Sins of the Father/Part 16

What Tirien took for Circumtore's fourth rotation since their arrival started with an even more grandiose display of wealth and excess than the ones Runganna had theretofore provided. He and Narasi joined the masses funneling into stands built into one wall of the palace, fronting an oval arena with a sand-covered floor. More gladiators slaughtered each other in a series of duels and melees, and amidst all the carnage, Tirien was pleased to see his Padawan had detached herself from the emotional highs and lows of each battle—she still had that critical appreciation of technique, but she did not allow herself to be sucked into the thrill of the fight again. Tirien watched the battles progress, admiring the bravery and skill of the combatants and regretting the gratuitous waste of sentient life.

After the gladiators were jousters mounted on reeks, charging one another with energy poles. Ray shields lined the stands, protecting the spectators from errant charges of the beasts, or stray bolts from the energy bow battle that followed. Tirien perceived the mix of skill levels among the combatants; while a few fired safely and accurately, most did more damage to themselves with the bowstrings than with the plasma shafts and died radiating panic into the Force.

The Jedi were spared any further need to bear reluctant witness to butchery as entertainment, but no sooner had the engorged mass of Runganna's friends and hangers-on settled back into the revelry that was fast becoming routine than a new conflict presented itself.

"Vigo Mar'sebbin is sure not inviting him was an oversight," a male Human in a dark achkan told Runganna, a hand pressed to his chest. His eyes were narrow and cold, and if he had heard Runganna's rule about two representatives, he had ignored it; he had two colleagues beside him and half a dozen bodyguards behind them.

"Are you?" asked Runganna. She had eight Gank Killers arrayed before and around her, and Tirien felt the tension and preparation flowing from mind to cyborg mind. Runganna had her helmet on. "It'll break your black little heart to learn you were wrong."

"You have some gall, Lady Runganna," the Human replied. "No doubt that's served you well with the small-time operators at your level, but if you want to worm your way onto the galactic stage, you need to be prepared to deal with galactic players."

"Speak of gall," the Hutt snapped back. "You come into Hutt Space with this small an entourage and you think the light of the Black Sun's going to keep you safe?"

Tirien had to hand it to Mar'sebbin; the Black Sun vigo showed no fear at all, nor was any hidden in the mind behind his contemptuous sneer. He took a step toward Runganna, mouth open to reply, but no sound came out. His jaw tightened and his throat bobbed, and Tirien sensed the Force at work a second before he looked at the Twi'lek Sith, Izkara, and saw her holding out her thumb and forefinger.

Mar'sebbin's bodyguards surged forward to protect him against the invisible threat, half-raising their rifles; before the Ganks could unleash a slaughter, Tirien waved a hand and knocked all the Black Sun guards' weapons out of their grasps. Some froze, while others went scrambling after their rifles to crows of laughter from all sides.

Mar'sebbin stood his ground longer than Tirien would have expected, shifting his hateful glare to Izkara and struggling not to give way against her power. Tirien was just starting to wonder whether the vigo would reveal the limits of the Twi'lek Sith's abilities when his knees finally buckled and he dropped, sucking breath against a closed trachea.

"How's that for gall?" Runganna growled.

Tirien had little sympathy for Mar'sebbin, but neither could a Jedi in good conscience stand by while a Sith slowly murdered someone. He considered fighting off Izkara's grip on Mar'sebbin's throat, but instead stepped forward and drew Darqyren's eye. He gave the Sakiyan a warning look—not as a threat, but as a caution. As he had hoped, Darqyren's quick mind bolted ahead with it, and he stepped up beside Runganna and whispered in the audioreceptor of her helmet. She wriggled, and Tirien sensed her displeasure, but she waved a hand at Izkara, and the Sith dropped the choke.

Mar'sebbin gasped, though he managed to stay on his knees without pitching forward onto his hands as well. He got one foot under him as Runganna said, "Can you find your way out, or do you need help?"

Mar'sebbin rose too quickly and almost stumbled; Tirien touched the Force just a little to steady him. The vigo tossed his head, smoothed his jacket, and said, "Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Lady Runganna."

The festivities resumed in the wake of Mar'sebbin's departure, but though most of the spacers, thugs, smugglers, and bounty hunters seemed too drunk or stupefied to pay much attention to what had only been the conflict of a moment, Tirien could sense the disquiet among the Hutts and their counselors. The atmosphere of the revelry had changed, and though Tirien knew only he, Narasi, and the Sith could sense it for certain, he thought some of the more grizzled spacers looked less eager to stay, and the Mandalorians were more visible than they had been since the Jedi's arrival.

"I'm guessing that wasn't good?" Narasi asked as Tirien drew her away from the main concourse.

"No."

"Do you think Black Sun will retaliate?"

"I'm sure they will eventually; the only question is when. And I'm more concerned that some of the attendees here will conclude before the party's over than I am about whether or not they're right."

