Crucible: Star Wars

by Troy Denning

  “They don’t like paying taxes,” Wuul replied. “And when the Qreph brothers don’t like something, it’s a problem.”

  “The Qreph brothers?” Luke asked.

  Wuul tapped the file. “They own Galactic Syndicated,” he said. “Which, in turn, owns Galactic Exploitation Technologies. It’s all in this file. It’s an interesting read, I promise.”

  When Wuul did not pass the file over, Luke asked, “So how do I get a look at it?”

  “First you tell me what the Jedi are doing in the Rift,” Wuul said. “Then we’ll see.”

  Luke paused to examine Wuul’s Force aura again, searching for the oily touch of deception or the tang of a bluff. When he found only the electric bite of fear, he realized that the senator was not trying to dupe him—only to be sure that Luke did not hold back any secrets himself.

  “We have nothing to hide,” Luke said. “GET might be involved in the piracy problem I mentioned earlier. The attacks are really cutting the supply to Lando Calrissian’s asteroid refinery on Sarnus. We sent Han and Leia to investigate as a favor to an old friend, and their last message hinted that it might not be your usual pirate problem.”

  Wuul’s eyes gleamed with sudden comprehension. “GET is bringing more product into the Alliance now than ever,” he said. “I thought they were just taking a bite out of Lando’s market share, but I’m beginning to think it’s something else—something more typical for them.”

  “More typical?” Luke asked.

  Wuul nodded and placed the flimsi on the table between them. “Piracy isn’t GET’s only sideline,” he said. “Just because GET is bringing metal into the Alliance doesn’t mean we’re collecting taxes on it.”

  “So—they’re into smuggling, as well,” Luke said, taking the file.

  “Just read.” Wuul drained his glass, then eyed the bottle as though fighting the temptation to pour another. “Piracy and smuggling are only the beginning.”

  Luke opened the file. As Wuul had explained, GET was owned by Galactic Syndicated, an interstellar conglomerate with interests in livestock gene development, advanced cyborg technology, interstellar transportation, and a dozen other fields. Over the last thirty years, their companies had been associated with crimes ranging from gene rustling to slave making. During the war against the Yuuzhan Vong, there had even been a Syndicated starliner service that specialized in selling whole shipfuls of refugees to Yuuzhan Vong priests for rites of mass sacrifice.

  Luke looked up. “Why aren’t these guys living in a detention center somewhere?”

  “Because Marvid and Craitheus Qreph are masters of working behind the scenes,” Wuul replied. “Their mother was an information broker and statistical prognosticator on Ord Mantell, until someone put a blaster bolt through her head.”

  “They were orphans?”

  Wuul shook his head. “That might have been easier on them,” he said. “The bolt didn’t kill her. It just left her unable to form new memories.”

  “Which meant she couldn’t earn a living anymore,” Luke surmised.

  “Right. The Qrephs grew up poor—so poor they had to share a powerbody.” Wuul pointed at the file again. “Keep reading. It’s all in there.”

  Luke returned to the file. Growing up in poverty had been a deeply motivating factor for the Qrephs. On their eleventh emergence anniversary, the brothers had embezzled a million credits from a local crime lord. They had used the money to buy a small product-evaluation laboratory, then began a lucrative program of testing Kuati cosmetics on stolen pets and orphaned younglings.

  After that, the Qrephs had virtually disappeared from the official record until shortly before the war against the Yuuzhan Vong. At that point, security and police services all over the galaxy began to trace an astonishing array of crimes, corruption, and deceitful business practices back to the parent company, Galactic Syndicated. Even then, it wasn’t until recently, just after the Second Civil War, that Marvid and Craitheus Qreph had been identified as the sole owners of Galactic Syndicated.

  Luke set the file aside. The Jedi Order’s own researchers had discovered some of the same information. But the Galactic Alliance’s investigation had clearly been going on for a much longer time, and their file was far more complete. He looked across the table at Wuul.

  “You’re right, it’s an interesting read,” he said. “Now tell me what’s not in the file.”

  “Those are the facts as we know them, Master Skywalker,” Wuul said. “Anything else I might say is merely observation and speculation.”

