The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  “You’d better hurry,” he rumbled in Huttese. “They’re leaving without you.”

  Shigar led Larin away, feeling exposed under the emplacements and full of loathing for the Hutts and the corruption they embraced so readily. Most likely, the purser would betray them within minutes of letting them through, but if he could just get out of his direct line of sight, he and Larin could disappear into the palace’s throng, never to be seen again.

  They walked twenty-five paces without interference. At the first available doorway, he turned left, then immediately left again. When no sound of pursuit rang out behind them, he let the breath he’d been holding escape through his teeth.

  Larin heard it. “That went as planned, did it?”

  “Precisely,” he said with fake cheeriness. “You weren’t worried, were you?”

  “Not for a second.” She shook her head. “Let’s find somewhere quiet and out of the way. We need to change the way we look.”

  They squeezed into a niche and Shigar gratefully rid himself of the mask and a large amount of his leather rancor-riding gear, leaving him wearing just pants, boots, and a tight black vest on his upper body. He felt 50 percent lighter and was grateful to regain free use of his arms. Larin unsealed her helmet and hitched it securely to her belt, then surrendered the cloak she had been wearing and gave it to him to cover his exposed shoulders. Rubbing dust into their cheeks and foreheads, she did her best to make them look as filthy as everyone else they had seen so far.

  Shigar felt dirty enough as it was, and not just because of the close, stinking air of Hutta. They were in, and the first real hurdle of the mission was behind them. Now they could get on with uncovering what Tassaa Bareesh had found on the Cinzia.

  Leaving the rest of his disguise tucked well out of sight, they moved off into the halls of the palace, keeping their ears and eyes wide open for surprises.

  AT THE REAR of the palace, where a heavily fortified cliff provided a natural shield against snipers and missile attacks, was a private spaceport large enough for a dozen suborbital transports. Six of the berths were already full when the Imperial envoy approached to land. None was registered to the Republic. One looked like a privateer, bulbous and battered, and extensively blackened across one side as though by a powerful blast.

  “Good,” said Darth Chratis when Ax communicated that intelligence to him. “We have the jump on the Republic, at least. Any sign of Stryver?”

  “None as yet, Master.”

  “Keep your senses alert for his presence, but remember your place. Your desire for revenge comes second to the orders of the Dark Council. Fulfill them first, then you may act freely. We need to know what was inside the Cinzia.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said with all apparent obedience. In her heart she swore to take whatever opportunities arose, whether Darth Chratis approved or not.

  The shuttle came down with a gentle thud. Ax would much rather have come under her own direction, in her own interceptor, but her new role forced her to accept some compromises. She unstrapped herself and moved forward to meet the envoy: Ia Nirvin, a dour, capable man who understood all too well that his role in coming events was ceremonial. His credentials were genuine, and the line of credit he had access to came straight out of the Imperial treasury. He was, however, under express orders to make no deals unless Eldon Ax failed in her mission.

  “This way, Envoy,” she said, ushering him to the rear egress ramp. A welcoming committee had already gathered outside. Nirvin adjusted his uniform, waited until his escort had assembled around him, then exited the shuttle.

  Ax came last, striding confidently down the ramp. The security detail surrounding the welcoming party noticed her instantly. She was dressed entirely in black, as befit an emissary of the Sith, and her lightsaber hilt dangled openly at her side. The security detail’s uncertainty pleased her. Envoy Nirvin came with the full authority of the Imperial bureaucracy, but who held the real power? Was she bodyguard or puppet master?

  A massive Houk approached her. “Your weapon, please.”

  Ax unhitched her lightsaber, ignited it, and without saying a word removed the Houk’s head.

  Four more Houks moved forward to force the issue.

  “There’s no need for such baseless hostility,” said Envoy Nirvin, pressing fearlessly between her and the guards. “She comes in peace as my adviser on esoteric matters. Let the matter drop, or I fear we might as well turn back right now.”