She frowned. "Wouldn't it be better for us? Fewer competitors at the auction?"

"In the long term, perhaps, but I wanted another word with one or two beings I haven't seen today…"

He had looked for the bald man who had spoken of the Jedi world, but had not found him. It was troubling, but frustratingly unsuspicious. None of Circumtore's abbreviated day-night cycles had passed without at least one guest picking a fight and being killed, either by the guards or another guest. Moreover, with so many business competitors in one location, with spice and alcohol flowing freely, Tirien knew the chance to eliminate the competition or settle old grudges would be too sweet to pass up. Late last night, standing on the terrace where he had found Narasi and Zaella, he had seen figures moving through the swamps carrying heavy loads; he wondered how many of Circumtore's sinkholes and bogs were home to new graves.

Tirien stepped halfway out of his conscious mind, seeking guidance from the Force, but Narasi was not the only one trying to navigate in a mental fog. The deeper the depravity around them became, and the more people died, the harder it became to perceive the Force's will clearly. He found only a vague direction, and he did not see the bald man no matter how many times he swept the crowd there with his gaze.

Narasi, however, had followed his eyes, and she nudged him and nodded. "Isn't that an Advozse? Didn't you say one tried to poison you?"

Tirien looked, and sure enough, there was the unsuccessful architect of…his demise? His incapacity? Tirien still did not know, though the timing against the Rodian's attempt on Narasi's life could not have been a coincidence. "Go through the crowd toward that door to the kitchens, and be obvious about it; once you're through, meet up with us."

"'Us'? Wait, how obvious do you want—"

But Tirien was already moving, raising the hood of his robe and flitting from one pillar or thick shadow to another, using the great bulk of the Hutts for cover as long as he could. Across the way, Narasi bulled through the crowd, politely but loudly excusing herself. By the time Tirien had ghosted his way around the throng, he saw the horned Advozse watching Narasi and backing up, wary in the Force.

Coming up behind him, Tirien clapped a hand on his shoulder. As the Advozse jumped with a cry of surprise, Tirien said, "Ah, there you are. I owe you a drink."

"What? O-oh, right.  Well, I-I'd never turn down a good drink, but I know you have business here, and I wouldn't want to detain you."

"Nonsense; a Jedi is as good as his word. Speaking of Jedi," Tirien said, beckoning with his free hand. "This is my Padawan, Narasi Rican."

The Advozse had recovered enough calm to shake. "Charmed."

Narasi flagged down a droid and collected three mugs for them. Taking his, Tirien said, "A tale to tell your younglings indeed."

"No doubt about that!" the Advozse replied. "Glad I didn't miss it."

"To…" Tirien raised his mug, searching for the right toast.

Narasi lifted hers as well. "Second chances."

They looked at one another for a moment before clinking their mugs. Tirien could sense the Advozse was bemused by their solemn expressions, but he joined them. "Second chances it is. In this company, I'll wager we've all profited from 'em along the way—present company excluded, of course."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that," Tirien said lightly. "Just now I need one for my ill manners; I never introduced myself. Tirien Kal-Di."

"As if you need any introduction!" the Advozse said through a good-natured chuckle as they shook hands. Tirien used that contact to strengthen his perception of the other man's mind, and gave it a little nudge. The Advozse pumped his hand once more and added, "Chakka Grissen."

Narasi stiffened. To distract Chakka from her reaction and buy himself time as he tried to remember the name's significance, Tirien asked, "What brings you to this…event, Chakka?"

"Well, I've put in a bit of work for Lady Runganna and her friends," Chakka said. Tirien did not fail to note he was taking large swallows of his ale every time. "Seemed like the right place to make new contacts. Expand business opportunities, if you will."

Tirien returned the Advozse's sly smile, but Narasi said, "Good chance to find some…what would we say, subcontractors?"

Tirien had it then—Narasi had never said the name, but he pieced together the context clues—but he kept his expression pleasant as he added, "It does seem like a mix of veterans and professionals on one end, and on the other those looking to get further into the game but lacking the experience needed to stand on their own merits."

Chakka looked from Tirien to Narasi and back, but he nodded and said, "Not a bad way to put it, I suppose. Yeah, I might feed a bit of work to an up-and-comer or two.  I was there myself, once, and people gave me a chance.  Pay it forward, right?"

"The Jedi have a similar attitude toward taking Padawans," Tirien offered, though offhand he struggled to imagine two more dissimilar philosophies.

Chakka seemed to buy it, but he downed the last third of his drink and said, "Well, I've got my story, and no mistake. I was just heading back to my room when you found me, though—"

"So were we," Narasi announced, and Tirien watched as she downed half her mug at once, with a couple splutters along the way. They would have to find an occasion to work on that. "I could use a nap after this whole morning. Mind if we walk with you?"

"Er…no, I suppose not."

