- One week later, Darion Retreat Enclave, Orin
Alpha-28 surveyed the broad dining room he was standing in, a curved, elegant affair that was obviously the centerpiece of the experience at the Darion Retreat Enclave. He had arrived early to the meeting to scope out the space and now he took it all in with careful, intent observation. While he wasn’t wearing his armor with its full array of sensors and data-collection tools—deemed too intimidating by the diplomats—he still had his own keen mental senses.
Round tables, each surrounded by four chairs, were interspersed throughout the room at regular intervals, covered with a white table cloth and topped with napkins, place settings, and several sets of utensils that he had come to associate with upper-class dining. The room’s décor was fairly sparse, and the accoutrements trended towards an elegant, sleek black theme, often worked into a stylized flame motif. Alpha-28 suspected that the room’s furnishings were intentionally left minimalist so as to not detract from the reason why the dining room had been placed at the top of the retreat center overlooking its main attraction.
The entire exterior-facing wall of the dining center was an enormous floor-to-ceiling window. Looking out, Alpha-28 took in a natural spectacle that no doubt was the primary influence and attraction of the retreat center. While many of the guests no doubt found natural beauty in it, the ARC could only appreciate the hazards and risks associated with placing a retreat center on the rim of what could be best described as a glimpse into the fiery hell of Corellian myths.
The Darion Retreat Enclave was perched atop the rim of a massive crater well over two kilometers in diameter. Looking down into that crater revealed a hellish sight. A panoply of fires burned incessantly throughout the crater, fed by underground veins of petrochemicals. Jagged spires of basaltic rock protruded through the gaps in the flames while pools of boiling mud collected in other less fiery areas. The orange glow from the fires revealed that the bottom of the crater was entirely barren and filled with loose scree and scorched soil. Hundreds of small fissures spouted fire, with some of the leaping flames spitting up gouts of flames tens of meters high as a new pocket of petrochemicals forced its way to the surface air. Embers and sparks floated lazily upward, carried by currents of heat that arose with angry menace from the inferno. The air shimmered from the heat and Alpha-28 shuddered. Volcanic worlds were bad enough environments to wage a war on or mine from; who would want to create a tourist attraction on top of an eternal pit of fire?
“Impressive, isn’t it?” a voice asked him. “The locals call it the Cauldron.”
Alpha-28 frowned, inwardly annoyed at how someone had approached within a few meters of him without knowing. His situational awareness had been temporarily distracted by the hellish sight beyond the window, a mistake which could prove fatal in combat. He made a mental note to go through several awareness exercises that evening and not let happen again.
“I suppose so,” he answered slowly while he did a quick evaluation of the newcomer.
She was a slender Human woman wearing nondescript black attire that could have been either the understated formal wear of a dignitary or the work attire of a servant at a classy establishment such as the retreat center. The ARC suspected that the ambiguity in her dress was intentional. Her facial expression was reserved, tightly controlled, but there was a certain hardness of the eyes that Alpha-28 had come to associate with people who had to make hard choices about the lives of others. He recognized her from her dossier as one of the Republic Intelligence operatives running security.
“You must be Agent Taskien,” he said, offering his hand.
She shook it.
“You must be Alpha-28,” she replied evenly.
Alpha-28’s eyebrow quirked up as a trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I see we’ve read each other’s dossiers,” he said.
“Apparently,” she replied. “Which makes me wonder why one of the Republic’s prized ARCs is at a diplomatic conference.”
Alpha-28’s smile tightened.
“To protect the negotiations,” he answered.
She didn’t skip a beat.
“Not exactly your job description.”
“My job description is flexible.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Diplomatic security isn’t exactly a job for one of the army’s fancy super-soldiers,” she tried again. “So why did they send you?”
“You’ll have to ask my superiors,” Alpha-28 told her.
“Of course,” she said, betraying no hint of vexation at the verbal snub. “Just remember: this is a team effort.”
“And we’re all on the same team,” Alpha-28 answered. “I understand. But it’s also not your team to lead.”
This time, a trace of irritation did cross the operative’s face.
“Well, it was very kind of the diplomatic service to allow us access to their planning meeting to receive orders and sit quietly until spoken to.”
