Allegiance

by Timothy Zahn

  “These are Aurek, Besh, and Cresh,” Chivkyrie said, gesturing to Organa, the Mungra, and the Ishi Tib in turn.

  The first three letters of the alphabet. How terribly original. “Honored,” Disra said, remembering to add a little caution to his smile, as befit a man who was supposedly conspiring to commit high treason. “Colleagues of my friend Seeker, I presume?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Organa said evenly. Her face, trained in the same schools as Disra’s, was giving nothing away.

  Disra glanced around. No one was paying any particular attention to them, and the tables in the market had built-in sonic damper fields to allow for private haggling. “I’m sure you have questions,” he said. “Please; ask them.”

  “We’ll skip over for now the issue of whether Governor Choard is actually serious about this,” Organa said. She paused briefly, and Disra noted with private amusement that she was watching him closely for any reaction to the question she had just stated she wasn’t going to ask. “So let’s cut to the core,” she went on. “How can even a sector governor possibly muster the resources necessary to defy the Empire?”

  “Without the aid of allies, we obviously can’t,” Disra said. “You and your friends will be those allies, if you’re willing. If you’re not, there are others.”

  “Who are these others?”

  Disra shook his head. “Like you, they prefer anonymity.”

  “I’ll settle for a few raw numbers of their strength.”

  Disra pursed his lips, pretending to consider the request. The statistics on the BloodScars and their pirate-raider coalition were right in his pocket, in suitably disguised files on his datapad. But if he simply gave all that to her here, she and her friends might be offworld within the hour. “Yes, I can do that,” he said at last. “But it’ll take me a couple of hours in my office to pull them together.” He looked at Chivkyrie. “I presume you’re staying at my friend’s home?”

  “No, we’ve made other arrangements,” Organa said.

  “A wise idea,” Disra said. “How do I get in touch with you?”

  “We’ll call you tomorrow morning,” Organa said, standing.

  Disra frowned up at her. “No other questions?”

  “Let’s see first what you have in the way of allies,” she said as the others also rose to their feet. “Then perhaps we’ll have more questions.” She nodded, and the four of them walked off.

  Disra swiveled around, scowling at their backs as they rounded the mii trees and disappeared into the crowds. That had been quick. Too quick. He’d had a dozen questions of his own to ask, questions dealing with the Rebel leadership and whether or not Organa might have brought any of them with her.

  Instead she’d cut off the discussion practically before it had started. Had she somehow sniffed out his game?

  Or maybe she was already way ahead of him. Maybe everything he and Caaldra had assumed was the work of an Imperial agent was actually some kind of insane Rebel operation.

  Well, if it was, Organa herself was going to get very cold comfort from it. Pulling out his comlink, he keyed for spaceport control. “This is Chief Administrator Disra,” he told the controller. “I want an immediate lockdown of all ships carrying human crew or passengers.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” the controller asked, sounding stunned.

  “You heard me,” Disra said coldly as he stood up and headed toward the air taxi station. “As of this moment you’re on fugitive watch. And put the order on the ‘Net to all other spaceports and planetary transport systems.”

  “But, sir, we can’t just—”

  “You can and you will,” Disra cut him off. “I’ll have the fugitive’s description and biometrics to you within the hour; after that you’ll be able to let everyone else through. But for now, no human is to leave this planet. Understood?”

  The controller’s grimace was clearly audible in his voice. “Yes, sir.”

  Disra broke the connection and keyed for an air taxi. It would take twenty minutes to get back to his office, and probably another ten to put together a fugitive sheet with Organa’s face and biometric profile. Thirty minutes from now, and they would have her trapped.

  And then he would finally be able to make the HoloNet call he’d been waiting on for so long. The call that would set him on his rise to Imperial power.

  “If you will forgive my impertinence, that was extremely impolite,” Chivkyrie chided Leia as they traveled the twisty path between the market’s booths and plant stands. “He was a guest at my table.”