"Any idea when Lady Runganna plans to conduct this auction?" Tirien asked. "I'd hate to nap through it."

"Who knows?" Chakka shrugged. "That thing with Black Sun might make her speed things up."

"Lest all her bidders flee for safer ports before she has time to collect their credits?"

Chakka chuckled. "Something like that. Well, this is me.  It's been…well, more of a pleasure than a man in my line of work can usually expect from a Jedi."

Tirien shook hands again. "What is that line of work?"

Chakka smiled. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies, Tirien. But I wish you all the best in—"

"Oh, enough of this," Narasi complained, and she pushed Chakka through the open door into his room. As he wobbled for balance against the bed, Narasi drew her lightsaber and held the point up to his chest. Tirien hurried in and closed the door behind them. One of Chakka's hands scrabbled for his blaster, but Tirien pulled it away with the Force and tossed it across the room.

"Hey, HEY!" Chakka cried. "What's this about?!"

"You hired that Rodian to kill me," Narasi growled.

"And you tried to poison me," Tirien added in a calmer tone.

"What?! What kind of idiot would try to kill Jedi?!"

"The kind well paid for it, I imagine," Tirien answered. "Who hired you?"

"I don't know anything about any of this!"

Tirien paused, evaluating Chakka, analyzing how much he could push the man's mind with the Force alone. Wondering how far he could stray into the shadows, he looked at Narasi, waiting until she returned his gaze to give her a meaningful look and sigh. "I hate it when it comes to this. Ah well.  Cut his hands off."

"WHAT?!" Chakka scrambled back on the bed; he raised his hands in front of his face, then realized what he had done and tucked them behind his back. "No no, wait wait!"

"Don't lie to us," Narasi snarled, waving her blade in his direction. "You know we'll know."

"And I do know," Tirien added.

Chakka's big, glossy eyes darted from one Jedi as he took quick, sharp breaths. "All right. All right, look, it was nothing personal.  You both seem like decent beings—y'know, not counting right now.  It was just business."

Narasi bared her teeth. "I don't know, I kinda take it personally when somebody tries to shove a vibroblade in my back!"

Tirien laid a hand on her shoulder and told Chakka, "I don't. You have your business, we have ours; we just happen to be better at it.  But if you don't tell me who hired you now…that I will take personally."

Chakka nodded. "Okay. Just…okay.  His name's Rafan Korminne."

"What species?" Narasi asked.

"Human."

Of course, Tirien thought with an internal sigh. "And who does he work for?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" he repeated as Narasi waved her lightsaber and its doppler hum filled the room. "He paid me to…sorry, he paid me to kill you both. I hired the Rodian kid for you."

"What did he pay you?"

"Five thousand in advance, another twenty on completion."

"Hope you haven't spent your five yet," Narasi said.

Tirien judged the Advozse for a moment. "You're not a novice. You made stupid mistakes trying to kill us, but you've been in the game long enough to understand how it's played and insure yourself against reversals.  You know more about Rafan Korminne than you're telling us."

"Look, Tirien, I'm a professional. I have a repu—"

Tirien took his hand off Narasi's shoulder, and she asked, "Hands?"

Tirien sensed Chakka's fear, but the Advozse gathered his courage and said, "You're a Jedi. You wouldn't."

Narasi growled again. "You don't know the kind of week I've been having."

A little perturbed by that, Tirien touched her shoulder again. "You're right. We wouldn't."

Chakka nodded, but before he could deliver the retort Tirien sensed forming in his mind, Narasi said, "You know what we would do? Rip the information right out of your mind.  I've seen my master do that—and I saw what was left of the guy he did it to.  Didn't kill him; didn't leave a mark.  Not the kind you can see, anyway."

Tirien winced at the memory, but Chakka happened to look at him in that moment, and apparently the Advozse read all the horror of that experience and then some. He pulled his hands out from behind his back to raise them. "I don't want any of your mind games, Jedi. I like my head screwed on the way it is."

Tirien covered his momentary lapse and cooled his voice. "Believe me when I tell you this is not personal. But one way or another, you will tell us what you know."

"I…this can't come back to me. I mean at all, now."

"When we follow this trail to its end, the people responsible are either going to surrender and spend the rest of their lives in Republic custody, or they're not going to surrender, in which case they'll die. Either way, they'll be in no position to make trouble for you."

Chakka squirmed. "Right. Okay, I've only worked with Korminne once before—years ago, when I was just getting started.  He used to be in the game—I mean, taking the contracts himself, pulling the trigger and such.  Now he's more of a middleman; he gets the contract from whoever, and he outsources it to guys like me in the field."

"Why not just do it himself?" Narasi demanded.

"Because it protects his employers," Tirien answered. "For this very reason—because even if the triggerman is apprehended, he can't pin the blame on the person who ordered the hit."

