Selby had a definite opinion on that, butjust then the stormtrooper at
the door barked "Next!" Vartos stepped up to the portal and handed the guard
his forged ID. Carefully schooling her expression into the cool, professional
mien of a corporate bidder-or at least as cool and professional as she could
manage with hair sticking damply to her face and sweat trickling down her
back- - Selby did the same.
The stormtrooper scanned the cards. "Purpose of your visit?"
"My associate and I are here to present a proposal to His Excellency,
Governor Parco Ein," Vartos told him. Since the Governor currently had a hall
full of bidders waiting to present him with business proposals, Vartos didn't
bother to add that the only proposal he and Selby intended to give Ein was:
Surrender, or die.
When Ein had advertised he'd be considering bids for the construction of
a new bacta refinery on Verkuyl, Intelligence had deemed the situation too
good to pass up. The planet's native workers, encouraged by the slow but
steady reduction in Imperial might in the three years since Endor, had finally
indicated their willingness to openly rebel.
And in this case, the Republic's new allies would come with a bonus.
Though Verkuyl was sparsely settled and a bit too far out on the Rim to be
strategically valuable, Selby knew the New Republic considered military
support of the coup a small price to pay to bypass the hassles of dealing with
the bacta cartel and gain a direct pipeline to the medical resources. The
Governor's Bid Party offered the perfect opportunity to insert an Intelligence
team into his presence-combined with the military threat the fleet would
present when it jumped into the system, orchestrating his surrender should be
a snap.
Selby felt another drop of sweat meander down her spine as the
stormtrooper seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time checking their
credentials. His white armor gleamed brightly in the sun as they stood there,
sweating under his blank, black-visored gaze for what seemed an eternity. The
uneasy silence lengthened. She exchanged a glance with Vartos and knew he was
thinking the same thing when suddenly a voice behind them broke in.
"Excuse me-is there a problem?"
She turned. The new arrival, a lanky, fair-haired man dressed in the dark
blue uniform of an Imperial aide, regarded them quizzically from the sidewalk.
The stormtrooper snapped to attention. "Sir, they say they're here for
the Bid Party, but I haven't been able to confirm their authorization to
attend."
"I see," the man said, coming up the steps. "Your names?" He briefly
consulted a small datapad. "You're on the list," he confirmed. "It's all
right. Sergeant. Let them pass."
The stormtrooper nodded, stepping aside as the massive Hall door swung
open. Inside, marvelously cool air welcomed them, and a copper-colored droid
dotted with tiny green, rusty-looking specks glided forward to take their
travel bags. This awful humidity, Selby thought. Even the droids are affected.
"I'm Daven Quarle," the man said, extending his hand first to Vartos,
then to her. "I'm His Excellency's aide in charge of the refinery project."
Selby shook it, noting that Quarle's grip was firm, with hard calluses
ridging his fingers. Not a mere bit pushing bureaucrat then; this man was
accustomed to work-and quite a lot of it.
Intelligent green eyes sized her up, as well. "So, you're the two from
GaIF-ACTORIAL," he commented as they boarded the turbolift, en route to their
rooms on the fifth floor with the other bidders. "Your company has a
reputation for doing good work. But," he cocked an eyebrow as the lift started
to rise, "I hear the refinery you people built on New Cov ended up coming in
over budget. That true?"
"Of course not," Selby said, suddenly grateful that whatever omission
Intelligence had made regarding the smellier aspects of refining bacta, she
had been thoroughly briefed on her cover story. "Midway through construction,
the client decided to change the venting system so the plant wouldn't vent to
the outside. Obviously, redesigning at that point was difficult, but the
client insisted, so the budget was readjusted and approved." She gave him a
blandly professional smile. "In the end, the project actually came in under
the revised budget."
"I see," Quarle murmured. "I'm glad to hear that. His Excellency always
appreciates a creative bit of number crunching."
Selby looked at him sharply, uncertain how to interpret the remark. She
decided to change the subject. "If you don't mind me asking, how many other
companies sent bidders for the project?"
That eyebrow quirked again. "Curious about the competition?"
Not really, she thought. Concerned about innocent civilians. Although the
crowd gave them more opportunity for cover, she didn't like having to worry
about the bidders' safety. The mission had been carefully planned to be as
bloodless as possible, but accidents could-and frequently did-happen.
"A little," she answered out loud. "Actually, I wondered if there'd be an
opportunity to present our bid to the Governor in person. I find it's
beneficial to personally explain the numbers to prospective clients." She
caught his eye meaningfully, held the look. "Our clients often find it
rewarding, as well."