Alpha-28 suppressed a grin. If there was anything that intelligence and the army—two organizations who didn’t always see eye-to-eye—could agree on, it was a mutual disdain of the diplomatic service, who often seemed intent on undoing any gains made by the other two services in order to make a trade elsewhere. And while there was a certain pragmatic logic to their actions, the ARC detested the notion of giving up concessions from worlds that had been gained through the blood of the army. He suspected that intelligence often saw things in a similar light.
“I see they’re treating you with their usual subtlety and grace,” he said sarcastically.
“Some things never change,” she quipped.
An announcement at the front of the room called them to their tables to begin the briefing. Alpha-28 took his seat along with the other eight clone troopers—also unarmored—who were there as a quick-reaction force. The soldiers distributed themselves across two tables as a burly Twi’lek, Agent Srivas of the Republic Diplomatic Service, launched into a security briefing. Alpha-28 took notes on a datapad from the agent’s presentation as they discussed physical perimeters, electronic counter-surveillance, guard patrols, secure locations, and contingency plans. The diplomatic service, working the miner’s guild, had devised a fairly thorough security plan, but it was also thoroughly unimaginative, with no particularly unexpected precautions. Every response was scripted out according to standard protocol.
Alpha-28 made no comment during the meeting about the security arrangements. First, the diplomatic service liaison had made it very clear that this was their operation to coordinate, and that most of the security was being handled by the miner’s guild. He and the other army soldiers were largely there only as a last resort, nothing more, an irritating presence that had only been begrudgingly accepted. Second, Alpha-28 knew that while the standard playbook worked for most scenarios, it had a few weaknesses he could exploit. Given the nature of his secret mission from Commander Venasee, it was so much the better that he not plug all of the gaps, at least not right away.
After the meeting was concluded, the local Orin security official, a dour-faced human named Dhaz, led them on a tour of the facility. Alpha-28 observed the man closely. He seemed to have a fairly orthodox approach to security, with little enthusiasm or creativity, but the ARC did not want to underestimate him, given that his secret mission would directly oppose Dhaz’s efforts.
As they were conducted into the speeder garage, Alpha-28 tensed slightly as he prepared his first test for Dhaz’s security measures. In one of the pockets of his nondescript uniform was a universal signaler designed to activate speeders remotely. While diplomatic speeders were equipped with signal scramblers designed to protect against such devices, the device in Alpha-28’s possession had was equipped with electronic bypass measures that would query the speeder for the proper response code and then repeat it. It was a subtle, yet effective means of gaining access to a vehicle. Yet despite the potency, the signaler was a diversion.
Falling back to the rear of the larger group of Republic operatives and security detail, Alpha-28 watched as Dhaz led them through the speeder garage, keeping a close eye on the security man. Just as Dhaz’s path led in front of a red delivery speeder being worked on by a pair of mechanics, Alpha-28 triggered his signaler at the red speeder. The vehicle abruptly started up and lurched forward towards the group.
The security response was nothing if not efficient. The entire group reflexively scattered for cover, but the mechanics were able to immediately arrest the speeder’s motion.
“What the kriff was that?” Dhaz shouted.
“Sorry, sir,” one of them replied sheepishly. “Must’ve been a bug in the system!”
“See that it doesn’t happen again,” Dhaz roared, clearly embarrassed, then turned back to the group.
“Just a minor mechanical mishap,” he assured them. “Nothing to worry about.”
The Republic diplomatic, security, and intelligence agents didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic, but they rose from their cover and continued the tour behind Dhaz—though they were certainly more observant this time. Nervous glances were cast about warily, alert for more danger. While Alpha-28 knew that their trepidation would pass, adding a bit more paranoia to the equation would certainly further his purposes, as would the opportunity to bump into one of the mechanics and “borrow” his security access card. The card was tagged and would no doubt be discovered eventually, but Alpha-28 had noticed that most of the mechanics tended to log in at the morning and log out at shift’s end—a small but exploitable security flaw.
Moreover, the brief confusion had allowed him a few precious seconds worth of access to the speeder where he had sought cover—the diplomatic speeder that would bring Ambassador Rayees to the Darion Retreat Enclave.