Chakka pointed. "Bingo. I've met a few people who run like that; Korminne was a Hutt button man for years, he knows the right people so he stays off the grid.  He uses a bunch of aliases, but Korminne's the real name—at least, it's the one I've always known him by."

"Where did he hire you?"

"Here. Not the first day you showed up, but the second…well, maybe the first Coruscant day, but the second rotation, you know?"

Tirien took a moment to probe the assassin's mind, but he sensed no duplicity. Chakka said, "That's it, I swear. That's everything I know about this."

"Who did you bring into this besides the Rodian?" Tirien asked.

"Nobody. I was gonna reach out today, but then that whole thing with Black Sun…"

Tirien managed not to grimace, but the reminder was one more suggestion that time was short. "Right. We're done here."

Chakka tensed, and Narasi glowered at him. "I'll bet he knows a lot more stuff that'd be useful, Master."

"What, do you want me to tell you every hit I've ever done?!"

Tirien squeezed his Padawan's shoulder before she could speak. "That would be unreasonable. You've given us what we need; you're free to go, and I suggest you do."

Narasi deactivated her lightsaber, clipping it to her belt. Once she stepped outside, Tirien lowered his voice and said, "I'm giving you a pass this time, whether you deserve it or not. But if you come after my apprentice or me again, I'll kill you.  Do you understand?"

Chakka swallowed. "Got it."

Tirien nodded. "Be off this planet by the end of the day."

"That was fun," Narasi remarked as they walked through the hall. "I didn't know we could do that!"

"I'm not sure we can," Tirien admitted, frowning. "A direct threat like that often flies in the face of the light. There may be some leeway in that we never intended to carry it out…you do know we weren't going to carry it out, right?"

"What? Of course!" Narasi looked offended. "I got the look! I was in on the plan!"

"Good. It's important—"

"I get it," she interrupted, her voice tight and awkward. "Not a lot of trust right now. I'm working on it.  But that whole thing was your idea!"

"I know." Tirien winced internally; had Narasi been tempted, or was he allowing the incident with Pavac—and whatever she had not told him about that moment with Zaella—to poison his perceptions of her? Tirien was not sure what had happened between Narasi and Zaella, but Narasi had kept herself together since, albeit with frequent breaks for meditation in the solitude of their room. Tirien did not begrudge her the time, but he had not seen San Pavac since the corridor, and he did not know whether that boded well or ill. The protective part of him wanted Narasi to be spared the ongoing trial, but he knew he could not shield her from coming to terms with her past—not if she was ever to be the Jedi he had glimpsed in his vision.

He did not want to push her further into self-doubt, so he changed the subject. "We need to try to find this Rafan Korminne, and soon. The incident with Black Sun will drive some people offworld, and if Korminne is as much of a professional as Chakka made him out to be, he'll be smart enough not to risk being caught in a warzone."

But the search was fruitless. A single Advozse stood out even in Runganna's crowded halls, but there were simply too many Humans to keep track of them all. The two Jedi met in resignation around midday, when a team of droids dragged in a repulorplatform bearing an entire cooked bantha. Tirien wondered at the size of the oven required for such waste as the Hutts were given the first portions before the masses were allowed to surge at the beast. He heard Runganna bellow, "And that's not even my biggest expense!"

Tirien held Narasi back, and the two of them found the perpetually-restocked buffet less competitive.

"Of course he had to be Human," she grumped, looking at the crowd; no fewer than twenty Humans were visible within a ten-meter radius. "They're like gizka, just not as cute."

"Only you would make that distinction."

She watched a female Zabrak pull a male Zeltron slave across her path by the chain attached to his collar, then rolled her eyes as she spooned herself a vegetable mix. "This has to end eventually, right?"

It ended during the third course. Slaves had brought forth large platters full to overflowing with balls of meat that Tirien was given to understand had been squished together, cooked, pulled apart again, seared, seasoned, and mashed back together to be cooked a second time. They were apparently a Hutt delicacy, and each Hutt had a dish to itself. Narasi pulled a pair over the heads of the competing crowd with the Force, offering one to Tirien.

"No plates?" he asked dryly.

She turned back and held out a hand with the first smirk he had seen her wear since San Pavac had revealed her parents' deaths. She had just gotten two plates over a Trandoshan's head when the Force seized Tirien's attention, and he found himself pushing his way through the crowd without knowing why. He slipped between two Gamorreans at the same time Izkara blasted her way through another pair with Force pushes. They traded looks as Runganna, in front of whose seat they had emerged, looked down at them both.

She held up the spherical meat cake she had in her armored hand and chuckled. "Ho ho ha ha. I don't need to share, there's enough to go around…"

"Don't eat that!" Izkara snapped.

