by James Luceno
Isolder slipped his right hand into the power glove and flexed his fingers. "Should I win, I want your pledge that Vergill will support the New Republic."
The witnesses gasped. "This cannot be permitted!" someone shouted.
"Neither of you has the right!" another voice added.
Thane considered it while the arguments continued. "You have my pledge," the archon said at last. "Providing that Hapes will withhold support if you lose."
"You bring disgrace on all our Houses!" a witness remarked.
Isolder nodded. "You have my pledge."
Leia's heart raced.
Beside her, Ta'a Chume said, "This has been Thane's goal all along. As Hapes goes, so goes half the Consortium of worlds." She looked at Leia. "You see what my son undertakes for you?"
On the lawn, the principal referee raised a red scarf high overhead and let it flutter to the ground. It had scarcely touched the tallest blade of grass when the fight commenced.
Hapan tradition dictated that honor duels commence with little fanfare and even less preamble. Leia quickly grasped that it was largely a matter of making sure that everyone had their wagers in place. From what she could gather by eavesdropping on nearby conversations-and Ta'a Chume's avowals to the contrary-Thane was favored to win.
Despite his agitation, or perhaps as a response to it, C-3PO insisted on providing commentary, even after the fight had begun. Olmahk, by contrast, was clearly entranced, down on his haunches at the edge of the manicured lawn, his bulging eyes riveted on Isolder and Thane as they circled, feeling each other out with tentative kicks and punches.
Like Isolder, Thane was tall and muscular, but his thick legs and broad shoulders made Isolder look positively wiry by comparison. His moves, as he loosened up, suggested both great power and dexterity, and he wasn't timid about showing right away that he was good. He came at Isolder with double- and triple-kick combinations, fired by the same leg, recocking and letting fly without bringing his foot down in between.
And he had fast hands, as well.
Isolder parried the attack skillfully, but refrained from counterpunching, as if undecided about which offense to employ. Even so, it was obvious to Leia that they were both essentially footfighters, with Thane's style drawing on traditional techniques and Isolder's on straightforward boxing.
The rules of the honor duel were known to everyone present, save for her and Olmahk, but Leia understood that the body armor and headgear served a dual purpose. In addition to dampening the bone-breaking and electro-shock capabilities of the gloves and boots, the sensor-studded padding indicated when a contestant landed a scoring blow, by way of a remote receiver.
"What an appalling display," C-3PO remarked worriedly. "And I fear it will only get worse, Mistress. Where most opponents agree beforehand to refrain from inflicting serious injury, the prince and the archon waived the usual restrictions!"
Leia tried to ignore him. At the same time, she repressed an urge to think aloud, Don't do this, Isolder, for fear that he might hear her through the Force and come undone. Corran Horn's actions at Ithor had been noble, and yet they had failed to preserve the planet.
Isolder and Thane worked each other around for several long minutes without scoring, though the punishing blows they rained on each other sounded like the muffled reports of ancient firearms. Exposed flesh reddened and swelled. A punch from Isolder drove Thane clear across the lawn; a front kick by the archon lifted the prince completely off his feet. Then both of them scored in rapid succession when Isolder left himself open to a blow to the head in order to land a powerful twisting punch to Thane's ribs.
The rooting of the onlookers was enthusiastic, but nothing like the bloodthirsty tumult professional gamblers would have raised. Inaudibly, Teneniel Djo, Tenel Ka, and some of the advisers intoned calming chants.
Leia kept her concern in check by telling herself that what she was witnessing was no different from so many of the lightsaber practice duels she'd seen and engaged in over the years.
Isolder and Thane went at each other again, this time at Isolder's lead, with a set-piece attack of left fist, right fist. Thane confidently went for the block and counter against an expected right roundhouse kick, only to realize too late that it was a feint. Isolder cocked his leg back like lightning and again struck him in the ribs. Falling back, Thane grimaced in pain, but managed nonetheless to slip in an off-balance counterkick that caught Isolder unprepared.