- Two hours later
Taskien sat at the desk in her hotel room, blearily rubbing her eyes as she pored over intelligence reports. For once, the problem wasn’t that there wasn’t enough information; there was too much. There were dozens of potential threats to the Republic–Greater Javin Miners accord. Any number of Separatist interests could have discovered the conference’s location—but if that was the case, why wasn’t there a battle fleet in orbit to capture or kill the delegates? The problem was that all of the threats were vague, hiding in shadow, and unrealized. Just then her comlink beeped three times in rapid succession, indicating a priority signal. She picked it up.
“Taskien.”
A terse, male voice that she recognized as belonging to one of Srivas’s assistants replied.
“There’s been a fire in the speeder pool.”
Immediately her blood pressure spiked.
“On my way,” she said, scrambling for her jacket and belt, tucking her blaster into its shoulder holster.
Making her way across the complex to the speeder pool, she joined a circle of Orin Security Force operatives and Republic agents around a cordoned-off area where an expensive-looking diplomatic speeder had collapsed on its rear-left quarter. The rear engine compartment was charred and still smoldering, leaving a smoky scent throughout the speeder pool.
“It appears to be just a small fire,” one of her colleagues observed. “How did it start?”
“The mechanics started the engine and it overloaded. Blew out one of its thermocouples and went up.”
“Might be nothing then,” the first one replied.
Taskien suppressed a biting remark. The fact that there was a fire at all—and one that had disabled the ambassador’s speeder—did not bode well. That meant that the conference had been potentially compromised and the ambassador was in danger.
“We should cancel the conference,” she said suddenly.
All of the other intelligence personnel around her immediately stopped talking and turned to stare at her as if she had just announced that she was General Grievous.
“Out of the question,” Dhaz snapped, obviously already defensive and on edge. “We continue as planned. This could be nothing.”
“That’s not your decision,” Taskien answered coolly. “We’ve obviously been compromised. Better to cut our losses and try again.”
“If the Republic won’t even meet with us to negotiate, how can we trust its promises of protection?” hissed an older man whom she recalled was part of the mining guilds’ diplomatic entourage.
“That would be easier to accept in good faith if our efforts to negotiate weren’t constantly being thwarted,” Taskien countered.
“First your security leaks, and now it overreacts to every flitnat that buzzes around!” the diplomat thundered. “Another reason to doubt Republic promises.”
“Just a minute,” interjected Srivas. “We all recognize the danger here, but let’s not throw away our carefully-built trust so hastily. It seems the best thing we can do at this point to show our combined determination is to let the conference proceed, but take every precaution. Let’s focus on what we can do to fix this and make sure nothing like it happens again. It might have just been a coincidence.”
He glared at Taskien.
“No need to get overly alarmed. We’ll both look into the cause of the fire, and then reassess from there.”
The others glowered for a bit, but then slowly broke into a chorus of reluctant nods and grumblings of assent.
Taskien bit her lip to stop from saying what seasoned operatives referred to as a “career-ending sentence.” Srivas’s words seemed to have cooled the flaring tempers in the group, and he was pragmatically trying to find a solution that would appease both sides. He was technically in charge, and she would have to respect his orders—her comments earlier would likely earn her a good chewing-out anyway, and she couldn’t risk antagonizing him further. The problem with that, of course, was that their attacker might only be emboldened to strike again if the fire hadn’t been accidental. And next time, a fancy speeder might not be the only casualty.
Across the room, in a far corner of the garage, Alpha-28 slid his pilfered access card into the terminal’s access slot while the others were distracted by the fire he had caused. A few seconds later, he had access to not only the information available to Republic security teams, but also those belonging to the locals as well. Amazing that it had been so easy to slip into their secure nets. The ARC acted quickly, downloading as much of the information—comnet frequencies, speeder routes, emergency evacuation plans, electronic surveillance plans—as he could onto a tiny data card. Most importantly, he obtained the door access overrides that would allow him into any room in the facility. The entire data dump took less than a minute.
By that time, a quick spraydown had removed his fingerprints from the card and left it sitting innocuously on the terminal for its original owner to find. No doubt, he would sheepishly discover it and not report that he had misplaced his card there in a blatant security violation. Making his way back over to the crowd of onlookers, Alpha-28’s face betrayed no evidence of the triumph he felt, but now with the security bypasses obtained, he could move around with impunity. He would head back to his room, study the material he had learned, which combined with what had already been provided to the Republic, would give him plenty of opportunities. The ambassador would arrive shortly, and he wanted to be ready.