Runganna paused, but Tirien thought the Sith, though on the right course, had taken a wrong turn along the way. He looked over the scene at high speed, willing his mind to provide him with the answer, confining his perceptions to the Living Force, the immediate danger of the next five seconds. The Force moved his eyes from Runganna, to the meat cake, to the bowl of them at her right hand…

He overturned the bowl with a wave of his hand as his conscious mind was still putting the last pieces into place. Runganna bellowed in dismay and a few beings backed off while a Ranat scurried forward to grab a ball. But Tirien's eyes followed one ball that, outside the pile of them, looked rather unlike the others. He seized it with the Force and flung it high, but before he could negotiate it along the roof toward one of the open courtyards, it burst.

There was no flash, nor did shrapnel shower the startled crowd below; there was only the telltale puff. "Shoot it!"

The Ganks looked at Runganna, but a blaster shot echoed through the room. The bolt found the exact center of the spot where the grenade had burst and ignited a fireball that spread a meter in every direction and drew screams and Oooooos from the crowd in equal measure. Tirien looked to see who had made such a phenomenal shot and saw the horned Mandalorian, the one Narasi had called Damis, lowering his rifle.

"What is this?!" Runganna roared.

"A Drackmarian methane grenade," Tirien called over the tumult of the crowd; the awe had worn off quickly as the stampede of those closest started a panic.

In the madness that followed, Tirien found it prudent to pull Narasi to a corner of the winding courtyards. Now that the backstabbing and conniving of the party had leapt forward into an attempted assassination of the host with what those who had not seen the whole incident loudly insisted was a thermal detonator, many crews and a good number of the Hutts made hasty exoduses. Runganna's guards attempted to prevent them, desperate to capture those responsible for the attempt on their mistress's life, but they were overwhelmed by weight of numbers. As no Drackmarians had been seen at any stage of the gathering, fingers flew in every direction; not exactly a novice when it came to political intrigue and Hutt power plays, Tirien was not surprised to overhear one being accuse the Jedi of planting the grenade so Tirien could "save" Runganna and win her good graces.

"I think we can probably give up on finding Rafan Korminne," Narasi muttered.

Tirien grimaced, but he could not disagree.

"A methane grenade?" Narasi asked.

"I've seen them a couple times—mostly to disorient a small group quickly. I never would have considered the idea of someone ingesting it."

"Why did you save her?"

Instinct, Tirien might have replied, though it begged the question why preserving such an amoral criminal's villainy for another day would be instinctive. "Murder, even murder of an evil being, goes against the nature of the light side, and enduring it defies who we are as Jedi."

Narasi lowered her head, her blue eyes tight and troubled, and the double meaning of his words occurred to Tirien. Before he could speak to her, as he was still pondering the appropriate words, the Mandalorians walked up.

"You have quick reflexes, even for a Jedi," said the horned one, Damis Myragon. He was shorter than Tirien, even with the horn pieces on his helmet, but stockier too.

"And you're an exceptional marksman."

"Time has passed since the Golden Age of the Mandalorians," replied the Human, Arykr Rentol, "but the sons and daughters of Mandalore haven't forgotten the ways of war, or how to prepare themselves for it."

Tirien looked at him. "There was a time, after the Golden Age—a time in this war we're still fighting—when Mandalorians and Jedi fought side-by-side against the darkness."

"Malrev IV," Damis said. "A faction of Mandalorians fought for you. Bought and paid for by a Jedi Master."

The old chronicles had not been clear how Master Murrtaggh had assembled the coalition that brought down the Dark Underlord, and confirmation that it had been as trite as bribery was unwelcome, but that did not allow Tirien to ignore it. He leaned instead on what Narasi had learned to ask, "And now? I trust Mandalore's allegiance isn't for sale to any bidder, but where does she stand on this conflict?"

Tirien sensed Arkyr's retort forming, but the Human looked at Damis instead of voicing it; he seemed to have learned from his loose tongue with Narasi. Damis took a moment to reply. "We aren't her confidantes or clan chiefs, any more than you're a Master of the High Council. We were sent here for a single purpose."

"As were we." Tirien replied. "But take it from a Jedi Knight—missions evolve as facts change."

Arykr snorted. "Do you think we're going to surrender and return to Mandalore empty-handed?"

"I think you should look at the whole board. If the Republic wins, you're in no danger—we will not use this weapon."

"You say that now, but you're not the Chancellor, are you? You're not a Jedi General, you're not even a Jedi Master!  You're no more than we are, Kal-Di: an agent sent here in service to higher powers."

"Our higher powers have foresworn the use of nuclear weapons."

"Assuming that's what we're dealing with," Damis said. "And before you reach back millennia to throw Serroco in my face, make sure your own house is in order. It was the Republic at Uba III four hundred years ago, wasn't it?"

Tirien grimaced. "The Jedi didn't authorize that."

"The Jedi didn't stop it, either. And now the Jedi and the Republic are the same thing, so what happens the next time you think a planet's getting too aggressive for its own good—or yours?"