  His words were addressed to the welcoming committee, not to her, and she was glad for that. She didn’t care how many Houks she had to kill to make the point to the servants of the Hutts that she wasn’t relinquishing her lightsaber under any circumstances.

  The welcoming party conferred in hurried whispers, then nodded their acceptance of the situation. Ax waited until the Houks had retreated, though, before deactivating her blade and relaxing her defensive stance.

  “Nice to do business with you, gents,” she said, following the envoy and his retinue into the palace.

  “TASSAA BAREESH OFFERS her distinguished guests a most cordial welcome and wishes them a profitable stay in her humble abode.”

  Hardly humble, thought Ax, eyeing the garish décor of the throne room. What hadn’t been gilded was encrusted with jewels or draped in silk. No less than one hundred court functionaries had gathered to welcome the modest Imperial contingent, and she had no doubt that the crowd was a deliberate attempt to impress.

  The droid translator, a lanky A-1DO “conehead,” did its best to keep up with its mistress’s rumbling speech.

  “Tassaa Bareesh invites her distinguished guest to take full advantage of the palace’s amenities before proceeding to the official program. We have a fine array of baths, restaurants, dance halls, fight pits—”

  “We’d prefer to press on,” interrupted Envoy Nirvin in a restrained but firm voice. “With all appropriate thanks and gratitude, of course.”

  Instead of looking offended, Tassaa Bareesh beamed a wide, lascivious smile. The Hutt matriarch was impressively large, sprawling slug-like with short-fingered hands resting on her bulging belly. Jewels gleamed from numerous necklaces and rings, and silk draped across her sloping shoulders, but nothing could hide the repulsiveness of her skin, which was as green and oily as a swamp reptile’s back. The matriarch rumbled briefly, then reached for a snack. It wriggled and squirmed uselessly before dropping into the cavernous maw and dying with a crunch.

  “Tassaa Bareesh understands your urgent desire to proceed to business,” said the translator. “Would you like to view the merchandise?”

  “Please.”

  The Hutt matriarch barked a command. From the crowd of onlookers stepped a tall, bejeweled Twi’lek, who bowed and said, “My name is Yeama. I will be your guide.”

  Nirvin bowed in return. “If the merchandise meets our needs, we may wish to offer a price immediately.”

  “Of course,” Yeama said, “but I’m afraid we have another party due to arrive shortly. We could not possibly come to any arrangements until they have had an opportunity to see what you have seen.”

  “When is this other party due?”

  “Today, I believe.”

  “From the Republic?”

  “I cannot reveal their identity.”

  “Can you tell me how many other interested parties there are?”

  Yeama smiled with his lips only. “This way, please.”

  Envoy Nirvin’s expression was sour, but he did as he was told. The Twi’lek led him and his retinue from the throne room. They formed a gaudy procession, with Yeama and Nirvin at the lead, accompanied by one Bareesh soldier for every Imperial bodyguard. Ax brought up the rear, glad to be moving again. She tolerated diplomacy rather than enjoying it.

  Balancing Ax was the biggest Houk she had ever seen. He matched her stride pace for pace, his expression impassive.

  As she left the room, Ax glimpsed an unassuming figure at the back. A human of average height, he wore practical clothes that had s
een better days. His salt-and-pepper hair looked as though he had been hauled from bed just moments before. On a street anywhere else in the galaxy, Ax would have ignored him as a matter of course, but in Bareesh’s palace he was the only being not dripping with finery. Standing directly behind him was a boxy old combat droid that looked even more battered than he was.

  He saw Ax looking at him and glanced away, as though bored.

  She turned her eyes forward and followed the envoy.

  YEAMA LED THEM through a maze of corridors, each more opulent than the last. Had Ax any interest in paintings, sculptures, and tapestries—or even just the value of such things—she was sure she would have been impressed. Instead, while carefully memorizing the route, she kept her eyes open for tactical information: how many guards stood at each intersection, which areas were covered by security cams, where blast doors were located, concealed or not.