- That evening
The shuttle broke through the blotchy dark clouds scattered through the Orin sky like black ink splattered across the amber sky. Taskien surveyed the landing pad area, shading her eyes against the glare. Between the sky, the rock, and the simmering cauldron behind them, everything was cast in shades of black and a deep, molten orange. She watched as the ambassador’s honor guard and several aides disembarked, followed by the ambassador himself. A bevy of Orin functionaries were there to meet him, and after exchanging brief pleasantries, the entire party moved quickly towards the entrance to the resort, no doubt eager to escape the sweltering heat that had left every member of the arrival security team soaked in their own sweat after waiting an extra hour for the shuttle to descend due to a bad upper atmospheric storm. Her assignment to this particular duty had no doubt been Srivas’s way of getting back at her for her unpopular statement earlier. Tugging at her collar, she fumed quietly—and then rolled her eyes upon realizing her pun. Taskien kept an eye on the landing pad for several more minutes, silently wondering why the miners’ guild couldn’t have arranged to meet on a real resort world instead of this volcanic excuse of a hotel built on top of a natural oven. Once she was satisfied that no threat or anomaly had manifested itself, she and the rest of the team assigned to watch the landing area headed back inside the secure doors. On her way back to the ready area where most of the security team waited while on duty but not assigned to a specific location, she stopped by the sensor station, where a dour-looking Gotal woman was seated at a chair in front of an impressive control panel.
“Jonna, anything on scopes?” she asked.
“Nothing aside from the ambassador’s ship,” came the reply. “Really hard to see much more than a dozen kilometers out, though. Big storm rolling through.”
“How bad is it going to be?” Taskien inquired.
“Bad,” Jonna told her. “Winds at 200 kph, looking at a few thousand square kilometers of coverage, and another 30 klicks high. Slow-moving too.”
“How is the station fixed to handle that?” Taskien asked.
Orin’s volcanic weather often created fierce volcanic storms replete with lightning and hurled chunks of volcanic ash torn from the scree fields that dotted the planet. But while Taskien had read about the storms in her briefing, the sheer size and frequency of the storm was still daunting.
“For the most part, we should be fine,” Jonna answered. “As long as you don’t plan on any flying tonight. No ships can fly through that mess, and sensors will be fogged too.”
“How long until it passes?”
The Gotal shrugged.
“I’d buckle in for a long night,” she said. “These things don’t move as fast as they would if they just dumped rain and moved on.”
Taskien nodded sourly. Great. Well, at least the storm would prevent any of the diplomatic delegations from flouncing away from the negotiating table. They were literally stuck together. On the other hand, sitting through hell’s version of a sandstorm didn’t exactly excite her either. Especially since she had been assigned overnight duties.
- Four hours later
“Hey, have you seen this?” Alpha-28 asked. “There is a discrepancy in the staffing rotation. See?” He offered the man his datapad, which showed in highlighted text that the security details for the ambassador had somehow become misarranged. “Who did this?” the officer asked.
“Not sure, I just pulled it since the scheduling system’s been acting up. I’m sure it’s nothing,” he offered helpfully.
“Maybe,” the other replied. “But I don’t want the ambassador left unprotected. I’m going to pull this record and talk to Dhaz.”
“Go ahead,” the ARC said. “Make a copy.”
Inserting a data cylinder into the datapad, the officer made a quick copy, thanking Alpha-28 for bringing this to his attention. The ARC had done his best to be helpful and not disrupt the security arrangements. He’d followed the procedures well and helped others with their shifts, only offering occasional recommendations and never taking credit. Both arrangements had helped him win friends among the other intelligence operatives. He’d been careful not to appear too clever, just a notch above the usual level for a diplomatic entourage.
The fact that such a basic ruse had worked on the duty officer made him worry for the Republic’s survival, though. While it wasn’t fair for the man to expect a member of his own team to be working around them, he should have known better than to stick a data device into a potentially unsecured datapad. Now the ARC would able to initiate remote commands or retrieve data from whatever device the now compromised data cylinder accessed.