Would the Republic strike Mandalore preemptively? Not to defend the independent worlds of what was still generously called "Mandalorian Space", certainly, but if this new Mandalore swore her allegiance and that of her clans to the Sith? Tirien could not be sure the answer was no; his only defense was to counterattack. "Mandalore should join us against the Sith. If you join them, and the Empire sweeps over the galaxy, once the Jedi are destroyed and Aresh and the other second-rate Sith Lords are dead, do you think the Sith will stand for a free Mandalore?"

"And if we join no one?" Arkyr asked.

Tirien could not say the Jedi would lose—not only because he did not know, but also because he dared not portray their defeat as inevitable without the Mandalorians and thus show irredeemable weakness—but nor could he play it off as just another option. "Then you gamble on the outcome of a game with lethal stakes."

"As all warriors do, when they set out to battle," Damis said. He bowed from the neck, and Tirien had no choice but to return the gesture before the two men walked away.

When they had gone, Narasi shrugged. "You did better than me, at least."

Not altogether reassured by that assessment, Tirien said, "Did you hear the distaste in his voice when he talked about the Mandalorians who aided Master Murrtaggh?"

"Yeah. You think he's against joining us?"

"I think he's ambivalent on that question. I'm more reassured by the way he said bought and paid for."

"Arykr was touchy about that too," Narasi added. "About people hiring them."

Tirien nodded. "Which leads me to believe Mandalore won't rent out her followers as mercenaries, even as payment for the weapon. That's good for us."

Narasi nodded, then looked past Tirien, and he followed her gaze to Darqyren Valt, who came escorted by a pair of Gank Killers. He nodded once and said, "My master bade me inform you that the auction will take place in one hour, Master Jedi. I trust you'll be ready."

Electing not to remind him that they had come expecting the auction days before, Tirien nodded. "We will."

"Excellent. Now I must inform our Mandalorian guests.  If you'll excuse me…"

The Sakiyan turned to go, but Tirien said, "In calculating what each of our factions can pay to Lady Runganna, I wonder what value she puts on her own life."

Darqyren stopped, his eyes tightening. "A high premium indeed, which is why she is duly grateful to both you and Izkara for alerting her to the danger, as well as Damis Myragon for disposing of the methane before it could harm her or anyone else."

"But—" Narasi started, but Tirien laid a hand on her shoulder and nodded, containing his own frustration. Darqyren nodded back and went off in pursuit of the Mandalorians.

"The Sith didn't do anything!" Narasi hissed. "And the Mandalorians—"

"Never expect generosity from a Hutt," Tirien answered. "Come on, I want to meditate before this starts, and we don't have much time."

Meditation did not bring the peace and clarity for which Tirien had hoped; he felt danger coming, but it was elusive and ephemeral, turning to mist that slipped through his fingers whenever he tried to catch it. Narasi still struggled to anchor herself in her duty; she had quieted that internal voice screaming for vengeance, if not silenced it altogether, but the monumental anticlimax that loomed before her daunted her, and Tirien could not spare the mental energy to help her and gain inspiration for the auction both. When the quest to understand Runganna's schemes in advance proved unavailing, Tirien directed his thoughts toward his Padawan anyway, but the alarm on his communicator beeped, and it was time to go.

A greatly reduced throng still picked over Runganna's buffet or helped themselves to her spice and slaves, but a Nikto guard led the Jedi into one of the Hutt's private parlors. There Runganna lay on a pavilion, dressed in full armor and helmet again and surrounded by dozens of bodyguards of various species. Tirien noticed the Ganks were absent, and even as he expanded his perceptions he felt no danger of an ambush.

The Mandalorians were already present, as were a pair of Shell Hutts and an unarmored one off to a side of the parlor and Darqyren Valt before Runganna's dais. Tirien tried not to worry about the impending auction, distracting himself by contemplating the tapestries hung from the walls. He was on the verge of asking about one when the Sith were escorted in; Izkara assessed the situation and stood on the Mandalorians' other side.

"Good, good, we're ready then," Runganna said. Tirien wondered at the absence of other Hutt bidders, then realized the conflict with Black Sun and Runganna's increasing exposure had likely driven them offworld too. "Darqyren, start the bidding."

"If I may, Lady Runganna," Izkara said. "I'd like to see the item we're bidding on first."

"As would I," Damis said, and Tirien nodded.

Runganna chuckled. "Ho ho ha ha. Fair enough, I suppose.  Bring it in."

Darqyren typed on his datapad, and they all waited in silence until the parlor's far door opened. It was wide enough for two Hutts, which was fortunate, because it took all twelve Ganks to wheel the device through. The bomb was as large as the largest Hutt who had attended the party; Tirien thought he and Narasi might have to use the Force just to wedge it into the Second Chance ' s cargo hold.

The Ganks stopped the repulsorlift in front of Runganna and stationed themselves around it, and Runganna smacked her gauntlets together with a bell's clang. "There you go, my dark Knight. One nuclear bomb, to the highest bidder."