  “And I had questions I wished to ask,” Vokkoli added, his tone more puzzled than angry.

  Leia ignored both of them, her full attention on the people around them, the instincts she’d built up over her years of quiet treason screaming at her to get out now.

  “Perhaps if I called and apologized—”

  “You’re not to call him,” Leia cut him off. “You’re never to call him again.”

  [What is it?] Slanni asked, the increased pitch of his beak-clicks indicating sudden nervousness. [What is wrong?]

  “I don’t know exactly,” Leia told him. “But there was something terribly wrong about him.”

  “You are imagining things,” Chivkyrie insisted. His tone was starting to change, too, though. “He has never given me cause for concern.”

  “Because you’ve never had me here before,” Leia said; and with that, her vague sense of dread suddenly dropped into clear focus. The Empire had kept her role in the Rebellion reasonably quiet, probably fearing that she would become a rallying point for disaffected citizens. But Disra had clearly recognized her, and the sense she’d gotten from him was not one of respect or awe. He was planning to turn her in.

  And if he wasn’t the Rebel sympathizer he pretended to be, then Governor Choard probably wasn’t, either.

  She’d been right the first time. This whole bid for independence was nothing but a trap.

  “We have to get out of here,” she told Chivkyrie. “Off the planet, out of the sector, as quickly as possible.”

  “You’re overreacting, Princess,” Chivkyrie said, frowning in puzzlement. “I admit Administrator Disra’s manner takes a little getting used to—”

  “We’re leaving,” Leia cut him off. “If you’re smart, you’ll come with us.”

  “Do not be ridiculous,” the Adarian said huffily, apparently forgetting for the moment that Leia was his tier-superior. “This is my home.”

  “As you wish,” Leia said, looking around for an air taxi station. “Please call your pilot immediately and have the ship prepped for us.”

  Silently Chivkyrie pulled out his comlink and keyed it on. It was answered, and he launched into a chatter of Adarese.

  Leia grimaced. Even with her limited knowledge of Adarian culture, she knew that holding a conversation in a language a tier-superior guest didn’t understand was a violation of etiquette. Apparently Chivkyrie’s estimation of her status had dropped at least two levels in the past few minutes.

  Which meant he was no longer going to listen to what she had to say. Against her advice, he would continue with this plan, pulling his group out of the Rebel Alliance. And if he left, others would follow, until perhaps their fragile coalition ceased to exist.

  Chivkyrie keyed off and returned the comlink to his belt.

  [How soon may we leave?] Slanni asked.

  “You may not,” Chivkyrie said, his voice grim. “Humans have been forbidden to leave Shelkonwa.”

  Vokkoli stopped abruptly. “What do you say?”

  “It appears Princess Leia was correct,” Chivkyrie said, bowing his head to her in a gesture of humility and remorse. “Administrator Disra has betrayed us.”

  “Maybe not all of us,” Leia said, trying to think. She was undoubtedly Disra’s main target, but it wouldn’t be long before he also closed the port to Mungras and Ishi Tib. Still, there might yet be a small window of opportunity for them. “You said the ban only applied to humans,” she went on
. “If you three can get to the ship fast enough, maybe you can slip out before he tightens the ring.”

  “Yes, you must go,” Chivkyrie seconded before the others could answer, pulling out his comlink again. “I will have my pilot—”

  “No,” Vokkoli said flatly. “We will not leave a comrade in danger.”

  “Even if your presence increases that danger?” Leia countered. “Don’t forget, Disra has seen all three of us. It’ll be easier for a single human to hide than for a human, a Mungra, and an Ishi Tib together.”

  [She unfortunately does make sense,] Slanni said reluctantly.

  “And you should go, too,” Leia said, turning to Chivkyrie. “But not by your own ship—Disra probably has people watching it by now. Get on the next transport and get out.”

  They had reached an air taxi station now, and Leia could see one of the brightly colored vehicles dropping toward them. “The others will go,” Chivkyrie said firmly. “But I will stay. You are my guest, and this is my home.”