However, while the ARC’s goal was to further compromise the system if need be, there really had been a staffing discrepancy. This way he figured he killed two birds with one stone. The ambassador’s detail really had left a hole in the coverage, and that was the unacceptable sort of sloppiness that got people killed.
“Where is the ambassador now?”
“Uh, I think he’s supposed to be in his quarters resting.”
“I see,” Alpha-28 replied. “I’ll go check on him until the detail is posted. Just to be safe.”
“Sounds good.”
The ARC had considered taking out the ambassador right away, but there was no guarantee it wasn’t the sort of easy opportunity that lured less wary operatives to their doom. There was no way that the security detail had been rearranged so the most important person on the complex wasn’t protected. This had to be a trap of some sort, and if so, it was important for him to evaluate how clever of a trap it was—without springing it.
He reached the ambassador’s quarters without incident, but was surprised to find two guards waiting there, dour-faced Intelligence types in nondescript clothing.
“Just checking in,” he said, showing them his credentials. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“VIP still resting?”
“That’s right. He’s been in there for a couple hours.”
Alpha-28 nodded curtly and walked off, but something seemed wrong about that exchange. Guards had been posted when none were on the schedule—so either the schedule really was wrong, or else the guards were lying. He checked his chrono—2050 local time. Probably reasonable to assume that the ambassador had eaten. A quick visit to the kitchen confirmed that a meal had been delivered to the ambassador’s room—but after he circled back to the security station, playback of the security footage revealed that one of the guards had carried the food inside and none of the dishes or plates had been picked up. Unusual, but not incriminating. However, he did notice one other unusual thing. More meals had been made by the kitchen than were scheduled—seven more. Too many to be accounted by someone being especially hungry.
Rewinding the security footage, Alpha-28 started tracking each of the meals and where they were delivered. Sure enough, he found a discrepancy. Seven plates had been delivered to the Magma Conference Room. He checked the schedule—nothing was supposed to be happening in Magma. Now that was suspicious. After closing down his station and erasing his queries, he left the security room without mentioning his discovery to anyone. He’d unofficially bugged the room—along with all the conference rooms—hiding the device inside the counter-surveillance gear. He’d stop by his room, check on the logs from Magma, and send a quick report to the general during the natural lapse in attention caused by the shift change at security. Then it’d be time to swing by Magma if the situation warranted. He smiled tightly. Or if an opportunity presented itself.
- Outside the Magma Conference Room
Taskien scowled as she realized she was running late. Her security sweep was supposed to finish thirty minutes ago, but Dhaz had also assigned her to double-check the duty schedule before she started her sweep. Her partner, a bored-looking Umbaran named Ene, sighed as Taskien checked the next holocam. “How many more?” Ene asked.
“Four more conference rooms.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
“You can get food if you want,” Taskien said.
“You’ll need my help,” Ene pointed out. “You can’t see in the ultraviolet to ensure the holocams are operating correctly.”
Taskien sighed.
“I can use the imagers,” she replied. “There’s no reason for you to suffer from me being slow.”
“That’s a breach of protocol,” Ene said. “We’re supposed to work together.”
“If I have a choice between running a sweep by myself and listening to you grumble about how slow I am, I’d take the former,” Taskien answered.
“I’d feel responsible if you messed one of them up,” Ene told her.
“Wait a second,” Taskien said. “I saw something on the comm monitor.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Look for yourself.”
The Umbaran scanned the list of approved frequencies and transmission channels.
“You’re right, it’s not on the list.”
“Where’s it going?”
“Not strong enough to be anything but local. It could be piggybacking on another carrier wave—but it could also be nothing.”
“Nothing?”
The Umbaran gave her a superior look.
“It’s possible it could be some kind of natural occurrence.”
Taskien gestured at the monitor.
“That’s an awful lot of traffic for a natural occurrence. And it’s coming from nearby.”
“Fine,” Ene said. “I’ll call it in. We should split up and see if we can trace it. Start with the conference rooms on this side and I’ll get the other two.”
“Understood,” Taskien replied.
Taking her monitor, she began sweeping through the Lava conference room. The signal didn’t show much change until she reached the opposite wall. It was stronger in the direction of the Magma room and a series of living quarters separated from the conference rooms by a small atrium and kitchenette.