"What's the yield?" Narasi asked in Basic.

"Oh, about an exajoule."

When no one reacted, Darqyren added, "Roughly one million terajoules."

Narasi and Damis each took a step back, and Tirien did not bother worrying about his apprentice's failure to maintain the illusion of her Huttese incomprehension; the true scale of the problem had become clear to him. "What's the core?"

He sensed Runganna's glee as she replied, "Baradium."

Now Arkyr recoiled too, and even the Sith seemed skittish. Tiny doses of baradium were found in thermal detonators, which could vaporize everything within ten meters. As he contemplated the idea of a baradium-core bomb coupled with a fusion reaction, he imagined devastation on a continental scale and his eyes widened.

Only for a moment, though; they narrowed again as he recommitted to his mission. No one but the Republic could be trusted with this abomination.

Can the Republic be trusted with it? a little voice inside nagged, a voice that sounded oddly like Damis Myragon's. Tirien grimaced, but put the question aside; one crisis at a time.

"One representative only from each faction shall bid," Darqyren said into the awkward quiet. "For the Republic and Lady Hadan, I presume of course that the masters will speak, but for Mandalore?"

The two Mandalorians looked at each other before Damis said, "I will."

"Very well. All moneys must be paid before you take possession of the weapon; other traded goods and services are open to negotiation.  Shall we commence the bidding at ten million credits?"

Tirien sensed both Narasi and Damis wince internally, but Izkara said at once, "Ten."

"Eleven," Tirien replied.

"Twelve."

"Fifteen."

"Twenty."

"Twenty-one!" Damis blurted out; Tirien could feel the rapid-fire bidding out of the gate had taken him by surprise.

Darqyren looked from Izkara to Tirien, but Tirien said, "Where do Mandalore or Ryloth propose to generate twenty million credits? Some star systems don't create that much wealth in a year; the Republic can transfer the credits today."

Darqyren gave the other bidders an unctuous smile, but just as Tirien was starting to wonder whether he could resolve this debacle for fifteen million credits, Izkara said, "Ten million credits, and a hundred thousand Twi'lek slaves. A hundred credits a slave; that's twenty million credits."

Narasi growled, and Tirien felt too sick to his stomach to chastise her. "Twenty-five million."

"Two hundred thousand slaves. We'll sack Kala'din and Resdin for you, my lady."

Tirien sensed Narasi grappling with herself before she said, "But—"

"Only one representative from each faction," Darqyren reminded her.

Wearing a look of enormous contempt, she whispered in Tirien's ear, "If they just enslave whole cities, not everyone they get will be worth a hundred credits."

Tirien understood the loathing on her face at once; it was not for Darqyren or even Izkara, but for herself—for the slaver's logic she knew would resonate with criminals, but was ashamed existed anywhere in her own mind. Squeezing her shoulder, he voiced her logic, and Runganna rumbled thoughtfully while Darqyren nodded. "Not an unjust point. My lady Sith?"

"Ryloth has hundreds of millions of Twi'leks," Izkara returned immediately. "You can pick and choose which ones you want."

Tirien tried to draw a breath through his nose and down to the bottom of his lungs to keep desperation from affecting his decisionmaking; the darkness around him made concentration harder. He thought of the Republic's food shortage and the ongoing need to outfit the Army and Navy with sufficient weapons and supplies to hold the line against the Sith. Where would Chancellor Thini draw the line? At what point would he risk enemy factions possessing even this continent-slaying weapon because the Republic could not bear the cost elsewhere? And why had the Praxeum Council laid those decisions on his shoulders?

When he was sure his voice would be cool and calm, he said, "The Republic is the largest and richest government in the galaxy. We can match any price Lady Hadan can offer."

"If you only wanted credits, my lady," Izkara said, speaking to Runganna now. "Hundreds of millions of credits might buy you whatever you want, but we can give you a bottomless reservoir of slaves and ryll spice, which you can sell or withhold as you choose. That will give you control—control over your enemies and your fellow Hutts alike."

Darqyren frowned. "Please direct—"

"For a hundred million credits you can buy yourself a standing army," Tirien countered, ignoring the Sakiyan to address Runganna too. "If other Hutts trouble you, conquer them. For that matter, conquer Lady Hadan if she's more trouble than she's worth."

Izkara hissed, and behind her, Zaella narrowed her eyes. Darqyren sighed. "Direct all bids to—"

"Mmmmm," Runganna mused, and Darqyren fell silent. Her armor's repulsors hummed as she floated a meter toward Damis. "Speaking of private armies…?"

Tirien felt the other man's hesitation and watched the T-visor turn one way to Izkara, then the other to him. Tirien returned the gaze he could feel, holding his face as steady as he could. The Mandalorians were the finest non-Force-sensitive warriors in the galaxy, and if they allied with Runganna, she could butcher her way through entire kajidics. What in blazes had he been thinking, putting the notion of conquest in her mind?

