviewer. The admiral leaned against the polished marble countertop, sipping his port. Thalmus continued talking about how the Five Worlds Coalition’s latest trade tariffs would lead to increased revenue, but the admiral tuned him out. He had a nation to protect, and politicians like Thalmus simply didn’t have the will to do it. As long as they were coddled in their insulated lives with the illusion of control, they would never sacrifice to the extent needed to truly guard against the threat of the Grasp.

             The admiral turned off the holo; there was nothing more interesting to hear. His speech had at least been broadcast in its entirety. He and his aides had worked for several hours to condense it to where it wasn’t worth clipping yet still retained the heart of his message. Talking faces like Thalmus would spin and twist the message with the benefit of sympathetic news anchors and skilled analysts until he sounded like an old codger past his expiration date. Maybe he was. He still filled out his uniform well, but his once-black hair was grayer than it used to be. Even his well-trimmed mustache was salt-and-pepper.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             A faint rustle sounded behind him, startling the admiral from his introspection. His senses were instantly alert. Nobody else was supposed to be in the house, and his wife would not have approached so silently. With practiced ease, he slid into the kitchen, plucking a sharp knife from a dark Fijisi wood block. He whirled around to face the intruder, weapon in hand, only to be suddenly grabbed from behind. His arm was twisted painfully behind his back and a metal glove was clamped over his mouth, stifling him voice.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “Scream, and your wife dies,” a harsh, filtered voice grated. “Do you understand?”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             The admiral, completely subdued, nodded. The hand was removed from his mouth, the knife wrenched from his fingers and slipped back into place on the block. Glancing at the mirrored surface of a cabinet, the admiral caught a glimpse of his captor’s silhouette. The being—if it was alive—wore full body armor, obscuring his features. He stood just over one-and-a-half meters tall, several centimeters shorter than the admiral.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “Wise choice, Admiral,” the intruder told him. “Let’s take a walk. Don’t worry about your alarms. I’ve already disabled them.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             The admiral felt the point of something sharp prod him against his back. Taking the hint, he started walking.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “What do you want?” he asked softly.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “To be paid, of course,” his assailant replied. “You are the means to that end. You’ve made powerful enemies, Admiral.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             The admiral gritted his teeth.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “A bounty hunter. Look, I can pay you. I have substantial—,”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “Once a contract is accepted, it cannot be broken except by death or treachery,” the bounty hunter informed him. “And I have never failed an assignment.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             A classified dossier flashed before the admiral’s memory. Full body armor, unbroken record, high-profile assignments, completely untraceable—he knew who his captor was. Despite his thirty years of military service, he shuddered.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “Whisper,” he said.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “Very astute, Admiral,” came the reply. “Only twenty-five percent of my quarry identifies me correctly.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “Have any of them ever lived to tell about it?” the admiral asked.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             “Not my concern,” the bounty hunter said. “Now move. Quietly”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">             Within a few minutes, they were at the edge of the admiral’s property, where a small, swift-looking speeder was parked. Suddenly, a metal glove placed a foul-smelling cloth over the admiral’s face. The man was unconscious within seconds. A minute later, the speeder, bounty hunter, and admiral were gone, vanishing into the night. Two forged memos—one from the admiral to his wife, detailing his participation in sudden military exercises; the other to his aides, detailing his sudden absence due to a family emergency—meant that it would be three days before either his wife or his aides would realize he was gone.

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