  “Chivkyrie—”

  “You are my guest, and this is my home,” the Adarian repeated in a tone that offered no room for argument. He looked at Vokkoli and Slanni. “You: go at once. Serve the Alliance, and the cause of freedom.” His face hardened. “And live in the knowledge that you and your organizations were indeed right.”

  “We will leave, for the sake of our people,” Vokkoli said gravely. “And we will pray that your error does not cost you your life.” He reached out a hand and touched Chivkyrie’s fingertips. “May Fortune smile her protection upon you.”

  Slanni bowed silently. A few seconds later they were in the sky, headed for the spaceport.

  “And upon you, as well,” Chivkyrie murmured as he and Leia watched the taxi disappear over the city’s spires. “Come,” he said, taking her arm. “We will return to the hotel to retrieve your effects.”

  He gave her a tight, shamefaced smile. “And then an Adarian will show you the true meaning of secrecy.”

  The palace was a hive of fresh chaos when Disra arrived. He strode through the milling employees, paying no attention to the questions and demands being hurled at him from all directions, concentrating on the quickest way to his office.

  Waiting there, unfortunately, was the one person in Makrin City he couldn’t ignore. “What in blazes is going on?” Governor Choard demanded, the expression behind his bushy beard a combination of apprehension and anger. “They tell me you’ve shut down all the spaceports?”

  “Just to humans,” Disra soothed, starting to circle around him. “I have good reason.”

  The other apparently wasn’t in the mood to be brushed off. Reaching out a massive hand, he closed it around the collar of Disra’s jacket. “Tell me this good reason.”

  Disra ground his teeth, sorting quickly through a list of the possible lies. “I received a tip that someone’s planning to rob the Nightowk Repository,” he said. “I only have a description of the team’s female—”

  “The Nightowk?” Choard cut him off, his beard bristling.

  “—and the obvious conclusion was that they’re after the artworks you have stored in there,” Disra continued impatiently. “I’d like to get the female’s description to the port authorities so that we can focus the search on her and reopen departures to everyone else.”

  “Yes, of course,” Choard murmured, his eyes going distant as he let go of Disra’s collar. “Order extra security for the Nightowk, too.”

  “I was planning to,” Disra said, straightening his jacket as he made it the rest of the way around the desk and sat down. “But I’m sure you have other matters to attend to?”

  For another moment Choard didn’t move. Disra pulled out his datapad and shuffled through the files, wondering impatiently if the governor was going to simply stand there and watch the entire operation. Then, as if his administrator’s words had suddenly penetrated his concern over his precious stolen artworks, the governor spun around and stalked across the office to the door.

  Disra watched him go, his mind flashing back for some reason to his first meeting with the governor three years ago. Even then it had been obvious the man had buttons that were easily pushed, and Disra had spent patient hours locating those buttons.

  He might very well need to use every one of them in the next few days.

  It took only a few minutes for him to give the spaceport controller Organa’s description. The conversation would have gone even quicker if he could have simply given the man her name, since her full description was undoubtedly somewhere in the Empire’s official wanted files. But for the moment, at least, he needed to keep that crucial bit of data his own little secret. Switching to a HoloNet connection, he punched in the special governors’ access number for the Imperial Palace.

  “This is Chief Administrator Vilim Disra, Shelkonwa, Shelsha sector,” Disra said when the responder appeared in the holofield. “I have an urgent message for the Emperor and Lord Vader.”

  “State your message,” the responder said, her face expressionless, her voice the flat monotone of someone who has spent half her life listening to official pronouncements, complaints, and other drivel.