The primary referee glanced at the remote receiver and declared points for each fighter. With the match a two-two tie and both of them panting, he called for a sudden-death round.
"Sudden death?" C-3PO moaned in alarm. "Sudden death?"
It was plain that Thane understood how Isolder had set a trap for him. Once more he moved tentatively, though seemingly less out of respect for Isolder's prowess than out of wariness for his talent to deceive.
Isolder kept his distance, as well, ultimately forcing Thane to bore in on him. The archon faked a punch, twirled, and cycloned his right foot at Isolder's thigh. Isolder twisted to avoid the full force of the impact, but an agonized yelp escaped him, and everyone realized that he had nearly been incapacitated.
The injured leg collapsed under him, and he dropped to one knee, aiming a stiff-armed punch to Thane's mid-section on the way down. Thane anticipated the blow and stopped short, just out of range, then brought one foot around and down in a crescent kick meant to shatter Isolder's extended forearm and open him up for a frontal attack. But Isolder withdrew his arm in time and shoulder-rolled out of harm's way. Shooting to a crouch, he launched h imself at Thane.
Thane backed away, windmilling his arms to parry punches and kicks, then stepping to one side and executing a fast one-handed forward flip, right foot extended to smash Isolder in the face.
Isolder stooped, catching Thane's lower calf in the crook of the X he formed with raised forearms, then called on his thigh muscles to spring him upright. Thane's planted foot slipped on the grass, and he slammed supine to the ground.
Isolder went after him, whirling for a back kick going
in. But Thane spun on his shoulders and neatly swept Isolder's feet out from under him. Springing themselves upright, they exchanged lightning volleys of kicks and body punches. Plosive sounds cut the salt air as they alternated in having the wind knocked out of them.
Thane's right foot caught Isolder's left forearm just above the edge of the power glove, and Leia was certain she heard bone fracture. It struck her all at once that sudden death could mean just that.
Surprised that neither of them had scored, the crowd grew louder, urging each man on. Leia heard Captain As-tarta's voice cut through the din, commanding Isolder to regain focus. Only Leia and Ta'a Chume stood silently now, wrapped in concern.
With a deft hop, Isolder reversed his stance to keep his maimed forearm out of the line of fire and launched another counteroffensive. Thane's huge fist tagged him a glancing blow on the side of the head, but the archon received a toe kick to the knee in return.
Thane apparently wasn't accustomed to fighting someone his own size, and Isolder made the most of it. Time and again he caught Thane's foot in his upper arm or shoulder or managed to duck his head out of the way. But Isolder appeared to be tiring. With little left to pitch that he hadn't already tried, he again advanced with left fist, right fist, as windup for a right roundhouse kick.
Leia's breath caught in her throat. It was the most elementary and binary kind of gamble. Thane had to decide whether Isolder was setting the move up as a feint, or was going to commit to it this time. It came down to whether or not Thane believed Isolder was fool enough to stake everything-his reputation, Thane's promise to side with Hapes with regard to the Yuuzhan Vong, perhaps even the respect of the royal family and Leia-on trying the same trick after it had been compromised the first go-round.
Thane set himself for a feint and counter. Isolder let him believe he had chosen correctly by using broken timing-appearing for an instant to be
faking-then let fly the intended roundhouse.
From the sound of the impact, it was clear that Isolder had planned the kick to connect with enough force to end the match. Even so, he exercised more restraint than Thane probably would have shown. The slap of the boot on the headguard echoed off the black rocks that graced the shore, and the primary referee had one hand up to signal the winning point before Thane had hit the ground.
Betting stakes were changing hands even as the two opponents were bowing to each other. Given the added wager, many of the witnesses were beside themselves with outrage, and arguments began to erupt on all sides of the lawn.
One to whom success came often, Isolder didn't flaunt his victory. Even the customary embraces he received from his wife and daughter failed to elicit so much as a smile. Archon Thane appeared grudgingly congratulatory, but Leia could see that there would be no lasting peace between House Thane and House Isolder.