  Unsurprisingly, she quickly concluded that the palace was a fortress wrapped up in tinfoil. The Hutts loved their luxury, but they loved their lives more. Tassaa Bareesh hadn’t elevated herself to head of a Hutt cartel simply by throwing the biggest parties. She knew how to watch her back, too.

  There were weaknesses to every security detail, though. Ax was sure she could get to the matriarch if she needed to. Luckily for Tassaa Bareesh, her mission was simply to steal.

  Yeama brought the commingled retinues to a halt in a large circular room under a domed roof distinguished by a chandelier made from thousands of pieces of baroquely curved glass. There were only two entrances to this room: the one they had just come through, with thick armored doors currently standing open under a massive stone statue of Tassaa Bareesh herself, and the other ahead of them, with a pair of doors to match, thus forming a security air lock. Yeama clapped his hands, and the doors behind them slammed shut. Ax kept her hand on the pommel of her lightsaber, even though she knew Tassaa Bareesh couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to plan an ambush, and she noted with approval that the envoy’s bodyguards had moved in closer around him.

  A thud and a clunk came from the doorways on the opposite side of the room. They swung open, revealing an antechamber that was pleasingly devoid of decoration. Walls, floor, and ceiling were a uniform, spotless white. There was easily enough room for everyone as they filed in after Yeama. The antechamber could have held more than fifty humans.

  Four circular vault doors opened onto the antechamber, each more than four meters across. Small but very thick transparisteel portals in the center allowed visual access to the contents. Only one of those portals appeared to be unshuttered. It was to that vault door that Yeama led them.

  “Here at last, Envoy Nirvin, is the prize you have been promised. But allow me first to describe how it came to be in our hands.”

  Nirvin glanced through the portal, frowned, and turned back to Yeama. “Do so,” he barked.

  Ax was too far away to see. She itched to push past them and look for herself, but for the moment she would have to be satisfied with words alone.

  “Some of what I am about to tell is known outside this room,” Yeama said. “The rest is not. Two weeks ago, one of our affiliates stopped a ship in the depths of Wild Space.”

  Affiliates, Ax assumed, was a diplomatic term for “pirate.” And stopped surely meant “interdicted and boarded under arms.”

  “It was a routine encounter, but it soon took a surprising turn.”

  “Surprising how?” asked Nirvin.

  “Here is the conversation that took place between our affiliate and the vessel.”

  An audio recording filled the antechamber, rich with breathing, static, and comm crackle. A couple of clicks suggested that it had been edited, but the ambience sounded authentic.

  “Stand by for boarding.”

  That was the affiliate, Ax guessed: experienced, pragmatic, with an edge of tension that belied the Twi’lek’s description of the encounter as “routine.”

  “Negative. We do not recognize your authority.”

  That was the Cinzia, Ax assumed—and here a strange feeling ran down her spine. The speaker was male and sounded impossibly distant. Had he known her mother? Was he related to her?

  She forced herself to concentrate on the rest of the conversation.

  “You’re a privateer. You work for the Republic.”

  “Now, that simply isn’t true.”

  “We’re on a diplomatic mission.”

  “To whom? From where?”

  There was a long, static-filled pause.

  “All right, then. What will it cost for you to let us go?”

  “You’re clear out of luck, mate. Best vent those air locks, smartish. We’re coming in.”

  The recording ended with a blast of white noise that made the envoy jump.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “An explosion,” said Yeama. “The ship our affiliate approached possessed an ion drive of unfamiliar design. It was this that blew, taking the ship and all hands with it.”

  As though the Twi’lek were reading Ax’s thoughts, he added, “We believe that the drive’s power cells were deliberately ignited.”

  “They blew themselves up?”

  “Yes, Envoy Nirvin. Rather than be boarded, they chose to destroy their ship and all its contents. Unfortunately for them, the destruction was not complete. Significant fragments survived. What you see before you are two items retrieved from the detritus. The first is the Cinzia’s navicomp, which contains the coordinates of its origin. The second is more mysterious. What do you make of it?”