  “Tell them I’ve located Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan,” Disra said. “And that I have her trapped.”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing the woman’s dulled eyes actually widen. “One moment,” she said, her voice suddenly brisk and professional. “Let me transfer you directly to Lord Vader’s command ship.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  MARA HAD EXPECTED THE BLOODSCARS’ EVENING meal to be bland and simple, a step or two above ships’ rations but no higher. To her surprise, it turned out to be a small feast more along the lines of a Harvest Day banquet. Apparently one of the Commodore’s men fancied himself a gourmet chef.

  The reason for the pirates to expend such effort grew clear the minute the Commodore dug into the first course. The harsh lines in his face began to smooth out, the glistening look of madness in his eyes faded away, and by the time the second course arrived he seemed almost normal.

  Mara sat at the middle of the Commodore’s table, wedged in between one of his lieutenants and one of the visiting ship captains. Vinis, his chin bruising up nicely where Mara had hit him, stood silently behind her as her private server and, no doubt, less-than-private watchdog. Brock and Gilling had been put at two of the other tables, with server/guards of their own standing at the ready. Tannis was at a fourth table, and while he appeared to be joining in the general conversation around him, Mara could tell that a lot of his attention was on her. Caaldra, to her mild surprise, was absent.

  There was no interrogation during the meal; clearly, the Commodore loved his food too much to mix it with business. Whether through direct order or merely instinctive caution, the pirates seated around Mara were careful not to talk about their current plans, the BloodScars’ ship strength, or anything else related to the organization. The result was a dinner conversation made up almost entirely of chitchat, the sort Mara had heard at formal and informal dinners all across the galaxy. It made for an interesting contrast with the pirates’ casually blistering language.

  After dinner the Commodore led Mara and the two ISB men to a small conference room, and the negotiations began in earnest.

  Mara could remember the first time she’d done something like this, discussing matters that weren’t real with someone who was firmly convinced they were. In those early days the procedure had felt eerie and surrealistic, almost as if Mara herself were the one with the warped sense of reality. Now it was simply one more tool in her arsenal.

  “We would want a seventy–thirty split, the seventy going to us,” Mara said. “All you need to do is tell us which ship or kind of ship you want, and we’ll do the rest.”

  “And what would you get out of the arrangement that would make it worth our taking thirty percent?” the Commodore asked.

  “Protection from rival groups or the authorities, for one thing,” Mara said. “Safe places to bring
the ships once we have them. You might occasionally provide extra personnel if we needed it.”

  “Sounds to me more like a sixty–forty split, with the sixty going to us,” the Commodore suggested.

  “That seems a little steep, considering that we’re doing all the work.”

  “Not when you consider the fact that you’d have the BloodScars and our patron as allies.” The Commodore’s eyes glittered. “And not as enemies.”

  “Point,” Mara conceded. “Unfortunately, I’m not authorized to go that far outside my chief’s parameters. Would it be possible for me to use your HoloNet link to discuss it with him?”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brock shift in his seat. But the Commodore merely smiled. “Tomorrow will be soon enough for that,” he said. “I always like to give future allies the chance to sleep on such things. You will stay the night, of course?”

  “We would be honored,” Mara said. “But we don’t wish to be a burden. If you’d prefer, we could sleep aboard the Happer’s Way.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” the Commodore said firmly. “Vinis will show you to your quarters.”

  The room Vinis took her to was on the top floor of one of the three-story sections of the complex. It had a single window looking out on the mining complex in the distance; a scattering of old building rubble on the ground directly below the window would discourage any attempt to climb down.

  Fortunately, that wasn’t the direction Mara was planning to go.

  She waited three hours, until all the window lights she could see had gone out and all sounds of life on her floor had ceased. All sounds, that is, except for the occasional shuffling of the guards the Commodore had stationed outside her door.

  Like most of Mara’s civilian outfits, her green jumpsuit had been designed for double duty. Taking it off, she reversed it to its night-fighter gray-black side and put it back on. The decorative comb that the pirates had been so suspicious of earlier was next; disassembling it like the wirework puzzle that it was, she reassembled it into a pair of palm grippers. Opening the window, she eased herself out into the cold night air and started to climb.