At the moment, however, that didn't matter. Thane's loss meant at least one more vote on the side of supporting the New Republic.
Thane and his seconds began to storm away from the lawn, but before he reached the path that led to the dock, Thane changed direction and angled for Leia.
She braced herself.
"Ambassador, I will make my formal apology when the Consortium representatives convene to vote on the issue of rendering aid to the New Republic," he began.
"Rest assured that I will honor my pledge to stand with Prince Isolder." He scowled, despite himself. "For now I wish only to applaud you for moving the Consortium one step closer to what will no doubt prove to be a catastrophic campaign."
TWELVE
Melisma, Gaph, and a dozen other Ryn slogged through the shin-deep mud that had formed in the wake of Ruan's most recent on-command downpour. Conditions in Facility 17 were deteriorating rapidly and no one was smiling, not even Gaph, who was usually unflappingly sanguine in the worst of situations.
The camp's overseers had requested that the Ryn report to the familiarization sector, for purposes yet to be disclosed. A facsimile of civilization as defined by any number of Core worlds, the sector functioned as a training and indoctrination ground for those refugees bound for the heart of the New Republic.
Despite Salliche Ag's attempt to maroon on Ruan as many refugees as possible, a host of worlds and corporations had similar employment scenarios in mind for the displaced peoples of the Outer and Mid Rims. Optical concerns were seeking species with innate visual acuity, and acoustical concerns sought species with expanded ranges of hearing. Some companies were desirous of nothing more than folks of size and brute strength. Still, most of the refugees had never resided in the Colonies, let alone on Core worlds, and so the need for indoctrination classes meant to bring the culturally deprived up to speed for their new lives.
Melisma and the rest trudged past crude buildings and pavilions where Basic was being taught to Ruurians and Dugs. Other structures were devoted to instructive sessions in interfacing with droids, computers, and virtual life-forms; riding turbolifts, drop shafts, and beltways; dealing with bacta treatments, durasheet, and flimsi-plast; the use of comlinks, holoprojectors, and conform loungers; proper behavior in restaurants, theaters, and other public places; and comportment in the presence of the wealthy, the politically connected, or the influential.
The Ryn contingent had been directed to structure 58, which was empty when they entered, save for a grouping of rickety tables and chairs and a human female whose eyes bugged out of her head on seeing them. She glanced at the display of a datapad she wore around her neck, quickly composed herself, and asked everyone to be seated.
The fact that Melisma and the others opted to sit on the floor undermined the woman's aplomb, which was obviously as flimsy as the furniture, and once again she looked to the datapad for advice of some sort.
"You've been asked to report here," she began in Basic, "because an opportunity has arisen that could provide you with transport to Esseles, as well as employment once you arrive."
In pure surprise, Melisma turned to Gaph, whose optimism made a sudden comeback.
"The job is somewhat peculiar, but as it is the only job offer targeted specifically for your species, I'm certain you'll want to consider it."
She cleared her throat in a meaningful way. "Essentially you would be residing in a kind of living museum, where diverse folks coexist, displaying to the intellectually inquisitive or the merely curious the various and sundry elements unique to their species."
No one spoke for a long moment; then Gaph asked, "What, exactly, would we be required to do?"
"Why, simply to be yourselves," the woman said in an unintentionally high-pitched voice.
His former grin abandoned, Gaph glanced at Melisma, then looked back at the woman. "You're suggesting that it would be just like being here-except that we'd have thousands of visitors gawking at us day and night."
"Observing," the woman clarified. "Not gawking."
Melisma shook her head in dismay. "I'm sorry, but we'll have to decline the offer," she said, speaking for everyone.
The woman spent a moment gnawing at her lower lip, then moved to the door to ascertain that no one was about. When she swung around to the Ryn her eyes twinkled in a way they hadn't earlier, and her tone of voice was conspiratorial.