"Ah," Quarle said, inclining his head knowingly. He understood the covert
language of a bidder wishing to offer a bribe. "As it happens, you'll be able
to meet His Excellency later this evening, at a special reception we've
planned for the bidders. And those who wish to-was he hesitated his-
comffprivately discuss their bids with Governor Ein may make an appointment to
meet with him. Perhaps sometime tomorrow?"
Selby considered. Tonight, Claris would help members of the Verkuylian
resistance set fuses around the planet's main comm transmitter tower as her
fellow operatives set in motion their own explosive plans at the Hall.
Tomorrow, she'd signal the fleet and then destroy the Imperials' only means of
calling for backup once Selby gained entrance to Governor Ein's office to
offer him the New Republic's "bribe."
Which, being a savvy public official skilled in the art of self-
preservation, and further encouraged by the military might which would have
just arrived to orbit persuasively overhead, His Excellency would, of course,
accept.
She smiled at Quarle. "Tomorrow's perfect," she said. "I'll look forward
to it."
And if it weren't for the necessity of keeping up her guard, she might
have managed to relax and enjoy herself- - at least a little, Selby mused that
evening as she and Var tos stepped into the Hall's open-air central courtyard
where the reception was being held. IfVerkuyl's dubious charms this afternoon
had lived up to the planet's reputation as an Outer Rim backwater, their
comfortable, well appointed rooms and this gracious gathering tonight could do
a lot to change her mind.
The sultry purr of smooth jizz poured over them, and from the looks of
the buffet table along the far wall, the Governor w
as a generous, even lavish
host. With sunset, the jungle humidity had at last become bearable, and the
decorative tile underfoot and the fancy, fashionable garb of the bidders would
have been right at home in any of the corporate ballrooms on Coruscant.
Except-it stank. Even in this beautiful setting, outside of the Hall's
blessedly closed air system, the smell of simmering alazhi was impossible to
escape.
"Let's split up, shall we?" Vartos murmured, eyes on the corner bar
fountain spilling some kind of dark red drink into a shallow pool. "It'll be
easier to slip out that way."
Not that he'd be slipping out for his reconnaissance of the Hall until
he'd thoroughly reconnoitered the reception, Selby thought, amused. After all,
they did have covers to maintain. "Sure," she agreed. "I think I'll check out
that buffet myself."
Three hours, two plates, and endless bidder chitchat later, she paused
under one of the courtyard's graceful archways to glance back at the swaying
dance floor. It had steadily expanded in direct proportion to the shrinking
bounty of the buffet table and the Governor's free booze supply. Bidders
moving to the soulful wail of a bass viol filled nearly two-thirds of the
courtyard, while the rest of the party had begun wandering through the arches
"and into the Hall proper.
Which made it a perfect time to do a little wandering herself.
She didn't dare use the turbolift beyond the fifth floor, where most of
the Bid Party attendees had been given rooms. But even so, finding the
Governor's office on the top floor proved no problem, as Intelligence had very
thoughtfully provided a map. Shoes in hand, she crept up the Hall's quaint
staircase, discovering and dismantling half a dozen security sensors before
reaching her destination. It took only a moment to unfasten the tiny
eavesdropping device, a silver-toned stud indistinguishable from the dozens of
less useful ones decorating the neckline of her stylish blue evening gown. But
getting the thing past the security sensors, sentry cameras, and the guard in
front of Ein's office proved a bit more difficult.
In the end, she was reduced to enlisting the aid of a housecleaning
droid, which-having either not noticed the silver stud arcing through the air
to plunk neatly into the Governor's waste bin or programmed not to care-
obligingly carried it right past the guard and deposited it under Ein's desk.
Selby waited until the droid finished its housecleaning, repacked its cart,
and disappeared into the turbolift before she slipped back down the stairs to
rejoin the reception.
She never made it.
Hurrying across the tenth floor's polished landing, Selby heard the
turbolift's doors unexpectedly slide open behind her. Burnin"'"stars, she
cursed, stomach sinking. Did I miss a sensor? Still meters away from the
safety of the stairwell, with nowhere to go and no choice but to brazen it
out, she turned to face the new arrival.
Daven Quarle.
They both stopped short in surprise. Green eyes swept over her, noting
the shoes she held in her hand and lingering briefly on the gown's decorative
neckline before settling on her bare feet. Selby, holding the hem of the dress
nearly to her knees to facilitate her scurry down the stairs, hastily dropped
it and covered her toes.
When Quarle looked up again, his eyes glinted-with suspicion, or
amusement, Selby couldn't tell. "Bidder Jarrad," he said politely. "If you're
looking for your room, I believe you have the wrong floor."