  “Understood,” Luke replied. “That’s what I came to you for.”

  Wuul’s dewflaps rose in the Sullustan version of a smile. “Well, since you ask …” He took the file and opened it to a long list of Galactic Syndicated’s recent acquisitions. “What strikes me is the sudden growth. In the last six months alone, GS has bought two dozen companies, most for a fraction of their true value—and many of those concerns are behemoths in their own right.”

  Luke studied the list. “And a lot of them are duplicates in strategic industries,” he noted. “I see three Tibanna-gas suppliers, two starfighter manufacturers, four ship builders, five freight companies …”

  “Exactly,” Wuul said. “At the SoroSuub Business Academy, they teach that a sudden acceleration in corporate acquisitions usually means someone is attempting to corner a market. But the acquisitions tend to be clustered around a single industry.”

  “And these aren’t,” Luke said. “They’re all over the place.”

  “Precisely, Master Skywalker,” Wuul said. “It’s a bit premature to say this, but if the pattern continues to accelerate as it has, I would have to conclude that the Qrephs aren’t attempting to corner one major market. They want them all.”

  “All?” Luke repeated. “That’s pretty ambitious, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” Wuul glanced away, and once again Luke felt a bolt of fear shoot through his Force aura. “But so was disbanding the Senate and turning the Galactic Republic into the Empire.”

  “Point taken,” Luke said. “Is that what the Qrephs are after? Total control of the economy?”

  Wuul spread his hands. “You’re the Jedi, Master Skywalker. You tell me.”

  “Better to avoid assumptions,” Luke said, nodding. “You said the Qrephs have been buying companies at a fraction of their true value. How are they doing that?”

  “The same way they avoid paying import taxes, I imagine,” Wuul said. “Spies, bribery, extortion, intimidation, murder—whatever they need to do.”

  “And what is it that you’re frightened of, Luew?”

  Wuul’s ears dipped ever so slightly. “I thought you might notice that,” he said. “But I assure you, I’m not allowing my own concerns to influence my decisions—any more than I would consider taking a bribe.”

  “What concerns, exactly?”

  “The threats, of course.” Wuul met Luke’s gaze again. “Have you been listening, Master Skywalker?”

  “Yes,” Luke replied. “But I’m having trouble believing it. The Qrephs are actually threatening a Galactic Alliance senator?”

  Wuul’s dewflaps tightened. “Heavens no, Master Skywalker,” Wuul said. “Even they aren’t that brazen. But I’ve had to ask my warren-clan to go into hiding.”

  “Threatening a senator’s family is still a crime,” Luke observed.

  “And I’m sure they would be prosecuted for it,” Wuul said. “If we could bring the Qrephs to justice inside Galactic Alliance space—and if I had the kind of evidence that could be used to embarrass Wandara Dekort into pursuing the case.”

  Luke raised his brow. “The minister of justice is on their payroll?”

  “Bribed, blackmailed, threatened—or perhaps just overly cautious.” Wuul spread his hands. “Who is to know?”

  “Has Minister Dekort at least opened …” Luke paused when he sensed a jittery presence underneath the Shadow, up near the bow, then continued, “… an investigation of the threats against your fam
ily?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said.

  Luke rose and turned halfway toward the presence. Wuul tipped his head but quickly resumed the conversation when Luke twirled a finger to keep it going.

  “Dekort claims that mere innuendo is no grounds for an investigation,” the Sullustan said. “But she has assured me that if anyone in my warren-clan vanishes or comes to harm, she’ll be happy to open a file.”

  “What about Senate Security Services?” Luke asked. “Isn’t it the Senate’s duty to protect you and your family?”

  “Duty and deed are very different things, Master Skywalker,” Wuul said. “If the Qrephs can subvert senators and high-court judges—and they have—they can certainly subvert a bodyguard or two.”

  The presence was underneath the Shadow’s main cabin now, creeping closer to the galley table where Wuul was sitting. Luke felt more apprehension than sinister intent in its Force aura, which suggested that the intruder was probably a spy rather than an assassin—or perhaps merely an unscrupulous member of the service crew looking for something worth stealing.

  Motioning Wuul toward the boarding ramp, Luke said, “We might be able to send a Jedi to help your family.”