"I shouldn't really be telling you this, but Salliche Ag is prepared to furnish you with employment right here on Ruan." She paused to allow her words time to sink in. "I'm certain that some of you have had past experience on agricultural worlds, and that you would adapt easily to both the work and the environment. In return, Salliche Ag would expect you only to sign a contract stating that you will remain onworld for at least the next three standard years."
"What does the work pay?" Gaph asked with elaborate enthusiasm.
"Salliche Ag will furnish everything you need in the way of shelter and food, and deduct the costs from your wages. The rest is, of course, yours to do with as you please-although the company discourages its employees from actually accepting credits, for fear they might be spent. . . frivolously or gambled away. The last thing Salliche Ag wants is employees who have overspent and have no recourse but to work off the debts they incurred."
Gaph slapped his thigh in fabricated delight. "What a sweet deal!"
When everyone had stopped laughing, Melisma said, "We're not interested."
The woman folded her arms across her chest. "Won't you at least consider the offer? I'm sure you don't want to remain in this camp any longer than you have to."
The scarcely veiled threat was still ringing in Melisma's ears when the Ryn filed out of the building some moments later. She didn't know whether to be angry, anxious, or both. Fortune-telling had been earning the Ryn enough credits to purchase decent foodstuffs, but business was already beginning to fall off. Without credits the camp would rapidly become the prison it was meant to be, and in the end she and the others would be forced to accept Salliche Ag's offer.
She didn't think she could feel more disheartened, until they arrived back at the Ryn encampment to find two human males waiting for them, no doubt to drive home the hopeless nature of th eir predicament and to sell them again on the wisdom of signing on with Salliche Ag.
And yet there was something about the pair that gave her pause. For starters, they were too seedy even for representatives of Salliche Ag. The taller one was gangly and bearded, and his long fingers were t'bac stained. He wore utility coveralls that were a size too small, and his boots were more suited to spaceport work than a desk job. The other man was equally unkempt, with grease under his fingernails and grime on his forehead. Black hair curtained his pale pointed face and fell lanky and unwashed to his shoulders.
"Lush as it is, Ruan's a rock like any other when you'd rather be elsewhere," the tall one said to Gaph as he approached.
"But every rock has its secret exits," the other chimed in, "even Ruan."
Gaph smiled pleasantly. "Yes, and every one of those clandestine egresses requ
ires a toll we can't afford to pay."
Tall seemed to take the reply as a good sign. "Then maybe you'd like to earn the toll."
Gaph waved the men to a couple of chairs R'vanna had cobbled together. At the same time, he asked someone to bring tea and food.
"We represent a concern that provides private transportation to other worlds," Tall explained.
"For thousands of credits per passenger," Gaph said.
The man nodded. "But believe it or not, there are folks here with more than that to spend."
"The problem is," the short man took over, "they lack official permits to travel. Now normally their credits would buy them documentation, as well, but Salliche Ag is making it difficult because they have their own reasons for wanting to keep everyone onworld."
R'vanna sighed. "We're aware of those reasons."
"Well, then, here's the thing," the first man said. "The business concern we represent has official authority to transport a shipload of paying clients to Abregado-rae, which is accepting exiles."
"Abregado-rae," R'vanna said in delight. "A much happier alternative than any of the Core worlds. Positively flush with opportunities."
Tall nodded. "No camps, no labor contracts, no fine print. Everyone gets off to a fresh start. But unless we can show our clients' names on official permits of transit, all the credits in the universe won't get any of them off Ruan."
Gaph mulled it over. "Then you need a good slicer to enter those names in the database."
Short shook his head. "Salliche Ag is on the lookout for slicers. Everything has to be done by durasheet and official seal."
Gaph and R'vanna traded knowing looks. "Go on," Gaph said.
The humans also traded looks. "It's no secret that you people are good at forging permits and such," Tall said.
"Yeah, like the ones you forged allowing you to emigrate to the Corporate Sector way back when."
"Unsubstantiated rumors," R'vanna said.
Tall smiled. "Even so ..."
Gaph cut him off. "Do you have an example of the seal you want copied?"