Taskien moved towards the Magma room and was surprised to see a lone, stern-faced guard on watch by the door. He wasn’t one she recognized; must have come in with the ambassador’s detail.
“I need to sweep that room,” she told him.
“I can’t allow that,” he replied
Taskien frowned, checking the schedule. Though they were later finishing their sweep, she didn’t think anything was scheduled for these rooms this late. Ten seconds later she confirmed her suspicion.
“There’s nothing in here. What’s going on?” Taskien demanded. “I’m calling this in.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” the guard advised.
“Or what?” Taskien answered, fire in her eyes. “You better have a good reason for keeping me from finishing this sweep.”
“I have my orders,” the guard answered levelly. “They don’t include granting you access to the conference room.”
“Sure you do,” Taskien shot back skeptically. “That’s why nobody in the security suite knows about this. Tell you what, let’s see how tough you are in two minutes when the security team arrives to clear and secure that room against unauthorized activity.”
The guard’s scowl deepened.
“It’s authorized.”
“You’re real funny,” Taskien said, whipping out her blaster suddenly and leveling it at him before he could react. “Here’s my authorization. What the kriff is going on here?”
The guard was unperturbed by the sight of the blaster.
“If you don’t want to spend the rest of your career on assignments investigating Hutt sausage factories, I suggest you put that away—now.”
“Explain it to the security team when they get here,” Taskien said.
The door to the conference room cracked open.
“Is there a problem?” a surly voice asked from within.
“Only if there’s unauthorized activity going on in there that Republic Intel wasn’t aware of.”
“Intel was informed,” the voice growled back. “Who the kriff are you?”
“Intel,” Taskien shot back. “And I wasn’t informed.”
“Obad, what’s going on?” a higher, more civilized male voice asked from within.
“Sorry, sir,” the gruff voice answered. “Minor disturbance. Just a spook poking her nose around. I’ll get rid of her.”
“Allow me, Obad,” the more cultured voice replied. “I think I might be able to clear this up.”
The door to the conference room opened fully to reveal Ambassador Rayees standing there in formal evening attire. He took in Taskien and her brandished blaster but betrayed no reaction, befitting a poised diplomat.
Behind him, Taskien saw several other people there, people she recognized as some of the mining representatives, as well as a couple others from the ambassador’s entourage.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, I don’t think you’ll need that . . . ,” the ambassador remarked, referring to her blaster.
Taskien hastily holstered it.
“My apologies,” she said, caught completely by surprise. “I didn’t realize—it wasn’t on the schedule.”
“And intentionally so,” the ambassador replied smoothly. “Sometimes, diplomats need opportunities to talk without formalities—off the record.”
“I see,” Taskien replied.
“No need to worry,” Rayees told her. “Come in, please.”
Taskien cautiously entered the room, slipping past a dour-looking guard. Several beings sitting around a central ebony-black table swiveled in fancy repulsor chairs to face her. None of them looked particularly happy to see her, but judging by the mostly drained bottles of pricy Alderaan Ruge Liqueur and Polanis Red alongside empty plates strewn with remnants of a fine repast, they’d been well-entertained before her unexpected arrival. “Gentlemen, no need to worry,” Rayees assured them. “Just one of our entourage coming to check the room. I believe our business is done here anyway, and I’m afraid we’ll have to seek further refreshments elsewhere.”
The mining representatives wordlessly nodded and filed out without a word to Rayees and Taskien. The door hissed closed behind them.
“Satisfied, Agent?” the ambassador asked.
“I think so,” Taskien said slowly. “Do you mind my asking why this wasn’t part of the official negotiations?”
“Certainly. In my profession, it’s helpful to find ways to ease the tension and help people come to an agreement. Food, drink, entertainment, less scrutiny—all of these things are relaxing.”
He poured two more glasses of the Polanis Red with the remnants of the last bottle. Taking one in his hand, he offered the other to her. Waving at his guard, he signaled the man to exit, which he did—unhappily.
“May I?”
Taskien frowned at it.
“I usually don’t drink on duty,” she said.
His smile broadened.
“See? Now we’re getting somewhere. When do you drink on duty, Agent . . .?”