"Um, no. No, I don't," she said, thinking fast. That thumbpass in his
hand-"I mean, I appreciate your concern, but I'm not really lost."
Quarle said nothing. She hurried to explain. "It's such a nice night, and
the stars looked so pretty from the courtyard. I thought I'd go up on the roof
and enjoy the view."
He raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't taking the turbolift be easier?"
"Well, of course. But-was She shrugged and played her hunch. "It wouldn't
take me all the way up, so I found the stairs and started walking."
"I see," Quarle said, eyes dropping again to the shoes dangling from her
fingers. "As it happens, these stairs don't go up to the roof."
"Oh," Selby said, trying to sound disappointed. "Well... it was just a
whim. Never mind." She started to turn away-
"Wait."
She glanced back. Quarle regarded her thoughtfully. "It is a nice night,"
he agreed. "And the view from the roof is spectacular. I can take you up
there, if you like."
Selby studied his expression, wondering what was behind the offer. Did
Quarle suspect her of lying, and want to get her someplace dark and private to
quiz her more thoroughly-or worse? Or was it something far less sinister; just
a simple invitation from a man to a woman to go stargazing?
It bothered her, a little, that it had been so long since the last such
invitation that she could no longer tell when one was being offered. The
demands of working Intelligence kept most people at arm's length-or farther. I
ought to at least find out what he wants, Selby told herself. If he is
suspicious, the roof might not be such a bad place to deal with the problem.
She made herself smile brightly at him. "Sure. I'd like that."
The short ride up to the roof was made in silence, and outside the air
was still and stiflingly warm; a shock after the comfortably cool Hall. But
overhead, a thousand thousand stars glittered like tiny jewels strung on
garlands in the heavens-a spectacular sight, as Quarle had promised.
They stood near the carved stone railing-Selby carefully keeping just out
of his reach-and gazed out over the city. She located the main comm tower
rising out of a small ring of lights about a kilometer away, and wondered if
Claris and her team had finished rigging the explosives. If all went as
planned, by this time tomorrow evening Verkuyl would be back in the possession
of its original owners.
"Seem a long way off, don't they?" Quarle said.
"What?" She turned, looked at him sharply. "Who does?"
"The stars," he said, giving her an odd look. He waved his hand in a
gesture that took in the jeweled sky. "They seem so far away, but in terms of
interstellar trade, they're just a hop, skip, and a jump away-so close you can
almost reach out and touch them."
"Oh," Selby said. Apparently he had brought her up here solely to
stargaze. She looked up, too. was 'The miracle of hyperspace," was she quoted,
not sure what else to say. was "Linking a hundred-thousand worlds together in
a galactic village.""
"That it does," Quarle agreed, gazing overhead. "Which one's yours?"
Selby scanned the night sky for a glimpse of Averill, but the starscape
was completely unfamiliar. "I don't know," she confessed, surprised at the
absurdly pleased feeling the small talk engendered. "It's out there somewhere.
"
He smiled, too. Without that reserved, watchful expression, he looked
younger; perhaps only a few years older than herself. "Where are you from?"
she asked.
"Here," he said. "Bacta bred, born, and raised. Never
even been off the
planet."
"Really," she said, mind clicking over his words. If Quarle was a native,
then his parents had been among the original migrants who'd come to the planet
as shareholders in Verkuylian BactaCo, a lone contingent which somehow managed
to form its own enclave apart from the bacta cartels. Quarle's parents were
probably among those workers who'd turned their backs on their colleagues and
joined forces with the Empire when it had arrived to nationalize the company.
And, given his position in the Governor's office, no doubt he was among the
ones who had looked the other way as their former co-workers became little
more than slaves, no longer producing bacta for their own profit, but for the
imagined glory of the Empire.
In short, the kind of loyal Imperial citizen the rebelling workers she'd
come to liberate widely regarded as a traitor.
Selby reminded herself that, given her fake ID and the convincing packet
of professional lies that comprised her cover story, Quarle believed her to be
a loyal Imperial citizen herself. "You're the right man to ask, then," she
said, deliberately steering away from that topic of conversation. "Does it
always smell this... this bad here?"
Quarle laughed out loud. "I barely notice it," he told her, "but then
again, I've lived here all my life. I'm not sure I even have a sense of smell
anymore."
"Lucky you." She grinned. "The first whiff out the hatch just about
knocked me flat."
He laughed again. "Verkuyl will never attract the tourist trade, that's
Tales From the New Republic Page 27