  “Do you want me tossed out of the Senate, Master Skywalker?” Wuul asked. He rose and started aft. “A lot of my colleagues actually believe that nonsense about the Jedi drawing us into war after war—and the rest are happy to blame you instead of their own bad judgment.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be obvious,” Luke said, waiting until Wuul reached the boarding ramp. “We do have Sullustan Knights, you know.”

  Wuul thought for a moment, then shook his head. “The Alliance has to handle this problem on its own.” He reached the boarding ramp, then placed a thumb over the control pad and raised his brow in silent inquiry. “With the Jedi gone, it’s the only way we’ll ever build the kind of robust institutions we need to fight corruption like this.”

  Luke pointed at the control pad and nodded, signaling Wuul to lower the ramp. At the same time, he reached for the spy in the Force, grabbing him in its invisible hand and slamming him into the hard durasteel of the Shadow’s belly.

  A muffled thunk echoed through the hull, and a voice cried out in pain and astonishment. Whoever was beneath the Shadow, Luke realized, was not a professional spy. Luke allowed the eavesdropper to fall back to the hangar deck, then hurried aft.

  By then Wuul was already kneeling near the top of the ramp, peering forward under the Shadow’s belly. “Suuas?” he called, clearly astonished. “Didn’t I tell you to wait aboard the ship?”

  A reedy voice replied, “I, uh … I’m sorry, Uupa.” Uupa was the Sullustan word for one of the clan-matriarch’s mates. “I thought something might be wrong.”

  “Is that why you’re carrying an eavesdropping saucer?” Wuul retorted. “Even I know that’s not pilot kit.”

  Luke had to descend the ramp about halfway before he saw a young male Sullustan lying on the deck beneath the Shadow’s belly, a purple lump forming on the crown of his head. Resting on the deck beside him was a device that resembled a stethoscope with a giant suction cup on the end.

  “You’re spying on me?” Wuul hissed, struggling to keep his voice down. “My own warren-spawn?”

  Suuas shook his head urgently. “No, Uupa!” He picked up the eavesdropping saucer and stared at it as though it were a fang eel. “This was already here. That’s what I was coming to tell you!”

  He was, of course, lying. Luke could sense the deception and panic in the young Sullustan’s Force aura.

  “That’s not what you said two moments ago.” Wuul’s voice was calm and cold. “You said you thought something might be wrong.”

  “Because I saw this hanging beneath the vessel’s belly,” he said, shaking the listening device at Wuul.

  “Then you’d better come aboard,” Luke said. He didn’t have to look to know they were attracting the attention of the crew who were still servicing the Shadow. “Let’s have a look at it.”

  “Yes, bring it to us,” Wuul said, catching Luke’s concern almost immediately. He glanced around beneath the vessel, as though searching for someone hiding behind one of the struts. “Did you see who put it there?”

  A warm wave of relief rolled through the Force as Suuas fell for his uupa’s trick and believed he might actually get away with his misdeed. The young Sullustan rose and came toward the boarding ramp.

  “Just some service crew,” he said. “It might have been one of them.”

  “That would make sense,” Wuul said, his tone so convincing that, had Luke not sensed the suspicion in his Force aura, he would have believed the senator accepted Suuas’s lie. “We’ll sort this out inside.”

  Wuul took one last look around, then quickly withdrew into the ship. Luke waited on the ramp, watching to make certain the bump on Suuas’s head hadn’t given him a concussion. When the young Sullustan started to ascend the ramp without lurching or stumbling, Luke extended a hand for the device.

  “Let me have a look at that.”

  Suuas shook his head. “I work for the senator,” he said. “I should give it to him.”

  “As you like,” Luke said, lowering his hand. “And I’m sorry about banging you into the hull. I assumed from the apprehension I sensed in your Force aura, and the care with which you were creeping forward, that you were trying to avoid notice.”

  Suuas looked away without speaking, then climbed the rest of the way into the Jade Shadow. Luke took a moment to glance toward the stern of the vessel and found a pair of Duros service technicians making a point of not looking in his direction. He knew better than to hope they had failed to recognize him, but Crossing Lanes Station was the kind of place where clients demanded discretion—and were willing to pay for it.