  The envoy peered through the thick transparisteel portal a second time. He frowned once more.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Our sentiments exactly,” Yeama said.

  Again, Ax resisted the impulse to push past and see for herself.

  “This much we can tell you.” Yeama folded his hands across his midriff. “We have detected signs of machining on the outer shell, which is made from an alloy of two extremely rare metals, lutetium and promethium. So it is a construct of some kind, and one of considerable material value alone. On the other hand, there is also a biological component, the nature of which we have been unable to fathom. It is undoubtedly present, we know it’s in there, but we cannot examine the source of the reading more closely without physically penetrating the casing. Doing so would, of course, reduce the object’s value, so we will leave that up to the ultimate purchaser.”

  “Can we get any closer?”

  “The combination to the vault is what you will be bidding for, Envoy Nirvin. Until you have purchased it, the door remains shut.”

  The envoy nodded his understanding, but his frown remained intact. Stepping away from the window, he finally waved Ax forward.

  “Take a look,” he said. “See what you make of it.”

  Although it rankled to take the administrative puppet’s orders, Ax did as she was told, peering with intense curiosity at what lay inside the vault. Finally, she could see what all the fuss was about.

  The navicomp was easily identifiable, although it had been twisted and partially melted by the blast that had destroyed the ship around it. It was a handheld model, unexpectedly small, more resembling a chunky satellite comlink than the heart of a starship’s navigation system. Presumably it was voiceprinted, but such security provisions could easily be circumvented by a talented slicer. Ax could only take Yeama’s word for whether it still worked or not. It rested in a transparisteel box on a glass plinth to the left of the room’s center, and was closely observed by numerous sensors mounted in the vault’s durasteel walls, floor, and ceiling.

  Sitting on the floor to its right was the second object. Nirvin was correct: it didn’t match any design aesthetic she’d ever encountered. It was squat, like a T3 utility droid, but without any legs or visible environmental interfaces. Its body was tubular and rested flush to the floor of the vault. There were no markings apart from a series of almost gill-like ripples around its middle. Its head was slightl
y convex, as though it had been pushed down from above, and part of it was scorched black. The natural color of its casing appeared to be silver. No writing, no symbols, no identifying markers at all.

  Ax didn’t know what it was, either, but she didn’t say so immediately. Taking the opportunity to inspect the interior of the vault in more detail, she memorized sensor emplacements, estimated the strength of the walls, and measured the distance of each object from the door, just in case she had to perform in the dark. It would be much better, of course, to take the prize once it was out of the vault and away from all these impediments, but she would be prepared for anything.

  “It could be a bioreactor,” she said to the envoy, returning control of the window to him.

  “Plague agents, perhaps?”

  “Hard to say without opening it.”

  “Indeed.” Nirvin turned back to Yeama. “Is that all you have to show us?”

  “All?” The Twi’lek showed his teeth. They were as pointed as the tips of his lekku. “I will escort you to a waiting room, where you may examine data relating to our find in perfect comfort.”

  “Very well.” Nirvin indicated that Yeama should lead the way.

  Ax fell in behind them, with her huge Houk shadow at her side. The objects in the vault didn’t speak to her either as a Sith apprentice or as the biological offspring of Lema Xandret. The plague bioreactor, if such it was, provoked no memories at all.

  The sparse information they had been given told her only a little more. That the object was made from an alloy of extremely rare metals boded well for her Master’s dreams of giving the Emperor a rich new world, but it meant nothing in itself. With the crew of the Cinzia dead, there were no leads to follow there, either, unless she could uncover something that had been hidden by the Hutts—like a survivor, perhaps, or another clue as to the ship’s origins. She didn’t put it past Tassaa Bareesh to auction only half of what they’d found while keeping something extra in reserve, to sell to the auction’s losing party.

  Yeama took them out of the antechamber and back into the circular security air lock, where the heavy doors cycled again. From there, Yeama led them along a new set of luscious corridors in the direction of the no doubt equally luscious waiting room.