Damis turned back to Runganna, drew himself up, and shook his head. "No. Mandalore stands by its bid of twenty-one million credits; we'll come up with it…somehow.  But we're not mercenaries; we won't prostitute our honor to the highest bidder."

"Maybe you should," Runganna suggested. "You'd have more to bid with."

Arykr flinched, but Damis said, "I'll bear your words to Mand'alor, my lady. But twenty-one is our highest offer, take it or leave it."

Runganna shrugged, then looked at the Sith and Jedi. "How to choose…quite a predicament…both valuable assets in their own ways, neither a complete package…"

"Lady Runganna," Izkara said; her smile looked quite forced. "You and Lady Hadan have enjoyed a profitable relationship for years; why jeopardize that now?"

"Because Tarni Hadan is a bit player in this war," Tirien answered. Ignoring the flares of fury in the Force from the two Sith, he said, "The Republic may triumph over the Sith Empire, or it may not; I can't see that future. But no realistic future ends with Hadan any more than a petty, backwater tyrant.  Cut her off from your support and she'll wither completely, and you'll have shown goodwill to a Republic that remembers its friends."

Considering Runganna the Hutt a friend of the Republic, even in the speculative, was almost too much for Tirien's composure to bear; he remembered Damis refusing to prostitute his honor and admired the other man for it. He wondered whether he was envying Damis a luxury the Republic and its innocents could not afford, or seeing in Damis a clearer picture of Jedi honor than the Jedi representative himself espoused. He begged the Force for guidance.

"The Republic is far off and burdened by wars," Izkara said. "Its friendship is no more substantial than a hologram. Lady Hadan is all but at your doorstep; her friendship is real and tangible."

The implication was plain to every being present: the dangers of Tarni Hadan's animosity were quite real too. Runganna ruminated for a moment, and Tirien worked to cleanse himself of emotion, to be the face of the Jedi, not merely its purchasing arm…

"An impossible choice," Runganna announced. "No Hutt knows everything; I'll have to let Koboskya no Jankpa decide."

After a beat, all three pairs of representatives turned to confer with each other.

"Master, what's Koboskya no Jankpa?" Narasi whispered.

Tirien was grappling with that very issue. "It's not familiar…the word stems are similar, but the phrase…"

"Have you heard—"

"Quiet." Tirien closed his eyes, his mind racing through the linguistic roots of the words and tracing them to cognates, trying to construct a logical translation. He did not want to simply ask Runganna, not when her opinion of the factions seemed so very balanced—and that was assuming, now that Narasi had dropped her act, Runganna didn't treat it as an attempted second deception.

' Jankadap' is 'champion ' , Tirien thought. Is it from an older form of Huttese, or is it—

"Well?" Runganna boomed. "We'll say twenty million credits—or product of equivalent value—and the Yabusk'wu no Koboskya no Jankpa. What say you?"

"We accept," Izkara promised.

"Agreed," said Damis.

' Yabusk'wu' is like 'wu', for 'win ' …

"My Jedi?"

"Twenty million and…and the winner who champions his cause best?" Tirien hazarded. When Darqyren nodded, Tirien returned the gesture. "Agreed."

"Splendid, splendid!" Runganna's pleasure was obvious even without seeing her face; she rubbed her armored hands together until the metal squealed, and some of the Hutts along the wall nodded and chuckled. "We'll use the arena."

"The arena?" Damis asked.

"Of course," Darqyren said. "The champions of the Koboskya no Jankpa champion their causes with the strength of arms."

Tirien gritted his teeth. So Runganna wanted no more than another bloodsport to entertain what was left of her guests and Hutt colleagues. And what a sport it would be—representatives of three of the most skillful warrior traditions in the galaxy. Tirien looked from the helmeted Mandalorian to the tattooed Sith Knight, trying to wrap his head around the idea of the three of them agreeing to a truel to the death with a weapon of mass murder as the prize of victory. For Jedi, a duel was a thing that happened in the course of events or, more rarely, something sought out by one party, to remove a terrible Sith Lord from the galaxy, as Revan had done with Darth Malak millennia ago. The idea of all the combatants prearranging the manner in which they would endeavor to slaughter one another…it struck him as barbarously primitive and strangely Tapani at once.

"As you say," Damis said.

"Let's do it," Izkara added. Tirien only nodded.

"Delightful." Darqyren seemed to be enjoying himself. "Now then, just the one last bit of business, as a formality. Jedi Kal-Di, you are here as the representive of the Galactic Republic and the Jedi Order?"

"I am."

"And Damis Myragon, you speak for Mandalore the Sentinel?"

"Yes."

"And Dame Izkara, you are the voice of Lady Hadan?"

"Of course."

"Very well." The Sakiyan vizier looked at each of them in turn before his lips twisted into what even a Hutt would have struggled to call a smile. "Now then, each of you: choose your champion!"