  Luke took a pair of hundred-credit chips from his belt pouch and went back to the hoverlift the Duros were using to reach the Shadow’s service socket.

  “In case I don’t see you before I depart.” He reached up to place the chips on the hoverlift deck. “I appreciate your professionalism.”

  Both Duros glanced down, their gazes lingering on the chips long enough to show their appreciation, then nodded curtly.

  “Our pleasure, Captain,” said the older one. “You have a safe journey, now.”

  “I will,” Luke said, smiling at the use of captain. “Thank you.”

  He climbed back aboard the Shadow and raised the ramp again. In the main cabin, Wuul had already taken possession of the eavesdropping cup and was waving it in Suuas’s face.

  “… not even SoroSuub!” the senator roared. “This is Loronar! How could you, Suuas? Loronar?”

  The younger Sullustan looked at his boots and said, “Uupa, I keep trying to tell—”

  “That it belongs to someone else,” Wuul finished. “I know—and that’s a load of drutash castings.” He flung an arm toward Luke. “He’s a Jedi, you idiot. And a Jedi always knows when you’re lying.”

  That was close enough to accurate for Luke to nod. “I’ve been sensing your feelings since you drew near,” he said. “You weren’t coming to tell us about anything. You were having trouble eavesdropping, so you decided to try the saucers.”

  Suuas’s eyes flattened to angry ovals. “Cheap Loronar trash,” he said. “I told them I wanted SoroSuub.”

  “Who?” Luke asked.

  “Who do you think, Jedi?” Suuas snarled. He turned to Wuul. “And it’s not like you left me a choice, Uupa. When you wouldn’t work with them, someone had to put our warren first.”

  Wuul’s shoulders fell. “What did you do, Suuas?”

  “Galactic Syndicated has eyes everywhere,” Suuas replied. “You told me that yourself. It’s impossible to hide a whole warren from them—even for you.”

  “So you struck a deal,” Wuul surmised. “The warren’s safety in exchange for spying on me?”

  “And I’d do it again,” Suuas confirmed. “Throw me in a detention center, hire another pilot and put
a bad reference out on me, even have the Jedi dump me down a black hole. I make no apologies.”

  Before Luke could object to the idea that Jedi disposed of bodies, Wuul stepped close to his warren-spawn and began to speak in a low, gravelly voice.

  “Oh, no, Suuas—you’re not going to be that lucky,” he said. “We’re going to handle this through the warren-clan. The Dame will decide your fate.”

  Five

  The Sarnus Refinery stood scattered across the barren plain below, spanning a hundred square kilometers of dust and stone. Hundreds of fleck-sized landspeeders were whizzing back and forth, running between the dark polygons of distant structures. Studying the far horizon, Leia could just make out a line of fiery orange crash pits—a series of jagged notches still aglow with the heat of recent impacts. In the middle of the plain, she saw the enormous spinning domes of more than twenty grinding mills, surrounded by a web of the transport tubes that fed and emptied them.

  “A lot of those repulsi-veyer lines are over fifty kilometers long,” Lando was explaining over the comm channel.

  Dressed in a yellow standard-issue pressure suit, he stood at the edge of a narrow pullout, pointing to the facilities they would soon be visiting. Lando wanted the Solos to understand the refining process so they would be able to recognize any illicit refineries they happened to come across. But clearly he enjoyed having the chance to show the place off.

  “Our crash pits are located well away from the work areas,” Lando continued. “When those astroliths come down, they can scatter debris for dozens of kilometers.”

  “Of course, we try to contain the scatter with deflector shields,” added Lando’s operations chief, Dena Yus. She was standing by the landspeeder, watching for approaching traffic, because they had parked in the only pullout on the switchbacking route down into the production basin. “But we still lose three percent of our ore to spray-out.”

  Leia chinned the microphone toggle inside her helmet, then asked, “How much of the astrolith do you lose to other causes?” Astrolith, Dena had explained earlier, was the term mining engineers used for the asteroid fragments prepared by the breaker crews. “I’d think a lot of ore would vaporize on impact—or simply sink into the crash-pit walls.”