“Taskien. And only when the situation requires it.”
Rayees gave her a sly smile.
“I think the VIP you are tasked with protecting could specify such a situation, right?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I suppose,” she said. “But it would have to be for a good reason.”
“As it turns out, I have such a reason!”
He extended his hand with the glass again and she took it.
“The negotiations were a success. Two of the larger corporations have agreed to assist the Republic in exchange for some minor concessions.”
“That easily?” Taskien asked.
He spread his hands broadly with a grin.
“I can be quite persuasive, especially as a son of Orin,” he told her. “The concessions will barely cost the Republic anything. It turns out that we all want the same things—peace and good business in the Greater Javin.”
“I can drink to that,” Taskien answered, taking a sip of the Polaris Red. “Success for the Republic rarely comes cheap to these days.
It was warm and smooth, but with a powerful bite at the end. A good vintage. Rayees nodded and drank as well.
“Smart, thorough, loyal, and patriotic,” the ambassador said. “All good qualities in an agent.”
Taskien didn’t let the praise go to her head.
“Essential qualities in an agent,” she replied.
“Sharp, too,” the ambassador remarked. “What brought you here, Agent Taskien?”
“We detected an unauthorized carrier wave. We thought it might have been a transmitter of some kind.”
“Nothing of the sort,” the ambassador told her. “We were enjoying some entertainment—a local theatrical broadcast.”
“I see.”
Taskien doubted it was anything quite like that, judging by the brief encounters with the miners she’d had. He shrugged helplessly.
“I can get you the logs if you like. Nothing as refined as Calamarian opera, but if it helps them relax and negotiate, I’ll happily view it.”
The man leaned against the table casually, taking another sip of his wine.
“Will that be all, or is there more you’re after, Agent?”
His stance, the tone in his voice—it was all wrong. Taskien froze momentarily in disbelief, then recovered quickly.
“Excuse me? I’m just doing my job.”
“Then I believe your obligations are satisfied,” he answered. “But your job is also to see to my safety.”
“And?”
“Oh come now, Agent. Do I need to remark that you’re sharp as well as beautiful for you to take the hint?”
Taskien scowled.
“Wouldn’t that be . . . inappropriate?”
His eyebrows rose.
“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. That was not my intent. Quite the opposite in fact.”
“I didn’t come here to be comfortable,” Taskien said stiffly.
“At least be open to the idea,” Rayees answered. “I certainly am. It’s a long way from home on this rock, but we could at least enjoy ourselves. I’d request you for a special assignment—involving another bottle of Polaris red and Talusian mussels in my quarters.”
Now Taskien allowed herself a smile, but her eyes weren’t in it. She set down the glass.
“It’s a good offer,” she told him. “Probably works on a lot of women. But I don’t crack that easily.”
“This isn’t a test,” the ambassador replied. “I would love to celebrate with you tonight.”
“I bet you would,” Taskien answered. “But this isn’t one negotiation you’re going to win.”
She turned and walked out of the room, inwardly trying to shake the dirty feeling from her shoulders.
“A pity,” he called out. “I won over the miners for the Republic, but failed to win you over to me. I’m afraid I’ll consider this evening overall unsatisfying.”
Taskien didn’t even break stride, but turned over her shoulder with a smirk on her face for a parting shot.
“You should consider the satisfaction of a job well done.”
With that, she strode away and let the door close behind her. Despite her seemingly cool exterior, her hands were shaking as she walked away. The ambassador had been charming—disarming even—and while his shallow solicitation was both inappropriate and disgusting—she had felt unnerved by him. The man was hardly a worthy representative of the Republic—and she suspect that those “minor concessions”—weren’t quite as incidental as he framed them. That and the fact that negotiations were happening outside of the official sessions implied something sleazy was happening. She was so distracted that she ran into the soldier coming down the hallway toward her. Taskien jumped as she looked up and saw him. It was the ARC clone trooper, Alpha-28.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “You startled me, that’s all.”
She walked off quickly before he could reply.
“What are you doing out here? Nobody’s supposed to be in this section.”
“Just doing a comm sweep,” Taskien assured him, remembering her original purpose for being in this side of the resort. “I’ll be done soon.”
“By yourself?” he said with a scowl.
“My partner’s just down the hallway,” Taskien told him, noting with relief out of the corner of her eye that Ene had just turned into view. “There.”
“All right then,” the ARC said.
“And what are you doing here?” Taskien asked, recovering quickly.
“You’re late for shift change,” he remarked. “I was sitting around ops with nothing else to do, so they sent me to check on you. Didn’t want to use the comlinks or it’d mess up any scans you were doing.”
“Sorry,” Taskien told him. “We’ll finish up and be done soon.”
He seemed satisfied with that and left. Taskien turned to Ene.
“Did you find anything on that signal?”
“I followed it for a little while, but it cut off before I could get a good trace,” Ene said. “You?”
Taskien shook her head.
“Nothing for me.”
Ene scowled.
“Let’s finish this and get back.”
“I owe you one,” Taskien told her. “Get me the data from your monitor and I’ll file the report with all the frequencies and signal in our daily check-in. Maybe the brains over in Coruscant can make something out of the partial.”
Ene nodded and they quickly finished their sweep. They didn’t notice the ARC had lingered, keeping a watch on them from just out of view. As much as he knew the other Republic personnel would be an obstacle for him when the time came for his true mission, he had no desire to see them harmed or taken advantage of. They were loyal people who normally were on his side.
What Alpha-28 hadn’t let on was that he’d heard the entire conversation between the ambassador and the agent—as well as the negotiations before. He’d heard Rayees try to seduce the agent—and he’d heard Rayees telling the miners that unofficially the Republic would be happy to secure lucrative shipping deals for the two biggest mining companies that would bankrupt the others. He’d heard the ambassador promise that the Republic would turn a blind eye to the use of forced labor—slave labor—if the miners would help them. He’d heard about the promised kickbacks, including land and credits, to Rayees after the deal was finalized.
Alpha-28 was no idealist. If the Republic opted to negotiate such deals out of realpolitik in order to help win the war, he had no principled objection to it. However, this business of skirting the official negotiations to deal under the table smelled bad. If it leaked, the Republic would look ineffectual and corrupt. Not only that, but it exposed Rayees as a man whose scruples were few and loose. A man who would bend the rules and sell out others for wealth. The fact that Rayees made dirty side deals didn’t bother him nearly as much as the fact that the man was interested in self-gain. Not that he needed further justification to carry out his mission, but hearing that conversation made him feel a lot better about it. That was always a plus.
- Coruscant, two hours later
It was late on Coruscant, too, but despite the hour, the fact that General Ram Venasee was still in his office was not unusual. Plans and diagrams for the latest deployments to Muunilist occupied his desktop holoprojector, and he appeared to be intently studying them. Of course, those had nothing to do with what on his personal datapad, the encrypted one with the privacy mode written in an old Iktotchi script. That was an entirely different matter. His door chime sounded with a particular combination that only his hand-selected personal aide had. Nevertheless, the general checked the holocam to confirm he was alone before admitting him.
“What is it, Malcolm?” he asked.
Malcolm, a burly human with a receding hairline and bushy, dark eyebrows set in a permanent scowl, didn’t even enter the room beyond just enough to ensure the door sealed behind him.
“Latest transmission received from Orin.”
“And?”
The taciturn aide’s face betrayed no expression.
“Nothing of note about the ambassador. However, Republic Intelligence was alerted to an unauthorized carrier wave.”
Rayees scrutinized his aide’s expression, his eyes searching for more details.
“Did they have the full frequency?”
“Just a partial, but Intel will be looking into it.”
The general was surprisingly calm, given the circumstances.
“That complicates matters. Was there anything else from our operative?”
“The only thing reported was Rayees conducting unscrupulous side deals.”
“Enough to end him?”
“Given the situation, probably not. There was deniability.”
“Timetable on the strike?”
“None—but at the rate negotiations are concluding they might finish early.”
The general was silent for a moment, variables and probabilities calculating in his head. The conclusion took only seconds to reach.
“Activate the backup plan.”
If Malcolm gave any hints of disagreement, he was wise enough to not show it.
“Understood. It’ll be messier.”
Venasee was grim as he addressed his aide.
“I’d prefer to stop Rayees before he can knife us at the negotiating table. Our first try did not succeed. Our next one must.”